(Bellamy POV)
Shura's preferred hunting grounds were heavily wooded areas surrounding a small clearing like the one we found ourselves in, a place where he had the greatest home ground advantage. I was determined that he would not enjoy it today. Losing no time, I whipped out a pair of breath and water dials and cranked both up to their respective maximum outputs, sending a cloud of mist billowing in every direction and revealing what I had already suspected.
Shura’s strings.
Everywhere.
Still, this temporary visibility would not last long. There was a sudden cacophony of musket fire, Fuza swerving this way and that, dancing through a hail of bullets. Burying my hands in my bag, I pulled out what I needed…and jumped into the air.
Higher than the trees, higher than Shura until for a brief moment I was floating above the forest, looking down at everything. I could see the confused faces watching me bring my hands together in a clapping motion, before shouts of surprise reached my ears when flour erupted from my hands, drizzling down onto the ground below. Layers and layers of flour covered the trees, the ground, and, most importantly, the strings, dressing them in a thin white coat.
It was a good start. It wasn't enough.
Again.
Another leap was needed.
“Oh no, you don’t!”
Shura closed in rapidly, ignoring River’s shot, his red hot lance bursting through the cloud of flour and aiming for my chest. The resulting explosion rocked the air, trees shaking in the aftermath as I flipped to land on my feet. Above us, smoke was wafting off of Shura, but nary a hair was singed on his head, only his pride.
“You DARE!” For one who had reigned nearly supreme over his lessers for years, the damage done to his pride was the greatest indignity he must have suffered in a long, long time. Meaning he was angry now. In fact I might even go as far as to say that he had been truly enraged, but I could work with that. Anger rarely made good decisions, reducing rational beings to mere beasts. Sadly, beasts had something going for them that humans typically did not. Instinct.
“Eat lead!” Jerking Fuza around, Shura locked his sight onto his target and dived, lightly evading having a hole punched into his chest. And as the storm of bullets dwindled, screams ensued as Shura scattered the Shandians like a wolf amongst sheep.
By the time I had sprung into action, three warriors had already been skewered like dango. The smell of iron was everywhere, bile was rising in my throat, but I swallowed it down, channeling my fear into a right hook. It missed.
The counter caught me in the chest like a sledgehammer, but I rolled with the blow, letting it carry me off my feet to reduce the impact, before springing back up seconds later. Then Shura was nearly on top of me and I was scrambling to get away. A packet of flour garnered me some breathing room, Shura retreating out of range, clearly unwilling to risk another explosion. When the expected cloud did not manifest he went red, though whether it was out of anger or embarrassment I did not know.
Slowly, we circled each other, probing and looking for an opening. Ostensibly I should have had the advantage, surrounded by allied combatants as I was, but the wave of warriors who rushed Shura in the hopes that he was sufficiently distracted, quickly learned that he was not. Screams of pain, screams of anger, screams of fear. The ground dyed itself crimson red. And through it all, I saw no opening I could exploit, but I could not just stand aside and watch the Shandians get murdered one by one. My spring snipe was easily sidestepped, Shura swinging his fist in the same motion to catch me with a backhand and diverting me into a tree. My lower face went numb.
By the time I had pulled myself out of the wood to face him again, Shura had lazily pinned another man to the ground, his gaze never leaving mine. A flurry of jabs met my charge, forcing me to dodge and weave like a maniac, every lunge aiming for a vital part of my body. However, unlike before, he didn't see Kamakiri sneaking up behind him nor the firing squad.
Kamakiri was all grace and power as he laid into Shura, his spear flashing here stabbing there, never giving the priest a moment’s pause. Free for the moment, I took a breath and spared a glance around the clearing, looking for Shura’s bird Fuza, before finding him on the other side of the clearing, wings bowling the Shandians over like misshapen bowling pins. Kamakiri could handle Shura for the moment, and from the looks of it I would just get in the way. In which case, I would be far more prudent to take Fuza out of the fight. If I took out Fuza, Shura would be grounded and only half as dangerous.
“Use the nets!” The order was repeated over and over like a relay, the warriors doing their best to corner the bird before casting weighted webbing at Fuza. In this, the strings were a hindrance and a boon, for as long as we knew where they were, we knew where the bird would run. Especially as the Shandians were hunters by trade, and this was no different from a hunt. It was just a bird. Just a big bird with fire.
My final pack of flour bust open just as Fuza burned the nets to ashes. The acrid smell of burning feathers filled the air along with a series of painful squawks as Fuza stumbled and fell.
A rapid tap tap taptaptap reached my ears, my instincts throwing me to the ground as I narrowly avoided Shura’s lance. For once he ignored me, more focused on his ride.
