The Forsaken God [Chapter 4 added]

[Umbra]

Obligatory explanation / apology

{Yes, Umbra has decided to do a Duel Academy fic. Umbra also likes to talk about himself in the third person, because's he's funny like that. I myself haven't been able to talk to Umbra about that, but I will try to contact him eventually. You should know, though, that Umbra doesn't like writing duels that much; thus, even though this is a Duel Academy fic, there won't be as much dueling as you could expect. I hope you enjoy this, and comment if you do. Actually, comment if you don't, too: I'm always open to constructive criticism. }

 

Set in the Umbra continuity; in the same storyline as my previous works Inheritance of the World and Legacy of the Tormentor (the original version).

 

[spoiler=Chapter One: The Arrival]

"Aren't we there yet?"

Mark Hammond, who had by now been on the bus for a steady two hours, was bored. As they had come closer and closer to Waterfront, the terrain had flattened out until there was nothing but fields of crops stretching out on both sides of the road. Far away to their right was some sort of mountainous hill, and nestled in the higher regions were a large complex of buildings. It matched the description of Hawthorne Duel Academy he'd been given, and it had been his sole point of interest for the five or ten minutes that had passed since it first appeared.

 

 

Earlier that morning, he and all the other applicants - about fifty in total - from the region had been rounded up and put on a bus to Duel Academy's entrance exams. Mark thought it strange that the exams were still held, as it either put a very high standard on the examiners or on the students themselves - something Duel Academy wasn't known for. The boy next to him, who he had only known by face up to this very moment and still intended to, had been staring at the passing countryside ever since they left; as he heard Mark's question, he lit up.

"We've been traveling at about sixty miles per hour for two hours and thirteen minutes; if we keep this speed, it should take no longer than ten minutes."

Mark slowly turned towards the boy, eyeballing him more carefully. The overly informative boy had short, black-brownish hair and small, wide-apart bright green eyes. In his mind, Mark called him Dave. Dave wore glasses, which after the lecture he'd given made Mark understand why. He shrugged; Dave was of no importance. He was probably one of those theorycrafters who build their decks from numbers only, the kind that emphasized speed over personal liking. Sure, their decks worked and did well at the tournaments, but they would never reach the top. They lacked that special feeling, the one embedded deep within any real duelist. Some call it "a duelist's heart"; Mark called it wisdom.

"Could've just told me, weirdo. I didn't ask for a calculation."

 

 

Dave blushed and returned to watching the field they were currently driving through. From the seats on the other side of the bus, Mark heard someone rising to their feet. As he turned his gaze, he saw yet another boy. This one looked a bit more like himself, though. His hair was platinum blonde, in contrast to Mark's own pitch-black, but both of them had thin features and brown eyes. He looked about sixteen, one year younger than Mark himself.

”Don't you dare talk down on him in my presence, kid.”

For some reason, Mark hadn't noticed the duel disk attached to the boy's arm. Mark smiled. He wanted to shut him up with a duel, on a moving bus? He too got to his feet; his duel disk was still in the bag in the overhead compartment.

“Who are you calling a kid, Whitey? Mind your own business, or you'll get in trouble. ”

To Mark's surprise, the white-haired boy shook his head.

“This is my business, kid. I'm not going to stand aside and watch you bully him.”

 

 

Mark was genuinely awestruck by this guy. To think that people like him still existed... Mark decided to play along.

“What's the matter with you? You don't have a reason to help him!”

There. The taunt was placed, and Dye-Job walked right into it.

“Do I need a reason to stand up for justice? Can one only fight for someone they know, can one only assist their closest friends? I've never seen him before, and from what I can tell neither have you. Yet, you believe you have a reason to bully him. I challenge you to a duel!”

His words confirmed what Mark had suspected; this kid was insane. From behind the white-haired guy, he heard a sigh and smiled. Whoever it was that sat next to him was obviously just as fed up with this as he was. Then again, he had been officially challenged; backing down wasn't an option.

“Fine. I accept your challenge.”

He turned around and was about to open the compartment when the bus suddenly stopped in place.

 

 

Mark almost lost his footing, and Dave, too focused on what was going on next to him, slammed head first into the seat in front of him and would spend the next few minutes adjusting his glasses. The others, who had been chatting and comparing their decks, grew silent. The bus driver, a short but staggeringly over-weight man, climbed out of the driver's seat and walked toward them with slow, dramatic steps. You could have heard a pin drop as he came to a halt between Mark's and the white-haired boy's seats.

“Didn't your councilor tell you when you got your tickets? Rule number one. No duels or attempted duels on the bus, ever. No first strike, no final warning. I can't concentrate with your Disks up and running. You two,” he nodded at Mark and the white-haired boy, “we're still about ten miles from Waterfront and the Academy exams. Unless you want to walk there, you keep still and keep your mouths shut. Understood?”

Mark sighed. Of course, the lunatic had to get him in trouble before they even got to the exams. He nodded, and soon after the white-haired boy did so as well. The bus driver smiled, revealing mismatched rows of yellow teeth and a breath reminding Mark of dead fish, and looked directly at Mark.

“I heard every word you said, kid. I'm not one to tell you what to do with your lives, but think about what you say. You might end up in trouble.”

Mark shrugged. He's right, he shouldn't tell me what to do. The bus driver shook his head, turned around, and went back to his seat. For the remainder of the trip, Mark remained silent, and listened offhandedly to the conversations around him. He noticed they were talking about him, but didn't care. It was just a bus trip, after all. However, it would be far longer than ten minutes.

 

 

“You shouldn't have done that, Jean. We don't need to pick on people before we get to the Academy.” Mirroring Mark's thoughts of about a second earlier, the boy on the other side of the white-haired one talked while casually looking out the window. He spoke low enough for Mark not to hear. “He's a good-for-nothing kid, that's all. Don't let it get to you.” Jean stared ahead without changing his expression.

“If we won't stand up for the smaller ones, Frederick, then who will? There won't always be a fat bus driver crawling out of the jaws of Hades ready to stop the oppressors.”

Frederick looked into his brother's eyes and sighed. The two looked alike in all but length; Frederick was four years younger than his brother and thus shorter. This chivalry was something Jean had started doing all on his own – possibly his idea of a rebellion, Frederick thought.

“Listen to yourself, Jean. You sound like someone who's read Don Quixote a few too many times. No, there won't always be someone there to stop evil from happening. You won't be there, and the bus driver certainly won't. It's just one of the things you've got to get used to.”

He sighed, and looked out the window. He wasn't really in the mood for convincing Jean again. He was tired of playing the only sane man.

“He's right, you know. You don't even know that kid. From the looks of him, you'll probably never see him after this day. You shouldn't start a fight over something so little. You'll get your chance to challenge him – once we get to the Academy. We probably won't have much time to spare at the Entrance Exams.”

Jean was silent, and his gaze was fixed somewhere far ahead. In his mind, he was already at the exams, seeing the look on the teacher's face as he passed by sheer excellence. His enemies would be burdened by their own sins, and collapse into purity. He was a cavalier, but a proud cavalier; he loved nothing more than to see the evildoers writhe in humiliation at his feet. That was his goal.

 

 

The bus driver dug his way back into his seat, and turned the ignition. The engine roared up, and he relaxed back in his seat. The kids were always noisy, but this year's bunch was worse than ever. This was the Academy's third bus-load this month – a number which had steadily increased over the years – and he had been forced to interrupt four duels already. Couldn't have a few of them get injured on the way there. The seat belts weren't there just for show.

Suddenly, he slammed the brake and pulled the handbrake out of pure reflex. There was someone on the road. A kid... a creepy kid. He couldn't even tell if it was a girl or a boy; the kid was wearing a white robe with long sleeves and a hood. Heck, it could even be a regular dwarf. The bus driver had an uncle Chad who was a dwarf; and for a brief moment he imagined his uncle in that robe and chuckled. Then, he started to wonder. They were still quite a distance from the town, probably a ten-minute drive or more. On both of their sides were golden fields of crops, stretching out on both sides for at least a mile. He would've seen the child. On their right side there was Mt. Hanne and the Hawthorne Academy, where some of these brats would be headed eventually. This child had appeared out of nowhere. Now that the bus had come to a stop, the child approached them. All sounds were muffled to the bus driver as the child came closer; it was as if something shoved cotton into his ears. The brats in the back, now noisier than ever, faded away into nothing. When the child stopped outside the doors, the driver only pressed the button out of reflex. Normally, there would be a steaming hiss as the door opened; the bus driver didn't hear a thing. It was strange, but peaceful. In his mind, the bus driver thanked the child. Then, he turned to his right to greet the child onto the bus, only to notice that the child had taken off its hood. His silent scream was heard by none.

 

 

Beneath the hood, the child's eyes studied each and every one of the students. All of them were completely fixed in their position, sitting completely still and not even noticing the child's presence. It smiled.

