Marcis looked towards the sky, the moon was descending. Its brilliant shine evoked memories of the past. Unlike most of the teachers in the school he came from a less than noble background. His ancestors were not anything special, and his parents were not even martial artists. He took this path not out of honor or purpose, but only a need for money. Marcis's dad and mother are defunct merchants who made a name selling cheap magic guns. Those very guns were their downfall as numerous claims came about suggesting these weapons were not safe to use. To the extent that it was safer to stand in front instead of behind.
Their downfall was swift and with little flare, leaving poor Marcis with nothing to his name. Worse yet his parents later died in a monster attack, rumor says they would have survived if they didn't try and protect themselves with a not so safe magic gun.
Although he has heard worse sob stories, he never saw his life as sad. His "uncle", a man named Walter, took him in. He wasn't truly Marcis's uncle; Walter was more like a family friend.
Walter ran a not so famous dojo, teaching the rock lion style. A style that works with deadly holds that can shatter arms, snap necks, and other brutal techniques. It was a combat style through and through, eye shots, and groin hits were not out of the question. But in a world of advanced combat styles, the rock lion was more or less average, in an art that is grappling which is not very popular.
This wasn't anything to wonder, when you have ancient styles like when Vex used the falling thunder style that allows you to split steel in half with ease, or the demon arts that Lynx created which allow you to amplify an attack with a countless amount of hits. Worse is, is big dojos have some of the best arts, and normally out-competes their smaller brothers. Some have wondered what the strongest style is, but the question is usually left with a bunch of like exclaimers such as, in punching the heavenly fist technique out shines all of the others, in advanced observation there is no true best style.
Walter was different however, he was one of the best grapplers in the world. The rock lion style has run in his family for generations, but the thing is no matter the greatness of the man there's only so much he can rub off. So after Marcis got through his training he slowly worked up his ranks of the hunters, until he was adventary recruited by Saints hand to become a teacher. That's it, his life was really not much up to this point, and he often felt conceited when others brought up their amazing tales of all their extraordinary adventures.
That was one reason he never really liked Grant, a man whose life was exciting, you could have written a book about it. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel proud of where he's at. But in this situation pride would not save them.
In pure combat power Marcis was the third strongest here, which made him extremely nervous of what's to come.
****
Krave called on his troops, this was a fight, and he has been waiting for it for years. He craved it in the very pits of his bones. "Mabie," he thought to himself, "that is what makes monsters and humans so different." But then he thought of some of the battle maniacs within Boss's army, and swiftly got rid of such ideas.
Krave felt great honor in having his own troops. Under his command are a high percentage of Lesser werewolves, some humans, and a support unit of midrank undead. He called upon his lieutenant a werewolf who has a strong body and a smart mind.
"Commander?" He said with an innocent voice.
"Dix," Krave snorted. "The Boss has decided to let us at em."
This seemed to awaken something with in the usually docile Dix. Slobber leaked from his mouth, and excitement filled his eyes. The only thing stopping him from jumping up and down, was his pride as a man.
"Commander, let me lead the charge." Dix said in an almost bagging tone.
"Like hell I would let you steal the fun from me." Krave scolded.
When their group finally united their number wasn't very big, they are by far the smallest division, but they were all elites at the commander level. Krave of course was much stronger than all of them, and his pressens was that of a true commander. He is equally feared and loved by his comrades. His group marched with not the least bit of order, after all you can take a monster out of the wild, but you can't take the wild out of the monster. From side to side they were only fifty five strong, and it didn't take long for them to see the wall.