The mass of furious soldiers behind him roared in outrage upon learning of his tricks. Thorne was far gone by then; He had opted not to use the Phantom Leap again due to his low energy reserves and instead focused on pumping energy through his crystal to regenerate his supply. It wasn’t easy, but he had trained in the art of energy regeneration, and despite most people recommending him to meditate while doing it, he found it to be most effective when under high stress.
Thus, when he arrived to help the flailing Moravian, he would be much more suited for battle, especially when said battle was against such a powerful foe. ‘Principle Karal, ’ Thorne’s face hardened. ‘So, you were more than just a spy.’
He observed Karal closely as he ran. During his tenure as a teacher, he hadn’t interacted with the principal much, and the little interaction he had always left a poor taste in his mouth. Now, seeing the elderly principal toying with Moravian confirmed Thorne’s assumptions. ‘The man’s a damn sadist.’
Luckily, Karal wasn’t facing Thorne and was too busy messing around with Moravian to recognize the threat to his life. Knowing he had to be quick, he hyperactivated the energy in his legs. While running, he held up his finger in a shushing motion to Moravian; he couldn’t have the Draugr reveal his presence after all.
With all the little things prepared, Thorne retrieved his swords in silence. The cascading battlefield noises still overpowered the land, but he was still careful; Principle Karal was a sound cultivator, after all.
Almost upon Karal, Thorne leaped up in the air, bringing his blade down in a devasting downward strike! His muscles and energy ached due to the sheer power of the attack. It was a simple hit; all Thorne did was coat the blade with energy. Nothing more was necessary. Unfortunately, the crowd—now hundreds of feet behind him started to roar with tremendous volume. Their voices carried, and for but a moment, Karal swiveled his head back to see the cause of the noise. Due to muscle memory, Karal ignored the crowd and turned back to Moravian before doing a double take and looking up at Thorne—unrestrained shock evident on his pale face.
With a swift cutting motion, Karal moved his hand and motioned toward Thorne. He didn’t feel an attack per se; instead, Thorne felt the air vibrate, and he was tossed out of the sky—landing unceremoniously on the hard ground.
“Teacher Thorne, how pleasant it is to see you.” Karal drawled with a fake smile. “May I ask why you decided to interrupt my fun so rudely?”
Thorne swiveled his head to Moravian—who was coughing and bleeding on the ground—then back to the crowd—who were running toward Thorne at a slow pace. ‘Three minutes,’ Thorne estimated—biting his lip as he looked back at Karal. He didn’t respond to the man but instead leaped forward! His killing intent was plain, and all prefaces of pace were shattered.
“My my,” Karal shook his head. His eyes shone in the moonlight, and a small, very real smile began to form, “So, we are enemies. How…entertaining.”
Not reacting, Thorne slashed horizontally at Karal’s waist. The air crackled as the blade’s red energy lusted for Karal’s blood. The man laughed before energy erupted from him. Thorne didn’t even know what happened before he stumbled backward. He looked down in horror; ‘The ground…’ The earth had been mutilated by Karal’s vibrations. That didn’t surprise him; what did, however, was the act that Karal didn’t wave or motion with his hands like he had with Moravian. He simply willed the energy to obey him; ‘Incredible.’ Thorne marveled, ‘He’s more powerful than me.’
The realization was a somber one, but Thorne needed it. Despite the three-minute timer, he had to tread with caution. A small smile played across his face as he looked over Karal’s shoulder; ‘Luckily, I'm not the only one.’
Despite his tortuous experience against Karal, Moravian soared through the air, daggers in hand! His energy supplies were low, but he still had enough to be a threat. The small Draugr flew like a shadow, and only at the last moment could Karal react. Likely hearing the Draugr, Karal swiveled, held up his bare hand in defense, and shot vibrational energy at Moravian!
I was too late though. Already used to Karal’s attacks, Moravian rolled out of the way and barreled toward the man! Only through a last-second dodge was Karal still alive. Instead of piercing his skull, both Moravian daggers planted themselves into the man’s shoulder—ripping through the fine suit fabric.
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Blood seeped out of the wound as Moravian flipped backward, dodging a dense vibration attack. Despite the invisible nature of sound and vibrations, Moravian had a clear sense of where they were.
He landed back on the sandstone road, and just like Thorne, he began circling Karal. The two of them were on opposite sides of the sound cultivator—boxing him in.
