Duels part 3

Luna and Rai stand on the platform, both breathing heavily. Sweat trickles down their faces, matting their hair and dampening their uniforms. The atmosphere is thick with tension, almost as if the air itself has grown dense.

"Why don't you go ahead and give up?" Luna clicks her tongue, visibly annoyed. Ugh, seriously, dodging is all he does, she thinks. The bowstring vibrates as she releases six arrows simultaneously. The arrows strike the ground, causing a fire chain reaction.

Caught off guard, Rai attempts to leap over the flames. However, Luna already has another batch of arrows in the air, connecting the chains and expanding the fire mid-air. Flames lick at Rai, igniting his clothing.

"Oh shit, hey come on, isn't this a bit much?" Rai manages to douse the fire by coating himself in a layer of mana. His eyebrows are singed, and his clothes have seen better days.

"You should always watch your surroundings," Luna retorts, her bowstring going taut once more. A puff of smoke erupts from the previously fired arrows, enveloping Rai. The smokescreen obscures his vision and messes with his senses, making him slightly dizzy.

Seizing the moment, Luna switches bows, her fingers moving with practiced ease. Before Rai knows what's happening, dozens of arrows are unleashed, each heading towards him at a rapid speed.

Damn, I've been told the best girls are the hardest to deal with but what the fuck is this!? Was she holding back!? Rai's eyes widen, his body surging with adrenaline. With a click of his tongue, he taps into a deeper reserve of mana to amplify his speed. His sword moves in blurred arcs, cutting, deflecting, and blocking arrows. The sound of metal meeting wood echoes through the gym, drawing the attention of everyone present.

They're not as strong as the others, but these arrows are fast. Rai realizes, his arm muscles screaming from the exertion. His feet are rooted in place, his movements constrained. He glances at the floor and understands why. Countless arrows lie there, restricting his movement. Was this her plan? I don't really want to hurt her though... what do I do?

Luna grins; her eyes narrow, calculating and cold. This is the moment she has been waiting for, the perfect opportunity to land the decisive blow. She switches her bow one last time. The aura it exudes makes Rai shudder involuntarily.

This is it, Luna thinks. Her eyes lock onto Rai, her fingertips brushing the bowstring ever so gently. With an almost imperceptible motion, she releases a single, radiant arrow aimed straight at his heart.

Rai feels as if time has slowed down. I can't dodge this one, he admits to himself. But just when all seems lost, a flash of inspiration hits him. He can't dodge, but maybe he can catch it.

Summoning every last bit of mana he has left, he coats his sword with it. He steels himself, focuses, and with a somewhat precise movement that comes from countless hours of practice, intercepts the arrow with his sword. The impact sends vibrations down his arms, the force almost causing him to drop his weapon.

"Guess I won't be giving up just yet," Rai manages, his voice trembling but determined.

Luna clenches her fists, her eyes burning with a mix of frustration and newfound respect. "Fine," she says, lowering her bow, "then we'll just have to take this to the next level."

"Next level? What?" Rai's brows furrowed in genuine confusion, his eyes darting from Luna's determined expression to the array of bows she had used. What else could she possibly have in store? If I'm pushed any further, I will undoubtedly retaliate to protect myself. And all this... for what exactly?

Wait a minute, he pondered, eyes widening in realization. There isn't even a prize for this competition. Why am I exhausting myself over something so trivial?

Turning to the sidelines, "Professor Ayla," he began, taking a deep breath, "I forfeit."

Luna's reaction was swift and filled with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "No way!" she exclaimed, visibly agitated. "I've wasted so many good arrows! If you were going to forfeit, you should've done it from the start!" Seriously!? What's wrong with this moron? Arrows aren't cheap, especially the ones for this bow. Luna mentally grumbled, her fingers twitching reflexively, as if itching to draw her bow again.

But Rai's next move left her momentarily speechless. "Let's hang out sometime," he said, turning to Luna with a smile that was almost too confident. "This was fun."

