Chapter 60 - Desolate Flame

“Skyle, come back.”

It was the voice again. This time, he was not surprised.

“Skyle, you must come back.”

Nodding, Skyle decided it was time, after all. So, he came back.

“P-Please, let me go. I- I’m s-sorry, so sorry.”

A comfortable warmth enveloped Skyle. It surprised him, because the storm blew fiercer than ever, and the great gusts flung his hair all around his head.

“I-I beg of you. Please, I won’t ever tell no one. Please”

That last word was cut off in a wet gurgle, and only choking sounds followed. They echoed from the narrow walls of the alley, and only then did Skyle seem to realize where he was.

Feeble scrabbling sounds came from below him. Looking down, he saw a convulsing hand leaving great furrows in the blood-soaked mud as it clawed desperately. The other arm, Skyle noted calmly, lay at an odd angle and had obviously been dislocated.

Skyle tilted his head sideways as he studied the scene before his eyes with cold detachment, as though he were a third party viewer to his own vision.

The hands were torn and covered in wounds. As were the massive arms they were attached to. The boy himself was a hulking figure, which made the terror that twisted the features of his face all the more contrasting. Saliva drooled from his lips, dyed crimson with blood. His eyes were rolled back so far into his head that they were almost all whites, and it finally dawned upon Skyle that it was not only fear that tortured this boy so.

There was a foot upon the boy’s throat. It was crushing his windpipe and slowly squeezing the life out of him. Tears streamed from the boy’s eyes as his mouth jerked in the same motions they had been repeating for the last minute or so.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” The same silent plea kept repeating itself over and over.

It was so boring, Skyle thought. No wonder this foot is crushing the life out of him with such detached indifference.

This foot, it possessed an air of poise and aloofness that contrasted sharply with the pathetic boy dying under its heel. It wasn’t the boot it wore, as it was well-crafted but of a relatively inexpensive material. Rather, it was the sheer force and dominance the foot effortlessly exuded as it crushed the life out of an insignificant bug.

“Still, it is a nice boot. Very comfortable, too. I remember being so excited when da gave them to me-”

The idle thought broke off as Skyle realized with dawning horror that it was his foot that was stepping on Ramsey Barclay’s throat until foam began to froth out of his mouth.

Jumping back as though he had been struck by lightning. Skyle’s chest heaved as he panted heavily. Rocking back in his steps, Skyle reeled as he recalled what had just happened.

Though the memories had a dreamlike quality to them, they had a crystal clarity that no dream could ever have. He could recall the exact amount of force he had needed to apply in order to twist Ramsey’s shoulder to dislocate it. The rotten wood sound of bone being torn from its socket was so clear in his mind that it brought a sour taste of vile to the back of his throat. The look of abject terror in Ramsey’s eyes as he was methodically picked apart by Skyle, piece by piece, would likely haunt him for the rest of his life.

“What happened? I- I don’t understand,” Skyle clutched at his head as his panicked eyes searched around the alley.

Most of the other boys who actually retained enough feeling in their legs to move without help were long gone. He could still remember the last of them running in terror after Skyle had driven the nail in his wooden club cleanly through Ramsey’s leg and yanked it viciously it to drag him off his feet.

The only remaining witnesses to this madness were one of Ramsey’s flunkies who lay sprawled upon the ground and the urchin boy. The latter stood a fair distance away from Skyle. His face was covered in bruises and splattered with blood, but it was his expression that was most shocking of all.

It was one of fear.

Through all the threats he had received under Ramsey and his followers, and all the blows that had followed afterward, this insane little street kid had displayed not the slightest hint of fear. Instead, he was like a mad tiger viciously staking his life with his every move.

For the first time, however, Skyle found fear in the other boy’s eyes. More chilling still, it was directed at Skyle himself.

This feral beast of a boy who had been unbowed before the threats and blows of five huge teenagers, was now deeply afraid of Skyle.

Worse still, as he recalled the cruelty and viciousness that he had visited upon Ramsey and his crew, Skyle didn’t find it strange at all.

***

“Damn little rat!” Ramsey cried out, lunging toward Skyle with his knife.

It was an artless, clumsy stab that lacked finesse and had too much power. Thus, it was easy to sidestep and abuse. Skyle’s training calmly told him exactly where to place his feet, and how to grip Ramsey’s arm in such a way that he could redirect the force of the blow towards one of the other boys who was lunging at Skyle’s back.

Ramsey cried out in surprise as he found his attack effortlessly sidestepped by the much smaller boy. He felt small hands clamping down on his arm with surprising strength, then his foot was tripped and he fell in the direction of one of his friends with all the unstoppable momentum of his earlier, furious charge.

