The plains were anything but quiet.
Wind howled across the battlefield, sweeping through broken earth and flattened grass while carrying with it the lingering echoes of explosions, roars, and clashing magic. Each gust seemed to drag fragments of earlier collisions along with it, as if the air itself had yet to recover from the violence.
Shockwaves rolled intermittently across the terrain, distorting the horizon in brief ripples. Dust hung suspended in the air, illuminated by stray flashes of magic, while the ground bore fresh scars—craters, cracks, and gouges that told the story of overwhelming force being exchanged without restraint.
And yet, even amidst all of that chaos—
Something else dominated.
Something sharper.
More precise.
A presence that did not just exist within the battlefield, but overrode it.
Sound.
Not mere noise, but structured, intentional, weaponized sound—vibrations layered with rhythm, frequency, and magic. It cut cleanly through the chaos, threading between explosions and roars, asserting itself as a force just as tangible and dangerous as any blade or spell.
It was not background.
It was the battlefield itself.
Matthew stood at a distance, his posture relaxed but focused as waves of sound magic pulsed outward from his body.
"Alright… let's see how you handle this," he muttered.
His SE outfit clung tightly to his body like a second skin, the latex material stretching and settling over every contour as if it had been poured onto him rather than worn. With every subtle shift of his stance, the surface caught the light and reflected it in smooth, liquid-like highlights, emphasizing motion even when he stood still.
It was a white and green latex full-body suit, smooth and form-fitting, with sleek, flowing lines and glowing patterns that traced along his musculature like circuitry. The design gave it a distinctly sci-fi aesthetic—like a futuristic skintight spacesuit engineered for both performance and display. The patterns pulsed faintly in sync with his magic, brightening with each surge of sound energy as if the suit itself was part of his instrument.
However, like Billy's SE outfit, portions of the suit were intentionally see-through. Transparent panels ran across his abs, over his pecs, and along the sides of his hips, leaving nothing to the imagination where it mattered most. The contrast between opaque latex and clear sections created a deliberate visual framing, drawing attention to his build and making every movement more pronounced.
Over the bodysuit, Matthew wore a pair of gauntlets and greaves filled with layered sci-fi elements. Embedded channels and faintly glowing nodes pulsed along their surfaces, responding dynamically to the rhythm of his magic. Each beat of his sound output caused a corresponding flicker of light, turning his limbs into visible conduits of tempo and power.
Around his upper torso rested a white armored harness collar that protected his neck, traps, and upper back while framing his chest. The structure subtly lifted and outlined his upper body, making his pecs appear even broader and more prominent, as if they were being presented rather than merely protected. Small speaker arrays and microphone insets were integrated seamlessly into the design, reinforcing that this was not just armor—it was a performance system, a stage built directly onto his body.
Matthew glanced down briefly.
"…Still not as big as boss though," he muttered with a small sigh.
His mind drifted for a moment.
Seriously… how are those even pecs? Those things are basically double D cup breasts shaped like manly pecs.
I've seen him crush stones just by putting them in that cleavage and flexing… what the hell…
It wasn't just him either.
Every male member in the guild had some level of pec envy when it came to Krampus. It didn't matter how big, how trained, or how proud they were of their own physiques—standing next to the boss made everyone question their life choices.
Those things are illegal… there's no way that's fair.
Matthew let out a quiet breath, half amused, half defeated.
And young master Laxus… man, that guy is blessed.
His thoughts drifted further for a split second.
Landing someone like boss Krampus… those pillowy pecs must feel heavenly…
He shook his head quickly, snapping himself out of it.
"Yeah, no. Not competing with that."
Then his expression sharpened again as he focused forward, all stray thoughts snapping into place as the battlefield narrowed to a single target.
In the distance, through the haze of dust and heat distortion—
Logan.
Even from afar, the red-furred werewolf stood out like a moving blaze, his presence loud, violent, and impossible to ignore.
Matthew raised his hand slightly, fingers flexing as he tuned his magic.
