Transgressions (II)

  Bright orange flashes lit up the space above Cyril. For some reason, each dazzling burst was always followed by a scream—brief, sharp—cut off just as the source was swallowed by the terrible aftermath of the light. Apparently, there was a lot of screaming going on, but he couldn’t be sure with all the smoke, ash and debris blowing around.

  He forced his body upright once his inner turmoil died down and rose to his feet wearing a stumped expression. “W-what happened?” He muttered aloud, unable to make sense of what his eyes were looking at.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I killed them.” A voice answered calmly from the front, dissipating the rising plumes of dust with nothing but it's tone. Once the smoke cleared, Cyril’s mind went blank as he took in the full devastation wrought by the magician’s attack. The entire layout of the room had changed from that one blast. Everything in the general direction of the large stone doors—Ralph, the stone monsters, a few pillars and the doors themself— had disappeared. Reduced to nothing but a large, sintering trench in the floor.

  That wasn’t the only thing that was out of place, littered about the newformed trench were remnants of what appeared to be torched human body parts. The burnt remains of torsos, heads and limbs were all scattered about the scalding span of the cavity in the floor.

  What the hell is this? This guy, he wasn’t that powerful before.

  Cyril’s frantic thoughts finally caught up to the wicked reality, right in time for him to notice both the opportunity and the tragedy afoot. His eyes lingered on the burnt remains of his peers a second too long and before he knew it something was already forcing its way back up his chest. His body slumped reflexively, succumbing to the large spew of bile that surged up his throat, spilling onto the ground in a violent cascade.

  The acrid taste lingered, mixing with the bitter tang of smoke in the air.

  Cyril was no stranger to violence. Anyone who strayed from the comforts of everyday life in Babylon could easily find themselves exposed to the city's darker counterpart. The recent incursion had been a stark reminder of that fact. But this—this was different. For the first time, he found himself trapped in a grim situation where he could do nothing. Advance or retreat—neither option seemed any better than the other. The fact that his body still reacted meant he hadn’t gone completely numb to death.

  It took him a while to catch his breath, and luckily, it appears as if a certain magician had ceased his onslaught for the moment. Don't think about it, don't think about it! Focus! You need to get out of here!

  Repeating that mantra a dozen times or so managed to clear the fog threatening to veil his perception. It was all he could do to strengthen his resolve and force himself to move. Willing his own body to obey, he finally rose to his feet, his legs shaking with the effort. The incessant ringing in Cyril's ears still wasn’t gone but he could hear well enough to discern the advantage at play.

  They stopped moving.

  He spun his body to confirm his suspicions, which came to pass only a second later. The encroaching stone army was no longer moving. Their original domain of fifty meters was reduced to a measly ten, but such a thing was trivial when compared to the stakes from a few minutes ago. He turned his body again to glance at the rear where, not only had an entire segment of the monster barricade been reduced to ashes but the stone doors themselves were blown to pieces.

  I can escape! This is it! Cyril thought, shouting internally.

  “Go, Marcel, I’m running out of time!” Evan exclaimed. He had only launched a few attacks thus far—the strongest ones in his arsenal— and the cost of that power was beginning to show. His radiant aura from earlier had dimmed considerably, fading alongside the oppressive sense of dread surrounding his presence.

  That alone was bad enough but whatever backlash he was experiencing was starting to affect his body as a whole. Small blotches of his skin were starting to glow and char all on their own accord as if his own power was out to set him on fire.

  “Good work Evan. One of them managed to escape but that shouldn’t give us too much trouble, you’ve served me well.” Marcel answered with a fiendish smile. He took a moment to survey the room with only his eyes and started walking the moment he registered Cyril’s face amongst the handful of survivors.

  “You’re free to do as you please with the rest of them Evan, you’ve earned the right to.”

  Upon leaving that comment behind, he sauntered past the glowing magician and broke into a dash for the exit. His efforts were earnest to a fault but judging by how often his limbs tumbled and flailed about, athletics clearly weren’t his forte, especially not in his current condition. After a while, the disgraceful sight of the fleeing youngster completely disappeared beyond the scorched doorframe. Gone and out for freedom, the young Phoenix had escaped.

