Self-Defense without Mental Weaponry

Jumping from their seats, Olivia's friends try to calm her down.

"Olivia, get a hold of yourself!" The pink-haired girl places her hand on Kali's shoulder.

"Take it easy!" Another, with a bob haircut, grabs Olga's raised arm. "Your dad won't be happy if you scare the customers off. He's had a lot of complaints about low sales."

"Hands off!" Olivia snaps, and her friends recoil involuntarily. 

I notice how the shirts on their chests wrinkle for a second as if pushed by an invisible hand. I recall the MWS techniques I managed to read about at the hospital. It's Rygl style, Thrown Fist, at its minimum strength. An ordinary Fist would have knocked the air out of the girls, but the strength is deliberately restrained. Judging by the skillful, subtle manipulation of Prana, this local version of Olivia is likely a highly skilled Disciple, or perhaps even a Warrior.

"So this is your café?" I asked. "Do you often treat your customers like this?"

"Shut up, you idiot," The pink-haired girl hisses. Why is dyed hair so popular here? Well, I don't mind if attractive girls wear it as it suits them, not boys.

The other friend cries out, "You'd better not provoke her any more. When you kissed her on live TV, you sealed your fate!"

Hmm, our little imp was quite the troublemaker.

"Listen here…" Olivia clenches her fists, her knuckles marked with pale old scars.

Suddenly, a man in a suit bursts out of the service door, rushing toward us so fast that his tie separates from his shirt and swings like a pendulum.

"Miss Morgan, is something wrong?" He seems to be the manager of the café.

"It is," Olivia says, her eyes fixed only on me. "I'll deal with it myself."

"Are you kicking us out?" My sister's eyes widen as she freezes with a spoon in her hand.

For a moment Olivia seems taken aback, her cheeks turning as red as the strawberries floating in the soufflé on the neighboring table. Kali, haven't you noticed that I'm with a child? Now she seems ashamed.

"No, of course, not. Go on with your meal," she graciously allows, sitting down on an empty chair at our table. Then she gives me an angry look. "When you're finished, you and I will talk outside."

"What about?"

"We'll fight. You humiliated me in front of the whole country."

I shrug and go back to eating, as does Helen. After hovering for a while, the manager leaves the dining area. Olivia's friends go back to their table, stealing glances at us. Olivia sits rigid and tense, her eyes fixed on my face.

"When did I kiss her?" I whisper to Helen, gently nudging her side with my elbow.

"At the regional championships," my sister replies. "Your team won gold, as usual, and hers got bronze. So you grabbed her on the podium at the awards ceremony and kissed her passionately." Suddenly she blushes and shakes her head. "You're such an idiot, brother."

Hmm, interesting. I wonder if it was a French kiss? Definitely not something to ask my sister about.

"Are you done eating?" Olivia interrupts my train of thought.

Helen has already devoured her ice cream, but I've only managed a half of mine. That's OK — I don't want to keep the ladies waiting. 

My sister and I step outside, Olivia and her friends following close behind. I take Helen by the hand and start walking down the street.

"Where are you going?" Olivia cries out. "Are you running away?"

I reply without turning around,

"There's a suitable place nearby. We're not going to have a fight on the pavement, are we?"

It's a convincing argument, and she follows us obediently. Her friends keep pace. Soon I stop at a bus stop and look around.

"Where's the place?" Olivia mumbles, clearly annoyed. "Are you just stalling? Try it, and you'll get it twice as bad!"

I ignore her and continue to scan the spaces between the buildings. A bus slowly rounds the corner and approaches the bus stop. The doors swing open, and people pour out.

I look into Helen's eyes.

"Don't worry about me, sis. Everything will be fine. I'll call you as soon as I'm back at the hospital."

"Back at the hospital?" Helen's eyes opened wide. "I thought you were discharged. Did you escape?"

I wink at her. "Shh, it's our little secret, OK?"

"Are you ignoring me?" Olivia approaches me and grabs the front of my T-shirt. "Are you out of your mind? I'll deal with you right here, right now."

I look into her light blue eyes, framed by a dark grey rim. The world is different, Olivia is different, but her eyes remain the same — beautiful, filled with a clear and vivid sparkle, under long, dark lashes.

"There is no reason for us to quarrel. I wasn't the one that kissed you that day."

"Don't give me that!" She snarls.

"But now it's me." I suddenly grab her head with both hands, pull her close and kiss her. The taste of her coral lips overwhelms me; it's much sweeter than the ice cream. Much more pleasant.

She tries to pull away but fails. A tingling warmth burns my lips, and I bet she feels the same. A fire for both of us. One flame, one intimacy for two different worlds. I close my eyes, but at last I see her eyelids fall too. The surrounding noises — the honking of cars, the barking of dogs, and the whistling of the rising wind — fade into the silence between her and me, dissolving into the accelerated beating of our hearts. Maybe Olivia will never recognize me, but... she'll certainly want to kick my ass even more now! Crap! Time to run!

