Niko latched onto a protruding ledge of the Dark Tower, his tendrils wrapping tight around the blackened stone above Lancer's position. The wind was still howling—unnatural, cutting, alive. He grit his teeth and looked down.
He had a theory now.
His breathing was steady, focused, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation. He extended a tendril downward, careful this time—feeling more than acting. The moment it touched the air around Lancer, it bounced off, like hitting a wall that wasn't there.
No resistance. No impact. Just… nothing.
Like the space around him wasn't real anymore.
"You…" Niko muttered, eyes narrowing. "You can control air, can't you?"
From below, Lancer looked up with a mocking smirk. "Bingo," he said casually.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he swiped through the air.
There was no light. No energy wave. Not even a sound.
But Niko felt it. Like his instincts screamed a second before his brain understood. The hair on the back of his neck rose. His lungs locked. Danger was coming.
He launched off the ledge immediately, just in time.
A moment later, the chunk of stone he'd been crouched on was cleaved clean through. It hovered for half a breath—then fell, tumbling silently into the void below.
Niko hung by a tendril now, swinging beneath the tower like a pendulum.
"What the hell was that…" he whispered, staring up in awe.
A high-pitched whine tore through the wind above. His eyes caught the smallest sliver of distortion in the air, like a shimmer of heat—but razor-thin, shaped like a crescent.
A slash of air.
That guy just sent a blade of compressed wind sharp enough to slice through reinforced stone like it was bread.
What kind of ability is this!?
Lancer laughed—light and amused, like this was sport to him. And then he moved.
One step off the edge.
And then he was there.
Barreling through the sky toward Niko with an arm cocked back and that same casual grace. Not flying. Not falling. Moving—like the wind carried him, obeyed him.
Niko shot upward with two tendrils, crossing them midair to launch himself toward Lancer. Their trajectories collided.
Clang.
Niko brought his blade around with a wide arc, but Lancer caught it with his forearm. Or rather—caught it with air. A condensed shield so strong it stopped the slash outright.
Their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked. Niko could see the calmness in Lancer's gaze—and the dangerous spark beneath it.
"You're better than I expected," Lancer said, twisting his fingers subtly.
Suddenly, Niko's balance faltered—he was being pulled, gravity tugging in three different directions at once.
"Shit—"
He slammed his boots onto an invisible platform of his own tendrils and kicked off, adjusting his footing just as Lancer threw a flat-palmed strike toward his ribs.
WHAM.
It missed—barely—but the gust it generated cracked the nearby air like thunder.
Niko spun midair, slashing horizontally. Lancer leaned back just enough, letting the blade pass his nose. Then he retaliated with a rapid jab of compressed wind to Niko's chest.
Impact.
Niko grunted, forced backward. He flipped and recovered with a low swoop, sending two tendrils to lash out at Lancer's legs. The boy dodged effortlessly, riding the flow of wind itself like a wave, flipping backward and diving in again.
Clash. Dodge. Parry. Dash.
They collided again midair. Blade against air. Tendrils whipping through the sky like silver streaks. For a moment, it wasn't a battle—it was a storm of movement.
Lancer feinted left and snapped his fingers.
The air behind Niko exploded with pressure. The shockwave launched him forward—straight into a spinning kick that Lancer had already prepared.
CRACK.
Pain flared in Niko's jaw as he flew backward, blood flicking from his mouth as he caught himself with a tendril last second.
But before he could even register the blow—Lancer was in front of him again.
"Let me guess," Lancer grinned. "You're the kind that gets stronger as the fight goes on, right?"
Niko coughed, spit some blood, and raised his blade again.
"You talk a lot for someone who's never been hit."
Lancer's grin widened. "Then land one."
They shot at each other again.
This time—Niko feinted first.
He blinked to the left using Blitz, leaving an afterimage behind. Lancer swung at the fake—Niko came around with a two-handed slash straight from above.
Finally.
The edge connected—barely scraping Lancer's shoulder. Not deep, but it drew blood.
Lancer's eyes widened slightly.
"Well," he muttered. "Guess I deserved that."
Then the wind around him erupted.
Niko felt everything shift again. He tumbled backward, shielded only by a defensive tendril that wrapped around his body midfall like armor.
As he steadied himself once more—hovering, bruised, and breathing hard—he realized something terrifying:
Lancer was still calm.
Still holding back.
Still toying with him.
And yet, even with that—Niko had just barely managed to draw blood.
He gripped his sword tighter.
No running now.