Ramsey’s toadie didn’t even have time to shriek in surprise before the knife dug deeply into his leg. It wasn’t a big knife, and the wound was scarier than it looked. Still, as blood spurted out of the cut, both Ramset and his victim clutched frantically at the wounded leg while the wooden plank fell from the latter's grip.

This was good, as it only left one other boy to deal with for the time being. This one was far more cautious as he approached Skyle, casting fearful glances towards his wounded friend. Still, he towered over Skyle and outmassed him by at least fifty pounds. Stupid pride pushed him forward when logic clearly should have had him running the moment he saw Skyle’s deft maneuvers and ruthless aura.

Shouting loudly in a vain attempt to get his own courage up, the bigger boy charged at Skyle while flailing his bare fists in a reckless windmill move. To Skyle, who had fought against an army of monstrous magical beasts with only a bow and arrow in hand, such an attack was only worthy of the greatest contempt.

Knowing he could still not underestimate the sheer power of his attacker’s frenzied punches, Skyle swayed away from them and kicked out towards his opponent’s knee. He struck with surgical precision, producing a gut-wrenching crunch upon impact as he forcefully twisted the knee socket to the side right as it was flexing and beginning to bear his attacker’s full weight while charging forward.

A muffled howl of agony escaped the bigger boy’s lips as he lost his balance and fell to the floor while clutching at his knee. Nothing was broken, but the violence of the attack would likely have that knee swollen to twice its size by tonight. Let alone run, it would be a wonder if that knee could bear enough of its owner’s weight to hobble into a walk.

Pressing his advantage while his opponent was frantically clutching at his knee with both hands, Skyle dashed forward and kicked the other boy’s undefended head. The sharp, compact move belied the power contained within this deceptively simple kick. Unlike Ramsey’s clumsy charge, Skyle called to mind his father’s figure when he had drilled his son on how to properly power an attack. It began from the soles of his feet, finding steady footing and pressing down firmly. This momentum climbed up his knee and to the core of his back and hips. From here he would distribute the power back to his other leg as it flashed forward in a tight, powerfully compact move that carried the rotational power of his own twisting body.

The kick found its target on the other boy’s chin. The impact rocked his brain back and forth within his skull while his eyes instantly rolled up and he fell to the floor, unconscious before the back of his head even hit the floor.

Satisfied that this threat had been eliminated, Skyle moved on to the boy whose breath had been knocked out by his kick earlier. He was breathing heavily now, watching Skyle with an intriguing mix of fear and hatred that fed upon each other so that both grew exponentially. Then the other boy’s eyes shifted behind Skyle’s back for just a moment. This was all the warning Skyle had before a pair of arms grabbed him from behind and squeezed with all their strength, practically lifting him off his feet. Meanwhile, the opponent facing him rushed forward, lifting his hand to punch Skyle while he was restrained.

Skyle looked down briefly and saw the bloodied leg of the boy who had been stabbed by Ramsey. Apparently, the wound had been even more shallow than he had thought. Almost shrugging his shoulders in his apathy, Skyle reached out with one hand and dug his finger into the bleeding wound.

Instantly, the arms holding him from behind sprang open as a deafening howl filled his ears. Skyle did not relent, however, and instead ruthlessly dug his finger in deeper before pulling the leg in the direction of his other attacker. The unbearable pain made it impossible for the wounded boy not to follow Skyle’s lead, even as the poor bastard’s legs collapsed and he fell towards the ground.

After Skyle conveniently ducked under the incoming punch, it struck the descending head of the boy with the wounded leg. A dull cracking sound could be heard as the fragile bones in his attacker’s hand snapped from the violent impact against his own friend’s thick skull. Sidestepping the collapsing weight of the boy with the wounded leg, Skyle barely had to add an encouraging nudge for both his attackers to collide together and fall in a tangled mess. One writhed on the ground while clutching at his broken hand while the other moaned as new blood pumped furiously out of the cut in his leg.

Skyle turned around just in time to see Ramsey lunging at Skyle with his knife once again. The clumsy boy apparently had learned his lesson, as this time he didn’t rush and instead kept the knife between himself and Skyle, sending out tentative slashes. It was almost as though he were trying to fend off a vicious creature instead of trying to stab a much smaller and younger boy.

