She raised the Darkness Sword before her, a shadowed shield against D’s sudden lunge, like holding night to fend off a storm.
Whoosh…
From behind came the air-ripping rush of something moving fast. She didn’t know why a Stand—an energy thing—had heft. That puzzle wasn’t Lian’s to solve.
She whipped the Darkness Sword around to guard her back, the blade drawing a black arc like a crescent swept through dusk.
Thunk!
A huge force rode the blade into her hands, a river surge slamming into her grip. The unexpected weight almost pried her fingers loose. Panic pricked like cold rain. She clamped down fast and steadied the loosening sword.
When the pressure ebbed from her palms like a tide retreating, she glanced back. Still no one. D had slipped away again by that strange trick, a ghost melting into stone.
Lian scanned the space, nerves strung tight like a bowstring in winter. This setup was bad for her. She didn’t know D’s position; even if she did, she couldn’t see his Stand. From their last clash, she knew the Stand could reach over ten meters, like a spear cast from fog. That let D hide in walls and strike. All told, she was fighting mist in a maze, at a complete disadvantage.
Whoosh…
The sound came from the left. She didn’t even look. She swung the blade to her left, a dark wing raised against the wind.
Thunk!
The force through the Darkness Sword was far weaker, a wave that broke to foam. Before, it had felt like a tank ramming. Now it was only heavier than a man’s full-power punch.
The odd shift made her glance left. It should’ve been empty. Instead, a blond, musclebound man stood there, a victor’s smile curling his mouth like a knife. Who else but D?
A bad premonition crawled up her spine like cold ivy. She tried to leap away, but she was a step slow. A massive hit slammed into her back, a hammer from the dark. She crashed into the wall. The impact cratered outward from Lian’s center, circles of broken stone rippling like frozen waves.
MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!!!!!
A blur of iron fists hammered her back, a storm drum beating her spine. Lian had misjudged the Stand’s strength from the start. Each strike had been sandbagged, weight hidden under silk, and it fooled her. Now D’s blows could hurt. If she took this beating, blood would come soon, a red blossom opening.
Fear rose inside Lian, not of D’s power, but of being hurt. She didn’t know why. She couldn’t let herself be injured. It felt like a wound would pry open some locked box inside her, a secret dragged into light. It was fear of the unknown.
She stopped playing. She flared her mana like a gale through bamboo, intending to blast D away. Strangely, most of it didn’t surge outward. It poured into the Darkness Sword instead, a river choosing its bed. Light budded along the blade, petals opening on steel.
Heat swelled in her grip, primal and sure, like a hearth catching. By instinct, Lian swung the glowing Darkness Sword. A blade of light flew, a moon-white arc, and hit the Stand behind her.
Damage to a Stand feeds back instantly. Not far away, D’s left arm tore free from his body, a grotesque fruit falling. Blood geysered, a crimson fountain, and D howled.
Aaaahhhhh!!!
Fresh from that barrage, Lian had no chance to look toward the screaming D; her breath still shook like leaves in wind.
“Bastard, bastard, bastard!!”
D snatched his fallen left hand, his face twisted by pain, features knotted like rope. “You will pay for this!”
He pressed the severed hand to the spurting stump. Fibers of muscle snaked out and knit the limb, living threads sewing flesh. The agony contorted him harder; snot and tears streamed like thaw. Within a single breath, the arm restored. The pain ebbed, a storm moving on. Restored, D called his Stand to his back. His gaze at Lian held a new shard of anger, glassy and sharp. He pressed his palms together at his chest.
“Stair Guardian! X Stair Arena!”
The X-shaped staircase behind the Stand launched forward and slammed into the ground. Ka—da! Gears clicked, insect mandibles at work. The stair-space broadened, expanding to a circular arena with a radius around five hundred meters, then halted like a held breath. After it stopped, staircases of all shapes rose from the earth, pillars of steps, and towered as natural obstacles, a forest of stone paths.
Only once the arena settled did Lian press down the fear, laying a lid on boiling water. She let out a breath, oddly relieved, as if she’d barred a dreadful beast from appearing.
Back in herself, the fight had to go on. Her body had gone weak from that fear, knees like river reeds. She braced and stood, slow. She breathed deep until her stance steadied, calm pooling like still water.
She wasn’t shocked by the changing scene. She even felt a bit glad; at least she was out of that dull place, a door opened from gray to strange.
She looked at D across from her and couldn’t help thinking of a Western quickdraw, two silhouettes in dust. The air fit the mood, dry and tense.
“Then, are you ready to pay for harming my noble body?” D spoke in peak chuunibyou, his tone a cape in the wind… emmm, even more dramatic than Ling.
“Uh… I’d like to say this, but in a death match, losing an arm’s pretty normal, right…”
“Shut up. You hurt my noble body and still dare to argue here. How vile. How base.”
She didn’t know why he’d suddenly started acting insane. She did know one thing: this guy was an idiot.
D spread his arms. Around them, the stairs groaned, stone whales waking. The still steps began to move. They became… escalators, rivers carrying treads.
Lian wanted badly to snark, a smile twitching like a cat’s tail, but D’s voice cut across.
“Trash, this is my arena. From now on, I’ll fight you with everything. Prepare to embrace death!”
He hadn’t managed to injure Lian at all. Yet changing the venue made him puff with confidence. He strutted like this was his home field, like he was invincible, a peacock on a battlefield. As if the protagonist had gotten his battle BGM and gone berserk. Too bad D hadn’t realized he wasn’t the protagonist.
