Azyen Vayne

"It should be around now," I murmured, glancing at the time glowing on my bracelet.

Not letting me wait, the school’s gates creaked open, releasing a flood of children spilling into the streets, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Hidden behind a nearby building, I activated my Ethereal Vision, scanning the area for anyone close enough to block my escape route or follow me.

There was none, other the small spirits avoiding me. Eno's presence scared them. Sometimes, even though sleeping, he managed to scare even me.

Groups of children scattered in all directions, but I had eyes only for one—one of Ilum’s tormentors. The boy’s cocky swagger stood out even amidst the throng. He carried himself with the exaggerated bravado of someone who had never faced consequences. A rich, spoiled brat who thought the world was his playground. His actions spoke louder than any reprimand ever could.

Words hadn’t worked on him. Not from Samir. Not from the teachers. And not from me. As rich and arrogant brats in their fourteens, for only rich people could afford to let their progenitors study until fifteen, they showed no interest when I had a talk to them.

Their mistake. I'm not as soft as Samir. Not anymore.

In my eyes, Ilum had suffered long enough. In his eyes, I saw myself. He was mocked, pushed, humiliated, even beaten when trying to defend against them—all because his family didn’t have the wealth these arrogant children flaunted.

And no grown adults could do something about that. Because what could be done to a lad, especially when that lad was the son of a rich bastard.

My attempts at peace with them had met walls of sneers and condescension. Apologies were shallow. Promises of change, empty. I now lacked the patience and kindness of Ilum's parents, for even enduring this lame act for two weeks was too much for my nerves and controlled behavior.

So, if reason and authority failed, perhaps a harsher lesson was needed—a lesson that couldn’t be ignored or brushed aside.

And there they were, the monkeys—a cluster of them, cornering two girls on the street. Passersby avoided the boys' gazes, their shiny uniforms acting like shields of impunity. My fists clenched. These weren’t children in need of guidance; they were predators, drunk on privilege. Each smirk, each jeer was a reminder of their unchecked arrogance.

The time has come for them to face reality.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a stone, its weight solid and satisfying in my hand. Attached to it was a note—brief, pointed, and far sharper than the rock itself. The message wasn’t addressed to the boy. It was for his father, a reminder that bad deeds attract punishment.

With a swift throw, the stone sailed through the air, striking the bully’s thigh just above the knee. The impact was dull, followed instantly by a sharp scream. Job done, I immediately ran not to be seen.

When I casually made my way toward the school's gate using another route, Ilum was already waiting, staring wide-eyed at the chaos. The bully writhed on the ground, clutching his leg. His cries of pain and indignation for some reason sounded like a symphony to my ears.

For the rest, this might've been a scary scenario, but knowing the boy's personality and past actions, I couldn't help but indulge myself in his screams. Finding in them an unusual pleasure.

His friends surrounded him, not knowing what to do. Passersby hesitated, torn between helping and avoiding trouble.

“Ilum, what’s going on?” I asked, feigning concern as I approached.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammered, glancing nervously at the scene. “Looks like Ronnie’s hurt.”

“Ronnie? That Ronnie?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“Yeah,” Ilum replied, his voice tinged with unease.

“Let’s hope he’ll be alright,” I said calmly, guiding Ilum away. “Come. Your parents are waiting.”

Being a mancer gave one a stronger physique compared to the regular humans. Heightened senses and agility that could also be trained and improved together with the control and quantity of the flux.

So, for a regular human, facing a mancer without a weapon was nothing more then a suicidal mission. However, that's why humans invented the shardspire guns, for the regular individuals to defend themselves against both external threats; like other races, beasts and vegetation, and internal ones like fellow humans.

Using my powers to injure a kid wasn’t something I could be proud of, yet it wasn’t something worth feeling remorse over either.

“Where’s your sword?” Ilum asked suddenly. “You always carry it with you.”

“Left it at the inn,” I replied curtly.

“Why? Didn’t you say it’s important to always have your weapon?” His voice sharpened. “Was wounding Ronnie your doing?”

I stopped, turning to him with mock indignation. “Do you think I’m capable of that?”

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Ilum hesitated, then shrugged, his unease obvious. “I don’t know. You said you’d take care of the problem, so I just assumed.”

“You should stop assuming,” I said, my tone firm but measured. “I don’t want trouble over baseless accusations. Understand?”

Ilum nodded, but his gaze lingered on me, searching. His youthful face was a mix of suspicion and gratitude, probably torn between what he wanted to believe and what he feared was true.

“Don’t worry,” he finally said. “Even if it was you, I won’t tell anyone. Because you did it for my sake.”

So, is it alright for me to hurt others for your sake? Or for someone else’s? I asked myself. Is it acceptable for me to harm others in order to protect those I care about? Is this a valid justification under karmic law?

I said nothing, ruminating on the meaning of Ilum's words. He took my silence as agreement, nodding to himself as we continued toward his home. The streets felt quieter now, the distant noise of the city muted. Sometimes, silence spoke louder than words ever could.

. . .

The night draped the city in shadows, its silence broken from time to time by the footsteps of patrolling guards. I crouched in the dimly lit alley, acting like a beggar. This was the last night for me in Karum. And I planned to strike at the head of the serpent—the leader of Ilum’s tormentors. I had followed him home on several occasions, gathering information about his parents and noting the layout of the house.

Now, the time to act had come.

