Jacob sat in the Prep Room, alone. Grace's loss had rattled him. He couldn't help but picture himself as similar to her: someone who had gotten a high seed but had a fatal flaw.

Don't think like that. Archie had spouted some philosophical maxim the other day about speaking and thinking things into existence, and right now it struck Jacob as apt. He couldn't worry or get anxious. He wasn't Grace. This was totally different. He'd won two weekends ago, he could win again.

But as conclusive as his realizations about taking control of his life had been, the change in his behaviour had been in that moment before defeating Altman. It wasn't like he'd just magically permanently changed since then.

He took deep, slow breaths and tried to recount his thoughts during the fight with Altman. He needed to work himself back into that headspace, rekindle that fire. He wouldn't have second chances like he'd had after Altman had hit him and sent him sprawling across the arena. Layla Wilkins was too good for that. If he froze—like Grace had, at the end—that would be it. Game over. GG. Better luck next time, pal.

He wanted to win. Yes, that was it. Why? Because he wanted to. It sounded almost stupid to him, thinking it like that, but it had worked last weekend.

He was almost surprised at his own fervour, sitting there by himself, visualizing winning. Losing was simply not an option. The idea of it almost made him feral. Maybe it was all those times he'd passed up opportunities. Maybe it was seeing Camilla and Archie and Tanaka win. Maybe it was wanting to show off. Maybe it was validation for the work he'd put in. Maybe it was all of those things or none of them.

Regardless, he wanted it.

In fact, despite what Archie and Blake had analyzed about Grace's match, despite her flaw, Jacob suspected that the underlying factor beneath all of it was she just didn't have anything really driving her like the rest of them did. Blake had his family and his dream of becoming a Ranger. Archie probably had pressure from his family and certainly his own ego and view of himself. Camilla had pressure from her family, and... something else. He wasn't sure what, but it was in there, a fire. He could tell.

Grace just didn't seem to have anything. It wasn't that he didn't know her specific motivation or lack thereof, it was that it just didn't show in what she did. She floated through their classes on clouds; she trained, but not as hard as the rest of them. Etc.

Jacob rubbed his forearm where Camilla's soft, warm palm had sat against his skin for a too brief eternity. He was a little worried that he hadn't learned any projectile moves.

No, he couldn't think like that. He was going to win. He'd made his bed, now he had to sleep in it. If he started second guessing his strategy now he'd collapse during the fight. Don't think, just do.

Christ, here he was going in circles again. He needed to think gameplan. He only had one real bulk strategy: get close, overwhelm Wilkins. Wilkins would probably assume that. Or would she assume he had something up his sleeve? Impossible to know.

Okay, he'd start by casting both spells, and trying to rush her down. Simple. Effective. Layla would probably expect that but that didn't mean she could counter it if he played his cards right. After that he would see how things played out. Just do, right? React to what she did. Just like LaForce when Grace had been running away; just like a cheetah and a gazelle. Yes, that was it. A cheetah had no clue what a gazelle would do, it just reacted to it in the moment. He should try to be like that.

He grinned.

A knock at the door.

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The tournament aide led Jacob up through the undercroft towards the stadium. Now that he was out of the room and moving, eagerness bubbled within him. His fingers opened and closed, almost desperate to be in action. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this before, but it felt good. He just wanted to do it.

They came to that tunnel and stopped, awaiting the announcer's call. Jacob practically vibrated with energy.

"From Vancouver, Canada, it's Jacob Caibo!"

The tournament aide gestured him forward, but Jacob didn't notice her. He strode up the tunnel and out into the arena, hand up, waving absently. The crowd was loud and distracting, dozens of voices and little human noises crossing the air above his head like birds in flight. The clay was smooth and stiff underfoot, warm in the sun.

Stolen novel; please report.

He took a deep breath of the fresh, open air and relaxed his shoulders. A grin stole across his face but he suppressed it.

"From Atlanta, Georgia, it's Layla Wilkins!"

Layla marched out from the other end of the tunnel. She was even more petite on a level with him. Her jet black hair was tied back in a bun, her fine features set in a determined pout. Her limbs were so skinny Jacob thought they'd snap like twigs if someone hit her hard enough. He wasn't used to having the physical advantage. But no parlay just because she was a girl. He'd never hear the end of the mocking, and it would be disrespectful towards her, wouldn't it? He'd seen her fight. She might not be strong, but she was lightning quick.

"Contestants, get ready!"

