030 Functioning Psychopaths - Part 4 - Mark’s POV

  Karl’s flames roared to life.

  A ring of fire burst outward from his shoulders, the heat distorting the air around him. His jacket fell to the ground in burning tatters, and he ripped his shirt clean apart, smoke curling off the edges.

  His trousers — fireproof, thank god — didn’t catch. Probably the same kind firefighters used. But the sight of Karl standing there, his body encased in flickering light, was like watching a bomb mid-detonation.

  "Ah, so the match is still on, yes?" Greg’s smile sharpened. “Poor Elena, lying right there like some dried fish… don’t you feel bad for her?

  Karl didn’t respond. He lunged.

  Flames surged off his fists as he threw a left hook straight at Greg’s face. Greg’s eyes widened. He tilted his head back, just narrowly avoiding the blow. Karl’s fist carved through the air, flames licking dangerously close to Greg’s hair.

  "Do you think I care?" Karl snarled.

  Another burst of heat exploded from his palm. Greg stumbled back, laughing breathlessly as he ducked away from a wild backhand. Karl’s movements were fast — too fast for someone human. His flames trailed through the air like ghostly afterimages.

  "Ah—!" Greg ducked. "Careful, Brandt! You might singe something important!"

  Karl’s eyes were wild, feral. Another swing — this time Greg had to twist his whole body to avoid the blast of heat that followed it. His coat sleeve caught fire. Greg swore under his breath and peeled it off in one swift motion, tossing it aside where it burned into ash.

  "Mark!" Mirai’s voice cut through the chaos. I turned toward her — she was crouched beside Elena’s still form, her hands hovering uncertainly over the dark stain on Elena’s blouse. "Should we—?"

  I opened my mouth —

  "No need."

  Professor Merrick was already there, kneeling beside Elena with his sleeves rolled up. His expression was eerily calm. He pressed his hand against Elena’s side, a faint force pulsing under his fingertips. Was he healing her?

  What exactly was Professor Merrick’s ESP?

  "The spar will continue," Merrick said coolly. He glanced toward the edge of the field. "Matt. Lola. Come here. Pick up Elena and take her to the infirmary. The nurse should be able to take care of her."

  Matt and Lola hesitated only for a second before running over. Matt crouched down and lifted Elena carefully by her shoulders, while Lola took her legs. Elena’s head lolled back as they carried her away, blood trailing in thin drops across the floor.

  Karl didn’t even glance their way.

  "Brandt." Greg’s voice was light and teasing as he sidestepped another flaming punch. "Aren’t you worried about your friend?"

  “I don’t have friends.”

  Karl’s fist shot out — too fast this time. Greg’s smile vanished as Karl’s knuckles grazed his cheek, searing the skin. The smell of burnt flesh curled through the air.

  "Ah… ouch."

  Greg’s hand lifted to his cheek, touching the scorched skin. He examined his fingers. "That actually hurt. But that’s actually sad, you know? No friends?"

  Karl was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling beneath the flicker of his flames. His gaze was sharp, burning with pure hatred.

  "You should have killed me when you had the chance," Greg said softly.

  “Uuuh,,, we can’t do that, right?” quipped Mirai besides me.

  Karl’s fist shot out again. Greg ducked — barely. The heat from the strike left thin red lines on his cheek. He winced. "Damn."

  Greg’s foot shot out — a quick, precise kick aimed at Karl’s knee. Karl twisted his body, absorbing the hit with barely a flinch. He retaliated immediately, flames licking up his leg as he drove a knee toward Greg’s gut.

  Greg spun away, laughing as Karl’s flames grazed his side. "You’re very intense, Brandt!"

  Karl didn’t answer. His hand shot forward, a thin arc of fire trailing behind his fingertips. Greg’s eyes narrowed. "Tch—"

  A blast of heat shot toward Greg’s chest.

  Greg’s form blurred.

  I blinked.

  Greg was suddenly behind Karl.

  "Fast."

  Karl’s fist smashed into the ground where Greg had just been standing. Flames burst upward in a geyser of heat and smoke. Dust rained down over the field.

  Greg’s laugh was breathless. "But not fast enough."

  Karl spun toward him, fire curling off his shoulders like wings. His red hair clung to his face, his eyes narrowed and murderous.

  Greg’s smile widened.

  "All this effort… for Faust?" His eyes glinted. "Come on, Karl. If you’re going to be a hero, at least own up to it."

  Karl’s flames flared higher. "Shut up."

  "Touchy."

