The roar of the explosion was a shockwave that rattled metal and stone, a thunderclap born and buried in the entrails of the abyss.
Kael, thrown by the blast, opened his eyes to a world of dust and pain. The high-pitched, deafening whine in his ears drowned out all else. He dragged himself across the now-deformed platform of the duct, his eyes blinking, the taste of burnt metal in his mouth.
The acrid smoke burned his lungs, making every breath torture. His watering eyes swept the immediate desolation. "Herald?!" he yelled, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible.
But it wasn't the Herald he saw first. A few meters away, amid the twisted wreckage, lay the two brothers.
Ignoring the sharp pain of the shrapnel he could feel embedded in his own legs, Kael dragged himself toward them. The duty of a Sentinel, even exhausted, propelled him.
The metal manipulator, already bleeding profusely from the shoulder, was unconscious, his breathing a weak, agonizing bubble. Kael moved to the other, the spearman, and his stomach churned. The man's head was… split. A grotesque, clean line, as if cut by glass, divided his skull. The woman had killed him in the instant of the explosion.
Dead. The other, dying.
A feeling of futility crushed him. Even so, he pressed his hand against the surviving brother's shoulder, a vain attempt to stanch the life ebbing away. "Don't die now, you bastard…"
It was then, with his enemy's blood on his hands, that he realized the two most critical absences.
The Herald… that woman… They had vanished.
He forced his gaze down, into the immensity of the fissure that cut Chisanatora. Far below, where the structures of the Lower City formed a ceiling of rust, the ruins of the ancient city clung to the precipice walls. And further down still, only the absolute darkness of the abyss, a bottomless pit that seemed to suck in the light itself.
What is happening?!
That was when the sound rose from the void, faint, but unmistakable. A scream of pure rage.
Kael leaned over, vertigo hitting him. He saw them. Tiny dots of color and movement amid the sickly green flames that lit the forgotten city.
"If only I could get there now."
He tried to steady himself, but a groan of pain escaped his lips. He fell to his knees. Shrapnel from the brothers' last attack was embedded in his legs, transforming the simple task of standing into an agony.
"Damn…" he sibilated, slamming his fist on the twisted metal. "Herald…"
His eyes, however, widened when he saw it.
Dozens of meters above him, falling from the edge of the Lower City.
A dark figure detached itself from the metal silhouette, launching into the fissure, descending toward the ruins with a controlled speed that defied gravity.
◇ ◇ ◇
The sticky heat of blood soaked her clothes. The pain was a constant, nauseating pressure, a reminder of the invisible blow that had scourged her. The fetid air of the ruins, a mixture of the torches' sulfur and the decay of centuries, scratched her throat. Around her, the apathetic grunts of the discarded people created a soundtrack for hell.
But Tom saw none of it.
Her eyes, glowing with a cold, bluish lunar light, were fixed on the silhouette before her.
The woman. Her face was a mask of psychopathy. Her lips, painted a deep scarlet, were curved in a sick smile. The shadow, the same color as blood, framed dark blue eyes that seemed to delight in the pain of others.
"…but vows to reap the life of a beautiful lady like me?"
"…You have nothing beautiful about you…!" Tom murmured, her voice hoarse.
Her arms, which she had held wide to protect the empty ones behind her, fell heavily. She staggered forward, her body trembling with exhaustion and fury. A spasm hit her, and she spat a mouthful of blood onto the stone floor. The blue runes protecting her danced, unstable.
The woman began to walk toward her. Slow. Deliberate. The sound of her wooden geta striking the ancient stone was a sharp, dissonant clack, a mockery in this place the sun never touched.
One step.
Two.
Close enough for Tom to see the amused glint in her dark eyes.
Tom raised her face. The blood running from her forehead mixed with what came from her lips, but what she wore was an arrogant smile, a final challenge stained red.
The woman's eyes widened slightly. Her amused look turned curious. She swept her gaze over Tom's body and, for a fraction of a second, her smile faltered.
She didn't see the silver rods.
And that was exactly what Tom wanted.
The instant the woman drew close, Tom acted. The woman glanced to both sides, at the air beside her.
The two ends of the staff came at the same time, cutting through the gloom. They were no longer rods; the silver metal had reconfigured in the air, forming the curved blades of a gigantic half-moon axe. The liquid chain that bound them was hidden, pulled taut in a loop around Tom's left heel, which she had kept back, concealed in her own shadow.
"Don't be arrogant, kid!" the woman shouted, the dark smile returning.
She didn't move to dodge. She crossed her arms, pointing a palm toward each approaching blade, ready to cut her in half.
From her hands, small purple spheres appeared, each spinning with a sickly yellowish spiral in its center.
It was an instant, faster than a blink. The axes hit the vortexes and disappeared, passing through the space she had created and phasing harmlessly through her body.
But Tom had already seen the opening, and it was what she had expected.
The woman, focused on the blades, didn't see the sole of Tom's boot coming from below in an ascending kick.
At the moment of the kick, the silver chain snapped loose from her heel. The thread of liquid metal detached from the axe blades now lost in the void, and the end that remained attached to her leg extended. The metal flowed, and a sharp spear formed, shooting from the tip of her foot.
