The Suras walk closer.
They both flourish their blades in unison, as if controlled by a single mind. Flash.
A cloud of dust replaces where they stood. Madarame turns, just in time to see a curved sword about to slice Seraphiel's skull like a melon. He spins into a back kick, slamming his heel into the Sura's wrist and altering the blade's trajectory.
Seraphiel turns, only now registering the ridiculous speed.
The other Sura is already behind Madarame. He stabs the curved blade into Madarame's shoulder blade and yanks, trying to free it. Seraphiel's claws rip through his fingertips as he slashes rapidly at the Sura's throat. He connects—blood spurts, splashing into his eye.
Madarame drives his heel into the Sura's groin, jumps clear, and rips the blade free. The steel twists, transforming into a white serpent. The hilt bites into his wrist. Green liquid pumps into his veins as his arm begins to rot.
He severs it.
He looks up while a new arm is forming from intertwining webs.
Seraphiel is flying frantically in all directions, the Suras both trying to dispatch him as quickly as possible.
This speed is insane. I haven't seen anyone this fast… well, except him, Seraphiel thinks.
He's thrown around like a rag doll—flung to one corner, a Sura appearing behind him to kick him across the room, while the other grabs him, spins, and hurls him back again.
Madarame's wounds stitch themselves shut as he charges forward, wide-eyed. One eye is mutilated, staring ahead. He conjures a bow and fires at one Sura. The creature tilts his neck. The arrow transforms mid-flight into a clone of Madarame and detonates into webs, shredding flesh.
Above, Seraphiel fires barbed hairs at the other Sura who runs and weaves, dodging with impossible precision.
Looking back, Madarame sees the shredded body of the fallen Sura warping—reforming into another.
Three?
Panic surges. His body overheats. He runs to Seraphiel, grabs him mid-air, and uses a string to pull them both out of the room.
They sprint to the platform.
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Looking back, they see all three Sura standing perfectly still, staring—deadly calm.
"Fear."
"The."
"Hydra."
They speak one word at a time, then shout in unison.
"Who's coils—"
Madarame is already out of earshot.
They ascend on the platform and burst through the cathedral doors, collapsing onto the floor.
"Ha—ha—"Both are gasping, exhausted. They lie sprawled out, arms and legs splayed, moonlight washing over their faces.
They fail to notice the creature crawling across the face of the moon.
A blessing.
Seraphiel raises a trembling hand to his eye. He clenches his fist.
"You alive?" Madarame rasps.
"I think so."
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Back in Cairnreach.
"Dear King, our Appellation is ready to represent you at the coming council in Verez."
"Excellent."
"And the one thousand medical researchers—experiments were successful. They make fine beasts for your war."
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Seraphiel and Madarame rise. Their wounds seal with hair and string. They walk aimlessly ahead for the sake of moving.
"Sura, that's his name, said we made a mistake so severe we doomed the realms as we know it".
"Sura" The name lingers on Seraphiel's tongue.
"A sacrifice to higher beings, in the place of us. He said we killed a little girl." Madarame looks at Seraphiel expecting to see shock and sadness but he is simply in a reverie looking at the moon.
"When Cairnreach is under my wing, no monsters from heaven nor hell will tear it from me"
"Yes king".
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Yumi storms around her room, still sweating from immense heat. She is preparing for the meeting in Verez, her wall littered with notes.
A knock at the door. It's Ryo.
Yumi peeks her head through the crack of the door as she opens it.
Ryo lifts a decapitated head. "Chupacabra" He rolls the head.
"Oh yes it is. Thank you." She slams the door quickly.
Ryo sighs kicking rocks. He wanted to impress her. He scratches the back of his head and thinks back to his platoons destruction on the roofs of Cairnreach. He grits his teeth "Tch" cheap appellation, nothing valiant in magic powers.
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Hiro is playing poker, he is ridiculously bad. He looks at his cards.
What the hell is this, oh this guy looks cool. he strokes the ink image of the king of hearts.
He places just the king on the table as the table erupts in laughter.
"What the hell are you doing!" they all cry out. Choking on laughter.
He lost 120 Serols totalling half of his savings, though they pitied him and took only 100 Serols
Where is Seraphiel when you need him.
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Sol leans against the windowsill, arms crossed, head tilted upward. His eyes are closed.
Blink.
A brief vision: Seraphiel burnt to a crisp in a tornado of flame.
Blink.
Seraphiel limping out the eye of a three-headed dog.
Blink.
Seraphiel cutting a large man in two with his wing.
Sol smiles.
"The cruellest lessons are the most essential. Cruelty is guaranteed—so take it in controlled doses, and turn it to your advantage."
