Story:Kings of Strife/Part 23

Part Twenty-Three
Six days had passed since Vainia had informed Taoris of her plans, and five days had passed since he left on his assigned task. By the next day after she had spoken to him, his legs and most of his body had completely healed, enabling him to travel as fast as was needed for him to arrive at Shorekeep in time. Because of his pain immunities, he was able to run regardless of any physical exhaustion, or at least until his body literally refused to function any longer. These required about thirty minutes of rest before he could continue in another burst of Spartan proportions, but with the large amount of time he spent moving nonstop, these rest moments only made up a fraction of his time, and it only took a few hours for Taoris to be completely out of sight from the migrating Phenicks survivors.

To his worry, Taoris’ recovery periods began to take more and more time to heal the more he became drastically injured. As he was traveling Shorica’s forest-ridden countryside, he thought more and more of this issue and it became more and more worrying. The first time he remembered having to wait more than a day to feel completely healed was when he first fought Crono Silverius and was injured by the woman he was accompanied with. Now, after being almost completely eradicated by the beam of light, he was still noting sluggishness in his body an entire week after the fact.

Things were changing and the man could not figure out why. The only thing clear to him was that he was, for the first time in decades, afraid of what it meant. As ready as he was to die, recent events were causing him to postpone this ambition, at least temporary. He had been given a job and a purpose; his body’s immortality might be breaking down, but he wouldn’t let it stop him before he was good and ready.

On the eve of the sixth day of travel, Gin Kama Taoris began to slow his fast run down into a stroll and stretched his neck muscles. For the hundredth time, he played back Vainia’s plan in his head and visualized each component. The more he thought about it, the more likely that it would work, no matter how simplistic it might have been. She really was a genius, he thought to himself. What amazing luck he had to have been discovered by her!

By the middle of that sixth day, Taoris found himself in a coastal plain that bordered thick tufts of forest in every direction. The area was close to the sea, he knew, as its smell and chill wafted through the air on every stray breeze. Despite its temperance, the clearing and all of its surrounding land was surprisingly hot and the sun, being completely above him, beamed down and summoned beads of sweat to form everywhere on the man’s body. Irritated by it, he moved forward towards the forest in front of him, but noticed a small brown shack that was only meters from the beginning of the deep forest. He looked around the area for a moment with suspicion before he decided to enter the shack and rest for a moment.

Ever since the celestial shower in Phenicks, Taoris’ blades had completely melted, so he was weaponless until he arrived at Shorekeep and restocked his arsenal. Still, he was confident enough that he would be able to hold off anyone who came at him, even in an ambush in which he was unarmed. The shack was outfitted only with a moldy couch, a creaking chair, and two bare wooden tables near each of the two windows on two of the walls. He inspected the area completely before settling on a chair and laying his head back on the wall.

His stomach growled, but there was nothing he could eat; all of his supplies, like his swords, had been eradicated in Phenicks. Without weapons, hunting was near impossible, especially for someone of his level of inexperience in the field. After six days of no food or water and constant travel, he could acutely feel his body getting weaker and slower, but it would last him until he arrived at Shorekeep, which he estimated should take until late that night. One more push, he told himself, until he would be strong again.

Something within the cabin stirred, and Taoris turned his head quickly at the sound. In the open doorway of the shack was a tall man, standing directly in front of the light. His figure was obscured.

Taoris stood quickly, dragging the chair to the ground as he did so, and his eyes darted around the cabin, checking it once more. There was nobody else around the area except for the person standing a few feet in front of him. “How could I have been so absent-minded as to let myself get snuck up on?!” He mentally berated himself, but after the remark, pushed all other thoughts down and focused on the man in front of him.

Now that he was standing and alert, Taoris was able to make a quick scan of the intruder and discern all he needed to know about how the next few minutes would go down. The enemy, which he realized was simply a boy and not a man, was tall and lanky. He was a handful of inches shorter than Taoris was, but his height was still remarkable, as was how little muscle he held to his frame. Startlingly, the boy wore a male Zeta Academy uniform; that is, he had donned cool gray dress pants and a similarly colored gray suit blazer. He deviated from the standard in that he wore a bright blue v-neck undershirt beneath the blazer instead of a dress shirt, and his dress shoes were the same notable color. The entire outfit was strikingly tight on the boy’s slim frame and there was very little baggy fabric at all, reinforcing his lithe image. Perhaps most notably, there was a longsword sheath wrapped around the boy’s left leg by three belts.

