Hearing a voice to his side in the crowded bustle of the fighting pit was not something that ended well in Micheal's experience. Hearing a strange voice right after his best friend took home a major upset victory, a victory that likely cost several people quite a lot of coin, was a one way ticket to meeting his ancestors.
Micheal turned slowly to acknowledge the person who he assumed would be the professor in his long awaited death, looking on with only mild surprise at the confusing sight before him. Instead of some giant or vagabond as he might have expected, there was the small frame of a boy not much older than Micheal. He would place the boy's age around his own, perhaps younger given the soft baby face that he carried.
Micheal was under no illusion that someone younger than him wouldn't be a threat, however. Micheal himself had become the representative of the lower hall at only 14, beating out some of the 19 year old's that had challenged him. The boy being young and somewhere like this only meant that he meant business, and Micheal had no plans to go quietly if that were the case.
“And what business of yours is it?” He asked, voice dripping with venom. Better to sound confident.
“W-well. you see. I've been meaning to look for acquaintances who might be interested in sparring against other chosen around here,” he began with a weak confidence. “The fights here have grown rather dull, is what I mean,” He continued.
“Easy for you to say, young master,” Micheal spat. “Being in the ring might change that outlook of yours,” Micheal smiled at the wide eyes of the boy in front of him. Micheal had figured out he was a noble easily enough. His clothes were no messier than the wooden walls of the shack were truly broken. He was dressed in a set of workers clothes that had never seen a day of work in their existence.
Not to mention the baby face that Micheal had initially taken as a sign of age. It was simply a clean shaven face - something that no self-respecting Saxlaw worker would even dream of.
Calling the boy 'young master' seemed to have drilled the point home, thankfully, as his faux nervousness was dropped in a second. “The disguise is that bad, then?” He asked with only a light touch of his previous anxiety.
“It certainly wasn't good,” Micheal flatly replied. Hopefully the young noble would leave to find easier pray.
Samantha looked on at the exchange from her seat at the bar where she had collected her winnings with abject confusion before the pieces slowly slotted together in her brain. Samantha was quicker than most, and before too long she already assumed the same indifference on her face as Micheal. It would be better for the both of them is he just left them well enough alone.
“Mike, I think we can both agree that we didn't notice a single thing today,”
“Agreed,” Micheal said, giving the noble boy an out of the conversation. He looked back and forth between them for a moment before he too was clued in on what was going on. A wave of realization passed through him, but instead of the thank you and polite exit that both expected, the boy grew flustered.
“Ah. W-while I appreciate the sentiment, there as a little more to this than pretending we all never saw a thing,” he said. “You see, and I am really sorry about this, I can't have this getting out to anyone,” He said, and Micheal could see the tides shifting.
“Don't worry,” he said with feigned calm. “As you can see, my lordship, there is nothing to worry about on that front. We're both about as lost as it gets. there isn't a single person worth your time who would believe us about you,” he went for the obvious lie. He doubted the boy would know enough about him or the orphanage to know Micheal wasn't lost, and two lost were nowhere near enough to convince anyone that a noble was sneaking around an underground fighting ring.
Of course, two lost also wouldn't be missed if a certain noble decided they were too much trouble to keep around. No one would even remember their names in a month or two. Especially if a few coins were exchanged to keep people absent minded for a while.
“Well yes, you're certainly not wrong, but you don't need to be so worried about that,” He said. “I'm not going to have you killed just because you saw me somewhere I shouldn't be. I might be a noble but not even I'm that much of a bastard,”
Micheal looked at the noble boy who'd not only said he wouldn't kill them, but had uttered a curse like a sailor. Not only that, but he had figured exactly where the conversation was going, just as Micheal had. He was smarter than his nervous demeanor might imply.
“Even if that's the case, which I'm not so sure it is, that still doesn't explain where you're going with this,” he said accusingly. Maybe if he could make him angry or confused He and Samantha would have enough time to make a run for it. Two lost certainly weren't memorable enough that he would be able to find them quickly.
“Mike, perhaps we should hear him it,” Samantha interjected, causing Micheal to glance in her direction curiously. She had clearly noticed something he had missed, and he drove his mind like a steam engine trying to see what it was. But even suspicious, Micheal still did as Samantha sa implying. He trusted her judgement.
“Well, I guess it can't hurt,” Micheal said to the boy. The noble, for his part, had been standing and listening like a wyvern as Micheal quickly thought things through. A small smile of appreciation was thrown Samantha's way, before he spoke in agreement.
