Det had done what Calisco asked—as much as it kind of irked him—and kicked baby-face’s ass in a straight-on fight. But, Mount Avalon academy wasn’t just about physical prowess. It was about magic, and he’d had to yield in his first bout because he couldn’t use his. Here, now, it was time to prove he deserved to be part of the accelerated class.

  The ink-black tsunami in front of him would do that. Twenty-feet tall, deep, and wide at the start, it grew with each foot it sped forward. It soaked the sand beneath it as it passed, leaving a dark, muddy mess in an expanding cone from where Det stood.

  By the time it reached the sphere baby-face hid within, the tidal wave was nearly fifty feet in all directions. The crowd was silent. Projection’s eyebrow was up, his mouth was open, but even he wasn’t speaking.

  The shadow stretched across the sphere—and the oblivious man inside—before the wave reached it. Before the wave crashed over it, completely enveloping it in the churning, black water. Not that the sphere was enough to slow the wave. Within seconds, the sandy shield turned soft, muddy, then eroded beneath the pressure. Since it was Det’s magic, he caught a glimpse through the liquid of Aarak’s surprised face before he got pulled along by the current.

  Moving at breakneck speed—like a wave tended to do—the tsunami continued on, not even noticing the slight speed bump it’d rolled over, until it slammed into the arena wall. Nearly seventy feet tall at that point, even the audience was left to look up at the force of nature barrelling down on them. Some threw up their arms to protect themselves. Others stood to run, though there was no way they were getting away in time. Most just gawked, knowing there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop what was coming.

  Nothing they could do, but the same couldn’t be said for the protective features of the arena. A shimmering wall of light materialized at the same time the tidal wave crashed into the arena walls. Thousands of gallons of inky water splashed in all directions, flooding that side of the arena, and slammed Aarak into the wall beneath the pressure.

  The cadet’s body splayed eagle in the middle of the stone wall, crushed there while the wave expended its momentum and force. Blood mixed with the dark water sloshing off to the sides and soaking the sand for hundreds of feet in every direction. It took almost fifteen seconds for the volume of the wave to exhaust itself, and Aarak fell to the ground. He didn’t even get his arms in front of himself before he faceplanted.

  Coughing water out at the impact with the ground, the man was somehow still—impressively—conscious. Every part of him was drenched, but he still put one hand under himself to push up. He couldn’t yield, which meant the fight would continue. Det’s hand tightened around his sword hilt, and he stalked forward.

  Aarak got up to his knees, one hand on the hole Det had torn in his stomach, and the other arm hanging uselessly beside him. His nose was… a mess. Even calling it that was an understatement. It was barely there, and fresh blood was already running down his face, giving him a ghoulish appearance. One eye had swollen shut, and the other wandered, no matter how hard Aarak tried to keep his focus on Det.

  The cadet was as defiant as he could be. He wouldn’t fall over. If Det wanted to finish the fight, he would need to head over there and do it with his own hands.

  If that was what it took…

  A certain ink-bunny beat him to it. The inky-black missile came out of nowhere, streaking across in a dark line to drive a merciless headbutt into the blind side of Aarak’s face. The velocity of the leaping rabbit tore Aarak from his knees, hurling him to the side. At the same time, the rabbit rebounded off, flipping ears-over-tail in the air before landing ten feet back.

  Its legs tensed in preparation of a follow-up attack, but it needn’t have bothered. Baby-face hit the ground and rolled, just once, then stopped on his back. Arms out to either side of him, he lay on his back, looking up at the arena’s ceiling. Except, he wasn’t really looking. Consciousness had fled him as soon as the bunny had struck.

  That was it.

  “What a finish!” Projection’s voice broke through Det’s concentration on the match. “What a finish. For a first year, E-Rank match, did you all see that? I’m sure you did. We have a winner, people! A winner! Let’s hear it for Cadet Det!”

