Eye of the Tornado

by Kevin Domenic

"So it is admitted, then!" another man shouted, leaping to his feet behind Avrhen. Denal, a short weasel of a man from F'Ledro's circle of friends, shrugged his vest onto his otherwise bare shoulders as he stepped beside Tiane. "You seek to murder the boss!"

  The argument quickly escalated as more and more joined in, bickering and shouting at one another about loyalty and honor and the penalties for treason. Muert scrambled to his feet, and instinctively stepped in front of Sienna while trying to pull a shouting Keilan behind him as well. While her body obeyed, her mouth didn't stop until he wordlessly held a finger to her lips. "Please, my dear. The situation is delicate enough. Do not add another apple into an already overflowing basket."

  "Look at you," curly-haired Tungas said, poking a thick finger into Muert's shoulder. Though he stood at least a head shorter, he weighed every bit as much, standing hunchbacked like an ogre without a club. "Trying to act like the peacemaker when you are the source of all of this! You come back to us with your brainwashed ideals and try to corrupt the rest of us, then play the innocent fool when things get a little too warm for you!"

  Muert opened his mouth to reply, but Sienna darted past him, arms raised above her head. "Leave my papa alone!" she screamed. Spheres of light engulfed her little hands, and she threw them forward with a small blast of energy that knocked Tungas back a few steps. Muert scooped the little girl into his arms and turned to flee, only to be knocked to his knees by a streak of electricity from Tungas. That prompted Keilan to retaliate with a blazing column of fire, and the conflict exploded like a missile cache in a furnace. Another bolt of lightning shot from someone's hands, followed by a burst of flame from another, and a blinding bar of energy from yet another. Kyrosen began falling left and right, some collapsing from injuries while others dropped to avoid the projectiles. More and more the violence spread as the tensions between the two factions erupted into a bloody struggle for survival. It wasn't long before the entire cargo hold was in an uproar, men and women screaming obscenity-laden threats and wielding the forces of nature against one another.

  Muert held Sienna tightly beneath his body to shield her from danger, paying little mind to the sharp sting of Tungas' attack. "Keilan!" he shouted over the commotion. His wife was on her knees beside him instantly.

  "Are you hurt?" she asked, dividing her attention between him and the battle. "How serious is it?"

  "Don't worry about me," he told her, "it's just a surface burn. Take Sienna and get out of here! Flee for the hangar bay and take the Aeden transport back to the Refuge right away! It is the only way you'll be safe!"

  While Keilan had always been an obedient woman, her heart sometimes overshadowed her common sense. "I'll not leave you here to these savages!" she growled at him. "They intend to skewer you and—"

  There was no time for negotiating, and Muert was well aware of it. He grabbed Keilan's arm and placed her hand on Sienna's wrist. "Now!" he ordered, leaping to his feet. "Take her and go! Do not argue with me, my dear! I'd rather die protecting the two of you than live to see you murdered because of my mistakes! Go!"

  He did not watch to see if she obeyed or not. Summoning all of the magical energy he could handle, he turned away and barreled into the crowd, knocking Avrhen flat on his backside in the process. Slithering bolts of electricity slid around Muert's body, accelerating and expanding until his massive girth was surrounded by a shield of energy. "All right," he grunted, raising massive palms above his head, "you people want a war? You've got one!"

  *******

  The air across the bridge of the Falcon Mist was cold and still, an atmosphere ideal for killing and conducive to hatred. Anger bubbled beneath Vultrel's calm exterior, but he managed to suppress it with the pleasure of knowing that he had Sartan Truce right where he wanted him. All of the pain, all of the sadness, all of the anguish and remorse and regret, it would all end with Truce's bloody death and the destruction of the race that had plagued Vultrel's life with misery since he was a small boy. The Kyrosen would fall today, and the people of Terranias would be safe from their violent and heartless ways.

  Truce showed no outward signs of fear, though Vultrel hadn't expected the Mage to drop his confident visage that quickly. "I must say, I'm surprised to find you here. I'd have expected you to be at Kindel's heels like the loyal dog you've become. But I suppose it was only a matter of time before he sent someone to retrieve me."

