Atticus looked directly at Phoenix, eyes glinting with that familiar mix of arrogance and calculation. Then, slowly and deliberately, he spoke: “She’s mine now.”
The words landed like a thunderclap.
There was a sharp crack as sothing struck the table.
Phoenix stared down at him, her body still.
He wasn’t a boy anymore. Atticus had beco a man—one bold enough, twisted enough. To touch what should’ve been untouchable.
Phoenix’s fingers curled against the wood, the veins on the back of her hand standing out in stark relief. The tension between them thickened like a storm about to break.
After a long, loaded silence, Phoenix finally spoke. Her voice was low and calm.
“We haven’t sparred in a while. How about it?” she asked, eyes flashing. “Let’s see how much you’ve improved, brat.”
Atticus held her gaze. Then, with a slow, knowing smile, he nodded.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
Phoenix rose from the bench and drew her sword with a sharp tallic sound. The blade glead cold in the overcast light as she pointed it straight at him.
“Do you rember what I told you all those years ago?” she said. “If you ever broke your oath… I would destroy you myself.”
Atticus smirked, the corner of his mouth curving like a slash. “Then co try.”
A flicker of movent, and Phoenix was already lunging.
The first clash of their swords lit the air with sparks.
Steel t steel in a burst of violence that echoed across the training field.
Not far off, Delilah was huddled beside Maximilian, tugging nervously at his sleeve.
“Max, is this okay?”
Maximilian sighed. “Honestly… I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Delilah pouted. “Ugh. If I had my flute, I could’ve separated them!”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Pretty sure your flute wouldn’t stop this blood feud.”
Still, he gently led her away from the chaos and toward the shaded pavilion.
“Co on, let’s wait it out.”
Delilah sat down with a dramatic sigh, but her gaze didn’t leave the duel. After a beat, she eyed the untouched tea tray.
“…Can we get snacks?”
“Seriously?”
She looked up at him sweetly. “Fighting makes hungry.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. What do you want?”
Delilah rattled off a list of more than a dozen things. When she paused to think of more, he held up both hands. “Enough. I’ll have soone bring it. Stay here.”
“Yay!”
.....
They didn’t expect it to last all day.
From bright daylight to gathering clouds, the fight went on—relentless, ruthless, blades flashing faster than the eye could follow.
Empty snack wrappers and fruit peels littered the ground.
Delilah had long since dozed off on the bench, curled up with a blanket. Maximilian had arranged for it quietly, keeping watch like a tired babysitter.
But now the sky had gone a strange gray, and the first fat drops of rain had begun to fall.
He glanced up, felt one hit his forehead, and muttered, “Shit.”
Monts later, the rain ca down in sheets.
Phoenix and Atticus were soaked to the bone, but their duel didn’t slow. If anything, the rain added to the chaos—slick stone, pounding footsteps, steam rising from their skin like mist from war-forged steel.
Maximilian stood frozen in the doorway, staring.
Then—
“Jesus Christ!” a voice behind him. Everett'sunglasses askew as he stared at the scene in disbelief.
“The fuck is this? Sparring? Training? Or are they trying to take each other’s heads off?”
Maximilian didn’t even blink. “Still standing here? Go get Clarissa.”
Everett scoffed. “What the hell does this have to do with her?”
Maximilian slowly turned, eyes cold. “Go. Get. Clarissa.”
Everett swallowed hard.
“Alright, alright! Damn…”
He took off at a run, boots splashing in the puddles, cursing under his breath.
Everett stepped away to call Clarissa, while Maximilian’s gaze remained locked on the scene before him—eyes clouded with growing dread.
Phoenix and Atticus were still going blow for blow, evenly matched for now.
But that wouldn’t last.
No matter how precise or experienced Phoenix was, one reality couldn’t be ignored: stamina. And now, her movents were slowing. Her grip was faltering. Her breathing was labored.