The city guards passed by, and even though the city was illuminated by the glow of bioluminescent plants, they still carried lanterns with long-range action. I waited precisely two minutes after they rounded the corner, ensuring they were well out of the area.

The clock had started; I had around twelve minutes to finish what I came here to do.

The target house stood quietly beside the street, a modest structure for a family drunk on their self-importance. Light came out through the windows on the first floor, though I could not take a peak inside.

I leaned against the fence and activated Ethereal Vision, my senses stretching out like an unseen web. The spectral glow of living entities flickered in my mind’s eye. The same went for the calm, drifting spirits that appeared as small, glowing orbs of color.

Their level of consciousness was low, like most spirits, which kept their forms simple and uniform. Had they possessed greater awareness and power, their shapes and sizes would have varied dramatically.

With a radius of about twenty meters, my ability wasn’t enough to cover the entire house, but it gave me what I needed—the positions of the three individuals residing there.

They had no guards, only a watchdog.

For safety measures, I could activate my ability again after entering the courtyard, for a double check on the house. Of course that I could also consume one of the two potions I had on myself.

A Stimulation Potion of my own creation capable of enhancing my senses for a short while. With it increasing the power of my Ethereal Vision, I could not only scan the whole house but also sense flux sources like the core of a shardspire gun, or runic traps.

But since I had to leave for the battlefield tomorrow morning, I would like not to waste that potion for something as insignificant as this.

The family dog, a "beast" as massive as a beer barrel, lumbered in the yard at this hour. Its bark was infamous among the snobbish neighbors. But I had prepared for this. From my pocket, I drew a piece of meat laced with a potent sleeping drug.

With a quick toss, it landed near the dog’s paws. The little rascal sniffed once, then devoured it greedily. One minute later, it slumped to the ground, snoring softly.

I leaped over the fence, landing silently on the other side. The night's ink embraced me as I pulled a paper bag with two crude holes over my face. A ridiculous mask, but it served its purpose. I double checked the presences in the house and approached the back door.

They will need bodyguards after tonight.

In a crouched position, I began scratching rapidly at the wood, mimicking the dog’s signal for entry. Inside, footsteps approached. A key rattled in the lock.

As the door creaked open, allowing me to squeeze inside, I sprang into action. The man on the other side—a fat figure who was the bully’s father—staggered back in shock as I kicked the door fully open. The force sent him reeling.

I dashed to assault him.

As a 1st Sky, he recovered quickly, his instincts driving him to fight. His fist shot toward my face as I entered his reach, but I leaned back just enough to let it miss, feeling the air rush past. Before he could regain his balance, I stepped into my optimal range.

Flux swirled in my palms as I brought my wrists together, fingers extended in precise alignment. With a swift, calculated motion, I struck his diaphragm with devastating force. The impact forced the breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping.

This was Tiger's Bite II—an ability designed to channel my flux directly into my opponent’s body. Unlike conventional attacks, it didn’t send him flying backward. Instead, it worked insidiously, wreaking havoc internally, bypassing physical resistance entirely.

Even though out of breath, the man tried to grapple me, but his strength was no match for mine. As a trained mancer with one rank above him, my abilities far exceeded his. I grabbed his neck with my left hand, holding him in place, and rained punches onto his nose and face. Blood splattered the walls, the furniture, and my own mask.

With a final surge of power, I lifted him off the ground and slammed him onto the floor.

He groaned, his body limp but conscious. I left him there and quickly shut the door, locking out the world. The sounds of our scuffle seemed to had drawn attention as the wife shouted from the kitchen.

“Darling, what was that sound? What has Rina broken this time?” She slammed her utensil down onto her plate. The metallic clang echoing through the house.

I dragged her husband by the ankle, without bothering to avoid the trail of disarray I left in my wake. His groans muffled as his back scraped across the threshold. When I reached the living room, I unceremoniously let his leg drop to the floor. He grunted in pain, his face twisted in disorientation.

The wife stormed into the room, her face flushed red with fury. But as her gaze landed on me and her husband, her expression shifted dramatically. Anger gave way to confusion, then pale-faced fear. She froze, her mouth opening as if to scream.

“Run! Run!” the man cried from the floor, his voice hoarse and panicked as he clawed at the ground, trying to get to his feet.

But before his dear wife could utter a sound or move for the matter, I struck her carotid sinus with a precise chop of my hand. Her eyes fluttered, and she collapsed into my arms. I lowered her to the ground, ensuring she wouldn’t hit her head on the way down.

I wanted to be a bully this time, not a criminal.

“You bastard!” The man roared, finding the balance to rise. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

"Order and discipline." I left him be. He wasn’t my priority—yet.

Turning and dashing toward the kitchen, I heard hurried footsteps as the boy bolted up the stairs. I ran after him, giving the brat no chance to escape.

“Let go of me!” he shrieked as I caught him by the back of the neck, his smaller frame struggling against my grip.

“Let go?” I asked coldly, tightening my hold just enough to make him stay still. “Did you let those other kids go when you bullied them? When you humiliated them? No. So why should I let you go after coming all this way just for you?”

“Get your hands off my son!” the father bellowed from downstairs. "Take what you want, but don't you touch my family."

The boy thrashed again, and I silenced him with a sharp shove against the wall. His resistance ceased as he crumpled in pain. Dragging him back toward the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of his father, a sloppy flux coated knife firmly held in his hand. Blood dripped from his nose, his swollen face serving as a reminder for his earlier defeat.

Yet, despite his injuries, his fury burned hot.