"Five..." the alarm's voice continued to count down and blare out, emanating from deep within, below, and above the island.

"Four..." Anastasia and Alexander landed in the water, the island shores rocking against them up to their ankles. They let out a groan in unison, although wasting no time with their complaints, and quickly turning to whatever direction they needed to.

"Three..." The rest of the students had finally appeared, each of the chosen ten of the New York branch, landing in the shallow waters of the island's shore. They all stood still and in silence, save for the initial groans that came with their arrival.

"Two..." Alexander steadied himself and forced himself to take a proper, deep breath before he began his race.

"One." Alexander burst forth, without a single regard for the discomfort of his shoes. With his jaw clenched and his mind zooming, he bobbed and weaved past trees and over their roots, forcing his way toward the center of the island.

He didn't waste a single second– having perfected his breathing, his movement, the tension and relaxation of muscles with each motion– stepping faster and faster than even he had expected, forwards until he made it to the center of the island, all the while keeping his energy suppressed so as to not call any attention to himself.

He gently shut his eyes. In the face of that darkness, he was met with dozens of bright lights. Each of them a person, he judged the distance and movement of each student. They all sped around the forest, taking shape into clusters with a brave few drifting inward and outward alone.

One of them moved far faster than the others, and that was the only one dashing nearer to Alexander. That light was far brighter than all others, even brighter than the Virtues behind him.

That must be him, Alexander told himself.

He spun to the side and faced the oncoming attacker. He raised his fist and prepared to guard against anyone and anything, already beginning to count down the seconds until he would arrive. Just five more seconds...

In the next instant, however, a shrill pierced the air. A tree trunk, root and all, had been flung towards Alexander.

The Demon-Born's eyes widened. With no time to dodge, he only braced his fist and cocked it back, launching it forward into the tree. Dirt and dust burst into the air, alongside shards of wood that exploded like shrapnel.

There were no remains of the trunk after that singular hit, although the unfamiliar impact singed Alexander's hand. He recoiled it and gripped his wrist, lifting his head to meet whoever would open a fight by launching a tree with such bold precision.

A fist was all his eyes could behold.

Keith Miller's fist slammed into Alexander's nose and knocked him back, his skull rocking and slamming into a nearby tree.

Alexander's knees buckled, leaving him to fall on his ass, his back still pressed against the tree. He forced his head up to meet his opponent again, and was once more met with the sight of a fist.

The fist pounded into his forehead and sent him back once again.

Alexander forced his eyes open, but after another fist crashed into his face, another into his nose again, another into the right side of his jaw, another into the left side of his jaw, that task proved impossible and futile.

Another fist to his chin. And another to his nose. Again.

After only some seconds of rapid movement, Keith Miller couldn't help himself any longer. He smiled. Blood had already been pounded into his pores, drying on his knuckles and dripping down his finger hairs, but he was nothing short of proud of himself. Not just that, unfortunately, but disappointed in his opponent.

He had greater expectations from the Demon-Born.

Keith had counted each of his hits in his fight against Gabriel, and just now, Alexander had lasted fewer impacts, less time. He didn't know what to feel– whether the outcome was his pure strength or being cheated by a false reputation.

Perhaps he should've been the one to fight Mammon. He could've given the devil a run for his money, he told himself.

"Alright, then," he said aloud, placing his hands on his hips while turning to the side. "Where to next? There are other Virtues among the New Yorkers, I think."

Alexander's hair stood on end– a sharp cold speeding through his veins and down his spine just as he pushed himself against the tree and forced himself up. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, his eyes still shut under the thin cascading layer of blood from his forehead. "Who told you we were done?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. Pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he finally managed to open his eyes and met the hulking Houstoner again.

"And..." Alexander said again. "Why'd you have to hit me in the head, man? You could've concussed me!"

Keith forced a smirk onto his lips. "Heh. You'd rather I'd crush your ribs into dust?"

