The darkness did not merely occupy the lane.

It consumed it.

As Edwin’s domain fully asserted itself, the necrotic field thickened, its edges no longer diffuse but oppressive, heavy with intent. Lightning snapped through the shadow in jagged arcs, striking stone and air alike, but it was the darkness itself that did the real harm.

The fist fighter staggered.

The shadow crawled over him like oil, clinging to skin and armor alike, seeping into the spaces between breath and muscle. Where it touched, vitality leeched away, not violently, but relentlessly. His shoulders slumped as the necrotic aura bit deep, mana flaring in desperate surges along his arms as he fought to keep his stance.

A sharp grunt escaped him as one knee nearly buckled.

The lightning followed.

A crack of violet-white energy lashed across his flank, not enough to fell him outright, but more than enough to burn through concentration and force another staggered step backward. The stone beneath his boots blackened where he stood, scorched by residual discharge.

He was hurting.

And it showed.

His advance toward Noelle faltered entirely, not only from the damage, but from the barrier that now made her unreachable.

The spiraling column of water surrounding her churned steadily, dense and unbroken. Any attempt to push through it would have meant fighting the full force of magically reinforced water while already weakened, soaked, and standing within Edwin’s domain. The fighter circled instead, movements slower now, cautious, eyes flicking between the lance, the storm, and the singer he could no longer pressure directly.

The rain worsened.

What fell from above was not natural water. Each drop struck with draining weight, clinging to skin, clothing, and breath alike. The effect on the court cantor was immediate and severe.

Her flute slipped for a fraction of a second as rain streamed over her hands and instrument. She recovered quickly, but the melody wavered again, fingers stiffening as the water sapped her strength with every passing moment. Breath control became labored. The rain interfered with airflow, moisture catching where precision was required.

Her shoulders trembled.

The wind she had summoned weakened further, no longer responding cleanly to her intent. What currents remained faltered under the combined pressure of rain and shadow, breaking into erratic gusts rather than controlled flow.

Still, she played.

Pride kept her upright when her body protested.

But the cost was mounting.

The lane had become hostile to its own occupants. Darkness pressed inward. Rain dragged everything down. The water barrier around Noelle continued to rise and fall in rhythm with her song, untouched, unyielding, her melody cutting cleanly through the chaos.

Above, the judges’ attention sharpened.

Styluses scratched faster. Mana-readouts flared. One aide leaned in to whisper urgently to Lady Avelyne, who did not look away from Lane Three for even a second.