Chapter 14: I Came, I Saw, I Got Body-Slammed Into Enlightenment
Lunch was overrated anyway.
While everyone else stampeded toward pizza slices and mystery meat, I took a detour to the back of the gym. The place was basically no-man's land—dusty mats, old gym equipment, and the unmistakable scent of teenage sweat lingering in the air like it paid rent.
But more importantly, it was quiet. Private. Perfect for what I had in mind.
And by "perfect," I mean "probably really stupid."
Two jocks lounged there like they owned the place. I recognized them immediately—Chad and... Other Chad. I'm not even kidding. No one remembers his actual name. He's just... Chad's Chad. Classic sidekick energy.
Chad the Prime sneered the moment he saw me. "Well, look who it is—boy wonder."
Oh good, nicknames. That's how you know things are going great.
"What, come to offer yourself on a silver platter? Sofia's gonna love this."
Behind him, Other Chad took a lazy drag of his cigarette like we were in some old-timey mob movie. He clearly wasn't expecting anything more than a light afternoon bullying session.
My stomach tried to file for an early escape through my throat, but I forced a smile.
"Hello, guys. I hope you're having a wonderful time," I said, voice steady.
Somehow.
"Wanna make it better?" Chad cracked his knuckles. "Let's see if you bleed."
Here's the thing about bravery—it feels a lot like being stupid until it works.
He came at me fast, his fist cutting the air. But I wasn't the same Evan who used to flinch and cover his head. My instincts kicked in, sharper than ever, like someone had dialed up the clarity in my brain.
I ducked.
Then I punched.
Square in the nose.
Not fancy, not cinematic, but effective.
Chad stumbled back, clutching his face with a very satisfying "UGH!"
And then he got mad.
His wild swing caught me right on the cheek, and let me tell you, that part was cinematic. The world spun, colors flashed, and I tasted regret.
Also maybe blood.
I hit the ground hard.
The gym mats weren't nearly as soft as I remembered.
"MERCER, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" he bellowed, his nose now a full-on faucet of karma.
But I didn't wait.
I rolled, kicked up, and nailed him in the face. He hit the ground with a thud that was so beautiful I might've cried if my face didn't hurt so much.
Before he could bounce back, I scrambled on top and locked my arms around his neck in a half-decent chokehold.
Thank you, Asterion's increasingly terrifying training methods.
"Do you give up?" I gasped, arms shaking, lungs burning.
He flailed, slapped weakly at my sides, and finally tapped out like we were in a wrestling match and not a spontaneous back-alley gym duel.
I released him and wobbled to my feet like a newborn deer with a mild concussion.
"Good. Remember who beat you," I said. "Tell everyone. And in case your memory sucks—"
I pulled my phone from my hoodie and waved it.
"—I've got it all recorded."
"Dude," Other Chad blurted, dropping his cigarette. "We were just messing around! No need to go full Mortal Kombat!"
That's when I saw her.
Mara.
Standing a short distance away with her phone raised, camera light blinking.
The best tag team partner I never asked for.
"Messing around, huh?" I smirked. "Then you owe me one. Both of you."
"Okay, okay," he said, already backpedaling like he had just witnessed something supernatural.
As they slinked off like defeated movie extras, I felt it wash over me—that feeling.
That electric rush of doing something I never thought I could.
I did it.
I really did it.
I didn't run.
I didn't hide.
I stood up and fought back.
And won.
The pain in my cheek throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the burst of satisfaction blooming in my chest.
"Not bad," Asterion's voice echoed in my head. "But keep your head clear. Winning one fight doesn't make you strong."
I wiped a bit of blood from my lip and grinned.
"Couldn't let me enjoy it for five minutes?"
Asterion chuckled.
"Enjoy it. Just don't become an idiot because of it."
Fair.
Lunch could wait.
I had just served up a main course of poetic justice.
The cafeteria smelled like questionable meatballs and overcooked ambition.
I shuffled in with Mara and Toby, my face still sore and my knuckles a bit swollen from my surprise gym bout. Honestly, I was more worried about keeping my tray balanced than my bruises. The spaghetti looked like it might jump off the plate and try to finish the fight.
We found our usual table, the one nestled between the suspicious vending machine and the "maybe it's art" mural from 2006.
I slid into my seat and had just started poking at the spaghetti when Toby leaned in with a grin like he'd just uncovered state secrets.
"So," he said, tapping his juice box like it was a microphone, "was that your audition to take Derek's spot as Big Boss of Ravencrest High?"