A sharp pulse of sound burst outward from his position, slicing cleanly through the air.
It was a high-frequency wave, carefully calibrated to disrupt canine senses—balance, inner ear pressure, spatial orientation. The kind of attack that should have overwhelmed anything relying on enhanced hearing.
It struck Logan directly.
And…
Nothing happened.
Logan didn't even flinch.
Matthew blinked once, then twice.
"…Huh?"
He adjusted his output instantly, refining the frequency and amplifying the intensity.
Another pulse followed, this one denser, sharper, and far more aggressive.
Still—nothing.
Logan barely even slowed down. If anything, his charge seemed to accelerate, his body tearing across the plains with explosive force.
Matthew's expression twitched.
"You're kidding me…"
He narrowed his eyes, recalculating in real time as his mind ran through possible explanations.
With those wolf ears, that should've had you rolling on the ground… at least disoriented…
He clicked his tongue, a clear note of disappointment slipping through.
"Man… I really thought that would work," he admitted under his breath.
There was a brief flicker of annoyance—but it didn't last.
Instead, it sharpened into interest.
"Alright… so you're resistant to that kind of interference," he muttered, almost impressed. "Or you're just powering through it. Either way…"
His lips curled into a small grin.
"That's actually pretty fun."
By then, Logan was already closing the distance.
Fast—
No, not just fast.
Violently fast.
Each step cracked the ground beneath him, each movement carrying raw, explosive momentum that turned the space between them into something that disappeared in an instant.
Very fast.
Matthew exhaled slowly, his stance lowering as his body aligned with the incoming threat.
"Yeah… no more testing," he said quietly. "Let's do this properly."
He tapped his gauntlets, and the gesture sent a command through every component of his SE system.
For a brief moment, there was silence—a deliberate pause, like the held breath before a performance begins.
Then the music started.
A deep, rhythmic pulse rolled out from the built-in speakers on his gauntlets and greaves, low and heavy at first, like a heartbeat echoing across the battlefield. Within a second, additional layers stacked on top of it—bass lines, harmonic tones, and sharp percussive accents—all aligning perfectly with the rhythm of his body.
The tempo synced with his pulse.
His breathing.
His movement.
Matthew rolled his shoulders as the music intensified, feeling the magic circulate through him in waves that matched every beat.
"Let's go," he said, his voice steady but energized.
He leaned slightly toward the microphone embedded in his armored collar, and as he opened his mouth—
He began to sing.
His voice did not simply ride the music; it fused with it. Each note he produced carried structure, intent, and magic, weaving itself into the existing rhythm and amplifying it. The sound thickened, gaining weight and presence until it was no longer just heard—it was felt.
The air itself seemed to vibrate.
The ground responded in faint tremors.
This was no longer background music.
This was a field effect.
Magic.
No one can defeat me when my BGM is playing.
Matthew smirked slightly as the thought crossed his mind.
Well… not literally, but close enough.
With each step forward, the music followed him, expanding outward like an invisible stage that moved with his body. The closer one got to him, the stronger the effect became—buffing his movements, sharpening his timing, and reinforcing his presence.
He took one step.
Then another.
Then he dashed.
And as he moved, the music surged with him, rising in intensity as if reacting to his acceleration, turning his charge into the opening act of a full-scale performance.
At the same time—
Logan lunged in from the opposite direction, his charge tearing a shallow trench through the ground with each step. His shoulders were low, his center of gravity tight, and every ounce of momentum was directed forward into a single, overwhelming point of impact.
"Finally!" Logan roared, voice carrying like thunder.
"Took you long enough!" Matthew shot back, already accelerating to meet him head-on.
They did not slow.
They did not hesitate.
Their fists met at full speed.
BOOM.
The collision detonated like a point-blank explosion. A circular shockwave blasted outward for hundreds of meters, flattening grass in a clean ring and kicking up a towering wall of dust. The air itself compressed and then snapped back, producing a second, delayed ripple that rolled across the plains.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Their knuckles pressed against each other, muscles tensed, veins standing out as both tested the other's raw strength.