Skyle easily dodged the first few crude attacks, biding his time. Time was on his side, as Ramsey’s attacks grew more frenzied and panic bled into his pale features with every passing moment. With an idle indifference, Skyle dodged under a sweeping slash of the knife and paused briefly to pick up the wooden plank that lay forgotten on the ground. Ramsey desperately tried to use this opportunity to stab Skyle’s back, sensing an opening.

Sadly for Ramsey, this was merely a trap set up by Skyle. Sensing the attack incoming, Skyle rolled on the ground and avoided the knife thrust by a comfortable margin. Before Ramsey could recover from the thrust, Skyle spun around on his knee and whipped the wooden board at the same leg he had already injured once. This time, he drove the nail deep into Ramsey’s flesh and felt it sink deeply before stopping cold with a bone-jarring impact.

Satisfied that he had hooked the nail on bone, Skyle placed both hands on the board and yanked as hard as he could. Ramsey barely let out a shout of startled surprise as he was pulled off his feet. A great gush of blood fountained into the air from the gashing wound left by the nail. The violence of Skyle’s maneuver had dislodged the nail from Ramsey’s bone and torn a nasty gash in his leg.

Ramsey barely had time to look down toward the ruined flesh on his leg before he felt Skyle’s shadow looming over him. One hand trying in vain to stem the alarming flow of blood, Ramsey grit his teeth and stabbed the knife he still gripped in his other hand towards Skyle in a pitiful last ditch effort.

Taking advantage of Ramsey’s extended arm, Skyle knelt and let the knife streak past his shoulder. Then he gripped Ramsey’s arm into a lock, using both arms and his shoulder to leverage the much stronger boy’s vulnerable elbow joint. Ramsey’s own attack added momentum to the lock, and Skyle only had to exert a few additional pounds of pressure for the joint to flex a few painful degrees too far from its healthy limits.

The sudden pain sent a shock up Ramsey’s spine. His brain froze up for a moment while it struggled to cope with the searing agony. Skyle used this time to bend the same injured arm and this time leveraged Ramsey’s entire shoulder, twisting it counter-clockwise and away from Ramsey’s chest. By the time Ramsey’s shock-slackened muscles stiffened in fear, Skyle had Ramsey lying on the ground with his face pressed against the blood-soaked mud. The much bigger boy barely dared to breathe, as he could feel that his entire shoulder was a scant hair of pressure from popping out of its socket.

“S-Stop, please stop!” Ramsey cried out hoarsely, in between mouthfuls of mud.

Skyle tilted his head sideways for a moment, considering. Ramsey looked up from the ground imploringly, but this did little to affect Skyle’s cool thinking. The other boy saw Skyle reach his decision at almost the very instant it was made, and a ragged scream of denial escaped his lips.

“No, please. Noooo!”

The desperate scream was cut short by the awful sound of wrenched bones as Skyle casually leaned his weight against Ramsey’s shoulder joint and popped it out of its socket with startling ease.

Ramsey only had time to draw a shuddering breath before belting out a desolate howl of agony. Tears sprang unbidden from his eyes as they grew beady and unfocused from the unspeakable pain.

The rapid sounds of retreating feet could be heard behind Skyle’s back as he released Ramsey’s arm. He watched with cold detachment as the nerveless limb fell limply to the ground, dragging out a renewed howl from Ramsey’s lips.

“Still your tongue before I wrench it out as well,” Skyle called out in a slow, even tone.

His voice was as calm as though he were talking about the weather, but that only served to terrify Ramsey even more than any screamed threats would have. The bigger boy clamped his mouth shut and bit his lips in order to stop himself from crying out, even as more tears and snot streamed down his bloodless face.

By now, the urchin boy had long stopped punching his opponent and was instead standing as far away from Skyle as the narrow alley would allow. His victim had also stumbled away from the alley as quickly as he could, not caring how many times he stumbled on the mud and frantically pushing himself to his feet every time. His heedless panic made him forget the pain of his wounds and the fate of his leader, Ramsey. He only had eyes for his own survival.

In the midst of it all, Skyle looked down at his rumpled clothes and straightened them out, then used the rain water to wash the stains of blood off his hands.

Almost none of it was his.

***

Shuddering at the vivid memory, Skyle swallowed hard.

The most worrying part of it all was that it had all been Skyle. It wasn’t as though he had become possessed by some evil spirit. Skyle had used the training he had received at his father’s hands to bend joints in a way they were never meant to and to exploit vulnerabilities to break bones with crushing force.

