Incursion (VIII)

Trails of vapor curled up against the downpour that only seemed to be growing stronger. The container yard, which had been wrought with chaos and strife mere moments ago, had now gone eerily silent —as though a sudden wave of dread had passed through to quiet the turmoil.

The area had been thoroughly thrashed, in every sense of the word. Toppled containers, burning vehicles and scattered bodies were but a few of the most prominent after effects left behind by the devastation. After a few minutes, the faint signs of life once again began to pop up around the yard, and the first to emerge crawling through the whirling trails of condensation was a middle-aged man with slick black hair.

He crawled over to a nearby container, bracing against it to support himself as he slowly rose to his feet. A few hoars coughs tore free from his throat, quickly suppressed by his body's growing desire for oxygen.

"Haah...haah..." Victor's chest heaved irregularly from the laborious endeavor he had committed to not long ago, one that had put such a strain on his body that the true depth of his features—someone aptly fitting the description of 'middle age'—began to show, despite the trails of blood gliding down his forehead.

"...I need to get to the pod..." he muttered to himself, the words drawling out on breathless gasps. It was difficult for him to get a good grasp on his surroundings because of all the condensation hanging around, but he neglected to dissipate it this time, his reason being that under current circumstances, it wasn't entirely a bad thing.

A quick glance around revealed that only one of his men had escaped the devastation, the others were either torn to pieces by the sheer force of the Macewalker's missile barrage or met their untimely end due to some other factor directly correlated to it.

The lone agent groaned to his feet, reaching for his temples in a daze.

"Hey, you, this isn't the time to dawdle, we still have a job to do."

The agent dressed in all black special-forces esque gear managed to recognize him after swiveling around and taking stock of himself. He quickly gave his assent and reached for a nearby rifle, but before he even had the chance to arm himself, the cloud of water vapor trailing at their feet stirred from a sudden movement.

Suddenly, a silhouette flashed between them—right into striking range. Outpaced by Cyril's inhuman speed, neither man had time to form a full sentence before the boy resumed his assault. The agent in black reacted quicker than his superior, attempting what he thought might be a useful move in the chaos. He spun his submachine gun around, trying to take aim—but before he could, he was forced to raise it as a makeshift shield.

The weapon shattered in his hands, torn apart by brute force. It couldn't withstand the power of Cyril's furious high kick, which sent the agent flying into a shipping container nearly ten meters away.

Now that the nuisance had been blown away, Victor was next.

With swift, sharp movements, Cyril twirled the mithril blade in his hand and spun his body, making a flawless full twist with his hips. The blade in his hand had been angled mid-swing as it shot for the middle-aged man's torso, primed to cleave through his flesh like a scythe.

The magician was able to react this time thanks to the extra second his ally had bought earlier, he let loose a string of incoherent words no clearer than a mumble, but that was enough for his spell to take effect. A spiraling vortex of wind instantly gathered in his hand, vaguely assuming the shape of a tapered cyclone churning about in his palm. He exhaled a sharp breath, after being boosted through magical means the reflexive action became powerful enough to force his entire back a few paces, barely allowing him to evade Cyril's swing before his blade could do more than just carve away at the chunk of skin underneath his eye.

Leveraging the distance he'd gained, Victor seized the opportunity.

"Haah!"

Victor let out a tearing shout as he unleashed the tapered cyclone at his foe, the blast rippled outwards like a small tornado, tearing through the cool night air with a low hum. He had taken care to fine-tune the attack's proficiency to compensate for its limited range—particularly the rotational force, which spiraled counterclockwise. The sphere created a vortex-like pull that grew stronger as it approached its target, and Cyril was caught completely off guard.

Before he could even attempt to dodge, his body was violently yanked toward the swirling maelstrom. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, the swirling vortex dug deep into his abdomen.

"Gaaack!" Blood burst from between his clenched teeth—a grim side effect of having his body forcibly twisted by the attack's momentum. The sheer force drove the air from his lungs and hurled him into a poorly stacked container with enough impact to knock it over.

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A thunderous crash echoed from the collapsing metal box, but Victor didn't spare it a glance. He limped toward the exposed pod, bathed in a shower of torrential rain. A pale blue glow radiated from within its sealed frame, casting a majestic light on the falling droplets—as if it were a prize awaiting the victor of a ruthless trial. A soon as he was in range, Victor allowed himself a brief moment of inspection—he frantically peered inside the frosted glass to check on the state of the slumbering creature sealed within.

His sense of danger hadn't left him yet, of course, and every so often, he spun his head back and forth to check on the enemy he had supposedly down with his las attack, though he himself wasn't very confident in that assessment even after he'd sent the boy flying into the iron container with enough force to topple it.

