1. Song of a Prologue

"See to it that those on the path of righteousness are not blinded by the very lights they wield, for only through the illumination of the terrors that lay ahead may they steel themselves for what is to come." - Boyf Merkabah

Snow.

And an exquisite place in which it fell was the choice of the battleground.

Gentle, yet ever consuming, it both stretched beyond the horizon and vanished in proximity. It was a precipitation that both melted upon contact with the ground and piled up like a fortress. As beautiful as it was fleeting and as heavy as it was light.

Unfortunately for the snow, however, it was no match for the subtle heat of the leylines beneath the asphalt. Paths of magical energy that powered the nearby facilities, these leylines were the enemies of all that was cold. Challenging the dominance of winter, it left not a trace of snow. Even the water that came from these flakes evaporated, and were sent to whence they came.

Being the mere cosmetic accessories that they were, a certain someone looked upon them with relative glee.

Battles in winter truly did possess a serene air to it, whether it be conveyed through the death of vegetation, or flakes of white snow. There was an overwhelming sense of peace.

A peace that would soon be destroyed by the cries of his enemies.

In determined eagerness to appease the beauty of his environment, a boy approached.

And as this certain boy stepped forwards, he came to terms with his circumstances.

A perfect setting for a fight on even ground, the enemies before the boy that stood, had made their first mistake.

"Tch." Fully aware that he was quite loudly expressing his distaste for what was happening, Tommy Sessogun made no attempt at stopping himself.

He was, by all means, this type of person—the type that did not care for what others thought of him. The others, in this case, would be the eight individuals who surrounded him.

They were goons, pawns of the student council, which, unlike ones in conventional schools, employed students with weapons and magic to enforce their will, acting more like a mafia than an elected student organization. Under their tyrannical regime, any act displaying a semblance of disloyalty was a challenge to battle.

And if there was anything that won battles, it was information. In this instance, information on their magical proficiency.

Neither a product of telltales nor delusions, magic was like any other skill, incorporating a variety of tactics, attributes, and concepts in its use. The approach and principle one took when confronted with a 'magician' were handled in a manner different to those without.

Eyeing their bodies and equipment, Tommy hoped to make this distinction.

The simplest way to distinguish a mage from a fighter was to inspect their hands, the former usually requiring two free ones while the latter did not. In this case, he was faced with six fighters and two mages.

Tommy smirked.

In the coldness of the winter, Tommy's breath condensed into clouds of water.

For anyone else, such a fight would have easily ended with a hooligan victory—for even a world champion-level martial artist would lose against such odds. But alas, the term "conventional" was far from being applicable to the situation at hand.

"Listen, you've caused quite a bit of trouble, so, don't hate us for this aight?" one of the ruffians uttered, their hand tightening around their baton. If Tommy's instincts were right, this was their first endeavour in such violence. He was able to discern this from a few factors: the thin sheen of sweat glistening their faces, the ever-present yet barely discernible tremble of their hands, and the irregular rhythm of their heartbeats.

But, most of all, he knew the people that had sent them were astutely aware that they had set out an impossible quest.

And so, it came to no surprise that when one of them rushed forward like a boar, that they had done so with a degree of inexperience befitting an amateur.

Nonetheless, Tommy was not about to let his guard down. After all, he never underestimated his enemies. A feat of honour to some and cruelty for others, it was merely a matter of efficiency to Tommy.

"Ululate!" As soon as the word left his lips, two crimson jackals sprang out from the bushes.

Mid-sized, and of hair that came in the form of a dichotomous duo, it existed in the arrangement of stripes of grey that contrasted against red. The former glowing in an almost ethereal fashion, they snarled at their prey.

In an instant, the would-be combatants' eyes widened like a ravine. Without time to process fear, their reactions came in physical responses, like the subtle staggering of their feet and clenching of their weapons.

Expecting events to take a violent turn, Tommy had prepared the two monsters.

Rather than merely serving the purpose of pure combat, the creatures came with a powerful, albeit collateral utility. 'One to one, that was the name of his Idiosyncratic technique, enabling a connection through body and soul alike, their powerful senses telepathically enhanced his own.

