> A Phoenix is born through flames and through death.
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It was late February of the year 2013, deep in the snowy mountains of Switzerland. For the past two weeks, Mark and Thomas Holmes have been investigating a possible Synoikism operation in the region. They were uncertain of their goal, but the prevailing theory pointed to an attack on the capital—whatever it was, it could not be good.
After two weeks of searching, they finally caught sight of him: Mumi Kushenova, the Horseman of Famine. They tracked his movements, keeping their distance, through city streets and into rugged terrain. When he led them up an abandoned highway—its winding stretch fractured and desolate after a recent avalanche—they dared to believe he was alone. The battered road offered ideal cover, and they moved carefully, shadows among the broken asphalt and debris.
Unbeknownst to them, Mumi knew they were there. He slowed his pace, adjusting his path to lead them deeper into the ruins. Like a coyote luring the playful hound into the waiting jaws of its pack, he was simply waiting for the right moment. They did not realize their mistake until it was too late. Synoikism terrorists appeared, one by one, slipping out from behind crumbling barriers and from under layers of avalanche dust.
The first volley was fast, precise—a flurry of gunfire and close-quarters ambush tactics that forced them on the defensive. The agents advanced from all directions, cutting off all escape routes. Forced to improvise, they fought back, using every scrap of cover, ducking behind weathered barriers and maneuvering around broken road dividers. The ambush was relentless, and for every agent they managed to take down, two more filled the gaps.
With no other choice, they pushed toward the dark opening of a nearby tunnel. Together, they fought their way through as agents closed in behind them. The moment they crossed the threshold, Thomas crumbled the entrance behind them.
They caught their breath in the damp silence, their eyes adjusting to the dim light. Now, it was just the two of them, facing down a single exit at the far end—and standing in front of it, blocking their escape, was Mumi Kushenova.
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“This must have taken you guys ages to plan,” Thomas said, with a slight Long Island accent.
“Not as much time as it wasted for you,” Mumi replied, his Uzbek accent thick and gravelly.
Thomas was a large man with dark brown hair and a solid, lineman build. He had broad shoulders that filled out his rugged Carhartt gear. His light brown eyes scanned the surroundings warily as he moved, positioning himself as a barrier for his son.
Behind him, Mark, a small figure, peeked out cautiously. His bright auburn hair was stark against his pale skin, and his nearly black eyes locked on The Terrrorist. Dressed in a thick black North Face jacket, the twelve-year-old looked even smaller beside his towering father, who pushed him further behind.
Opposite them stood Mumi, a tall, almost spectral figure. His frame, slender to the point of frailty, gave him an unsettling appearance, as though he could fade from sight at any moment. His skin held a pale, ashen hue, almost translucent in places, stretched tightly over sharp cheekbones and hollowed eyes. Dark circles shadowed his gaze, and his lips were thin, pressed in a grim line that revealed the toll his illness had taken on him.
Reports had suggested he was battling cancer; now, seeing him up close, they could almost confirm it. His stance wavered, his movements slightly unsteady, yet he had a steely resolve. Illness or not, Mumi remained a formidable opponent and lethal threat, even for the Horseman Slayer.
Mumi reached toward his chest, stopping just shy of touching it, then slowly pulled his hand away. As he did, a pitch-black thread unraveled from his heart.
“Let’s see how well you fare in my dominion— Barren Encroachment!”
Behind Mumi, an ethereal black scale appeared. It was large, almost as if it was a projection against a movie screen behind him.
A dark haze began to fill the tunnel, obscuring much of the view.
Black particulates drifted down from above, while dried, blackened vines began creeping outwards from The Horseman.
Instinctively, a reddish haze formed close around Mark’s body and a whitish one around his father. These hazes seeped from their forms, dispersing like drops of dye in water.
“That’s not gonna work here,” Mumi said, flashing toward Thomas in a sudden burst, his fist ready to strike.
What Mumi summoned was an extension of his own pneumatic energy. This technique, depending on the user’s focus, has many names: territories, domains, kingdoms, palaces, releases. Mumi’s choice was dominion.
Dominions vary greatly between users. For some, their dominion simply amplifies their pneumatic abilities, enhancing raw strength, speed, or endurance within the space they control. Others wield more sinister powers, capable of much more than mere augmentation. Certain dominions grant the ability to harvest the very souls of those who enter, draining their life force if they lack the strength to withstand the dominion’s intense pressure. Each dominion is unique to its user, often reflecting the nature of their power, ambition, or the battles they have fought.
