Meeting Adelaide and The Bitter Sting of Repeated Defeat.

What a relaxing da-

Arsenic, still accelerated by his time magic, is still only just able to get out of the tree he's in before the tree he's atop is smacked dead on and he's forced to flip out down and away. He takes no time after this for glorious posturing or anything of the like; Rather, a ball of lightning manifests in his hand which only grows as he decelerates, again moving at a much slower pace.

He takes to the air, contorting his body in a rather unusual fashion and simultaneously hurtling the charged static bomb in Virgil's direction, the miniature lightning grenade homing in on his position as Arsenic landed from his maneuver, skidding with his legs bent low. One hand reached for the sword on his back as he eyed the magician across from him with apprehension, slowly beginning to circle around.

Their eyes would meet.

They must do battle.

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Arsenic would withdraw his sword, slowly, and then begin to shimmer with energy, electric sparks cascading from his form and pooling on the ground beneath him before harmlessly dissipating, exploding into loud, sizzling, crackling electricity. He'd remain almost entirely still, breathing even, slow, as he circled around Virgil, eyes dead on the other boy's...

He'd improved since last time. To say as much was an understatement, really. He could best the boy he'd been last time ten times over and still have some left in the tank. Virgil was sure to be better too- he was banking on himself having improved that much more.

It was time to harvest the fruits of his labor.

He'd lunge into battle, lightning scorching the ground in his wake.

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Arsenic dashed around like a madman possessed, having become a certified speed demon. Time did not bend to his command, he was far too young for that, but his talent...he pushed, hard, moving with ungodly speed and coaxing time to do his bidding at irregular intervals, at times becoming a whirling dervish of might and magic too fast for the eye to follow.

But Virgil had only gotten better at slowing him down.

For every ten he dodged, there were fifty more, and they'd slow his limbs, make movement eerily difficult, agitating him to no end. The swordsman's teeth'd grit; it took awhile, but eventually, he came to a realization.

This shit wasn't working.

He leapt back, flipping up and into a nearby tree to get some rest and reprieve. He weighed over all of his options, tearing away the blood-matted sleeve of his jacket to reveal his heavily bruised arm, where a spell'd struck dead on. He didn't have long before the fighting reinitiated, but in that timespan, he planned...he thought of what he knew of Virgil's fighting style...

And he planned.

So that when, inevitably, he leapt from that tree, back into the fray and swinging like mad?

The bout would be his.

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Reversion from his various acceleration techniques was forced, not willing, and boy oh boy was it painful.

He's dropped like a sack of potatos, the damage to his body too much to bare by this point. He flinches horribly when struck by a barrage of blasts from close range that leave him reeling, skidding across the field and embedding his sword into the ground just for support.

It appeared the outcome would be the same- despite the closeness of that first round.

Rather than mull over it even a second after it was finished, Arsenic rose to his feet slowly, as if sure his legs would give out from under him at any minute, and then promptly flashed the other boy a thumbs up. He stumbled, as if he were going to fall, but after he righted himself that time, he maintained the illusion of complete control over himself again.

The kid walked off, guided time hastening his leave.

Dark thoughts clouded his mind.

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There was something Arsenic had quickly realized about himself, picking himself up from the conflict with Virgil and making a hasty exit. There was something he had learned then, treating and bandaging his wounds, running multiple scenarios over in his head in which he wasn't outmaneuvered and blown off of his feet by a barrage of energy attacks.

He didn't like to lose.

He trains, and ardously at that. He pushes, harder than he ever has, running through the forest like a madman possessed. Magic-imbued limbs strike out at boulders with force sufficient to grind them into dust; his sword cleaves through tree trunks. He calls down lightning with the ease you and I draw breath, so it sunders the earth and he is left roaring madly in the calamitous wake of the center of the explosion, clothes still rendered a tattered mess from the escalating conflict he'd escaped.

Fuck it.

He wasn't going to lose anymore.

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Arsenic strides around town, dragging his feet. The bags under his eyes, by this point, are very noticeable, and altogether, he just seems sluggish. Despite looking worse-for-wear, though, when he stumbles by the castle, and notices the large crowd amassed, it actually gave him pause.

He hadn't seen a good portion of them before. It was actually sort of an interesting sight. He scans the crowd, observing the two whispering, the others gathered, and he slumps against the wall, joining them all in idling around the castle.

He doesn't dare, however, step past that fence. For whatever reason, he just doesn't seem to think it's something he should be doing.

Mostly quiet.

