Teacher vs Student (2)

Both unleashed their AURA, two colossal powers colliding with a force that made the very air tremble. The atmosphere became charged with dense, almost palpable energy, as if space itself was on the verge of tearing apart. Leila, who was nearby, felt an explosive wave hit her with the strength of a gale, knocking her to the ground. "What was that?" she murmured, touching her head as she slowly rose to her feet. When she looked toward the spot where the impact had occurred, she saw two figures moving at unimaginable speed: Larot, enveloped in dark armor, and Aragon, the knight in brown armor. They moved so fast that their forms were barely perceptible to the human eye.

"Those two aren't human," Leila thought, awestruck by the magnitude of their powers. However, something inside her told her she needed to act. She recalled the connection she'd felt when she crossed paths with Larot moments earlier, similar to what she'd experienced with Podbe. "I want to try the same thing I did with him," she said to herself. "But I need to get close enough. I hope the one in brown armor can hold on." With renewed determination, she began clearing a path through the debris using her telekinesis, her hands glowing faintly as she pushed obstacles aside.

What she sensed at that moment was all too familiar. It was the same thing she'd perceived when they faced those controlled by dark forces. Suddenly, a vivid image formed in her mind: a psychic link, a forced connection she remembered experiencing with one of them. A memory surged back: that time, after defeating the leader of Oceania, Leila had touched one of the controlled boys while he lay unconscious. At that instant, she saw dark spiders swarming over the young man, covering him completely, causing an indescribable terror. What she felt then was overwhelming—a mix of panic and despair that shook her to her core. Thankfully, Podbe had pulled her out of the trance, licking her face with his rough, warm tongue.

"I know it's risky," she told herself, steadying the trembling in her hands. "But if I can calm Larot and make him fight against whatever's controlling him... like the other boys... I'll try." She took a deep breath, attempting to steady her nerves. "Forgive me, girls, but I have to do this. That's why I joined—to help others." As she advanced toward the battle, she watched the flashes of light and shadow left by the combatants. Sparks flew as if two spinning tops were colliding endlessly. Larot and Aragon exchanged brutal blows: fist against fist, elbow against elbow, and kick against kick. They seemed evenly matched, each movement shaking the place like an earthquake.

"Not bad for that fool Aragon," Zeus commented through the communicator, addressing Maos. "Seal off the area, or they'll end up destroying the facilities." The entire base vibrated with each blow exchanged by the two knights. Obeying Zeus's orders, Maos pressed several buttons on his console. Immediately, the walls began to fill with a viscous liquid that, upon hardening, adopted a consistency stronger than concrete and more resistant than any known material.

"Good thing I had this material," Maos muttered in his lab, watching the fight unfold on the screens. "It's similar to that strange substance I never managed to identify, but this copied Luxtero will do the job." He smiled with satisfaction as he observed that neither combatant's attacks were damaging the structures anymore. "This copy will hold," he affirmed, adjusting his glasses while continuing to analyze the data.

"Maos," Zeus called from the communicator, his voice cold and authoritative. "Give my champion more power," he ordered, referring to Sir Larot.

"At once, sir," Maos responded, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he typed commands into his computer. A message appeared on the screen: Increase dosage? Maos hesitated for a moment before asking, "Are you sure about this, sir?" Zeus, with his usual cold indifference, replied without hesitation: "Yes. If he survives, good. If not, he was a useless toy." He was referring to The Dark Knight, Larot.

Maos pressed "Yes" on the screen but couldn't help muttering to himself: "What a waste of a subject... I wanted to run more tests. But, oh well, orders are orders." A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Maybe I can still examine his corpse."

Meanwhile, on the battlefield, the fight had seemed evenly matched. Blow after blow, both combatants moved like dancing shadows, their attacks resonating like thunder in the air. However, something suddenly changed. Larot came to an abrupt halt and leaped backward twice, creating distance between himself and Aragon.

The brown-armored knight watched him with bewilderment, halting his attacks completely. Then, Larot retreated even further, leaving a considerable gap between them.

The Dark Knight began to feel something piercing his brain. He clutched his temples with both hands, pressing hard as a blood-curdling scream erupted from his throat. The sound was so intense that it shook the entire area, as if the air itself trembled in response to his agony. Aragon wanted to approach, to understand what was happening, but something sinister emanated from his pupil—a darkness that kept him at bay.

Finally, Larot's helmet shattered, revealing his true face for the first time in ages. He was a young man with long brown hair tied into a messy ponytail. His eyes, once full of life, were now crimson pits, bloodshot and brimming with fury, glowing with an unsettling intensity. His gaze was piercing, laden with hatred and suffering. After releasing one final cry, he stopped screaming and slowly raised his head, fixing his eyes on Aragon. He looked at him as though he were a demon standing before him. "This is your end, you accursed impostor," he growled before charging toward him at full speed.

Horrified, Aragon watched as his pupil was completely consumed by rage. It was like seeing a dark version of himself, as he had been before meeting Zeus. "What have they done to you?" he murmured, his words heavy with pain and guilt. He remembered the joyful face Larot had when they first met—a young man who had lost everything but found purpose under his guidance. "I didn't notice anything... How could I have been so blind?" he thought, tears welling up in his eyes. "You lit my path when all I knew was war and loss. After losing my family, you gave me happiness and a purpose that went beyond following orders. We became more than master and disciple... almost like father and son."

Aragon closed his eyes for a moment, struggling against the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry... I must pull you out of this trance, my dear son," he whispered, though he knew it wouldn't be easy. As Larot rushed toward him, an idea crossed his mind. "Perhaps, if I let him finish me, he can break free of this control." He took a deep breath and stood still, bracing himself for the final impact. He knew he couldn't kill the boy, not after everything they had shared. "My final hour is approaching," he thought, feeling his body prepare to embrace its fate. "I hope you find peace, Larot." With tears in his eyes, he closed his eyelids, ready to exhale his last breath.

But then, something unexpected happened. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself in a place that was completely white, bathed in soft, enveloping light. In front of him stood a door. "What is this?" he wondered, intrigued. As he approached, he heard familiar voices calling to him from the other side.