  Silent since the tsunami had appeared, the crowd erupted at that moment. Their roar shook the stadium, vibrating the sand at Det’s feet. Boots stomped while the applause reminded him of standing at the base of a waterfall. It was noisy. Cacophonous. Deafening. It rattled his bones and vibrated his hair. And, oddly, it was for him.

  Det had won matches in fencing and kendo before, but never in front of an audience like this. Definitely not in front of one that had likely suspected to be relatively bored by an E-Rank match. Compared to something B-Rank or above, really, what could he or baby-face have done?

  Then again…

  Det looked in Aarak’s direction. As much as the man annoyed Det, his defiance at the end there was grudgingly respectable. His face had said he wouldn’t have yielded, even if the option was on the table.

  As he watched, Medics came out of the same gate baby-face had originally emerged from, and rushed over to see to his wounds. Det wasn’t going to feel guilty about the beating he gave the man, but after what Weiss had told the group, it was also a relief Aarak hadn’t died. Not that he even could inside the arena, if the protective magics lived up to the rumors.

  More than a few of the spectators in the stands above where Aarak got tended to were clearly clapping for the man’s determination. He’d gotten his ass whooped, no doubt about that, but he’d taken it without complaint or begging. He deserved the applause, to an extent. Assuming he stopped being an ass to Det starting the next day.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then again, getting the snot kicked out of you hardly ever made you more friendly to the person who’d done the kicking. Ah well, if he wanted to keep running his mouth off to Det, he could keep getting his teeth kicked in after.

  Through all the inner reflection, Projection had continued to speak, though Det paid it little mind. Most of what was said was to rile up the crowd, and the ReSouled was good at his job. The clapping continued longer than Det would’ve expected for a first-year match. Long enough he started looking for the exit. Dealing with the ass at the gate was somehow better than all the eyes of the crowd.

  Until, all at once, the clapping suddenly stopped, and every head turned to look at something. Something behind Det, because, of course, that was where it would be.

  Sword still in one hand and shield in the other, Det slowly turned to see what had gotten the crowd’s attention. What he found was another cadet he didn’t recognize. A woman, with short cut hair, and her hands on her hips, close to a pair of dagger hilts. She kind of looked like she was bored, with her foot tapping on the ground. Her eyes, though, locked on Det like he had a bullseye on his chest.

  “What’s this?” Projection asked. “An unannounced cadet has entered the arena. Miss, how can we help you?”

  Det looked at the referee. A question instead of kicking the cadet out? Something was up.

  “I claim the right of revenge,” the woman said. “Now.”

  “The what of what?” Det said. “I don’t even know you, what could you want revenge for?”

  “That guy,” the woman said, pointing in the direction where baby-face was getting attended by the Medics.

  “You want revenge for what happened to Aarak?” Det said.

  “To who?” the woman countered.

  “Aarak…?” Det said slowly.

  “Who’s that?”

  “That guy!” Det said, pointing with his sword to the unconscious man.

  “Oh?” the woman said, tapping her lip. “Yeah, that Aarag guy.”

  “Aarak, with a k,” Det said.

  “You sure? Would sound better with a G. Rolls off the tongue better,” the said.

  “I’m pretty…” Det started, then shook his head and addressed Projection. “Is this right of revenge a real thing?”

  “Very much so,” Projection said, an edge of anticipation running through every section of the arena other than the new cadets. “If she truly has a claim.”

  “Yeah, Aarag,” the woman said. She pointed in case anybody had a question who she was talking about.

  “Aarak,” Det corrected. “Are you his girlfriend or something?”

  “Pfffft, that guy?” the woman scoffed. “I’m so out of his league. Yours too, so don’t get any ideas.”

  “Believe me, I have no idea what’s going on right now,” Det said.

  “What is your claim on revenge?” Projection said, playing along like this was some kind of cheesy wrestling script. “If you’re not in a relationship…? Childhood friends? Siblings? A pact of protection?”

  “Nah,” the woman said. “He lives in my suite.”

  “… that’s it?” Det said. “Do you even know the guy?”

