Emil

Decim’s hollow laughter thundered across the room. Pain and lunacy resonated with every echo while sparks of mana crackled in his vicinity.

He’s here.

Emil gulped. His chest felt tight, his breathing short and arduous as if an invisible chain had coiled around his ribs. His torso throbbed, flaring from the unhealed burns, reminding him of the ruined state of his body. His hands trembled—partially from the adrenaline flushed in his veins and partially from the dread of confronting the vengeful Nostra executive.

And his timing couldn’t have been worst.

Decim’s Gift involved controlling blood, and Emil had just created a bloody carnage with the corpses of his men. The timing was almost comical as if the spirits of the dead were handing their boss the means to avenge their deaths.

Emil kept one eye on Decim. The other darted about, trying to come up with a way to escape. With the ravaged state of his body, he was in no shape to fight him.

The chilling laughter stopped abruptly. Silence lingered as the last echoes vanished.

“Since when?” Decim asked. His voice dropped to coarse whisper. His eyes sharp, steeled with a glacial glint.

“The very beginning,” Emil admitted. Guilt squeezed his heart.

“Really?” Decim snorted. He pulled back his ragged hair, shaking his head in disbelief. “I should have known,” he said, frighteningly calm, “A strong, young man with such earnest eyes wanting to join a syndicate? Absurd. So obvious in hindsight.

Without warning, he stomped the ground. The puddle of blood in front of Emil bubbled ominously. Suddenly, an array of blood spears burst forth. They rushed at him like arrows—begging to tear his body asunder. Emil dove to the ground. The spears of blood grazed the edge of his clothes, shredding the hems cleanly. Most of it missed, splattering into the walls behind him.

Emil peeked at the aftermath. The remaining metal bars of the cell door were diced into miniscule pieces. Deep holes bored into the walls as the formless blood splashed against the surface.

It wasn’t hard to imagine what it would have done to his body.

Decim cackled, “Don’t worry! I won’t let you die so easily. Not after I thoroughly indulge myself.”

The river of gore on the floor rippled with a violent frenzy. Azure light flooded the room. The blood rose from the corpses of Decim’s men like flowers in rapid bloom. They sprang, flowed, surged, and settled into a forest of macabre tendrils and phantasmal projections.

Emil stepped back, gawking at the nightmarish sight. It was as if the souls of the men he killed had been reanimated, risen into these ghastly forms drenched in blood. He needed to run, fast. But there was nowhere to go. He was in the rear of the facility. Walls flanked him at all sides. The only way out was ahead—blocked off by a vengeful Exalted.

Bloody tendrils quickly covered the entirety of the space before him. His path was cut off. No room, no gaps, nowhere to go but to charge into the horrific domain.

His heart screamed. He had to fight. He had to survive. Death was not an option. Not when Mia and Raz depended on him.

Decim thinks he has me cornered.

His foe believed that he had an overwhelming advantage. It was true; in a normal fight, an Ordinary could never hope to best the prowess of an Exalted.

He doesn’t know about my Gift.

Pain pulsated across his torso. Burned skin, still freshly scarred, smeared his body. With his dreadful state, he could probably only maintain his flames for a few minutes at best.

I only get one shot to take him by surprise.

Once he revealed his Gift, all bets were off. Emil gritted his teeth, resolved with a plan. The edge of his fingers trembled incessantly. He dug into his foot into floor—and charged straight ahead.

“Wow! Marvelous!” Decim howled in ecstasy from beyond the bloody tendrils, “What bravery! How courageous! Struggle! Resist! Turn this into a spectacle!”

The distance between them shrank rapidly. Mana from Emil’s Azurite pendant gathered across his skin, vibrating with a feverish voracity, eager to erupt. Not yet! He forcefully contained it at the cost of his screaming body.

Decim screamed, “Feast!” The bloody tendrils surged at his command. They warped into the shape of headless mouths, shrieking like famished beasts hell-bent on gorging its prey apart.

Emil pressed forward. The projections crowded the airspace, blotting out the faint vestiges of the moonlight. Darkness engulfed the room. The seconds ticked. The projections were inches from his body—teeth bared, ready to devour.

Decim was finally in range.

“Rage,” Emil uttered. A popping sound crackled in his ears. The mana suppressed by his will flooded outwards like a storm. The ambient temperature climbed rapidly. The surrounding space seemed to vibrate—reverberating with a panicked hesitance until the invisible force keeping it intact could no longer contain it. Air spontaneously ignited. The tendrils threatening to eviscerate his body instantly vaporized. Everything turned white.

