He still couldn’t believe Mrs. Southfire had agreed to it. When Melmarc had given him the idea or, to be more precise, told him what he’d wanted to do, Ark had been quite certain that there was no way it would be allowed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he had said. “You just got discharged and the doctor said you need some rest. No way in hell will she agree.”
Then they had walked into the room, and the first thing Mrs. Southfire had said was something along the lines of how Melmarc was not supposed to be there. He was supposed to be resting, as the doctor had insisted.
Melmarc had agreed then pitched his idea to her. It was simple, there was a boy in his class that said he was on the combat team. His name was Sanders. Ark noticed how everyone’s attention focused the moment Sanders’ name was mentioned. Sanders was definitely not liked by them, and the many who didn’t like Sanders didn’t seem to care for the boy. It seemed they were only aware of Sanders by relationship of the others’ dislike for the boy.
Mrs. Southfire had even started paying attention the moment Melmarc had mentioned his name. Melmarc kept it simple and truthful. He didn’t like Sanders, Sanders was probably a bully, and they had insinuated an agreement to deal with their issues during combat class were it was ‘safe.’
Ark had watched the contemplation on the instructor’s face before she’d proceeded to shake her head. She’d opened her mouth and Diret had beat her to it, rushing over very quickly. Then, silver-tongued as the captain of the combat team always was, he spoke to her about how it would be a good combat practice, how it would be better to allow two members of the combat team to have it out here where it was safe and under the watchful eyes of the instructor than to allow their youthful exuberance carry them into combat out there were no one was watching.
“We are young,” he’d said with a charming smile, “and mistakes will happen if not supervised.”
Mrs. Southfire had finally given in, but something told Ark that it was not because of anything that Diret had said. In fact, he had a feeling she was just looking for an excuse to agree.
And now, here they were.
Diret moved quickly to sit beside Ark the moment everything had been agreed upon and Melmarc and Sanders were ready to face each other.
“You sure your brother’s going to be okay?” Diret whispered, looking enthusiastic.
Ark shrugged. “I don’t think Sanders can win, though.”
“Sanders is a powerful [Mage],” Diret pointed out.
“And I’m a powerful [Demon Lord] that spars with his younger brother every now and again,” Ark returned. “Trust me, it’s Sanders you should be worried about.”
Diret’s smile was wide. “Good.”
“Good?” Ark blinked. “I thought you liked the kid.”
“I do, and that’s why it’s good.”
Ark’s brows furrowed. “Explain.”
Diret looked at him, still smiling that smile that concealed the mischievous thoughts Ark knew nested in the boy’s mind. “I like him,” Diret explained, “because I like him. If you ask me to point out a single reason I like him, I can’t. It’s like that Alpha concept, you know, there are just people that are so charismatic that you just can’t hate them when you meet them even if there is no reason to like them?”
Ark cocked a brow at him. “Like you?”
“Exactly. Like me.” Diret returned his attention to the stage ahead of them. “I get suspicious when I meet someone that I find likeable for no actual reason. Because they are rare, and I don’t like them. Besides,” he looked around, “notice how the first years are always so careful around Sanders?”
“First day back,” Ark reminded him while looking around. “But yeah, I noticed how cautious they became when Marc said his name.”
“I’m trying to figure out what’s up with that. Especially now that your brother’s said he’s a bully.”
“And you think Marc can deal with him?”
“I think the first years will benefit from seeing the boy get his ass handed to him.” Diret wiggled his brows. “That’s always been the best way to deal with someone else’s fears, show them that their fears can be ruined.”
“And you think my brother can pull it off?” Ark repeated.
Diret nodded. “Don’t you?”
Ark returned his attention to Melmarc and Sanders. “Oh, I know he can. I’m just wondering why you think a [Faker] can beat a [Mage].”
“Dunno. There’s just something about your brother that makes him seem dangerous.”
In front of the group, Sanders spoke, allowing his voice to reach. It sounded as if he was speaking only to Melmarc who was at least twenty paces away from him, but his voice carried so that everyone heard him.
“I wonder how Pelumi will feel when she hears how I’m about to make you beg,” he said. It made Ark wince.
Mrs. Southfire frowned. “I will have decorum,” she said, obviously scolding him.
“You will have it,” Sanders replied. “Also, I’m ready.”
