FACULTY OF LAW— The Third Hall — 11:30 PM
The fire arrow came without warning.
Not shaped like an arrow—no bow, no draw. Just a spear of condensed flame, hurled from Ruese's palm, crossing the room faster than thought. David threw himself sideways. Faith burst—green explosion from his feet—launching him out of the trajectory. The arrow punched through the wall behind him, leaving a smoking hole.
Too close.
David rolled, came up low, scanning. The Emperor stood fifty feet away, his afro flowing like a torch, his orange patterns pulsing with every heartbeat. Heat Aura rippled off him in visible waves—the air shimmering, the floor blackening, the very oxygen struggling to survive.
"You dodged," the Emperor said. "Good. I'd hate for this to end quickly."
David didn't answer. His eyes found a broken chair leg on the floor—wood, splintered, useless. He picked it up. Poured Faith into it. Imbued.
The wood glowed green.
He threw it.
Not at Ruese—past him. A distraction. As the chair leg sailed through the air, David exploded forward. Faith burst—green light erupting from his feet, propelling him across the room in a heartbeat. The world blurred. Wind screamed past his ears.
He closed the distance.
And the Heat Aura hit.
It was like running into a wall. Not force—temperature. The air itself was an oven. His skin reddened. His eyes watered. His lungs rejected the air. He skidded to a stop, still twenty feet away, already burning.
Can't get closer. Not like this.
"Page 12."
A clone manifested—green-ink, identical, expendable. David sent it forward. The clone took three steps before it ignited—flames crawling up its legs, its torso, its face. It dissolved before it reached Ruese.
The Emperor laughed.
"You can't bypass the heat barrier without burning, boy. You're not fast enough. Not strong enough. Not anything enough."
David didn't answer. He was already moving.
Ruese raised his hands.
Two small spheres of compressed heat and fire formed in his palms—dense, pulsing, wrong. They weren't projectiles. They were seeds.
He threw one.
David dodged—Faith burst left, felt the heat graze his shoulder, kept moving. The sphere flew past him, hit the wall behind him, and stuck. Didn't explode. Just... waited.
The second sphere came faster.
David couldn't dodge.
It exploded in his face.
The world went white—not light, but heat. His skin blistered. His eyes screamed. His mouth filled with the taste of ash. He threw his hands up—not to block, to summon.
"Page 12."
A clone materialized directly in front of him, taking the rest of the blast. The clone dissolved. David dropped to one knee, gasping, his face raw, his eyebrows gone, his lips cracked.
First lesson: don't get hit.
He stood.
Two more clones. Imbued. Green light wrapped around their bodies, reinforcing their durability, their speed, their purpose. They shot forward—not at Ruese, around him. Flanking.
David followed.
Faith burst. Green explosion. He closed the distance while the clones drew the Emperor's attention. His right hand was already spinning—green light condensing, compressing, spiraling.
Spiral.
Not an orb yet. Just potential. Just pressure.
The clones reached Ruese. One grabbed his left arm. The other his right. They burned—their hands smoking, their arms blackening—but they held.
David slammed the Spiral into Ruese's chest.
The detonation was local. Not an explosion—a completion. Green light erupted from the point of impact, spreading through Ruese's torso like cracks in glass. The Emperor screamed—not in pain, in surprise.
David jolted backward, pushed by the recoil, his hand smoking, his arm numb.
"First blood," he said.
The first sphere—the one that had hit the wall—returned.
It curved through the air, silent, inevitable, and detonated at David's back.
He was reinforced. His Faith absorbed most of it. But "most" wasn't "all." His back shredded. His clothes burned. Blood ran down his legs.
He didn't fall.
"Clever," the Emperor said. "You have determination. I'll give you that. But you'll fall short. You can't bypass the heat barrier without burning up."
David looked at him.
Then he glowed.
Not from his hands. From his chest. From his eyes. From everywhere.
"Everliving."
Green light flooded the room.
Not a beam. Not an orb. An invasion. The Emperor's flames dimmed. His Heat Aura flickered. His eyes—both pairs, human and ancient—squeezed shut.
For one second, Ruese was blind.
David moved.
"Page 42."
The elephant manifested. Massive. Grey-green. Its trunk aimed at the floor between them.
Water.
The floor cratered—collapsed under the sudden weight of a thousand gallons. The elephant disappeared. In its place: a bowl of steaming, churning water. The elephant's parting gift.
David dove in.
The water was hot—boiling, nearly. His reinforcement protected him. Barely. He moved through it like a fish, his body screaming, his lungs burning. His right hand was already spinning.
Spiral.
Two clones manifested beside him—not above, in the water. They swam with him, flanking, protecting.
Ruese stood at the edge of the crater, his vision clearing, his flames rekindling.
David exploded from the water.
The clones struck first—one low, one high. Ruese blocked, burned, adapted. But David was already there.
The Spiral connected with Ruese's abdomen.
Ruese's body cracked. Green light spiderwebbed across his stomach. He doubled over—then grabbed.
His fingers closed around David's wrist.
"Ignition."
The water around them evaporated.
Not slowly. Instantly. The crater became a steam pit. David's arm caught fire—not his sleeve, his arm. The skin blackened. The muscle beneath sizzled.
