Chapter 13:

50 Days After Winter’s Beginning

256 Days After The Ra’tok Attack Amia Village

The Valley of Ivory

The Siege of Tarna

I slump to the ground, pressing my cheek into the cold, hard dirt. I don’t know how long I lay there, my brain trying to comprehend what has happened.

I… I’m still to weak.

I might be a cripple, who should have been ostracized by my village from the get go. Who benefited from their kindness in letting me stay in the village, even building me a house.

I should be laying in the ashes of my village, my corpse rotting away under the hollow shells of the houses.

For everything that has happened, I have far more power than I ought to have. I’m a cripple in the sacred arts, a village boy and an orphan.

I’m not strong. I hold only a sliver of power, so little I might as well still be powerless.

Rolling over onto my back, I look up at the starry sky. The crescent moon shines brightly in the sky.

I can’t help but imagine it bathed crimson with blood.

Turning my head, I look to where I know Tarna is. I can’t see it, even with all the trees that were knocked down in the crash landing. But I can see the smoke rising above the treetops, lazily melding with the clouds and drifting away.

I let it happen again.

Gritting my teeth, I try to get to my feet. My shaky arms give up halfway to standing up. I fall back to the dirt, powerless, exhausted, bleeding and in immense pain.

With a pained groan, I look at my body. It is still encased in the bone armor, but now it is complete.

Now over my shoes are thick, segmented bone plates. Forming something like an iron tipped boot.

My left arm is armored in gauntlet that looks almost exactly like my right hand one.

Where’d my backpack go?

I glance around, but can’t find it. Oh well.

Letting my head fall back, I stare at the spray of bright, multi-colored stairs in the night sky.

I need to get stronger. Far stronger.

The tears by now have dried on my face. I feel lifeless and hollow, unable to muster any emotions. Not even the flame of hatred and vengeance. What a sick twist of fate I have been given by the gods.

Well, I did win.

But at great cost of life.

Closing my eyes, I move my mind’s eye inwards. Looking at my core, I can see that it is completely empty.

Scanning my body, I can see the parts were my gut is held together by the dense Gray katra. There is also strands of it floating freely in my body.

I gather these strands up before the power crystals can absorb them. Compacting all of it into a ball, I send it to my core.

Funneling it into the crust surrounding my core, I put it in the spot where I stored what I absorbed from the cores.

I scan through my body to see if I missed any of the free floating katra, but find none. What puzzles me is the crystals.

Almost all of them are glowing dimly.

Still need to find a way to get that energy out.

Moving down to my gut, I inspect the damage.

Its bad, everything doesn’t look right, and I can only imagine the blood flow will be restricted a bit from what I have done. But it is still held together.

Something catches my eye, and I inspect the remaining crystals the cover my gut. They are slowly losing their glow, little streams of energy flowing out of them and into the katra glue.

As I watch, the dense foreign katra is slowly converted to flesh, reforming my gut. It’s abyssal slow, but it is there.

I can't’ help but be reminded of how the Controller formed it’s chimeras. Their very bones being formed, muscle being created and knitted together.

Some kind of healing ability?

Watching as my small intestine is slowly reformed, I contemplate what this could mean.

Can I create monsters too?

I doubt it, but I can’t shake the idea from my head.

Opening my eyes, I look around at the night shrouded forest. There is a long trench through the ground and trees from where we crashed, the trees pulzired.

Looking back at my bone armor, I wonder how I am going to get it off. There is no katra drain like before with just my gauntlet, I wonder why.

Could it be that it was trying to fuel further growth, but I never had the katra to power it?

I still don’t have the katra capacity to fully power it, the only reason it grew was because it absorbs the Gray from the chimeras.

Did all of the chimeras die now that I have killed their controller? Or are they still rampaging?

Hoping that it is the former, I try to stand up. I’m not successful.

Laying back down, I once again stare at the stars. I contemplate all I have gone through to get to this point.

I close my eyes and start up my cycling technique, pulling into the vital aura around me. My mind is soon clear of thoughts, only focused on the technique.

When I open my eyes next, I have a near full tank of Gray katra.

The sky is tinged orange with the rising sun, and wispy clouds float by.

