The world sharpens. Everything’s so clear.

Each breath feels slow, deliberate. Every pore on Siddharth’s skin, every tiny shift in his muscles, I see it all. The ground beneath my feet—every grain of dirt, every uneven crack—etched into my mind. My heart pounds, heavy and deafening, like a war drum beating in my chest, but I’m not panicking. I’m focused.

His stance. The slight twitch in his fingers. He’s ready, but I’m faster.

My legs move before I tell them to, my body reacting on instinct—perfect timing, perfect control.

I can feel the ground bending beneath my boots as I push forward, the impact of each step sending vibrations up my legs, but they barely register. The wind brushes against my skin, but I don’t feel it like I usually do. It’s distant. It’s all distant, except for him. Except for this fight.

I charge. Blade raised. My muscles tighten as I swing down, aiming for his shoulder. Fast. Hard.

He raises both swords, crossing them. His body bends forward, using his weight to brace against my strike. Our blades connect with a sharp clang. Metal grinds. His boots dig into the dirt beneath him. But it’s not enough.

I push through.

His feet slide back, leaving shallow trails in the dirt. He grits his teeth. His arms tremble under the pressure. But he doesn’t break. Not yet.

I don’t stop.

I twist my hips, bringing the blade around again. Horizontal cut.

He deflects, his wrist flicking to redirect the force. His timing is perfect—just enough to send my blade off course. But not enough to stop my momentum.

I follow through, turning the missed slash into a downward chop. Faster this time.

His footwork shifts—one step back, the other angled to regain balance. He brings his left sword up in a sweeping arc, catching my blade mid-air. The technique is flawless, using the angle to spread out the force.

But I’m relentless.

The moment my blade connects, I press forward again. My feet plant hard into the dirt, legs driving with all the force I can muster. I swing for his midsection, sharp and fast.

He steps back, but I’m closing the gap. Another slash. This time at his side.

His blade meets mine, a deflection—but his arm buckles under the strain. His eyes narrow, calculating, always reading the distance, always finding the smallest gap. But it’s not enough. I feel him struggling to keep up.

A wide swing, then a thrust. He sidesteps, moving with a precision that would have been impossible for anyone else. His sword flicks out, aiming for my ribs. I twist, the blade missing me by inches.

I counter immediately. My sword swings low, aiming for his legs. He jumps back, using his superior timing to escape the range, but I’m already on him again.

Another chop. He blocks, but I feel the tremor in his arms. He’s losing strength.

His body shifts, using his weight and footwork to counterbalance every blow. He’s still in control of his technique, every movement exact, minimizing damage.

His swords whirl, swinging upward to parry my next strike, but I see the slight delay. His movements are perfect—except they’re not fast enough.

I slash again, driving him back. His boots scrape through the dirt, leaving marks.

I try to cut downward, his swords crossing again in defense, but this time his grip falters. His whole body absorbs the impact, shoulders dropping slightly as I force him back another step.

He can’t stop it.

My blade pulls back for the next strike. Sidesteps, deflections, blocks. He’s using everything, his body an orchestra of movement, controlling every angle, every inch of space. But the mismatch in speed and strength is taking its toll.

I feel it. His strength slipping. Each block weaker than the last.

I thrust forward again, my blade aiming straight for his chest. His swords flash up, barely catching mine, but the impact shakes him to his core. His feet dig in, arms shaking.

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I press harder.

The next chop comes down. He deflects, but stumbles. His footing is off, and I see it—the opening.

I thrust, aiming for his ribs. The perfect strike. I can already see it, my sword piercing through, the edge driving deep.

But then—something shifts.

Siddharth’s sword is coming. Faster than before. A blur of steel. At the same moment, I feel it—a pressure, like a shock pulsing against my mind. It’s subtle, but it’s there, distorting my focus.

My strike slows, just a fraction. Just enough.