 

 

The boy Mark had nicknamed “Dave” gasped for breath. What was that? He was practically jumping on his seat; he was alert and ready to run a mile. Whatever speck of tiredness he had felt earlier was gone. I must've fallen asleep or something. They were now driving through the town, and the other attendees were looking out the windows. It was easy for him to forget that most of these people had never been outside their little sleepy hollow back home. He knew Hawthorne Town like the back of his hand. There was Syren Avenue, and the coffee shop his mother used to run; a few seconds later he saw Rosebud Street where you'd make a right turn onto Northwestern and end up right outside their old house. He shook off the memories. That was long ago. I have other things to think about. Instead of looking out the side windows, he looked ahead and tried to figure out where they were headed. As far as he knew, the entrance exams were a big event with several hundred applicants from the area, and he couldn't think of a single- Oh no. Not there. Not there. Please, anywhere but there. His fears grew and grew as the bus turned left off the main road and headed down toward the industrial quarters. One by one, he recognized the street signs and the shops they passed. There was no doubt.

 

 

They were going to the Warehouse.

 

 

[spoiler=Chapter Two: Meeting]

Their bus was the third to arrive at the exams, Mark noted when they finally came to a halt. He felt very excited; glad to get off the bus, overjoyed to feel fresh air, and delighted to finally have stopped moving. The others couldn't have been waiting for long; it was fairly cold, and a breeze was coming in from the Atlantic, but not one of the at least eighty people out there looked chilly. Probably no less than five minutes ago. A loud hiss was heard, and someone boarded the bus. Fifty-two pairs of eyes followed the man in the all-white corporate suit that now stood before them. His hair was ash-gray and beginning to recede, but his skin was unwrinkled and his green eyes were sparkling with determination. Mark estimated his age to be thirty-something. The man cleared his throat.

”Welcome to the Hawthorne Duel Academy, young duelists. I am Isaac Marden, vice principal of Hawthorne. You will meet the principal inside.”

He quickly flicked his head to the left, and everyone looked out the windows. Mark struggled to hold back a laugh when he realized what the building was; a warehouse. The principal would greet them amongst cardboard boxes and shelves. Eyes still on the warehouse, he prodded Dave. He spoke silently, so that the vice-principal wouldn't hear.

“Can you believe it? They're having the exams in a-”

He turned his head – and almost jumped back in surprise. Dave had crawled up in fetal position and now leaned toward the other window, mumbling something Mark couldn't hear. His eyes were closed shut, and his arms and legs were shaking violently. His skin was turning paler by the moment. Oh, crap.Mark quickly unhooked his seat belt and jumped to his feet.

“Professor, something's wrong with this guy! He's panicking! ”

Everyone's eyes turned to Mark. The professor stopped mid-speech and with a few quick steps walked up to them. As he laid his eyes on Dave, he smiled.

“Don't worry. We get a few of these every time.”

He picked up his cell phone, an older model, and dialed a number.

“Beatrice? Hi, it's Marden.”

He was silent for about a second.

“Yes, I know they're late. There were some interruptions on the way here.”

Again, Mark felt all eyes on him, and looked down. The professor didn't notice, and kept talking.

“Listen, we've got a nervous kid on the bus. Could you set up a bed for him? A stretcher, at least?”

He faced away from Dave for a second, and turned to the rest of the bus. All eyes returned to him.

“He'll be fine. Go outside and join the other groups; the instructors there should be able to guide you.”

The teacher's last words were barely audible from the rushing footsteps of fifty people running out of the warm, stagnant bus and into the open air. On his way out, while passing him, Mark looked at the bus driver. He just sat there, hands strained to the wheel and looking directly ahead. As he noticed Mark's eyes on him, he smiled without turning his head.

“Have a good day, boy. Don't bump your head on the way out.”

Mark shied away, not only from the stench. He was a completely different person. Eh, he's probably just glad to get rid of us.

 

 

Jean was the last to leave the bus. He had noticed something when the professor started talking and everyone quieted down. His chivalry and sense of justice had given him a “sixth sense” of sorts. Frederick called it superstition, but Jean still believed in his own ability. He was able to detect evil. Right now, there was something sinister on the vehicle. It had been there for a while, but only now was it present enough for him to notice it. The hairs on his arms and legs were standing on end, and he felt shivers down his spine. The instructor still eyed the boy that had been bullied earlier, who was now crawled up and shaking. He couldn't help to feel pity. The boy had probably had to deal with a lot of people like that while growing up, judging from his appearance and how he had reacted to the bullying. The professor turned towards him.

“You don't feel like going off yet, boy?”

Jean shook his head.

“I think I've left one of my cards somewhere. I can't find it.”

It was a blatant lie, and it pained Jean a little to have to use it. The professor shrugged.

“If you don't find it, the cleaners probably will. I'll tell them you were looking for it. Morel, wasn't it? You and your brother got here together. ”

Jean nodded.

“That's right, sir. I guess I'll just look through the bus one more time.”

The professor shrugged and returned his eyes to the panicking boy. Every now and then, he would look outside, toward the warehouse they'd stopped outside. Jean walked down the length of the bus and up to the front, but didn't sense a difference. The chill wouldn't go away. He walked out without casting a glance at the bus driver. As he walked outside, the door closed and the evil was gone. The crowd who had gathered outside was already going; either Frederick hadn't managed to convince them he was there, or they simply hadn't cared. Wasting no time, he ran after them.

 

 

Isaac Marden watched the Morel boy run after the rest of the class. That kid has potential. He's getting in, that's for sure. But more than that... he actually noticed. He looked down, and smiled. This here was a real catch, though. The little runaway, returning back home. He briefly diverted his attention from the kid, and looked in the rear-view mirror. The bus driver was looking directly at him, not breaking his gaze.

“How long must this go on, Marden?”

Marden smiled.

“Why, Lucien? Does this bore you? It will take as long as it needs... and as many as it needs. Until then, you keep doing what you're good at.”

The bus driver grunted, and shifted around in his seat.

“I better get rewarded for this once it's done. I've done this more times than I care to remember.”

The professor was about to speak when there was a knock on the door. Looking out, he saw two young men in Hawthorne uniforms – blue shirts with white trims and light-gray trousers – carrying a stretcher under their right arms. He recognized them as seniors from his Modern History class, and concluded that they must have volunteered to help with the entrance exams. He nodded at the bus driver, who grunted again and opened the doors.

“Mr. Marden, Ms. Giordano sent us to pick up the nervous student.”

Marden barely hid a laugh.

“Really? I thought you were just carrying that stretcher for fun. Come on in, he's here.”

The two students came in, looking nervously at the bus driver who glared back at them with a slight frown on his face. They walked up to Marden, and picked up the stretcher. One of them, the one who had talked earlier, looked at the crawled-up boy.

“That's a pretty bad case, Mr. Marden. You don't think we should take him to the hospital?”

Marden shook his head.

“He'll be fine. This ain't any worse than the kid from last time. You know Jack Regal, don't you?”

The other one, holding the far end of the stretcher, lit up.

“Yeah, he's in the Physics club, I know him. He was like this?”

Marden nodded.

“He was far worse than this. He kept passing out on us, but he got better within the hour. I've seen my fair share of panicking students; I know he'll be better. Get him to Beatrice.”

With combined efforts, the three of them managed to lift the boy out of his chair without breaking his position, and laid him down on the stretcher. He was still mumbling incoherently, and seemed didn't seem to notice them at all.

 

 

When the carriers left, a thought crossed Isaac's mind.

“Lucien? I might have some more work for you.”

 

 

Jean caught up with the group as they were entering the warehouse. As far as he could see, the people from his bus-load had split up between the other two groups, and now two crowds of about eighty people were trying to enter through a single pair of double doors. As the doors were slightly above ground, two steel ramps with railings led up to them. Needless to say, getting inside was a mess. The instructors were trying their best to direct the incoming duelists, but most of their efforts were in vain. Frederick was still far from getting in, as he was repeatedly pushed back. As Jean came up to them, the younger brother nodded.

“Spider sense tingled again?”

Jean frowned, but nodded. He wasn't fond of his brother's thinly veiled insults, but they weren't annoying enough for him to do anything about it.

“The whole bus was crawling with evil, clear as day. I could've done the world a great good if I had stayed.”

Frederick shrugged.

“Would've, could've, should've. We have better things to do than standing around thinking what we could've done. Such as getting through them.”

Jean shook his head, flicking his hand toward the crowd.

“Actually, we don't have to get through them. I'm not that eager to get inside first; we could just wait. Maybe we coul-”

Jean was knocked to the ground as a girl was pushed out of the crowd, tackling him on the way. I shouldn't have lost my footing like that. Quickly gathering himself, he looked up. The girl, noticing she had just accidentally thrown someone to the ground, turned towards him.

