Chapter 10: Exertion Debt
Even though she had murdered his father and left his lifeless body on the sidewalk to rot, Zach could not help but feel a touch of pity—if only just a touch—for the horrendous, horrifying, and nightmare-inducing way that the woman called Seraphina had died. After what she’d done to his dad, Zach would be lying if he said he’d be shedding any tears over her passing. But wow. Did she have to die like that? It also didn’t help that Zach had never seen someone killed before. Sure, he’d seen his mom’s body at her funeral and he’d seen his dad’s corpse in such a horrible state, but this was the first time he’d witnessed the actual act of death with his own two eyes.
I’m never getting that out of my head, he thought. Can’t un-see something like that.
The worst part of it all was that it was impossible to see someone die in such a unique and gruesome way and not also imagine it happening to you too. He couldn’t help wonder what it would feel like. Hell, just knowing that Mr. Oren had the power to actually do something like that was enough to make him groan nervously. Though Zach was “usually” pretty well behaved at school, he promised himself he’d never talk in Mr. Oren’s class ever again without raising his hand first.
If I even go back to school after all this. Something tells me that part of my life is over with.
Zach peered out from behind the cover of a knocked over green couch that he’d taken with Kalana and her father shortly after his science teacher disintegrated half the apartment with a projectile beam that left the place smoking and filled with a nauseating burning smell. Across the room, Mr. Oren’s blade battled against Varsh’s staff as though it were a sword against another sword. The fighting was fast, frenetic, and it was impossible for him to know who was actually winning or losing. Mr. Oren had taken down the woman in the sports bra easily—and disgustingly—enough, so how hard could the other one be?
He raised his conjured sword above his head in a two-handed grip; then, with a grunt, he slashed down at Varsh, who quickly shifted his grip to opposite ends of his staff so that he held it horizontally, raising it up to block. With a clack, the steel collided against the wood, which somehow did not break or even chip. Now, the two of them struggled against one another, both making grunts of exertion as Mr. Oren’s sword pressed down on Varsh’s staff. This continued for nearly ten full seconds before the two mutually seemed to disengage, the both of them leaping backwards and away from one another. Varsh was breathing heavily though not quite panting, whereas a light sheen of sweat on the back of Mr. Oren’s neck was the only sign of anything resembling fatigue in the much younger man.
“You think you’re something special because you killed that?” Varsh asked, spitting on—or rather, across—Kalana’s apartment floor, where his saliva landed just a few feet shy of cylindrical, mysteriously dark tube, which was still right there in front of the TV that had fallen off the wall and landed on the floor on its screen-side.
The tube was just translucent enough that Zach’s imagination could fill in the blanks of the few details he couldn’t make out. Right now, he could barely see through it, and even still, it was enough to make for a traumatizing sight. He really hoped the tube wouldn’t just disappear after a few minutes had passed, as he had no idea how this kind of ability worked. He just hoped that this tube-thing would stay right where it was, because if it vanished or broke apart, Seraphina’s blended remains would likely spill out along with all the blood that had been in her body, which was actually quite a bit; based on what appeared to be a red-tinted shadow, Zach estimated the blood had pooled up to where her ankles would’ve been if they hadn’t become part of the Seraphina smoothie. It was not something he wanted to see spilled out over the apartment.
“She made her choice,” Mr. Oren said. He bent his knees, extended his arms, and angled his blade at Varsh. “And so did you. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry about your friend.”
“Friend?” he asked, saying the word as though it were foreign to him. “Seraphina wasn’t my friend. My friends don’t let trash blend them to mush. Besides, she wouldn’t blow me. Maybe if she had, I would’ve put in a little extra effort to save her.”
Mr. Oren’s eyes narrowed and a crease formed in his brow. Zach had no idea how someone with even a modicum of sense would not recoil in fear at the sight of him, especially after what he’d just done. Yet Varsh displayed no fear—at least none that Zach could detect. He merely laughed as if enjoying Mr. Oren’s reaction to his comment.