The process of forging a dominion is equally diverse and grueling. Some users inherit dominions by birthright, passing down powers honed through generations. Others achieve them only through the heat of battle, their abilities pushed to the limit until a dominion is forced into existence. Intense training can also create a dominion, though only the most disciplined and determined manage to unlock its potential in this way. Each method has its own risks and rewards, and no path guarantees success.
Possessing more than one dominion is possible, but exceedingly rare. The strain required to control even a single dominion is substantial, demanding an intense mastery over one’s pneuma. To wield multiple dominions requires a resilience and control that few ever achieve. As a result, a single dominion remains a prestigious accomplishment, symbolizing a deep and refined connection to pneuma, as well as a level of skill far beyond the ordinary.
This feat becomes even more remarkable given the nature of pneuma itself. Most individuals with pneumatic potential remain completely unaware of pneuma’s existence, never discovering or understanding the source of their own latent power. Only a select few have the knowledge and training to harness pneuma at all, and an even smaller number rise to the level of forging a dominion.
Mumi’s Barren Encroachment was an extension of his role as the Horseman of Famine. This title, powerful and ancient, passes only when a previous Horseman dies. Each Horseman holds a unique dominion, their pneuma intricately tied to their respective “steed.” Upon the Horseman’s death, this pneuma does not simply vanish but instead transfers to a new host, ensuring the title’s continuity and maintaining the balance between the forces they represent.
For the Horsemen of Conquest and Death, this transfer follows a strict rule: the pneuma automatically finds someone born at the exact moment of the Horseman’s death. This singular timing ensures a perfect alignment between the pneuma and its next bearer, reinforcing the power and exclusivity of the title. War, however, follows a different path, one that allows for more flexibility. The title of War can transfer to either a newborn or someone already alive. Mark, for instance, became the Horseman of War at the age of nine, inheriting the steed’s power rather than receiving it at birth. This adaptability allows War’s pneuma to align with a suitable host, regardless of age, as long as the individual is capable of wielding its might. It also allows for the steed to better hide itself from threats that might want to take advantage of its power.
Famine’s transfer process differs from the other three Horsemen. While Famine’s pneuma usually favors newborn successors, it has been known to make exceptions, allowing older candidates to inherit the role when needed. Famine’s title also carries a unique feature among the Horsemen—it can be divided. Unlike Conquest, Death, or War, the powers of Famine can be subdivided, shared among multiple users who wield parts of its essence.
The oppressive force of Barren Encroachment filled every inch of the tunnel, pressing down on Thomas and Mark like a weight they could not escape. The air grew heavy, thick, as if Mumi’s presence had sucked out all vitality, leaving only a hollow stillness. Each breath felt harder than the last, and their muscles grew sluggish, burdened under the intangible force.
Gradually, they could feel their pneuma begin to drain. It ebbed slowly at first, then faster, siphoned away into Mumi’s grasp. His dominion fed on their very life force, weakening them moment by moment. For an ordinary person, even standing within this field for seconds would be fatal.
The reddish and whitish hazes around the father-son duo pulsed faintly, their last line of defense against the dominion’s pull. But it was like pouring water into sand—the haze was fading, its protective effects wasting away under the relentless drain of Mumi’s power.
Mumi, on the other hand, seemed to absorb the very life that slipped from their bodies. His once feeble stance grew more solid and without warning, he lunged forward, his fist crashing into Thomas' chin
Thomas went flying, launched back by Mumi’s strike.
Mark seized the opening, diving low and sweeping Mumi’s legs with a low sweep.
Mumi’s balance shattered.
He began to fall, but before he could hit the ground, Thomas was already there—appearing above him with a smirk and a strike ready.
With the speed and force of a bullet train, Thomas' fist came down in a crushing hammerfist, smashing into Mumi’s emaciated form.
The blow blasted Mumi into the ground, sending shards of rubble and dust hurtling in every direction.
Without hesitation, Thomas followed up with a relentless series of mount strikes, each punch hammering Mumi deeper into the shattered concrete.
The Horseman raised his arm, deflecting Thomas’ before tossing him off.
He surged up, his face bloodied.
With a sharp twist of his wrist, vines shot out from behind Thomas, coiling around his legs.
The vines tightened, squeezing his limbs and drawing at his pneuma and with a sudden yank, the vines hurled Thomas backward, sending him crashing into the tunnel wall with a loud thud.
