Benito sat nervously across from William Dangerfield in the dimly lit office. The former Power Royale champion leaned back in his chair, his piercing gaze fixed on Benny. The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Benny's mind raced, filled with questions—especially after the events with Kurru. He had barely slept since that night.

  William cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "Benny, I know this is all confusing, and I'm sorry to say it's about to get more complicated."

  Benny shifted in his seat. "What do you mean? Does this have to do with Kurru and the cult?"

  William nodded slowly. "Yes, but it's deeper than that. Benny, I know who your father is."

  Benny's heart skipped a beat. "My father? But my mom never told me anything about him. She—"

  William cut him off gently. "Your father was Benito Garcia."

  For a moment, the name didn't register with Benny. It felt like a distant echo, something he had heard in passing but never truly understood. Then, the weight of the revelation hit him like a truck. Benito Garcia—the man responsible for so much chaos twelve years ago during the Power Royale. The man who had been hated, feared, and ultimately killed by none other than the man sitting across from him.

  "You... killed him," Benny said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  William's expression softened. "Yes, I did. But I never knew he had a son, and I didn't know you were him until recently. I would have told you sooner, but I wasn't sure how to."

  Benny's mind swirled with emotions. Confusion. Anger. Fear. How could he be the son of someone like Benito Garcia? "Why are they coming after me now?" he asked, his voice tight.

  "I don't know," William admitted. "The cult worships your father like some kind of god. But it doesn't seem like they want to simply apprehend you—they're using force, which means there's more going on here than we understand."

  "Then what do they want?" Benny asked, still trying to process the situation.

  "That's the problem," William said, standing up and walking toward the window. He stared out at the academy grounds, deep in thought. "They could be after your abilities or trying to resurrect something from your father's legacy. But we don't know their endgame. What I do know is that you're not safe, Benny. Even if we defeat the cult, people will still come after you because of who your father was."

  Benny looked down at his hands, the faint glow of purple energy flickering on his fingertips. He clenched his fists, feeling the power surging beneath his skin. "I don't want to be him," Benny muttered. "I don't want to be anything like him."

  "You're not him," William said firmly. "You shouldn't have to pay for his crimes. I'll protect you, Benny. I promise."

  Suddenly, the window shattered as an arrow flew through, embedding itself into the wall just inches from William's head. Both of them instinctively ducked, and William's eyes flared with intensity. "Get out of here, now!" he ordered. "I'll handle this."

  Benny didn't need to be told twice. He bolted for the door as William stepped forward, his body tensing as metal objects around the room began to levitate under his control.

  Racing down the hallway, Benny's mind was a blur. He had no idea who had fired the arrow, but he didn't stick around to find out. He had to get back to the dorms—to safety.

  As he reached the dormitory courtyard, Benny spotted Junine, Jerry, and Rider standing outside. Their expressions shifted from relief to alarm as they saw Benny sprinting toward them.

  "What's going on?" Jerry shouted. "Why are you—"

  Before Benny could answer, a blur of motion shot out from the shadows. Thomas Tannery, a cultist with cold eyes and a sinister smirk, appeared out of nowhere. He moved like lightning, his foot connecting with Benny's chest in a brutal kick.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Benny's breath was knocked from his lungs as he flew backward, crashing through a nearby window of an empty dorm. Glass shattered around him, and he hit the ground hard, dazed from the impact.

  Junine screamed, her ropes already forming as she prepared to fight. Jerry's hands glowed with the sharpness of his cutting ability, and Rider summoned his massive horse, ready for battle.

  But Thomas stood there, calm and collected. He didn't need to fight right away—he had already seen the possible outcomes, and he knew exactly how to manipulate the situation to his advantage. His eerie calmness made him all the more dangerous.

  Benny groaned, trying to pull himself up from the floor. Pain shot through his body, but he gritted his teeth, purple energy flaring weakly on his fingertips.

  "Stay down, boy," Thomas sneered, stepping through the shattered window. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."

  Benny glared up at him, determination burning in his chest. He might be the son of Benito Garcia, but he was not going to be defined by that. Not by his father, not by the cult, and definitely not by Thomas Tannery.

  As Thomas raised his sword, Benny's fists clenched tighter, his purple energy surging stronger. The fight wasn't over yet.

  Benito struggled to his feet, breathing heavily as his vision swam. His ribs felt bruised from being kicked through the window, but the sight of his friends—Junine, Jerry, and Rider—outnumbered by the cultist Thomas Tannery pulled him back to focus. Benito clenched his fist, summoning a purple ball of energy that crackled with power at his fingertips. He hurled it toward Thomas, but the cultist moved with inhuman speed, dodging the attack effortlessly, a smug grin playing on his lips.