  Vultrel only smiled at Truce's misconception. "I'm not here to bring you back to the Black Eagle. I'm here to kill you."

  Truce took the news lightly, nodding with that obnoxious grin. "I see. I realize that you've been through much, but shouldn't Arus be the focus of your hatred? After all, he was the one that killed your father."

  "How I deal with Arus is for me to decide," Vultrel told him, stepping toward Enzulia's lifeless body. "The fact of the matter is that all of this started with you, and I intend to end it here and now."

  "I don't know what you expect to accomplish," Truce shrugged, crossing his arms as he slowly circled the bridge. "Killing me won't end this war, nor will it destroy the Kyrosen."

  Vultrel's smile broadened. "The first is a problem I'll deal with when the time comes. The latter is being handled as we speak."

  The man's grin momentarily seemed forced. As if to emphasize Vultrel's claim, Truce's communicator came to life. "Boss! You'd better get down here! There has been a revolt, and now the Kyrosen are fighting amongst themselves! We have traitors amongst us! Boss, can you hear me?"

  Truce's hand quivered momentarily, clearly itching to snatch the device from his belt. Vultrel said nothing, calmly easing his sword from the scabbard on his back. The Mage drew a long blade from his own belt and readied himself for battle. "What goes on amongst the Kyrosen is of little concern to you, boy. My loyal followers will squash any traitors while I kill you, and then we will ride off into the stars on our new starcruiser, compliments of Kindel Thorus."

  "I hate to be the one to spoil your plans," Vultrel said through a wry smile, "but the only place this ship will be going is the scrap yard."

  "And what makes you think you can defeat me?" Truce asked with a chuckle. "If I remember right, I was on the verge of gutting you before Damien's girl interrupted our last encounter."

  A flourish of steel wrapped around Vultrel's body as his wrist rotated. "Your memory is biased. I was holding my own just fine, and since then I have been trained by two of Kindel's best fighters. My skill is leaps and bounds above what it was at Cathymel. Brace yourself, Truce. I intend to make this as painful as possible."

  Steel clashed in a burst of sparks as their weapons met across the center of the bridge. A rolling succession of clangs followed, each strike connecting with such speed that their swords were nearly invisible to the naked eye. Vultrel held his weapon with confidence, adrenaline flowing, energy at its peak. This was what he'd been planning for. He would make his father proud. He would make Keroko proud. He'd even make Arus proud. High and low, he struck and parried, each attack flowing together with the next as his father had taught him, movements a blur as he focused on Truce's actions. The Kyrosen's communicator buzzed with another desperate plea for help, a call that Truce seemed uninterested in answering. Vultrel jumped over a low swipe from his sword, then a dodged a high stab. He grabbed onto Truce's outstretched wrist with one hand and slashed his blade out with the other, marking the man with a long slice as he yanked his arm free. Truce jumped away as he examined the wound, but the pain never came close to his face.

  "I've drawn first blood," Vultrel gloated. "And it won't be the last." He lunged forward with his weapon held beside his hip, swinging it upward as he reached Truce. The Kyrosen spun to the side and wielded his own blade, cutting a gash in Vultrel's shoulder.

  "At least you were right about something," Truce said, nodding toward the trickles of blood running toward the young man's elbow. Their weapons met again, this time crossing at chest level. Vultrel planted his feet and pushed against his opponent's blade, straining with all
of his might to knock the Mage off balance. To his surprise, Truce took one hand away from his own weapon and held it out toward Vultrel's chest. "Never challenge a Kyrosen, boy. Least of all, me."

  Vultrel dropped the floor a stream of flames burst from Truce's palm, sailing over him and crashing into the communications terminal. Truce didn't give him an inch, turning his palm downward and firing another magical blast of fire. Again, Vultrel escaped by a hair, rolling to the side before leaping to his feet and backing away for room to maneuver. "Leave it to a Kyrosen to ruin what should've been a fair fight," he grumbled.

  Truce's palm was already facing him, but he paused for a moment at the comment. "We're both trying to kill each other, are we not? Murder is murder, regardless of how it is done."

  "You use an advantage I do not have in order to push the battle in your direction," Vultrel shot back. "It is disgraceful."