When he came to, he found himself surrounded by a sea of blaze. Flames spread ravenously, devouring the materials and equipment stored within the facility.

“Ngh!”

He tried to get up. His limbs refused to move, protesting with agonizing pain that made him see stars. He glanced down. The freshly scarred skin across his torso had peeled off. Blood drenched the exposed flesh, parts of it already coagulated and cauterized from the scalding heat. The inside of his body spazzed at the abuse.

Even his ears were clogged with a high-pitch ring that refused to cease. As his mind cleared, Emil realized that he was hearing cries and whimpers.

He spun around—his face immediately aghast with horror. He had somehow landed in the workshop where the children were working. Flames ravaged the space. The row of furnaces had toppled over, contributing to the growing conflagration. The orphans were lying amidst wreckage. Some unmoving. Some screaming.

Most were staring at him.

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Their eyes were wide and their mouths trembled. When Emil made eye contact, they would flinch or freeze, sometimes shrieking in terror. As if they were in presence of a hideous monster.

What have I done?

His stomach boiled with a sickening revulsion. The children were dead because of him. And now their semblance of a home was destroyed, sullied by his desperation to live. Emil’s mind flashed back to that horrible incident when his safe haven was decimated. The situation was eerily similar. Except now he played the role of the deranged Exalted.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Footsteps boomed over the raging inferno. Emil spun around. The hairs on his back instantly rose. It was Decim. The Nostra executive slowly staggered out of the smoke and flames. Half of his face was scorched—the skin and flesh partially melted, peeling, accompanied by blotches of glaring blisters.

H-How is he still alive?!

Emil didn’t hold anything back in his desperate gamble. He unleashed everything he had in front of Decim. There was nothing that stood in his way—Decim should have experienced the full brunt of the attack.

His question soon found an answer as Decim fully emerged from the smoke. From the neck down, he was covered in a layer of dark scarlet. As he walked, cracks fissured across the scarlet coat like broken glass. Bit by bit, they began to flak off, departing from his skin as if he was a bug emerging from metamorphosis.

Did he create a coat of armor from the blood?! Emil was in disbelief. He immediately dragged himself to his feet, ignoring the painful protests of his body. He had to project strength. Decim must not discover his defective nature.

“So, you were an Exalted. Didn’t see that one coming,” Decim hissed, his voice hoarse and sharp like a wounded animal, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He stopped. A distance of twenty meters separated them. Flames roared in the background. The two were locked in a standoff, glaring at each other, trying to size up the enemy.

Emil narrowed his eyes. He’s wary. He doesn’t know what else I can do. Can I scare him off with a bluff? No. Likely not. He's too committed to retreat. He was sprinting to my cell when he caught me killing Caiside. That means the facility is likely compromised. Steiger is coming. He knows. And he saw his men die. He had a chance to escape just now. But since he’s still here, it must mean he’s only seeking revenge.

One of them had to die for this confrontation to end. Emil gnawed the side of his gums, trying to silence his frazzled nerves. Sweat and ash clung uncomfortably to his skin. Time was on his side. The longer Decim delayed, the more likely that other Steiger agents would arrive—

Decim suddenly moved. Emil lowered his stance, ready to evade at a moment’s notice.

Squelch!

Huh?

A high-pitched scream erupted from his right. One of the orphans nearby dropped to the floor, clenching his stomach. A spear shaped in blood was thrust deep into his guts.

Another shriek came from his left. Another orphan was down on the floor, grabbing onto his neck as a protrusion of blood plunged into his throat. He gargled, gasping for air, desperately trying to cling onto his rapidly depleting life.

“What are you doing?!” Emil bellowed. Decim was silent. But his eyes responded, gleaming with madness. The part of his face unsullied by flames curved upwards into a semblance of his signature sneer.

He’s doing this on purpose!

Emil saw red. He launched himself forward. Flames bloomed across his chest and limbs, feasting on his war-torn body. They spluttered; pathetic—incomparably weaker than his usual output. But he didn’t care. He had to stop the indiscriminate killing.

His left leg was suddenly unresponsive, inattentive to his will. Numb. He glanced down. Something had torn into his left thigh.

Squelch!

Pain arrived first this time. Another projection of blood dug into the side of his torso. It gorged, clamping down on the flesh and bones. A gasp of agony escaped Emil’s mouth. The flames engulfing him flared in response, enveloping the blood projections. In an instant, they were consumed by the blaze, vaporized loose from his body.

“Hahaha! So foolish! So predictable!” Decim cackled maniacally—his words slurred from the destruction to his face, “This is why I detest those with a misplaced sense of justice! You’re just so easily manipulated!”