Save for the fact that damage done unto either of the two entities would be reflected onto each other, it was a technique that held the status of one without flaw.

Thus, having detected his opponent's initial burst of adrenaline, he dodged the trajectory of the baton with a measly sidestep.

Affirming his superiority with a smile, what happened next was nothing less than one-sided domination.

"Uragh!"

The goons struggled to fend off their dexterous opponents. Each swing or stab missing their mark in their entirety, they despaired at the futility of their actions. In retaliation, the wolves utilized a combination of biting and slashing with their claws, targeting body parts that, if damaged, would not result in untimely death. That wasn't to say that their attacks were any less painful, however.

"AHHHH!"

Pouncing forward, one of the jackals landed an attack on an unsuspecting target. In a single swift motion, the goon was brought to the ground with such force that he was drawn into unconsciousness upon mere contact with his forehead.

Another student simply gave up after being bitten on the ankle, as their splattered blood and gnawing pain proved too much for their mind and, in a moment of catharsis, just laid on the floor.

Decimated in both morale and body, it seemed the defeat of the student council was decided.

Yet, it was not over. While the beasts tore the fighters apart, the mages, ever so cautious with distancing themselves from Tommy, we're preparing to hurl an onslaught of spells.

If his estimations were correct, there were about ten meters between them and four seconds required for their spells to activate. Simply put, more than enough time. And while he hated getting his hands dirty, he always found a delectable and savage irony in beating up mages for reasons unbeknownst to all but him.

With a quick sleight of hand, his left picked up a baton and rushed at them.

One of the mages was done, the somatic and verbal components to the spell finished; what remained was its firing. Breathe. As Tommy had dealt with their kind before, the subtleties of their gestures were not lost on him, and if he figured correctly…

Time seemed to slow for a moment, a mere illusion, of course, but one that granted him the upper hand. What, in reality, lasted only for a second was sufficient enough for Tommy. Initiating a roll, Tommy's body sprang forward. It was the type that lacked any softness or grace but made up for its inefficiency. The spell whizzing past, he had managed to dodge.

Now was the time for his counterattack.

Petrified in their stance, the only option presented to Tommy's victim was capitulation. Unable to react properly in time, the mage could only put up his arm in a desperate attempt to defend his head.

Thwack, The baton swung forward. What ensued was the shattering of bone and the interjection of cries, as the mage's humerus, under the force and weight of the cylindrical metal, proved to be of little defence. Succeeding the loud shriek was none other than silence as Tommy's other hand reached for his opponent's neck.

Now with the most vulnerable part of the mage's body in hand, his muscles tightened as he made sure to hold onto it. Even if the enemy was unconscious, their body would still serve as a potent shield against magical attacks.

"Damn you!" the remaining mage shouted, the incantations of spellcraft unable to leave his throat.

The hands of his final enemy trembled.

In the face of this, Tommy's deadpan expression shifted to a cruel smile.

The victory was assured. The only question that remained was merely when it would come.

What followed was a peculiar state of affairs. With the mage unwilling to shoot his own friend with a concentrated bolt of mana, the human shield proved to be extremely effective. The problem was, beyond that, Tommy had no way to retaliate. His canines were still occupied with the others, and he wasn't exactly strong enough to just throw someone as a projectile weapon.

"Tremble in fear before my might, mongrel!"

That was his best attempt at intimidation, an excuse to fill the void that was silence.

Silent scrutiny underlying the mage's fearful expression, Tommy coughed.

Thankfully, he wouldn't have to bear the weight of its lameness much longer.

With a quick glance to the side, he saw that his enforcers were finished and making way. The rest of the goons, incapacitated from either shock or injury, Tommy set in motion the second act of his plan.

Swiping his arm to the side, the goon in his hand was helplessly dragged along, falling to the ground prone as the jackals surveyed their new plaything with keen interest.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you. Not unless you move, that is."

Beginning to approach the mage, his steps moved to a rhythm made with calculation and insight. Left foot forward, pause, right foot forward, pause. The period of delay being the time in which his power and dominance would seep into the enemy, Tommy felt unstoppable.

In reality, the circumstances were that it did little to boost or enhance his persona.

Even so, even if it was practically harmless, it also did little to diminish it, as each step he took increased the mage's stress levels exponentially.

