The students stood in anticipation before Draven, Jasper, and Kai, who were huddled together in a quiet, yet animated conversation.

"Alright," Jasper began thoughtfully, keeping his voice low. "Should we mix the boys and girls this time? Yesterday, we kept the matches separate—boys only fought boys, and girls fought girls."

Kai scoffed, his whisper barely containing his frustration. "Yeah, but yesterday we didn’t have them! Melanthius, the son of Merlin, Elowen, the daughter of Arthur Pendragon, and Arid—Mother Nature’s actual offspring? Are you kidding me? That changes everything!"

Draven crossed his arms, nodding slowly. "He’s got a point. With powerhouses like those three in the mix, this isn’t just about gender anymore—it’s about balance."

The trio fell silent for a moment, glancing at the students before resuming their strategic discussion.

"Also, it’d be frigging awesome if two of them went head-to-head!" Draven whispered loudly, his excitement barely contained. The others shushed him, grinning.

"Alright," Draven continued, his voice lowering with mischief. "Let’s kick things off with Melanthius versus one of the new kids. First match, let’s see what they’re made of. Then, new kid versus new kid after that. We’ll wrap up with Elowen against Arid."

He let out a maniacal laugh, and Jasper and Kai exchanged eager glances, both agreeing with the plan. The atmosphere was electric, and the tension in the air was palpable.

Draven, Kai, and Jasper turned to face the students, their eyes gleaming with excitement. "Alright, the first match is..." Draven began, glancing at the roster with dramatic flair. Kai, ever the showman, dragged out the suspense, letting the tension build. "Terence Curnow versus..." The crowd was on edge, waiting for the announcement. "Melanthius Shadowbane!" Jasper shouted, the name echoing through the gym as the students erupted in a mix of excitement and curiosity.

Terence scoffed, shooting a sharp glare at Caius as he strode onto the platform, which rose at least ten feet off the ground. “I was hoping to fight that bastard,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes locking onto Mel. “You can’t get enough of this, can you? I know your lineage already, so don’t expect me to be scared.” He chuckled, clearly unimpressed.

Mel bounced on his heels, cracking his knuckles casually. “Do you have some kind of hate against me, or something?” His voice was cool, but there was a hint of curiosity.

“I have some kind of hate against everybody. Don’t take it personally,” Terence replied nonchalantly, his grin wide and menacing.

Mel shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I guess that makes me feel better?”

The crowd murmured, eager to see the showdown between these two powerful students. There was a mix of anticipation, some whispering about Mel’s legendary lineage, others speculating about Terence's power.

Draven’s voice cut through the chatter. “Start!”

The moment the signal was given, Terence swiped his hand through the air, and a glowing symbol materialized in front of him.

“What the—?” Mel’s eyes widened in confusion just before the symbol shot out a barrage of arrows at him, each moving at an unbelievable speed.

The crowd gasped in unison as Mel instinctively raised his arms to deflect the projectiles, his movements swift but calculated. "I can’t let him hit my scars," Mel thought, his concentration narrowing. He twisted in midair, narrowly avoiding the arrows, but one grazed his arm, cutting through his sleeve. He bit his lip, the sting of the wound making him grit his teeth.

"He's fast..." Mel thought, pushing the pain aside.

Terence’s grin widened. “No need to dodge like that, I won’t bite.” He flicked his wrist, summoning more arrows, their tips gleaming with deadly intent.

Mel continued to dodge and deflect, but the sheer speed of the projectiles was relentless. He couldn’t keep up forever. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to close the distance. As another arrow shot past, it nicked his arm, and Mel hissed through his teeth. "I can't let him know my arms are my weak spot right now," he reminded himself, determination surging through him.

“Gotta get in range!” Mel sprinted forward, planning to close the distance and take the fight to Terence, but before he could reach him, Terence’s fist swung out, landing squarely in Mel’s chest. The force of the punch knocked Mel back several feet, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The crowd reacted with shocked gasps, some of them murmuring, “Whoa, did you see that? Terence is a beast!”

“No range, no change!” Terence shouted with a triumphant grin, immediately following up with more arrows, each one faster and more aggressive than the last.

“Glyph Barrage!” Terence called, and the glowing symbols shifted, turning into massive cannonballs that launched toward Mel with terrifying force.

The audience was on the edge of their seats as Mel jumped high into the air, narrowly avoiding the cannonballs. One of them clipped his arm, and he let out a low scream, his body jerking from the impact.

"He's hurt! He can’t keep dodging like this!" Elowen yelled in the crowd.

Mel gritted his teeth, feeling the pain shoot up his arm. His vision blurred slightly, but he fought through it. He couldn’t let Terence see his weakness.

Summoning his magic, Mel conjured silken enforcers with massive battle axes, their glinting blades cutting through the air as they charged toward Terence. The burly boy was pushed back, surprised by the force of the attack.

