I yanked my hand away from his and shook my wrist out. “Level 2, Rank E,” I grumbled. Marcos almost let out an audible chortle, but caught himself before he did. I glared up at him.
“And color?” Marcos crossed his arms, looking at me curiously.
“White.” I answered, still glaring at him, my fingernails digging into my palms.
“Oh, I see. Clearson wants to see you get bullied.” A similar flame was inside Marcos’ eyes to that of Clearson’s, except he had clear malignant intent. I looked around for Prof. Clearson, who I had just realized was no longer near us but standing in front of the right wall of the open-air stadium.
“And I see that your deportment is different when talking to a fellow student.” I kept eyeing Prof. Clearson; I didn’t know what she was planning.
“And so, what if it is? Doesn’t make a difference, especially with you.” He snickered.
“You know, I have always wondered. How in the world did you become a mage when your father is just a hunter? Did your mystique core just magically appear?” I was starting to become furious with the imbecilic man in front of me, and I wanted to rile him up.
“Don’t say a word about my father; he is a hero to many. Which is probably a whole lot more than your father has ever accomplished.” The fire in Marcos’ eyes turned to ash, and in its place was a hurricane.
Before I could say anything back, Prof. Clearson shouted, “Are you guys ready?” I nodded, ready as I’ll ever be. Marcos got into a fighting stance with his feet shoulder-length apart, knees bent, and forearms in front of his face to protect himself from any unnecessary broken bones. As if I could make that happen. I also rendered myself into a fighting stance, albeit a very sloppy one. I looked around me, and an arrowman had arrived next to Prof. Clearson, Clearson was holding a flag. People also started to file out of the arena; they couldn’t be here for this fight, much to their excitement.
An arrow was shot, a flag was waved, and Marcos was off. A thin layer of water almost completely covered the ground of the theater; the hard clay and dirt of the ground had now turned to mud and mush. I couldn’t fully make use of my element. I, who had never fought in my entire life, was now fighting a water elemental mage who had probably been fighting since his second birthday. And I was not very well versed in mana theory to realize that a Liquider is the natural enemy of a Gravitt, and a Gravitt is also the natural enemy of a Liquider.
I conceptualized the water being raised. I could see a path; it was faint and wobbly, but it was enough to follow. I raised my hands, my palms facing upward. Marcos was just standing there in front of me, waiting, like a lion would do to a gazelle. But the thing is, with gazelles, they are fast. I raised the water around Marcos with one swift movement and splashed it down on him with another; it wasn’t much, but it was enough to disorient him. I raised the few rocks around me and started to hurl them towards Marcos. But the rocks didn’t reach him because a six-inch-thick sheet of ice was now shielding him. “You didn’t tell me you were evolved.” I was puzzled; he did this whole thing about things being fair while also holding onto his own secrets.
“You didn’t ask.” A drenched Marcos was now circling me; I kept turning so I wouldn’t turn my back to him. He had a sinful grin on his face, and I could picture my defeat.
I felt as if something was boiling and bursting, trying to expel itself from me. As if a burning fire was locked captive inside of my core, and no matter how hard it tried, no matter how many times it rammed itself against the iron bars, it couldn’t break free. My blood felt like it was boiling, and it hurt like hell. But the same fire that made waste of my body also distilled any imperfections in my brain. I could picture my defeat, but I still had a ferocious fire blazing inside of me.
I started to hurl all of the remaining stones at him, most of which he reflected with ice. This went on until I got a decisive blow to his nose with one of the larger rocks that were on the ground. Blood covered his face and hands when he tried to wipe it away. This had clearly enraged Marcos, since the next thing I knew, I was boxed off inside of a small, barely man-sized box that was made out of thick slabs of ice. Water had started to fill the box, and I was frantically banging on the walls of the enclosed room that I was captured in. I punched and kicked at the walls until I couldn’t stand anymore and had to start swimming. I looked out at Marcos; he was staring right at me, patiently waiting for something to happen. I gasped for my last breath as the box that was soon going to be my coffin filled up.
Black particles started to cloud my vision, and the burning sensation in my veins returned. The pressure in my head was unbearable, and I could feel myself drifting away. I heard faint, muffled yelling outside the box. All I could think was that this was a dumb way to die. It all went black as I heard a crack. Was it my skull or the ice? I didn’t know.
I had tried to write my own destiny, but it was already printed in the stars.
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