"See you," I yell, shaking her weakening grip from my chest and jumping on a bus. 

The doors close in front of my face, and the whole bus shakes with a metallic thud. The passengers flinch in surprise. As the bus starts to move, I hear through the slightly open window,

"Again? You've done it again? I'll kill you! Do you hear me? Arthur Demont, I'll kill you!"

I wave goodbye, which only makes Olivia yell louder.

"De-e-e-mo-o-o-ont!"

The girls' slender figures gradually shrink and disappear, followed by the fading of Olivia's angry screams. I exhale deeply — phew, I dodged that. The smile stays on my face for so long that my facial muscles start to ache. Of course, Helen isn't in any danger from Olivia, who was already embarrassed about confronting us in the cafe. My kiss really blew her mind — she screamed without a care in the world. Heh, typical Olivia: she was just as uninhibited as when we were tearing through the hordes of enemies.

The passengers still give me sideways glances as if I'm crazy. And I keep smiling, savoring the memory of the taste of the coral lips.

***

"What a jerk!" Olivia stomps her heel on the road and returns to the bus stop. "Fuc—" Her friend Kira gestures at Demont's little sister, and Olivia corrects herself, "I mean, he's a scoundrel."

"What was he wearing?" Margo remarks, twirling a pink lock of her hair thoughtfully. "Some kind of pajamas?"

"My brother wears it in the hospital," Helen says and nods, admiring Olivia. She shook the whole bus with just one kick! She wishes she could be as strong. Then no one like Spiegel would dare to mess with her.

"Hospital?" Olivia asked. "He's in the hospital? Something serious?"

"Yeah, my brother had an accident. But he got out of it to help me."

Margo exchanges glances with Olivia.

"So the bruises on his face aren't from the Games?" Margo asks. "They're from the accident?"

"Yes."

Olivia suddenly feels a strange tightness in her chest. She touches her lips which are still burning from the kiss. She isn't angry now. She's ashamed. She wanted to beat up a sick guy! In front of his little sister! What could be more shameful?

"Just don't hit my brother too hard," Helen suddenly pleads. "After the accident, he can no longer see Prana. He doesn't feel it at all."

Even worse, she wanted to beat up a disabled person. Olivia feels something inside her stretching, causing her physical pain. Her heart tightens.

"I won't beat him. I promise," she says to the young girl. "Could you please tell me what hospital Arthur is in?"

"Why do you need to know?" Kira narrows her eyes.

"I want to apologize." Olivia presses her lips together tightly as they continue burning.

***

In the evening, three guys burst into my hospital room. They're all dressed to impress, gold chains dangling from their wrists, their ears pierced and their eyes drunk.

"Are you the punk who offended my sister?" the one in the white jacket asks.

"The blonde with the haughty face?" I clarify. "She and her friends beat up my little sister in an alley. So yeah, I did."

"Don't give us that crap!" a skinny guy with a goatee screams. "Do you know who her and Bruce's father is? You're in big trouble."

I struggle to keep my composure. They are like Neanderthal cannibals whose communication consists essentially of grunts and growls. If they found an open wound on you, they'd pounce and gnaw you to the bone. Luckily, all my wounds are stitched up.

"I have proof," I say, reaching for the camera I hid in the drawer.

The third guest — a burly guy in a tight-fitting jumper — comes straight at me. His thick fists make a crunching sound. 

"Looks like this guy just doesn't get it, does he?" he grumbles.

"We'll teach him," the guy in the white jacket says, nodding. "But not here. The hospital is a public place. We don't want to attract the doctors and the staff. Let's go outside. You coming willingly, rat?"

"I will," I say, ignoring the charming nickname he gave me. I don't want to disturb the seriously ill patients in the next room.

We go out into the corridor and make our way down to the first floor. I hear a familiar voice from the reception area. I didn't expect to hear it so soon.

"Which room is Arthur Demont in?" Olivia brushes her bangs out of her eyes and suddenly sees me. "Demont! We've come to see you!"

Her friends have come too.

"For another fight?" I smile. "Sorry, I'm already booked for today."

I gesture at my guests, who stare at the girls with open mouths. I'm a bit embarrassed for myself. The girls have swapped their school uniforms for casual clothes — tops, denim skirts, and knee socks. Their loosened hair is adorned with pink hairpins. Once fierce and bold, Olivia now looks sweet and embarrassed.

"No, I'm not here to fight," she says, blushing.

"So, another kiss then?" I ask with a wink.

"You bastard!" she cries out, indignant.

"Arthur," the pink-haired girl says in a serious tone, "did you say you were going to fight those guys?"

"Yeah, chick," Bruce says. "We're here to give him a beating, but you can join us. You're three, so we can have some fun afterwards, all six of us. How about a ride?"

