There had been a little, wheedling voice in the back of Camilla's head all day saying:

You can't lose to Victor.

You're gonna lose to Victor.

On repeat.

Everything during the last week seemed to have cascaded to this moment. The gala had been a brief but welcome respite. Her last match tilt-a-whirled through her head. She couldn't afford to be unprepared against Victor. She couldn't afford to be wasting time thinking about being unprepared. She couldn't afford to even be aware that she could be unprepared.

He'd be on a high after his proposal at the gala. He'd be at his best and here she was, near her worst.

"No!" She hissed. "No no no no no no no!"

She'd locked in this week. She wasn't even talking to her friends. They were just distractions now. Infuriating distractions. She'd done the training she'd needed to do, had done the prep and planning she'd needed to do. Now she just had to calm down and fight. She was ready. She'd been born ready.

She sat down in the Prep Room crossed her legs, laid her palms open and face up on her knees, and tried to cleanse her mind. She succeeded in decluttering most of the whirling junk, but she just couldn't get rid of the little cyclical paradox of feeling too much pressure, telling herself she didn't care about the match, calming, realizing she was deluding herself and the match was vital, and being crushed by the pressure all over again.

Her father would tell her to just halt her thoughts, empty her mind, stop trying to work through pointless problems and just be in the moment. Just do. Don't think.

He wasn't yet returned from his assignment, which she was thankful for. He'd be back for the Grand Final if—when—she made it.

The tournament aide knocked at the door.

"Ms D'Angelo, it's time."

Camilla jumped up and went to the door. She opened it and followed the aide up to the tunnel leading to the arena. She felt ready. In fact, she felt a little crazy. A little like how she thought boys must feel when their blood ran hot. She was about to put the little rat in his place. How dare he challenge her?

An insane grin spread across her face. She was practically itching to cast, and when they called her name it was all she could do to keep herself from lurching out in an eager zombie shamble.

She blinked the bright sunlight out of her eyes, wishing someone would cast some weather magic, make the sky a cool overcast, and stared at the dark maw of the tunnel opposite. The crowd was cheering but she couldn't hear them.

"From St Louis, Missouri, He's fast, he's strong, it's Victor Vincent!"

Victor strode out, his posture, gait, and his smug grin radiating arrogance. Camilla mentally went through her spells, then cleared her mind.

"Contestants get ready!"

They both lowered into crouches.

"Start!"

Like any fight worth its salt, they both started by casting strength and perception. Camilla was ready to box Victor if she had to. Judging by how strong and quick he'd moved against Jacob and his opponent before, even if he was keeping some hidden, she felt she could pretty much match him there.

She stared across at him, and he at her, both not wanting to make the first move. Something had happened to him after the announcer had started the match. The smug grin had slid off his face like runny makeup. His dark eyes were cold, utterly and completely locked in on her. His gaze had a weight to it, his face a frowning intensity that she had never seen before.

He ran forward and she matched him, pushing as much as she could into her strength.

For the first few steps they moved in concert.

Then his magic surged.

Camilla's eyes widened.

Victor blurred forward, zigzagging across the arena, faster than her, faster than anyone she'd ever seen in person, and even with her maximally augmented perception he was but a dark streak moving rapidly towards her.

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"Start!"

Powerful consumption flashed out from both Camilla and Victor. They stared at each other across the arena, neither moving.

Jacob gripped the edge of his seat. No one in the gang spoke a single word.

C'mon, Camilla!

Victor's spells were strong, stronger than he'd shown against Jacob last week, but Camilla's were just as strong.

They blurred forward, each kicking up a backdraft, rocketing at each other like two comets. Magic surged out from Victor and he accelerated at Camilla faster than Jacob had ever seen anyone move, even Jimmy. His blur lengthened into a dark, computer static streak.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"Shit!" Jacob cursed.

He didn't have time to say anything else.

Victor and Camilla collided, a crack echoing out around the arena. Victor appeared for a moment in a low fighting stance, like a character from a fighting game, and Camilla flew backwards, through the air, towards the boundary.

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Victor hit her. Hard.

She blocked, crossing her forearms in front of her. His blow sent her flying backwards. She realized she was hurtling towards the boundary, the ground well below her.

No!

There was only one thing she could do that could maybe save her right now.

She threw her arms out behind her and blasted as much Production magic as she could behind her. Her shoulders wrenched in her sockets as her torso and legs kept rocketing backwards. Her deltoids stretched, strained, tore. She screamed.

But she'd stopped her momentum. She hung in the air, drifting, momentumless.

Victor had stopped for a split second, watching her trajectory. He blurred forward again, covering the ground such that he was right beneath her.

She sent another blast of magic behind her that sent her soaring across to the other side of the battlefield, whimpering as her torn shoulders rocked in their sockets. She twisted in the air to face Victor.

He'd ground to a halt, feet digging into the ground, skidding up tufts of clay. He turned and took off after her.

She landed before he could get near. He was coming towards her, that crazy light in his eyes. Her shoulders screeched as if on fire.

