Deciding on a style

It’s a hot summer’s day. Thirty-nine degrees Celsius, not a cloud in the sky, the sun perched like a king on his throne of blue as he watches his subjects suffer. The heat emanating from the asphalt itself is enough to boil the noodles I’m lining up for.

There are two types of people in this world. One will seek shelter under a tree or in a classroom perhaps, sweat it out and endure it. Of course, there’ll be many people with the same idea who all decide to crowd one classroom, effectively rendering the air conditioning useless. Maybe they’ll head to the cafeteria to buy some cold drinks or ice cream and upon seeing the size of the line, gloomily head to the end. Maybe they’ll change their minds completely with a sigh.

The other type of person will lose his cool and march right up to the front of the line with their gang for support, ignoring the disdainful looks shot at them by those who’ve decided to be law-abiding citizens. No one will try to stop them for fear of involvement with the school’s †˜mafia’ – many heroes have tried to and ended up walking out of the toilets smelling like a bad case of diarrhea after †˜slipping’ and landing face-first in a toilet bowl.

These people will head to the front of the line, peer into the frozen goods section with smirks on their faces, then realize they lack the funds to pay for their goods.

“Oi, you there! Mind if we borrow a tenner?”

Everyone does their best to turn away from the scene, even the seniors. Anyone would be intimidated if they were approached by a bunch of gum-chewing, ear-pierced delinquents.

“I-I need it for my lunch,” the boy nervously replies.

“Come on, we’ll pay you back. Promise.”

Their ring-leader, going by the name of †˜Phil’, takes a step closer to his victim. I can’t help but compare them to a pack of hyenas closing in on their prey – a prey that seems like it’s shrinking by the second.

“I…”

The boy looks around frantically for aid – but conveniently enough, there are no adults to be seen save the canteen ladies. Even they want no part in this.

“Help a buddy out,” another of the delinquents says, sporting an equally voracious expression. “You wouldn’t want us to die of heatstroke, would you?”

I’m pretty sure the boy couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Phil and his gang. He continues to shake his head, determined to hang on to his lunch money. I don’t blame him – food takes top priority for a growing boy, over girls and video games.

The tension in the atmosphere is steadily growing. I can sense people around me shuffling restlessly, prepared to flee at the first signs of action. I can’t help but admire the boy, having the courage to stand and fight for his lunch.

It’s when Phil gave him an almighty shove, sending him sprawling onto the ground that I decide to step in. I’m already saying goodbye to my afternoon.

“Hey, that’s enough now,” I interject, placing myself between the boy and the group of thugs.

“What do you want?” Phil narrows his eyes. “Are you offering to lend me money in his place?”

“No one’s obliged to buy you ice cream, Phillipe,” I reply, placing emphasis on his real name.

“What did you just call me?”

Phil steps up right and close, but I don’t back down. There’s a particularly fascinating zit on his nose.

“Are you new or something?” he asks. “I’ve never seen you around before.”

I doubt you’d ever bother remembering anyone’s face that wasn’t part of your gang, I think to myself.

“Nah. I just happened to be here at the right place, in the right time. I’m not important enough for you to know.”

I can hear the sounds of footsteps clattering across the floor as people race to place as much distance between themselves and us as possible. Someone even whips out a phone and starts filming.

“Well, you should know better than to mess with me,” Phil growls. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his group closing in.

That’s when I see his fist come at my face in a flash of movement.

It was a hot summer’s day. The sun sat atop its cloudless throne, haughtily peering down at its sweating subjects. The asphalt itself was scalding, hot enough to boil the noodles Dante Lietmann was lining up for.

The line extended straight out of the cafeteria and into the school yard, filled with tired, hot and sticky students. These were the brave souls who had ventured out of the air conditioned classrooms for greater prospects – those of food, cold drinks, even ice cream.

There was a scuffling and a commotion as the line suddenly burst apart, making way for a group of gum-chewing delinquents. Dante watched with contempt as they cut their way to the front of the line, uncontested. There were few people who dared challenge the school’s †˜mafia’ – legends spoke of heroes who had stood up for the weak and ended up emerging from the toilets covered in human filth. Even the teachers steered clear from these delinquents.

The ringleader of the group, an acne-infested mullet-sporting senior named Phil stopped right in front of the frozen goods section and smirked.

“You boys alright with these?” he asked, grabbing a bunch of popsicles.

There were a few indifferent grunts behind him. Phil continued to the counter, pulling out his crocodile-skin wallet before freezing.

“What’s wrong?” another boy asked.

Phil cursed before turning back to the person at the front of the line, a timid first-year with rectangular-rimmed glasses.

“Oi, you there. Got a tenner I can borrow?”

The boy looked like he was about to wet his pants. Dante didn’t blame him – after all, anyone would be intimidated if they were approached by a bunch of thugs – especially bigger, stronger and older ones.

“I… I need it for my lunch,” he stammered.

He certainly had his priorities set straight. For a growing boy, food was more important than anything else – even girls or video games.

“Come on, I’ll return it.”

Dante could feel people around him shifting uncomfortably, unwilling to step in. Conveniently enough there were no teachers around, not that they’d make a difference.

“You don’t want us to die of heatstroke, do you?” Phil pressed.