I'LL IMITATE YOUR IDEA, SPEAR GUY!
Inches from the woman's eye. Ready to pierce it.
However…
"You… really are interesting!"
Her voice wasn't one of panic. It was one of pure ecstasy.
Tom, still in the air, propelled by her own kick, saw the woman's macabre smile widen. Before her eyes, the purple sphere appeared again. Larger, denser, the yellowish spiral spinning in its center.
And from the middle of that vortex, the tip of her own spear emerged. Her foot, her leg, her weapon, passing through the portal the woman had created, now aimed directly at her own head.
What will you do now, Herald? Fufufufufufu…
This isn't… I need to stop! Dispel the spear…
A mental scream echoed in her head, a voice that was not her own.
No… There's no time…!
DODGE!
INGRID!!!!!
She didn't have time to react. A sharp, sudden pain exploded in her stomach, as if she'd been struck by an arrow. The force of the impact threw her backward, knocking her out of the trajectory of her own attack.
She collided with an ancient pillar, her body slamming against the stone. The dust of ages rained down on her. Clutching her stomach, fighting against the nausea, she felt the object that had hit her: a small stone, the size of a marble.
Her vision blurred. She saw the woman turn, giving her back to her, looking toward the fissure from where the projectile had come.
Her smile widened, more macabre, more psychotic than ever.
"The Herald was a delicious appetizer… but you… you… YOU ARE MY FEAST!"
Before her, silhouetted against the weak light penetrating the fissure, was a figure.
His long hair was tied in a messy bun, his face covered by a scruffy beard. His expression was one of pure exhaustion and boredom. With his right hand, he tossed and caught a small pebble.
It was Vernh.
"My bad, miss. But could you surrender?" he said, his drawl heavy with a lazy arrogance. "I really don't like having to hurt women. Even less when they're a looker like you."
The woman let out a low laugh, forcing a mediocre, theatrical shame, hiding her red-painted mouth with her fingertips. "Ara, ara… It's not every day I get to be courted by a man of your caliber. Fufufufu…"
Tom forced herself to rise, her body protesting the shock of the fall and the sharp pain from the pebble in her stomach. Holding the point of impact, she trembled, not from fear, but from a pain and fury that consumed her. She swept her gaze over the scene: the woman, with her predatory, sick smile; and him, the drunkard, with a look of profound boredom, as if he'd rather be in any bar.
A chill ran down Tom's spine. She… she had recognized that old drunk as someone strong… I… I expected this… but I still can't recognize it just by sensing… This woman… is also a Sage.
"And so? What can you do?" she asked Vernh, the tone of manic ecstasy returning to her voice.
"Not much…" Vernh replied, shrugging lazily. "Simple things every man should be able to do." A confident, dirty smile appeared on his face.
The woman's eyes widened, the shy performance returning. "Ara… saying such naughty things…" She placed a hand on her cheek. "Aren't you even going to take me to dinner first?"
Vernh tossed the pebble into the air, a little higher this time. "Ah! Better not." A provoking smile touched his lips. "It's just that I'm kinda broke right now, you see?"
The stone reached the apex of its trajectory and began to fall. Vernh's hand remained in place; he didn't move to catch it. Instead, his index finger pressed against his thumb, in the universal gesture of a flick.
When the stone reached the height of his hand, he struck it.
The stone flew, not like a thrown object, but like a cannonball. It tore through the air with a sharp whistle, leaving a trail of heat, straight for the woman's head.
She, maintaining the same sick smile, just took a casual step to the side.
The dodge was perfect, calculated at the last millisecond. The stone passed exactly where her head had been, and the displacement of superheated air zipped between her high ponytail, the hole it opened between the strands cutting and burning the tips of her yellow hair. The projectile shot through the space.
In the same instant the stone passed her, without even looking away from Vernh, she raised her right arm behind her, palm open toward the projectile that was already moving away.
In the same instant, Vernh raised his left hand beside his face. Catching a projectile that came at the speed of a gunshot, which struck his hand.
In it, was the same stone.
Smoke emanated from it, an intense heat of friction and absorbed kinetic energy. She had used her portal to capture the attack after the dodge and return it instantly, forcing him to catch it.
And then, with no time to breathe, she moved.
She was already in front of him, body angled, arms crossed in an "X" at her chest, fingers splayed like claws. A gesture to cut, as if her own hands were blades.
She then swiped the air.
Vernh, whose eyes seemed half-closed with boredom, had already leaped backward. The air hissed. The sickening whistle of space being rent passed by him and struck the wall on the other side of the fissure, opening deep grooves in the solid rock.
Before even landing, Vernh spun in the air. His right hand stretched out and landed on the woman's head, using it as a support. He vaulted over her like a gymnast and, at the end of the movement, landed a powerful kick to her stomach, launching her against the ruined columns.
But before any sound of impact could be made, she reappeared in front of Vernh, walking slowly, the macabre smile back on her face.
"That teleporting trick of yours is pretty handy," he mocked, brushing dust from his shoulder. "If I had something like that, I could go from my bed to the bar in the blink of an eye. How nice!"
"I'll show you what this 'trick' can do…"