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  Karl lunged. His flames twisted into a roaring arc —

  Greg’s eyes sharpened. "Got you."

  Karl’s body suddenly froze.

  Thin green tendrils curled up from the floor beneath his feet. I hadn’t even noticed them before — barely more than hair-thin vines, almost invisible in the smoke-filled air. They coiled upward, wrapping around Karl’s ankles, his wrists.

  Karl’s flames sputtered. His eyes widened. "What—"

  "It’s over, Brandt."

  Greg’s eyes darkened. His smile sharpened into something twisted and vicious. "Did you seriously think, I only brought cacti in this fight? I got a whole garden for myself!"

  The vines tightened.

  Karl’s flames surged wildly, burning away the tendrils — but more were already climbing his legs.

  "Don’t feel bad," Greg murmured. "Faust was the distraction. You were my real target all along. Do you know why?"

  Karl’s gaze sharpened. His teeth bared. "You—!"

  "Hush."

  Greg raised one hand. The green mist curled around his fingers.

  "Sleep."

  Karl’s flames guttered. His legs buckled. His eyes fluttered —

  And then Karl bit his lip so hard it bled.

  “You know? Fuck you!”

  A burst of red light exploded between us.

  Karl’s flames roared back to life — and this time, they burned brighter, hotter. The vines caught fire and disintegrated almost instantly.

  Greg’s eyes widened.

  "Tch—"

  Karl’s fist shot out.

  Greg blurred — too late this time.

  Karl’s knuckles connected with Greg’s jaw in a burst of flame and bone-crushing impact.

  Greg’s body whipped sideways. He smashed into the far wall, leaving a crater in the stone. Dust and smoke curled upward from the wreckage.

  Karl’s shoulders heaved. His flames still burned, curling off his back like the edges of an open wound. His hand dropped to his side.

  Greg’s laugh echoed through the smoke.

  "Ah…"

  Greg’s outline stirred through the dust.

  "…That was a good hit."

  Karl’s flames flared back to life. His eyes narrowed.

  "Stay down," Karl said coldly.

  Greg stepped forward, his green eyes glinting beneath the smoke. "Make me."

  Merrick’s voice cut through the haze.

  "Enough."

  The heat evaporated instantly.

  Karl’s flames sputtered out. Greg’s smile thinned.

  "Brandt wins," Merrick said calmly. His gaze was as cold as ever. "This match is over."

  Karl’s flames were still burning beneath his skin. His chest heaved as he glared through the haze. His knuckles were white, half-curled into a fist.

  "What?" His voice was sharp and dangerous. "We aren't even done yet!"

  Greg pushed himself up from the wreckage. Dust and bits of shattered stone fell from his shoulders as he rolled his neck with an audible crack. Despite the swelling bruise already darkening his jaw, he smiled.

  "Yeah," Greg said, his voice lazy but with that same dangerous edge beneath it. "What he said."

  Merrick’s gaze sharpened.

  "It’s done." His tone cut through the tension like a knife. "Greg."

  Greg’s smile thinned.

  "Your strategies are brilliant. Cruel, but brilliant." Merrick’s eyes looked emotionless. "But you lost. I can’t have you dying on your first spar."

  Greg’s eyes narrowed. A dangerous flicker passed over his face.

  "How?!" His voice rose, sharp and shaking. "I am going to win this!"

  Greg’s breath hitched. His green eyes gleamed beneath his messy blond hair, fever-bright. "Even with the attribute disadvantage, I am going to prove to the rest of the fucking world that I can be the strongest!"

  Merrick’s expression didn’t change. His eyes were cold, clinical.

  "You can’t fool my eyes," Merrick said calmly. "You’re exhausted."

  Greg’s pupils contracted.

  "I’ve read your file." Merrick’s gaze darkened slightly. "I know how reckless you can be. That was your limit. Do more… and then you’d risk your life."

  Everyone was looking confused, well, I wasn’t. After all, I knew Greg’s story.

  Greg’s jaw tightened. His hand curled into a fist at his side. His shoulders trembled.

  "Fine!"

  Greg’s voice broke.

  He spun on his heel, his green jacket swaying behind him as he stormed toward the exit. His steps were fast and uneven, his breath hitching just slightly.

  I saw the glint of moisture at the corner of his eye before he disappeared through the doors.

  It was…

  …kind of anticlimactic.

  Karl’s gaze tracked Greg’s retreating figure, his eyes narrowed and dangerous. His hand twitched at his side — flames flickering faintly beneath his fingertips. He started to move—

  Merrick’s hand landed on his shoulder.

