Emotion erupted in scream that just might have been heard on the surface of the planet. Vultrel's blood may as well have been on fire, and he hissed through clenched teeth with every breath. If it weren't for Truce, he'd still be living happily in Keroko with his father as his teacher and Arus as his best friend. If it weren't for Truce, Anton would still be alive, the implant wouldn't exist, and Damien and Kitreena would've had no reason to come to Terranias in the first place. It was all his fault, his doing. The life Vultrel had lost—a life he'd never get back—had been taken from him by Sartan Truce and the Kyrosen, and now, Vultrel was going to return the favor.
In a blind rage, he lunged forward, fists balled so tightly that he could feel his nails digging into his palms. His knuckles were inches away from Truce's chin when he felt an excruciatingly sharp pain shoot from the front of his left shoulder to the back, a cold jolt that sent agonizing twangs laced with tingles of numbness along his arm. When he opened his eyes, his face paled. Amidst his fury, he'd failed to notice that Truce had retrieved his sword, and the Mage had planted it to the hilt through his shoulder.
"There is one more aspect of magic that I forgot to tell you about," Truce said through a satisfied smile. "Some of the more talented sorcerers have learned how to manipulate people's emotions."
The Mage released his grip on the sword and let Vultrel collapse to his knees. His left arm dangled lifelessly at his side, wide eyes staring in disbelief at the weapon's steel pommel. Is this really how it ends? His breaths began to quicken as panic overtook him, sudden nausea churning in his stomach once more. Truce placed his hand on Vultrel's forehead and sighed.
"Remember, Vultrel. I didn't create the hatred. I simply enhanced it."
Again, his body was overwhelmed by burning ripples of pain as Truce drew the heat from his body. Every fiber of his being told him to stand up and fight despite the sword that was lodged through his shoulder, but his body refused to cooperate. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard Mateo's voice again. Oh, Vultrel. What have you done? You could've turned your life around. You could've disowned your hatred, atoned for your crimes. I know you don't think it to be possible, but Arus did it. He has held fast to the teachings of your father, and he has thus far proven that fighting for the right cause does not require a sacrifice of morality. He did it, Vultrel. You could have, too.
It was as though he was being kicked while he was down. For so many years, Vultrel had been better than Arus in more ways than one. He had looked upon the boy almost like a student of his own. But now, everyone applauded Arus while he received nothing but condemnation. Arus was given all the praise, and all Vultrel got was disgusted shakes of the head. Everything was all about Arus now, and Vultrel had been thrown to the shadows as the failed student of Eaisan Lurei that couldn't measure up to the son of Dayne Sheeth. That's why I chose the path I did. I was forced into it by Arus. There was no other way for me to prove myself to everyone. It's his fault that my father died. It's his fault that I joined with Kindel. And the blame for my death rests squarely on his shoulders as well.
A booming voice from the doorway cut through his thoughts. "Sartan Truce!"
Truce whirled to face the intruder, and Vultrel was able to get a glance toward the library's entrance. Muert stood just inside, a brilliant sphere of electricity surrounding his body. His two massive hands were clasped together at his right side, and he seemed to be drawing the electricity into them. Streaks and slithers of light crackled and popped around the angles of his body; the amount of energy he was drawing seemed to be a strain on him. Light gleamed across his bared teeth, and his arms shook visibly under the intense power he'd gathered. "I'll no longer allow you to drag the name of the Kyrosen through the mud. It is time for a new direction, a new focus, and a new leader!"
Beside him, a woman wearing a dress embroidered with assorted flowers stood with her own hands pressed together at her middle, and a shining white fire encompassed them. Thick black hair was tied behind her head with a large red ribbon, and she wore a peach-colored shawl around her shoulders. There was the steadfast determination of an experienced warrior in her face—something Vultrel was certainly not surprised to see in a Kyrosen woman—and her dark eyes glistened with the reflection of the flame's light. "The Kyrosen demand better, Truce!" Her commanding voice filled the library. "And with your death, we shall have it!"
