As Sorn’s chest was targeted by the incoming needle, he slipped his foot along the edge of the ice, letting his body drop. Now on the ground, he kicked upwards, connecting clean with the bottom of Toren’s chin. He watched as Toren was sent into the air and wasting no time, he jumped into the air, aiming another kick at Toren’s back.

Sorn: “How’s this for strength?”

Toren shifted his needle to try to block the attack, but Sorn’s kick shattered the ice and knocked Toren down to the ice. Toren somehow managed to land on his feet, using his feet to slide down. As Sorn hit the ground, Toren was cracking his head. The kicks had clearly taken a toll on him.

Sorn was out of breath. It had been over a minute, but the output of his wisps had been set to the max. He had wanted to finish the fight with that string of attacks. Toren however, remained unfortunately unbothered. Sorn turned off his power for now. He’d bring it back when he needed it, but from this point onwards, he needed to use his power extremely carefully.

Toren: “I’ll admit, you’re not bad. However, your skills remain amateur-like. You have much growing to do, outsider.”

He began to walk towards Sorn, creating a brand new needle in his hands. Sorn was nervous, but he stood his ground. He couldn’t be hasty.

Toren: “Let me educate you on something. Do you consider yourself a genuine person?”

Sorn didn’t know where this came from, but he was willing to entertain it if it meant more time to recover some of his lost stamina.

Sorn: “I think so.”

Toren: "Incorrect! There is no such thing as a true individual. All of our emotions are masks. Masks that cover our true identity and intentions behind these superficial feelings."

He put his hand over his face. From above, Crystal and Oden were surveying the fight.

Oden: “Looks like he’s doing it.”

Crystal: “Hm?”

Oden: “The only colored technique in the history of our people. I’ve only heard rumors but I’ve heard once he uses it, he surpasses what his Subclan is capable of.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

First Dance: Face Changing of Happiness. Red.

A painted mask of pure red appeared on his face. He approached Sorn at a much faster speed than he had before. He came to a halt before Sorn was even given the opportunity to react. The sound that came from the mask was inexplicable. It was as if thousands had been brought to all laugh in someone’s ear at the same time.

Third Dance, Freezing Beacon

He let loose a flurry of relentless jabs. Four strikes seemed to happen for anyone. Sorn’s wisps were back to their maximum output. However, this hardly helped as he dodged the first four but couldn’t avoid the fifth strike to his shoulder. He would not let such an injury go to waste. The moment the needle was lodged into his arm, Sorn gritted his teeth through the pain and grabbed Toren’s striking arm, focusing the wisps into his fists and crushing the bones in his arm.

The mask on Toren’s face dissapeared as he let go of the needle he was holding, his face now displaying an expression of shock. The needle stuck in Sorn’s shoulder disappeared too. Without even commanding it, wisps appeared in the hole, weaving his wound back together.

Toren remembered the day outside the Fortress where they had their last encounter. After slashing Sorn, he was afraid he had killed him. Even Neville, the best medic in the fortress, was originally unsure. However, they had both watched in awe as the green wisps mended the wound back together.

Now Sorn stood confidently, unaware that his wound was in the process of being healed as he reached his hand out to Toren.

Sorn: “Toren, I think you should join me. You’re strong and confident. Leave Crystal and this Fortress and join us.”

Toren paused for a moment, and then began to laugh.

Toren: “You truly are a funny boy. Do you truly believe I have been defeated? Do you truly believe you have earned the right to ask me to throw away my life? I will make sure your naïveté is the cause of your downfall.”

First Dance, Face Changing of Hatred. Green

Now wearing a green mask, three ice arms immediately grew out of his back. To each hand was attached a needle. Sorn had assumed by breaking his striking arm, Toren would be forced to concede. This sentiment was evidently incorrect.

As he began to take some steps back, he noticed he was nearing the edge of the border of the stage. This gave him an idea, however it was do or die. He was beyond exhausted. Any more extended use of his wisps would likely leave him unconscious. He had to end this fight in this next attack.

Toren began to walk forward, closing the distance between them.

Toren: “I am the genius of the Dancing Blade.”

Sorn: “Nice.”

Sorn immediately turned his back towards his adversary and sprinted towards the wall. He put his feet onto it, and began sprinting upwards about twenty meters before losing grip and falling backwards into the air. Toren, who had been taken aback by this odd strategy, had surveyed thus far. However, now that Sorn was vulnerable in the air Toren made a move of his own. He jumped upwards, intending to meet him in midair.

Second Dance, Charge of the Lion

Using the ice on his soles to propel himself upwards, he flipped upwards through the air with all three ice arms holding out the needles. He was like a spinning top of death.

Watching Toren leap up, Sorn’s downward acceleration was matching Toren’s upwards leap. He extended his leg downward, focusing all his wisps into his lower leg. If this would result in his body being ripped to shreds, so be it. He would stake everything on this last attack.

Inside the void of green, the man upon the floating rock continued to sit in the same place he always did. With a smile, he stood up, looking down into the endless green.

???: “Well done, boy. You are truly a boy of the _____.”

Sorn’s leg glowed with a blazing green energy as an explosion occurred, and all that those above could see was a cloud of green.

End.