Kairos did not have much time to allow himself to process what had happened. The otherworldly voice inside his head fell silent, but its message remained heavy on his mind. He could not help but think that something was coming his way. His heart pounded in his ears as he stood at the rooftop's edge, still trying to shake off the return of his past existence.
And then he felt it—a presence in the air, something that did not belong. His muscles tensed, and his instincts screamed at him to get out. The black around him solidified, like the pre-storm hush. He was no longer alone.
Who are they? His mind reeled, but he did not dare think more. Something was coming into the air—a change.
And then, as if from the echo of a clap of thunder, came the first blow.
A burst of power ripped through the air, slamming down onto the rooftop with such force that Kairos was knocked backward. His body crashed onto the concrete, the force pushing the air out of his body. A burning pain coursed through his chest, but the bite of his wounds barely registered. Something within him burst up, propelling him up onto his feet.
By the thudding in his ears, he knew the ground was being pounded by boots on the earth, the unmistakable beat of heavy footsteps. He spun to see a group of figures come out of the shadows, clad in black armor. Their visors hid their faces, but their eyes gleamed with hard intent.
The Circle's agents.
By the time Kairos could even think about what was happening, one of the men in masks signaled his arm and a wave of raw power surged in along the way. Automatically, his body responded, all those years of fighting training in past lives erupting up like they had been kept at the back of his mind. In a blur of movement, he rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the lethal flash. His body moved with unnatural smoothness—his muscles faster, stronger, more sensitive than ever before.
He descended on his feet, his heart racing. It was not chance that caused this. Thoughts of war, the strategies once that made him a warrior and a king, were coming to him in bursts. He was feeling the brunt of the sword he had once wielded, the force of his blow, the skill over every move.
"Not bad," a growl from one of the men spat, cold as ice and contemptuous. "But it won't save you."
Kairos' eyes were intense. He could sense the raw power building within him—something dark, ancient, waiting to be unleashed. He was not going to run. Not this time.
The agents stepped forward, and one of them hit him with a battle-axe. Kairos didn't think, caught the man's wrist in the swing, and spun with an accuracy that approached simplicity. The agent's axe fell to the ground as he crashed to his knees in pain, his arm twisted now at an unnatural angle.
Kairos swung, exploiting his momentum, and kicked a third agent in the chest. The man was knocked back, crashing into a heap of ruins. He had no time to realize his victory before a searing pain shot through his ribcage. A third agent had moved close enough and a dagger had found its mark.
Kairos gritted his teeth, the blade of the sword burning his flesh, but he didn't let that hinder him. Instead, it focused his mind. His former existences had lived through thousands of wars; this was just another test.
He summoned his mind, tapping into the strength he didn't yet understand but was aware churned within him. The ground at his feet trembled as the initial release of elemental force sprang to life inside of him. His outstretched hand sparked electricity within the air about him.
With one wave of his arm, one lightning bolt sprang from his fingers and landed on the agent who had attacked him. The agent jerked and crumpled to the floor, ozone hung in the air. Kairos felt the power flowing through his own body as if he had always possessed it, holding back until he could release it.
He wasn't done yet. The remaining agents advanced, but Kairos could see every move they made, as though in slow motion. With a snarl, he struck the closest agent, his hands pulsing with raw energy. He slapped his hand onto the agent's chest, letting loose a shockwave that sent the man off the rooftop, his body thudding against the concrete with a gurgling crash.
For the first time in his life, Kairos was in command—as if the forces of his past lives actually had taken on a life of their own, and he could wield them as his own. But no time to celebrate the victory.
The other agents began to retreat, shooting suspicious looks.
Kairos knew that they were re-forming to attack again. But he wasn't going to let them.
"Enough," he growled to himself, gritting his teeth. The pain of his wounds still remained, but it mattered not now, erased by the deluge of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. What the memories of his past existences—the warriors, the kings, the rulers—taught him was how to survive through fighting. And that is exactly what he had desired to do.
With another quick motion, he raised his arms one more time, this time tapping the energy of the world itself. The air around him stretched, curving as he took the energy that he did not yet understand. Blue light flashed within his eyes, his body silhouetted against the darkness of the night sky like that of some ancient deity about to strike.
The agents had advanced, but Kairos had beaten them to it. He unleashed a wave of power so immense it washed the rest of the attackers off the roof. The crash was thunder, the sheer force of it shaking the city below.
The roof was quiet, except for the sound of Kairos' heavy breathing.
He staggered, his spinning eyes, but recovered. His body ached, his side was bleeding, and he was exhausted—but he had won. For now.
As the last agent disappeared into the shadows, Kairos let out a shuddering breath. Power flowed through him, eager to be unleashed, to be claimed. But the difficult question gnawed at him: How long would it take the Circle to send someone stronger?
He couldn't dare to let his guard down—not when the real war had only just begun.
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