Skylark Hotel seemed to shake for a slight moment as the battle inside occured. Gerrard's feral combat style chased Percivale's indecisive way of fighting down in an attempt to kill him.
It was like putting a predator against its prey, only the prey had improved its escape tactics considerably.
"Stay… still!"
Percivale had not done nothing during the first few months that he was in the Academy. The countless nights he had foregone sleep in order to mold his magic to greater heights were finally showing their effect.
Woosh! A fast jab had just barely missed his cheek.
A slight ripple in space seemed to manifest for a split second, causing Gerrard's fist to bounce backwards in the air. Percivale took this chance to retreat. Simultaneously, he fired a bullet-sized beam of Spatial energy, forcing his enemy to dodge in an unnatural way.
While most of the hallway had been engulfed by flames minutes ago, some areas were hit lighter than others. With a simple boost, Percivale found himself levitating over all burning hazards.
The last of the survivors in the floors he had been assigned were most likely nil now. His next move was obvious–escape, lest he lose his life here.
With this in mind, he bolted straight in the opposite direction, placing his hopes that his escape plan would work.
Gerrard had just recovered from the attack, and was once again ready to unleash hell. The moment Percivale turned his back on him and began running, he followed suit.
"Oh no, you don't!"
Albeit small, Percivale had a headstart. Thanks to this, he was able to put some measure of distance between the two of them. With all his might, he concentrated his mana towards his legs.
With each step he took, a small, yet amplified amount of mana would be shot from under his feet, propelling him forward and increasing his momentum. Like a speeding car, his movement gradually increased with no signs of stopping.
Gerrard wasn't about to let his prey escape either. His frame, dozens of times more refined than Percivale's, was easily able to cross longer distances for prolonged stretches of time without issue.
Not even a few seconds later, Gerrard managed to catch up. The distance between them was only a few feet, and all it would take was a single swipe to send Percivale reeling towards the ground. He had judged it so.
And what luck. Percivale was completely unaware. Perhaps his nervousness and indecisiveness had truly gone to his head, for even he could not decide whether to attack Gerrard with spells in hopes that they would slow him down or continue running to the best of his abilities.
This was what would have led to his demise, that is.
Arms outstretched, Gerrard swung his dominant arm forward. His lengthy frame was accompanied with limbs of equally lengthy sizes, making sure he was always the one to reach his opponent first.
But had he not been so focused on his prey, he would've noticed two more skulking in the shadows, having waited for the perfect time to strike.
One figure, clad in a dark suit, swooped outwards. In her hand, a waraxe of a menacing appearance, shone with the embers of the flames burning around them.
Like a professional assassin, she slashed through in one move. Percivale swore his eye had caught a greenish cut appear in Gerrard for a split second, but he was unable to confirm his vision as the truth.
But he didn't need to. Not even a second later, Gerrard had stopped. The inhumane speed at which he was going prior to the attack eventually disappeared, slowing him down to a pitiful halt.
Percivale, in his panic, did not turn back, instead choosing to continue running towards the end of the hallway–where a lone window stood.
Meanwhile, behind him, just a step or two away, Mikaela stood over the limping figure that was Gerrard, who was beginning to shut down from the mysterious attack.
"Give up." She whispered. "King Cobra's Fate. It is a skill that, once inflicted, will make sure its mark stays until death. You'd best make for an alchemist and ask for an antidote."
At the same time, she turned around, staring at Percivale's figure gradually nearing the window. "That is, if you can even stand up in the next minute."
"And as for you." She then focused her gaze on the Spatial user, "Thank you for saving my sister. I have a feeling we will meet again very soon."
***
Crack… crang! The window burst into a thousand small fragments the very next moment. Percivale's bracing figure charged through. Shards of glass followed the boy downwards, plummeting in the direction of the ground.
"Fe-feather falling…!"
Without wasting a second, Percivale coated his entire body with Spatial mana. His figure glowed the color of moonlight, slowing his descent and preventing the shards from scratching against him.
It worked; his body now remained suspended in the air. Gravity ceased to exist for him alone, and he drifted around harmlessly. He stared at the streets below him, then at the same window he had just leapt through.
Gerrard hadn't followed. To Percivale, he had most likely given up on the chase, choosing to return.
With a relieved sigh, he began floating downwards at a steady pace. Once he touched the ground, Percivale looked for a place to get his bearings together.
Finding a nearby bench, he sat down and inspected himself. He hadn't felt himself getting struck once during the whole encounter, but it couldn't hurt to check.
There were no open wounds nor sizable injuries. The only problem worthy of concern at the moment was the issue with his earpiece.
Not being a Mentalist himself, he had no access to long range communication abilities. His only method of doing so was through the earpiece Andrea had handed everyone during their first briefing.
And unluckily for him, he had no spares. Nor did anyone. That meant for the rest of his mission, he had no one to talk to. No Navigator, no one to assist him. What little semblance of reliance he had with Andrea was now gone. The only person he could turn to to make decisions was none other than himself.
For someone like Percivale, who did his utmost best to leave all the decision-making to the confident ones, this was hell. A special hell.
Just then, a sharp, throbbing pain resonated through his head. It pierced through his mind in an instant, delivering agonising sequences of hurt.
"N–No…" He said as he clutched his head in his hands. "Not this again…"
Visions he wished gone began flooding in. Memories of a distant past, memories that weren't his.
His head burned–was it his mind playing tricks with him, or was the figure in front of him the very same person who caused this?
A mask that seemed to shroud their face entirely, a figure that easily trumped the tallest in size… and last, but not least…
"Scales…?"
Those were Percivale's last words before he felt something hard slam against the back of his head. His consciousness gradually began to fade, the visions somehow still ongoing.