Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 272: Competitive

The Athenaeum in the hour before curfew was a different creature than its daytime self.

The corridors had shed their bustling energy, the crowds of students melting away into dormitories and study rooms, leaving behind only the soft echo of footsteps on stone and the distant, muffled sounds of life behind closed doors.

Magelights had dimmed to a warm, amber glow, casting long shadows that stretched and shifted with each passing breath. Through the tall windows, the last traces of twilight were fading into deep blue, the first stars just beginning to prick through the winter sky.

Cecilia walked alone in it. She wondered where her husbands were. She had told them she needed to do something alone, but when she returned to the Athenaeum, they weren’t there.

She had checked everywhere. The cafeteria, the student council office, the library...

Now, the curfew bell would ring soon. The corridors were emptying, the last stragglers hurrying to their dorms before the doors locked for the night. Cecilia walked toward the female dormitory, her mind still turning over possibilities.

She rounded the last corner.

And stopped.

Someone was waiting for her in front of the female dorm gate.

The figure stood in the pool of amber light, his silhouette sharp against the dark stone behind him. His posture was stiff, formal, the kind of rigid composure made him seemed like someone who had been standing there for a while.

Nikolas Delanivis.

Cecilia’s steps slowed.

He was dressed in his uniform. Immaculate as always, every crease in place, every button fastened. But there was something different about him tonight.

He saw her and straightened further. His hands, tucked in his pocket, tightened visibly.

"Miss Araceli." His voice carried across the hall.

Cecilia stopped a few paces away. The curfew bell would ring soon. The dorm matron would be locking the doors. But Nikolas Delanivis had chosen this time, this place, to wait for her.

It was interesting that it was him who came to her first.

Not Ruby or Arzhen.

Why?

***

BLAAST!

The sound tore through the training ground like the sky itself was splitting apart.

PSSSHHHHHHHHHHH———

Steam erupted from the impact points, white clouds billowing outward, obscuring everything for a moment before being shredded by the next explosion.

RRRRRATATATATATATATATATAT—

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

Eliam’s back hugged the wall. He wasn’t alone. Baswara and August pressed themselves against the stone like men trying to become part of the architecture, their faces white as sheets, their eyes wide in horror.

What—

Was that—

Four mile long lightning bolts between Eastiel Edengold’s fingers, thrown so aggressively toward each other?!

Not just that. What was with the animalistic stances? The three young men moved low to the ground, limbs spread wide and strong, their bodies cutting through the air at speeds that blurred the vision, that made the ears pop with the force of their passage.

Speed of sound. They were moving at the speed of sound.

"Rah!" Eastiel’s voice ripped through the chaos. "Elder Brother! Stop hindering my accuracy with your mist! You keep changing the air density and humidity—it’s fucking annoying!"

"Your lightning just needs to connect to the ground, not me, you little shit!" Oathran roared.

Dozens of blue flame pillars hovered behind him, following him as he flew low across the ground, dodging Eastiel’s lightning with movements that shouldn’t have been possible for a man his size.

He sent some of the pillars Eastiel’s way, flame cutting through mist, leaving trails of superheated air that shimmered and screamed.

But immediately, he was intercepted.

A black blur. Moving fast. Moving faster.

BOOOOOM!

Arkai’s fist connected with Oathran’s shielding arms.

The impact shook the ground. Both men’s limbs cracked with the force, the shockwave rippling outward in visible rings.

"Fuck—" Arkai’s grin was ear to ear. "Even without those scales, you’re still tough, huh?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "Eastiel—if you can’t aim properly, use your fucking earth magic to attack him or something!"

RUMBLE—RUMBLE—

The ground moved. Rippled like water.

"YOU DON’T HAVE TO ORDER ME AROUND!" Eastiel’s roar was almost lost in the sound of stone grinding against stone.

"BWAHWAHWHAHAHAH!" Oathran’s laugh was raw, delighted. His youngest brother’s battle IQ was the most terrifying between them it seemed.

Arkai caught up what Eastiel was trying to do a split second later. His grin twitched.

"Fucki—"

BLAST! BLAST! BLAST! BLAST!

Because Eastiel couldn’t aim properly, because Oathran’s mist had ruined the air density and humidity, made tracking impossible, he had adapted. His lightning just needed to ’connect to the ground’ as Oathran had said. So he controlled where it would land.

Like wherever Oathran and Arkai’s feet were.

