Cris wasn’t sure when exactly he began to feel like the world was against him. He would have liked to say it was the moment his parents abandoned him as a baby, although he’d had the blissful ignorance of a newborn at the time. Perhaps it was the first time being left in a hot car by a foster parent. Maybe it was when another had given him nothing but a single slice of burnt toast for an entire week’s worth of food. It could have been the first beating he’d received from bullies at school, or better yet, the first beating from adults at his so-called home. Regardless, he supposed it was fair enough to say he’d felt it for as long as he could remember.

  That was why it was so easy for him to remember the few times the world had given him something good. Of course, the memories he considered good would likely seem unusual to most people. Probably even bad to the most sheltered ones. One such memory was the day he’d had his nose broken. The day he’d decided to start mostly wearing red shirts.

  It had only been about a year and half since then. Cris had been dumped in a new foster home and it had quickly become clear he wasn’t welcome except for when it came time for payments to come through. At that point, he’d come to expect it, and he didn’t really mind for the most part. In fact, he appreciated the honesty of just letting him go out on his own rather than putting on a performance the first few days.

  So, mere hours after “moving in”, he was out on the street. He’d decided to figure out where he’d be going to school, even if he didn’t plan to go much, and then find a place to hole up nearby. In hindsight, he couldn’t help but laugh at how difficult he’d found the area to navigate. He’d found himself lost in minutes, and even after stumbling across the school eventually, he still wasn’t able to orient himself properly.

  That was how he ended up strolling through the neighborhood around Shell Street late at night. Fighting demons in that area was a nasty bit of business, but Cris was still fairly sure that on that first night, he’d felt a different and almost worse kind of fear. Being hunted by creatures from another realm was one thing, but being hunted by humans was an entirely different matter.

  It started with the sun slowly setting and the street lights turning on. Cris hadn’t noticed how dim the street lights on Shell Street were, however, until the sun had completely gone down. It was a fairly cloudy night with not a star in sight, either, so the darkness came quickly.

  Then came the quiet. Of course, Cris liked the quiet for the most part, but not in a situation like this. It was eerie to hear nothing but the sound of one’s own footsteps. With surroundings so quiet, the slightest change can grab a person’s attention and have their mind playing tricks. A change such as…another set of footsteps. Another set of footsteps that quickly sounds like two…or three…or four. Footsteps that stop when the originals do and continue in kind.

  Cris figured out he was being followed fairly quickly. He wasn’t sure what to do and tried to make himself appear tough. It didn’t work. He was, at best, an average height. He wasn’t particularly muscular and he definitely wasn’t well nurtured. His only deterrent for situations such as this was usually his sullen, grimey appearance, but he’d been cleaned up for his brief meeting with his new foster family.

  He never got a good look at his attackers. He wasn’t even sure what they attacked him with or what they were looking for from him. The most likely thing was obviously money, and Cris figured that once it became clear he didn’t have any, his nose became the payment they would extract. He was left in a crumpled heap in the middle of the street, bruised and bloodied all over and clutching his nose.

  The first thing Cris had tried to do once he had managed to get to his feet again was hobble over to a better lit street. Naturally, however, these safer streets had a different kind of populace. One not so thrilled with a bloodied street kid, even if they weren’t going to be the ones causing such a scene. A lady walking her dog even chased him away as he weakly began to ask for help.

  So, before long, Cris was back on Shell Street. It was now the only street he could somewhat orient himself with, and he’d figured he’d been beaten up enough that maybe he’d be ignored for other prey at this point. Fortunately, he didn’t run into any other groups to test that theory. No, he only ran into one other person that night.

  David.

  It was as Cris was approaching the main street that led to the school. He’d begun to plan out a way to sleep somewhere on the school grounds and then try to find his way in early in the morning to steal supplies to clean himself up. Maybe he’d lost too much blood or he was just too stupid at the time, but he was pretty sure looking back that he would’ve ended up in a police station by the end of the night if he’d managed to get even remotely close to trying anything of the sort.

  Instead, as he was stumbling along the street, he paused by a garbage can near some bushes and tried to catch his breath and wipe some more blood from his face. Even in the bad lighting he was able to see that his once white shirt was completely unrecognizable. It only made him wonder just how bad his face looked.