  “He handed me a glass of orange juice, once,” the woman said. “It was warm, but I was running late. Not going to hold that against him.”

  “You met him once over breakfast, and you want revenge on me for beating him?” Det said, trying to make sense of the situation.

  “Yup!” she said, a big smile crossing her face. “So, can we start?” Her hands went to her daggers with a smooth familiarity that made the hair on the back of Det’s neck stand on end.

  “Sir, is that actually…?” Det started.

  “Approved!” Projection said. “The right of revenge has been invoked. Are you all ready for round two?” His call got a roaring reply from the crowd.

  “Hold on,” Det said. “Now? And, don’t I get a say in whether I’m fighting or not?”

  “Right now,” Projection said. “There is no choice but to accept when it comes to the right of revenge. Should she beat you, one of your allies will also have the opportunity to involve the R.O.R. and immediately challenge her.”

  “Please do!” she called out over her shoulder to the gathered cadets. “I’ll take any of ya on.”

  “You’re so sure you’re going to beat me?” Det said, a little annoyed at that. Hadn’t he just put on a good enough show to make her at least a little less confident? By the look on her face, the answer to that question was a resounding no.

  “Nah,” she said. “You’re better than I expected you to be, sure, but, like I said, I’m way out of your league. You’re T-Ball, and I’m major-league. All-star. No offense meant.”

  “Offense taken,” Det said, fingers clenching tighter around his sword’s hilt. His bunny had already faded since it had served its purpose to hurt baby-face, but he had plenty more scrolls where that’d come from. If she wanted to do this, he’d just have to show her it was a mistake.

  “There we have it!” Projection said, voice filling the arena. “Fighters, to your marks!”

  Once again, two glowing, red circles appeared in the sand about fifty feet away from each other. They didn’t look to be in the exact same spots as last time, but that didn’t really matter. Det stepped up to his while he pulled a scroll from his holster. A flick of his thumb popped the seal off, while a snap of his wrist unfurled the scroll, the image hidden from the unnamed woman. Energy moved from his fingers and into the ink, though like before, he didn’t push the last few sparks of magical power into it to manifest the rendition.

  As soon as he did, though, she’d have one very angry honey-badger to help her regret her choice of jumping into the arena.

  Oblivious to the mauling she was about to get, the woman smoothly drew her two daggers, flipping them up and down with casual ease. She didn’t quite juggle them, but something about her natural dexterity said she would have no problem doing just that.

  Okay, she must be a Duelist. Like Captain Simmons and his swords. Those daggers are going to be her magic, or at least the focus of them. Even if I can’t keep my distance, two knives seems like a bad match up against a sword and shield. Not to mention my pet rendition. We can come at her from both sides.

  A plan in mind, Det ignored Projection’s continued banter to hype the crowd, and kept his eyes locked on his opponent. Red changed to yellow in the circle around him, half the countdown already done. His scroll was primed and ready, hanging beneath the shield he lifted up higher to protect his face and body. The sword he cocked back like Tena had trained him, ready to stab the moment he blocked the first strike with his shield.

  Yellow darkened toward green, the woman’s daggers finally finishing their toss-spin-drop-catch-repeat routine, and she slid one foot back in the sand. As Det’s tsunami had faded—its purpose served—the sand had instantly dried, and neither side would have an advantage with footing.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got…” Det mumbled, the circle turning green and then vanishing. The last of his energy needed for the scroll passed into the paper… along with a spinning dagger that cut the dangling scroll in half. “…huh?”

  Det’s mind blanked for half a second as the energy from his manifestation fizzled out, completely wasted, despite the scroll turning to embers. His honey-badger was nowhere to be seen.

  Neither was his opponent.

  Huh again?! Det’s brain added like a commentary, his eyes scanning across the entirely empty arena floor. All around him, the crowd roared and cheered like the fight was already over. That couldn’t be good. Where the hell did she go?

  Somehow, a single voice cut through the clamor to answer that question for him.

  “Det, BEHIND YOU!” Sage’s voice bellowed.