As much as Finnian tried to keep his eyes open, his baby body was the one in control, and he could do little to stop it.
"Hmm, so I guess all that soul searching takes a bit of a toll after a while. I can't say that I'm…"
Sleep took Finnian prisoner.
Fionnlagh was entranced by the cuteness of the baby's face, wanting to still make those ridiculous faces, even after he was fast asleep.
However, there was no time for that.
The baby now in his cot; Fionnlagh prepared for the ensuing battle.
"This is bad, very, very bad," the old priest muttered, his eyes fixed on the newly formed crater in the courtyard.
He turned away from the window, moving through the darkened church with familiarity. "The crater's not going to go unnoticed," he said to himself, his voice low with contemplation. "People from around the city are probably going to think we're harbouring a Kaijito within the church."
The priest paced up and down throughout the church, the silence around him a stark contrast to the bells of dread tolling within in mind. He paused at the altar, offering a quiet prayer for guidance.
As the night wore on, the old man's keen ears picked up the sound of distant footsteps circling the church grounds. He remained attentive, alternating between keeping watch at different windows and pacing the church's shadowy aisles.
His mind darted between possibilities, considering various scenarios and weighing different explanations on his tongue. The old priest's calm exterior belied the sharp mind working behind his weathered features. Years of experience had taught him to prepare for any situation, and tonight was proving to be one of his greatest challenges, excluding fighting kaiju's of course.
The sudden knock on the door pierced the silence, echoing like a death knell through the empty church. The old priest took a deep breath, composing himself before approaching the entrance.
With careful movements, he made his way to the door.
He opened it slowly, allowing a sliver of moonlight to illuminate his face. "Hello there, sir," he said, his voice gentle and welcoming despite the late hour. "How can I help you today? Are you maybe coming in for some late-night prayers?"
As he stood in the doorway, the old priest's mind remained alert, ready to respond to whatever situation might unfold on this long, eventful night.
The man standing on the other side of the slightly opened door was wearing a full black suit along with black trousers and black boots. Even his eyes were entirely black, save for three stark white lines etched across each one, reminiscent of the markings on Fionnlagh's hands but fewer in number. The only thing on him that wasn't black was the insignia on the left side of his chest. This man was a member of the Core, the Zizarag Empire's Southwestern Sect, to be exact.
"No prayers today, unfortunately, Father. I'm sorry for troubling you at this late hour, but I was just wondering about the crater left at the front of your lovely church."
"Ahh, that. Oh well, you know how it is…"
"..."
"Are you going to elaborate, Father? I know how what is, exactly?"
"Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and..."
Fionnlagh gestured toward the crater, trying to make an unknown link between the workings of god and the hole that stood in front of him.
"Ok, let me get straight to the point here." the man in black began, "That hole, right there, it couldn't have been made by any human. Maybe back in the age of Rukh it was possible, but now? No way. So that leaves us with two options: a meteorite crashed just in front of your little church, or a Kaijito was here. Or maybe it's still here, hidi—"
Before the officer could finish his sentence, a familiar scent interrupted him.
"Is that… vomit?"
A rapid slash cut the air beside the officer's ear.
"Leave!"
Fionnlagh's stern command, along with the sword, now placed firmly beside the man's ear, would cause almost anyone to run away in fear... almost anyone.
"Haha, so the old dog's still got some bite left in 'em. I'll tell yous what: since I'm feeling nice and all courteous-like, I'll slip you a little deal. You beat me, and I'm off, gone like the wind. But if I beat you, then you become my lil' slave. It's not every day I see a high level weaver like yourself, so come on, le's 'ave it."
The harsh Sharondian accent that the officer had been hiding, to come off as more approachable, quickly faded at the prospect of a fight.
The officer glanced down at the debris littering the floor. He focused intently on the material. It took longer than Fionnlagh's swift sword creation. But gradually, the officer's will took shape. From the debris, a flail materialized.
Pitch black like Fionnlagh's own weapon.
It consisted of a short handle with an ornate, spiked head attached by three chains. The handle had what seemed to be a leather-wrapped grip with a diamond pattern and was capped by a spiked pommel. A circular guard separated the handle from the chains. Hanging from the centre chain was a decorative, diamond-shaped pendant.
"Aren't you sweet, givin' me enough time to weave. What a sweet'art. When I make you my slave, I'll be sure to be as sweet as I can back. After all, I am quite the teddy bear, don't ya think?"
"Are you really sure you want to do this?" Fionnlagh questioned.
"Of course! I love a good scrap!"
Fionnlagh and the Core officer stood facing each other, weapons drawn, each ready to strike at a moments notice. Fionnlagh's matte black sword, made from the same debris, seemed to soak up the light around it while the officer's flail hung threateningly at his side.
Without another moments reprieve the officer sprang into action, swinging his flail around at a terrifying speed. Fionnlagh barely had time to raise his sword, deflecting the spiked head with a resounding clang. The chains wrapped around the blade, and for a moment that made his heart stop, it looked like the old man might lose his weapon.
But Fionnlagh was far from finished. He grunted and pulled his sword free, ripping off the chains with his bare hands and sending the head of the flail careening wildly. The officer was caught off guard and fell back giving Fionnlagh an opening to press his advantage.
The old man's dark sword moved through the air like a shadow. The officer hurriedly backed away, his flail now more of a hindrance than an aid in close quarters. Fionnlagh's blows kept coming, each one barely blocked or dodged.
As Fionnlagh pressed his assault, the officer found the smallest of gaps in his defence. Capitalising on this opening, the officer struck Fionnlagh in the stomach with a vicious kick. The old man wheezed but didn't falter. Instead, he grabbed the officer's leg and used the force of the movement to throw him off balance.
The officer's flail swung out blindly as he fell. The chains wrapped around Fionnlagh's arm, yanking him down as well. Both men hit the ground hard and rolled around in the dust and debris.
After a brief moment they both scrambled to their feet with renewed intensity. The officer spat blood, and the bravado he had shown before was replaced by grim determination. Fionnlagh's eyes burned with an inner fire, his grip on his sword only tightening further.
The fight started up again with renewed intensity. The chains on the flail made a deadly song as it whistled through the air. Fionnlagh moved smoothly, his age no hinderance to his fighting style. His dark sword flashed, finding small openings in the officer's defence, leaving shallow cuts that stung but didn't incapacitate.
The officer's swings only grew more wild and more desperate as the fight went on. Fionnlagh, on the other hand, only seemed to increase his focus as the battle went on. The comparatively rusty moves exhibited at the beginning of the fight, were now replaced by gleaming manoeuvres.
He waited for the perfect moment, then struck.
Fionnlagh ducked under a wide swing and brought his matte black sword up in a sweeping slash. It was almost too fast to see. The blade cut through the flail's chains, sending the spiked head flying away harmlessly.
The officer, who was now unarmed, fell back. Fionnlagh's dark sword hovered at his throat; the fight clearly won. But instead of finishing the fight, the old man put down his weapon.
"Leave," Fionnlagh said, his voice full of steel. "And don't come back."
The officer, his bravado shattered, nodded and stepped back. Fionnlagh's voice rang out one last time as the officer turned to run:
"Remember this mercy, and may it guide your future actions."
The officer then vanished into the night, leaving Fionnlagh alone with the aftermath of their intense battle.
"Looks like I had to use the sword tonight after all."