One of Siddharth’s blades catches my thrust, barely in time. His other sword—already moving, already aimed—threatens my shoulder. It’s coming too fast, too precise. If I keep going, it will hit.

My mind calculates in an instant. If I push forward, I’ll land the blow, but it won’t be lethal. And I’ll take the hit—his sword will tear through my shoulder.

I pull back. Quick.

What was that?

The air between us feels charged, the moment stretched out. My blade retracts, his sword missing my shoulder by a hair. The pressure in my mind fades, but I can still feel it lingering, like a warning.

Damn. That was close. Too close.

What did he do? Can he push his reactions beyond normal too? But it didn’t feel like his reaction time increased... it was more like... his sword was faster.

And that shock to my mind? An EM pulse? How amplified must it be to affect me like that, even after going through Houston’s Interference Domain?

I step back, readjusting my stance. His swords are raised again, steady.

His breathing is heavier now. I can see the strain. He’s pushing himself, just like me.

But this fight is far from over.

----------------------------------------

What the hell was that?!

Houston couldn’t believe what he sensed. The amplitude of the pulse Siddharth emitted was ridiculous. How many waves had he stacked to create that? Fifty? Sixty?

It cut through the Interference Domain like it wasn’t even there.

Luckily, Siddharth was forced to use it for defense instead of attack. If he had used that trump card for a calculated strike... Houston didn’t even want to think about the consequences.

But now, it’s good. Alonso reacted without serious harm, and more importantly, he knew. He’d be ready next time.

The real problem was the current Interference Domain itself. It was designed to disrupt subtle waves—those precise, modulated pulses used to target Alonso’s mind with finesse, like what Chiara had done to mess with his senses. But Siddharth? His approach was completely different. He wasn’t being subtle at all. His EM waves were brutal, hitting like sledgehammers to break an opponent’s rhythm.

I have to admit, Houston thought, that’s an interesting approach. Worth exploring later... But now wasn’t the time to admire it.

He needed a counter. Fast.

Houston’s mind raced. The Interference Domain wouldn’t hold against another one of those massive pulses. Siddharth’s strategy was pure force, and Houston couldn’t afford to match it head-on. But maybe... just maybe... he didn’t need to.

He could shift the domain. Instead of trying to block the incoming pulses, he could disrupt their construction before they even formed. Siddharth, like all of them, had to rely on constructively interfering smaller pulses to build up into a larger, more powerful one. But what if he could introduce noise—small, chaotic disruptions—at the source, preventing those smaller pulses from syncing up and forming a cohesive wave?

Then a simpler solution hit him.

Why not expand the entire Interference Domain to cover Siddharth?

Sure, the waves would weaken as the domain expanded, and the effect wouldn’t be as concentrated. But that didn’t matter. All he needed was a small disruption. A tower is hard to build, but easy to destroy. Just a tiny destabilization would be enough to make sure no massive pulse could form.

Houston adjusted the field, widening the Interference Domain’s coverage. The area now stretched to encompass Siddharth completely. It wasn’t about blocking or overpowering his waves anymore. The key was subtlety. A little noise, a little interference at the right moment, could topple even the strongest construct.

Perfect, Houston thought as he settled the expanded field around Siddharth. The micro-oscillations spread, tiny ripples of chaotic EM energy threading through their surroundings, just enough to encompass both Alonso and Siddharth.

Well, that should take care of that part. Now, the other problem was what he did with the sword.

Of course, if Siddharth could mobilize such big pulses, it’s no surprise he had already started to take the first steps into a field neither of them had properly stepped into yet, due to their lack of EM capacity: magnetism.

Sure, they had done some testing. They could levitate the panther's fangs, for instance, but using it in combat required far more power—bigger, stronger waves. Something Siddharth had already achieved.

He had used magnetism to slightly boost the speed of his blades.

Houston had to admit, Siddharth truly deserved his reputation, maybe even more than they realized.

But... in the end, there was only so much one could do.