Mara snorted into her veggie wrap.
"Yeah, Evan. Planning to wear a letterman jacket and start extorting freshmen for lunch money?"
I blinked.
"What? No!"
"Come on," Toby said, raising his eyebrows. "You took down one of Derek's cronies—in public. Word's already spreading. You've got people looking at you differently."
"Yeah," Mara added, crossing her arms. "Like you're some mysterious lone wolf with bruised knuckles and a tragic backstory. Super attractive to insecure high schoolers."
"Great," I muttered. "I always wanted to be Gotham's most wanted."
Toby leaned back dramatically.
"So what now? You gonna make us the cool kids? Do we get jackets? Or like... code names? I vote 'Shadow Falcon' for me."
"Okay, first, no one is calling you that," Mara said, deadpan. "Second, Evan doesn't want to rule the school. Right?"
I hesitated.
That was the problem, wasn't it?
Because deep down...
Part of me did like it.
Not the violence, not the blood or bruises, but the power.
The respect.
The idea that maybe, finally, I wasn't the bottom of the food chain.
And yeah, there was that moment—after the fight—when some underclassman made eye contact with me and flinched.
I wasn't proud of it...
But I wasn't mad either.
"I don't know," I said, staring at the tray like it held the answers. "I'm not trying to be Derek. But I guess... I'm tired of being the one everyone pushes around."
Mara's expression softened, and she nudged my elbow.
"We get it. Just don't lose who you are in the process."
"Yeah," Toby said, unwrapping a suspiciously green cookie. "You're Evan Mercer—resident nerd, professional bad-decision maker, and undefeated king of terrible cafeteria trades. If we suddenly become cool, who's gonna trade me a pudding for a sad banana?"
I laughed.
That was the thing about Mara and Toby.
They didn't care how many fights I won or how many people flinched when I walked by. They'd still roast me for wearing socks with holes or watching anime at 2 AM with subtitles that didn't match.
"No jackets," I said with a smile. "But maybe we upgrade the table."
"Oh, absolutely," Toby said. "I'm done sitting near the weird mural. I swear that thing moves when I'm not looking."
Mara rolled her eyes, but even she smiled.
We weren't the cool kids.
Not really.
But maybe we didn't have to be.
Maybe just not being invisible anymore was enough—for now.
You know it's going to be one of those days when your best friend—who considers walking to the fridge a strenuous workout—comes sprinting down the hallway like he's in a Marvel chase scene.
Toby barreled toward me like a freight train made of khaki and panic. His backpack was half-zipped, his glasses foggy, and sweat poured down his forehead like he'd just run a marathon through the Sahara.
"Evan… gasp… run… wheeze… they're… death rattle… coming for you!"
Now, a normal person might have freaked out at that.
"They're coming for you" is not the kind of phrase you want to hear before third period.
But me?
I just blinked.
Because, let's be honest, Toby running was already the day's weirdest event.
"You actually ran?" I asked, genuinely impressed. "Like, with both feet? At the same time?"
"Evan," Toby gasped, hands on his knees, "this is not the time for sarcasm. I almost died! That's cardio, man!"
Before I could ask who was coming, the answer arrived in the form of a stiletto-heel death march.
Click. Clack. Doom.
Sofia.
Or as I like to call her when no one's listening:
Queen of Ice and Selective Kindness.
She appeared at the end of the hallway, dressed like she was about to star in a teen fashion drama titled Mean Girls: Royal Edition. Hair perfect. Eyes locked.
Intentions?
Probably murder.
"Mercer," she said like it was a curse word.
"Sofia," I replied like I hadn't just been internally screaming.
A small crowd gathered, because high school students have a sixth sense for drama, and someone definitely had their phone out already.
I stood my ground, heart thudding, every instinct screaming at me to turn around and find somewhere else to be.
But then she walked closer, the hallway practically icing over with every step.
She was...
Radiant.
And I mean that in the most dangerous radioactive material kind of way.
Long legs. Designer outfit. The kind of confidence that could make you rethink your life choices.
For one very stupid second, I forgot who I was and thought:
Wow, she's really beautiful.
And that was when she hit me with the line:
"Hmph. Where did this so-called new personality go? Or was it all just an act to get my interest?"
Oh.
So that's where we're going.
"Excuse me?" I said, arching an eyebrow.
"You've been strutting around like you've grown a spine. Thought maybe you were different. Guess not."
