11:20 PM, Forest North.
Irene thought the three were easy prey. After all, she had been watching them since they entered the forest. She watched them follow the trail of bodies that fell to the hands of others, witnessing as they tried clawing at the last remains of loot that they had to offer.
Such a thing made it obvious to her that there was traces of fear lingering beneath their skin. One that enticed her, drew her in, thinking she could slit their throats clean.
However, as her dagger met with the translucent blue, she knew in her heart that she had been wrong.
Her eyes fiercely matched Grace's.
"You are a snake," she said suddenly, reeling her arm horizontally to deflect the dagger in Grace's hand.
Grace made no noise, no response.
But he knew what she meant. They weren't necessarily weak, but their strength wasn't excellent relative to the dungeon.
This meant a sly approach was necessary in order to clear the dungeon.
Her Grade can't be too far off of my own. Grace mused, distancing himself in order to unravel the black scroll that revealed his current Grade.
[Grade: 1.2]
Hindsight was 20/20, but he was almost glad that he had been plunged into this dungeon. A person was more likely to increase their Grade through the events of a dungeon due to their calamitous nature. While training outside aided in the development of Grades, it could not match a chaos that could rapidly evolve a Devotee.
"Focus, Grace," a mocking voice reached his ears as a foot shot towards his side, targeting his neck.
Grace allowed his body to fall back. He fell down on his back, entering a roll. As her silhouette hovered over him, Grace immediately responded.
His arm bent, momentarily tensing.
His hand shot up like a rocket, holding his dagger as intensely as his gaze.
Irene widened her eyes, immediately redirecting her foot away. The luminescent dagger swung by, just narrowly missing her by a hair's breadth.
Now in an awkward position — her back now facing Grace — Grace saw this as an opportunity. Alongside the instincts that pushed him forward, his arm pressed forward too.
"Tsk!" Irene clicked her tongue loudly. In half a second, the same foot that she redirected before—she pressed it hard on the grass, splitting it and digging into the soil.
Swoosh!
Her leg swung backwards, her heel meeting Grace's forearm. A jolt of pain coursed through Grace's arm as he was forced to let go of his dagger, the mana dispersing into oblivion.
Open, Grace was forced back, teeth gnashed down. Without her dagger, Irene stomped on the ground behind her, launching wildly in order to close the distance that Grace had created between them. Her body parted the air, hair flailing.
She was fast.
Fast enough where Grace wouldn't be able to form a dagger in his hand quick enough. But, staying firm on his feet, Grace launched himself forward and just a tier below being able to match the intensity of Irene's speed. Their forearms clashed like metal meeting metal, tremors circulating along their bones. Grace split away, curling his fingers as he pulled the pain away and discarded it into the back of his mind.. He motioned his hand forward, tearing through the wind.
Irene prepared to put up her guard.
However—the fist never came.
Swoosh!
Irene felt her vision distort, tilting as her left leg was forcibly buckling due to Grace kicking the side of her shin. She saw his faint smirk, her teeth gnashing in pain as Grace flipped over, plunging his heel onto her stomach.
Pain spread, twisting inside of her like a million knots.
BAM!
Blood escaped her mouth, entering the atmosphere. With a growl, she regained her senses, her mind clearing from the agony that curled, becoming a clean expanse.
Irene flung back, dodging a swift kick. She stood steady on her feet, her eyes directly staring into Grace's soul.
"I got to give it you," she said suddenly, spitting out more blood that was coating the top of her tongue. "I didn't think a kid like you would be this much of a challenge."
Grace didn't particularly care.
Whether he was a challenge to her or not. However, he didn't actually think he had what it took to be able to beat her—stalling was his objective to begin with.
Of course, that was before this confrontation.
He knew now—conquering this foe in front of him wasn't too far-fetched for him.
"No response?" Irene muttered.
That was his intention.
Swoosh!
The ground below her rumbled, spreading apart as she rocketed forward. Grace sharpened himself and materializing a familiar blue, having been a beat or two quicker due to his anticipation.
