"There are three ways a person can awaken his abilities.
The first is the natural awakening that happens when a person is born. This is the kind of awakening that follows the scientific statement that abilities are hereditary, which means, like every other DNA, they are transferred as traits from a parent to their offspring.
The second method of awakening is the developmental awakening. This awakening happens when someone, the child's DNA gets fucked up and doesn't read their parents' traits at an early period. This is where the late bloomers level begin from. And a developmental awakening happens at a later period of their life when their genes are properly developed.
The last method is quite the most unfortunate. But researchers gave it a cool term. Situational awakening. These sorts of people are also late bloomers, but in this case, their abilities could remain dormant because they've never used them before. An awakening mostly happens, following tremors from life or death situations—"
"Dude." Sancho's arms went up questioningly midair. "Who the fuck are you talking to?"
"The fourth wall residents."
"What fourth wall? What the hell is this fucker talking about?" He pointed his knife at me. "Just shut your crap up and fight me."
He took fast paces towards me, lunging his blade towards my face. I dodged immediately, throwing his other arm off before he could land a punch in my guts. I knew that move, misdirection. And I wasn't just about to let him assume that I was born today.
He arched his knife again. I dodged, stepping backwards and watching for the opening. Then I had it, or at least I thought I did. The moment I reached for his fists, his other hand smashed into my arm.
Fuck. That hurt. But still, I grabbed his wrist regardless, finding just enough time between a second to graze a blow across his chin.
He pulled back, flexing his jaw while holding that demeaning look in his eyes. I couldn't blame him after all. Even after beating ten of his bodyguards, he still wouldn't get a grip that I was now way past being a cripple.
He came at me still, knife still in his hands, swiping at me with that same precision that still resulted in unsuccessful attempts. I could see the anger in the greenish eyes. The recklessness in his movements as he became more desperate to land a hit on me.
"Since when did you begin fighting fair?" I asked him, letting his pass through my face. "Or did you forget how to use your ability?"
His response was aggression. He came at me with a speed he could barely control, hurtling his knife towards me. I grabbed his arm this time, turned backwards, pressed my back against his shoulder and gave him an elbow jab in the guts.
He groaned. The kind of growth that just showed how weak he was in the details. Honestly, I'd first decided to hold back, assuming that behind all the knife swinging, he had something up his sleeve. Turned out, he didn't.
"You could choose a better path. There's studying. With your influence, you could even be a student rep at your school." I said and he crouched, wrapping his hands around his stomach. "But why have you chosen this path instead? Let me guess. To become someone like your brother, Dante?"
"Don't you dare speak his name so casually!" At that last word, Sancho seemed to have been infuriated. He rushed at me, full grip on his blade as he thrusted.
I grabbed his hit, this time not missing a second before knocking it out of his hand. Then I dragged him and threw him to the ground.
"Idiot. Is your brother's name so important that it matters more than what you do with your life?" I asked, my breathing stifled. "So, you're just gonna follow his path because you think he's right to be a gangster—"
"Influence, huh?" Sancho's voice was quiet but piercing, laced somewhere between anger and pain. "What was the influence when my mother died? When they ridiculed my brother and me for having a murderer as a father?"
"..."
"Influence?" He chuckled dryly. "Yeah, right. I had influence. Bad influence. That is what the world always wanted us to be anyway. So, you don't have the right to judge me for my decisions." His voice turned stiffer. Aggressive. "You have no right to tell me who I'm supposed to be!"
Hurriedly, he regained his feet, dumping his knife. As he came at me again, I could see his hands becoming grey with scales. Oh no, I can't let him touch me. Not again.
He swerved completely to the right as he tried to swat. Then, placing a hand on his shoulder, I shoved him towards me and WHACK! landed a clean hit on his face. He went down immediately, barely unconscious, barely alive.
"Here's one thing you don't understand, Sancho." Hopefully, he could still hear me. "If everyone decides to become a result of their bitter past, the world would be a really vengeful place." I quoted, not sure I understood what I'd just said.
"People move on. People change. People reflect. That's how they make better choices in the future." I continued. "And it's this case, it's either you make life happen for you. Or you let life happen to you."
Somewhere between my pep talk, (which really made me self-aware that I was starting to sound like Amelia) Sancho groaned. Almost inaudible, but it was something. Probably an indication that I was torturing him with my words.
Rowan's chair hit against the floor repeatedly, as if to remind me that he was still trapped there. I walked towards him, taking the cloth off his mouth.
"Are you okay?" I asked, but he was just looking at me, his mouth refusing to find words. I glanced at the ropes around his body. "Just hold on, I'll get you out in a—"
"Teach me how to fight." He finally said. Now that was a twist.
"What?"
"I want to learn how to fight from you." His voice became desperate, the loudest I'd ever heard him speak. "Please teach me how to fight."
"Uhhh..."
*****
(External POV)
How long did she plan to eat into her own thoughts?
Something about Serapine Reese had changed in the last few months, but no one could exactly place it. Maybe it was the way she turned from an awkwardly quiet person to an awkward mime. Or that she no longer gave a shit about trying to prove that she deserved her title as the queen of Silvic High.
Seraphine had been mostly invisible. She'd come to school every day but skip classes only to come up here to the rooftop and stare at the same shitty world that'd played a fair game with her and had her on the losing side every time.
First, the judging students of Silvic High, and now...
"Fuck this." She cursed quietly, purple eyes staring out onto the neighbourhood below.
Every time a brush of wind blew past her dark hair, she'd grab a few loose strands and tuck them back into her ear. Then she sighed at the world, exhaustedly— the dark circles around her eyes becoming bolder. Visible.
Sighing again, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a cigarette pack and a lighter. Placing the stick in her mouth, she flicked the lighter. Once. Twice. Harder this time, but it never came on.
"Dang it."
Just as she said that, a hand quickly reached for a cigarette, gently pulling it out of her mouth.
"I told you to quit smoking." Zael's voice came next. There he was. Silky dark blue hair, a pair of eyes she'd waited so long to see. He held her cigarette like an instrument. "You never listen, do you?"
"What about you?" She asked, trying to box in all of the feelings. All of the excitement. She had to anyway. "Did you quit?"
"Of course I did," Zael said, tossing the cigarette down the building. But then again, Seraphine had always been able to see through his lies. "I mean, I stopped for a while."
Sera looked away from him, a completely unconcerned look on her face. At least, she hoped she wasn't wearing a bit of emotion on her face.
Regardless, Zael leaned against the railing, trying to meet her eyes.
"Didn't miss me?" He asked with a smile. "That's too bad, I was missing you badly. I came back early so I could see you as soon as possible."
Sure, if three months counted as a short trip period to him, then he definitely came back early. Otherwise, he could've spent a year too— it didn't really make much of a difference to her.
"Don't get grumpy on me now." Zael must've noticed the judging look on her face. "You know I tried so hard to call, but you kept saying you didn't want to. You ignored my voicemails and never responded to my texts either. What was I supposed to do?" He let that one hang for a while, then continued. "Also, the guys said you've been locking yourself shut from everyone. I know something definitely happened to you."
"Please don't make me talk about it," Seraphine begged.
"Well, I can't just pretend nothing went wrong with you either." He insisted. "Talk to me, Sera."
Sera was quiet for a while. The same way she'd always remain whenever she didn't want to answer a question. But then, Zael wasn't speaking anymore. He was waiting.
Maybe this was her opening after all, after this, his patience probably wouldn't hold out anymore.
"Let's break up, Zael."