Fae

Guy watched as the other, much taller man smacked Jeremy across the Arena with a powerful slap. That single action had been ludicrously gratifying, watching as the massive dickhead was launched with a resounding sound.

Though, Guy knew that it was for naught, nothing more than a fluke shot that'd be paid back a thousandfold, almost literally. The ensuing chaos was just that, chaos. The massive man was beaten to his knees easily, hardly able to defend himself against the almost unending flurry of blows that Jeremy was capable of dishing out.

When the other man had surrendered, Guy had almost been sad. Just a tiny hope that the man would be able to pull off a dramatic return to form and smack Jeremy around like a blow-up doll. Guy sat in the team's seating, a seat away from Trip, who was surprisingly quiet given the impressive display on his part.

Guy had seen Trip go full tentacle monster a few times in training, but not quite to that degree. As much as the other boy was tangentially on his side, Guy wasn't foolish enough to actually believe that Trip would really go out on a limb for him, so they kept their mutual distance from one another. He really didn't want to somehow find himself on the other end of Trip's link.

"Guy." A voice called dangerously from behind the door leading into the waiting room. Guy stiffened, but hastily got up from his seat and rushed into the room, not willing to leave the caller waiting.

Guy entered and saw a perfectly fine Jeremy Baxter, the cold and dangerous expression laden on his face. Usually, the man at least put on a show of malice or hotheadedness, but he was only left with a cold expression today, the signifier for being in a very bad mood.

"You're going out to fight with the scarred-up bitch now," Jeremy said heavily, "If you lose the fight, you'll lose a finger. I don't give a fuck what your lineage is, you aren't one of the High Order, no matter what they say." The other man, seemingly losing the will to even insult the pudgy boy, turned his back on Guy and stalked towards the seating area like a hungry predator.

Guy was used to the insults and treats by now, being bombarded with them most days of the week. Today, it was a little different, what with the fight just around the corner. Guy knew that he'd be expected to walk out into the Arena in little over five minutes from now, then would have to wait another minute until the match started.

Guy pushed his stubby fingers through his brown, curly hair and sighed shakily, trying to calm the nerves that were making him shake more with each moment that passed. He'd never done any actual combat matches before today, unlike the rest of the team which all seemed to be skilled in one aspect of combat or another, having likely be trained by the High Order, or by mor practical means.

Guy had been shocked when the magic link kid had managed to do any damage to Terrence. The Vietnamese man had always been exceptional at ending a fight, mostly by crushing someone easily and quickly—all of the training dummies that Domain had supplied them hadn't lasted long with Terry constantly testing his link on them. Trip had done as well as expected, with most of his link being geared towards stopping someone. Guy couldn't tell what had happened inside the ball of tentacles that Trip had made, but he'd been exceptionally dour afterwards with a dangerous glint in his eye that never meant anything good.

The fight between axe guy and Jeremy had been as expected, not that Guy had been briefed on links of their opponents. In fact, that was what currently mortified Guy most, was the scarred girl having some straight counter to his own link, nullifying anything he could possibly do in the fight and earn him a severely shortened finger.

Guy turned his nervous eyes to the muscled telekinetic sitting in the corner of the waiting room on a mat, meditating. Of course, he'd been healed by the Domain's recommended healer and most of his wound was now diminished to not much more than an angry, red mark emblazoned across his stomach and chest. He tried not to keep his eyes on the exposed wound for long, but his eyes flitted back to it over and over, the faint fear that something similar would happen during his fight growing into a much larger mountain over the course of only a few seconds.

Guy sat on a wooden bench, staring at nothing as his mind was consumed by the anxiety. Though Guy kept a strange rationality through it all, a small part of his brain capable of ticking lick clockwork in an orderly fashion, despite the racket that surrounded it.

That internal timer managed to alert Guy that he needed to move out into the Arena and his body responded as if on autopilot. The miasma of anxiousness only began to recede from his mind when his shoe touched the much harder, claylike surface that the starting plates were made from.

