"Uh... m-me?" Ansel blinked twice, checking behind his shoulders and realizing nobody else besides the two of them were standing in the hallway.
"Pfft, of course you." The boy chuckled, "...so, are you gonna tell me your name, or what?"
"Oh, right. I'm Ansel. Ansel Einchall, it's uh... nice to meet you." Ansel extended a hand, waiting awkwardly as the boy continued to stare at his outstretched palm.
"Dominic," the boy finally grasped Ansel's hand, "Dominic Faye." Dominic released his grip to observe the door to Ansel's dorm. "...So, we're dorm neighbors now, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so..." Ansel trailed off, unsure how to respond to Dominic's comment.
"There's something weird about you," Dominic stated bluntly, "...you weren't there during the entrance exams, were you? I've never seen you before."
"N-no, I wasn't. I was... uh... I didn't need to take the entrance exam." Ansel held Dominic's gaze, remembering Pengal's words from just a few hours ago.
"That right?" Dominic tilted his chin upward, "...alright then. Some of us who met during the exam are heading towards Training Ground Beta to do some sparring. You up, or not?"
"Sparring? Like hitting each other?" Ansel instinctively took a step backward.
"Yeah, that's what sparring is. Come on, no need to act all shy." Dominic started to walk backward, jabbing a thumb towards himself, "You got big bro protecting you, okay?"
Ansel raised an eyebrow, unable to tell if Dominic was teasing him or being genuine. 'Isn't he... the same age as me?'
Ansel followed Dominic en suite. The pair walked side by side out of the dorm wing, out of the academy's main entrance onto the open campus. "The orientation ceremony is at six, so..." Dominic checked his silver wristwatch, "That gives us like, two hours to go and break a sweat. Actually, probably one-and-a-half hours since showering before the ceremony sounds like a good idea."
"I see..." Ansel looked around the campus, eventually spotting a large colosseum-like arena sitting in the distance. "Oh! Is that Training Ground Beta?" Ansel beamed.
"No, that's training ground Alpha. The training grounds here are codenamed by their size. So Alpha would be the biggest, and Epsilon would be the smallest." Dominic stretched his arms as he walked, "...honestly, I don't think Epsilon could even be called a training ground. Fighting there is like practicing combat in a maze."
"Oh... did you really have that much time to explore the campus during the entrance exams?"
"Yeah, the exams took place over the course of a week, so we had plenty of time to go out and talk and run around and stuff." Dominic pointed to a medium-sized open arena, with a floor covered in sand. "That's Training Ground Beta. Come on, and lose the vest."
* * *
A crowd had already formed on the sand. A large group of first years — roughly 25 — had gathered at the arena, ready to engage or watch an unofficial sparring competition. Thirteen students sat on the sidelines, some already nursing snacks.
A girl with black hair, styled into two spiky twin-tails, was at the forefront. Her voice was loud and carried across the entire arena— she was organizing the sparring fixtures.
"Cerua Arless," Dominic pointed to the girl, "...she likes bossing people around. In fact, she organized a whole tournament during the examinations, so she has the brains to back up her bossiness."
"Wow..." Ansel's eyes fixated on Cerua, watching her command the crowd with little to no effort, "She's amazing." Hakim found it difficult to sway the minds of peasants as a councilman. Cerua, despite being a regular student at The Unified Academy, was already commanding her fellow peers.
"Ceruaa!" Dominic called out, "Who am I going against?"
"Dom?" Cerua stopped commanding, parting the crowd as she walked towards Dominic. "You actually showed, huh?" She crossed her arms, "Are you here to show off that ability of yours? The one that was so top-secret, you didn't even let anyone watch your examination?"
"Yeah, that's right." Dominic pointed a finger at Ansel, "...gotta impress the fresh meat." Then, his face twisted into a sneer. "Gotta let them know their place. So what do you say, Ansel? Wanna spar?"
"H-huh? Me?" Ansel's eyes widened, looking between Cerua and Dominic. Cerua had a blank expression on her face, waiting for Ansel's response.
"Come on... you were good enough that you didn't even have to take the entrance exam, right?" Murmurs spread throughout the crowd — both participants and onlookers — as Dominic began to speak, "So come on, let's spar. I want to see what amazing ability you have."
"I—I don't know..." Ansel's fingers twitched nervously by his side. His heart began to beat at a rapid pace. He had practiced combat with Pengal before, but he had never managed to land a hit. And when training with Pengal, he was guaranteed to not get seriously injured. But here, looking at Dominic's twisted smile, and stuck between the expectant gazes of the other students, Ansel realized just how weak he truly was.
"I think my ability is better used for other purposes... not combat." Ansel weakly smiled, defensively waving his arms around.
"Is he saying no?", "coward...", "What's his family name?", "Looks weak..." fragments of sentences began to stir within the air. Ansel kept thinking back to Pengal— to what he said. But practicing ignorance was easier said than done.
