He indicated his readiness with a stance. Putting on his signature smile, the boy inhaled a waft of air.

By that point in time, Ode'go was deep in his post-bloodlust state. Everything around him, once moving at a quickened pace, seemed to distil into a slower, more visible variation of itself. It was as if the world around him had changed. Transformed itself into a vintage cartoon flip book. Each and every page in absolutely perfect detail.

Within the confines of those pages, Ode'go saw Azama. He was coming closer. And in doing so, had performed a graceful somersault out of the broken window. The man truly was something else. Even his movement seemed tailored to perfection. As if performed by a pre-programmed machine.

Thud.

Azama landed outside. He was perhaps four metres or so away by then. Ode'go supposed he would come closer. But no. The mercenary had taken two steps to the left and, out of nowhere—climbed atop a bench.

Like a feline, Ode’go’s pupils widened, regarding the mercenary’s movement with careful intent. Meeting his eyes, Azama flashed a wink.

"Now, suppose you had a biscuit stick in front of you, Ode'go, what would you do?"

The catboy blinked. "You reference my magnificent love with Ceylica?"

"You could say that. Or, you could say I'm trying to make a point here by using a personal anecdote."

"I'd take the biscuit stick," Ode'go replied, wondering as to Azama's intention.

"Now, now, wouldn't you say it's too soon to judge?"

"Too soon?" Ode'go chuckled.

"Of course! What else would it be?" Azama smiled. "You've made a decision without so much as context, after all. You don't know if the biscuit stick is poisoned. Who's giving it to you. Or if you're even hungry in that case."

The two exchanged a cheerful look.

"And suppose it's poisoned. Well, I couldn't care less." Ode'go paced about. "The fact is, the lack of context only enhances my resolve. After all, who's to say how long the biscuit stick will dangle in front of me? Who's to say that it won't disappear the next second?" He spat to the side, a residue of red."Make no mistake, Azama, this biscuit stick of yours is neither poison nor disgusting."

"Mhmm, perhaps." Still, atop the table, the mercenary jumped. Flipping midair, he landed with his pinky.

It was absurd. Truly outrageous in any sense.

Yet somehow, it was fitting. Off to the sides countless students watched. As if the idea that Azama would suddenly break out a one-finger handstand out of nowhere, was a completely normal thing in the eyes of society.

At the sight of such a figure, one would be forgiven for a gasp of admiration. The man had proven himself worthy already, demonstrating strength beyond normal human levels. Ode'go, however, only continued to inspect him. Something about his ability seemed uncanny as if there was a layer of talent waiting to be unpeeled.

Oh?

He gulped down a bated breath. Fascinated at a potential discovery, Ode’go ran his eyes all over Azama’s clothing. On closer inspection, Ode'go confirmed what was once a prior suspicion.

Sure enough, Azama's clothes were in perfect shape.

Despite having run over several tables worth of food, trays and other miscellaneous goods, the man was still perfectly kempt. Remaining blissfully pristine in spite of what had occurred. A perfect unity of white over every crevice and spot on his clothing.

"Azama!" Ode'go declared abruptly. "Surely a little bleach could make your clothes white again?!"

How absurd. Was he really attentive to his clothes this entire time? So much so that not a single visible spot had tainted his white garment?

Ode’go looked over Azama curiously. Concluding that it must’ve been an intentional decision on his behalf. Either that, or it had been but a coincidence. Though Ode’go thought the former to be more likely. Frankly, Ode’go was disappointed with his own lack of self-care. Given that his clothes were pattered with stains of yellow, red, and white, amongst other things, to his shoes, pants and shirt alike.

Again and again, Azama had impressed him, showing the seemingly endless breadth of his skill. The thought of Azama's surface-level perfection spurred Ode'go even further. An overwhelmingly strong desire to put the man down his pedestal and envelop him in a world of humility.

"I might not look it, but I am quite thrifty, you know. Saving money's only one of my many Azamazing talents!"

Ode'go was left speechless. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. Having held onto a degree of self-awareness, the catboy perfectly understood that he had come into this with greater pride than he should've.

"Now, now, Ode'go, if you want to surrender, I am fully willing to accept a kowtow."

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His words were lenient. Spoken with the easy-going tone of one far too unbothered to care.

Playing along, Ode'go leaned back in thought, hand on chin. Under the risk of damaging his pride and a potential source of entertainment, he responded with, "good one, Azama, but we both know that won't be happening."

Satisfied with his answer, Ode'go’s eyes flickered to his right. In search of Ceylica, he found her seated indoors, maybe a good thirty metres or so away. She looked unquestionably happy, peering out the window, undoubtedly watching in full view what was transpiring.

Ode’go waved and blew a kiss to her.

What sort of man would he be should he forfeit and grovel?

No man at all.

Those who saw his position might claim him foolish. That his so-called sense of honour be no more than an impediment to success.

What they did not know was that Ode'go was fully aware.

He understood the consequences of honour.

He understood that honour brought along with it costs, pains, and many restrictions.

But what he also knew was that it was precisely that detail which made things much more satisfying.

“Qadyega sunma kom.”

It translates as 'Live by one's own merit'.

Thus, with an exhalation of breath, he pushed himself onward. Saving no time for his opponent to assume his stance, Ode'go dashed straight into the eye of the storm.

