The clearing felt too small for what was happening inside it.
Dusk pressed down through the canopy in long bands of gold and shadow, turning drifting dust into glowing embers suspended in the air. The trees stood like silent witnesses, trunks scarred by past storms, leaves trembling as if they already knew something terrible was about to unfold.
Tomora and Connor faced each other at the center of it all.
No smiles now. No teasing. No careless words.
Connor's fingers curled slowly into fists. The soil beneath his boots answered the motion with a low, irritated groan, as if the earth itself was tightening its jaw. Pebbles rattled. Roots shifted. The ground rolled like a restless animal beneath his feet.
"You're going down."
The words came out steady, but not calm. They carried weight—years of buried rage packed tight behind a single promise.
Across from him, Tomora tilted his head, lips curling into a familiar smirk. But it didn't quite reach his eyes. Water shimmered faintly around his arms, clinging to his skin like a living thing, catching the dying sunlight in sharp blue glints.
"Bring it on,"
Connor moved first.
His heel slammed into the ground with a force that sent pain snapping up his own leg. The earth answered violently. A shockwave ripped outward, splitting soil and stone as jagged pillars tore themselves free from below, surging upward like the ribs of some massive beast intent on caging its prey.
The watching group gasped as one.
Tomora didn't hesitate.
Water surged from the nearby stream in a flash, rising fast and fluid, wrapping around him in a spinning sheath. The world seemed to tilt as he flipped backward, body light, controlled—too controlled. The stone spikes missed him by inches, snapping shut on empty air where he had been a heartbeat earlier.
His boots barely touched the ground before Connor was already moving again.
With a sharp gesture, Connor ripped shards of earth loose and hurled them forward in a rapid, brutal barrage. The air screamed as stone cut through it, fast and lethal.
Tomora vaulted upward.
Not away—over.
His body twisted mid-air, water spiraling around his fists, compressing, sharpening. For a fleeting instant, the movement echoed something older, something drilled into muscle and bone. A hooded silhouette. A voice half-laughing, half-cruel.
Don't dodge like prey. Cut through.
Tomora's arms slashed outward.
Water blades carved clean lines through the flying stone. Shards exploded apart, fragments whistling past like shrapnel, embedding themselves into tree trunks, the ground, each other.
He landed in a roll, momentum smooth and unbroken, already moving again.
Water snapped outward in long arcs as he surged forward, boots barely skimming the earth. He spun, flipped, and let gravity do the work, channeling his momentum into a roaring torrent that tore free from his movement and slammed toward Connor.
Connor didn't flinch.
He stomped down hard.
The earth surged upward in front of him, rising into a thick, fortified wall just in time. Water smashed against it with thunderous force, spraying high into the air. Cracks raced across the stone like lightning scars, the wall shuddering under the pressure but holding.
For a heartbeat, everything stalled.
Then Connor was over it.
He vaulted the crumbling wall, twisting mid-air, body moving with a precision that didn't match his earlier drunken swagger. His leg whipped around in a spinning kick aimed straight for Tomora's chest.
Tomora dropped low, ducking beneath the strike, feeling the wind of it rush over his head. He sprang upward immediately, back flipping over Connor, water bursting from his palms in compressed jets aimed straight down.
Connor reacted on instinct.
Earth platforms burst into existence beneath his feet one after another, rough and unstable but just enough. He leapt from one to the next, narrowly avoiding the cutting streams as they tore gouges into the ground where he had been moments before.
The clearing shook.
Connor drove his fist into the earth.
A massive stone hand erupted upward in response, smashing into the ground with a force that sent a shockwave ripping through the clearing. Tomora lost his footing, thrown sideways as the ground betrayed him. He hit hard, air driven from his lungs, water scattering like broken glass.
Pain flared.
But he rolled.
Always roll.
He came up fast, already re-centering, already pulling water back to himself as if by reflex. His breathing was sharp, controlled. His stance low and balanced.
Too balanced.
The hooded figure's voice echoed faintly in his memory, lazy and amused.
Again. Faster. You think in straight lines. Stop that.
Tomora adjusted without thinking, weight shifting, feet angling slightly outward. His posture changed—subtle, but lethal.
They locked eyes.
Connor's chest rose and fell heavily. Dust streaked his face. Blood marked the corner of his mouth. The ground beneath him pulsed faintly, still answering his presence.
"You're strong… but you don't understand. Fighting a fool is a waste of time."
The words weren't shouted. They didn't need to be.
Connor raised his arm.
The earth screamed.
Boulders tore themselves free from the ground, jagged spikes burst upward, fissures split the clearing wide open. The forest groaned as roots snapped and soil collapsed inward. It was chaos—raw, overwhelming power unleashed without restraint.
Tomora didn't retreat.
His eyes burned bright blue.
Water surged from every direction—stream, moisture, air—spiraling into a massive vortex around him. It spun faster and faster, tightening, screaming as it met the oncoming avalanche of stone.
The collision was deafening.
Water and earth crashed together in a violent explosion that sent shockwaves tearing through the clearing. Trees bent. Leaves were ripped free. The ground buckled under the force.
When the dust finally settled, the world felt quieter—like it was holding its breath.
Both of them still stood.
Bruised. Cut. Breathing hard.
Connor stepped back first, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, staring at the blood there as if surprised it existed at all.
"I'm done wasting time."
The words landed heavier than any blow.
Around them, the clearing lay scarred and broken. And somewhere deep in Tomora's chest, beneath the adrenaline and the echoes of borrowed lessons, something shifted—something dangerous waking up, smiling like a hooded ghost in his memory.