Reaching his limit, the victim collapsed, losing all control over his leg and bladder functions. Unable to sustain himself, his fear had driven him back against both a literal and figurative wall. Shrivelling in likeness to a worm, the mage resigned himself to his fate, awaiting whatever cruelties he would have to endure.

Tommy squatted in front of him, a thin smile forming on his face.

"Listen, as I said, I won't be hurting you. In fact, I need you to relay some information for me." Answered by a self-preserving nod, Tommy continued.

"I need you to say that-."

Something arose from his throat, and, in reaction, he had preemptively covered his mouth.

"I need you to say that Tom-." Impatient, it came again. This time in even more abundance.

The mage, struck with a mixture of bewilderment and carnal fear, could not comprehend what he had seen. What ensued would be hence described as a 'Tommy moment.'

"Give me a second."

Getting up, he set his eyes upon what bodily fluid had stained his impression and hand.

What he saw was black phlegm. One that in its quantity remained the size of a large coin and smelled of cadaverine and fruit.

"Dammit."

Pacing out of sight to a nearby tree, he steadied himself and coughed up what remained of the phlegm. Just to verify, his eyes scanned the area to see if the mage was capable of seeing him, and sure enough, he wasn't.

Tommy would not let himself be spotted in such a vulnerable, weak position, lest rumours spread of his degeneration.

His scarlet eyes glistened with anticipation; his hand swept through his gold hair with a flourish.

 

To he who treated this as nothing more than an opportunity to express his style mandated an action that would befit the occasion. In a gesture of his signature flair, Tommy held his right hand over his face and closed his eyes. Enough space remaining between his fingers to reveal his vulturine eyes, he moved forward.

After all, eyes were a major stimulant of desirability and fear alike, and it was only fitting that a pair such as the ones he possessed would be put to full use.

Yet when he returned, he saw that such an action was ultimately unnecessary, for the one student through which he would relay his cold, decisive, and well-rehearsed speech had fainted with only his jackals growling menacingly at their unfortunate victim.

In the absence of sound that followed, a tinge of embarrassment and distraught fiddled with the boy's mind. Manifested in the form of him chiding himself for the time he had wasted not only conceiving but practicing the delivery of his speech, his distraught was evident. But also because he, for some odd reason, had wished to terrorize his not so innocent victim even further.

"Tsk, what a waste of time," he muttered under his breath. His emotion vanished and his mind clear; all that was left was to leave this place.

Moving on ahead with his mind deep in thought, his overwhelming disappointment had led him to jump straight into what sounded like a sheet of thick metal.

Bonk. It would seem that in his momentary relapse, that he had somehow lost all sense of object permanence and engaged in the act of clumsiness. Stifling the urge to give any indication of the pain that was now building on his forehead, lashing out of anger seemed tempting.

Seductive, even. If the individual in front of him did not aver to a state of submission, set upon their knees and bolster his ego like no one would have ever done before, he would inflict upon them a fate similar to that of the goons sprawled behind him.

"Hello Tommy, I see that you have engaged in some manner of reconciliation with the student council, yes?"

All ideas of wickedness dissipated in a split second.

His face blushed as he turned the other cheek, avoiding all eye contact and unwilling to look at the individual who had said those words. The sole exception to any punishment he would inflict had now appeared in front of him.

Taking the form of a girl, the one that stood in front of him was unique in several senses.

First being the clothing and attitude that she bore, the former taking the appearance of something one would expect out of a medieval reenactment, she boasted a full armour of gambesons, chainmail, and tunics. As for the latter, well, it was also something one would expect from a medieval reenactment. However, more in the antics and actions department, which was that she acted was like some kind of self-righteous knight.

Of course, Tommy would have been able to go on and on about her blonde hair, which was stylized in a bob, the beauty of her face and the mole on the left side of her cheek, but those were not assets that made an impression on him: dozens of others had those, which Tommy couldn't care less for.

The true reason why he perceived her to be special was simply because she was his only real friend.

Taking it upon himself, he tried not to dishearten her.

"Listen, this was simply a culling of arrogant sheep, it was inevitable provided I want some form of peace from those bureaucratic fools."

