My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 871: Orion vs Fiona (part-1)

The morning sun had barely crested over the marble spires of Graena City when Orion stepped out of the hotel's front entrance.

The streets were already alive—vendors calling, birds chirping, tournament banners fluttering high above. A distant energy pulsed in the air.

But Orion's steps were slow, deliberate. The world felt… quieter after yesterday.

And there she was.

Fiona stood at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, one boot braced on the stone railing, waiting like she'd been there a while.

She didn't wave. Just looked at him.

"Morning," she said.

Orion stopped beside her, eyes squinting against the light. "You're early."

"I figured you'd try to sneak in late, again.

He smiled. "You don't have to be concerned about that."

Fiona didn't smile. She studied him a little longer, her brows lowering just slightly. "If Princess Leah didn't put another twist, we will fight today, Orion."

"I know."

"Just so I should remind you that I'll go all out, Orion," she said, her voice losing its teasing edge. "You won't get any mercy from me just because we are related."

Orion gave a small laugh. "I expect the same from you. If you hold back, it will only disappoint me. However, I don't think you will be able to hold back even if you want."

Fiona frowned but nodded with a smile.

And then, without another word, they walked side-by-side toward the arena.

[LATER — ARENA COMMENTARY BOX]

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" the announcer's voice boomed across the packed coliseum. "Welcome to the first semifinal of the Tournament of Power!"

The crowd exploded into cheers. Flags waved. Dozens of screens lit up with split images of the two contenders.

"On the left platform, the Ice Serpent herself—Two-time junior world champion—FIONA GARCIA!"

Fiona stepped into view, clad in simple black sparring clothes, her long hair tied up in a tight, no-nonsense braid. No weapons. No accessories. Just her fists wrapped in reinforced spiritual cloth.

"And on the right—he stunned us all with amazing performances one after another since the preliminaries, the one who was participating in the tournament for the first time—The Dark horse turned a favorite to millions of fans—ORION!"

Orion entered from the opposite gate, his steps calm, loose, almost casual. No bow. No dramatic entrance.

Azzy sat high in the balcony seating, elbows resting against his knees, eyes unreadable. Beside him, Gideon leaned forward. "He looks to be in top shape today.

"No use, Gid," Azzy murmured.

In the stands below, tension hummed like a wire pulled too tight.

An energy sphere exploded in the sky, lighting up like fireworks.

Begin.

Fiona was the first to make the move.

No techniques. No energy bursts. Just a clean, classic dash. Her foot slammed into the platform, and she shot forward like a bullet, shoulder tilted low for a strike.

Orion didn't block. His body turned with her, parrying the blow with a bent elbow and stepping to the side, the motion graceful and minimal like an expert.

The crowd blinked.

Fiona pivoted without pause, bringing her heel around in a tight spin-kick. He ducked, brushing her ankle with his fingertips, and used her missed momentum to launch a quick jab to her ribs.

Crack.

Fiona grunted, just a bit, but didn't stagger. Her return punch was a blur.

WHAM.

Orion took it square in the shoulder. The impact rang through his bones. But instead of collapsing, his stance absorbed the blow. The soles of his feet glowed faintly, threads of natural energy anchoring him to the platform.

He exhaled slowly before throwing his fist at her.

His next strike wasn't powerful, but it landed square on her collarbone. He moved like a reed in the wind, letting her strength guide his. Each step forward seemed like a redirection, as if he were in control.

But Fiona wasn't falling for his tricks. She tightened her stance and changed patterns. She began striking in unpredictable combos like double feints, misdirected footwork, and short explosive counters.

Both of them became a blur in the eyes of the audience.

Fists collided.

Elbows cracked.

Knees slammed into ribs.

Neither used soul energy. Neither invoked any attribute energy. It became just pure martial combat for a moment. But both of them are waiting for each other to break this impasse with an energy technique.

At first, both of them seemed equal, but eventually, after parrying dozens of attacks against one another, the difference in their physique began to show the results. As a 9 star Arcana master and someone born with divinity, her bones were naturally a lot tougher than a half divine being like Orion.

The result?

Orion was being pushed back.

A cut opened above his eyebrow. His lip split. His ribs ached from the earlier elbow.