With a groan, I move my stiff muscles. Sitting up, I look at my surroundings in the light of day. Nothing appears to be different.

Standing up on shaky legs, I look at my body. How do I take this armor off?

Then it liquifies, sinking back into my body. It is not a pleasant sight, and I can’t help but be a little unsettled. Closing my eyes, I watch as the dense Gray katra flows into my gauntlet through my channels. I don’t try to stop it.

I am left shivering in the rags of what used to be my gambeson and padded pants.

Looking around, I try to see if I dropped my backpack anywhere near me. When something hits my back, I turn around. When I don’t see anything, I realize that it is still on me.

How do I still have it?

Taking off my backpack, I am dismayed to find that it is covered in blood. Rips and tears scattered about on it. But everything is still inside.

Taking out my spare set of clothes, now only set of clothes, I undress. I try to wipe off all the remaining blood on my body with the rags, and do an okay job. Most of it is crusted by now.

Looking at my still aching abdomen, I can’t help but grimace. The remaining flesh is discolored, and purple. There is a layer of crusted blood over everything, and I can see where I filled the missing pieces of flesh in with Gray katra.

When I close my eyes, I can see about half my gut is already repaired, and I am hoping that it will soon move on to my skin.

With every movement, I can feel my many lacerations and bruises.

Going to have a lot of scars.

I feel my cheek, where the entire side of it was split open. Now the wound has closed and crusted over, but I can tell that I will have a scar there.

Wish I didn’t drink all of that healing potion.

Putting on my spare set of clothes and throughing my ragged and torn cloak on my shoulders, I gently put my backpack on. Looking around, I wonder what to do next.

I can’t go back to Tarna. They’d just send more assassins after me.

Looking in the opposite direction, I consider heading back to Coskana, but dismiss it. I don’t want to fall into the clutches of House Ventos.

I wrack my brain for any idea on where to go. If I remember right, there is a small village between Coskana and Tarna.

The chimeras stayed in the valley, not leaving it because Tarna was the strongest source of Katra for miles. So I was relatively sure that it would still be standing.

I start my stiff walk in what I believe is the general direction of the village. Pushing my way throw the thick foliage, I battle the urge to sit down. The exhaustion is real, along with the pain. It’s like my entire body is fighting against me.

I distract myself with my own thoughts. They are painful and I keep having to wrench myself away from thoughts about Vicar. But I am unsuccessful.

I hadn’t realized it then, but Vicar had taken on something close to a father figure in my eyes. He had vouched for me in front of the other Elders, trying to get me properly trained. He made sure that I was well taken care of, and that I was also prepared. Even when he was about to be killed, he sacrificed himself.

Moving around a log, I contemplate the fate Vicar suffered.

I was too weak to help him. Just like with Karla.

It stings, deeply. It won’t happen again.

As I walk, I replay the scenes from the battle.

Vicar had thought I could help save the Traezar Empire. I don’t know what he thought I could do. I’m only one boy.

Maybe he was talking about my connection with the chimeras.

My thoughts finally stray from Vicar and to the horde of monsters.

I have the Gray katra that the controller used to make them. Is it possible for me to make my own monsters?

Taking a step, my foot slips and the world switches. I land hard on my back, and groan as pain flairs between my shoulder blades. I stare at the bits of sky that peek through the leaves of the canopy.

WIth a wince, I look at what I tripped on.

It is a smooth rock.

Have I become so weak that even rocks can knock me down? I laugh a little at that. Standing back up, I pick up the rock. Looking at it, I can’t help but be reminded of Gray katra, it’s the same shade.

Closing my eyes, I try to sense the rock like I would a Beast Core.

I can sense a small amount of earth aspect katra within it. I take a chunk of what I have decided to call Gray Life aspect katra. I send it through my channels, some of it escaping into my body.

Pushing it through my hand, I force it into the rock. To my surprise, there is no resistance from the earth aspect katra. The Gray katra eats through it, taking on the earth aspect’s place.

Opening my eyes, I look at the stone. It is the still the same shape, with the same texture. Then I squeeze it.

The surface of the stone crumbles in, turning the whole thing to dust. I let the sand flow from between my black clothed fingers.

So it can’t copy a stone. What is I used base Gray katra?

