Newton saw through it. He has trained his eyes to see, even in thick darkness. But unfortunately, Gregory also saw through it.
The door shut behind them with a heavy sound that echoed longer than it should have.
Outside, the students leaned forward, watching.
Inside, there was only darkness.
It was not the kind of darkness that the eyes adjusted to quickly. It clung, heavy and deep, swallowing shapes and distance alike, turning every movement into a guess, every sound into a question.
Newton stood still, his grip tightening around what he held, his breathing shallow but controlled.
Then, a sharp metallic sound cut through the silence.
Gregory drew his sword.
The sound carried clean and clear, slicing through the darkness like a warning that did not need to be seen to be understood.
"I hope you can see me," Gregory's voice followed, calm, almost conversational, but edged with something colder. "I want you to look into my eyes while I cut your throat."
The words lingered in the air.
Newton did not answer.
He moved instead, slow at first, drawing his own sword. The blade slid free with a softer sound, less deliberate, but no less real. His fingers adjusted on the hilt, tightening slightly as he brought it into position.
He could not see Gregory.
He could hear him.
That was enough.
Or it had to be.
For a brief second, everything held.
The darkness, the silence, the distance between them. It stretched thin, like something waiting to snap.
Then it did.
Before Newton could fully bring his sword into place, before he could take another breath or shift his footing, Gregory moved.
He lunged.
Newton barely shifted in time. The rush of air from Gregory's strike brushed past him, close enough to feel, but not enough to cut. For a fraction of a second, it felt like he had escaped cleanly.
Then Gregory's leg drove hard into his ribs.
The impact stole the breath from his lungs in one violent burst, and his body folded before he could stop it. He hit the ground with a dull thud, the force of it rattling through his bones, his grip loosening for just a heartbeat before tightening again out of instinct.
Pain spread fast, sharp and deep, settling into his side like something alive.
He pushed himself up.
Not smoothly. Not quickly. But he rose anyway, forcing his legs to steady even as his ribs protested with every breath he took.
Gregory watched him, head tilting slightly, as if studying something mildly interesting.
"You are not making things easier for yourself," he said, his tone almost thoughtful. "You should be begging for a quick death, but here you are, resisting it."
He paused, then gave a small shake of his head.
"Maybe you want to suffer before you die."
The words settled into the darkness between them, quiet but heavy.
Then Gregory moved again.
This time, Newton saw it coming.
He shifted to the side, the movement tighter now, more controlled despite the pain in his ribs. Gregory's blade cut through the space he had just occupied, missing him by inches.
Newton did not hesitate.
He turned with the motion, bringing his sword around in a quick strike aimed straight at Gregory. The movement was not perfect, but it was fast enough.
Steel met steel.
The clash rang out sharply, the sound bouncing off unseen walls and folding back into itself. Gregory's blade caught Newton's, stopping it cold, and for a moment, they were locked together.
Close.
Too close.
Their swords pressed against each other, neither giving way, the strain running through Newton's arms almost immediately. His muscles tightened, then burned, the effort of holding his ground building faster than he expected.
Gregory did not seem to feel it.
Or if he did, he did not show it.
The pressure increased.
Newton's grip shifted slightly, his stance adjusting as he tried to hold the line, but the strength behind Gregory's blade was steady, unrelenting. It pushed, not in sudden bursts, but in a slow, deliberate way that forced Newton to respond or break.
His arms trembled.
Not visibly, not enough to betray him fully, but enough that he felt it.
Enough that he knew he could not stay there.
Newton pulled back suddenly, breaking the contact before his strength gave out completely. The sudden release sent him a step backward, his footing catching just in time to keep him upright.
He moved immediately.
Not away. Not entirely.
Just enough to create space.
But Gregory did not let him have it.
He lunged again, faster this time, closing the gap before Newton could fully reset himself. The blade came in sharp and direct, aimed with precision that left little room for error.
Newton raised his sword.
The impact rang out again, louder this time, the force of it driving through his arms and into his shoulders. His stance held, but just barely, his feet pressing harder into the ground to absorb the weight of it.
