[center][h1][color=ed1c24]Deathedge[/color][/h1][/center] What did the name, Deathedge, hold onto? No one was sure of it. Some predicted him to hold a dark past due to his rumored criminal background. Others thought of him to be a murderer who lurked in the dark, waiting to empower himself by feasting upon the blood of others. No matter how outrageous he was thought to be, all sorts of rumors were considered to be possibilities. What they [i]did[/i] know was that Deathedge had the power to obliterate a truck flying towards him at two-hundred miles per hour. All he needed was a single swipe of his hand, and he would somehow send the truck werving away. No matter how one looked at it, it was as if God himself was born within a man. Did he have a heart? Did he hold mercy? Did he believe in honor? Who was Deathedge? What was he, and how did he become what he was now? Though a trail of dark rumors followed his name, his actions spoke brightly. For when he struck the truck, he had done so to smash it away from a little girl. When he had to slam his head against a soda machine, he did so because the soda did not come out of the machine. When he had to do his homework, he had to do so with great frivolity so that he could watch the television news for the sake of his family. ... ... ... ... ... [i][color=ed1c24]Well,[/color][/i] Deathedge thought as he sat on a bench, [color=ed1c24][i]bullsh%# is bullsh%#. I still can't believe some idiot was allowed to write up a newspaper article like that.[/i][/color] The man known as Deathedge sat on a bench within a certain academy he was brought into. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets, and his attitude was outright pessimistic right at the moment. "Why," one may ask. The truth was that Deathedge was neither a freakish serial killer nor some suicidal vigilante. In fact, Sangue Rana wanted to live a normal life. He had no idea on how the heck he could actually achieve a normal life if everyone consistently hailed him as some sort of death god. In fact, he wished for someone to talk back at whatever mean words he had to say. Street punks disappointed him the most. He once told a group of hoodlums robbing a young lady to "scram," and they acted like they were facing divine retribution and ran away. Deathedge, however, did manage to catch them by using his secret ability: calling the cops. [color=ed1c24]"Soon, Deathedge,"[/color] he muttered to himself as he slouched a little on the bench he sat on. [color=ed1c24]"Soon, you'll get that life you want... Hopefully.[/color] ... As Deathedge enjoyed the moment of peace by himself, he felt a certain emptiness in his stomach catch his attention. Should he go get a snack? ...[b]No[/b]... [color=ed1c24][b][i]I NEED TO EAT MY LUNCH![/i][/b][/color] The man screamed internally as he threw himself off of the bench. [color=ed1c24][i][b]God,[/b] I'm hungry.[/i][/color] With a deathly aura emitting out of him, the man slowly reached out for his pocket. A few students who managed to spot him felt themselves tense at the sight of him reaching for his pocket. "Isn't that...?" A bald student asked his pompadour-haired friend. "It is, m'friend," the pompadour guy said as his breaths became short and heavy. "It's [b]him[/b]. I read about him before. What's he doing here? What the heck is he reaching for?" Deathedge shoved his hand in his pocket. "[b]HE SHOVED HIS HAND INTO HIS POCKET![/b]" "[B]MOTHER OF GOD...[/B]" He slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket. "[b]Bejeebus meleebus patricinasus, what can it be?![/b]" "[b]It's probably something lethal. Brace yourself, comrade![/b]" The white-haired man revealed a peanut-butter sandwich wrapped in a red plastic wrapper. Unfortunately for him, his reputation stirred a good amount of misunderstandings. "[b]HE'S EATING BLOOD! GOOD GAWHAHHDAFGSNWIAMD-[/b]" "[b]WHOA, WAIT UP![/b]" Deathedge ignored the sound of the two horrified students running away from him as he unwrapped the thing he held onto so dearly. He swore that no matter where he went, there was at least one mofo to ruin his day just by knowing him. The man soon found himself eating the sandwich hungrily, devouring half of it in... a minute. He wondered why some people believed that he could eat a horse in thirty seconds. [center]______________________________[/center] [center][h1][color=7ea7d8]Disc O. Baylor[/color][/h1][/center] A tune slowly oozed around the school. What kind of tune? A musical tune. What kind of musical tune? A tune with bass. Lots and lots of bass. Disc O. Baylor loved music, yet he was considerate enough not to blast out music at full volume at the school. Instead, he blasted music through some headphones, his body naturally making motions as he walked outside the main building. Music was his groove, and it was disco was his jam. Disco was love, music was life. As he walked, the student suddenly stopped moving, pumping his neck and chest along with the beats of the music he listened to, before returning back to his little walk. He could feel the burn of disco lighting an adrenaline deep within him. [center]_______________________[/center] [center][h1][color=f7941d]Sa[/color][color=fff79a]ya[/color][/h1][/center] A girl held onto a white doll tightly as she entered the school building timidly. A blank expression, a strange spiritual aura, and a curiosity that strove within her. The dark-haired girl known as Saya walked, almost as if tip-toeing her way. Her footsteps made light, delicate taps that barely made themselves audible. Dressed in red, orange, and a small tinge of black, Saya looked like a doll moving on its own. She learned how to walk not too