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Virgil "Wraith" Boone

I bite my lip underneath my mask, concentrating intensely as I propel my Ether into action. I need this. I need to know I won't fall behind. I need to stay ahead of this. All my life, I've struggled only to fail. But not this time. In that siege... were it not for Wyatt, my whole family would be dead in that crash.

As I stand atop the moving steam train, my body bundled up in dense layers of clothing to obscure me from the burning sun, I can feel the bite of the wind against my form. The chill seeps through the cracks, reminding me of the raw power of nature. I adjust my wide, dark jacket, pulling it closer around me as I flick my hand outward, drawing my new Claymore. I appreciate the one that I received from Johnny, but this is far more... me.

A short, curved, and serrated blade hangs upon my fingers as I crouch, using my Nightwhips to hold me steady. No matter how much I try, I simply can't realize Willful Strand, like Wyatt, which limits the effect of my skills compared to him. I'll have to wait until I become a 6th Sigiled, it appears. But that matters not. I can do this.

I've failed. Many times. Yet... I've never lost a one-on-one fight. If I did, even once, I would be dead. Every time I've ever had a duel, it's been to the death. I've also never failed a mission for the same reason. It seems, perhaps, deep down, the training of the Damned sticks with me—mission over life, even those of family or friends. And it's in the completion of those missions that I found life.

The wind whips through my hood, tugging at the cloth as if urging me to surrender to its force. It carries with it the scent of the deep forest, snaking its way through my mask and into my nose. Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself with Shaded flowing through me, my body entirely consumed by darkness. Then, Mask obscures my form, gradually blurring me to Wyatt's eyes. I know he can still see me. Those radiant pupils beat at me as they turn iridescent. Insight. What a majestic skill.

My gaze sweeps across the landscape as it blurs past me. All there is around us are trees, thousands if not tens of thousands, as we barrel past them, the wind attempting to have us join the forest at a high speed. The fast-paced movement of the train amplifies the exhilaration coursing through my veins, infusing me with a sense of freedom and possibility.

He's waiting for something. I can see his gaze not leaving mine, those weird twistings and hooks of chains in his pupils, visible only to close inspection. I can feel his Ether moving from here, however. The kid's got to be able to move at least five times as much as me. It's ridiculous. I know most of it is from his Sigil, but still...

It's like peeking at the Ether control of an Angel, not that he is that in-depth with it. It's less like a toddler with a sledgehammer as it used to be and more of a youngin with a loaded cannon. Still too much firepower and not enough control, but there is a chance they can use it correctly.

And as he waits, I do, too.

Flicker is at the ready while my Nightwhips hold steady against the gales. Seconds pass as we stare at each other silently, waiting for the other to strike first. Yet, of the two of us, the impatient one has always been clear.

My Throatcutter, a 6th Flamme Claymore from Marshall's armory, is covered with Whetting during this short time. But it's not enough. I saw this madman take a gunshot to the chest, and it merely bounced off after breaking bone. Placing my tongue against my right canine, I split my focus, compelling the Whetting to turn further, the Braided Strand joining with Steel.

Necrosis emerges after a moment, the Ether dripping off and eliciting a tiny cloud of gas from the top of the train a dozen feet behind me due to the wind.

And the moment the acidic dribble from Necrosis taps the train's roof, Wyatt moves at his abnormal speed. One second he's still, and the next, he's a single foot from me. His first strike is with his metallic arm, a blade jutting out from his forearm at me.

I sidestep, pivoting with my Nightwhips as I slam the arm crossways, struggling against his strength. Yet, because of the angle, he budges, missing me entirely as I flex down, falling to my knees and aiming for the back of his knee with my dagger as I brush past him.

Yet, an inch from slicing his tendons, he replies with a swift pivot of his own, shifting his body at that insane speed of Arbalest. It's simply the lack of momentum that is so dangerous. One instant, I have him, but the next, he's gone. However, he chooses to strike me, kicking backward at me with his leg.

Sensing a lack of Ether from his leg, I Flicker through it, gliding past his limb and into the train below. As I do so, I force Ether into one of my remaining Nightwhips atop and spread it out along the roof, allowing me to sense where Wyatt is standing.

