Michael Balogun
I met him during the entrance exams. He seemed like a nice guy.
When it came to fighting, he was light on his feet. No doubt he had serious acrobatics training. But that was it. There wasn't anything special about him. At least, not compared to the people I grew up with. High bar, I know. But it was the only measuring stick I had.
My family had "advised" me to keep the Gods' eyes active throughout the entire examination.
They claimed it was to prevent any unexpected surprises.
Which was total bullshit
They knew perfectly well I could pass without them.
But they didn't just want me to pass, they wanted me to use any means necessary to absolutely destroy the competition
Whether prolonged use of the eyes shredded my brain was apparently a secondary concern.
The most important thing is our family's reputation
And like a good little boy, i did exactly what they wanted
I did the same thing when i fought Blake
A little subtle reminder here, and there was i needed to do
Wait...what was the point of this story again? Oh yeah
Anyways, the not so special Michael turned out to be arguably the most interesting person I've met in his school. Whenever Michael uses his curse....I can't see him with God's eyes
I lose the ability to see the outcomes of certain events. My guess is that it's because he's heavily involved with them
It wasn't really a suprise, though, the previous bearer of the Gods' Eyes left behind volumes of notes. One of them explained the existence of special people shielded from clutches of fate
The book didn't explain why exactly, but it had some guesses. It was either they severed their ties to fate, which was impossible, or....they have already been claimed by something else
Something fate had no Dominion over.
Death
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"Now Isaiah, I know you're mad.Michael held up a hand."But you gotta understand, he's my friend. "
"And for what it's worth... sorry about the whole stabbing-you-in-the-back thing."
"it's not you. It's me,"
He paused.
"Well, actually, it's this shitty armor," Michael says as he glances down at the white armor covering his body.
"I look terrible in white,"
"I can't Relate." Casper said. "I look bloody brilliant."
Michael snorted.
"Yeah.. the color black really brings out your inner dumbass."
"Haha...fuck you"
"Are you two seriously joking right now?" Rand snapped. His eyes never left, Isaiah.
"Don't you think we have obviously bigger problems to deal with?"
He gestured sharply at Isaiah.
Isaiah leaned his head to one side. "Me? I'm actually enjoying their little banter."
He smiled. It was not a warm smile.
"Me? I'm actually enjoying their little banter." Isaiah says
"If they fight half as well as they joke then...I might not kill all of you as quickly as I thought,"
Rand's expression darkened.
Casper simply sighed.
"Kill us?"
He rolled his shoulders.
"Mate, you've got that backward."
His eyes began to glow red.
"The one who's dying here is you."
Isaiah vanished.
The ground beneath him exploded.
One moment, Isaiah stood twenty feet away.
The next, he was already in front of Casper.
Babel stopped mere inches from Casper's throat.
Michael reacted just in time, driving a sharp kick into the blade and knocking it from Isaiah's grasp. The sword spun through the air before burying itself deep into the trunk of a nearby tree.
Casper immediately countered with a punch.
Isaiah slipped to the side only to be met by one of Michael's daggers. He caught the strike on his forearm and redirected it.
The deflected blade shot toward Casper.
Casper barely managed to duck beneath it only for Isaiah's knee to crash into his face.
A sickening crack echoed through the battlefield as Casper was sent reeling.
Without missing a beat, Isaiah drove a punch at Michael.
Michael crossed his arms and blocked, but the impact still blasted him several steps backward. The sheer force rippled through his body, rattling his bones despite the successful guard.
His hand-to-hand combat is insane, Michael thought.
"A little help here, Rand!" Michael shouted.
Rand appeared instantly beside Isaiah, one of his metallic rings already hurtling toward Isaiah's face.
Isaiah bent backward in a flawless vertical lean, the ring slicing harmlessly through the air above him.
The moment his eyes returned forward, he saw Michael descending from above, both feet aimed squarely at his chest with terrifying speed.
Isaiah planted his feet firmly into the earth and braced himself.
Michael's dropkick landed exactly where intended—
But Isaiah didn't move an inch.
"...Oh, shit," Michael muttered.
Before gravity could pull him away, Isaiah caught both of Michael's legs.
With monstrous strength, Isaiah spun in place, swinging Michael around before releasing him.
Michael became a human projectile.
Still dazed from the shattered nose Isaiah had given him moments earlier, Casper never saw him coming.
Michael slammed directly into him, sending both men crashing across the ground.
Isaiah slowly turned toward Rand.
Cold sweat rolled down Rand's face.
Isaiah lunged with a straight punch.
Rand teleported behind him.
Almost instantly, Isaiah pivoted into a spinning elbow.
Rand vanished again.
Another punch.
Another teleport.
A backfist.
Another teleport.
For several relentless seconds, the exchange repeated itself Isaiah's attacks tracking Rand with frightening intensity while Rand survived solely by teleporting away a heartbeat before each devastating blow could connect.
Unfortunately for Rand, Isaiah had begun to notice a pattern in his teleportation.
