Pobrecito, Karollus contemplated with an overwhelming sense of pity for the man that he loved, holding him close in his arms.

While he was not injured, Alvalar was gone. He kept on focusing all of his attention back at that tree – the ceiba tree whose large and gnarly roots provided a resting place for his father’s corpse – as though it was the only thing on this Nakoi-blessed earth. Tears shed down his cheeks and caressed his handsome square jawline relentlessly, making those gorgeous chestnut eyes of his turn ever more bloodshot.

“Alvalar,” Karollus called out in a whisper at first, but it gradually became louder and louder. “Alvalar! Alvalar!”

He called out more and more and even shook him for good measure, but it was clear by the Navasarian Weapon Wielder’s unresponsiveness that no matter what he did, it wasn’t getting through. When Karollus had to release his protective grasp and slowly placed his former lover’s body on the jungle’s grassy floor, Alvalar didn’t even flinch and still held that same tight position like Karollus still had his arms wrapped around him while Inferno laid right beside him, still encased in its scabbard.

No doubt the pain he was feeling inside was horrible, but it was harder for Karollus to watch. He caressed Alvalar’s tawny cheeks, wiping away his tears with his thumbs. As he stared into the Weapon Wielder of Navasar’s eyes, it suddenly became hard to swallow anything, even his own saliva, as this phantomic sense of cotton balls overwhelmed his mouth. His jaw tightened and his eyes grew watery as the desire to take this pain away from the man that he loved built more and more inside his heart.

He forced himself to repress those tears, however, and endured the sting that came with it. Now isn’t the time to cry, he reminded himself as he glared at the snake-masked woman who stood there, flaunting the blade that murdered Smoke and probably many other palenqueros. Hopefully, his parents and Misu were not one of them…

Karollus rose to his feet and walked a good distance away from Alvalar’s body, enough that he wouldn’t trip over him should he need room to fight, but also enough that he could keep a consistent eye on him. With his hand in his pocket, he held onto Estrella’s hilt, feeling every inch of the leather that was wrapped around it.

“Step down,” a female voice from behind the mask ordered. Her voice was deep like that of a matured woman, probably in her mid-thirties, and entrenched in an accent so unlike that of his parents and grandmother and unlike those who lived here in Esperanza. “I don’t want to hurt you. I-I don’t intend to fight you, éeko.”

“Don’t you dare call me éeko like we’re part of the same shann,” Karollus hissed angrily, switching to the Kéké dialect of Eastern Athesan that was spoken at home. “If you are true to word, then why did you go and marr Smoke for, huh? Why are you people here, ruining a day that was beautiful and filled with fun for everyone?! Answer me that!”

The woman’s snake mask glanced downward toward the shifty dirt like she was contemplating on whether or not she should tell him the truth. Then, her shoulders rose and she let out a resigned sigh. “It’s… It’s for my boys,” she answered. “This job is the only way I can provide for them in Bilithgorn.”

Karollus couldn’t stifle back the chortle that rose from his throat. “That’s rich coming from a mercenary like you. All you people care about is juno, juno, juno and have no qualms about destroying someone else’s family if it means you can provide for your own. That is the most selfish thing in the world. And what will your arra think when they discover that their Elá is a murderer-for-hire, huh? Honestly, if I were them, I’d commit suicide from the guilt and shame that your actions bring upon the family.”

She pointed her bloodied sword at him, threateningly jabbing its blade through the air as though to emphasize her words. “Don’t you dare speak as though you, a child, can understand what it’s like to see your boys beg and beg for more food when you barely have enough for tomorrow all because employers are wary of how it’ll look if they hire you because you’re Navi or have Navi heritage! People don’t even trust me near the local well, claiming that I’ll infect the water and turn them and their children stupid and crazy just like my ancestors, and force me to collect water from dirty rain puddles.” With a slight move of her right hand, she gestured over to Alvalar with her sword. “I will give you one more chance. Stand aside. If you allow me to kill the Navasarian Weapon Wielder right here and now, I promise on my children’s life that I will allow you to live.”