Truce's icy grip on Vultrel vanished, and the leader of the Kyrosen stepped toward the two. "Muert, Keilan, you must understand that my actions were all done in the best interest—"
"We shall decide what is in our best interest, Truce!" Muert cut him off with surprising authority. "You will terrorize the innocent no longer!"
Both Mages threw their hands forward, hurling dual streams of magical energy. Spiraling streaks of lighting burst from Muert's hands and crashed into Truce's chest while Keilan's blinding bar of fire enveloped his entire body. Truce's screams rang across the library, throughout the corridors, and across the expanse of the Falcon Mist as the flames swallowed him, obscuring him in a tower of fire that scorched the ceiling. Lightning cracked and popped throughout, filling the air with a continuous rolling thunder that toppled bookcases and shook other assorted books from their shelves. Eventually, Muert and Keilan ceased the flows of fire and lightning, and when the tower of flame finally dwindled into nothingness, Sartan Truce was no more.
Vultrel was still on his knees, he realized, though his tunic was now soaked with blood and there was little feeling left in his arm. With a sigh of exhaustion, he slumped to the floor, the blade sending fresh waves of pain through his shoulder that made him grind his teeth in agony. The world had begun to fade long ago; the loss of blood was certainly taking its toll. But his eyes still worked enough for him to see Muert and Keilan at his side, the big man standing back to let his wife take a closer look at his injury.
"Are you all right, Vultrel?" Muert asked.
"I've seen better days," he heard himself say. His voice sounded groggy and weak.
"We may be able to save him if we can get him back to one of the secure decks," Keilan said. "We'll have to call Grisdan and Tonulle up from the cargo hold to operate. The Maker willing, they're still alive."
"Hang in there, Vultrel." Muert's voice seemed to bounce around in his skull. "We're going to take care of you."
So after all he'd gone through, after everything he'd sacrificed and every battle he'd survived, Vultrel had still failed to kill Sartan Truce. And if Muert and Keilan hadn't shown up when they had, he would most certainly be dead by now. As it was, there was still little hope for survival as far as he was concerned, though he was aware that medical practices in space were much more advanced than those back on Terranias. But even if I manage to survive, then what? I have no place anywhere, now. There is nowhere I'll be accepted after all I've done. Keroko had no use for me, Kindel Thorus has lost his mind, and Sartan Truce is dead. On top of all that, I've disgraced the Maker, myself, and my father. Perhaps it would be better if I just died.
Curse you, Arus! None of this would've happened if not for you! Curse you to the Abyss! If you and I ever cross blades again, I swear I'll put you in your place for everything you've done to me. Mark my words.
*******
The stars above the ocean were quickly obscured by rolling clouds, a tumultuous wall of black that billowed like smoke. Lightning forked from within, scattering into complex webs of streaking light that rained down upon the South Sea. The wind on the beach was calm for the moment, though that surely wouldn't last. In the distance, waves rose beneath the swirling sky where the border of the storm turned peaceful waters into raging white-capped mountains of blue. On the beach, a figure shrouded in black stood where the ocean's foam licked at his boots. What little white remained in his hair gleamed with every lighting strike. At his side, the Blade of Kaleo shed its oily black light like a lantern of darkness.
The first breath of wind brushed Arus' skin and swept across the beach, causing the treetops linin
g the distant edge of Keroko Forest to sway. It was a feeling that made his spine shiver, and unnatural breeze that vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. Though night had long since settled over this side of the planet, the implant allowed him to make out everything clearly. The spiraling clouds that crept toward the shore were eerily reminiscent of the skies during their last encounter with Kindel, though Arus knew he should've expected as much. His sensors had been rendered inoperative since they'd arrived on the surface, just as they had on Arynias. He had little doubt that tornadoes would soon begin to funnel down from each swirling core, but a tiny strand of hope suggested that they might be able to stop Kindel before such events took place. A very tiny strand. This was not how he'd envisioned his homecoming.