“Watch out where you're... you're...”

Jean completely lost his train of thought as he laid eyes on the girl. Her hair was a fiery red with bright highlights, and her eyes dark green; all details that Jean stored somewhere in the back of his head. She had a fresh complexion and such a beautiful face that, merely for an instant, Jean forgot completely about all the evil in the world.

 

 

Behind and slightly to the right of the girl, Frederick sighed. No one took notice.

 

 

The girl gasped.

“Oh, I'm so sorry! They just kept pushing me around, I couldn't even tell where I was going! Here, I'll help you.”

She reached out her hand to Jean, who grabbed it and climbed to his feet with her help. He brushed some dust off his clothes.

“Thanks, I guess.”

The girl smiled.

“I'm Vanessa Harrigan. You're here for the exams? I didn't see you on the bus.”

Jean nodded, and felt sweat break out on his forehead.

“I...uh, yes. Our bus just got here.”

Vanessa got a puzzled look on her face.

“You said 'our' bus. You here with someone?”

Before Jean had a chance to reply, Frederick stepped forward. He kept looking from Jean to the crowd, which the professors now had established some sort of control over and was now organized in lines heading inside. He grabbed Jean's hand and tried to pull him toward the door as he spoke.

“Jean, the crowd's clearing up! Let's go inside.”

His brother was firmly rooted in place. He sighed. If Jean was going all lovesick on him before the exams had ever started, this year was going to be more difficult than he first thought. Jean smiled at Vanessa.

“Yes. Vanessa, this is my brother, Frederick. I'm -”

Vanessa nodded.

“Jean, I heard. I guess your brother's right, they're actually lining up. I'll see you guys inside!”

She spun a full one-eighty and ran toward the doors. Jean remained behind, head clouded in thoughts and Frederick still tugging at his arm. He cleared his head, and the two brothers followed the crowd into the warehouse.

 

 

 

[spoiler=Chapter Three: Saturation]

Mark was surprised by the insides of the warehouse. Pleasantly surprised, but surprised nonetheless. It was, as far as he could see, perfectly spotless. He had thought earlier that they would be dueling between looming shelves and trays, but no more than ten proper duel arenas had been drawn out on the floor. Immediately to their right were several rows of seats, and a large stage beyond them, in the corner. Directly opposite, in the far right corner, an area was curtained off. Mark looked there just in time to see two students carry Dave on a stretcher, sneaking in behind the curtain. He shrugged. It's not my fault if the kid can't handle some pressure. Across the room from the double doors, a large screen similar to the sort of screens at airports that show incoming and outgoing flights was mounted on the wall.

 

 

The two professors, a man and a woman, who had herded them through the doors – not the easiest thing with these people – gathered them before the seats. Mark hadn't paid enough attention to them to get a look, and now was as good an opportunity an ever. The man was very short, about half a head shorter than Mark, whereas the woman was almost a foot taller than her colleague. They both wore corporate suits, similar to Marden's, but with different colors. The woman's suit was black with purple linings, whereas the man's was dark red. The man was bald, probably shaved, and the woman had red, shoulder-long hair. They looked younger than Marden, around thirty or late twenty. The woman cleared her throat.

”Once again, we welcome all of you to Hawthorne Academy's Entrance Exams. I'm Hannah Harrington, teacher at the academy, and this is my partner in crime Joseph Rogers.”

Joseph smiled, and a few of the applicants laughed. Hannah continued.

“You have all completed the written tests with excelling grades, and the report cards we've received from your schools are all more than sufficient. This is the final test before we allow you onto the Academy grounds. Some of you will be sent back home.”

A disappointed sigh went through the crowd. Mark shook his head. That's exactly the kind of thinking that will get them kicked out of the Academy. The thought that he might lose his entrance duel didn't even cross his mind.

 

 

She continued.

“We have already arranged for you to be able continue your studies as normal, with as little a delay as possible. Now, let's get on with the program, shall we? Please, have a seat. ”

Joseph, who had been silent until now, suddenly looked up and beyond them.

“Ah, there you are, Isaac. Someone got lost on the bus?”

Mark turned his head, as did many in the crowd. Surely enough, there was Isaac Marden, with his green eyes that seemed to burn into Mark's head. At his side was a pale boy of about fifteen, with short-cut dark brown hair and eyes of the same color. He was wearing a white leather jacket, and a pair of light gray jeans. The professor shook his head, smiling.

“No, not at all. His family lives in Waterfront, so they'd dropped him off outside just before. I just followed him in.”

Mark couldn't recall seeing the boy outside, but then again he hadn't had the time to look at the surroundings. Joseph nodded.

“Very well. Then, you must be the one we couldn't find outside. Mr. Roberts, right?

The kid shook his head.

“Mr. Roberts is my father, sir. I'm Lucien. Lucien Roberts.”

Joseph nodded.

“Yes, that's what I meant.”

He looked at Hannah.

“That means we're all present and accounted for. Splendid!”

Hannah smiled, but Mark could see something didn't seem right with her. Lucien joined in with the crowd, and Marden walked up to his two colleagues. He turned toward the crowd.

“Come on, students, no time to waste. Take a seat and we'll inform you of the Exam procedures.” They were now quite a large crowd, coming close to a hundred and fifty, but thankfully enough there were a lot of seats. The teachers headed on to the stage, while the students assembled into the seats.

 

 

Jean was struggling to hold back a scream. The moment Marden and that boy had entered the room, the chills had practically exploded all over his back and all over his body, his hair was standing on end. His eyes went from Marden to the boy, who lazily eyed the other students without taking notice. Jean recognized this evil, but barely. It was the same as on the bus, but more intense. Their eyes had met, for less than half a second, but it was enough for Jean to shy away from him. He knew exactly what was going on here. Fate had given him a second chance to destroy the evil from the bus, and he wouldn't throw it away just because he was frightened. But going after it now would only make things worse. I wait, for now.

 

 

There were twelve rows in front of the stage, with twelve to thirteen seats on each row. The rows were divided in the middle, creating a line up to the stage. As expected, the middle seats were already taken, and people started amassing up front. As Jean had lready been victimized by the wild mass once this morning, he decided to stay out of it and instead headed for the tenth row, which was entirely empty. He and Frederick sat down on the middle right seats, and relaxed. Jean spotted Vanessa's sand-colored hair up at the front row, on the left side, with some other girl and

(evilevilevilevil)

Lucien next to her. Even worse, they were talking. Laughing, even. Doesn't she see how evil he is? The radiance of darkness that covers him? Another thought struck him, and he found it far more fearsome. Or does she see it, but chooses it over the light? Over my light? He clenched his right hand, which was now shaking violently. I will destroy him.

 

 

Mark managed to seat himself on the third row, not far behind Lucien. His eyes were drawn to the brown-haired boy, who talked somewhat dryly with the girl next to him. The girl, on the other hand, was talking with an exhilarating speed and only paused to giggle at her own sayings. Only occasionally did Mark see a smile on the boy's face, but they never smiled at the same time – or, Mark guessed, even at the same things.

“Mark... Mark Hammond, is that you?”

The voice had come from behind and slightly to the right of him. Mark's eyebrows raised, and his muscles tensed. He hadn't expected meeting someone he knew here. Slowly, he turned his head, trying to find the speaker. Two or three rows behind him sat a girl, with her blonde hair cut short. Her ice-blue eyes looked at him through her horn-rimmed glasses, and she was smiling. There was something about that smile that reminded Mark of autumn days in the past, back before he-

He recognized her. Before he could respond, however, the crowd turned silent as Isaac, the teacher, had stepped up to the microphone on stage. Mark made a quick gesture, signaling I'll talk to you later, and the girl nodded.

“Quiet down, duelists, quiet. We know most of you've had a long trip on the way here, but we thought you'd have talked yourselves off on the bus.”

A laughter spread through the crowd, and the teacher smiled. Mark noticed again that Ms. Harrington didn't like the situation; she kept looking from Marden to Lucien and back, a slight frown on her face. Marden continued.

“Well, the wait is over, duelists. In total, there are a hundred and forty-nine of you here; I expect no more than eighty to join the rest of us at Hawthorne. Those of you who don't make it are welcome to apply again next semester.”

A slight murmur spread through the crowd, but it quickly faded away.

“We have analyzed the deck lists you have sent us, and found them all sufficient. But while something might be good in theory, it doesn't always work in practice. It all depends on the duelist themselves.”

Some people on the middle right rows cheered and clapped, but Marden took no notice. Instead, he reached out his hand to the duel arenas on their left.

“We have assembled twenty arenas here – frankly, because we couldn't fit any more on the floor – and therefore will only twenty of you duel at the same time. You will duel against a potential classmate, and the one who has the best deck designed to counter your own. You will face many challenges as a duelist at Hawthorne; this will only be the beginning.”

