Two days later, at Lance’s house, Mel sat backward on a chair, rocking it back and forth impatiently. He tapped his foot in rhythm with his thoughts, clearly agitated. “Come on, you two! The dance is in exactly eight hours!” he called out, exasperation dripping from his tone.
From the bathroom, Lance’s voice echoed, muffled but amused. “You’re the one who said to take our time! Plus, you stitched these fancy Atlantis designs into the tuxes—it’s like putting on a piece of art. These things have layers, Mel!”
Mel groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Fine, but hurry up! Clyde, when do I have to pick up Clarice?” he shouted toward the closet where Clyde was changing.
There was an awkward silence before Clyde let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh... I haven’t exactly... asked her yet,” he admitted sheepishly.
“What?!” Lance’s voice rang out in disbelief from the bathroom. “Why not?!”
“I got nervous, okay!” Clyde called out defensively. “It’s hard for a white card to just walk up and ask a black card. She’s... intimidating!”
Mel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Clyde, you’ve been talking about this for days. If you don’t ask her now, you’ll never get the chance. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“She could say no!” Clyde replied quickly, his voice cracking slightly.
“That’s not the worst,” Mel said flatly. “The worst is me dragging you out of that closet and making you call her while we all watch.”
“Mel!” Clyde yelped, panicked.
“I’m just saying!” Mel leaned back in his chair again, smirking slightly. “Man up, Clyde. It’s just a question. You survived my training, but you can’t survive asking one girl to a dance?”
“Yeah, you got this!” Lance chimed in, his tone half-supportive, half-teasing. “Unless you’d rather let Clarice show up alone and watch her get swept off her feet by some other guy.”
There was a loud thud from the closet as if Clyde had just stumbled. “Okay, okay! I’ll call her right now! Just... give me a minute.”
Clyde stepped out of the closet, adjusting his white suit adorned with intricate Atlantis stone embellishments and matching jewelry. Lance followed, looking sharp in a sleek black suit with the same regal designs, his confident grin radiating as he admired himself in the mirror.
Clyde, however, was frantically pulling out his white card, his fingers trembling as he scrolled to Clarice’s name. With a deep, shaky breath, he tapped her contact, her picture popping up as a shimmering hologram in front of him.
“Hello?” Clarice’s soft voice answered, her tone curious.
“Uh, hey,” Clyde stammered, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I know it’s, uh, super late, but I was wondering if you’d maybe want to go to the dance with me tonight?” His nervous chuckle only seemed to make the silence that followed even more unbearable.
“You waited until today to ask me?” Clarice said, her voice laced with disappointment. “I thought maybe you weren’t even interested.”
“I-I, uhh—” Clyde’s words stumbled over themselves, his anxiety rising. Before he could explain, another voice boomed through the hologram.
“Is that the boy who broke my sister’s heart?” Terrence’s unmistakably intimidating tone cut through the call like a blade, making Clyde visibly flinch.
“H-hello, Terrence,” Clyde said, his voice cracking as his face turned pale.
Terrence groaned in frustration. “Put your brother on the phone!”
Mel, who had been leaning back casually in his chair, immediately began inching backward, his eyes widening in alarm. “Nope, nope, not happening,” he muttered under his breath, trying to quietly slink away.
Clyde, wide-eyed and desperate, shoved the hologram toward Mel. “He’s right here,” Clyde said quickly, dumping the problem onto him.
Mel groaned, his shoulders slumping as he reluctantly took the call. “Terrence,” he greeted with forced calmness, bracing himself for the storm.
“I thought we were like family,” Terrence said, his voice dripping with that signature mob-boss gravitas. “Breaking my sister’s heart? That’s basically breaking mine. And when my heart gets broken…” He let the pause hang ominously. “I start breaking skulls. And I really don’t want to do that.”
Mel forced a smile, trying to keep his composure. “That’s, uh, really not necessary, Terrence. Let’s handle this diplomatically. Does your sister have a dress?”
Terrence let out a low grumble. “Yes.”
