“G-Good morning, Young Master.”

Kieran turned to face the wall, tightening the sheets around him.

“Um, I-It’s best if we leave soon. Your match is coming up.”

He didn’t respond. A deeply uncomfortable sensation crawled about his back. It made him want to roll out of bed, to start lashing out for no other reason than to rid himself of the feeling. The more Teal spoke, the worse it got.

“Young Master?”

He threw off the sheets and dug through his clothes all while Teal watched from the doorway. Even when he wasn’t looking at her he was conscious of her presence, always in the corner of his eye.

“Do you need help putting anything on?”

He blew air through his nose, “Wait for me with Alexandra.” He closed the door but didn’t hear any footsteps. She was still there. He waited. A full minute later, she left and he began changing.

He met them at the entrance with his cloak on and hood up. Alexandra didn’t seem to care but Teal tried to say something. The guards looked on, a bit curious. They let them through without any trouble and after wandering through the crowds, they arrived at the colosseum.

“Do you want us to wait with you?” Teal fiddled with her thumbs as she asked.

“No.”

He left them.

Inside the healing room, Blial took up the entirety of one of the sofas, leaving no space for anyone else. He sat up when he saw him.

“Should have just stayed away,” he said, “I saw you speaking with that street rat. I don’t know what kind of things you two spoke about but if you think today’s going to end differently for you then you’ll feel twice the fool she did.”

Kieran chose the furthest seat away from him. On the screen was the match between Josette and Weron. It had just begun but it was the most hectic fight he’d witnessed. Of the two, he had no preference for who would win. They were both stronger than him anyway.

“I suppose I should praise you for making it this far, regardless of your luck. Congratulations on not losing out to those peasants.”

Their bout switched from long range to short, and then back to long. Josette used spells he’d never seen before, including the trap from Bilal’s match. He was sure the match would be stopped when, instead of the usual elemental bolts, she conjured up icicles sharper than even the swords they had.

There was a loud bang, “You will listen to me when I speak to you! Your rudeness and arrogance is not something I’ll tolerate any longer.”

Weron and Josette were locked in hand to hand combat, or more like claw to claw. She had disarmed him but he broke her blade. Their magic reserves were likely running on low as neither of them cast spells.

“Mark my words, Dewy Dubur, I will humiliate you today.”

They exchanged blows a dozen more times within minutes, stopping only to catch their breath. At the end of it all, Weron was victorious. Bilal stopped hounding him. He was too focused on the outcome of the match. Whether or not he beat Kieran didn’t matter, they both knew he stood no chance against Weron.

“Let’s go already,” Kieran said.

In the arena, they started off in their usual places just paces away from each other while they waited for the official. Bilal’s shit eating grin was in full view. As horrible of a sight as it was, it didn’t stir the emotions he expected it to. There was no burning hatred, no uncontrollable rage, just muted disdain.

His heart that always beat like crazy before each fight was strangely calm. Or maybe it was more accurate to say he couldn’t feel it. Even the voices of the crowd seemed faint and far away.

Attendants of the participants were granted front row seats. Would he find them if he looked in the stands? All he needed to do was glance around. Even with their disguised hair and faces, they stood out to him. How would he feel if he saw her face in the middle of battle? The thought alone filled him with dread and so did the thought of finishing the fight.

The sooner it was over, the sooner he’d see her again.

A bolt of water blindsided him. It struck him in the gut, knocking out all his air. He managed to dodge the second one and put up his guard. There was enough room between them that he could catch his breath. He’d never been hit directly with a bolt spell before. His stomach stung with radiating pain. The shirt stuck to his skin.

Did that mean someone could drink water made out of essence?

There was no time to ponder the thought. Bilal flung another bolt and brought his sword down. Kieran tanked part of the spell and deflected his sword. He tried creating some space but Bilal hounded him with attacks, some cuts slipping through.

Even when pressured and forced on the defensive, he didn’t feel too panicked. The person in front of him was just some arrogant prick who didn't matter while he, on the other hand, wasn’t a person that existed in the first place.

Bilal copied Felicia and knocked him over with a shoulder charge. He let himself roll and jumped back to his feet. Bilal clicked his tongue and slung another spell. He sidestepped. Their swords clashed and locked at the guard.

Bilal was thin compared to other participants, but he still outclassed Kieran in physical strength. The difference was of at least four years worth of natural hormones and growth. No amount of willpower would overcome it. A spell. A spell would change the flow of the match but taking off even a hand here would make him lose instantly.

“Ignore me now if you can,” Bilal spat.

Kieran twisted the sword and freed it. A storm of dust was kicked up as he dashed away. A deep scowl formed on the noble’s face. Three spots in the air shook as Bilal murmured something. In the corner of Kieran’s eye, the tournament official moved.

Before Kieran understood what was happening, Bilal blitzed him. It was an attack to his left side. He put his sword up to deflect but his strength gave out. For that second of weakness, he sustained a cut. He only knew about it because he saw the blood on the sword. And then, he saw nothing.

Bilal spit in his face and kicked him to the ground. A cool pointed iron tip pressed against his skin. He could feel the air change. Thousands of onlookers took a collective breath. In a mere moment, the victor would be declared.

