The Air Was Thick With Tension.
Layron's breath was ragged, each inhale scraping against his throat like fire. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his body trembling, drenched in sweat.
Every muscle in his body ached. His legs barely held him upright. His fingers twitched involuntarily from sheer fatigue.
And yet—
He couldn't stop.
The training rules were absolute.
1. He had to survive.
2. He couldn't surrender, no matter how exhausted he was.
3. The arrows wouldn't stop until he died… or until he stopped Shion. ( LAST AND ONLY OPTION )
Stopping Shion meant doing the impossible.
It meant breaking Bowsungun.
The floating bows above him pulsed ominously, their energy crackling in the dim air. The arrows that rained down weren't just attacks. They were a relentless storm, an unending execution that allowed no mistakes.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a war of attrition.
And Layron was on his last legs.
---
The Final Strategy
Layron pressed his back against the cold stone slab, every muscle in his body screaming for rest. His heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic rhythm in his ears.
His mind raced.
How do I break the bow?
Shion wasn't giving him a single opening.
Every time Layron tried to close the distance, another wave of arrows cut him off. The speed was overwhelming—inhuman, controlled with a precision that left no room for error.
Even if he charged directly, even if he somehow dodged the first volley, Shion would adjust, recalibrate, and finish it.
But there was one thing Layron had noticed.
The arrows weren't fired randomly.
Shion was controlling them.
And every shot, every adjustment, required his focus.
That was the key.
If Layron could force Shion to shift his focus—even for a second—he'd have an opening.
It was reckless.
It was insane.
It was perfect.
Layron smiled.
---
The Execution
Layron moved.
The second he stepped out from cover, Shion reacted instantly.
A sharp, mechanical snap echoed as his fingers pulled the thread of Bowsungun—
And the arrows came.
Faster. More ruthless. The air sang with their deadly whistle.
Layron's Instinct Break kicked in. His body responded before his mind could process—
A twist to the left—an arrow missed his ribs by a hair's breadth.
A pivot—another sliced through the air where his throat had been.
A step back—the next barely grazed his sleeve.
And then—
The final arrow.
Layron saw it.
Felt it.
This one was different.
It was faster. Heavier.
A perfect, unavoidable shot.
Shion knew it.
Falkren knew it.
Even Layron knew it.
He couldn't dodge.
But he didn't need to.
Layron's body twisted—he flipped mid-air, spinning upside down.
And in that split second—
He caught the arrow.
The moment his fingers clenched around the shaft, the battlefield shifted.
Shion's eyes widened just slightly.
No one had ever caught an arrow from Bowsungun before.
Even Falkren, ever composed, let out a low hum of amusement.
[[That's new.]]
But Layron wasn't finished.
Still mid-air, he twisted his body, his fingers tightening around the arrow—
And with every ounce of strength left in him—
He threw it back.
The very same arrow meant to kill him—
Now raced toward Shion.
Shion barely had time to react.
For the first time in the entire fight, his focus wavered.
He wasn't aiming.
He was defending.
His eyes snapped onto the incoming arrow. His hands moved on instinct—
He reached into his pocket.
A pebble.
Small. Insignificant. But in the hands of a master—a weapon.
Shion threw it.
A flick of his wrist. A pinpoint calculation.
CRACK!
The pebble collided mid-air with the arrow's metal tip.
The impact shattered the arrowhead into fragments.
It never reached him.
It never needed to.
Because now—Shion's focus was off Layron.
And Layron never wasted an opening.
His body was already in motion.
Before Shion could re-aim—before another volley of arrows could be released—
Layron was in front of him.
Shion's eyes flickered—too late.
Layron jumped.
And with one swift motion—
He ripped an arrow from his own shoulder.
Pain exploded through his nerves, but he didn't stop.
He gripped the broken arrowhead between his fingers.
Shion's hands moved—pulling the bowstring again.
Layron's arm blurred—
SLASH!
The razor-sharp arrowhead sliced through the bow.
And in that instant—
Bowsungun shattered.
The floating bows vanished.
The rain of arrows ceased.
The deadly storm collapsed into nothingness.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
---
Victory & Collapse
Shion stared at his now useless bow.
Layron stood before him—his legs barely holding him up, his hands shaking, but a triumphant grin on his face.
And then—
His body collapsed.
The world blurred as Layron lay on his back, gasping for air.
His entire body ached.
His fingers barely twitched.
His vision swam.
And yet—
He was smiling.
He had done it.
Shion exhaled slowly, staring at the remains of Bowsungun.
Then, he simply chuckled.
"Well… I'll be damned."
Falkren hopped down from his perch, his mechanical eye flickering with something close to amusement.
[[That was reckless.]]
Shion smirked. "Reckless? That was insane."
He crouched down, looking at Layron's exhausted face. "You really thought you could beat me by breaking my bow?"
Layron's lips barely moved, his voice hoarse—
"Didn't think…"
Shion raised a brow. "Huh?"
Layron's grin widened.
"I knew."
Shion paused.
Then—
He let out a low, impressed laugh.
"You little bastard."
Falkren tilted his head. [[The boy's getting sharper.]]
Shion nodded. "More than that."
He picked up the broken remains of Bowsungun, twirling them between his fingers before tossing them aside.
"He's thinking like a fighter now."
Layron had pushed beyond exhaustion.
Beyond pain.
Beyond limits.
And he had won.
Falkren ruffled his feathers. [[This is going to be fun.]]
Shion smirked. "Yeah… He's gonna be a monster."
Layron barely registered the words.
He was already half-unconscious.
But deep in his chest—
A fire burned brighter than ever before.
---
To Be Continued...