The screen across the room lit up, revealing rows and rows of names and numbers. Mark noticed that his name wasn't on the list, and so did many others. A slight murmur spread through the impatient crowd. Hannah stepped forward, taking the microphone from Marden.

“The arenas are labeled from one to twenty, starting in the far-left corner. You will be called alphabetically. Failure to attend the examination duel will result in immediate expulsion from the examination grounds until the Exams are over. You are free to do whatever you wish until your name is called. Good luck, duelists.”

The crowd clapped, making Hannah smile for the first time since they arrived, and got to their feet. The twenty whose names had been called headed off to their respective arenas; Mark decided to go back a few rows.

 

 

Jean barely heard Hannah's last words as he stood up. Lucien's evil was pulsing, spreading waves of malice throughout the room. The other duelists seemed to fade away before his eyes, and the world became a dull gray realm of mist. Only he and Lucien existed in this place, in this world. Nameless, faceless shadows drifted past him; he paid no attention to them as he walked toward the front row. Evil like his had no place in this world.

 

 

The girl was already on her feet when Mark got to her row, as was the others. They stood in the middle aisle for a few seconds, saying absolutely nothing. Mark felt hundreds of memories crash down on him; how he'd looked at her as she walked by in the corridors, how beautiful her hair had looked in the summer sunlight, and – above all – how he had wished for more confidence back then. Suddenly he noticed she was smiling.

“There you go again, Mark. Drifting off like you used to.”

He nodded, and smiled a little. If she'd known why I was drifting off back then, things could've been different.

“Hey, Linda. Just didn't expect you here, that's all.”

She smiled. He and Linda Varg had been in the same class until the eighth grade, back in a town further up along the coast called Wickham where he'd grown up. Then, Mark's father had been fired and found another job in another town, called Red Sky. His parents were divorced, and through a lengthy legal procedure Mark's father had gained full custody of him. Mark hadn't met his mother since; he assumed she was still living in Wickham. He didn't know Linda well enough to keep in touch with her, and so they'd drifted apart. From what he could remember, she didn't even play the game four years ago.

“Surprised to see someone from back home?”

He shook his head.

“No, it's just that-”

He would've finished the answer if he hadn't been thrown to the floor.

 

 

In an instant, the mist in Jean's mind faded away. One of them had suddenly stood in his way and refused to move. In the moment before they collided, Jean saw that it was not a true shadow; it was an identity. Beings of good and evil, like himself and Lucien, were light and dark identities emitting white and black auras, respectively. The reason he hadn't seen this identity before was that its aura was gray. Now that the shadows were gone, he recognized the one from before. The black-haired bully on the bus. He's special, too? His gray aura was still there, weak but stable. Only now did Jean acknowledge that they were both lying on the floor, about three feet from each other. He quickly stood up, brushed some imaginary dust off his shirt, and continued onward. While he walked past the bully, he muttered “Sorry” without even looking at him. Lucien was his main goal, there was no need to-

 

 

“Not so easy, Dye-Job.”

Mark had a tight grip of the white-haired boy's ankle, and used this foothold to stand up. He wasn't used to being tackled in the middle of a discussion, especially not from someone who didn't even seem to notice. His back was aching a little, but nothing he couldn't put up with.

“You still owe me a duel, remember? I'm not one to back down from a challenge.”

For a split second, the gray aura that Jean had sensed flashed in Mark's eyes; barely visible except to a select few. The boy had walked past him and was now standing beside the fourth row. Linda looked from Mark to him, and back. Mark thought she saw something glittering in her eyes.

“Mark, who's this? A friend from Red Sky?”

Mark and the one who had tackled him gasped in unison. Friends were the least they considered each other. Mark shook his head.

“I met him on the bus, and he challenged me out of the blue.”

The white-haired boy's jaw dropped a few centimeters.

“That's a lie! I stood up for the child you bullied! It was not without reason!”

His words earned Mark a disapproving look from Linda.

“Bullying, Mark? Really?”

Mark shook his head.

“I'll admit I wasn't exactly polite, but I wasn't bullying him. He answered a question I didn't ask him with a calculation I hadn't asked for.”

Linda, now grasping the situation, sighed and sat down Mark turned back to his adversary.

“Regardless, you owe me a duel. Plus, you never told me your name.”

The white-haired boy looked over his shoulder. Mark suddenly noticed that the boy's hair was standing on end, and he even seemed to be shivering a little. Then, the boy shook it off.

“Fine. I shall conclude this matter first. Consider yourself practice.”

He pointed to somewhere behind Mark, across from where the seats were placed.

“Over there, in two minutes. Bring everything you need.”

He walked briskly past Mark and Linda, and looked like he would just leave them hanging. Linda cleared her throat.

“You still didn't tell us your name.”

He stopped, and turned his head.

“I'm Jean Morel. Last defender of justice.”

 

 

[spoiler=Chapter Four: Indestructible, I]

 

The world wouldn't stop moving, the boy noticed. It moved so fast that he couldn't see anything clearly, more a blur than any distinct shapes. He could hear voices, but they were so high pitched that he couldn't make out any words. He was lying on his back, and above him the sky had moved very swiftly. Then it had leaned somewhat, and he was suddenly inside, in a very tall building. The roof was thrown past him, the fluorescent light burned into his eyes and forced out a few tears. A quick flicker of cloth, and the world came to a halt. The blur wouldn't go away, though; he saw someone leaning over him, a woman with black hair just like his own had been, before he dyed the highlights. He thought he recognized something in the woman's eyes, two purple spots of color in a hash of pink and black.

“Mother... is that you?”

 

Beatrice eyed the boy on the bed very carefully. The two students who had brought him in said he had been incredibly tense on the bus, but as soon as they got off he relaxed completely and his eyes lost focus. They had already had one case of this, as strange as it was, eight months earlier at the Winter Exams. That kid had gotten better within ten minutes and never spoken of it again, as far as she'd heard. Then again, he hadn't called him mother, of all things. She sure hadn't seen the boy before, that much was true. She heard the curtains move behind her, and turned around.

“Any improvements, Beatrice?”

She frowned. Out of all her colleagues at Hawthorne, Joseph Rogers was the only one she despised. He had been after Marden's position as vice principal ever since Beatrice was hired six years earlier, and had apparently decided that the best way to do this was to follow Marden's every maneuver and not question anything he says, so that he will be considered the prime choice when the spot opens up. At least, that's how Beatrice imagined his reason. She could never tell what went on inside that bald head of his. She shook her head.

“He's not paralyzed anymore, but he doesn't seem to be able to hear us. He's hallucinating, I believe. If we just let him rest, it should be fine.”

Joseph nodded. He had been carrying a folder on his way in; now, he picked it up and opened it.

“He won't be attending his examination duel, then. I'll put him on the list and get him a seat on the bus.”

He was about to reach into his pocket when, for the second time in less than thirty seconds, the curtains moved. This time, it was the vice principal himself.

“I'm afraid that's impossible, Joseph.”

He waved at the barely conscious boy on the bed.

“This boy scored the highest possible test results on the written tests, and solved the A-grade duel puzzles in less than a minute each. Out of all of them, he's the most qualified to join us. Such a petty thing as this examination duel shouldn't interfere with that. Understood, Joseph?”

Joseph was practically shaking in his boots.

“Isaac... I'm sure we can... I'll talk to Hannah.”

Not saying another word, the bald man stepped briskly past Isaac and the curtains. As Joseph closed them behind him, Marden smiled.

“Some people are just so easy to play around.”

He walked up to the bed, and stopped beside Beatrice.

“So, how's he doing? Any difference?”

Beatrice nodded.

“Well, as you can see, he's not stiff and coiled up any more, but he's still unresponsive.”

She turned to face him.

“You seem really defendant of this boy, Isaac. You know him from earlier?”

Isaac nodded.

“I used to know his mother, but we got out of touch. He was here when it happened.”

Beatrice's eyes flung wide open. She looked from Marden to the boy, who was now completely still but breathing at regular intervals.

“He's been here? Why didn't you tell me this until now, Isaac? You're wasting my time!”

Before Marden had any chance to respond, Beatrice turned to the boy. With quick, skilled movements Beatrice ran her fingers across the boy's forehead. Their movements left traces of blue light, creating an intricate pattern of lines that vanished within seconds. She nodded, and lowered her hands.

“If this is one of your tricks, Isaac, he should be up and walking within a minute. Gods, I thought we had a genuine panic attack on our hands.”

Isaac shook his head.

“I'm afraid it's a bit more than that, Beatrice. He was there when He descended. What's worse, he stared directly into His eyes. It might take a little longer than you think.”

He sighed.

“He might not even wake up at all.”

He raised his right hand, which started to emit a purple glow.

“Unless we do something radical, that is.”

 

Mark was walking back to his seat, where he kept his duel disk and bag. Linda followed him.

“Mark, you're not actually going to do this, right?”

