Samantha had felt the weight of the world fall upon her, and had stood against it. She recalled, feeling that indomitable pressure, the story that Micheal had told her. He had told her of his sister, and how they had met. He regaled her of times he had taught the small girl to walk, and eventually run. He had nearly cried telling her of his sisters first words to him. He had spoken and lectured of each and every memory he could summon of that small little brown-haired girl that had been his world for three long years. He laughed, and cried, remembering those days.

Finally, when the day was long and the night was creeping in with the lengthening of the shadows, he had told her of how she had been killed by one of the greater Gods.

It was a weight he had said. The weight of a mountain in only a shadow. A weight so great and powerful that one could believe it had given to man the destructive capabilities that it now possessed. It had been the weight of the shadow of a greater God, and it had crushed both of them.

Samantha had understood what her best friend had spoken of that day. The bleed from the woman's apostle, Matilda, had been heavy. It had weighed on her physically to the point of straining her body to her limit, but it had gone further. Her spirit - her will. It had weighed on them as well, pushing them away and causing her to feel like she was being wrapped in a wreath of dominion. As if she were being consumed by the woman's apostle.

It had been the weight of a God's shadow bearing down on her in that moment, and her will had nearly faltered. She had wondered why she stood against that weight. Why, as she looked into the dismissal of that woman's glare, she had not let her knees give out under all of it. It had reminded her of times away from Micheal. When she had thought of better days, and wished to return.

It had brought thoughts she thought banished back into her consciousness. She wondered again if it was simply right for her to give into that power. She was no God, meant to fight against the will of the world itself to give power and creation. She was Samantha Cald. A lost girl of only 17. Someone unfit to even be given the shadow of the Gods. What right was it of hers to stand against that righteous power?

Than she had remembered Micheal.

She had not remembered him as he was now, but as he had been. Small, still. Brown haired, short, and perpetually given to anger and hatred. He had beaten her bloody with a weapon similar to her own and with half the size to work with.

He had been so angry, but not angry all at once. It had been grief that had driven him.

Then he had cried with her. They had cried in ugly, racking sobs on the cold stone floor of the lowest of the halls in the lowest orphanage in the city. Micheal the Nameless they called him. The lost. So unworthy of everything that he had been given nothing at all.

Not money, not power, nor love or kindness both. He had been given only the scorn of the Gods and the world, and he had made them his. He had taken all of the hatred of the world and he had given it all back in kind.

Then he had cried at what the world had stolen from him. He cried for that little bundle of joy that had become his light in the darkness. He cried for his sister. The only kindness the world had dared give him. The kindness that the world had stolen from him once more.

He cried on that floor with her, when she had felt like she was unworthy of the world. They had been unworthy of the Gods and love and everything together, and they had wept together.

She had forgotten that, when Micheal had left the lower hall. She had remembered it at first, but it had slowly crept away from her. The world saw her unfit for even her memories.

So when that weight crashed upon her, and that derisive and apathetic grin taunted her, and that final, horrid thought of unworthiness crept to her. When that beautiful, wonderful lie that gave her the power to give up arose, she remembered.

She remembered how warm his embrace was. She remembered the way they had spoken on the days they had been together. She recalled his smile when he spoke of his sister.

She remembered what he had told her, on that day on the floor of the first hall. He had told her she deserved the best. He with so little, promising her the most.

Those words were more powerful than any spirit of the Gods could ever hope to be. They were the words of her best friend, and they meant more than any hundred hateful words from the enemies of the world. They had been enough to keep her standing, in the face of a weight that could make the mountains crumble.

So when Samantha had felt that niggling urge to pass out, she had smiled her smile of victory, because for all of Matilda's immense power, she was not the equal of a single lost boy's enigmatic words of hope.

...