  The open palm turned into a single pointed finger. "You talk to me about disgrace? You, who turned your back on your friends and your planet to become Kindel's lapdog? Talk about hypocrisy! And why should I be bound by your limits? To restrict the use of my abilities would place an unfair handicap against me for the sake of making your task less difficult. Why should I make myself easier for you to kill?"

  "We were dueling with blades," Vultrel responded, eyes thinning. "Not fire."

  Truce only shrugged. "Seems to me that the only person who would benefit from a ‘fair fight' would be you, and that doesn't seem very fair."

  "Do what you wish," Vultrel finally snarled. "In the end, it won't matter."

  "You were quite confident in yourself a short while ago. Now you ask for mercy. Perhaps you've realized you're in over your head?"

  Steel flashed as Vultrel lifted his weapon and began to charge. "The Alliance wants you dead. The Armada wants you dead. Even the Kyrosen want you dead. Face it, Truce; the only person that is in over his head is you!" Their swords met again at the final word, sending a wave of numbing vibrations through Vultrel's arms. Over and over their weapons connected, steel clashing against steel as they circled the bridge. Truce continued to unleash magical blasts when he could get enough room, but Vultrel knew that his best way to avoid such attacks would be to stay close and keep the pressure on his opponent. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his face, and his muscles began to ache.

  Truce conversed with him as their swords whirled as though he was making casual dinner conversation. "You look tired. Did you sleep well last night? I say it's always best to get a good night's rest when I plan do battle the following morning." It was clear that he was trying to throw Vultrel's concentration.

  But the young man was up for the challenge. "You don't look all that rested yourself," he responded, knocking away two swipes before extending his arm in a series of stabs toward Truce's middle. "Didn't you know we were going to war today?"

  Sartan spun and deflected an attack meant for his legs. "I haven't been kept up with current events lately," he said, pursing his lips. "It's a difficult thing to do when you're trying to avoid discovery."

  "I'll bet." Vultrel faked a motion as if he were going for Truce's throat, and instead brought his blade down across the Mage's knee. The tip of his weapon tore through the fabric, and blood immediately oozed through the opening. Truce grimaced and retaliated with a violent flurry of strikes and stabs. "Then again, I managed to remain hidden on this tub for the past week. Collected a nice stash of weaponry for your buddies, too."

  "So you've incited these alleged traitors, then?"

  Vultrel's weapon was knocked away once more, and a searing sting shot across his stomach as Truce's blade skimmed along the surface. The wound wasn't deep, but it was enough to make just about every movement send searing waves of pain throughout his middle. Still, he refused to allow the pain to become visible. "I don't know that I'd say I incited them," he said, keeping his face smooth, "but I certainly helped further their intentions."

  "And why have these betrayers turned on me?" Truce asked, again aiming for his belly.

  Vultrel deflected the attack and struck with a series of maneuvers of his own. "I'm a little vague on that," he admitted, "but I believe that they are upset with what you did to Arus. One such individual I spoke with was afraid that his daughter would be experimented upon as Arus and Anton were."

  "I certainly would never want to use one of the Kyrosen for my projects," Truce murmured. He seemed to be thinking aloud. After a moment, his eyes refocused and his attacks intensified, beating against Vultrel's weapon with impressive force. "But I wouldn't rule out the possibility during desperate times. The survival of our people is my number one priority."

  "It isn't just fear of being turned into lab rats that compels them," Vultrel said, squeezing his hands firmly around the hilt of his sword as Truce pounded away. "They are unhappy with your ruthless and violent ways. They say they want to live as peaceful citizens, not the treacherous pirates you've turned them into."

  The Kyrosen's eyes widened at that, and he gave Vultrel's weapon one more stiff strike before jumping backward. "Pirates? Pirates!? How dare they? Here we stand on the brink of recovery from the blunders of my old man, and they compare my actions to those of pirates? I have never acted out of greed or without good cause. Everything I have done has served the purpose of returning to the stars! I should send every single one of those deserters back to the Mayahol!

