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…"
She smiled.
And Vernh became serious.
The purple vortexes appeared around her, dozens of them, small and hungry. The dust, the debris, the rags of the dead… everything around them began to be slowly sucked into them. She leaned forward, a predator's pose ready to pounce.
Then, the woman began to cackle, sick shrieks of pure pleasure. The wind became a hurricane, emanating from all directions. Her bluish cloak and her hair whipped wildly. Her fingers contorted and, as if cutting nothingness, she began to swing her arms.
Everything around Vernh began to be destroyed. Reality tore. It was as if she could cut through space itself.
Vernh was forced to dodge. A stone pillar to his left was sliced and collapsed. The ground to his right was erased from existence. Every time she swung an arm, something was destroyed.
He dodged and jumped, a deadly game of cat and mouse. Vernh didn't advance. He only defended.
She doesn't cut the air… he thought, his brain analyzing at high speed. The vortex she creates allows her to fold space. The greater the density of the vortex, or the number of them, the more power she gains. It's not brute force… it's distortion.
A final invisible cut struck a massive pillar. Vernh rolled to the side, dodging by a hair's breadth. But he didn't jump again. He stopped and looked at her.
"What's wrong? Hit your limit already?" he asked, turning to her. "I know most men only last 3 minutes. But me!" He puffed out his chest, confidently. "I'm a monster! If you know what I mean, sweet-cheeks…" He shrugged.
Despite the arrogant smile, his eyes watched her with extreme caution. She's not happy about something… What does this woman still have up her sleeve?
"…"
"Did you say something? I didn't hear you, love."
But Vernh's arrogant and playful expression vanished. His eyes narrowed. His posture changed.
"How long… will you refuse to take me seriously?"
"Ah… well… about that…"
"I hate… hate…" The expression of ecstasy transformed into a mask of sick hatred. "I HATE PEOPLE LIKE YOU!"
The vortexes danced around her. The wind hitting Vernh's back almost pushed him toward her. She screamed in rage, the sound piercing the soul.
Her arm came down.
And with it, everything in front of her was, simply, disintegrated.
A wave of spatial annihilation advanced, a tsunami of nothingness that devoured matter itself.
But the blow didn't hit Vernh.
At the last instant, a shape appeared. Circular, deformed, like frozen liquid metal, it shone with the pale light of the moon. A silver shield, which looked as if it had been torn from the moon itself, hovered in the air, blocking the torrent of destruction.
The woman's eyes widened. The shock was genuine. That sick smile faltered, replaced by a furious disbelief. Not even her absolute power, her ability to erase space, had managed to destroy it.
The world, then, seemed to move slowly.
The woman focused on the shield. It was the central rod of Tom's weapon, reconfigured. An extremely thin, almost liquid thread extended from it. She followed it with her gaze… one thread descended into the darkness of the fissure, where the other axe-head had fallen… and the other thread…
Her gaze shot through the ruins, only to find Tom.
The Herald was on her feet, her body trembling, but her posture unshakeable. Blood ran from her forehead and mouth, her clothes soiled with blood and dust. In her hand, she held the third end of the weapon. Her right arm was pulled back, muscles tense, pulling the thread with all her strength.
The woman returned her gaze to Vernh. But it was too late.
The silver shield in front of him wavered and shot forward, flying directly toward her like a lunar saw blade.
She braced for the impact, the sick smile widening. But, as the shield flew, it dissolved. The solid metal melted back into a torrent of liquid silver, a whip of living mercury that hissed toward her face.
At the last instant, as the liquid metal was about to hit her, it split. The chain disconnected from the rod Tom held.
The two ends of silver metal zipped past her, one on each side of her head, missing her by centimeters. And, the moment they passed, they reconnected in the air behind her.
The trap was set.
And only then, with the chain now stretched taut at her back, Tom acted.
She hurled the rod she held in a high, violent arc over the woman's head, a fluid movement designed to ensnare and slice her in the cage of chains.
But in an uncontrolled fury, the woman moved her left arm in an arc behind her. The purple vortexes danced, moving along with her hand.
The shock of spatial destruction struck Tom's rod in mid-air, throwing it far, against the fissure…
It was then that a sharp sound echoed through the ruins. The rod she had deflected… ricocheted.
It had been hit by something of the same material.
ALL OF IT. It was just to distract her.
That rod, transformed into a half-moon axe. The one that had been hurled at her, that fell over the fissure. It hadn't been lost. It had been pulled back, only to be caught by the hands of someone else.
When she realized. The shield was in front of her. Almost touching her face.
In Vernh's hands.
