Adrian stood up from his crouched position, leering at me, a wicked smile splitting his face in half. A chill crept up my spine. Every Special Grade I came across seemed to bring a fresh wave of terror—and frankly, it was getting old.
But I couldn't shake the natural flight or fight response.
I exhaled slowly, trying to shake it off. I was here to learn, grow, and bide my time. There was no point working myself into a frenzy.
Pain was an old friend—and my tolerance skill could always use a level-up.
"Don't put a hole through his chest with the first move," Ade warned Adrian. "Give the rest of the class a real lesson. Show them a fight between a Special Grade and a prodigy."
Adrian turned toward him. "You sure, old man? The church can handle it?"
"A challenge for you to overcome," Ade replied evenly.
"Eh? Well, only because you asked so nicely." Adrian cracked his neck with a loud pop, then crouched to leap into the arena—but something unexpected happened.
Or rather, someone.
Shelim walked through the door leading to the sparring arena, a determined swagger in his step and an expression I hadn't seen on him before—anger.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. For a moment, some foolish part of me hoped he'd come to help. That hope died fast when I realized the anger on his face was directed squarely at me.
"Taking a break from my Russian whores," he said flatly, "and keeping this little hydra of an organization running—so I can kick your ass."
"Why?" I blinked. "I thought you hated Lily."
He was barely a dozen feet away now, shrugging off his jacket. "And if she'd been the only one you killed, I might've brought you a pillow when they tossed you in that cell. But you had to go and kill Ernest."
"Ernest?" I echoed numbly. "You mean Fop?"
Shelim's Curse Energy surged like a rising tide, towering over me—far stronger than I remembered. His control was remarkable.
"Oi, oi," Adrian called, hopping down from the viewing perch. "Get in line. I'm going first."
"And I'm number three now," Shelim snapped back. "That gives me seniority. Bugger off. Don't get between a man and his revenge."
Adrian's face flushed red at the mention of his ranking.
"You're not even supposed to be here!" he barked. "We have posts for a reason."
"And sit back while everyone else gets their pound of flesh from the living legend's kid?" Shelim huffed. "From the looks of him, I'm the only one here who can actually manage it."
"You can't just show up at the last second and—"
"He can," Ade cut him off. "You know how the ranking system works."
"You asked me!" Adrian shouted.
"And I'd have insisted you stay—if it would've made a difference," Ade replied dryly. "Any hammer will do for this nail."
My hand shot up. "I'm fine with the change, if anyone's curious."
They all looked at me like I'd grown a second head. Adrian's glare in particular could've set me on fire. He turned, hopping back on the platform they all watched the fight from. He swatted aside a slow Second Grade on his way out and stormed out the arena area. Ade let him go, and the focus snapped back to me and Shelim.
I took a hard stance and formed a Simple Domain: Sensory Overload.
"I'd say it wasn't personal," I told him, "but I've learned it always is."
"What did you do with his weapons?" Shelim asked. "He worked hard for that stupid trench coat—and don't get me started on that sword and whip. You'd think he was a vampire hunter."
My jaw clenched. "The coat burned up in the fight with Lily. George has the sword. The whip…is with me."
Shelim met my eyes, breathing slow.
"I should've brought you in the first time I saw you," he said finally. He stretched out a hand and snapped his fingers. Blue and red lightning burst from his palm, tearing across the ground in violent arcs and scorching holes through his shirt.
I stepped back, hair rising on end. "Wait—"
The lightning hit me before I finished. It snaked up and down my body, burning clothes and skin alike. I crashed backward, convulsing, teeth shattering, pain tolerance ticking up another level. I tried to stand out of reflex, but my body refused. My eyes, though—they worked just fine.
Shelim's exposed hand bore burn marks, but they healed within seconds.
"You know," he said, "I hated my Curse Technique at first. Hard to be excited about something that shocks you every time you use it. But it forced me to get good—precise. So precise I can control circuits and switchboards with it. Didn't take long to learn hacking. I was number one for all of five seconds, until the twins got their eyes. They're your dad's, by the way—if you haven't put that together yet."
The confirmation that they'd scavenged my father's body for parts barely registered. Shelim's words came out too matter-of-factly, as if explaining the weather.
I'd expected his technique to be tech-based. I hadn't imagined it would be something so…direct.
He struck again—a thicker bolt this time. I tried to dodge but was too slow. The pain ripped through me, wringing a scream from my throat.
Somewhere in that haze of agony, an old memory surfaced: Lily's trick to neutralize my technique. I'd understood it before, but only now—after improving my Simple Domain and New Shadow Style—did it finally click.
Domain Amplification.
Project an empty barrier of Curse Energy outward; let your enemy's technique fill it, neutralizing it temporarily. It wasn't perfect—it would collapse under too much external Curse Energy—but it could buy me precious seconds, even at level 1.
And seconds were all I needed.
Congratulations: You've learned Domain Amplification Lv 1.
I raised a trembling hand, conjured a Desert Eagle, and fired. Shelim's eyes widened as he barely juked aside.
I fired again, regaining control of my limbs. Flooding myself with Curse Energy, I rolled and narrowly dodged a lightning-charged fist that would've cratered my skull.
Cheers and whispers rippled through the spectators above.
"Domain Amplification," Shelim said, sounding impressed. "Lily used it on you once, right? What's next—a Domain Expansion?" He laughed—then remembered why he was angry.
Another bolt came screaming my way. I flared my empty barrier, neutralized it, and fired back. He dodged again, flashing forward to throw a lightning punch.
I blocked, arms rattling, and countered with a rising knee that he caught easily. His hand swept around my neck; he yanked me sideways and kicked my legs out. I stabbed him mid-fall, summoning a dagger, drawing only a thin line of blood.
He grabbed my wrist to shake off the weapon, but I dismissed the knife into storage, switched hands, and nearly caught him in the neck. He intercepted the strike and slammed his forehead into mine, dumping a truckload of lightning through the contact.
I screamed as my domain amplification shattered.
Darkness swallowed me for a moment, and I came back still screaming long enough to drag my hand to my chest and conjure a revolver. I jammed it between us and fired point-blank, emptying the cylinder into his gut.
The first two bullets staggered him; the rest bounced off, ricocheting into me. He caught my ankle and flung me like trash.
I hit the stone wall hard—spine, ribs, everything screaming at once.
Reverse Cursed Technique flared, flooding through me, repairing damage as Shelim advanced.
"All you sorcerers die the same," I croaked, spitting blood.
He paused.
"With the same expression—pale, shocked, like you can't believe this kid's about to bring a hammer down on your head."
Shelim went a shade paler. I'd chosen the words carefully. That was exactly how Ernest had died.
"I wonder if you'll be any different when it's your turn," I added.
Something broke behind his eyes. Lightning flared, and everything went white.
Then—nothing.
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