Pluto had heard Saul's call to wake up, but he refused to believe it was actually real. They had just survived death's trump card some hours ago, and yet he still had the guts to wake up at the sign of dawn. He closed his eyes tighter, and pushed himself deeper into the crevice.
He had his rights to sleep in!
Especially when the forest was so peaceful.
There was no slight tremor running through the grounds, or rather, it was even slighter. There was no distant echoes of battle, or maybe it was even more distant. It was foolish for him to think that the forest had really become paradise.
'But the chirping birds don't sound agitated... wait!'
The forest didn't have birds, so that was probably some vile creature circling over their heads. With that realisation, he finally decided to get up.
Overcoming his sore muscles today was just as difficult as yesterday's battle–but he had no other choice but to do it.
The words 'good morning' hung in his mouth. His eyes twitched as they tried to ascertain the reality of what he saw. He genuinely hoped he wasn't dreaming.
"Now you see what I needed you to be awake for," said Saul, adding another dozen to the pile from his pouch. "We need to be quick about this, before other entrants stumble into the battlefield and try to lay claim to it."
Pluto nodded. "How many places have you cleared out?"
"I'm not yet done with the colossal tree, so none."
Pluto's eyes lit up.
***
The remainder of the morning passed in fast forward. For once they weren't scavenging for fingerlings, they were on a gold rush with a timer.
The fragmented battlefields had been farther apart than they had expected, so most of the time had been spent crossing the distance between.
Each cores glistened like diamonds, forcing a grin out of him each time. But the grotesque flaying required to get them out, forced the appetite out of him ten times over.
By the time the sun had risen seventy percent through its accent, they were both carrying more than they could manage.
They headcount at the end was strange, so they counted it again just to be sure. Then again just to be sure they had been sure. The haul was incredible, nearly three hundred cores in total.
The combine glow of their shifting twilight bright enough to impersonate a bonfire.
Pluto stared at them. They signified three hundred chances to grow, three hundred opportunities at survival. And three hundred mistakes that could accidentally delete him.
Back then, absorbing five cores in quick succession had caused him to faint mid-fight.
Now?
He shuddered. But at least he now knew the pros and cons.
Saul didn't waste his time considering how his body might explode with spirit. He sat down cross-legged and immediately began.
Under his weight, the first one cracked. The spirit escaped like a freed prisoner, drifting into the air, then into Saul's body as if pulled on by his longing.
As it settled into his body, his muscles expanded and contracted. Slightly, but Pluto's observation caught it. His arms suddenly seemed a bit freer. His breath a bit easier to take, and most noticeable–
The odd taut pressure that sometimes surrounded Saul, began returning. Barely though, like a light string struck in the mist of roaring trumpets.
Some more cores followed. Nothing changed, but Pluto just felt it had. Maybe.
He watched for a while longer, then settled into his own position.
***
"If we are really going to explore the lower floors, we'll need to get better. How about a friendly match?"
"A spar?"
"Yes. Now let's set the boundaries–"
"There are no boundaries."
"Now hold on, you pervert! I'm not agreeing to that."
His face was flushed with embarrassment. " I didn't mean it in that way...but besides, no one knows were the hand may hit in the heat of battle."
Khalifa turned back to him with boiling intensity. " Come again?"
The edge in her voice knocked into him like a fray train. He stared at the ground in fear. "...wh...what was the question again?"
She folded her arms. "Mmhmm, that's what I thought."
"Can we just get on with this?"
She smiled evilly. "Sure, and we'll live with whatever consequences that come out of this later."
He shuddered, but kept his calm. "Powers or no powers?"
"Well, if we go down to fight, definitely we'll need to use our powers, but it'll come down to the same gritty blow to blow anyways. So, no powers."
He nodded. It was more reasonable to steady the foundations of a bungalow before turning it into a skyscraper.
He stood off the edge of his wooden bed, then went up to the first floor. He returned a while later with a new weapon.
A rusty spear with all misshapen adornments. Khalifa still used her old machete.
The third floor had become their training ground. They faced each other, bathing in the few beams of light that made the journey and cascaded down the filters.
"Ready?"
And then–
***
Ronan had always been appreciative of his muscular physique. And the month plus of struggle in the forest had only made them pop out.
Yet now, he found that other than making him a ladies magnet, these muscles had another down side.
Strength in favour of speed.
And that was especially bad when his opponent was Khalifa.
She moved first, not to land a strike, but to test. He wasn't a mindless beast, so any prompt would get response. And that response would tell how violent the next prompt should be.
Ronan didn't flinch as she approached, but he did frown. The spear felt alien as he held it. He had hated the pickaxe for being too heavy, but this was just downright weightless. Besides that, its slenderness wouldn't let him swing recklessly.
Her first attack came suddenly, aiming at his spear instead of him. The blade struck the neck of it, ringing before harmlessly bouncing off.
She smiled.
The noise meant it was hollow, and could be broken.
Ronan gritted, flinging his spear out with force. It swept at her side, but she ducked under it with time to spare. Before he retracted his hand, she stepped inside his reach...and tapped his shoulder.
Then withdrew.
It was a harmless gesture, but one that said she could have ended it but she didn't. Ronan frowned.
Then rushed back in. Several clashes followed in random chorography.
His advantages shone there. Any direct clash left him a step forward and Khalifa reeling from the force. The spear was hollow, but it did a good job pushing her back whenever she drove into it.
Soon she found herself retreating. Her skill was nothing if she didn't have the physicality to overpower his defence.
He pressed harder, thrusting and sweeping with more and more force. She gave more and more ground, until there was no more ground to give. Backed against the wall, she rushed forward into his defense before he shot his spear forward.
The attack missed, and for a fractional of a second, he was open. She smiled, then tapped against his ribs with the handle of her machete.
She retreated again.
"Would you cut that out already!"
The fight continued, and as they fought, they both started to unwind more and more. Khalifa still watched for the opportunities to annoy him with a harmless tap again, but the more the spar dragged on, she wondered if she would actually misplace another chance to hurt him.
They both could tell the other's move from their postures before striking. It was never accurate, but not far from it.
The predictions made the fight a lot different. What could one do if they knew that the other knew what they would do if they knew the other's next attack? The chains of thought were too long, so they mostly ended up going along with the telegraphed move to save time.
Ronan attacked harder.
Khalifa attacked faster.
It seemed to work for both of them just as well, toppling momentum from side to side. She forced his movements with hers, but his commitments were strong enough to make her think twice.
But nonetheless, she dictated the flow of battle. And that realisation only made it more fun for him.
The spear lashed forward, ringing against the machete.
Atlantis cried with the dirge of metal as neither yielded, and refused to take the surrendering step back.
It wasn't just a spar anymore, it was a statement yet to be made.