No features of his face could be seen because of the mask that covered most of the boy’s head, leaving his red-orange hair to float backwards and stop in the middle of his back. The mask was mostly white and had two vicious-looking horns that protruded from the top and curved to face forward. Two eye-holes, tinted black on the outside, pointed downward, and a jawline of rounded carved teeth rounded out a frown for the image of the mask. Black lines ran down the horns and the sides of the mask’s face, altogether giving it a monochrome and intimidating appearance.

The two men stood for a second before Taoris jumped forward with a tackle. The boy rolled to the side and the taller man stopped in his tracks as he did so, moving his longer legs to kick at the boy in the midst of his evasion. The attack hit home and the boy flew backwards into the wall of the shack. It shook with the impact.

Red haired Gin Kama Taoris chuckled after the action and tilted his head. “I think you’ve made a foolish mistake, child. I hope you aren’t alone.”

The boy, previously still on the floor, began to stand up again and dust off his uniform. A muffled laugh erupted from beneath the wicked mask before an arrogant and surprisingly deep voice retorted. “No, I didn’t bring my friends with me this time, but you’re right, I have made a mistake.” The eyes stared right at Taoris, looking up slightly, and the man could almost feel a harsh glare permeating from below it. “I knew what I was getting into, but I had to check and make sure everything I’ve heard about you is true. Looks like I really can’t afford to hold back.” Still keeping his eyes on Taoris, the boy bent down slightly and began to unclasp the belts holding his sword sheath to the outside of his leg.

The Crimson Death looked over the action and began to stretch his neck muscles. “Shouldn’t you be back in school, Inusian boy? I don’t think you want to die today.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with Nolstuvainia skipping, so why can’t I?” The boy’s lightning-fast and silver-tongued reply froze Taoris in his place as his eyes widened. He looked over the boy with a newfound fierceness before bursting forward for another tackle. Foreseeing the attack and acting with better judgment this time, the boy kicked off the side of the wall and rolled off to the back of the shack. His back now touched another wall to the side of Taoris. “Looks like I struck a nerve…” He shook his head with exaggerated animation and continued removing his sword case.

Taoris, meanwhile, had undergone a quick mood swing and darkly faced his mouthy enemy with mirth. “Who the hell are you and what do you know about Nolstuvainia?” The boy only stared at him and finally freed his weapon’s sheath. Next he held it in front of him horizontally and held a pale hand over the pure black hilt. Taoris spoke to him with liquid aggression. “Fine then, keep your damnable mouth shut. I’ll just smash that mask in two, with your skull in it. Then we’ll see what kind of things you’ll have to say.”

Loud, anxious breathing wafted from beneath the mask as the boy slowly removed his sword. Like the hilt, the black was painted in an abyssal black, and with the sword free and ringing from its abolition, he slashed the sheath to his side and grasped it like another sword. With what seemed like an eager voice, the boy chuckled at Taoris and threw the blade at the man. Without batting an eye, Taoris caught the blade in an arc across his chest, and stared at the boy with burning eyes. The masked Inusia merely laughed. “Come on, then. Show me the wrath of the Crimson Death. I want to see it with my own two eyes.”

The Crimson Death, not bothering to reply anymore, relished in his opportunity and indulged the boy. With incredible speed, he jumped into the air and raised the blade to his side, both hands on the hilt with a very tight grip. The uniformed boy held up his sheath instinctively to block but realized his error in a moment, and he ducked to the side at the last second before the blade made impact. He bowled off behind Taoris, and in his wake, the slashing blade met the decaying wood of the shack, and completely wrecked it. With the sound of crumbling paper, the stained brown wood shards exploded into the air at the contact and the entire shack shook, mere inches from completely collapsing. Instead of falling down, the cabin simply sported a large horizontal gash in front of the Crimson Death.

