It is high noon. The sun is at its fullest in the middle of the sky, but below, in the East Side of Titan City Savanna, Leon is huffing. His leather jacket lies on the grass; he is wearing a tank top and jeans, both dusty and sweaty like he was doing some type of physical work.
On the ground over the grasses, a few feet from him, lies a massive bull. Its horns and hooves are bronze, the rest of its body black. A bull sound is heard, but this one is knocked out.
Leon does not look surprised. He simply turns around and sees a white bull. It also has those same bronze horns and hooves, standing under fifty meters away from Leon. It hits its front left foot onto the ground. When that bronze hoof hits the ground, it sends a mini-tremor throughout the land, which is so intense that even Leon can feel it under his feet, traveling up his legs to his core.
Leon bends his knees, leaning forward like he is doing a barbell row, and breathes out, staring at the bull’s eyes. The white bull stretches its neck and head back—a classic sign it is about to charge. The huffing from its nostrils sends literal sparks into the air; it is like there is a fire mountain inside of it. But Leon does not budge. He does not break his stance.
As the wind stops blowing toward the bull’s direction and the air goes quiet, both of them stand still.
As another air wave comes, this time against Leon‘s face from the bull’s direction, it charges forward like its body and head are a single unit, shrinking its neck closest to its body.
Before Leon can breathe in, he mutters, “Weapons of Doom: Arrow,” as he sprints toward it for a head-on collision. His speed is now exceptional because arrows are generally very fast, despite the air current against him.
As they get close, Leon jumps off the ground and whispers, “Weapons of Doom: Hammer.” The air quality about his sprint evaporates.
To a sharp eye, it is like his body hardened as he starts falling over the bull. He now has the weight of a hammer. He positions himself in a way so that his left elbow hits its upper neck first; that will kill its charge and hopefully knock it out too.
But as he is about to close the fall, the black bull suddenly sprints out of nowhere and catches Leon‘s falling body with its bronze horns before impact, tossing him away.
As Leon splats on the ground, the impact is massive. The ten feet in the air toss, and then hitting the ground while he is still channeling the hammer, makes it a direct collision—like when a truck at full speed hits a full-speed sedan.
His external injuries have not been healed yet, so the fall causes him to roar out, “ARRUGH!”
Leon is lying on the ground, facing his left side, looking at the two bulls a few meters away from him staring death into his eyes. They break eye contact to look at each other and open their mouths together.
In that dizzying state, Leon can see a glow coming out of their throats. Even though he can somewhat see, he cannot move his body an inch, unable to accept the fact that this might be the end for him.
He goes into a trance-like state, wondering: Is this my end? Death on a field where harpies will devour my flesh, no one to honor me or give me a proper burial.
Unable to process the thought, he closes his eyes.
Unlike Jarrod when the ceiling was about to fall on him, and Taglia when Lesca was about to pierce his heart—both of whom invited their end—Leon cannot.
As the fire starts building from their throats, then in their mouths, they finally spit out a tsunami of flames. It is not a gentle yellowish flame; it is molten red and orange fire moving through the air like an F1 car on a track, raging toward Leon.
Something in the atmosphere changes!
The air was hot, yes, but there was no pressure. Suddenly, a tremendous amount of pressure builds.
It is so vast that the fire itself starts flickering, and even Leon has a hard time breathing because it sucks all the oxygen out of the air. Before the combined flame can engulf Leon‘s limp body, one large blade without a hilt drops between the flames and Leon.
The shockwave alone sends Leon‘s limp body flying backward a few meters.
He flutters his eyes open as he is still in the air from the shockwave the blade generated when it appeared in the middle of the sky and hit the ground. Leon feels like a newly awakened comatose patient. His body feels heavy like a sack of potatoes; he can feel the jerk but cannot control his body, and before he can finish his thought, he falls onto the ground.
DHIIISHHH!
Same as Leon, the pair of bulls feels the impact. Since they are heavier, they don’t get tossed back like Leon did, but they close their mouths, turn backward, and charge away.
With barely opened eyes, Leon sees the naked blade. The last thought he has is how big it is… ummm, the size of a redwood tree, perhaps?
And then he blacks out in the middle of this thought.
On the east horizon of Titan City, a golden hue is visible. The dawn is coming.
Friling is on his elbow, looking at Lesca sitting on 6’2″ Taglia‘s torso, her own torso almost healed around Taglia‘s fist as it is still impaling her navel.
Jarrod lies a little further away, face down and unconscious still.
Taglia is lifting his head up, his lips inches from Lesca‘s, with an accepting smile on his face. Lesca is also leaning on him, her nails resting gently over his heart, separated only by his rib bones, flesh, and skin.
