Desolate Mage: A Legend Reborn! 9 What Is Love 2 / Scheming is Strength 4

Long, flowing golden hair; not light yellow but golden, tinged with brown.

Teardrop shaped face.

Pert lips; ones that you wish you could kiss.

But she was crying.

Moira Fenella was the perfect girl in every trainee's eyes; including even the girls - who made up 1/3 of the trainees. She had captured every heart over the 1 year she had been here - because despite being the perennial 2nd best in the entire Arena; she had something almost no other trainee still had.

A heart.

She was kind, warm, cheery, caring... Everything that everyone thought would no longer exist in this prison they called home. And to the affection-starved assassins-in-training; there was nothing more desirable, nothing they craved more and yearned for more than that.

Love.

And against all odds, this angel-like girl - this messenger who surely could not belong to this tarnished, depraved world...

This girl loved Lars.

"Moira..." For the first time in 3 months; he stood before her.

For the first time in 3 months; he dared to say her name.

For the first time in 3 months; he could run away no longer.

"Lars...!" One, two, three steps - then they collided.

He held her; gingerly at first; then tightly - he couldn't resist. Then he felt the wetness on his chest; and patted her on the head.

"Why..."

"Lars, why... What have I done wrong...?" She lifted her head to look at his face; tilting her chin upwards to make up for the height difference. "Why... Why are you doing this...?"

'Why am I... Why am I doing this?'

'No! What am I doing!!?' Aghast, the teenage Lars held her shoulders tight; and heavily pushed her away - shoved her away despite her sobbing and tears; despite her heart-broken face.

Lars gritted his teeth; stilling his trembling hands.

He had to do.

He just had to; he must. For her.

He bolted away, ran helter-skelter from the one he truly loved; but he knew should not love him.

"Lars!!! Why???" A girl fell to her knees; falling heavily with a thud as she hit the ground.

The floor beneath her face turned darker; with the tears she shed.

"What have I done wrong...?" She whispered to herself.

* * * * *

Crestfallen and desolate; the picturesque, angelic girl slowly raised herself up off the floor where she was kneeling and smoothed out her clothes - a functional but simple black tunic; made of some material between leather and rough cotton; tight fitting but flexible.

Moira dusted herself off, then walked over to the nearby basins in the washing area of the residential sector. She washed her face lightly; clearing away the marks of her crying. She smiled a little - the water in the Arena was mostly greyed or muddy in the first place; she wondered what good it would make to wash her face with it...? She shrugged to herself; for once letting her hair - and guard - down to comfort her aching heart.

"Rosa, why does a pig need to wash her face...? When she's about to be drowned anyway...?"

She heard a malicious voice from behind her; and frantically spun around to face them and defend herself.

But in her weak state of mind; she was unprepared. Just when she had let relaxed the least bit; trouble came knocking.

A bag was thrown over her head; and even with all her might and skills, she could not manage to slip away from the many hands, fists and legs beating on her.

Before she knew it, her arms were grabbed from either side by several pairs of hands; with a couple more holding her legs and lifting her up. To her horror, she was swiftly transported to the basin; the one she had just washed her face in - the one full of water.

"Let go!!! Let go NOW!!! I'll kill you, I swear I'll kill you!!! If the management finds out--" She made every threat she could in the 3 seconds she had before she was forced to silence her shouts and screams; for they dunked her head into the water of the large and deep basin.

She tried not to panic; looking for some sort of weakness in her assailant's grips; any opportunity to break free - even the smallest one would do.

But the seconds passed and she could gain no ground - her captors were nearly as good as her in their application of force, and they outnumbered her at least 5 to 1...

The seconds turned to nearly a minute, and she could not hold on much longer. Her limit was normally 3 and a half minutes - a great feat and among the best among the 400 odd trainees. But she had been accosted and roughed up without any chance to catch her breath; then pressed into the waters.

She had stopped screaming - she had to hold her breath and last as long as she could; until help came.

'Please... Someone... Anyone... Help!!!' In her despair, she began to swallow water, choking; which caused her to swallow even more water. Tears flowed out of her eyes; only to mix with the waters that were far from clean.

* * * * *

Seline Brunhild.

Ranked 6th (formerly 7th - until the death of rank number 3); she was also one of the two members of the top 10 who actively pursued the concept of strength in numbers.

Full lips, luscious red hair, angular and sculpted features. Sexy, sensuous and curvaceous despite her young age; Seline used all of her charms, wits and schemes to gather her posse of followers; boys and girls who were at her beck and call like obedient puppies.

And those she could not pull to her side, she brutally and ruthlessly crushed - like right now.

Seline hated the slutty, bitchy girl more than anyone; more than anything else. The face that stole her Lars away from her.

The red-headed queen bee spoke gruffly to Rosa; her second in command. "Finish up and clear out! You know what to do."

As she quickly left the scene to keep her cool and maintain an alibi of innocence, she heard the sound of splashing water; a girl's head dunked below the surface once more.

She smiled in victory.

Chapter end