Kentai resisted the urge to spit on the ground. “You won’t be living or breathing much longer if I have anything to say about it, Naizen, you miserable shit.”
He was rewarded for the insult by a peel of raucous laughter. “Oh, but that’s a powerful grudge you’re holding. It’s been what? Three years? Four? You can’t still be angry I switched sides on that last job we pulled…”
“Switched sides?” Kentai’s eyes were fixed on the spot where Naizen was hiding out in the shadows. “You gave our entire fucking route to the enemy! Protect the girl. That was it. Easy gold until you betrayed us.” The wounds he’d suffered in that battle stung as the memories assailed him. He’d barely survived and kept the fourteen-year-old girl, a nobleman’s only daughter, from being captured.
“What can I say?” Naizen’s mocking voice grated every single one of Kentai’s nerves. “They were offering more gold. I’m only human, Ironfang. You can’t blame me for being greedy, can you?”
Kentai let out a low growl. “The fuck I can’t! Now get down here. I want to run you through and see if an actual heart beats in your chest or if there’s just a black fucking hole there!”
At his back, Wujun slipped once again into a martial stance, hands held in loose fists in front of his chest. Kentai’s anger at seeing the former acquaintance dissipated somewhat, now that he was reminded of the young man he’d set himself to protect. Old grudges, no matter how festered and sour, were a distraction he couldn’t afford.
Why am I so drawn to him? Why have I let myself get caught up in this? I swore I’d never… not after the last person I helped went crazy, and yet…
The faint hum of magic ebbing gently at his back was the only answer he could settle on. It was still so raw, so untrained, that Kentai imagined Wujun wasn’t even aware the connection existed. He was certain of it though. The magic lingered on him like smoke. Perhaps he had merely been touched by it and could not use it himself? Was that even possible? Could sorcery leave that sort of trace?
This was not the time for such thoughts. Kentai was swiftly reminded of that fact as the bandits closest to him attacked. With a grunt, he countered, blocking the first swing and dodging a second. One of his opponents held a wicked, make-shift cudgel that had been adorned with nails. Even though the cruel weapon had missed the Zosara’s body, one of the improvised metal spikes caught his cape and rent a gaping hole in the fabric.
“Son of a…” he growled, glaring over at the man with eyes that gleamed silver in the moonlight. “This was my best cloak, asshole!”
“I was aiming for your—”
Kentai didn’t give him a chance to finish his taunt. He invoked his own magic, his power over metal, to deal with the miscreant. In a flash, the nails in the crude cudgel tore from the wood and embedded themselves, seemingly of their own accord, into the fool’s exposed throat. Gurgling and choking, eyes wide with horror at the strange turn of events, the thug toppled to the ground.
The Zosara didn’t bother to look back; he was already moving, pressing the first man who had come at him with a rusted, pitiful excuse for a sword. They exchanged a couple of blows, the third however, with the merest, magical nudge from Kentai, snapped the ill-kept blade in half like a brittle twig. Finishing the wretch was effortless after that.
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“My… I’d forgotten what a beast you are in combat, Ironfang.” Naizen’s simpering voice came from the left, causing Kentai to whip around to face him. “Your new toy isn’t doing too badly either, all things considered…” He inclined his head in the direction he wanted Kentai to look and despite himself, he obliged.
The first thing he noticed was Wujun had secured a weapon and defeated its original bearer. Two more had come at him, but the young man was proving to be less of an easy mark than the gang had originally thought. His stance, his precise strikes and reserved movements, were a distinctive style that Kentai had only seen once in his life. The only difference: Wujun was not delivering fatal blows.
“Such mastery…” Naizen crooned, his tone goading. “What’s that old phrase? Ah, yes, ‘poetry in motion’… Of course, he’s rather soft. Why, if I had such skill, I’d be—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Kentai had reached his limit. He lunged, raising his utzu intending to impale the other man on the shining blade, but the strike met nothing but open air. Knowing his opponent as he did, Kentai immediately ducked and rolled. He was glad he did; a blast of fire scorched the ground where he’d been standing.
Naizen let out a shrill laugh. “Oh, so you recognize it. Takes me back, Ironfang, way back…” Fire appeared in his palms, crackling and sputtering as a light breeze dallied through the street. It cast dancing shadows across the man’s face, making his orange eyes shine with crazed malevolence. “You weren’t much older than a boy when I first met you. Wounded, running from—”
“I said, shut up!” Kentai attacked again, using an iron gauntlet to deflect a blast of flame without even breaking stride. He didn’t want to draw this battle out, didn’t want to think that perhaps the naïve Wujun was really a dreaded Shadow, and he certainly didn’t want to hear Naizen’s mocking voice a second more.
He gritted his teeth and held his curved sword up to slice through another scorching blaze. He could feel the metal heating and hoped his foe’s magic did not burn hot enough that it could melt the blade. Just when he feared he’d made a critical error, the onslaught swirled and dissipated, leaving the metal and Kentai smoking but otherwise unharmed.
Naizen’s sing-song giggling came from a new direction. “Oh, I see. You don’t want the boy to know your secret, huh? What would they call you if they knew the truth, do you think? Deathcaller? Deathtongue?” He let out an exasperated sigh, as though he were thoroughly vexed with his inability to find a fitting moniker. Then he snapped his fingers and chuckled to himself. “No, no, I’ve got it. Deathfang!”
“Ironfang is stupid enough,” Wujun’s voice interrupted the fire Zosara’s cackling before Kentai had the chance to hurl more expletives at him. “Now, are you going to bore us to death or actually fight?” He brandished the stolen straight-edged sword in his hand, pointing the tip straight at Naizen.
Kentai had lost himself in frustration and hadn’t been fully cognizant of the fight going on around him. Wujun had dispatched the rest of the gang, disarming the lot of them, and even rendering one unconscious. A quick glance around and he saw they’d all lost their nerve and were fleeing, two dragging their limp comrade behind them without a shred of gentleness.
His dark eyes flicked back to the young man at his side, glaring at their last remaining foe. Other than a slight scratch on his cheek, he was unharmed. Wujun’s aqua eyes reflected the moonlight, shining with stalwart conviction. Surely he had witnessed Naizen conjuring fire and his courage had not wavered. Soft-hearted he might be, but it was clear his compassion did not diminish his resolve.
“Hmm, no, I don’t believe I’d like to continue fighting,” Naizen answered, already slinking backward into the nearest shadows. “Ironfang and I have a score to settle, but it will have to wait I’m afraid. I’ve business elsewhere that needs attending to first.” He let out a mock-sorrowful chuckle. “Watch your back, brother, this one is trouble…”
“You bastard!” Kentai saw him trying to slip away and launched himself forward, intending to block his escape. By the time he closed the distance, however, Naizen had melted into the darkness and was gone.