“You are a repulsive, disgusting cretin.”
“Says the kid who spends his days teaching Ones how to do science. The only thing Ones need to learn is how to lick boot.”
“You think level determines a person’s worth, Varsh?”
He shook his head. “No, I think the opposite: I think a person’s worth determines their level.”
“Here’s the only thing you’re worthy of!”
“Hmm?”
Abruptly, two more of the flat, impossibly dark disc-shaped objects appeared, with one directly below Varsh’s feet and one directly above his head. Zach was tempted to look away. He was not in the mood to see this happen twice in one day. Apparently neither was Varsh, as he leapt to his side and came into a roll just as the previously flat, circular objects began to expand towards one another before hardening and taking on more of a plastic look. Unlike before, when the grinding sounds began from within, there was no one inside to be blended.
Varsh immediately shot up to his feet and retreated several lunging steps backwards before slamming his staff into the floor with enough force that almost an inch of it sank straight through the carpet and into the wood below. Then, with his staff now anchored in front of him, he gripped both his hands directly around the middle of the staff with his right just over his left, and he began to chant.
“Val kest flammen cira ven…”
As Varsh continued to chant, the red rose on his robe began to glow a brighter and brighter shade of red with an increased intensity that, after several seconds, made it difficult for Zach to look at directly without his eyes stinging. For some reason, Mr. Oren seemed content to stay where he was. Rather than charge forward at the man, he briefly closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, a glowing, orange aura appeared a few inches in front of his body. It looked like a wall made of a fading orange light that blinked in and out of existence as if pulsating in tune to some inaudible beat.
In short order, the chanting came to an end, and with great speed, Varsh ripped his staff up out of the floor, extended it in Mr. Oren’s direction in a two-handed grip, and then with a deafening pop that sounded like a detonated bomb, the end of his weapon fired out a purple, prism-shaped mass of flickering energy that made a terrifying screeching-hiss as it flew across the room to where Mr. Oren awaited.
It crashed with an audible zap against the orange, pulsating, wall-shaped barrier Mr. Oren had erected, but to Zach’s horror, the barrier, despite being made of light, shattered exactly like glass, and so the purple energy continued on towards his sword-bearing science teacher. After everything Zach had seen so far, he told himself that this must surely have been what Mr. Oren was expecting: what he’d wanted to happen. After all, he had been in control of everything else that’d happened so far, right? So this was probably just one more instance where he’d pull out some amazing trick to counter whatever Varsh had done. Unfortunately, his sharp exhalation of breath suggested otherwise.
“How?” Mr. Oren half-whispered, half-grunted as he was struck dead center in his chest.
The impact caused a brief but illuminating flicker of light similar to a camera’s flash, and then it lifted him off his feet and threw him across the living room while his sword escaped his grip and flew off in a completely separate direction. He came to a stop only after crashing through the wall leading to the master bedroom, which resulted in a horrible noise that was like a cross between a bang and a crunch. He disappeared out of view after that, but from follow-up sounds of wood breaking and a heavy thud that came from somewhere out of sight, Zach had the impression that his situation had just taken a very, very dark turn.
That…that’s really not good! Zach thought, a pain borne of unease forming in his stomach. Please tell me he’s okay and still able to fight!
Before Zach had the chance to consider Mr. Oren’s fate, a shadow moving fast over the carpet floor caused him to divert his attention to the sword. He watched it flip several times through the air, and he realized it was traveling in his direction—as in directly at him. A sense of urgency struck him just in time, and he slid backwards and away as the sword landed just behind the couch with the bladed-end pointed downwards. It pierced the carpet and sank into the flooring like a dart thrown at a board—and in the exact same spot where his crotch had been, too.
He didn’t just lose, did he? Zach thought, terrified. Because if he lost, then we’re screwed.