  He was bumped into moments after stopping as someone seemed to rush out from an apartment nearby, grabbing onto the garbage can and throwing up inside it. Cris was assuming the person was some old drunk, seeing their tattered clothes and matted hair. But a moment later, as the person shook their head, coughing, Cris suddenly noticed that they were not, in fact, old, and their eyes were much too bright to be drunk.

  “Whoa…” the person said, as he stared at Cris and coughed. “You look worse than I feel. And I feel like shit.”

  Cris didn’t answer right away. For some bizarre reason, he stared into the garbage can, the contents of it making him gag. He held his hand up to his mouth as he did so, but managed to hold it together, apart from the blood that continued to drip down.

  Suddenly, the guy in front of Cris began to take his shirt off. It made Cris want to run away, but whatever attempt he began to make at that failed miserably as he fell against the garbage can. He felt something grab onto him and hold him up, and he woozily glanced at the now shirtless guy in front of him.

  “Here, press this up to it,” the guy said, holding up his shirt to Cris. Cris might’ve denied the offer, but he was too out of sorts to do so, instead accepting the offer and immediately pressing the shirt to his nose. “It’s red,” the guy said with a smirk. “Won’t even show up.”

  Managing to right himself somewhat as he began to slow the bleeding, Cris looked at the guy with him more closely, seeing that he was surprisingly young, and likely close to Cris’ age. He was probably, at most, a couple years older. If his hair wasn’t so matted and if he wasn’t throwing up in a garbage can, he probably could’ve easily fit in on those well lit streets that had been so unwelcoming to Cris.

  “You…live around here?” Cris managed to mutter, suspicious of the stranger helping him.

  “Right bloody there, dude,” the guy said, pointing to a fairly well hidden door nearby. There was a cracked window just next to it as well. If it was an apartment of some kind, it was a small, cramped one.

  “What’s the rent like for something like that?” Cris asked, looking around, wondering just how much someone could get ripped off for around such a bad neighborhood.

  “Who knows…I’m not paying whatever it is,” the guy answered with a bitter laugh. “Screw that. I go where I please until I can’t be pleased.” Cris simply stared at him after that answer, so he followed up fairly quickly. “I’m squatting. I ditched a foster home a while back. Been here ever since. Little old David ain’t getting saddled with people like them.”

  Cris couldn’t contain a laugh at that remark, earning a questioning glance from the guy. David. “I’m the same. Just stepped out today,” Cris told him. “Doubt they’ll come looking any time soon. Might have to pop in to get ‘em a payday.”

  David grinned at that. Cris could still remember the gleeful way he’d done so and felt he’d probably been grinning the same way. The two of them had finally found a like minded spirit.

  “The monthly stipend! They can’t go without!”

  “Exactly!” Cris coughed, some blood coming out as he did so, which caught David’s attention quickly.

  “Well, my fellow street urchin, why don’t you settle down for the night in my fine establishment? You look like you shouldn’t be on your feet.”

  “That’s a really sketchy offer, dude,” Cris couldn’t help but say, narrowing his eyes. Strangely, though, it was a rare moment where he felt he could trust another person. David seemed screwed up. He didn’t hide it, though. It wasn’t that Cris didn’t like people in general. He just hated all their ulterior motives. All their deception.

  “I’m a sketchy guy,” David admitted with a smirk. “But so are you. Let’s be real here. One of us is ending up dead after this.”

  Cris ended up accepting the offer without much more discussion. The offer extended for a few more days. Then a few more weeks. Then months. Eventually, without anything being said, it was just the way things were.

  Cris could admit to some distrust of David lingering for a while. Despite it all working out fairly well from the beginning, he’d still found it weird in the early days that David had taken him in. There were moments every day that broke him down, though. Little things like David snatching him some food from a grocery store, or helping him find an old mattress to sleep on. Without fully realizing it, the distrust became genuine friendship.

  Looking back on it, Cris still wasn’t sure what to think about the lessons he could take from that first meeting with David. Some might’ve taken the experience and decided they should become more trusting. Cris had wondered about it once he’d started calling David a friend. He’d wondered if he’d perhaps been too harsh on people who tried to talk to him or help him.

