The Battle is to the Strong

The boy was now deep into his post-bloodlust state. Everything around him, once moving at a quickened pace, seemed to distil into a slower, more visible variation of itself.

It was as if the world around him had changed, transforming itself into a vintage cartoon flip book with each and every page in absolutely perfect detail.

Within the confines of those pages, Ode'go saw for himself Azama performing a graceful somersault out of the broken window. His movement was tailored to perfection, as if removed of any flaw whatsoever.

The mercenary smiled, and then, out of nowhere—climbed atop a table.

Like a feline, Ode’go’s eyes widened, regarding the mercenary’s movement with careful intent.

Meeting his eyes, Azama flashed a wink. Out of nowhere, he then began to do several push ups with his index finger, barely scraping his nose against the surface of the table each time.

One finger push ups, in the middle of our battle?

It was absurd, truly outrageous in any sense.

Yet somehow, it was fitting. Off to many sides were countless students watching. As if the idea that Azama would suddenly break out a one finger handstand out of nowhere, be a completely normal thing in the eyes of society.

Very good Azama, your skill is remarkable even to this point.

At the sight of such a figure, one would be forgiven for a gasp of admiration. The man had proven himself worthy already, demonstrating strength beyond normal human levels.

Ode'go, however, only continued to inspect him. Something about his ability seemed uncanny, as if there was a layer of talent waiting to be unpeeled.

Oh?

Fascinated at a potential discovery, Ode’go ran his eyes all over Azama’s clothing. On closer inspection, Ode'go confirmed what was once a prior suspicion.

Sure enough, Azama's clothes were in perfect shape.

Despite having run over several tables worth of food, trays and other miscellaneous goods, the man was still perfectly kempt. Remaining blissfully pristine in spite of what was occuring. A perfect unity of white over every crevice and spot on his clothing.

With ankle-long robes nonetheless…

How absurd. Were he really attentive to his clothes this entire time? So much so that not a single visible spot had tainted his white garment?

Ode’go looked over Azama curiously. Concluding that it must’ve been an intentional decision by his behalf. Either that, or it had been but a coincidence. Though Ode’go thought the former more likely.

Frankly, Ode’go was disappointed with his own lack of self-care. Given that his clothes were pattered with stains of yellow, red, and white amongst other things, to his shoes, pants and shirt alike.

Again and again, Azama had impressed him, showing the seemingly endless breadth of his skill. The thought of Azama's surface-level perfection spurred Ode'go even further. An overwhelmingly strong desire to put the man down his pedestal and envelop him in a world of humility.

Hah, what a joke that is.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. Having held onto a degree of self-awareness, Ode'go perfectly understood that he had come into this with greater pride than he should've.

"Now, now, Ode'go, if you want to surrender, I am fully willing to accept a kowtow."

Azama spoke with leniency and the easy-going tone of one far too unbothered to care.

Playing along, Ode'go leaned back in thought, hand on chin. Under the risk of damaging his pride and a potential source of entertainment, he responded with, "good one, Azama, but we both know that won't be happening."

Satisfied with his answer, Ode'go’s eyes flickered to his right. In search of Ceylica, he found her seated indoors, maybe a good twenty metres or so away. She looked unquestionably happy, peering out the window, undoubtedly watching in full view what was transpiring.

Ode’go waved and blew a kiss to her.

What sort of man would he be should he forfeit and grovel?

No man at all.

Those who saw his position might claim him foolish.

That his so-called sense of honour be no more than an impediment to success.

What they did not know was that Ode'go was fully aware.

He understood the consequences of honour.

He understood that honour brought along with it costs, pains, and many restrictions.

But what he also knew was that it was precisely that detail which made things much more satisfying.

“Qadyega sunma kom.”

It translates as 'Live by one's own merit'.

Thus, with an exhalation of breath, he pushed himself onward.

Saving no time for his opponent to assume his stance, Ode'go dashed straight into the eye of the storm.

There was no honour lost in this position.

While Azama was clearly disadvantaged from being in a handstand, it was still him who chose it. Sensing the mercenary's cheery demeanour and expression, Ode'go withdrew any last slivers of mercy he had and offered, in turn, the best he could do.

An afternoon breeze pushed an orange leaf through the air. Drifting, ever swaying against the wind, in pursuit of a soil to touch upon. On average, it took three seconds for them to reach the ground. The battle however, would be finished in less than that time.

