Grub moved first.
The moment Tre'yon settled back into his stance, Grub forced the weight in his chest to surge upward, letting that cold, suffocating pressure spill into his legs as his muscles tightened and coiled with unnatural force. It wasn't clean, and it wasn't stable—the flow was rough and jagged, but it responded all the same. His calves tensed, his thighs locked, and then he pushed off the ground.
The dirt beneath his feet cracked slightly and his body shot forward.
The air itself seemed to split around him as he closed the distance in a blink, his cloak snapping behind him from the sudden acceleration. The world narrowed to a single point—Tre'yon's center—and for a fraction of a second, everything else disappeared.
Tre'yon's eyes widened. He hadn't expected that speed. Grub hit him before he could adjust.
The impact slammed into Tre'yon's torso like a collapsing wall, the force knocking the breath out of him as both of them were driven backward and then down, crashing hard into the ground. Dust erupted around them as they rolled, limbs tangling together in a violent scramble for control. Tre'yon twisted sharply, trying to shift his hips and break the momentum, but Grub forced himself forward, pressing down harder, his weight bearing into him as he shoved his knee into Tre'yon's side to pin him.
Tre'yon grunted, his claws digging into the dirt as he tried to push up, but Grub drove him back down, forcing his balance off-center.
For a moment—Grub had control. So he didn't hesitate.
He lifted the morning star high above his head, both hands tightening around the handle as the weight in his chest surged again, heavier this time and much thicker, spilling down his arms as if it were alive. It coiled into the weapon, saturating it with that unseen pressure until even holding it felt different, like it was pulling downward with more force than it should.
Then he brought it down. The strike crashed into Tre'yon's face with a brutal, bone-shaking crack. The impact snapped Tre'yon's head to the side, blood bursting from his mouth as his jaw shifted under the force. The sharp and violent sound echoed across the arena and the crowd reacted instantly with a collective intake of breath.
Grub didn't stop. He ripped the weapon back up and slammed it down again, this time slightly off-center, the spikes dragging across Tre'yon's cheek before smashing into the side of his head. Blood splattered across Grub's hands, across the dirt, across Tre'yon's scales as the force drove him deeper into the ground.
Again.
The third strike came faster, heavier, the weight in Grub's chest feeding directly into it as he poured more into the motion. The morning star crashed down with a dull, crushing sound, and for a brief moment—
Tre'yon's body went slack. It looked like the battle was over. The crowd fell deafly silent.
Then—
Tre'yon's arm moved. His fist shot up into Grub's side. The impact landed hard, digging into his ribs— And then it hit again. A second impact, identical but delayed, slammed into the same spot with equal force.
Grub's body jerked from the doubled blow, the sudden shift throwing off his balance just enough for Tre'yon to twist beneath him. Tre'yon's other arm came up, shoving against Grub's shoulder as his leg drove upward, forcing space between them.
Then Tre'yon spun around and hit Grub with a kick that slammed into Grub's chest. And then it struck again.
The doubled force exploded through him, sending him flying backward as his grip broke completely. His body hit the ground and skidded, dirt scraping against his back as the air was driven out of his lungs in a sharp, painful exhale.
Grub rolled once before forcing himself up, his body already protesting, his ribs aching from the impact and the numerous amount of damage it has taken over the time since he fell..
Tre'yon rose as well. Blood dripped steadily from his nose now, running over his lips and down his chin, but his stance was still firm, still controlled. Grub steadied himself, tightening his grip on the morning star.
Tre'yon spun his spear once in a crisp, smooth motion. Then he moved.
His body darted forward, but not in a straight line. He shifted left, then right, then forward again, his steps sharp and deliberate, creating a zigzag pattern that disrupted Grub's ability to track him cleanly. The spear flicked forward in a quick jab, aimed for Grub's shoulder.
Grub reacted, stepping to the side to avoid the thrust, but Tre'yon had already closed the gap. His hand shot out as his fingers spread. His scaly hand clamped over Grub's face.
The grip was sudden and overwhelming, his claws digging slightly into the fabric of the disguise as Tre'yon lifted him clean off the ground. The strength behind it was immediate, far more than Grub expected at that moment, and before he could react, Tre'yon slammed him down.
GAH!
The impact drove Grub into the dirt with crushing force, his back hitting first as the ground seemed to ripple beneath him. Then it happened again. The second slam followed a heartbeat later, identical in motion but somehow heavier, the after-effect doubling the impact as his body was driven into the ground a second time. The force rattled through his skull, his vision flashing white for a split second as the air around him seemed to warp.