“Perfect,” Mel said quickly, sensing an opening. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll pay for her ticket, personally drive her and Clyde to the dance, and make sure she gets home safely afterward. All on me.”
There was a long, tense pause on the line. Finally, Terrence’s voice returned, slightly softer but no less commanding. “That makes me happy to hear. Keep your word, Melanthius.”
Before Mel could respond, Clarice’s voice cut through the line, cool and sharp. “Clyde, don’t stand me up again,” she said, her tone dark and foreboding.
The trio froze, their eyes wide with unease. Even Lance, usually the comic relief, let out a low whistle.
“Understood,” Clyde said meekly, his voice cracking as he clutched the phone tightly, his face pale.
Mel hung up the phone and handed it back to Clyde with a sigh, muttering under his breath, “Well, that was terrifying.”
Moments later, in Anita’s cozy living room, her adoptive mom sat in the middle of the couch, radiating warmth and pride. Mel lounged on the larger sofa, exuding a quiet intensity as he swirled his tea. Across from him, a nervous yellow-card freshman sat stiffly, avoiding Mel’s piercing gaze while sipping from his teacup with trembling hands.
Anita’s adoptive mom beamed. “It warms my heart to see my daughter surrounded by so many friends. After her father left, I worried she might be bullied. But now, she’s even friends with the saviors of the kingdom!” Her smile was genuine, though her words only heightened the tension in the room.
Mel’s gaze didn’t waver from the boy, his teeth subtly grazing his bottom lip in a slow, deliberate motion. He finally broke the silence. “What’s your name, man?” he asked, his voice calm but loaded with unspoken weight. He took a slow sip of his tea, his eyes still locked on the boy.
The yellow card cleared his throat, nearly choking on his tea before managing to respond. “I-I’m Spencer Lockwood. I’m a yellow-card freshman. I, uh…” He paused, darting a glance at Mel before quickly looking away. “I thought Anita was really cute, and I wanted to, you know… ask her out.”
Mel nodded, his expression unreadable. He set down his cup and rose to his feet, walking over to the boy with deliberate, measured steps. He patted Spencer’s chest lightly but firmly, the gesture friendly on the surface yet brimming with an undertone of dominance. “Come on, let me talk to ya,” Mel said, his tone casual but leaving no room for refusal.
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Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting to Anita’s mom, who remained blissfully unaware of the silent power play. Swallowing hard, he stood and followed Mel out to the backyard, the tension hanging thick in the air like a storm about to break.
Mel stood in the backyard, conjuring a silken enforcer with a wave of his hand. The construct materialized a few feet away, its shimmering threads catching the dim light. He turned his gaze to Spencer, his expression calm but intense. “So, you know what happened with her last boyfriend, right? The senior?” Mel asked, casually pulling a pair of black gauntlets from his backpack and sliding them on.
Spencer fidgeted, rubbing his hands nervously. “Y-yeah, I heard,” he stammered. “I saw that punch you landed on him in the cafeteria. It was… uh… cool.”
Before Spencer could say more, a crackle of black lightning erupted from Mel’s gauntlet, streaking toward the silken enforcer. The construct exploded into a cascade of webbing, strands flying everywhere like shattered glass. Spencer yelped, instinctively covering his face.
“You like violence?” Mel asked, his tone dangerously low, as if testing the waters.
“N-no, sir—no, I don’t!” Spencer stuttered, his voice trembling. “I’m just saying, Henry was a jerk. He deserved what he got.” He swallowed hard, his knees nearly buckling under Mel’s unyielding stare.
Mel chuckled softly, a sound that was equal parts amusement and warning. “See, I think of my friends as family,” he said, flexing his fingers as the gauntlets crackled faintly with residual energy. “And Anita? She’s like a little sister to me. And if someone hurts my family…” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “…I might just start breaking skulls.”
His words echoed Terrence’s earlier warning, but in Mel’s mouth, they carried a chilling weight that made Spencer’s hands tremble.
“T-that won’t be necessary…” Spencer stammered, clearing his throat as he tried to steady himself.
