Elach jumped over a wave of dull grey Issi that was sent at his feet, then chained himself up just a little bit higher to dodge a shockwave of force Issi. These practitioners weren’t overly strong, but they were uncannily in sync with each other thanks to the puppet master who was either absent or veiling their Issi completely. He frowned as as a practitioner he’d thrown to the ground rose without using their arms, the Issi around them thickening to cables for a brief moment before thinning back down to threads. Commands and techniques from the puppeteer were always accompanied by that thickening.

Issi flared from on top of the hotel, and Elach’s eyes instinctively snapped to the source. It was too far to see anything clearly, but there were sparks of copper coloured Issi surrounding what looked like a person. It went as quickly as it came, the person disappearing from view before he could make anything important out, and the threads became something else. The black became swirled with thin lines of copper, sparkling with Issi that made Elach want to look away, then blinked out. He couldn’t feel anything from the practitioners anymore. Not the puppet threads, not their own Issi, not even footsteps or breaths. Their bodies were there, and nothing more.

A shockwave rippled into being just behind him without warning, the Issi now tinted with inky black and copper. He tried to sidestep, but a wave of nausea washed over him as another of the practitioners unleashed a technique they’d been building. As the shockwave smashed into his body, throwing him off into the arms of a practitioner whose hands were swarmed by dark brown pebbles, Elach remembered what it was like to fight without Issi. Twin fists encased in rock slammed down on his shoulder, crumpling him to the ground as he screamed in pain.

Chains attached to a point off to his right, and Elach pulled. He found himself out of the group, yet they were already turning. An old man with a beard that looked like it billowed in the wind even when there was none raised his hand, the air bunching up in his palm without Elach feeling any Issi from it. That had to be either the force practitioner, or an air practitioner who hadn’t attacked him yet. Which left the stone practitioner, the martial practitioner, the practitioner who’d made him feel sick, the not-quite-fire practitioner, and three unknowns.

Another shockwave ripped out of the old man, confirming he was the force practitioner. Elach pulled on a chain upwards, barely dodging the fast-moving technique. Aside from the sickening practitioner, the old man was by far the most dangerous. He could dodge the stone, fire, and martial practitioner even after they threw their techniques, but the force and sickening practitioners left barely any time to react. He had to incapacitate those two somehow. He released his technique on the not-quite-fire practitioner and swapped it over to the old man, his container reminding him that he had not recovered from earlier that day. If the practitioner hadn’t had his will stripped away from him by the puppeteer, Elach’s technique would have crumpled like a tissue paper throne.

Creating a second stop-chain proved impossible, as Elach felt his subconscious concentration slip into his consciousness with the second technique. He couldn’t focus on two of the same technique and fighting six other practitioners at the same time. The air around him grew hot as the flame practitioner readied her technique, and he let the second stop-chain drop. Until he could be sure which one of his attackers was the one making him sick, he’d keep the force practitioner bound. But he didn’t need a technique to chain someone up.

The stone practitioner surged forward, leaving twin spires of stone at their launching point, as the remaining six practitioners all readied techniques of their own. Elach chained himself back and manifested a chain between himself and the stone practitioner at stomach height, holding it in place as they rammed into it and tried to shove it back. His creation groaned under the weight, but it held tight. He chained himself to the stone practitioner and slammed his shoulder into their chest, sending them reeling as he grabbed their arm and manifested a chain around it. A yank while they were off balance let him attach the chain to their other arm, a sweep to one leg attached a chain to their ankle, and as rock started coiling up their last unchained leg Elach backed off. He had one chain connecting both of their arms, and another chain around one leg that trailed off along the ground.

He would have preferred to get both of their legs, but one would have to do. With a thought and a wave, Elach manifested a chain between the practitioner’s body and the chain stretched between their arms, then pulled it up. They didn’t say anything as the rock around their leg shattered, leaving them dangling fifteen feet in the air. Elach unmade the chain around their leg, noting that he didn’t have to bother with chaining both sets of limbs. One would do.

His container reminded him that incapacitating all of the attackers wasn’t an option. He was still staring down six techniques, three of which he still didn’t know. If he did some real damage, this would be a far simpler task. But these people were innocent. Killing or severely injuring them wouldn’t do anything but make him look like a monster to the people who lived here. Who probably should have heard something by now. He looked around to see that nobody was outside. He could see people through the windows of stores and restaurants, but none of them spared a glance his way. That practitioner with the coppery Issi must have done this. And if Elach hadn’t seen the massive gulf between his strength and that practitioner’s in the split second he sensed them, he might have gone after them.

Since he had, though, Elach knew he had to keep fighting and hope that they got bored or ran out of Issi. Neither of which seemed overly likely. He ducked under a slash of marital Issi that would have separated his head from the rest of his body, chained to a spot near the martial practitioner’s knees, adjusting so his back was towards them, and pulled. He crashed into their legs with a bone-shattering crunch, stopping his pull and bolting upright to catch the practitioner in the gut with his elbow. They went down like a sack of bricks, their Issi spilling out of them like a popped balloon as their head smacked the ground. Elach winced and prayed that they weren’t too hurt, then chained himself out of the way of a heatwave and something that felt like weaponized regret.

