Location: Cratered plain outside Kigali, Rwanda.
Condition: Bloodlusted Guy, focused Scipio.
No prep. No holding back.
Opening — Fire Meets Calm
Wind rolls across the open ground.
Scipio stands barefoot in his CRAS-9, armor pulsing faintly blue. His eyes are calm — that dangerous stillness before the break.
Opposite him, Might Guy drops his stance, red aura rising like a furnace. Steam hisses from his pores as his skin darkens, the Eighth Gate opening in full.
Blood and vapor swirl around him like a storm trying to remember it was once human.
Scipio exhales once, grounding through the soil. Gaia hums in his bones. “All right,” he says. “Let’s dance.”
Round One — Momentum
Guy moves first. Always first.
The man doesn’t run — he erases the distance. His first kick hits like a sonic detonation.
Scipio tilts the vector of impact thirty degrees off-axis, and the air itself absorbs the blow. He slides backward across the dirt, barely keeping balance.
“Fast,” he mutters, voice almost respectful.
Guy grins, teeth white against the heat. “Faster!”
The next barrage comes in a blur — punches, flips, the ground splitting under each landing.
Scipio’s body bends through the storm, redirecting inertia, reversing angles, flowing with the rhythm rather than against it. He can’t overpower this. He has to reshape it.
Round Two — Red Beast, Blue Field
Scipio blinks behind Guy mid-kick. The Iklwa hums blue, slicing through compressed air — a vector blade against raw human force.
Guy blocks with his forearm, bone cracking, blood spraying into the air.
He doesn’t even scream. He laughs.
“Beautiful hit!” he roars, spinning with impossible torque and catching Scipio’s side with a backfist that sends him rag-dolling through three stone ridges.
Scipio hits, skids, and rolls to his feet. His armor smokes, nanites repairing on instinct. The Aset strand hums gold for half a second, counteracting the chi-burn radiating off Guy’s aura.
Scipio blinks forward again, landing a knee square into Guy’s chest, folding his vectors into a localized singular impact — gravity, motion, velocity all aimed inward.
The world folds around the sound.
Guy coughs blood and still smiles.
Round Three — The Final Charge
Guy’s eyes ignite red. His aura spikes until the air combusts. The Eighth Gate’s full burn.
Every heartbeat is agony, but he keeps moving.
The Night Guy manifests — a dragon of sheer pressure and fire racing toward Scipio.
Scipio knows there’s no dodging this.
He drops to one knee and folds every vector around him — kinetic, gravitational, atomic — into a sphere no bigger than his body. The Aversion Field compresses space itself.
The dragon hits.
Reality folds.
A light brighter than noon consumes everything.
When it fades, there’s silence.
Guy lies broken, smoke rising off what’s left of his body, smiling up at the sky.
Scipio stands ten meters away, blood running down his arm, armor scorched black.
He looks at the man who chose death just to keep fighting and whispers,
“Respect.”
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