He froze on the spot. Slowly, he turned around to face her.

“What do you mean? Of course I have to do this! He was the one to challenge me in the first place! I won't back down unless he does.”

She sighed.

“You shouldn't be wasting time on a duel now. It could be your turn any moment, and then you'd be forced to call it off. Since they're doing it alphabetically, that means you'll be called first and you'll have to surrender the duel.”

Mark's jaw dropped a little. For a few seconds, he remained silent for a few seconds.

“You have a point. An invalid point, but a point nonetheless. This is about more than convenience; this is my honor. I have to duel him.”

Linda shook her head.

“I'm not saying you shouldn't duel him; it's as good a way as any to get this argument over with. I'm saying you don't have the time. It could be your turn any-”

A loud buzz from the speakers interrupted her mid-sentence. Hannah Harrington's voice was heard.

“Hammond, Mark to Arena One. Harrigan, Vanessa to Arena Two. Attend within five minutes, or you will be removed from the Examination grounds.”

Linda smiled.

“See? Besides, you'll have plenty of time to duel him once you're at the Academy.”

Mark sighed. After looking from Linda to his seat and after Jean, who was now at his own seat, he shrugged.

“I guess you're right. Could you... tell him? I need to get over there.”

Her smile widened a little.

“You boys and your pride. Sure, I'll tell him. Off you go.”

 

It took Mark less than a minute to gather his duel disk and deck, and to look through it one last time before heading out. Everything seemed to be in order; the deck he had spent months perfecting and gathering cards for was in perfect shape. He walked toward the arena, which was placed in the far end of the warehouse. His chosen opponent, a senior student wearing the traditional blue-and-white Hawthorne uniform, was already waiting for him, watching him from there. Mark set off, knowing perfectly well that this was the moment he'd been waiting for months for. This was where everything would be determined. He smiled.

“Let's go. It's impossible for me to lose this?”

“Who're you talking to?”

Mark felt his face blush as he turned around. He hadn't expected to be heard. Now in front of him stood a girl with dark green eyes and curly red hair. She was wearing a light blue blouse and a pair of jeans. On her feet, she had white sandals. She noticed his blushing, and smiled.

“Just some pep-talk, eh? Nothing to be ashamed of. What's your name?”

As Mark was about to respond, the speakers sounded again.

“Hammond, Mark to Arena One. Harrigan, Vanessa to Arena Two. Henderson, Louis to Arena Three.”

She smiled again.

“I guess that answers it. I'm Vanessa. Good luck, Mark!”

She ran off toward her arena. Mark, still a bit staggered by Vanessa's sudden appearance, was left hanging for a few seconds. He cleared his head, and tried to concentrate on the challenge in front of him. He hurried toward Arena One.

 

“You mean he canceled our duel? The coward escaped?”

Linda sighed. These two are a lot like each other, she thought. More than they care to admit, that's for sure. Jean, the self-proclaimed “last defender of justice”, was standing right in front of her. The two of them were exactly where Jean had declared the duel should be; behind the last row, an open space between the arenas and the wall. About half of the crowd were standing around them, not paying much attention to Jean's raised voice. She shook her head.

“No, not at all. He's just postponing it until you get to the Academy. You'll still be able to challenge him. Until then, maybe we cou-”

Jean cut her off mid-sentence.

“You're right. I can take care of that abomination until then. Good thinking... what was your name again?”

Her eyes opened a little wider, surprised at the question.

“I'm Linda. I used to be in the same class as Mark a few years ago. Haven't met him since. But m”

Jean nodded.

“Linda it is. I hope we'll meet again.”

With no hesitation, and the same determination he showed before tackling Mark, Jean headed down toward the front row. Disappointed, Linda went back to her seat.

 

Mark's examiner looked at him as he stopped on his side of the arena, duel disk attached to his left arm.

“There you are. I almost thought you wouldn't make it.”

Mark smiled.

“I always get to my appointments on time. Let's get this show on the road, I wouldn't want to clog the arena.”

The examiner smiled. “Oh, I'm sure you won't. You will be out of here long before you slow down the exam. You can go first, if you want to.”

Just as Mark was about to reply, the speakers sounded again. This time, it was another woman; it sounded different from Hannah's. Slightly more worried.

“Roberts, Lucien to the resting area. Roberts, Lucien.”

Mark shrugged. It didn't concern him.

“Don't mind if I go ahead.”

He placed his deck in the duel disk, which automatically shuffled it. He drew five cards, and his examiner did the same. When they spoke, it was in unison.

“Duel!”

 

Mark drew a sixth card, and looked at his hand. He saw many different opening plays, some better than others for this situation. In the end, he decided to go for the offense.

“I summon Godslayer Arrow!”

One of the squares drawn on the floor lit up as Mark's monster emerged from it; A slim humanoid warrior coated from head to toe in steel with only large spikes for hands now stood between them. It's eyes were the only visible spots; two green lights, watching silently from within the armor. [1600/800] Mark nodded.

“I place two face-down cards, and end my turn.”

The examiner grinned.

“Just as I had expected, Mark Hammond! My turn! Draw!”

He drew a card, and smiled.

“You might as well just surrender, Mark. I'm going to end it here and now. I activate the Spell Card, Demise of the Dead!”

Three cards in his hand started to glow as light was projected onto them.

“With it, I can discard any number of Zombies in my hand to the Graveyard, and draw one card for every two cards I discarded. I discard a Skull Servant and two Ladies in Wight!”

He put the three cards in his Graveyard, and drew one card from his deck. Mark suddenly realized why they had picked this guy to test him.

“You're going to summon King of the Skull Servants, aren't you?”

The examiner smiled.

“Well, anyone with half a brain could figure that out, couldn't they? I'll set one card and summon King of the Skull Servants in Attack Position!”

His field was suddenly filled by purple fog, reaching up to his knees. Mark thought he could see movements beneath it; within seconds, he was proven right. A skeletal body, at least ten feet tall emerged from the fog, dressed in a dark purple robe. The hollow eye-sockets seemed to stare directly at Mark. [?/0] He gulped. The examiner nodded.

“As you most likely know, my King gains a thousand attack points for each Skull Servant in my Graveyard. Thanks to my Ladies in Wight, which are considered Skull Servants while they're in the Graveyard, my monster gains a three-thousand point boost.”

The skeletal King laughed menacingly as the fog around it seemed to intensify. [3000/0] The examiner smiled.

“King of the Skull Servants, attack Godslayer Arrow! Unending Plague!”

His monster grinned – as much as possible for an undead creature – and raised its right hand, palm open. From the center of his hand a burst of the purple fog released itself, charging straight at its adversary. Mark smiled.

“For an Academy examiner, you're predictable. I activate a Trap! Waboku!”

A purple barrier enclosed the silver-armored warrior, which the purple mist could not break through.

“Until the End Phase, my monsters cannot be destroyed by battle, and I take no damage from battles. ”

The examiner shook his head.

“You have only halted your defeat, Mark. I still have my King; against it, you are powerless. ”

Mark shrugged.

"Maybe right now, but it doesn't mean things will change. I still have cards to play."

The examiner nodded.

“You better have. Otherwise, you're in for a tough match.”

Mark drew a card, and looked at the remaining cards in his hand. He wasn't exactly at an advantage, as his opponent had a stronger monster, but at least he had some options. He placed a monster on the field.

“I Summon Godslayer Dagger!” Another piece of Mark's field lit up as his second monster appeared. It looked similar to his other monster, but was significantly smaller – it nearly reached up to the former's waist – and instead of two spikes for hands, the right hand was replaced with a curved blade. [800/600] The examiner cast a quick glance at his duel disk.

“A Tuner, I see. You plan to Synchro Summon.”

He waved with his now empty hand at his monsters.

“Feel free to. I won't stop you.”

Mark's jaw dropped a little. He doesn't even plan to counter my move? What kind of a lousy examiner is this? He shut his mouth, and shrugged.

“Fine. I tune my level one Dagger to my level three Godslayer Arrow! Synchro Summon!”

Four bright lights flashed from Mark's two monsters, the warriors moving a little closer to each other with each flash and become less and less corporeal. As the last of them faded away, a new warrior stood in their place. This one's armor was golden, and it's right hand was replaced with a long blade. It was of no intimidating height, barely taller than Mark. [2000/1600] The examiner nodded.

“Our monsters have the same attack points, Mark. It was a pointless move.”

Mark shook his head.

“Not at all. My new monster, Godslayer Sword, has a beneficial effect! Heaven's Throne!”

The golden warrior raised its sword into the air, and the examiner's monster was launched into the skies. A trail of mists connected it with the ground as it was surrounded by a golden light.

“Sword can raise the Level of any monster you control by four. In return, your monster can't be destroyed by battle."

The examiner shook his head.

"Your plays are getting worse and worse, Mark. Now, you have granted my monster immunity to the only thing you can destroy it by."