  “Now then, I suppose it's time I dispose of you all. We can’t have any of you leaking information to the association about what you just saw after all. Not until the product is perfected, that is.” Evan said simply, puffing a tepid breath of air from his cheeks.

  His body was still being consumed by the ever-increasing singes popping up on his skin, and still the magician had yet to show any sign of fear or pain. Only ambivalence was being conveyed through the hollow lens of his eyes.

  “Are you really doing this now of all times when we can all escape together?” Cyril retorted, barking at his elder with a baleful gaze.

  Although the statues had temporarily stopped, he didn’t know when they would start moving again or what the boss standing atop the dais was planning. From his perspective, there was no point in fighting someone who already had one foot in the grave, especially not under these circumstances. That was when Cyril realized something.

  Evan hadn’t made a single move against the boss standing atop the dais, even after receiving a massive boost in power. His strength had surged, his senses sharpened—yet he didn’t strike. Instead, he focused on Marcel’s escape and silencing everyone who had seen him consume the illicit capsules. That could only mean one thing—it was pointless. Even with all that newfound power, the gap between Evan and the boss was almost laughable. If the boss wasn’t making a move, there was no reason to throw away his life—however little of it remained.

  “I thought I humbled you in our last encounter, but you still seem to be on a high note boy. The circumstances have changed, and your guardian saint is dead now, so I have no qualms about taking your life. Not when I finally have the opportunity to purge you for what you did a year ago.” Evan replied with an accusing finger, settling it on the spot between Cyril’s brows.

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  He’s not willing to let it go. Looks like I have no choice then...!!

  Courage bubbled up from deep within Cyril’s mind. The situation had changed, there was a way out of this—a way home. His death was no longer a certainty. Shaking his head, the boy cast off his anxiety and took a stance. Firmly clutching the hilt of his sword, he centered the weapon’s lustrous blade on the torso of his self-destructing foe. Including himself there were five people left in all. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the four remaining rookies were nothing more than that —’rookies’ in every sense of the word. From the blatant looks of horror on their faces, they clearly weren’t in any condition to fight. Not after seeing how quickly Evan mowed down their numbers.

  The only choice in their minds was ‘give up’, an option Cyril didn’t align with so the chances of allying with them had already dropped to a resolute zero. It was every man for themself, and Cyril quickly realized that he was in no position to save anyone.

  Sparing a moment, Cyril shifted his vision to something else behind him, the armored monster standing atop the dais. He wouldn’t feel comfortable about rushing in to attack with something like that stalking his every move, although the monster itself had yet to take any decisive action besides standing up.

  Evan’s body was blocking his path to freedom.

  Five meters separated them, a small but dreadful distance under the current circumstances. Cyril took a deep breath, sharpened his sight and lunged forward with enough force to rupture the ground. He had charged at the magician head on, but his trajectory was being haphazardly altered by a series of sharp twists, turns, and pivots.

  His application was both a far cry from Yelena’s utilization of the technique, and a maneuver ordinary humans couldn’t hope to replicate. He closed the five-meter gap in a flash, lunging for the magician’s throat with a clean swipe of his blade. The attack was on target and closing in fast, but Evan simply watched the incoming blow with an eerie calm, as if time itself had slowed, before raising a finger at the last second. However, the impending blow never came.

  The magician’s eyes bulged from shock.

  The attack that was mere inches away from greeting his jugular suddenly stopped—no, that wasn’t it. Both the blade and its owner disappeared. Evan spun his body reflexively only to see his enemy making a desperate beeline for the ruined exit.

  “You think I’m that easy to fool?!” he growled bitterly.

  Falling for such a simple feint—which was nothing more than Cyril abruptly anchoring himself to the ground and changing directions—left yet another blemish on the magician's pride. Evan willed a vicious swirl of crackling flames to coalesce in his palm, the spell formed in a fraction of a second and no sooner than it did had he unleashed it with a furious swipe of his hand. A pyre of flames spawned immediately and traced the motion of his hand to block off the exit with a literal wall of hellfire.