A specter of Issi screamed past him, both literally and figuratively, the apparition wailing in pain and sorrow as it slammed into the wall of the library and kept going. That was one of the mystery practitioners revealed, but Elach had no idea what kind of Issi that was. Regret or sorrow didn’t quite fit, but he couldn’t think of anything else at the moment. He turned his head to see the practitioner who’d attacked him with an empty stare and a mad grin, their face sunken and hollow with eyes like a dead fish and bones that looked like they would rip through their skin at any moment. And behind those eyes, Elach felt awareness. The puppet strings latched onto the practitioner’s Issi, but not their mind. Not their headspace, nor their container. They had full control of themselves.

Elach stepped to the right, avoiding another unskilled thrust of martial Issi, and prepared to chain himself out of the way of the dead-eyed practitioner’s next attack. Which meant he had a perfect seat to see that technique wasn’t aimed at him. Scrabbling claws of Issi caressed the practitioner like a long lost lover, hugging them tight, then disappeared. Elach twitched his finger, ready to pull at the barest whisper of Issi, and watched in horror as the claws embraced the immobile force practitioner. Embraced, then flayed.

Bones were bared through scraped-off flesh, carving away layer after layer of flesh as the practitioner remained immobile and helpless. The man’s chest was carefully sliced open, the claws lodging themselves under the now exposed ribcage. And pulled. And pulled. Elach lost a grip on his technique as he heard the wet creaking of bones on the precipice of snapping, and that was when the screams came. Raw, razor-sharp and blood curdling calls for the sweet release of death. The dead-eyed practitioner shuddered in pleasure as their Issi reached a crescendo, the man’s ribs snapping one by one as they babbled and pleaded incoherently for the pain to stop. It never did. They stayed awake. Elach couldn’t move.

Agony. That was the only way he could describe this. Agony Issi.

The man vomited blood as his stomach was set upon by the claws, and Elach moved. He clenched his teeth, which had somehow already grown back, and scoured his container for all the Issi he could muster. He wouldn’t let anyone else die horribly in front of him. He wouldn’t stand by idle, contained by apathy or shock or pain or fear or the underlying sense of utter hopelessness he’d felt in the springs. He would never get so hurt protecting one that he couldn’t protect anyone else. He needed to stop being reckless. Throwing away his own safety because he wanted to be merciful.

Chains manifested around the practitioner as the claws lovingly embraced them once more, their Issi stronger and brighter from feasting on the force practitioner’s suffering. Elach took a deep breath and tried to take in some of the Issi around him, but it didn’t feel right. Like something had already laid claim to all the Issi in the clearing. His container trembled as he hummed, Flow’s song ringing through their bond, pushing back against whatever force had ownership over this place’s Issi. The chains holding his container together strained under the pressure, striping away little by little to feed the fight. This wasn’t right. There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to take this in. He already had last night, and earlier this morning, and when he’d been talking to Shar. Now it felt like the Issi was leaving him out to dry. Like it wanted him dead.

Something snapped in Elach’s container. One moment the chains were holding strong; thinning, sure, but nowhere near the point of breaking, and the next they were gone. Shattered links rained down in that space between, his container shrieking in terrified surprise as it warbled and warped and shuddered and thinning into a thin parchment of Issi trying its best to hold in the… the nothing. It was holding in nothing. Elach grasped at the emptiness within himself, feeling his container stabilize even without the chains holding it together. It still had massive holes, and he couldn’t feel any Issi within it whatsoever, but it held. Without his chains. Without Issi.

Elach reached out, feeling the Issi strain against his will, and pulled. Existence screamed in defiance, layers of Issi pulling away and away until nothing remained but the raw essence of power. Elach felt the waste flutter away on unseen currents, drawn back into the flow of Issi, and shoved the Issi into his container. It struggled and surged as if trying to escape, then fell still. He reached towards it, feeling the raw potential of the Issi Y’talla’s bond had given him. It felt like something he couldn’t remember. Something that he knew all too well. Something that had taken up residence in the background of his mind ever since he first guided someone through the primal spring.

With a hand outstretched, Elach called on Y’talla’s Issi. The tiniest speck of verdant green flashed to life, orbited by a fast-moving pure-white chain. His Issi orbiting Y’talla’s influence. He looked over at the agony practitioner, claws still embracing them with absurd power, but the others had frozen. No movement whatsoever. Maybe the agony practitioner was holding them hostage somehow, frozen in perpetual torment that they couldn’t escape thanks to whoever was controlling them. Elach crushed the chains down into Y’talla’s influence, staining them with the lines of green he’d gotten used to. If he killed that monster, maybe all this would end.