Honor

The Past

“Having money isn’t everything, but not having it is.” -Wick's Journal Entry #58

Rax witnessed Wick summon skills.

With the danger of the Autumn Sword decaying everything thrown at him, Rax had no time to marvel at the young boy's sudden decision. The Autumn Sword's high kami armor collided into Rax's own, their wills powering the manifestations. Still, out of all the Three Swords and One, Nehemiah Zorba was the worst possible matchup for Rax. The forceknight's decaying abilities through the sword unbound every synced skill Rax whipped up.

Rax's mind felt as if it were about to explode. The world swam around him, the sky bending in the wrong direction. He was at the end of what he could handle with True Sight. If he didn't finish this up soon, he would pass out simply from the insane migraine spiking through his head.

Wick's sphere emanated a perfect blue arc of a blade. It was similar to the Cut he had produced only days earlier in the way a dragon was similar to a turtle. When Rax weaved it in his hands, he was instantly startled by how easy this skill was to harness. It felt familiar and more powerful in his hands than any other foreign skill he had ever wielded.

Was it because Rax's own fate-legacy was tied with Wick's? Were their powers meant to be used in tandem like old friends?

Rax felt more powerful than ever before. Somehow, Wick's skills alleviated the strain on Rax's migraine, stilling the swirling world around him. The euphoria partly made him want to not give up the legacy. If using the abilities from the legacies was this joyful and easy, then the despair of rising fates might be easier to handle.

He twisted the fire and water skills from Wick's hand into his own. They were the simplest of first-level skills, but as Rax synced them together, they revealed to him dozens more possibilities than any other skills he weaved. He acted on instinct alone, with feeling more than calculation, and it was a joy.

The opposing elements twined into the shape of a crescent moon, blooming into a flower that shone as brightly as the noonday sun. It swallowed the Autumn Sword's kami armor before breaking apart into a thousand petals, each unique as a snowflake.

Most of the petals decayed from the Autumn Sword's aura, but a few skipped past the ethereal armor, burning Nehemiah's skin. The Autumn Sword screamed in pain, jumping back to create distance between them.

With Wick's skills in hand, Rax pressed the forceknight, finally moving from the spot he stood. He took a step forward. Each step lightened the burden of True Sight, as if he had grown younger in a single breath.

The blue blade Wick cascaded finally reached Rax, and he snapped his fingers, shattering the blade. Rax wasn't even thinking anymore, allowing the skills to speak through his syncing. What would it feel like if he had actually gone back to the Hemincross dungeon and conquered the second trial?

When they got out of this, Rax would find out. Maybe he could be Wick's teacher. Suddenly, the future no longer seemed barren without Berrma in it.

The scattered pieces from the skill that came from the sphere paired seamlessly into a variety of new abilities. Rax's fingers ached at how fast they danced. For the first time, he saw worry in the Autumn Sword's eyes.

Rax did not pity Nehemiah. Honor meant nothing if you lacked the wisdom to follow the right people. The man was naive. Here and now would Rax humble the man.

The paired skills evolved into a hundred new magics -- a golden plumin wing sharp as knives, a naiad's boiling river, hollow stars that swallowed all, a well of gravity the size of a thumb but deeper than the night sky, and countless more filled the sky above them.

In that moment, Rax was a god.

His fingers fell, casting judgement on the Autumn Sword. The sky collapsed on the forceknight.

His plated kami armor evaporated under the hundreds of unique skills. Nehemiah collapsed to both knees and coughed up blood. To his credit, his shaking hand still held the wooden sword. The swordhand grew white as if losing blood. Nehemiah dropped the sword like it was poison to the touch.

Rax himself was drained and could barely stand. The godlike thrill he felt coursing through his body vanished the moment he released the synced skills. He had given more to that moment than he realized, and would probably pay for it in the years to come.

His haggard expression was a mix of awe, terror, and despair.

Rax said, "I could kill you, today, Autumn Sword. But I won't."

