To Fling a Light

by Wong Yoong Le

  Little items, like wooden swords, beads and strips of paper littered the battlefield, most of them coated in a sickly green and brown sludge.

  “Frankly speaking? I have no idea.” Mr. Meng admitted quietly. “But everyone here wasn’t lacking in combat prowess.”

  He continued to walk around, turning over face down bodies to identify them. His face grew increasingly morose as he continued walking among the dead, and I suddenly remembered that he was the Branch Leader for this region. In other words, they were all his subordinates. How many had he shared lunch with before? Toasted a drink with? Yelled at? All of a sudden, he seemed more desolate than ever: a lone figure kneeling in front of his fallen friends.

  “Give me a hand, if you please.” Mr. Meng requested. “Bring them over to the middle, let them rest with some dignity,” his voice shuddered slightly as he said those words.

  It didn’t take too long before the fallen were laid out neatly. Most of them had gaping wounds, or outright fatal blows struck onto them, and I turned my eyes away. A few unlucky souls had been bisected, or even quartered, and it was tough bringing them to the center of the room.

  “Miles?” asked Mr. Meng. “Can you check for life? Just to be sure.”

  He nodded, and I felt a wave of mana surge from Miles, scouring the entire building.

  “Sorry, but there’s no one.”

  Mr. Meng’s stoic face showed no reaction, and motioning us to follow, we left the building. Whatever remained of the doors made a crunching sound as we stepped over them. Mr. Meng walked for a few paces, before he halted, turning around to look at the building.

  “I spent a good portion of my life here,” said Mr. Meng, “but there’s nowhere to return to now. Most likely, Alliance presence here has been entirely crippled. A good seventy to eighty percent of our people stationed here no longer walk this Earth.”

  He fell silent again. He continued to stare at the building, as though he was trying to sear the image of the building into his mind.

  “Dad…” Aurora went to him, trying to console him with her presence.

  Mr. Meng patted her head and turned his eyes away from the building. “The car then. Crow, any new suggestions?”

  “Yes.” Crow turned to Miles. “Do you know of any Conclave stronghold we can go to?”

  Miles took out a little notebook, flipping through the pages inside. “Found the address. Coincidentally enough, this place is the only Conclave stronghold in Singapore, making it something like a headquarters of sorts too.”

  He smiled bitterly.

  “Only?” echoed Hao Wei.

  Miles shrugged. “Despite the bells and whistles, the Conclave has never had much of a presence in this area. Apparently, the powers that matter in the Conclave felt that Southeast Asia was something akin to the Moroccan Protectorate.”

  I looked at Hao Wei, who probably got this reference. Catching my eye, he said, “Money and manpower sink, or something like that, for a simple reference.”

  “Is that so?” I answered doubtfully, opening the car door.

  Everyone got onto the car again, and the now-familiar sound of the engine starting up filled the air.

  “Anyway,” said Miles, who had not noticed the exchange between Hao Wei and me, continued, “the Conclave stronghold is quite far from here. Roughly a good forty-five minutes.”

  I looked at the clock in the car. “So, an early lunch?”

  “Precisely!” Miles replied. “Best to get some grub before we hole up. I know a good place near the stronghold, so let’s get a bite there.”

  Chapter 21

  Everyone looked around the dingy café, eyes blinking rapidly. Or mine were, anyway. “Miles,” said Hao Wei, “are you sure this is the place? The last thing we need is an upset stomach.”

  He looked around at the dusty chairs and tables, a look of apprehension on his face. He shook his head, running a finger over a table, and flinched from the layer of black dust on it.

  He gulped once or twice.

  Miles looked around a few times more, before nodding.

  “Yep, this is it.” His brows creased slightly. “It does look a bit dusty though.”

  “A bit?” Hao Wei said incredulously.

  “Boss!” Miles hollered, his right hand forming an improvised loudhailer. “You in?”

  There was no response.

  “So, a no?” muttered Hao Wei.