She snarled, several spells whirling within her. If that strike hadn't been lethal force, it was open fucking season.

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Jacob lifted out of his seat as Camilla somehow wrenched herself to a stop, staying in bounds by a handful of feet at most. Victor ran at her again.

"He's trying to beat her with one quick blow!" Archie cried. "End it before she can build any spells!"

Camilla let loose a shriek that dragged bloody nails down Jacob's spine.

"She hurt herself," he said, unable to decide whether he should be sitting or standing. "Why wasn't that lethal force?"

Archie shook his head. "I don't know. It was close."

Camilla launched herself over to the other side of the arena and landed. Victor ground to a halt, then shot off after her again, not giving her a moment to breathe.

Jacob sensed Production, but he couldn't tell from whom.

A bright flash emanated from Camilla, then a swirling pillar of flame engulfed her. It rose up into the heavens, past where they sat in the stands, tinting everything bright, burning orange and sending long shadows sprawling back across the stands.

Jacob threw his arm over his face, the sudden light and heat making him blink. He didn't know if the ward-wall was blocking any of the ambient heat thrown off by the fire, but he prayed to God it was.

"The fire's here..." Grace said.

Victor ground to a halt outside the flame pillar. Camilla was a dark, humanoid silhouette within.

Victor lanced a large forceward into the pillar. The flames engulfed it. Jacob couldn't see what happened next.

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There was something so pleasurable about fire magic, something so natural. All other magics were work; were tricky, complex physical movements that had to be learned. Fire magic was like breathing. It was almost like it wanted her to cast it; as if she were a great dam holding back a burning hellscape, and all she had to do was open the gates and flames would flow out and engulf the whole world. It beckoned her to do it, let it all out, do it, let it out, let it out!

Camilla ground her teeth, holding back the eager flames. She spun a vortex into being, putting a wall between her and Victor. Victor became just a dark, rippling silhouette through the flames.

She sensed him cast a forceward and moved to the side. It lanced through the vortex, flames washing along its smooth, translucent surface, then shot past her.

She could remain in here. The firewall wasn't impenetrable, but Victor would need something to make him immune to flames, and even if he did come through, he wouldn't necessarily be able to tell where she was.

She could easily stay here and fall back on her other projectiles. The vortex was fine because it wasn't directed at Victor, but she was limited in what other fire spells she could use, as anything sizeable enough to be effective would likely be lethal force. But keeping the vortex going would be costly, and Victor was adept enough at projectiles that the outcome there wasn't certain.

Camilla threw two forcewards out, each slightly off centre to where Victor appeared to be. Then she took off after them, running and casting at the same time. Take the fight to him. Surprise him.

As she approached the firewall, clear magic crystallized along the backs of her fists and her forearms, moulding into plates of armour. It sheathed her arms and legs, then her torso, finally crawling up her neck and encircling her head in a translucent armet-style helm. There were other benefits to learning how to mould magical clothing besides looking good at galas.

The firewall washed over her, momentarily engulfing her in a world of flames.

Then she was free and breaking towards Victor behind the accelerating forcewards. He saw her come out of the firewall and tensed. The Production spell he'd been about to cast faltered. She'd surprised him.

She swept towards him, maximizing her Consumption output. She opened with a feint, bringing her glimmering, armour-clad arm up.

He bit, throwing his arm up to block.

She swung her other arm, venting excess magic out the backs of her elbows, which she'd specifically designed this suit to be able to do. Her punch rocketed forward like a missile.

Victor twitched, then contorted his body impossibly quick, rolling in, muscles straining in his neck. He sideslipped her punch, rolling into her torso.

Her elbow-jet caterwauled her forward, sending her streaking forward.

They crashed together and went sprawling down. Victor twisted in mid-air, striking her forearm plate with the heel of his palm, shattering it, sending a lance of pain along her arm.

But she was ready. She reared back and bashed her head forward, cracking her helm against his shoulder. He cried out.

They sprawled to the ground. Camilla jetted more magic behind her, landing, bouncing, turning in the air and skidding onto her feet. Her heels dug into the clay and she swung her arms, but kept her momentum. Victor was sprawling across the ground in front of her.

She shot a huge, rifle-quick forceward at him.

He recovered his feet, saw the forceward, tensed, started to dodge.

It smacked into him and sent him sprawling out of bounds.

"Vincent is out of bounds. D'Angelo wins!"

The crowd roared. Camilla barely heard it over the blood pounding in her ears. There were several moments of heart-beating confusion. Over? It was over?

Then her body told her adrenaline it could go home and she sank to her knees. Her armour dissipated. Her shoulders rolled forward in their sockets and she moaned from the pain. Her forearm where Victor had initially struck her throbbed. Her vision wavered.

Victor got up and dusted himself off. He held his good hand to the shoulder she injured, that arm hanging limp, but appeared otherwise unharmed.

"Good fight, D'Angelo," he said. That smug mask materialized on his face. "I'll see you in the triage." He shuffled off, hailing the emerging medical personnel. One led him into the tunnel.

Then two of them were above Camilla.

"Do you need a stretcher?" One of them asked.