The Wards of Emberfell

Chapter 8: Miyah

Zain turned the corner into the hallway near the cafeteria, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation with Miyah. As he walked, he noticed her standing near the entrance to the bathroom, her stance assertive and eyes locked onto him with a fiery intensity.

"Hey, Zain!" Miyah called out, her voice echoing off the lockers. "So you finally decided to show up. Thought you'd be too scared to face me."

Zain raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain his composure. "I'm here, aren't I? What's this about?"

Miyah smirked, her gaze narrowing as she took a step forward. "I've heard all about you and your little reputation. Heard you going around saying that I'm a filthy slut."

Before Zain could respond, Miyah's expression shifted. She raised her hand, and a strange, shimmering energy began to ripple from her fingertips. The air around her seemed to thicken, and Zain felt an unsettling sensation as if his skin was being subtly pulled and twisted by an invisible force.

"What the—" Zain began, but his words were cut off as he felt his own skin begin to contort and stretch unnaturally, as though it was being manipulated by some unseen hand. The surface burst as his skin tore apart, blood spraying all over his arm. He screamed in agony, clutching his severed arm.

Miyah grinned, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "I didn't just come here to fight. I came to teach you a lesson. You think you're strong? Let's see how you handle this."

With a sudden burst of movement, Miyah lunged at him. Zain instinctively ducked and sidestepped, narrowly avoiding a swipe aimed at his midsection. The hallway became a blur of motion as they exchanged blows—Zain's punches were met with swift blocks and counters from Miyah. Despite her unusual manipulation powers, Zain matched her with a combination of agility and strength.

The fight escalated quickly, each strike and dodge adding to the intensity. Zain felt his heart race as he tried to predict Miyah's next move, but her unpredictability and skill kept him on edge. Just as he managed to land a solid hit, the sudden sound of a firm, authoritative voice cut through the chaos.

"Enough!"

Both Zain and Miyah froze, turning to see Mr. Thompson, a substitute teacher known for his no-nonsense attitude, standing in the doorway of the cafeteria. His stern gaze swept over them, a mix of annoyance and disbelief in his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mr. Thompson demanded, stepping into the hallway. "This isn't a battleground. Both of you, get to my office. Now."

Miyah glared at Zain, her anger momentarily shifting to frustration at the interruption. "This isn't over."

Zain wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and nodded, his eyes still locked with hers. "I'm counting on it."

As they followed Mr. Thompson down the hallway, the energy of the fight gradually faded, leaving both Zain and Miyah with a sense of unfinished business. The tension between them was palpable, promising that their conflict was far from resolved.

As Mr. Thompson led them down the hallway, Zain could barely concentrate through the throbbing pain and the disorienting rush of adrenaline. Each step felt like a jarring reminder of the injury, and he could feel the black, sticky fluid seeping through the makeshift bandage he hastily wrapped around his arm. Miyah walked ahead of him, her posture rigid and her expression a mix of frustration and defiance.

Mr. Thompson's office was at the far end of the hall, a place usually reserved for disciplinary meetings and administrative matters. The air felt heavier as they approached, and Zain could almost hear the tension crackling between him and Miyah.