If this went on any longer…
Maximilian knew Atticus was not a kind person. If he wanted to use this incident to do sothing to Phoenix...
Then Phoenix was in real danger.
Even a one-in-a-thousand chance of sothing happening to her… was too much.
He turned suddenly and grabbed Everett’s arm. “Where is Clarissa? I’ll get her myself.”
Everett blinked. “She said she was at the business center. Said she’d co after finishing so work—”
Before he could finish, Maximilian was already sprinting off, rain be damned.
Everett stood alone, drenched and utterly bewildered. “Can soone please tell what the hell is happening?”
Out in the downpour, Phoenix blocked Atticus’s last strike—but barely.
The sheer force of it sent her staggering back. Her hand was numb from the blow, and her vision blurred. Every breath ca with searing pain in her core, as if her body were tearing from the inside.
Across from her, Atticus stood like a demon lit by lightning—his rain-soaked hair clinging to his face, his black clothes molded to his lean, muscular fra.
That smirk—cocky, cruel—spread slowly across his face like ink in water.
"Teacher," he said, voice low and smooth, “you look tired.”
Phoenix spat blood and raised her blade again. “Bullshit. I’m fine.”
She charged him.
Willpower alone powered her body forward. She refused to yield.
But Atticus wasn’t even straining anymore.
With a flick of his wrist, his blade t hers with perfect timing.
A crack split the air as her sword flew from her hand and clattered across the ground. Her arm went numb again, this ti from the jarring impact. Then her legs buckled, and she hit the ground hard, staring up at him in disbelief.
Atticus stepped forward. No rcy in his eyes.
The tip of his sword hovered above her chest. There was no hesitation. No remorse. His gaze had turned icy and inhuman—murderous.
The devil inside him had awakened.
Then—
Clarissa’s face flashed in his mind.
Her soft smile. The way she said his na. Atticus…
Sothing inside him shifted.
At the last second, his wrist turned. The blade veered off course—just enough.
Instead of her heart, it sank into Phoenix’s shoulder.
Blood gushed instantly, but the rain muffled everything—except Clarissa’s scream from the edge of the field.
“Phoenix!”
“Atticus, have you lost your fucking mind?!”
She ran straight through the storm, shoes splashing in the muddy grass. Maximilian trailed behind her, umbrella useless against her urgency.
Atticus stood over Phoenix, chest rising, expression unreadable. The sword dripped blood at his side.
Clarissa reached them, dropped to her knees, and pressed her hands to the bleeding wound.
“Phoenix!!” she cried. “Atticus, what the hell are you doing?! Help !”
Atticus didn’t move. His gaze was locked on Clarissa—her panic, her desperation, her devotion.
A strange, unreadable darkness flickered in his eyes.
Then finally, he pulled a bottle from his coat pocket—hemostatic powder—and handed it to her without a word.
“Use this,” he said. “I’ll stitch her up when we get back.”
Clarissa grabbed the dicine. “Then don’t just stand there—help stop the bleeding!”
But Phoenix, coughing and pale, still had strength to spit venom.
“Get fucked,” she rasped. “The last thing I want is your hands on .”
Atticus shrugged lazily at Clarissa.
She frowned, arms folded, tension thick between them. The air hung heavy in awkward silence—until Maximilian rushed up, his eyes imdiately locking onto Phoenix.
When he saw the blood, his expression shifted from concern to alarm. Then, to fury.
“Atticus!” he barked, taking a sharp breath. “You—”
Then Maximilian leaned in to help, but Phoenix slapped his arm away without hesitation. “I don’t need your help,” she snapped, wincing as she held her shoulder.
Clarissa stepped in instead, catching her just in ti before she lost balance.
Phoenix—proud, composed, untouchable Phoenix—looked wrecked. Drenched in blood and rain, her hair plastered to her face, and her sharpness dulled by pain. It was the first ti Clarissa had ever seen her like this.
Reviews
All reviews (0)