She smirked like I was a particularly underwhelming sale item.
"Still the same loser as the rest of the boys."
I clenched my jaw.
But right when I was about to reply, she dropped the nuclear bomb.
"Come on, Mercer. Slap me. Right here. Right now. Let's see if you've got any guts."
Wait.
What?
Slap her?
In front of the entire hallway?
That's not just a trap—that's five traps wearing a trench coat.
My brain short-circuited for a second.
This had to be some weird social test.
Or maybe she was setting me up to look bad.
Or—plot twist—she's secretly a robot testing human responses to unethical dares.
And then...
A hand touched mine.
Mara.
She'd appeared at my side like a goth guardian angel, fingers curling around mine with just enough pressure to say:
Breathe. Stay grounded. Don't do anything stupid.
Asterion stayed quiet.
Which was way worse than him giving advice.
It meant this was a test.
My test.
"I won't hit you," I said quietly but firmly, "especially not because you dared me to."
Sofia's smirk twitched, just for a second.
"Heh. I knew it," she said. "You're no different. Weak, boring... predictable."
She extended her hand toward me like some bored goddess offering mercy.
"Fine, I'll let you follow me then."
For a second—
just one awful, tempting second—
I considered it.
But then I remembered every time I'd been humiliated.
Every time I let someone's looks distract me from what they really were.
And I remembered what it felt like to stand up on my own.
I smiled—not cocky, but calm—and stepped forward.
"I've got a better idea," I said.
"You follow me."
The hallway went still.
Somewhere, a nerd dropped his juice box in awe.
Sofia's eyes narrowed.
"Sigh. And here I was being nice because you looked so fragile."
Just then, thunderous footsteps echoed behind her.
Jocks.
Reinforcements.
Great.
Because nothing says "healthy confrontation" like backup dancers in football jerseys.
Mara gave my hand a final squeeze and let go.
Toby was still wheezing in the corner like he needed a defibrillator and a juice pouch.
But me?
I just stood there.
Maybe I wasn't the king of the school.
Maybe I wasn't even halfway to being a hero yet.
But I was done being anyone's stepping stone.
You ever have one of those days where the universe seems dead set on turning you into a human punching bag and humiliating you in front of a girl you used to have a crush on?
Yeah.
Welcome to my life.
So there I was, standing in the school hallway like some kind of tragic Shakespearean hero—minus the tights, thank goodness—staring down Derek Holt and his merry band of knuckle-dragging jocks.
They were coming in hot—like a football team mistaking me for the ball.
Derek had that trademark sneer plastered on his face, the one he probably practiced in the mirror every morning before flexing at his reflection.
"Mercer," he said, voice thick with condescension. "Come along and don't make a fuss."
Like I was some lost puppy.
A fragile, socially awkward puppy with unresolved trauma.
Okay, maybe not that far off.
But still.
I stood tall—or at least as tall as someone wearing slightly too-tight jeans can manage—and said the most Evan thing imaginable.
"You have no business commanding me, Derek. Get lost, buffoon."
Yep.
Buffoon.
That word just leapt out of me like a thesaurus with a death wish.
To my utter shock, Derek paused.
His smirk twitched.
For a glorious, brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of doubt in his jock-brain.
Then he burst out laughing.
"Oh, look at this. Mercer grew a spine. How cute."
I could hear Mara's knuckles cracking behind me.
Toby, bless his gadget-loving heart, looked like he was about to faint but still stood his ground.
They were both behind me, literally and emotionally, like the awesome backup team I totally didn't deserve but was endlessly grateful for.
Derek stepped forward, his shadow practically swallowing me whole.
"You think you're better than me, Mercer?"
I met his eyes.
"I don't think I'm better. I know I'm better."
And yeah, my voice might've cracked just a little, but it still counts.
There was a moment—one long, electric pause—where everything felt suspended.
Like the entire school held its breath, waiting for Derek to either explode or implode.
That's when Mara stepped in, her voice like a verbal baseball bat to the face.
"That's enough, Derek. Back off."
Toby caught my eye.
I gave him the tiniest head tilt.
Our secret signal:
Get ready to run like our lives depend on it, which they probably do.
Except…
Toby didn't run.
He stepped up beside me, his voice wobbling but brave.
"We always stand together."
My heart did this weird squishy thing.
You know, the kind of mushy warmth you get from watching dog rescue videos at 2 a.m.
Except this was real and standing right next to me.
Then Mara stepped forward and squared off with Derek like she was ready to punch the entire football team into next week.