I want to shoot him... should I shoot him? His head is right in front of me. I was starting to get excited, What a fucker. Luna thought, though her own lips twitched upwards in a hint of a twitching smile.

Hehe, I totally got her in the bag, Rai internally gloated, his chest puffing up a little. Rai, you are the best.

Interrupting their brief exchange, Professor Ayla let out a resigned sigh. "Oliver and Eamon, please step onto the platform."

Eamon did so without hesitation. Tall and lean, his build and posture screamed close combat. He eyed his opponent with a hint of exasperation. Ugh, why did I get paired with a support? he mused. Though, could someone who only makes potions truly be labeled as just support? That's what Nyssa claimed Oliver's forte is. Eamon couldn't help but wonder how someone so focused on alchemy planned on engaging in direct combat. Does he really think his potions will win him this match?

But then Oliver stepped forward, and Eamon's prior assumptions faltered. Contrary to his expectations, Oliver wasn't the shy, reserved potion maker. No muscles flexed beneath his uniform, and his gait lacked any hint of a trained fighter's precision. But the look on his face was completely unfamiliar. Oliver is grinning from ear to ear, a playful light dancing in his eyes as he juggles several vials, looking like an eccentric performer on the streets.

-

Just why the hell does Oliver look like that? He seems like he's been eagerly waiting for this moment, and it's unnerving. I take out my Bo staff, spinning it briefly to make sure it's in proper form.

"Hmhmhmhm, hey, why don't you choose one?" Oliver taunts, still juggling those mysterious potions with an unnerving grin. "Come on, I'll let you choose the first one~"

What's his game? Does he think this is funny? Is he hoping to catch me off guard? I sigh, already tired of this charade. "I don't care. Choose whichever potion you wish to use," I say, positioning my staff defensively. I'll let him make the first move. Given that he's not a combatant, I should take it easy on him.

Oliver chuckles softly, finally stopping his juggling act to place the vials back into a bag, keeping just one in hand. "Hey, have you ever seen potions used in battlefields?"

Before I can even respond, Oliver infuses the potion with mana and throws it up into the air. The potion just... freezes. Mid-air, as if time has stopped for it. What sort of potion is that?

Oliver quickly takes out two more potions. He smashes the first one on himself. The second one, he hurls in my direction. I attempt to sidestep it, but the damned thing changes course, tailing me.

Alright, this is getting bizarre. Should I just end this? With a swift motion, I use my Bo staff to shatter the incoming potion from a distance. There's no immediate effect. Was it a dud? Good, let's wrap this up.

Confident that I've neutralized whatever trick Oliver was attempting, I dash towards him. My Bo staff is aimed right for a disabling blow. But just as I'm about to connect, my staff inexplicably falls apart in my hands.

Oliver seizes the moment. As I'm momentarily stunned by my weapon's sudden disintegration, he hurls a couple more potions my way. The first one splashes onto my left arm, which instantly goes numb, as if all nerve endings have been deactivated. The second one gives me an itch that's unlike anything I've ever felt. It starts at my neck, then jumps to my leg, then my back — an insidious, maddening itch that won't stay still.

Oliver's grin widens, a manic gleam in his eyes. "Hmhmhmhm, let's have fun~ I'm just getting started~"

"I apologize for looking down at you; it seems you can without a doubt fight," I say, taking a couple of leaps back. A new Bo staff emerges from my bag. At least I have a spare, I think, eyeing Oliver suspiciously.

I could move my left arm using aura, but it would consume a lot of energy. Better save that for when it's really necessary. But with Oliver grinning like a mad scientist over there, getting close to him seems like a bad idea. He's got his potions out and ready, waiting for me to close the distance.

Screw it, I can't wait forever. I rush toward him again, my grip tightening on my staff. Oliver laughs, tossing yet another potion onto the ground. It shatters, and immediately the platform is coated in a viscous, sticky substance. Dammit, my feet are sinking; each step is a struggle. But Oliver? He's standing there as if the ground beneath him is made of solid gold.