Picking up another stone, I push some of my unimprinted Gray katra into it. It consumes the earth aspect in the rock, just like the other katra. When I squeeze it, I get the same result.

So I can’t take over or acquire it’s aspect. I’ll have to imprint the katra myself.

I think on this as I stand back up and continue my walk.

But wouldn’t I have not been able to use the Life imprinted Gray?

Mulling it over, I can only come to one conclusion. And it doesn’t make me feel good. This just solidifies that I am the cause of the chimeras. It means that they were using some form of my own katra, from me.

Burying my guilt in other thoughts, I wonder what I can use the Gray katra for. Could I absorb someone else’s katra, nullifying their abilities?

It might be possible, but I hoped I didn’t have to test it. The focus and time required to manifest the Gray katra outside my body was already a weakness. And anything living would also fight back against foreign katra invading it.

But if I could push the Gray katra into a living creature, even a little bit, I think it could devastate them. From what I could tell when I pushed my katra into the rock, it consumed all of the earth aspect, turning into Gray katra.

I contemplate possible applications for plain Gray katra.

Time slowly passes, the constant ache of my body driving me quickly to exhaustion. I push through it.

When the forest is dark, I finally stumble onto a well travelled road. I hobble down it, my bloodied shoes scraping against the hard packed dirt. I walk for what feels like hours, my mind simply shutting down.

Following a curve in the road, I stop. Blinking, I make sure that what I’m seeing is not a figment of my imagination.

A large grouping of cottages sits before me. There windows are dark, but I can make out a small square with a well in the center. A sign staked into the ground sits next to the road, written on it is: Welcome to Millwallow!

I can’t be this close to it. Unless…

How far did the chimera fly?

I can’t answer the question, because I wasn’t paying attention to where the monster was flying.

Turning back in the direction of Tarna, I try to spot the smoke. I can’t. Dark storm clouds hover over my head, tinged pink from the setting sun.

Stumbling into the town, I go to the only building that has lights on. It’s a two storied tavern, and I can hear people talking. Music drifts from the building and there is laughter.

Pulling my cloak closed and covering my face with it’s hood, I look up at the sign. It boasts the tavern as; The Brass Ram.

Pushing open the door, I step in a survey the patrons. There aren’t many, and they all seem to be intoxicated. There is a bar in the back, with stairs leading to the second floor next to it. A fireplace near the bar sends flickering shadows over the ceiling and onto the tables.

A bard sits on a table in the center of the room, his legs crossed. He strums a jaunty tune on his lute. A large leather hat sits on his head, a yellow feather dropping out of the brim.

The patrons glance at me, but don’t do anything else. The bard keeps playing his song, to the happy laughter of the drunken men.

Slowly making my way to the bar, I glance up at the stairs.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The tavern owner says, leaning on the bar. He is large and burly, towering over me. He has a flat and crooked nose, and his face is engulfed in a brown beard.

Looking him in the eyes, he flinches a little. It takes me a second to realize. Are my eyes still Gray?

“How much is a room for the night?” I ask him, shifting my hand to my backpack.

The man holds up one finger. “1 dragoon a night, along with a meal. And drink”

My stomach rumbles when he says meal, and I can’t help but think about how I haven’t had anything to eat the entire day.

Nodding, I unsling my backpack and open it. Foraging around in it, I find my bag of money. Untying it, I pull out a silvery dragoon. Closing my bag, I put the coin on the counter.

The bartender picks it up and inspects it, nodding at the image of a two headed lion on it. He puts it in a pocket in his apron, then rummages around behind the bar where I can’t see.

Coming back up, he offers me the key. I take is from his meaty fingers and look at the number carved into the metal; 3.

Looking up at the man, I ask, “Can I have that meal now?”

He nods, “It’ll take a bit. We got stew I left simmering on, what drink you want?”

Thinking on it for a second, I ask, “Do you have plain water?”

The tavern says, “We got well water, if that’ll do?”

I nod and leave the bar in favor of a table in the corner. I watch the group of tavern patrons clapping along and signing out of tone to a song played by the bard.

After a few minutes of listening to the music and losing myself to it’s beat, the tavern owner approaches me. He sets bowl of brown stew infront of me and a mug of water.