Kieran didn’t even care.

He swatted the blade away and wiped off the spit. Bilal looked at him like he looked at Felicia.

“What is this?” he said as Kieran rose. “Why hasn’t the match been called?”

The crowd seemed just as confused. The tournament official made no movement. A few of their heads turned to the Overlord as if he was supposed to step in. Each match so far had ended when one person was at the pointed end of their opponent’s sword.

“He acted in time,” the official said.

Blial snorted and broke into a fit of laughter. “You’ll regret not staying down.” As he said those words, he stepped to the side, revealing three icicles.

Muscles in his legs, his arms, his abdomen, they all contracted at the same time working in tandem to deliver him from harm's way. The generated force exceeded the safe limits of his body. Those muscles would break and tear. Fatigue would assault him immediately. He’d fight on only until the adrenaline stopped.

But, he didn’t move.

The accumulated damage from the water bolts came back in the worst way. His body was already on the brink. He just hadn’t noticed.

The icicles shot forward at lightning speed. The official's hand moved.

A transparent golden dome closed around him, swallowing two of the three. The other flew through, aimed right at his chest.

Then, a voice, as gentle and soothing as a lullaby, cut through Kieran’s haze.

“Young Master!”

The impact sent vibrations throughout his body. He looked down to where the ice connected. Chilling air emanated from the dented iron blade. Shards of the ice were scattered on the ground. In the split second when the ice sped past the forming barrier, he regained his senses and acted on pure instinct.

Bilal flashed his claws in a mocking manner as if to say he didn’t need them. The tournament official called the match as the barrier disappeared. A few staff members rushed the field. They surrounded him and checked for any serious injuries. He tried shooing them away but once he took a look at himself he noticed a number of cuts he hadn’t before.

The crowd was still processing the events that occured. A few clapped which prompted others to join in. It was an unenthusiastic win, one that contrasted, and eventually erased, Bilal’s triumphant grin.

He stomped over to Kieran, pushing aside the staff and grabbing him by the arm, “You think this is funny?”

“You must be blind,” Kieran said, yanking himself free. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yeah, well, you certainly didn’t. I bet that street rat I messed up the other day is shaking in anger right now. She put her hopes in a lowly noble like you and it made both of you out to be fools.”

Bilal examined his face. His eyes darted all around trying to get a glimpse of anger or humiliation. Things that Kieran had none to spare.

Or so he believed.

“That servant of yours is always squealing, ‘Young Master. Young Master!’ After I declaw your entire family, I’ll have her attend me and make her squeal my name at night-ngh!”

Bilal fell, his hands covering his bloodied nose. It was the punch of a twelve year old, an exhausted twelve year old whose muscles had given out on him just a minute prior; it was a punch that came after an entire night of restless sleep, of bouts of thrashings in his bed as he kicked himself over and over for falling for a lie. It was a punch of a twelve year old whose growing body cried so harshly to be given rest and was only granted so after he exhausted his mind. It was the punch of someone so taken by rage that the black and white world was painted in red.

It was the punch of someone confused and in pain.

“Jarl und vass!”

A bolt of shadow magic slammed into him.

“Jarl und vass!”

HIs body was engulfed by the essence.

“Jarl und vass!”

He cowered in fear, curled up into a ball, his body pleading for the violence to stop. But it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t stop. Not until all of Kieran’s emotions were drained from him. Not until his body forced his mind to stop functioning.

“Jarl und va-”

An older, bearded, man stood before him. He held his wrist in an iron grip, “Any more and you will kill him, Mr. Dubur.”

It was Overlord Kaal’un. From at least thirty meters high and across half of the arena, he made it over in seconds without breaking so much as a sweat. The essence channeling into his palm was disrupted.

With a nod, the staff carried Blial to the healing room. His visage was decrepit like an abandoned building. The fancy tunic he wore was in shreds, leaving his backside exposed. Blood oozed from parts of his bruised back as if he was stabbed with dozens of needles. Blial, the arrogant bastard, laid broken in their arms, his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Take Mr. Dubur as well,” Kaal’un commanded as he let go.

Kieran wasn’t keen on letting anyone touch him and started walking on his own. They caught him as he suddenly slumped over. When he came to, Alexandra and Teal were next to him. Bandages were wrapped all around his body, soaking up running blood.

He pulled away from the two but Alexandra’s iron grip held him steady. “We are returning,” she said as she dragged him out.

“W-Wait. The Young Master’s still injured. His wounds could reopen if he moves too much.”

Those words made him angry.

He tried to break free but she was too strong. What was so important that she had to take him out like this? Was she just eager to yell at him again? To berate him for losing in the match or losing his anger? Who even gave a shit?

Why the fuck did any of these people pretend like they cared for him?

“Let go of me, right now,” he ordered.

Alexandra ignored him.

“I said let go!”

She turned around with her ice cold glare. He returned it just as harshly.

“I order you to let me go.”

Her iron grip eased and he yanked his arm free. The world spun. He stumbled back one step before realizing the warmth that radiated through his body was gone. His vision failed just as his body did.

As he was about to hit the ground, a pair of gentle hands caught him.