"I haven't really used the fire rune that much."
Marcus stared at the flickering fla in his palm, watching how it curled and danced like a living thing. The warmth pulsed against his skin, steady and alive. He furrowed his brow, trying to recall how the other students had wielded their fire runes—launching projectiles and reinforcing weapons. He wasn't sure he could replicate all that, but maybe there was sothing he could adapt.
"Well... guess I can just copy my explosive jets ability."
He huffed, and the flas beneath his boots surged to life, roaring into vibrant columns. A brief flicker of heat swept up his legs.
"Flaming Jets!"
He shouted, and the fire exploded beneath him, launching him forward through the dungeon corridor in a fiery glide. The propulsion was rougher and less intense than his usual explosive jets, but this variant burned less mana and was perfect for a long, straight hallway like this one. The tunnel whooshed by around him, lit by the orange glow of his spell.
He inhaled, then exhaled in rhythm, adjusting his posture as if riding a snowboard down a steep slope. He bent his knees slightly, finding his balance, picturing the fire as a board under his feet and the blackstone floor as a field of fresh snow.
"Now this is what you call fun!"
He grinned wide, a laugh bursting from him—free and boyish—as if he were a kid snowboarding for the first ti. The dungeon wind tugged at his clothes, and the walls blurred past. Then, ahead in the dim corridor, sothing appeared—motionless, silent, waiting.
A figure.
Humanoid. Cloaked in flickering shadows. Twin daggers glinted faintly in each hand. Its entire body was void-like, shapeless and black, like living smoke pressed into the shape of a man.
"Guess that's the first one I have to take out."
Marcus tensed, twisting his body sharply to the side. He skidded across the stone, flas beneath his boots flaring as he slid into a stop. The fire hissed and crackled, licking across the ground before fading.
The figure didn't move.
It had no face—only shadow—its body composed of living darkness, but the silhouette was unmistakable. The stance, the way it held its daggers, the subtle tilt of its head... all of it matched soone Marcus had once known.
A fellow assassin. A man who had died beside him during a job in his past life.
"Luke..."
Marcus narrowed his eyes, heart beating slower now, not with fear—but mory.
"Does the system think I'll hesitate when you're my opponent?"
His tone dripped with cold amusent. He scoffed, fire gathering in both hands. Flas swirled and molded around his fists, forming into glowing, hardened shapes—fiery gauntlets, pulsing with heat.
"Too bad, 'cause I ain't the type to miss my coworkers when they die during duty!"
He let out a low laugh, shaking his head as the fire brightened. The heat rolled off his fists in waves.
"Flaming Fists!"
Another unoriginal na, he thought. But who cared?
If it works, it works.
Marcus chuckled to himself.
The shadow lunged first. A flash of movent, dagger aid high, targeting his face. But Marcus reacted instantly—his left fist shot forward, catching the assailant's elbow mid-swing. The impact forced the arm back, disrupting the strike.
"Even the fighting style is the sa!"
He barked out, grin wide, even as the second dagger ca in low—a fast thrust toward his ribs. Marcus twisted, stepping aside just in ti. The blade whistled past, missing by inches. His counter ca fast: a left jab, aid at the figure's head with enough power to knock down a tree.
But the figure ducked.
Before Marcus could adjust, it retaliated—two slashes, low and fast, both daggers sweeping in toward his abdon with practiced precision.
"Flaming Jets!"
Marcus roared, blasting himself backwards with another burst of fire. The blades passed just inches from his stomach—too close. Way too close.
He stumbled slightly as he landed, panting.
"Holy... guess I'm getting rusty, huh...?"
He laughed it off, forcing calm into his voice even as his heart pounded. Then he dropped into a proper stance—legs braced, fists raised, chin tucked. Classic boxer form. His eyes glowed faintly, twin lights in the gloom, fire crackling in ti with his pulse.
The fight had just begun. But now?
Now he was ward up.
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