Vicissitude /vi-sis-i-tood, -tyood/

( noun )

1: a change or variation occurring in the course of something.

2: interchange or alteration, as of states or things.

3: successive, altering, or changing phases or conditions as of life or fortune; ups and downs.

Prelude: Test

He leaned heavily on the jagged wall, squinting his eyes close in trying to steady his blurring vision. The pain he was experiencing was gone, all there was left was an astounding numbness, for which he could be a little thankful for. But that didn't help the burning feeling in his chest each time he struggled to breathe. He was almost sure that he punctured his lungs, and each intake of gas was filling the organ with more blood than actual oxygen. How it came to this, he didn't know. It angered him beyond the point of return… it wasn't like him to underestimate his opponents. But this one…

This one was different.

"Oh? Is that it then?" The eerie voice bounced around the dank alleyway just before where the young man was resting. This job sounded a lot simpler said than done. Just take down the man who had terrorized the lower towns like he owned the place. Looking at the way he dressed, he supposed that the stupid pineapple head could have owned this place if he wanted to. But aside from that pompous stuck-up attitude, he apparently packed a punch on his swing as well. The blonde young man hadn't faced an opponent quite like this before. Usually his skillful hand-to-hand combat style was enough to incapacitate his enemies or to just scare them off. He had been able to do that. That was the case until he faced… what he could only describe as sorcery. Why didn't anyone tell him he was against Marlin? "You disappoint me. Calling yourself a vigilante? I thought you'd be… tougher."

He cursed to himself, knowing that in his current state, it wasn't wise to even attempt to fight. That didn't necessarily mean that this small fact was going to stop him. He had faced greater adversaries before, and had been in a dozen other situations worse than this. The blonde had made it through then, why not now? He could still win this fight. However, he found that the more he convinced himself, the less he believed in his own reassurance. He was in a bad situation… really bad.

His point was proven when exhaustion began to take its toll on his body right before his very eyes. As his knees buckled and legs gave up, he closed his eyes, unable to calm himself seeing his own state. This couldn't be it. He was meant for greatness. Damn it—he hadn't done anything significant in his life aside from starting this vigilante group with G… okay they were a duo not a group, but who the hell was keeping score? But even in doing that, they hadn't exactly made any difference to anyone's life. Maybe he should have listened to the other people around him… maybe he was being childish thinking that he could make a change in this world. C'mon! His best friend even pointed out that he had some sort of a hero complex.

This was dumb. A bitter smile escaped him then. This sucked. He didn't want to die like this. He wasn't going to let his self-proclaimed right hand man take over the job of being the leader. He wasn't going to let the redhead down. He still had to make a difference in this life, to prove that not all hope was lost. He wanted to see the world, and to meet people… all kinds of people. For Pete's sake, he hadn't even have his first kiss! What a bitter thought. His eyes opened with a determination—a resolve—that he didn't know he had. He wasn't going to lose to Daemon Spade… like hell that was going to happen.

Just as his blue-haired opponent appeared from the side of the building, he jumped away from the wall, feeling inexplicable energy flow through him. His head was down in concentration, trying not to be overwhelmed by this feeling. He spoke in a smooth baritone, "If I were to die losing to the likes of you, I will never rest in peace."

A sardonic retort formed in the said opponent's mouth, but he was never able to get it out as he watched the young man before him. The blonde looked up, ocean eyes turned into a warm golden colour. What surprised the young illusionist more was the bright tongue of flame that appeared right on his previously easy toy. His grin turned from down right creepy to shit-eating. This was what he wanted. This was what he was expecting. This was what he was waiting for. The cane in his hands twirled in place, and he snorted, "Oh? So you are the right one. I was beginning to think I might have picked up a pretender. At least make this interesting, won't you?"

It was the bluenet who lunged at him, graceful and as fierce as a predator. Despite his injuries and exhaustion, he was able to dodge the rather blunt weapon easily. Ducking out of the way, he used his hand, pointing it towards the man's chest, and pushed with the energy flowing through him. The illusionist ended up being flung into the wall as if he weighed nothing. As he stood himself up, he managed to glance at the gloves now lit with the same flame on the blonde's head, before the said young man was within arm's reach. His reflex to protect himself kicked in too late as his neck was grasped with a tight grip that immediately made him drop his weapon. The air he was breathing was getting in less and less, and for a moment, he thought he was done for. Here he was thinking that he would manage to at least gauge the blonde's improvement before he defeated him—the bluenet never reckoned he'd be the one kicking the bucket. He would have laughed if he could… not that he didn't deserved to be killed by this young man.

Just as he faded to black though, air came rushing back to him. He was on the ground now instead of dangling, and he had to push on his arms to keep himself from falling into the filthy cold floor. The young illusionist was coughing and spluttering to recover and even back his breathing. When he could finally see straight he looked up at the blonde who previously looked like he was going to pass out. How the tides had changed, in deed. The bluenet stared incredulously at the blonde who began to walk away. He called out to him, "You're not going to finish me off…?"

The blonde still with the bright flame flickering on his head just stared calmly at the other. Soft. The bluenet chuckled, picking himself up. He could barely stand but he managed to. The cane was back on his hand, eyes challenging. There was a strong feeling in the pit of the blonde's stomach that told him to move… to stop this man… to do anything and everything. The grin on the other's face stretched from ear to ear as he tapped the ground with the blunt end of his weapon. The blonde jumped towards the other just as he began disappearing into the light. But he knew that was a mistake the moment the light began to envelop him, too.

The light was too bright to keep his eyes open so he was forced to shield his sight, but the gut feeling in him never disappeared. Suddenly, the ground was gone. He was floating in nothingness and it felt odd… it felt wrong. He didn't know how long he had been in the limbo-like state, before feelings started to come back to him. The flame on his hands and forehead was extinguished, and he heard his opponent's spine-chilling chuckle from a far. He spun his body towards the source's general direction, trying to open his eyes to no avail. This was getting old really fast. What kind of party trick was this now? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Nothing good could come from being bathed in white light. The blonde hissed angrily, "What have you done?!"

"Hm? Why don't we call it a… test…? That's right, let's just say I'm testing you." The voice said teasingly, moving further away.

Persistent, the blonde tried to open his eyes again, or at least find something solid to set his feet on. With no such luck, he retorted, "Test?! What are you… come back here and fight me!"

The illusionist's signature chuckle rung again. The blonde was starting to develop a dislike for that laughter he associated with nothing but malice. The last he heard from the illusionist was, "I don't think I will… but it should all end very soon, I promise. How about that?"

The voice was fading fast, and he could sense the other's presence going further and further away. The blonde gritted his teeth together as he finally hit the floor, or a sold surface at the very least. Cracking his eyes open, he can make out a faint figure as the blinding light began to fade. Without hesitation he leaped for the retreating character, "You're not getting away from me!"

Despite returning to his weakened state, it was surprisingly easy to tackle his opponent to the ground. He held him down, before pulling his fist back to strike. The blonde lifted the other by the collar, grabbing a handful of the white buttoned up shirt—wait, what? Daemon wasn't wearing this shirt. He wasn't this small either… and he certainly didn't have two big doe-like eyes. The blonde blinked, stopping his attack as he came face to face with a brunet who shrieked fearfully, "HIEEEEEE!"