Unphased, he jumped back into the fight, but the vines were persisting, grabbing onto his leg once more.
Thomas wrenched his foot free and pivoted, unleashing a spinning back kick straight into Mumi’s ribs.
Mumi stumbled, but a half-second later, he vanished, reappearing behind Mark.
The kid hardly had time to react, but he dropped into a low guard.
Mumi’s hand shot out, twisting Mark’s arm and sending him sprawling to the ground.
The air was knocked out of Mark.
Despite his fight for air, Mark swept his fingers across the rubble, fusing a jagged shard to a few drops of Mumi’s blood that had sprayed on the ground.
He launched the shrapnel with a flick of his wrist, straight up in the air.
With a subtle crimson glow the spike changed direction, tracking straight to Mumi’s chest with a great impulse in speed.
Mumi hardly flinched as the shrapnel pierced his shoulder, he glanced at it for a moment.
Interesting, so his reformation ability is a lot more versatile than we thought… Mumi thought.
Thomas lunged forward for a punch, but Mumi swiftly redirected him into a chokehold.
Thomas strained, feeling the air thinning in his lungs as Mumi’s grip tightened and vines continued to wrap around him.
With his opposite hand Mumi pulled the spike out of his shoulder and went to stab Thomas’ left side.
In that moment, before the spike struck his side, Thomas used his innate pneumatic technique. By flowing his pneuma through the very fabric of space time, once a minute he is able to slow time to a halt. This technique took an immense amount of focus and pneuma so each use only last five seconds at most.
"Time to get this bastard off me," Thomas said, unwrapping himself from the hold. He used the remaining time to he hip throw Mumi to the ground.
Time snapped back into motion and Mumi smashed into the ground, coughing up blood.
Now disoriented, Thomas took the opportunity to kick him while he was down, launching him into the tunnel's wall.
Blood sprayed from Mumi’s mouth once more as he pulled himself from the rubble.
Despite the blow, he seemed healthier than he was before, his skin almost glowing.
“So the rumors you’re a chronomancer are true,” Mumi said, trying to catch his breath.
“Chronomancer makes it seem much cooler,” Thomas said, taking a tired defensive pose.
“It was good enough to pop my lung… Even for a moment.”
As Mumi spoke, his open wounds began to heal.
“That's neat,” Thomas said, looking at the healing wounds. “There’s no flow of pneuma.”
Thomas launched in for a punch.
Mumi was able to block the sluggish attack, using the opportunity to go in for a southpaw.
Mark tried to join in, but staggered backwards, lacking the confidence. The rapid pace of the fight left him struggling to keep up.
He took in a deep breath before running towards a large piece of asphalt dotted with Mumi’s blood.
Without pausing his stride, he tapped it, continuing his path towards the fight.
Behind him the large chunk of debris launched towards Mumi, quickly molding itself into a spear midair.
Mumi spun as the spear hurtled toward him, narrowly dodging it.
Before it had time to course correct he snapped out a hand, shattering the spear.
But the instant it fractured, the chunks jerked towards Mumi littering him with holes like a buck shot.
The wounds lasted only for a few moments before his body healed.
In the brief moment of chaos, Thomas hit him with a double-roundhouse combo that cracked against Mumi’s ribs.
And like salt on a wound Mark returned to the fight, hitting Mumi in the chest with a drop kick.
Thomas followed up on Mark’s dropkick, closing in with a rapid one-two punch combo aimed at Mumi’s torso, each hit connecting with a thud that echoed down the tunnel.
Mumi staggered back. He had no time to recover before Mark darted in low, executing a swift leg sweep that sent The Horseman off-balance.
As he stumbled, Thomas seized the moment, launching a knee strike into Mumi’s stomach, then pivoting into a spinning elbow to the side of his jaw.
Blood sprayed from Mumi’s mouth, but he grinned through it, his breathing quickening as he absorbed each strike.
Mark sprang forward, feinting high with a jab and dropping into a scissor kick, smashing his heel down on Mumi’s shoulder and forcing him back against the tunnel wall.
But Mumi retaliated, twisting free from the wall and grabbing Mark’s arm in a joint lock, wrenching him forward.
Thomas dashed in to break the hold, delivering a heavy roundhouse kick that connected with Mumi’s side, knocking him off Mark and sending him stumbling once more.
They moved in unison, Mark feinting to the left while Thomas attacked from the right with a powerful hook.