long ago. Her isolation from the world had made her forget how to walk, so she had to learn how to do so again. Thankfully, the girl caught up quickly, and now knew how to walk a little. She still waddled every now and then in her attempts to keep her body straight. The girl's grip on her doll tightened. Holding it closely to herself, the girl looked around, allured by the building's curiously large structures. Saya wandered into one of the many classrooms. [hider=...]Two spirits quietly followed the girl, one an angel and one a demon. The blonde angel hummed a tune she randomly made up, while the skeletal demon focused on looking for anything that he could hurt with a good excuse. They had polar opposite attitudes. When Saya walked into a random classroom, however, Ilvya stopped humming and became alarmed. "[color=fff79a]...Ah! Saya, you're not taking that class![/color]" "[color=ed1c24]Let the girl do what she wants, you young, young fool.[/color]" "[color=fff79a]Don't tell me on what to do, you greasy buttmunch![/color]" "[color=ed1c24]...[/color]" Duatos wondered if it was possible for dry skeletons to emit grease from their bones. Meanwhile, Ilvya proceeded to put her hands on Saya's waist and moved her out of the classroom.[/hider] Saya blinked as she was moved back by an invisible force. Looking back, she stared at something with a curious look. [hider=...]"[color=fff79a]You're not taking any classes today, remember?[/color]" Ilvya reminded the girl with a kind smile. "[color=fff79a]Go; let's look for your dormitory! How does that sound?[/color]"[/hider] Saya nodded slowly, turning away from what she was staring at. With the doll in her arms, she walked deeper into the school. [center]_____________________[/center] [center][color=7bcdc8][h1][b]Mithril Linseis[/b][/h1][/color][/center] A man folded his next lesson plans as if they were origami papers. Mithril Linseis grinned as he froze himself. Letting his hands back away from the Eiffel Tower he spent time on for the entire day, he walked away from the amazingly complex structure of origamis, taking out his phone before taking as many photos as he could. After capturing photos of the Tower in so many angles, he stood up, dusted his coat, and placed his phone on his bed. For the entire day, he had spent time making the Tower because he memorized all of the lessons he needed to teach for the next few months. There really was nothing for him to do other than mess around doing seemingly pointless things. In truth, such pointless things actually kept his mind processing, allowing him to memorize so many lessons in the first place. It was a secret that only those who worked hard knew of: to be good at something, one should not stop doing something else when they have the time to do so. Just because he was good at his programming class did not mean that he would do good in making a video game; he would need to find satisfaction and inspiration by playing video games while maintaining his knowledge in programming. Fortunately for him, he was no longer a programmer. The company he set up, after all, was full of programmers. No need for a director to keep programming by himself, right? Putting on his sunglasses, the man went over to the corner of his bedroom, picking up a white piece of wood. He then did the one thing many origami constructors would scream at. [h1][color=7bcdc8]"HEAVE-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"[/color][/h1] The man leapt on his Eiffel Tower, effectively crushing it with his body weight. As hundreds of origami papers flew around and rolled across the room, Linseis found himself tumbling through his bedroom door. Bursting through the partially shut door, the man stopped rolling in front of the head of his maids. "[color=00a99d]...Greetings, Mr. Linseis. You're late for work.[/color]" "[color=7bcdc8]...I am?[/color]" "[color=00a99d]Yes.[/color]" "[color=7bcdc8]But... isn't it Labor Day?[/color]" "[color=00a99d]Mr. Linseis,[/color]" the maid said with an emotionless expression as she suddenly took out a small calendar from her apron. "[color=00a99d]Labor Day does not exist in the school you are teaching.[/color]" "[color=7bcdc8]WHAT?! How come?! Agh- screw it. I'm going to establish Labor Day somehow. Just you wait![/color]" "[color=00a99d]That is good and all, but Mr. Linseis, we need you to get to the school as soon as possible. Some of your substitutes are panicking because they think that you died due to an unknown circumstance. It is possible that if you are fired, we maids will be able to follow your 12th Maid Amendment and circumcise you, therefore effectively preventing you to be unable to have children through se-[/color]" "[b][color=7bcdc8]Sweet Jesus; itadaki-f*cking-masu.[/color][/b]" __________________ It took Linseis a bit to avoid getting scolded by his other maids, but he soon found freedom when he arrived at his mile-wide garage. Putting up a thoughtful look, he wondered vehicle he should pick for the day. Lamborghinis were his cheapest means of transportations, so he did not plan on using them until he went for some freaky joyride to a beach. The motorcycles he had, on the other hand, were pretty good, but a bit too flashy even for his tastes. He needed something fitting- something befitting of a teacher who wanted to excite students. His eyes fell upon his bicycle. "[color=7bcdc8]...[/color]" Mithril made a mysterious grin. A few minutes later, the man suddenly burst out of his garage, his bicycle moving with extreme speed. He sat with his arms and legs crossed- his feet resting on the handlebars- as he permitted the bicycle pedal on its own as it pedaled to Orean Cause.