I fall inside the train, releasing Flicker as I withstand a million sights, sounds, and smells from some other realm. Faces of soldiers look at me oddly, and I merely give them a thumbs up as I hold myself to the ceiling with more Nightwhips. I'm eating through my saturation limit fast, but Wyatt isn't known for his endurance, either. I must watch out for his 'breaths' and that hand crossbow.

I'll have to bait those out, forcing him to waste them in false situations that would otherwise deliver him a win. One 'lethal' strike won't do it, either, even after I have him run out of his gasps and the crossbow. He's too tenacious for that.

Hmm... Slow and steady. Appear here or there and gradually wear him down. Right now, he's looking for me, constantly spinning to find me, waiting for me to strike.

Closing my eyes, I concentrate on my Nightwhip that extends through the small hole melted by my Necrosis, compelling it to move toward its limit, stretching out ten feet above me as it strikes Wyatt. The kid dodges it entirely, but I splay it outward, catching him with the shadow. The damage is negligible, hardly even necrotic, as he quickly breaks it off by ripping the shadow off with his other hand. Yet, with the whip, I discern that his crossbow is made.

That's the most dangerous thing he has against me. It's made entirely out of Ether, so unless I can outdo Wyatt in that department, which I most certainly can't, he will damage me through my Flicker. And after witnessing the strength of it before...

I cannot be hit by that. No way in hell. That's an instant loss, if not death.

Hmm... so how to get around it. The tricky thing is the combination of his Ballista and Strugglers Gasp. I could simply yank his arm away before firing with a Nightwhip, but his gasp could ruin it. He's no longer that naive kid. He's a full-fledged Sigiled now, with all the experience that comes with the title.

Perhaps that could work... If I use all my Nightwhips at once, I can have the combination look similar to me, like a shadowed form, but Wyatt will likely notice that difference with his eyes. He's told me he can roughly gauge me, even under Mask. Unless...

Unless I don't give him time to investigate further alongside a new trick to throw him off. 'A pull the trigger or lose an eye' type of situation. Yeah, that's good.

Inhaling the stale air of the train, I Flicker myself out the side of the train, focusing Soundless on my hands and feet as I crawl my way up without any whips to aid me. It's challenging as the winds bite at me, but Shaded gives me the finger strength to do so. Once outside, I retrieve and lift a mirror from my coat, twisting it to gaze from the edge of the moving train as I hold on with one arm.

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Wyatt is gazing everywhere erratically, searching for me constantly. Oh, there it is; he found the mirror. Gritting my teeth, I throw my plan into action.

Tossing the mirror toward him, I see that he quickly bats it away, raising his crossbow toward where I threw it from. However, I'm already moving, forcing all my Nightwhips to move in front of me like I'm the shadow. This application of one of my earlier skills has done wonders during the siege at Bent, preventing focus from going onto my actual body so much I've spent most of my effort trying to push it further.

And as expected, Wyatt quickly notices the shadowy form of my many Nightwhips as I fall to my hands and knees, barely able to stay atop the train without the lashes. And he aims the crossbow at it, opening his mouth to speak as his other hand creates a Leash throwing it toward my 'form.'

I see the threat of his crossbow forged from Ether and pulled taut by the Bloody Palm, and I sink below with Flicker, invisible by the shadows of the Nightwhips obscuring me. Again, I enter the train. However, this time, I immediately exit back out as I force Flicker to end, the colors lasting only a fraction of a second as I'm shunted upward and right behind Wyatt from my calculated positioning. A few more uses and the visions might start to get bad. I'll have to slow down if this doesn't work.

The young man speaks as I fly out noiselessly.

"Stop, Virgil! Why do this to yourself!?"

With a slight smile, I flip myself and hold onto the train carefully, tightening my grip so much that my knuckles turn white underneath my gloves. Meanwhile, I propel my Nightwhips forward, and with no reply from me, Wyatt fires, aiming the Ballista for my shoulder. A non-lethal shot. Too kind.

A shocked gasp resounds as the bolt pierces through my Nightwhips without resistance, and, with a growing headache, I release them, the connection fading as I recreate them. A dozen shadows extend from my body, allowing me to let go of my grip and pounce on Wyatt.

In motion, propelled by a minor Flicker into the train as Wyatt turns in confusion, I grab onto the young man, contorting my body alongside my tendril to restrain his limbs and reach for his neck with my dagger. Touching the blade against his throat, gently swabbing the edge along his neck, I speak through my mask, my voice harsh and wheezy. It's not easy outdoing this man.

