The Virtues' Magecraft

Page 87: To Each His Own Strength

"Five..." the alarm's voice continued to count down and blare out, emanating from deep within, below, and above the island.

"Four..." Anastasia and Alexander landed in the water, the island shores rocking against them up to their ankles. They let out a groan in unison, although wasting no time with their complaints, and quickly turning to whatever direction they needed to.

"Three..." The rest of the students had finally appeared, each of the chosen ten of the New York branch, landing in the shallow waters of the island's shore. They all stood still and in silence, save for the initial groans that came with their arrival.

"Two..." Alexander steadied himself and forced himself to take a proper, deep breath before he began his race.

"One." Alexander burst forth, without a single regard for the discomfort of his shoes. With his jaw clenched and his mind zooming, he bobbed and weaved past trees and over their roots, forcing his way toward the center of the island.

He didn't waste a single second– having perfected his breathing, his movement, the tension and relaxation of muscles with each motion– stepping faster and faster than even he had expected, forwards until he made it to the center of the island, all the while keeping his energy suppressed so as to not call any attention to himself.

He gently shut his eyes. In the face of that darkness, he was met with dozens of bright lights. Each of them a person, he judged the distance and movement of each student. They all sped around the forest, taking shape into clusters with a brave few drifting inward and outward alone.

One of them moved far faster than the others, and that was the only one dashing nearer to Alexander. That light was far brighter than all others, even brighter than the Virtues behind him.

That must be him, Alexander told himself.

He spun to the side and faced the oncoming attacker. He raised his fist and prepared to guard against anyone and anything, already beginning to count down the seconds until he would arrive. Just five more seconds...

In the next instant, however, a shrill pierced the air. A tree trunk, root and all, had been flung towards Alexander.

The Demon-Born's eyes widened. With no time to dodge, he only braced his fist and cocked it back, launching it forward into the tree. Dirt and dust burst into the air, alongside shards of wood that exploded like shrapnel.

There were no remains of the trunk after that singular hit, although the unfamiliar impact singed Alexander's hand. He recoiled it and gripped his wrist, lifting his head to meet whoever would open a fight by launching a tree with such bold precision.

A fist was all his eyes could behold.

Keith Miller's fist slammed into Alexander's nose and knocked him back, his skull rocking and slamming into a nearby tree.

Alexander's knees buckled, leaving him to fall on his ass, his back still pressed against the tree. He forced his head up to meet his opponent again, and was once more met with the sight of a fist.

The fist pounded into his forehead and sent him back once again.

Alexander forced his eyes open, but after another fist crashed into his face, another into his nose again, another into the right side of his jaw, another into the left side of his jaw, that task proved impossible and futile.

Another fist to his chin. And another to his nose. Again.

After only some seconds of rapid movement, Keith Miller couldn't help himself any longer. He smiled. Blood had already been pounded into his pores, drying on his knuckles and dripping down his finger hairs, but he was nothing short of proud of himself. Not just that, unfortunately, but disappointed in his opponent.