“Of course I'm amiable for a discussion. This whole thing has gotten a little awkward and a chance to explain might be beneficial for both of us,” he spoke, finally looking relieved for the first time in their conversation. Why was he the one looking relieved? Micheal thought.
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Micheal was, as best she could put it, a calculating bastard. Samantha loved him, she really did. Micheal was her best friend and she figured that would never change, but the face remained that he was a shifty little nert bastard. Nearly as soon as the noble started talking he had already figured out almost exactly how the conversation was likely to go and what their best move was going to be. She, on the other hand, had taken a few moments. Moments that, should the noble have decided, they both could have been killed.
No one would deny that Micheal the nameless was a cunning little sea cucumber, but he was also suspicious of everyone and paranoid as any three guard watchmen ought to be. He had assumed the worst and was ready to take them both out of there at a moments notice.
Only, for all of his acumen in reading people there was one thing he was simply horrible at seeing. A genuine offer. Samantha didn't remember much of her childhood before the orphanages, but she remembered the one thing her father had taught her. That was kindness. Samantha had seen little of it since, but she would never forget the warm way in which her father had always held her as a child. She remembered even better the face he had made when she was sent away to the first orphanage for lost, as well.
Still, Samantha knew what a kind person looked like, and that was something that Micheal did, and perhaps always would, lack. He had never seen a mote of kindness in this world, with the sole exception of what he had given his sister, though she doubted Micheal had even known what he had tried to give her.
all of that aside, what this perspective of hers meant was that she saw through the noble boys nervousness and beyond. He was certainly shrewd, and undoubtedly lacking the naivety that some nobles his age were so known for, but he was still genuine.
He hadn't lied to them a single time in their short conversation. He had never even claimed to be anything other than he was, and had simply hoped to fool them with the disguise alone. That meant that, while Micheal had tried to shoo him away, Samantha had done a little calculating of her own.
So, as she stared down the boy across from her, she began to think of her words to come. His hair was a chiseled blonde. Even scuffed up and covered in soot she could tell it was gorgeous, and she knew without a doubt it would be wavy and perfect without his augmentations. His height, a rather average five and three quarter span, was nothing remarkable.
But his expression. It was priceless.
“The truth is,” She declared. “You need our help, don't you?” She asked, smiling.
The noble boy seemed to stutter for a moment at that before resigning himself to being found out. Clearly Samantha had hit the nail on the head in her assessment of the boy. Micheal looked on in confusion as the boy prepared himself to speak in his defense.
“Well, you've got me there,” he said, defeated. “As seems to be the trend for today,” He sighed. “And yet you still haven't decided to just have us offed yet,” Micheal chimed in, and Samantha shut him up with a dark look in his direction. She couldn't have someone getting in her way if she was going to get out of this with what they both wanted from the boy.
“Yes, Mike. He hasn't had us killed yet, and perhaps if we would like to keep it that way we should hear why that is the case, don't you think?” she asked with a thinly veiled anger. Micheal, between the look and her tone, shut up quickly enough. Her still bloodied face from her fight surely helped with that, but she wouldn't put t past Micheal to have listened just because it was her who asked. She would have done the same.
“Yes, indeed. I don't plan on killing either of you, but things can't remain as they are, you see. I'm obviously not meant to be here as you've already figured out, but it's a little more complicated than that. You see, I'm also the heir of my family, and they are quite sure that I've run away from it,” the boy said with a weak and apologetic smile at the two of them, to which Micheal groaned and Samantha nodded. She had suspected something like this, otherwise he would have just let the two of them go.
“I see,” was all Samantha said. She would hear everything before she made her judgement out loud, though in quiet she already knew where this would lead.
“Erm, yes. Well. What that means is that if my family finds out I'm here, I will be quite in the shit, as it were. And because of that I would rather like some help from you, if it's all the same,” he said, casually swearing once again. Samantha hadn't interacted with a noble before, but she certainly didn't see the interaction going quite like this.
“You're the heir, aren't you? What heir hasn't been engaged in a little bit of trouble before taking over the family? You'll be more than alright without the help of two lost teens I think,” Micheal said harshly. She understood where he was coming from this time round, and actually applauded his quick thinking. He was trying to expedite the explanations to why it was them that the noble boy had picked.