Then—
They both grinned.
"Heh!" Logan laughed, eyes blazing. "You've got some weight behind that!"
"You're not bad yourself," Matthew replied, bracing against the pressure. "Bit loud though."
"LOUD IS GOOD!"
They broke apart simultaneously, feet sliding back just enough to reset their stance.
Then they surged forward again without a word.
Fist met fist.
This time, the exchange accelerated.
Matthew's punches came in tight, precise lines, each strike guided by the rhythm of his music, his timing sharpened to near-perfection. Logan's blows, in contrast, were heavier and more direct, each swing carrying overwhelming force that threatened to break through anything it touched.
Strike after strike collided mid-air, each impact producing bursts of compressed wind that lashed outward like invisible blades. The ground beneath them cracked and fractured, unable to withstand the repeated shock of their clashes.
"Oh I felt that—keep 'em coming, big guy!" Matthew shot back, slipping the hook and snapping a counter to the ribs.
"You think that tickled me?" Logan barked, stepping through with a heavier swing. "I haven't even started yet!"
"Talk all you want—when the beat drops, you drop," Matthew grinned, driving a sharp jab up the center.
"Then drop it!" Logan roared. "I'll break the stage—and you with it!"
Their movements blurred as the tempo increased. Matthew slipped inside Logan's guard, landing a quick body shot, only for Logan to answer with a shoulder check that forced him back half a step. Neither gained a decisive advantage, but each exchange carried enough force to reshape the battlefield around them.
Shockwaves rippled outward continuously now, overlapping and colliding with each other, distorting the air and blasting the surroundings into further disarray. Dust clouds rose and were instantly torn apart, only to reform and scatter again under the next impact.
Around them, the battlefield became a zone of constant disruption, where standing still for even a moment would be enough to be caught in the aftereffects of their clash.
After a dozen exchanges, both fighters instinctively disengaged at the same time.
They slid back a few meters, boots digging into the ground as they came to a controlled stop.
Their breathing remained steady.
Their eyes were sharp.
They had warmed up enough.
"Alright," Matthew said, rolling his shoulder as the music around him shifted into a heavier, more aggressive tempo.
"Yeah," Logan replied, baring his fangs, his grip tightening as his aura flared in response.
"Now it gets fun."
At the same time—
They summoned their SE weapons.
Logan's twin axes appeared in his hands with a crackle of violent magic, their edges shimmering with a thin, unstable energy that seemed to distort the air around them. They didn't just look sharp—they felt sharp, as if even standing near them would cut.
Matthew's weapon manifested in a burst of resonant sound—a giant staff hammer forming piece by piece as notes solidified into structure.
The hammer head resembled a fusion of drums and speakers, its surface vibrating subtly even while still. Strings stretched along its length like a string instrument, faintly humming, while the hollow staff body was lined with holes that produced soft, whistling tones as air passed through it.
A full orchestra—contained in one weapon.
For a brief moment, both of them simply stood there, weapons in hand, their respective energies building.
Then—
They moved.
They swung.
CLANG.
The collision of their weapons didn't just produce sound—it detonated it.
A violent shockwave erupted from the point of contact, a layered explosion of force and sound that blasted outward in concentric rings. The ground beneath them fractured instantly, splitting into jagged lines as compressed energy drove downward and outward at the same time.
The force didn't just stop at the impact—it traveled back into their bodies like a rebound.
Matthew felt it first as vibration, then as pain.
A sharp, cutting energy surged through his weapon and into his arms, bypassing the cushioning effect of his sound barrier.
His eyes widened slightly.
What—?
Then it hit fully.
Matthew was thrown back, his feet digging into the ground as he skidded several meters, carving shallow trenches behind him before he forced himself to stop.
He grimaced, looking down.
Thin lacerations had formed across his arms and torso—not from direct contact, but from the residual energy emitted by Logan's axes. The cuts were shallow, but they burned, as if something had ignored his defenses entirely.
