From the four corners of my lower back, I summon tentacles of pulsating energy. Extending them past my arms, I whip a single appendage towards Rosaline. She flips backwards in the air. With one hand, she balances on the limb before gracefully allowing herself to fall to the ground.

Undeterred, I lash out with all four of my tentacles. Lacerating the earth, I wildly slam my additional limbs in every location my enemy had been. Leaping, twisting, ducking, and rolling, Rosaline avoids each of my strikes.

Eight minutes...

I have eight minutes before I'm rendered unable to use Arts. I don't have time for this. Just stay still and die!

From the corner of my eye, I catch the glimpse of three flaming arrows hurtling towards me. With a sidewards swipe of one of my limbs, I intercept the attack, exploding the Arts before they're able to do me any harm. Redirecting my focus to my second attacker, I launch a tentacle directed at Hanna's forehead. A pillar of rock rises from the ground and blocks my attack.

'You can't win.' Forcing my attention back to herself, the green-haired woman charges, sword in hand. We clash blades. She retreats just as two spears of hardened earth speed towards me. Leaping out of the way, I narrowly avoid impalement.

'Just give up!' Before I'm able to recentre myself, Rosaline advances on my location. She thrusts her blade towards my neck. Stepping to the side, I avoid the fatal blow. Converting her thrust into a swing, she slashes my chest with the tip of her sword. Before I'm able to strike back, she retreats, followed by further projectiles launched from a distance.

There are six of them and one of me. In a battle of attrition, my death is assured. With their hit and run tactics, it's only a matter of time before they land a fatal hit or I run out of Arts.

Seven minutes…

Maintaining my tentacles is my only path to survival. I have seven minutes before I've accumulated more corruption than my body will allow. Seven minutes to kill everyone here…

Fine.

Turning my back to the bastards that led me into this trap, I sprint towards the Tension Masters at the entrance of the cave. They launch spears of spiralling energy towards me. Slamming the ground with two of my tentacles, I lift myself above their attacks. I raise the other two limbs of my Art above my head and propel them downwards towards two of the three adversaries in my line of sight. With a gratifying thud and a satisfying squelch, they impact with their foreheads, splattering the content of their skulls behind them.

I allow myself to drop before breaking my fall with my pulsating limbs. The surviving woman attempts to flee into the cave. Her escape is hindered by the barrier enclosing us. Desperately, she slams her fists onto the translucent wall. With her back still turned, I plunge my sword through her spine, twisting the blade on exit.

'You son of a whore!' Breaking from his position beside Hanna, Garrison charges in my direction. With both hands, he holds a hammer formed of rock.

'I take it that she was special to you. Don't fret; you'll be reunited soon.' Enraged by my taunt, Garrison throws his weapon at me. Wrapping an appendage around the handle, I take hold of the hammer, swing it around my body and return it to its owner, crushing his head.

The wind whisks my raven-black hair behind me, as I turn my attention back to Rosaline. 'What is it you said? I can't win?' I stare into her eyes. They flash wide with horror.

With Garrison no longer alive to defend her, I smack the side of Hanna's head from afar, bursting her skull on impact. Returning my gaze to my sole remaining enemy, I walk slowly towards the green-haired woman.

'I have an offer for you.' Smile, carved on my face, I continue my approach. 'Surrender. Give up your head willingly.' As I step forward, she staggers backwards, all traces of arrogance washed from her expression.

'You… you must be close to your limit by now!' She says.

'Six minutes. Tell me, do you think you can survive six minutes.' I don't wait for her response. With all four of my tentacles, I lash out. Valiantly, she dodges a few of my attacks, but with her as my sole focus, I land the inevitable crippling blow. Like cutting through paper with a knife, I amputate the legs of my enemy.

She screams.

She keeps screaming.

She screams until her voice is hoarse. She screams until all that is left is the muted sound of air forced out of her lungs. Standing above her, I cancel my Art. With her elbows, she drags herself away from me, leaving a trail of blood as she crawls. Stomping my foot on her back, I cease her movements.

'Please.'

'You're funny, Rosaline. You're really funny. If I wasn't going to kill you, I really might consider letting you go.' I place the tip of my sword to the back of her neck.

'I can help you.' She croaks.

'I don't care.' Applying pressure to the hilt of the sword, I plunge the blade through her neck and out of her throat.

Pathetic.

Numbers alone are worth nothing in this world. A single Tension Master can rise above Clans, cities, or even the whole of Aspire. They may have been rank-three Tension Masters, but their foundations were shallow. Not one of them displayed a single fluid Art. Matched against Father's teachings, his training, it would have made no difference had they doubled their numbers. Even still, if even one of them had the Arts to back up their numbers, I doubt I could have survived...

I cannot rely on the ineptitude of enemies. If I'm to make it back to the academy alive, I need to stay moving. I'm being traced. Without question, there are others who know where I am. The longer I stay in one place, the longer they have to gather.

"Behind every blade of grass."

If Rosaline's words are even remotely true…

No.

It doesn't matter how many come for me.