Mark smiled.

"I don't think so. I discard the Godslayer Kris in my hand!"

One of Mark's cards lit up as he placed it in the Graveyard. He nodded.

"With Kris' effect, I can remove from play a monster in your Graveyard. Skull Servant, begone!"

The black mist on the examiner's field partially faded away, but it was still very much present. [3000 ATK -> 2000 ATK] The examiner simply nodded. Mark looked at his monster.

"Godslayer Sword, attack! Deicide Sweep!”

The monster leaped high into the air, and slashed at the skeletal king with seemingly reinforced strength.

“All Godslayer monsters gain more power when they fight monsters with higher Level. Four-hundred points per level, to be precise.” [2000 → 2400]

As the warrior slashed at the examiner's monster, black mist scattered from the undead body onto the duelist below. His Life Points dropped to seventy-three hundred. He smiled.

“Oh no, you inflicted four-hundred damage! How intimidating! You didn't manage to destroy my monster, and your Sword has no additional effects. You accomplished nothing.”

Mark grunted as his monster lowered itself back to the ground.

“I end my turn.”

His opponent drew a card, and smiled.

“I activate the Continuous Spell, Wight Supremacy! I can remove from play 2 Skull Servants in my Graveyard to Special Summon another King from my Deck!”

The mist withdrew completely from the already-summoned King as another one climbed out on the field next to it. [2000 ATK → 0 ATK] [0 ATK] Mark laughed.

“You're not making a good imp-”

The examiner grinned.

“I'm not done yet. Face-down card, activate! Burial from the different Dimension!”

His face-down card, that he had set the previous turn, flipped up.

“With it, I return all of my removed monsters to the Graveyard, once again boosting my Kings!”

The black mist seemingly burst out of the ground, flowing across the two skeletal titans and filling the air with tension. Now, Mark could clearly see bony arms and legs moving inside the mist – even that within the two monsters. [0 ATK → 3000 ATK] [0 ATK → 3000 ATK]

“You have no chance against my monsters, Mark. I attack with my new and unaffected King of the Skull Servants! Unending Plague!”

The monster laughed as it released a black surge at the golden warrior, completely overwhelming it. Before Mark's eyes, the golden armor cracked and split into pieces, falling apart. The wave struck him, reducing his Life Points to fifty-six hundred. The examiner nodded.

“Now, for my second monster! Direct attack! Unending Plague!”

Mark was almost thrown to his feet by the black surge this time around. He knew the attacks were just holographic, but they felt so tangible. His Life Points dropped to twenty-six hundred, little enough for one of his opponent's monsters to finish him in one blow. He had to get out of this mess and turn this duel around.

 

But how?

 

 

[spoiler=The Collected Works of Consideration!]

[spoiler=Chapter 1a: An Introduction]

You're not the only one who doesn't know what happened to the driver. As a matter of fact, everyone felt more or less what Dave felt - as if they'd fallen asleep for a few minutes. I guess I could add something to Chapter One to explain that.

 

All names given to characters here were intentional, and may or may not imply something.

 

Come on, Umbra, tell them! You know you want to.

 

No, I don't want to spoil the entire plot, Beatrice. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be waiting for Dave?

 

What's the point? You're probably not even going to write the scene anyhow. It'll just be implied, like everything else here. You're just so-

 

I think your phone's ringing.

 

Huh? Oh, it is.

 

...You're there already? There hasn't even been a new chapter yet, how can you do anything?

 

You're doing things, and you haven't even appeared yet.

 

Touche. Fine, I'll go, but you haven't seen the last of me!

 

...

 

Good thing she left, otherwise I'd never be able to finish this in time.

 

 

[spoiler=Chapter 1b: Jean's Assault! Pursuit of the Procrastinator!]

 

I will see to it that the evildoer will be punished. Don't worry, Yankee-lust. I will make sure he doesn't repeat his crime.

 

Jean? Who said you could talk to our readers like that?

 

... Hey, where'd that sword come from? I thought he'd already seen it, it's been up for a few weeks now!

 

No excuses! *slash*

 

Aah!

 

 

[spoiler=Chapter 2: Hostile Takeover!]

 

And you cut my scene. How surprising.

 

*sighs* I'll tell you what, Beatrice. You'll get the first scene in the next chapter, I swear.

 

No I won't, you'll just write me out again and again until no one will bother asking where I went.

 

No, I've already written it. It's in the script and everything. You'll get a few good, plot-establishing, scenes and a bit of backstory.

 

What about Dave?

 

*shrugs* He won't be doing much yet. He's still panicking and all.

 

Is he ever going to be relevant to the plot, or are you just using him to give me some exposition?

 

Yes. One of those. Wait, there's someone at the-

 

*bursts door open* What? She gets the first scene? Aren't we supposed to have a duel for once in this card-game-franchise-based fic?

 

Mark? Where does everyone get their keys to my house from, really? Also, don't you have a duel disk to pick up? Or an old friend to catch up with?

 

Actually, I tagged along.

 

:x

 

*looks around* Is Jean here?

 

I hope not.

 

EVILDOER!

 

Oh, for crying out loud! If this keeps up, I'll never be able to finish this fanfic! Mark, Linda, I'll talk to you later. I just realized I have a train to catch.

 

Wait, I still want to know why she...

 

Huh. They're both gone. That means we're in charge!

 

Except you're not. Thanks to my loyal pawn, I've eliminated all threats to my status as the protagonist. I will be writing the story from now on! All bow down to Beatrice!

 

 

 

 

[Dr. Cakey]

Mysteeeeeeeeeeeeerious!

 

I love how it seemed like we were going to get a duel, and then it was just, "Kidding!"

I actually like "onscreen" duels - assuming they're well-done - but I get that a lot of people don't. They're particularly annoying to write, as well...

[Umbra]

It's not as much "I don't like writing them.", as it is "I don't like having them..". There are ways to further the plot without resorting to a duel. There will be duels, though, so don't worry.

 

Thanks for your comment, I'm glad you liked it. Anything I should think about for Chapter Two?

[Weather Report - Stand]

Hello, Mr. Umbra, I'm here to pull off a review and stuff. I expect something good, because you seem like (and are) a smart person. Let's jump on in without any prior knowledge of the story (as I usually do)!

Obligatory explanation / apology

Oh' date=' well, cool![/color']

{Yes, Umbra has decided to do a Duel Academy fic. Umbra also likes to talk about himself in the third person, because's he's funny like that. I myself haven't been able to talk to Umbra about that, but I will try to contact him eventually. You should know, though, that Umbra doesn't like writing duels that much; thus, even though this is a Duel Academy fic, there won't be as much dueling as you could expect. I hope you enjoy this, and comment if you do. Actually, comment if you don't, too: I'm always open to constructive criticism. }

I understand your need of a Duel Academy fic, for obvious reasons. And so, judging by the Umbra that you are, you funny kid, I guess that this'll be more about the characters and their relationships than the cards?

Set between GX and 5D's, in a different Duel Academy somewhere else. No characters from either franchise have confirmed their appearance in the story.

Oh well okay.

[spoiler=Chapter One: The Arrival]

"Aren't we there yet?"

Mark Hammond, who had by now been on the bus for a steady two hours, was bored. Earlier that morning, he and all the other applicants - about two-hundred in total - from the region had been rounded up and put on a bus to Duel Academy's entrance exams. M'kay, so that pretty much explains what we're doing so far. So far, so okay. Mark thought it strange that the exams were still held, as it either put a very high standard on the examiners or on the students themselves - something Duel Academy wasn't known for. You could put that in his thoughts, but it's alright as it is, too so it doesn't matter. The boy next to him, who he had only known by face up to this very moment and still intended to, had been staring at the passing countryside ever since they left; as he heard Mark's question, he lit up. Oh boy, what was it? Oh yeah, the beginning of the chapter.

"We've been traveling at about sixty miles per hour for two hours and thirteen minutes; if we keep this speed, it should take no longer than ten minutes." Hmm... so this is the obligatory nerd, or is he a COOL nerd?

Mark slowly turned towards the boy, eyeing him more carefully. The overly informative boy had short, black-brownish hair and small, wide-apart bright green eyes. In his mind, Mark called him Dave. Hmm... well, I guess he's not going to be a cool nerd, then. Dave wore glasses, which after the lecture he'd given made Mark understand why. He shrugged; Dave was of no importance. What a nerd! He was probably one of those theorycrafters who build their decks from numbers only, the kind that emphasized speed over personal liking. Cool word. Also, what's wrong with those kinds of decks? Sure, their decks worked and did well at the tournaments, but they would never reach the top. Well, what about Twilight decks--sorry, I forgot this isn't real life for a moment. They lacked that special feeling, the one embedded deep within any real duelist. What if they LIKE Twilight decks--I need to stop doing that. Some call it "a duelist's heart"; Mark called it wisdom. Or is it 'fun'? Please, no mentions of the heart of the cards, I was thinking of one but dropped it.