The sound lingered, echoing faintly in the darkness.
Then Gregory shifted.
There was no warning.
No visible change in movement that Newton could catch in time.
One moment they were locked in a clash of steel, the next Gregory's head drove forward.
It struck Newton square on the forehead.
The world snapped.
Pain exploded instantly, sharp and blinding, sending a shock through his skull that disoriented him completely. His vision blurred, the darkness around him twisting into something unstable as his body lost balance.
He fell.
The ground met him hard, the impact barely registering over the pain already flooding through his head.
"Aaaahhhhh!"
The sound tore out of him before he could stop it, raw and uncontrolled.
Gregory stepped closer.
Outside the arena, Samuel leaned forward, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale. His body trembled, not with fear alone, but with something heavier, something that refused to let him look away even when every part of him wanted to.
Tom nodded slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"This is the end," he said, his voice steady, certain. "I never thought the newbie would last three strikes."
He glanced toward the arena, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Gregory should finish him off now."
Samuel did not respond to him.
His lips moved quietly, words forming under his breath, too soft for anyone else to hear.
"God! Newton once believed in you. Help him, please."
Inside the dark arena, Gregory lifted his sword.
The motion was deliberate, almost unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. The blade caught what little light existed, a faint glint that disappeared as quickly as it came.
Newton was still on the ground.
Still trying to steady himself.
Still, the light came without warning.
It burst into the darkness suddenly, sharp and bright, cutting through the thick black like a blade. It hit Gregory directly in the face, forcing his eyes shut instantly, his head turning slightly away from the glare.
The moment broke.
When Gregory forced his eyes open again, blinking against the lingering brightness, something had changed.
Newton was no longer where he had fallen.
The space was empty.
Outside, a murmur rippled through the students, confusion giving way to realization in uneven waves.
"Oh!" a girl's voice rose slightly above the others. "Now I know why he picked the torch."
Inside, Gregory turned sharply, his movements tighter now, less relaxed than before.
"Where are you, coward?" he called out, his voice cutting through the darkness.
"I am here."
Newton's voice came from the side, calm in a way that did not match the moment.
Gregory reacted instantly, turning toward the sound.
The light hit him again.
Brighter this time. Closer.
It forced his eyes shut once more, his face tightening as he tried to adjust, but the darkness had already betrayed him. The sudden shift from shadow to light left him exposed, even if only for a second.
Newton moved.
His steps were quick, controlled, guided more by instinct than sight now. His sword cut through the air in a clean arc, aimed with purpose.
Gregory's body reacted on instinct.
He brought his sword up, angling it high, expecting the strike to come for his upper body, for his neck, for his head.
But Newton did not aim there.
He dropped low.
The blade shifted at the last moment, cutting downward instead of across.
Steel met flesh.
The strike landed at Gregory's heel.
It was not deep enough to cripple completely, but it was enough.
Pain flared instantly, sharp and biting.
Gregory's jaw tightened, his teeth pressing together as the sound forced its way out of him.
"Aaaahhhh!"
His body jerked slightly, balance shifting for just a fraction of a second.
Enough to matter.
Enough to change something.
But Gregory did not fall.
He forced his eyes open, ignoring the lingering sting, and lunged forward again, his movement fueled now by something harder, something less controlled.
Newton raised his sword, bringing it up in defense, his stance bracing for the impact.
Gregory's blade came in fast.
But it did not aim for Newton.
At the last second, the angle changed.
The strike dropped lower, cutting toward the source of the light instead.
The torch.
The blade hit it cleanly, knocking it from Newton's hand. It spun once in the air before hitting the ground, the flame flickering wildly as it rolled.
For a brief moment, the light wavered.
Then Gregory stepped forward.
His foot came down hard.
The torch crushed beneath it, the flame snuffed out instantly, leaving behind only a faint trail of smoke that disappeared into the darkness.
The arena fell back into complete black.
Gregory's silhouette shifted slightly, though it could no longer be seen.
A smile spread across his face, slow and certain.
"Let me see," he said quietly, his voice carrying just enough to reach Newton, "how you are going to play tricks now."