AETHON:Demons in steel

"Ah! Fresh meat, you came," he said, stretching his arms lazily.his grin revealing a missing tooth, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword —a jagged, red-glowing thing—hissed like a boiling kettle.

"Well, not really, but everyone calls me that, Hope you like screaming"

Right about then the combact Instructor, professor morgana strode in, seeing the training hall in a mess all thanks to pyro

professor morgana said dryly "you've melted another training dummy."

"It was boring," Pyro said

spinning his blade in a lazy arc. Flames dripped from its edge, eating tiny holes in the sand.

"I need something that screams,but coming at the right time, you'll do." he said as his eyes locked onto Aethon

He tilted his head, feigning concern. "And here I thought the dummies were supposed to be the practice targets, not the other way around. Tell me, do they give you extra points for setting your own robes on fire, or is that just a personal flair?"

Pyro grin widened, flames flickering higher.

Aethon didn't flinch. "Careful, Sparky. You keep grinning like that, you'll lose another tooth real soon."

" well since you are both itching for a spar,place a safety spell on your weapons, you won't want to incure the punishment of the principal for negligence, and attempted murder " professor morgana said 

"agnus magism" they both chanted 

soon their weapons were coated in a layer of transparent but surdy layer of energy to make their weapons blunt when touching the scik, onlt enough to cause a minor cuts

The moment professor morgana stepped back, the atmosphere shifted—not with explosive energy, but with the quiet tension of two predators circling. The scent of ozone mixed with charred earth as the combatants assessed each other.

Pyro stance widened slightly, his free hand drifting toward the jagged sword at his hip. The blade didn't roar to life immediately; instead, it emitted a low, dangerous glow, like banked coals.

"Try not to die," he said, but the grin was gone—replaced by sharp focus.

Aethon exhaled slowly, his fingers curling as the shadows at his feet thickened. They didn't writhe dramatically—they pooled, waiting.

"Try not to cry when I snuff you out," he murmured, his eyes tracking Pyro slightest movements.

Pyro feinted left—a flicker of movement—then pivoted into a controlled horizontal slash. Fire arced in a precise crescent, forcing Aethon to sidestep. Not a wild attack, but a calculated one: the flames licked at the space where Aethon's ribs would have been had he hesitated.

Aethon retaliated not with a grand gesture, but a flick of two fingers. A single tendril of darkness lashed out like a whip, aimed not at Rook's body but his sword wrist. Rook twisted his grip mid-motion, letting the flames on his blade flare just enough to sear the shadow away before it could make contact.

Pyro pressed forward, each step deliberate. He stabbed downward, not at Aethon, but at the ground between them. The earth didn't erupt—instead, hairline fractures split the sand, glowing lines spreading in a web.

Aethon felt the heat beneath his boots and moved, retreating in a measured shuffle just as the fractures burst into focused jets of flame.

Aethon's response was equally surgical. He didn't summon a storm of shadows—he folded into one, his body dissolving into the darkness at his feet. Pyro eyes darted, not panicked but analyzing, his free hand already sketching a warding sigil in the air.

Aethon reappeared at Pyro flank—not behind him, where Pyro turned shoulder suggested he expected—and struck with an open palm. Dark energy crackled in a condensed burst, aimed precisely at the kidney. Pyro ward flared, deflecting most of the force, but he still grunted as the impact shoved him sideways.

Rook adjusted instantly. Instead of a wild counterattack, he dropped low, sweeping his leg in a controlled arc. Fire trailed the motion, not a wave but a scalpel-thin ring aimed to cut at ankle height. Aethon leapt—not just to avoid it, but to reposition, landing in a crouch near one of the courtyard's scorched pillars.

Pyro didn't charge. He raised his sword to a guard position, flames condensing along the blade until they burned white-hot. "You're slippery," he admitted, voice steady.

Aethon's fingers brushed the pillar's shadow.

"You're predictable." A lie—Pyro was adapting too quickly.

Pyro lunged, but it was a ruse—mid-motion, he threw his sword, the blade spiraling end over end. Aethon barely dodged, but the weapon wasn't meant to hit him. It buried itself in the pillar behind him, and Pyro yanked his hand back. The sword's flames detonated in a controlled burst, shattering the pillar into shrapnel.

Aethon had no time to phase away. Instead, he compressed the shadows around himself into a shell, the darkness absorbing the worst of the debris. The impact still drove him to one knee.

Silence.

Pyro stood panting, his sword now recalled to his hand, its glow dimmed from exertion. Aethon rose slowly, his own breath uneven. The courtyard bore scorch marks and pockmarks, but no craters—this wasn't a brawl. It was a duel.

professor morgana voice cut through the quiet, approving despite himself: "good,let call today's training even"

"Same time tomorrow?" pyro asked, offering a handshake—his palm still steaming.

Aethon rolled his neck, shadows coiling again—tighter, more refined. "Now you're thinking," he said. "But you're still losing." grinning.

"This guy was weird. But maybe... interesting"he thought to himself as he left the arena to get some air