  Before Benito could react, Thomas's sword was already in the air, poised to strike at Junine. Her purple ropes shot out, tangling his legs momentarily, but Thomas spun, severing them with a swift cut. Jerry lunged forward, his hand sharpened like a blade, but Thomas was faster, delivering a brutal kick to Jerry's chest that sent him sprawling backward.

  "You kids should have stayed out of this," Thomas muttered, his voice calm yet full of menace.

  Junine scrambled to her feet and attacked again, sending her ropes toward him, but with a quick thrust of his sword, Thomas sent her crashing into the ground. She hit the earth hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. Benito's heart pounded as he saw his friends get tossed around like ragdolls. He couldn't let this happen.

  Just as Thomas prepared to finish Junine off, a loud thundering sound filled the air. Rider's massive spectral horse came charging in, its hooves tearing into the ground as it slammed into Thomas. The cultist was knocked back, skidding across the dirt as he recovered. His gaze shifted toward Rider, who stood defiantly, calling his horse back to his side.

  "You're persistent," Thomas grinned, clearly impressed but unfazed.

  Benito gritted his teeth. He couldn't waste time. With a burst of energy, he charged up multiple purple balls on his fingers. The longer they stayed, the faster and more powerful they became. He launched all five in rapid succession toward Thomas, who dodged the first four, moving with incredible agility.

  But the fifth one caught him off guard.

  A sharp crack rang through the air as the ball hit Thomas square in the back, staggering him forward. He winced, his cocky demeanor faltering for the first time. Benito seized the opportunity, summoning more energy for another attack, but Thomas wasn't finished yet. He turned, eyes narrowing as he predicted Benito's next move.

  Before Benito could react, Thomas darted forward with blinding speed and drove his sword into Benito's stomach. The sharp pain ripped through Benito's body as he gasped, dropping to his knees. Blood trickled from the wound as Thomas stood over him, smug and victorious.

  "Too slow," Thomas said, his voice filled with dark satisfaction.

  But then, something strange happened. The sword in Thomas's hand began to tremble. The metal shifted and moved, flowing like liquid, as if it had a life of its own. It slithered away from Benito's wound, wrapping around the injury and closing it off. Benito's eyes widened in shock as the pain began to fade. He looked up, and there, standing behind him, was William Dangerfield.

  The former Power Royale champion stood with his hand outstretched, manipulating the metal with ease. His eyes locked onto Thomas, and the atmosphere seemed to shift. The cultist took a step back, his cocky grin replaced with wary uncertainty.

  "You're out of your league, kid," William said, his voice calm yet commanding. "I suggest you leave."

  Thomas hesitated, glancing between William and Benito. His ability allowed him to see three possible futures, and all of them ended badly for him if he stayed to fight William. Even with his foresight, there was no way he could take on someone of William's caliber—someone who had won the Power Royale and killed Benito's father.

  "Fine," Thomas muttered, sheathing his sword. "But this isn't over."

  Before retreating, Thomas made a quick dash toward Kurru's unconscious body, which William had knocked out earlier. Slinging the limp body over his shoulder, Thomas gave one last look at Benito and his friends. "We'll be back for him," he said ominously before vanishing into the shadows.

  The battle was over.

  William knelt beside Benito, his face serious but calm. "You okay, kid?" he asked, his hand still manipulating the metal to ensure the wound was sealed.

  Benito nodded, his breathing still shaky. "I... I think so," he muttered, trying to make sense of what had just happened. "What was that guy after?"

  "Your father's legacy," William replied, his tone grave. "You're not safe, Benito. Not as long as people like Thomas are out there."

  William helped Benito to his feet, supporting him as they began to walk toward the infirmary. Behind them, Rider, Junine, and Jerry slowly got up, bruised but alive. They followed closely behind, their expressions a mixture of concern and relief.

  But even as they made their way to safety, Benito couldn't shake the feeling that the fight was far from over. As they reached the doors of the infirmary, Benito glanced over his shoulder, his instincts telling him they were being watched.

  And he was right.

  High above, perched on a rooftop in the distance, Thomas Tannery watched them with cold, calculating eyes. He hadn't left the battlefield entirely. Not yet. He watched as William guided Benito inside, a smirk playing on his lips.

  "We'll meet again soon, Benito," he whispered to himself, before disappearing into the night.

  To be continued...