[DISPLAY REWARDS]
~ Pavane of Death — A dance only performed by those who have borne the weight of death. For each step brings your opponent closer to death. ~
~ A Song of Sundering — A hymn that sets the pace for the Pavane of Death. Together, they form a formidable battle art.
~ The Pavane of Death is a rite that offers up souls that die by it to His Divine.
[END DISPLAY]
The cell was shaking, and the dungeon lit up. Soft blue glows illuminated the hallways. I peered out to check if someone was coming down. The hallway stretched far into the darkness. I could not leave naked. I took deep breaths and turned to the brute and the girl. Looking at them, I understood what I had done.
The remnants of being Tim made me feel guilty, rooted in memories from Earth, where killing was taboo.
The guilt was evanescent, suppressed by the dominant personality of Cassian. The essence of being Tim waned, but the residual memories slowly merged with Cassian's memories to form a compendium of our shared past. All that was a worry for another time; for now, I needed some clothes. I ransacked the brute. I tried on a few things but only settled for the trousers. The military jacket and shoes were too big; they would be a liability. The trousers were baggy but surprisingly fitting at the waist.
From the woman, I only took her hairband. I tied my hair into a concise bun. I ensured everything was in place. The plan was to follow the noise wherever it led. I was armed with a dagger. To feel it weight and balance, I practiced unfamiliar moves with graceful mobility. I flowed from one stance into another; it was years of instincts forced out by the feel of a steel I gripped too tightly.
Satisfied, I ventured out.
*----*
I finally stumbled upon a flight of stairs. As I set out to climb, I heard a desperate yelp for help. Looking up through the space between the floors of the stairs, a body cruised down like a meteor. A last-ditch dash saved me from the ramifications of the clash between flesh and stone. The man's head splattered against the floor. His legs and hands deformed into an unnatural, statue-like shape. I was not as indifferent to the scene as I had hoped to be. My face twisted with disgust — and maybe a transient feeling of sympathy.
The war cries above placed my focus back on the ascent. I reversed my grip on the dagger, my lead right hand stretched forward for distance measurement. The ascent was slow and steady. Caution drove me, fueling intent with each step.
The next set of stairs, leading up to the sixth floor, was littered with a strewn of bodies. A single slash from a sharp weapon mutilated each. After a quick analysis, the depth of the lacerations pointed towards a sword rather than a sharp, blunt object like an axe. The one-shot kills meant the opponent possessed overwhelming strength, and I did not know what to make of that.
I proceeded to the seventh and final floor. The end of the stairs was marked by a door, with a bloody handprint painted on the handle. The opponent went through here. I felt skittish, but I raged on.
Pushing the door open, I was met with the ferocious stares of two prisoners. Their bloody garbs gave them away. Drawing on earlier instincts, I found much-needed calmness and focus. The remnants of being Tim dulling even further. I did not hesistate, I moved.
Shifting the dagger into a proper grip, I lunged at the first opponent. His black hair rippled as he flew towards me. I threw the dagger.
As expected, he sidestepped, missing the dagger — but his friend was not so lucky.With the first enemy blocking his sight, the blade took him by surprise. Before he could dodge, the blade was in his neck. Life pulsated off him as blood flowed onto the floor.
His counterpart spared him a glance. We watched the body fall, then we locked eyes. We both attacked. Before I could get close, his hands had stretched out, and from them a golden radiance dawned in the room. Bright and burning. Blinded by the light, I stopped. My eyelids fluttered vehemently in response.
I heard his approach. He was fast.
I had not recovered by the time he attacked.
I felt the collision of bone against my nose. His jab rattled me, forcing my head to reel backwards.
I was about to recover when another smaller burst of light burned my eyes shut. This time, my under-chin was the victim. His seemingly clean uppercut threatened to blow my head off. Then came the hook. The blow sent me crashing down against the wall. This time, no flashing of light — only a blow plastering me into the wall.
My thoughts scattered while my knees buckled. The world pulled me downward, and I was on the ground. The wall above shook with a thud. This meant I missed the push kick that crushed into the wall instead. I saw his leg dangling above me.
"STICK!" I yelled, channeling my Virtue.
A binding law was imposed, and his foot was pulled back to the wall for a short while. That was more than enough. One foot on the side wall and the other on the ground. He writhed for freedom.
I had bought enough time. I could see, in blurs, that his foot was yanking free. I two-footed the leg that was standing. He screamed as his knee snapped.
My instinct turned me into a savage beast. Wild and rabid. I was on all fours, my teeth grating, muzzling my scream into a growl. I pushed my legs into a pounce. I was off I floundered, striving to overpower him.
I managed to get on top of him, both my hands on his, pressing them against the floor. My head rained on his nose, disorienting him even further.
"BREAK!"
With a tug from my hands, his forearms shattered.
He screamed in pain.
I could finally rest, safe from his Virtue.
The stars in my vision were clearing up.
I stared at him.
"Spare me!" He screamed out again.
"Please!" he begged.
My decisiveness escaped me. His desperate eyes were convincing. I found myself sympathising.
It was sudden. His smile told a different story from his eyes, and by the time I fathomed why he was grinning.
His entire body was glowing. Yellow, graceful light pulsated with a gentle hum.
Fuck!Fuck! I cursed.
His hands seemingly healed and held down my wrists. Snaking into an ironclad grip, that I was too weak and late to break out of.
I reeled my head backwards, then shot forward, crushing into his nose. Shaken by the headbutt, his grip loosened. I hammered down another headbutt, rocking him to his core.
Free, I jumped sideways. Throwing my body as far as possible.
The man imploded on himself. His flesh and bones flying off like shrapnel. Blood splattering painting the floor and me in the process.
The blood stuck to my skin like a bad habit. I felt filthy.
I broke down into heavy, sob-like breaths. Each breath threatening to clear out the oxygen within the room. His act had killed something inside me.
I made a solemn promise to never hesitate ever again.
This world had taught me that there was no room for hesitation, much less mercy. It was a poison far more deadly than hubris.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Survival was my crown to bear, one that yearned hungrily for something beyond mere. It craved power in volumes.
Power not for ambition but as a tool. Necessary. To ensure I don't suffer like my last life. A safety net against the misgivings of the world. A knife to carve my existence in a world that seemed eager to devour the weak.
This was my will and way.
The fatigue from the fight that had been burgeoning from the cell altercation was climaxing. Burdening me when I needed to push on.
I struggled to stand, pain washing over me in stages as if a dam of damnation had broken its wall. What does not kill you makes you stronger. I hoped.
I stumbled through the scene and past the door out in search of freedom.