"Ssssshhh—RAAAAAHHH!" Oathran ran like hell. Dodging. Weaving. Moving like lightning himself.

Meanwhile, Arkai leapt. Toward Eastiel. Direct. Immediate.

"Don’t stay in one place, Brother." His whisper came from the opposite direction, his sound magic, bending, lying.

Eastiel flinched. Confused. Searching—

His eyes caught Arkai’s real position a moment too late.

"Fu—"

FLASH! BLAAAAAAAAAAAST! CRACKLE!

Eastiel accepted the blow. His body braced, muscles locking, ready despite the confusion, despite the misdirection, despite everything.

"You actually confused me." His voice was strained, almost admiring. "Not just with your voice, but with the sound of my own lightning, brother?" A grin, bloody and fierce. "Sound magic is awesome..."

"Thanks to Elder Brother’s attacks keeping you in place, stupid—" Arkai’s voice cut off.

A sudden white light. Blinding. Everywhere, caught their full attention.

"FUCKING HELL—ELDER BROTHER!"

"Don’t chat on the battlefield, brats!"

The blinding light hid the fire pillars. All of them, as they come. Everywhere.

Blind, with mist obscuring their senses of air density and humidity, Arkai and Eastiel fought with their lives.

"WHY ARE YOU SO GOOD AT WATER MAGIC WHEN IT’S NOT YOUR AFFINITY, ELDER BROTHER AAAA—"

Eastiel asked the same question he had in the real world. Again.

"BWAHAHAWHHAHAHAHAH—" Oathran’s laugh was feral. "THIS IS WHY YOU FUCKING LEARN EVERYTHING, BASTARDS!"

"UNFAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIR—"

BOOM—BOOOM—BOOOOOM—BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH—"

"STOOOOPP, WHY IS THE GROUND MOVING TOO?!"

"IT’S NOT ME, I SWEAR! ELDER BROTHER HEEELP!"

Against the wall, three older men clung to the stone like survivors of a shipwreck. They watched their sons, their children, tear the training ground apart with magic that shouldn’t exist, power that shouldn’t be possible, skill that belonged to veterans three times their age.

Eliam’s mouth was open. Baswara’s hands had stopped gripping the wall and were simply pressed against it, as if the stone was the only thing holding him upright. August... August had gone past white. He was translucent.

What had Cecilia Araceli done to their sons?

In the center of the training ground, where the stone had been torn apart and the air still screamed, three young men stood panting. Exhausted. Grinning.

Oathran’s hand descended on Arkai’s head, ruffling his hair. "Good instincts. Sound magic suits you."

Arkai ducked away, but his smile was wide. "You’re just saying that because you’re proud of me."

"Don’t let it get to your head."

Eastiel slumped against Arkai’s shoulder, laughing. "I can’t believe I almost got you with the lightning."

"You almost got us both."

"Almost is the key word."

"Can we do it again?" Eastiel’s voice was hopeful, almost plaintive, like a child asking for one more sweet before bed.

Oathran chuckled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "It’s late. Past the dorm’s curfew." He was already calculating routes, timing, the best way to slip through the gates unnoticed. "We need to sneak in."

"Oh, shit." Arkai’s face lit up. "Alright, I’ll help you."

"Aaayyy." Eastiel threw an arm around Arkai’s shoulders, grinning. "Student Council President, you’re so useful."

Oathran watched them, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "We should—"

"Wait!"

The voice cut through the night. "Wait, wait wait wait!"

The three ’young’ men froze.

Baswara was running toward them, the old man who had been pressed against the wall moments ago, his face white, his eyes wide. Behind him, Eliam and August followed at a more sedate pace, but their faces were still pale, their composure still shattered.

Ah.

They forgot their fathers were here.

Eastiel’s grin faltered. Arkai’s posture stiffened. Oathran’s hands unclasped from behind his back, falling to his sides.

Baswara reached them first, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He stopped in front of Oathran, looking up at the young man he had raised, trained, loved, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked.

Eliam and August arrived a split second later, standing slightly apart, their expressions complicated.

Eliam’s golden eyes, so like his son’s, were fixed on Eastiel with something that might have been wonder, might have been fear, might have been pride. August’s face was unreadable, but his gaze kept flickering to Arkai, cataloguing, reassessing, seeing.

The three young men exchanged glances.

...Oh, well...

It seemed they would have some explaining to do.