He was not reaching his bird.
A spring powered punch forced him to swerve to the side or have his head knocked clean off his shoulders, and Kamakiri didn't give him any time to recover, carefully pincering Shura between himself and I.
I could hear my heartbeat pulsing in my ear, the adrenalin, the rush. And despite the situation, I felt free, freer than I had ever been. Redoubling my efforts, I lunged at my enemy, my fist smashing into his lance. For the first time, some uncertainty entered Shura’s eyes but it was gone before I could register it properly. With a snarl, reminiscent of a wounded animal, he heaved, knocking me away like I weighed nothing. Kamakiri was next, a devastating roundhouse kick sending him skipping across the clearing.
Then he was amongst the Shandians, fighting like a lion to free his bird.
Resistance was brushed aside, nets were rend asunder and he was in the sky before I could stop him.
We regrouped while they hovered, Kamakiri digging himself out of his hole. He was dirty and bruised but very much alive, which was more than I could say for many of his subordinates. Above, Shura was circling again, seeking an opening while our boys futilely tried to shoot him down. He was too agile in the sky and it was clear I need to trap him where he couldn't escape. But that was easier said than done.
I needed a plan and I needed it now.
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(Rivers POV)
Shura was a monster. Rivers had no other way to describe him. What else did you call someone who could fight off dozens of hardened warriors and his captain at the same time?
The fight had entered a bit of a stalemate after the initial bouts. They would shoot at Shura for a bit then run whenever he tried to pick them off. Then Shura would be driven off by his captain and Kamakiri. Sometimes they’d be fast enough, sometimes not and some unlucky sod would get a new chest cavity.
Thankfully, Rivers had been left in peace until now, never being quite worth the hassle to hunt down. Taking another potshot, Rivers dived back behind his tree, frantically reloading his rifle.
The captain was trading blows with Shura again, his arms a blur as he tried to break through Shura’s guard. For his part, the priest would lash out without warning, his lance seeking blood. It was a savage competition, neither side giving any ground, neither able to land a decisive blow.
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Kamakiri was organizing the gunners again, establishing interlocking fields of fire. Upon his signal, River pulled the trigger, his captain moving out of the way just in time to let the bullets pass over him. Then he was back in the action, buying time for everyone to reload, though Rivers wasn't certain how useful they were being.
It was more difficult to see Shura’s strings now, the flour having long been knocked off during the course of the fight. But his captain either hadn't noticed yet or didn't care for the increasing danger. Instead, he was smiling like a child who'd been told that his birthday came early this year.
But time was running out.
If Shura was allowed to return to his bird again, they might not get another chance to trap him. And with their supply of flour long exhausted, it was far more likely that they would be the ones trapped, caught in his web of invisible strings.
Slowly, carefully, Rivers made his way over to where the bird was crushing its most recent victim beneath its talons. He tried to swallow but his mouth was so dry, ever so dry. In hindsight, this had to be the most stupid thing he’d ever done.
With a leap, Rivers landed on the bird’s back, his arms wrapping tightly around its neck and holding on for dear life as it tried to buck him off. He didn't let go even as it rolled all over the ground, smashing into trees and eventually taking flight. Regardless of the wind rushing through his hair, buffeting his face or the feathers tickling his nose, Rivers rode the bird up and down, up and down for several long minutes.
And the moment he got a brief window of opportunity, he stuffed the bird's beak with his last remaining snacks.
The bird calmed down near immediately, for such was the power of North Blue Fruit Pops.
“Taste good, don’t they?” Rivers asked. The South-Pointing bird understood the human language. This one probably did too. “I’ve got a whole bunch more at our ship. If you stick with me and stay out of the fight, they’re yours.”
He might just be imagining this, but the bird nodded and trillered in agreement, before making more sounds of contentment and culinary bliss. It hurt having to part with his treasures, but under the circumstances it was a small price to pay.
Gently, Rivers directed the bird to turn around and fly back to the clearing, only to be met by the sight of Shura running a lance through his captain’s chest.
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(Sarquiss POV)
Sarquiss did not consider himself a good person. He was not even a nice person. But Satori was the devil with angel wings.
Things had gone to hell right from the beginning. Explosions everywhere, poisonous snakes and animals jumping you whenever you got too close to one of his stupid balls. And that incessant laughter!
“Ho, ho hooo!”
Worse yet, nothing could touch this guy. Three dozen guns blaring, experienced hunters sniping at him from all directions and this guy was dancing. How was he this nimble anyway? He was wider than five Lily’s put together.