Tendrils of blood continued to erupt from the ground, spilled by the orphans who became unfortunate collateral. Emil tried to move. His left leg refused to budge, however, resting uselessly like a lump of stone.

Fucking hell! Desperate, he threw himself backwards.

“Burn!”

Flames blossomed in a spherical radius around his body, acting like a blast shield to keep the bloody tendrils at bay. But Emil’s defense was flimsy. A flames’ form was ephemeral, incompatible for defending against physical attacks.

“Argghh!”

Two of the projections bored into his shoulders. Emil whimpered as his back smashed against the leg of a work bench. Something slammed onto the ground nearby. Screams pierced the air from the children still hopelessly stuck amidst the destruction.

One of the blast furnaces toppled onto the floor, smashing against several metal columns supporting the facility. The structure creaked. Molten metal spilled onto the floor. A disturbing sizzle echoed over the chaos as the foundation of column began to melt.

Emil glanced up. The ceiling of the workshop screeched, caving in as the columns keeping it upright were melted apart.

“Run!” he screamed to the children around him. Some of them still had their wits about them and immediately fled out of the way. Most of the orphans, however, remained still. Their eyes were in a daze, overwhelmed by the raging chaos.

The ceiling collapsed. Chunks of metal rained down, descending onto the helpless children. Time slowed.

Not again. Emil despaired. The situation was eerily familiar. The sight of Raz and the others running to his help—oblivious to the insane Exalted waiting behind him. The picture of them being devoured by the flames replayed in his mind frame by frame. And then there was himself, lying down on the ground, incapacitated.

Unable to move.

Unable to help.

Unable to do anything to change their fates.

Why is it happening again?

That incident cursed Emil with a self-destructive Gift. And yet, he endured. With a Gift, he was no longer a helpless orphan without agency. He had power. He had value. As long as he was available, he could change the unfortunate fates of those around him.

Or so he thought.

Reality was despicable. It was sick. Cruel. Unchanging. Once again, he could only watch as another tragedy unfolded before his eyes.

Why?

Why does the world despise orphans? What did we do to deserve this? Is it because we’re useless? Have we sinned in our past lives? Or is the world so greedy that it must exploit the least fortunate?

Emil’s throat felt dry. He must have been screaming. His arms dangled uselessly by his side. Somehow, he dragged himself onto his feet. He nearly fell. His left leg struggled to withstand the force of his weight. His mind shut off the pain—driven by a singular thought.

No! I refuse to watch again!

If he could save just one orphan.

If he could tell them that they deserved normal lives.

If he could show them that there was at least one person willing to extend a helping hand without asking for a single thing to return.

He rushed into the fray. Desperation smeared on his face. The orphans beneath the collapsing ceiling stared at him blankly, unmoving, waiting for their impending deaths.

I’ll save you!

Mana from his Azurite pendant suddenly surged. It swelled with an unrelenting pressure, engulfing his body in cerulean light. Emil grimaced, readying his nerves for the onslaught of pain. It never came.

Instead, mana danced in his vicinity. It was tender. Gentle. Comforting. His wary body was soothed, caressed by the effusive flow.

A spark jolted down his spine. His mind blanked for a split second. He had no idea what just happened, but it felt as though a library of esoteric knowledge had flooded into his head. Suddenly, he moved on instinct, as if in a trance.

Emil stomped the ground. Pale mana streamed into the earth. The spot beneath his feet rumbled as an array of stone pillars suddenly ruptured from the ground. They simultaneously struck the collapsing ceiling, propping it up in place of the destroyed columns. The ceiling held—just inches away from falling atop the frozen children.

What just happened? Emil’s eyes went wide.

“An Awakening?!” Decim’s voice knocked out of his daze, “Impossible! H-How can an Exalted possess two Gifts?!”

Emil had no time to analyze the situation. Decim immediately unleashed a barrage of bloody spears. Emil reacted on instinct, slamming his palms onto the floor. A wall of stone shot up instantly, rising in the path of the attack. The projections splattered against the stony surface with a loud splash.

“Pierce!” Emil pulled his arms back as if he was dragging a rope tied to a heavy load.

Squelch!

Decim groaned. A stone spike suddenly pierced his torso from behind, protruding outwards from his stomach. The Nostra executive glanced down, eyes shaking in disbelief. His face then twisted into an amused snarl.

“Honestly, you really are just full of surprises.”

Without another word, his eyes dimmed. Decim’s body grew limp like a puppet with its taut strings cut loose.