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Arsenic stares up at Adelaide, unsure of why the sheer presence she emanated seemed sort of...odd? There was just something he couldn't quite place about being around her that put him on edge. His eyes flit nervously to Levi, the boy taking a bit of a step back. Not anything too far, perhaps a foot, but he just...sort of stuck close.

So this is the girl Levi was talking about...

He tried to keep his face as impassive as he possibly could.

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Arsenic turned to Virgil and Levi, mildly surprised to see Virgil there as, in his sleep-deprived state, his situational awareness was absolutely abysmal; he hadn't even noticed the boy walk by. Everything past by him in a manner that was, frankly, surreal. Eventually, he just kind of came to the realization that the scene of just himself, Adelaide, and his mentor-figure(of relatively similar age,) had become heavily more occupied.

A..hero?

He didn't ever want to be called that, but at the same time, hearing Levi referred to something- receiving an accolade, a title, even if one he didn't want himself, it stirred that feeling of insignificance. His eyes closed, wearily, the bags beneath them having grown only larger.


Arsenic, as with before, kept to himself and didn't contribute anything to the conversation. He eyed Adelaide distrustfully and hung in the back; Where the other two boys seemed rather eager to make her acquaintance, he just tried to remain unnoticed until the interaction passed.

He can't help, however, doing much the same as Virgil and observing her horns.

What...are those?

The boy'd occasionally twitch as his mind ran through ridiculous scenario after ridiculous scenario all involving her spearing people with the horns like a raging bull, on all fours charging madly through crowds and raining down a torrential downpour of gore as she skewered her enemies with the horned top of her head. His arms crossed, his face scrunched in concentration, and, altogether, Arsenic just looked like one incredibly stressed individual.

He missed the days before he knew girls could have horns. It was easier when the scariest thing about them was that they peed from their butts and could break a man's spirit with something his dad had called mirage.
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Arsenic wasn't the type to do anything without motive.

Levi is going to do it.

It was without doubt. For no personal gain, his two accomplices would embark on a quest to help Tyd, and he himself would be left behind, in large part due to the fact that there was simply no real motivation for him to abandon everything he knew and go on some quest to help some total stranger because he had a sob story.

All of the mess about champions and heroes- none of it kindled his flames or roused his spirits as it did them. It had no appeal. No lure. Greatness called to him, but it wasn't anywhere in the service of others, in nobility and heroism for the sake of it. The kid frowned, eyes lingering on Virgil a few seconds as he contemplated the probability of success for the other child to return from whatever foray he was getting himself to...before he just came to the conclusion he didn't know enough about the adventure to determine that.

Arsenic finally stepped forward from where he'd been hanging back, making a point of exiting the vicinity of Virgil and Adelaide, and moving over to Nerissa.

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Arsenic, previously, had been completely zoned out. When he returned to the waking world with the rest of his small militia of child soldiers, he'd note that an all-out brawl had ensued for the fate of the tree house.

...Really?

He steps back and sits in a chair, but prepares himself to utilize his time magic to move the fuck out of the way in a moment's notice.

Adults vs. children for the destiny of a tree.

Who would win?
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Ugh...strong.

In large part, Arsenic hadn't even wanted to participate in this battle to begin with.

Lightning emanates from every fiber of his being, and, shortly after, would condense into an aura that rhythmically pulsed and writhed about him as if it were alive, sparks cascading from his ground and pooling on the ground below. He'd augment his body to the highest degree he were able with magic, grip his sword with one hand, and get up from the wicked ass beating he had just received.

Over a thrice-damned tree house.

Son of a bitch.

When the fighting re-initiated, he'd stick close to Levi and Fou-Lu, the Drakanite duo, and, as he'd previously augmented only himself, he'd now bestow upon them the gift of accelerated perception and heightened agility, the three of them dashing into battle a whirling dervish of might and magic.

The things he did for love.
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Arsenic laid on the ground, unmoving, for some time. He'd twitch at random, before slowly drawing his head out of the ground, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. He rolled over, swiping the grime and debris out of his face from the tossing he had just received. Eventually, the violet-haired swordsman, having received what may be, by this point, the single most humiliating experience of his life, was faced with a recurring thought.

He really. Really. Really. hated.

Fucking.

Losing.

After awhile, he's able to climb to his feet, the deafening ringing in his ears finally having toned down to the point he's able to perceive their various post-fight commentary. Particularly, he gains full coherence around as Ryuuichi's declaration that she stank like sour dough bread and fish pussy.

"I..."

What did one even say after all that?