Two Weeks After Ansel's Duel with Dominic
"Hah!" Sven called out, a bead of frozen sweat stuck to his temple. Mist spewed from his arm as he jabbed the blunt end of his ice spear toward Ansel's chest. Ice particles blew in the wind, creating a steely chromatic mist that trailed behind the spear like a snake.
Whoosh. Ansel focused his gaze, watching closely as the spear approached. At the exact moment it was about to contact his chest, the world grew darker, as if the color had been partially sucked out of his surroundings.
Feeling the searing pain in his head build up, Ansel knew that he only had a few short seconds to evade Sven's attack. "Hnn," he gritted his teeth, jerking his body to the right—feet sliding across the sand as time returned to normal. The pain in his head subsided, replaced instead by a dull, lingering ache.
Sven, realizing he had failed to hit Ansel, went for another attack. Scrunch! The sand twisted beneath his feet as he suddenly changed the direction of his momentum, aiming another jab toward Ansel's chest.
Ansel scrunched his face up, waiting for Sven's spear once again. 'It's just like I'm dancing... all I have to do is get the timing right,' Ansel thought to himself, clenching his fists as he readied his mind to slow down the flow of time once more.
Whoosh. Ansel stepped to the left. Whoosh. He stepped to the right. Whoosh. He ducked.
Sven's jabbing motions left icy streaks through the air—frigid crystals drifting into the air and refracting the early-morning sunlight. His attacks were picking up pace, but he hadn't managed to hit Ansel even once. 'He's improved so much in only five weeks...' Sven let out a huff of air. 'Which means... I have to do better!'
"Hah!" Sven retracted his javelin, spinning it left to right between his palms. Whiirrrr. The rod of ice left afterimages in its wake as it spun at a terrifying speed, eventually coming to a halt in a horizontal orientation. Crack! Sven smashed the spear against his knee, sending stray shards of ice scattering onto the sand before being absorbed back into the separated halves of the spear.
Spinning his dual short-spears in his hands, a satisfied grin stretched across Sven's lips. "Alright," he breathed out, "...try to keep dodging now, Ansel!" His hands spread out, pointing the blunt ends of the two spears outward beside his legs.
"Gladly!" Ansel smirked, lowering his stance as Sven approached. The dual spears seemed to hum in the air as Sven swung in wide arcs, sending crescent-shaped streaks of ice flying across the training ground.
Ansel was leaning left and right repeatedly, barely dodging Sven's icy attacks. He had to be careful to mind his fingers—as he was actively searching for an opportunity to turn the tide despite the mist slowly surrounding him. Then, a thought crossed his mind. 'Maybe I can bear it... just for a bit.'
Sven bit his lip, bringing both his hands together and bundling up his spears as he aimed a wide arc at Ansel's neck. He dispersed the mist around his body so as not to concentrate the cold around his weapons. 'I don't want to injure him... but I also don't want to lose.'
Whoosh. Sven heard the rush of air, and his eyes widened in shock. Ansel had decided to duck, barely managing to escape contact. 'What's he planning to do from down there?' Sven pondered, beginning to retract his spears.
Just then, Ansel let out a sharp exhale. "Hooh." He closed his eyes, darkening the colors of the world before everything was stripped away. He was back inside his infinite void, accompanied by the ever-present tender humming that caressed his heart. In the vast expanse of nothingness, Ansel couldn't even feel the faintest trace of cold.
"Lotus Style," Ansel opened his eyes, "Resonant Strike!" Just then, his palm shot upward in a diagonal strike, shooting through the icy mist that obscured Sven's body and slamming against his chest with a dull thud.
The ice retracted back into Sven's arm almost immediately as he felt the strength seep from his bones. His twin spears cracked and crumbled, turning into icy ashes that crawled back into his skin. He fell to his knees, digging his fingers into the ground. "Wow..."
Ansel looked down at his own fingertips, which were now tinted a light blue. Letting out a long, exasperated sigh, he fell to the ground, leaning back against the sand with his palms. "Ha..." he panted, "...I think I froze my fingers off. But," he extended a hand toward Sven, "...good match!"
Before Sven had the time to accept Ansel's hand, an angry voice interrupted. "Ansel, you idiot!" It was Cerua, who had been supervising the match. "...Why the hell did you shove your hand directly into Sven's mist? And Sven! Were you trying to freeze Ansel solid?" She huffed, leaning down to inspect Ansel's fingers.
Sven's hand—which was about to shake Ansel's—awkwardly floated in the air as he stammered over his words. "O-oh, my bad..." he gulped, "I guess we just really got into the zone, hehe. You've already gotten so much stronger, Ansel..." His gaze went downcast for a split second.
"Well, whatever..." Cerua pulled Ansel upward, leading him toward the locker room. "...The first thing you have to worry about right now is getting Ansel's hand under some hot water before his fingers literally die."
