Michael’s mind was in overdrive. He already had a twin Thought Stream opened up and both his minds were thinking about the same problem. And reaching no concrete solution.

He’s a fourth Year. And a Team Captain. There’s no way I can take him in a straight up fight. So, to even try to pose a real challenge… I’ll have to fight dirty.

He didn’t want to do it. Alex was his friend. Alex was there because he was so much of a friend he thought of a solution for his problem before Michael even knew he had one. But he could still feel Kelunad’s intent, like a whisper in his head.

Alex needed to be put to the test. Exactly what test, Michael couldn’t be sure, but he at least knew that for the orc to be satisfied, Alex would need to be seriously challenged. And since a Martial like him was heads and shoulders over Michael…

“Should we shake on it?” Michael called out. “Before we fight, I mean.”

“Sure.” The other young man said, laughing after a moment of thought. “Not really how we do it, but maybe some of my faction could learn honor.”

Some laughs at that from the crowd.

Honor. You’re making it worse.

They stepped forwards and Michael kept up his fake smile all the way until he was grasping Alex’s hand in his own. His right hand. The same one Michael wore his vambrace on.

The sword materialized in his hand, like it always did when he summoned it. It did so by cutting through Alex’s palm, the tip of it appearing near the boy’s neck. He screamed and Michael used the moment of confusion to grab his other arm.

It only lasted a second.

But Michael now stood in front of a petrified Alex, with the crowd having gone dead silent.

“Wh- why? Michael… why?”

He was hurt physically and emotionally, his expression said as much. But what truly shamed Michael was that Alex didn’t seem angry. A little afraid, yes, but not angry. Just incredibly disappointed.

“|Numbing Touch|.” Michael said, feeling his intact hand go limp.

“Why?” he repeated, just now the touch of anger creeping into his voice.

“Because… you’re a Martial. You need to be better than this.” Michael said, never letting his shame reach his face. |Rot Slash|”.

It could have ended then and there. And Kelunad could have administered his damned verdict. But Alex was a Martial. A true Martial, no matter what the orc said. So the young man leaned back, Michael’s Spell, shot even from point-blank, missing him. He yanked his hands away, cutting one to shreds.

Once again, only a second had passed, but Alex had gone ten feet away, a look of pain and focus on his face.

“It didn’t have to be this way.” He cried out. “It was supposed to be a simple challenge!”

“…you’re a Martial, Alex. There never was any other way.”

The playing field had been balanced a little. Alex had one hand numbed and another slashed open. It should let Michael fight on even ground now. At least, that was what he thought.

A wand appeared in his bloodied hand and he nearly dropped it, but managed to grasp it at the last second.

“|Water Jet|!”

“|Shield|”

“Does it really matter that much to you? The fame?!” he snarled.

“Fame?” Michael repeated, feeling his own blood begin to boil. “You think I want to do this? You’re a Martial, Alex. A Martial! Do you even know what that means?”

“And you do?!”

A |Flame Dart| answered him and Alex sidestepped it.

“You’re the house of the fight. Said it yourself. You’re supposed to strive for greatness. To battle everyone, your friends included. Why would you fight with anything less than everything you have?”

With each word, his heart broke a little further, seeing the effects his speech had on his friend. But Kelunad’s approval thundered in his mind.

It has to be this way. Is has to or… you might lose everything.

“No. No, I… fuck this challenge. I thought you were my friend, but if this is the effect it has on you… no. I surrender.” He said, aiming down his wand.

“No, Alex.” Michael said, steeling his voice. “For us, surrender was never an option.”

He ran forwards, leaning right. His shield Spell winked out at the last moment, covering him, but no Spell came. Alex was too surprised and had only managed to partly raise his wand. It did him no good. Michael swung his sword in a two-handed grip, aiming to slash the other’s chest.

He dodged back, reflexes as keen as ever, but that was only the physical part of the attack.

“|Rot Slash|!”

