"So that's how it is?" Ivan let out a low, eerie chuckle, his smile full of malice.
He didn't strike directly. Instead, he suddenly raised his right hand, palm facing Shane. A strange, invisible wave of magic radiated outward.
The next instant, a completely unexpected figure appeared right in front of Shane.
Scarlet hair. A strong, familiar face. A knight's armor full of presence. A longsword gleaming cold in her hands.
Erza.
But this "Erza" had lifeless eyes, devoid of emotion, like a flawless marionette.
The mont she appeared, she launched forward without a flicker of hesitation. Her feet dug in, body bursting into motion. The sword lifted high, slicing down toward Shane's head with a savage whistle.
Blade wind roared, stirring his forelocks.
Ivan watched, a cruelly pleased smile creeping across his face. He seed to be savoring the shock, hesitation, or pain he expected to see next.
"Well, boy? That girl's always with you, right? How does it feel to be attacked by soone you're close to? Take your ti and enjoy it!"
But facing this sudden "betrayal" and the lethal strike, Shane didn't move.
He didn't even shift his feet.
The flas in his Eyes of Karma simply flared, burning brighter than ever.
It was like the fire wanted to burst out of him and incinerate illusion itself.
He didn't manifest a weapon. Didn't even raise a guard.
Just as the cold sword was about to touch his skull—
He moved.
The heart-flas swirling around him surged like snakes bowing to a king—licking, coiling, gathering onto his right hand.
With a single, sharp swing of his arm—
Crack!
The sound was like shattering glass—or so hardened structure snapping in an instant.
The charging "Erza," sword and all, hit the invisible wave of force and heat—
And crumbled, like ice thrown into the noonday sun. She fractured into countless fragnts of light and mana, scattering and fading into the air without leaving so much as a stain.
Through it all, Shane's expression didn't change. Still calm. Still slightly distant.
He shook out his hand and let his gaze fall back on Ivan, whose face had gone tight.
"First of all," Shane said lightly, "that level of illusion doesn't work on ."
He paused. "Second…"
"Erza would never attack ."
The smug grin on Ivan's face froze and cracked. Uncertainty seeped in.
He glanced at those fla-like eyes, then at the last motes of magic fading from the air, and comprehension hit him.
This brat's eyes could pierce illusions.
"Tch. Annoying ability," he spat.
When Ivan still didn't move, Shane stopped waiting.
He reached out with one hand; light condensed and the pitch-black long blade appeared again, the kind that seed to swallow nearby light.
No more talk.
Shane's body flickered—he shot forward like a hunting cat, black sword arcing straight for Ivan's face.
Ivan might be rotten, but he was still S-Class. His reflexes were sharp.
In the last split second, his magic flared beneath his feet and his body floated backward, weightless, just barely slipping past the lethal slash.
"Hmph!" he scoffed from a safer distance. "Interesting. But don't think seeing through one little trick gives you the right to act cocky in front of !"
Before the words finished, Shane felt sothing seize his ankles.
He glanced down.
From the shadows at his feet, dozens of palm-sized paper dolls with twisted faces had crawled up, clinging tight to his legs and ankles like living things.
The force of their grip pinned him in place.
"It's over!" Ivan snapped his right hand forward.
More paper familiars sward in from all directions, spinning and gathering. In an instant, they twisted together into a pale torrent, shrieking through the air as they hurtled toward Shane at terrifying speed.
Shane's eyes narrowed. He didn't panic.
He stomped down.
Scarlet sparks exploded under his boots, the heart-fire erupting outward and devouring the paper familiars at his feet in a burst of searing heat.
The instant he broke free, the paper torrent reached him.
Shane torqued his waist and hips, snapping his body sideways at an extre angle.
Sssht—!
Even with his reaction pushed to the limit, the edge of the attack scraped across his flank. A thin line opened at his waist, and beads of blood welled up.
He glanced at the wound, eyes sharpening.
He could feel it: Ivan's magic was incredibly dense. Even that grazing hit did more damage than most mages could manage at full force.
As expected of S-Class, he thought. The quality and quantity of his mana really are in another league.
Even Ultear, enhanced by those experints, hadn't hit this hard; his [Magic Resistance B] could handle most of her spells.
But that glancing blow from Ivan's technique had broken through his defenses.
Seeing his spell had drawn blood—however lightly—restored Ivan's shaken confidence.
His smug, controlling smile slid back into place. "I'll admit it, brat. Your sword and that annoying fire aren't bad.
"But if you can't even get close to … what's the point?"
As he spoke, the pale paper dolls sward around him like a disturbed locust cloud, fluttering and spinning until they ford a tight, mobile barrier. Ivan stood in the protected center.
The rustling of paper layered over itself into a grating, smothering sound.
"True enough," Shane said, surprisingly calm. "Not getting close is… inconvenient."
As his voice fell, his outfit changed.
The iconic white cloak faded like mist.
In its place, two deep red strears fell gracefully from his shoulders.
The black sword in his hand vanished. A massive, wild-looking crimson bow, nearly as tall as he was, settled into his grip.
"Then I'll let soone else deal with you."
He stepped back instead of forward, opening the distance to where a bow truly shone.
He drew his right hand back across empty air—
A pure mana arrow, glowing with gentle radiance, ford on the shimring string.
~~~
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