Time to fight like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
Niko latched onto a protruding ledge of the Dark Tower, his tendrils wrapping tight around the blackened stone above Lancer's position. The wind was still howling—unnatural, cutting, alive. He grit his teeth and looked down.
He had a theory now.
His breathing was steady, focused, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation. He extended a tendril downward, careful this time—feeling more than acting. The moment it touched the air around Lancer, it bounced off, like hitting a wall that wasn't there.
No resistance. No impact. Just… nothing.
Like the space around him wasn't real anymore.
"You…" Niko muttered, eyes narrowing. "You can control air, can't you?"
From below, Lancer looked up with a mocking smirk. "Bingo," he said casually.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he swiped through the air.
There was no light. No energy wave. Not even a sound.
But Niko felt it. Like his instincts screamed a second before his brain understood. The hair on the back of his neck rose. His lungs locked. Danger was coming.
He launched off the ledge immediately, just in time.
A moment later, the chunk of stone he'd been crouched on was cleaved clean through. It hovered for half a breath—then fell, tumbling silently into the void below.
Niko hung by a tendril now, swinging beneath the tower like a pendulum.
"What the hell was that…" he whispered, staring up in awe.
A high-pitched whine tore through the wind above. His eyes caught the smallest sliver of distortion in the air, like a shimmer of heat—but razor-thin, shaped like a crescent.
A slash of air.
That guy just sent a blade of compressed wind sharp enough to slice through reinforced stone like it was bread.
What kind of ability is this!?
Lancer laughed—light and amused, like this was sport to him. And then he moved.
One step off the edge.
And then he was there.
Barreling through the sky toward Niko with an arm cocked back and that same casual grace. Not flying. Not falling. Moving—like the wind carried him, obeyed him.
Niko shot upward with two tendrils, crossing them midair to launch himself toward Lancer. Their trajectories collided.
Clang.
Niko brought his blade around with a wide arc, but Lancer caught it with his forearm. Or rather—caught it with air. A condensed shield so strong it stopped the slash outright.
Their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked. Niko could see the calmness in Lancer's gaze—and the dangerous spark beneath it.
"You're better than I expected," Lancer said, twisting his fingers subtly.
Suddenly, Niko's balance faltered—he was being pulled, gravity tugging in three different directions at once.
"Shit—"
He slammed his boots onto an invisible platform of his own tendrils and kicked off, adjusting his footing just as Lancer threw a flat-palmed strike toward his ribs.
WHAM.
It missed—barely—but the gust it generated cracked the nearby air like thunder.
Niko spun midair, slashing horizontally. Lancer leaned back just enough, letting the blade pass his nose. Then he retaliated with a rapid jab of compressed wind to Niko's chest.
Impact.
Niko grunted, forced backward. He flipped and recovered with a low swoop, sending two tendrils to lash out at Lancer's legs. The boy dodged effortlessly, riding the flow of wind itself like a wave, flipping backward and diving in again.
Clash. Dodge. Parry. Dash.
They collided again midair. Blade against air. Tendrils whipping through the sky like silver streaks. For a moment, it wasn't a battle—it was a storm of movement.
Lancer feinted left and snapped his fingers.
The air behind Niko exploded with pressure. The shockwave launched him forward—straight into a spinning kick that Lancer had already prepared.
CRACK.
Pain flared in Niko's jaw as he flew backward, blood flicking from his mouth as he caught himself with a tendril last second.
But before he could even register the blow—Lancer was in front of him again.
"Let me guess," Lancer grinned. "You're the kind that gets stronger as the fight goes on, right?"
Niko coughed, spit some blood, and raised his blade again.
"You talk a lot for someone who's never been hit."
Lancer's grin widened. "Then land one."
They shot at each other again.
This time—Niko feinted first.
He blinked to the left using Blitz, leaving an afterimage behind. Lancer swung at the fake—Niko came around with a two-handed slash straight from above.
Finally.
The edge connected—barely scraping Lancer's shoulder. Not deep, but it drew blood.
Lancer's eyes widened slightly.
"Well," he muttered. "Guess I deserved that."
Then the wind around him erupted.
Niko felt everything shift again. He tumbled backward, shielded only by a defensive tendril that wrapped around his body midfall like armor.
As he steadied himself once more—hovering, bruised, and breathing hard—he realized something terrifying:
Lancer was still calm.
Still holding back.
Still toying with him.
And yet, even with that—Niko had just barely managed to draw blood.
He gripped his sword tighter.
No running now.
