TWO FLAMES, ONE SPARK

That potion they had bought with Sacres burned as it went down his throat, a viscous liquid that tasted like rotten mint. He felt the wounds on his shoulder and thigh tingle as they closed, the health bar rising from an agonizing red to a precarious yellow. “You've used up half your supplies in a single fight,” said the HUD on his face. Seeing that, he threw the virtual glass bottle against the rock. The sound echoed in the empty cave. Noelia was gone, but her words remained, “Crudeness is the only language that doesn't burn me.” The phrase was a lash that still burned.

He shuffled out. Every shadow between the fang-shaped rocks made him cringe. He wasn't a hero. Just a kid who played Altverse to escape school hallways where laughter was a weapon, and a home where silence was another form of screaming. Why did he agree to this tournament, to prove that he's still the one who always hides?

He was lost in his thoughts, so he couldn't hear what was stalking him. By the time he realized it, it was too late. He heard a metallic squeak. He turned around slowly, his heart pounding in his throat.

That plant-based monster exhaled, forming an amber cloud that approached him dangerously, burning everything in its path. It didn't manage to touch him, but its proximity was enough to reduce his health to five percent.

He tried to defend himself by launching one of his best attacks. A green flame appeared in his right hand, which he threw at the monster, but his fire was useless; it did nothing to it.

A message appeared on the HUD: “Attack ineffective, we recommend changing skills.”

So he did what he knew best.

He ran away.

He ran, he stumbled, but it seemed that it wasn't enough. That creature caught up with him easily. All he could do was fall to his knees. He wanted to move, but his body betrayed him.

The creature's jaws opened wide above him. The smell of sour sap reminded him of the alcohol on his tormentors' breath.

And then.

— HEY, FLOWER! — roared a voice from above.

That voice. That chaotic, fiery energy? Why did it feel so familiar? Like the echo of a lost laugh in a noisy tavern, like the warmth of a friendly back in a forgotten battle.

A shadow fell from the tip of a stone fang. Hair red as fresh lava, bristling in defiant spikes. Honey-colored eyes that burned with an inner fire. His black sleeveless jacket flapped open, revealing muscles defined by effort, not genetics. Tight black pants and combat boots. — YOUR TIME IS UP, WEED! — he roared.

His right fist burst into orange flames. A well-aimed blow.

That impact hit the base of the stem. The flower howled, writhing, but its roots clung on. The red-haired boy jumped back, dodging a petal-saw that sliced through the air where his head had been. — You! Get up and run to the rock tunnel! — he ordered Asimil without looking at him, focused on the floral beast that was regenerating its stem.

Asimil crawled, trembling. — W-why...? — he stammered, watching that battle that was beyond his physical and mental capabilities.

He dodged another attack, his flaming fist striking a petal. — Because dying alone sucks! Now MOVE! — he shouted, throwing a flaming hook at a jaw. But the flower became enraged. Its roots sprang from the ground like oak snakes, entangling the redhead's ankle.

— Damn it! — He struggled, his flames weakening as they touched the corrosive sap. The main mouth opened above him, an abyss of spikes.

No! No! Not another person paying for my weakness! Asimil wanted to scream, to move, to do something. But fear pinned him to the ground. He could only watch, paralyzed, as the jaws descended on that boy. But he noticed something: that boy didn't scream, he smiled. A fierce smile. — YOU THOUGHT IT WAS EASY?! —

With a roar, he concentrated all his firepower on his free foot. Asimil saw an orange explosion light up the area. The root burst into green splinters. He rolled to one side just as the teeth closed on empty air.   — LAST ROUND! — he howled. His fists merged into a ball of fire the size of a bull. And then.

The impact vaporized the shiny pistil. The giant flower disintegrated into green pixels and a smell of burnt forest.

Ken gasped, wiping sap from his face. — They almost turned me into compost, brother. — He held out his hand. — Ken, Ikal Ken. And you, new spectator? —

— A-Asimil. — he said, taking his hand. It was like gripping a red-hot iron bar, but beneath the heat there was an undercurrent of undeniable familiarity. The feeling of a pact already made, of a loyalty already pledged in a time erased from his memory. Why was he smiling, didn't he care that I almost died because of my clumsiness?

— Team? — he asked, as if offering coffee. — Only fools or the strong walk alone here. I'm the latter. You... well, you can be the charismatic one on the team. —

— I'm low level... — Asimil admitted, looking at the floor. — I only got in because of a ‘friend.’ —. 

Enemy? Debtor? What is Noelia now?

Ken laughed, a sound that scared away virtual birds. — The level is just an excuse! What matters is this. — He tapped his heart. — And you... you're lucky. And I need luck! —

Asimil just didn't get it.

He guessed now he owed this new guy who stood up for him a favor.

They walked. He talked about training at the Infernal Lava Gym, about punches that broke virtual shields. Asimil kept quiet, remembering the teasing when he tried to exercise in real life (“Look, that fat guy wants muscles!”). He was everything Asimil couldn't be: confident, physical, direct. But he didn't push him. He didn't laugh at his worn-out armor.

Although that bubble of bad thoughts quickly disappeared thanks to Ikal, Asimil couldn't stop thinking about him for the rest of the journey. He wanted to be the best in the gym; he was simply in a different world from his.

But in the end, he didn't seem like a bad guy.

Could he really become like him someday?