52 Misunderstood

Rachel stands far back as Tension gathers around the elderly woman. Threads, nearly invisible to the eye, spool from the tips of the woman's fingers. With a flick of her wrist, she lashes the strings outwards, aiming to sever my lower body from my upper.

Bending my knees and leaning as far back as I am able without falling, I duck below the woman's Art. From behind, I hear the slicing of the tent's material as the threads pass overhead.

'Intruder!' The woman's voice blasts out, but she doesn't wait to see if it's been heard. She widens her stance, clenches her fists, brings her arms to her side, then thrusts them towards me, releasing a wave of transparent energy, throwing me from the tent to the soil outside.

I land on my back; the impact knocks all air from my lungs. Without the time to breathe, to process what just happened, I catch sight of thin, shimmering lines descending from the air towards me. I roll to the side, avoiding the threads that now carve deep grooves into the ground I had just escaped.

I stand to my feet but immediately jump, avoiding a silvery blur aiming to amputate my legs.

The woman exits the tent, spears of Tension above her shoulders. With a wave of her hands, the spears dart to my location. More by instinct than by thought, I conjure four layers of barriers to intercept the attacks. On impact, the shields and the spears disperse into nothing.

'How did you find this place?' The woman walks towards me. The space surrounding her twists and distorts with frantic energy. She stretches her arms to the side, and Tension swarms to her fingers; it takes form and condenses. Without waiting for my reply, she closes the gap between her arms, and razor-sharp threads close in on me from both sides.

Lifting a hand to the sky, I construct a barrier of compact bones; the threads shatter on contact. The woman leaps from her position and falls towards my protective dome. Palm open, she pulls back her arm and thrusts it forward, impacting with my barrier. Cracks begin to form; they spread. From the roof of the dome to its foundations, it begins to crumble. With a second strike from the woman, the dome bursts altogether, and I am driven painfully to the ground.

'Who sent you?' Standing over me, the elderly woman, once again, pulls back her arm. If whatever she used to destroy my Art connects with my body, she'll reduce me to paste.

I don't wait for that eventuality. Condensing Tension above my head, I form two spiked bullets of white energy and release them towards the woman's eyes. She leaps backwards, avoiding the Art, but giving me the time to return to my feet.

'Tell me why you're here!' As if uninterested in my answer, the woman renews her attack. Moving at speeds one would not expect from a woman of her age, she sprints my way. She directs a palm to my face; with the back of my hand, I redirect her strike to the side. I launch a fist to her face, but I stop as I catch sunlight reflecting from a mesh of threads in front of her.

Gritting my teeth, I pull the sword from my side. With an upwards slash, I attempt to cut the woman from her hip to her shoulder, but she retreats before my blade makes contact.

'Will you listen to me!' I yell; she does not. Instead, she manifests two new spears and launches them towards me.

I dive out of the way and land hard on the ground. With a palm held out in front of her, the woman forms a long, transparent bullet. As soon as I'm on my feet, I run. The projectile detonates the earth behind me, but I don't have the time to appreciate the strength of her Art. Before I hear the soil return to the ground, another bullet rockets towards me.

Wherever her hand points, an oversized bullet flies. Each round misses me by an increasingly narrow margin. I feel the wind of their velocity whizz past me, some coming so close they graze my skin.

I don't have time to think, only to act.

Forming disks of bone in front of me, I shield myself from the woman's onslaught. Waves of monstrous projectiles shatter my barriers, forcing me to construct more and more, with less and less time to do it in.

Even with Tension-bone conversion halving the corruption of each Art, in the space of my short confrontation with this woman, I have more than halved the Arts I can cast without expulsion.

The peak of rank-three…

I don't know how she achieved it without the assistance of a Clan or great academy, but there's no question she has.

'I'll admit that you are skilled for your age.' Lowering her hand, the woman ends her barrage and slowly steps towards me. 'It's rare to see people like you dedicate themselves not just to increasing their rank and learning powerful Arts, but to the skills necessary to use that raw power effectively in combat. I had thought my first attack would be sufficient in ending you, but you've been well trained. However…'

Tension floods the woman, and she begins to change. Her face elongates, her eyes turn red, and six eyes grow along the length of her darkening, lengthening, and hair covered forehead. Her backside shifts, stretches and rounds, and two dark, thin legs sprout from the side. Her arms darken, lengthen, and compress, and two new limbs burst from below them. With a crackling screech, the transformation is complete, and the woman adopts the hybrid appearance of a Mourning-Cloud-Nightmare-Spider.

From between the two pincers forming her chelicerae, she expels a thick smog.

It hovers over the ground.

It seeps into the soil.

The earth begins to crack.

Blackened claws burst out of the ground, dozens of them. They grip the earth around them, and creatures pull themselves to the surface.

With bodies composed of dense black smog and having a skull in place of a head, the monsters bear a striking resemblance to the ones released by the abyssal wraith. One by one, the newly birthed shadow fiends join their mother's side.