"Derek, leave now, or you'll have to answer to me."
Derek's smirk returned.
"As you wish, princess."
He laid a hand on her shoulder like some medieval noble about to issue a duel.
Then—
BAM.
He tried to kick me.
Luckily, I saw it coming.
Asterion's training had started sharpening my reflexes.
I caught the kick with my palms, rolled with the force like a professional stuntman in slow motion, and let out the most Oscar-worthy groan you've ever heard.
To the crowd, it looked like Derek nailed me.
To Derek…
Well, he paused, confused.
Probably wondering why his foot hurt more than I did.
"Did Mercer get stronger?" he muttered under his breath.
Before he could solve the mystery, his gang surged forward, full of testosterone and poor decision-making.
Seven jocks came at me like I was holding the last protein shake on Earth.
And I fought back.
Not well, mind you.
I'm no martial arts master.
But I ducked, weaved, punched—accidentally headbutted someone, ow—and just moved.
It wasn't graceful, but it was something.
A me I didn't know existed started to wake up.
Toby joined the fray.
He got picked up like a sack of potatoes by one guy and kind of just flailed, but it was the intent that mattered.
Mara?
She was already storming in, eyes blazing.
She knelt beside us like a vengeful angel and pointed at Derek like she was delivering a curse.
"DEREK! You'll pay for this, and so will all of you!"
Derek, of course, didn't take that well.
His smirk returned.
"Ooh, I'm shaking. Relax, princess. Unless I break his bones, no one's going to care. I'm the star, and he's just… nothing."
Then he turned to his goons like he'd just won the Super Bowl.
"Thanks, boys. Drinks on me."
Sofia walked past with two girls from her group, tossing her hair like she was a shampoo commercial villain.
"Good work, boys," she said, voice dripping with sass and sarcasm.
And just like that, they were gone.
I lay on the floor, bruised, battered, and oddly satisfied.
Because yeah, they hit me.
Yeah, I lost the fight.
But for once—
I didn't run.
And that felt like a win.
You know how in movies, the hero gets beat up, but they still look cool?
Like, there's blood on their lip and a tear in their sleeve, but they kind of smolder while they stare down the bully and mutter something badass like:
"You hit like my grandma."
Yeah.
That's not what happened here.
I was sprawled out on the cold tile floor of Ravencrest High, tasting dust and probable mop water, and every muscle in my body was holding a tiny, angry protest.
My ribs felt like a xylophone after a particularly aggressive marching band session.
My pride?
Roadkill.
Derek and his gang of walking protein shakes were strutting away like conquering warlords, high-fiving each other over the brutal beatdown they'd just delivered.
The hallway was still buzzing, but people were already moving on—some shaking their heads, others pretending they hadn't seen a thing.
Nobody wanted to get involved.
Classic high school justice:
If you weren't the one bleeding, it wasn't your problem.
I lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what hurt worse—
my body or the truth.
Don't worry—this isn't the part where I cry and eat ice cream in the janitor's closet.
Okay, maybe once.
This time, I felt something shift inside me.
Not a bone—though honestly, close—but something deeper.
That's when his voice spoke up.
"How does it feel to be lower than dirt?"
Asterion.
My irritating, ancient, occasionally insufferable mentor.
And judging by his tone, the easygoing teacher was gone.
This was Sect Head Asterion.
"Do you understand the difference now?"
My ribs ached.
My face was still probably red from Sofia's laughter.
But the worst part?
He was right.
I hated it.
"I don't like it," I answered inside my head.
Then I swallowed what little pride I had left.
"I understand now. I accept you as my master… willingly."
There.
I said it.
Not with fireworks or tearful speeches, but with clenched teeth and pride swallowed so hard I could taste it.
The fog in my mind—the idea that I could charm my way through life, maybe even win Sofia over by being nice—vanished like the last slice of pizza at a sleepover.
She hadn't even looked at me like a person.
To her, I wasn't Evan Mercer.
I was…
Nothing.
And if I was being honest with myself, even Mara and Toby...
They cared, yeah.
But I wanted to become someone capable of standing beside them rather than always needing them to stand in front of me.
"I don't want to see my friends in pain. I don't want to get hurt. I want to live comfortably. I want to help my family."
It sounded selfish laid out like that, but it was the truth.
No flowery speech.
Just raw wants, stripped down.
Asterion was quiet for a moment.
Then:
"You forgot everyone else."
Right.
The people.