“Not bad!” Terence said, grinning, but Mel could see that the boy was struggling to regain his footing.

Mel gasped, clutching his trembling arms as he collapsed to one knee. “What’s going on with me?” he thought, fear creeping into his chest. His magic was flickering, the pain in his arms clouding his thoughts. He gritted his teeth, fighting to stay focused.

"Come on, Mel," someone in the crowd murmured. "You can do this."

But Mel wasn’t sure anymore. The pain, the fatigue—it was all starting to wear him down. He needed to find a way to end this fight, fast.

“What happened to all that ‘manly’ talk? Three on one is pretty unmanly, don’t you think?” Terence taunted with a chuckle, his voice dripping with mockery. Mel’s eyes widened, his breath hitching as he processed the insult.

“U-unmanly?!” Mel stammered, his expression darkening. With a swipe of his hands, the silken enforcers turned back to webs and dissolved into the air. He staggered to his feet, breathing heavily, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “No way,” he panted softly, his mind racing as his body burned with fatigue.

Terence lunged toward him, but in a blur, Mel unleashed a hidden cloud kick, snapping Terence’s head back. The crowd gasped, some cheering, others stunned into silence.

Terence growled in frustration, wiping blood from his lip as he readied himself for another attack. But every time he moved toward Mel, he was met with an invisible, forceful strike that sent him stumbling back. "Dammit!" Terence snarled, his fists tightening.

Mel’s breath was ragged, but his resolve was stronger than ever. He threw a punch, but just as it landed, he winced. Terence’s eyes caught the slight tremor in Mel’s arm, and a smirk curled across his lips. He saw it—the scars.

A malicious gleam flickered in Terence's eyes, and before Mel could react, he shot a cannonball at him, hitting Mel square in the arm. Mel cried out, his knees buckling beneath him. His body hit the ground hard, and he bit his lip to stifle the scream that threatened to escape. Blood welled up from the bite, and he cursed loudly.

“FUCK!” Mel shouted, his voice harsh and raw, his fury unmistakable. It was a rare sight—Mel never cursed, but when he did, it meant he was beyond angry. The crowd was taken aback, some murmuring, others watching in awe.

Mel’s arm throbbed with pain as he kneeled, clutching it. Terence, momentarily taken aback by the force of Mel’s curse, moved toward him with an uncertain look. “S-shit, my bad,” Terence muttered, but his words didn’t soften the anger burning in Mel’s chest.

In a flash, Mel grabbed Terence’s arm, twisting it in a painful lock. With a growl, he kicked Terence away, a trail of black lightning crackling from the force of his blow. Terence stumbled back, but before he could regain his footing, Mel moved again, kicking him hard in the neck. The sickening crack of Terence’s head snapping back filled the air, but Mel didn’t stop there.

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He was ready to punch him again, to end it once and for all—but then, a voice inside his mind screamed: STOP!

With a jarring halt, Mel redirected his punch at the last second. The force was so great that it split the platform beneath them, sending chunks of stone flying in all directions. The crowd gasped, some jumping back to avoid the debris.

Mel staggered out of the gym, his breathing uneven as pain radiated from his arm, now crackling with black lightning. The energy pulsed erratically, a stark reminder of the power he had just unleashed. Without a word, he headed to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect himself.

Back in the gym, Terence stood frozen, his chest heaving. His eyes reflected the raw terror of a man who had glimpsed his own mortality. He scanned the room, expecting ridicule or judgment, but what he found was far worse—concern. The crowd murmured in uneasy whispers, their faces a mix of shock and worry.

Swallowing his pride, Terence forced himself to his feet. He staggered slightly before bowing deeply toward the headmasters. “Headmasters, I accept my loss…fair and square,” he said, his voice subdued. “I suppose this means I’m not cut out for the third tiers.”

Behind their desk, Draven, Kai, and Jasper huddled together, peeking over the edge like terrified children. Their expressions were pale, their fear palpable. Draven cleared his throat, his voice trembling as he tried to regain composure.

“A-actually,” Draven stammered, his eyes darting to the shattered remains of the platform, “considering that the platform is, well… utterly destroyed beyond all reason… we’ve decided it might not be the wisest idea to have all 18 black cards fight each other.”

Kai and Jasper nodded vigorously, their agreement comically enthusiastic. The room fell silent for a moment before the students erupted into murmurs, the tension finally easing—if only slightly.

Meanwhile, Mel stood in the bathroom, his face pale and dripping with sweat. He leaned heavily over the sink, splashing cold water onto his face in a desperate attempt to steady himself. The icy droplets offered little relief as his thoughts swirled like a storm.

His eyes drifted to the scars on his arms, faintly glowing under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent light. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled a thin stream of smoke over the scars, soothing the burning sensation. “That dream again…” he muttered under his breath, his reflection staring back at him with weary eyes.