The only change is that her eyes are wider than usual—not maniacal, but surprised after Taglia said, “Take it.”
It is like time has stopped for those two. The stench of carcass is gone, replaced by the solitary smell of jasmine.
Seeing Friling struggling, the skeleton Lesca left with him sits beside him to help him balance.
Seeing a sudden skeleton on his face out of nowhere causes Friling to finally muffle a scream, “AhhhUh!”
He is not afraid, he is just startled, but that is enough to break Taglia and Lesca‘s moment.
Both the predators, who were about to cannibalize each other—or maybe something more, who knows—snap their heads toward the sound of the grunt at the exact same time.
Lesca, worried, says, “Free!” Her bloody eyes return to normal.
The moment it happens, the skeletons turn into creamy bone dust and maroon liquid and move toward Lesca‘s body, being sucked into her through her skin pores, letting go of Taglia‘s shoulders and traps, setting him free, though he is still lying on the ground. She is about to get up, but how? Taglia‘s fist is still inside her.
She looks at the fist, then at his eyes.
Taglia drops that smile.
Steam, like he is a train engine from history books, starts to vent from his body as he shrinks down to his usual 5’10” state, releasing his Primal Mode Heat.
His hand gets free, and he gently pulls it out of her torso. The blood around that hole automatically starts boiling again, covering the now-empty space.
Lesca gets off of Taglia and runs to her brother to help him balance himself.
One of Friling‘s Raphael’s Wings, the left one, is gone, but the right one is flapping on the dusty road; two-thirds of it is torn out of Friling‘s back.
Now returned to her arrogant, calm, and bossy mood, Lesca snaps at Taglia while holding her brother.
“You sick fuck.” Then snapping back to Friling, she says, “Why isn’t it going back, Free?” Then snapping to Taglia again, “Look what you have done!”
Taglia slowly sits up, then stands up, adjusting his cargo pants so they don’t fall off. He says, “You are quite a murderous bitch yourself.”
Lesca looks at him, intrigued that he is keeping up with her banter even now.
No one until this point has stood up to her verbal abuse, and she is offended at the same time because no one calls her a bitch, though it doesn’t look like she minded the ‘murderer’ word.
She says, “You ripped off my brother’s wing, you asshole.”
Taglia looks at Friling, then at Lesca, and starts walking toward them. “Almost ripped off.”
He looms over the siblings, sighs, and then says, “His wings are a construct of metaphysical energy.”
Lesca snaps, “We know, professor, we use the same energy as you!”
Taglia‘s lip twitches. Annoyed because no one interrupts him when he is talking—well, almost no one—he says anyway, “They are essentially 5D. And since the wing’s power is healing, there is a very good chance they can heal themselves.”
Lesca snaps, “Chance? What are we doing here, running a lab experiment?”
Taglia ignores her, looks at Friling, and says, “Stop screaming like an infant. Summon your Heat, use the left wing’s feathers to stitch the right one with your back, and send them back. Next time when you summon them, they will be like before.” He mutters under his breath, “Hopefully.”
Lesca narrows her eyes as she catches the word.
Friling‘s mouth literally falls open. He thinks, I mean, what is this? This is the same man that almost rips off my wing and is now telling me about my Heat functions that even I do not know!
Lesca sits beside her brother and asks him in a tone never heard before, “Free, please try. I know it’s hard, but please, Free. For me.”
Friling, with all his might, does what he is told.
He closes his eyes and whispers, “Raphael’s Wings.” A moment later, the magnificent silver wing grows out of his left side. The pain is there, but he grits his teeth and focuses. Six feathers discharge from his left wing and move toward his right flank. On the way, they turn into silver threads. After reaching and positioning themselves between the part that is attached to Friling’s body and the hanging part, they start sewing themselves.
As the thread connects with the right wing parts, the friction literally sends sparks into the air, like rubbing two rocks together to create fire, or grinding two metals.
Moments pass by. Lesca is looking at her brother, taking maybe two breaths in ten seconds.
Taglia keeps his arms clasped in front of his body, looking down as Friling does the repair for the damage he caused, whether he says it out loud or not.
Finally, the stitches finish. It is far from perfect; there are still gaps between the wings like a loosely sewed piece of clothing, but it’s not flapping on the dust anymore like a headless chicken.
As Friling breathes out, “HAHHHH,” both wings glow and then vanish from the physical world.
Lesca looks more relieved than Friling himself. She covers her mouth, suppressing a laugh, but the sound still echoes in the dawn air. “AHH… HAHAH.”
But Friling is still exhausted, both physically and emotionally.Friling gets up, offering his hand to his sister.
Lesca smiles, takes his hand, and gets up, standing beside her brother as he wraps his right arm around Lesca‘s neck and kisses the left side of her head. She takes it, closing her eyes.
