If someone asked me how my day was, I would say it varied between the tragically comical and the absurdly ironic. Oh, and before you wonder, yes, my life seems to be written by a screenwriter who loves a good drama - or maybe a comedy of errors, depending on the point of view. Here I am, once again, facing the abyss that is my daily routine, but instead of the abyss staring back at me, it shrugs and says: "Dude, I don't even want to deal with you today."
Ah, the beautiful and grotesque ballet of destruction! "Dismantle", I muttered under my breath, and voilà, one less unhappy. "Dismantle, again", because why stop at the first? Four less souls. And, oh, why not a trilogy? "Dismantle", and seven less aspirants to something they would never be. The corridor, once a sanctuary of healing, now turned into a stage of horrors, adorned with what remained of my most fervent fans.
"Poor soul who will have the displeasure of cleaning this macabre masterpiece. I hope the cleaner's raise is worthy of a consolation prize", I commented, jumping with an almost comical grace over a puddle particularly rich in… let's call it 'carnal details'. My bare feet, now adorned with the latest fashion scream in blood red, matched terribly with my patient outfit, which also embraced the new trend.
And as I made my way, I couldn't help but think of the irony of the situation. Here I am, supposedly the nobody of the story, turned into the worst nightmare of those who have the misfortune of crossing my path. Ah, the twists and turns of life! Maybe I should start thinking about a new career. How about interior designer… specialized in shades of red.
"So, we have a master of veils among us, a true Hercules of the shadows, I suppose," I rambled, my mind weaving theories about the architect of this scenario worthy of a suspense movie. "He must have been enchanted by Alice, but, frankly, chasing that shadow would be like dancing tango with ghosts. I leave it to Sam; he has a knack for these dramatic twists. After all, it seems that the narrative decided to return to its original bed, without any more deviations to the absurd."
However, the tranquility of my analysis was abruptly interrupted when the wall next to me decided to open like a curtain on opening day, revealing not a supporting actor, but a colossus of a man. A being so imposing that made me wonder if his relationship with steroids was more intimate than advisable. Without ceremony, he threw a punch with the subtlety of a meteor, sending me on an express trip through the opposite wall, culminating in a forced landing inside another room.
The impact not only transported me to a new location but also made it clear that this chapter of my life might need a revision or two. As I recomposed myself, I couldn't help but think: "Can I charge admission for this live action spectacle?". Ah, the challenges of being a reluctant screenwriter in a world that insists on not following the script.
When the colossus of muscles decided to reduce the distance between us, bellowing threats of an orthopedic end for me, his bravado was interrupted by a vertical cut - a trick from my repertoire that had already ended many disputes. However, the unexpected happened. Instead of splitting into a final farewell, he just backed away, showing a superficial scratch. "Did my dismantling go easy this time?" I wondered, surprised.
"Interesting… but not enough," he laughed, interrupting my thoughts. "Was it with this trick that you dispatched my colleagues?" he asked, realigning his neck with an audible snap. "My innate skill protected me from your blow. It seems that it was not this time."
Ah, the twist! I found myself facing an opponent not only immune to my attack, but also mocking my surprise. "So, it's a duel of innate skills that we have here," I replied, hiding my concern under a layer of sarcasm. "It seems that I'm facing a true titan. Well, let the second act begin."
With this deadlock, I realized that the situation required more than my usual disdain. "It seems that I'll have to improvise a new ending for this scene," I thought, while planning my next move. The game had changed; it was time to rewrite the script.
The giant prepared his fist as if throwing an anchor against a paper boat. In response, I unleashed a series of cuts, a storm of invisible blades, that only scratched his titanic epidermis. And then, his blow met my being with the subtlety of a runaway train. "Shit!" was all I could articulate, a curse to the wind before the brute force.
From the outside, a rumble of collision and explosion reverberated, like the prelude of an unwanted final act. And there I was, an unplanned flight out of the hospital, thrown from the second floor, an aerial performance worthy of note only by the blood I left behind. The ground and I met in a painful greeting, my face kissing the asphalt in a greeting that no gentleman would desire.
And as if that wasn't enough, the colossus jumped from above, landing with the grace of an elephant in a porcelain shop, a maniacal smile stamped on his face, his eyes shining with the promise of more violence. His foot rose, ready to turn my head into a footnote in this bloody story.
"This guy… is a more formidable opponent than Noah, damn it!" I thought, as I prepared myself for maybe, the last dance. Ah, fate really loves its games; who would have thought that I would find myself in a duel of life or death with a monster that makes Noah look like a mere extra? But wait… Noah is an extra.
