He slipped away from it. Melmarc would’ve preferred to slip beneath the punch since it would’ve given him a better advantage, but Diret was smaller than him. As such, slipping beneath the blow would be asking for too much.
Around the room there were others sparring. Arc was sparring with a girl who was quick on her feet with fists that moved almost as fast as lightning.
Melmarc would’ve loved to watch that fight if Diret was not already being too much of a handful. The senior student peppered him with jabs to keep him at bay, slipping in and out with each blow. His footwork was amazing, almost pristine. It kept Melmarc’s advantage of a longer reach out of range.
The next jab came faster than Diret’s easy grin suggested it would. Melmarc tracked it the way he’d been tracking everything since they’d started sparring. He moved a fraction of a second too late. The dodge was sloppy, his movement made early enough to angle his jaw just out of line, but not enough to avoid the blow completely. Diret’s knuckle grazed his cheek instead of catching him square on the jaw.
Diret cocked a brow at that, ignoring all the other students sparring around them. “Still too slow.”
Melmarc said nothing to that, still watching the boy. It was not that he was being disrespectful or rude, it was about Diret. The senior was as much a trickster as he was an [Illusionist]. For all Melmarc knew, the statement could’ve easily been a ploy to distract him.
Diret chuckled a little, bouncing on the balls of his feet in a boxer’s stance. “I’m not trying to distract you. I’m just saying that you should anticipate better. Try to figure out what I will do and stop reacting to what I have done.”
Melmarc pressed his lips in a thin line and reset his footing, focusing his attention. Diret was already circling him, his footwork distributing his weight evenly. His shoulders remained loose as if he wasn’t even bothered by the thought of losing the fight while holding his hands up at the proper height. Melmarc watched the boy’s stance and could not deny that it was polished.
When Diret moved, closing the distance again, he was fast. He struck with a jab, then swung from the side with equal speed and precision. Melmarc moved his arm, caught the jab against his foreman. He felt the impact of the blow rattle all the way up his arm to his shoulder. The blow from the side swing, however, slipped through and slammed into his ribs with a crack. The pain sprang free, and it would’ve folded Melmarc in half if he was not already accustomed to taking pain.
So, instead of folding, he gritted his teeth, absorbed all the pain that it had to offer, and stepped back by half a pace to return the distance between him and Diret to what it had been.
His eyes darted, slightly distracted. They found Ark sitting and talking with the girl he had been sparring with. In fact, most of the other students had stopped fighting, leaving Melmarc, Diret and maybe six other students still in combat.
“Don’t worry about them,” Diret told him in a friendly tone. “Nobody is being just by how fast their spars end.”
“Then—”
The only thing that alerted him to what was happening was the slight shift in Diret’s smile, it went from a boyish grin to something of a smirk. He struck with a low kick mid conversation, aiming at Melmarc’s knee. It was the kind of kick designed to cut a taller opponent down to size. Melmarc shifted his weight backwards quickly, and the kick swept through the empty air where his knee had once been. It sent Diret’s balance off, tipping him forward for a fraction of a second before he successfully recovered.
That was all Melmarc needed. He closed the distance immediately. His sudden movement broke the rhythm Diret had been building. First, he threw straight punch with almost no force behind it, testing the waters. For his size, it would still pack enough force behind it.
Diret’s balance came at almost the same instant as the punch, and the boy slipped the punch by barely an inch. It was so close that Melmarc could’ve sworn he felt his fist graze the boy. Diret was already moving, though, replying with an elbow that came up with as much speed as all the attacks he’d been throwing so far. It was fast, aimed at Melmarc’s ribs once more.
Melmarc had taken Diret’s blows enough times in the spar to know how hard the boy hit. So, he took the blow once more, sacrificing his body for a win. It struck him hard, and Melmarc winced.
It’s only pain, he told himself, catching Ark’s attention on him from the corner of his eyes.
Ignoring the worry in Ark’s eyes, Melmarc moved quickly. He struck within the half-second Diret spent retrieving his arm from his attack. Without delay, Melmarc reached out and grabbed a fistful of Diret’s collar.
There was no technique behind the action, he’d simply reached forward and grabbed him by the shirt. With the leverage of his height and weight, he dragged Diret, throwing his balance off as he pulled him up to the balls of his feet.
Good, he thought with some level of relaxation. He’ll stop moving around too much.
Before Diret’s feet completely left the ground, he twisted free, moving a step faster than he had been for most of the fight. He rolled his shoulder quickly and out of Melmarc’s grip, staggering to the side and drove a fist into his stomach as he moved.
His aim was precise, striking Melmarc just in the right place to knock the air out of him. Melmarc staggered back, doing his best to catch his breath. A frown threatened to touch his lips and he banished it immediately.
It’s just a spar, he told himself. It’s not that serious.
Diret sighed as he waited for Melmarc to catch his breath. “Please,” he said with some level of exasperation. “Take this seriously.”
Melmarc had the answer to that. “I—”
He rushed in before completing the sentence. He did not throw a punch this time, instead, he dropped low and tackled Diret. His arms wrapped themselves around the boy’s midsection and Melmarc pushed forward with half the strength he had in his legs. His size worked to his advantage and they went tumbling down.
