Assad tilted his head to one side, and narrowed his gaze as he stared at Sévon.

  “Okay, Why did you call me?”

  His voice sounded simple enough but there was tension in the air when he asked the question, and it made it seem difficult to answer. Sévon took a moment before he responded, and he stepped closer to Assad, taking a step forward, then another. The quiet hum of the arena seemed to vibrate more loudly with each step; the distance between the two was filled with lots of space.

  Assad followed every movement that Sévon made as he approached and finally came to a halt, a few feet away. Sévon gazed at Assam for what seemed like an eternity before he said anything.

  “It has been several days since you joined the Sweepers, and we have yet to have any quality time together.”

  Assad did not respond; however, Sévon's eyes became sharper when he noticed Assad's reaction.

  “Tell me, Also. Why do you look nervous?”

  The weight of the question was more than Assad thought was possible. For a split second neither of them spoke before Sévon let out a small sigh.

  "Calm yourself; it's better for you to do so."

  Just then Sévon breathed out, and a small gust of wind raced out of his mouth and swept over the entire arena floor with ease. Before Assad even knew what had happened, the wind wrapped around his body as if he were being picked up by an invisible hand.

  "...."

  Assad's body became slightly lifted from the lazy position he was lying in, and a moment later his feet were placed back on the ground. He looked at Sévon with a look of confusion.

  'What was that for?'

  Couldn’t he have just told him to get up? There was no reason for Sévon to humiliate him like that. But thankfully the others were already back to the ground level, so he was out of danger.

  "Were you embarrassed by that?"

  Assad's body froze for a brief moment until he remembered his flaw that made it clear to him that Sévon was the stronger one, and he could feel that.

  As he watched Sévon gesturing with his finger, Assad crossed his arms in front of him. “So what are we supposed to discuss?” Assad said, looking directly at Sévon.

  Sévon didn’t respond, simply cracking his knuckles one by one before letting the noise of the crack travel around the empty arena.

  The muscles of Assad’s forehead twitched.

  “…Seriously?” he remarked, then went on to say something else but was cut off by Sévon raising his hand and tracing an imaginary line with his finger while moving his hand in a circle. He continued moving his hand in a circular motion while the observed air inside of the imaginary circle twisted and compressed before rotating faster and faster creating a circular vortex that eventually turned visible in the space of the arena.

  After that, Sévon slowly pushed the circular vortex of air forward towards Assed and said “Go”.

  Upon reaching Assad, the circular vortex of compressed air exploded outward creating a high intense gust of wind that sent Assad sprawling backwards like a rag doll. Upon landing on the floor of the arena, he slid across the arena floor until finally stopping and requiring him to roll over and come to a stop from his sliding action.

  Due to his not prepared landing, he landed strangely while initially heaving his body and clothing covered in the arena dust. Assad looked actively back in the direction of Sévon with a hardened expression.

  “Wha’ts your deal?” an infuriated Assed directed towards Sévon as he was gathering up from his previous activity.

  Sévon, without any expression other than a peaceful response to Assed, was “You asked me what we were going to talk about.”

  Again, Sévon raised his hand above of him and out of the line of sight of Assad and began waving his hand causing the air column surrounding Sévon’s body as seen by Assad began to swirl around him.

  “Well…here’s your answer.”

  Suddenly, the air around him began to feel solidified with the strength of the wind. Next, two small twisters were created, which began spinning around each other at incredible speed just like two tiny hurricanes.

  "Wind Clone".

  The twin cyclones shot toward Assad like living, breathing missiles.

  The double tornadoes ripped through the stadium like predator animals. Assad had practically no time to respond. They were too quick. His instincts took over he quickly put his arms in front of himself and got ready to receive whatever was hit by them.

  What hit him was a big mass of swirling air that threw him away from where he was standing and onto the floor below. When he landed he felt the jarring through his body and for one split second he had no feeling anywhere; everything was black but silent.

  Sévon watched in complete silence and saw Assad moaning as he pushed himself off the ground trying to slow his racing heart.

  ‘What is he doing? Is this going to be an exhibition match at this stage or does he want something different from this?”’

  “Why do you care what you think?”

  Assad widened his eyes. Sévon was looking at him with a steady calmness.

  “It would be good for you to figure that out right now.”

  That was enough to irritate Assad and he clicked his tongue

  "Fine."

  The moment the word left his mouth he lunged forward. His body shot across the Octagon floor as he threw a fast strike toward Sevon. But Sévon effortlessly moved. Small shift of his body; the attack missed. Assad followed with another strike; Sevin again leaned back slightly.

  Another miss. Assad tried again and Sévon stepped to the side. The more attempts Assad used, his irritation increased while Sevon remained calm like he was just watching.

  After a while, Assad ceased his assault against Sévon. He took a few more back kicks and hissed loudly as he drew back from a kick attempt and appeared to blow air out of his mouth in a long gust as he lowered his defenses.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered with a frown.

  He lowered his arms to his sides and walked away from Sévon.

  “There’s no purpose to this sparring session anymore," Assad continued without turning back to Sévon.

  As he turned back to Sévon, he said, “I’m going to my room."

  His tone suggested that he was irritated with Sévon.

  “Why would I ruin my day with this fight?"

  “Okay," said Sévon.