Friling finally looks at Taglia. Both are pretty much the same height, 5’10” vs. 5’9″.
Friling says, “I don’t know what to say. You are the same guy who tore my wings, and then told me how to fix it. But as my friend says—whom you knocked unconscious—just because you are bad does not mean I have to be. So thank you…”
Friling realizes he doesn’t know the name of the man standing in front of him. Taglia realizes and says, “Taglia.”
Friling slightly smiles because Taglia caught his hesitation and says, “Thank you, Taglia! For the advice.”
He goes to heal Jarrod.
Taglia takes all this with an aloof exterior.
As Friling leaves, Taglia solely focuses on Lesca, and as both stay silent, Taglia turns and begins to leave.
Lesca shouts, “Hey, where are you going? Clean this mess up!”
Taglia stops without turning and says, “I am not your pet dog.”
She says, “Then who will fix all this?”
He says, “Use your walking dead army.”
She says, “I can’t. I can only actively control them when I am angry.”
He says, “So all brawn, no brain.”
She replies, “Says the guy who looks like an ogre.”
He says, “I said brawn as a compliment, you negative-minded woman.”
She says, “Never come back, ever again.”
After a pause, he says, “Sure, I will,” and finally turns to give her a genuine smile, the second time in under a span of six hours.
In that same moment, the sun rises, giving his smiling face an eternal look.
Lesca keeps her calm exterior without reaction, but then, as he is out of sight, a small, wistful smile forms on her face as she whispers, “Please do!”
The ambulances, fire trucks, security, and authorities start to arrive on the scene, leaving their crossing paths in the hands of fate.
On the West Side of Titan City, beyond the 3rd block, the sun is finally up.
Deus is waiting. He is in his two-piece suit, though the tie is loosened and the collar button is open. He sees the four mercenaries who actually survived Jarrod‘s beatdown carrying a large, rectangular Pelican case. They get close to Deus and drop the box.
Deus asks, “Why did it take so long, and why only four of you? What happened to the other sixteen?”
The four men look at each other.
Ironically enough, one of them is the kid that annoyed Taglia earlier with his lack of knowledge and respect toward his katana. Another one of the four is the one that fell onto Taglia‘s feet when JDen activated his Heat the previous night.
All four of them are battered, but they were able to flee before Taglia vs. Jarrod started.
One of them says, “You don’t wanna know!”
Deus stares at their faces, then at the box, saying, “This is it?”
The kid says, “This is the only one we were able to carry.”
Another man says, “If you want more, you have to go and get it yourself!”
Deus ignores their ranting and says, “Open it.”
The guy who fell at Taglia‘s feet opens it.
As the five of them stare at what is inside the box, the kid asks, “What the fuck is it?”
Deus says, “That, my illiterate friend, is a 1.6m anti-material rifle with plasma bullets… it’s truly anti-matter!“
The gun has a presence and heat of its own, so obsidian black that it reflects the sun. One hundred centimeters of pure barrel, so fat that kids could slide in; the muzzle is twice the width of the barrel. The other sixty centimeters is pure grip and stock. It even has a pistol grip and a magazine clip chamber.
The four men look up, unimpressed by the explanation. They had their lives on the line and were unsure if they would live or not, so they literally don’t care!
The fallen guy says, “Our payments?”
Deus says, “What payment? Didn’t Mr. Chaos tell you? This is only the first half of the plan. You won’t get paid unless I am taking the Royal City Chair.”
One of the men tries to take a step at him, growling.
Deus takes a step back, saying, “Uh uh… you kill me, and you know what will happen to you, right?”
The man freezes. Deus, buttoning his collar and adjusting his tie, says, “Seal it up and let’s go!”
He turns and walks away from Titan City, soon followed by those four men carrying the case.
This is a brightly lit hallway.
A tall, slim man in a tucked-in white shirt with sleeves pinned at his wrists, a breast jacket, and navy blue pants is walking down a pristine marble-filled corridor where the walls, the floor, and the ceiling are shining marble. He looks like he hasn’t eaten anything in a while.
He opens a heavy, dark wooden brown door. It is a large room. At the far end of the room, there is a floor-to-ceiling window. In front of the window sits a giant wooden table, and in between the window and the table is a high-headrest chair made of brown leather.
The slim man says, “Sir, Mr. Deus contacted us. The Titan City operation was successful. He was able to retrieve what he went looking for.”
The serene, all-knowing voice rings out, “Thank you, Loyalist!”
Loyalist bows and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Inside the room, the chair finally turns toward the door the moment it closes. In his signature three-piece suit, Chaos is smiling, and he says to himself, “Let the games… BEGIN!”
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