They went down, hitting the ground. With the combat mat beneath them, it buttressed their fall, reducing how painful it was. Downed, Melmarc moved his weight and pinned Diret down, straddling him and smothering him. Diret moved quickly, his reaction speed almost surreal. He got his forearm up and under his chin almost immediately, creating space between them. Using the leverage, he pushed Melmarc up with what seemed to be everything that he had. With the small space, he landed two short and quick punches into Melmarc’s side.
There wasn’t enough momentum behind the blows and Melmarc ignored them even as they landed. Diret must’ve noticed because he threw a third punch. Melmarc felt it in the movement of the boy’s body beneath him. The third punch was designed to rock him, to punish him for his arrogance. He did not let it.
The moment Diret’s arm extended fully on the third punch, Melmarc moved. His arm came free and he pressed in a little more, leaning into the attack. Diret’s arm missed his side, scaling past him, and Melmarc trapped it against his rib with his free arm before Diret could bring his arm back.
Diret grinned and they both knew what was next. “I guess you are taking it a little seriously now.”
His voice came out muffled by the strain of fighting off Melmarc’s weight and the lock he had on his arm. With Diret’s arm properly trapped, Melmarc shifted his hip then rotated his body with the arm. The angle bent Diret’s elbow in a way that elbows were not designed to bend.
“Christ on a unicycle,” Diret cussed under his breath, then somehow managed to move with Melmarc.
Melmarc blinked in shock. He was a hundred percent certain he had the boy there. Still, he struggled to keep his grip, to maneuver Diret’s arm into a submission lock. Something struck him out of nowhere, slamming straight into his neck. It felt as if Diret had tried to crush his throat. Melmarc moved, releasing the pressure on Direts arm and threw himself away from the boy.
The distance came back as Melmarc put a hand to his neck and swallowed. By the time he was somewhere near composed, Diret was already on his feet too.
“I really don’t like using that on teammates,” Diret admitted. “But I really couldn’t make it that easy for you.”
Melmarc cocked a brow that clearly said he did not believe whatever Diret was saying.
“How about this,” Diret added. “I’ll buy you anything you want for dinner. All you have to do is pick a meal.”
“Yes!” Ark shouted. “That’s a deal. And I have just the meal in mind.”
Melmarc fought the urge to shoot Ark an annoyed look since he could not allow Diret capitalize on it. What he did notice, however, was that he and Diret were the only students still sparring.
Diret noticed it and grinned. “What do you say we give them a show?”
“No.” Melmarc shook his head. “We can only give them a show if we use our skills.” He pulled himself up to his full height and rolled his shoulders. “No skills allowed.”
It was the rule of the spar that Mrs. Southfire had set up when everyone had started. According to her, she wanted everyone to understand how their teammates fought.
Diret cocked his head to the side. “Come on.” He sounded exhausted. “Everybody knows not to mess with Ark. Now, you’ve got to show them that they’re not supposed to mess with you.” He raised his hands in a combat stance once more. “Do me a favor. Show them that they shouldn’t look down on you because you’re a [Faker].”
He raised his brows, imploring.
Melmarc didn’t have to think about it. In the end, he let out a tired sigh. This was his fault. He’d been holding back, just as Diret had guessed. But he had a reason for it. He had slain a Demi-god—even if assisted—and killed a corrupt Oath. He knew what he was capable of doing if he really put his mind to it. The problem was that he did not have any experience in holding back because he had never thought he’d get to a point in his life where he needed to hold back.
What would he do if he took Diret seriously and ended up killing or maiming the boy. Yes, he wasn’t allowed to use his skills, but he could still pack quiet the punch if he put his mind to it.
Also, he saw the way the others looked at him ever since his duel with Sanders. While they were happy with what he had done to the boy, they’d started looking at him differently. Even now, he could feel the whispers of fear among the first years Right now, they hoped Diret would beat him. Melmarc couldn’t blame them, just as they had rooted for him to beat the scary Sanders, they now rooted for Diret to beat the scary Melmarc.
“You know I’ve got you covered, right?”
Melmarc’s attention moved at Ark’s voice.
Ark gave him a thumb’s up. “Put him down and let’s go have a fun dinner. Bills on Diret.”
“See,” Diret pointed at Ark. “He’s got you covered.” Then he pointed at Mrs. Southfire who simply stood on one end, watching. “She’s got you covered too. We’ll be fine.”
Melmarc looked around. Eyes were still on him. Mrs. Southfire said nothing in response to what Diret had said, but he knew that it was her job to make sure nothing dangerous happened.
Ark’s got this, he told himself. There was no reason to be afraid. Ark had not let him down before, and he would not let him down now. Nobody’s dying today.
His shoulders relaxed, the tension and strain of holding himself back for so long leaving him. It was obvious because Diret smiled something sinister, like a combat junky finally setting his eyes on a really good fight.
“Good,” he said, lowering his stance a little. “Now show them why you’re about to be the combat team’s new ace.”
