38 Tornado Of Souls

With a soft whistle, the breeze bends and sways the obsidian grass of my surroundings. Increasing its intensity, the wind carries my long, black hair, whipping it behind me. Sat atop a coach, looking down from above, a golden-haired man. His ocean-blue eyes point directly at me. His lips, bent into a half-smile on his face, proclaim his contempt. As if he has no care in the world, he breaks eye contact, retrieves his can of tinned peaches, and begins to eat.

It's impossible…

The gulf between ranks, it's…

Insurmountable.

Is he lying? He radiates no aura. He must be lying…

No.

The sheer number of ways to conceal one's aura cannot be counted. I accomplish that feat without issue; how much easier would it be for a rank-four expert to obscure their true strength? Furthermore, his stated goal is to kill us, not intimidate us into returning to the battlefield. At this moment, my aura is palpable. Unless he's below the peak of rank-two, he knows exactly how strong I am. There's no way he'd have the confidence he shows if he isn't sure I pose him no threat.

Escape?

It's unlikely but possible. Shit! I have no better plan. In all likelihood, the moment I take to the sky, I'll be shot down, but it's my only option. If I can fly fast enough, I might be able to escape his range.

Emma?

Is she worth the encumbrance? My chances of escape are low enough without her. Though I could easily carry the girl, even the slight chance that taking her with me may cost me my life is reason enough to abandon my investment. What good is the favour of a low-tier Clan if I'm dead? As it stands, her costs outweigh her benefits…

There's nothing more to even consider.

Steeling my resolve, I begin to channel Tension through the internal pathways carved into my shoulder blades. Shattering my intent, the blue-eyed man begins to levitate. He releases his hold on the empty tin, allowing it to clatter onto the roof of the coach. Floating further up, he uncrosses his legs and then descends onto the grass, mere steps away from me.

Even if I fly, he can chase me…

I bite the inside of my lip and stare into the eyes of my assassin. As if it were a malignant tumour, his half-smile spreads. He parts his lips and reveals his teeth. Though he no longer sits atop the roof of the coach, though we stand eye to eye, though his stature is no greater than my own, he still looks upon me from a height I cannot reach.

'Nero, what do we do?' Emma reaches from behind and takes my hand, oblivious to the knowledge that in the course of a heart's beat, I had determined to forsake her.

'Nero, is it? Where have I heard that name before?' Stroking his chin between his forefinger and thumb, Christopher slides his lips into his cheek, creases his brows, closes his eyes, and directs his face down. 'It couldn't be… Tell me, are you the boy who killed Xan's younger brother?'

'You caught me.' Hearing my words, Christopher breaks into laughter.

'Indeed, I have. There's no small price on your head. The bounty, of course, is of no interest of mine, but the gratitude of the Yung Clan is another matter entirely. The favour I would curry from that young demon? I think that's worth making the effort to ensure you suffer. I was planning on taking my time with you anyway. The benefit of garnering the Yung Clans affections, well, that's just a bonus. I think that's enough conversation for now. How about we begin?'

Stepping backwards, the man flaps his hand, inviting me to attack. Accepting his invitation, I generate three bone-white spears of Tension and launch them towards my foe. Feet planted on the ground, he stands completely still. Christopher allows all three projectiles to strike their target. On impact, they shatter, their energy dispersing into nothing.

I grit my teeth, generate four tentacles from my lower back, and whip them towards my enemy. Lackadaisically waving his hand, Christopher blocks each of my strikes. With heavy breaths, I continue to lash out with my additional appendages, and Christopher continues to smack them away with the back of his hand. The boom of our impact drowns out the sounds of battle from behind. With each deflection, my tentacles slam into the ground, pulverising the soil.

He's not even moving! I'm throwing everything I have against the bastard, and he's waving it away like it's nothing!

Shouting my frustration, I walk towards my adversary while increasing the speed of my attack. Unfazed, the blue-eyed man catches a tentacle in each of his hands, allowing the remaining two to target his body unimpeded. Bundling my captured limbs in a single hand, Christopher proceeds to catch a third. With my lone free appendage, I smack the man over and over across the face but to no effect. With a smile on his mouth and a tug of his arm, he draws me to himself.

Halting my flight, Christopher catches me by the neck. Throat squeezed within his vice-like grip; I claw his wrists in an effort to loosen his hold. Laughing as he does, he lifts me above his head and forces all remaining air from my lungs as he slams me to the ground.

'Leave him alone!' Sword in hand, Emma charges towards death. She swings her blade. Shards of metal rain down on me as her sword shatters from its clash with Christopher's finger.

'First dinner, then dessert. Don't interfere.' With a backhanded smack, Christopher sends Emma spiralling to the ground. Exhaling deeply, I stand to my feet only to, once again, have my breath robbed from me as Christopher's forward kick connects with my stomach, forcing my return to the earth below.