"I'd rather you try, yes."

It was then that Keith's smile was no longer forced. It didn't fade, however, and merely became a natural smirk of excitement.

He lunged forward, jumping and spinning into the air to deliver a high kick to Alexander's side. Instead of letting himself be hit, Alexander lept up to evade the strike, all while thrusting his fist out at Keith's face.

Keith's eyes widened– he forced his leg down, stamping his foot onto the ground and releasing a quiet rumble. Although it was nothing like Alexander's Earth-Shaking, the release of force was still a shock. With his feet firmly planted, he grabbed Alexander's wrist and spun over, throwing him down.

Still, Alexander rolled onto the ground to recover before and pushed himself up.

That portion of their bout was nothing– a single second that enticed Keith even more.

He smiled again and asked, "So... Demon-Born. What can you do?"

"Huh?" Alexander asked. He spat out a quick sigh and took in a breath, trying to force blood back inside even as it continually tried to escape after each heavy impact. It rarely helped, and often put him in more misery than pain, but such were things he never ran away from.

"I asked what you can do. You're a devil, after all. I'm sure that comes with some additions to your powers."

"I'm not a devil. I'm a human," Alexander said.

"You can be whatever the hell you want to be. I don't care. All I want is a good, strong opponent. If that's you, I'd like to know what you can do."

Alexander spat out a sigh, drooping his head forward. "Darkness for magic. For sorcery, though... a resistance to fire and poisons. And earth-shaking."

Another smirk from the young man from Houston. "Oh, I like the sound of that. 'Earth-shaking'. T does as it says, huh?"

Alexander nodded in response. "I won't be using any of that, though."

"Huh?!" Keith spat out in confused disappointment.

"I hear you fight with enhancement magic and nothing more. In that case, I'll have to fight back with enhancement magic, and nothing more." He raised his arm, aiming a single finger at the senior student. "You better fight to kill, you hear me?"

"Oh. I was right when I first saw you," Keith sneered. "I'm glad I finally get to truly fight you, Demon-Born."

"I'm happy you're happy," Alexander said, pressing his thumb against the bridge of his nose. "And I'm happy that I've drawn you out here. Now you won't be a bother to anyone else."

Keith laughed. "Nah. I'll take care of you in, say, five minutes. After that, I'll make sure to terrorize your group."

"Five minutes, huh?" Alexander asked. "I'll knock you out before we get to four. You got a watch?"

Keith nodded, his smirk still plastered across his face.

"Good. Start the clock."

Kieth pressed a few buttons on his wristwatch, each one firing out a quick, high-pitched beep. With the final beep, he looked up and nodded at Alexander. The timer had begun.

It was at the same time that Anastasia continued her run alongside the coast of the island, bouncing back and forth between the shore of dirt and mud, and the paths of stone carved out in the water.

She perched on a tall stone, a cylindrical slab that stood above the rocking waves, freezing as she heard a striking voice.

"We really had the same idea, didn't we?" a girl giggled from the shoreline.

Anastasia spun to her side and aimed her wand at the rival student. "I recognize you. You're Dolores of Houston."

"Correct," the thin girl said with a smile, bowing gently, although Anastasia knew it was a mockery. "I'm glad you remember me, Anastasia of New York. You can put the wand down; I'm not interested in fighting you. Of course, for the same reason we're here, away from everyone else."

"Bullshit."

Dolores giggled again. "Wait, just listen," she said with a shush. Thuds and thumps and bangs and booms echoed throughout the dense forests– leaving Anastasia and Dolores without a doubt of the source of the dull impacts.

"They're already going at it– our giants. Oh, he makes me so proud. Sorry, but your boyfriend's gonna get the worst beating of his life. But make sure he knows it's not personal, okay? That's just the way my Keith is."

Anastasia stared at her in silence.

Time passed: 4 seconds.

"You know it's weird to stare at people, right?" Dolores asked.

