Zakos' eye twitched as he stared at Dragan Hadrien, unable to believe the words that had just been thrown at him.

"You?" he whispered, turning, his broken arm dragging on the floor behind him. "You're going to beat me to a pulp?"

"That's right," smiled Hadrien. "Are you having trouble hearing me?"

Zakos laughed, long and hard, rubbing his good hand over his face as he did. Oh, this was hilarious. This was rich. Dragan Hadrien should pursue a career in comedy. It was so funny that he wasn't even mad. No, he wasn't mad at all.

Deep breath through the nose.

"You're so funny," Zakos said, voice low. "I can't believe how funny you are, traitor. Did you hear me laughing just now? It was because you're so funny."

Hadrien just kept smiling that damn smile. "I'm glad to see you're taking your defeat in such good spirits."

The remnants of a smile dropped from Zakos' face. "It's not as funny the second time."

"I'm not joking." 

Hadrien didn't even blink. There was a damnable apathy to him, an unacceptable apathy. He clearly didn't know what he was doing - he wouldn't dare otherwise - but everything about Dragan Hadrien was infuriating him like nothing else.

Ignoring the pain from his broken arm, Zakos lifted the other one, cracked his knuckles. He brought his body low down, ready to move at a moment's notice. He could destroy Hadrien in a second without a doubt. 

He'd teach that brat what it really meant to take on a Special Officer.

"I can sense it, boy," said Zakos, pointing at Hadrien. "You're weak. Those Aether pings you used to trick me were from del Sed, am I right? You wouldn't be capable of Aether pings across that kind of distance. I could snap your neck between two of my fingers. Your confidence is just delusion."

Hadrien didn't say anything to that. He just cocked his head, still smiling.

Zakos took a deep breath through his nose and narrowed his eyes. This brat wasn't showing him any respect at all - not even fear. Samael Ambrazo Zakos was not a toy to be tormented for the amusement of others. 

As a Special Officer - no, as a human being, he was entitled to a certain amount of respect. Those who did not give that respect were scum.

He'd give Hadrien one last opportunity to redeem himself.

"I see you've stolen an arm from one of my automatics," said Zakos, gesturing to the device in Hadrien's hand. "I won't comment on the dishonour of stealing without reason. Can I assume from that shot earlier that you've converted the arm into a simple plasma pistol?"

No answer.

"That's fine," chuckled Zakos, waving his arm through the air theatrically. "It's fine if you don't wish to talk. I would want to save my breath for my last words, too, if I were in your position. So, I'm going to speak now on the assumption that that is a converted plasma pistol you're holding in your hand there."

Again, no reply. Zakos clicked his tongue in annoyance. Enemies though they may be, that was no excuse for rudeness.

He pushed down the urge to rush at Hadrien immediately and spoke: "So - I have a proposition for you that will allow you to avoid a painful death at my hands. Put that pistol to your head and pull the trigger."

Hadrien still didn't speak, but his face twitched, his expression shifted slightly. Zakos grinned: he'd finally gotten a reaction out of the brat.

"If you choose not to end your life peacefully," Zakos said. "I will come over to you and make you regret that decision. I'll snap your arms and legs like twigs. I'll pluck your eyes from their sockets, and rip your tongue from your mouth. I'll tear out your fingernails and peel away your skin. I'll feed you your own organs, and have you thank me for the honour."

As he spoke, Zakos became more engrossed in the fantasy he was weaving, the words coming out thicker and faster as if he were drunk on the idea of such heavenly retribution. He even had to swallow to prevent himself from salivating.

"I'm sure you agree that would be an unpleasant experience for you," Zakos concluded. "In comparison, putting a gun to your head and simply turning yourself off doesn't seem quite so bad, does it? You'll escape from my grasp quite readily that way, and through that honourable death you'll atone for the disrespect you've shown me. Your suicide would benefit both of us."

Zakos smiled. No matter Hadrien's answer, he was fine with it. If Hadrien chose to kill himself as Zakos had told him to, well, there could be no greater show of respect. To have another person end their life based solely on your command? Yes, that was respect worthy of a Special Officer.

And if Hadrien chose incorrectly and didn't pull the trigger? Well, the fantasy Zakos had spoken of really was very enticing.

"Your answer?" Zakos said, grinning his oil-black grin.

Dragan Hadrien laughed, the short sound echoing through the hall. It was a genuine laugh, as if Zakos had just told a funny joke. As if Zakos was a funny joke.

He took in a deep breath through his nose, and another, and another.

