TERRENT GUST, The Curved Storm

The enlightening sun constructed a bright and beautiful day for whistling. Terrent accidentally missed his sunrise stroll, but he doubted his challenger was displeased with that.

Speaking of the challenger, there were rows of people flooding away from some strange scene around the road. Terrent heard faint rumors of a gunshot. After years of the Lion’s presence here, he expected these people would grow used to these as daily occurrences.

The scythe, of course, made the fleeing rabble split like a torn seam as he walked. They imagined death coming with his blade honed and ready. Terrent smiled. He wished the heavens would grant him a role as a reaper the day after he died. That’s an offer he would take in a heartbeat.

When the streets emptied, Terrent stumbled upon a small, vacant, brothel. Outside, two figures stood, ready and grim.

Terrent ceased whistling. “I’m here! Say, did you cause that chaos passing me by earlier?”

They replied with nothing. Rude. Terrent turned to Hera, his associate. “Harpy! I’m delighted to see you come all the way to witness this! Truly, you’re a loyal companion. That had to have earned you some gold stars in grade school, right?”

Silently, she raised her fists, an invitation to battle. Her expression darkened.

Terrent sighed and turned to Zeta. “Come on, Zeta, I had so much faith in you. And here even I was willing to honor our agreement. Did you even try to talk her out of this?”

“I talked her into it,” he said.

“That’s even more disappointing. I suppose Harpy concocted some morbid story like ‘I used to kill my challengers in their sleep’ or something. Whatever she told you was probably true. But even with my mercy, you went and ruined it.” Terrent shrugged. “No skin off my back, however. I’ll assume you tattled and the bitch is mad.”

“There are bigger fish that need to drown. I, no, we don’t have time to waste on you.”

Terrent looked behind him, in the direction of the Den. The Lion should still be there, making final preparations. He turned back, snickering. “You want to take Mr. Rex down? Good luck. I may be a fish, but I’m not going to be easy to fry.”

Leaping off one foot, Terrent made his best effort to disappear before their eyes. His scythe reeled in, aimed at Zeta’s shoulder. The black sword deflected it with an immense force.

Gust could feel it, the strength of Zeta’s spirit. He grinned at the contemporary glory of this opportunity.

Landing on the balls of his feet, Terrent was surprised to glance up and see Zeta’s finger pointed directly at his eyes. Three powerful shots cracked through the air. With a masterful spin of his scythe and some sigma assistance, the Impossible Shots were rendered harmless. He watched them scatter along the ground.

“You mastered Marc’s sigmas! And in such a short time too! Most imp–”

Rushing in, Zeta swung for his throat. Terrent leaned back to avoid him.

After dodging the black blade once more, Terrent winced as an image of his mother flashed before him. What? That whore. I love her! Subsequent pictures of his childhood disoriented him briefly. That time when his dad brought home new livestock. When Terrent befriended a pony. When he beheaded the pony. Good times, good memories. They led to poor footing as he avoided the swordsman’s subsequent swings.

“Ah! Harpy! I forgot you were joining us!”

He kicked Zeta’s sword arm away as another swipe was inbound. He leaped to a more vulnerable target. Hey, bitch, you did volunteer for this.

A flash of fright crossed Hera’s face even though she readied herself for combat.

Terrent brought the scythe down right in front of her. Since it missed, Hera began making those jabs at the nervous system she was so fond of. It’s a shame she’s so predictable.

He yanked his scythe out of the paved cobble, twirled, and swung for her neck. She ducked, but the ends of her hairs were harvested like tiny black stalks of corn.

Terrent was at least satisfied with a close call. It meant his skills had not deteriorated.

Patter, patter, patter. Like a scurrying rodent, Zeta made just enough noise running up behind him that Terrent was able to deflect a surprise incoming blow. He pushed the black sword down and jabbed Zeta with the blunt tip of the scythe’s shaft, bruising the chest.

Terrent slashed up, hoping to leave a gash in the chest. Alas, there was only a graze to the ribcage.

Stuck between them, Terrent spun the scythe above him and tilted forward and back, endangering them if they dared to come within his proximity. He concluded this cycle with a slash at Zeta, who backstepped in time.

Dragging the scythe through the ground, he blinded Hera by tossing up dirt into her eyes. He raised his blade for the kill.

Zeta blocked it in an upward position, and now the interference was growing tiresome. This is why he wanted an actual duel today. Granted, Terrent didn’t want to quite yet. It had only just begun, after all.

He dueled with Zeta for a few moments longer. As Hera recovered from the blinding dust, Terrent pointed his scythe at the ground and twirled it circular. “Windspin Tower.” The resulting tornado pushed them both back a bit.

As he landed on a nearby rooftop, Hera’s Neural Flash smacked his mind again.

“Agh! You know, Harpy, if I wanted to see some old memories, I’d call a therapist,” he said.

“You’ll be glad to know I have a license!” she yelled. “Here! Reminisce!”

She tried to slam him with more memories multiple times, but with Terrent anticipating them they just became a rosy overlay on reality. Well, rosy was a kind way to put it. Terrent preferred ‘spoiled and bittersweet.’

Apparently, Zeta was scaling the building beneath him, barehanded no less. What impressive fortitude. “Well, hello there!” Terrent called. “How’s your climb?”

An Impossible Shot skimmed Terrent’s ear and his heart spiked. He may be their superior, but those loud noises still made him jolt. “You know, I have Automatic Bullet Block as well.”