The Spell hit him dead on and a thin black line appeared on Alex’s chest, shirt cut in half by the magic. It immediately started to grow.

“Fight! Fight or I’ll keep swinging until you have nothing left to fight with.”

With a roar, Alex came forward. He should have overpowered Michael. A Fourth Year Martial Captain fighting against a First Year Ascentionalist. What a joke, right? But the Martial had one hand unusable and one hand cut. Michael’s Spell was sapping at his strength and the Ascentionalist gave him no time to reach for a Healing Potion. Michael wasn’t even sure Alex had brought any.

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So they fought. Viciously and brutally, forgetting their friendship. A |Light Arrow| impaled Michael in the shoulder, which was the only thing that saved Alex from getting his throat cut. But Michael’s |Fire Bolt| hit his thigh dead center, cutting back the older boy’s mobility. He retaliated, casting |Sticky Floor| and pinning Michael to the spot, while he ran forwards, wand drawn high. A |Trip Vine| snared his leg and brought him down, catching him in his own Spell.

His blood was burning. The shame, the tainted friendship… all of that was forgotten in that moment. Michael was fighting. It was different than the magic overload from before. This… this must have been what Kelunad talked about. The blood-craze.

He inverted his sword and raised it high with both hands. Alex was trying to get up from the floor in front of him, but he wouldn’t make it in time. One quick downward thrust. Straight through his back. Just one and he’d be dead.

Michael started to move and… stopped. Someone had cast a Spell.

No. a voice told him.

Not to the death. Though I see more and more you should have been one of mine.

Yet… not to the death. Not to one you call friend.

|Calm| the voice spoke, Michael hazily remembering the Spell being cast before, only moments ago.

You have fought well. Too well. Allow him a chance to fight as well. Not through trickery, but through effort.

And remember. Make him give his all. Give your all. Crush him!

Or I will not call his test ended.

Michael realized he had stepped back. His battle fury all but gone. The thought of what he had been about to do… It was with a great effort that he held back from throwing up. Not that he could afford to. Alex had gotten up.

“Mercy?” he asked, huffing. “What, you’re too good to give me the finishing blow?”

“We’re the house of the fight.” Michael said and meant it. “Not of the slaughter.”

“You’re not even a real Martial!”

“And what does that make you after I beat you?” Michael screamed back. “Fight me seriously, Alex. This is the only second chance I’ll give you.”

Alex made a sound. It sounded like he was crying. But he was laughing the very next second. Only it wasn’t exactly a… happy laugh. Not at all.

“Do you know that there’re some of my faction that think like you?” he asked. “That I’m not a true Martial? That’s because I don’t rush first into battle. Because I learn as well as fight. So that when I lead others, they don’t fall because of me acting recklessly! …but yes. That makes me less of a Martial for some. But here’s the thing Michael. I know you think me weak.”

No, Alex. Just the opposite.

But he never spoke the words. Couldn’t.

“And you know what? Maybe I am. I’m certainly weaker in a straight up fight than others of my year. But you know what’s so great about stopping to think? To learn? Sometimes, you get to know things that not even your own faction does.”

Michael noticed something. Alex’s hand had started to… smoke? Something like steam was drifting up from it. And just now it had started to glow. His bloodied hand.

“I have to thank you for this. After all, it was only after our adventure with the Bloodlinked that I picked this up from them. I didn’t dare use it until now. But… I guess I kind of have to, now that I’m fighting a true Martial, right?” he laughed in despair.

A sound like a muffled shout came and Michael noticed it was Erea who had attempted to get their attention. She was desperate, banging on the ward, but no sounds came. He noticed the others too. His friends looked horrified, like they well should be. And the crowd? The Ascentionalists were holding their wand aloft, tips glowing. Someone had spelled his name in huge glowing letters. The Martials were pumping their first in the air, chanting a silent war cry. And by the looks of their mouths, it wasn’t Alex’s name they were chanting.