“You’re an idiot,” Varsh said, walking towards the master bedroom where Mr. Oren had just been sent flying. “You’re actually stronger than me, too. That’s the funny part. But you gave your most powerful piece of equipment to some useless kid whose life is actually worth less than the coat you put on his back.”
Zach swore. So things were going to turn out just the way he’d feared. It really sucked, too, because for a while there, it had actually seemed like he, Mr. Oren, Kalana, and her dad were all going to make it out of this alive and in one piece. But no. Of course not. Mr. Oren had just sacrificed himself for Zach’s sake, which was exactly what he’d been worried would happen before they ever chose to come here. To make matters worse, what Varsh had said was correct: he wasn’t worth the lab coat he’d been given. At least not yet. Not the way he was now.
Varsh, still moving towards the master bedroom, came to a sudden, abrupt halt. He remained still a moment. Then, grinning, he looked over in Zach’s direction as if only first remembering he was there. Zach bristled. The staff-wielding scumbag now seemed to be more interested in him than Mr. Oren.
“I warned you about what would happen if you came back,” he said. “Now I’m going to mutilate you and your girlfriend. Oh, but don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll still buy the Elvish slut if she’s missing an eye.” He growled, and it was a sound that was filled with a seething rage. “I’m so gods-damned pissed. I’m really going to make you suffer! Let’s see how brave you are when Mister ‘science man’ isn’t here to wipe your ass for you, brat.”
Zach hissed in misery that this was the way things had to happen. Gods, why? Why could he never be granted any luck? Just for once in his life! Now he would have to fight someone who he had no chance of actually beating.
“Kalana, get ready to run,” he said to her. “You and your dad are getting out of here. I’ll stay and—”
“Nah-uh! We’ll all run.”
He gave her his sharpest look. “No,” he said, speaking forcefully. “I’m not…this time I’m not letting him get you. At least let me do this one thing right in my life, Kalana.”
The look she returned him was equally as sharp. “I said no. I’d never leave you. You came back for me, so how could I ever…look, I’m not gonna leave you, so…so either we all escape together, or I’ll die with you.”
“Fine, we’ll all make a break for it together,” Zach lied. In truth, he had no intention of fleeing, as he was certain it wouldn’t do them any good without one of them staying behind. “We’re going to run when I count to three. Okay, you two?”
He waited to see a nod from both Kalana and her father; this, even as Varsh licked his lips and slowly, menacingly turned fully in their direction. He began to walk the short distance from the living room to the overturned green couch they were hiding behind at sedate pace as if to draw out their fear for his twisted satisfaction.
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“One,” Zach whispered, as Varsh came nearer. He tapped both Kalana and her father on the shoulder and then pointed in the direction of the apartment’s front door. He waited until they looked where he indicated, and then, with their eyes turned away from him, he disobeyed Mr. Oren’s most ardently given instruction and peeled the lab coat off his body, leaving himself virtually defenseless.
“Two,” he said, fidgeting with the coat and straightening it with both hands as Varsh’s smile turned even more sinister. As the man approached, he held his staff relaxed at his side and seemed to caress it with his thumb. This time, he wasn’t going to let Zach leave here alive. He wasn’t going to let any of them leave here, but Zach was the only one whose life he planned to end. Even still, he’d be the lucky one, as he’d rather be dead than sold as a slave to some creep. He couldn’t let her be taken. He refused to even imagine what the sick bastard who bought Kalana would do to her. That was why Zach had to distract Varsh—even at the cost of his life.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
To be clear, he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to live so Gods-damned badly. His desire to survive was so strong that tears began to well in his eyes as he knew what would come next. He wasn’t ready for it to end. He wasn’t ready to become nothing. But…but he was going to do it anyway, and it didn’t matter that he was scared or trembling just at the thought of what came next. It didn’t matter at all, because he now realized that what Mr. Oren had told him earlier was true—but even more so, it may well have been the most important thing that anyone had ever said to him.