He looked her in the eyes, seeing to the effect of his words, of which there were none.

In all honesty, he had expected as much. Even if he provided his justification, he knew the girl would not approve of his methods. Such was her nature, blind to pragmatism and enslaved by gallant ideas, that, as striking as it was, had more than once been a roadblock to success.

"And your speech, was it inevitable too?"

To this, he had no response, warmth now seeping into his cheeks. He had conceded his defeat and was now fully willing to accept any punishment or beratement thrown at him: he may have been resilient, but her attacks were even more so.

"You know, I must say, I'm almost disappointed I didn't hear it. That peroration of yours was quite exacting, befitting of a villain of yore even."

It seemed that even self-righteous knights were drawn by the allure of friendly ridicule and conversational dominance, as her candid yet mischievous grin showed no signs of disappearing.

Tommy made no attempt to even inquire into why she knew—he had surmised on several occasions that he was a tad too loud at times. Even if he was in the middle of the forest and had made infrequent albeit present darts of vision from side to side to pick out any nosy souls, she was still a woman of many talents, if anything.

"Still, it is our duty as the strong to refrain from engaging in acts of tomfoolery. When one parleys with an individual lacking in wit, does one proceed to austerely rebuke them for their lack of such?"

He sighed. She had a habit of giving condescending moral lectures. It was something one would have expected to read in a cheap commercially engineered self-help book, only if said book was written several hundred years ago and also communicated with good prose, to be fair.

"Begin each day by telling yourself: today I shall meet with interference, ingratitude, insolence, disloyalty, ill-will and selfishness, all of them due to the offender's ignorance of what is good or evil, I get it," Tommy conceded, shifting his gaze away from his friend to his muddied clothing.

Delighted by what he had done, the knight gave a nod of approval.

"Ah, so you did read what I recommended for once."

"I gave in eventually, as much as I'd like to be; I'm not a stone wall; I eventually crack if enough force is thrown at it."

"Inadequate contrast, I could break a stone wall more easily."

"Steel."

"Likewise."

"Diamond."

"You denigrate me."

At this point, Tommy had ceded any hope of contending with her ability to break walls and simply stood up. With a few brushes of his hand, he wiped the dust and grime off the book that he held.

"Griesanas."

On the remark of their master, the demonic beasts disintegrated into a black puddle, which promptly launched itself to the open pages of the book, which had acted as a magnet of sorts to call the beasts to keep them in this world, the technicalities of which Jaiga found amusing.

"A shame, I had the appetency to pet Leon and Luca."

"You gave them names?" Tommy asked, an eyebrow raised.

He would have understood if they were dogs, but the truth was, all of the creatures he brought into this world looked nothing short of inducing uncanny dread. Even the jackals that just dissipated seemed more to be creatures of demonic origin, if anything, with boiling red eyes, red and grey fur, razor-sharp teeth and a multitude of fleshy deformities.

Then again, this eccentricity did give the two a certain degree of charm, and the demons were unexpectedly quite fond of cuddles, so that was something.

"So, what are you here for? I don't suppose it's out of the goodness of your heart."

"Actually, I am, but that's beside the point."

The two who then took their leave from the vicinity were now making their way back towards the forest, abandoning the still unconscious goons to the elements.

Such was the case at the Althaiez Academy; after all, violent altercations were far from uncommon. It was, simply put, a breeding ground for fighting and competition. And just as in any competitive environment, therein existed a rigid hierarchy. Namely, the gap between the resolved and unresolved. As for what resolve is? If drawing parallels with other fictional mediums… one could think of it as energy.

Energy capable of nestling magic to summon meteors, extreme physical strength, vitality, or the talent to call upon blessings from ancient gods beyond comprehension, so perhaps a little bit more flexible than what someone proficient in the field of science would regard as energy, but still sharing similarities.

"I was just hoping to spend the next few hours within the vicinity of your company," she said with the most austere, straightforward posture and face one could imagine.

"Aren't you going to first relocate those fools to the infirmary or something?"

With a grin that just beamed self-satisfaction, the knight replied.

"I have already taken care of such matters. After all, several of my compatriots have ascertained to make sure of such. Now how about I treat you to some crumpets and tea?"