Ode’go rose in a second. Blood pumped into his legs, and his muscles tensed to its utmost capacity. Where once was a person, then was air. With an unbelievable haste, Ode’go dashed.

An extended arm of his reached out. He planned to grab Azama’s arm and pull him under. Ode’go was close at that point, and it took only a single step before he could enact his plan. Eyes open all the while, he scanned every last crevice and part of his body for a hint of movement.

He saw at that moment, Azama smile. And having been drawn to it, missed the explicit tension within the mercenary’s pinky. That explicit tension that came with a burst of speed, pushing Azama just right above his head.

Ode’go’s immediate thought was that of retaliation. He had been caught off guard, but he still possessed ample time to react, commit, and attack.

That was his thought process the second before.

In reality, the prospect of victory had been but a delusion.

Though he saw what would happen and felt for his life, each passing second as an eternity, it made little difference.

No matter what he saw, his body was unable to keep up.

When he realised, though, it was already too late.

“Qadyega sunma alim,” whispered Azama.

It translates as ‘Live by one’s own death.”

Azama’s hands reached like the caress of a grim reaper, one on Ode’go’s chin and the other on the back of his head.

Crack.

The sound of fractured bone echoed throughout the courtyard.

The unknown assailant snapped a neck, landed with a flip, and bowed before an ever-present audience.

The once blaring company now reduced itself to a whisper.

Emboldened by their reaction, the man, with a debonair brandish of his hand, threw off his outfit.

Standing beneath a now flickering series of cafeteria lights was Azama Meyos, or Gossamer Fiend as he was titled.

The Eyeful Demon, known to be as beautiful as he was deadly.

One capable of presenting himself as a beautiful maiden, elderly man, or a muscular brute should he have wished.

Turning to face Ceylica, the fiend brandished the chest pocket of his black tuxedo-like suit.

People, in response, held bated breaths.

The way his presence echoed was like an unbearable invisible weight.

Ever present, yet never understood to be why.

That was, to the vast majority of those present, anyway.

To some who held experience in the criminal underworld or recognized for themselves such a figure designated a different path entirely.

"Tommy Sessogun, I warn you, you might be twelve metres behind, but summon your demon, and I'll kill you too."

The way he spoke his name and dismissed his ability shook the aforementioned Tommy to his very core.

No matter how much of a threat this man posed, the students remained unable to move, or much less attack.

Some, like Ceylica, muttered "Damn, this is cool." Interpreting this as one big act of exaggerated showmanship.

Yet, no matter what form the theories of the student body formed, the end they headed towards was all the same.

That of complete oblivion.

"Greetings, greetings, everyone! My name is Azama Meyos, and I've been hired by someone very special to ruin all of your lives and bring unspeakable evil upon this academy. From this point onwards, everything's about to turn upside down. Hair might start growing in places they haven't before, water in your showers might become blood, and vegetables might become chalk."

Now that he had gotten their attention, the mercenary gestured to Ode'go.

By the way his body was positioned, the boy appeared either dead or unconscious.

His head was contorted to an unnatural angle, while his slumped arms betrayed a lack of vigour. Although most likely unintentional, the sight also gave the impression that Ode'go had been dominated. Having positioned his knees on the ground as a method of supporting his now lifeless body.

All this gave what could be described as an ‘eerie sense of dread.’

"As you can see, attempting to kill me will end in complete and utter disaster, and as such, I recommend not doing so!"

Seemingly finished, the man gave one final gaze around the room.

Then, with a final bow, yelled a casual “Good luck!”

The only thing left at that point was his timely departure.

Following up was a complete shattering of glass, as each and every light soon faded into darkness. Soon after, perhaps not then a second longer, ominous growls and roars began to emanate around the cafeteria.

Signifying the coming of monsters, shadows of disproportionate lengths and grotesque proportions had manifested.

In the minds of the students, who saw or at least understood what the source of these sounds were, came a sense of caution.

This whole ordeal was all too sudden, and yet here they were.

Forced to confront one revelation after another, the solemnity of their situation weighed like unexpected cargo.

Without choice, they soon bore the burden of such weights, and braced themselves for what was to come. Some brandished weapons in reaction, others magic, and a majority a piercing release of their vocal chords.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

Despite the sheer coincidence and variables that would have to align for students to unanimously and conveniently yell those three words, it did happen.

Many faces were drawn back by fear and distress that day, and many more in complete shock.

Little did they know, though, that with that, Phase Two of Azama's and Rainee's Azamazing Plan had begun.