  He sneaked a glance to the only girl of our group, trying to look at her expression. I followed suit, but it seemed like Aurora didn’t have any distaste toward this place.

  “Seems like he isn’t here today.” Miles’ face turned gloomy. “He’s quite advanced in his age too. He’s in his mid-eighties now, so he might have stopped working here. What a pity!”

  Hao Wei nodded eagerly. “So, we’ll just go somewhere else then, or just make something light at our destination?”

  The old man ignored Hao Wei and walked into the room.

  “It seems like there’s still some gas… lemme whip something up for you guys.”

  Hao Wei and I exchanged glances, before we silently walked off to join the others. He grimaced as he sat down, shuddering as the dust started jumping and staining his clothes. I watched him tremble slightly, before taking pity on him and dusting his immediate vicinity for him with my hands. I didn’t know he hated, or rather, was disgusted by dust to such an extent. Were the past two years a lie?

  He flashed a grateful smile, making me wonder how he survived two years in the army. Turns out I didn’t really know him as well as I thought.

  A nice smell wafted out from the kitchen, drawing my attention. It seemed that Miles was a good cook, at least.

  “Sausages?”

  “Pasta?”

  “Ham?”

  I slapped my forehead.

  “Look,” I said, staring at Crow, Hao Wei, and Aurora, “how did you guys all get different answers? Besides, they’re clearly fried potatoes.”

  Mr. Meng laughed—the first time I’d seen him do so since this morning. The rest continued to bicker about the food being cooked, but a look of relaxation appeared on his face as he watched over the trio. It felt like a father watching his kids play around; an everyday thing that he strove to protect.

  Miles walked out, an apron draped around his waist. It was probably taken from the café, but he just wore it without a second thought. Moving over to our table, he set down the plates, which had a stainless-steel dish cover on them.

  “I say,” Hao Wei asked, “why does a café have something like this?”

  Miles snickered, his laughter somewhat more forced than usual.

  “The boss had a dream of being a professional chef, so he brought them here.” With a dramatic flourish of his arms, he removed the covers, placing them on another table. “Ta-dah! Omelet rice!”

  “It seems like the four of you all got it wrong.” Mr. Meng smiled gently. “Let’s dig in. Thanks for the meal, Miles.”

  “Like the same old times, you know?” Miles answered back. “Eat up, eat up, don’t let the food go cold.”

  “So,” said Crow, his voice muffled by food, “you guys knew each other?”

  “When he was just a wee lad no less.” Miles answered, messing up the neat mound of rice and scrambled egg. “He was quite the handful back then.”

  “Miles!” Mr. Meng said. “And Crow, don’t eat with your mouth full!”

  “He was quite the upstart too, at that age.” Miles continued, ignoring Mr. Meng’s glare. “He was quite the arrogant child, thinking that cultivators were… what was it? ‘Unparalleled under heaven’!”

  He guffawed, while Mr. Meng’s face flushed red. That was useful… ahem, interesting to know. I should have known better when Miles got this job. I was actually surprised that the blackmail had worked, but it just turned out that they knew each other beforehand.

  “It was a good thing that you mellowed down though.” Miles gobbled down a spoon of rice, before carrying on, “or rather, you should thank
me for teaching you a thing or two.”

  “Miles, what did you teach him?” Aurora asked curiously.

  That stoic mask of Mr. Meng trembled, and he shook his head really quickly from left to right, that it was a wonder that it hadn’t come loose. It was clear that Mr. Meng didn’t want his carefully built up image to break in front of his daughter, and Miles looked like he was going to go on a blackmailing spree again.

  “I’ll tell you after this whole thing blows over.” He smirked, a victorious air all around him. “Or not, depending on how much I’ll earn from this gig.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” Hao Wei mumbled.

  Miles tilted his head to look at him, an innocent expression on his face. “What is?”