"What? Chick?" Olivia immediately flares up, but the pink-haired girl interrupted her.

"We agree."

I roll my eyes but don't say anything, otherwise, we won't get anywhere.

We all spill out into the street, leaving the hospital gates behind. An empty alley, suitable for our little rendezvous, is only six hundred feet away. The belly guy pushes me toward the dead end, probably to make sure I won't run away.

Suddenly the three girls step in front of me, shielding me from the guys.

"Why?" Bruce grumbles. "No, girls, we'll have our fun with you later. First we have to deal with him."

"We'll fight, not Demont," Olivia announces, her hands on her hips.

"We'll defend him," her friends add, nodding in agreement.

"Foolish girls," I say with a sigh. "Go home. Who do you think you're protecting? I beat you in the Games, Morgan."

"We know everything." Olivia turns and looks me straight into the eye. "You are disabled, Demont. You can't use Prana anymore. Leave it to us..."

There was a fleeting moment before I realize her words and roar:

"WHAT. DID. YOU. JUST. SAY?"

Inside my astral body the mental polyhedra are shaking. The shattered fractal of the Third General Yak trembles in all its dismantled elements. A powerful psychic wave is born. Its impact reverberates through the alley, affecting everyone in it. The girls and guys are shaking, panic in their eyes. The big guy even cries, "Mom, get me out of here," smearing his face with snot and tears.

"WHO. IS. DISABLED?"

I'm consumed by a rage, the same rage that once gave me the power to defeat High Demons when I was nobody, when I was weak. I struggle to control my boiling emotions.

"Step aside, Morgan. I won't say it twice."

"I won't." Olivia flinches, her blouse quivering.

The pink-haired girl puts a hand on her shoulder:

"Listen to him, Olivia."

"But—"

"If he couldn't control Prana, we wouldn't be shaking like this."

"Fine,' Olivia says after a moment's hesitation. She is led to the side wall. Good girl.

I walk toward the guys, loosening my wrists on the way.

"So who wanted to rough me up?" I growl, baring my teeth like a wolf. "Come on."

Bruce seems the most composed, though his face has turned greenish after the psychic storm. The skinny one looks fine too. But the big guy isn't in fighting shape: he's still crying and whimpering.

"Beat him up!" Bruce yells and lunges at me.

I block a straight punch and sense granite-like hardness beneath my forearm. Dodging a sluggish jab, I land a blow on Bruce's face. My knuckles feel as though they've just slammed into a brick wall. I pull back, aware of the tension building in my hand. Bruce seems completely unscathed. So, this is what mental armor feels like. Impressive.

With a grin, Bruce lunges at me again. This time, I steer clear of straightforward blocks to avoid injuring myself. It's no big deal; he's no match for me in hand-to-hand combat. The main goal is to bring him down before his friends can join the fray.

Bruce aims a kick at me. In one fluid motion, I catch his leg and sharply bend his knee.

"A-A-A-A-AH! Let go of my leg!"

A cracking sound fills the air as I twist harder, snapping the joint. Bruce is a pitiful sight, writhing on the pavement and flailing his arms.

"LET GO! LET GO OF MY LEG!"

Of course, I could drag him across the ground, banging his head against walls and curbs, testing the durability of his armor. But Bruce is already finished. What a shame...

I deftly dodge to the side, crouching low and eyeing the tense skinny guy. Was I imagining things? No, the air was definitely rippling. It must be some kind of long-range attack, like Thrown Fist, a blast of energy that strikes from afar. Intriguing.

I sense another disturbance in the air and quickly roll toward the opposite wall. Mid-roll, I land a kick to the skinny guy's stomach. He seems unfazed: his mental armor must be in place. But the kick serves as a distraction, giving me just enough time to jump back up. I grab his collar and slam his head into the wall again and again. Brick dust showers down with each blow.

Then I force the top of his head into the tarmac and roll his limp body across the alley, slamming his jaw against the curb again and again. Watching his reaction to each new collision, I can't help but wonder: how much more can he take? Ah, it seems he's finished.

Releasing the limp body, I approach the big one and look at his face, glistening with sweat and smeared with snot.

"Please don't touch me," he pleads.

"Weren't you the one who wanted to teach me a lesson?" I raise an eyebrow. "Go on, activate your armor."

"I don't have any," the poor fellow cries out. "I haven't got past the novice level."

I give him a stern look. If he were a demon, I'd have broken his neck. But he isn't.

"Call an ambulance. Your friends need medical attention."

I turn away from the sniveling guy and face the confused girls.

"I'm leaving. I don't want to get involved with these guys. I suggest you do the same."

"Demont, will we see you at the qualifiers?" Olivia asks in a timid voice.

Is she serious?

"No, you saw it all." I gesture at the groaning Bruce and the lifeless skinny guy. "I don't have any Prana. See you later, ladies."

I leave the alley but catch Olivia's words.

"I saw... I don't know what I saw."