  Somehow, though, it became the opposite. The genuine friendship he and David had forged was just that. Genuine. It wasn’t like the fake smiles of a fake family either of them had been forced to endure before. It wasn’t like the teacher who wanted to “help” as they searched for a reason to report their situation and have them shipped off to yet another ungodly mess of a place. It wasn’t like a kid at school asking to play, only to turn on them because they wore the same clothes three days in a row.

  Cris and David earned their friendship with one another. They’d sensed a kindred spirit that first night, sure, and it opened the door a little quicker for both of them, but their distrust in others was not unwarranted. Their distrust of each other was simply tested a little more and in a different manner, and eventually allowed to dissipate as they trekked the strange mountain of friendship together.

  What made a friendship genuine? Cris didn’t know. He would have simply liked to say it was whatever he had with David. He knew he couldn’t do that, though. They were screwed up kids in a screwed up world. Maybe their friendship was one of a kind. Maybe all friendships were different. Maybe relationships in general just simply couldn’t be described.

  What Cris did know, and what he knew he struggled with, despite what he often told himself, was that he wanted people to earn friendships. Earn relationships. Again, he didn’t really know what that meant. Was it earning his friendship to give him a backpack with mics in it to listen to him without his knowing?

  Maybe it was. After all, it meant Cris’ initial encounter with a demon was easily heard, offering him a chance to escape. So then, did that make deception in the early stages of a relationship okay? Or did that deception ultimately lead to harm? David had died. It could have been Cris instead. Perhaps it should have been.

  Were new relationships even justified after the only positive one he’d known had ended in such gruesome fashion? Could Cris befriend a silly kid who fancied himself a hero from a comic book with his chittering and special listening skills? Could he befriend a girl who kicked a demon’s head off after chatting with him at the back of a math class? Could he befriend a girl who ratted him out to the school guidance counselor who was also a secret magic teacher?

  Ratted him out? For what? Having spirit energy? Although even then it wasn’t clear whether David or Cris was the target. In that case, what was he being ratted out for? Was that what it was?

  Or was it genuine concern? Concern like a homeless teenager could show on a dark street as a bloodied mess of a kid stumbled into his garbage can. Concern from someone who knows what it’s like to struggle. Knows what it’s like to feel pain.

  It was a pain still visible in her eyes. It had been this whole time.

  Cris wasn’t sure what to say. He was still angry. Still upset. His emotions were still all over the place. Even aside from that, he was a screwed up kid. He knew that. Social interactions were not his strong suit and they never would be. Even without magic and demons and the bizarre secret city, Cris wasn’t sure how he’d handle the people he now found himself surrounded by.

  He was quiet as he left Mr. Flint’s class, ignoring the stares of the other students. Even ignoring Finn and Heidi. He found himself wandering off, the temptation of the dining hall’s lunch not enough to contend with his buzzing mind.

  The aimless wandering through the academy’s towers was somewhat calming. Although, after what Cris had learned, it was also somewhat haunting. While there weren’t the numbers of students of a regular school here, there were still a few hundred. Most were around high school age. Some a little younger, likely middle school age. There was even the odd student even younger than that.

  What horrors had brought them all here?

  As lunchtime ended and Cris was finding his way towards the workshop where his second class of the day would be, he passed a group of smaller kids, stunned by how…together they appeared. One of them, a little girl trailing from the back, even smiled at him. He felt almost sick. Angry, sad, embarrassed. He had no idea what he was. He just didn’t feel right.

  Somehow, through a combination of a poorly designed map and some awkward directions from a few students, Cris found his way to the location of his next class. As he walked in, he noticed Finn and Elsa in a corner.

  The room was full of benches and workstations with devices of all kinds spread out all over the place. Cris would’ve thought of it as old fashioned if it wasn’t for the various electronic devices and digital screens all around. There seemed to be everything, though, from medieval weapons and tools to mini robotic figurines. Supposedly the room was based off of Daedalus’ workshop from the Greek myths, but Cris was pretty sure Daedalus didn’t have computers at his workstation.

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  “Yo! Cris, over here!”

  Cris was surprised to see Finn looking at him and waving him over. Heidi wasn’t in this class, however, so some of the uneasiness from earlier left as he headed over. It did seem as though Elsa had heard about the class’ discussion, though, and she appeared somewhat uneasy herself as she greeted Cris. Fortunately, though, the teacher stepped into the room as Cris sat down, quickly calling for attention.

