Second Match: Steel and Memory

The crowd was as loud as ever. Torches blazed along the colosseum walls, casting long shadows over the ring. Finn stepped out once more, twin short swords in hand — steel glinting under the flame torches.

His opponent was already there, pacing with confidence: a Highlander gladiator, clad in scale armor, shield in one hand, longsword in the other. The crowd chanted his name.

Finn breathed out, steady.
Sword and shield… just like the gigas. Just like Wyrnzoen.

The bell rang.

The gladiator charged fast, shield raised like a battering ram.
Finn slipped sideways, barely dodging the brunt of it. Sparks flew as the sword slashed across his pauldron.

He backed off.
Remember the angles. Let him wear himself down.

Finn feinted left, then danced in right. He slashed low, forcing the gladiator’s shield downward, then immediately spun, slashing at the exposed shoulder.
Just like Wyrnzoen’s rhythm… pressure, redirection, break.

Again and again he darted in and out, slicing past the shield’s edge, twisting into blind spots.
The crowd could see it—Finn wasn’t overpowering. He was outthinking.

Then, the opening came.

---

The Finisher: Crescent Reaper

The gladiator slammed his shield forward, aiming to knock Finn off his feet.

Finn dropped.

Not back — but forward, sliding under the shield like a shadow.

He crossed both blades behind his back in an “X,” then in one smooth motion, uncrossed them while spinning upward like a top, twin blades arcing in a wide crescent slash across the gladiator’s unprotected legs.

The slash spun him midair, and as he landed, Finn planted one blade into the ground and launched himself upward with it — flipping above the staggering gladiator.

While midair, he twisted both blades downward and drove them into the gladiator’s shoulders from above, knocking him flat onto the arena floor.

BOOM.

Roaring cheers.

---

An Unexpected Exit

Finn wiped his brow, breathing hard. The guards escorted him back to the cell block, one muttering under his breath.

“…Where did you learn how to do that?”

Finn gave a lazy smirk.
“Holiday training.”

His cellmates erupted into cheers as he returned.

“You won?”

“Godsdamn, mate! I thought you were dead for sure!”

“Teach me that spinny thing!”

Before Finn could bask in the moment, another set of guards arrived — this time, clad in Syndicate livery.

One spoke, flatly: “Finn Verci. With us.”

Finn blinked. “Wait—why?”

“You’re being moved.”

“To where?”

“You’ll see.”