He focused.
Reinforcement. Hold. Survive.
A clone popped out of the steam—wild, desperate, unplanned. It kicked Ruese in the jaw.
The Emperor's head snapped back. His grip loosened. David ripped his arm free.
His arm was charred. Muscle and bone visible. The smell was something he would never forget.
They both left the crater.
David launched a clone.
Not at Ruese—past him. Ruese dodged, turned to track it—
Another clone appeared at his back.
Page 12. Two at once.
The second clone pushed the first—redirecting its momentum, increasing its speed. The first clone wheeled in mid-air and crashed into Ruese's chest.
The Emperor flew backward.
Back into the crater.
"Page 52."
David activated the third page.
The crater filled.
Not with water—with a pool. Fifty feet deep. Cooled. Sustained. The water was clear, cold, alive. Cooling machines hummed somewhere in the construct, fighting the Emperor's heat, keeping the temperature survivable.
Swimming goggles manifested over David's eyes. An oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. A water jet pack on his back.
He dove.
Ruese sank.
His flames hissed. Steam exploded. The cooling machines whirred, fighting back, keeping the water from boiling. The Emperor's Heat Aura was nullified—not gone, but contained.
David moved.
The jet pack propelled him forward—fast, silent, precise. He reached Ruese in seconds. His fist—reinforced, angry—connected with Ruese's jaw. Then his chest. Then his jaw again.
Ruese tried to block. Too slow. Underwater, his flames were useless. His Heat Aura was a whisper. He was human.
"You're—"
David's knee buried itself in Ruese's stomach.
The Emperor choked—water flooding his mouth, his lungs. His body convulsed.
But the Emperor was ancient.
He adapted.
His fighting style shifted—not fire, hand-to-hand. He block David's next punch. Countered. His fist connected with David's ribs. David gasped—bubbles streaming from his mask.
"You're good," the Emperor said, his voice distorted underwater. "But your faith is draining. Can you feel it?"
David could.
The pool was heavy. Sustaining it was costing him. Every second was borrowed time.
He loaded another Spiral.
Ruese saw it coming. Tried to dodge. Too slow.
The Spiral connected with his face.
His nose broke. His lip split. His flames guttered.
"That—"
The pool dissolved.
Water vanished. Cooling machines disappeared. Swimming equipment too. Page 52's construct evaporated like it had never been.
David and Ruese fell onto the wet ground, gasping, steaming, exhausted.
The Emperor's Heat Aura was gone. Not weakened—absent. The pool had taken everything from him.
But David's Faith was empty too.
"No barrier," the Emperor observed, pushing himself up. "No pool. No elephant. No eagle. Just your fists and a few clones."
He stood.
"You have a good gift, boy. But you're too incompetent to make it great."
David stood.
"Maybe."
He reinforced his body. The last of his Faith.
"But I'm still standing."
David leaped.
Not at Ruese—out of the crater. He landed on the edge, turned, watched.
The Emperor followed.
His leap was slower. His flames were dim. He was tired.
David hit him with a Blinding Light—not to damage, to blind. Green flash. Ruese's hands came up to his eyes.
A clone grabbed the Emperor's arm.
Not to hold—to spin. It twisted, using Ruese's momentum against him, dragging him off balance.
The light dispersed.
Ruese's vision cleared.
The eagle was already there.
"Page 42."
The eagle—massive, green-ink, its talons extended—struck Ruese in the chest. The impact was catastrophic. Half of Ruese's upper body disintegrated—not burned, torn. His left arm. His left shoulder. Part of his ribcage.
He fell.
Blood poured from the wound—not flame, not smoke. Blood.
"Regenerate," the Emperor hissed. "Regenerate—"
Ruese's body began to knit. Slowly. Painfully. The Emperor was forcing it.
David didn't wait.
He pushed Ruese back into the crater—the empty crater, the one with only residue water from the elephant's earlier flood. Ruese splashed into the shallow puddle, his regeneration stuttering, his body struggling.
David picked up a chair leg.
He jumped.
He landed beside Ruese, the makeshift stake raised.
"Page 12."
One last clone. It held Ruese down.
David drove the chair leg into Ruese's heart.
Ruese's body convulsed.
His flames died.
His orange patterns faded.
The water around him evaporated—one final pulse of heat, one last act of defiance.
Then nothing.
David stood over him, breathing hard, his arm charred, his back shredded, his face raw. He looked down at the boy—the man—the thing—that had burned his friend, his girlfriend, his campus.
"Which one is it now?" David asked. His voice was hoarse. "The boy or the phobia?"
The boy's lips moved.
"The boy," he whispered.
"What's your name?"
A tear slid down Ruese's cheek—the first one David had ever seen him shed.
"My name... is Ruese Ame."
David knelt beside him.
"You're going to die soon."
"I know."
"Ask for forgiveness. From God. You may not deserve it but ask anyways. That's all I can tell you."
Ruese's lips moved—a prayer, silent, desperate, real.
David looked at the crater walls. At the smoke still rising. At the body of the boy who had burned everything.
"Tears will be shed for the lives you took in this school," David said. "But I forgive you."
Ruese's eyes closed.
His chest stopped moving.
David fainted beside him.