"…Seriously?" he muttered.
He flexed his arm slightly, feeling the sting.
"That went through my sound barrier…"
He looked up at Logan's axes, eyes narrowing.
"Boss… are you playing favorites or something?" he complained under his breath.
"What is this, true damage?"
That's not normal… that's not supposed to happen…
My barrier should've at least reduced it…
Then, as always, his thoughts veered slightly off track.
Is it because they're all furries…?
I'm technically hairless right now after shaving… is that it?
He let out a small, exasperated breath.
"Man, that's unfair…"
Even so—
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
"…But alright. That's interesting."
On the other side—
Logan rolled his shoulders slowly, muscles shifting and tightening as he reset his stance.
He was not unscathed.
Faint bruising had already begun to surface beneath his fur, and the lingering vibration from the last clash still echoed through his arms. But more than that—
Matthew's music.
It continued to pulse through the battlefield, layered and relentless, pressing against his senses from every direction.
Even with rage magic reinforcing him, the interference remained.
Not just around him—
But inside him.
Annoying…
He clenched his jaw as another wave hit.
This time it wasn't just sound—it was rhythm forcing itself into his body, trying to overwrite his timing, his breathing, even the natural cadence of his movement.
The dizziness came and went in brief, sharp waves.
Not enough to stop him.
But enough to disrupt.
You can't even block it…
He had already tried.
Using the control over his body granted by bodybuilding magic—refined to an absurd degree in such a short time—he had forcibly shut down his own hearing. Muscles, nerves, even inner ear functions—he could control them down to the smallest detail.
But it didn't matter.
The moment the music surged again—
It hit him.
Not through air.
Not through vibration.
But directly.
As if it bypassed everything and resonated with something deeper.
His muscles tensed involuntarily for a split second.
His timing slipped.
…Soul-level?
Logan's grin slowly widened despite the discomfort, his eyes sharpening with interest instead of frustration.
"Heh… tricky…"
Instead of resisting it completely, he leaned into it—letting the irritation, the disruption, the pressure all feed into something else.
Rage.
Meanwhile—
Matthew spun his staff hammer, the weapon singing as it moved.
Every motion produced layered sound.
The hammer head struck an invisible beat—deep, resonant drums pounding with each swing.
The strings along its body vibrated, producing sharp, cutting tones that threaded through the rhythm.
Air flowed through the hollow shaft, generating piercing wind notes that rode on top of everything else.
It was not just a weapon.
It was a full band—playing live, in real time, with every movement of his body.
"You like it?" Matthew called out with a grin. "Live performance!"
The music intensified instantly in response to his motion.
The tempo rose.
The volume deepened.
The pressure increased.
Logan felt it immediately.
His senses tightened.
His instincts sharpened.
And his rage—
Exploded.
His aura surged outward violently, red energy flaring around his body as his rage magic spiked higher and higher, pushing back against the constant harassment.
Stronger.
Wilder.
Less controlled.
His muscles expanded slightly under the strain, veins standing out as his body forced itself to keep up with both the external pressure and his own escalating power.
But the trade-off became clear almost instantly.
His movements changed.
They lost refinement.
Lost precision.
Gained rawness.
Gained unpredictability.
Gained danger.
Logan's posture shifted lower, more animalistic. His breathing grew heavier, more aggressive. His eyes locked onto Matthew not as an opponent—but as prey.
Matthew narrowed his eyes as he observed the shift.
…That might've been a mistake.
This wasn't just a stronger Logan.
This was a less predictable one.
A feral one.
Harder to read.
Harder to control.
"Oops…" Matthew muttered under his breath.
Maybe I shouldn't have pushed the soul music so hard…
Only three seconds had passed since they separated.
But in those three seconds—
They had already adapted.
Already escalated.
Already turned the fight into something far more dangerous.
Then—
They moved again.
CLANG.
The battle resumed with even greater intensity.
This time, neither of them held back.
