Kyon's First Person Point Of View.

  Lawrence staggered again. Blood this time. A dark string trailed from his lip to the polished floor.

  I almost missed it. It happened so fast I had to rewind my vision in my mind, like scrubbing Echo Flux playback. He didn’t get hit. I swear to god—Conrad didn’t even touch him. Still, the damage was there.

  He shook it off, barely, but I saw that slight hitch in his step. Something was wrong.

  They’d been dancing around each other for minutes now, both treating the fight like a rhythm game—strike, vanish, reposition. Always staying in motion. No one getting touched. But that part was over. Something had shifted. Conrad wasn’t just throwing strikes anymore. He was looking for something. Testing. Probing.

  And Lawrence… Lawrence was leaking.

  We were in the dining area now. Long wood table. Chairs knocked over and split. A cabinet behind them cracked open, fancy plates and empty glass decanters threatening to shatter with every impact tremor. The room wasn’t designed for combat—but they were using it. Every surface. Every object. Every open inch of space.

  Lawrence had his Arkamon Shield up. I could see it—barely. That thing doesn’t show itself unless it’s struck, but the crackle it let out when Conrad’s rod came too close lit up the air like black-red lightning. Always silent at first. Then it snaps back.

  It’s invincible. At least, that’s what I always thought. Nothing gets past it. Not steel. Not fire. Not bullets. If you hit it hard, it punishes you harder. I’ve seen it burn through vamps like nothing. And Conrad? He should’ve been cooked by now.

  But somehow, he wasn’t.

  He was moving differently. That much I knew. Not just fast—he was flowing. Gliding just out of reach. Sometimes, when he vanished from one end of the room and reappeared at the other, I’d catch it—an echo of motion in the air, like a wave pushing through space. The glass behind him wobbled. Plates in the cabinet rattled without being touched. Like something passed through everything, not just the floor.

  I don’t know what it was.

  But it was real.

  Lawrence tightened his stance. His shield shimmered once when the rod passed close again, and the crackle of that black-reddish lightning lashed out. Conrad ducked under it, barely missing the edge of the table. I couldn’t tell if he was baiting Lawrence or just refusing to slow down. Either way, it was working.

  He hadn’t taken a hit. Not one. And now Lawrence was bleeding.

  Lawrence adjusted. His footwork changed, and his Flux started hardening along his limbs. The coppery sheen I recognized—it crawled up his forearms and elbows, and he extended his reach, trying to use his size to push Conrad back. But the shield was still flickering around him. He hadn’t turned it off.

  He was trying to do both.

  And Conrad wouldn’t let him.

  The rod came up again, whistling past Lawrence’s shoulder—but not connecting. Just brushing the space. Lawrence flinched like he’d been grazed. Another step back. Another shift.

  That was the third time.

  I saw it—right after Conrad passed behind him, the back wall flexed like something had hit it. The lamp fixture above shook slightly. No explosion. No blast. Just pressure.

  I frowned.

  That wasn’t normal.

  Lawrence growled and spun, bringing a long hook forward with his hardened forearm. It missed. Conrad was gone already, skimming the edge of the room near the cabinets. He didn’t stop moving. Didn’t give Lawrence time to reset.

  A flicker of motion—he was back inside Lawrence’s range. This time close. Too close.

  The rod swung—but not at Lawrence.

  It struck the floorboards beside him.

  Crack.

  A loud one. Like someone had snapped a bat in half.

  Lawrence’s body jerked backward—not from the rod, but something else. A wave. A ripple. He caught himself mid-stumble, blood trickling from his nose now.

  I didn’t understand.

  I swear, I didn’t.

  The rod didn’t touch him. And yet—he was hurt.

  Lawrence was starting to realize it too.

  He backed up toward the far end of the table, shoulder brushing against one of the heavy chairs. His breathing had changed. Slower. More deliberate. He didn’t know where it was coming from. That made two of us.

  Conrad stood at the other end, rod low in his grip, not even raised. His eyes locked on Lawrence like he was studying a fracture line. Like he was waiting for something to split.

