Lancelot's golden eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"I thought I made myself clear," he said, his tone icy. "This spar is to be conducted without the use of powers. So, would someone care to explain why the two of you were just about to break that rule?"
Theodore opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, one of his lackeys stepped forward, eager to defend his leader.
"Sir, it wasn't Sir Theodore's fault! It was that bastard Nathan who—"
"Silence." Lancelot snapped, his voice like a whip. The lackey immediately shut his mouth, shrinking back under the instructor's glare.
"I don't recall asking for your input. I was asking for an explanation from one of them". He said pointing at Nathan and Theodore.
His gaze then swept across the training field, his presence alone enough to make the cadets stiffen.
Then without warning, he released another wave of killing intent, this one even more suffocating than the last one.
The air grew heavy, and several cadets dropped to their knees, gasping for breath.
Nathan felt his wings instinctively retract back into his body as the pressure became unbearable.
Theodore, too, looked visibly shaken, his usual arrogance replaced momentarily by unease.
Lancelot then spoke in a dangerously calm, authoritative tone. "I will not tolerate disobedience next time".
Then just as quickly as it had come, the killing intent then vanished.
The cadets exhaled in unison, their shoulders slumping in relief.
Lancelot crossed his arms, his expression stern but calm once more. "I'm not particularly against you fighting."
He said, his voice quieter but no less commanding. He then gestured to the daggers he had handed out earlier.
"But if you're going to fight, you'll do so with these. No powers. No implants. Just skill."
Theodore recovered quickly, his trademark smirk returning as he straightened his posture.
"Fine by me," he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. He picked up one of the daggers, twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease.
"I've been itching to put this bastard in his place anyway."
Nathan's fists clenched tightly at his sides, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
He then reached for a dagger, his mind racing with thoughts of finally standing up to Theodore.
Finally for the first time since childhood, he was about to stand up for himself against Theodore.
But just as he was about to take the dagger, a hand landed on his shoulder.
He turned to see Natasha shaking her head, her eyes filled with concern. "Don't," she whispered. "It's not worth it. He's not worth it."
For a moment, Nathan hesitated, his gaze flickering between Natasha and Theodore.
Then, with a deep breath, he let his hand fall to his side.
"No," he said, his voice steady but laced with quiet fury . "I won't fight."
Theodore let out a mocking laugh. "What's the matter bastard? Scared? After all that bravado, you turn coward at the last minute?"
Nathan ignored him, turning on his heel and walking away from the training field. The cadets parted to let him pass, their murmurs fading into the background as he strode toward the classroom buildings.
His chest burned with a silent anger, but he refused to give Theodore the satisfaction of seeing him break.
Behind him, he could hear Lancelot's voice cutting through the noise, but he didn't stop to listen.
As he left the training field, the cool breeze brushed against his face, doing little to soothe the storm raging inside him.
He clenched his fists, his mind replaying the confrontation over and over again. One day. One day. He would pay him back. He would make sure Theodore got what was coming to him.
Lancelot simply stared at Nathan's back as he walked away with a calm expression.
'It's a good thing he decided not to fight Theodore.' He thought, his gaze turning over to Theodore, 'Afterall as he is now, he doesn't stand a chance. Not against this monster.'
He then gazed skyward and sighed heavily. 'Joseph, you bastard. If only you could've just kept it in your pants, all this would've been avoided.'