The entire time, Melmarc said nothing. He simply stood in his place and waited with a worrying level of disinterest. Ark was beginning to wonder if it had been a good idea to agree to this.
“He shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered.
“You good?” Diret asked. “You look tensed up, like you’re the one fighting. I thought you said your brother will be fine.”
Ark shook his head. “Never said I was tense because of the safety of my brother.”
“Think we’ll have to step in?” Diret asked.
It made Ark remember how thoroughly Melmarc had fought against the [Pyromancer] on the plain and how he had tried to kill Uncle Dorthna.
“Nope,” he said. “Just me.”
Mrs. Southfire looked at one of the combat team [Healer]s. “Begin!”
“Your brother will watch you cry!” Sanders barked, then his eyes momentarily focused on nothing in that way people tended to from the momentary distraction of their interface informing them of something.
Ark frowned at that, keeping his eyes sharp and his attention heightened.
Nothing.
Nothing happened. The boy remained standing there with his hands in his pockets. It was the most casual stance, condescending in every way considering he was facing off against someone at least half a foot taller than him and probably twice his weight.
For whatever the boy was doing, Melmarc did not seem bothered, neither did he seem to care. He walked across the distance, his steps purposeful and slow. He walked like a boy already tired of what he was sent to do. Like a child who had been sent to do the dishes by hand and was taking all the time needed to cross the distance. For the very briefest of moments his eyes focused on something then the focus was gone.
What kind of fight are they having? Ark wondered, knowing that something had to be happening. With a little focus, the mana particles in the air came into view, growing sharper. He saw it then, the mana particles turning purple, growing from one of Sanders’ pocketed hands. What the hell is that?
The second thing he saw was the wave of mana as it left Melmarc. He wasn’t new to it, but it was whiter than usual, clear too. It gave him the feeling of strength and power, a massive wave coming at everybody.
When it went through him, he felt nothing, which was unsurprising. No one reacted to it, not even Sanders. Then he saw Sanders’ expression change. First it was confusion, then it was worry. The boy frowned, then pressed his lips into a thin line as if to conceal the initial frown.
Pride. Ark knew it very well. The boy wanted to carry himself in a certain way, in a condescending way, hiding his expressions behind false calmness or cockiness. Worry and anger in the presence of a company would do him no good.
Diret was frowning beside Ark. “Something’s not right,” he muttered.
“Tell me about it,” Ark said, snorting. “Sanders is worried.”
“Not that.” Diret shook his head. “Your brother doesn’t care. It’s almost as if this holds no challenge to him.”
Ark could not say that he was surprised. “Melmarc has always been something of a—”
The bright change in mana particles from purple to orange was all the warning he needed before the heat came. Mrs. Southfire frowned while the flames blasted against an invisible wall that protected the students. But while it kept the flames away, it did nothing for the heat. Even Diret rose to his feet, forcing himself back. Resistant to heat and all things fire related, Ark only watched, stared as Melmarc was engulfed in flames.
But the flames were not what he was looking at. He was looking at Melmarc’s mana return to him. All Melmarc would have to deal with from the flames was the pain. He would burn, but he would not be consumed.
Like the burning bush, he thought, remembering a story in the bible.
Melmarc stepped out of the ball of fire, expression unchanged. If he was in pain of any kind, he did not show it. Instead, his eyes remained focused on Sanders. His eyes remained apathetic.
Sanders warred with himself. It was clear on his face, and Ark found himself enjoying the boy’s confusion. It wasn’t the easiest thing to deal with watching someone tank one of the most powerful weapons in your arsenal as if you had done nothing.
When he took a step back, Ark grinned in satisfaction. He had felt what Sanders was feeling right now once before in his life but would never tell Melmarc when or what had happened.
The fear of Melmarc, he thought with pleasure, is the beginning of wisdom.
Sanders steeled his determination and took a step forward. He had a plan; it was etched in his face. All he had to do was carry it out. It was the beauty of hope shattered as Melmarc’s hand shot out and grabbed the boy by the neck, snatching both his neck and hope’s beauty away.
Melmarc held him in place, looking down at him, and squeezed. That was when Ark saw it, the color of Melmarc’s eyes.
For god’s sake, he swore, rising to his feet and preparing to charge Melmarc if he had to.