"Seems like I win."

I'm held into the air, nearly entirely by Wyatt, as my legs bear his right arm and my left arm his left alongside many tendrils of night. The young man shakes for a second, and for a second, I think it's in surprise. But then he speaks.

"So it's like that, huh?"

And with a deep gasp, after I had already shown mercy, Wyatt siphons all the Ether from the air, turning my Necrosis, Nightwhips, and Mask null as each of those work either on the surface of my body, weapon, or the air. I attempt to push off, feeling that his anger is unusual, but before I can, Wyatt whips around and grabs my legs with his left arm, breaking through my grip effortlessly. Then, he tightens the Bloody Palm, crushing bone as I'm thrown off the train, straight toward a tree hurtling toward me.

Shaking my head, I break through the pain and surprise, eliciting a Flicker as I enter the tree smoothly. And once inside, I quickly use a Nightwhip to transpose my position, but it's not enough to change direction. Reaching out as I barrel out of that tree, I find another where I repeat the same effect, then shunt myself out again, heading back for the train. The timing is close, so close that I almost nicked myself and lost my head. Luckily, we were about three-fourths of the way up the train from the battle, so I manage to catch myself on the second to last train car.

But it's not easy.

I can't Flicker, or I risk going right through it at my current speed. Gritting my teeth, I wrench out a dozen Nightwhips as fast as possible, catching me and limiting the impact as I bounce across the top of the train. Bones crack and organs shake while I tumble all the way to the other side and off, but I manage to twist around and reach an arm out.

Agony races up my right shoulder as it emerges from its socket, but the single act of Wyatt's isn't over yet.

"Fucking hell..."

Cursing, I haul myself up and roll over onto my back. Then, hearing a stampede, I twist my head up, looking forward along the top of the train. Witnessing a charging Wyatt from my upside-down vision as he screams, I lug myself onto my feet, my right arm dangling limply.

"You want a fight!? Then let's fight! I won't go easy on you!"

I laugh, upturning my lips as I reach over to my right arm with my left. Shaded still acts at total capacity, giving me six times my average physical ability as I wrench my arm upward and over with enough force to place it back into its socket. The pain is spiking and leaves a tingling, but this is what I wanted.

Grasping in and out with my right hand to test the mobility, I return his yell, not bothering to stretch a Whisper toward him to seal the noise.

"That was easy on me?!"

An irate grunt comes as Wyatt sucks in another gasp of air, almost sending me off the train without any effort as my Nightwhips disassemble under his skill. I can't help but smile even after he about crippled me with one act. I knew that's how it would go. I can't risk a direct hit from him.

More Nightwhips emerge as I slide backward from the gales, barely maintaining the distance. Then, I dig my boots into the roof, kicking off toward him. I keep a single Nightwhip to help tether my steps as I look forward.

Ahead is a turn for the train, but I don't think Wyatt has noticed it yet. Grinning, I have the remaining Nightwhips that I can control obscure my form again as if I'm doing the same trick. The young man sneers with disdain at my act as if he knows my next move.

But he doesn't.

No one ever does.

Instead of Flickering through the roof below, I charge through my whips, congealing them onto my form as the train twists abruptly. My Nightwhips scarcely hold me onto the train as Wyatt tumbles, using a single Leash to attempt and steady himself. But I don't let him do so without strife.

My Nightwhips lunge me forward, bursting me at Wyatt while they bulge out along my back like the arms of a spider. I don't allow myself to get within his striking distance, preferring to let my Nightwhips stretch to their limits and slash at him like that.

The headache in my mind flashes in warning as I formulate a dripping Ether on each of my Nightwhips, Necrosis being the weapon to go for Wyatt honestly. But unfortunately for me, the young man recovers, smacking away and parrying a dozen tendrils with his bladed metal arm and spear-like meaty arm. The duality of the Bloody Palm and his prosthetic from Earl sends chills racing down my back, but I don't lose focus.

Staying low to the roof so I'm not blown away, I dip, duck, dive, and dodge anything Wyatt sends my way as my tendrils keep him at bay. I'm running out of steam, but so is he. And he knows it.