I wasn't aiming to be a saint, but…
Maybe I could do better.
Little by little.
"Small steps," Asterion said. "Character isn't something you suddenly acquire. You build it with every decision."
"Can the decisions be less painful?" I asked, hoping for once he'd be nice.
A pause.
Then I could almost hear the smile in his voice.
"You can certainly hope."
Awesome.
Really motivational, Master.
I groaned—physically and emotionally—and muttered a sharp "Shit," loud enough to earn a concerned glance from Mara and Toby.
Mara was kneeling beside me, one hand gently on my shoulder, the other burning holes in Derek's back with her glare.
Toby was fumbling with his glasses, bruised but proud.
They were helping me up.
And I hated needing the help, but also…
I didn't mind.
Because I was going to stand again.
Not just now, but every time after.
Stronger.
Wiser.
Less likely to try and impress people who thought "Mercer" was short for "Doormat."
I was at the bottom, sure.
But I could see the path now.
I didn't have to climb it alone.
I had help.
And maybe, just maybe, the next time Derek tried to put me down, he'd be the one eating linoleum.
If you ever want to ruin a perfectly normal school day, just get pummeled in front of your crush while half the school watches and the other half livestreams it.
Bonus points if your dignity escapes faster than you can blink.
Ten out of ten.
Would not recommend.
But here's the thing no one tells you about humiliation—
it's surprisingly educational.
Like, really enlightening.
Soul-crushingly enlightening.
So there I was, limping home from school with Mara and Toby, clutching my ribs like a Victorian damsel with the vapors, when it hit me:
I might actually have to do something about my life if I didn't want to spend the rest of it as Ravencrest High's official punching bag, supernatural trouble magnet, and sad crush reject.
Yeah.
That revelation hurt more than Derek's elbow.
"Okay," Toby said, adjusting his backpack and holding what I think was a melted smoothie pouch from lunch. "We've officially hit rock bottom."
"Correction," I groaned, dragging my feet. "I hit rock bottom. You two got off with mild social embarrassment and one food tray to the face."
Mara raised an eyebrow, her voice dry.
"Would you like a trophy for Most Tragic Hero?"
"…Yes. Do they make those?"
"No."
Anyway, as we shuffled past Mr. Calder's house—fun fact: he listens to opera loudly at 3 PM like it's his job—I realized something.
Bonding through battles?
Total myth, right?
Something reserved for epic movie montages and dramatic anime fights where everyone's yelling each other's names like it's a Pokémon attack.
But no.
Turns out, dealing with supernatural disasters together, getting beat up together, and watching your mutual friend get emotionally wrecked together?
That does bring people closer.
It's just…
Messier than the movies show.
And maybe we'd never say it out loud—especially Toby, who only does emotions in emoji—but something between us had shifted.
We were tired of being on the defensive.
Of surviving instead of living.
Of being nobodies in a world full of dangerous things.
"We need to get stronger," Mara finally said, voice steady and serious.
Toby nodded.
"I've got like five training apps downloaded already. Also one for smoothies. Just in case."
"Guys," I said, trying not to trip over a very aggressive sidewalk crack, "I'm serious. We can't just hope things get better. I need to get stronger. Not just when Asterion helps me. Me-stronger. Like... hero material. No more trying to coast by or hoping Sofia makes eye contact."
"Honestly," Mara said with a sly smirk, "I'd settle for you not getting launched into a wall by a football player again."
"One step at a time," I muttered.
And I meant it.
Something was waking up inside me—and I don't mean anything supernatural.
No.
This was the kind of inner fire Asterion kept talking about.
He'd said I needed to take ownership of my life.
That character wasn't born overnight—it was forged.
Through mistakes.
Through sweat.
Through eating metaphorical dirt and still standing up.
Honestly, I was kind of into it.
Not the dirt part.
The growth part.
By the time we reached my house, I wasn't limping as much.
My ribs still felt like someone had stirred them with a whisk, but my spirit?
Kinda fired up.
"So… team ghostbusting?" I asked.
Mara grinned.
"Team 'Let's Not Die in High School.'"
Toby raised his smoothie pouch like a goblet.
"To not being pawns!"
I raised my hand.
"To becoming people who punch back."
And just like that, our trio wasn't just a trio anymore.
We were a team.
A slightly bruised, emotionally scarred, under-trained team—
but a team with purpose.
Which, for us, was basically a miracle.
Also, I really need a suit of armor or something.
Just in case Derek decides to go for round two.