  Then he moved.

  No warning.

  He didn’t blink from one end of the room to the other this time. He just dashed. Straight line. Pure speed. No flourish.

  Lawrence reacted late. Shield flared, and the black-reddish arcs screamed out—but Conrad was already veering away, rod dragging behind him like a tail. The arcs caught the air but missed skin.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  As he passed, the air twisted.

  I felt it.

  Like a gust, but more dense. Thicker. My suit lifted off my back and snapped back down like someone had brushed past me.

  Then Lawrence reeled.

  Another strike.

  No contact.

  Another trail of red sliding from his mouth.

  He wiped it off with the back of his hand and hissed out a laugh. Not the fun kind. The kind that says he knows he’s being played.

  The kind that comes right before a counter.

  I leaned forward, trying to keep the Echo Flux synced.

  They weren’t even talking. No trash talk. No banter.

  Just movement. Motion. Reaction.

  And something was happening behind it all that I still couldn’t explain.

  I blinked twice, rewinding the Echo Flux. The playback didn’t lie. Conrad *still* hadn’t landed a direct hit. But Lawrence was bleeding again.

  “What the hell?” I whispered, voice shaky. “But how does he get past the Arkamon Shield that can repel any attack... and if he touches it, he burns?”

  The words were barely out before someone answered me.

  “He doesn’t need to touch it.”

  I turned. Kadir had been standing beside me the whole time, arms crossed, unmoved by the chaos unraveling in front of us. The Flux Grandmaster’s eyes remained locked on the battle, but I could feel the weight behind his voice now—like he’d seen this exact kind of thing before. Maybe too many times.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, still watching as Conrad blurred left, disappeared, and appeared again to Lawrence’s right, causing another crackle from the shield without contact.

  Kadir tilted his head slightly, his tone flat but sharp. “You think the Arkamon Shield is invincible because you’re looking at it with a child’s eyes. But Conrad isn’t fighting the shield. He’s fighting the man behind it.”

  Another *snap*. Lawrence flinched again, muscles seizing for half a second. A line of red trickled from the edge of his jaw. He swung too slow—Conrad was already gone.

  Kadir continued. “Flux Shields are defensive. They repel threats they register as force. But the human body… it’s not steel. It’s not a block of matter. It’s made of tissue. Water. Cells. Do you know what happens to water under sudden kinetic pressure?”

  I shook my head, watching the plate on the far end of the dining table tremble as Conrad flickered past it.

  “It ripples,” Kadir said simply. “Or it bursts.”

  I blinked. “So… he’s not hitting him. He’s—”

  “—shaking him,” Kadir finished. “At a speed and precision only a veteran of a thousand Flux battles could achieve. That’s what you’re seeing.”

  The room warped again, just slightly. Like a mirage had passed over it. Lawrence tried to keep his distance, spinning toward the open side of the table, away from the broken chairs. He looked tired now. Still deadly, still sharp—but not untouched. Not anymore.

  “He’s generating phantom shockwaves,” Kadir said. “Kinetic disturbances that don’t strike the shield directly, but instead rattle the body within. Even a Flux User can’t keep every organ hardened. Not all at once.”

  “Why now?” I asked. “Why didn’t he use this earlier?”

  Kadir gave the faintest hint of a smirk. “Because it’s not a move you *start* with. It’s a move you *earn*. Conrad has been testing Lawrence’s rhythm, his reaction time, his positioning. He forced him into using the shield, then forced him into dropping it. Then forced him into close-quarters. All while showing just enough speed to bait out full defense. Now? He’s using that defense *against* him.”

  “Even though the Arkamon Shield is active?” I asked again, still baffled. “He’s still hurting him?”

  “Yes,” Kadir said. “Because the shield reacts to impact. But Conrad is no longer impacting—it’s the 'air' that hits. The displacement from his speed, the calculated path of his momentum, the ripple of force through the environment. Lawrence’s body is being shaken at a frequency he can’t fully harden against.”

