The rise of the unorthodox

Hours had passed, and now the final fight of the day was upon us. The tournament had been a breathtaking display of powers, an unflinching reminder of how far we still had to go.

The room buzzed with energy, filled with contestants who had already fought—faces that had pushed themselves to their limits, their powers shining like blazing suns. Yet, despite the tension, the chatter and laughter among us were unmistakably youthful. It was a strange contrast: we were competitors, warriors, but we were still kids.

I sat in the corner, my shoulders sinking into the uncomfortable chair, feeling out of place in this sea of extraordinary people. Strong people. My thoughts trailed into uncertainty. The scene around me blurred as a voice—ancient and piercing—sliced through the noise in my head.

"Girl, wilt thou not acknowledge my presence?"

I froze, my spine stiffening. The voice echoed from nowhere yet everywhere, like it had been waiting in the dark corners of my mind for its chance to speak. I knew the voice well—Bernia. The mysterious presence that had first granted me power.

"Who are you?" I thought back silently, panic bubbling in my chest. "Why are you here?"

Her response was calm, deliberate, and draped in that strange old-time speech, though clearer now than before. "I am Bernia, thy spirit woman. A guide. Thy power is weak for one of thy bloodline—thy training must hasten, or the path before thee will darken."

"Spirit woman? Bloodline?" My confusion tangled into panic. "What are you even talking about?"

Bernia's tone softened, almost motherly, yet still distant. "Ask not now what thou cannot yet bear. In time, all shall unfold. But heed me, girl—do not push thyself so harshly, lest thou falter. Greatness lingers within thee, though thou dost not yet see it."

And then she was gone. The hollow feeling she left in her wake was unnerving, as though someone had ripped a shadow from my soul. I swallowed hard, my breath shaky.

What was happening to me?

I looked around at my peers—talking, laughing, some with bandages or bruises, as if nothing in this world could trouble them. Did they wrestle with voices in their heads too? Did they deal with twisted horns, unnatural eyes, and ghosts who spoke riddles in Shakespearean English?

What makes me so different?

The emptiness gnawed at me, sinking its teeth into my chest. My fingers curled into fists on my lap as I fought to steady myself. I wanted to shout—I'm not special, not like the rest of them!—but the thought stayed locked in my throat.

Then, the voice of the announcer boomed through the arena, yanking me out of my spiral.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The final match of the day is here!"

The chatter ceased. All eyes turned to the field, the energy in the room surging like a rising tide.

From the shadows of the tunnel, Daniel stepped onto the battlefield. His whip coiled loosely at his side, his movements steady but sharp, like a predator sizing up its prey. The crowd erupted, the sound swelling like a wave crashing against stone.

From the opposite side emerged Mathew, his black uniform catching the late sun as he moved with unwavering confidence. His calm expression was almost unnerving, the air around him heavy with power.

It was clear now—this contest had been designed to pit Squad Black against Squad White, blow for blow, fight for fight. Delight was the only exception among us who hadn't faced someone from their ranks today.

As the two fighters squared off, the tension in the arena thickened.

"Welcome to the last show of the day, folks! Introducing Daniel of Squad Black—" the crowd roared—"and Mathew of Squad White!"

The crowd's energy reached a fever pitch, voices blurring into a wall of sound as the fighters prepared themselves. Daniel's eyes narrowed, his whip sliding from his grip with a menacing hiss. Across from him, Mathew stood poised like an unshakable pillar, unblinking.

For the spectators, this was entertainment—a final clash to cap off the day. But to me, as I sat there in silence, it was a reminder of the gap between us. Daniel and Mathew stood tall, unwavering, their confidence shining like armor. I could feel their power from my seat. Real power.

I dug my nails into my palms, an ache spreading through my chest. Somewhere inside me, Bernia's cryptic words echoed. "Thy training must hasten, or the path before thee will darken."

What did she see in me? What did she know?

And why couldn't I see it for myself?

The arena was electric, the energy of the crowd buzzing through the air like an unseen current. Shadows stretched long under the fading sun as Daniel and Mathew stood at opposite ends of the battlefield.

Daniel stood firm, feet planted like roots in the earth. His whip hung coiled at his side, its leather gleaming faintly in the light. His face was an unreadable mask—calm, serious, and unshakable.

Mathew, by contrast, looked loose and relaxed. His thin roll of thread dangled casually between his fingers, almost playful. He tilted his head and flashed a cool smirk, though his eyes glimmered with something darker beneath the surface.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then the announcer's voice boomed through the arena.

"LET THE FINAL BATTLE… BEGIN!"

The instant the words fell, Daniel moved. His leather whip cracked forward, whistling through the air like a serpent seeking its prey. Mathew barely shifted his weight, slipping sideways with alarming grace, the whip grazing just past his shoulder.

"Too slow," Mathew teased, his voice sharp.

Daniel didn't respond. Instead, his hand pulsed with a soft, blue glow. The leather whip in his hand vanished, replaced by an ethereal strand of pulsing energy that hummed dangerously. The crowd gasped as the weapon rippled in his grip, its edges glowing faintly.

"This," Daniel announced coolly, "is my Energy Whip."

