(Sky-God Arena – Finals Match 6, Ramos vs Enzo)
Eventually, Enzo did have to return to his starting spot, and the referee—after one final exasperated glare—raised his hand and called for the match to begin, as Ramos wasted no time whatsoever, exploding forward with the full authority of a Grandmaster who had no intention of dragging things out.
He came in low, fast, and tight—blades drawn in reverse grips, footsteps smooth despite his earlier injuries—closing the distance like a panther zeroing in on a limping deer.
But before Ramos could even swing—
Enzo turned.
And bolted.
Not with some deceptive movement. Not with a feint. Not with any sort of dramatic flourish.
Just raw, unashamed retreat.
He sprinted sideways at full speed, kicking up clouds of sand behind him as he moved in an awkward zig-zag that made it almost impossible to predict his trajectory, as though even Enzo himself hadn't fully committed to where he was headed.
"What the—" Ramos muttered under his breath, halting his initial strike as he turned to follow.
"Is he seriously running?" Derek asked, stunned, as the crowd burst into laughter.
"Not even trying to engage," Lee replied, voice halfway between amusement and pity. "This isn't a strategy, Derek—this is evasion. Pure evasion."
But Enzo had no shame left to sacrifice.
He was past that point.
Because he knew what his role was.
He wasn't here to fight. He wasn't here to win. He was here to delay Ramos for as long as humanly possible.
And if that meant looking like a headless chicken sprinting in circles around the arena, then so be it.
Every second he stayed alive was one more second Leo had to breathe. One more second to recover. One more second closer to victory.
'Don't get greedy,' he told himself, weaving past the edge of the arena again as Ramos caught up and slashed out with a horizontal sweep, one that Enzo ducked beneath with a clumsy roll, before scrambling to his feet again with zero finesse.
'Don't try to land a hit. Don't try to counter. Just live.'
And somehow—he kept doing just that.
Ramos, for all his speed and technique, was still a Grandmaster loaded in gear and weaponry, carrying slight weight to slow him down ever so slightly.
And Enzo, for all his lack of power, was still a sponsorless, armorless, Master with nothing weighing him down except the rising burn in his lungs and the pounding of his heart.
"You're joking—" Ramos muttered, trying to corner him against the arena's edge, as he caught up to him once more.
Only for Enzo to suddenly turn and throw a handful of sand in his eyes, which he could never have predicted.
"The fuck?" Ramos muttered, flinching instinctively.
As although his mind knew that a handful of sand would do nothing to him, avoiding it was an instinct from childhood, and in the heat of the battle he flinched instinctively, allowing Enzo to dive and bolt once again, as he bought himself a few more seconds.
"You want to waste my time?" Ramos called after him, his voice rising with irritation. "You think I won't catch up to you?"
But Enzo didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because if he tried to open his mouth right now, he'd probably throw up from exhaustion.
And still—he kept running.
For one minute–
Then two.
At the two and a half minute mark, Ramos clipped him—just barely—with the flat of his blade across the shoulder, sending Enzo tumbling to the ground in a sprawl of limbs and robes.
But before Ramos could finish him, Enzo scrambled back to his feet with every ounce of will he had left in him—stumbling now—but still moving.
Still buying time.
"He's insane," Lee whispered. "He's actually doing it. He's made it past two and a half minutes into this bout and he hasn't even drawn his blade once."
"This isn't a fight," Derek muttered, almost reverently. "It's a sacrifice."
By now, even the crowd had gone quiet.
They had mocked him. Booed him. Laughed at him.
But now—
They were watching.
Because what they were seeing was no longer funny.
It was brave.
It was foolish.
And somehow—it was working.
Ramos, however, had had enough.
"Fine," he hissed. "You want to run? Run in hell—" he growled, activating [Blade Crescent] and hurling a mana-charged arc of slashing energy toward Enzo's path.
And this time the fight ended clean.
*Slash—!*
Enzo couldn't outrun the attack, and was left deeply injured by it, as he screamed and stumbled to the ground, his very life hanging by a thin thread.
"MATCH OVER…. WINNER GU RAMOS OF GENEVA—" the referee announced at that moment, as he signalled for the medics to rush in.
As Ramos looked almost too pissed even in victory.
In the end, he had to use a mana based move to take down a master level fighter, and that too after wasting almost three full minutes.
It was by no means an ideal performance for him, and although he did not struggle at all in this fight, even victory tasted bitter when it came at the cost of chasing a Master across sand for three full minutes
—---------
On the bench, Leo stood up with a blank expression, the towel sliding off his shoulders as he rolled his neck once and cracked his knuckles, before heading toward the tunnel again.
"Thank you," he muttered under his breath as he looked at the clock.
'5 minutes and 2 seconds….' Leo saw, as a big grin spread on his face.
As somehow, in the end, Enzo had managed to buy him the time he asked for and a couple seconds more as a bonus.
'Alright…. Since you kept your promise, I'll keep mine now—' Leo thought, walking out to the arena, as having had a few minutes to rest, he no longer felt as fatigued as before and was ready to face Gu Ramos with a second wind.
—----------
"And the score is 4–3 for Geneva. This finals keeps getting better and better—" Derek said, watching the medics carry Enzo off the field, his voice a mix of disbelief and awe. "He didn't land a single hit. He didn't even try. But he gave Leo exactly what he needed."
"Yeah…" Lee replied slowly, the weight of the moment finally settling into his tone. "For all the mockery he got walking out, Enzo just gave Rodova their last shot at this tournament. It's all on Leo now."
"Exactly. Ramos is injured—there's no denying that," Derek continued, nodding slowly. "He took some serious damage in the first round against Yu Shen. Meanwhile Leo? He's fresh off five minutes of rest AND he doesn't have a scratch on his body—"
"He's got no injuries, he's got his full kit of skills still at his disposal and he's probably the only one left in this tournament with enough stamina to fight two full matches if needed," Lee admitted, folding his arms. "If anyone from Rodova can pull this off—it's him."
"But that's a big if though," Derek added grimly. "Because we've already seen Ramos take Yu Shen apart in the opening match—and if Yu Shen couldn't finish him, I don't see how Leo does. No matter how flashy or calculated his last two wins were."
"Let's just say, hypothetically, he does manage to beat Ramos—" Lee began, glancing at the Geneva bench where Darnell sat, still smiling.
"Even if he pulls that off," Derek cut in, shaking his head, "he still has to go through Darnell Nuna. Geneva's finisher and the inheritor of the Black Serpent way of fighting.
So, he definitely has a mountain to climb.
Two miracle wins already, but he needs two more to put Rodova over the line."