Tre'yon didn't pause. He stepped in immediately. His fists came down. The first punch slammed into Grub's face, snapping his head to the side as blood burst from his lip—Then the second hit came. With identical motion and identical force. And it inflicted an equal amount of pain on Grub. Grub felt each blow. Every single one.
Tre'yon's fists rained down in a relentless barrage, each strike landing twice, doubling the damage, doubling the pressure as Grub's body struggled to keep up. His arms came up instinctively to block, but even when he caught the first impact, the second slipped through, driving into him regardless.
Grub's flesh split and blood sprayed from each spot that was impacted..
The sound of repeated impacts echoed across the arena as the fight shifted into something raw and brutal, far removed from the structured exchanges of earlier rounds.
Then Tre'yon pulled back and jumped into the air.
Grub tried to move. He forced his hands into the ground, trying to push himself away, trying to create distance, but his limbs didn't respond the way he needed them to. The dizziness had already begun to take hold, his body lagging behind his intent as he dragged himself across the dirt.
He was much too slow.
Tre'yon came crashing down through the sky with his spear leading his fall..
Grub turned just in time, raising his morning star with both hands, bracing himself as the first impact collided against it with a sharp metallic crack. The force jolted through his arms, his grip tightening as he held the block—
Then the after effect came. The weapon was hit by the same force as if Tre'yon had performed the action again. Under the pressure the weapon could not hold and shattered.
The head split from the handle as the force broke through completely, fragments snapping away bit by bit. Before Grub could react, the spear continued forward, driving past the broken guard—
And into his gut. The sensation was immediate. The tip pierced through muscle and flesh, pushing into him as blood surged upward into his throat.
Shit….shit....shit….
Tre'yon froze as Grub gasped. Blood filled his mouth, thick and choking as it spilled past his lips and down his chin, his body locking for a brief moment as the pain tore through him.
Then Grub moved. He forced his leg forward, kicking Tre'yon away with what strength he had left, the impact catching him off guard as Tre'yon stumbled back, his grip loosening. Grub used the moment, forcing himself upright despite the spear lodged inside him, his body shaking violently as blood poured from the wound, pooling beneath his feet.
His breathing came in short, uneven bursts. But he was still standing.
Grub reached down, forcing that same dark weight into his hand, letting it flood his fingers as he grabbed the shaft of the spear. His grip tightened, his jaw clenching as he snapped it off with a sharp motion, leaving part of it embedded in his body to slow the bleeding. Pain surged through him. But he didn't stop, he just looked up and growled.
Tre'yon stepped forward, his expression shaken now, his voice breaking slightly.
"I— I didn't mean—"
Grub didn't let him finish. Even injured, even unstable, he forced himself forward again, his fist driving into Tre'yon's face with everything he had behind it. The impact snapped Tre'yon's head back as Grub followed with another strike, then another, each one fueled by the last remnants of that weight in his chest.
He didn't hold back. Not anymore.
Tre'yon staggered under the assault, his footing slipping for a moment before he pushed back, his own fists coming up again. He responded in kind, his punches landing once—Then again.
The doubled strikes crashed into Grub's body, into his ribs, his face, his chest, each impact stacking over the last as the two of them collided in a violent exchange of blows.
This battle no longer had any technique. No structure. It was pure brutal force, each hit landing for survival. Blood sprayed outward with every impact as they tore into each other, neither stepping back, neither of them giving ground as the fight devolved into something far more savage than anything the arena had seen before. The crowd had gone completely silent.
And in the middle of it—Grub forgot. The blows tore through his disguise, ripping at the layered skin and fabric as pieces began to peel away under the force of repeated impacts. Strips loosened, sections tore, the structure failing piece by piece as the fight dragged on. But Grub didn't notice. He didn't care. He just kept swinging.
As the two exchanged blow after blow Tre'yon ducked down and through a brutal uppercut.. It landed clean.
The impact lifted Grub slightly from the ground as his balance broke, his stance collapsing for just a moment— And that was enough.
Tre'yon followed it with a kick, the doubled impact slamming into Grub's side and sending him flying backward as his body crashed into the dirt, the remaining pieces of his disguise shifting and tearing further from the force. Tre'yon stepped forward, breathing heavily, and picked up a broken piece of the morning star, raising it toward Grub.
"This match is—"
He stopped. His eyes widened. The crowd gasped. The figure lying on the ground— Was not a Lacert. Not even close.
Tre'yon stared. Grub lay there, barely conscious, his breathing shallow as the world blurred around him.
What… happened?
Why did it stop?
Tre'yon stepped closer. Then he slammed the broken weapon into Grub's face.
"WHAT THE HELL—?!"
Again.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU—?!"
Again.
"WHO ARE YOU?!"