Rounds blurred together as they exchanged blow after blow, each collision louder, heavier, and more destructive than the last. Logan's axes tore through the air in brutal arcs, each swing carrying enough force to split the ground, while Matthew's staff hammer answered with perfectly timed counters, every strike reinforced by layered sound that struck both body and soul.
The battlefield could no longer keep up.
Shockwaves overlapped constantly, colliding mid-air and rebounding unpredictably. The ground fractured further under their feet, turning into uneven terrain that both of them instinctively adapted to without breaking rhythm.
Slowly—
The shift began.
Logan began to lose ground.
At first, it was subtle.
A step half a beat late.
A swing that didn't quite land with full force.
A momentary lapse in timing as Matthew's music interfered with his rhythm.
But over time, those small disruptions accumulated.
His attacks were still powerful—each one still capable of crushing defenses—but they were no longer perfectly aligned.
Matthew, on the other hand, grew sharper.
Faster.
More precise.
The music was working exactly as intended.
Logan's mana was draining faster than it could recover.
Each surge of rage magic, each forced adjustment to counter the soul-level interference, cost him more than it should have.
Damn…
He gritted his teeth as another wave of dissonance hit him mid-swing, forcing him to overcommit and miss by a fraction.
That fraction was enough.
Matthew slipped past the strike and drove his staff into Logan's side, sending a burst of sound through his body that rattled him from the inside out.
Logan skidded back, claws digging into the ground.
He could still fight.
His stamina was immense.
His body could endure.
But his magic—
Was running low.
…Gotta end this.
His breathing slowed.
His posture lowered.
For the first time since the fight began—
He stopped advancing.
Matthew immediately noticed.
Oh?
Logan pulled back slightly, creating just enough distance to act.
His aura began to change.
No longer wild.
No longer expanding.
It began to compress.
Condense.
All that explosive rage—
Forced inward.
Packed tighter and tighter into his core.
The air around him grew heavy, as if pressure was building at a single point.
Matthew's eyes narrowed.
…That's not good.
Logan's grip on his axes tightened.
His muscles coiled.
His entire body aligned into a single direction.
All in.
He was about to release everything in one decisive strike.
Just as the energy reached its peak—
An arrow flashed past him.
Fast.
Silent.
Precise.
CRACK.
It struck Matthew from the side, the impact disrupting his stance and sending him flying backward before he could react.
Logan blinked once.
Then his expression split into a wide, savage grin.
"HA! Berny!"
Relief flashed through him for the briefest moment—but it didn't override his instincts.
He didn't chase.
Didn't press the advantage.
Because something else was coming.
His instincts screamed.
A wave of bubbles rolled across the battlefield, spreading low and fast like a creeping tide, each one shimmering with contained magic.
Logan's grin didn't fade—but his body moved immediately.
He stepped back.
Then another step.
Creating distance.
"Yeah, yeah… I'm going!" he muttered, turning away without hesitation as he retreated.
No greed.
No overextension.
Just survival—and trust in his teammate's timing.
On Matthew's side—
Matthew skidded across the ground before coming to a stop, boots carving shallow lines through the fractured earth as he dragged himself out of the arrow's momentum.
"Tch… sneaky shot…" he muttered, pushing himself up with one hand while the other kept a loose grip on his staff hammer.
The damage itself wasn't severe—no deep penetration, no critical hit—but the timing of it had been perfect. It had knocked him out of rhythm at the exact moment he needed control the most.
He rolled his shoulder once, checking his mobility.
"Mid-cast interruption too… yeah, that's annoying," he added under his breath.
Then he noticed it.
Bubbles.
They drifted in from multiple angles, slow at first, almost harmless in appearance. Translucent spheres, shimmering faintly with layered magic, reflecting the chaos of the battlefield in warped, glossy surfaces.
But Matthew didn't relax.
His eyes sharpened instead.
"…Oh?"
The bubbles weren't random.
They were positioning.
Encroaching.
Controlling space.