Dodging at the last moment, the earthquake that was supposed to be the end of me only kissed the asphalt, leaving a crack as a reminder of its affection. Trying to regain my dignity and balance, I barely had time to compose a thought before being greeted by a kick that sent me flying like a plastic bag in a gale, a treatment that I certainly would not recommend.
Thrown to the whims of gravity, my attempts to get up were as pathetic as a kitten trying to understand physics. And then, as the giant prepared for another act of his dance of destruction, I raised my arms in a gesture that I hoped would be interpreted as a truce, more out of desperation than hope for compassion.
"Wait! Let me catch my breath," I cried, with the sincerity of an actor forgotten of his script.
Before my desperate request for a break, the muscle monster, for reasons that escape me, froze his advance. Perhaps, in some recess of his truculent mind, there resided a fragment of chivalry. Or maybe he just wanted to prolong the show. Rising up, a mixture of relief and strategy bubbled in my mind. "If his skill is always active, there must be a recharge interval, right?" I conjectured, although waiting for his pause was not exactly the most prudent strategy. "So, what's the next step?"
My eyes then caught a hose, a promising artifact amid the chaos, connected to a nearby faucet. Without hesitation, I used my dismantling, separating it from the source with the precision of a surgeon.
Seeing me arming myself with such an instrument, the colossus could not contain his surprise, mixed with a pinch of disdain. "Are you going to use that to face me? Are you serious?" he mocked, disbelief tinging his words.
With a smile that hid more plans than it revealed, I replied: "Ah, my dear, sometimes the best weapons are not the most obvious ones. And in the theater of war, improvisation is the mother of victory."
"You have a way with words," conceded the colossus, adopting a combat stance that seemed to announce the arrival of a storm. In contrast, I, with the hose now cut to an ideal length for handling, faced my unusual weapon with the same intensity as an archer contemplates his last arrow. And so, I stood ready for the clash, our eyes blue against abyss locking in a silent battle before the storm.
The impasse lasted only an instant, a deceptive calm before the hurricane. With the impetuosity of a bull, he lunged at me, his fist loaded with the promise of pain. But ah, the surprise was on my side this time. "HUH?" was his confused exclamation, a horizontal cut - my signature - blinding him momentarily with the precision of a lightning.
In this interim of vulnerability, I danced around his blind fury, the orange hose snaking around his trunk. With a fluid movement, I slid to his back, and with a Herculean effort, I took advantage of the momentum of his own charge to knock him down, the ground receiving his body with a satisfied thunder.
Before the giant could even dream of a counterattack, there I was, an unlikely knight mounted on his back, using the hose as my weapon of choice, wrapping it around his neck with the skill of a lassoer.
With a titanic effort, he rose, his desperate movements to dislodge me only a testimony of his inability to reach me, thanks to his bulky muscles that, ironically, made his arms too short for such a task. "Do you still think that my talent is limited to rhetoric?" I taunted, tightening the hose with a renewed force, seeking to subdue him by strangulation.
As the giant prepared for a desperate maneuver, which promised to crush us both on the ground, my hands found his robust neck. With an agile and decisive movement, I twisted, feeling the resistance of his muscular structure before a definitive snap echoed - the sinister sound of the end, a final note in a symphony of chaos. His attempt to fight ceased abruptly; life drained from his body as suddenly as he had begun to struggle. With an agile jump, I disentangled myself from him, and the giant fell, his immense body finding the ground with a heavy thud that reverberated through the air.
Moving away from that scenario of conclusion, a heavy sigh escaped my lips as I sought to normalize my breathing. "And now, who will be the next challenge?" I muttered, recomposing myself and starting to limp back to the hospital entrance, my mind already speculating about the next steps. "It would be interesting if that blonde nurse was…" But before I could complete the thought, a sudden impulse made me raise my arm, intercepting an arrow that sought my end.
"Tsk! He detected my presence…" The voice came from above, tinged with frustration and reluctant admiration. The nurse, now revealed as something more sinister, watched from her elevated position, her blond hair swaying in the wind, her blue eyes fixed on me. "I thought the poison would be your end," she confessed, the surprise evident in her voice.
"A plot of twists… Who would have thought that my dear nurse, a guardian angel to my blurry eyes, was actually a messenger of death?" I mocked, my curiosity sharpened as much as my caution. "So, the previous delirium was courtesy of your poison? Fascinating, it has a touch of uniqueness."
She let out a laugh, a sound that, under other circumstances, could be considered charming. "I just tried to assassinate you twice and that's your reaction?" she asked, clearly amused by my casual attitude.
"Well, why not? The world has shown me so many facets that a beautiful and lethal nurse barely tickles my scale of surprises," I retorted, keeping the tone light despite the palpable danger.
"Oh?" Eveline, now with a name, seemed intrigued. "I'm Eveline, a class D assassin, and I…"
"Let's dispense with the formalities and the resumes," I cut in, somewhat impatient. "So, what will it be? Do we continue this duel to the death or explore a less violent plot?"