"If he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to." Cerua whipped around, not sparing a second glance. "Come on, let's—"
"Just a little spar?" Dominic interrupted, taking a step towards Ansel, "I promise I'll go easy on you. I just want to see your ability in action, that's all. Surely you have at least a little combat training, hm?"
Cerua looked over her shoulder, glaring at Dominic's back.
Dominic was about to take another step towards Ansel, when a heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder. Turning around, Dominic was met by a tall student— easily several heads taller than Dominic. His skin was a tan brown, and his black hair was styled into a crew cut.
A string of letters was tattooed around his forehead— containing an ancient, unreadable message of the ancient language of Sanskrit, a tradition practiced by the Sempia family. "Dominic," he spoke – his deep voice booming, and unbecoming of a fourteen-year-old - "I want to spar with you."
"Hm?" Dominic scoffed, "Buzz off, Samson."
Samson's grip tightened— a single ounce of power away from shattering bone. "Let's spar. Now."
Cerua watched with a happy grin, as the participating students began to clear the fighting ground. It was clear from the insults and jeers hurled by the onlookers— Dominic wasn't very popular himself.
Ansel overheard a student's conversation, "...bastard was the only one who blocked off his exam audience... serves him right to get pummeled by Samson."
Another student countered, "...but we haven't even seen his ability yet... don't you think he might be able to beat Samson?"
"Hehe, get a grip." The first student responded, "There's no way some jerk like Dominic would stand toe-to-toe with a guy like Samson Sempia."
* * *
Ansel quickly took a seat with the rest of the onlookers. Though he wasn't that physically capable himself, he couldn't deny his interest in watching the battle between Samson and Dominic play out.
Looking at Dominic, Ansel thought hard about his intentions. 'Is he my friend... or does he not like me?' That singular thought made its presence heavy in Ansel's head as he watched.
"Take your places!" Cerua shouted from the sidelines.
Ansel and Samson headed to opposite ends of the arena, their eyes never leaving one another.
"Let's have a nice, clean match!" Cerua continued, "Minor injuries are permitted, but no dismembering, maiming, or anything else!"
'Maiming', Ansel's face went pale— thinking back to the time he stabbed Fachil Yoran in the groin. 'How did I even manage to stab him so confidently? Did I really get... weaker?'
"Ready..." Cerua's voice dropped low. The onlookers leaned forward. The tension was palpable, taut as a steel wire... then... snip. It snapped in half.
"START!"
Samson began by extending his arms out, dragging them back as far as he could. Then, like a rubber band being released: CLAP, his hands slammed together. He muttered, just under his breath, "Pravardhayati..."
The Sanskrit tattoo on his forehead began to glow, and the sound of the clap was amplified one-hundred fold. The shockwave became a blur— violently shaking the rafters and creating a small crater on the ground below where the clap itself had taken place.
The shockwave rushed towards Dominic, who went flying back across the ground. He was suspended in the air for a fraction of a second, before rolling across the ground and thumping against the arena's back wall.
"What... was that?" Ansel watched Samson's attack with a wide-eyed expression, his lips parted in sheer awe.
"That's Samson's ability," the girl beside him explained, "Everyone from the Sempia family has broken chords of sound. Apparently they draw their power from some ancient language."
"The one tattooed on his head, right?" A boy spoke up, "That's such a weird ability."
The girl chuckled, "What's even weirder is how every member of the family basically has the same ability. There are so many possible variations with a broken chord of sound... but they all have the same one."
"Well," a boy with glasses spoke up, "Technically, the chord of sound doesn't even exist. Sound is just manipulating air particles, so his ability is some manifestation of the broken chord of actuality."
"Just shut up! It's not like you can see chords with your eyes, anyway. Chords are just a simple explanation for superpowers... you don't even know if they really exist."
"Well, there are some—"
"Be quiet! I-I think Dominic's getting up!"
Dominic pushed himself off the ground, his arms trembling. A thin line of blood trickled from his nose, but he brushed it off with his sleeve. "Wow... that was a good attack, Samson. You really caught me off-guard." Then, Dominic sneered, "...you won't get that lucky again."
Dominic burst forward, seemingly regaining his strength as Samson prepared to snap his fingers.
With every snap, Samson muttered the same phrase. "Pravardhayati, Pravardhayati, Pravardhayati." Three bullet-like bursts of air; amplified versions of his click whizzed through the air towards Dominic.
Dominic ducked and swerved, avoiding the air projectiles as they crashed against the ground and arena walls. A group of onlookers ducked as a projectile embedded itself into the rafters, leaving a small, circular dent.
The glasses-wearing boy brushed the impact crater with a finger. "Compressed air..." he spoke, almost as if he was having some sort of epiphany.
Dominic continued to evade Samson's attacks, circling around the bigger student and advancing towards the center.
