Alwin lunges forward, the tip of the blade slicing through the air. Kiara slides back just in time, blocking the blow. Sliding off Kiara's katana, Alwin leaves with a fury of strikes, each cleaving through the air.
Steel clashes.
Kiara twists her arms, blocking the assault.
The impact reverberates across her arms.
Alwin pulls his arm back, repositioning his stance, then lunges again. Kiara twirls her body, blade inches away from her ribs.
She dodges effortlessly, like she was out for a morning jog instead of a fight.
"Woah, easy there buddy," She snaps, daring him to make his next move. She flexes her fingers, eyes ready with the thrill of the duel.
She grins widely. Wild. Dangerous.
She dares to smile during a fight, Alwin's eyes twitch, a quick, involuntary one. You've done nothing to earn it?
His calm cracks for a second. With a sudden burst, he erases the distance in a heartbeat.
He's fast–blindingly so. Kiara reacts, her feet barely touching the ground as she weaves gracefully. Like water, his swing strikes were smooth yet relentless. She aims low, calculated, and quick.
Alwin was faster.
Her smile drops slightly, only for a moment.
The impact rattled her bones, and the dust burst below them.
The clash of steel roars like thunder ripping through the courtyard. Alwin knocks her blade to the side with a sharp beat. He thrusts his blade forward, but Kiara parries the blow, stepping aside with precision.
In the background, Zhang watches cautiously, seated apart.
The two fighters slowly step back before rushing forward in a crescendo of motion. Steel moves like water, flowing from each strike. In a breath, they both slid back, easing back to where they started.
Kiara exhales, wiping sweat off her temple.
"Ain't you trying a bit too hard?" She suggests, shrugging her shoulders. "This ain't that serious, man. This is not 'team building. '"
Alwin stood tall, deliberately thrusting his blade forward. Kiara snaps her head to the side, dodging the near-fatal attack. Edward's pupils dilate. Retracting his arm back, Alwin lunges again.
You don't get to be in control, girl. He stares into the distance, lips tightly parted. He hated the way she smiled, as if she were an equal.
Kiara's body bends and weaves like a marionette. Steel inches away from her body.
"Woah, that was a bit too close," Adam comments, clenching his side.
"She's a fast reactor," one boy says, eyes following Kiara's movements.
"I got this, guys. Don't feel nervous for me," Kiara smirks, her feet zipping around like a dance, gliding like a dancer's shuffle. Bringing her katana underneath, she deflects Alwin's blade, sending him off balance.
His eyes burn with surprise, bewildered by what just happened.
"She's doing a good job evading–a real accomplishment," Seth amuses, lazily leaning on his arm.
Alwin retaliates, steadily bringing down his blade. Kiara slips from his grasp. She extends her leg, whipping around as steel shrieks in the air. Her opponent grits his teeth, and a low growl rumbles in his throat.
He feinted left, then struck true to his right. Kiara's feet barely met the floor, bouncing and twisting with flamboyance. Her smile is evident on her face.
"She's not dodging blindly as well," Adam adds. "She's creating openings. That's solid combat intuition."
The crowd grew tense and cautious. Kiara's peers whisper among each other in hushed voices.
"Is she actually holding her own like that?"
"The Conroy girl got some guts."
"The B rank is clearly holding back."
Alwin steadies himself, raising his blade. His eyes flick like knives, searching for a crack in Kiara's stance. His jaw tightens. He backed off slowly, blade still raised, still hungry. Kiara edged closer, breath ragged.
Sweat stings her eyes.
Preparing her stance, she rushes forward, her katana whipping through the air. Alwin's eyes narrow, bringing his blade down to block. Pushes herself off the floor, she pivots to the left, but Alwin has already met her.
Parrying the blow, he stepped aside with precision. Kiara retaliated, slashing low and quick, dancing out of reach. Alwin reposted in one smooth motion, turning the tide in seconds. Electricity wraps around the crescent steel like a web.
The air crackles–a warning she was too late to notice.
He mutters under his breath. Kiara breathes hitches, defending her guard. Sparks fizzled and popped as Alwin stepped forward. His movements were calm yet fluid, flicking his wrists, he sent Kiara's katana flying.
It slices through the air, landing unceremoniously in a nearby bush. Twisting and turning his body, Alwin cuts and slashes the air around him. Sparks burst like mini explosions.
Kiara weaves and dodges, turning herself to dodge the blade of death.
Too close.
Too fast.
Turning her head, Kiara is met with a blade right in her personal space. Close enough to cut breath from her lungs.