I nod to him in thanks, and start spooning the stew into my mouth. I blow on it, dissipating the steam. It is a meaty broth, tasting of beef and vegetables. Savoring the flavor, I slowly eat it.

About half way through the bowl, I am interrupted. The bard has stopped playing his music and walks over to me.

A scruffy beard adorns his chin, his light brown and dark eyes giving him an average look. He grins mischievously. “So! Traveling friend, I have played everyone’s requests. Except yours. What would you like to hear?”

I am taken aback for a second. I don’t know any songs.

Shaking my head, I say, “I’m fine.”

The bard slaps my shoulder lightly and I have to resist the urge to flinch and try and kill him. “Nonsense!” He looks at me determinedly, grinning.

I look at him exasperated. I just want to eat in peace.

His eyebrow raises, but his grin widens. “Fine then! I’ll play a song that I think will fit you.”

He drags a chair out from a nearby table and props himself up on it. The patrons walk over, lounging around and drinking. Waiting for the song to start.

The bard clears his throat, then starts plucking at the strings of his lute. It is a weird, jaunty tune. He plucks the strings, reverberating sounds off them. Then the tune switches into something I haven’t heard before, the bard starts banging his foot in rhythm on the wooden floor and nodding his head.

Then he starts singing, breathing in hes says,

“Take a deep breath,

Open your eyes,

Sweet slumber’s over,

It’s time to rise,

So much to alter,

To rectify,

I’ve been here waiting,

To show you why~,

Backtrack,

Building the road back,

Stone cracks,

Hammers on the attack,

We ride,

Over the divide,

I guide,

Keep you on the right side,”

He keeps going, signing along with the rhythm, patrons start clapping with the beat. The bard smiles the entire time, signing the lyrics in tune. I lose myself into the song, floating in its odd, yet good sounding, beat.

Then he is done, and I want to hear it again. It takes me a second to realize that I hadn’t touched my soup the entire time.

Shifting, the bard leans forward and in the firelight, a sword odorment on his necklace glints, “That songs called Calamity, by a fellow named Gavin. He also likes to go by the name Miracle of Sound. I hope you liked it,” The bard winks and gets off the chair, moving back to the center of the room.

He seems familiar. I can’t shake the feeling that I have met the man before, but I’m almost positive I would remember a bard coming into Amia.

Going back to my stew, I down it with large gulps of the slightly iron tasting water. Getting up from the table, I glance at the bard, who is chugging down a beer, while laughing with the other patrons.

Stiffly walking up the creaky stairs, I make my way to the room. I feel a bit better with some warm food and water in my stomach.

Unlocking the door with a 3 on it, I step into my room. It is dark, but moonlight streams in through the small window, Illuminating it dimly. There is a bed in the corner, and table under the window with a chair. A chest sits at the foot of the bed.

Closing the door behind me, I shuck off my cloak and backpack, collapsing exhausted on the mattress. I unsheath my dagger and put it under the straw pillow, quickly falling to sleep.

***

I groggily wake up. Glancing around it’s still dark and I can’t figure out why I woke. I am careful not to shift myself, keeping my eyes slitted.

Rain patters on the window, a loud drum beat.

Gripping the dagger’s handle under my pillow, I keep it concealed. I hold still, keeping my breath rhythmic and slow, to emulate sleep.

The door to my room creeps open silently and slowly, it stops when it’s about halfway open. A shadows slips through it, moving with eerily quietness.

Is it another assassin? There can’t be a way for them to know I’m alive though.

My hand tightens on the handle of my dagger.

The shadow moves closer to me, stepping carefully. It slowly takes steps forward into the moonlight from the window.

It is the tavern owner, his rough and square jaw set, a deadly glint in his eyes. He nears me, and draws a knife from a sheath at his hip.

I pool fire imprinted Gray katra in my hands. When he nears me, I jump from the bed, pushing the katra out of my hands and setting them alight. Shadows are thrown on the wall from the flame.

“What do you want?” I ask, confronting the man.

He lets out a low growl, staring balefuly at me. “You have something I want.” His eyes glance at my black bandaged arm.

He wants my artifact? But how does he know about it?

