The barrier not only got broken but also turned us down.
The recoil propelled us to the other side of the yard as broken pieces.
Akira was the first one to fall, his armor making a loud cracking noise against concrete that was so extreme it caused my chest to constrict. The sound of the collision was like a loud echo passing through me. For a split second, I thought he had gotten paralyzed.
I went down with a bang just after him, rolling vigorously, the air gone out of my lungs.
Pain shot through my back as I fought with the floor to get up.
Yura fell down close to us, she went into a defensive position right away, her breathing loud and irregular. There was sweat on her face, her clothes were dusty—but her eyes were clear.
Focused.
Ready.
I just moved behind her by force of habit.
Then he stirred.
Kinard came out of the darkness as if the darkness itself was shedding skin. He became taller, broader, and the weight of his presence was enormous. His eyes, however, were filled with a chilling pleasure that was somehow worse than death.
This was not merely an adversary who was about to be defeated and sent away.
This was the man who had once defeated us and now wanted to do it again.
Akira struggled to get up on his knees. The red mask that covered his face flickered feebly, blood running from the side of his mouth.
Nevertheless, his grip on the katana became firmer, fire creeping up the sword as if it were a dying will that refused to surrender.
"Are you thinking that this is the end for us?" he asked with a growl.
Kinard grinned.
"It is the start of it."
He jumped.
Akira confronted him frontally.
The sound of the metal being ground was so loud that it was almost unbearable, while sparks were going in all directions like stars falling.
For one moment of time that was there, they were equal to each other in every aspect—pure rage versus ruthless discipline.
Akira tried to finish Kinard with one blow, pushing him back hoof by hoof, his sword flashing toward the man's neck.
Kinard caught the sword with his bare hands.
The sound of the metal being cut was horrible as he turned it to the side and immobilized Akira's arms.
Then his knee plunged into Akira's belly with a force that was beyond comprehension.
I caught the sound of my brother's breath escaping his mouth before I saw him go down. Kinard was right there, connecting the dotted line—pulling the armor off Akira, pushing his own head into the red mask.
The mask broke into pieces.
Akira sank down to one knee, his face bathed in blood—yet his eyes shone with challenge.
I ran at him.
My blade was aimed at Kinard's flank, and the whole thing was rather a long shout that came directly from my chest. He was quicker than a blink and read my move beforehand.
He released Akira and turned, his elbow slamming into my temple. The universe disintegrated into a white blaze. I survived the first round, swaying only a little before a merciless backhand sent me flying across the ground.
My ribs screamed in pain. My sight became blurry.
But I made it to my feet.
Yura was already on the offensive.
She was all over the place—fast, accurate, unyielding. She got on Kinard's back, cutting the man's face, and her wrath was running out of her with each cut. "You won't be able to lay your hands on them anymore!" she screamed, and her voice was trembling with anger and ancient terror.
Kinard hissed and turned his back to her, then with a single motion, he yanked her off using brute strength. She fell hard but rolled, sprang up, and attacked once more.
She was unflinching.
Foot strikes bombarded his knees. Punches hit his ribs. A spinning heel kick reached his jaw thus resulting in snapping his head sideways. Blood poured from his mouth.
For a split second—just a split second—I thought I sensed something like hope.
Then Kinard caught her by the wrist.
He twisted it.
Yura screamed as bone grated upon bone yet she was not a surrenderee—raising a knee with all the might she had, she struck him. The hit was strong enough to get him off balance thus she was able to pull herself free.
At that moment, he was no longer the same.
The grin was gone.
Kinard clamped his hand around her neck and hoisted her up until she was airborne like she was weightless. Her legs flailed, hands scratched his arm.
Her gaze was fixed on mine—their combination of fear and defiance was quite intense to visualize.
He whispered, "still resisting."
I expressed my panic with a loud scream and fled.
Nevertheless, I was late.
He threw her off like a rag doll.
Yura crashed into the wall making a disgusting sound, fell down and did not move. Blood was running down from her temple while she was lying there almost lifeless except for very faint breathing.
I felt something in me shatter.
Akira once again stood up—miraculously. His armor was broken. The fire almost extinguished. With a last shout he rushed on, his katana shedding light like the last flicker of an exspirged star.
Kinard easily intercepted him.
The first punch.
The second one.
The third one.
Each impact compressed Akira more and more like a clump of paper. Blood gushed from his mouth. Kinard took hold of his hair and slammed his knee onto his face.
Akira went down.
Did not stir.
Kinard walked over my brother's shattered frame and faced me.
I was the last one standing.
The sword in my hand was trembling—not because of fear but because of the burden posed by everything I was about to lose. Akira was lying in ruins. Yura was out cold. The rift above us pulsed as if it were a wound that was alive, and demons were watching silently.
Kinard grinned—serene, confident, and triumphant.
At the brink of the rift, Lucarious with his wings fully extended was flying. The fallen angel of time was looking at me with eyes that were as bright and fiery as dying stars.
His voice came across the field, gentle and booming at the same time.
"Choose your path, Vernon."
The phrase was like a rope tightening around my neck.
Kinard moved a step closer.
And I realized—whatever my next choice would be, it would eternally be my curse.