“They love you.” He said, voice broken down to dust. “They love you like they could never love me. Because you’re what they want to be. Glorious, a champion of challenges. Someone who would fight all. Even his friends, right? Were… were we ever friends?”

“It’s time to end this, Alex.” Michael simply said.

And I swear to magic and Gnosis itself that you’ll beat me.

The boy nodded and charged forward. Blood splashed out of his hand like a wave, swirling around his wand and forming a great crimson blade even as he ran.

“|Magical Focus: Blood|, |Arcane Longsword|, |First to Action|.”

Two Spells and a Skill. One that Michael had heard before. He felt his body freeze. He couldn’t run forwards. Couldn’t dodge. He could only raise his own sword up, Spells blocked on the tip of his tongue. A Spell that guaranteed the first action for the user.

But he couldn’t do nothing. Couldn’t give less than his all, because Kelunad would know. And even if he wouldn’t… he still had his honor. And Alex his own. To fight with less than everything that he had would be to stain them both.

So he focused his minds. The first kept angling his sword, just like the orc had taught him. A perfect parry, no matter the force of the attack. The second prepared his Spell. He knew Alex would cast one at the moment their swords met and to even survive, he’d need to meet his Spell with his own. A shielding one wouldn’t do it. But he had the perfect one. The first he had learned to cast with a sword and the one he was the best at.

Alex reached him.

“|Quick Cut|, |Wind Slash|!”

“|Fire Slash|!”

A Skill as well as a Spell. It made Alex’s sword move faster than Michael could adjust. Made Michael’s parry just the tiniest bit less perfect. And his Spell enhanced the cut, made it strike down like a bolt of lightning.

Michael didn’t know why it happened. Perhaps it was because of the boy’s disappointment and hurt. Perhaps it was because both the Rot Spell and the Blood one had taken their toll. Or… perhaps it because Alex had never gone for the kill. Not now and maybe not ever.

His Spell-enhanced sword cut through Michael’s own. It broke it in two and came out on the other side. Only to be met and stopped by Michael’s vambrace. Because the Ascetionalists knew that even with a two-handed block, perfect as it could have been, it wouldn’t have been enough. So he only used one hand and used the other as a shield, as he knew it could be used.

But cutting through the focus of a Spell and negating it were two different things entirely.

A second after the clink of metal on metal, Michael’s Spell detonated. He himself was burned, but his vambrace once again took the brunt of it. Alex, however was blown back. The Martial was lying on his back, rotted and burned, one bloodied hand at his side.

Michael walked to him tiredly, about to announce that the fight had ended, that his friend fought with honor, when he realized he could hear sounds again. But no cheering or jeering, only a collective breath being drawn.

Kelunad had walked forward into the arena and had stopped near Alex’s prone body.

He looked up and addressed the crowd.

“Martials. Children of battle. You witnessed here a battle between one of our own and one that should be. You have all seen a challenge, one that you will all have to face one day. A day where you will need to fight anyone, everyone. Even your friends.”

Alex was trying to get up and failing. Michael moved to help him, but a gesture from Kelunad held him back.

“A Martial fights. This is how we grow. This is how we learn. We fight and through fighting we discover ourselves. To fight with your all, to break away from anything that might hold you back. That is what lies at the heart of our faction. Too long have I seen you debase yourselves. Either by giving in to the blood-craze and its lesser ailments or by thinking study and simple tactics are what it means to be one of mine. Today, you have all seen that to be a Martial is to stop at nothing! To fight, even when the odds are against you. To carve! Your! Path!”

He looked at Michael once more, before turning to his faction in full.

“A Martial fights. A Martial grows. And a Martial takes each and every fight seriously. I hereby declare Alex Toomrift banished from the Martials and that Michael the Ascentionalist is now Michael the Martial. I welcome all who oppose me to meet me in battle.”

Kelunad left and the roar of the Martials was deafening, shouting Kelunad’s and Michael’s names in equal measures.

Which was all well and good, because it meant no one but Michael heard Alex crying.