Mel raised an eyebrow, summoning another silken enforcer. It loomed silently, threads gleaming under the dim light. “You got a car?” Mel asked casually, his tone laced with a hint of challenge.
Spencer exhaled shakily, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Y-yeah, I’ve got a car,” he said quickly. Desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere, he glanced toward the house. “So, uh… are you waiting for the other girls up there?”
Mel nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yep. Elowen and Rue wanted to get ready here for pictures.”
Spencer hesitated before asking, “How come you’re not going?”
Mel’s hand flicked out, sending another crackling strike of black lightning into the enforcer. It burst apart, threads whipping through the air before dissolving into nothingness. “Because I wasn’t invited!” he growled, his voice sharp enough to make Spencer instinctively take a step back.
Spencer’s eyes widened, his nervous energy palpable as he tried to gauge whether Mel’s temper was under control.
“Leave him alone, Mel,” Anita called out, her voice firm yet calm. Mel turned around, and his eyes widened as they fell on Anita. She stood in an emerald green dress that seemed to shimmer like sunlight on forest leaves. The fabric hugged her figure gently, the fitted bodice embroidered with intricate golden and silver floral patterns that caught the light with every movement. The off-shoulder design framed her collarbones elegantly, while delicate chiffon sleeves cascaded down her arms, giving her an ethereal presence.
The skirt flowed gracefully to the floor, layers of silk and chiffon creating a subtle swish with each step she took. A slit on one side revealed just a hint of her legs, adding a bold edge to her otherwise regal appearance. Around her waist, a delicate belt of gold leaves cinched the dress, accentuating her silhouette. Her hair was styled in soft waves, adorned with a simple silver comb shaped like a sprig of ivy, and her jewelry—dangling emerald earrings and a matching bracelet—perfectly complemented her ensemble.
He then saw Elowen wearing a golden dress that gleamed like molten sunlight. The gown was a masterpiece of elegance and boldness, with a fitted bodice adorned with intricate embroidery of gold filigree and delicate crystal accents that shimmered with every movement. The sweetheart neckline highlighted her collarbones, while thin, jeweled straps draped over her shoulders like chains of starlight.
The dress flared out from the waist, transitioning into a voluminous, flowing skirt made of layered golden tulle and satin, creating a soft, radiant glow around her. A daring slit ran up one side, revealing just enough leg to add an air of confidence and mystery. The hem of the dress was subtly embellished with a pattern of swirling flames, symbolizing both power and grace.
Her hair was styled in an elegant updo, with loose tendrils framing her face, and a golden tiara adorned with tiny rubies and citrine crystals rested atop her head, completing her queenly appearance. She wore golden heels and minimal jewelry—just small teardrop earrings and a delicate bracelet—letting the dress itself take center stage. Elowen looked like she had stepped out of a dream, embodying beauty, strength, and a quiet confidence.
Rue tilted her head up at Mel, catching the way his jaw dropped at the sight of her. A playful smirk curled across her lips. “Cat got your tongue?” she teased, her voice light but confident.
Mel snapped himself out of it, straightening his posture and clearing his throat. “Y-you two look… nice,” he managed, trying to sound composed despite the heat rising to his face.
Rue chuckled, her emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think a cat really does have his tongue,” she quipped, stepping forward with an effortless grace that turned heads.
Her dress was a stunning combination of amethyst and silver, the colors swirling together like moonlight on water. The bodice was fitted and adorned with intricate silver embroidery, catching the light with every step. The skirt flowed elegantly to the ground, with sheer panels that hinted at movement and strength beneath the surface. A high slit revealed just enough of her silver heels to add a touch of boldness, and a delicate amethyst choker complemented the look perfectly.
Mel turned to face her, momentarily lost in thought. Rue’s presence was commanding, and the way her dress shimmered in the evening light left him momentarily speechless.
“L-let’s take the pictures,” Mel stammered, trying to regain his composure. Rue smirked knowingly as they walked to the front of the house, the trio preparing for their moment in the spotlight.