To his left, Damien and Kitreena stood, their faces set with determination. Kitreena seemed to be having an easier time controlling her abilities; remaining in her Morphed state didn't appear to be much of a strain. The ribbons of light that rose from her body did little to beat back the night's darkness, but if the menacing threat of the coming storm had sparked any sort of fear in her, she didn't let it show. Outwardly, she was as prepared for battle as anyone could be, much like her partner. Damien's face made ice seem warm, and he appeared to be unaware of the way his fingers constantly flexed. Still, the sadness in his eyes betrayed his true feelings; he very much regretted what he was about to do. For every bit of anger and frustration that showed in his clenched jaw, twice as much remorse and compassion swelled within. There was no hate in that stare.
They were within twenty-five paces of Kindel when he spoke, his voice carrying across the shoreline. "So this is what it has come to, has it? Brother against brother, Zo'rhan against Zo'rhan. I suppose my inability to open your eyes gives the Ma'tuul a sort of moral victory, but I will make one more plea. Aldoric, will you not reconsider? Will you not join me to end the fighting and restore order to the universe?"
Damien's voice was as cold as his expression. "The order you seek to press upon the planets of the universe is one of fear and intimidation. You have spent your years since leaving Zo'rhan building up your power so that you could forcibly persuade innocent people to do as you wish. To bring sovereign nations to their knees. You treat kings and queens as mere tools in your quest for glory, and average citizens are valued even less. Arus, Vultrel, the High Lady Almatha, the innocent creatures of Arynias, and all of the other lives you've irrevocably altered over the years; they all have a right to their freedom, a right to choose what they want for their lives, and nothing gives you the authority to take that away from them! I'd sooner die by my own hand than help you, Kindel. Not unless it is to turn you away from this path."
Thorus didn't bother to turn around. He stared out at the sea for a moment before speaking again. "When a deer grazing in the field is attacked by a hungry lion, does anyone interfere? Does anyone rush to the aid of the weaker animal? No, they all stand back and say that it is simply the course of nature. The circle of life, the law of the wild. The weak are weeded out, and the strong reign supreme. That is the way of the universe. It is a lesson we were taught by the Ma'tuul, and I will not ignore it. Those who truly wish to carry on must do so by whatever means necessary, despite what your sad sense of morality tells you. Morality is a weakness of mortals, Aldoric. It holds us back and keeps us from reaching true greatness."
"True greatness?" Damien spat. "You call the abandonment of morality to be a mark of greatness? It is a mark of the Ma'tuul, Kindel! A mark of the conqueror! Anyone can cower to the sinful desires of their flesh, but it takes a truly great man to stand for what is right in spite of those desires! You think I didn't want to see the Ma'tuul torn limb from limb? I was there, Kindel! I watched what they did to Mother and Father just as you did! But I knew that if I let myself be overcome by hatred, I'd wind up in the very position you now find yourself. You have allowed your bitterness to consume you, and now you are so deeply immersed in your anger that you may as well be drowning in it."
Kindel's shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "I had hoped you might finally see the truth of things, but it is clear that you are content to hide behind your rhetoric of peace and honor. You don't seem to realize that peace is not attainable, with or without the Vezulian Armada as a part of the galaxy. There will always be wars, Aldoric. There will always be those that try to exalt themselves above the rest. Your vision for the universe is unrealistic and unattainable. So I have chosen to prepare myself for the challenges that I know will come rather than adhere to your outdated ideology."
Damien closed his eyes and shook his head. "Then we will always be on opposite sides of the battlefield." From beneath his cloak, he produced a weapon that looked like a cross between a short sword and an axe, a wide blade with two points and an inverted curve that was sharpened on its inner edge. A Zo'rhan design of jagged shapes was cut out of the middle of the blade, leaving some sections completely hollowed through. "I'm sorry, Kindel. I know that Father would've liked to see a reconciliation between us."
Now Kindel turned, his shining eyes radiating azure light. "Only you stand in the way of such an event, Aldoric. My arms are open."
