Gina's POV
Nathan followed behind me in hurried steps as I waded through the morning mist on the path up to the shrine. This time, he stayed quiet.
His muscles shivered with every step, and his eyes darted through the vegetation as if he were expecting some kind of ambush.
His Curse Energy control, however, was the most egregious sign of his fear.
"You need to relax before you give yourself a heart attack," I said, "or pick up even worse habits. You're leaking Curse Energy with every breath. Your control is barely better than a Third-Grade Sorcerer."
My words had the opposite effect, making him even more tense, which was not my goal, so I stopped walking and simply stared at him.
"Take your time," I said. "We're in no hurry."
He stared at me, furious that I was ordering him around yet again, but then he got over himself and breathed. Bit by bit, his Curse Energy spread evenly through him and equalized, his control rapidly approaching that of a competent Second-Grade.
I sniffed. His—our—meta ability was truly unfair.
"I'm not sure I can do what you're asking me to."
"Give it time. You'll find your courage," I said. Of course, it did help that the alternative was literal death.
He swallowed. "Don't you ever get—"
"Terrified?" I finished for him.
I looked back up the path. "It's okay to be afraid. It's just a question of what you decide to do with that fear."
His lips twisted. "Why pick an abandoned shrine of all places to fight?"
"Nostalgia," I said.
He stared, waiting for more, but I didn't elaborate.
"If all goes well, you won't have to face him," I said, "but if you have to, stay in motion constantly. It's the only way you'll survive."
He swallowed.
I continued up the path, calling back to him.
"Come on, then. It's rude to keep somebody waiting."
---
Gina's POV
I crested the last of the stone steps and found him waiting for me by the offering box, hands tucked into his loose hakama. The shrine had seen better days. It was smaller than I remembered, worn down by time.
The torii gate leaned slightly, its faded red paint chipped and dulled. Moss crept up the stone pathway, and the offering box sat crooked, barely holding a few scattered coins. The main hall stood quiet and dim, its wood cracked and sun-bleached. To the side, the purification basin was filled with fallen leaves. The ladle was missing.
We used to live here on the weekends. Camp out on the side of the mountain. Come up here to smoke weed.
The memories came back in smells and sensations. I pushed them away. They were distractions—an easy way for George to throw the first jab before the battle even started.
"Tugging at my heartstrings to put me off my game?" I asked. "If you wanted a handicap, George, you could've just asked."
George spun around. "Remind me of the record again. Fifty to forty-two."
"Then you have nothing to worry about, brother," I said, shrugging off my jacket. I was also wearing a hakama, a compression shirt, and no shoes. I saw no point. They would just break when the fighting started.
"Do you even remember who you used to be before Artisan?" he asked.
I frowned and moved.
The air thundered in my wake. Dirt flung into the air, stone cracked, and Domain Amplification settled over me like a second skin. My fist carved through his Infinity, his technique slowly filling the empty barrier wrapped tightly around my skin.
My fist struck empty air. George appeared behind me with a flicker of cursed energy, his leg whipping toward my liver.
I twisted, reinforcing my side as I flung an elbow into his jaw, rattling him. His hit connected too, but I barely felt it as I followed after him with a hurricane of fists—straights, hooks, uppercuts, shuffle strikes, and everything in between.
All of the mirth vanished from George's face as he dodged frantically and retaliated. His fists snapped into my gut and chin, but I twisted every time, taking glancing blows at best.
He, on the other hand, was rocked each time, blood dripping from his nose by the third strike.
He vanished before the fourth, appearing above me and baling his fist. Curse Energy sank into every stone and structure, pulling it apart in a maelstrom of destruction with me at the center.
I triggered my technique, activating the reversal.
Black Hole.
The matter condensed, yanked from his control, and straight into the singularity in front of me. My brother, predictably, teleported into my guard and swung, blue coating his fist, but I had already woven the hand signs, activating my Domain Expansion.
Heart of the Dying Star.
Curse Energy poured out of me as a barrier extended, and my technique overwrote reality. We were transported into the vast emptiness of space. Astral bodies spread across the void, and we were bathed in the cloying heat of a dying star hanging overhead.
Domain Expansion: Infinite Void.
"A domain clash, really?" George scoffed, his finger twisting in the telltale sign of his own domain. "I thought you said you wanted to win."
A swirling patch of monochrome erupted from his body and aggressively fought my influence. My domain shrank precariously, compressing to a quarter of its original size, then clawing back toward half.
"Who said I won't!"
My Black Hole unravelled under the mounting pressure. I ground my teeth and pushed back harder. His domain softened and hardened at intervals, shifting unpredictably to bait mistakes, while I did the opposite—stabilizing mine, reinforcing it evenly, slowly trying to overwhelm him with consistency and time.
We held our domains for nearly five minutes, wearing ourselves down to nothing. Every time I thought I had nothing left to give, I dug deeper and found new reserves of mental strength.
Every second of it was grueling, which was why George did not hesitate when he finally overtook me and won the clash.
I found myself in a monochrome expanse, my starry domain snuffed out. Vague shapes twisted along the horizon, and with a flick of George's finger, everything blurred and surged forward at impossible speed. Images slammed into my mind again and again until they blended into something unrecognizable.
Words, objects, and meaning itself stretched and compressed into a slurry that shattered my thoughts and locked my body in place.
George stumbled forward with a bright smile, while Nathan burst from the brush and put himself between us.
That idiot. He was supposed to wait.
Nathan was breathing heavily, fists clenched, his Curse Energy control worse than ever, but he stood ready.
He blurred forward, throwing a telegraphed straight. George sighed, his leg snapping up and catching Nathan in the jaw with his heel.
All of Nathan's momentum vanished. He went airborne, boneless. George caught him mid-fall, slammed him into the ground, and shattered his spine with a follow-up punch.
"Sorry about the apprentice," he muttered. "But I'm sure even he will thank me when this is over."
George approached slowly and pulled a talisman from his hakama pocket. Strange symbols covered it, a mix of Japanese esoteric script and European markings.
Where did he get this?
Only one name came to mind. Constantine.
"It's time you stopped being a puppet."
My eyes widened.
Was he trying to free me? I'd thought he'd abandoned me. I—
"Duck!" I screamed as my fist shot forward.
George tried, but he was too late. I caught him square in the jaw, and the air split as black lightning crawled across my arm and his face. He was sent flying into the woods.
Trees snapped. Brush tore apart. A jagged boulder shattered as he crashed through it.
I looked down at my hand in horror.
After the incident in New York, Artisan had made changes to her sorcerers and forced tighter vows. One of them restricted us from disobeying an order directly.
And my orders had changed after I'd recounted my dinner conversation to Artisan over the phone.
My mission was no longer to talk to my brother and bring him home.
Artisan wanted me to win this fight by any means necessary.
It was why I had baited him into the domain clash. Why I let him believe Infinite Void was doing more than it was.
My meta-gene all but guaranteed that I would recover faster than maybe two other sorcerers alive—Julius Spencer and Artisan herself.
And with his technique burned out, George stood no chance against me.
For the first time in my life, I wished my brother would beat me.
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