The boy clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass about his assailants. He continued to hold his banknote tightly to his chest, cowering from the pack of hyenas eyeing him hungrily.

It was when Phil gave an almighty shove, sending him sprawling onto the ground in a heap, that Dante stepped in. He already knew he was about to give up his entire afternoon for this, but he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

“He’s not obliged to give you anything,” the boy boldly declared. “Back off, Phillipe”.

At the mention of his true name, Phil’s face contorted into a mask of rage before he recomposed himself.

“You must be new here. No one calls me that.”

He took a step further, but Dante stood his ground. He was surprisingly calm, even though he was challenging the most feared group in the school.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” he continued. “They bloodshot?”

Dante didn’t bother answering. He continued to face the other, his blood-red pupils calmly focused ahead of him. The students in the line had already shuffled back, prepared to flee at a moment’s notice. One girl had even taken out a phone and was filming.

“I’m not new,” Dante coolly said. “I just doubt I’m important enough for you to remember.”

Noticing that the first-year who’d been shoved onto the ground was nowhere to be seen, he internally let out a sigh of relief. Things were about to get heated after all.

“Look, punk. If you lend me ten bucks I’ll be willing to overlook this whole thing.”

Phil’s group took one step forward as if to make a point.

“Lend? We know you’re never going to pay me back,” Dante scoffed.

That was when Phil’s fist blurred in a flash of movement, heading straight for the other’s face.

I’ve crossed the burning deserts of Sandaria, sailed the seas to the end of the world, navigated the long-lost mines of the ancient dwarves. I’ve trudged my way through the blizzards of the North, hacked my way through the Jungles of Undeath, even flown through the cloud cities of Skyland.

I’ve accomplished too much to be felled by this burning enemy. The majestic orb of light which evilly smirks down at me, boiling my sweat from my glands – not even an enemy of this caliber can defeat me.

While the weak hearted hide in their air-conditioned shelters, the worthy will risk their lives under the scorching sun for the ultimate reward. The hall of heaven, where heroes come to dine and feast on the food of the gods – the cafeteria.

My opponent continues to send waves of heat down towards me, eating away at my will – but I will not give in. Such torment is a small price to pay to fill my belly with the sweetest wine and the finest dine.

“Out of my way!”

The queue suddenly breaks apart as a group of gum-chewing, ear-pierced delinquents heads through. Feared by many, they serve as a reminder of the universal law †˜survival of the fittest’. As powerful as I am, not even I can match their strength. Naturally, that means the teachers don’t stand a chance.

The leader of the gang, an acne-stricken boy by the name of Phil stops by the frozen goods section. They discuss amongst themselves before deciding on a brand of popsicle. We watch them as they skip to the counter, only to discover they’re short of cash.

Those who cheat will always finish last, foo-

“Oi, you there.”

Phil approaches the boy at the front of the line.

“Lend me that tenner, kid.”

The boy hangs on tight to his banknote. “I… I need it for my lunch…”

“Do you want us to die of heatstroke?”

I’m quite sure the boy desires quite the contrary, but he shakes his head. These foul hyenas press closer to him, causing him to take a step back. A strategic move, one which I approve of.

“Come on,” Phil urges again. “I’m not going to ask twice.”

The boy looks around for help but everyone has shifted backwards, preparing to flee at a moment’s notice. Conveniently enough, there are no adults around save the cafeteria ladies. Even they turn a blind eye.

Cowards, all of them. They are not worthy to stand in this great hall.

“A… Ask someone else,” the boy stammers.

I admire his tenacity. Truly, if there is one thing worth dying for, it is food. More so than women, more so than games.

Phil shoves the boy backwards, sending him sprawling in a heap. Before I know it, I’ve begun to move.

After all, what sort of person am I to not step in? Even if the odds are against me, there are some things that you must fight for.

“Back off, Phillipe,” I declare, utilizing the power of his true name to cripple him.

It appears not to work, instead enraging him even further. “Nobody calls me that. Who do you think you are?”

I gaze haughtily at him, folding my arms. “I am Dante Lietmann, the explorer of worlds, destroyer of gods, the ally of justice. Leave this civilian alone, or face my wrath.”

Phil gives me a stupefied look before bursting into laughter.

“This guy is nuts,” he cries, his fellow hooligans similarly laughing along. “Go home, destroyer of nothing. Unless you’re willing to offer a sacrifice of ten bucks?”

These simpletons. This will be the last mistake they make.

“I will not warn you again,” I say. “Leave now, or I will release the power in my right hand.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Phil says. “Are you new or something? No one messes with me. Get out of my way.”

A flash of pain suddenly takes over me, and I cry out in pain. Out of the corner of my eye, people have stepped back to allow us some distance. One girl even takes out her phone to film.

“The demon in my right hand… it’s escaping!!”

I clutch it in agony, hunched over on the floor. My vision flashes red and my body trembles several more times before settling down.

It has become unsealed.

“Go now,” I croak. “Before it’s too late... I can’t… hold it back for much longer…”

My right hand struggles to come free as I clench it in my left. Phil and his gang don’t budge.

“You’re starting to get on my nerves,” he says. “In fact, I think my own right hand is waking up.”

That’s when his fist comes flying towards my face.