There was no honour lost in this position.

While Azama was clearly disadvantaged by being in a fingerstand, it was still he who chose it. The mercenary had made his choice. He had willingly imposed such a restriction. Therefore. Sensing Azama''s cheery demeanour and expression, Ode'go withdrew any last slivers of mercy he had and offered, in turn, the best he could do.

"AZAMA!"

An afternoon breeze pushed an orange leaf through the air. It was drifting. Ever swaying against the wind. In pursuit of soil to touch upon. On average, it took three seconds for an orange leaf to reach the ground. The battle, however, would be finished in less than that time.

Ode’go rose in a second. Blood pumped into his legs, and his muscles tensed to their utmost capacity. Where once was a person was now air.

With unbelievable haste, he dashed.

An extended arm of his reached out. He planned to grab Azama’s arm and pull him under. It would take only a single step before he could enact his plan. He was only a metre away. Eyes open all the while, Ode'go scanned every last crevice and part of Azama's body for a hint of movement.

Unfortunately for him, Ode'go had watched Azama's face. For a split second, his eyes had been fixated on the mercenary's smile. And having been drawn to it, missed the explicit tension within the mercenary’s index finger. A mere crease of a finger. But still enough. As a moment later, that explicit tension was followed by a burst of speed, launching Azama right into the air.

Straight above the catboy himself.

Ode'go thought to retaliate. He had been caught off guard, but he still possessed ample time to react, commit, and attack.

That was his thought process the second before.

In reality, the prospect of victory had been but a delusion.

Though he saw what would happen and felt for his life, each passing second as an eternity, it made little difference.

No matter what he saw, his body was unable to keep up.

When he realised, though, it was already too late.

“Qadyega sunma alim,” whispered Azama.

It translates to ‘Live by one’s own death.”

Azama’s hands reached out like the caress of a grim reaper, one on Ode’go’s chin and the other on the back of his head.

Crack.

The sound of fractured bone echoed throughout the courtyard.

The unknown cosplayer snapped a neck, landed with a flip, and bowed before an ever-present audience.

The once blaring company now reduced itself to a whisper.

Emboldened by their reaction, the man, with a debonair brandish of his hand, threw off his outfit.

Standing beneath a now flickering series of cafeteria lights was Azama Meyos, or Gossamer Fiend as he was titled.

The Eyeful Demon, known to be as beautiful as he was deadly.

One capable of presenting himself as a beautiful maiden, elderly man, or a muscular brute should he have wished.

Turning to face Ceylica, the fiend brandished the chest pocket of his black tuxedo-like suit.

People, in response, held bated breaths. The way his presence echoed was like an unbearable invisible weight.

Ever present, yet never understood why.

That was, to the vast majority of those present, anyway.

To some who held experience in the criminal underworld or recognized for themselves, such a figure designated a different path entirely.

No matter how much of a threat this man posed, the students remained unable to move or much less attack.

Some, like Ceylica, muttered, "Damn, this is cool." Interpreting this as one big act of exaggerated showmanship.

Yet, no matter what form the theories of the student body formed, the end they headed towards was all the same.

That of complete oblivion.

"Greetings, greetings, everyone! My name is Azama Meyos, and I've been hired by someone very special to ruin all of your lives and bring unspeakable evil upon this academy. From this point onwards, everything's about to turn upside down. Hair might start growing in places they haven't before, water in your showers might become blood, and vegetables might become chalk."

Now that he had gotten their attention, the mercenary gestured to Ode'go.

By the way, his body was positioned, the boy appeared either dead or unconscious.

His head was contorted to an unnatural angle, while his slumped arms betrayed a lack of vigour. Although most likely unintentional, the sight also gave the impression that Ode'go had submitted. Having positioned his knees on the ground as a method of supporting his now lifeless body.

All this gave what could be described as an ‘eerie sense of dread.’

"As you can see, attempting to kill me will end in complete and utter disaster, and as such, I recommend not doing so!"

Seemingly finished, the man gave one final gaze around the space. Then, with a final bow, yelled a casual “Good luck!”

The only thing left at that point was his timely departure.

Following up was a complete shattering of glass, as each and every light soon faded into darkness. Even stranger, the sun had dissipated too. Leaving the area cloaked in an unnatural darkness. Soon after, perhaps not then a second longer, ominous growls and roars began to emanate around the cafeteria.

High-pitched, low-pitched, it made little difference.

The sound signalled one thing.

Signifying the coming of monsters, shadows of disproportionate lengths and grotesque proportions too manifested.

In the minds of the students, who saw or at least understood what the source of these sounds was, came a sense of caution.

This whole ordeal was all too sudden, and yet here they were.

Forced to confront one revelation after another, the solemnity of their situation weighed like unexpected cargo.

Without choice, they soon bore the burden of such weights and braced themselves for what was to come. Some brandished weapons in reaction, others magic, and a majority a piercing release of their vocal chords.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

Despite the sheer coincidence and variables that would have to align for students to unanimously and conveniently yell those three words, it did happen. Many faces were drawn back by fear and distress that day, and many more were in complete shock.

Little did they know, though, that with that, Phase Two of Azama's and Rainee's Azamazing Plan had begun.