Within seconds, they had formed a loose perimeter around him, hovering at varying heights and distances, cutting off easy escape routes while leaving just enough gaps to bait movement.
Matthew blinked once.
Then smiled.
"…Heh."
Recognition clicked instantly.
Warmth spread through his chest—not from the battle, but from familiarity.
"Billy, huh?"
My best fuck buddy's got my back…
He let out a soft chuckle, tension bleeding off his shoulders for just a moment.
"Nice timing," he said, voice lighter now.
He straightened fully, rolling his neck as the music around him adjusted automatically—tempo stabilizing, rhythm recalibrating after the disruption.
"Cutting me off right when I was getting into it, though…" he added with a grin.
A bubble drifted closer.
Matthew tilted his head slightly, watching how it reacted to his presence.
Yup. That's Billy's style alright.
Zoning, pressure, delayed traps… and probably something nastier hidden in there.
He tightened his grip on his weapon, the staff hammer humming faintly as it synced back up with his BGM.
"Alright then…"
His stance lowered slightly, shifting from a one-on-one rhythm to something more adaptive.
"Looks like this turned into a doubles match."
His gaze lifted, scanning past the bubbles—already anticipating where Bernard would reposition, where Logan would circle back in, and how Billy would try to control the flow of the fight.
"You guys really know how to make an entrance," he called out, voice carrying through the music field.
A grin spread across his face, sharper now.
"Let's see how this goes."
On Logan and Bernard's side—
Logan's boots dug into the broken earth as he came to a stop beside Bernard. They did not exchange words; they did not need to. A single glance and a subtle shift in stance were enough for both of them to understand the next move.
They moved together.
Logan surged forward like a living battering ram, his axes blazing with that same unnatural, cutting energy that seemed to shear through space itself. At the exact same moment, Bernard disappeared from sight, his presence dissolving into the forest of angles and blind spots that only he could navigate.
Then the arrows came.
Not from a single direction, but from everywhere at once. They arrived from the front and the sides, from above and behind, slipping through blind spots that should have been safe. Each arrow traveled at lightning speed, vanishing mid-flight and reappearing just before impact, as if space itself were cooperating with Bernard's aim.
"Heads up!" Matthew shouted as his instincts flared.
Billy snapped his fingers in response, and a cluster of bubbles burst into existence around them. The spheres intercepted several arrows mid-air, each impact sending ripples across their glossy surfaces before they popped and diffused the force.
But not all of them.
One arrow slipped through the gaps.
CRACK.
Matthew twisted at the last possible moment, the projectile grazing past his head where it would have been a clean knockout.
"Tch—this guy again!" he clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing.
Anywhere. Anytime. No trajectory…
That's annoying.
Meanwhile, Logan had already closed the distance.
"MOVE!" Billy shouted, but the warning came a fraction too late.
BOOM.
Logan crashed into Matthew's guard with overwhelming force. His axes collided with the sound barriers, and just like before, that cutting energy tore through them as if they were never there.
Matthew gritted his teeth as the impact drove him back.
"Yeah yeah, I get it—your axes are unfair!"
"Stop complaining and fight!" Logan roared, pressing the advantage without hesitation.
Their clash sent shockwaves rolling outward across the battlefield, but this time the pressure did not come from Logan alone.
Bernard was already in position.
An arrow struck Logan squarely in the back.
Not to harm—
But to buff.
Golden light flared across Logan's body, and the effect was immediate. His speed spiked, his muscles responding faster, his movements tightening into something sharper and more explosive.
His next swing came in—faster and heavier than before.
Matthew barely managed to block it, the impact rattling through his arms.
"Oh come on—he's getting buffs too?!" Matthew barked.
On Bernard's side—
Keep the pressure.
Bernard's eyes narrowed as he tracked every movement across the battlefield. To him, the chaos resolved into clean lines and predictable patterns.
Logan takes the front. I support. No overlap. No interference.
Another arrow formed and released.
Another buff landed.
Another angle was covered.