The masked boy, on one knee with his free hand on the floor for support, looked up at the scene and breathed heavily. His expression was indiscernible, but Taoris glanced behind him and assumed it was one of shock. He turned slowly, his expression dark and serious, and looked at the mask with complete aggression. “I haven’t used two hands on a blade in years,” he thought to himself. “It’s a lot more powerful than I remembered. If I hadn’t been so slow, this would have been over with already…” His body’s sluggishness was painfully clear to him, as was his burgeoning hunger and his muscle’s exhaustion. He put on a brave front, not intending to show this struggle at all, and resolved to finish the fight in the next attack. He flexed his fingers over the black hilt in anticipation.

Then the boy stood up and, brushing off his clothes once again, snorted. “Is that how fast the Crimson Death is? How pathetic. You’re overrated.” With a quick flourish, he attached the sheath to the outside of his leg once again and quickly snapped the belts into place. “Surely you fight better than this?”

Taoris said nothing in response, but lunged forward with the blade outstretched. Just in the nick of time, the boy sidestepped the attack, and the resulting impact blasted the door from its hinges and onto the meadows outside the shack. The Crimson Death turned slowly, breathing out loudly from his nostrils, and slashed at the boy twice more. Both times, the tall youth agilely dodged the attacks and made no efforts to strike back. The small hut, burdened by the battle, shook and let loose shards of wood from its ceiling, but stubbornly refused to collapse.

Again the boy with the mask laughed outright as he jumped over a low third strike. “I predicted that this would be a challenge, but I can see you’re easier to deal with than the legends state! What a shame…” In the face of insult, Gin let loose a mighty roar and jumped into the air once more. “Hmph. I can see every move you make coming!” With his leg muscles pulsing and sweat pouring down his face, Taoris hopped higher than he anticipated, and with the downward swing of his sword at the uniformed boy, he slashed right through the ceiling of the shack. The boy sidestepped the attack, again, right before it was due to strike him, and the slash intended for him met the wall of the humble abode. Finally buckling under the punishment, the cottage broke down and fell to pieces around Taoris as he landed to his knees, blade wedged into the ground.

The masked boy, who had ducked out of the gaping door hole before the dwelling could collapse with him still inside, now stood a few inches outside of the wreckage on the ground. He watched as Taoris stood up, his back to the boy and rubble falling off his form, and began to tremble.

"My, oh my…” The youth held one of his hands in front of his face as it shook and the other grasped at his mask as if it were his face. “I didn’t think this would be so easy! Why… I can’t control myself. How positively lucid it is that I will be able to move the designs up like this!” He began to laugh with a cackle that was deeper and more unhinged than any he had let loose earlier. “I can’t believe this… I simply can’t believe this!”

Gin Taoris had been standing still while the boy spoke to himself, listening and shaking himself, although he was seething with rage. He began to turn, disturbing the piles of wood around him, and drew the boy’s attention as he did so. His expression was dark and angry, and with his cloak somewhat torn from the collapse, his muscles were visibly flexing. “So you see every move I make in advance, huh? Well then… Did you see this coming?” The cloaked man, previously facing the boy at an angle that shielded his right hand, now fully turned and held up his hand. It clutched the sheath for the black sword, completely slipped out of the belts that it was secured in.

The youth, speechless, looked down at his leg and saw that it was indeed missing the sheath. His mind reeled, shocked by the fact that Taoris had been able to swipe the sheath at the last second before his evasion without being noticed. He looked up again and froze, because now the red haired man stood a mere foot in front of him. With both of his hands at his side, one clutching the sheath and the other the sword, he was now fully armed and continued to glare at the boy.

Gin’s mouth barely moved as he growled out a word to the starstruck enemy in front of him. “I may not have those special eyes you seem to have, but I can see the future, too. The only thing in store for you is death.” Mere instants after he finished speaking, the tall and muscular man burst forward in a flash of motion, both weapons at his side and ready to strike with unregulated fury, and the uniformed boy jumped backwards with futile fervor. He held up his arms in front of him as the sheath flew towards him, and the provisionary guard succeeded in routing the hard wood from hitting his face. Rather, the sheath exploded in contact onto his arms with a large crack, and the wood splintered into the air with the impact. The boy faltered and planted both feet on the ground and screamed as the pain forced his arms to his sides.