  It seemed that this class was much more casual and didn’t involve much in the way of lecturing. Cris supposed that made sense, given that students had varying talents and abilities with spirit magic and would be making different things. Teaching would need to be more specialized and specific, and it appeared that was the approach with this teacher. He merely gave a quick rundown of some safety rules and where certain equipment was stored before he began approaching different workstations. Cris quite liked his style, and appreciated not having to be introduced again.

  “Mr. Blackwell is pretty chill,” Finn said, pulling out a few tools and laying out a few of his listening devices on the table. “Really knows his stuff, but doesn’t just blab it out and scrawl it on a blackboard. Gets us building stuff right away.”

  “It’s a nice way to quickly get into using a bit of magic, even if you don’t have much to use,” Elsa added, her set of knife-shoes on the table. “Even you should be able to start building something small, Cris.”

  “You think so?” Cris wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t felt a speck of magic since that night with the demons. And if the council wasn’t too interested in him sticking around, he wasn’t sure exactly what he was expected to be able to do.

  He decided he would look around the room and see if he could get any ideas from some of the other students. It seemed like most were working on basic things like weapons or pieces of armor or other accessories. Nothing really seemed to jump out at him. The most interesting thing he noticed was the famed Levi, tinkering with a pair of sunglasses.

  “So that’s why he wears sunglasses, huh?” Cris asked, nodding to the boy as he got the attention of Finn and Elsa.

  Finn nodded. “It’s a good thing, to be honest. Look him in the eyes when he’s channeling spirit energy and you’re as good as dead.”

  “What do you mean?” Cris asked, perplexed. He supposed it had something to do with Levi’s Spirit Guide, but he couldn’t think of anything that could kill with a look.

  Finn answered that quickly, though. “His spirit’s a basilisk. You know, like that thing in Harry Potter?”

  “Damn…” Cris was actually impressed. He’d always liked a good glare. Giving it real power would be pretty cool.

  “I don’t know if he’s actually proud of it,” Elsa noted quietly, fidgeting uncomfortably as Levi appeared to glance over briefly. They all turned away, and Elsa whispered her next words. “I mean…think about it. He can kill someone with one slip up. He…has killed someone.”

  Finn rolled his eyes. “Elsa, he’s a mean dude. He definitely killed that civilian on purpose. Besides, he can look people in the eyes if he isn’t channeling spirit energy. He just wears the glasses for appearances.”

  Elsa simply shrugged. “I just know I wouldn’t want that spirit. Too much responsibility.”

  “I hope mine’s something powerful like that,” Cris said, surprising himself with the statement. He glanced up sheepishly as Finn and Elsa looked at him. “Just don’t want to be messed with, that’s all.”

  “Whatever it is you’ve got, it’s sure to be good,” Finn said with a smirk. “If it’s something that can power up your punches like before, you’re golden.”

  “Still not sure how I did that,” Cris said. “And I had your ammo in my hand for that.”

  “That’s still a sign you can channel your energy into a weapon,” Elsa pointed out. “If anything, that’s a good place for you to start while you’re here.”

  “An excellent point, Miss Hale.”

  The three of them looked up in surprise as the teacher, Mr. Blackwell, appeared at their workstation. He was a fairly jovial looking man, and definitely looked like a person used to working with their hands. He smiled as he leaned over to quickly examine Elsa’s shoes, and then nodded as he did the same with Finn’s listening devices.

  “Looking like excellent work as always with you two. I hear your supports were of excellent use on your latest mission.” The two of them nodded, although they glanced awkwardly at Cris. He didn’t bother reacting, instead looking Mr. Blackwell in the eyes as he turned to him. “And you, Mr. Parker. Very nice to meet you. I assume you’ve got some questions for what to get started with here.”

  Cris decided he may as well take the man up on the offer. “Yeah, actually. I don’t really feel like I’m connected to any spirit energy at the moment. So got anything for that? You must have some potions or something, right?”

  “Er…that’s not quite how this works,” Blackwell said with a light chuckle. He paused for a moment, though, studying Cris closely, his gaze straying briefly to Finn and Elsa. “Let’s see…I hear you used ammo from Finn’s slingshot the night you escaped from the demons, correct? You were able to fight with it?”