Due to the years of propaganda and wide-held belief that claimed the Navi to be a slow-witted, evil group of people who had an innate ability to corrupt others and bring about chaos – utter bullshit that was started nearly four thousand years ago by the Second ruler of Navasar, King Argiz the High-Minded, due to loathing those who politically disagreed with him, and whose subtle indoctrination of the general public grew more and more rampant as the years went on as the Navi were slowly but surely seen as sub-human until the fourth Navasarian Weapon Wielder Luna the Spiritual legalized their enslavement once-and-for-all together with her lover Queen Trastármar, Argiz’s great-granddaughter, one hundred-and-twenty years later – Karollus knew that there was no point in denying that things haven’t been easy for those who were enslaved or those who are descended from slaves, like himself should he leave the safety of the palenque.

While he could sympathize with the woman’s situation, having heard of the horror stories that Mother and Granny Kini were forced to experience during their enslavement at the Rudas Manor in the Athesanian province of Ethlah, like that time Granny Kini was beaten for pulling too hard on “aunt” Eboni’s hair while getting her ready one morning – something Granny would gladly endure a hundred times over if it meant she was able to inflict pain upon the woman who sold off her blood-children – it still didn’t absolve the mercenary of her evildoing. Nothing will. Human life is never something trivial.

With a hardened glare, Karollus unsheathed Estrella in one fluid motion. She felt odd in his hands. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she belonged to Smoke up until a few minutes ago or due to never holding a dagger before. Usually if he wanted to fight someone or beat up the bullies that were tormenting others, he’d just use his fists, but swords and daggers were all made for stabbing and cutting down foes with but a mere slice. He used knives plenty of times back at the bakery, but this was different.

One foul move and he’s gone.

Dead.

As he gazed upon Estrella and back at the blade that mercenary woman was wielding, Karollus forced himself to swallow a harsh gulp of saliva while his heart was trembling with fear, his grip on Estrella’s hilt loosened.

No.

While feeling those things weren’t necessarily the issue, showing it was. He had to be strong. He must be strong for Alvalar and protect him like he promised not only Smoke, but also Alvalar himself back when they first started dating. And so, tightening his grip upon his dagger’s handle, Karollus spread out his feet into a solid and unyielding stance. “If you want him, then you’re going to have to kill me first.”

As though taking him up on the offer, the masked woman raced towards him with her sword in hand.

Karollus braced himself for the impact behind Estrella, using her fifteen-inch onyx blade and his left fist to shield any vital organs. Hearing his heart thumping in his ears made the anticipation a cruel mistress as the distance between their two blades drew ever so nearer. If sword fighting is as easy as brawling with my fists, I should be fine, he told himself in an attempt to ease his nerves. I should be fine. I should be fine. I should be fine.

He was wrong.

When the sword collided with Estrella, the force was overwhelming, bringing him to his knees as he struggled under its weight, hands shaking. Her blade was only a few inches longer than Estrella, but it was clear that the momentum she built up had aided her.

Steam rose forth from Estrella’s onyx body, her little red fragments shined and twinkled like her namesake, however the heated water vapor wasn’t strong enough to melt through her blade or create a dense fog. If not for that, then what was the whole point of mixing the stone fragments into the blade in the first place?! To look pretty?!

As though sympathizing with her owner, Estrella began groaning under the weight as well. Karollus gridded his teeth as he let out a strained moan. This is what I get for being cocky, he cursed at himself. If he wanted to gain some ground, he was going to have to use all of the strength he could muster. First, it started with his legs as he slowly planted them down on the ground one after another and then with the raising of his arms, he slid Estrella from the blade’s trunk to as high as he could make her go.

Somehow the strength behind the clash had weakened once his dagger reached the mid-point of the woman’s sword, allowing him to finally give one final push and stand tall once more. Not wanting to let this moment to be a fleeting victory, he kicked the woman in the knee with all of his might.

Panting, Karollus saw how his kick unfortunately didn’t have the power to break her knee cap like he would’ve liked due to it being incased in a layer of protective padding, but for what it was worth, it still brought her to knees long enough to allow himself some space and glance over at Alvalar.

He hoped to see some change in his condition, however, his former lover was very much the same as before: a lifeless doll. Zahrah drifted through his body like he was nothing. Hopefully, he could at least feel the cold chill that accompanied those little leaf ghosts.