“What makes you a man is whether or not you follow through on your actions. Not whether or not you escape with your underwear clean.”
If nothing else, at least Zach would go down fighting: he’d at least depart this world as someone who could respect himself. He wasn’t going to run away only to be stabbed in the back or cut down by some high-level magical ability that would probably be every bit as awful and gruesome as the one that’d killed Seraphina. No, he’d fight like a man and save Kalana, and then he would at least know that he’d kept the promise he’d made to himself even if he hadn’t fulfilled it in the way he’d hoped.
Zach inhaled, took a breath, and then held it for just a moment. He wanted more time. He wanted to wait longer. He wasn’t ready for it all to end. But he knew if he delayed for even another second it might be too late, and then he’d still die anyway, only without saving the girl he could no longer deny he loved.
“Three!” he shouted. Kalana bolted upright, as did her father. But Zach had already gotten to his feet before her.
In just a few swift motions that were so precise and well executed it almost made Zach think he was the one with high dexterity, he grabbed Kal’s right elbow, pulled her towards him, spun her around, and forced the lab coat over her back before she could even realize what he was doing. Even as she looked over her shoulder at him and opened her mouth to speak, he grabbed the right side of the coat with one hand and her right arm in the other and pulled it through the sleeve before doing the same to her left. Then, without giving her the chance to react, he shoved her forcefully into her father.
“Run!” he screamed at them.
Without even looking to see if she listened, he grabbed the hilt of Mr. Oren’s sword, yanked it free from the floor, and took off at an explosive run towards Varsh, whose eyes lit up with a small, but noticeable glimmer of shock.
Even as he raced towards what would likely be his certain death, Zach was surprised at how easily his feet moved and how willing his body was to fight to the end. He wasn’t even sure why. He was still terrified, and his heart was now pounding so heavily in his chest that he could actually hear it in his ears. Even his lips were trembling. And yet, through some means, he managed to find the courage to confront his enemy head on even knowing how much he might be hurt or tortured to death. Was it because of Kalana? Was it because, deep down, he knew that he’d failed her once already and couldn’t bear to let it happen all over again? Or was it because he’d failed himself. Maybe it was a mix of the two. Either way, there was no turning back.
The sword was heavy, and he held it in a one-handed grip, as his left wrist was still broken. He also noticed all his pains and aches from earlier had come rushing back now that he did not have the lab coat to suppress it. He was well and truly defenseless. It was just him now: a level-3 nobody armed with his teacher’s sword.
The moment he reached Varsh, he raised his arm above his head and then sliced downwards diagonally for a cut that he hoped would open up Varsh’s face from his left ear to his right chin. As the blade came to within inches of the wicked man’s face, he noticed that he made no attempt to defend himself or get out of the way. It was as he’d been earlier—and so too was the result of his attack.
The sword struck his face, and rather than dig into his flesh, it bounced off him with enough force to make it fly out of Zach’s hands, disappear somewhere behind him, and then land somewhere he couldn’t see with a clang that sounded like it came from the kitchen counter.
“I have never seen anyone in my life who wanted to die so badly,” Varsh said. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”
Zach ignored him. He spun around, sprinted over to the kitchen. He briefly scanned the table looking for the sword. He was so nervous and so afraid that his vision had become blurry. Somehow, he found the weapon, which had blended in between a bread basket and a potted plant. He grabbed it, spun back around, and then again charged at Varsh.
“Go on,” Varsh said, tapping his own chin mockingly. “Try it again. I want to toy with you I think. I want you to really know how screwed you are. I want to see the moment you realize how bad a time you’re in for now.”
If Zach was going to die anyway, it didn’t matter what happened to his left wrist. And so, as a wave of intense, unbearable agony shot into his hand and ached so fiercely that the pain even radiated up his arm and into his shoulder, he gripped the black-hilted blade with both of his hands and then swung it with all his strength at Varsh’s neck. The result, unfortunately, was the same as before. The blade bounced off his neck, and Zach stumbled backwards quite a few steps, almost losing his balance and falling over. But at least, this time, he kept his grip on the blade. He’d also gained a bit of distance, now almost ten feet away.