  Cris nodded. “Had it in my fist and punched the demon in the head.”

  “Interesting…interesting…” Blackwell walked away for a moment to a nearby cupboard, fiddling around with some objects inside, before pulling out a pair of fingerless gloves. Blackwell returned to the table and set them before Cris.

  They weren’t quite boxing gloves, but they did seem to be for some kind of martial arts type fighting. They were red, much like Cris’ hair, and looked fairly worn in, as though used well in the past. It didn’t seem like there was anything particularly special about them, although after a moment, Cris could see something poking through near where the knuckles would be. It seemed to be some kind of metal surface. “What’s this?” he finally asked.

  Blackwell looked excited to be asked. “A concoction developed over the years. We call it Spirit Steel. An alloy of titanium, steel and trace amounts of gold. The titanium and steel give it the core strength and durability, but the gold is what is truly necessary. We’ve found gold is most effective as a conduit for spirit energy. But it must be a very fine and precise amount. These gloves were fitted for a student many years ago who had a gorilla as a Spirit Guide, giving them incredible physical strength. Perhaps that is similar to your guide, or perhaps you simply have a knack for using your fists. Regardless, considering your first use of spirit magic, this may be a place to start.”

  Cris picked up the gloves, feeling them in his hands. They were light enough that they wouldn’t weigh down his hands, and the metal didn’t interfere with comfort as he slipped them on. He grinned as he opened and closed his fists. “Not bad. I thought I was supposed to develop my own things here, though.”

  “You are,” Blackwell said with a grin. “However, Mr. Parker, this will get you started. Study these gloves. See how your magic connects with them. Study Spirit Steel! See what else you can design. As your connection to your Spirit Guide grows, you’ll perhaps discover another method of support that suits you.”

  “Guess that makes sense,” Cris said. “Er…but how can I test these out?”

  “There’s really only one way, Parker.”

  Cris turned towards the source of the voice, unable to hide a smirk as he noticed Levi standing there, a smirk of his own present. “You interested in being a punching bag?”

  “I’m interested in seeing what you’ve got.” Levi tapped his sunglasses. “I can see a lot.”

  Blackwell was surprisingly not against the idea of a sparring match. Cris supposed people often needed to test supports in this class, and he was probably as eager as all of them to see how they did. So, he was quick to have some tables pushed away and an area set aside for a sparring match.

  “Usually we do leave this to your training classes, but we do need to see how our items are working!” Blackwell said, justifying the move.

  As the area was being set up, Finn and Elsa pulled Cris aside. “What do you think you’re doing?!” they both said at once.

  “Testing out these gloves?” Cris said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Against Levi?!” Finn looked terrified. “Cris, buddy, I know you feel weird about earlier, but that doesn’t mean you need to get yourself killed.”

  “I don’t think Levi will kill him,” Elsa said. “Just put him in the infirmary again…”

  “I just won’t look him in the eyes,” Cris said with a shrug. “Might as well see what I can do.”

  As he headed to the sparring area, Cris could tell that Finn and Elsa believed he was as good as gone. In fact, most of the surrounding students were looking at him as though he were crazy. A couple seemed to be curious, however, perhaps thinking the new kid in class had something up his sleeve.

  “He did kill a demon with no training,” a blue-haired girl nearby whispered as Cris and Levi faced one another. “No one’s done that in decades.”

  “Yeah, but no one’s had to fight one like he did. I’m sure Levi would’ve just looked at it and killed it,” another said in response.

  “All the more reason it’s impressive,” the girl said. “Everything went wrong and he still did it.”

  Cris decided to ignore the whispering, instead focusing on his opponent. Levi sure looked confident, a smirk still present on his face. His sunglasses reflected Cris’ gaze right back at him. It would be difficult to fight without knowing where Levi was looking, although Cris did know now that he needed to be careful in case Levi did remove the glasses.

  Blackwell was apparently going to act as some kind of referee, coming up to the two of them and standing between them. “We’ll keep this nice and simple to avoid any damage in the room,” he said. “This will be a sparring match to test out your support items. First fighter to land three hits wins. Are you both agreeable to that?”

  Cris nodded, but Levi just laughed. “I don’t think I’ll need any supports,” he whispered.

  “Suit yourself,” Cris muttered, moving back a few steps as Levi did the same. A moment later, Blackwell waved an arm and called for the match to begin.