“Ah. Indeed, you're correct, but it's worth noting that I'm not the first heir. I'm actually the fifth. My siblings did indeed engage in that 'trouble' you spoke of, and my family wasn't very happy with them taking over as the heir after that,” he said.
“And where exactly does our fighting chosen come into things,” Samantha asked, moving the explanation along a little.
“Well that part is simple enough. I really can't afford to have you talking about this to anyone, but I also can't kill you, and that leaves only one option. Asking for help,” He said, growing slightly more confident and finally losing the last of his jitters. Samantha also noticed the earnest way that he had spoken near the end, and she actually felt for the boy. Not enough to help out of the goodness of her heart, of course. This was the real world. Things weren't done out of the goodness of people's hearts.
Samantha gestured for the boy to continue his explanation. “And what I need help with is fighting,” he finally said, a final weight being lifted off his shoulders as he sagged to the floor, leaving both Micheal and Samantha wearing looks of confusion at the boy in front of them.
“You need our help. With fighting?” They asked together, stifling a giggle at being so in sync.
“Well, yes. Sort of. I do need help fighting, but it wasn't from you two specifically. It just so happened that you figured out my secret a bit quicker than I had planned, is all,” he stuttered. Understanding once again dawned on Samantha as she pieced the whole thing together. Micheal hadn't saved them in pointing out the young nobles mistake. He had sealed their fates. That nert bastard.
“I see. I think I understand,” Samantha said. “You're preparing for the tournament, and you wanted to see some fighting outside of what your family is showing you. Adventurous little thing, aren't you?” She asked, a smile on her face. “And so you came to the one place you could see some real fighting, and decided to spectate some chosen fights. Only, the problem is, there aren't any fights between chosen,” She finished, leaving the conversation open to the boys response.
Micheal only looked at her, slowly coming to the same conclusion that she had. She could practically see the gears turning in his mind, and she thought she saw a small wince once he realized he had brought them into this predicament. The young noble only sighed before nodding his head in agreement. She was as good at reading kind people as she remembered. They practically wore it all on their face anyhow. All she had to do was take their word for it.
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Micheal and Samantha talked with the boy for a small while longer. Micheal was unsure how exactly, but Samantha had seen through him in a heartbeat. He was supposed to be the one that could read people, but when it came to people like the boy in front of them? There was just something about them that messed up Micheal's thoughts. Still, having Sam with him cleared up whatever that roadblock was well enough.
He needed help to fight in the hedgeside tournament. It turned out he was only in the very early earth rank, and was supposed to go up against kids in the early reaches of stone rank somehow. That led him to this lovely place, where he had hoped to see some inspiration in the form of a real, no holds barred battle between chosen. Only, there were no chosen that were willing to fight. That left only he and Samantha who were willing to fight chosen, and the boy had sought to capitalize.
Of course, where things went from there had been a little crazy. Samantha had, for some briny reason, agreed to the boy's request. That meant that, for once, Micheal was now fighting someone that he had no true desire to go up against. It was terrifying seeing the speed at which Samantha and the noble boy had set up this bout. He had almost been thrown in the ring with the surprise of it all. He didn't even know that guy's name across from him.
He turned, stern faced to the audience, looking for Sam. In the front row he saw her, smiling and waving at him. He threw her a look of dejection that he thought made him look like a sad toddler, causing Samantha to break out into a fit of giggles, which made Micheal laugh as well.
His opponent, a small shrewish man that nonetheless towered over his scrawny and short frame, did not seem so happy at his attempted joke. He had the look of an addict to him, and Micheal guessed it would be crank for his poison of choice. He had that look in his eyes that only a crank addict would, and that boded well for his chances.
The man was gaunt as a twig and deathly pale. Half of the hair from his head had been ripped out, fallen out, or burned through some unknown yet terrifying means. For all of that he was only on the upper end of bone rank in pure strength. Micheal wasn't surprised he had failed to get past the first of the great dividers. His was not a look that was conducive to the knowledge of the self. Or any knowledge, as far as Micheal could gather.
Still, he had yet to activate his apostle before the match began, and the shout of the judge only perplexed Micheal even more. True, he had not yet activated his own apostle, but he severely doubted the man in front of him cared about a fair and sporting duel.
Finally, the man broke into a flurry of speed and approached Micheal. He crossed the thirty span between them in less than the blink of an eye, appearing in front of Micheal before he could even think to dodge. He clearly had some sort of speed based apostle.