"Alexander is not my boyfriend," Anastasia rebutted.

Dolores furrowed her eyebrows. "Wait, seriously? Keith and I both thought that... Oh, whatever..." she said with a chuckle.

"Wait. Are you two..."

Dolores nodded heartily.

"You're a first-year dating a third-year?" Anastasia squinted. "That's weird."

Dolores then quickly shook her head. "I'm 17. He's 19. I just got into the Academy late. It happens."

"Whatever you say, man," Anastasia said with a sigh. "If we're not gonna fight, I'm gonna keep going." She lowered her wand and teleported down the tall stone onto another distanced from the shore.

"I was wrong again!" Dolores proclaimed. "You're trying to fight students?" she asked with a grin, tilting her head at her opponent.

"No shit," Anastasia responded. "There's no point in going after curses, Dolores. If you're strong, killing weak spirits won't do you any good. That's just my advice."

Dolores shrugged, as if to disregard each word Anastasia spoke.

It was then that Anastasia finally understood. She had underestimated Dolores, not in power, but in intellect. This whole time, this whole conversation, Dolores had been stalling– taking her sweet time to...

Anastasia still had no idea– only knowing she had to leave the girl behind and run, only regretting the fact that she hadn't electrocuted her the moment she noticed her.

For good measure, she shot her arm up and out and sent a blast of lightning out to the girl– not enough to murder or maim, but just enough to knock her down.

Unfortunately, her lightning was the only thing to get sent down, passing through Dolores' body and into the ground.

"You're fucking kidding me," Anastasia said, staring at the smiling image of Dolores, a copy crafted of gas and energy itself. She stared at her hands, her wand slipping from her fingers as her palms grew blurry, and her vision grew fuzzy.

Again, she repeated to herself, "You're fucking kidding me." That was all she said before she fell forward and crashed into the water.

- - - - -

A minute into their clash, Alexander kept up his defense, evading the array of fists and feet, weaving from side to side, before he managed to ram his fist into Keith's jaw.

A curse had wandered near the clash of grand magic energy near the center of the island, slithering over and under the stones and roots of trees, trekking towards the needlessly bright sensation of magic, unlike all others who scattered as far as possible as soon as the bout began.

Shaped like a worm, or rather a snake, the spirit headed toward the two combatants and lunged up to attack them both with a splash of poison. But being a mere Grade 3 spirit, it wouldn't be enough to take down Keith, a pure-blooded human.

Before it could enact any attack, Keith gripped the curse by its tail and held it in front of his face. Before the spirit could react with any sort of attack, Alexander's fist ran through its body and slammed into Keith's cheek. Ash and dust exploded into the air alongside a shrill shriek that drowned out the thud of the impact on Keith's face.

Alexander squinted, almost oblivious to what had just occurred. His eyes scanned over the energy over his own fist, and the more obvious splatter of blue blood. "Dude. Did you really use a cursed spirit as a shield?"

Keith's open palm slammed into Alexander's face, forcing the remains of the serpent spirit's tail against Alexander's lips. "Hijueput–"

The Demon-Born couldn't finish cursing before he was brought to the ground. The impact ran a jolt through each of his bones, each vertebra in his spine vibrating until he could take a breath once more.

Unbeknownst to him, back on the mainland, a light lit up under Alexander's name in the school's offices– the headquarters of the events– marking a tally next to his name. The cursed spirit's death was in his name.

Keith Miller released Alexander and straightened himself out, giving the boy enough time to get back up and spit on the ground. "Alright, screw you."

Keith had tried to be confident but when the Demon-Born got up the first time, he knew this fight wouldn't be easy. He tried to be calm and steady at the very least, but even after a whole minute of battering Alexander, the devil continued to get up.

Alexander had only landed a few, true hits– but Keith's cheekbone was already swelling, his head was beginning to thump, and his liver began to ache.