"Could've just told me, weirdo. I didn't ask for a calculation." Aw man, stop hurtin' the nerd!

Dave blushed and returned to watching the field they were currently driving through. Crap, you just hurt the nerd! Also, by this point, I've noticed how "long" the paragraph is getting. Is it about to break up? From the seats on the other side of the bus, Mark heard someone rising to their feet. As he turned his gaze, he saw yet another boy. This one looked a bit more like himself, though. His hair was platinum blonde, in contrast to Mark's own pitch-black, but both of them had thin features and brown eyes. Hooray, 2-for-1 description! He looked about sixteen, one year younger than Mark himself. Hooray, 2-for-1 description!

”Don't you dare talk down on him in my presence, kid.” THAT'S what happens when you hurt 'da nerds, punk!

For some reason, Mark hadn't noticed the duel disk attached to the boy's arm. Mark smiled. He wanted to shut him up with a duel, on a moving bus? He too got to his feet; his duel disk was still in the bag in the overhead compartment. Watch out, y'all, a duel's a-brewin'!

“Who are you calling a kid, Whitey? Mind your own business, or you'll get in trouble. ” Oooh, he just played the race card.

To Mark's surprise, the white-haired boy shook his head.

“This is my business, kid. I'm not going to stand aside and watch you bully him.” Finally, an enemy that I can like! Wait a minute... is he going to be defeated and the befriended, or become his eternal rival?!

 

Mark was genuinely awestruck by this guy. To think that people like him still existed... Mark decided to play along. Why aren't there any people like who I'd like to be, anymore, anyways?

“What's the matter with you? You don't have a reason to help him!”

There. The taunt was placed, and Dye-Job walked right into it. OOOH!! He SURE got THAT kid!

“Do I need a reason to stand up for justice? Can one only fight for someone they know, can one only assist their closest friends? I've never seen him before, and from what I can tell neither have you. Yet, you believe you have a reason to bully him. I challenge you to a duel!” He sounds like any main character plucked from an anime. He's officially stupidly cool. Now, what ELSE can he do?

His words confirmed what Mark had suspected; this kid was insane. From behind the white-haired guy, he heard a sigh and smiled. Whoever it was that sat next to him was obviously just as fed up with this as he was. Then again, he had been officially challenged; backing down wasn't an option. Every card-playin' kid has gotta keep their pride! Even if they're playing a TCG for a living. *Note that this is a joke against the entire series, not just this story*

“Fine. I accept your challenge.”

He turned around and was about to open the compartment when the bus suddenly stopped in place. Man, is this paragraph STILL going on? Shouldn't it have separated somewhere a few lines ago> Mark almost lost his footing, and Dave, too focused on what was going on next to him, slammed head first into the seat in front of him and would spend the next few minutes adjusting his glasses. Ha, what a nerd! The bus driver, a short but staggeringly over-weight man, climbed out of the driver's seat and walked toward them with slow, dramatic steps. This guy looks serious! What's he gonna do, throw them out the windows into the nearby cornfields, out stranded n the middle of nowhere?

“Didn't your councilor tell you when you got your tickets? No duels or attempted duels on the bus, ever. No first strike, no final warning. I'm sick of having to pick up your left cards for hours! You two,” he nodded at Mark and the white-haired boy, “we're still about ten miles from Waterfront and the Academy exams. Unless you want to walk there, you hold back until we get there. Understood?” Aw man! That's so anti-climactic... and... what?! I don't see the point. They're on their way to a card-playing school and they can't play on the way there? Now, leftover cards's one thing, but confusion is another, and I think I know which one I'm more worried about, as awkward as that sounded.

Mark sighed. Of course, the lunatic had to get him in trouble before they even got to the exams. He sounds like he's experienced this before... wait, HAS he?! He nodded, and soon after the white-haired boy did so as well. The bus driver smiled, revealing mismatched rows of yellow teeth and a breath reminding Mark of dead fish, and went back to his seat. Heh, now he disgusts me! For the remainder of the trip, Mark remained silent. However, it would be far longer than ten minutes. Uh-oh, BROODING ACTION!!

 

“You shouldn't have done that, Jean. We don't need to pick on people before we get to the Academy.” Mirroring Mark's thoughts of about a second earlier, the boy on the other side of the white-haired one talked while casually looking out the window. He spoke low enough for Mark not to hear. “He's a good-for-nothing kid, that's all. Don't let it get to you.” Jean stared ahead without changing his expression. Oh no, I smell conspiracy!!

“If we won't stand up for the smaller ones, Frederick, then who will? There won't always be a fat bus driver crawling out of the jaws of Hades ready to stop the oppressors.” What? There isn't? Does that only happen to me?

Frederick looked into his brother's eyes and sighed. The two looked alike in all but length; Frederick was four years younger than his brother and thus shorter. This chivalry was something Jean had started doing all on his own – possibly his idea of a rebellion, Frederick thought. Yay, so I know their names now! Huzzah and whatnot.

“Listen to yourself, Jean. You sound like someone who's read Don Quixote a few too many times. No, there won't always be someone there to stop evil from happening. You won't be there, and the bus driver certainly won't. It's just one of the things you've got to get used to.”

He sighed, and looked out the window. He wasn't really in the mood for convincing Jean again. He was tired of playing the only sane man. Well what's wrong with being a tad out of touch with reality? Has he had any adverse situations like so? Has he learned about all that the hard way? Or is he just embarrassed by his brother? I wonder which reason it'll be.

“He's right, you know. You don't even know that kid. From the looks of him, you'll probably never see him after this day. You shouldn't start a fight over something so little. You'll get your chance to challenge him – once we get to the Academy. We probably won't have much time to spare at the Entrance Exams.” Judging by the fact that you see the same person often at school, and by how coincidences quite often go, this man's an idjit. Not an idiot, an IDJIT. It's the same, just with less common sense.

Jean was silent, and his gaze was fixed somewhere far ahead. In his mind, he was already at the exams, seeing the look on the teacher's face as he passed by sheer excellence. His enemies would be burdened by their own sins, and collapse into purity. He was a cavalier, but a proud cavalier; he loved nothing more than to see the evildoers writhe in humiliation at his feet. That was his goal. He sounds like me... I need help.

 

The bus driver dug his way back into his seat, and turned the ignition. The engine roared up, and he relaxed back in his seat. The kids were always noisy, but this year's bunch was worse than ever. This was the Academy's third bus-load this month – a number which had steadily increased over the years – and he had been forced to interrupt four duels already. Couldn't have a few of them get injured on the way there. The seat belts weren't there just for show. You know, are there any OTHER kids on the bus? Maybe we could've heard their giggles and whispers over the last event? Sure, he says that this is their third bus-load this month, but maybe they wouldn't have NEEDED a third one if there were only four people per load.

Suddenly, he slammed the brake and pulled the handbrake out of pure reflex. There was someone on the road. A kid... a creepy kid. Wuh-oh, I sense some kooky antics! And by kooky I mean weird, fun, or possible disturbing. He couldn't even tell if it was a girl or a boy; the kid was wearing a white robe with long sleeves and a hood. Heck, it could even be a regular dwarf. The bus driver had an uncle Chad who was a dwarf; and for a brief moment he imagined his uncle in that robe and chuckled. Are we going to explore why they're wearing the cloak, hm? Then, he started to wonder. They were still quite a distance from the town, probably a ten-minute drive or more. On both of their sides were golden fields of crops, stretching out on both sides for at least a mile. He would've seen the child. Heh, I'm betting on ghost, demon, or demonic ghost. On their right side there was Mt. Hanne and the Hawthorne Academy, where some of these brats would be headed eventually. This child had appeared out of nowhere. Now that the bus had come to a stop, the child approached them. All sounds were muffled to the bus driver as the child came closer; it was as if something shoved cotton into his ears. The brats in the back, now noisier than ever, faded away into nothing. When the child stopped outside the doors, the driver only pressed the button out of reflex. Normally, there would be a steaming hiss as the door opened; the bus driver didn't hear a thing. It was strange, but peaceful. In his mind, the bus driver thanked the child. Then, he turned to his right to greet the child onto the bus, only to notice that the child had taken off its hood. His silent scream was heard by none. Heh, I lucked out on the 'disturbing' guess!