  Another streak—this time Conrad didn’t even swing. He just ran past, rod trailing behind him like it was dragging echoes. The cabinet glass fractured on its own, a thin spiderweb cracking through it.

  Lawrence winced.

  Still not touched.

  “And the Flux?” I asked. “Lawrence still has his—shouldn’t that buffer it?”

  Kadir shook his head. “Flux is meant to block, absorb, or repel direct attacks. It doesn’t help when the force is internal. Think about it. A body can wear armor. But what if the enemy bypasses the armor and shakes your insides instead? Flux doesn’t know what to block when the threat 'never touches you.'”

  The implications chilled me.

  “That’s why he’s been using the rod,” I said. “To control range. To keep Lawrence moving.”

  “And to measure resistance,” Kadir added. “It’s a conductor. Every time he strikes close, he’s gauging how much Lawrence can take—how much the shield can absorb before the stress transmits inward. And once he has that number…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

  Another pass—this one faster than the last. Lawrence tried to pivot, but his knee gave slightly. Conrad curved mid-stride and reappeared behind him, rod whipping down—'not' at Lawrence, but at the floor behind his heels.

  Boom.

  The dining room lit up briefly—not from light, but from the sudden shift of gravity in my gut. A shockwave rippled underfoot. Chairs flung backward. Curtains near the window snapped off their rings. Lawrence doubled over, coughing hard.

  Blood this time.

  Not a trickle. Not a smear.

  A 'spatter'.

  He looked up, face pale. The Arkamon Shield sparked, flickered—then blinked out entirely for a half second.

  Conrad didn’t take the opening.

  He waited.

  Breathing slowly.

  Rod resting again at his side.

  He wasn’t rushing the finish. He wasn’t even chasing.

  He was watching.

  Waiting for Lawrence to stand.

  Kadir’s eyes never left the fight. “It’s a terrifying style,” he said. “No wasted motion. No bravado. No power for power’s sake. Just movement, experience, and a fundamental understanding of what makes a human body break apart under pressure.”

  “Is this what they’ve been developing?” I asked, unable to keep my voice level. “All these centuries they’ve been fighting us?”

  Kadir nodded once.

  “Mortal enemies. And now they’ve built the one strategy that Flux can’t fully defend against. Not with shields. Not with hardening. Not with numbers. Conrad has turned speed into a scalpel.”

  I didn’t respond.

  Because across the room, Lawrence rose again, steadying himself against the shattered table. He didn’t speak, but I could see the change in his stance. The copper hardening surged down both arms. The shield wasn’t flickering now—it was gone.

  He wasn’t going to rely on it anymore.

  He was going to fight back.

  And Conrad?

  He just smiled. Not wide. Not arrogant.

  But ready.

  The space between them was small now. Just enough room for one more pass.

  Meanwhile, Harvey wasn’t waiting around either. The moment he saw Lawrence faltering, he sprang into action. His form blurred as he launched forward, his body rippling with kinetic energy. But this time, there was something different—something solid.

  Brownish-red energy swirled around Harvey’s forearms, hardening his limbs. The Arkamon hardening rushed over him like a wave, making his arms look like they were covered in molten metal. He wasn’t just using speed now; he was using force.

  Conrad couldn’t avoid that.

  Harvey threw a punch, his arm extending in a controlled strike, a full kinetic blast hammering out from his hardened fists. The force was enough to shatter the air, but Conrad sidestepped again, narrowly avoiding it—though I could tell he was starting to feel the pressure.

  The air around them crackled with tension. Harvey’s eyes burned with intensity. He wasn’t giving Conrad the luxury of distance anymore.

  But Conrad? He wasn’t slowing down. Not even for a second.

  And Elijah—still waiting, still watching. His movements were ghost-like, calculated, his red eyes studying every twist, every flicker of energy. He hadn’t moved yet, but the aura around him was shifting. It felt like the calm before a storm.

  Kadir narrowed his eyes.

  “Now it gets dangerous.”