Then the bartender lunges, knife in hand. I side step his attack, I bring my dagger in for a killing blow on the back of his neck.

Then he is there with lightning speed, his knife deflecting my stab.

So fast!

I hop back, narrowly dodging a stab from him. My muscles protest from all the strain I have put on them the past day.

I deflect the man’s next attack, taking a step back. When my back hits the wall, I realize that I just played into his hands.

Ducking under a stab from him, I try to roll out of the corner, but my muscles cramp up and I’m left sprawled on the floor.

The man gives a dark, throaty chuckle, grinning down at me. His incisors are far sharper than any humans. He brings his knife down, aiming for my head.

I start to roll out of the way, trying to avoid the killing blow, I’m to slow. The man’s arm blurs with a burst of speed.

Then there is the sound of wood cracking.

Looking up, I am confused by what I see.

A lute has intercepted the knife, the metal length of the weapon impaled through the wood.

That's the bard’s lute.

The lute is pushed up, making the knife slip from the tavern owner’s hand. Stumbling back, the burly man growls at the bard who stands over my head.

The bard gives a cocky grin, beating his lute into his hand like a club. “You're not permitted in this sector. What are you?”

I stumble to my feet, starting to edge to the door out of the room. I don’t want to be anywhere near this new assassin.

The tavern owner growls inhumanly. He scowls at the bard, “Who are you?”

“Stop with your mind games and I might tell you.” The bard takes a step towards the man, his muscles visibly tensing.

I watch in horror as the bar tender’s skin turns green and liver spotted. His plain clothes seem to melt and turn into a heavy silver armor, black runes etched into it. He stays the same height, but gets more lithe and thinner, losing his bulkiness.

His hair is long and spiky, sticking up oddly straight. He has no nose, but two slits where one would be. A scruffy beard adorns his sharp chin and long ears poke up and out from the side of his head. His skin a light, sickly green color.

The bard makes a sound of recognition, “Ah! A Gith! Which are you, Yanki or Zerai?”

The creature bars it’s fangs, a flash of light in it’s right hand as a large silvery, curved sword seemingly unfolds itself from reality. It glints in the moonlight with the creatures armor.

What is going on?

I realize that I have frozen in place, only a foot from the door.

The bard says, “I have my answer then,” He holds up his lute, still with the knife in it, like a bat.

Diving through the open door, I glance back into the room. The Gith says in a coarse and throaty voice, “It’s mine, you can’t beat me. Now leave.”

The bard, who’s back is facing me, glances over his shoulder at me. His grin widens. “You wanna bet on that?”

There is the sound of wood shattering, and splinters fly into the air. I cover my face with my arms, protecting it. A force slams into me and I’m sent sprawling into the wall behind me.

When I look back at what used to be my room, all I see is a gaping hole into the night. The entire wall, and part of the floor is gone, leaving splintered wood behind.

“What in the 4 hells?” I mutter, standing up. I cautiously walk back into my room and lean out of the hole.

Rain is pattering the ground from the storm, and I can see flashes of silver in the darkness. There is the sound of metal hitting metal, and I can see sparks flying.

I hear a voice laughing maddly, “AHAHAHAH!”

The power in the blast was incredible! What kind of katra was he using?

Quickly moving out of my room and down into the dark tavern bellow, I push open the door. I peer out, trying to get a better look at the fight.

I can see a silvery shadow moving swiftly, it’s sword colliding with an entirely black blade.

Sparks go flying and I watch as the silver armored Gith jumps back. He sticks out a hand, and I feel some sort of pressure. Then there is the sound of something breaking. A barrel comes flying out of the darkness, speeding at the bard.

The bard narrowly dodges it, coming back to his feet to block a blow from the Gith.

What was that?

Objects keep flying out of the night, cutting through the heavy rain drops and narrowly missing the bard.

The man somehow still has his hat on his head, soaked with rain water.

Should I help them?

I look at the furious pace they are exchanging blows. They are blurs, zipping around the square at speeds I can’t even comprehend.

The bard bursts forward, his cloak flapping. His sword’s pommel connects with the Gith’s temple, sending the creature stumbling back. The green skinned creature growls and raises it’s left hand.