With another quick exchange, Mark struck Mumi in the ribs with a palm strike, and Thomas immediately followed up with a low kick to Mumi’s knee, buckling it momentarily.
As Mumi fell forward, Thomas prepared to deliver a finishing uppercut, but his movement was a fraction slower than before. Allowing for The Horseman to block it.
The Father’s breathing was becoming labored, each breath coming shorter and more forced than the last. Mark was no better, his usual precision started to waver as his attacks grew less coordinated, and his breath grew more shallow.
Thomas tried to hide his fatigue, winding up for another side kick, but there was a slight tremble in his stance..
With a flicker, he sidestepped an attack from Thomas and landed a falling kick right on The Father’s back.
Thomas bit cheek, trying to ignore the shooting pain and tried to land a spinning backfist into Mumi’s jaw. It connected hard, and he felt the bone shift beneath his knuckles.
Mumi’s arm jerked reflexively, but he twisted his body and brought his fist down on Thomas in a brutal blow, sending him sprawling back, skidding across the rough ground until he collided with the tunnel wall.
Thomas clenched his jaw and paused time. He moved to his feet, fists ready.
But… something was wrong.
The time stop slipped, ending seconds before he expected.
He barely had time to close the gap and position himself before the effect faltered.
Mumi’s eyes widened, a smirk forming as he dodged Thomas' punch, retaliating with a blow to Thomas' stomach.
Thomas coughed, nearly retching, but he did not stop his assualt.
He drove a brutal sidekick straight into Mumi’s knee.
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There was a sickening crack as the joint buckled sideways.
Mumi staggered, his leg folding beneath him—but before he could react further, Mark was on him.
Mark touched Mumi’s injured leg, and with a faint crimson glow, the bone mended at the exact point it broke, fusing it into a rigid, immovable position.
Mumi strained against the unnatural angle of his leg. His gaze darkened as he inhaled sharply, forcing his body to comply. Then, with a snap, he wrenched his own leg back in place, breaking it anew. There was a flash of light as the leg reset, fully healed, before he spun, kicking Mark right in the head.
“Damn brat!” Mumi said as his kick sent Mark flying into the wall.
Mumi flashed in front of Thomas, his fist smashing into Thomas' side. The impact felt like a cannon, sending him hurtling down the tunnel, skidding across the ground, leaving shallow trenches with each bounce.
As Thomas scrambled to his feet, Mumi was already on top of him, fists raining down in a relentless barrage.
Each strike blasted chunks of ground and concrete around them.
Mark tried to intervene, but Mumi’s hand shot out, gripping him by the collar and hurling him across the tunnel, sending him crashing into a pile of debris, knocking him out.
Thomas tossed Mumi off him and pulled himself to his feet.
With anger carved in his face, he raised his fists and sprung towards The Horseman.
The first punch caught Mumi off-guard, striking him square in the jaw and snapping his head to the side.
Before Mumi could fully process it, Thomas followed up with a rapid series of jabs, each one landing with unrestrained fury.
“You think I’d let you get away with that?” Thomas yelled. Another punch connected, this time slamming into Mumi’s ribs with enough force to crack bone.
Mumi’s smirk twisted into a snarl as he retaliated, launching a knee strike into Thomas' side. The force of it buckled Thomas slightly, but he retaliated, driving his elbow down onto Mumi’s knee.
Bones cracked, and Mumi stumbled, grimacing. “Getting sloppy?” he said, blood staining his lips.
Thomas' expression remained stagnant. “It’s enough to break you.”
Thomas froze time again, diving in close. But the pause only lasted a few heartbeats before the world lurched back into motion. He had just enough time to land a clean cross to Mumi’s temple, snapping his head back and sending a spray of blood from his mouth.
But Mumi twisted his body mid-reel, throwing a wide hook that crashed against Thomas’ cheekbone.
Thomas staggered for a moment. Dazed but undeterred, Thomas retaliated with a fierce low kick to Mumi’s shin, forcing him to buckle under the pressure of his weight.
A laugh escaped Mumi as he steadied himself. “You can’t protect him forever. Once I’m through with you, I’m going to—”
Thomas hit Mumi square in the jaw with a spinning elbow. Blood splattered against the tunnel wall.
Mumi launched himself forward, throwing a flurry of rapid strikes.
Thomas blocked, dodged, and parried, the blows landing closer and closer until Mumi slipped a straight punch past his guard, landing right in his sternum.
Air rushed out of Thomas’ lungs, but he bit back the pain, forcing himself forward again.