"Okay, overachiever. No need to max your stats like that," Kiara mocks, raising her hands in surrender. "It's just sparring."
Alwin's cold gaze met Kiara's. He blinked once, slowly, as if composing himself after finishing the task. Edward's hand was already clenching his blade. Taking a long exhale, Alwin sheathes his blade with a soft clink.
"You were better than expected," Alwin coldly acknowledges. He tips his brimmed hat before walking back to the stands. Kiara collapses onto the ground, her lungs stinging from overexertion. Adam extends his hand forward as she grabs it.
Pulling her off the floor, Kiara stumbles on her feet, nearly tripping.
"He went ham for no reason," She exhales, stretching her shoulders. "Everything went zoom and whoosh right past me."
"You sure?" Adam arches his brow. "I felt a strange bloodlust radiating off him."
Zhang stares directly at Kiara, not drawing any attention to himself. What was she really capable of? No way someone of her skill level would have realistically lasted that long.
In his private barracks, he takes a long exhale. The silk curtains cast a deep shadow over his intricately organized room. Everything sits in precise order, mirroring the control Zhang has over the world around him.
I have to decide whether I deem her a threat or an ally. Zhang presses his finger beneath his chin. He closes his eyes, almost running through potential outcomes. One unsettling thought surfaced beneath it all. What am I doing?
His fingers twined against one another, lost in his thought.
A familiar voice—distant yet familiar echoes in the back of his mind: The wind is always shifting, leaving us with new paths in our future
Zhang's narrow eyes remain sharp, his jaw tightening. He couldn't ignore the cracks.
How did Kiara manage to do so well against a B rank?
Was Alwin trying to kill Kiara?
Nothing made sense in his carefully crafted world. Thomas Maloum–the Acid King—was that fracture.
He couldn't let him roam free. Not after what he did. Prove that the temple's defense wasn't weak.
Zhang made up his mind—He will find Thomas Maloum and eliminate him. Deep down, something didn't feel right.
If I falter even for a moment, they'll see me as another weak link, Zhang imagines, setting down the report on his table. I'll prove why I belong here.
He turns his teacup, turning it over and over like a nervous tic. He presses his fingers against his forehead. Sitting rigidly, he peers through the narrow opening in his window curtains.
"Seven–six–eleven–five–nine," Zhang mutters, snapping on each number. "Four–Eleven–seventeen–thirty two."
As the cotton candy clouds slowly trail through the open sky, Zhang's worries at the temple slowly fade, swallowed as the peaceful rhythm of the world without him.
The civilians casually walk amongst each other, some fixated on their phones, others moving out of the way for cyclists. The cars are packed through traffic as the drivers angrily honk at each other.
Thomas Maloum sleeps comfortably in his suite bed, the city noise drowning out around him.
Slowly opens his eyes, the world around him shrouded in darkness. A single spotlight illuminated his presence, casting deep shadows isolating him. Only the sound of his breath broke through the stillness. In the blink of an eye, the scenery shifts into a white emptiness arena.
Crimson ink drenched the floor, droplets stained like paint on an empty canvas. Thomas recognized this place, something he wished to forget. Looking down at his hand, he was holding a wooden blade, stained with his opponent's blood.
"Well done, Number 122," a voice rings out from above.
Thomas turns his head, his figure turning into a young boy. Black, messy hair. Grey uniform. His young, tired eyes stare directly at the white suited man. He looks down at the floor, his opponent, a kid similar in age to him, lying motionless on the floor.
"Kill him, Thomas." The suited man orders, tone as sharp as a blade. Cold. Unforgiving.
The words–Kill him–felt heavier than iron on his chest. His breath catches as if it were his last.
Looking down on his opponent, Thomas takes a deep breath. His heart pounds against his chest. Raising his arms, he drops the blade down like a judge delivering a sentence.
The impact rattles his bones.
The smack wakes Thomas up from his sleep. He looked around the hotel room, and dust lingered in the air while the sound of house cleaning echoed like a ghost.
He looks down at his hands covered in blood, wet, sticky, red.
His eyes widened.
Rushing to the bathroom, he tries to scrub it off. Friction burns against his palms as he scrubs harder. The blood wouldn't go away.
Opening his eyes, the red fades–a hallucination. His demeanor drops. Patting down his clothes, he walks back to his bed with indifference. The white cat with black markings slowly comforts him, curling around his lap.
He puts his hand over one side of his face. His eyes were unblinking and sharp like steel cutting through the air.
His lips press into a thin, unsmiling line.