Their teamwork was seamless, functioning less like coordination and more like instinct. They moved like a pack of magical beasts in perfect sync, each action reinforcing the other without wasted motion.
And beneath that precision—
There was something deeper.
Trust.
Connection.
Love.
They did not need to speak.
They simply knew.
On Matthew and Billy's side—
Matthew slid back several meters, boots grinding against the fractured ground as he forced himself into a stable stance. He exhaled once, steadying his breathing while his eyes tracked both Logan's forward pressure and the impossible angles of Bernard's arrows.
"Okay… yeah… that's disgusting teamwork," he admitted, rolling his shoulder as he reset his rhythm.
Billy stood a few steps behind him, posture relaxed but eyes razor-sharp as he observed the flow of the fight.
"Pack hunters," Billy said calmly. "Makes sense. They're not thinking—just moving together."
Fast adaptation needed, Matthew thought, his mind already recalibrating.
He rolled his shoulders once more, letting the music around him resync with his body.
"Good thing we're not amateurs," he said with a small grin.
The music shifted in response to his intent. The tempo deepened, the bass thickened, and the entire composition became heavier and more aggressive, as if the battlefield itself was being pulled into his rhythm.
"Let's turn this up," Matthew said.
The beat dropped.
BOOM.
A dense shockwave of sound blasted outward from his position, expanding in a wide arc that struck not only Logan at the front but also reached Bernard in the distance.
On Bernard's side, his eyes widened slightly as the pressure hit him.
It reaches me too?
"You're not safe back there!" Matthew shouted, voice carrying through the music field.
At the same time, Billy moved.
With a flick of his wrist, bubbles began to flood the battlefield—not randomly, but with intent. Hundreds of them formed in layered patterns, floating at different heights and drifting into key positions that subtly reshaped the terrain of the fight.
They created zones.
Angles.
Restrictions.
"Let's make this messy," Billy said with a grin.
Some of the bubbles popped deliberately, releasing bursts of magical foam that spread rapidly across the ground and into the air. The substance was thick, sticky, and slick all at once, clinging to surfaces while reducing friction in unpredictable ways.
Logan stepped forward—
And immediately slipped.
"—?!"
FOOM.
A cluster of bubbles detonated around him, coating his body in foam in an instant.
His fur became soaked and heavy, the texture changing as the foam interfered with both movement and force transfer.
"What the—?!" Logan snarled, trying to regain his footing.
Billy laughed, clearly pleased with the result.
"Wet dog!"
Reduce friction. Reduce force transfer. Reduce stability, Billy noted internally, watching the effects take hold.
Logan tried to push forward again, muscles tensing as he forced power into his next step—
But his footing betrayed him.
His strength didn't transfer cleanly into the ground.
His momentum broke.
Matthew didn't hesitate.
BOOM.
Another sound shockwave slammed into Logan at close range, the impact carrying both physical force and layered magical disruption.
"Sit down!" Matthew shouted, driving the advantage.
Meanwhile, Bernard adjusted instantly and fired again, trying to reestablish pressure—
But this time, the environment had changed.
Bubbles intercepted his arrows mid-flight.
POP.
POP.
POP.
Each projectile detonated harmlessly against the floating barriers, their trajectories disrupted before they could reach their targets.
On Bernard's side—
Space control…
His eyes narrowed as he analyzed the new battlefield.
He's limiting my angles.
Billy gave a casual wave in his direction, as if greeting him rather than countering him.
"No more free shots, buddy," he said.
And just like that—
The tide began to shift.
Back to Logan—
Damn it…
Logan could feel the change in real time. The foam clung stubbornly to his fur, turning each step into a fight against his own footing. The ground no longer answered him cleanly; traction slipped away at the worst possible moments, and the power he drove through his legs failed to translate into forward momentum.
At the same time, Matthew's music continued to hammer at him—not as mere noise, but as a persistent, invasive rhythm that pressed against his timing and balance. Even when he forced his body to compensate, the interference returned a heartbeat later, just enough to throw him off again.
