September 19, 4021 09:50 [Matriarch 04- Sun Rock]

“What’s this?! The match is not over yet folks! It seems it was all a facade on Prasanna’s part. She’s completely disappeared! Where did she go? And when will she strike next?!”

Chōuyān swiveled around, frantically spreading smoke throughout the entire arena, searching for the slightest displacement of gas. A flicker of movement caught his eye. From the corner of his vision, an object zipped across the field with inhuman speed. It had to be Prasanna.

He directed a pillar of smoke towards the area of displacement, but there was nothing there. Chōuyān realized too late that it was just a diversion. Prasanna emerged from a veil of distorted light, punching him in the side of the head. Teeth flew as Chōuyān fell to the ground, his eyes locking onto a torn boot from Prasanna’s DIVE Suit lying beside him. He was in disbelief.

“I taught her that,” Grisha stated smugly to a sour-faced Jin. She turned back to her microphone. “What a fake-out! Have you seen anything like this folks? This lady knows how to put on a show!!”

The audience lost its mind, chanting Prasanna’s name.

“Oh shit. I didn’t pull my punch. That could have been a lot worse if your neurotoxin hadn’t slowed me down.”

“Goof fo know,” Chōuyān mumbled through sliced gums and broken teeth.

“Still want to continue?”

“I’m fine. I’ve fown wha I can fo.” His split bottom lip oozed, flapping from side to side when he shook his head.

Chōuyān raised his hand to forfeit.

“That’s the end of match two! Chōuyān has signaled that he would like to forfeit, meaning that Prasanna is our winner! She will be moving on to the second round of the succession tournament!!”

Prasanna basked in the glory as the crowd showered her with adoration. Indra eagerly followed the Crows back to the main elevator with Móhú and Emil, tapping his feet impatiently as it took them down to the ground floor again. There, he and Móhú entered the men’s changing room, opening up their designated lockers which held their DIVE Suits ready to go. Indra slipped into his suit and made his way to the entrance of the field to wait for Prasanna.

She spotted them, proceeding to run up to Indra and wrap him in a tight embrace. He felt warm and light-headed as she pressed her lips against his. They were soft and supple, and he could smell the faint scent of shampoo from her hair. Flowery images danced across his mind as his ears took on a scarlet hue. When she pulled away, she whispered a simple “Good luck,” and left for the announcer’s booth. Indra glanced at Móhú and Emil, both looking slightly embarrassed and out of place.

“I’m happy for you, but just keep in mind we’re still in a competition. She could just be playing some sort of trick on you to let your guard down.”

Emil’s words held some truth, dashing the butterflies in Indra’s stomach. It was something she was capable of, given the performance he had just witnessed. She was cunning and intelligent. Prasanna wasn’t an adversary to be taken lightly.

It bothered him to think about, however. How deep did her deception extend? Was it all just a lie for this very moment? Indra shook his head. Maybe that was her plan, to get him to overthink. Or maybe it really was an innocuous action spurred by the heat of the moment. Regardless, he couldn’t know for certain.

He was done being lied to, and manipulated by sadists pulling his strings like a puppet. He clenched his jaw, a sinister aura enveloping him. He would win no matter what, defeating everyone in his path. He would crush his enemies mercilessly in order to obtain the power he sought. No price was too high.

Indra stormed onto the pitch with Móhú trailing behind him. Grisha announced their arrival with flair. “We’re nearing the end of the first round, with the penultimate match: match three!! Here come our fighters! First up, we have a candidate who is as nimble as he is quick: it’s the Blistering Blur, Móhú!! Our second candidate is no slouch either. He’s a master of shadows—an extinguisher of light: it’s the Dark Prince, Indra!!”

Indra wasn’t all too keen on the moniker Grisha had bestowed upon him. It was too pompous for his liking and he was certain he could hear snickers coming from the announcer’s booth. They were met with boisterous cheers from the crowd, all the same. The audience seemed even more animated than before thanks to Prasanna’s exciting display. Indra appraised Móhú coldly. His opponent looked more self-assured than before. His training under Jin must have been similar in brutality, and being around Kaluza had to have helped with his confidence tremendously. The way he carried himself was different; no more jittering. For Móhú’s sake, Indra hoped it wasn’t just Kaluza’s attitude that rubbed off on him.

