The air in the park thickened, heavy as storm clouds. Shaun stepped forward, fists clenched, sparks crawling across his knuckles. The broken smile on Shaumin's face only sharpened.
"Hand it over," Shaun growled, lightning flickering in his eyes. "That bottle belongs to Sabastian."
Shaumin twirled the perfume bottle lazily between his fingers, his black eyes glinting with disdain. "Why bother, Thunderhawk? A commoner clutching something so fine is laughable. It belongs in noble hands—or shattered beneath my feet."
Sabastian staggered forward. "N-no! Please—"
Shaun raised an arm in front of him, shielding him. His voice cracked like thunder. "Stay back, Sabastian. I'll handle this."
Natasha's heart clenched as she watched his back. His stance wasn't just defiant—it was protective, burning with a determination that shook her.
Shaumin's grin widened. He tucked the bottle into his sash, hands lifting as wind began to coil around his arms. "So, you want to finish what we started yesterday? Fine. But don't cry when you're broken this time."
Shaun's fists sparked, arcs of lightning dancing across his forearms. "I won't break. Not while Sabastian's pride is at stake."
The ground quivered. For a heartbeat, the park held its breath. Then—
"Nuzzle!" Shaun lunged first, lightning bursting from his shoulders as his body flashed forward in a shocking dash. The sudden burst rattled the lanterns, crackling arcs leaving scorch marks in the dirt.
Shaumin didn't flinch. His palm shot forward, air compressing into a glowing sphere. "Aero Sphere!" The ball of condensed wind blasted out, colliding with Shaun mid-charge.
The impact ripped across the park—dust and sparks exploding outward. Shaun slid back, boots dragging furrows into the ground—but his grin widened.
"That all you've got?" Lightning surged across his arms. He closed the distance with fists blazing. "Thunder Fist!"
Shaumin blocked with a sharp gesture. "Gale Palm!"
Lightning crackled, wind howled—each impact echoing like drumbeats of a brewing storm. Shockwaves rattled the trees, leaves scattering into the air.
From the side-lines, Natasha clenched her fists tight, whispering, "Shaun… you can do this."
Sabastian's voice trembled beside her. "Please… please win, Shaun…"
The nobles weren't watching the fight—they were watching Shaumin's sash, where the perfume bottle glinted dangerously. Their whispers were frantic.
"Careful! If that breaks—"
"He's toying too much! What if—"
Shaumin's smirk returned. He swept his hand in a circular motion, wind sharpening into a coiling twister. His palm thrust outward, lips moving in a rapid chant that bent the air itself.
"Tempest Fang!"
The slicing gale ripped forward like a predator's claw, tearing grooves into the earth as it barrelled toward Shaun.
Shaun's boots dug in, sparks racing down his arms. His lips murmured the syllables of an ancient thunder incantation, each word stoking the storm within. Electricity gathered at his fingertips, flaring brighter with every heartbeat.
"Lightning Arts — Volt Serpent Strike!" he shouted, thrusting both hands forward.
Bolts shot outward in a blazing arc—spears of white-gold thunder that hissed and crackled as they cut through the night.
The two forces slammed together—lightning and gale, spell against spell. The air screamed as currents clashed, twisting trees and rattling lanterns. Dust and sparks exploded skyward, illuminating the park as though it were midday.
Shaun and Shaumin both gritted their teeth, pouring their will into their spells. Lightning clawed against the spiralling gale, while the twister shredded and gnawed at the crackling bolts.
From the side-lines, Natasha's breath caught. She could hear both of them chanting beneath the roar—Shaun's voice raw with defiance, Shaumin's smooth with ruthless precision.
Sabastian whispered shakily, clutching his chest. "I've… I've never seen anything like this…"
The nobles didn't even blink at the spectacle. Their eyes stayed locked on the perfume bottle at Shaumin's sash. The park groaned under the clash—until the magic reached its breaking point.
**********
The battle raged on—fists and spells colliding in a furious rhythm. Shaumin's Gale Palm met Shaun's Thunder Fist, shockwaves rattling the lanterns hanging from the trees. Sparks and wind burst outward, forcing Sabastian to shield his face.
Shaun ducked under a sweeping strike, elbow slamming toward Shaumin's ribs—but Shaumin twisted aside with dancer's grace.
His hand darted toward Shaun's shoulder, only for Shaun's fist to crackle and smash into the ground instead. The cobblestones split with the impact, sending a tremor up Shaumin's arm.
Shaun gritted his teeth, lightning crawling across his arms. He surged forward again, not just with magic but with the instincts of a fighter—elbows, knees, and fists striking between chants. Shaumin matched him blow for blow, movements fluid, almost like dancing wind given human form.