  I held back a peal of laughter, and Hao Wei turned back to his food, a defeated expression on his face. I turned my focus back to the two of them, where Miles was clearly renegotiating the terms of payment with Mr. Meng. Some rather scary figures were being thrown around, along with things that I vaguely recognized as expensive. Someone, at least, was going to get a hefty good paycheck from this.

  I smiled weakly to myself and turned back to my food. Any more, and I might just follow in a certain rogue’s footsteps. I turned back to shoveling the food into my mouth, and the plate was clean in a matter of seconds. I licked the spoon and looked at the plate wistfully. Eating so quickly… I had some regrets about it.

  “If you would please, Aster, move your eyes away from your plate. You’re going to scare anyone who’s watching,” Hao Wei said.

  Clearly, he had guessed what I was thinking about. I turned my eyes onto him, before fixing my gaze upon his half-full plate. He shifted his body between me and food automatically.

  “I’m not going to give you my share.”

  “It’s nice to have these kinds of troubles though. Just thinking about food, maybe some blackmail about your past, trying to steal a friend’s portion…” I leaned back and thought out loud.

  Hao Wei shoveled the last of the food into his mouth, before swallowing decisively… and loudly. He placed down the fork and spoon with a certain meticulousness and leaned back into the chair.

  “After tonight, we’ll have those troubles back.”

  “Wouldn’t the world have ended by then?” I said, my voice giving no hint that the subject matter we spoke of was of any importance.

  Hao Wei grunted with no specific inflection, and turned to look at Aurora, whose plate was three-quarters full. He wasn’t the only one either, not with Crow looking covetously at the plate of omelet rice too. I felt the temperature drop a bit as the two rascals stared at each other, clearly aware of their foe’s intentions.

  As for poor Aurora, she was trying to stuff down as much food as she could, although her speed of eating paled tremendously compared to the monsters at this table. She sent a look at me, eyelashes fluttering, trying to ask for aid, but I suddenly found myself very interested in my own clean plate.

  Going between these two fanatics? I didn’t really like the sound of that. At any rate, lunch was going to end soon, and it was only a matter of time before the trove that Aurora was trying to nibble down got taken by one of these two brutes. Better to leave the fray with my dignity intact. Her squeals came as the two food junkies started snatching from her plate, leaving me free to watch with grace their little skirmish.

  Everyone here was acting normally, but I could feel it. The virtual eradication of the Alliance in this country at least, if not to say the entire region, had cast a gloom onto everyone. It wasn’t as easy as smiling and laughing. This shadow was far more insidious, but we were entirely powerless against it.

  This normality was just a farce. And we knew it. I was no pessimist, but I somehow knew that not all of us were going to get out in one piece. None of us, even. That gloomy thought pervaded my mind as I continued watching the rest having fun.

  Chapter 22

  The sun was at the apex of its journey when we left the café. We had helped to clean up the utensils that we had temporarily appropriated for our meal, as a courtesy; but even a mere washing of the dishes had taken more time than it should have. I flinched as I stepped out of the shade. Our destination was just a few dozen metres of walking under the sun, but I could feel my skin beginning to protest by flaking.

  Our destination was a viridian-colored building of just three floors, and it looked just as unimpressive as Miles’ description of it had been.

  “Still,” said Mr. Meng, tapping on the walls of the building, “the exterior is actually very tough, it seems. What a quaint material.”

  With a hint of pride, Miles opened the steel door, revealing a rather gloomy interior.

  “Naturally. This place was originally designed to be a fortress. I was part of the team that helped to set up its defenses, so we’ll be able to make good use of this come nightfall. Though…” He walked further in, looking around.

  An empty reception greeted him, complete with a musty smell that reminded me of an abandoned building.

  “It seems that the Conclave has withdrawn fully from Singapore without telling anyone, unless they have other places that I don’t know of.” He drummed his fingers on the receptionist table in irritation. “And here I was thinking I could recruit more manpower. Never mind. Follow me.”

  As we walked, he continued to give a rundown on this building’s history. Apparently, it had been built as a fortress, some two decades ago. Subsequent forays into Southeast Asia hadn’t garnered much success: not even with the Alliance’s paramount influence.

