Chapter 20: Chapter 20: First Strike

Kiara wondered if she was ready for tonight. She wondered until the sunset on Mirror town and wondered still as she followed the others outside the house. As buildings darkened and the streets lit up, she watched her reflection in passing glass, wondering if she'd recognize herself afterward. Could she recognize herself now? Was this the same scarlet-eyed girl who had her first kiss a few days ago? Or was this someone else, still waiting for the costume change? She didn't stop to stare at herself but wondered how it all came to this. Not just the fight with Feline or the encounter with Morduunal, but what originally twisted the thread that tied them all together. Would that thread come apart now? Probably not. She still had to survive and this was only the first of many. She wondered if she'd be ready to take on the next, and as the manor's doors came into sight, she wondered if she had any time left for that thought. Ellio disappeared and she got her answer. Wondering would have to wait till later, now was the time to knock.

With a fist aglow, Diana sent the doors flying from their hinges. Worn wood splintered as it sprayed into a hall, making the men that filled it rise to their feet. They wasted no time with words or confusion, drawing their weapons as the group stepped in. A battle cry pushed them to charge, and Kiara stepped forward with wind weaving around her fingers. Was she ready for tonight? Now was the time to find out. Step one was getting through this room, and it meant she had to act.

“Twin Twisters.” They fired from her palms, bowling the men over. Her group ran past and she caught young faces—few older than twenty, many as young as her. She didn’t get to dwell on that as she stepped into a round room with stairs climbing either wall. They came together at another pair of doors, with the hall continuing beneath them. Footsteps drummed in pursuit; her group gave them some space. Something brushed against her shoulder, and Ellio manifested.

“Get to the doors.” He reminded them as his tattoos began to glow. The mercenaries flooded the room, and he dashed to meet them.

For a moment Kiara wondered why they didn't react until she saw him stab his fingers into a man's neck. The flesh turned a sickly purple—the man shrieked as he dropped to the floor. His allies looked around wildly, and the realization quickly filled her mind. Ellio had made it so their group could see him, but the mercenaries were blind. Like a pit of vipers, his fingers stabbed out, biting into every man too hasty to look before he leaped. Bodies began to pile at the arch, until someone finally stopped, holding his sword out.

“There’s something there!” He roared to the others. But he was wrong; Ellio followed his group up the stairs.

Only Marco and Alexia lingered behind—the boy at the bottom, the woman at the top. The Neba man nodded to them both and they nodded back, promising they'd fulfill their role. Danson froze the stairs with a wave on the other side. They lingered long enough for the mercenaries to cautiously creep forward, meeting hardened eyes one last time. Something about the moment struck Kiara before she moved on. Between the two forces, no one had seen a life they weren’t ready to take.

Marco clenched his fist and as clouds erupted from them to his shoulders, the air around him cracked. It formed a ten-by-ten foot dome, invisible to all the unfortunate fools outside it. Like the one that came with his sword swinging now. He breached the wall and his body slowed down, drifting in as if he weighed little more than air. The three-eyed head made its request, and Marco leaped in to deliver.

“One.” It said in that sorrowful voice. He landed the blow, blasting the man into walls outside. That must have looked like super speed to the rest, but it didn't stop them from seeking revenge. With their forms falling slowly toward him, he answered the request from least to greater.

“One.” The man went down with a blow to his chest. “Two.” This one was more of a boy—taking a kick to his stomach and an elbow to his side. “Three.” Marco leaped, smashing a knee into his jaw. The man fell back with mouth bleeding, and the boy struck his leg, bringing him down. A hook to the head finished him off, and the boy smiled as the three-eyed head cried, "Five."

Swords came cutting at him, bleeding his cheek as he moved a step too slow. It cost him a scar on his left arm, and almost his gut as a second sword came around. His attacker had no problem facing Thunder Boxing inside its dome and didn't plan to let the boy get another hit. The swords danced into a fury after him. As he matched their stride, his clouds darkened. He had to admit the man controlled their pace, but there was a way to change the tides. It pulsed in his fist, and he caught the blade on his other arm as he swung for the man's chest. There came a crash like thunder and another foe was launched free. The remaining didn't hesitate though, closing a ring around the dome as if surrounding him would help.

“Stand down!” A gruff voice called over them. It stopped them right before they entered, and Marco hunted its speaker down. He emerged from the hallway under the stairs; a man somewhere in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair. His sword glowed blue. Marco sucked his teeth.

“Captain Logan!” Someone called out.

“How’d an Enforcer end up leading some mercs?” Marco asked as the man drew near.

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“Mercs? Is that how you’re going to justify this slaughter?”

“I’m from the Wilds! I justify slaughter based on how many people are coming for my life. If you want me to feel bad, you should rethink the reasons you brought them all here.”

He looked at his fallen men. “I brought them here because every last one of them wants to fight for good…”

“For good? I’m guessing you don’t know why your buddy Cucumber is here!”

“The actions he takes today will make things better tomorrow.”

“If you believe that, maybe he’s in the dark too. That, or he’s leading you around with his name alone.”

“No. I follow him because he can do what I cannot! Cucumber can save the world, and I’ll fall before he loses the chance again!” Logan stepped into the dome.