Melmarc looked at Sanders and finally said his first words since the fight began, lifting Sanders from the floor by the neck.
“Die.”
And that’s my cue.
Ark stepped forward only to stop himself.
He said black eyes don’t mean anything, he reminded himself, from their time in the infirmary. Let’s see if he’s in control.
There was also a part of him that really wanted Sanders to suffer because of the Pelumi comment.
Mrs. Southfire stood to the side, watching, unbothered. Ark found it amusing, meanwhile, Sanders did not give up. Choking in Melmarc’s grasp, he grabbed his wrist and threw his legs up and wrapped them around Melmarc’s arm and tried to squeeze. Even in his current situation, he was going for an elevated armbar.
Positioned properly, Sanders squeezed.
Nothing happened.
Then he started to turn red, then slightly blue.
His raised legs were the first to drop, scrabbling helpless now as his hands clawed at Melmarc’s arms then at his own neck, fighting for air. Ark watched and waited. If Sanders was dying, he would get a notification from his title that grants him a buff for every person dying around him.
Sanders’ clawing soon slowed, then stopped. Ark saw it in his eyes then, the horror, the panic. The unfettered fear of dying. It could change a boy but in what direction was rarely ever known.
In the blink of an eye, Sanders’ hands fell from their struggle and hung loosely by his side while his legs dangled in the air. Ark looked at Mrs. Southfire and saw that she hadn’t moved. The students around him were already beginning to take up panicked looks. One girl who had played basketball on the same team with him and Melmarc on their first day covered her mouth in horror and what looked like pity.
That’s it. Ark took a determined step only for Melmarc to raise his free hand. He turned expressionless eyes on the hand and Ark realized what he was doing.
Ark almost smacked himself on the head as Melmarc checked the time. Melmarc was keeping tabs on how long he was keeping Sanders without air. He wasn’t trying to kill the boy… at least he wasn’t going to.
Melmarc’s attention flicked back to Sanders. His gaze remained bored, uninterested. The boy dangled from his hand. If Melmarc felt the weight of the boy, he did not show it. It made Ark wonder just how many stat points had gone into Melmarc’s stat points. His eyes flicked back over to his wristwatch. He opened his hand.
Sanders dropped like a wet rag, hitting the ground uncomfortably. Before his head smacked against the floor, one of the other two instructors who tended to serve as back ups to Mrs. Southfire’s teachings blitzed through the room with incredible speed and snatched the boy’s head up. Then he lowered it back down gently, placing it against the ground. Then he checked the boy for a pulse before looking up at Mrs. Southfire and giving her a nod.
Mrs. Southfire returned the nod with one of her own, a casual acknowledgement of the information given to her.
Ark missed none of it as Melmarc simply remained standing in place. He realized after a moment that he was the only member of the audience still standing, so he lowered himself back to the ground. The feint purple mana particles, almost nonexistent, that trailed from Sanders to Melmarc were not lost to him, though.
A slow touch of peace settled on him as the black drained out of Melmarc’s eyes, tearing from the center to pool away in two different directions, leaving nothing but the simple hazel eyes Melmarc had always had. Though they remained bored and apathetic.
“Huh,” Diret muttered folding his arms over his chest. He had retained his place next to Ark. “He let go.”
Ark gave him a look. Had he heard intrigue in Diret’s voice? He couldn’t be sure. Still, he agreed, “He let go.”
“You really were going to stop him, weren’t you?” Diret continued.
“Uhuh.” Ark watched Mrs. Southfire motion the girl with the [Healer] class over to the still unconscious Sanders with a nod while the instructor who had saved the boy’s head from crashing into the ground walked away. Ark didn’t miss the subtle glance the man had given Melmarc. There was a touch of worry in there somewhere. “At least I didn’t have to.”
Diret studied Ark for a moment while the [Healer] held a hand over Sander’s head and a gentle forest green light pulsed with a feint hue of purple at the edges. “I figured you would be happy about not having to stop him.”
“I am.”
“You know,” Diret said, clearly not believing him, “Most people would be happy that their baby brother didn’t kill a classmate in front of a group of witnesses.”
Ark didn’t need to think about the statement or a rebuttal to it. It was completely true. What was bothering him now was not Melmarc accidentally losing control and killing someone. It was something else.