Their battle wasn't just magecraft anymore—it was a duel of bodies and wills. But in the frenzy, something slipped loose. The perfume bottle.
Shaumin had been clutching it arrogantly, toying with it even mid-fight. Shaun's strike slammed against his guard—the impact jolting through his arm—and the bottle tumbled from his grasp.
"—No!" Jasper shouted, reaching for it, but too far.
CRASH!
Glass shattered against the cobblestones. A cloud of green stench erupted. For a moment, there was silence. A faint mist curled up from the shards, but no one was close enough to smell it—yet the nobles' faces drained of colour. Blaise gagged violently. Jasper recoiled, sleeve pressed to his nose.
"Gods—it reeks!"
"Not good—!" Cedric wheezed, panic seizing his face.
Albus's eyes widened in horror. "We're finished!"
Without a word, the four nobles exchanged panicked looks—then bolted, fleeing the park as though death itself had broken free. Natasha's brows furrowed as she caught sight of them running. Why run over a broken perfume bottle?
She sprinted toward the shattered glass, crouching low as her sharp eyes scanned the oily residue pooling in the cracks. Her nose caught it first—an acrid, putrid stench. She recoiled, covering her mouth. This isn't perfume… it smells like rotting fish!
Her heart raced. So that's why they ran. This wasn't a gift—it was a trap.
She pulled a small glass vial from her pouch, carefully using a cloth to scoop a few shards inside, sealing it tight. The smell dulled instantly. I'll find out the truth later.
Meanwhile, the fight raged on. Shaun's fists crackled with lightning, weaving between quick jabs and kicks. Shaumin countered with wind-imbued strikes, each palm lashing like a blade of air.
Their movements blurred, spells clashing with thunderous force. Both staggered back, sweat dripping, yet their eyes burned with determination. Shaumin wiped blood from his lip, a fierce grin tugging at his mouth.
"Not bad. You've improved since yesterday, Thunderhawk."
Shaun's chest heaved, but his smirk carried exhilaration. "Same to you, Shaumin. But I'm not losing."
Shaumin smirked. "Good. Then don't hold back."
Both began to chant again, voices low but burning with resolve. Magic flared—the air warping, the ground quaking beneath their power.
"Tempest Fang—Full Power!"
"Lightning Arts — Volt Serpent Strike—Full Power!"
The two spells collided mid-air—cyclone versus lightning. Sparks and winds lashed outward, scorching trees and tearing at the earth.
For long seconds, neither spell gave way. The collision tore the night apart, lanterns snapping, branches splintering, ground shattering under the shockwave.
"Rrraaaghhh!" Shaun roared, forcing more energy into his strike.
Shaumin's voice cut through the gale. "I won't lose either!"
Their magic surged—then overloaded. A deafening blast ripped through the park, thunder and storm exploding in a shockwave that flattened grass and shattered lanterns.
When the smoke cleared, both Shaun and Shaumin lay unconscious. Natasha rushed to Shaun's side, heart racing. Her hand tightened around the sealed vial in her pocket.
Sabastian's knees buckled as he took in the shattered park. His chest heaved. "This… this is my fault," he whispered. His hand lifted halfway toward Shaun—but froze. "If it weren't for me, Shaun wouldn't have…"
He staggered, frozen by guilt. The fight was over—but the truth behind that broken bottle had only begun to surface.
**********
The sharp scent of crushed herbs filled the marketplace infirmary. Lanterns cast a soft glow across rows of neatly lined beds. Outside, faint sounds of the busy town drifted in, but inside all was hushed, heavy with tension.
Shaun lay back against his cot, bandages wrapped across his chest and arms. His body ached as though every bone had been hammered, yet the faint crackle of fading thunder lingered in his veins.
At his bedside, Natasha sat quietly, a damp cloth in hand as she gently dabbed the sweat from his brow. Across the room, Sabastian hunched on a stool, guilt heavy on his face.
On the opposite bed, Shaumin rested with one arm slung over his eyes. His clothes were torn, knuckles raw—but the faint smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed stubborn pride.
The silence stretched until Shaun spoke, voice hoarse but steady.
"…You're strong. Stronger than I expected."
Shaumin lowered his arm slightly, meeting his gaze. "Hmph. And you're reckless. But I'll admit—you've improved."
Their words weren't warm, but carried respect—the mutual acknowledgment of two who had tested each other's limits.
I couldn't let Sabastian be humiliated again… Shaun clenched his fists.
If only they understood why I did it… Shaumin's jaw tightened.
**********