Indra drowned out the surrounding noise, focusing intently on the enemy before him. His mind wished to wander elsewhere, and ruminate on the legitimacy of Prasanna’s actions. But that was neither here nor there. Now was not the time to let himself get distracted. He would defeat Móhú first, then think of a way to address the other issue. Though Indra was troubled by the ambiguity of her intentions, he wasn’t worried about facing Prasanna.

However, he wouldn’t underestimate a potential opponent either. Misconstruing confidence with arrogance had led to the downfall of many a man and woman before him. Indra would not make the same mistakes. Still, against his best intentions, he couldn’t help but feel confident about his current matchup after seeing the fruits that bore from his labor. What a spectacle it would be when he finally revealed his hand. For now, he would remain reserved, and analyze Móhú’s abilities to see if his growth warranted a certain degree of retaliation.

Grisha called for the fighters to assume their ready positions. Móhú bent low, taking a three-point stance while Indra stood loose and pliable. With a flourish of her hand, Grisha shouted into the microphone, signaling the start of the match. Before Indra could react, Móhú faded, or rather, he moved so quickly that his image could not be easily picked up by the naked eye. A swift pressure pressed on Indra’s ears, breaking the tympanic membrane within. Móhú had broken the sound barrier in an instant, rupturing Indra’s eardrums.

Indra winced, but he didn’t falter; he was used to pain much worse than this. Jin had seen to that. Ignoring the dull throbbing in his head now, it was quite refreshing not having to actively phase out external distractions. He could give his full attention to the fight at hand. It seemed like Móhú wanted to end the match quickly. Indra could understand why; his Trait had been particularly enigmatic, manifesting in strange ways throughout their time at Matriarch 04. He was sure that Móhú was trying to avoid a direct confrontation with whatever new form his Trait had taken on after much honing.

Móhú unleashed a barrage of punches, sending a blur of fists Indra’s way. His hands flew at such a speed that the air around them started to superheat. Indra made no move to defend himself, taking the brunt of the attack head-on. He waited for an opening, determining Móhú’s rate of attack at each point of contact. When the timing was right, he extended an arm, swift like a viper, grabbing Móhú by the collar.

The memory of Indra’s black flames was still fresh in everyone’s mind, including Móhú’s. Though he had grown more capable, he still harbored an inexplicable fear, almost primal in nature that made him aversive to the idea of coming near the abyssal fire that his opponent had conjured.

Móhú couldn’t loosen Indra’s grip. This revelation sent him into a panicked frenzy, punching Indra’s arm relentlessly to no avail. Indra didn’t budge, his grip firm. Seeing that his current tactic would yield no results, Móhú opted for a different strategy. He vibrated his hand, separating the particles of fabric that attached his collar to his DIVE Suit, apologizing to his poor tailor silently. He would make it up to her, he promised himself.

Móhú took to the sky, kicking the air with enough speed that the force kept him airborne for a period of time. Indra observed him calmly, clutching Móhú’s torn collar. He recognized the move; it was an evasive maneuver called Air Step. Jin had mentioned it in passing conversation, implying that Homunculi suited for aerial combat would find the best use for it. With someone as fast as Móhú, traversing the clouds was a trivial feat.

He was confused, however, when Indra made no attempt to chase after him, simply standing in place, watching patiently. Móhú kicked the air in erratic directions, ricocheting around the arena, mimicking Kaluza. He wondered how Indra would react; perhaps it would trigger a similar response to his first fight with Kaluza. But Móhú was confident in one thing that even his fear of Indra’s Trait could not override: he had his speed. Móhú faded from sight again, confusing the spectators as they searched for his presence. Before, one might have seen a blur, but now he was a ghost, striking from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Unlike the crowd, Indra’s eyes remained fixated on the spot in the sky where Móhú disappeared from. This peculiar action led the audience to follow suit, focusing their attention on an empty space in the air. Móhú grinned as he blitzed towards Indra, convinced that he hadn’t a clue where he was. He leaped forward, kicking his opponent in the side with maximum force. For a moment Móhú had felt triumphant, thinking that he had effectively used the element of surprise to turn the tide of the match in his favor. Then, he frowned; Móhú didn’t feel any resistance against his boots. He swiveled in the air to see Indra leaning back almost ninety degrees, unscathed.