Grunting, I begin to lift myself from the ground. My efforts, futile, Christopher detonates an explosion of pain in my ribs as he stomps on my chest. By my hair, he lifts me to my feet. Ramming his fist into my gut, he forces blood from my mouth. In grim retribution, I do the only thing I can; I aim my mouth at his suit and spit, staining his once immaculate attire with my scarlet fluids.

'That's just rude.' Blood dripping from my chin, I lock eyes with the monster and grin. Holding his free hand above the stain, he summons a disk of wind. With it, he erases the mark I had left on his clothes. Releasing his grip, he sends me back to the ground.

They say the Towers only reward you with what you need and what you deserve. What kind of vanity must live within his heart for the Towers to provide him with a cleaning Art? What kind of lunacy does it take to waste time learning it?

Pathetic…

Enraging my burning ribs, I chuckle. Christopher stamps on my chest, but the laughter keeps bubbling from my mouth.

'Okay, what is it? What could you possibly find funny in this situation?' Relinquishing the pressure of his foot on my chest, Christopher allows me to sit. Looking up, I meet his questioning gaze.

'You're pathetic, and I mean truly pathetic.'

'Is that right? The way I see things, you're the one on the floor, destined to die like a dog beneath my feet.' Each chuckle passing through my mouth causes me to wince, but I force them out nonetheless. I laugh in his face. It's all I can do…

It's all that makes sense.

'You're right. I'm also pathetic. To die by the hands of one so-' Grabbing my face, he slams my head on the ground. My vision swims; a blade of throbbing anguish pierces my brain. On his hands and his knees, Christopher positions his lips next to my ear.

'I think I've heard enough from you.' He whispers. Pulling me by the hair, he forces me to sit and then punches my face back into the ground. Repeating the process, I feel the structure of my face crack under his heavy blows.

Lifted once more by the neck, I don't even try to breathe. The scarlet tinted world drifts in and out of my vision. I'm pulled closer towards my killer; he gazes at me, contempt clear in his eyes. With his free hand, he gently slaps the side of my face, pulling me from disorientation and the looming threat of unconsciousness.

'I've had my fill of this now; how about you?' With his hand crushing my windpipe, my only response is a tortured croak. 'That's about what I thought. If you're somehow reborn, in your next life, strive for a more honourable existence.'

Honourable?

My eyes close; I await the abyss.

Shrieks pierce the sky. I force my eyes open. Blinking away the blur, I direct my sight above. A dark cloud rages towards us. Growing closer with each fading thump of my heart, the cloud takes shape.

A skeleton cloaked in black fog, the abyssal wraith.

Clashing in the air, a second shriek meets the first; they join together to form a melody of dread. Directing my eyes towards the new sound, I see a second abyssal wraith tearing through the sky, heading in our direction.

My neck is released, and I fall to my knees. Starved lungs devour fresh air, energising my body with long-forgotten vitality. Though each breath ignites my screaming ribs, I welcome the pain. It proves I'm alive.

'That's… That's impossible.' Looking to the sky, Christopher shakes his head. His arrogance broken, he grips his hair in his hands, and his breathing becomes irregular.'Two of them... How are there two of them? There shouldn't even be one of them!'

Spinning his head towards the first abyssal wraith and then the second, Christopher grows more erratic in his movements. He takes to the sky, flying away from the battlefield, away from the beasts, and away from me. Spectres claw their way free from the abyssal wraiths' gowns. Announcing their torment, their shrieks converge on the flying man. Though he slaughters many, the phantoms prove relentless. They swarm, forming a phantasmal vortex. When the vortex disperses, a desiccated corpse drops from the sky.

Abyssal Wraiths target the places with the most life. If he had stayed on the ground, he had a chance of escape. Fool as he was, he took to the sky and presented himself as a threat.

Torn from my reveries by the sound of wheels churning grass, I grit my teeth and stand. Circulating Tension through my body, I dull the throbbing pain coursing through me. Though I'm unable to suppress my agony entirely, I cast it to the back of my mind and sprit towards the escaping carriage. Catching up, I aim my palm at the whip. Wide eyes stare at me. Condensing energy into a single point, I release a bullet of Tension through the skull of the coachman.

The coach comes to a halt. I toss the whip from his seat and direct the coach back towards Emma. Gathering the unconscious girl in my arms, I carry her to the entrance of the carriage and throw her inside. I seal the door and return to the front seat.

Spurring the land-dragon on, I speed through the planes. Shrieks whistle behind me, but I don't look back. Two Tension Masters compared to two armies? Their choice is obvious. Why fight for a crumb when a whole banquet is laid out before them?

The people on that battlefield, their deaths are assured. Belford city will also surely fall, but I somehow survived…

I lived through this hell!

I made it out!

Me!

I did that!

Laughter bursts from my chest, inspiring new waves of torment through my ribs, but I don't care; I laugh anyway. Hurtling further and further away from the insanity behind me, the only sound I hear, the only sound I listen to, is my laughter.

The Peace-Keepers, the Vespertine Clan, wait for me. When the time is right, I will tear your house down, brick by brick.