Fiona was relentless, striking with precision as the battle went on. Her concentration was indeed becoming better and better as she got used to his patterns.

And then came the turning moment when Fiona's powerful fist landed cleanly in his gut, lifting him an inch off the ground.

The crowd gasped.

He stumbled back. Nearly slipped.

She didn't wait.

With a roar, Fiona lunged forward, her fist cocked, drawing on everything in her frame, shoulders, hips, grounded feet. A textbook fighter's cross.

And it hit.

THWACK.

Orion was flung off the platform.

His body sailed through the air and crashed hard onto the ring's edge, then rolled into the grass just beyond.

The crowd exploded.

Gasps. Cheers. Screams.

Silence.

Then, all at once, voices shouted, coming from his supporters. As a dark horse of the tournament, he had a bigger support than Fiona. It's not that they wanted to see him beating up a girl or something. Gender doesn't matter in the world of Arcana. Who is weaker or who is stronger matters more, and everyone wanted to see a weak one defeat a favorite.

"Get up!"

"Orion!"

"Stand, dammit!"

"Use that thousand-hand technique."

"Beat the hell out of that b*tch."

Yeah, some supporters are a bit agressive.

His limbs didn't move, though for a few seconds, making it seem as if he is done.

Fiona stood on the platform, chest rising and falling. Her fist lowered. Her face had a frown though as if she was disappointed. "Is this all you can do? I don't think so, Nephew. Get up and fight me." She murmured.

In the stands, Azzy leaned forward and murmured low under his breath in a similar way. "Get up… and fight, son. This isn't over yet."

And slowly…

Orion raised his head.

His gaze locked on Fiona.

The world was a blur of sound as Orion rose from the grass. Blood streaked the side of his face. His shirt hung half-torn, and one eye was already swelling shut. But his footing was firm.

He stepped onto the battle platform again—one foot after another, the boards creaking beneath him. Fiona narrowed her gaze.

"You still standing? Good," she nodded, fists tightening.

Orion cracked his neck, lifting his arms in a stance not of aggression… but centering.

"Alright… First round is your win," he murmured. "Time for the second round."

The arena stilled.

Natural energy pulsed outward—calm, radiant, reverent.

And then…

BOOM.

A golden lotus bloomed beneath his feet.

From behind him, a figure emerged. The Thousand-Handed Buddha is here again, gracing the people with its presence.

One hundred and fifty feet tall. Serene. Unmoving. Its face is expressionless. Its halo is wide and gleaming. Arms unfolded from its back like a blossoming sun—ten, twenty, a hundred. A forest of limbs, each one poised in a different mudra.

The crowd gasped. Some fell to silence. Others cheered wildly.

Fiona… said nothing.

Her breath fogged the air around her. Slowly, steadily, the temperature began to drop.

"Alright, it's my turn…"

She exhaled. And from her skin bloomed a thin layer of frost.

She darted forward, sliding beneath the Buddha's first sweep. A dozen golden arms reached down, each palm striking with the weight of a falling mountain.

She spun beneath the strikes and froze them.

A radius of ice spread like veins across the arms. With a sharp twist of her fingers…

CRACK.

Three arms were shattered clean off.

Orion didn't flinch. The Buddha simply re-grew them by absorbing the natural energy from the surroundings. From the stump of every lost hand, new limbs sprouted like bamboo.

Fiona jumped back, scowling. "This one has self-regenerating ability…"

The golden arms moved again, faster this time. A sweeping circle. A closing hand. Then, a press from above.

She danced between them, her body a blur of motion, every step leaving behind frostbite along the wood. Every palm she touched was frozen.

And then she followed up with a crescent kick. The palm was shattered one after another with these simple combos.

Five.

Seven.

Ten hands gone.

But again, they grew back in no time.

She gritted her teeth. "Then I'll freeze them faster than you can rebuild."

Ice surged outward from her in a breath.

The temperature plummeted across the arena. Spectators in the front rows gasped, frost forming along the railings. Fiona drew her arms into a spiral, and a storm of spears formed behind her, razor-thin lances of pure ice.

She launched them.

Whoosh—CRACK—whoosh—CRACK!