The Dark Deceptor - Chapter 7 Part 2 Challenge

Finnley’s tone is mocking, his smile razor-sharp. 

“I’m surprised you can keep up with the demands of this household. You’re not exactly… spry, are you?”

Arkhan’s voice is even, his gaze steady.

 “You remember right, Finnley. I was raised in this mansion from when I was a baby, trained to be a butler. I’m supposed dedicated my life to serving this household.”

Finnley’s smile falters for a moment, before he regains his composure.

 “Ah, yes, of course. The infamous ‘experiment’ of Lady Sophia’s. A butler raised from infancy, moulded to perfection…or so the story goes.”

Finnley’s eyes glint with curiosity, his tone dripping with skepticism.

 “Tell me, Mr Butler, do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you weren’t bound to this mansion? If you weren’t a butler?”

Arkhan’s response is simple, his tone even.

“Probably better.”

Finnley’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Ah, Mr Butler, you’re a fascination, a curiosity. A butler with a past shrouded in mystery. Your…terseness only adds to the enigma.”

Bored and irritated by another stupid phase he didn’t held back

“ I think if you didn’t wasted you time in useless things and tried improving yourself your master would have considered you good to keep around but too bad you’re a fucking dissapointment.”

Hearing the insult Finnley’s face twists in anger, his eyes blazing with fury. As Arkhan turns to leave, Finnley’s voice cracks out

 “You dare to mock me?! I challenge you to a duel, Butler! Let’s see if your precious ‘training’ can save you!”

 Finnley’s hand flashes to his pocket, producing a small, gleaming dagger.

“Not interested,” Arkhan says, his voice flat, as he continues to walk away.

Finnley’s face reddens with rage, and he darts forward, blocking Arkhan’s path. 

“You can’t ignore me, Bastard! I’ve challenged you, and you’ll either accept or face the consequences!”

Finnley’s hand tightens around the dagger, his eyes glinting with a mixture of anger and excitement. Arkhan’s eyes flicker to the weapon, but his expression remains unchanging.

“You’re making a scene, Finnley,”

 Arkhan says, his voice calm.

“Stand aside.”

Finnley dashes towards Arkhan, his dagger raised high, ready to strike. Arkhan, still reeling from the previous attack, tries to defend himself, but his movements are slow and clumsy without mana.

 Finnley’s eyes gleam with excitement, sensing victory within his grasp.

Just as Finnley is about to deliver the final blow, Arkhan’s eyes flicker to the side, and he sees a nearby vase. With a surge of adrenaline, Arkhan reaches out and grabs the vase, holding it up just in time to block Finnley’s attack. 

The dagger shatters the vase, sending shards of porcelain flying everywhere.

“You’re a pathetic weakling .” Finnley sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. 

“A butler who can’t even use mana nor aura. What’s the point of your existence?” 

Finnley continues his relentless assault, dagger flashing in the dim light. Arkhan dodges and weaves, barely avoiding each strike, his movements slow and slightly predictable without mana. 

Finnley’s attacks grow more ferocious, his confidence surging with each near-miss.

In a moment of overconfidence, Finnley applies too much force to a particularly vicious strike, leaving himself off-balance. Arkhan seizes the opportunity, using the last of his strength to deliver a swift kick to Finnley’s legs.

 The blow catches Finnley by surprise, and he stumbles, his arms flailing wildly as he struggles to regain his balance.

With a swift and silent motion, Arkhan unleashes a devastating drop kick, both legs extended, and full force behind them. The kick connects with Finnley’s chest, sending him crashing to the ground. 

The impact is tremendous, and Finnley’s eyes widen in shock as the wind is knocked out of him.

Finnley’s body bounces off the floor, and he lies there, dazed and disoriented, his dagger slipping from his grasp. Arkhan stands over him, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his eyes blazing with a fierce triumph.

 For a moment, the two lock eyes, and Finnley’s gaze falters, his confidence shattered.