Bleary eyed, feeling weak and fragile, Samantha awoke to a shaking at her shoulder. Someone had been tugging at her for a while now. Even in her subconscious she had the power to be annoyed at that. Was it so difficult to just let her sleep for a moment? Would it kill Micheal to just let her sleep in for once? She knew that training was important, but so was a decent amount of rest. She was a growing girl, after all.

“Sam!” A shout. That was somewhat extreme.

“I'm awake dammit,” She grunted, still half held in the grip of morning grogginess.

“Thank the Gods. Are you doing ok Sam?” The same voice. Micheal's. It was funny to hear him so worried about her. Also just a little satisfying, after how much she had to worry about him on the daily. Perhaps this would be a lesson for him.

“My back hurts,” She grunted. A very unwomanly sound, which might have upset her if she gave the slightest fuck. It was just Micheal, and he was about as much a prospective love interest as a bag of nert shit.

“That usually happens when you sleep on a stone floor,” Another voice. Char's voice this time. That was... less than good.

“I've slept on stone for longer than I can remember. The problem was the crushing that your guard subjected me to,” She said, remembering the reason that she was laying on the stone floor of Char's estate in the first place. Matilda had used nothing but the bleed of her apostle to crush her will into dust.

She also remembered how she come back from that crushing and dominating pressure. Best not to let Micheal know about that, at least for the time being. There was no need to give him an ego trip. He knew how much he meant to her, and it was best if he didn't let it go to his head.

“Still, it doesn't look exactly... comfortable,” Char said, trying to avoid coming off as the spoiled noble that the present company already knew him to be. It was an adorable attempt, though a complete and abject failure. He would never be seen dead in a stone bed, and they all knew it.

“its fine,” She began. “You really do get used to it,” she said, causing the noble to look slightly awkward. Maybe Micheal wasn't the only one that could use some people skills.

“Moving on,” Micheal said. “How are you feeling after all that?”

Samantha stared at him blankly for a moment with her best approximation at his 'look'. Both of them knew what that look meant. It meant he was being stupid. Micheal at least had the decency to look ashamed about it. Her satisfaction at delivering Micheal's signature look was immeasurable.

“Ok, ok, stupid question,” he said. “Let me rephrase. Exactly how poorly are you doing?”

Samantha thought on that for a moment. She wasn't doing great, obviously, but she also wasn't exactly hanging on by a thread either. Matilda had tried to crush her will, and it had failed, but it did leave some remnant of weakness.

“Well enough to stand, but I'll probably have to miss out on the sparring for the day. I'll be fine to watch for a little bit,” she said, pointedly looking at Char when she mentioned 'watching', which caused the noble to blush slightly. He is adorable, she thought.

Micheal looked slightly dejected at that, but quickly covered it up in a look of indifference. He was good at that.

“Well, how about we get Samantha situated in one of the spectators booths, and then we can think about sparring?” Char hedged, clearly scared of making a plan the two of them didn't approve of, which, considering the reason they had met in the first place, seemed a little strange.

Micheal seemed to consider this for a moment, before reluctantly agreeing. He was still wary of Char, but Samantha didn't see that stopping any time soon. Micheal was wary of everyone but her, and she wondered if that would ever not be the case.

The two boys helped Samantha up and led her to one of the fancier looking booths on the other side of the courtyard, which gave her an excellent view of the opulent training square.

Her first view had mostly been stymied by the guard that had seen fit to crush her very soul, but on closer inspection, it really was quite pretty. Of course, she felt the ostentatiousness of it did take away from the simple, functional beauty of a regular training square, but she figured she might as well enjoy the sight of such a thing. It wasn't every day a lost like her managed to find their way into a noble's courtyard, after all. A dry laugh escaped her as she pondered the absurdity of the situation that had led her there.

Her life was truly progressing in some unexpected ways these days.

Even a recovering soul had been pushed to the wayside by the thoughts of a noble's garden. She figured her younger self would have been disappointed at that, but that was fine. It was her present self that got to enjoy the view.

…..