He swept low, grabbing Mumi’s wrist and twisting it with all his might until a satisfying snap echoed through the tunnel.
"Cyka!” Mumi yelled in a blood curdling tone.
Mumi dove for a punch, but Thomas sidestepped, using his last reserves to bring his knee up into Mumi’s rib cage, driving him backward.
The blow rattled Mumi’s frame, leaving him coughing up blood.
Still, he remained on his feet. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
The angry father closed the distance, his fists flying with a desperate speed . Each strike landed with the thud of raw power, and Mumi staggered back with each hit, blood soaking his torn clothes.
Mumi’s body shifted and snapped back into place with an accelerating speed, pneuma flowing in erratic bursts, healing his wounds faster than Thomas could inflict them.
For every bruise, a new layer of skin knitted itself together; for every punch that sent Mumi back, his feet planted harder in the rubble.
Thomas’ breathing became labored, each punch felt heavier than the last. His fist sliced through the air again, aiming for Mumi’s head—but as it neared, a thick vine shot up from the ground, coiling around his wrist. The force slowed him, just for a fraction of a second, but that was enough for Mumi to lunge, his own fist crashing into Thomas’ ribs.
Pain erupted through Thomas' body, but he gritted his teeth and fought against the vines trying to drag him down.
He wrenched his arm free, delivering an elbow to Mumi’s jaw, sending a fresh spray of blood into the air.
The vines tightened, wrapping around his legs now, trying to hold him in place as Mumi’s hands became a blur, each punch carrying more weight than the last.
Thomas managed to block most of them, but the sheer force of Mumi’s attacks were taking a toll on him. A punch landed square in his abdomen, and Thomas felt the air leave his lungs, his body crashing into the ground.
Before he could recover, the vines seized him, holding him still, the tension in them growing as they drained his pneuma. His muscles screamed with every attempt to break free. Mumi stood tall before him now, his body slowly stitching itself back together, blood still dripping from his mouth.
Thomas used his remaining strength to power through the vines’ grip, his limbs heavy, but still able to move. He rose to his feet, only to feel the weight of Mumi’s hand on his shoulder, followed by a brutal knee to his gut.
The world around him started to spin, the pressure of the vines, the relentless assault, and his own fading strength pulling him closer to his breaking point. But even as Mumi’s strength grew and the vines pulled tighter.
He tried throwing a punch—slow and heavy— it glanced off Mumi’s shoulder. Mumi did not even try to dodge it. Instead, he responded with a brutal combination of strikes. A knee to Thomas' chest sent him staggering backward, the force of it knocking the air from his lungs, followed by a devastating elbow that cracked against his temple. The blow left Thomas discombobulated, his legs shaking beneath him as he fought to stay upright.
But it was too much. The vines were everywhere now, crawling up his legs, his arms, pulling at his body as Mumi closed in, his attacks relentless. Thomas tried to lift his fists, tried to block, but his arms felt like lead.
Mumi punched the restrained Thomas in his jaw. His teeth shattered on the spot, and his head snapped back. Blood sprayed across the floor. His legs gave way, and he fell to his knees, his vision dimming as the world spun.
He did not have time to brace himself before Mumi’s boot planted itself into his chest, forcing him onto his back. The pressure on his ribs was suffocating, and the vines tightened around his limbs, pinning him to the ground, getting tighter with every breath he took.
Mumi stood over him, his breathing labored. “You fought hard, ‘hero.’ But this is where it ends.”
Thomas was drowning in his own blood. His muscles burned, every nerve felt raw and shattered. He reached for the last of his strength, trying to move, to throw another punch, to make one final stand, but his arms refused to respond. He struggled to keep his eyes open as Mumi raised a fist.
And then, with a final, desperate effort, Thomas tried to stop time once more. But the world around him only froze for a blink of an eye. The fight had drained him too far, and his mind was too foggy to focus. Mumi’s fist came down like a hammer.
Thomas' world went black…
Mumi stood over Thomas….
His chest heaved with exertion…
The sight of “The Hero,” bloodied and broken, lying beneath his feet…
It was sweet…
He looked down at the unconscious Thomas with something akin to respect in his eyes.
“Well,” Mumi said in a quiet murmur. “You’ve impressed me. You’re tough. Stronger than I expected… They said not to face you on my own… They said to be weary…” His fingers curled into a fist as he looked down at the broken man. “But it looks like you won’t be adding a third to your list. Not today, not ever.”