“The black lightning monster… the swirling purple smoke figure… and that woman, always screaming, ‘Wake up, son!’” His voice wavered as he tried to piece it all together. “The black lightning—it has to tie back to my magic somehow. And the purple figure… it’s gotta connect to my cloud magic.” He clenched his jaw, the confusion eating at him. “But why does she call me ‘son’? Who is she?”

Mel shook his head and dried his face, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached for his gauntlets, carefully fastening them over his arms to hide the scars. As the metal settled into place, he let out a soft sigh, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on him.

“I need answers. Fast,” he muttered, his gaze hardening as he turned toward the door, ready to face whatever came next.

Mel stepped out of the bathroom, the echo of his footsteps filling the quiet hallway of the third floor. His eyes swept over the polished floors and pristine walls adorned with ornate carvings. “Shenelle—uh, Yaga,” he muttered under his breath, correcting himself. “She really outdid herself with this place. Not bad for someone who’s probably never even stepped foot in a school before.”

He wandered down the corridor, his gaze drifting to the elaborate portraits lining the walls. Each one depicted a figure of grandeur—kings and leaders whose legacies seemed to linger in the air. Mel stopped in front of a particularly striking portrait of King Arthur, the regal man immortalized in vibrant strokes of oil paint.

He stared at the image for a moment, his mind stirring with curiosity. “Shenelle said he and my father were close,” he mused aloud. “Before Merlin betrayed him... for some woman.” His brow furrowed as the fragmented pieces of the story swirled in his head. “Could it be connected to what I saw in the dream? The clouds... the voices... what does it all mean?”

The questions lingered like a haze as Mel tore his gaze away from the portrait and continued down the hallway. His thoughts weighed heavy, but he pressed forward, determined to uncover the truth.

Mel wandered into a dimly lit hallway where the air seemed heavier, almost oppressive. The portraits here were different—darker, more foreboding. These were the images of infamous kings and tyrants, their faces etched with a cruel kind of grandeur. As his eyes adjusted to the shadows, they widened in surprise. Among the malevolent figures were the Renaissance Kings.

The first face he recognized was Donatello, a man who should have been long dead but wasn’t—something only Mel knew. Then there was Leonardo, whose secret identity as a woman had only recently been revealed to him. Michelangelo, also known as “Goldman,” stood out in his radiant armor, another ghost who refused to stay buried. Only Mel was aware of his survival. But it was the final figure that gave him pause—a towering, imposing man whose face was obscured in the holographic portrait, cloaked in an ominous shroud of darkness. The nameplate beneath read: Raphael.

Mel felt a chill creep down his spine. “They said my father defeated them... so why are they coming back to haunt me now?” he murmured, his voice a quiet echo in the desolate corridor.

His steps faltered as he came upon a massive portrait, larger than any of the others. It dominated the hallway, commanding attention like a silent monarch. The man in the portrait was unmistakable—Merlin Shadowbane.

Merlin sat upon a grand throne, his body draped in the very robe that now belonged to Mel. His gauntlets, identical to the ones Mel wore, glinted in the dim light. He looked like an older, more battle-hardened version of Mel—except for his face. Merlin’s face was hollow, lifeless, as though the very essence of humanity had been drained from him. On his back, the legendary tonfas rested, and his wand sat neatly in a holster at his side.

Mel stared, unable to look away. The weight of the legacy before him pressed down like a suffocating fog. He clenched his fists, his scars tingling beneath the gauntlets. “What kind of man were you?” he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of anger and sorrow. “Who did you betray King Arthur for?”

The silence offered no answers, only the faint hum of the holographic display and the lingering shadows of the past.

Suddenly, Mel felt a gentle tug on his robe. Startled, he turned quickly, expecting to see no one. But as his gaze dropped, he found Rue sitting in her wheelchair, looking up at him with concerned eyes.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her voice trembling ever so slightly. It was clear she understood the weight of what he was feeling, the raw emotion stirred by the sight of his father’s portrait. Her usually confident demeanor was replaced by a rare vulnerability, a quiet empathy that cut through the silence of the hallway.

Mel nodded, pulling his sleeves down as if trying to hide more than just his scars. “I heard what happened in the gym,” Rue said gently, releasing his robe. Mel let out a heavy sigh and knelt down to her level. “I tried not to use it, but he kept going for my arms. I got angry. I hate being like that... It’s like the cloud magic and the lightning magic are at war inside me. Just like—”

“Your dream?” Rue interjected, finishing his thought. He nodded, his expression weary. Rue reached out and took his hand, her grip firm but comforting as she began rolling her wheelchair forward. “Wanna see the Yellow Card class?” she asked with a small smile, her tone light, trying to shift the mood. Mel hesitated, then returned her smile softly. “Sure,” he said, standing up and walking beside her.