Micheal couldn't even follow the man's movement as he grabbed onto Micheal's shoulders and looked into his eyes. Micheal finally brought out his apostle to bear, but it was moving towards the point of no return at an alarming rate. He had hoped to save his apostle for the last moment, but he could clearly see that that simply wasn't going to happen this time around.
He felt the crystal from deep in his chest flor down his blood in a painful rive, exploding with a burst from his hand and forearm. The man, even in his incredible speed, was shocked at speed with which Micheal had conjured it.
That had been exactly what Micheal was counting on with his training. There was a reason that Micheal had spent so many hours sending the painfully bone-crushing signals to his arms to release his apostle. Each time felt as if his bones were splintering and being crushed, and each time the pain grew more and more severe as his tender muscles sought to heal the apostle induced damage he had created.
Still, Micheal had continued to train. Now, he believed he could conjure his apostle in less than a blink if the need arose. It was so far his greatest strength in battle for him.
The man, a veteran of these kinds of fights, hesitated for only a moment. Normally that was too long a break in concentration for a fight, but the scrawny man's impossible speed let him beat Micheal to the punch regardless.
He opened wide a jaw filled with yellowed and gnarly teeth. Each one pointed and covered in rot and death with a greenish hue. The man smiled in spite of his unhinged jaw before breathing out a cloud of the noxious fumes into Micheal's waiting face.
Micheal had tried prying himself away from the man's iron grip, but his upper bone ranked strength was nothing that Micheal could emulate. He himself was in the lower middle of bone, but there was simply no comparing their strength, and especially not their speed. That meant that Micheal received an open breath of the poison that came from the unhinged jaw of the scrawny man in front of him.
Disgust swept through Micheal as he smelt and tasted the defiling gas. Burning and choking followed suit quickly enough as the man pushed himself off of Micheal with a sickening grin. Micheal tried to push himself off of the ground, but his knees had given into paralysis the moment he had inhaled the poison gas.
His lungs and sinuses burned and he felt ready to vomit blood. Still the man smiled at him, getting ready to finish the job in front of him. He had contended himself in his glory for a moment, but he was quickly approaching his victory lap. That was enough for Micheal though, as he moved the crystal from his chest to his knees.
The explosion of pain as bones and muscle tore at the crystal in his body sent waves of agony through him, and he noticed that already the crystal had been reddened by his blood. White and black had turned to a canvas of red, black and white.
Still, it was enough. The stiffness in his knees at least let Micheal stand to face the man in front of him. The crystal in his lungs and organs had made its move to destroy the poison inside of him as well, giving him some room to fight back. He was weakened by the poison, but he was still in the game.
After all, even among the lost he was the weakest and the slowest. It had never been his physical attributes that had been the mark of his skill. Micheal was five span tall and had conquered the lost at an entire court orphanage. Being slower or weaker had never been an obstacle before. When at a disadvantage, one simply had to even things up with a little less-than-fair play.
That was why, as the man saw Micheal rise and prepared for another charge, Micheal moved the crystal into his blood and mouth. When the man inevitably charged to repeat the same maneuver as before, thinking Micheal to be on his last legs, he released his trap.
Crushing the crystalized blood into his mouth Micheal formed it into a sprinkling of dust. As the gaunt man grabbed hold of Micheal's arms and shoulders to keep him in his hold, he waited in preparation. As soon as he saw that maw of yellowed teeth, he spat out the crystal dust into it, causing a choking cough to escape the man in place of the miasmatic cloud from before.
In his confusion the addict had thrown Micheal away, but the advantage was his. Even inside of the other man Micheal could feel his apostle, filled with his blood, making its way into his lungs and stomach. His control was weak with his apostle in this form, but it was enough.
Micheal congealed the lumps of crystal dust into sharpened balls, and eventually small spikes. Inside of his stomach and lungs the man was pierced and cut from the inside, causing blood to well up into his throat.
Green bile flew from the mans throat as his insides were slowly eviscerated by the pointed crystal of Micheal's dust-turned-daggers. He fell to his knees in agony, quickly surrendering the duel to Micheal in a shameful display. At least Micheal had been willing to die for his victory. He spat at the man before turning to the shocked audience before him.
There were no jubilant shouts as there had been for Sam's victory, but he figured that was alright. From the audience's perspective, the man had simply began spitting green bile in place of his blood and surrendered. They were unaware of the medical devastation going on inside of the man's body at that very moment.
Micheal walked out of the arena to Samantha into a quiet crowd.