The brat wiped a tear from his eye. "Haha, that's pretty good," he said. "It almost sounded like a real threat. I mean, if you were a Special Officer or something, I might have believed it, but -"

Zakos screamed with rage, kicking off the ground and leaping across the room in a second. Yellow Aether flared around his entire body like a supernova, and he brought his good arm up like a club - ready to smash through Hadrien's flimsy body the second he came into range.

Hadrien's next movement changed his plan, however.

The brat brought up the plasma pistol and pointed it at the incoming Zakos - normally that wouldn't be a cause for concern, but bright blue Aether was flowing from Hadrien's arm into the device.

An unenhanced plasma shot couldn't even scratch Zakos, but he wasn't sure how much Hadrien could enhance a shot. Likely it would still be weak, but there was no point in risking it by taking the blow. It was no great feat to simply jump at Hadrien again after dodging the attack, after all.

Zakos twisted his body in mid-air, and the flare of blue-and-orange plasma went sailing under his arm into the darkness. In order to dodge the shot, he'd had to move his arm to a position where it wouldn't hit Hadrien, but that was fine. His retribution had only been delayed for a second or two -

As Zakos flew through the air next to Hadrien, instead of moving to dodge, the brat lunged forwards, holding some kind of melee weapon in his other hand. Aether crackled around the indistinct weapon - it too was infused. 

Eyes widening, Zakos moved to dodge that too, but he'd left it too late. He felt the slightest pain in his arm as something broke the skin and lodged there, sticking out of the limb.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Landing a meter or two behind Hadrien, Zakos glanced down at the foreign object, his brow furrowing in confusion. When he saw what was sticking out of his skin, he could only laugh.

It was a syringe. A medical syringe - made to seem even tinier than it was due to Zakos' bulk - was protruding from his arm. The plunger had already been pushed down, so the contents of the syringe had entered his body.

"This is your plan?" chuckled Zakos. With a flex of his massive arm, the syringe lodged in it shattered, it's pieces falling to the floor. "Tell me, then, boy. What was in that? Some kind of poison, I assume?"

Cloak pulled tight around him, Hadrien glared at him from across the short distance. The levity he'd shown moments ago had completely disappeared. "It's a sedative," he said quietly.

Zakos' laugh intensified for a moment, becoming a guffaw. "A sedative?" he said. "You haven't had Aether very long, have you, boy? It interferes with medicine like this. Even if a tiny amount like this could affect me, it'd take hours."

He rose to his full height, towering over Hadrien. The boy took a hesitant step back. There. There was the terror a Special Officer should inspire.

Then the brat's expression hardened - and with a whip of his arm, he tore his cloak off and to the floor.

-

Underneath the cloak, Dragan was wearing a hastily-assembled bandolier, stocked with all the sedatives he'd managed to grab before leaving the Humilist camp.

"One sedative wouldn't do much, yeah," smirked Dragan, trying to ignore the sweat dripping down his forehead. "So let's see how much I can pump you full of before you drop."

That was easier said than done, though. The Special Officer was blindingly fast - and the plasma pistol would only work as a means to control his movements so long as he didn't actually get hit by it. Dragan knew better than anyone that the plasma wouldn't do any damage.

All he had were his words, the syringes and the plasma pistol. But they were all he needed.

One syringe in.

Flaring his Aether, Dragan dodged to the side as Zakos slammed his fist down on the spot where he'd just been standing, sending a shower of rubble flying upwards and filling the air. Zakos was moving with rage as his fuel, now, not making optimal moves. Exploiting that clumsiness was the only chance that Dragan had.

The Special Officer swung his arm sideways, aiming to take off Dragan's head, but he threw himself down at the last moment. At the same time, he lunged up with both hands, stabbing two Aether-infused syringes deep into the arm and pushing down the plungers. 

Three.

Roaring with anger, Zakos kicked his leg forward with blinding speed - and even though Dragan moved as fast as possible to dodge, it wasn't quite fast enough.

Feeling the foot impact against his side, Dragan went spinning across the room, landing on a heap near the opposite pillar. He'd managed to defend with Aether, so nothing was broken, but the pain in his torso was immense. It felt like he shouldn't move around with that kind of pain, but he had no choice.

Zakos grinned, seeing how far he'd sent Dragan, but his smile quickly turned into a scowl when he saw the syringe sticking out of the top of his foot, a few traces of blue Aether still lingering around it.

Four.

Pushing through the pain, Dragan smirked at him, inspiring the rage he so desperately needed.

The Special Officer charged at him, screaming in anger - and as he charged forward, Dragan fired a few Aether-infused shots of plasma at him. Zakos dodged them with ease, of course, ducking under the orange bolts as he ran, but that forced him to keep his body low.