  Having spent so much time on the streets, Cris had, of course, been in many fights. He wouldn’t call himself a particularly good fighter, but he did know some things. He also knew that despite how strong normal kids could be, and how well trained some of them could be in self defense, a street kid always had a different set of skills that were unpredictable. And being unpredictable was the best way to beat someone trained in predictable responses.

  He rushed forward quickly, lashing out with a fist. There was no magic in the punch. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to summon any during this fight regardless. At best, he figured he could at least get used to the feel of the gloves.

  Levi ducked quickly, easily avoiding the punch. Laughing, he spun away as Cris aimed another punch to his side and a kick to the leg. “You’re aggressive, huh?” he said, smirking.

  “No need to wait around,” Cris answered, keeping on the offensive. He punched towards Levi’s face again, his opponent ducking once more. As he did so, Cris kicked out, aiming for Levi’s shin, connecting with a satisfying thud of his shoe on bone.

  “Agh!” Levi staggered back, wincing as the students around them gasped. It hadn’t been much, but supposedly even that was a surprise against Levi.

  “A point for Mr. Parker,” Blackwell then called out, although he sounded disappointed. “Perhaps we need some shoes to go with those gloves…”

  Levi frowned as he looked at Cris, the smirk having disappeared in a flash. “Nasty little move, Parker.”

  “I’m not exactly known as a friendly guy,” Cris said, raising his fists. He felt oddly relaxed. A warmth began to well within his chest. He supposed he needed to let some aggression out, and this was a perfect way to do it.

  Levi nodded, smiling once again. “I’m not, either.”

  This time, he was the one on the offensive, lashing out with his right fist and barely missing Cris’ left ear. He followed that up with a punch from the other direction, Cris managing to block it with an arm, before countering with a punch of his own that Levi spun away from. A moment later, Levi kicked out, causing Cris to hop back, avoiding a similar blow to the shin that he’d delivered.

  He couldn’t help but grin. He’d never enjoyed fighting whenever he’d been stuck in one. He’d had his nose broken after all. There was something to be said for showing up a big shot when given the opportunity, though, and Levi wasn’t exactly seeming too tough to handle. He probably didn’t even really have to fight much, given his ability. A simple look was all he needed, so if he was stuck in a situation with just his fists, it was over for him.

  “I think you’ve gotta use your magic, man,” Cris said, narrowing his eyes. “This isn’t going to end well otherwise.”

  Levi laughed. “Go ahead and talk tough, Parker. You’ve got no idea what you’re asking for.”

  “Just want a bit of a challenge,” Cris said, suddenly darting in. He couldn’t help but grin at the surprise on Levi’s face as he did so, his fist just barely failing to make contact.

  “If you can land another hit, maybe I’ll give you a chance at it,” Levi said, clenching his fists tighter.

  It seemed he didn’t want it to go there, though, and he quickly rushed in himself, lashing out with both fists quickly and attempting to sweep out Cris’ legs from underneath him. Cris managed to avoid the attacks, but found himself stepping back a little too much, nearing the wall of their makeshift sparring area. This left him a little too vulnerable as Levi kicked again, forcing Cris to jump to the side, just as a fist came towards him.

  He hit the ground a moment later, seeing stars and hearing the concerned shouts of Elsa and Finn. He managed to right himself fairly quickly, though, standing as Blackwell awarded Levi the next point. Once again, their teacher sounded fairly disappointed, clearly hoping for the supports to be put to use.

  Cris was, naturally, frustrated, but he was also glad there was a little more to Levi than just his powers. It was no fun beating him without a challenge. So, as their fight resumed, he tried to find another gear himself, his chest growing warmer as he aimed his next punch.

  Levi seemed a little more into the fight as well, smirking as he dodged Cris’ punch and swinging around with another kick in response which barely missed. The two of them exchanged another couple of blows, dodging or blocking each, before stepping back briefly, beginning to breathe more heavily. The surrounding students were murmuring excitedly as well, surprised to see Cris matching up with their powerful S-Ranked fellow student.

  “You learn to fight on the streets, Parker?” Levi asked.

  “I learned when I had to,” Cris said, glaring at the boy. “Haven’t been nice and cozy behind a wall of spirit energy like you.”

