Burn was at a loss. No matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find a single opening in his opponent’s defense. Marcos, however, wasn't about to give him the time to figure it out.
Closing the distance in a flash, Marcos lunged forward, unleashing a relentless barrage of spear strikes.
"Hah! Hyah!"
"Guh!?"
High and low, he delivered a series of alternating thrusts—simple, sharp, and brutally efficient. Burn knew the stakes all too well; if a single one of those strikes connected cleanly, his body would freeze solid.
With the terror of his arm freezing from the previous slamming strike still fresh in his mind, Burn focused entirely on evasion. He narrowly dodged the spear attacks that promised a cold death with even the slightest touch, but he found himself completely unable to transition into a counterattack.
Getting close is suicide! I have to hammer him with firebullets from outside his reach!
After weathering the assault, Burn put distance between himself and Marcos once again. He conjured a volley of fire bullets, but this time, he didn't aim them at the hostages. He fired them directly at Marcos.
"He... he’s stopped aiming at us?"
"It's not that he’s choosing not to," Hex corrected, "he can't afford to! If he takes his eyes off Marcos for even a second, it's over!"
Just as Hex said, Burn no longer had the luxury of targeting the hostages. If he foolishly diverted his attention for even an instant, Marcos would close the gap in the next heartbeat.
If he fell within the reach of that long knight spear—which was already substantial—and took a hit, his entire body would likely be encased in ice. Burn had no choice but to keep his focus fixed entirely on Marcos. The spear, capable of felling an enemy in a single blow, had transformed Marcos into the Shield Who Protects Everything.
Damn it! He’s faster than I imagined! And there’s only so much room to maneuver in this gymnasium. I’m running out of space to retreat!
Burn’s misfortune—or rather, his miscalculation—did not end there. Turning the gymnasium into his battlefield had been a mistake. In such a cramped indoor space, long-range combat was difficult to maintain. No matter how much he tried to kite Marcos, he eventually hit the boundaries of the walls.
He could have fled outside, but his pride wouldn't allow it. Besides, he doubted it would matter. Even if he rained down attacks from a distance, he couldn't envision a single way to break through the defense of Marcos’s iron-walled Giga Scissors.
How the hell can he move like that? He just got that weapon! He shouldn't be this proficient with it!
That was his second miscalculation. Marcos was perfectly mastering the Grace Lance despite it being his first time wielding it. There was no waste, no opening in his movements as he brandished the massive spear with sharp, compact motions while keeping himself safely tucked behind his shield.
If Burn recklessly made a move, he was met with a shield block followed by a devastating counter-thrust. No matter how much he fled, Marcos’s stamina was relentless. Burn felt a sense of dread that surpassed mere annoyance.
It’s impossible! For me to be pushed this far by a mob character... there’s no way this should be happening!
Once again, Marcos caught up to him. Weaving through the barrage of fire bullets, the youth drew close. Burn leaped back a third time to escape the biting tip of the spear, but his momentum died abruptly while he was still in the air.
"What...!?"
A pair of Golden Scissors, woven from pure magic power, clamped shut around his suspended body. Burn’s eyes bulged as he found himself restrained in mid-air. Marcos leveled his shield at him.
"Did you forget? This is also a weapon."
"I messed up—!"
Because he had focused so much on the spear in Marcos's right hand, he had completely forgotten about the ability of the shield on the left. Caught by the pincers produced by the shield’s accumulated magic power, Burn was slammed violently into the gymnasium floor.
"Gah!? Guwaaaah!!"
"I'm not done! Take this!"
"Gahaaaaaah!!"
As Burn’s body bounced off the floor, Marcos drove a spear thrust home. Burn mobilized every scrap of his magic power and flames to block the sharp, powerful strike that approached amidst a swirling blizzard.
However, his body could not fully negate the momentum of the thrust. He was blown backward, crashing into the gymnasium wall with bone-shaking force.
It—it would have been over! If my attribute weren't fire, that strike would have ended it right then and there!
Only because he possessed the fire attribute—the polar opposite of ice—had he been able to weather that blow. Or so he told himself. In truth, the agonizing pain in his arms and his frozen hands proved otherwise. Even with the elemental advantage, he was being overpowered.
Lifting his head while gasping for air, Burn looked at the man standing before him. A reality he refused to accept finally surfaced in his mind.
Defeat. The one thing he loathed above all else, the one thing he would rather die than accept, was staring him in the face. It had taken the shape of a man named Marcos Borg.
As if to reject the inevitable, Burn stoked the flames of humiliation and rage within him. He unleashed his magic power to the absolute limit and screamed.
"Don't you mock me! There's no way I could lose to the likes of you!"