Meanwhile, deep within the magisterium, the nine wizards of immense power sat around a massive, rune-etched table in a chamber dimly lit by flickering candlelight. The group—Silver Cross, Franky Arbutus, Aubrey Primrose, Gail Kelpis, Christopher Hatch, Howard Pegas, Axel Candlelight, Emmett Fingerling, and Judas Olive—had gathered to address a growing crisis.
Franky’s fist slammed against the table, sending a ripple of magical energy through the room. “Damn it! Who the hell would take down one of Lust’s territories? I invested a fortune into that operation!” he snarled, his voice thick with frustration.
Gail Kelpis, seated with an air of practiced nonchalance, leaned back in her chair. She flicked her fingers, igniting a cigarette with a spark of her wizard pyrokinesis, the flame dancing momentarily before settling. Exhaling a plume of smoke, she muttered, “Hell if I know. What can we do now? We’ve got nothing to go on. All we’ve got is a damn fox costume and no leads. They wiped out the entire squad, and Nathan and his son are missing—poof, gone.”
Silver Cross, the eldest of the group, stroked his silver beard thoughtfully, his piercing eyes narrowing. “If someone’s bold enough to take out Lust’s knights, they’re either powerful, reckless, or both. We need to find out who’s behind this before they dismantle more of our network,” he said, his tone sharp and commanding.
Axel Candlelight drummed his fingers against the table, his golden eyes glinting with annoyance. “A fox costume? Really? Is this a joke, or is someone trying to make fools of us?”
Judas Olive, who had remained silent up to this point, finally spoke, his voice a chilling whisper. “Whoever they are, they knew exactly what they were doing. This wasn’t some random attack—it was calculated. We need to strike back, hard, before they get any bolder.”
The tension in the room grew heavier, the flickering candlelight casting long, distorted shadows on the walls as the wizards planned their next move.
“You idiots!” Titian barked from his seat on the couch, barely glancing up from the book he was reading. His tone was sharp, dripping with condescension. “I told you to stay out of the Aurora Continent. It’s a mess of kingdoms already—too many to deal with. But more importantly, there’s a king there who single-handedly took down an entire kingdom to protect his own. A one-man army. A literal titan.”
The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of Titian’s words sank in. The other wizards exchanged puzzled looks.
“Should we go ourselves?” Aubrey Primrose asked, her curiosity tinged with caution.
Titian let out a weary sigh, snapping his book shut. “No. If word gets out that the magisterium is behind the Seven Deadly Kingdoms, it’ll be disastrous. Our anonymity is our shield. Instead, we’ll send two of Lust’s kingdoms to test him. If he handles them alone, we’ll know he’s the real deal. If someone else is helping him, we’ll rule him out as the one who took down Lust’s territory.”
He leaned back into the couch, his expression unreadable. “We’ll get Pierce, the King of Lust, to send his pawns. Let him handle the logistics.”
Silver Cross stroked his silver beard, his eyes distant with thought. “It really is the era of kids becoming kings, isn’t it?” he said with a faint sigh.
The group chuckled at the remark, though the tension in the room lingered like the dying smoke from Gail’s cigarette. The quiet laughter did little to mask the unease settling over them. A single titan rising was one thing, but the thought of what—or who—else might emerge in this chaotic age left an unspoken question hanging in the air.
In the Slesan Kingdom, King Bimoth sat with his brothers, casually playing cards in a shadowy corner of the kingdom. At just 16 years old, Bimoth towered over them all, an imposing figure at 8 feet tall, with a muscular frame and eerie white pupils that seemed to pierce through anyone who dared meet his gaze. His sheer strength was legendary, a force that earned him both respect and fear across the lands.
Whispers still lingered about his battles with Mel. The first fight ended shrouded in mystery, with no one knowing who truly claimed victory. The second fight was decisively Mel’s, though the details of that encounter remained a secret known to only a few. As for their third clash in Bloodthorn, it was left unfinished, a testament to their rivalry and the raw power both wielded. The unresolved nature of their battles left a lingering tension in the air—one that promised their story was far from over.