Next, with the sheath destroyed, Taoris pushed himself closer to the recoiling boy and, the black sword raised over his head, slashed down with the intent of cutting him from shoulder to hip. The youth, writhing in place from the agony, saw the attack coming at the very last second, and just barely managed to jump backwards. Still, the blade continued to move through the air, and like a hot knife through butter, it split through one of the jutting horns on the boy’s mask.

The attack and the effort to evade it ended with the uniformed youth falling on his butt on the ground mere inches from where the blade finished its arc through the air. His mask now scarred and losing its secure hold on his face, the boy arched his back in pain and let out another hoarse cry. Taoris wasted no time in taking advantage of his state and fiercely kicked the boy in his exposed back, sending him rolling some feet away and grunting some more.

All of the encounter’s events took place within seconds, and as Taoris looked down on the pain-ridden boy, he tossed away any fragments of the hard sheath he still held onto. Spitting onto the ground in disgust, he began to walk forward and once again raised the sword with both hands. “Die,” he commanded.

Despite his now bleeding arms, the boy rolled onto his back and held himself up on his elbows. His breathing was loud and pained, and the grimacing eyes of the mask bored right into Taoris’ blazing blue eyes as the executioner walked ever forward. When he was but a foot away, the boy, suddenly moving with amazing speed, reached into his pocket and pounced upon Taoris, who still had the blade raised high into the air.

The youth was immediately inside of Taoris’ body space and thus outside of the reach of the sword. The taller man, taken off guard by the sudden and apparently illogical action, quickly lowered his arms and elbowed the boy in the side of his head. The mask audibly crackled and the boy fell to the side, landing on his back once again.

Growling at the action and the delay of his execution, Taoris raised the sword again – lower this time – and moved a bit faster to attack the boy, who still lay on the ground motionless with his head facing the ground. Something felt off, he realized, and the man stepped back and looked at his body in confusion. Everything was moving sluggish, he had noticed, and even his arms moved slowly. His vision at the edge of his eyes began to blur. Looking around himself, he slowly pulled out a needle that had been stabbed right into his right armpit. The large man looked at it in confusion as his movement grinded to a halt. The boy let loose a dark laugh, and the sword wielder looked at him as all of his outside movement stopped.

Standing up now with his arms hanging limply at his side, the uniformed youth let out a short and loud guffaw at the frozen Taoris. “You must be one hell of a fortune teller, because I’m not dying anytime soon! Now that I’ve gotten that tranquilizer into you, you won’t be moving for a good couple of hours. Take a nap or something; I had a dose in there enough to kill four horses, so it should have been just enough to keep you still. As for me…” With this, the arrogant youth wiped at his clothes a third time before adjusting his mask on his face. Its right horn was splintered and only a stub poked forward, and spider-web cracks erupted near the left eyehole. “I can tell when I’ve been defeated, but it’s not time for me to kick the bucket just yet.” Another self-assured chortle floated out from the damaged mask. “Besides, this mask was borrowed, and you almost destroyed it. Oh well; I must be going then, Mr. Death.” With this, the boy began to waltz away cradling his arms. He did not look back. “I’ll be back. I hope you get a lot less predictable when next we meet.” He paused for a moment, and the glaring mask looked back at the Crimson Death’s statuesque form. “Remember this, Gin Kama Taoris; this day you have met your very own Death. I will kill you. I will kill you because I hate you and everything you’ve ever done, and I will kill you brutally and slowly. I will kill you.” He looked at the man with a lingering look, his fists grasping his forearms tightly, before turning with finality and walking towards the east, where Taoris had come from before he entered the shack.

By now Taoris couldn’t move and felt himself dozing, a majority of his vision blackening and his knees weakening, and as he fell asleep, he thought solely of his hatred for the boy and his desire to split him open and rip out every one of his arteries. He slept for hours and dreamt solely of this.

...End of Part Twenty-Three.

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