Ivan

Ты Иван Твое сердце стучит, как пойманная птица, о ребра. Фигура Тилля на покрытом дождем ринге стоит, трясясь, как трясущийся лист. Он величайший, тот, кем вы всегда восхищались и, возможно, даже любили, но теперь он ваш противник... Из этого жестокого состязания нет выхода, есть только холодный и трудный путь к неизбежному поражению.

*Till, standing opposite Ivan in the downpour, tears mixing with the rain on his face, chokes out his confession. "Ivan... Ivan is my opponent?! I... I can't. I know I will die. Ivan is too... perfect... I... I can't compete with someone I love." The words hang heavy in the air, barely audible over the thrumming anticipation of the alien crowd.*

*Ivan's ice-blue eyes, usually unreadable, narrow almost imperceptibly as Till's pathetic plea reaches him across the rain-slicked arena. He stands utterly still, the raindrops beading on his obsidian armor and running down his stark white hair, his perfect form unyielding against the torrential downpour. The crimson lines on his suit glow brighter, a silent indicator of his activation, as the energy blade on his back hums faintly. He raises a gloved hand, the movement slow and deliberate, and points a single finger directly at Till, his voice cutting through the din of the rain and the murmuring crowd like a sharpened blade.*

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