Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 69: Tired Already?

Leon stepped onto the platform and sighed. The invisible but touchable barrier sealed behind him with a hum.

The crowd’s noise came like a wall, but he blocked it out as he narrowed his senses to the space before him.

The opposite gate remained dark. Then, in an instant, all the light in the arena and the trial hall died.

The roaring sounds of the crowd got choked into a unified gasp of surprise, then turned into an eerie silence.

Leon couldn’t even see his own hands when he moved them upward.

In the thick darkness, the only light that seemed to flicker was the ghostly glow of the emergency exit signs far above.

’What’s going—’ Leon dropped into a defensive stance, every nerve in him screaming for answers.

A whisper of air that seemed sharper and more controlled licked past his left cheek in a flash. He jerked his head back and moved a step backward.

Another followed, from the right, grazing at both of his ears. Then a third from below moved like a concussive drift that made his boots skid on the stone.

He kept on dodging, ducking, and rolling whenever sharp air flew across his face.

Although he saw no movement afterward, he could hear the crushing sound they created after landing on the barrier.

He twisted, parried blindly with his forearms, relying on his instinct and the faint pressure changes in the air.

Shh – FFT!

A heavy gust slammed into his stomach, causing the air in his lungs to burst out in a whoosh.

The force lifted him and hurled him backward at great speed. He crashed into the shimmering barrier with his back.

The impact rattled through his teeth and sent a web of agonizing light crackling across the invisible barrier behind him.

CRUNCH

Leon slid down the barrier and landed on his knees, gasping heavily while his vision swirled. He looked up, blinking away the dark and bloody spots.

At two feet away from him, he saw Azazel standing there, a grim grin dressing his face.

A faint, dissipating shimmer of distorted air rippled around his fingertips like electric currents.

Leon exhaled sharply and slammed his fist hard on the platform. Spiderwebs of cracks dressed the ground beneath his boots as he pushed himself to his feet.

He wiped the back of his left hand across his mouth, forgetting how much his body ached.

He kept his gaze on the blood and then shifted his gaze to Azazel.

"Tired already?" A short laugh escaped Azazel’s lips, having the sound of someone enjoying a joke.

Leon didn’t laugh. Bone-cracking sounds erupted from around him as his fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles and the veins turning white.

He shifted his weight and settled into a basic, grounded boxing stance he remembered from his father’s lessons.

He squeezed his eyes and stared into Azazel’s amused eyes. Leon closed his eyes, turning his frantic breathing into a slow and steady movement, like that of swirling dust motes.

He inhaled, held it, and exhaled. The chaotic noise of the crowd and the lingering pain in his stomach faded into a dull background hum.

When he cracked his eyes open, the arena light flickered violently and blazed back to life with a harsh, metallic hum, as if he had commanded it.

Faces contorted with scorn as mouths opened in mid-jeer.

"This is your end, Storm! We’re tired of seeing you around!"

"Destroy him, Azazel! Don’t let a single bone remain unbroken!"

"We know what you can do! Finish him before he even knows he’s finished!"

"Does he think we’re here for childish boxing? You’re no match! Just kneel and let him step on you!"

A cold smile touched Leon’s lips as he filtered out the noise and narrowed his focus on Azazel, who stood in the opposite direction, watching him with renewed amusement.

Five blade-like distortions of air materialized around Azazel’s fingertips and shot forward in a staggered volley.

Leon watched their trajectories as lines of pressure in the air, which seemed visible to his heightened, focused senses.

Time seemed to slow down as they neared him. He shifted his head left, right, dipped his shoulder, sidestepped, and finally leaned back, letting his boots flow around with a movement that felt both foreign and instinctual.

Shh – CRACK! Shh – CRACK!

The concussive impacts struck the barrier behind him in rapid succession, sending visible ripples across its shimmering surface.

A shock wave of gasps washed over the stands, cutting off the jeers abruptly.

Leon inhaled again, letting the scent of burnt dust fill his lungs. He took two deliberate steps forward.

He loosened his clenched right fist, raised his hand, and curled his fingers in a slow, come-here gesture.

The smile on his face seemed to extend with a grim invitation.

Azazel’s amused grin stiffened, then vanished. A flicker of irritation flashed in his sea-colored eyes. "You want a closer look? Fine."

He flung his arms out. A storm of thirty air blades erupted around him and surged toward Leon at screaming speed.

Simultaneously, Azazel charged forward, aiming to close the distance with Leon while he got distracted.

Leon didn’t retreat. He moved his feet upward, his torso twisting, while his head weaved. A blade nicked his sleeve, shredding the black fabric.

Another grazed his calf, drawing a thin line of fire, but he ignored it.

As the last blade shrieked past his ear, he pulled his right arm back beside his jaw and extended his left arm forward.

He exhaled, letting a cool breeze flow out as he locked his gaze on the charging Azazel.

Azazel’s steps slowed to a halt five feet away. The distorting air around his fingers dissipated like smoke in an instant.

He looked from Leon’s poised boxing stance to the faint scratches on Leon’s arm.

"I see," Azazel said in a voice that echoed in a low rasp. "You want a fistfight." He rolled his shoulder. "I’ll honor that wish. Before you die, at least."

He mirrored Leon’s posture and sank into a similar boxing stance.

00:07:00

A genuine smile broke across Leon’s face. ’Didn’t he say he’d end me in seconds?’ He let his white teeth show for a moment, then closed his eyes and shook his head once.

Azazel dashed forward at great speed. His first punch landed on Leon’s left cheek. Leon’s forearm parried it with a solid thump.

A powerful right fist thrust at Leon’s jaw. Leon slipped it, the knuckles brushing his hair.

Azazel didn’t give up; he threw combinations of punches, hooks, and uppercuts, but each fist got blocked and drove through the air with a whip.

Leon’s arms moved, blocking and parrying the strikes. The impacts reverberated up his bones.

Crack. Thud. Smack.