He raised a boot, aiming to bring it down hard onto Thomas' head.
The satisfying crunch of bone beneath his foot was the only thing he could think about…
But as his foot hovered above Thomas' skull, something in the air shifted. A surge of heat began to radiate from behind him. It was sudden. Mumi paused, his instincts kicking in, senses flaring. The heat was not just physical. It felt like a flame which can cleanse the soul of the wicked.
The ground beneath his feet seemed to hum.
He peaked over his shoulder.
The air exploded.
Mumi turned fully to face the epicenter of the surge. The ground quaked harder, and the space between him and the heat seemed to warp. The oppressive silence of the tunnel shattered as flames erupted in a violent outburst, splintering the air.
Red flames licked the ground, twisting and spiraling. The flames surged outward in all directions, spreading with such intensity that the very fabric of the world around them seemed to bend beneath their weight.
At the heart of the inferno stood Mark, his body unharmed but engulfed in the very flames which raged around him. His breath came in labored gasps, his chest rising and falling with each strained inhale.
Slowly, Mark raised his right hand to his heart, two fingers trembling as they hovered just above it.
He raised the fingers to his lips, which parted slightly as he moved his hand towards the Horseman of Famine, the words choking out with a tone that carried exhaustion.
“Walk through my kingdom: Purgatory.”
With those words, a tremor rippled through the flames. The inferno intensified, swelling in height and fury, as the air itself bending to Mark’s will. The heat was unbearable, enough to sear the flesh from bone. But it was not just heat that tore through the air now. The flames pulsed with pneuma.
When the flames collided with Mumi’s dominion, they did not simply meet—they clashed, a violent explosion of power, where the very essence of the two forces collided with an intensity that sent tremors through the ground. Pneumatic haze billowed from the clash, swirling and distorting the air in an almost liquid-like dance, the world consumed by the firestorm.
The force of it left Mumi reeling, the heat an overwhelming pressure against his very being.
He staggered back, feeling the surge of the flames not just around him but within him, tearing at his core.
What the hell is this dominion... It's burning my very soul… I haven’t felt something like this since…
Mumi smirked, steadying himself.
“So,” he said, his voice carrying a mocking edge, “you’re the new War Horseman?” He chuckled, his grin spreading wider. “How ironic.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed, the flames around him intensifying, twisting in sharp, jagged patterns.
“This just makes the plan so much better,” Mumi continued, pausing as he glanced at the defeated Thomas. “Not only have I eliminated one of the biggest thorns in our side, but now… we’ll be able to begin the next steps earlier than expected.”
The heat around them grew, filling every inch of the tunnel. Mark moved first, striking with a speed Mumi had not anticipated. Each punch landed with a weight that reverberated through his frame, searing the skin where it made contact. It was not just the power or speed that unsettled him—it was the heat. The burns the strikes left behind were not just superficial; they lingered, halting his healing, small halos of blistering flesh encircling each laceration.
Mumi braced himself, forcing his body to steady despite the flames licking at his skin. I can’t hold this equilibrium… It’s draining my dominion, every bit of pneuma I push out is getting devoured. It’s exposing me.
The flames surged higher…
Mark threw a swift uppercut, his knuckles slamming into Mumi’s jaw with a loud crack, the force scattering the dark haze of the dominion for a moment.
Mumi’s vision blurred as he staggered back, chest heaving.
Mumi steadied himself, gritting his teeth as the burns pulsed across his skin.
He retaliated with a series of swift strikes. His fists connected solidly, his knuckles singed upon contact, but he did not let up. He managed to get in twenty consecutive hits on Mark, but every strike only fanned the flames.
“He made you hold back, didn’t he?” Mumi said, as he looked at his scarring skin. There’s no mistaking it now— kid’s playing my own game. He’s trying to win by endurance, slowly chipping away at me, one burn at a time…
Mumi pulled from the fight, taking a moment to concentrate. He extended his hand to the air and pneuma coalesced around his it, hardening into a scale that glowed with an eerie purple light. The scales floated just above his palm, subtly tilting and shifting.
Mark advanced, undeterred, but scale began to tilt towards one side, and Mark’s movements began to slow, his form weighed down.
I’ve got him.
Mark’s footsteps faltered, the flames surrounding him flickering ever so slightly. But then, like a rising tide, Mark’s flames surged, pushing back against the oppressive weight of the scales.
