Veric twists his wrist in the final fraction of a second.

He can’t reduce the force or the impact—those are already committed to the swing—but he can reduce the cutting angle of the blade. He rotates the gladius so the flat of the steel meets the target instead of the edge.

The blade slams into Death’s Lantern’s ribs. He bends sideways at the moment of contact, pain visible on his face.

THUD.

The sound is low and dry. Almost the entire arena goes silent. Only the sharpest eyes caught what actually just happened.

The flat of the blade struck the ribs. Concussive impact, not a cut. A few cracked ribs at minimum, maybe a couple of broken ones.

The trouble comes immediately after.

Death’s Lantern, realizing the strike didn’t seriously wound him, drops his arm down. He traps Veric’s blade between his body and his arm, locking it in an arm-bar grip on the steel.

Then he yanks. Hard.

The pull rips Veric off balance, and Death’s Lantern’s free arm comes up in a clean, brutal right cross straight into the center of Veric’s face.

I almost wince visibly. The impact registers across the Oathring. Like watching a slow-motion replay—the way Veric’s face contorts as the phantom gauntlet crashes into his nose and cheek.

Veric spins sideways three full rotations. His sword flies with him and embeds itself in the ground near where he lands.

He’s completely motionless.

I bring my hand to my forehead instinctively, trying to hide my secondhand shame. After the entire show—the marketing, the speech, the audience—if he loses like this, it’s humiliating.

How the hell did he take a hit that telegraphed?

Even if he’d connected with the edge of his blade, it wouldn’t have been a knockout strike. Death’s Lantern would have had the same reaction. A blade against ribs has no stopping power, edge or flat.

Come on, Veric. React.

The judge starts the count.

"One..."

"Two..."

"Three..."

"Four..."

Rhayne grabs my arm. Her grip surprises me with how strong it is. I look at her eyes and she’s visibly distressed. Mouth tight. Eyes wet at the edges.

"Six..."

And then...

"COME ON, VERIC! GET UP, YOU LAZY NOBLE BASTARD! YOU HUMILIATED ME SO MANY TIMES DAYS AGO JUST TO LIE ON THE FLOOR LIKE THAT?" Rhayne shouts into the comm without warning.

My jaw drops.

I stop hearing the judge counting. The only thing my brain is processing at this moment is: ’Who are you? What did you do with sweet Rhayne?’

Rhayne was so anxious and worked up that she simply screamed her rage and frustration at Veric losing.

"Eight..."

Veric closes his hands into fists. Pushes up to one knee.

"Nine..."

With visible effort, he forces himself onto both feet. Still noticeably groggy. Swaying.

"Miss Vesper..." Veric whispers, finally returning to himself.

"Are you ready? Can you continue?" The judge looks Veric directly in the eye.

Veric nods once at the judge, then shakes his head, probably trying to clear the haze in his vision.

Death’s Lantern doesn’t advance. He’s holding his ribs, and his OXI must be running low.

"You should have stayed down, Mister Soline Bandit." Death’s Lantern says it slow. The voice has changed. Something inside him is wrong now, and the pain is screaming at a level I can only guess at.

Veric ignores him and looks directly at us in the crowd. Specifically at Rhayne.

"Don’t tell me this bastard stood back up because Rhayne yelled at him."

They both nod at each other. Confirming exactly what I just suspected.

"Is something going on here?" I ask Rhayne discreetly.

She doesn’t answer me. But her cheeks color in the same instant. I can’t tell if it’s confirmation or just situational embarrassment.

But none of that matters right now. Veric begins his movement before I can process the past minute. He yanks his sword free from the dirt and advances.

Death’s Lantern vanishes. Veric grips his sword, bracing for the impact. But his opponent had already read that play twice. He reappears behind Veric, slightly above him, another descending strike.

Something in Veric has changed since the knockdown. He doesn’t move preemptively to defend. Still with his back to the attack, he just tilts his head. A cold, calculated slip. The phantom punch passes over Veric’s shoulder.

Veric drops the sword. Catches the descending arm.

He spins into a flying-circle grapple.

"YAAAAEEEHHHH!"

Veric screams at the top of his lungs and hurls his opponent into the ground with every ounce of strength he has left.

Death’s Lantern lands flat on his back, blood spraying upward from his mouth. His eyes already rolled back, completely out.

Veric drops to one knee. Smiles. Gives a thumbs-up to the crowd.

But knowing him, it’s all fake. He’s completely broken.

The judge runs over, checks the body, and gestures both hands across his chest. Death’s Lantern is out.

The crowd goes wild. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

"And don’t forget. Lunaria Drop Potion. L-D-P. Coming soon to a store near you," he finishes.

Oliver and I sprint to the ring and help Veric out. He’s wrecked—dragging his feet, leaning hard on Oliver’s shoulder. He pulls a few healing potions and support items out of his inventory and starts working through them.

"You did well, Veric. Remind me to pay you later."

I barely finish the sentence when several Divers begin closing in around us.

I’m certain this is Chaos Theory’s work. The geometry of the converging shapes is too clean. Too deliberate. They were waiting for the fight to end. But I’m prepared. I’ve lived with this passive long enough this life to recognize what crowding around the winner looks like.

"Pay me later, Sands. We have problems right now." Veric jerks his chin toward a figure approaching us through the dispersing crowd. "And not the regular kind."

The man walking toward us doesn’t match anything else in the slum. Every line of him is out of place here—and he’s looking directly at me, not at any of the others.

The other Divers part to let him through. Quietly. As if their instincts already worked out the hierarchy on the way.