He checked the time, he thought. That was the part that now bothered him, the part that sat wrong with him. Melmarc sparing Sanders was a good thing, but the cold methodology of how he’d done it was the problem.
He’d been calculating about it, even went as far as to check the time. It was as if he was executing a plan. The question was what exactly the plan was. Was he checking how long he would keep him to ensure he wouldn’t die or was he checking through the emotions? Ark had not paid attention to it before but if he thought about it, Sanders had gone through a slew of emotions before ultimately losing consciousness.
“That was cold,” Diret said suddenly with a smile. “If I had known your brother can be like this, I wouldn’t have toyed with him during that basketball game. He really allowed Sanders to understand that he had lost completely, that there was no hope, and that he’d beat him without even breaking a sweat.”
Ark nodded. “He broke his spirit first.”
It was the kind of calculated calm he knew Melmarc handled everything with, including people. The reason Melmarc was bad at making friends was because he was not flexible. To Melmarc, one plus one was always two, regardless of if he was dealing with people. People were either good or bad—which Ark had always told him wasn’t how people worked. It was interesting considering he was worse at math than Ark.
The real problem here was that Ark’s fear was finally coming to fruition. Once upon a time, Melmarc was calculating when it came to figuring people out, but he never handled them in the same way, that’s why he wasn’t the best with people. Now? Ark had just watched him handle Sanders calculatingly.
It was a problem… Right?
“Not how I expected this to go,” Mrs. Southfire said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention back to her while the [Healer] continued to do whatever work she was doing on Sanders. “And I’m sure most of you did not expect it to go this way.”
The absence of a reaction from the students made her sigh. She ran her hand through her hair.
“Usually,” she continued, “there would be skills flying about and the same skills returned. The [Mage] would employ whatever skills and spells they had, and the [Faker] would try to copy some of them. I wanted you all to learn from that.” She shook her head but did not look displeased. “This went more along the lines of a [Mage] fighting a strength class like a [Basher]. I guess that’s not bad either.”
“Oof,” Diret muttered in a very small voice.
Ark knew what he was talking about. “Oof is right.”
“You think your brother can handle it?” Diret asked as Mrs. Southfire continued to talk about what he was no longer paying attention.
Around them, faces were pale, worried. The fear the first years had for Melmarc was gone, completely dismissed from them. But it was not gone. It had a new focus now… Melmarc.
“Well,” Ark grinned, at least tried to, “you did say ruining him would get rid of their fear.”
“Not what I had in mind, though,” Diret replied.
Ark’s grin was slowly becoming a real thing instead of something feigned. He found he liked Diret’s discomfort. “Well, the fear of Sanders is done.”
“Now they’ve got a new fear to deal with.” Diret was not pleased.
“Don’t worry. As long as they don’t step on his toes my brother’s a teddy bear.”
Diret rolled his eyes at Ark. “Says the guy that wanted to stop his brother.”
“From smiting the person that stepped on his toes,” Ark corrected. “There’s a difference between that and stopping him from harming someone innocent.”
Mrs. Southfire clapped her hands. “Diret. Ark. Kindly refrain from speaking when I’m speaking, if not you might fail to learn what I’m teaching.” She looked at the [Healer]. “How long do you think it’ll take to get him on his feet, Suzy?”
The girl shook her head. “No idea. I’ve checked and, apart from the bruising, he’s just unconscious.”
“That’s good.”
Mrs. Southfire’s eyes found Melmarc as he passed her, and Ark watched her not flinch, neither did the look in her eyes change much unlike the other instructors. It made her the only only one in the hall who had a reaction to him that belonged only to her. She looked at him the way one would look at a weapon they had just confirmed was sharper than its look suggested, filing the information of what he was capable of away.
The realization dawned on Ark immediately and he turned to Diret. “I know why you wanted my brother to fight, but do you know why Mrs. Southfire agreed to this?”
Diret shrugged. “I just assumed it was my charm. I’ve learnt she can give up if I pester her enough. I did have a convincing argument.”
Ark had thought so too at the time. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Doubt crept into him as he watched Melmarc take a place among the audience.
She was looking for an excuse, he knew, and was more certain of it now than he'd been in the before. She wanted to see what he could do.
It created a new question: why?