Time to fight like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
Niko dangled by a thread of tendril like a spider on glass, blood staining the corners of his lips, hair whipped wildly by the screaming winds. Across from him, Lancer hovered effortlessly, arms at his side, eyes half-lidded in that same lazy confidence. But there—just under the collarbone—a thin, sharp cut.
So… feinting works, Niko thought, watching the line drip.
The realization lit something behind his eyes.
He's not wrapped in a shield. He's reacting.
Reading attacks and manipulating air just fast enough to make it seem like a barrier. If I go fast enough, or make him misread just once—
Niko grinned, teeth bloodied. Then I break through.
With a swing of his arm, he launched himself with a coiled tendril, soaring across the open sky like a bolt. He zipped past Lancer intentionally, body low, blade aimed forward—but he wasn't attacking.
Lancer didn't move. He just tilted his fingers and shnk—Niko's momentum veered slightly. A silent wall of air had corrected his trajectory.
The blade missed.
Feint one.
Behind him, three tendrils launched out from Niko's cloak, stabbing toward Lancer's sides at impossible angles.
They stopped—frozen midair, quivering.
Lancer turned his head. "You think I can only manage one zone of air?" His fingers snapped.
BOOM.
A pulse erupted from him in all directions. Pressure exploded like a thunderclap, and Niko was flung upward—spinning, barely able to right himself. Before he could think, Lancer blurred above and grabbed his ankle.
"Let's move somewhere better," he said casually—and hurled Niko like a javelin into the sky.
Wind screamed around him.
He passed through clouds, the city becoming a patchwork of lights and ant-like people. But something shifted.
Niko's skin prickled. His instincts screamed.
Something's coming.
He looked down—and saw nothing. But felt it.
A pressure. A deathly slice.
Then he saw it.
A massive crescent slash of compressed air, hurtling up through the clouds, cleaving sky like paper. Buildings shuddered from the gust alone.
If I dodge… it'll hit the city. The tower. His hands tightened. I have to redirect it.
"MAXIMUM BLITZ!"
His body blurred—tendrils snapping taut—his blade glowing with searing energy as he plummeted, a meteor of resolve.
CLANG!!
The blade met the air slash with a booming clang of metal against pressure. Niko's arms trembled violently, but he pushed, grit teeth bared.
The slash bent—twisted—and finally spiraled upward, dissipating in the higher atmosphere in a blink of fractured glass.
Niko whipped a tendril around a floating stone to stop himself mid-fall. He looked down.
Lancer was already there. Waiting.
They clashed.
Air twisted around them violently—sickles and spears forming with every hand motion from Lancer. Niko ducked under one, parried the next, spun on a tendril, and kicked off debris, using the motion to redirect a third blade of air. It sliced past his cheek—but missed.
Niko's blade found Lancer's wrist—but was deflected with a gust.
He struck again—a fake high swing, then two tendrils trying to hook behind Lancer.
Denied.
But Niko noticed something. His eyes. Lancer was following the blade—not the tendrils. He was prioritizing visual cues.
Then don't give him any.
Niko exhaled, then launched straight up—above Lancer—ascending fast. Lancer chased, bored expression fading.
"Going for another dive attack? Predictable," Lancer muttered.
But Niko wasn't diving.
He vanished.
Or so it seemed.
In truth, he yanked two tendrils from opposite sides of the tower ruins and jerked himself at an angle, blurring in a split-second misdirection.
He left behind a small afterimage of himself—a copy made of condensed energy, just enough to look real midair.
Lancer's fingers twitched—air split the illusion in half.
"Gotcha."
From the right, the real Niko came hurtling in from a blind spot, inverted, spinning, blade sheathed.
Not slashing—
He kicked.
Straight into Lancer's ribs. No energy, no sword—just a raw, human strike. Lancer gasped—not from pain, but shock. His reflex had lagged.
The air bent too late.
And in that instant of imbalance—
The blade came.
Mid-spin, Niko unsheathed the Knight's Blade in a single flash, letting momentum carry it in an upward diagonal cut—shhhrrrk!—across Lancer's side.
Blood arced into the air. The cut was deep.
Lancer stumbled backward in the air. First time.
His eyes snapped to Niko—not amused.
Not calm.
Focused.
Niko latched onto a floating slab again, panting, eyes locked forward. His mouth curled into a smirk.
"…So. You can bleed."
Lancer looked down at the blood dripping from his hip, then licked his lips.
"…Cute."
The sky between them shimmered, the tension drawn taut.
And just like that—
The real fight began.