Before Mathew could react, Daniel lashed out again, the energy whip slamming into the ground just inches from Mathew's feet. The earth cracked open from the impact, chunks of rock and dust flying into the air. Mathew backpedaled quickly, his cheerful demeanor faltering for just a moment.

"Woah, woah! Okay, maybe you're a little fast," he admitted. Then his grin returned as shadows gathered beneath his feet. "But don't think you're the only one with cool tricks."

The shadows surged upward like living ink, twisting and swirling around his arms before shooting outward to form long, jagged spikes. Mathew's voice rang with excitement.

"This is my Rogue Shadow! Let's see if your fancy blue glow can handle this!"

He thrust his hand forward, and the shadow spikes flew toward Daniel like arrows. Daniel ducked and weaved, his whip moving like an extension of his body to deflect each projectile. But Mathew wasn't done. The shadows darted back toward him, coiling like serpents before solidifying into a massive, clawed hand. It slammed down at Daniel.

Daniel leaped to the side just in time, rolling to his feet. His expression remained calm as he flicked his wrist, the energy whip retracting to his side.

"Not enough," he muttered under his breath. Then the energy shifted again, his weapon's form unraveling. The crowd's cheers swelled as the whip began to morph, its strands twisting and compressing into the shape of a long, glowing sword. The blade pulsed with energy, humming like it held lightning inside.

Daniel raised it, his voice steady and low.

"Morph. Energy Sword."

The moment the name left his lips, Daniel slashed the sword through the air. A crescent wave of pure blue energy erupted from the blade, screaming forward. The ground cracked beneath it, shattering in its wake.

Mathew's eyes widened as the wave bore down on him. "Oh shi—"

He barely managed to dive aside, the wave obliterating a jagged line into the earth where he'd stood. Dust and debris showered the air as Mathew rolled to his feet, his face flushed. The roll of thread in his hands snapped taut, glowing faintly as he unraveled it.

"You're really serious, huh?" Mathew muttered, his voice no longer playful. The shadows at his feet began to writhe and twist, stretching like they had minds of their own. He flicked his thread, and suddenly it shot outward, lashing like hundreds of invisible blades.

Daniel's eyes narrowed, his energy sword flashing as he swung, deflecting the razor-sharp threads. But the threads multiplied, circling him in a net of death.

Mathew's grin spread wider, unnervingly so. "Let's try this one." His voice pitched with giddy excitement.

"Shadow Bind."

The shadows exploded upward like chains, twisting around Daniel's legs and arms before he could react. The crowd gasped as Daniel struggled against the tendrils pulling him toward the ground.

"Not so strict now, are you?" Mathew called out with a laugh, flicking his thread. It coiled into long, needle-like spears, hovering menacingly in the air around him.

But something was off. His voice cracked slightly, and the shadows rippled violently, no longer smooth and controlled. Mathew's breathing grew shallow, his grin too wide.

"Mathew!" Daniel barked, his calm breaking just a little. "What's happening to you?"

Mathew's head jerked upward, his cheerful demeanor twisted into something else—something feral. His eyes darkened, shadow seeping from the corners as if it wanted to devour him whole.

"Why don't you ask him?" Mathew's voice was no longer fully his own. It was layered—one part Mathew's cheerful tone, the other deeper, snarling, monstrous.

The shadow chains tightened around Daniel as Mathew's hands began to shake, thread vibrating with unnatural energy.

"Shadow Puppeteer."

The spears of thread shot forward like missiles, aiming for Daniel's chest.

In an instant, Daniel roared, blue energy bursting from his body in a shockwave. The shadow chains shattered as he swung his sword with brutal precision. His slash sent another wave of energy barreling forward, this time colliding with the shadow spears and erasing them mid-flight.

Mathew staggered backward, the spirit's hold visible now—the shadows licked hungrily at his arms, crawling up his neck like living ink. His grin turned manic.

"MORE! Give me more, Daniel!" Mathew screamed, lunging forward, the thread now a whirlwind of death.

Daniel's jaw clenched. "You're out of control."

Mathew cackled, shadows erupting into monstrous forms behind him—claws, fangs, hands.

"Good. I don't care."

The two clashed again, the battlefield erupting in light and darkness. Daniel's energy sword met Mathew's threads and shadows in a relentless storm of strikes, slashes, and bursts of energy. Each impact sent shockwaves through the arena, cracks spreading across the ground.

Daniel dodged a shadow claw, pivoted, and slashed downward with his sword, releasing another wave of blue energy. Mathew blocked it with a wall of shadows, but the force sent him skidding backward, his feet gouging the earth.

"Mathew!" Daniel shouted. "You need to stop."

Mathew laughed again, the spirit's voice drowning out his own. His movements grew jerky, his thread thrashing without precision, shadows writhing around him like a storm.

"Stop? I haven't even STARTED!"

Daniel's face hardened. He tightened his grip on his sword. Energy pulsed once more as he sprinted forward, light blazing like a beacon against the shadows.

"I'll end this—before you lose yourself completely."

The fight reached its climax, Daniel's glowing strikes tearing through the darkness while Mathew's unraveling shadows clawed desperately at him. Light clashed against dark in a battle that shook the arena to its core.