The silver dissolved. And in less than a blink, it reconfigured. The weapon, now held by the drunkard's hand, flowed, transforming into a cruel, straight blade. Going toward her throat.
The bluish gleam of the moon reflected in her eyes. And she noticed too late.
A movement behind her.
The other rod. The one she had batted away with her power, thrown against the fissure. The one that had ricocheted before. It had returned.
With a speed that seemed to tear the air itself, Tom appeared.
She was propelled. Ethereal runes, of a glacial blue, danced around her, forming a luminous crescent moon at her back—a trail of lunar power that catapulted her forward.
The half-moon axe, its long handle, was firm in her hands.
Her face was a mask of fury and blood. The crimson liquid ran from her forehead and her lips, but now, under the phantasmal light, the blood looked dark, almost black, reflecting the lifeless, bluish glow that emanated from her eyes and the runes enveloping her.
And, in the midst of that superhuman effort, with her mouth open from the strain of the attack, the side effect of that power manifested. The blood, which already stained her, began to practically gush from her throat, falling from her lips in an uncontrollable red torrent, like an open faucet.
The attack was perfect. A pincer of silver and vengeance, impossible to block, impossible to dodge.
But in the frozen millisecond that the two blades hissed toward her neck, the woman thought. The fury, once a sadistic pleasure, became an incandescent, white-hot hatred.
They… they really think they can do this?
Her gaze dismissed Vernh's blade, focusing on the bloodied figure attacking her from behind.
This Herald… this insolent brat… doesn't know her place!
The rage deepened, solidified, turning toward the man who had dared to intercept her.
And worst of all… this man… he doesn't take me seriously! WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?!
The sick smile dissolved into a grimace of pure hatred. Her eyes, the dark blue from before, began to spin. The purple of her portals took over her irises, and the yellow spirals spun like maddened galaxies. The air around her distorted. Her own body seemed to become one, the epicenter of the purple sphere.
Vernh saw it. The seriousness on his face evaporated, replaced by genuine alarm.
SHIT!
He didn't wait. He lunged forward, ignoring his own attack, and grabbed Tom by the chest of her clothes. With a desperate strength, he threw her far away from the ruins, toward the edge of the fissure.
"GET OUT OF HERE!"
He leaped right after.
The next instant, the woman "exploded."
It wasn't fire. It was vacuum. A vortex of pure purple and yellow annihilation erupted from where she stood, consuming everything. The pillars, the stone floor, the echoes of the green flames, the bodies of the empty ones… all of it was sucked in and disintegrated in a deafening silence. The raw power swept through that part of the ruins, erasing them from existence.
Tom, thrown by Vernh's strength, landed on her feet. The momentum made her slide a few meters on the ancient stone, but she held firm. Slowly, the lunar axe dissolved, the silver metal flowing like mercury. She pulled the rods, and the weapon returned to its natural form: one end in each hand, the central shaft arched behind her back.
"That was close…" Vernh panted, landing beside her. He glanced sideways at the Herald.
And what he saw made his blood run cold.
Her gaze was vacant. Blood still ran from her forehead and mouth, but the blue runes shone intensely, now like sparks, like embers, dancing erratically around her body.
The vortex that had destroyed the ruins began to shrink, the violence sucked back into itself, until it vanished.
Silence reigned.
It was then Vernh noticed.
Behind them.
The woman was there, arms open, the smile back. But her face was… wrong. Deformed, the features pulled tight in an expression of ecstasy that bordered on the demonic.
"BRAT!" Vernh yelled, moving to push her.
But he was too slow.
Tom grabbed the woman by the face.
Tom's expression didn't change. Empty and serious, she stared at the woman she held.
And then, the two were sucked into nothingness.
Vernh stopped, his hand outstretched into the vacuum, into the place where they had been a second ago.
A growl of fury escaped his throat. He ran to the site of the destruction.
Where the ruins had been, there was now only a colossal crater. He looked down, and the hole didn't stop. It descended dozens and dozens of floors of the ancient city, piercing the solid rock of the fissure, going deeper than Chisanatora itself.
◇ ◇ ◇
Far away. In a place without light, without the smell of sulfur.
In front of a ruin older than the city itself, the two fell, expelled from the vacuum.
The woman landed on her knees, her body trembling, not with weakness, but with a sick energy, like a demon in ecstasy.
Tom, a few meters away, got up. Slowly. Painfully.
The blue sparks of the runes still crackled on her skin. She placed the right rod in front of her, her body sideways. The left rod went back. Her knee, slightly bent forward.
Even broken, she assumed her stance.