Marco wanted to say, You definitely will! But the three-eyed-head froze the words on his tongue. It wanted its request to be heard, and the sorrow of it seemed directed at him.

“Thirty.” It said. The boy gritted his teeth. He made sure to keep eyes off her during the fight, but he let them go to Alexia now, telling her it was time for phase two. In the meantime, he had to prepare himself.

Beneath his shirt, a pocket stone glowed, moving a clay eye mask to Marco’s hand. It was painted blue, with red-half circles carved into its temples. He brought it to his face as Logan cautiously drew nearer, feeling the enchantment within it like ice water. He remembered the first time Biavi told him its name; The Battle Artist’s Eyes. If he could use it without losing his mind she’d let him have it. He wasn’t brave enough to try it back then, but tonight seemed like as good a time as any. He wanted to save it for when Cosette appeared, but thirty hits was a good reason for a change of plans. Red lightning crackled through his clouds as it sealed to his face. Logan shifted his stance.

“Where’d you get such a dangerous item, boy?”

“If you’re implying I’m on the wrong side, I’ll say it again. I’m from the Wilds. The side I’m on is the one I like the most.”

Something shifted in the man as Marco responded. Considering the general age of his group, the boy figured he was used to conversations like this. Maybe they all faced the bad end of his sword at a point. It was truly a shame. If they chose better allies they’d still be alive. Marco supposed that the shift was the willingness to kill. A lever was pushed to the other side, and Logan came for the neck. Marco felt his body move like paint on a canvas, flowing under the blade, into a spin, whipping a leg around. He was already whipping the other way as the man winced. It came up short as its target leaped back, but Marco still rose with a smile on his face. He understood the item's name already. The Battle Artist's Eyes—because he could see a perfect portrait of the fight.

He dodged a stab. He dodged a slash. A feint came and he fell for it, just to jump on Logan’s sword as it swung around. From its blade, he kicked the man’s head back, twisting into a flip as he dropped to the floor. A quick leap let him bury three blows in Logan’s chest. His clouds darkened, and he struck with those five and the two that remained. The thunderous force made the man quake, and yet he still tried to slash. Marco flipped back, sizing him up again. His foe had probably fought a Rostradt before, which meant this fight wasn’t just about the kill. Logan came at him, and Marco sucked his teeth; he’d have to avoid being pushed out the dome.

Shallowly dodging a stab for the body, he ran at the man with a mean right hook. Pain splashed like paint across his face but didn't stop the sword from spinning around. If anything it pushed Logan into the spin. Marco slipped under it and launched his fist up. As the merc flailed back, he kept the blows coming. Eight hits remained when he stepped back and his clouds darkened. Maybe his assessment was wrong? He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it seemed Logan had both feet on the ground.

“Any last words for all of your men?”

“Rostradt tribesmen can’t easily be beat in their dome. That’s why you should all have a sword like mine. They’ll see it and think you’re a former Enforcer, and never realize you’re using a Marking Sword.”

Marco didn’t know what that was but knew a cue when he heard it. The rest of the mercs would be inspired for their next attack, and Logan’s last one would make him too slow to answer it. He put a bit of spite in his swing, blasting Logan like he was every other man. The sword fell from his hand and ominously stood on its tip. The floor within the dome began to glow, and a pillar-like blade stabbed up. Marco flipped away, and another shot for his back. He took it as a slash, rather than be impaled, staying on the move until he left his dome. Logan wore a smile where he fell. He left a magic trap on the floor that would only target the Rostradt boy. The mercenaries cried their rage and sorrow as they rushed up the stairs. Alexia visibly sighed, and Marco sighed with her. She opened a book, and the first merc to reach her flew over the rails, body mangled by a sudden blow.

“Upon the road sat alien boulders; strange things that could never form in flat plains. They looked sturdy, and not quite round, chipped and worn by endless weather. It was only when the travelers drew near that the mask came undone. First there was the sound—something achingly hungry, and then there was movement as the things came to life. Their bodies were covered in brown fur, but bore no animal nature. After all, no one knew an animal that stood at eleven feet, with arms as long and thick as a man. No thing could be an animal when its bulbous stomach was a translucent flask. No one would want to see an animal whose face was all mouth, except for one off-centered eye. These things were the Gluttons, endlessly starving, and only the anguish of the dying could sate them.” These monsters manifested from her words, rising to block the mercenaries’ path.

“They have a Conjurer too…” One man cried. A Glutton hit him, splattering his body against the wall.

It was admirable that the rest of them didn’t scream, but all were One ass the Gluttons struck out. Shields and armor did nothing. Escape might have, but duty put that thought aside. Marco was forgotten as they charged this new threat letting not one broken body hold them back. As some died and others envied their fate, a loud part of him wished he could contribute to the carnage too. He was about to jump in when two blades sunk into a Glutton's shoulder. It wasn't even partially bothered by them until the blood on its hands fed into their hilts. Its massive arm rose and tore its head from its shoulders. The words that forged it came apart, and Marco turned his head. A woman with long crimson hair had emerged from the hallway. He forgot about the mercs upon seeing her. Cosette was here now, and so was his fun…