Chapter 10: Trinity
Shadows flickered in the bitten moonlight, as swift and evasive as lost faeries, dancing beneath the crystal, midnight stars. Any one of them could have been death camouflaged in silent grace. Far below, Mirai Kishida watched the last traces of silver light disappear into the empty sky, waiting beneath the boughs of a massive oak tree -- back reclined against the protective trunk and her eyes half-closed, relying on senses other than deceptive sight to see her through the chaotic night.
She was close -- too much so now to risk flight. And when she emerged from the trees adorned in hypocritical technology -- a simmering aura of intent rage draped about her narrow shoulders -- Mirai regretted that she had not ended their struggle long ago; before this Alyrin Delling had so deeply steeped herself in ecclesiastical darkness.
The girl seemed every bit a fierce and proud knight, a shock of wispy scarlet hair protruding from beneath the folds of the hood that half-shrouded eyes that glowed ghastly and unnatural; silver as the light that led her into Mirai's camp. They raced with power the likes of which Mirai had never completely understood. She held her own in check, knowing that the telltale flash of gold would reveal her absolutely and disastrously.
Alyrin cast about the abandoned camping site, searching for her prey, which concealed herself mere feet away, no more than another shadow painted onto the maple trees.
Unbothered by failure, a malicious grin spread across Alyrin's face, teeth flashing in an evil grimace as she strolled about the camp, a prowling cat on the hunt. She said nothing, nor did Mirai expect her too. Alyrin had never been a woman of many words.
Smoothly, she reached into one of the nylon tactical pouches fastened at her hip and produced a handful of photos. She held them up in turn, allowing just enough moonlight to reveal the horrified visage they held trapped forever in film.
Mirai's breath caught at the sight of the man's face. Alex McKinnon was only an innocent, a simple case of mistaken identity and nothing more. She wondered how the Order had found him so quickly, and what exactly he had told them. More than that, of course, she hoped he was safe.
As though to answer her question, Alyrin tore the photos in two, letting the wind scatter the pieces like dust; a clearer message could not have been delivered had she screamed it at the suddenly absent stars.
Mirai knew to stay hidden and quiet; urged to by the deathly pall that hung about Alyrin's shoulders; at the saki -- the bloodlust -- that rippled from the young woman like crushing ocean waves. Her mind ran the calculations, faster than any computer could compile the statistical odds, returning results starkly negative. She added different variables, accounting for banal details such as wind speed, and air resistance -- subtracted others, like her own tolerance to the cold, and her own survival instincts. No matter how she tried to cook reality's books, the result was nothing less than abject defeat. Cold, hard math that screamed to stay safe until the storm blew over; to pursue retreat at all costs.
But then a scrap of one of the photos blew too close to her feet, and she looked down at it -- at the fearsome grimace splayed across her temporary and accidental ward's face -- Mirai knew why some people called her a fool. Her rage boiled deep within, the natural persona resulting from frustrations dating back millennia; it began as whispers behind her ears that evolved into a steady chant pulsing like the heartbeats of vengeful ghosts.
If not for glory or closure, then simple vengeance would do, for the life of the innocents she could not protect. The simple logic presented by overwhelming force lost color, washed out by the turbid, rushing thrum of anger.
But before she could act, could force her tense muscles into explosive action, someone wandered into the camp, clutching another scrap of the photo that marked the end of Alex McKinnon.
Moonlight broke through the crowds, falling poetically on a visage twisted with depthless rage. It was Seven Kharaos, and it wasn't at the same time. For surely it was him; wearing the same jeans and colorful shirt he had earlier, but the aura that rippled from his body came as waves of unadulterated force -- neither good nor evil, but something that dwarfed such concepts into insignificance.
Existence fell into hushed silence, reverent, and even her beating heart seemed to freeze as Seven spoke, his a voice suited to power, fundamentally different from the gentle nobility that lent strength and honesty to his character.
"Where is my friend?" an earthquake could not rumble deeper, nor could an emperor match the command that possessed his voice as he asked the angel-possessed girl. His fingers tightened around the edges of the photograph, and the material steamed as it disintegrated in his grasp. He tossed it to the ground, a crumpled scrap, and looked left and right at the abandoned camp as though seeing it for the first time.
His voice dropped another impossible octave lower. "Both of them," he growled. Mirai's face flushed, shamefully; neither her culture nor her nature had allowed people to call her "friend" so quickly or so easily. Even that morning she had threatened him, and meant it; but there was no duplicity or doubt in the man's resounding voice.
At length, Alyrin took stock of the furious figure that loomed before her, several feet taller, and at least a little bit angrier. Her voice too, smooth and low and dangerous, asked simply, "Name?"
Clearly offended at the brusque question, Seven pulled his thumb across to point at his chest, "My name is Seve--"
Mirai exploded into action, desperately trying to smother the proclamation in its crib. Alyrin sputtered as the golden eyed demon appeared behind her in a flash, twin swords crossed together in a vicious "V". They pulled down to end her, but the two blades smashed into an invisible barrier -- energy manifest -- and there they hung, suspended in empty air, shooting off rainbow sparks as Mirai snarled and tried to push her way through with sheer force.
She slammed her dao down again and again, faster and faster, desperately trying to crack through the magical wall. She moved as lightning possessed, striking low and high, looking for the tiniest chink in the armor, spinning, pivoting, dancing. In the span of seconds, she had scored at least two dozen blows -- each as ineffectual as the first.
An eerie sound began to creep upon the air, trickling over her skin like sweat. A flock of birds burst from the trees, their cries too shallow to drown out the prophetic murmuring, and even the cool breeze had changed direction -- as though fleeing impending disaster. The skin on Mirai's arms began to tingle as her hair rose up to stand on end.
Safe within her bubble, Alyrin had begun to open her wicked gates -- the source of her black magic. Mirai recognized the motions, could see the blue sparks begin to gather within the air, snapping and hungry, summoned there by the unreachable girl's twisting hands -- they grew arrow-like and aimed directly for the dormant Ascended who had first challenged her; the key to the inscrutable machinations of Heaven.
And yet he did not move, did not even realize the danger -- likely could not even fathom it. Seven stood unblinking, a curious child peering into the widening maw of disaster; unaware that his innocence had long since ended.
Mirai's honed reflexes, sharper than even her mind, were already in motion. She threw her blades down and kicked out at the shield as hard as she could. Her leg caught the transparent wall hard, sending a jarring shake right up through her teeth. Undaunted, she grimaced and pushed off with all of her force, adding the barrier's innate repulsion to her own momentum to throw herself at the hapless fool.
The world erupted into electric flame as a cry of pain pierced the darkness like a jagged and rusty spear.
F-Infinity Saga Canto I Page 11