The silence is palpable, broken only by Finnley’s labored breathing.

Finnley’s face twists in rage and humiliation as he struggles to catch his breath. He glares up at the butler, his eyes blazing with fury. 

“You…you think you’ve won?!”

 Finnley spits, his voice venomous. “I’ll show you true power!”

With a jerky motion, Finnley raises his hand, and a dark, swirling energy erupts from his fingers. The air around Arkhan seems to distort and ripple, as if reality itself is bending to Finnley’s will.

 Arkhan’s eyes narrow, his gaze fixed intently on Finnley, as he realizes too late that Finnley is casting a spell.

The magic washes over Arkhan like a wave, threatening to consume him. Arkhan’s vision blurs, his senses reeling, as he feels himself being lifted off the ground by an unseen force…

Finnley’s spell falters, and the heat energy dissipates as he abandons magic for brute force. 

With a snarl, Finnley tackles Arkhan to the ground, pinning him beneath his weight. Arkhan’s head cracks against the floor, and Finnley’s fists begin to rain down on his face, each blow landing with precision and fury.

Arkhan’s vision blurs, his eyes swelling shut as Finnley’s punches continue to fall. He tries to defend himself, but Finnley’s attack is relentless, driven by a rage that seems to know no bounds. Arkhan’s thoughts grow hazy, his consciousness threatening to slip away…

Finnley’s face is a twisted mask of fury, his eyes blazing with a malevolent intensity as he continues to pummel Arkhan’s defenceless form.

Just as Finnley’s fists are about to deliver another crushing blow, a firm hand clamps down on his shoulder, halting his attack.

 “Enough, Finnley!” a stern voice commands.

Finnley’s head jerks up, his eyes flashing with anger, but he’s forced to release Arkhan as the trainer’s grip tightens. 

The trainer’s face is a mask of disapproval, his eyes blazing with a fierce inner light.

“Control yourself, Finnley,” the trainer growls, his voice low and even.

 “This isn’t a street brawl. We’re training for precision, for skill. Not mindless brutality.”

Finnley’s chest heaves, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he slowly rises to his feet, his eyes never leaving Arkhan’s battered form. The trainer’s gaze follows Finnley’s, and his expression softens slightly as he takes in Arkhan’s injuries. 

“Son, can you stand?” he asks, his voice a little gentler now.

Arkhan slowly rises to his feet, his movements deliberate and controlled. His left eye is swollen shut, and blood trickles from the cuts on his face, but his stance remains unwavering, exuding a quiet confidence that belies his injuries.

 He gazes at Finnley, his one good eye gleaming with a fierce inner light, as if daring him to come closer.

The trainer’s voice rings out, firm and authoritative.

 “Arkhan, get treatment for those injuries. Now.” He turns to Finnley, his expression stern. “Finnley, run laps. Until I tell you to stop.”

Arkhan opens the door to his small room, the dim light within a welcome respite from the intensity of the training session.

 He steps inside, his movements slow and deliberate, his body aching from the beating he took from Finnley.

He closes the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment to catch his breath. 

His gaze falls on the narrow bed, the small desk, and the single chair that furnish the room. It’s a Spartan space, but it’s his, and he finds a sense of comfort in its 

simplicity.

Arkhan makes his way to the desk, where a small basin and a jug of water await. He pours some water into the basin, cupping his hands to splash some onto his battered face. 

The cool liquid stings his cuts, but it’s a welcome relief. He takes a deep breath, letting the quiet of the room wash over him.

Arkhan’s voice is barely above a whisper as he mutters to himself

 “Hectic day it was…”

 He splashes more water onto his face, wincing slightly as it hits the tender spots. He towels himself off with a rough cloth, his eyes gazing into the distance as he reflects on the day’s events.

 Arkhan’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his own heavy sigh, and he realises he’s exhausted. He makes his way to the bed, collapsing onto it with a groan.