From her view in the nearby booth, Samantha could clearly make out both Char and Micheal's faces as they stared at one another.

The first spar was going to be between the two of them so that the watching trainers would be able to better gauge Micheal's strength going forward.

Char was in the earliest part of earth rank, having already conquered the first of the great dividers, which meant there was very little doubt about the direction of the upcoming match. There were very, very few apostles that could take on a rank above their user, and they were seldom the kind of apostles spoken of in polite company.

Micheal would be utterly decimated, but Samantha knew there would be more to it than that. Mike was a tough little shit, after all.

A bell was rung, signifying the beginning of the spar.

char stayed still, his nervous posture evident even in a spar, while Micheal launched an offensive immediately. His apostle was already growing from one of his arms, a crystal of white and black, tainted with a flowing red.

A large sword-like construct of crystal formed at a deadly point , heading straight for the head of the noble boy. Char moved to the side in a flinching maneuver, easing his way out of the kill strike.

Micheal flew into another brutal slash, this time aimed at Char's stomach. The jagged crystal rushed at the boy's opening, but was again stymied by a ragged jump away from the point of impact.

Micheal let the crystal of his sword fall away, leaving the bloodied and red hand be seen by the two of them. Muscle and skin had fallen away to reveal some of the inner workings of Micheal's arm, before being protected in a shoddy crystal construction. The sinew of his arm was hardly even visible through the opaque crystal.

A new construct formed at her best friend's other hand, one that resembled a bludgeon more than a sword. Instead of a single, deadly point, there was a hundred pointed ends, like that of a natural formation of quartz.

With a greater weight at the end of his hand, Micheal charged at the still nervous Char in a flash, barely visible to Samantha's lost senses.

This time Char didn't move away in a poor attempt at dodging, but rather raised his arm to take the full brunt of the force. In a blast that produced a small shockwave, Micheal struck the waiting arm before he had time to reorient his strike to a more vital area.

The crystal that was Micheal's weapon struck with a crash, sending shrapnel flying away in every direction. Small pieces of crystal were destroyed by the skin of the noble, leaving Micheal's club a piece of barely recognizable blood at the end of destroyed arm. That was his second limb down.

Once again Micheal let the crystal fall away, this time with a more pained look on his face. He had thought that it may have worked with the extra weight, was Samantha's guess, and had tried to trick Char in letting him get a free him off.

It was a smart move by Micheal, but it was meaningless all the same. There was simply no way for him to hurt the noble, and everyone present knew it, even the watching trainers.

Where said trainers were at that point, was anyone's guess.

Micheal tore his bloodied hand away from the impact and tried to make some distance between the two of them. Char once again remained still in the aftermath, finally losing some of the nervousness that had been harrying him throughout the fight.

After seeing he could take Micheal's attacks head on, it seemed he had gained some confidence. Micheal was no fool, though, and Samantha knew that he would be counting on that.

This time Micheal did not make a weapon, but instead waited for his apostle to cover what remained of his hand. Crystal shot up his hand, encasing it in a cocoon of the Gods shadow. Through the mess that was the piecemeal solution there was little that she could make out of his hand, but one thing still drew her attention.

It was strange to see him without a finger, but Samantha had grown somewhat used to the sight.

Char watched Micheal carefully, readying his superior speed for Micheal's next approach, if Samantha guessed correctly.

Micheal did not maneuver any crystal to his hand this time, and instead closed the distance in a barefisted stance. They had both practiced a barefisted style in order to remain a challenge in the even of losing their weapon in a fight, but she had not expected him to use it as a means of attack against a primed opponent. It was meant to be a last ditched effort at survival. She supposed the bloodied mess that passed for his hands may have constituted a last ditch effort.

Faster than her eyes could see, Micheal sent a kick at Char's head. Effortlessly the boy moved the exact distance to dodge the strike, all the while moving out of range of Micheal's next move as well.

Overextended, Micheal nearly fell over himself as his follow-up strike failed to make contact against his more powerful opponent.