  "You use people for your own selfish ambitions," Vultrel told him, relishing the moment to catch his breath. "You steal, murder, destroy, and devastate. You forced two young boys to submit to cybernetic experiments against their will. One of those boys is dead, and the other killed a countless number of his own people, including his master, before escaping from your grip. You have no remorse for what you've done, and you'd do it all again in a heartbeat."

  Truce's grin had vanished, and his upper lip curled into a sneer. "And what makes you so different from us?" He motioned with an open hand toward the bloody corpses that littered the bridge. "You are just like Thorus and myself. You clearly didn't feel that the lives of these crewmen were important enough to spare. And do you know why? Because your determination to get what you want drives you to go through anyone and anything in order to get it. That's how I live as well, boy, so don't try to act the righteous fool with me. I can see right through you."

  Mateo's voice rang in Vultrel's ears like a trumpet. All of the honesty and respect and love and nobility that your father taught you has been thrown away in your pursuit of your own selfish goals.

  Angrily, the young man raised his sword and lunged, screaming so loud that his throat felt as though it might burst. Truce calmly brought his blade up and knocked the attack away, rotating his body as he did to swing a heavy boot toward Vultrel's face. The kick knocked him flat on his backside, and his sword went clattering across the floor of the bridge. Truce wasted no time, sliding his sword behind his belt and extending his arms to either side.

  "Foolish boy!" The Mage's voice resonated across the bridge as winds began to kick up. "Deny it as you wish, but you and I are the same. We take what we want by force because the universe will never simply hand it to us." An orange light outlined his figure, and he brought his hands together in front of his chest. "However, where you refuse to acknowledge what you are, I embrace it!" Streaks of energy radiated from him, lashing out like serpents' tongues, sending sparks flying from the nearby terminals and leaving scorch marks across the floor. "I am Sartan Truce, leader of the Kyrosen, and I will never be defeated by a child such as you!"

  Wind whipped against Vultrel as he scrambled backward on all fours, his eyes locked on his opponent in terror. The fight had been going well until he'd allowed rage to take over, and the mistake had given the bloody Mage all the time he needed to truly display his power. Another surge of energy from Truce's body exploded against the terminal behind him, and the bridge lights winked out, leaving the two of them illuminated by the orange glow of Truce's power and the dim light of the stars above.
"You're going to kill us both!" Vultrel shouted, pointing toward the viewport. "If you aren't careful, that glass will shatter, and we'll both be sucked into space!"

  "I am no amateur, Vultrel," Truce responded through his grin. "I know how to wield my power. Allow me to demonstrate!" He threw his hands forward in a powerful thrust, sending a beam of energy nearly as large as himself hurtling toward Vultrel. "Goodbye, you bothersome pest! Send my regards to Kuldaan!"

  Somehow, Vultrel managed to scramble to his knees and leap between the tactical and communication terminals, rolling over his sword in the process. A searing heat grazed his feet as he cowered behind the stations, followed by an enormous explosion of flame and debris. Hot wind beat against the back his neck, and his arms felt as though they'd been baking in the Mayahol for ages. When the fires had finally calmed and the dust had settled, Vultrel heard Truce speak again.

  "I'm sorry it had to end that way, kid. Fitted with an implant, you could've made an impressive soldier."

  The comment registered after a few moments. He thinks I'm dead! He must not have seen me roll out of the way. That put Vultrel at an advantage, though capitalizing on it would likely prove to be difficult. The tactical terminal barely concealed him, and even the slightest movement would certainly give him away. If I could somehow move without—

  He lost his train of thought as his eyes drifted to the center of the bridge floor. The impact of Truce's blast had cut a man-sized hole, giving a clear view into what looked like a relaxation lounge below. At least, that's what it had been before being covered with shards of mangled steel and other assorted debris. The room appeared to be vacant, and the explosion had propelled hunks of metal and jagged strips of steel through the red and blue couches. If I can somehow manage to jump down there without being seen, I can sneak up on Truce at another time when his guard is down.

  A beep from the far side of the room perked his ears, but he dared not to move. Truce answered the call on his communicator calmly. "Yes?" Footsteps seemed to be moving to the left, and for a moment, the Kyrosen came into view as he walked around the far side of the hole. He was heading toward the lift.