Sarquiss had tried to lunge at him from his blind spot, but Satori had just grabbed him by his face before something rattled his brain. Likely one of these impact dials. He hadn’t tried again since. Instead Sarquiss would just occupy himself with clearing away some of these trapped balls. If he cut the wires, they should float away, right?
Lily hadn’t fared much better, though unlike him, she had managed to get a series of blows in, forcing the fatty to retreat to another ball. Her victory had been short-lived however, as the one she was left standing on popped, sending her crashing to the ground. Unlike Sarquiss, she didn't give up and dashed back in for another go.
Sad thing was, nobody else even got close to touching the fatty. If they tried to close the distance, Satori would lead them into a trap or outright pummel them into the ground.
“Ho, ho hooo! Aren’t we having fun?”
And if they tried to keep their distance and snipe at him? He’d come looking and pummel you then.
How had someone beaten this guy?
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(Lily POV)
This was so fucking annoying!
“Stop dodging, asshole, and let me punch you!”
Half their escort was already down and all she had managed to achieve was getting thrown into a tree. Sarquiss had apparently given up attacking Satori entirely and had started hacking away at the wires holding the ball clouds in place like a lunatic. It was a nice idea, but horrible execution. So far, he hadn’t made a dent and at this rate, it was going to take him forever to remove the balls from the fight.
Laki’s attempt to club Satori from behind left her with no rifle and a cracked rib, forcing the woman to her knees gasping in pain. Gritting her teeth, Lily pursued Satori as he jumped from ball to ball, leaving explosions in his wake. She had shed her coat long ago because it only slowed her down, which was something she could not afford.
Satori was toying with them, that much was obvious. Indignant anger bubbled up from her gut and she channeled all that anger into her speed. Faster and faster, boxing at what felt like a shadow, shifting, smashing her fist into a waiting palm.
Another ball popped nearby, splattering three Shandians onto the trees. For him, she wasn't even worth his full attention, but that was what had been keeping her alive. That and his amusement.
“Ho, ho hooo! Such artistic dedication! I love it!”
Right. Left. Hook. Feint! Grabbing his arm, she brought her knee up towards his groin, but he swept her left leg out from under her.
As she was sent tumbling again, Lily urgently crossed her arms, knowing from experience what was coming next. Her bones creaked as they absorbed the blow meant for her head, but much to her relief her guard held firm.
Then suddenly her skull was ringing, and her legs collapsed out from under her, her vision swimming in and out of focus. It was utterly humiliating how Satori negligently shoved her off his perch with his foot.
Sarquiss was looking over here, shock apparent on his face. Huh, so the shithead had managed to cut a wire after all. Good for him.
Someone caught her before she could hit the ground, and for that, she was grateful. That probably would have hurt.
“Wait. You’re one of the…” she slurred.
Everything went dark.
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(Sarquiss POV)
When he witnessed Lily collapse like a puppet with its strings cut, Sarquiss saw red. Only the fact that he could see her breathing, allowed his rational mind to mount a token of resistance against the onslaught of utter all-consuming rage.
He was going to kill the bastard. Brutalize him. Annihilate. Destroy. Murder. Slaughter. Crush. Slay.
KILL! !!
It was but the work of a moment to gather half a dozen satchels filled with gunpowder and sling them around himself. Then he was off, racing towards his prey.
Dodge one ball. Two. Couldn’t evade the third but it didn't matter. It was only a scratch.
Satori was still smiling, but Sarquiss would make sure that he wouldn't be for much longer.
Leap onto a ball, don’t stop, never stop. Another explosion buffeted his back, but Sarquiss didn't care. He was so close.
Satori was still smiling, one arm outstretched, palms open. One final jump brought him into range and Sarquiss raised his knife above his head, seemingly ready to plunge it into Satori’s neck.
But he didn't. Instead, he released his knife to grasp Satori’s right arm and held on for dear life, even as a shock wave passed through his body. It should have hurt. It didn't. Satori was not smiling anymore.
Sarquiss grinned.
“Boom.”
His knife sunk into the cloud beneath his feet.
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When he came to, it was to pain, more pain and curly brows staring down at him. His throat felt dry.
“Lily?” Sarquiss croaked out. It was barely audible but curly brows gave him an understanding look.
“Safe. She’s currently sleeping.”
“Satori?”
“Out for the count. Your stunt messed with his shitty mantra so I could deck him from behind. Shitty priest won’t be getting up anytime soon.”
“Alive?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Need to kill him.”
A hand covered his eyes. “What you need, is rest. Sleep for a bit and leave the rest to us.”
Sleep sounded good.
“Just for…a bit…gotta…watch…Lil…y”
“Sleep.”
Only for a minute.
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