"Raka! Do you think I can win?" Sarah asked, sitting down next to him on their couch, holding up a drawing she had just finished.
Raka leaned back, smiling softly. "Probably."
She immediately pinched his arm, her face annoyed. "I'm asking you seriously!"
"Ow! Sorry, sorry," he chuckled, rubbing the spot she pinched. He turned to her, expression gentler now. "But like I said, you're a talented artist. I honestly think you'll win."
Sarah seemed unconvinced, sinking deeper into the couch, shoulders dropping slightly. Seeing her reaction, Raka sighed and playfully flicked her forehead.
"Hey, be confident in yourself. You've done it before, you can do it again. Besides, you've got me cheering you on, so that's like an automatic 50% buff, right?"
She giggled, visibly relaxing. "Thanks, Raka, you're—"
…
"Est—"
...
BEEP!
BEEP!
BEEP!
"Ugh, what?" Raka tried to move, but his body wouldn't listen.
'What happened... T-there was a light and..' A distant ringing filled his ears, muffling everything around him.
The world blurred, distorted shapes and flickering flames slowly coming into focus. Raka groaned, lifting his head slowly, his mind foggy.
Fire.
Everywhere around him, flames raged, consuming buildings and trees, casting eerie, flickering shadows across the ruins of the embassy.
Before he could fully comprehend the scene, a deafening blast ripped through the air. He barely had time to brace himself before the shockwave hit, flinging him backwards.
"AGH!"
He slammed violently against a tree trunk, ricocheting into the ground, pain erupting sharply through his body, finally snapping him fully awake.
Raka quickly scrambled up, heart racing as chaos unfolded before him.
Black-armored knights with a strange emblem emblazoned on their chestplates clashed fiercely against Dravareth's military forces.
The clang of metal, distant shouts, and desperate cries echoed through the smoke-filled air.
Another explosion rocked the ground beneath his feet, but this time he managed to steady himself. Something warm trickled down his cheek, drawing his attention.
He touched his face.
'Blood.'
He glanced down, noticing for the first time the state of his body.
Scraped knees, torn flesh on his arms, and blood dripping from a gash he couldn't see somewhere on his face.
Even after seeing the gruesome sight, it was another realization that filled him with dread.
'Wait, where's Sarah?!'
Raka scrambled desperately behind the smoldering wreckage of a destroyed car, the metal frame still radiating intense heat.
His breath came out in ragged gasps, eyes darting everywhere, searching for a safe path back to the competition grounds.
That's where Sarah had been before everything went to hell.
He carefully slid to the edge of the vehicle,
'Ok, slow and steady, I need to get to a safe position- huh?'
His hand bumped into something.
His gaze flicked down, and his heart stopped.
It was a body. A dead one.
It was the people with the black armor,
'Who the hell are these guys?' He didn't recognize their uniform at all, but the symbol on their chestplate did look familiar, 'But if Dravareth's soldiers are fighting them, then they must be the enemy.'
The soldier's faceplate had been shattered, revealing vacant eyes staring endlessly into nothingness, and blood pooled beneath the corpse.
'S-so much blood.'
Raka's stomach twisted. He has been in many incidents after the merger, with many casualties within them, but never once did he ever see a dead body up close.
Until now that is.
For a moment, all he could do was stare.
But amidst the turmoil in his mind, a sharp, sudden thought cut through. Morally wrong in many ways, but he is going to take what he can get.
This person had gear, tools, and armour he could use to protect himself!
Swallowing down bile, he reached for the body, fingers fumbling over the armored plates, tugging at them.
"Why is it so hard?!"
It refused to budge, stubbornly locked in place probably by some spell he didn't know about.
Frustration welled up, mixed with panic, until his fingers brushed against something different—a compact metal device attached to the knight's belt.
"Is that a Shield Base?"
He remembered a video he'd watched once, more out of boredom than actual interest.
Shield bases were simple devices that, when imbued with mana, created protective shields much quicker than traditional conjuring methods. Though much weaker than regular mana shields.
With trembling hands, he grabbed the device, gripping it tightly in his fist. His pulse hammered in his ears.
Magic and mana had never been his strength, he knew others thought he was stupid for neglecting it, but it just hadn't clicked with him.
But that doesn't mean he never tried.
In that tense moment, a memory flickered into focus.
A conversation with Thalya.
He had idly wondered aloud about the feeling of mana, and she had overheard him. Who knew a random moment one day could help him out in a life or death situation?
—
"It's like a current, a river flowing through each part of your body from the chest to the tips of your fingers."
"Yes, Shifu- Ow!"
...
"It worked! I feel tingly!"
Thalya looked surprised and rubbed her chin, "Looks like you kinda have a knack for this, Raka."
Her response made him feel prouder, but he couldn't help but notice an odd expression on her face...
—
"Just need to remember that feeling," Raka muttered.
He closed his eyes for a split second, forcing his racing heart to slow. He clenched the hand gripping the shield base, feeling a strange warmth rise from within his chest.
At first, there was nothing, then a faint flicker.
He concentrated harder. With a sudden burst, the mana shield materialized, blazing bright yellow, its energy humming reassuringly around his fist.
"Yes!" A rush of relief surged through him. But he quickly reined himself back, taking deep breaths.
He still had to cross the battlefield. Looking at the road he had to cross, going in recklessly would lead to his death.
Glancing across the field. There were too many people, mages hurling spells, knights trading brutal blows, and someone casually tossing a car like a fucking toy.
'How am I supposed to get through that without dying?!'
His resolve nearly crumbled when he saw a figure suddenly drop, head cleanly severed and rolling grotesquely onto the bloodied grass.
Raka felt nausea claw at his throat, his knees nearly giving way. He bit down hard, fighting the dizziness, forcing himself back into the present.
Shakily, his grip tightened on the mana shield.
"Focus, Raka," he whispered to himself. "Sarah needs you."