In an instant, Guy blushed with embarrassment, only just realising that he still had his shoes on. With shaking hands, he weakly untied the shoelaces of both shoes and tried to slip his sockless foot out of the tight-fitting prison.

As Guy struggled to get his foot from his shoe, he glanced up at the other starting spot and saw a set of green eyes staring back, watching as he shimmied uncomfortably to try and rid himself of his shoes. The moment of surprise made Guy yelp and fall onto his ass, coinciding almost perfectly with a wave of shame as he realised that far more than just his opponent was watching him.

His mind was overrun by the distilled moment of full-bodied cringe that purveyed almost anyone that was watching. Guy wished, at that moment, that a convenient gunshot would ring out and the piece of lead would be meant just for him.

With a little bit of internal willpower, he managed to take off his shoes, placing them just beside the starting plate. He rose from his sitting position with a furious blush running from his cheeks and down his neck and even onto his chest.

Guy kept his eyes off the crowd, which he was sure held a few mocking glances, though he was able to make eye contact with his opponent who seemed decidedly unperturbed by the veritable comedy act that Guy had become.

Soon enough, Guy found himself unable to pull away from her gaze and its intensity, wrapping him in a blanket and isolating him ever so slightly from the outside world. He was enraptured for reasons almost beyond his own understanding. All that he could possibly put together in that moment was that she was extraordinarily beautiful.

It was a strange, surreal beauty, something that would feel distinctly out of place amongst a list of 'the most beautiful people alive'. She certainly had some of the traits that lent her a beautiful facial structure, but there was more there, hiding behind the classical form. It was almost the same as his own mother's beauty, in a roundabout way, though hers was even more intense. Looking into his opponent's eyes was like looking into a flawed gemstone and turning it in your fingers, seeing the light dance and refract in ways it never could if it were 'perfect'.

Guy was almost shocked when the first countdown beeps began having somehow missed Domain's announcement, his own trainer's voice blending into the background noise of his mind. Guy focused his mind elsewhere, half-heartedly preparing himself for whatever may come after that final beep sounds. He lowered his stance, standing in a wide legged and extremely stable position as his eyes tried to focus more on the rest of her body, rather than her eyes.

It was by the seventh beep that his opponent also changed her stance somewhat, stiffening to prepare herself to retreat from anything he tried to throw at her—a stance that Guy was more than accustomed to throughout his less than stellar training.

The final, long beep sounded, and Guy forced his sluggish mind to utilise his link and the effect was immediate.

Guy could feel as his toes scrunched in the light dusting of sand over top of the hard, clay-like material that made up the starting plate both he and his opponent stood on. His link sparked to life, almost hungry to be used, the spark travelling down his legs and into the skin of his feet, making contact with the material below.

With an uncomfortable feeling, his body began to change rapidly, feeling almost as if something was overtaking his body, like a million ants climbing across his skin—each making their own winding path for the others to follow and branch from. Within only moments, Guy found that his skin had been entirely changed into the hard material below his feet, the deeper flesh beginning to change as well but at a slower pace, something that he could only barely consciously effect.

However, Guy didn't have the time to take control of his link, whipping his head up to keep his eyes on his opponent's movements, preparing for the inevitable strike.

Yet that strike never came.

In fact, his opponent had even relaxed her stance, just staring idly at the last of his skin transforming into the material, even his hair becoming stiff and hardened as it transformed with ease. Guy knew that in this sort of situation, he should be even more alert than usual—the likelihood that his opponent needed time to set up an attack or to charge up a powerful blow of some kind was exponentially growing the longer that 'nothing' happened.

Yet, Guy couldn't force himself to be on alert. He checked himself over for mind controlling abilities, going through the checklist for a compromised mental state, but found himself clean of any sign. He could remember his name, birthdate, family member's names and faces, he wasn't unduly attracted to the woman, or showing any signs of infatuation. Yet Guy could feel his muscles relax as he stared at the woman across from him.