Melmarc really hoped none of his Oath aspects would manifest, certainly not War or Madness.
Then he moved.
He crossed the distance in a blur and his hand shot out in a right hook. Diret responded almost immediately, catching the blow in his open palm while leaning away to the side. The sound of the impact rang loud in the room.
His fist still in Diret’s palm, he could feel the boy’s palm trembling.
“Oh.” Diret grinned in seeming ecstasy. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
His next move was quick. He released Melmarc’s fist, leapt back, and turned into a spinning kick. Melmarc moved at the same time, leaning away. The heel of Diret’s foot missed him by mere inches.
Melmarc charged forward immediately, before Diret could drop his leg, only for the boy’s other leg to shoot out in a display of acrobatics. He tilted his body, raising his shoulder, and took the blow against his upper arm.
Diret landed with time to spare and capitalized. He rushed in with a flurry of blows.
Melmarc adjusted easily. Hands raised, he followed the boy’s strike, eyes tracking every flying hand, his open palm slapping them aside. He was glad that they were not allowed to use their skills because he could not imagine having to also start deciphering what punch was real and which one was fake.
He ducked a vicious blow and bounced out of the way. Diret did not follow this time. The older boy just stood there, bouncing on the balls of his feet, a smile on his face.
“You don’t flinch,” he said.
Melmarc wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I don’t?”
“Nope.” Diret’s eyes moved, scanning and assessing him. Melmarc could tell the boy was looking for a weakness, a hole in his defense. “I noticed it before, but I’m sure of it now. It’s as if you aren’t afraid of pain.”
Considering the things he had to go through while using [Knowledge is Power], Melmarc was not surprised. The levels of pain that he’d had to deal with were greater than any pain he imagined any of his teammates could inflict on him.
“Still cautious,” Diret observed. “That’s smart. So let’s try this again.”
He darted forward, going for an inside combat only to dart out at the last second. His smile became something of a half-grin. Diret remained intrigued. A part of Melmarc’s mind slipped into wondering why the boy thought he would be fit to be the ace of the combat team.
If the apocalypse doesn’t come first.
He still hadn’t chosen where to use as the location for his existential home. Then he hadn’t heard from his mother yet. They’d spoken a day ago, and she said she was wrapping up the current duties she had protecting the world from the aftermath of the day the portals appeared.
“Focus, Melmarc,” Diret said, then darted in again.
He came with three quick kicks. The first went for the side of Melmarc’s knee and he checked it with a raised leg. The second came from the other side, aimed at his side. Melmarc tightened his core and took the kick. The last went for his head, and he stopped it with a raised hand.
Diret stepped back again. He eyed Melmarc curiously. “You aren’t holding back this time,” he said. It was not a question. “You’re watching.”
He was not wrong. Melmarc was paying attention, focusing on his movements. The way his body interacted with each other. How his hands moved when his feet moved. Just as he had figured Diret out when they’d first met in a game of basketball, he could figure him out now.
Even if only for a moment.
“So,” Diret said, still bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Care to share what you’ve learnt with the class?”
…
Diret kept his eyes on Melmarc, still bouncing on the balls of his feet. It made him move very quickly, unpredictably. For all his jokes and bravado, he knew the fight was a close one. Without his skills, fighting Melmarc was like fighting a mountain. He didn’t even react to being hit. The absence of a reaction in a fight did a number on a person’s confidence.
Does he even feel pain?
It was possible that the boy had copied some passive skill at some point in time that helped him handle pain better. Then again, considering what he’d survived in the portal and how he looked, it was also possible that he simply knew how to handle pain. Maybe he had already taken so much pain that pain dealt by a wielder of the [Illusionist] class wasn’t anything to balk at.
The fun now was that Melmarc was finally taking him seriously. It was in his eyes now. The way he watched, the way he studied. The difficult part was that he had a very stoic poker face. Whatever he was seeing or looking at, Diret could not tell. He’d always wanted a face like that. Eyes that watched a person whole without having to focus on one place or the other.
Something about Melmarc finally letting the monster loose just tickled him, excited him, made him want to poke the bear some more.
“So,” he said, voice filled with confidence and fun, “Care to share what you’ve learnt with the class?”
Melmarc paused, gave him a look, then he nodded.
Diret felt goosebumps. There was something about the nod. It was as if he wasn’t done figuring out what he wanted to figure out but decided that what he had was enough. It was quiet confidence, tired confidence even. It was the best kind of confidence.
Then Melmarc rolled his shoulders, lowered his hands to his side, and started bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Diret had heard of this before. It was what he had heard he had done to Devin during the admission program. Devin had bullied the new intakes with the sumo wrestling spider stance and Melmarc had used it against him. Now, it looked like he was going to use his own fighting technique against him.
A [Faker] that doesn’t copy only skill. Christmas is early.
Melmarc bounced three more times on the balls of his feet then looked at him. It was that look that asked if he was ready.
Diret nodded once, and Melmarc disappeared.
He blinked then he heard it.
The sound came before the pain.
And it was beautiful.