Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Chapter 107 : Hanzo Training Circle

RAFEL REMAINED MOODY the rest of the day. At dinner, his face held a crestfallen expression that all his friends noticed. They sat in their usual circle at Salem Hall's cafeteria, even though Aya could've stayed back at her own dorm; Copenhagen Hall.

"You don't get it...she didn't recognize me. There was nothing there. Nothing! Not even a flicker."

Aya took Rafel's hand as he spoke. She'd managed to pry info about the drama in the gym from Rafel's lips. "I'm sorry," she said. Her voice held a beacon of hope, but Rafel wasn't waiting around for Lady luck to charm back the memory into Cora.

"I will find whoever did this to her, and make them pay," Rafel said solidly.

He pulled his hand from Aya's grip and dragged his plate of yams and scrambled eggs close. He, who had once acted like there was no food in front of him now forked the dry fried tubers into his mouth like it was the Usurper's guts. Those watching half-expected blood to come leaking out his mouth.

It certainly wouldn't be unusual, considering the vampires in the canteen.

Aya shared a concerned look with Rosa, Percival with Brunhilda and Ravenna. Rafel finished off his food and cleared his plates. Rising, he ignored Aya's offering for a [Blood Feed]; Rafel was no vampire, but he did enjoy little sips from a carotid every now and then. It helped calm him—but not tonight. Tonight, he just wanted to sleep and forget.

He excused himself. "Thank you all for coming out to hear me. I know we all grieved Cora in our own way. But trust me when I tell you I will handle this. For now, I just wish to sleep."

"Don't forget your warlock practice is tomorrow in the grand guilds!" Ravenna called to his back. She was well informed in this as a Second Year.

The next day was Martyr's Day, the seventh day of the week. Sunrise was early and bright. Rafel slept in until the dawn speared through his curtains and the general alarm system of the dormitory belled loudly in his head. Rafel pummeled a pillow, as if to shield himself from the ringing pouring down from above. He tossed and turned in bed, hearing Percival in the showers.

Morning had come so soon!

Sure enough, he heard the songy voice of the Student President coming from the corridors.

"Hello, and Good Morning all! This is your Student President speaking! Hop to it, First Years. You've got a full day of Warlock practice. The Guilds are all primed and ready for novice warrior training to commence. DON'T BE LATE!"

"Ugh!" Rafel threw his pillow high in the air—his super strength nearly sent it through the gilded ceiling. He wasn't lazy, especially in matters of combat. He owned a military force for shit's sake!—but to handle Erika's honeyed voice this early in the morning was asking too much of his cranium.

Evidently, Rafel had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Still, he pushed off the covers and put his feet into his much disliked flip-flops.

The Guild was like a military mess hall. It was built as a dome of grand proportions, wide as a throne room and its vast space sectioned into spots for one-on-one combat, fine rug areas for wrestling, and the harder upper levels for training with mana operated machines. Statues of legendary warlocks of the past fringed the gold pillars.

Surprisingly, it was a woman who led the practice for the day. She was a [Rank A] black belt, and from her head tie, also a Gorgon. One of the many offspring of Medusa. Her serpent hair was hid in a tight turban, but many of the First Years could still see the thick snakes twisting underneath. That alone commanded their silence when she clapped her hands.

"Gather round, runts! Until you prove yourselves in this Guild, in blood and sweat, that is what you will be called: RUNTS!

I am Tanaka Hanzo, and I will be your coach in warlock practice. Know that I will not hesitate to spank your spoiled, rich arses with my ladle should you taint the rules of combat. There are only two rules of warrior training: ONE; THE GUILD IS NO PLACE FOR PUSSIES! TWO; FUCK MAGIC! We use our hands here.

Warlock Practice is a novice level course because I understand some of your have poor use of your Mana Core. But do not despise the power of the fist. Should you be faced with an adversary such as an [Antigon], you'll be thankful for this course.

Without much talk, WELCOME TO THE HANZO TRAINING CIRCLE."

"What's an ANTIGON?" Mikhail drew near to ask Rafel.

The blood Prince had to pull of the wisdom of his private tutors back in Hel. He replied grimly, "—a wrathful, mana-consuming beast of the Abyss that incapacitates the magic of any within a few miles. It hasn't being spotted on the mortal plane in centuries, since they typically survive on the demonic, Anti-Life energy of the Underworld.

Like a suneater, it claims the spark of magic. It is impossible to draw from one's Mana Core in the presence of the Antigon."

"Shit. I need to brush up on my history," Mikhail joked. The boys focused again.

Tanaka Hanzo was a retired Major of Her Majesty's Third Rocasian Regiment, forcefully exiled after her General, Ian Noguri's fatal death. She marched before the lineup of students in her military boots.
Your story source m_v lem|p-yr

"WHAT'S THE FIRST RULE? RUNTS?" She shouted in a commandant's voice.

"DON'T BE PUSSIES!" The First Years barked in turn. It sounded funny, but no one was laughing.

The students all stood in fighting Karate Gi, in the colors of their various Arcs, for easy limb movement. They were all barefoot, save their roaring veteran coach. Rafel's Judo Gi was a blazing red, the only similarity he shared with Percival's gold, Mikhail's blue, and Rosa's black, were their white belts.

All who stood in the Guild at this time were novices, no matter what points you scored in your Manifest.

"WHAT'S THE SECOND RULE, RUNTS?" Tanaka boomed higher.

"FUCK MAGIC!" All the First Years roared in unison.

"FUCK WHAT?"

"FUCK MAGIC!"

"—AND WE USE OUR WHAT?"

"WE USE OUR FISTS!"

Tanaka eased down, letting them catch their breaths. She moved around their lines and studied their stiff backs. "Good, runts! You're learning. Now, before we separate you all into groups of two, let's have some light entertainment of fists, shall we? I'll need a challenger for our only First Year red belt holder, OLIVAR D'SHENKO!

Olivar, where are you, boy? Fall out!"

Out from the extremes of the lineup, a tall, stocky young man with white hair and a gold [doh-gi], and a unique red belt, started walking out the lines. The Griffins began to cheer. Olivar Dshenko had a buzz cut, but his eyebrows were blond as the sun outside the Guild.

"As defender, Olivar D'shenko of [Griffin Gold Arc] is free to choose his opponent. Olivar, point your Challenger!" ordered Coach Tanaka.

Every [First Year] in the Guild watched Olivar's huge, ham hand rise and slide across standing lines, past the Ravens, and Pegasus Blues, and the Griffin Golds, coming to rest on the Phoenix Reds. And on Rafel. His single finger pointed. "I CHOOSE THE REDHEAD!"