"I don't consider myself foolish enough to challenge someone capable of extinguishing Helio's existence," Eveline admitted, her voice carrying a mix of respect and reluctance.
"So, the colossus had a name? Helio?" I pondered, my smile dancing on my lips as I cast a carefree glance over the giant now inert. But, lo and behold, the plot thickens again: Eveline, agile as the narrative that involves us, was already arming another arrow, ready for a new attempt to turn me into memory.
However, before the tension of the string was released in the form of a threat, a quick and precise cut adorned her cheek, a reminder of my skill. Her eyes widened, surprise and recognition painting her face. "Are you going to try to kill me again? I admit, your beauty captivated me enough to forgive an attempt… two, maybe. But don't abuse my generosity," my cold voice cut the silence between us.
She stared at me, the surprise giving way to fear. "Stay in your lane," I muttered, irritation weaving my speech. These extras… Who do they think they are, crossing swords with the creator of this thing that I call a masterpiece?
Eveline, whose posture until then exuded confidence and danger, now shrank back, fear freezing her veins. The understanding dawned in her blue eyes - the figure before her was not a common opponent, but an entity of immeasurable power, someone too dangerous. "Yes, sir," she murmured, her voice a whisper of submission.
"Great, now, a small favor before you disappear on the horizon… Any high court staff around here today? Given your updated knowledge, I presume you have that information," I asked, casually, as if asking about the weather.
"Hmm, the shadows of dawn made their presence today. But I doubt it's because of you, or anything like that. Figures of your stature wouldn't bother for so little," Eveline shared, her concern evident even in the urgency of distancing herself.
"I see…" I murmured, absorbing the news with a mixture of irritation and calculation. "Just them, the two judges, known for their… eccentric lethality?"
Grumbling with frustration, I turned to Eveline, "Go away." And with that, she seemed to gain wings to her feet, disappearing from the terrace with the haste of someone fleeing from their own shadow.
Alone again, I reflected on the complicated web I was in. The "shadows of dawn", two feared and respected figures, were now part of this intricate plot. And I, apparently at the center of this labyrinth of conspiracies and powers, found myself forced to navigate a game much more dangerous than any duel with hired assassins.
"Let the show begin," I said to myself, a defiant smile sprouting on my face. If the stage was set and the actors in position, then at least I would dictate some of the rules of this drama.
---
In the pulsating heart of the stadium, the announcer's voice echoed, carrying with it the weight of a monumental announcement: "Sam Solomons was the victor against Michael Clark! The veteran lost to the freshman!"
The crowd, vibrant, applauded enthusiastically, witnessing the outcome of a battle that, without a doubt, would enter the annals of the stadium's history. In the center of it all, Sam remained motionless, his unshakable posture only superficially hiding the tide of emotions that consumed him. His gaze, cold and calculating, fixed on the opponent now inert on the ground, marked by the signs of the contest.
"Dean lost… I wanted to fight him," he thought, a shadow of disappointment tinging his thoughts. There was something in the possibility of that confrontation that attracted him, a chance to measure forces, to test limits. With a sigh that carried more than air, more than simple resignation, he added, "I think I'll pay him a visit to see if he's okay."
As Sam left the arena, his calm walk contrasted with the fervor of the audience, who watched him with admiration. The echo of his name, chanted by exalted fans, filled the air, turning each of his steps into a celebration. A hand scratching his head betrayed his embarrassment in the face of public adulation.
Moving away from the heat of the competition, Ellie did not miss the chance to tease Sam with a humorous remark. "Did you know you have a legion of fans? Some even going too far. There was one who tried to break into the arena just to give you a hug. Too bad the security guards are not in the mood for romance," she said, handing him a bottle of water, a playful smile on her lips. "I confess I would pay admission just to see that scene."
Sam, taking the water, did not let it go. "And you? You're not behind in the matter of obsessed fans," he retorted, with a half-distracted thank you, as he returned the smile.
Ellie laughed, but there was a hint of truth in her next words. "Ah, but mine are a select group of old perverts who don't miss a chance to be… well, old perverts. Sometimes, I think that my fame only serves to attract that kind," she shared, rolling her eyes.
Sam, still laughing, changed the subject with a casual curiosity. "Where are Diana and Chloe?"
"Ah, them?" Ellie pondered the question with a thoughtful air. "Good question…"
"They probably went after something to eat. After all, Yuki is the next to fight, right?" Sam conjectured, raising the bottle to his mouth, preparing for a refreshing sip.
"Yes, but, Sam," Ellie interrupted, capturing his attention. "Huh? What is it?" he asked, lowering the bottle.