“Is it my turn now?” Varsh asked, baring his teeth. His shoulders were moving in an odd way, and it was only then that Zach realized the man was so filled with rage that he was actually trembling. This was going to be an awful death, wasn’t it? This would be the moment Zach died: before he ever got to truly tell Kalana how he felt. Before he got to explore the world with her. Hell, before he ever got to figure out what his Wave Slash actually—
Wave Slash!
The name struck him like a bolt of lightning as he suddenly realized in the back of his head that he could actually do it. He was holding a sword: and not just any sword, but one that was also equipment. He felt it now. That he could do it. Would it matter? Probably not. But why not try? He had nothing left to lose. At least he’d finally get to see what it did before he was tortured to death.
Spreading his legs and widening his stance, he gripped the weapon even more tightly despite the excruciating pain that went into his left, throbbing wrist, which he could barely close with his broken bones.
Varsh laughed at him. “You’re not done yet? Little level…what are you, kid?”
“Three.”
He barked out an even louder laugh. “Look at the little level-3 trash. He thinks he’s going to—”
Before Varsh had even finished speaking, Zach used his ability. He didn’t know what to expect. He had thought a great many things might happen—but what he did not expect was his entire body to begin moving on its own without his input or control. His mouth opened all on its own. His left foot stepped forward all on its own, too, while his left knee bent and his back knee remained straight. He raised his sword high above his head—as high as his arms would allow. And then, without any control over his actions, his mouth moved on its own, and he shouted out, “Wave Slash!” and swung his weapon diagonally downwards.
As though the sword were a brush and the air itself a canvas, a green, patchy, cloud-like clump of energy came off the sword like a spider shooting web, which folded in on itself so that it resembled something of an S-shape. Even before it had fully popped into existence, and even before Zach’s sword had completed its downward swing, the S-shaped, cloud-like mass of energy began slowly drifting towards Varsh at a speed so slow it would make a sloth impatient—at least for the first second or two. Then it began to pick up speed—and not gradually, either, but with all the harshness of an insane driver stomping their foot down on a DEHV’s acceleration pedal.
In fact, the change happened so quickly that if Zach had blinked, he would not have seen it happen at all. First, it began to spin, its form continuing to change with each rotation as it pulled itself into a more rounded shape. In less than half a second, the S-shaped energy curved and folded in on itself, reforming into a disc. Then its texture began to change from cloudy and green to shiny and metallic. At some point, an indentation had formed in the disc, creating a second layer that jutted out and formed a dangerously sharp looking serrated edge. It looked like the kind of thing that would cut someone’s finger in half even if they touched it gently.
Zach watched in awe as the bladed disc continued to spin faster and faster until finally it spun so fast that it made a loud, high-pitched shriek as if the air itself was crying out in pain. Zach felt his clothing flap around him as it sent winds soaring in every direction, causing all kinds of dust, shards of glass, broken circuitry, and any other manner of mess to begin lifting off the floor and scatter to every side of the apartment as it tore across the living room heading straight for Varsh. And all this had happened within just two seconds of its creation.
Varsh howled out in laughter, then puckered his lips, intentionally making himself look like an idiot. He held up his hand, letting his wrist sag and fall forward, then he moved it to his opposite shoulder. He was mocking Zach. It was obvious what he was going to do. He was going to limply backhand the bladed projectile, swatting it out of the air like it was a fly buzzing around his ear. He was going to drive one final stake of humiliation through Zach’s heart before moving on to a literal one.
The bladed disc approached, Varsh let out an obviously faked cry of fear designed to insult and mock, then did exactly what Zach had expected him to do. He swung his arm, flicked his wrist, and then backhanded the bladed metal disc away just like he’d done earlier in the day to Zach’s face. He succeeded, of course, and then as if to further taunt Zach yet again, he even went so far as to rudely throw his bloody, severed hand right into Zach’s face.