  “That could change, given the assault on the Alliance by the Outsiders,” Miles said, not really caring that Mr. Meng happened to be the head of the Alliance in Southeast Asia. “Maybe it will, maybe it won’t and maybe the world might just end and nothing else will happen.”

  Pushing open a rather inconspicuous door, he led us down a flight of steel stairs. “The chief designer of this fortress happened to have a rather extensive history with the mafia. As such, he liked having the command centre underground. The walls here are incredibly strong; they can withstand tunneling attempts too.”

  After navigating some pointlessly narrow and convoluted passageways, we finally arrived at the ‘Boss room’, as Miles affectionately called it. There was a metal desk at the very middle of the room, flanked by some empty metal bookshelves that served no purpose whatsoever. The lights were somewhat dim, giving the room a rather desolate feel to it.

  “So, the boss usually sits in this ‘Boss chair’ here.” Miles pointed to the chair.

  He walked over to the empty bookshelves and fumbled with it for a moment, before drawing out some papers.

  “The Conclave had a few defense plans drawn up, and they’re all sitting here.” He passed the papers over to Crow. “As for the rest of us, we’ll have to go outside for a moment. The Far Shore seems to be able to track Aurora.”

  “What do you mean, Miles?” Mr. Meng asked.

  Miles gestured, and multiple screens appeared. “I’m something like an administrator, so I can do this. Anyway, they seem to have sent some human scouts.”

  I stepped closer to Miles for a better look.

  “How do you know they were under the Far Shore?”

  “Would anyone else dress like that?” he asked, pointing to an image.

  Two people were walking side by side. Their clothes were ripped, but these rips didn’t resemble anything remotely artistic, and they were dressed in just black. A black cape was draped around their shoulders, and some random spikes and circlets adorned their bodies.

  “They look something like Darth Vader: if he was into goth and the sadomasochistic community. Minus the helmet and the armor.” I observed.

  As I spoke, the two of them stopped mechanically, before separating to stand at a rather conspicuous spot.

  “They aren’t actually trying to be stealthy, are they?”

  “Clearly not.” Crow’s head emerged from the sea of papers. “But there’s no point trying to get rid of
them. Rather, Aster,” he glanced at me, “how about getting some practice in controlling time?”

  Oops. That had somewhat slipped my mind. Nodding my head, I walked over to a dim corner of the room and sat down cross-legged. The first time had been something of a fluke, but the sensation I had when I unconsciously stopped time last week was eerily similar to the one I typically had when manipulating Physical Laws.

  It did seem odd that I could manipulate Time Laws, even though I hadn’t even touched on Spatial Laws. It was likely that I had an innate gift for manipulating time, but it just felt all too contrived to me. I couldn’t do anything about this feeling, though. I took a deep breath, and emptied my mind of all these superfluous thoughts, thinking of only a regular Tick-Tock.

  A metronome was typically used to keep a regular beat, but I had to get the mental sensation of increasing or decreasing the tempo, before applying it to the world around me. I thought that Igor was being entirely too optimistic about my rate of progress when he told me about this method, but it just turned out that he might have known about my talent beforehand. Immersing myself into this beat, I gradually found myself lost in practice.

  As I continued, the world around me shifted around. Everyone around me sped up, sometimes slowing down, but never in a regular pattern. In the end, however, Minor Time Laws simply created a short-lived space where time flows differently. People outside that space would just perceive everything inside to be moving faster or slower, depending on the flow of time inside. Time itself wouldn’t be affected.

  According to my mentor, somewhere out there, on every plane of existence, (he had pointed upwards in a vague manner when he said that) existed an entity that governed the passage of time. Only through True Time Laws could one effect that entity, thereby shifting the entire plane forwards or backwards on the chronological axis as they wished. This presence of this entity was also the reason that areas previously affected by Minor Time Laws would integrate back into the world.