Eurya struck before the man's voice finished echoing off the surrounding buildings. The Seraptis lived up to the moniker given to her, crossing the distance between her and her foe in a single stride. Her sword, still sheathed, crashed into the haft of her enemy's axe. It was a parry, hastily executed, that kept the man from being splattered across the nearest building. The strength of Eurya's blow shook the earth, and a wave of force ripped through the gathered warriors, hurling them aside.

Her enemy took the hit well enough. His face was twisted into a strained grimace, his legs were bowed, the stone cracking beneath his feet, but he stood strong, his own weapon holding Eurya's blade at bay— if only just. Even as he strained to push against her, his feet sank even deeper into the ground. His eyes, wide with alarm, shifted from the sheath pressing against him, to her body, as the truth unfolded before him. Her swing had been a languid thing, one-armed and lazy. And now, she was pressing down.

The man grunted in effort, twisting his body to the side and letting out a tremendous roar. Rather than contesting his motion, Eurya simply withdrew, her back-step seeming to glide her across the paved path. The man continued his motion, spinning his axe into a tremendous overhead chop. His eyes found his target, a distance away, and he stomped down, shattering the pavement and spraying his followers with debris. Men scattered out of the way as he rocketed towards Eurya, bellowing, "I am the descendant of—!"

Her sheath caught him in the chin, while her body neatly sidestepped his hammer-blow. The man's teeth shattered against themselves, and his neck snapped backwards, even as his body continued its forward momentum. He collapsed like a boneless puppet, sliding across the ground on his shins, blood pouring from his face. His axe ricocheted off the ground, bereft of both strength and Memory. Somehow, the man kept hold of his weapon, even as consciousness briefly fled his body.

He rallied quickly, to his credit. His eyes snapped open before his body lost its momentum, and he managed to turn his shameful collapse into a staggering backswing. One foot slammed into the ground, and his body wrenched itself 'round. Blood sprayed out from his mouth as he clenched his shattered jaw. He extended his arm, the reach of his weapon just barely allowing for a counter attack.

Eurya watched the axe blade blitz a finger's-width past her face without even blinking. Her hair fluttered slightly from the force of his blow, and she brushed a stray strand away from her face. The man's blade finished its arc, slamming into the street slightly to the side of himself. The road shattered, and half a dozen people lost their footing.

The gathered warriors had given up all hope of intimidation, and were simply fleeing past the two fighters. Their movements were panicky and urgent, and many were bleeding from stray shrapnel. They flowed past both Nicos and the Keeper, seemingly content to block the exit, nurse their wounds, and wait.

Eurya huffed, more out of amusement than any real effort, and said, "Well that was disappointing."

Her enemy groaned, and slowly found his feet. The strike to his head had clearly rattled his focus, and he seemed to struggle to find words. His body remained strong, however, and he swung his axe into an aggressive stance. His jaw trembled and fluttered, and more blood spilled down the front of his armor. He tried to speak, but only noise came out.

"He was attempting to chant a mantra," the Keeper explained to Nicos. "It helps focus a person, when attempting a particularly difficult feat of Memory manipulation. I assume he was trying something somewhat similar to your family's technique, channeling the strength of his vengeful ancestors towards their killer."

"And teacher feared the result?" Nicos asked, furrowing his brow. It seemed unlikely.

The Keeper snorted, confirming the boy's suspicions. "No, I suspect she was offended that he would try something so obvious and expect her to let him." He turned to Nicos. "He knows her strength, and her confidence. He assumed she would not see him as a threat, and sought to capitalize on that."

Nicos watched as his teacher danced around the man's swings, laughing mockingly. He turned back to the Keeper. "I think I might agree with him."

"She is not threatened by him in the slightest," the Keeper agreed with a nod, "but she is easily offended. Especially by attempts to predict her behavior." He smiled fondly. "She is a spiteful one."

Nicos watched his cackling master embarrass her foe, slowly battering away at his armor. It was clear to anyone with eyes that she could end the man at any moment. The man himself seemed to realize it, fighting on with sheer desperation, and hope that Eurya would make a mistake. Nicos shook his head, knowing that it was pointless. She was too far beyond him, beyond them all.

It was galling to realize just what she could accomplish, and how little she actually did. Nicos felt a sudden wave of exhaustion, of helplessness, and frustration. This city was a tumor on the world, and he could do nothing about it. He could not influence those that could. All he could do was gain strength of his own.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Why are we here?" he asked the Keeper. "Why is she bothering to do this?"

The blind man regarded him with a complicated expression. "There is no easy answer for that. In part, because she enjoys it. The flaunting of her power, proving to all and sundry that she is above them. Partly because of you." The boy's eyebrow's rose. "Yes, Nicos. She wants to show off for her student. She wants you to see, to feel, how high a person can rise, with effort and skill." The Keeper paused, running a hand down his chin. "The last reason, I would say, is habit."

"Habit?" the boy repeated.

