The Essence Flow

Chapter 146: Already Begun

The vibration pulsed against Elliot's face just as Towan approached. He reached up, fingertips brushing the smooth ceramic surface where the magic hummed beneath his touch.

"Guess it's my turn," he said, rolling his shoulders in a loose, practiced motion.

Towan's masked head tilted in acknowledgment. "Good luck." A pause, then the familiar smirk evident in his voice. "Doubt you'll need it."

The platform felt solid beneath Elliot's boots as he stepped up, facing another blank-masked opponent across the marked circle. Their posture gave nothing away - just another faceless student among dozens.

Until Kaelin's voice cut through the murmuring crowd. "Take off your mask."

Elliot's fingers found the edges of his mask. (So I'm the defender huh.) The ceramic lifted away with a faint whisper of displaced air, revealing his calm expression to the arena.

Across from him, the masked figure stiffened almost imperceptibly - a slight hitch in their breathing, shoulders tensing for just a heartbeat before forcing relaxation.

"Start when you're ready," Kaelin instructed, her gaze flicking between them.

Behind the featureless white shell, Alira's thoughts raced. (Really? I had to get against Elliot?) Her fingers flexed at her sides, already calculating the impossible odds. The platform suddenly felt much smaller than it had a moment ago.

(One chance. That’s all I get before he figures me out.)

Alira began circling, each deliberate step leaving smoldering footprints that pulsed like dying stars against the platform—embers glowing crimson for one breath before fading into smoke. Her masked face gave nothing away, but the heat distortion wavering around her clenched fists betrayed her building power.

Elliot remained motionless at the center, his gaze tracking her like a hawk studying strange prey. (What kind of show are you trying to put on?) The question coiled in his mind just as she struck.

Her leg arced in a blazing sweep, forcing Elliot to vault backward—but before his feet even touched ground, Alira was already upon him. Her palms struck like serpent fangs, each impact releasing concentrated jets of blue-white flame aimed with surgical precision at nerve clusters and weak points. The air itself screamed as it superheated around her strikes.

(So a fire user, huh?) Elliot’s mind raced even as his body reacted—twisting aside from a jet aimed at his temple, deflecting another with a forearm block that left his sleeve smoking. The possibilities narrowed with each attack: Lethal precision. Theatrical footwork. And those ember traps—

His heel landed on one of the fading footprints.

“Oh no…”

The world erupted.

BOOM

A column of fire swallowed Elliot whole as the dormant ember detonated, the concussive blast rattling the platform stones beneath them. Through the inferno, Alira’s masked silhouette stood poised, fists still raised—waiting to see what would emerge from the flames.

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(Did I... get him?)

The thought hung suspended as the inferno dissipated in writhing smoke tendrils. Alira's chest rose and fell rapidly behind her mask, her eyes straining through the haze—

—when the air cracked.

A blur of motion. Elliot materialized from the smoke like a specter—uniform charred black along one side, the scent of scorched fabric clinging to him. His fist cut through the ashen air straight for her mask.

Alira's arms snapped up in a cross-block just in time. The impact shuddered through her bones. Instinct took over—her counterpunch lashed out even as she backpedaled, flames licking at her knuckles.

They separated in unison, boots skidding across the scorch-marked platform. Elliot stood revealed in the aftermath—half his clothing darkened by fire damage, but the skin beneath only lightly reddened. A faint shimmer of protective essentia still dissipated around his forearms like dying embers.

"Time's up." Kaelin's announcement sliced through the tension.

Elliot blinked. "Already?" Smoke curled from his singed sleeve as he gestured to the barely-started match.

In order to not reveal who the masked person is, Kaelin simply pointed at her and said “The fight started with the walk”

A beat of silence.

"Oh." Elliot's shoulders slumped slightly, the adrenaline leaving him all at once. Across from him, Alira's mask tilted in what could only be smug satisfaction.

Elliot stepped off the platform, the scent of smoldering fabric still clinging to his damaged uniform. Towan leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, his smirk visible even beneath the mask.

"You lost, dude," he said, the teasing tone dripping from every syllable.

Elliot ran a hand through his soot-streaked hair. "What? No way."

Towan pushed off the pillar, gesturing to the scorch marks still glowing faintly on the combat platform. "Well, you got hit," he pointed at Elliot's burnt sleeve, "and mystery fighter over there didn't take a scratch." His finger swung toward the masked Alira, still standing victorious on the stage.

Elliot opened his mouth, then closed it. The annoying part was Towan wasn't wrong. His shoulders slumped in silent concession.

On the platform, Alira's masked gaze followed Elliot's retreating form. (Even though he fell for my trap...) Her fingers flexed at her sides, remembering the instant his essentia shield had flared to life. (He still reacted fast enough to mitigate it.) The realization settled heavily in her chest. (I need to work on the activation time.)

Around them, the arena buzzed with murmured reactions, the scent of ozone and burnt cloth hanging thick in the air. Alira turned away, already mentally rehearsing how to shave milliseconds off her next attack sequence.

The remaining matches passed in a whirlwind of combat prowess—Sylra's hand becoming a silver blur as she dropped her opponent with a single, surgical feint; Deyar's massive form plowing through magical shields like parchment; Jyn's three-strike victory that left the air crackling with ozone and the scent of singed cloth.

As the last echoes of clashing essentia faded, Professor Khalvar's voice boomed across the training hall:

"Good job, everyone. You may remove your masks now."

A collective sigh rippled through the students as fingers reached for featureless white ceramic. The masks came away to reveal flushed faces, sweat-slicked hair, and expressions ranging from triumph to thoughtful contemplation.

One student held up their mask hopefully. "Can we keep these?"

Professor Kaen's reply came like a gavel strike: "No. School property."

Kaelin stepped forward, her crimson eyes scanning the exhausted but satisfied group. "You're free for the rest of the day."

Towan, rubbing at the mask's indentations on his cheeks, couldn't contain his curiosity. "Why'd we have to do all this, anyway?"

The professors exchanged glances before Kaelin offered a carefully measured explanation: "We needed to assess average skill levels for morning drill preparations. Plus," she added with deliberate vagueness, "this data proves invaluable for... midterm planning."

A murmur of speculation spread through the students at the mention of midterms, but Kaelin's enigmatic smile revealed nothing further. With final dismissive gestures from the faculty, the day's unusual combat session came to an official close—leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone, the occasional wisp of smoke from scorched platforms, and a hundred new questions hanging unanswered in the air.