Samson gritted his teeth in frustration, before letting out a controlled breath through his nostrils. 'Remember the word. The only word that should be on my mind. My emotions are words. My actions are words. But there can only be one word. One word to take up my being'.
"Pravardhayati." Samson sucked air into his mouth, watching as the gentle stream grew into a vortex— tugging on the fabric of Dominic's dress shirt.
Dominic, seeing the opportunity, began to unbutton his uniform. He threw the dress shirt into the vortex, watching as it was sucked in. Samson realized it too late— the shirt slammed against his face, a portion of it being sucked into his mouth. His throat gagged and he coughed.
With a few simple strides, the now-shirtless Dominic closed the distance to Samson. And then, he readied his fist. "Hiiiiya!" He threw his fist with all his might.
bump.
Dominic's fist hit Samson's gut. Nothing happened. Samson didn't even flinch. Dominic froze in that position, his body awkwardly leaned forward, and his fist resting against Samson's stomach.
Samson ripped the dress shirt out of his mouth, throwing the soggy piece of fabric down onto the ground with disgust. His breath was ragged, and he looked like he was about to blow. That is, until he saw Dominic's fist. "You... punched me?"
Dominic's face was frozen. It looked as if he was still mid-strike.
"I couldn't feel a thing." Samson reached over, exhaling from his nostrils and placing a hand on Dominic's shoulder. "Just accept it, Dominic. I have won this fight."
'What? Is it already over?' Ansel thought to himself, slightly relieved that nobody got seriously hurt. Just seeing Dominic's shirt get sucked into Samson's throat evoked a reaction of disgust from him. The tactic was underhanded, but it was undoubtedly smart. 'Dominic... who really are you?'
"That was disappointing...", "I guess Dominic really is that weak", "I told you! How pathetic!" Laughter and disappointed murmurs began to spread from amongst the onlookers. However, Cerua's face remained contorted in contemplation. Her eyes were watching Dominic's fist.
Dominic punched Samson again. "Hiiiiya!"
bump.
"Hiiiya!"
bump.
"Hiiiiya!"
bump.
"Dominic," Samson sighed, "Just let it go—"
Then, Dominic's fists began to increase their speed. It wasn't anything superhuman, but the speed at which his punches impacted Samson's torso were so fast, his arms were replaced by two skin-colored blurs.
"Ratatatatatatatatata!" Dominic chanted a syllable with each strike, the muscles of his legs tensing up as his flurry continued. Then, with a final punch, "...ta!"
bump.
Samson blinked twice, looking at Dominic in confusion. 'Is he... insane?'
"That was a pretty cool move back there," Dominic sighed, finally straightening up. "It's impressive how you were able to generate that much energy just by snapping your fingers and saying some weird word."
Samson tilted his head to the side, frowning with annoyance. "Just what are you saying?"
Dominic held out his hand, raising his pinky finger. "...want to find out what I can do with just one little finger?" Dominic slowly reached towards Samson's chest— and then, his pinky finger made contact.
At first, all Samson felt was the tiny, minuscule weight of Dominic's little finger against his chest. All he heard was the laughing of the crowd. A rare amused smile broke out across his face. "What are you trying to—"
Samson's face contorted in agony as he felt the wind being knocked out of his lungs. "Hoooh!!" He stumbled back, gasping for air as the crowd went silent. Samson brought his hands to his chest, the veins of his neck bulging as he stumbled towards Dominic, "What did you do!?—"
Just then, Samson felt another invisible impact. His body went flying, thudding against the arena's back wall as his back arched and saliva spurted from his gaping mouth. He was seated against the floor— body limp, and defeated.
"Samson!" Cerua broke from her position, calling out to her injured friend. As she was about to extend her hand to help Samson up, another impact hit him. Then another, and another.
BAM!!! BAM!!! BAM!!! BAM!!! BAM!!! BAM!!! BAM!!! BAM!!!
An invisible flurry of punches pounded against his chest. His body was lifted off the ground by the sheer momentum as saliva drooled out of his broken jaw. His back was repeatedly slammed against the arena's wall, spider-webbing the concrete with cracks as the saliva was dyed red with blood.
BAM!!! BAM!!! BAM!!!
His eyes rolled back in his head, which tilted to the side. When the final invisible punch arrived, Samson dented the wall. An indentation sixty centimeters deep, with cracks running out and spanning the entire perimeter.
He fell to the ground, leaving a bloody shadow stained against the wall— frozen in time. Everyone went silent, including Cerua.
The color drained from Ansel's face as he watched. He couldn't even bear to stand up on his own knees. All eyes were on Dominic, who casually stood at the center of the arena, cocking his head at Samson's bruised body.
"Maybe I went a bit too far."
The other students began to disperse as Cerua rushed over to call an instructor. Ansel stayed still, his gaze focused on Dominic's back. The Faye family were known for their broken chord of strength but... 'What a terrifying power...'