Academia: The House of Lionheart

V

Zerakiel drew his sword with flames bursting out of his scabbard. Minotaurs were known to be murderous bulls averaging eight feet tall. If it were the Lionhearts they were up against, they'd have no trouble cutting them all down. There was a problem with that, however — it didn't seem that they were their objective. Instead, they seemed to be running from something. They weren't filled with bloodlust — they were filled with fear, fighting to survive. It was easy to tell with the look in their eyes.

That wouldn't stop them from trampling the Lionhearts, but they wouldn't try to kill them if they weren't in their way. That's what Zerakiel reasoned, but it was a risky assumption. They had to be ready for battle, even if only two Lionhearts were well-versed in swordsmanship.

No — it was too soon for any of them to see combat. What was he thinking? Zerakiel wouldn't let them draw the blood of sentient creatures this early into their studies, especially considering their age. They were all fifteen — they shouldn't have to kill.

He let his spiritual energy leak into every pore in his skin. Flames spilled into the world around him, shrouding his body in an aura of fire. He had to reach Luna and Serenity, but he wouldn't be able to before the minotaurs if he didn't use his mutated affinity.

His flames grew hotter, then turned to plasma. Lightning bolts shot across his eyes. Electricity discharging from his pores arced around his limbs. He was ready — a blinding flash of light brought the Lionhearts to the ground, and a deafening thunderclap shattered the ears of their enemies. Zerakiel closed the distance between the Lionhearts and their foes in a fraction of a second.

He looked back at the minotaurs who ran past him — they stopped and turned to him, realizing the horrific sight of their comrade lying headless on the ground. This was the job of a peacekeeper of the Academian Coalition. This was the job of a legionnaire of the Legion of Raiders. To exterminate the enemies of mankind, even if it meant ending the lives of sentient beings such as that of minotaurs.

The cadets were not peacekeepers. They were his pupils — his kindred students. They were not to experience the horrors of battle yet. A minotaur flew in a rage, swinging their war hammer ever so slowly — Zerakiel blew past him. With a single lightning strike, it fell to the ground with a scorched wound.

Arrows whizzed past his ears — they landed straight in the eyes of the two beasts standing at his side. Sharpshooters from the western camp ran up to Zerakiel, and he took out the last of the bipedal bulls to lighten their workload.

"Check their bags for their kin," said the peacekeepers.

"Reign," said Zerakiel, calling her over. He rose his sword, then swung it hard towards the ground — excess blood fell to the dirt, and he wiped the rest clean before sheathing his vandril sword. He wondered what she thought as she walked over to him. Was he a monster to her? Peacekeepers might as well have been, considering how they slaughtered anything which scared mankind.

He believed there were other things that made him a monster. Things the Lionhearts didn't know — things the Lionhearts shouldn't know and won't unless absolutely necessary.

"Found one," said one of the peacekeepers, raising a baby minotaur out of the bags of one of the corpses.

"Dibs on its horns," said the other sharpshooter, preparing his knife.

"Wait," said Zerakiel, "We need that child," he pushed Reign closer to them.

"What? Why?" said the peacekeepers. Reign raised her hand, showing her blood-bound contract, "A minotaur?" they were shocked.

"Foedus," said Reign, and the contract was made with the child of minotaurs her master had slain. She took the child into her arms and walked back to the Lionhearts through the battlefield, paying no mind to the blood spilled over the grass.