Chapter 44: A Type Advantage
Matthew moved first.
A right hook tore toward Damon’s chest, all force and no finesse, the sort of punch that would have sent him through a wall two years ago.
Damon slipped beneath it.
With his focus on agility and the added flexibility from Sera’s hybridization, the dodge came far easier than it once would have. Matthew’s fist cut through the space where Damon’s ribs had been a heartbeat earlier, and the rush of wind still stung as it passed.
Matthew was the academy’s weakest B-Rank. Everyone knew it. But while Tomas split his build between durability and magic, Matthew had committed himself fully to the front line.
No ranged options, no crowd control, only his fists, his shell, and two years of experience grinding down anyone weaker than him.
Until recently, that had meant everyone.
Damon caught the next punch on his palm. The impact rang up his arm like a bell struck too hard. He answered with a fist of his own, driving it into Matthew’s face. The blow landed cleanly enough to snap Matthew’s head back.
He still didn’t fall.
His steel plating was flawless and unmarred. The Shell that Damon had cracked a month ago had been reinforced, and it showed.
"That it, dud?"
Damon answered with lightning. Twin bolts screamed across the gap between them, blue-white death aimed at Matthew’s chest and head.
Matthew slipped between them.
Not with Damon’s speed.
Matthew had never been super fast. But his movements were measured and efficient, the result of two years spent fighting every kind of opponent the academy could throw at him.
He had faced Storm Callers before. He knew Lightning Lance’s tell, the slight pause before the cast, the subtle curl of the fingers just before release.
That was why Damon’s chest nearly caved in.
Matthew’s fist came from an angle Damon hadn’t anticipated, slipping past his guard while his arms were still extended from the cast.
The punch drove into his ribs, and for one terrifying instant, he felt the bones there buckle. He twisted at the last possible moment, bleeding off just enough force to keep them from breaking.
Barely.
He skidded backward, boots scraping grooves into the metal floor. His ribs screamed. Every breath came short and sharp.
"To think I got so excited." Matthew grinned, that smug, familiar expression Damon had spent two years learning to hate. "You’re barely even a challenge."
Damon said nothing. He had already learned that words didn’t work on Matthew. Matthew fed on them, twisted them, used them to make himself feel larger than he was.
So Damon would let his skills speak instead.
[LIGHTNING LANCE]
Matthew dodged the first bolt with a slight tilt of his head, letting it sizzle past his ear. The second came hard on the first’s heels, aimed at the space he’d moved into.
Matthew ducked.
Effortless and predictable.
Exactly as Damon had hoped.
[SOVEREIGN’S THUNDER]
He didn’t aim at Matthew.
He drove his boot into the floor instead.
Golden lightning burst from the point of impact. The metal beneath him cratered slightly as blue-gold arcs raced outward in a web of crackling energy.
The barrier runes flared to keep him from shattering the arena floor completely.
But that was fine.
He hadn’t been trying to destroy the floor.
He had been trying to crawl the electricity in it.
Metal conducted. So did Matthew’s steel skin, the Shell he’d spent months perfecting.
The current reached him before he could fully adjust, his distance misjudged by just enough to matter. He knew Damon used electricity, but he hadn’t expected that much power in a single strike.
He was too close.
Too close for the charge not to run through his steel foot and seize the lower half of his leg in violent spasms.
"W-What...!?"
"Got you!"
Damon’s fist came in with a blue-gold sphere of condensed lightning hovering just above his knuckles.
Sovereign’s Thunder.
If it landed, Matthew’s Shell wouldn’t merely crack. It would shatter, and the lightning would race along the steel straight into his body.
Steel skin.
Steel bones.
But likely fleshy organs.
A perfect cage for the current to burn everything inside.
"Don’t celebrate too early!"
Matthew grunted, driving his fist upward. He didn’t try to block the Thunder. He didn’t try to deflect it.
He struck Damon’s elbow instead, smashing his arm off course mid-punch before the skill could land. The Thunder discharged harmlessly as the blow was redirected.
And then Matthew’s forehead drove forward.
The headbutt caught Damon square and sent him flying across the arena. He crashed into the barrier runes at the edge of the circle and hit the floor hard.
"A-Ahck!"
He rolled onto his side, coughing, trying to push himself upright.
His head throbbed.
The bruised ribs Tomas had already left him with screamed in protest.
"You were close." Matthew’s voice drifted through the haze as he limped toward him, the current still making his foot twitch. "But close isn’t a victory, Persival."
Damon forced himself up. His legs shook, and his vision wavered.
Still, he stood.
Matthew was limping.
Damon was bleeding.
But neither of them was done.
"Unbelievable... those two are actually evenly matched."
"What are you talking about? They clearly aren’t. Persival’s barely doing any damage."
"He’s right... The only time Matthew actually took damage was from electricity. It’s a type advantage, but overall, Matthew is much stronger."
Matthew limped forward, each step deliberate, the remnants of Damon’s lightning still arcing faintly across his steel skin. His leg twitched involuntarily, the current not yet fully dissipated. But his fists remained raised, and his grin, that insufferable grin, was back in place.
"Type advantage," Matthew said, loud enough for the upper deck to hear. "That’s all you’ve got. A lucky element against my Shell."
He cracked his neck, the sound echoing across the silent arena.
"Without it, you’re still the same useless dud who couldn’t even activate a skill for two years."
Damon wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His ribs screamed with every breath. His vision still hadn’t fully cleared from the headbutt.
But his mind was racing.
Matthew was right about one thing. Raw physical strikes weren’t working. The reinforced Shell had evolved past what Damon’s basic punches could crack.
Even with his stats, even with the hybridization boost, Matthew’s two years of grinding had created a defense that simple force couldn’t breach.
But Matthew had made a mistake.
Because at that moment, Damon had already figured out a perfect strategy.