Thorne went next. Still reeling from the wound on his shoulder, Karal was unable to react to Thorne's soaring blades! Only by unbalancing Thorne with a minor vibration attack did Karal avoid a fatal strike. However, just like Moravian’s attack, Thorne’s still landed. The red-coated sword tore across Karal’s legs! More crimson blood erupted from the pale man! He cried out, and his breathing intensified. Moravian and Thorne had him!
The two teammates continued this pattern of attack: strike, retreat, strike. Over and over, Karal kept accumulating small nicks and wounds throughout his body. After a few minutes, his once-perfect suit was stained dark crimson, and the man himself was barely standing.
Thorne motioned to Moravian with his finger. He pointed it to Karal before pointing to himself. Nodding, Moravian clearly understood Thorne’s lackluster communication and threw himself at Aral. It was now or never; reinforcements would soon arrive—Karal had to die now!
Moravian threw stealth to the window and rushed toward Karal, plunging his daggers forward! Karal, ready for it, stumbled out of the way. He expected Moravian to retreat once again, but instead, the Draugr lept upward over him!
Karal’s face fell. Blood rushed away from his face. With stuttering movements, the illustrious principal Karal looked down at his chest, where a single curved saber was lying, protruding from his heart. “Oh, Thorne.” He croaked, “I warn you, lord Kroll will not…” He trailed off as his body slid away from the weapon and faceplanted to the road, dead.
Thorne—full of sweat and others’ blood—looked over to Moravian while pointing to the hundreds of reinforcements. “We have to go to allies.” He rushed out, “Where’s Procka?”
Moravian, gasping and drenched in his own blood, pointed a finger to his left. Squinting, Thorne saw through the dust and noticed a fiery light flashing. “We have to run fast! Otherwise…” Thorne stuck out a finger to the crowd. He could see them clearly now. In less than a minute, they would be upon them and ready to kill.
“I can't.” Moravian gasped. I’m done. That cultivator drained all my energy.”
Thorne’s heart raced. The stomping boots of the enemies played in his head while his mind raced for potential solutions. Grimacing, Thorne mind lit up; ‘Shit, If I do this, I could die. But If I leave him, he dies.’
His mind moved at lightspeed, and Thorne—so conficted—finally made up his mind. Grimacing, he shuffled over to Moravian and stuck out his thumb behind him. “Hop on," he said.
Without hesitation, the small Drugr leaped onto Thorne’s back, and with all the remaining energy, he held on for dear life as Thorne zoomed off. “Argh!” Thorne grunted as he ran. The Druagr weighed more than he had expected. It was like he was being pushed down by a boulder. Nevertheless, he pushed his body, pushed his heart, pushed his resolve, and continued sprinting to the distant Procka.
He tried regenerating his energy as he ran, but it was impossible. He was exerting himself past his limits; multitasking was simply no longer an option. Luckily, the enemies were relatively spread out at this point. They had become mini armies that roamed together, which allowed Thorne to run primarily uninterrupted. Of course, the occasional bullet or stray energy technique flew past him.
He dodged all of these, not for his own sake but for Moravian, who would be in a disastrous state if he was hit. Thorne’s energy tank was at a horrible low, and only through his tempered willpower could he continue on. Face scrunching, he moved his legs forward. With every step, his body begged him to stop. Thorne did not comply.
After minutes of running, Throne finally spotted Procka, and by the grace of whoever ruled this existence, she was surrounded by hundreds of allies.
He pushed and pushed until they reached the army, where Thorne and Moravian promptly collapsed, unconscious on the cold sandstone road.
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Bleakness of the worst kind enveloped Thorne as he was taken by the boundless night.
Around him, twenty-five figures stood. He lay vulnerable in the center of a circle formed by them. Looking down, Thorne realized that he was in an all-white room. Well, room wasn’t really the right word. Thorne was in a pure white space. It was as if he had entered an existence that had just been created. The only beings in this strange place were him and the twenty-five monolithic figures. Two of them stepped near him and bent down to his level. Still, he couldn’t see their faces or even their shape—he just knew they were here and nowhere else.
The two of them pressed their formless fingers against his forehead gently. Thorne felt a multitude of emotions play through him. Live, comfort, rage, nurturing. Ig as just as before when he was a child. A protective mother versus a cruel father. But what could he do? He couldn’t change his fate, change his destiny. Thorne was the product of existence, and no one but the celestials could change that. Well, and the boundless, of course.
Thorne’s eyes shot open, and all traces of the white void disappeared from his mind. All he could remember was one word: Boundless.