Jacob blew a breath out. He readied his magic, coming as close to casting as he could without actually doing so.

"Start!"

Jacob engaged his magic, forced it into his mind, and cast perception, just as he'd practiced a hundred times now.

Layla threw her hand forward, Production gathering behind her.

Everything slowed down. The cheer of the crowd lowered to an earthen rumble. Layla's whip quick hand thrust out as if she were performing a controlled yoga pose, her spell slowing until Jacob could get a bead on what it was.

A translucent cone of force emerged from her hands. It was big enough that it blocked Layla from his view, turned her into a warped reflection seen through the surface of the cone. It shot towards him, not the Major League fastball speed he'd seen before, but more like a sprinter running at him. He cut off his attempt at the resilience spell and lunged out to the side. He moved agonizingly slow, as if in a dream.

His mind still moved at breakneck speeds. Stray thoughts like meteor showers flew through his consciousness.

A knockout shot, right away. She's trying to take me out instantly.

She's already preparing something else.

I wonder what Camilla is thinking right now?

Gotta close the distance.

Cast strength.

He managed to reel his rampant mind in as his body was still executing his dodge. The cone crossed the arena floor. Magic splayed out from his mind. He forced its elastic down through his body, jamming it, willing it into place. It fought him, resisted him, nearly snapped back, and then he engaged it.

Boom. He stumbled to the side far out of the range of the cone, which sailed past him. He caught himself and angled towards Wilkins, sprinting under control, legs eating up the ground.

He had her.

Wilkins' eyes widened and she stepped back, the movement laughably lethargic. The second spell building around her reached a crescendo.

Whispers of yellow swirled through her outstretched palm. A magic beam like a yellow Death Star laser the diameter of a manhole cover shot out from her hand. The backdraft blew her black hair out of its clip, whipping it out behind her in long streams. She stumbled back from the force, arm wavering. She braced herself, skinny legs spread wide, and steadied the beam with her offhand clamped to her forearm.

The beam roared towards Jacob.

Deadly? Knockout force? Like a pushing hand? He didn't know so he didn't guess.

He angled off, the beam whipping past him, tugging at his uniform. He arced around, slowly closing the gap.

Wilkins hurled her arm after him, twisting her body as if she were swinging a medieval flail. The beam rushed around, too quick to dodge.

Jacob threw up his arms to block. The beam smashed into him, hitting with more force than he'd thought possible. It pressed his arm against his chest and sent him flying back, tumbling across the ground.

Then it was gone, whooshing past him, swinging around into the ward-wall surrounding the arena. Wilkins whirled around, the momentum of the beam spinning her. The beam blinked out and she stumbled to a halt.

Jacob tumbled across the ground. The boundary rushed up towards him. He lashed out, digging his hand into the clay. His hand crushed into it as if it were play dough. His purchase swung him around, and he fell flat on his stomach. In bounds.

He pushed himself to his feet.

Across the arena, Wilkins was still recovering from her wild spell, stumbling in a slow motion dance.

Was she going to cast it again? Should he switch strategies? Try and dodge it and burn her out?

Cheetah and gazelle.

Jacob rushed forward as fast as he could.

Wilkins raised her hand again and the beam sprang at him. He slipped to the side, letting it whisper past him. Watch her. React. Action-reaction.

Wilkins steadied herself and dragged the beam towards him. Jacob dropped low, scrambling forward like some crawling zombie. The beam rolled over him, swinging wide with momentum. Now!

He sprung up and closed the distance between them. The beam winked out. Wilkins cast something else. This close he could see her eyes, big and dark and scared in her petite face. She cringed back from him and threw up an orange ward. Jacob slammed into it, like a bird hitting a window. The impact drove Wilkins back.

Jacob hissed and pushed everything he had into strength, anger and pain surging through him like fire. He punched the ward. It shattered. The echoing force sent Wilkins flying back, her hair streaming out in front of her.

She landed out of bounds.

"Wilkins is out of bounds, Caibo wins!"

Jacob blew a long breath out and wiped the sweat off his forehead as the crowd roared. A dozen metres away Wilkins pushed herself up into a sitting position, a dazed look on her face.

Jacob raised his hand. Victory roared in his blood.

He turned and looked at the crowd, surveying the entire stadium. He felt good. No, great. Some part of him had been waiting for this feeling the whole two weeks since his fight with Altman. He could do anything. He could conquer the whole world in that very moment if he so desired. He was an unstoppable force.

Sweet, sweet victory.