"Did you enjoy the ground? It's made from an adhesive formula I invented," Oliver taunts, throwing another set of potions into the air. I recognize them right away; they look exactly like the fire potions Elara had used earlier.

Enough of this. With an enraged yell, I swing my staff, shattering all the potions in one swift movement. A cloud of dust explodes around me. Gah, what the hell is this? It's as if tiny needles are digging into my skin. Each breath feels like I'm inhaling shards of glass.

Oliver's maddening voice floats through the haze of pain. "Hmhmhmhm, just stop using aura and it won't hurt~"

I grit my teeth. The bastard's not lying. As soon as I halt the flow of my aura, the pain ebbs away, but so does my strength and speed. I can't fight like this. I need to finish this, and fast.

Another series of potions come flying my way. One shatters above my head, releasing an impossibly heavy downpour; I'm drenched in an instant. Another one explodes into a putrid smoke that stings my eyes and clogs my nostrils.

And then a third hits the sticky ground, turning it into a slippery ice rink. Great, now I'm sliding all over the place, trying to keep my balance, arms flailing like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Oliver dashes toward me, for the first time leaving his potion zone, and throws one final vial at me. As it hurtles toward me, it starts to glow an intense bright light.

This is my chance.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, I use a burst of aura to dispel the stickiness around my feet. I lunge forward, my Bo staff smashing the glowing vial back toward Oliver. It shatters above him, dousing him in a radiant liquid.

And then, Oliver stops. For the first time, his grin fades, replaced by a look of confusion and astonishment. He stands there, frozen, as if paralyzed by his own potion.

"I might not understand all your alchemy tricks," I say, approaching cautiously, my Bo staff at the ready, "but I do know one thing: in combat, it's not just about what tricks you have up your sleeve; it's about when and how you use them."

As I take my final step, the smirk on Oliver's face reaches a whole new level of infuriating. At the same time, that frozen potion in the air finally shatters, raining down an odd liquid that lands on the sticky platform. Almost instantly, the weird adhesive changes color and freezes solid.

"Hahahaha, do you think my own potions would work on me? I'm not some damn idiot," Oliver sneers. Before I can break free from the frozen trap beneath me, Oliver goes on a potion-throwing spree.

I raise my staff to block some, try to sidestep others, but it's a losing game. One potion bursts near my face, and instantly my vision blurs in one eye. Another explodes near my arms, and my joints scream in pain whenever I move them. I try to activate my aura to resist whatever hellish mixture is coursing through me, but it feels like I'm about to explode if I do.

Is this a joke? Is this even a match? Why did they pair me up with a bloody alchemist who fights like a damn witch!? My legs falter, and before I know it, I'm on my knees. I can't even forfeit; my voice has been stolen by one of Oliver's nightmarish brews.

Oliver laughs, throwing potions around like they're mere pocket change. More and more effects stack on me — tingling, itching, burning — and I can't keep up. I can't even think straight.

Tears stream down my face, but I don't even care about my pride or composure anymore. All I want is to crawl out of this torture chamber masquerading as a competition platform. My legs are jelly, my hands are trembling, but I need to move.

Every inch forward feels like a marathon. Both Classes have pity on their faces. They never expected this; neither did I. Finally, my trembling hands cross the boundary of the platform. The second I drag myself off, the professor declares the match over. Oliver's laughter is the last thing I hear before I collapse, the tortured heap of what was once a proud warrior.

Oliver takes a moment to admire his handiwork, still grinning like the cat that got the canary. "Hmhmhmhahaha! Combat's not all about swords and spells, my friend. Potions are a battlefield of their own, and it looks like you just got a first-hand lesson in Alchemy 101," he announces, the delight in his voice nauseatingly clear. "Don't feel bad~ you held on longer than most would."