I put my distaste for future-me's methods aside for the moment and took account of the situation. After the stunt I just pulled, the wards surrounding the building were breaking down, which allowed the onlookers to finally evacuate. That was neat, but I wasn't exactly invested in them, so whether they ran or stayed mattered little; they'd already seen the main show, so it was fine. "How gallant! Such self-sacrifice!" future-me opened the third phase of the battle by heckling me a bit, as is tradition in these kinds of fights. "So… stupid. Polemos, old friend. You've still got more of the kid in you than you're willing to admit, haven't you?" I responded with a glare and a curt, "Shut up," followed by a red-tinted spit to the side. The fake blood was tasteless, but it still felt gross in my mouth, and this also signalled that I was still injured to the onlookers. That, at this stage, meant Crowy, the Nergal patriarch, Tracas, and Corbeau. The latter three were still in the back, waiting to see the outcome of the battle before making their move. They would most likely stay out of this until the very last moment, only to swoop in on the side of the victor to claim contribution. It was their role to play, but if this wasn't a controlled scenario and I was in actual trouble here, I would've been mighty pissed at them by this point. Future-me was still in mint condition, as expected, while Crowy was grimacing hard at me. It was fury and pain in equal measure; his wings might've only manifested during his transformation, but they were still a part of his body, so his injury must've hurt quite a bit. Last, but certainly not least, I was fine. While that big cross-shaped sword-beam looked overwhelming, it didn't take much out of me, because it only used up the mana I pre-dumped into Cal before coming here. He was naturally less than enthused about being used as a glorified battery, but hey, we all had our roles to play tonight. I didn't like to be on the losing end either, but what can you do? The thespian arts sometimes required sacrifices. Not too much though; despite what the onlookers must've thought, I was completely hale and hearty. Or rather, maybe a bit winded, because all this running and jumping and sword-swinging wasn't a leisurely walk in the park, but I was uninjured at the very least. I was willing to take a few scrapes and bruises in the name of making things more authentic, but my kayfabe had its limits, and if I went home all mangled and battered, the girls would've killed me. It was best to do everything in moderation. "On this day, one of us isn't leaving this place on his own two feet," I declared while pointing Cal at future-me, and he responded with a masterfully grating cackle. "Kahaha! You have nooo idea how right you are, my dear Polemos!" He then snorted and glanced at the injured head of House Inanna. "I'll take it from here. Go and rest a bit." "But my Emperor…!" Crowy started to object and tried to step up, but when he tried to flex his wings, it drew a pained hiss from him and he reeled back. Future-me ignored him and lightly tugged on the ends of his sleeves, channelling the gentlemanly elegance of a certain incognito dragon just about to step up to the bowling lane. We let the moment linger for dramatic effect, and then he extended a hand towards me and made a beckoning gesture. This time, we didn't need any syncing clues. I flourished my weapons, still engaged in a quiet but insistent argument about naming conventions (which I ignored with the staunch indifference of a celebrity fakir handing out autographs on a nail bed) and took up an aggressive stance, both blades pointed towards my opponent. This kind of standoff demanded another dramatic beat, so waited for a couple of breaths before planting my feet and rushing forth in earnest. Honestly speaking, what we were doing here was mostly superfluous. As far as our goals were concerned, we achieved everything already. Heck, even more than planned, really. While musing so, I also made sure to pay attention to our exchanges, and I swung my blades in a very deliberate rhythm. It helped to keep us in sync, especially when we moved onto the main point of this phase: mobility. Per that, we only exchanged a few blows while standing still before we began to move, weaving left and right amidst the debris and Crowy's magic projectiles still embedded in the floor. Why did we do that? Speaking in simple terms, while we needed to make this scene spectacular, it was also necessary to keep things grounded. Looking back on it, it was clear that the power ceiling of this scenario was always rather high. Even at the very beginning, we had stuff like Elly's dragon-fire beam attack, or Snowy freezing an entire Purple Zone the size of the school campus in a matter of seconds. Since then, everyone had gotten a little stronger, and battles started to involve way more flashy super-moves. That was, in a way, the natural progression of a battle shounen power scaling system. Things would be more tactical in the beginning, relying on positioning, mind games, and clever use of one's limited set of abilities and combat tricks. Then, as the story and the characters progressed over time, they would steadily develop their own unique powers and signature moves. That was usually where the combat in these kinds of stories tended to peak. It was a balancing act after this point, where the goal was to keep everything in the sweet spot for as long as possible while also ramping up the power-levels and the tension at the same time. In case the balance slipped, it would often lead to the raw strength and power of the characters getting so over-blown that fights would get boiled down to a numbers game, and then gimmicks would get introduced to somehow side-step the question of 'Both of these people can blow up planets with their punches, where do we go from there?'