'I don't suppose you'll believe this is a big misunderstanding?' I don't suppose she does. The woman points the index fingers from both right hands at me, and the creatures of darkness charge.

Tension congregates in the space between the woman and me; it collides in the air, exciting the expanse it inhabits.

Before the creatures reach me, a pillar of fire bursts from below, scorching heat radiates from the inferno, and sweat streams down my brow, but when the fire dissipates, not a single fiend remains.

I look to the sky and see a black-haired man. Though the man stands high above the ground, with my enhanced vision, his features are clear to see. Broad shoulders but an even wider smile; Father's smile. Tracing his neck and lining his face, deep scars lie. His trench coat flaps freely behind him as he looks down at me.

Geo VI…

My blood boils, but I reject its call to action. Now isn't the time for action, but that time will come.

Soon.

'Captain George, it's so nice of you to join us.' Directing my face towards him, I stretch out my arm, and while tucking it below my stomach, I bow. 'I must commend you on your subordinate's strength, but I cannot say the same of her hospitality.'

Laughter falls from the sky as Geo descends. As his feet near the ground, the soil beneath him begins to dry, crumble and resemble something akin to clay. He lands on the ground, and smoke rises from beneath his boots.

Achieving flight through fire-Tension…

It's impressive, but I'm still going to kill him.

'You can call me Geo. There's no need for formalities with me. We're all equals here, brother's and sisters in the cause. I apologise for Cynthia. She must not have gotten the message informing her of your arrival.'

No, it's all too convenient. Directed to one of your strongest underlings; as soon as I arrive, people clear the streets...

You were testing me.

'I understand completely.' I sense her before I see her. From the entrance to the tent, Rachel peeks her head through. My stomach rises to my chest, but I ignore the sensation and return my attention to the man before me. 'So then, shall we begin our talks?'

'Please.' Geo says.

Tension flees the woman, and she retakes her human form; the black haze of the minions she had summoned disperse in the air, and the skulls they enveloped clatter to the ground. Breathing heavily, the woman walks towards Geo and myself.

'You cannot seriously consider negotiating with a noble bastard.' The woman reaches out her hand and grabs Geo's arm. 'It's because of people like him that we're here, hiding like rats! He cannot be allowed to leave this place alive!'

Geo retrieves his arm from Cynthia's grip and turns to face her. 'Is that to say, "mistress Kane", that a noble is unable to sympathise with our cause.'

With an open mouth, Cynthia stares blankly at her leader. Blades of air force their way from her nostrils, she clenches her fists and shakes her head firmly.

'I chose to keep that name as a reminder of what they are. Our situations are not comparable in the least! Before my Clan fell into namelessness, I would have never seen the cruelty and injustice of our ways. It was only by experiencing the world without a name that I came to see the great inequity in our way of life. Such things cannot be said of the boy. The Mohan Clan is not the Kane Clan. They are not on the brink of namelessness; they are not at odds with the world; this boy cannot repent, for he does not believe he has any reason to do so! If we allow the boy to live, he shall become our undoing.'

She's right.

'She is right.' My words inspire the wide eyes of the woman and the soft chuckle of the man. 'Not about being your undoing, of course, but about your cause. I do not care one bit for your struggle. To put it frankly, being in your presence is beneath my noble station. To me, you are all akin to parasites. You leach of the efforts of the very people who provide for you, and yet you complain when we ask for a small contribution for your own upkeep. The ingratitude offends me.' The words I practised until the sound of them no longer caused me nausea stream fluidly from my lips.

They're convincing; I know they are. They're convincing because they're authentic. Authentically, the words of the original Logan Mohan, adapted for my use, when he learned his fate was sealed.

'From his own lips, you have heard it!' Mistress Kane says. 'What more is left to say? There is nothing to be gained in any talks with one such as him.' Holding out her hand, threads begin to stream from her fingers. She pulls back her arm, but before she can launch the Art, Geo grabs her wrist.

'The boy's here for a reason. The boy killed his own kind and rescued two of our men and a new recruit. He claims to have an offer we'd be interested in. I'm curious to hear him out.'

'What is left to hear? He has no sympathy for our plight. He said as much himself.' Mistress Kane wrestles to reclaim her hand from Geo's grip but to no avail. Only when the woman ends her struggle does the black-haired man release his hold.

'I said I'll hear him out, and that's what I intend to do. You are welcome to join in our talks, but that's all they'll be; talks. I have personally guaranteed his protection until our negotiations are complete. Do not make me a liar.'

'Well, if we are to allow guests, I would very much like for that blonde mortal girl to join us.' Turning, I point a finger to Rachel.'

'Me?' She says. 'Why?'

'I like to surround myself with pretty things. You, my girl, are a very pretty thing. No more talk. Come, follow us.'

Rachel opens her mouth, but no sound is made. Her eyes widen, and she looks at me, stares at me. Cynthia and Geo begin to walk forward. Geo motions for me to follow, but I look back at Rachel. Recognition dawning on her face, The girl silently mouths one word.

"Nero."