A wave of heat crashed over Mumi’s senses, completely nullifying the crushing force and disintegrating the scale in his hand. The flames’ cleansing touch healed any wound Mumi inflicted on the boy, intensifying until Mumi had to pull back, abandoning the offensive just to avoid damage.
The kid’s movements became a blur, his speed beginning to outpace Mumi.
Each step, each punch, was like a whip crack in the air, breaking the sound barrier.
The flames around him flared with every strike, casting jagged shadows along the tunnel walls.
Mumi had barely steadied himself when Mark appeared within striking distance again, faster than his eyes could track.
He’s in a flow state, Mumi thought. The more I challenge him the stronger he’s going to get… The more power his steed is going to lend. Either I put an end to him here and now, or he’ll become our biggest obstacle…
As Mark lunged forward, Mumi aimed to kick his ribs.
He twisted his arm to block the kick, but the impact shattered his humerus.
Instead of shying back from the pain, flames instantly engulfed Mark’s arm and with it his bone snapped back into place.
He looked down at his healed arm with a smile. “Cool, let’s put this to the test.”
Instead of dodging, he started to let Mumi’s blows hit, as fast as these blows came, he was able to heal faster.
Mark aimed a kick at Mumi’s right leg, breaking the shin bone and angling it in a way that propelled his knee into Mumi’s ribs. The bright flash of his innate ability solidifying the ugly fusion of the bones.
“Damn it, again!” Mumi yelled.
Mark used this state to his advantage, hitting his opponent faster, sloppier, and harder than before.
The tunnel walls groaned under the fight’s intensity; the force from each blow fracturing the stone, sending small tremors through the ground. Mumi tried his best to counter, but his reactions were just a hair too slow, and his stance too fixed to match.
Then with an open palm strike, Mark’s hit Mumi’s shoulder, forcing him on his back. Taking advantage of the momentary fall, Mumi snapped his leg back into place, which healed much slower than before. He jumped upright with a grin on his face.
Sweat mingled with the blood on his face, flying off as he reentered the fight.
Every dodge, every block was calculated, and despite his burning wounds, he kept up, forcing himself to match Mark’s increasing pace.
The tunnel continued to shudder; pieces of debris rained down from the ceiling, and cracks began to snake along the walls.
Mark noticed a piece of rebar from the ground, dislodged from one of their recent clashes.
Without hesitation, he yanked it free, the metal groaning as it separated from the concrete, and spun it in his hands, testing its weight.
The weapon caught Mumi off guard, striking him square in the ribs with enough force to send him skidding back across the tunnel floor.
He had no time to register the pain before Mark was on him again, swinging the, now, flaming railing.
He’s not just fast… He’s sporadic…. He keeps changing between fighting styles… Damn that inherited mastery. Mumi’s mind raced.
Each strike resonated through Mumi’s body. Yet he fought on, his smile widening with each hit that landed.
Mark swung the railing again, aiming for Mumi’s head, but Mumi ducked, letting it whoosh past his ear before retaliating with a brutal punch to Mark’s gut.
Mark’s torso contorted to absorb the blow, and his ribs cracked under the impact, but in an instant, he realigned himself, the bones knitting together before Mumi could capitalize on the injury.
Mumi shifted his stance, gathering the free pneuma around him, funneling it into his hand.
His fingers traced a scale-like pattern through the air.
Mark faltered for a moment, his movements slowing just enough for Mumi to connect with a powerful roundhouse punch that sent him reeling.
The kid staggered, allowing for a followup punch to land with a loud crack.
Mark’s movements began to slow, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.
I have him now.
The flames began to recede.
Mumi moved his fingers through the air again, tracing another pattern—more aggressive this time.
“Let’s finish this!”
Mark’s breaths turned ragged, each one a shallow gasp. The flames around him further receded, leaving only a sparse scatter of low red embers. Regardless he pressed on, throwing another punch with every ounce of strength he had left, but Mumi sidestepped it with ease. He countered with a sharp jab to Mark’s ribs. The punch drove deep, the sound of cracking bone echoing. Mark’s mouth opened in a loud gasp.
Mumi did not wait for him to recover, as he landed a brutal uppercut that snapped Mark’s head back. The boy stumbled, his vision blurred. But Mumi was already advancing, giving him no space, no room to breathe.
A savage kick slammed into Mark’s knee, buckling it.
He crashed to the ground on one knee.
Before he could even process the impact, Mumi’s fist was there again, smashing into his jaw.
The tunnel seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in as Mark’s world narrowed to nothing but the pain and Mumi’s unyielding assault.