Clap, clap, clap. The short, sharp sounds cut through the din. Under the Training Ground Beta's entrance archway, a figure was leaning against the wall. His large form was obscured by a heavy gray cloak, and a satisfied expression was etched onto his features. "Wooo!" Donnie cheered. "That was quite a spar!"
Sven quickly rose to his feet, noticing the red '0' embroidered onto the man's left breast. 'He's from Squad Zero... the Capital.' Sven felt his throat go dry. 'Why would anyone from the Capital come to Farrah—and more importantly, why would a member of the Unity Department's elite force come to speak with me? Or...' he slowly turned his gaze toward the locker room, '...maybe he isn't here for me.'
"Hey kid," Donnie took a step forward. "You're Sven Aichinger, right? I have some pretty top-secret stuff I'd like to discuss with you, so it's better if we go somewhere a little bit more... secluded."
"It's pretty secluded over here," Sven narrowed his gaze, quelling his feelings of intimidation. "...What exactly do you want to tell me?" The sound of crunching footsteps rang out from the direction of the locker room as Ansel and Cerua exited back out, walking side by side. They immediately went silent after catching sight of Donnie.
"Well, well..." Donnie grinned. "If it isn't the talk of the town—or should I say, the talk of the academy himself. Ansel Einchalle. I also have something I'd like to discuss with you." Looking between Ansel and Sven, Donnie rubbed his neck. "...Honestly, I've got some pretty sensitive things to talk about, so it'd be best if the girl leaves."
"What? But why..." Ansel began to question Donnie before falling silent. 'The red zero on his cloak... he's a member of the elite squadron. That must mean he wants to talk about something really serious...' Ansel clenched his teeth, throwing an unreadable glance at Cerua.
Cerua, noticing the tension, calmly nodded. "That's fine," she said, already beginning to walk off. "I'll go meet up with Eyra and Rotteger in the cafeteria. You two come by once you're done." She waved behind her back, disappearing through the archway.
Once Cerua was out of range, Donnie crossed his arms behind his neck, slumping against the wall and sitting down in a casual position unbefitting one of the Federation's strongest warriors. "So..." he yawned. "Oh, right. Introductions. I'm Donnie Sempia, big brother to Samson Sempia. He's in your cohort, right?"
"Wait, you're Samson's older brother?" Ansel asked, his eyes slightly widening. 'If this man really is Samson's brother... that must mean he also has the same ability as Samson.'
"Yep," Donnie pushed his arms out of the shroud of his cloak, flexing his muscles. A circular Sanskrit tattoo looped over each bicep—the hallmark of the Sempia family. "Here's the proof if you're still cautious."
"Alright..." Sven slowly lowered himself, crossing his legs and taking a seat opposite Donnie on the sand. "...So why exactly do you want to talk with us alone? Is this about Ansel's ability? Or—"
"Partially." Donnie shrugged. "Look... basically, there's this top-secret mission, and I really need you guys to lend me a hand. Not to mention, young Aichinger, that the livelihood of you and your family depends on the success of the mission."
Sven felt his heart twist upon hearing Donnie's words. He had an inkling suspicion regarding Donnie's visit—and that same suspicion had now been confirmed. "You don't mean that..."
"Yes. Octagon has arrived in Farrah, and we believe he is planning to murder you, and possibly your younger brother as well. You need to comply with us if you want to survive. It's your best, and frankly, your only choice."
Ansel's blood ran cold. 'What? Someone's trying... to kill Sven?' He couldn't seem to accept the thought. Ansel had faced death before during his duel with Dominic, but now that the life of someone he cared for was in direct danger, Ansel realized that fearing for the life of someone precious to you is much more terrifying than fearing for your own life. It was a special type of apprehension that seldom made sense. "A-are you sure?" Ansel chimed in. "...And what's Octagon?"
"What's Octagon, heh?" Donnie chuckled. "...Octagon's the alias of one of the most renowned serial murderers from the Capital. It's no surprise you haven't heard of him, since you're from Farrah, but he has quite the history with your little buddy's family."
Sven's face was completely blank, betraying no emotion. He didn't know what to feel. 'I want to run away...' was the first thought that crossed his mind. He was powerful—no doubt—but the mention of Octagon seemed to drain the last droplets of confidence out of him. "...Can't we just go away again?"
"Go away?" Donnie raised an eyebrow. "Kid, no matter how far you run, he'll catch up to you. I mean, it only took the bastard a few months to find out you weren't staying in the Capital anymore. We have to nip him in the bud now, or else you'll never find peace."
"But..." Sven finally snapped out of his trance, meeting Donnie's gaze. "...Can you really get rid of him for good this time?"
"That all depends on..." Donnie turned his attention to Ansel, "if young Einchalle here agrees to help or not. But, no pressure if—"
"I'll do it." Ansel spoke without thinking. "I'll help."