In the corners of his mind, Grace could recall a familiar saying.
Common words that teachers, professors, instructors of the academy had repeatedly told.
"Evolution most often occurs during the heat of battle."
Grace exhaled, watching as Irene fluidly picked up her dagger, spinning in one quick motion before directing the tip of the dagger towards Grace's throat.
His face contorted, a sneer expression appearing. Grace leaned back faintly, slightly bending his elbow before spreading the fist that curled his dagger to the center of his chest.
Clash!
Sparks flew in the air as Grace deflected the steel dagger away.
He was beginning to learn that the difference between them was just "not so far off," despite her presumably having a higher Grade than himself—they were on each other's boundaries.
This body has been honed by the Central Academy. At hindsight, Grace should have been more confident in his chances of fighting Irene toe-to-toe.
Regardless of what she was taught or how she got to this point, the teachings of Central Academy likely existed in a different planet compared to her. As well as his lineage serving greater latent ability and resources.
Grace simmered his adrenaline, his eyes catching Irene's.
"Come at me, lady," Grace murmured. "I'll send you straight to hell."
Irene's teeth flashed, both angrily and with a hint of thrill.
"What a nasty kid."
~~~
11:33, Forest South.
Grav's body flickered, brief moments of moonlight flashing before he got veiled behind the tree eaves. Gabe's figure was elusive, shifting behind the trees, layers of unpredictability burrowing into Grav's head.
"Something wrong?" Gabe pushed himself off of one of the tree trunks, appearing above. Grav swatted his arm across his body, a trail of fire scorching the air as it traveled directly towards Gabe's figure.
As Gabe was about to will himself a curvature of wind in order to counter the fire, Grav outstretched his arm forward, his hand grappling onto Gabe's foot. Gabe widened his eyes, the magic casting disrupted by the sudden jerk.
Fwooooom!
The arcing flames kissed Gabe's right rib, the fires flickering and gnawing at his flesh like a hungry wolf. Blood flew, tapping on Grav's face as a agonizing scream echoed through the forest.
The fire seared deep, but not deep enough.
Gabe gasped for air as if reaching the surface of a deep pit of water, depraved of oxygen.
As Grav moved to advance, Gabe did not waste another moment; there was not another thought in his mind other than to survive!
What expelled from Gabe's hands were not solid crescents of green, but rather a mist of wind.
FWWWWOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHH!
No longer was it blades of wind; the excessive mana being poured into the magic had turned a mere arc of wind into a maddening tornado of wind magic.
The grass split, flying away; the soil followed soon after.
Cracks appeared on the various trees around them, forming a subtle web hidden by the tree bark patterns.
And leaves danced above, swaying violently.
Grav saw a glimpse of it behind the flurry of green—the desperation. The way Gabe's eyes quivered, his breath shaky at the dawning realization of possible death. As if he was facing another reminder, that his confidence, arrogance, malice, did not have a hold onto the dungeon.
That there will always exist a bigger fish.
"So quiet... yet so loud at the same time!" Grav screamed behind the rupturing wind. As his lips curved into a manic grin, he directed the tome before him.
"Now, this," Grav began, the pages flipping continuously. "This is why you should always carry a tome." The pages halted, fire sprouting from the tome, blooming like a beautiful flower under a spring day.
The fire matched the raging wind with equal ferocity, the heat spreading, countering the cool air being generated by the wind magic.
Despite their eyes being heavily obscured by their respective elements, Grav and Gabe managed to find each other within the chaos.
"Your strength is admirable," Grav spoke softly, almost condescendingly. "For someone like you."
Grav took a step forward.
Then another.
Then another.
The wind magic split, acting as if he was some grandiose royalty. Gabe widened his eyes as Grav's figure got closer and closer.
"When a man becomes a slave to their lust for violence, that is when they become beasts."
Grav stood less than a bed mattress apart.
"And that is also when their destiny to be slaughtered begins."