Nehemiah didn't seem to have enough energy to speak because all he could do was stare in confusion.

Rax continued. "You are honorable and only acted on the orders of --"

"Outsider, give up or I kill him," barked a boy's voice.

Lanton held one of the forceknight's blades to Scout, the greenhaired halfbreed.

--

Wick felt his blood drain to his feet. Scout. He wasn't supposed to be here. And how could Wick make the simple mistake of forgetting about Lanton?

Rax's odd syncing abilities that tied Lanton up must have been released in that final attack. Before now, Wick had only ever seen Lanton as an annoyance and a point of envy. Seeing the mayor's son hold a blade at Scout's throat changed that.

Lanton had robbed Wick of his final chance at victory. Wick had no SP left, and therefore couldn't send any to Rax for him to sync. Deepest Hells.

Scout gave an apologetic glance to Wick. The greenhair wasn't even afraid, just ashamed.

"Think!" Wick muttered to himself. There had to be an option, a way out of this. His spade. He was out of Source Points to power his skills, but maybe he could fight Lanton, even though the boy had a low-level Strength skill. The Autumn Sword was down and exhausted. Maybe Wick could --

Nehemiah stood up shakily, picking up the famed wooden sword. The forceknight's hand began to drain of color as if the sword was swallowing his blood. He pointed it at Rax. "Due to the mercy you dispensed me, I return the favor by giving you the same choice as before. Atarax Hemincross, bequeath yourself to the Empire and the Summer Sword. Hand over the cursed page of the Miserex. On my honor as a forceknight, I promise to treat you and yours with all the mercy my station can bring."

He wiped the blood from his mouth and added softly, "Please. I see now you are a good man, but lost. Please. These are children's lives you bargain with."

"No!" Lanton screamed. "Kill the outsider! He killed my mother!"

The Autumn Sword didn't even bother looking in Lanton's direction. All of his focus was on Rax.

Wick looked to Rax. The man had picked up his bone-white mask again. He seemed on the edge of collapse. Wick snarled, "Don't! We can win this!"

A year's worth of numbness since his father's death was wiped away in that moment. Despair gnawed at Wick from the inside, the terror at having someone else choose his life for him. His father had gone to the Labyrinth, despite Wick's pleas.

Not again. Not like this. They were so close.

Rax didn't seem to hear him. The man looked at where Berrma's corpse had been before burning into a pile of ash. Then he looked to the sky and whispered tiredly, "Fine. It's only brought me trouble."

The ethereal kami armor shaped as an old man in chains retreated back into Rax's frame. The scribe grasped the air in front of him and pulled out the same pen he always carried from seemingly out of nowhere. He snapped the pen in half.

Its broken pieces glowed a bright white. When the glow died, Rax held a ragged paper as if it had been torn from a book.

"Kill him!" Lanton demanded.

The Autumn Sword stepped, reappearing behind Lanton. In the next breath. Lanton was crumpled back on the ground and Scout was standing shocked next to Wick. Nehemiah stepped again, reappearing next to Rax.

Rax held out the paper and warned, "If you give this to the Summer Sword, you can't use your honor as an excuse when the storm comes."

Nehemiah didn't respond.

Rax sighed, "The children?"

Nehemiah nodded. "By law, they were under your purview, accomplices to your deeds. But I gave you my word to exercise all the mercy my station brings."

"So be it." Rax nodded. He handed the paper over. Nehemiah folded the page, pocketed it, and then raised his sword. In a flash, Rax's hands, up to his wrists, fell to the ground, leaving only decayed stumps on his arms.

The former scribe didn't even seem to feel it. He growled to Nehemiah, "Your word, Zorba. If I discover you allowed harm to come to either of those boys, I will summon Morgoth myself to cast calamity on everything you love."

Nehemiah bowed his head almost reverently. "My word, you have it."

"Wick?" asked a frightened Scout. "Do something."

The Autumn Sword turned his attention to them. He stepped. Wick felt a sharp pain on the back of his neck. Darkness took him.