There is a groan of wood, then a crack and I watch as an entire cottage is lifted into the air.

The bard stands looking up at it, frozen.

I gap at the scene. How is it doing that?

Then the house sails through the air. The black sword wielding bard tries to dodge out of the way, but the house is too big. It crashes down on top of him with a explosion of stone and timber.

Everything falls silent, only the pattering of rain filling the air.

The Gith is heaving for air, glaring at what used to be a house.

Did… did he die?

The creature notices me, and it’s eyes glow with anger. It stands up straight, putting on a confident act.

Then the pile shifts as timber is moved aside. A bloodied form stands up on top of the pile, a large length of wood impaling it through the gut.

The bard groans, stretching. His face is torn to shreds, white bone revealed through his flesh. Blood starts welling up from his wounds, flowing in rivulets with the rain water down his form. He cracks his neck, “I admit, that hurt! You are powerful.”

He leaps from the pile, landing in front of the shocked Gith. The bard gives bloody grin, his shredded flesh making it incredibly menacing. Then his flesh seems to squirm and turn to dust along with his blood. What is left is a bleach white skeleton, grinning madly while amber flames glow in it’s eye sockets.

That’s the trader! I am shocked. I thought I had been seeing things back then, but the image of the skeleton was burned into my mind. I knew with surety this was the man that I traded with.

The Gith looks horrified, “What-who are you?”

I get the feeling that the skeleton is grinning, he pulls the long shard of wood out from between his ribcage. “You aren’t permitted in this sector. This place is strictly off limits from any outside contact.”

The Gith’s eyes widen in horror, “No! They said you weren’t going to notice! I was supposed to have more time!”

“I am Cereus, or Admin 002 if you prefer. And you are hindering an important operation of the UIG and IDA. I charge you with a max sentence of 20 years in P89.”

The word reverberated through the air, and steam starts curling up from the skeleton. His blade burst into flame, but this fire is pitch black, seemingly sucking in light.

“No!” The Gith screams as parts of the pile of the house start sailing through the air at the skeletal swordsman. The skeleton bats them away easily, advancing steadily.

The alien creature blurs, running away as fast as it can. My eyes try to follow it, but I am unable too.

The skeleton blurs, speeding after the Gith.

There is a loud crash further into the village and I see a shape flying through the air. It lands with a explosion of water.

It’s the Gith.

The creature stands on its feet, bringing it’s curved silver sword up. Barely in time to block a slash from Cereus.

They exchange a flurry of blows, but Cereus is forced to disengage. He dodges a large stone, and ducks under a shattered wood pillar.

Shooting forward, his sword connects with the Gith’s blade in a shower of sparks and black flame.

I try to make sense of what is going on, but I can’t. I watch as both monsters clash, objects sailing through the air.

Cereus launches a ball of black flame from his skeletal hand, it splashes on the cobbles were the Gith used to be.

The green skinned creature blurs and is suddenly behind the skeleton. He swipes at it’s head, his blade meeting the black flame encased sword of Cereus. They push on each other's blades, locked into that one moment.

Then the Gith blurs, and jumps backwards. Now that their battle is closer, I can see that he seemingly turned to a mist, then reformed.

The Gith bars it’s teeth, squaring off against Cereus, who is slowly circling the creature. The green skinned creature is breathing heavily, and I can tell he won’t be able to keep up this pace forever.

I take a step back into the tavern, wanting to stay covered, but still able to watch the fight. I have never heard of a Gith before, nor of power like this. It was alien and foreign, like my own katra.

There is a roar, and a wave of black flame explodes form Cereuses outstretched hand, it crashes into the ground, barreling into the Gith.

The Gith turns to mist again, swiftly moving out of the way of the attack. The dark flames speeds past him, engulfing a house on the other side of the square.

By now, I can hear other people waking up from all the sound. They are shouting at each other further off from the battle.

The Gith is breathing heavily, and his arm hangs loosely at his side. He brushes a bit of black flame off his shoulder, glaring at Cereus.

Cereus grins back at the green skinned man, his sword held at the ready. Rain turns to steam when it touches him, curling in the air. “Ready to surrender?”

“Never!” The Gith shouts, a wooden cart comes flying out of the darkness, speeding towards Cereus.