As fate would have it, the pod hadn't suffered even so much as a scratch, it was practically the only thing in the container yard that hadn't been dealt any real damage. A sigh of relief escaped the bloodied man. Despite the downpour, he was almost certain he'd felt something warm washing over his skin—something unlike the blood trailing down his face. Victor spun his body, frantically searching for the only thing he felt could help him salvage the situation. After the few seconds that felt more like an eternity for him had passed, he lumbered towards the blinking device that had been tossed aside on the wet asphalt—the very same controller he had been using to control the Macewalker.

Remarkably, the device somehow managed to survive being blown to pieces. It wasn't solely designed to facilitate the specifics of that particular war machine, it was more of a military grade multi-purpose utility device, which meant that could sync up with different electronic systems under the right conditions. Said conditions had already been fulfilled in the case of the Macewalker.

Reaching the device, Victor desperately punched in one last command—the device blinked to life, emitting a signal that could potentially help him turn the tide. Ironically, this method, his last resort, only became a viable option after the Macewalker's jamming signal was no more.

Damn it, if only I could use an artifact I wouldn't be struggling like this. That brat isn't normal—he's too skilled for a teenager. No normal kid should be able to kill without batting an eye, like he just did. If things were different, I might have considered recruiting him, but... it's too late now.

Just as Victor had that thought, he dragged himself around to the front of the transformed vehicle, aiming to commandeer it once more when something happened. He heard a noise, one that sounded like metal was being bent out of shape.

Reacting instantly, his head swiveled around, scanning the ravaged container yard being assaulted by the downpour. There, around twenty meters away, he saw it—exactly what his eyes had been searching for. The black haired highschooler leapt down from a container and approached him with a casual aura of menace wafting from his presence.

Their conditions mirrored each other, both marked by numerous scrapes and bruises made distinct by the blood soaking trough their clothes and gliding off their foreheads. They boys' eyes were sharp, fixated on him like a predator that had finally tracked down it's wounded prey. He brandished the mithril sword in his hand, angling it beside him as if to gauge the distance for his next slash—one that would certainly be imbued with a healthy dose of lethal intent.

"Tch, think you can mock me, eh? Come on then, this time I'll make sure you stay down for good." Victor hissed, balefully glaring at his foe who had yet to adjust his blase expression. Time seemed to slow for him. In Victor's mind, the distinct pitch and patter of every raindrop around them rang clear, undulled even by the pounding of his own racing heart.

Once Cyril covered half the distance, he moved, flashing forward like a thunderbolt, the asphalt caving under the weight of his lunge. Victor was ready, he didn't have enough time to concoct a more elaborate spell, but the same one he'd launched earlier was already primed for discharge, all he needed was for his target to slip into range.

I'll pour everything I have into this one shot and use the centripetal force to tear him apart. You'll be vomiting organs after this next hit!! He thought, gritting his teeth from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Cyril's dash launched him into striking range in the blink of an eye. Seeing the boy's reckless charge, the magician's lips curled into a euphoric grin. He drew his arm back and unleashed the devastating gale coiling around his palm once more. The attack erupted with even greater force than before—its counterclockwise spin turning it into a vacuum, devouring everything in its path: debris, raindrops… the very air.

Again, Cyril's body was subjected to the malicious pull—but this time, he was ready.

Boom.

His foot smashed into the pavement with a thunderous stomp. It had no effect on Victor—but that didn't matter. He only needed to anchor himself. Once grounded, he flung his arm back, angling the mithril blade like a javelin, then hurled it straight into the swirling maelstrom with herculean force.

"Wha—?!"

Victor's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. He scrambled to cancel the spell—but his reaction came a heartbeat too late. The unique properties he'd imbued into the attack had been turned against him. The mithril blade, thrown with enough velocity to overcome the spiral's pull, rode the counterclockwise current like a rail—cutting through the vortex as if it were a tunnel.

By the time he moved, it was already too late for any evasive maneuver to be fully successful. Abandoning his spell, the magician frantically attempted a horizontal dive, however, Cyril's blade connected halfway through the motion, piercing his flesh with a sickening ease.

"Gaaagh!!!!"

The agonizing sensation of cold, sharpened metal piercing his body instantly became clear, alerting every nerve fiber the moment his shoulder suffered the gruesome blow. His body was flung back a short distance, skidding across the wet asphalt in a tumble.

Blood gushed through the rows of his gritted teeth, which had been clamped shut in an attempt to hold back the agonizing scream that threatened to tear free from his throat.

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