With Zahrah phasing through him as well, Karollus ignored their chill and returned his attention back to his opponent, observing how defenseless she was now that she was rubbing her knee and let out a sharp groan. Her sword was still very much in her hand, but it was practically useless since she was preoccupied. However, getting close can be risky. She could be faking her reaction or use her obvious experience over swordplay to overpower him again, but if he never attacked her straight on, this battle could go on forever… not if he can slow her down.

Yes.

If he could just slow her down by dodging and only lightly parrying, using that weak point as an advantage until an opening came, he can deliver the first of many blows!

Sinking her blade into the dirt, the masked mercenary slowly rose to her feet once more. Still reeling from the kick, her shoulder rose up and down feverishly like she was panting. “T-that was a dirty trick!”

With a grin from ear to ear, Karollus gestured her to come forward with a motion of his dagger. “There are more tricks where that came from,” he teased. “Perhaps you’ll have to cut off my head to put an end to my endless imagination.”

“With pleasure!” she roared, lunging at him with sword in hand.

At first, her jabs were easy to avoid since Karollus just had to step to the side one after the other, like he was hopping on one foot then switched over to the other, but her swordsmanship was quickly becoming more erratic like she was growing irritated.

While his plan of slowing her down was working, the negatives also reared their ugly head. Her erratic nature made it difficult to inch any closer and unleash an offensive attack, and dodging proved to grow more costly and dangerous since her moves were becoming more and more unpredictable.

When she drew her sword back to ready a jab, she instead swung and slashed at him; having his beard sliced and suffering a few cuts and nicks at the skin on his face and neck taught him that about her. Strangely, the cuts did not hurt. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that continued to power his body, or his continual focus on her and not the pain.

While her erratic and clever swordplay was difficult to evade and deflect, Karollus found that as he continued to study his opponent’s posture before she struck again, there was a minor delay. If he blinked, he’d miss it. And then it happened again, but this time it looked more like a trembling of her leg like she was in pain despite never having stabbed her.

The kick in the knee, he remembered and a sudden grin washed over his face.

Her erratic nature must’ve been a way that she was keeping his focus on her and not on her injury that was clearly leaving her wide open. As her opponent, Karollus had to admit that was smart. Very smart.

If he could abuse her injury, he could finally inch closer and attack! As he studied his opponent’s movements more and more, the baker’s son began to feel the sense of excitement engulf his very being.

Now?! No, too risky. How about n- No!

As he calculated a time to finally attack, the opportunity was given to him multiple times, but he refused to take it. The delay wasn’t long enough to slip past her defenses cleanly.

The masked mercenary woman suddenly slashed at him, but having parried with Estrella, Karollus applied all of his strength to push the sword aside… and there he had it.

A window.

She was too surprised by his sudden strength that she did not have the time to move her sword in time and her trembling leg didn’t help.

Wanting to surprise her even more and perhaps feeling a bit too excited himself, the baker’s son drew his right hand back, the hand he used to hold Estrella, and threw a punch—

SSSSLLLLAAAASSSHHH!

Karollus’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach as he watched the woman’s blade change direction – from being pushed aside to suddenly raining down from above in what felt like a blink of an eye – and slice through his hand, his skin, muscles and bones having the durability of room-temperature butter.

With Estrella still attached, his amputated hand thumped onto the shifty dirt below, lifeless.

BA-DUMP! BA-DUMP! BA-DUMP! BA-DUMP! BA-DUMP! BA-DUMP!

His heart immediately threw itself into a panic. With his left hand, the baker’s son grabbed at his wrist, but was greeted with the combined force of gushing blood, soft muscle tissue and the hardness of shattered bone all at once. Fear engulfed him as he tried to stop the bleeding by applying pressure, but the slipperiness of the warm blood made it difficult.

Terrified, Karollus glanced up, but before he could catch the sight of that snake-masked bitch who cut off his hand, a sharp kick to the stomach sent him tumbling to the floor.

Due to the terrain inside the zahrah jungle being uneven at times, the baker’s son soon found himself rolling down a hill after suffering another kick to his side. Rocks and roots of nearby cebia trees crashed against his body as though their only purpose was to further his descent and cause more pain. Rolling through mud puddles wasn’t fun either as its sludge coated his dark skin, warping his complexion and clothes in its dirty embrace; his dreads were not exempt either—

CCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!