  Cyril’s feet ground to an instinctual halt; the raging flames drove him back like a predator closing in.

  Damn, what now? There’s no way I can beat this guy; I need to escape somehow...

  His initial plan had failed, and the countermeasures weren’t coming together fast enough—they couldn’t form in time because his opponent had already made his move. Before his thoughts could even settle properly, Cyril heard a chant.

  Leaping to the left on instinct, he centered his line of sight on the origin of the spell.

  There he saw numerous fist sized flaming orbs— and four burning corpses — surrounding Evan’s huffing body. His abdominals were well on their way to being completely charred black—not to mention his mounting fatigue—and yet he still managed to eliminate four people in the blink of an eye. Evan flicked his wrist, and with that one gesture the countless fiery spheres drifting around his body blasted off at random. The room shook from a violent series of booms, quakes and crashes—all a result of the indiscriminate fusillade of flaming bullets unleashed at random.

  There was no way to completely avoid such an attack—one with no definite target in mind. Cyril understood that, so he opted for the next best thing. Mere seconds before he was blown to pieces, he dove towards a nearby pillar seeking cover but then, something unexpected appeared before his hopeful eyes.

  “Wha-!!”

  The words weren’t allowed to form; his voiced was eclipsed by shock.

  The image of his opponent suddenly manifested in the space between himself and his only form of refuge—a thick stone pillar. It was a feat achieved not by magic, but pure physical speed. Currently, there were many ways to describe the boy’s airborne position: unguarded, exposed, and vulnerable all fit perfectly. But in purely combat terms, the most accurate description would be 'wide open.'

  The realization struck him like a curse, and before he could even make any sloppy attempt at guarding himself, Evan seized the opportunity. His outstretched hand effortlessly willed another sphere of flames to coalesce at his fingertip and just as before, the magician repeated the same invocation:

  “Incendius”

  “Cra-!”

  A shockwave rippled through the air.

  Instantly, the flaming sphere compressed, its surface trembling under the immense pressure, before it erupted into a fiery torrent. Flames roared outward, consuming everything in their path—from the young deviant to the rows of stone soldiers behind him, and far beyond. The last thing Cyril remembered seeing was a blinding flash of light, and the last thing he felt was a searing heat enveloping him, followed by an eerie, bone-deep stillness. Then, the world dissolved into darkness, silent and absolute.

  What...happened? Cyril probed internally, struggling to assemble his cryptic thoughts.

  His vision had been flipped once again, but this time was different. Usually whenever this happened, he would have sprung to his feet in seconds but for some reason; his body refused to move.

  My body feels cold. What did he...what did Evan do?

  The foggy haze in his mind evaporated the moment he recalled that name. His heart raced with vigor, pumping strength into his joints and giving him enough energy to force his body upright.

  Or at least that’s what he wanted to do. Instead, he forced his body to roll over, but that was it. He was struggling to push himself off the ground, each attempt leaving him with a vivid sensation of pain, one that was simply too great to ignore. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be conquered through sheer willpower.

  His heart was still racing but the pain and fear had yet to subside.

  Finally, Cyril relented.

  He rolled his body again and braced himself to rise, pushing through the pain with gritted teeth. After all of that effort, the boy was able to discern what his own mind refused to believe. Cyril’s eyes widened, a mix of shock, fear, and disbelief coursing through him. His mind struggled to process the grotesque sight of his lower body—or what remained of it. His right leg and arm were gone, scorched beyond recognition, while the charred remnants of his abdomen had twisted into an unrecognizable, grotesque shape.

  Then it hit him—the sharp, searing pains weren’t just from the burns. Jagged fragments of shrapnel were embedded in his molten flesh, each one a cruel reminder of the devastation he had barely survived.

  “Ah..Ah..Aaah..”

  Unable to speak, curse or retaliate, his body naturally responded in the only way it could.

  “Aaaaaaagggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!”

  His parched throat stretched and tore with the howl, yet Cyril pressed on. His cry brought forth traces of blood and bile into his mouth, but the boy paid no mind. When he could no longer vocalize his agony, his mind continued to scream.