Which was exactly what Dragan wanted.

Instead of dodging, Dragan charged forwards as well, shouting in order to pump himself up. The Special Officer hesitated for a moment - and in that second, Dragan kicked off the ground with Aether-infused legs, sending himself flying over Zakos' back.

He lashed out with his hand, and planted another syringe as deep as he could into Zakos' back as he passed by.

Five.

Dragan was no gymnast, though - and as his flight ended, he fell to the ground in an undignified heap. The second he landed, he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a punch from Zakos that ended with his fist lodged into the ground.

Not missing his chance, he stabbed another syringe into Zakos' temporarily trapped wrist.

Six.

Zakos was beyond infuriated, now, almost foaming at the mouth - and Dragan knew he couldn't keep this up for long. His lungs were running on the memory of air, and the inside of his body was starting to feel like a burning mass of singular pain.

Okay. He couldn't keep this up forever. That didn't need to be specified. How long could he keep this up for?

In the time he dodged another of Zakos' punches - the air pressure of the attack still sending Dragan flying away - his mind reached the conclusion that this fight could only continue for two more minutes at most.

And that was a very generous estimate.

"How dare you!" Zakos was screaming, lost in his rage, only infuriated more each time his fists met empty air. "How dare you! How dare you! Who the hell do you think you're messing with?! Do you know who I am?! I am Samael Ambrazo Zakos!"

Dragan came to a stop for a moment, steadied himself, took a deep breath that he very badly needed.

Then he spoke.

"Who?"

For a moment, Zakos was silent, mouth hanging open, dumbfounded. Then - with a scream of "Unacceptable!" - he opened his palm and swept his arm around him.

Tiny pieces of rubble, each the same rough size, began flying through the air towards Zakos' open hand, where chaotic yellow Aether was forming a crude sphere. Dragan furrowed his brow. Why was he bringing rubble to himself?

Then, he saw Zakos' black grin, and realized what he was really doing.

Zakos swung his arm towards Dragan, changing the trajectory of the stone shards - and cancelled his ability. The stone shards kept their momentum, however.

Now they were forming a shower of shrapnel, rushing towards Dragan.

Dragan took a deep breath. It wasn't like this was a situation he hadn't anticipated. If Zakos could pull things towards him, he could do things like this, as well.

He had a contingency in mind, but he had no idea if it would work. Strange how so many of his plans these days seemed to have that caveat.

Aether ping. If it could detect Aether that repelled it, it only followed that it could detect solid objects it bounced off, too.

Dragan breathed out, and sent his Aether out along with it. His ping still didn't have much range, but he managed to scan the rain of rubble as it came down towards him, memorizing the position and trajectory of each individual fragment.

Optimal path, he told himself, tensing his body, getting ready to move faster than he ever had before. Optimal path. Follow the optimal path!

Dragan moved in three flashes of blue Aether, like a thunderstorm compressed. From an outsider's perspective, no movement was even visible - just the Cogitant switching between three different positions, rock flying through the empty air where he'd just been.

He didn't quite succeed, however. During his last movement - when he thought he'd escaped the worst of it - two rocks struck him in the torso, causing him to double over, and another hit him right in the face.

Dragan fell to the floor, the breath knocked out of him, trying to blink blood out of his eyes. The makeshift pistol, too, clattered to the ground too far away to grab. He was unarmed.

No, he couldn't worry about that yet. He had to get up. He needed to get up and prepare his next move, or else he would die. He tried to force strength into his legs, but they just quivered weakly on the ground.

He'd failed. He'd failed completely.

Weak as he was, he couldn't even resist as Zakos picked him up by his throat and lifted him up into the air, sneering at him. Blood was running down Dragan's face, so he could only really see the Special Officer's face through one eye, but that was enough. Zakos' eyes were set for murder.

"Not so smug now, are you, you little bastard?" Zakos hissed, any remnant of the dignified Special Officer he'd tried to portray now discarded. "How's it feel, huh? It hurt?"

Arm moving clumsily, Dragan plunged another syringe into the man's bicep and pushed the plunger.

Seven.

It didn't matter, though. It wasn't even desperation that had moved him there, it was spite. The sedatives would only take effect long after he, Bruno and Serena were dead. The fight had been pointless from the start.

Figures, thought Dragan, watching Zakos rear his head back for a skull-crushing headbutt. The second I start getting stupid thoughts in my head about justice and teaching assholes like this a lesson, I end up dead. End up dragging others down with me.

He really was a piece of shit.

Zakos brought his head down.