I'll kill them all.

Crouching down, I rummage through the pockets of my fallen enemy. Finding nothing of use, I walk to each corpse and repeat the action.

Nothing.

The surrounding dome begins to flicker and fade. With a blinding flash of light, it disperses entirely, freeing me from the enclosure.

With no barrier preventing my entrance, I walk into the cave and look around. Unlike the hideout I had fled to when the abyssal wraith attacked, this cave has no tunnels leading deeper inside. Other than a still-burning campfire at the centre of the cavern, there's no sign of habitation or long term use.

It seems the mercenaries recently arrived. Perhaps it's as they said, and they came across this place en-route to track me down. It hardly matters now. All that matters is that they weren't lying about the carriage.

Tearing through a mound of flesh, a land-dragon stands, tethered by rope to a coach behind it. I move to the carriage, open the door, and step inside. Searching the seats and the floor, I look for anything of value but find nothing.

Stood by the exit of the coach, my eyes linger on the inviting upholstery of the settee before me. Tempted, as I am, to relieve my fatigue, I stifle a yawn, exit the interior, move to the front, and take the coachman's seat.

I take the reins and give it a pull, spurring the land-dragon into motion. Guiding the beast from the cave, I tug the reins and the beast breaks into a sprint. At the front of the coach, I speed across the plains of the Oswald Region. Known as they are for endurance, the beast maintains its pace without rest.

Wrestling against sleep's siren call, I struggle to maintain concentration as I bolt through grassy plains. Wheels churn soil in a continuous rhythm; minutes pass, as do hours. Weariness gnaws at my consciousness. The world fades to black, only for me to force my eyes open and continue on.

Shattering the monotonous drone of turning wheels, laughter reaches my ears. Angling my head to the sound, from the right, another coach accelerates towards me. Atop the roof of the carriage, a man.

He lifts his hand to the air, condenses Tension into a spear, and releases the Art towards my carriage.

The spear strikes my beast. The sudden halt to the creature's acceleration tosses me from my seat.

The wind of my velocity beats my face; the world blurs in my vision; I soar through the air. A shadow passes over me. Though I don't see it, I know it's the airborne carriage hurtling to its final destination. All at once, my flight comes to its end. In an explosion of noise, I crash into the corpse of the landed carriage.

Head splitting, back aching, I shake off my disorientation and pull myself from the wreckage of the vehicle. I jolt out of the way of a second spear aimed for me and continue running.

'Nero XIII, Age, fifteen. True rank-three. Suspected of being a body-Tension Master. The boy who killed Wolf.' Jumping from the roof of his carriage, a blond-haired man lands onto the grass below.

Pointing a finger towards the remains of my land-dragon, he releases a black smog. The smog encircles the creature and floods into its mouth and nose.

It opens its eyes.

A death Tension Master…

Shit.

The resurrected carcass claws the earth, dashing towards me. Spinning abruptly, the dragon swings what's left of the carriage it is harnessed to, with the aim of crushing me with it. Pumping Tension into my legs, I leap over the wreckage and land back on the ground. Turning once more, the dragon pounces. I layer three barriers of Tension in its path. With a sickening crack, the neck of the beast snaps into an unnatural angle as its face collides with my defensive Art.

It falls to the ground.

Black smog pours from its nose and surrounds its neck, repairing the break. Condensing energy into a spear, I target the blond man and allow the projectile to shoot towards him. Intercepting my attack, the land-dragon leaps into the way of my Art. Its head is blasted from its neck, but the black smog begins to rebuild it.

'Give up!' The blond man shouts.

'I'm getting tired of people saying that today.'

Before the dragon is fully repaired, I charge towards my human enemy. Holding my blade like a javelin, I throw my sword with all the strength my Tension enhanced arms allow. He raises his hand as if readying himself to cast a barrier. Unimpeded, the sword stabs through his stomach.

The man struggles to speak as blood spews from his mouth. Though his words are jumbled, I understand his meaning; his question. He wants to know why he was unable to cast a barrier. The answer is simple.

The man is a fool.

While a fluid Art is in effect, a Tension Master below the fourth rank of Tension Control is unable to cast any other Art. From the man's aura, it was clear to me that he had newly advanced into rank three. In all likelihood, he would have stumbled upon a heritage and converted into an elemental Tension Master.

Enthused by his new power, he never spent the time to explore its limitations. He probably never needed to. A single fluid Art would have placed him at the apex of his lowly aspirations.

The fool falls to the ground. Standing over the man, I pull the sword from his stomach. I fling the blood from my blade and return it to its sheath. Without the patience or the strength to land a finishing blow, I stumble towards the carriage the blond man had arrived on top of. The whip, paralysed by fear, whimpers as I approach.

'I assume you know where the Academy is?'

'Yes… Yes my Lord.' Pressing my thumb beneath my finger, I flick a golden coin at the coachman. With fumbling hands, he catches the coin.

'Get me there, and another three gold is yours.' I don't wait for his response. I board the carriage and collapse into the seat.

Finally, I allow my mind to drift.