"Quite so," the Keeper nodded. His eyes slipped open, that dull silver peeking through to gaze through the boy. "We've been doing the same thing for millennia, Nicos. Everyone is a slave to their own Memory, and we are no exception. We stop in Bastion, every century or so, and cause some havoc among people who thoroughly deserve it."

Nicos felt a cold chill creeping down his spine.

"This is why discipline is so important to cultivate!" the Keeper said. "Repetition without purpose is poison. Many great warriors have lost their lives, challenging an overwhelmingly superior foe, simply because that is what they have always done. And, as they always had, they expected to triumph."

"Overconfidence kills faster than any blade," Nicos replied softly, tightening his grip around his training sword. His mind drifted back to the desert, and the lesson he had learned there.

The Keeper pointed towards the battle, as Eurya slammed her sheath into her enemy's chest. His armor, battered and broken, finally cracked, and the man dropped into a motionless heap.

"Your maxim in action," the blind man proclaimed.

The sound of stomping feet behind him had the boy whirling around, but the Keeper planted a hand on his shoulder, rooting him in place. "Let her handle this," he advised. "She'll be insufferable, otherwise."

Nicos paled at the thought of his teacher actually trying to act insufferable, and he obeyed the blind man's command. He held his blade tight, but did not strike as one of the many gathered warriors laid a knife against Nicos' throat. Another placed a spear-point against the Keeper's back.

"Surrender, Longstrider," the former called.

Eurya glanced up from where she stood, over the unconscious body of her challenger, who hadn't even been given the privilege of naming himself. She took in the situation and snorted. "Is that really what you ought to be doing?" she asked, voice ripe with amusement.

The man stepped forward, placing a hand on Nicos' shoulder, and drawing his blade up tight against the boy's neck. His breath reeked, fetid air laced with an alcoholic stench. The man's voice was filled with arrogance, but Nicos could feel his desperation. His companion mirrored his actions with the Keeper, even as the rest of the mercenaries moved forward to reinforce them.

"Surrender," the man repeated tensely, pressing his blade harder against Nicos' skin. "Hand over your sword, admit defeat, and your companions will live."

Eurya balanced her sheathed blade on a single finger, keeping it parallel to the ground. She raised it before herself, and laughed, "You could not even hope to lift my Sanguine."

Nicos shoulder ached, as the man's grip tightened. "I won't ask again."

Eurya gestured to the body on the ground. "Your leader is alive, if only just" Her eyes scanned the crowd. "If you leave now, you'll stay the same."

"You're strong, Longstrider," a voice called from somewhere in the crowd, "but we are many!"

More people called out, confidence buoyed by their companions.

"There is safety in numbers," one declared. "You cannot defeat us all!"

"You are too far away to save your allies!" another realized. "Even you cannot cover that distance before they are struck down!"

Eurya watched them shout with a blank face. The crowd roared until the voices blended together, becoming nearly inaudible. Shouts of glory, of victory, of confidence. Eurya took it in with a bland smile.

Her eyes found Nicos. "I spoke to you about mercy, once," she said, her voice reaching him even through the commotion. "There are many times when an opponent's Memory can empower you, long after they are defeated. And then there are times like these: when you face an enemy too stupid to live."

The crowd quieted, as the man holding Nicos called for silence. None seemed to notice the words Eurya had passed to Nicos. The man shouted again, his voice now steady and unafraid, "What say you, Longstrider? Will you admit defeat?"

Eurya sighed, spinning her sword across her wrist, then sliding it into her belt. The crowd seemed to breathe easy at the motion. She ran a hand through her hair, stretching her back. Her figure, lean and muscled and covered in jewels, drew more than a few lurid gazes. Nicos felt the grip on his shoulder relax.

Something wet splashed against Nicos' cheek. The blade on his neck dropped from nerveless fingers. The hand on his shoulder jerked him backwards, and Eurya vanished from sight.

In that order.

Nicos spun, half convinced that he needed to draw his sword. Time seemed to slow, as he deepened his resonance. Memory roared into him, empowering his senses, enhancing his perception. He completed his turn, the world moving at a crawl, and took in what his teacher had unleashed.

The man that had held him hostage was no more. What was once his body was now a rapidly accelerating sack of blood and viscera, leaking from a dozen deep cuts. The man who had threatened the Keeper was simply gone, a bloody smear against the stone. Eurya stood at the center of the gathered warriors, who were only just noticing her presence. Looks of alarm, terror, fear, were blooming on their faces, even before their conscious minds had registered her existence.

She spoke, and the world seemed to wait for her words. "Distance is a lie and numbers are irrelevant." She spun on her heel, swiping out with an empty hand. Men were cut down in droves by an invisible sword, simply bisected at the waist. The survivors remained immobile, frozen by fear and her very presence. She smiled, a twisted, dark thing. Words fell down like truth from the heavens.

"There is no such thing as safety," she declared. "It's just a word people like you use, to delude yourself into believing that people like me can't kill you at will. You cannot run. You cannot hide. I am everywhere the wind touches. There is no safety."

She lifted her hand, still fisted around a false sword, and the air shivered in anticipation.

"Not from me."

Her hand fell, and men died.