  Just as Sévon was about to move to follow as he watched Assad approach the elevator door, he took a step forward when he felt the entire area become enveloped with energy, like an invisible pressure wave, as he felt himself fall to his right knee due to the pressure from the energy that was now enshrouding the entire area.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “What the hell is this?” he gasped.

  The pressure on him from the surroundings created a sense of being buried beneath an overwhelming atmosphere created by the weight of the energy in the room; all his muscles in his body were screaming because of it.

  He couldn't stand it anymore

  Lokei halted his actions abruptly. The overwhelming force of the feeling overtook him as if he had been slammed by an enormous wave.

  "So that's why you wanted to see him."

  In Shuren’s Office…

  Leaning back in her chair, Shuren was smoking a cigarette and the smoke climbed up in the air, Shuren ran her fingers through her hair, and Pixia was looking through a magazine.

  An extremely awkward magazine. They were both experiencing the same pressure that suddenly filled the room. Shuren did not bother looking up, she just took another slow drag off of her cigarette, and Pixia continued with her reading as if the pressure had not occurred.

  Taura and Esme had been walking around the streets of Tasia looking for her when they both suddenly stopped. They felt the pressure in the air, as if a huge anvil had fallen on top of them. Taura looked back towards the facility where the Sweepers operated and her eyebrows squished together in confusion...

  "What do you think Sévon is up to?"

  As Assad attempted to move while his hands were pinned to the floor by the pressure in the building, he was unable to breathe normally. Any movement of any kind was impossible because he was being crushed underneath something substantial.

  ‘I can't even get up…’

  Then, in an instant, the pressure disappeared from the air. The pressure keeping him pinned down to the floor vanished in an instant; Assad gasped in relief as he was finally able to pull enough oxygen into his lungs to be able to move.

  Sévon was still standing in the previous position, watching him.

  Sévon came up to Assad hesitantly; his footfalls echoed lightly. Assad was still on his knees; he had to work at getting himself under control; he had just experienced a major physical shock from someone applying excessive weight and pressure to his body.

  Sévon paused for a moment and looked down at him.

  "....I don’t understand?" he continued on after waiting for Assad to catch his breath.

  Assad lifted his head just slightly and continued to breathe in deeply.

  "You came here as a new agent; full of curiosity and observance.”

  He continued on as if injured but still interested.

  "But now... you’re being distant and acting in an aloof manner.

  He gave a few seconds to perceive.

  "Why?"

  Assad continued to be silent, while Sévon rubbed his neck and continued on.

  "Don't tell anyone, but some rare Sionels have the capabilities to manipulate two techniques simultaneously."

  Assad’s face became more focused on what S évon had said.

  "Here’s wind," he said, showing the wind that was blowing around his hand.

  "But what was the other thing I did?"

  Sévon lowered his voice a notch.

  "What did I do to use as my second technique?"

  Assad thought for a second and said, "..."Wind pressure?", which was not correct.

  Sévon shook his head and said, "No."

  He's hit the ground again and he's immediately back under heavy pressure again, but this time it's an even more intense and powerful force. All the way back down, with a force behind it that would crush his spine.

  Just holding himself up is starting to give way to the force on him; he's starting to shake from it. The air in front of him has become so thick that it feels impossible for him to be able to draw a breath. He was looking down at him without any emotion.

  "I will give you 20 seconds to do this," he said. "As soon as the 20 seconds is complete, the weight would continue to increase at this rate every second unless you figured out how to stop it."

  As the pressure continues to rise, Assad's teeth are grinding together, the weight of the air in the room will keep getting heavier, his vision is starting to blur from the pressure in the room, and the muscles in his legs and back will yell at him with pain from not being able to withstand the pressure on him anymore, as Sévon put his arms together for support.

  "Think fast!"

  With each passing second, the pressure felt greater and greater, and as it did so also did that of Assad's body being pressed into the Octagon floor. He could hardly get up from the ground, as his fingers sank into it as he tried to move just one inch away. It felt near impossible to even breathe, with his lungs feeling like they were pressed flat.

  ‘’Think... What type of pressure am I feeling? Gravity manipulation? Atmospheric pressure? Domain pressure? Killing intent?’

  There were many possibilities to choose from in his mind, and none of them matched the sensation he was experiencing. Above him is Sévon, who is watching him with a calm expression on his face.

  ".... Seven seconds left."

  It felt as though that was the countdown leading to his death. Assad's vision began to blur; he could only hear the thumping of his own heart in his ears. Next, suddenly, something clicked in his mind and his light bulb surrendered to the concept of what was going to happen next. Assad raised his head slowly and opened his mouth to speak the word

  "SPI...!"

  As soon as the word came from his mouth, he lost consciousness completely. As Assad fell to the ground, the pressure on him instantly disappeared. Sévon looked down at Assad's motionless body.

  "...SPI."

  He shook his head in agreement, saying, "That means spiritual."

  With a slight smile on his face, he said, "Good job."

  Sévon dropped down to lift Assad up. He lifted him so it the way he could put him over his shoulder, and as he was walking toward the elevator, he was mumbling under his breath.

  "...I will be having a chat with Ms. V."

  He was squinting at the thought that...

  "Maybe he is the right one for this job."

  Sévon hit the elevator button.

  Ding.

  As the doors opened, Sévon stepped into the elevator as Assad passed out. As the doors were slowly closing the arena went back to being silent.