Mana's dropping…
He gritted his teeth, forcing more rage magic through his system to stabilize himself. It helped, but only temporarily. Each surge cost him more, and the returns were diminishing.
I need to push through—
He stepped forward again, but the movement dragged. His next swing came a fraction late, the edge of his axe missing Matthew by inches where it would have connected moments earlier.
Every step grew heavier.
Every swing, slightly off.
Back to Matthew—
We've got them now.
Matthew felt the shift as clearly as a change in tempo. Logan's rhythm was breaking, and Bernard's pressure had been blunted by Billy's control over the battlefield. For the first time since the fight began, everything was aligning in their favor.
He pressed forward, the music around him roaring with renewed intensity. Each beat reinforced his movements, sharpening his strikes and amplifying his presence. Behind him, Billy maintained constant support, adjusting the field with bubbles and foam to keep Logan unstable and Bernard restricted.
Logan was slipping.
Bernard was losing angles.
Everything was lining up.
Matthew's grip tightened on his staff hammer as he stepped into range, ready to end it.
"Let's finish this—"
Then—
A voice cut through everything.
Loud.
Clear.
Absolute.
"TIME'S UP!"
The command carried a weight that no one could ignore.
Everything stopped.
Not gradually, but instantly. Movements halted mid-swing, spells froze mid-cast, and even thoughts seemed to stall for a fraction of a second as the authority behind the voice asserted itself across the battlefield.
Everyone froze.
"…Huh?" Matthew blinked, the sudden shift throwing him off more than any attack had.
Before anyone could react—
Light engulfed them.
They reappeared in a burst of light.
The world snapped back into focus as their surroundings resolved into a wide plaza packed with people. Sound rushed in all at once—cheers, whistles, excited chatter—layered into a deafening wave of celebration that rolled over the arena.
The eight of them stood in a line at the center, still in their SE outfits and still carrying the marks of battle. Scratches lined their arms and shoulders, bruises darkened their skin beneath torn sections of fabric, and the lingering tension of combat had not yet left their bodies.
And yet, despite the damage, there was no sense of weakness among them.
They radiated presence.
They stood tall, breathing steady, eyes sharp, bodies still coiled with strength.
Heroic.
Dominant.
Alive.
The crowd recognized it instantly.
A thunderous roar erupted, louder than before.
At the front of the plaza stood Krampus, his towering figure impossible to ignore, with Laxus beside him radiating his own overwhelming presence.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Krampus announced, his voice booming across the entire venue without the need for amplification.
He swept his arm toward the lineup.
"Your top eight!"
One by one, the names were called, each one met with a surge of cheers from the crowd.
Billy.
Matthew.
Logan.
Bernard.
Carlo.
Adam.
Erza.
Erik.
Murmurs quickly spread through the audience as the full list sank in.
"Two newcomers?!"
"And… kids made it in too?!"
"What kind of lineup is this?!"
The excitement only grew as people pointed, argued, and reacted in real time.
On the stage—
Most of the fighters had already adjusted to the sudden transition.
Billy lifted a hand and waved casually at the crowd, completely at ease under the attention.
Matthew flashed a wide grin and leaned forward slightly.
"Yo!" he called out, playing directly into the audience's energy.
Carlo straightened his posture and brushed off his shoulder, regaining his composure as if nothing unusual had happened.
Adam crossed his arms, standing firm and silent, his presence steady and grounded.
Erik smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Erza stood tall among them, posture straight and unwavering, already carrying herself like a knight before an audience.
Logan and Bernard, however, were a step behind.
They had already reverted to their human forms, but the shift from battlefield to stage had caught them off guard.
"…What just happened?" Logan muttered, glancing around with a frown.
Bernard blinked, scanning their surroundings as if trying to piece together the transition.
"We… got pulled out?"
They exchanged a brief look, still processing, while the others had already begun to play to the crowd.
The audience roared even louder, feeding off the contrast in reactions and the sheer presence of the fighters.
And just like that—
The top eight were decided.