Alexander's eyes flashed a glimmer of white light as he clenched his fist, tighter than he had before. Magic energy welled up in his entire body, although it quickly shifted and culminated into his arm– running down to his forearm and encircling his fist in a sheer second.

He thrust his fist out and struck Keith in the gut.

Kieth Miller's mind slowed down– not by his own volition– far from it– his increased sensory perception and dulled sense of time only brought him much worse agony.

He crashed back, just like Alexander at the start, with his back crushing the tree behind him.

Spit and saliva burst from his lips like water from a cracked dam. Each nerve in his muscle fibers ticked, burning up with the heat of pain. The air of his lungs had been drained out, as of squeezed, leaving him empty and panting just for a swallow of air.

Alexander's fist had struck him between his stomach and his ribs, leaving his entire core bruised in an instant and the sides of his ribcage split apart. The bones had been cracked, with some broken on their ends.

For better or worse, this was not the worst pain he had encountered in a physical bout. But for the past years of his life, since the start of his strength, he had never been broken like that.

Keith bit his lip and forced himself to his feet.

'No.' That was all he told himself. He still hadn't been broken yet.

Keith Miller grew up poor. Like Alexander, his education was built entirely within the public school system– but not for magic. His town gave him and everyone else the same opportunity of nothingness.

In his town of many gangs, Keith refused to join a single one for no reason other than his complete unwillingness to serve under someone else. Time and time again, he would say he would rather die than become a random lackey for someone else.

And so, from a young age, each time he was offered money or protection, he spat in the face of whoever would try to control his life. He would always get beat.

Everywhere he went, he had enemies. Simple eye contact would lead to fights– fights with older kids, more kids, kids who had more experience with magic, and kids who had weapons.

Still, his creator acted with purpose and granted Keith a rather overwhelming talent from the day he was born. Power itself– whether it was in the shape of magic or physicality– each instance Keith fought, he grew further with power. Power to trample over others.

His being, his abilities– none of it was merely the product of his environment. On the contrary, his environment, his vicious surroundings were a brutal laboratory, a perfect playground for him to learn. Through his continual fighting, he was able to realize how gifted he was.

Keith was able to witness the change as he grew older. Between the age of 13 and 14, he won more and more and more until no one else bothered him. The hostility turned into fear, even from others years older than him.

He never ran from any fight– even when he was weak– and he was damn sure he would never run from an opportunity that would present itself so graciously. Someone opposing him would be crushed.

At the age of 16, however, he was handpicked into the Magecraft Academy– the Houston branch of North America. From there, fighting only became more fun, although life became more... dull.

In the academy, there were no longer gangs or students that would pick fights without occasion. In the academy, he grew stronger, to the extent that no one wanted to go against him in practice battles.

Some parts of him couldn't deny his urge to return to the dog-eat-dog world. That part trickled more and more into his mind each day, telling him, it truly was fun.

He felt alive in those moments when he was closest to losing his life. And above all, his favorites were the times he truly broke his opposition.

Over the past years, he had rarely been able to let loose, but in every instance he did, his talent proved the same outcome. Well, almost every instance.

Gabriel Archibald was the only one he had fought and won against in his life who hadn't given in. Instead, Gabriel only fought harder with each losing second.

While he couldn't help but respect the boy for that level of grit, he also couldn't forgive himself for such a failure. Encountering Alexander Lane was far and away the most electric opportunity he had had in too long.

A Demon-Born who had killed a Prince of Hell in broad daylight.

Keith Miller knew that he only had to do one thing– force Alexander Lane into defeat.

Keith Miller held a few truths close to his heart, and what he was familiar with was all he lived by. Power itself was his truth.

Time seemed to freeze up. Keith Miller, now burning with paining muscles and cracked bones, now brimming full of malice and a destructive desire kept his guard up.

Keith crouched his body and extended his arms, ready for Alexander's approach, ready to grapple and wrestle until he could crush Alexander's body– bones and all.