***


❝ destroy them, before they destruct you.
 ❞



"Hana?" a voice speaks out from the front of her class, radiating an aura of cockiness. The mere scent of fear made Hana twitch her delicate nose in disgust and disdain. "It's time for you to share your opinions on whose going to win this fight."

"I don't care who wins — we all know whose going to do it anyways," she shoots back nonchalantly, and she swears, she can feel the glares baring into the back of her figure. Her fingers trace the edges of the glass of the silver dome, admiring the eccentric designs of the wall. 

The people underneath are bursting with powers around the battlefield down below. Sweat tricking down both of their chins, and a faint, desperate cry shoots out, and Hana almost winces. 

"Don't ing talk to us that way," a familiar voice hisses behind her, and Hana bites her lip before forcing upon a solid facade. 

"I didn't," she pauses, before retorting, "but you asked for my opinion."

Haeri clutches her fists tightly, blinking back, before throwing out piercing insults. Anger could be felt seeping through her veins between the hasty breaths. "You're such a ing outcast. We tried to invite you to have fun, but why are you so ing cruel? What have we done?" 

"Yeah, like teleporting bed in the middle of the night into the lake was a nice way to invite me."

"Well I'm sorry, but your quiet attitude made a good target," Haeri scoffed, without much of a filter. The shadows around her begin to dance along the chilling breeze, and Hana feels the air being ripped out of her lungs. A burning sensation nicks the back of her hands and a force pushes her down to her knees in a submissive position. Her eyes helplessly blink upon the scene, the united group, so perfectly powerful, in sync but deadly.

Yet, the Academy foolishly promotes these groups in an effort to delcare that the strong will stick together, while, the weak will fall without a trace of doubt towards the ends if they do not find a place in the pack. Bullying was acknowledged as a fact of understanding your role in the system, and inspiring leadership skills out of the strong as they preyed upon the disarmed. Physical abuse was tolerated to a certain degree, meaning any anchor of blood spilled must be healed within a given time limit, before punishments were handed out. It was simply a dysfunctional way of living, but unfortunately, it was a daily enlightment.

"Now, don't you dare think about trying that again," the latter presses forcefully, her voice tight and constricted with annoyance flying about, "or we might just