"You aren't the same." The sudden words made Guy jolt, though the contact he had with the starting plate stopped him from moving too much.

"What?" Guy said, suspicion evident in his voice. He was waiting for the moment that his opponent would burst forwards and pummel into his hardened body, or throw him around with telekinesis, but Guy was cursed to wait for an attack to come, the overwhelming downside of his own link.

"You are different than your team." The cool voice wafted through the climate-controlled air of the Arena. Guy found himself even more confused as he looked into the woman's face, trying desperately to find some ploy or trick to the words.

"I'd hope not." He replied stonily, still not giving the girl anything to work with just yet. In fact, he shouldn't even be talking to her, lest talking to her is a condition for her link to work. But when his eyes met hers, he found himself swimming in them like a soothing pool, cool against his battered and bruised skin.

"They are predators." Guy's lips quivered at the word. Predator. It was as if she had pulled the mundane word from deep within his mind.

"I don't have a choice." He said, despite her never asking, and she nodded quietly, the mess of dark brown hair brushing against her lightly darkened skin. It was such a simple response, but there was nothing extraneous to it. The simplicity of it was overwhelmingly refreshing to Guy, the total lack of barbs in her demeanour made him feel like he was talking to some human.

"We don't either." Her voice was soft even if her eyes were somehow like jade disks. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, the sudden connection in the most unlikely place had sent Guy into a strange whirl of emotional states.

"I can't not fight you." He said finally, feeling a small tearing sensation in his chest as he said them. The woman nodded again, but still didn't move to attack. They gazed at each other for many more moments before she let her voice be heard again.

"I can't fight." Guy scrunched his brows.

"At all?" She nodded, leaving Guy with a mind set into a flurry of clashing emotions. She couldn't fight, so she wouldn't go after him, and he couldn't go after her at all. Guy looked down at his feet mournfully, finding them attached powerfully to the clay-like material below. Anchoring was what he called it. He was able to attach himself to something he could stand on, and his body would quickly become whatever that material was, no matter what.

"Do we… just stand here?" Guy asked, but barely even received a facial response from the girl opposite him. The seconds passed with a befuddling slowness, staring at his opponent for any hidden motives she might be waiting to spring on him, but nothing changed. All of a sudden, there was a long beep, signalling when you could formally surrender, the cruel rules keeping someone within a losing match for at least a minute.

"I surrender." The quiet voice called simply, waiting for the resounding boom of the other trainer's voice, the one that Guy didn't know the name to. Guy understood that it was really the girl's only option, seeing as she could fight, and he couldn't move, but it was still baffling.

The voice of his opponent's trainer resounded throughout the Arena, signalling the end of the match and his 'victory'. The girl quickly turned on her heel and began to walk back towards her own team's waiting room.

"Wait!" Guy called out as he unanchored himself from the ground, taking a few steps as the heavy material he was made of thumped against the soft sand. "What's your name?"

"Mirah." The girl said without turning to face him, continuing her walk away from him.

"I'm Guy!" He yelled, just loud enough that he was sure she could hear him, though she made no gesture that she had. He watched as she quickly made it to the door of her waiting room and disappeared within, leaving Guy to live within his tumultuous mind.

Guy began to walk back to his own waiting room, the heavy steps slowly becoming lighter as the material his skin and flesh had formed into returned to their natural state instead.

In a strange way, Guy felt as though he'd somehow met a creature of legend, a mythical being as incomprehensible to the human mind as the laws of the universe were. She had said only a few words but had wrapped him in a whirlwind of emotion with them, all the while soothing him with her indescribable eyes.

If someone told him that she was the daughter of Fae, the indescribable, wish-granting being that roamed the Scandinavian mountain ranges, he'd almost believe them. Almost. It'd be a terrifying day for humanity to know a second Fae walked the earth, only a sure sign that the end was drawing nearer than their darkest anxieties had feared.

Guy could only hope that she was as placid as she seemed, with a distinct lack of a need to seek someone out and ask; 'What is your deepest desire?'