Skyle had never thought to apply his father’s lessons in such a way. In Skyle’s opinion, such lessons on hand-to-hand combat were easily the worst in the vast repertoire his father had passed onto him. Tracking, archery, raising snowblade tigers, and all the other skills - they were each unique and interesting in their own ways. Studying the human body and the ways it could be injured had always been, in Skyle’s mind, a defensive measure. Since he only ever sparred against his father, he had never had the opportunity to use them offensively.

Being on the losing end all the time and feeling completely helpless while at it, Skyle recalled with surprise how easy it had been to subdue the bigger boys. They had been like mewling cats under Skyle’s moves. Even though their bodies were enriched by the power of their own elemental essence, their feeble attempts to strike him had been as clumsy in his eyes as ragdoll puppets. His own blows had no elemental essence in them. Instead, they came with murderous intent and steely strength, and the results attested to such purity of purpose.

“Who are you?” came the hesitant question from the urchin boy. It finally broke a silence that only made Ramsey’s wheezing, gurgling breaths all the louder, so Skyle welcomed the question.

“I’m Skyle.” He answered simply.

“No, who are you?” the other boy asked again after a brief pause.

Skyle knew what the urchin was asking, but he didn’t know the answer himself. Inside, he was just as terrified of himself as the other boy and perhaps even Ramsey himself was.

What was happening to him? Was this part of the taint that the Guardian of Sanctuary had mentioned? Had something in Sanctuary changed him so greatly that he would become a completely different person?

Most disconcerting was the fact that Skyle had not felt like a different person at all. While he had been cruelly suppressing Ramsey and his toadies, he had acted with full knowledge of who he was, and what he was doing. It was just that one single element had been missing.

He had been emotionless.

Skyle was still himself in every other way, but emotions had rained upon him and bounced off as though his heart had become a steel fortress. His every action had been ruled by cold reason and ruthless logic alone.

Once he had become physically involved in the altercation, not fighting had stopped being an option. Consequently, ruthlessly crushing Ramsey and his friends had been necessary in order to ensure his own safety. A reasonable extent of injuries was required in order to infuse enough fear that they would keep their mouths shut and refuse to speak of the incident. Otherwise, things would become complicated. Also, he was not unmindful of the consequences of doing things by half-measures. If he did not completely crush their spirits, they might eventually forget today’s terror, gather enough courage and plot their revenge.

Untainted by the confusing and often diametrically opposing values brought by emotion, Skyle found it far easier to understand Leon’s approach to problem solving, as well as Fatty’s meticulous plotting. In contrast, he found his own personal behavior naive and sorely lacking, being neither decisive nor effective enough.

What was strangest of all was the fact that once Skyle had been able to shed his mind of all emotion like that, he had felt freer than he had in a long time. It was as though tight constraints had bound his soul for a long time. Suffocated under their weight for what seemed like ages, he had finally found a breath of air.

“Am I a bad person for shedding my emotions and feeling liberated from doing so?”

Skyle glanced toward the urchin boy as he thought this. The other boy shuddered and took a step back from him. His eyes reminded him of a wary beast being eyed by a terrifying predator.

“What does that make me? A monster?”

A passage sprang to his mind at that moment. The words felt old and worn away by time, but they blazed in his mind as though with a will of their own.

“Mark ye the passage of the Desolate Star. By its dark flame shall ye know its touch. Hatred and love, fear and longing, friend and foe alike, all burned to ashes by the Desolate Flame.”

It was a passage from the Desolate Star Technique! Skyle’s mind had been scoured clean of everything related to the technique he had cultivated from Fierro Latimus’ journal. He had assumed the Goddess’ divine might had seen to that, just as Skyle’s True Sight had also been washed away clean as though it had never existed.

He could hardly believe that he had managed to recall a passage from it! It was only a single passage, which at the time of reading Skyle had skimmed over. He had dismissed it offhandedly, thinking that books of old were filled with such ominous, self-important warnings.

Now, however, Skyle had to consider the warning far more seriously. Was the Desolate Star Technique the reason why he had entered that strange, trance-like, emotionless state? Unburdened by emotions like fear or compassion, the speed and focus he had been able to wield during those moments had far exceeded anything Skyle had thought possible. This made it easier for Skyle to understand how he had been able to overwhelm the other boys with such ease. After all, Skyle had never used the fighting techniques he had learned against anyone but his father, and then only defensively. However, in a fight where he was outnumbered and outmassed, he had easily crushed his opposition. That was even though he didn’t even have the True Sight or the Farsight anymore!

Was this the true power of the Desolate Star Technique?

What would eventually happen to him if he continued down this path? Would he lose all touch with his emotions, eventually becoming a cold, unfeeling machine?