Air was stolen from his lungs as an indescribable pain ran down his back, feeling the bumpy, intertwining roots of a large tree against his right hip and the harshness of tree bark to his back. While he gasped and gasped for air, the sounds of a Safra Climbing Dove’s threatening kicks clashing against the tree’s bole suddenly echoed from above. Despite the distance between the two, Karollus could sense the bird’s powerful kicks from all the way down here in a pulsating wave that emanated from deep within the tree and had one clear message in mind: Stay quiet, human.

“Karollus!” Alvalar suddenly called out as though in a gasp; his tenor voice had a strained hoarseness to it. The baker’s son did not know what brought his former lover out his lifeless, trance-like state, but all that mattered was that he was back.

Karollus couldn’t cry for joy just yet, however. As though his body was trying to help, he was then forced into a coughing fit. His lungs burned and his face grew hot while his body curled itself into a protective ball. Not showing any signs of stopping or helping, the coughing became relentless as Karollus began to gag, feeling those flans from earlier rise higher and higher into his esophagus, just itching to meet him.

Not having control over anything anymore, the Navasarian Weapon Wielder’s bodyguard submitted to the urge. Grabbing ahold of the gnarly, moss-covered roots, he pulled himself forward and retched up a heavy waterfall of vomit. Saliva slithered down his chin while the air grew hot, amplifying the noisome smell that greeted his nostrils and the din of gagging and semi-digested chunks of flan and other foodstuff plopping against the forest floor beside him to an odious degree.

When he was done emptying his stomach, the air around him was now chilly and almost soothing, his eyes watery. Cautiously, his chest rose and fell, finally able to breathe in the crisp, if slightly contaminated, air into his lungs.

Poco poco. Exhausted and still in pain, Karollus groaned weakly as he wiped the saliva from his chin and batted away the tears, slowly rolling his back against the tree as he continued to take one breath at a time. Not forgetting the seriousness of his injury though, he carefully bundled up his amputated hand in his work shirt, attentive as to keep it elevated and apply pressure as best as one could when they’re shaking and afraid. Poco po–

The curved tip of a blood-stained sword suddenly appeared a mere millimeter away from his nose. Even if it wasn’t piercing his skin just yet, he could still sense its sharpness. The baker’s son heart trembled nervously like it was a ticking-time bomb ready to explode. It somehow managed to override the pulsating pain in his wrist and the throbbing of his surely bruised skin.

Anxiously, Karollus’ eyes followed the sword and caught the sight of that snake-mask again. There she stood, dressed in cheaply made armor that protected the most vital of organs while dense padding guarded her limbs, strapped to the dark clothing underneath, her boots had the pointy, noticeable scales of high-quality stingray hide as they stood atop the tree’s roots like they were nature’s staircase.

Behind her twinkled the brightness of the fire that engulfed the festival, the fire that she and her group caused by throwing blasting sand into crowds of innocent people, though it seemed to be of lesser intensity than before. Some parts were bright with flames while others were completely doused and cloaked in darkness. No doubt it was the doing of those mar-piedra tridents that the town guards always had strapped to their back, using the stone’s ability of summoning strong ocean waves to gain control amidst the fiery chaos.

“You’re not the only one that’s clever, éeko,” the masked woman said, leg no longer trembling and now as straight as an arrow. Then she let out a sigh as though disappointed. “It’s a shame that you didn’t heed my advice. You should have listened.”

Inferno, whose legendary blade was submerged in flames, was swiftly pressed to the woman’s throat. Although it did not seem to be burning her skin like an open, raging fire should, almost as though it was just an illusion, it definitely diverted her attention, as did Karollus’. The owner of the mythical blade then revealed himself from behind the woman, much larger and taller than he was before.

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM, HUO-HÈ,” Alvalar growled in a raspy, almost charred voice that had this echo effect reverberating through the air, sounding like plenty of people were speaking not only through him, but also together in unison. His mouth was consumed by flames that bellowed forth slightly each time he spoke. “YOU KILL HIM, I KILL YOU.”