  "Don’t."

  Karl’s body tensed. His gaze shifted toward Merrick — a hard, biting glare. Merrick’s eyes remained steady. His hand didn’t budge from Karl’s shoulder.

  For a second, I thought Karl was going to hit him.

  But then Karl’s gaze dropped. The flames guttered out. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his breath.

  "Tch."

  Karl shrugged Merrick’s hand off and turned toward the exit. His steps were slow and heavy.

  Merrick watched him leave, his expression impassive. Then his gaze shifted toward me.

  "Mr. Valentine."

  I stiffened. "Yes?"

  "You’re next."

  Of course I was.

  Of course.

  "Next match," Professor Merrick’s voice carried through the combat zone with that usual detached calm. "Mark Valentine, Peter Mosley, Iris Touch. To the center."

  Finally. My turn.

  I stood up and rolled my shoulders, ignoring the knot of tension coiled in my chest. This was going to be rough. Peter had cryokinesis—annoyingly versatile and difficult to counter. Iris could teleport, which made her a pain to track. And me? Cognitive invisibility. Useful for slipping under the radar but not exactly helpful in a direct fight. I could probably force Second Perspective if I pushed myself, but… well, I wasn’t eager to bleed out of my nose in front of half the class.

  Peter swept back his dark hair, securing his headband over his forehead. He was tall and lean, the type who didn’t talk much but made people nervous just by standing too still. I remembered him from class—quiet, always sitting near the windows like he was waiting for something to happen. His gray eyes sharpened when they landed on me.

  "I feel bad I won’t be able to teach that Greg a lesson," Peter said, his voice low and steady.

  Iris scoffed. "You should focus on the opponents in front of you."

  She stood to my left, adjusting her bun. Her purple hair shimmered under the combat zone’s harsh lights, and I noticed how tightly she'd tied it back—probably trying to avoid someone yanking it mid-fight. Smart. She wore fingerless gloves and an expression that suggested she’d already calculated how to kill both of us three different ways.

  Peter’s mouth curled into a slight smirk. "Greg's overdue for a reality check."

  Iris rolled her eyes. "If you survive this match, you can go after him."

  Peter’s smile widened slightly. "Count on it."

  “Talking about someone behind their back isn’t cool.”

  “Mark, you serious?” Iris scoffed.

  I sighed. This was already shaping up to be a disaster. Peter was clearly looking for a fight, and Iris was already sizing up weaknesses. Me? I was calculating how many seconds I could stay invisible before one of them found a way to ice me or teleport me into a wall.

  Merrick’s gaze slid over us, sharp and predatory. "Begin."

  Peter’s breath misted in the air as frost spread beneath his feet. Ice shot toward me in a jagged wave. I ducked and rolled, feeling the cold bite the edge of my sleeve. Iris flickered—gone one second, then behind Peter the next. Her hand shot toward his neck—

  Peter twisted, and ice erupted from the ground, forcing Iris to teleport again or risk losing a limb. She reappeared above him, lashing out with a kick.

  I sank into cognitive invisibility, my body flickering out of their awareness. Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped back, ice spiraling from his hands to coat the floor in a slick layer.

  Okay. Slippery floor. Hard to move. He was trying to corner us. I circled around to Peter’s side, moving quietly as Iris teleported, feinting left before appearing behind him again.

  Peter’s foot slammed down, and the ice exploded outward in jagged spikes. Iris vanished just before one of them could skewer her midair. I slipped closer—

  Peter’s eyes tracked me.

  Damn. He couldn’t see me, but he was feeling the air shift. I was going to have to—

  Iris flickered to my left, her hand brushing my shoulder as she whispered, "Not bad."

  Before I could react, she vanished again.

  “I won’t miss next time,” echoed her voice.

  Peter's gaze sharpened as the temperature dropped. A layer of frost crept up my boots. My breath fogged the air. He was trying to freeze me in place without bothering with accuracy.

  Fine. I could work with that.

  I lowered my stance, heart hammering. "Alright," I muttered under my breath. "Let’s see how long you can keep this up."

  ?? Shoutout Time!

  [The Dark Lord Left For Cigarettes]!

  The Dark Lord… just up and left? When the most feared figure in the realm disappears to buy cigarettes (of all things), chaos erupts. The world’s most powerful factions are left scrambling, and the people caught in the middle are forced to pick up the pieces. Expect sharp humor, wild twists, and a refreshingly satirical take on the dark fantasy genre.