. The answer was conceptual powers, like 'only people born on a Sunday can hurt me', or 'I can steal half the power of anyone I touch for three seconds'. Stuff that the protagonists would need to figure out mid-fight and cleverly circumvent using their own wits and unique skills instead of just punching the problem away. But then if those kinds of powers were left to their own devices for too long, you would end up with more and more specific powers with more and more specific counters. Things like the villain yelling, 'I'm invincible, because I'm a god!', and then some character suddenly revealing, 'What a coincidence! I have a power that's completely useless anywhere else but it can one-hit-kill any god!'. Asinine stuff like that. Anyhow, the point was that we weren't there yet, but with all the flying people and grand magics and (especially) my abilities to teleport and prevent teleporting, we were straddling the power-scaling line a bit too hard these days. In light of this, the goal of our recent exchanges (including this one) was to ensure that the battles of the scenario would not get too out of hand. While fully grounding things was impossible at this point, we at least tried to make mobility, positioning, and surprise attacks more important than who could fire the biggest magic beam, and keep super-moves like the sword-beams reserved for finishing blows and last-ditch efforts only. That's the reason why we were exchanging blows , and we almost completely circled the spacious hall in the process by this point. We were using the environment and the dozens of black lances sticking out of the floor at odd angles to enact a sort of cat-and-mouse game, where I was aggressively chasing after future-me while he would retreat and take potshots at me from time to time. Of course, the idea of someone rushing in to punch someone armed with two swords was a bit silly, but then again, magic gave us a lot of Watsonian mileage to hand-wave away the absurdity. It wasn't even all that taxing, as it felt like one of our rehearsal sessions back at the extra-secret hideout, and maybe because of that, I had the mental leeway to listen in to what the still remaining onlookers had to say. "Why is the Emperor running away?" a female voice asked from the direction of the group still huddled in the corner of the hall. I couldn't hear the first half of the response, because the clash of Cal meeting future-me's glove drowned out all other sounds, but the second half was, "… already on his last legs. He's using his mobility to his advantage." "I don't follow…" said another voice, but then we got a bit too far, and by the time we returned within earshot, someone else was yelling, "… internal injuries! The Celestial is done for!" Oh. Oh no. They were doing it. They were actually doing the 'peanut gallery commentates on the battle' trope. Shame on you, Simulacrum. Or, wait. I was kind expecting something to happen, and because I wasn't in my meditative zen-zone, my expectations had a stronger effect on the narrative, so… did I cause this to happen? If so, then shame on me, I supposed. Shaking my head, I was just about to message future-me about whether or not we should start the final clash. Originally the plan was to use the mana stocked up in Cal and the big double sword-beam during the climax of our duel, but I naturally had a contingency plan ready in case that would be infeasible, future-me and his stupid future-knowledge be damned, so I wasn't too worried. I never got around to sending that message. "Stop right this instant!" a familiar voice boomed just as I was about to leap after a retreating future-me, and I nearly stumbled when I looked over and realized what he was doing. "L-Lord Inanna, this wasn't what we—!" "Silence, cur!" Crowy snapped at the black-winged man he was holding up in the air by the throat, his eyes and hair flaring bright in tune with his shouts. "You claim fealty, yet where were you all this time? Hiding in the back with your tail tucked between your legs! If you are unwilling to serve, I shall make use of you in other ways!" "Stop!" Corbeau cried out with unexpected sincerity, but when Crowy didn't even acknowledge her presence, she turned to the Nergal patriarch for support. "My Lord! Do something!" Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Belette, standing just a couple of steps to the side, didn't move a single finger. He just stood there, back straight and trying to look as composed and in control as he could. Unfortunately for him, he could hardly measure up to the pressure of Crowy's roiling and seething violet aura, but at least he was able to assert his presence, if nothing else. Seeing that he couldn't expect any help from him, Tracas grabbed onto his captor's forearm and yelled, "Remember our deal!" "A deal made with fence-sitters and two-faced opportunists is as easy to bend as their spines," he responded with a haughty scoff and a low snarl. "Pray that I don't bend it any further." "I… did everything I…" The Ashur noble's head was turning redder by the second as he flailed his wings and gasped for air, but Crowy paid him little heed and locked his eyes onto me. "Cease your resistance at once, or I'll snap this miserable pawn's neck in an instant." That… wasn't in the script. I glanced at future-me for his take on the situation, but he looked completely unfazed by this development. Why wasn't I surprised? Instead of an answer, all I got was an ambivalent shrug, so I turned back to the trio and uttered a flat, "You're bluffing." "Am I?" Crowy responded with a chilling glare and tightened his grip, causing Tracas to flail even harder. "He holds no value for me anymore, but what about you? Are you willing to throw him away?" I had no idea why he picked Tracas of all people to hold over my head like that. It wasn't like I knew the man well, or even liked him. He was a terrible hostage, but… "{Heads up!