Char was making Micheal look like an incompetent fool, missing strikes and falling over himself. If Samantha weren't so mesmerized by the ease with which he was being toyed with, she may have been slightly afraid.

Micheal was an excellent fighter. There was not a single lost or chosen in the orphanage that would disagree with that sentiment. He was likely one of the most skilled fighters to enter the upcoming tournament. Proficient with nearly every weapon he had ever laid his hands on, and quicker on his feet than any dozen of his opponents, Micheal was the equal of any of the greats in terms of martial skill.

Char had not even been grazed by his strongest strikes.

Micheal fell into a roll at an impressive speed, sending a lightning fast kick at the noble's shins. A gust of wind was shot out at the movement, but it blew against thin air as Char jumped away from the strike with complete ease. Without even straining he was lifted several span into the air, perfectly dodging out of the way of the sweeping kick Micheal had sent.

A grin swept across Micheal's face at that, and he released his crystal once more. A long piece of razor sharp crystal extended across the training square in the direct of char, growing razor-sharp studs at irregular intervals.

In moments, a staff-like length of crystal was under the helpless Char, ready to dice him to pieces upon his landing. Micheal let out a savage grin, fully believing he would earn a strike against the helpless noble.

Char responded by using his first attack of the spar.

The small noble began to radiate power. A weight spread across the field, unlike the pressure that was Matilda's, it was unfelt in the physical sense.

Instead it encroached upon Micheal with a sense of unstoppable inevitability. Char had become mountainous. The small noble replaced by a force of nature, ready to crush the mere human that would dare stand against him. Micheal turned a shade of white that went against his olive skin, but stood firm.

Char continued to descend, as if a meteor were about to strike the waiting Micheal. The grin having disappeared from his face, he had transformed the look to a confident determination. Char was unlike himself as he readied to attack. A single, brutal mass of power approached the bone ranker, ready to obliterate him in a moment.

The fist of the Noble transformed into a mountain, and Micheal finally abandoned his attack in favor of defence. Even the stone would not be safe against the tremendous power the strike carried. It was going to destroy even the ground they had stood on, breaking apart the trees and stones alike.

Micheal braced for impact, and Char finally landed, sending out a crashing blow against the arms of the lost.

Waves of forces became wind as the punch landed, sending out a shockwave that blew Samantha's hair like a tornado had come moving through the training grounds. Samantha was sent sprawling by the force, landing on her rear against the ground of the spectators booth as leaves and debris from the garden were sent in all directions.

Standing, urgently trying to see the results of the strike on Micheal, Samantha was unsurprised to see a black-cloaked figure had interceded in the strike. A single hand was placed on Char's fist in an effortless manner, as though blocking the strike had been nothing beyond a light stroll. Micheal himself had buried his feet in cracked stone against the shockwave that had been sent forth from the blocked strike.

He stumbled upwards, tearing his feet from their tomb in the cracked ground, before looking at the ashamed Char, who's hand was still being held by the presumed instructor.

Samantha strained to get a better view of the man from her post in the spectators booth, all the while Micheal stood on unsteady feet, watching warily the man in front of him.

Char let out a shy smile to the man, returning from the mountain crushing monster into the nervous noble boy that had approached them at an underground fighting pit. Micheal looked at Samantha, and she waved back to show that she was alright, before he finally relaxed.

She looked curiously at the back of the instructor, who seemed to be giving Char some variety of scolding, to which the boy sheepishly nodded his head. Micheal seemed to debate things internally a moment, before finally sending her a thumbs up and a weak smile.

Everything is ok

Samantha sent the same back, though a more playful smile tugged at the edge of her lips as she looked upon Char and his mollified frown, as if her were a child being told off for stealing sweets.

Overall, the spar had been more successful than she could have hoped. All of them were alive, and she even got to see a more bashful version of Char's usual nervousness. Truly, the day had not been for naught.