Blood poured from a deep gash above Mark’s eyebrow, trickling down his face in hot, sticky rivulets.
He raised his hands, weakly trying to defend himself, but Mumi brushed his arms aside, delivering a punishing series of blows to Mark’s torso, each hit pushing him closer to the breaking point.
Mark’s leg buckled, but he forced himself to stand.
Mumi raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“You can still stand?” Mumi asked, his tone mocking. “Impressive.”
With that, he drove his knee into Mark’s gut.
The force of the blow forced all the air from Mark’s lungs.
Mumi followed up with an elbow to the back, driving him to his knees.
Mark collapsed, one hand bracing against the ground, but he couldn’t muster the strength to rise.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Mumi said, circling the child. “Come on, you’re a horseman!”
Mumi’s fist connected with his face again, snapping his head to the side. Mark’s lip split open, blood trickling down his chin, mingling with the sweat and dirt that coated his skin. He struggled to his feet, barely managing to stay upright, his legs shaking, his breaths shallow and strained.
Then, with a quick motion, Mumi seized Mark by the throat, lifting him off his feet.
Mark’s legs kicked helplessly, his hands clawing at Mumi’s grip, but Mumi’s hold was unbreakable.
Mark’s vision began to darken, his body dangling helplessly in Mumi’s grasp.
Mark’s vision dimmed, his body dangling in Mumi’s iron grip, the world around him narrowing to a single thought: survival. With the last shreds of his strength, he forced his voice through the pressure on his throat.
“I’m sorry, dad,” Mark said gurgling, “Upon my soul, I make this covenant!”
This proclamation echoed, resonating beyond sound, cutting through the suffocating heat. Suddenly, the flames that had been dying around him reignited, surging with a life of their own. They roared to life, enveloping the tunnel in a red inferno. The air itself seemed to pulse as the flames shifted from red to a fierce blue, then to an intense white—a blinding heat that swallowed them both, bathing the entire space in an unnatural, scorching light.
Mumi’s grip faltered, his fingers loosening as the heat seared through his hand, scorching him from within. He staggered back, his face twisted in agony, flames consuming every inch of his body. Mark fell to his knees, gasping for air as the white flames raged around them, blurring the edges of reality until everything became a void of incandescent light.
Then, as swiftly as it had begun, the firestorm receded, leaving not a single flame.. The tunnel was wrecked, the walls cracked and crumbling, melted debris scattered everywhere.
In the center of the wreckage, Mark knelt, bloodied and bruised, his own body battered and broken. Mumi laid dead beside him, his once emaciated form, now nothing more than charred flesh. Cracks littered his body, emanating a faint glow of a still burning flame within.
With a pained grunt, Mark pushed himself to his feet, swaying, his vision swimming from the effort. Blood trickled from cuts on his face, his arms bruised and raw. He pulled himself over to his unconscious father. He could feel every ache, every crack in his ribs.
Mark reached down, gripping his father by the shoulder and dragging his heavy form across the uneven ground. His father’s weight pulled on his own weary muscles, each step an agony he forced himself to endure. The red glow danced through Thomas’ body, knitting his wounds, but Mark himself found no such relief. His own injuries remained with no attempt to heal.
Step by step, he moved toward the shattered exit of the tunnel, the faint glow of daylight filtering through the crumbling structure. Blood dripped from his chin, his breathing ragged.
On the other side of the tunnel, a squadron of Synoikism agents waited in formation, their faces cold and impassive. At the forefront stood Mumi’s own apprentice, Juliana Denetriou—the Horseman of Conquest. Clad in her loose, flowing black uniform, she was a towering woman, her height further emphasized by her heavy black boots that planted her in place like an immovable wall.
Mark dropped his father to the ground and slowly raised his fists, settling into a tired fighting stance. His breathing was still heavy, his body screaming from the effort.
Juliana looked down at him, her mouth curving into a smirk, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous, toxic lust. “A kid taking down Kushenova… I’m impressed,” she said, her voice laced with a thick Greek accent. She leaned forward just slightly, appraising him with a look that bordered on predatory. “I look forward to seeing where you go in life…”
She straightened, her expression shifting to one of command as she turned to her squadron. Her voice rang out, sharp and uncompromising. “Stand down!” she barked, her tone brooking no argument. “Forget everything you saw. Let them through.”
The agents hesitated only for a moment before stepping aside. Without saying a word Mark grabbed onto his father, returning to his slow drag…