The skeleton launches a black fireball at the wagon, dodging it. He pops back up, speeding forward at the Gith.

The Gith meets his slash, deflecting and jabbing, Cereus twists around the jab, bring his sword pommel up to strike the Gith’s head. The Gith blocks it, pushing the sword away.

They both disengage from each other, glaring at the other.

Then the green skinned creature burst forward, bringing his sword in for an overhead swing.

Cereus stretches his arm with lightning fast reflexes. His boney hand grabs the Gith’s wrists, pushing upward and setting the creature off balance. Cereus pushes forward, stabbing with his blade.

The dark, flaming sword sinks between the cracks of the Gith’s armor, into his abdomen.

The Gith spits out dark blood, glaring at the skeleton.

Cereus pulls the blade out of the creature, kicking him to the ground. The Gith lays there, breathing heavily as blood wells up from the wound.

The skeletal swordsman stands over the green skinned man, he hold the tips of his sword to the Gith’s throat. “Who sent you?”

The Gith glares, only spitting blood.

“If you tell me, I’ll reduce your sentence to 15 years.” Cereus says grimly, looking down at the creature.

I strain my ears to hear more of what is being said.

The Gith coughs up more dark ichor, and says in his gruff voice, “I-I’m just a scout… We detected strong Astral Power sources on this world. I was sent to-to investigate and see if this place is worth raiding.”

Cereus stares down at the Gith silently, rivulets of rain running down his white skull and dripping off his boney chin. Then he speaks, “A full raid party?”

The Gith nods feebly, looking up at the stormy clouds.

Cereus bends down to look the Gith in the eyes, “Are you working with them?” He stresses the word, as if planting a meaning in it. One that I don’t understand.

The Gith shakes his head frantically. “W-we aren’t so lowly that we would see work with them!”

Cereus nods grimly.

“By the power given to me by the IDA, I hereby sentence you to a max of 15 years to be carried out on P89. You have been found guilty of intentionally hindering a operation of the IDA. Any last words before I carry out your sentence?” Cereus says this all in a calm voice that rings hollow.

The Gith spits in Cereuses face, “I’ll come back for you, IDA Dog!”

Cereus hold up his boney left hand, a circle of metal sits in his palm, a red jewel in the center. Strange runes light up with silvery script all along the metal disk, burning brightly in the dark night.

I am forced to close my eyes as the light intensifies further.

Blinking the spots from my eyes, I look at where The Girth was. Cereus stands holding the metal disk over the spot were the Gith used to lay.

He crouches there for a second, then his skull turns to look at me.

I stumble backwards, pushing fire imprinted Gray katra into my hand. I might not be able to win against him, but I’ll die trying!

Cereus lets out a hollow laugh, standing up. He brushes his clothes nonchalant, large holes and tears in the fabric and slips the disk into a pocket. He laughs bitterly, his jaw clanking loudly, “Hahaha, Vey is so going to kill me!”

I prepare to fight him, but I know I won’t win. After what I just saw, I know that I can’t kill this thing. Not even close.

Cereus waves his hand, “Cool your jets kid, I’m not looking to fight you.” The skeleton glances around.

The entire square and surrounding houses are in shambles, the rain not helping to put out the strange black fire that has engulfed one of the cottages. I can see people carrying torches. They are staying at the edge of the plaza, but a few are rummaging through the wreckage of the houses for any survivors.

They all look wearily at Cereus, and I can’t blame them.

Cereus turns to look at the people, scratching his boney jaw. The black flames on his sword dissipate, and she sheaths it in a scarab on his back. “Hhmm. Well, this is a problem.”

He glances at me, his amber fire filled eye sockets borrowing into my soul. “You’re not looking to hot, kid.”

Cereus sighs in exasperation, slumping over a little. “Better to clean up now, than later.”

With a burst of speed, he is through the tavern door and standing before me. His boney grin filling my vision.

I stare in horror. He’s going to kill me!

The skeleton brings up a white, boney hand. I try to move, but I am stuck in place. Cereus chortles quietly. Then he taps me with the tip of his finger on the forehead, saying, “Sleep.”

I feel myself being catapulted into unconsciousness, then I know nothing