I catch a glimpse of his eyes as they tighten, and immediately, I back up, lugging my Nightwhips with me. Ether swirls in his left arm, the amount so palpable that I hear what I think to be a slight heartbeat from him. Pausing in surprise, I almost receive a spear into my skull as Wyatt moves with unseen alacrity. But thankfully, Flicker lowers me just far enough in time for his spear of flesh and bone to pass over my head without effect.

Then, having an idea, I Flicker through the ground and leave my Nightwhips, connected to me through the back of my heel I leave above ground. A full second of Flicker passes the otherworldy sights and sounds eating into me as I squeeze my fists and try something new.

At this rate, Wyatt could simply punch down and kill me. The force hidden in that arm is tremendous, enough to break through the steel ceiling, despite its toughness, and ruin me.

Concentrating on that connection between my Nightwhips and me, I think of Wyatt's words on Willful Strand. I don't want to be left behind. I can't be left behind. For all my time as a Damned, I was the most talented I ever saw—the strongest at every Sigil bracket. I can't lose. Not even against him. How else will I look at him?

"It's like leaving a part of the mind. Let it focus in the background while you do other things."

Time seems to pass slowly as I immerse myself in the darkness. For many months now, I've spent every second in the dark, cloaked by clothes to hide from the sun or fire. It feels... like me. It is me. On the other side of this connection is me. I just have to give it independence.

And I do so by cutting off the connection entirely. For a split second, I lose the feeling of my Nightwhips, but they return while my eyes are closed. And when the sense returns, I see through it, my mind split evenly between the shadowy tendrils as they form into my own body subconsciously and my proper form.

A shocked gasp comes from Wyatt as he swings a flesh-like blade toward me, aiming an opened barrel in his prosthetic.

"That wasn't you?!"

Unable to speak as I try, I have my natural body Flicker upward and kick Wyatt toward my shadowy clone. This confuses him further, and he twists around, realizing that the second one is me. Yet, sensing the connection to that shadowed form of myself, the construct not even draining Ether from me, I order it mentally to strike as I dodge Wyatt again. It roundhouse kicks his knee, lowering the man as I jump and slam his face with my knee shortly after while he reels from the blow. Then, as Wyatt shakes his head, we repeat the action, rotating around the kid as he does all he can to recover and strike back. A half-dozen impacts slam into Wyatt before I take it to the next level.

My Silhouette levies all the Ether I put in the Nightwhips originally and tackles Wyatt to the ground, leaving me time to raise my Claymore and retrieve my Colt. I pin the former against his neck and the latter against his forehead.

"I think I win this one."

Wyatt clicks his tongue as he gazes up at me with stupefaction.

"You cheated!"

Coughing from the pulsing in my head, I shake my head.

"Nope. I just finally grew my Ether forward. Hell, I might even be approaching a Dzil. That clone---"

Wyatt cuts me off as he pushes himself to his feet, Ether still holding him to the roof from his feet.

"--Was insane! It was strong! And the only reason I could tell you apart was from your chains! Anyone else..."

Smiling from ear to ear, I finish his words and nod.

"They'd have no clue which is real. Other than the fact I can't use skills from it. Maybe eventually. Yeah. That'd be true Dzil."

Wyatt chuckles and positions his hand out toward me, not needing to shout due to our proximity.

"That was a good fight. I had fun, even if you pissed me off there. What were you so worried about, Virgil? You're strong as hell. Maybe not upfront, but with your surprise and tricks, I think you're now the last person I'd want to fight on this train."

I take his hand but refuse the handshake as I yank him into a hug. The young man is still almost half a head shorter than me, and I tussle his hair as I do so. It feels like having another brother. He's... kind of like a combination of Aron and Vernon in a way. No... I shouldn't compare them; it's not fair.

"Yeah. I--- I just needed proof, okay? What do you want to do now, then?"

Wyatt steps back and gazes up at me, that stupid grin on his face when he has a dumb idea.

"Well... we could keep fighting! The top of the train is so cool! It's like fighting in a moving hurricane!"

What an idiot. I rub my shoulder as I leverage its weight and gauge the injury. Not too bad. Then, I shift from side to side as I measure the cracks in my bones. Again, not too bad. He did go easy on me. A night or two of rest should fix it up as long as I sleep with Shaded on since it boosts my recovery. I probably shouldn't fight him again, even if it could garner some good experience.

I really shouldn't.

But that damn smile. Reminds me of Dennis. I could never say no to more training.

"Yeah."