}" Get full chapters from NoveI-Fire.ɴet The sudden message coming my way startled me for a second, but then I saw future-me closing in on me from the left. I reflexively raised Teeny to defend my side, but he effortlessly brushed the blade aside and crouched low. I wasn't one hundred percent clear about what happened next, but I had seen him do this move before, so I figured that he did a half-turn and then kicked up. It was a horrifically awkward attack more befitting of some 2D fighting game than real combat, but I was caught off-guard, so it still hit me squarely in the chest. Next thing I knew, I was flying through the air on a beautiful, parabolic arc, right until I connected with the far wall that was, incidentally, just a couple of steps away from where Crowy and his group were standing. He reflexively shielded himself with his intact wing, but he still had Tracas by the throat even after he spread it again. As for me, I was… surprisingly fine after all that. Both the kick that launched me and the wall that I hit with my back imparted only a small impact on me, to the point my Leoformer's wards didn't even activate in response. That was odd, but I had no time to ponder about it, since all eyes were on me. I had to think fast, and so I hastily put Cal and Teeny back into storage and simultaneously retrieved another dose of fake blood. I mimed trying to rise to my feet, only to stumble and clasp a hand over my mouth. I grimaced hard to show I was trying to hold back something, and then a second later I bit down on the packet in my mouth and 'coughed up' a 'mouthful' of 'blood'. Was I a wuxia protagonist yet? Jokes aside, I figured that this was enough to signal that I was out of the fight, but future-me decided to go the extra mile and Phased next to me, grabbed my head from behind, and pushed me down to the ground. For the briefest of moments, I was startled and a bit afraid that he would smash my face into the floor, but he stopped in time and only forced me to stay motionless. "Aaand touchdown!" he exclaimed from the top of his lungs, accentuated by a hearty laugh. "Hah! Great show, Crowy!" "Thank you, my Emperor," he responded softly, yet there was a slight edge to his voice, and it turned into outright malice when he looked me in the eye. "May I?" Future-me feigned ignorance, so Crowy outright stated, "I have a debt to repay to this man, so if you allow me, I would like to start right away." "Tut-tut, Crowy." My future self wagged his finger at him and reaffirmed his grip on the back of my head. "Don't you already have your hands full?" "Oh, this?" He snarled at the winged abyssal still held in his grasp. "He no longer interests me." For a moment I thought he meant he was going to release him… but instead he squeezed harder. Tracas let out a stifled scream that was cut off when his windpipe was fully constricted, and it sent shivers down my spine. Bloody hell! He was actually going to kill him. Right here in front of my eyes. Fuck that! "{Blan B, Plan B!}" I messaged frantically and jumped to my feet. Or at least that's what I wanted to do, but my legs refused to budge. "Lord Inanna! Stop!" Corbeau cried out, yet didn't leave the Nergal patriarch's side. I tried to push myself off the ground, but my arms also didn't move. It felt like my whole body was embedded in solid concrete, and even breathing was getting harder. However, before I could figure out what the hell was going on, there was a crunching noise, then a snap, and a lifeless body fell to the ground without any pomp or ceremony. There was no slow motion. No drawn-out 'Nooo!' from the back. No orchestral sting. A life was just snuffed out. Gone, like a candle flame in the wind. And I just watched it without being able to move a muscle. "Hey, Crowy!" Future-me snapped at the horned Abyssal and shook his head. "What did I tell you about breaking your toys? Sheesh. This is why I can't take you anywhere!" He rolled his eyes and then roughly pulled my head up by my hair. "Sorry, but I can't let you play with Polemos yet. You see, I also have many things to discuss with him, and I call dibs." He paused and made a sweeping gesture at Belette Nergal and the ruined reception hall. "Clean up this mess. We'll talk later." I felt the strange sensation of his phantom limbs wrapping around me, and a blink later, we reappeared inside a familiar scenery. Stone walls, rusty iron bars, and musty, stagnant air. I didn't care about any of those, as I shifted on the ground and kicked out without holding back, sending future me flying across the cell and breaking the frontal wards of his outfit, as well as the ones on his back when he hit the barred door and nearly knocked it off its hinges. "What the fuck was that!?" I roared in hollow fury as I staggered to my feet. "You reversed the physical enhancements on my gear!" "Yeah, I did…" His voice was a bit strained and he remained sitting at the base of the door. "Ow. I know I deserved this, but…" "Fuck yes, you deserved it, you bloody bastard!" My bellows echoed in the prison, and after a while, they were followed by a mousy voice. "Uncle Antonio? Is that Uncle Polemos? Are you fighting?" "Don't worry, Ollie," future-me called over his shoulder, towards the other end of the cell block. "It's nothing serious. Go back to sleep." "Nothing serious my ass," I hissed at him, though this time I tried to moderate my volume. "You stopped me and let him die." He gave me a flat stare through the mask. We maintained eye contact like that for a few seconds, but then he exhaled a tired breath and grabbed one of the bars for support. Once he pulled himself to his feet, he took off his mask and used it to vaguely gesture towards the bed in the back. "Sit down. There's some meta-stuff we need to discuss." He let his arm down and amended, "Fair warning: you're going to hate it." For once, I had no trouble believing his words.