Rand, whose sole objective had become survival, failed to realize he was repeating the same movements.
Isaiah threw another punch.
As expected, Rand teleported to Isaiah's side.
Only this time, Isaiah's attack never stopped.
The instant Rand reappeared, Isaiah twisted his entire body, redirecting the punch to the exact spot where Rand materialized.
His fist crashed into the side of Rand's face.
The impact launched Rand violently through the air, sending him hurtling deep into the woods before he disappeared among the trees.
"Payback for earlier," Isaiah said calmly.
His attention shifted as an eerie aura suddenly blossomed behind him.
Michael stood engulfed in an absurd amount of curse energy. It poured from his body like a raging inferno, distorting the air around him.
"Augmentation..." Isaiah muttered.
This was no ordinary application of the technique.
The first stage of Augmentation strengthened the user's body by flooding it with energy drawn directly from the soul core. The more essence or curse energy infused into the body, the greater the boost to strength, speed, and durability. The trade-off, however, was immense. Such overwhelming output rapidly depleted the user's reserves.
Isaiah himself was using the first stage, but only with the minimum amount of energy necessary to maintain its effects.
Michael, on the other hand, had abandoned all restraint.
It was reckless... unless he intended to end the fight before the cost caught up with him.
Michael shifted his gaze to Casper.
"I'll get you your opening."
"You'd better make it count."
Casper didn't respond. He simply cracked his knuckles, his eyes never leaving Isaiah.
Isaiah studied Michael for a moment before speaking.
"Are you really willing to go this far for him?"
Michael paused, giving the question genuine thought before answering.
"Like i said before, He's my friend. It's the least I can do."
A faint smile tugged at Isaiah's lips.
"If you'll go this far for a friend..."
He assumed a fighting a stance once more
"...I'd hate to be your enemy."
Michael returned the smile.
"Right now....you are."
Taking a deep breath, Michael exploded forward.
His acceleration was dramatically faster than before, catching even Isaiah slightly off guard.
In an instant, Michael closed the distance and whipped a vicious roundhouse kick toward Isaiah's head.
Isaiah's eyes widened ever so slightly. He barely managed to slip beneath the kick as it ripped through the space where his head had been only a fraction of a second earlier.
Before Isaiah could fully recover from the dodge, Michael was already upon him.
A dagger flashed.
Isaiah snapped his head to the side, the blade grazing his cheek instead of carving through it.
Michael stepped in, driving an elbow toward Isaiah's temple. Isaiah caught it on his forearm and immediately answered with a straight punch.
Michael slipped outside the strike. The punch sliced through empty air as he pivoted behind Isaiah, his dagger thrusting toward the man's kidney.
Isaiah twisted at the last possible moment.
Steel scraped across his side instead of sinking into flesh.
He answered with a spinning backfist.
Michael ducked beneath it.
A sweeping kick followed, forcing Michael to hop over it. Isaiah flowed straight into another punch, but Michael weaved past it and retaliated with another slash.
The forest echoed with the relentless rhythm of fists crashing against forearms and blades slicing through empty air.
To anyone watching, one thing was immediately obvious.
When it came to pure technique, Michael held the advantage.
His movements possessed an almost artistic precision. Every strike flowed effortlessly into the next. Every block became the beginning of another attack, while every dodge naturally transitioned into a counter. Not a single movement was wasted.
Isaiah, however, was no amateur.
Far from it.
His fundamentals were exceptional, but hand-to-hand combat wasn't his greatest strength. It was simply one of many weapons in his arsenal.
The difference between them was subtle, yet impossible to ignore.
Michael possessed superior technique.
Isaiah possessed the superior body.
He was stronger.
Faster.
His reactions were sharper, and his durability was just enough to compensate for the gap in skill.
Whenever Michael carved out the perfect opening, Isaiah's overwhelming athleticism allowed him to escape by the narrowest of margins.
Whenever Isaiah's technique fell short, his physical gifts carried him through.
Neither advantage was enough to overwhelm the other.
For a time, they remained perfectly balanced.
Then, almost imperceptibly, the tide began to shift.
Isaiah's strikes started landing more frequently.
Michael was being forced further onto the defensive.
If this continued...
He would lose.
How Michael had something up his sleeve
The color drained from his body until his skin resembled that of a corpse.
Without warning, he burst forward.
His free hand shot toward Isaiah's face.
Isaiah instinctively raised an arm to parry.
His palm met nothing.
Michael's fist passed straight through his forearm as though it weren't there. It continued harmlessly through Isaiah's head without making contact.
Intangibility.
Isaiah had been expecting Michael to reveal his curse eventually. He knew the attack itself wasn't meant to connect. Michael would become tangible only at the precise instant he intended to strike.
Isaiah didn't hesitate.
Rather than gamble on predicting that moment, he abandoned the exchange entirely, kicking off the ground and retreating in a single bound.
The instant his feet touched the earth again
Michael slammed both palms against the forest floor
"Kill."