 

The boy Mark had called “Dave” gasped for breath. What was that? He was practically jumping on his seat; he was alert and ready to run a mile. Whatever speck of tiredness he had felt earlier was gone. I must've fallen asleep or something. They were now driving through the town, and the other attendees were looking out the windows. So there ARE more students there! Naturally, though, I didn't know that earlier. Fix that next time. It was easy for him to forget that most of these people had never been outside their little sleepy hollow back home. He knew Hawthorne Town like the back of his hand. There was Syren Avenue, and the coffee shop his mother used to run; a few seconds later he saw Rosebud Street where you'd make a right turn onto Northwestern and end up right outside their old house. He shook off the memories. That was long ago. I have other things to think about. Instead of looking out the side windows, he looked ahead and tried to figure out where they were headed. As far as he knew, the entrance exams were a big event with several hundred applicants from the area, and he couldn't think of a single- Oh no. Not there. Not there. Please, anywhere but there. His fears grew and grew as the bus turned left off the main road and headed down toward the industrial quarters. One by one, he recognized the street signs and the shops they passed. There was no doubt.

 

They were going to the Warehouse. Well then, I'm giving up the moniker of 'kooky antics' for 'spooky antics'! We're headin' for horror, I bet!

 

 

 

So, instead of bashing as usual, I took the more positive approach. Notice how usually when I looked at stuff, I said things in a way someone would think about it while reading for the first time? Well, there you go, I gave you all of my thoughts.

 

It was a pretty alright story, somewhat short, but alright. There could have been more description in places, but when you DID describe things, it felt pretty natural to me. Also the paragraphs feel too chunky to me, as I'd mentioned obviously.

 

Overall, I'd call it a success. You've capture my interest and made me wonder what's going to happen next. So go ahead, absorb what I've said and DOMINATE!!

[Umbra]

Thanks for your review, I appreciate it. Truth is, I wrote about half this chapter a few days / weeks before I finished it, and apart from what you've noted I've seen a lot of inconsistencies. A revised version - and hopefully, Chapter 2 - will be up by Monday.

 

EDIT: When Mark talks about Decks that only focus on speed, he's literal: Imagine the likes of Magical Explosion FTK.

[Weather Report - Stand]

Yippee, the world makes so much more sense now! Well, I guess I'll check in on the revised version and stuff and drop a paragraph or so about it. Thank you for appreciating the review.

[Umbra]

Alright, revised the first chapter. I haven't been able to get much writing done recently, but the second chapter should be up shortly.

[CrabHelmet]

Since the comment about speed is from Mark's POV, it seemed to be perfectly in-character. Mark is clearly a Johnny or perhaps a Timmy, so it's not unreasonable for him to dislike Spikes, even though there's nothing strictly wrong with Spikes.

 

I haven't had time to read the whole thing, and since there's a revised version coming, I'll wait for that.

[Umbra]

Actually, what's up as of about an hour and twenty minutes ago is the revised edition. The original is in Weather Report's post, if you want to read it for some unfathomable reason.

[Dr. Cakey]

So...um...when's the next chapter going to be up?

[Guest Ixigo]

I'll just throw in a quick comment here.

 

It's funny how Mark dismisses Jean as a moron for wanting to defend other people via a card game (I agree), yet said card game seems to be foremost on his mind when judging Dave, going as far as to extrapolate his entire decktype within a few seconds of being given an answer to a totally unrelated question. It's not necessarily contradictory but it does create a sharp contrast there, making Mark look kind of like an idiot.

 

Inb4JeanusesLightsworns

 

Even though the story seems more Mark-centric, I think Jean is given more overall useful exposition. Since I kind of like the demi-jackass character Mark, I hope Jean doesn't get launched into the protagonist seat.

 

Inb4thekidsnamereallyisDave

 

I hope Dave ends up winning a duel against Mark, though, with Frog Magical Explosion FTK.

[Umbra]

So...um...when's the next chapter going to be up?

 

Either today or tomorrow. I've got a big physics report to write, but it should be fine.

[Umbra]

Chapter 2 is -finally- up.

 

Ixigo: I intend for Mark and Jean to share the protagonist's seat, with a bit more exposition given to Mark. Also, Mark's taunts to Jean are directed to the chivalry rather than the card game (which is fully acceptable in-universe). Mark is kind of an idiot, but more to the point, he's kind of an ass.

[Weather Report - Stand]

Hm. I like the second chapter, it starts getting things moving. I think, though, it should've been longer, since it felt really short, as if we were supposed to do more than meet some new characters.

[Umbra]

I wanted to write more, but at the same time I didn't want to start the Exams mid-chapter. I guess I could expand a bit on the middle part, possibly add a bit more Mark content.

[Guest Ixigo]

Isaac Marden. That sure takes me back.

 

For some reason I had thought the POV of chapter 1's last paragraph was Mark's, so I was a bit confused. I agree the chapter did seem a little short and action-less - I wonder what the hell happened to the driver - was his death scene a regular occurrence for bus drivers that take students to the Warehouse?

 

I've pictured Beatrice as this devilish hot nurse type >_>.

[Umbra]

You're not the only one who doesn't know what happened to the driver. As a matter of fact, everyone felt more or less what Dave felt - as if they'd fallen asleep for a few minutes. I guess I could add something to Chapter One to explain that.

 

All names given to characters here were intentional, and may or may not imply something.

 

Come on, Umbra, tell them! You know you want to.

 

No, I don't want to spoil the entire plot, Beatrice. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be waiting for Dave?

 

What's the point? You're probably not even going to write the scene anyhow. It'll just be implied, like everything else here. You're just so-

 

I think your phone's ringing.

 

Huh? Oh, it is.

 

...You're there already? There hasn't even been a new chapter yet, how can you do anything?

 

You're doing things, and you haven't even appeared yet.

 

Touche. Fine, I'll go, but you haven't seen the last of me!

 

...

 

Good thing she left, otherwise I'd never be able to finish this in time.

[Yankee]

Umbra made a ff...and didn't tell good ol' Yankee/Lust about it...for shame...

[Umbra]

Umbra made a ff...and didn't tell good ol' Yankee/Lust about it...for shame...

 

I will see to it that the evildoer will be punished. Don't worry' date=' Yankee-lust. I will make sure he doesn't repeat his crime. [/color']

 

Jean? Who said you could talk to our readers like that?

 

... Hey, where'd that sword come from? I thought he'd already seen it, it's been up for a few weeks now!

 

No excuses! *slash*

 

Aah!

[Yankee]

Umbra made a ff...and didn't tell good ol' Yankee/Lust about it...for shame...

 

I will see to it that the evildoer will be punished. Don't worry' date=' Yankee-lust. I will make sure he doesn't repeat his crime. [/color']

 

Jean? Who said you could talk to our readers like that?

 

... Hey, where'd that sword come from? I thought he'd already seen it, it's been up for a few weeks now!

 

No excuses! *slash*

 

Aah!

 

Out-of-story-Crab impersonation?

XD

 

I suppose I can read along, and maybe help/submit peoplez!?

 

[spoiler=I already have a name]

Jaden Von Brownhair

 

[Umbra]

I prefer to call them "assistants". :) They help me comment, and in turn they stop hurting me. Jean went back to the exam for now, and I managed to escape without major injuries.

 

I take my characters seriously (in-story, that is) so no Jaden Von Brownhairs. I probably won't accept characters right off the bat without a little help from my good friend, Major Adjustments.

[Yankee]

Jaden was an obvious joke...ya know?

 

Well, you know how to get in touch with me if ya need/want anything from me ^_\\\

[Umbra]

Chapter Three, Saturation, is now posted!

[spoiler=Consideration! Episode II: Hostile Takeover]

And you cut my scene. How surprising.

 

*sighs* I'll tell you what, Beatrice. You'll get the first scene in the next chapter, I swear.

 

No I won't, you'll just write me out again and again until no one will bother asking where I went.

 

No, I've already written it. It's in the script and everything. You'll get a few good, plot-establishing, scenes and a bit of backstory.

 

What about Dave?

 

*shrugs* He won't be doing much yet. He's still panicking and all.

 

Is he ever going to be relevant to the plot, or are you just using him to give me some exposition?

 

Yes. One of those. Wait, there's someone at the-

 

*bursts door open* What? She gets the first scene? Aren't we supposed to have a duel for once in this card-game-franchise-based fic?

 

Mark? Where does everyone get their keys to my house from, really? Also, don't you have a duel disk to pick up? Or an old friend to catch up with?

 

Actually, I tagged along.

 

:x

 

*looks around* Is Jean here?

 

I hope not.

 

EVILDOER!

 

Oh, for crying out loud! If this keeps up, I'll never be able to finish this fanfic! Mark, Linda, I'll talk to you later. I just realized I have a train to catch.

 

Wait, I still want to know why she...

 

Huh. They're both gone. That means we're in charge!

 

Except you're not. Thanks to my loyal pawn, I've eliminated all threats to my status as the protagonist. I will be writing the story from now on! All bow down to Beatrice!

 

 

[Umbra]

And a bump, too!

[Dr. Cakey]

“I'm Jean Morel. Last defender of justice.”

 

Dun dun DUUUUUUNN!

 

Wow, you've managed to go three chapters without a duel. That's impressive...I don't think I could manage that.