"Your conditions are sacrifices that I will not make. Not now, not ever."
The Blade of Kaleo left a wide streak of darkness in its wake as Kindel readied it for combat. "To the death, then."
Thunder split the sky as the brothers darted forward, weapons clashing with a shower of sparks. They exchanged two blows before Kindel disappeared and reappeared behind Damien, the Blade of Kaleo coming within inches of his scalp before he got his weapon up. Again Kindel vanished, appearing this time to Damien's left. Miraculously, he blocked the attack yet again and retaliated with his own series of strikes. They continued in this manner; Kindel repeatedly teleporting from side to side, left to right, back to front, while Damien struggled to keep up. Somehow, he managed to block every slash, every stab, every swipe, and when a particularly hard strike sent him stumbling backward, Arus drew his sword.
Damien motioned for him to step back. "This is between my brother and I. Should I fail, you two will be the universe's last hope for peace. But as long as I am standing, please stay clear of the fight."
Arus opened his mouth to protest, but Kitreena simply nodded and trotted back several paces. What are you doing? he called out to her. You've seen what Kindel can do with that thing! You're going to leave Damien to fend for himself?
The Zo'rhan are a warrior race, Arus, she responded, waving for him to follow her. You may have trouble following Kindel's movements, but Damien has been honing his battle skills since he was a boy. His reflexes are so attuned that he can react the very instant that Kindel appears so long as he has no distractions. That's why we can't interfere. If Damien has to worry about where we are so that he doesn't accidentally hurt one of us, it will slow his reaction time.
Arus glanced at her and nodded slowly. Despite how much he wanted to be more than a mere spectator, her explanation made sense. How Damien could react with less than a second to do so was beyond him, but then, he hadn't had hundreds of years of training, either. I can't imagine having such . . . his thought trailed off as a particular part of her explanation raised his eyebrows. Can you follow Kindel's movements?
My senses are heightened hundreds of times above their normal level so long as I'm in my Morphed state, her reply came back. I can almost feel his presence before he even appears.
So, of the three of them, it was Arus who was at the biggest disadvantage. With his sensors inoperative and his eyes nowhere near as sharp as Kitreena's or Damien's, he had the least to offer. Not that he would consider backing down from the challenge should it come down to that, but if he somehow wound up facing Kindel one on one, he didn't see any way that he could possibly survive, much less win.
An explosion tore Arus from his thoughts, and a mushroom of fire rose into the air above Kindel and Damien; who exactly had thrown the blast was unclear. Both men were shielding their eyes, but seconds later they
were back at it, clashing blades as Kindel teleported back and forth. Damien seemed to be having an easier time keeping up as the fight wore on, but then Kindel vanished and didn't reappear. Thunder crackled with an ominous flash as the three of them looked this way and that, watching and waiting with eyes and ears alert. "Watch yourselves," Damien warned, circling slowly with his weapon poised. "He could appear anywhere."
The first drops of rain dotted Arus' arm. Harsh winds picked up in a heartbeat, roaring with intensity as though the beach sat in the exhaust path of a starship. Crashing waves beat against the shore, growing larger and larger with each swell of water. The rain went from a faint drizzle to a heavy downpour while lightning and thunder cut through the air together, sending tremors through the ground with each ear-splitting crackle. It was one of the worst storms Arus had ever seen, and certainly the worst to make landfall in Asteria in his lifetime.
And suddenly Kindel was there, shooting through the air with a foot extended toward Damien's chest. The kick connected with incredible force, throwing Damien backward and sending him tumbling end over end across the sand. He stopped on his back and somehow had the presence of mind to bring his weapon up to block Kindel's. The Blade of Kaleo inched closer and closer to Damien's chest, and he struggled with a grunt to hold his brother at bay. Even Kitreena seemed nervous; her fingers twitched beside her waist just inches from her whip. Arus understood how she felt. His own feet seemed ready to run out from under him to aid Damien.
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