Wait…what the hell?
Five fingers and part of an arm thwacked Zach between the eyes before falling on the floor between his legs. Then there was a scream: from him and from Varsh, whose forearm now ended in a stump that was squirting out so much blood it almost didn’t look real. Then there was a loud bang followed by an even louder second bang that caused the entire apartment to shake.
“What did you do?” Varsh screamed even louder, crying in agony as his body shook violently.
Zach blinked, so utterly confused that he struggled just to form words. “What the hell happened? I don’t understand.”
“You cut his arm off with that,” Mr. Oren said, now adding a whole new layer of confusion to the situation. He stood behind Zach, his dark brown spiky hair absolutely covered in dust, plaster, and drywall. So were his arms, as the twin tattoos of fire-breathing dragons were only barely visible now on his upper biceps. “I’m actually shocked. At level 3 you did that to him? Outstanding. I helped a bit, though, but still.”
“Helped?”
“I bumped you up about twenty points of strength using a once-a-day cooldown on my boots. Even still, you shouldn’t have been able to hurt him that badly. I was expecting a moderately deep wound, but not that.”
Zach twitched as he felt his teacher reassuringly slap his shoulder. “You…what?” he asked, now panting for some reason.
He tried to get over his shock but was finding it incredibly difficult. He fought with his brain to snap out of his haze and replay events in his head. He’d sent his Wave Slash at Varsh. Varsh had backhanded it. And…and it’d gone right through him. The two motions together at the same time had made it appear like he’d willingly, on purpose, thrown his own hand and part of his arm at Zach’s face—like as some kind of attack or taunt. Then the disc had continued to spin until it slammed through the wall, into the next apartment, and then curved up and hit the ceiling, whereupon a bathtub from a hopefully vacant apartment one floor above had fallen straight down into the one below, and the impact was enough to make the entire 8th floor rumble and vibrate on the heels of a boom that was so loud it would’ve caused Zach to scream if he wasn’t already screaming at the bloody hand that’d been thrown at his face.
“You’re alive?” Zach asked, not sure which of the two recent events were shocking him more. “How?”
“Oh, I’m fine, my man,” Mr. Oren said. “I just wanted to give you the chance to confront him. I had your back the whole time. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. But seeing you step up like that, I had to let you do it. I’m proud of you. You did a great job.”
“Th…thah…thah…tha…” His eyes widened in panic. “Thah…”
He was still panting, only harder now. It suddenly occurred to him that he was not only struggling to breathe, but that from the moment the hand had been thrown at his face, he could not catch his breath. He felt like he’d just run five miles, and he fell down to his knees. His eyes watering and his heart pounding faster and faster, he reached out a hand to Mr. Oren, but it was Kalana who ran forward and took it, calling out to him, demanding to know what was wrong.
Even with his hand in her own, he fell forward onto his stomach, with his left arm flat at his side and his right arm lifted up by Kalana’s hand. To an outside observer, it probably looked like she was trying to drag him.
He tried again to form words, but he was panting too heavily. Even while lying perfectly still, he felt like he was running at a full sprint without resting. What was happening to him?
“Exertion Debt,” Mr. Oren grumbled. “You need to do a lot of work, Zach. Your stamina is really awful.”
Kalana released his hand and it plopped down lifelessly onto the floor next to him. “Help me,” he begged. “What’s happening?”
“What’s happening,” Mr. Oren answered, grabbing him, rolling him over, and then lifting him up into a sitting position like a sick patient in a hospital. “Is that you used an ‘inner’ ability that required more than you’re currently able to give. So you’re still paying for it. You feel like you’re doing some intense cardio workout, right? Yeah. It’s normal. At your age, you’ll be fine.”
Zach didn’t even know what he’d just said. The room was spinning so fast. Then everything went black.