Indra’s eyes moved in an uncanny fashion, following Móhú as he landed on the far edge of the field. Móhú dug his feet into the ground to keep himself from sliding further. He felt a slight sense of relief, realizing that he hadn’t missed his mark completely; a light tear on Indra’s chest suggested that it had been a close call. Móhú’s body was smoking from the heat of friction caused by the drag force. Despite this, he looked fine, clearly used to the condition from training. Even if the heat had affected him, Móhú would have been too busy being baffled by Indra’s keen eyes to notice.

“How did you see me?!” he sputtered.

Indra tilted his head to read his lips, unfazed. “I didn’t.”

Móhú grit his teeth, frustrated by his non-answer. His opponent was toying with him. “Let’s see you dodge this! Velocità Divina!” he announced, fading into thin air for a third time.

Velocità Divina? Those were Cielo words, a language spoken in the Cloudburst Archipelago. But Móhú wasn’t a Cielo name. Perhaps he was of mixed origins? Whatever the case, Indra only knew of a handful of people that spoke a different language when invoking Trait abilities. Cecil was one of them. He had said that the native language of the speaker would imbue their Trait with a power greater than if it was spoken in other tongues such as Jìnbù, Yuèliàng’s native language. Indra didn’t give the belief much importance, as there were more than a few Homunculi native to Yuèliàng. Were they doomed to remain weaker? Indra doubted it, but he found himself smiling at the memory. Cecil would have loved to have a conversation with Móhú had he known. I wonder how he’s doing.

The crowd resumed their search, watching the area around Indra carefully this time. Indra snapped to attention and swiftly brought up his arm to guard himself. The air crackled as Móhú’s knuckles made contact with Indra’s forearm. Móhú’s head and torso popped in and out of visibility. Several times, Móhú slipped past Indra’s ironclad guard, landing swift kicks and punches. He spun around, snapping his heel at Indra’s face, missing again as Indra pulled back in time.

“How are you doing that?! Even at this speed you—”

Indra interrupted him by sinking a fist deep into his stomach. Móhú was thrust into the outer perimeter, halted only by the reinforced walls. He dropped to his knees, retching. Móhú stared down at Indra’s feet just a few steps away, scrambling back as he moved closer. Indra grabbed Móhú roughly and pressed him against the wall.

“How did you—”

“The air—every move you make displaces it to some degree momentarily. Even those fleeting intervals of time are enough for me to read your attacks. I think you squeezed as much mileage out of this fight as you possibly could. I hope you got everything out of your system because it’s my turn now. Don’t worry, I’ll make this quick,” Indra stated coldly.

He grabbed Móhú and slammed him through the stadium wall. Indra proceeded to run along the outer perimeter, dragging Mohu through the concrete. He relented after making a complete round, inspecting the damage he had caused. Móhú’s body was mangled; his spine protruded unevenly in certain places, failed by the DIVE Suit’s spinal stabilization mechanism. His ribs pierced the skin, sticking out at awkward angles, and blood dripped down his scalp, likely from a head injury. Móhú made a pathetic attempt to retaliate, throwing a weak punch at Indra’s cheek.

“You’re done. Quit while you’re still alive. They’ll patch you up if you forfeit,” Indra urged.

Móhú turned his head slowly from side to side, his lips quivering. Indra pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He would not allow the crowd to see his opponent in such a state. It was best to end things quickly. He set Móhú down, stepping on one of his legs. He couldn’t hesitate, lest he second-guessed himself.

“You made me do this,” he whispered, pushing down forcefully until an audible snap sent Móhú writhing in pain, howling as Indra leaned close to his broken opponent.

“Jin taught you too, right? When you fight, you fight to win because losing out there means death. You put up a good fight, but in the end…you died.”

Indra walked away without a second glance. What a waste. He frowned as the crowd cheered with uncontrollable fervor. It seemed they approved of the carnage. In the end, he hadn’t used his Trait a single time during the match; it wasn’t warranted. Crows entered the field swiftly, the moment Móhú lost consciousness. Garou and Kaluza stood at the entrance, suited up in their DIVE Suits. Garou eyed Indra warily. Kaluza seethed, keeping his fury in check as he watched his teammate get taken off the field on a stretcher. Indra walked past them, stopping just before the elevator doors. He opened his mouth to speak.