"Do you also feel this strange sensation?" She whispered, a touch of worry in her voice. "I don't know how to explain it, but it's something… dark."
Sam frowned, his expression becoming serious. His gaze, then, slid through the audience, finally landing on two twins who did not seem to belong to the festive vibe of the environment. He watched them for a moment, until, as if they felt his attention, they turned their faces towards him, meeting his gaze directly.
"Cough!" The water he was about to drink was expelled in a sudden gush, followed by a sequence of coughs. The shock with the unexpected eye contact made him choke.
"Are you okay? Drink water slowly," Ellie advised him, between worried and amused by the unusual situation.
"What was that?" Sam ruminated, still trying to assimilate what had just happened. "They noticed my attention with just one look? What kind of skill is that?"
"Did you find any ghosts around here?" Ellie asked, her tone mixing concern with a light dose of humor, trying to ease the growing tension.
"I'm fine, just…" Sam, feeling a protective instinct, leaned towards Ellie and whispered, "Stay close to me, okay?"
"Huh?" The request caught Ellie by surprise, her eyes widening at the unexpected seriousness in Sam's voice. "Sam… What are you—"
And before they could dive deeper into that conversation loaded with new meanings, they were interrupted by the sudden arrival of Chloe.
"What are you talking about?" She inquired, appearing as if materialized out of nowhere, her presence cutting the tension like a knife.
Ellie, caught in the act as if she had been caught in an intimate moment, jumped back, surprise and embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Her reaction was explosive, directed at Chloe with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. "Where did you come from?!" she exclaimed, clearly shaken by the sudden interruption.
Chloe, always the soul of relaxation, replied with a casual shrug. "Well, I came walking," she said, as if the situation required nothing more than a simple explanation. "Diana stayed behind to sort something out, asked me to go ahead."
At the mention of Diana, Sam felt a wave of worry. His eyes widened, a reflection of the alarm that his previously disguised words had tried to hide. "Where did she go?" he pressed, the urgency clear in his voice.
Chloe, noticing the change of atmosphere, frowned, intrigued. "I have no idea, she didn't specify. But what's going on? Why the sudden concern?"
Sam found himself in a dilemma. "Damn! They're not grasping the gravity of the situation…" he lamented internally. The academy and the arena, which were supposed to be safe spaces for competitions and learning, were now the stage for an invisible and imminent threat. "There are assassins on the loose here," he wanted to say out loud, but the words seemed too heavy to be uttered at that moment of reunion.
---
In the relative comfort of the Nightshade family's box, Angeline shared her observations, her eyes closed as if trying to capture echoes of a hidden world. "It seems that the emissaries of death are looking for someone inside the academy," she murmured, her voice laden with a cautious curiosity.
Ethan, always the pillar of pragmatism, replied without taking his eyes off the spectacle below. "Yes, but as long as it doesn't involve us directly or Blake, we have no reason to intervene. It's probably someone who challenged the rules," he conjectured, a note of disinterest in his voice. "Anyway, let's keep our attention on the festival and ignore the rest."
The decision to turn a blind eye to the menacing presence within the academy revealed the complexity of the power dynamics and the priorities within the Nightshade family. As the festival proceeded, an event celebrated for its competitions and demonstrations of skill, a darker plot unfolded behind the scenes, one that could very well alter the fate of several of those present.
---
In the underground labyrinth that entwines the foundations of the academy, Diana found herself in a poorly lit corridor, her gaze fixed on two men who, in turn, surrounded a fallen and bleeding figure on the ground. The victim's ragged breathing filled the silence with an urgency that preceded despair. Among the aggressors, one stood out: short and black hair, dark glasses hiding his eyes, and a muscularity that his elegant suit could barely disguise. A malicious smile appeared on his lips as he noticed Diana. "Are you lost, girl?" he asked, his voice laden with a provocative disdain.
Diana, however, was not one to be intimidated or waste words on empty threats. With the precision of someone who knows their skills well, she unsheathed her florette, the blade reflecting the little light available with a lethal promise. "Back off from him, unless you want to test the agility of my blade in separating your heads from your bodies," she declared, the coldness in her voice contrasting with the tension of the moment.
The challenge triggered in the man not a smile, but a twisted smile that unfolded into a cavernous laugh. The taunting laughter echoed off the cold walls as a harbinger of the evil approaching, infusing the air with a palpable poison. With a languid gesture, he slid his glasses off his face, revealing eyes that burned with the color of newly lit embers, a cruel intensity that knew no compassion. "Your athletic build," he murmured with a voice that carried lust and hunger, "promises to be a delicious distraction until my real games begin." Each syllable was spoken with an implicit threat, discarding all formalities and exposing his true nature of relentless and cruel.