From atop the coliseum walls, Amara narrowed her eyes at the scene unfolding below.
"Ice affinity, huh?" she muttered, watching Calvinel stand defiantly on the frozen pool. A low hum rumbled from her throat. "Hmm. Let's see if you can wield yours better than the other man."
Back in the arena, Quincy's voice echoed over the roaring crowd.
"Ice magic! The Victorious used ice magic to save himself from drowning! But he still doesn't look all that great! Can he come back from this!?"
And she was right. Calvinel may have stopped himself from drowning, but he had still fallen from a significant height—and onto solid ice at that. By all logic, he should not even be standing. Yet somehow, absurdly, he pushed through.
Across the frost-bitten arena, Hittag stared him down, cautious now. Calvinel stood loose but alert, beckoning him forward with a sharp motion of his hand. He could see it—Hittag's hesitation. It would be too easy for Calvinel to unfreeze the ice beneath him the moment he stepped onto it, trapping him below the frozen surface.
Seeing the doubt, Calvinel called out with a dry laugh, "Come on. I'm a knight. I have honor. I'm not going to pull a cheap trick like that."
Hittag's eyes narrowed, distrustful. But after a long breath, he charged forward anyway, massive strides pounding against the cracked stone and onto the treacherous ice.
He swung—a heavy right fist aimed straight for Calvinel's head.
But the Victorious dipped just under it, the blow whistling past his ear as Hittag's momentum nearly sent him sprawling. Calvinel chuckled lowly, shifting his footing with expert control, and slid behind Hittag in a blur of movement.
Before Hittag could react, Calvinel struck—a sharp punch to the small of his back. A grunt tore from the Champion's throat, and he instinctively spun around, throwing a wild hammerfist in retaliation.
Calvinel ducked fluidly under it, the ice working with him, not against him. He skated sideways, pivoting, and landed another precise punch—this time driving his fist into Hittag's sternum with enough force to make the Champion stagger, almost dropping to a knee.
Calvinel was no match for Hittag's raw strength—not even close—but with the ice at his feet, he turned every movement into a slingshot, adding vicious speed and force to his strikes. Each punch was amplified, each dodge sharpened.
"Come on, come on!" Calvinel goaded between breaths, his grin never leaving. "You can't lose this easily!"
Snarling, Hittag reared both fists high and brought them crashing down—not on Calvinel, but on the frozen floor itself, aiming to shatter it beneath them.
Even if he struggled to swim, he'd fare better than a man weighed down by a suit of plate.
But when his fists slammed down, the surface barely cracked. A jolt of pain shot up his arms as the ice held stubbornly firm.
"Don't worry about it breaking!" Calvinel quipped, voice edged with mockery. He darted in and hammered a punch into Hittag's helmet, nearly knocking it clean off. "I made it especially tough—for both of us."
Quincy's excited voice rang out above the chaos.
"Wow, wow! The fight's turned completely one-sided! The Champion can't even land a hit on the Victorious! Is this it for the Champion!?"
Growling low in his throat, Hittag spun his massive arms outward in a wide arc, forcing Calvinel to slide back across the ice and hop off the frozen ground to avoid being struck. Regaining his footing quickly, Calvinel braced just as Hittag charged again, a furious roar in his throat and his fist raised high overhead.
The ground shook as Hittag's fist came crashing down—but Calvinel rolled aside at the last second, rising back to his feet, breathless but still grinning.
"Brutishly smart," he muttered under his breath, steadying his stance.
Hittag charged again, fists barreling forward.
But before they could clash, Quincy clapped her hands.
Both Calvinel and Hittag instinctively jumped back as a deep rumble vibrated through the ground beneath them. The stone floor trembled, deep rumbles echoing outward as sections of rock broke apart and slid downward. From the cracks, thick roots and gnarled vines rapidly sprouted, weaving through the ground and up the arena walls. Towering trees emerged, their trunks thick and covered in rough bark, their branches stretching outward with a canopy of leaves that seemed to rustle in the dense, humid air.
Patches of thick, misty air gathered in the lowered sections, creating a dense, humid atmosphere. Pools of water remained, but now shallow streams flowed between them, lined with beds of glistening moss and flowering plants. The terrain formed a wild tangle of raised stone roots, broken plateaus, and natural bridges—perfect for fast movements and sudden ambushes.
Despite the chaotic density of the new jungle-like battlefield, the natural trees and vegetation were spaced just enough to allow clear sightlines from the stands. The whole arena now looked like a living maze of thick, leafy trees and thick underbrush, steamy and alive, but still open enough for the crowd to see every move the fighters made.
Without hesitation, Calvinel and Hittag sprang into action. But rather than rushing at one another, Calvinel dashed toward his greatsword, desperately hoping it hadn't been thrown into some treetop. Hittag, on the other hand, sprinted across a natural bridge, making for a tree that wasn't as thick or towering as the others but still sturdy enough to serve his purpose.
Calvinel found his greatsword buried in a tangle of roots and dropped to one knee, reaching out and scraping against the bark until his fingers closed around the hilt. With a sharp pull, he freed it from the clutch of the earth. At nearly the same moment, Hittag reached his tree, wrapped his arms around it, and with a deep roar, tore it from the ground, roots snapping and dirt flying.
For a brief instant, the two faced each other—Calvinel, greatsword in hand, and Hittag, hefting the uprooted tree like a massive club. Then, in a blur of movement, they both charged forward again, weapons raised. Calvinel with precision, his blade gleaming, his feet sliding effortlessly on the slick, moss-covered ground, while Hittag swung his makeshift weapon with brutal force, the tree's massive trunk cutting through the air like a battering ram.
It was the final clash.