Considering such a fate brought his thoughts to a shuddering halt, and he decided he needed to consult with his parents on this matter. So far, he had not explained any of the events he had undergone in Sanctuary. He had wanted some space while he recuperated and considered his options. His parents had wordlessly obliged. However, he was always mindful of the five year death sentence hanging over his head, and now this new aspect of the Desolate Star Technique had also become an important mystery.

Tonight, he decided, he would have a long conversation with both his parents. He still had to think about how much he should reveal to them. On the one hand, he was scared by the Goddess’ warning, yet what good could his parents do in the face of such a potent curse? He still recalled the Guardian’s anger when he had been cast out of Sanctuary, and knew he could not count on her for help. Would worrying and bringing untimely grief to his parents over this implacable curse be worth ruining the few years of life he had left?

By now, Ramsey had recovered enough that he had sat up. His eyes were downcast and he refused to meet Skyle’s gaze, nursing his bleeding leg with his one good arm. In spite of his frantic efforts to staunch the flow of blood, it kept flowing from the gaps in between his fingers. All the while, he didn’t dare make a sound in fear of rousing Skyle’s wrath.

Sighing to himself, Skyle nodded to the little urchin boy and extended his hand toward him.

The other boy hesitantly reached out his hand, and Skyle dropped all the coins he had on him. It wasn’t much, but it was the least Skyle could do.

“What’s your name?” Skyle asked.

The other boy’s brow furrowed as he looked warily at Skyle. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter then. I’m Skyle, and I’ll be calling you.. Rain, I suppose,” Skyle added lamely as he raised his gaze to eye the thundering clouds up above. By now they were both soaked through, but at least the water was washing away all the mud and blood caking their bodies.

The urchin boy didn’t show any reaction to Skyle’s words, his posture still that of a spooked cat.

“Listen Rain, unless we get Ramsey there some help he could bleed out and die. Not that either of us is particularly fond of him, but you could see how that would be bad. So, would you take those coins and run off to quarry master Martin and let him know Ramsey is heavily injured? Just drop the message anonymously and then you can take off and leave this whole unpleasant incident behind.”

The other boy looked as though he wanted to protest, but refrained and bit his lips instead. After a moment of thinking about it, during which he glanced apprehensively in Ramsey’s direction more than once, he seemed to reach a decision and nodded to Skyle.

“I am willing to do this, Skyle, but take your coins back.” Surprisingly, the urchin boy returned the coins. “Though I may live on the streets and have no coins to my name, I’m no beggar and won’t take your pity.”

Skyle’s eyebrows rose, impressed in spite of himself. This boy had surprising spirit, especially considering his current situation. He looked as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in a long time, his frame consisting almost entirely of skin and bones. However, recalling the vicious beatings he had doled out on much bigger boys, he knew his sinewy arms held surprising strength.

“Have it your way, then. Thanks. I’d do it myself, but I would be recognized and then questions would be asked and everything would become more complicated. As it is, I doubt Ramsey wishes to see me ever again. Am I right, Ramsey?”

That last was directed towards the wretched giant huddling by the corner of the alley. As soon as Skyle addressed him, he shuddered and nodded so vigorously that his whole head almost came off.

Skyle had little pity for people like Ramsey. Not only was he a bully, but he had nearly committed murder in this alley. That he had received retribution was only fair, and the pound of flesh Skyle had exacted as the price was in line with his father’s teachings.

Nothing is ever free in life, after all.

The injuries on Ramsey would heal, and hopefully he would learn his lesson. If not, that was a matter for another day.

As Skyle turned away, Rain called to him.

“Wait. Skyle, you’re from the Farrow farm, right?”

Skyle looked over his shoulder and nodded. “That’s right, what is it to you?”

If his voice dipped lower and was not particularly friendly, that was because his family would always be taboo. Just like his father, he would do anything to protect them.

“Ah, don’t get me wrong. I was just wondering.. If I might see you again, from time to time. If you’re not too busy, that is. If you don’t mind.”

The rest of it dissolved into incomprehensible babble, and Skyle did his best not to gawk. Rain’s words were the final nail in the coffin. Skyle decided right then and there that the other boy must absolutely be insane. After all, why would any sane person want to get to know a stone cold murderer such as the one Skyle had behaved like in this alley?

“Uh, sure,” was the only reply he could manage.

“Really? Great, that’s really great.” Rain nodded, and though his face was still as serious as always, his voice sounded almost cheerful.

Feeling like the wild beast who was being eyed by a terrifying predator himself, Skyle waved over his shoulder and rushed out of the alley with as much speed as he could muster without actually running away.