  “You wouldn’t want me beyond that wall,” Levi said darkly. He then quickly rushed forward punching twice quickly, Cris dodging one and blocking the other, before kicking out and forcing Cris back once again.

  “No, don’t want you blowing away,” Cris quipped, punching out himself, before ducking and aiming a kick towards Levi’s shin again.

  “Like your pal back home, huh?” Levi snapped back, grinning as he dodged. Cris froze for a moment, rage bubbling up within him, making his chest burn. Levi took advantage, swinging out with a fist quickly and striking Cris hard in the chest.

  Cris fell back, hitting the ground with a thud. Blackwell awarded Levi the point. But Cris stood, not worrying about being on the verge of losing. He leveled a glare at Levi, making it clear that the next punch wasn’t going to be for a measly point in their sparring match. It was going to be a message. A message felt within his burning chest.

  The students around them began murmuring as Cris clenched his fists in front of him. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t care. He took off for Levi, surprised to see the boy appearing startled. He kicked out, Levi jumping back to avoid it, before pulling back a fist, ready to slam it forward. Cris leveled another glare his opponent’s way and lashed out. Levi managed to dodge it.

  But he still felt it.

  “Whoa!”

  Cris felt heat searing through his fist as Levi was sent flying back, slamming hard against the wall. He slid down, groaning slightly and feeling his chest. He didn’t seem too badly hurt, slowly getting to his feet after a moment, but he had certainly felt something. Something fairly strong.

  “HAHA! It worked! Point for Parker!” Blackwell exclaimed as the students around them cheered.

  Cris looked down at his new glove, seeing a fading glow from the Spirit Steel. He was confused about what had happened, though. He hadn’t made contact, but he’d still been able to strike Levi. And there was a warmth in the air around where he’d struck. What could that have been? Did he somehow strike…the air?

  He wasn’t going to have much time to figure it out, though, as Levi was now moving forward, grimacing, but appearing pleased about something. “Well, I guess you’ll get what you want, Parker. You’ll regret bringing fists to a magic fight, though.” He tapped something on the side of his sunglasses, and Cris noticed the lenses changing, Levi’s eyes beginning to show through. Cris quickly averted his eyes, not wanting to lose from something so stupid as making eye contact.

  “So you know about my ability, huh?” Levi asked. “Well don’t worry, these lenses won’t release enough power to kill you. Just freeze you up for a while.” He then pulled something from his pocket. It looked almost like a tiny mirror. “You can try to hide from my gaze, but I’ll find you eventually.”

  Cris had no idea what that meant, but suddenly, this time from a distance, Levi lashed out. However, it wasn’t with a punch. Instead, the mirror he’d pulled out flew forward, attached to something that looked almost like a fishing line. And all along it were more mirrors.

  And then Cris realized just what Levi had meant. The mirrors were reflecting the gaze of the class, but Levi was shifting his positioning and changing his stance as he moved the line. He was planning to reflect his gaze along the mirrors and catch Cris no matter where he looked.

  Deciding he needed to move quickly, Cris pulled back his fist again, wondering if he could pull off what he’d done before. He punched out, trying to focus on putting all the power he could into it, but not feeling anything within himself. Nothing happened, and he only barely avoided it as Levi rushed in and attempted to strike while he was distracted.

  Unsure what else he could do, Cris closed his eyes, trying to listen for sounds of Levi as he moved forward. He had no idea what he was doing, though, and knew he probably looked like an idiot. He weakly opened an eye, seeing Levi moving away and preparing to swing his line of mirrors out again. Deciding it was all he could do, Cris ran forward.

  Unfortunately, Levi had another trick up his sleeve. He swung out once more, revealing another line of mirrors while simultaneously flicking up the first line. Before Cris knew it, he was surrounded, forced to dodge a mirror coming at his face and then finding himself staring directly into another.

  And in that mirror, were a pair of green eyes.

  Cris froze. He couldn’t move an inch, and he could hear the students murmuring in anticipation of Levi’s next move. And as he noticed his opponent walking forward, Cris could see that Levi was relishing it.

  “And that’s just a taste, Parker,” he whispered, grinning. He pulled back a fist. “Now you can get nice and cozy in the infirmary.”

  Cris didn’t even feel the fist that knocked him out.