“What do you mean as well?” Zeta asked as he climbed another foothold.

“Well, that’s what Crue had. I saw you employ it after his death. Did you not read the sigma?”

“So that’s what that was?” Zeta grunted to himself. He really needs to work on his whispers.

“Good lord. I have some advice if you live through this endeavor. Take your time with things. Look at me! I’m relishing every second of an intimate conversation with my enemy.”

“Well,” Zeta said, exerting himself to grapple up to a few more footholds. “Good for you, but I…have things…to do!”

Hera timed her Neural Flash to just before Impossible Shot came Terrent’s way. The bullet was hairs away from his chin, but he pulled his scythe and blocked it in time.

“What!” Zeta exclaimed, losing his grip on the building and falling back to the street. Hera also had an expression of horror.

Terrent stood up. “I told you. I have Automatic Bullet Block. It’s Dormant. You can’t shoot me so long as I have my scythe.”

When the realization dawned on them, Terrent went on laughing. “Oh, man! The look on your faces, ha! Why do you think I wanted to fight the Ghost Gun for so long? It’s that expression. His greatest feats of sigma usage made redundant.”

Terrent sighed. “It’s a shame though. In Marc’s case, he would have been left helpless and at my mercy, but you are a somewhat competent swordsman, unfortunately. The thrill just isn’t the same.”

Zeta stood up, unamused and bitter from the fall. “Sorry I’m not to your liking.”

“Oh, It’s fine! I’m tolerant of poor substitutes, and you are entertaining in your own right.” Terrent beamed. “Don’t be ashamed! Be proud! Good for you!”

None of his mockeries led Zeta to flinch. He gripped the black blade and prepared for another bout.

“Oh, no. No more of that,” Terrent said. “I’d rather just wreak havoc and watch you chickens dart around like your heads were chopped off. Twister.” He opened the palm of his hand, where a little spiral of wind formed. His scythe gleamed. “Although, very soon, a headless chicken might be your reality.”

He tossed the spiral at them, and the instant it left his hand it expanded into a massive tornado. Zeta and Hera were pulled in, flying in a circle, and the windstorm crashed into the building opposite. After a mere five seconds, the entire area was trashed.

Terrent chuckled. “Never fails to let me down.”

ZETA

As he went flying off his feet, Zeta’s mind was solely cluttered with an assortment of curses.

A window crashed into him, or maybe he crashed into it. Either way, he was sitting in a pile of ripped cloth and splintered wood on an upper floor, which was now resting on one weak support.

He attempted to move, but that support collapsed instantly. The shock shook his body with another quake of pain. Enough of this crap!

Zeta jumped out of the debris and back into the street, glaring upwards at the twig-figured scythe-wielder. Terrent Gust’s grin only displayed a disinterested amount of glee.

“Is tearing up streets and buildings a daytime hobby for you?” Zeta asked.

Gust yawned. “Not really. It’s just amusing and easy to pull off. Maybe if I weren’t guaranteed to take down a structure, I wouldn’t be so disappointed.”

Could he be any more infuriating? “Do you have any regard for the people at all? Use something like that in the country, not an urban area! Better yet, never use it at all!”

Gust shrugged. “It’s a Devastation type sigma, what can I say? It’s meant to shatter cities.”

Zeta growled with anger and fired some Impossible Shots. Gust’s scythe deflected them all.

“I thought we established that those weren’t going to work?”

Zeta ignored that fact and continued a barrage. He hoped to develop the same steady suppression that Crue used on him yesterday. They may have been useless, but they gave him some time to think. Just view it as a little more training. Surely he has to have a weakness.

He heard some shuffling behind him as Hera pushed herself out of some heavier debris. “Thanks for coming to find me,” she said with irritation.

“I’m in the middle of something here.”

She bore witness to his wasted shots. “I don’t think it’s working.”

“Help me, then!”

Gust pulled away after the next Impossible Shot, avoiding Zeta’s line of sight. “Okay, enough of that! Do you want to see my next party trick or have you got a special one of your own?”

When they said nothing, Gust hopped over the edge of the roof and quickly used Windspin Tower for a safe descent to the street.

“Right. For my next trick, a Summer Fan!” He spun his scythe in front of him at rapid speed and sent a wave of spiraling wind to launch them backward.

Zeta and Hera slammed into the wall and struggled to part with it. Their legs and arms were locked against the cobblestone by the little hurricane Gust created.

Its strength was sporadic. There were intermittent points of lesser force rather than a constant push of indomitable degree. There are multiple activations. Indeed, Terrent had to keep spinning his scythe to create Summer Fan, but that information did little unless they could get out of its span.

Before Zeta could concoct a plan, however, Gust gripped the scythe and stopped it, ending the hurricane. They collapsed to their knees to catch their breath.

“Oh, it’s not even remotely over, rats! It’s time to reverse!” he said with a concerningly playful expression. He started spinning the scythe in the opposite direction. He even removed his hands, and it continued spinning independently, hovering in the air. “Turbine!”

Now Zeta felt a brand new force. An irresistible pull towards the fatal spinning blade.

Twister - Air, Devastation: User spawns a miniature tornado to wreak a small path of havoc. (1310)

(A) After VC, let a tiny spiral of wind form in the user’s palm, then toss the spiral in the targeted direction. Tornado will instantly grow to a larger, more suitable size and steer generally along the targeted path. Will wreak the same havoc as a regular tornado scaled down to its size for approximately five seconds. Then it will disappear. (!) Indiscriminate.