They were never going to rest.

CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!CLANK!CLANK!CLANK!

Scorching metal chains banged and zoomed in the nearby hallways, darting off the walls and weaving cobwebs of chimes. 

CRASH!

They boomed through the doors, seizing their prey by their limbs. 

They sizzled as they compressed them, dragging them to their rooms. It didn't matter if they had killed their victims in the process, as they left behind dark bruises and boiling skin behind.

THWACK!

Thrown against the wall, Issac landed in sync with rhythmic, loud thumps with his neighbours.

The door handle rattled, confirming his imprisonment.

“LET ME OUT HERE YOU PIECES OF SHIT!”

Issac bellowed, charging at the door with his fist engulfed with white flames. To him, this felt sickeningly familiar.

Upon contact, the texture of the door turned into a milky rubber sort. It burned his hand, searing pain now stamped on his skin. A lime green wave pulsed from the door, forcing him back against the wall.

He didn’t stop, he threw punches recklessly, desperate for any opening he could find. He swore to himself he wouldn’t find himself in this situation again.

Issac stroked his scars, feeling the anger build up inside him.

He thought back to when Cale pushed him to the ground: it wasn't Cale he saw.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE YOU JERK!"

"YOU ALWAYS DO THIS-“

Begging above him was a pale, attractive man with tears streaming down his face, he saw a stub of an arm reach out to stroke his cheek, yet it trembled in frustration. It was so vivid that he felt as if it was real. 

He opened his eyes: they were wet with nostalgia. He wiped them away as he stood up, taking the dandelion out of his hair. He found a small, purple porcelain vase, with white floral patterns engraved on it. There was even a protective spell written in cursive on the rim. He took a small pua out of his pocket and brought it up to his nose, its sweet aroma calming him. The spell bound to it had shattered, yet the flower was still fresh. He coughed as thick pollen shot up his nostrils.

"We need a plan," Issac said into the flower, as it glowed a soothing purple,

"Yeah, I know," A voice replied, their tone tinted with relief,

"Cale," he paused, taking a deep breath, "What do we know?"

They continued to talk for hours, groaning in frustration as they hit irritating walls in their plans.

Cale woke up to the sound of rapid banging on his door: he leapt out of bed to check the time, 6:55 am.

"Cale! I know you're up, so get out of bed!" Issac shouted as he continued to bang on the door,

He dashed to the door, his arm stuck in a sleeve, and slammed it open, startling Issac.

They shared a panicked glance and bolted down the hallway.

They thought they had more time. 

"Aw, I needed that money," A voice sighed, stunning them both.

Cale leaned against his back, catching his breath.

"Oh! Are you two dating?" the voice giggled, "If you are, I may still win something tonight,"

Cale looked up to where the voice was coming from, seeing the blue-haired man smirking while looking down at them.

"Much appreciated. Now hurry along, as we don't want to keep your classmates waiting. You're both parts of a team, after all."

He yanked them by their collars, dragging them into an intimidating hall. His long, sharp nails dug into their necks as their classmates watched.

Along the walls were lined with long, cushioned benches behind thin, rusty ropes of barbed wire. The floor they were standing on could barely be called a floor: it was a singular layer of tightly stringed straw, the holes between each string big enough for a large coin to fall through. 

Stalagmites of varied lengths peeked through the brittle wooden braces that gave the structure the support it very much needed.

"Right," he gestured towards a slim man. The man sat on one of the cushioned benches, grinning at the blue-haired man in amusement. To put it nicely, Cale and Issac thought of him to be... exotic-looking. He wore no shirt, with a floral, translucent shawl clinging to his pale, slender arms. To match his shawl, wore maroon baggy pants, with a thin, decorative cloth hanging down his waist with the same floral pattern. His glitzy, golden necklace was unfurled across his chest. He wore a hexagonal headpiece carelessly amidst a mess of ponytails.

"This is Mr Bitch," the blue-haired man introduced him, Issac noted the childish nickname,

"It's Vazha, Sadist," he bit back, sticking his tongue out,

"Vazha," he corrected, "-will be your healer and biology teacher from now on. Treat him with respect, and kick him once in a while, eh?"

"Likewise, Titkuya," Vazha spat,

"Tatkuya," he growled, flames licked from underneath his feet.

Vazha waved his middle finger up in the air: a pleasant sign you would want from any healer.

"You will all be given a number," Tatkuya said as he proceeded to stick a label on each of the students, "-and a knife," he then gestured to the table neatly laid out with sharp, metal daggers.

The young students stared at him in disbelief; he wasn't actually serious, was he?

"Go on," he spat, "I'm not going to do everything for you, now am I?"

They all scurried to the table and back; Tatkuya's sharp glare trained on them.

He then muttered to himself, his finger bouncing on the students one by one.

"Eenie meenie minee mo," he landed on the green-haired girl, giving her a slight nod of approval. 

His finger bounced from one student to another once more: landing on Cale.

"Go over there, you two," Tatkuya ordered.

The students surrounded the two in a circle, waiting for one to strike.

The green-haired girl held the hilt firmly, her golden eyes trained on Cale.

Cale concentrated on her legs and seeing them shake seemed to irritate him.

The girl noticed her trembling legs, "Stop!" she begged as she thwacked them until they stopped; any weakness could lead to death.

Cale lunged at her: he thrust his knife into her thigh, and she let out a short scream before he forced the back of her head down into the ground. He didn't want to see her face right now; he was afraid. 

She coughed and heaved as she tried to get up: his hand kept her firmly in place.

She swung her left leg in the air, kicking his shoulder and releasing her: she took the opportunity and pulled the knife out of her leg. She screamed louder and kneeled on the floor; she breathed in and out, in and out.

She breathed a spell: the daggers burned a bright white. 

Cale stood before her; a translucent white liquid seeped from his hand and moulded itself into a weapon. Its thin, cylinder hilt fit snugly in his hand, and the flat, greyish-green metal embedded in it shone heroically in the dim cave.

Issac had never seen that look on Cale's face before; he was grinning from ear to ear.