Chapter190 – Destroy you myself
Atticus looked directly at Phoenix, eyes glinting with that familiar mix of arrogance and calculation. Then, slowly and deliberately, he spoke: “She’s mine now.”
The words landed like a thunderclap.
There was a sharp crack as something struck the table.
Phoenix stared down at him, her body still.
He wasn’t a boy anymore. Atticus had become a man—one bold enough, twisted enough. To touch what should’ve been untouchable.
Phoenix’s fingers curled against the wood, the veins on the back of her hand standing out in stark relief. The tension between them thickened like a storm about to break.
After a long, loaded silence, Phoenix finally spoke. Her voice was low and calm.
“We haven’t sparred in a while. How about it?” she asked, eyes flashing. “Let’s see how much you’ve improved, brat.”
Atticus held her gaze. Then, with a slow, knowing smile, he nodded.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
Phoenix rose from the bench and drew her sword with a sharp metallic sound. The blade gleamed cold in the overcast light as she pointed it straight at him.
“Do you remember what I told you all those years ago?” she said. “If you ever broke your oath… I would destroy you myself.”
Atticus smirked, the corner of his mouth curving like a slash. “Then come try.”
A flicker of movement, and Phoenix was already lunging.
The first clash of their swords lit the air with sparks.
Steel met steel in a burst of violence that echoed across the training field.
Not far off, Delilah was huddled beside Maximilian, tugging nervously at his sleeve.
“Max, is this okay?”
Maximilian sighed. “Honestly… I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Delilah pouted. “Ugh. If I had my flute, I could’ve separated them!”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Pretty sure your flute wouldn’t stop this blood feud.”
Still, he gently led her away from the chaos and toward the shaded pavilion.
“Come on, let’s wait it out.”
Delilah sat down with a dramatic sigh, but her gaze didn’t leave the duel. After a beat, she eyed the untouched tea tray.
“…Can we get snacks?”
“Seriously?”
She looked up at him sweetly. “Fighting makes me hungry.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. What do you want?”
Delilah rattled off a list of more than a dozen things. When she paused to think of more, he held up both hands. “Enough. I’ll have someone bring it. Stay here.”
“Yay!”
.....
They didn’t expect it to last all day.
From bright daylight to gathering clouds, the fight went on—relentless, ruthless, blades flashing faster than the eye could follow.
Empty snack wrappers and fruit peels littered the ground.
Delilah had long since dozed off on the bench, curled up with a blanket. Maximilian had arranged for it quietly, keeping watch like a tired babysitter.
But now the sky had gone a strange gray, and the first fat drops of rain had begun to fall.
He glanced up, felt one hit his forehead, and muttered, “Shit.”
Moments later, the rain came down in sheets.
Phoenix and Atticus were soaked to the bone, but their duel didn’t slow. If anything, the rain added to the chaos—slick stone, pounding footsteps, steam rising from their skin like mist from war-forged steel.
Maximilian stood frozen in the doorway, staring.
Then—
“Jesus Christ!” a voice behind him. Everett'sunglasses askew as he stared at the scene in disbelief.
“The fuck is this? Sparring? Training? Or are they trying to take each other’s heads off?”
Maximilian didn’t even blink. “Still standing here? Go get Clarissa.”
Everett scoffed. “What the hell does this have to do with her?”
Maximilian slowly turned, eyes cold. “Go. Get. Clarissa.”
Everett swallowed hard.
“Alright, alright! Damn…”
He took off at a run, boots splashing in the puddles, cursing under his breath.
Everett stepped away to call Clarissa, while Maximilian’s gaze remained locked on the scene before him—eyes clouded with growing dread.
Phoenix and Atticus were still going blow for blow, evenly matched for now.
But that wouldn’t last.
No matter how precise or experienced Phoenix was, one reality couldn’t be ignored: stamina. And now, her movements were slowing. Her grip was faltering. Her breathing was labored.
If this went on any longer…
Maximilian knew Atticus was not a kind person. If he wanted to use this incident to do something to Phoenix...
Then Phoenix was in real danger.
Even a one-in-a-thousand chance of something happening to her… was too much.
He turned suddenly and grabbed Everett’s arm. “Where is Clarissa? I’ll get her myself.”
Everett blinked. “She said she was at the business center. Said she’d come after finishing some work—”
Before he could finish, Maximilian was already sprinting off, rain be damned.
Everett stood alone, drenched and utterly bewildered. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is happening?”
Out in the downpour, Phoenix blocked Atticus’s last strike—but barely.
The sheer force of it sent her staggering back. Her hand was numb from the blow, and her vision blurred. Every breath came with searing pain in her core, as if her body were tearing from the inside.
Across from her, Atticus stood like a demon lit by lightning—his rain-soaked hair clinging to his face, his black clothes molded to his lean, muscular frame.
That smirk—cocky, cruel—spread slowly across his face like ink in water.
"Teacher," he said, voice low and smooth, “you look tired.”
Phoenix spat blood and raised her blade again. “Bullshit. I’m fine.”
She charged him.
Willpower alone powered her body forward. She refused to yield.
But Atticus wasn’t even straining anymore.
With a flick of his wrist, his blade met hers with perfect timing.
A crack split the air as her sword flew from her hand and clattered across the ground. Her arm went numb again, this time from the jarring impact. Then her legs buckled, and she hit the ground hard, staring up at him in disbelief.
Atticus stepped forward. No mercy in his eyes.
The tip of his sword hovered above her chest. There was no hesitation. No remorse. His gaze had turned icy and inhuman—murderous.
The devil inside him had awakened.
Then—
Clarissa’s face flashed in his mind.
Her soft smile. The way she said his name. Atticus…
Something inside him shifted.
At the last second, his wrist turned. The blade veered off course—just enough.
Instead of her heart, it sank into Phoenix’s shoulder.
Blood gushed instantly, but the rain muffled everything—except Clarissa’s scream from the edge of the field.
“Phoenix!”
“Atticus, have you lost your fucking mind?!”
She ran straight through the storm, shoes splashing in the muddy grass. Maximilian trailed behind her, umbrella useless against her urgency.
Atticus stood over Phoenix, chest rising, expression unreadable. The sword dripped blood at his side.
Clarissa reached them, dropped to her knees, and pressed her hands to the bleeding wound.
“Phoenix!!” she cried. “Atticus, what the hell are you doing?! Help me!”
Atticus didn’t move. His gaze was locked on Clarissa—her panic, her desperation, her devotion.
A strange, unreadable darkness flickered in his eyes.
Then finally, he pulled a bottle from his coat pocket—hemostatic powder—and handed it to her without a word.
“Use this,” he said. “I’ll stitch her up when we get back.”
Clarissa grabbed the medicine. “Then don’t just stand there—help me stop the bleeding!”
But Phoenix, coughing and pale, still had strength to spit venom.
“Get fucked,” she rasped. “The last thing I want is your hands on me.”
Atticus shrugged lazily at Clarissa.
She frowned, arms folded, tension thick between them. The air hung heavy in awkward silence—until Maximilian rushed up, his eyes immediately locking onto Phoenix.
When he saw the blood, his expression shifted from concern to alarm. Then, to fury.
“Atticus!” he barked, taking a sharp breath. “You—”
Then Maximilian leaned in to help, but Phoenix slapped his arm away without hesitation. “I don’t need your help,” she snapped, wincing as she held her shoulder.
Clarissa stepped in instead, catching her just in time before she lost balance.
Phoenix—proud, composed, untouchable Phoenix—looked wrecked. Drenched in blood and rain, her hair plastered to her face, and her sharpness dulled by pain. It was the first time Clarissa had ever seen her like this.