Moments Before the Flare's Sighting
Austrad's eyes scanned the phial, pivoting it between his fingers with calculated precision.
They're conducting those experiments here?! he speculated, his features tensing with a twinge of ire as he clutched the vial with measured care—just enough to keep it from shattering.
"Mwvyck," he uttered, his voice quiet and level. "After this quest, I want us to find out who's behind this vial."
He extended the phial to Mwvyck, his gesture woven with practiced patience. The silent dimness of the room wasn't the only thing tightly engulfing them in that moment. Austrad's expression turned unreadable—something unnameable looming behind it, his composure held together by reined-in poise.
"T-This is..." Mwvyck stammered, his voice trailing off, disbelief etched on his mien. Then, from the fringes of his gaze, a glimmering red climbing toward the sky flickered past his vision.
He turned toward it, his attention instantly drifting away from the vial, as if the signal mattered more. The Rage presence enveloping the place suddenly jolted the moment the flare signal soared high into the sky.
"That came from Gnovic," Austrad uttered, angling toward Gnovic's direction, his gaze unreadable. A faint furrow creased his brow, uncertainty flickering beneath his composure as he sensed the shift in Rage presence.
The Rage presence shifted? Why? he wondered. Was Gnovic trying to lure the culprit—if it hadn't been there yet? We never planned anything like that. Is he acting on his own?
"Let's go," he said, vanishing into thin air before his words had even settled into the fragile silence.
* * *
Shit! Damn it! I fucked up!
Gnovic stared at the flare gun in his hand like it had a life of its own, his gaze frantic with mortification. A gnawing sense of self-condemnation coiled uncomfortably within him, written blatantly across his features—as if somehow, just by looking that way, he could undo everything.
How the hell did I screw that up? How could I mess up so badly at a time like this?! Damn it! All I did was study its design. So how did I accidentally pull the trigger?!
He oriented toward the source of the approaching Rage presence with trained prudence, his posture stiffening into a defensive, anticipatory stance. Something heavy was charging toward him, and despair curled within him. The writing was on the wall. For a moment, his stance wavered—not from fear, but because if he hadn't screwed up, none of this would be happening.
A footfall sounded—perched with careful delicacy and grace—spreading through the hush like a feather drifting into breathless quiet. Austrad had arrived—before Gnovic even realized it.
"What's going on?" Austrad queried, stepping forward, his gaze landing on the flare gun clasped in Gnovic's hand. "What was the flare for if the enemy hasn't shown up?"
Gnovic didn't respond for a beat, shame plainly clouding his expression.
I screwed up.
Then—
"I... I misfired. My bad," he muttered, his teeth gritting in guilt-ridden anguish. The flare gun's handle clicked as he gripped it with uncompromising firmness.
"You misfired?" Austrad repeated, a splash of derision and disbelief in his voice. "It's a flare gun, not a puzzle. How'd you misfire it?"
How do you even misfire a flare gun? he mused, incredulity clinging to his features—thick, palpable, unspoken. Of all places to misfire... he aimed up?
The silence was broken by the arrival of another—Astafa. His gaze raked between them, steady and unreadable, met only by the hushed whispers of the lull.
"Did you spot the culprit?" he asked, his voice grounded, as though already girded for battle. His eyes scanned them a second time, as if ensuring he hadn't overlooked a single detail.
"The flare... why?" he murmured, gaze now locked on Gnovic, awaiting.
Then—
Crash!
A soul-rattling thud rang through the gaping void as a dainty, gossamer dragon surged into view. It unfurled, its teal-tinted scales glinting resplendently beneath the mellow sun, almost akin to Austrad's sun-blanched hair. A minacious, blazing exhale billowed from its nostrils, a warning to anyone who dared made eye contact. Its blood-bound orbs—born of ash, devoid of ruth—pierced Gnovic with unspoken ferocity.
Why are they all eyeing my like that? Gnovic felt, a wry, surreal anxiety plastering his visage as he gazed back at the Partian. The situation sat absurd within his chest, the silence stretching, as if they were waiting for whichever of them would move first.
Then, before he could even wrap his head around it—
"Heads up!"
His stupor shattered at Astafa's yell, just as Astafa ducked Gnovic's head down with adept swiftness—right before the Partian's claw could rake across his eye. Walls surged from the ground, enclosing the Partian with sharper precision and celerity than before.
"That was close!" Astafa exclaimed, leaping backward with Gnovic hoisted over his shoulder—just far enough to put a safe distance between them and the Partian. He dropped Gnovic, who held a slackened jaw and wore a wide-eyed countenance, to the ground with controlled care, glancing back, then turning fully.
"Austrad—"
He wasn't there.
Then—
Kisatsu surged into the scene, his eyes—edged and piercing—snapping immediately to Austrad's, who lingered aloft behind Astafa, blade poised mid-swing. His expression tightened, Rage crawling up within him, primed to uncoil like a once-dormant, bent rapier—sharpened by something heavy and pleading.
Shhk!
The sound cleaved clean through the air, its resonance a testament to the blade's graceful tempering—plainly wrought with tacit finesse. Blood splattered the ground before Astafa's body hit it with brutal weight, like the silence before the storm.
Wait, what? He attacked Astafa? Why? Kisatsu reeled internally, a sharp unease freezing his features as he whipped toward Astafa, whose form lay collapsed on the ground just moments before. At the edge of his sight, an incoming halberd rushed toward him, snatching his focus.
He shielded his neck with his forearm, and just before he could coat it in Rage, the halberd struck with crushing intensity, sending him staggering back and nearly severing his forearm. Mwvyck made his entrance, eyes as fierce as the Partian's, his attention drawn solely to Kisatsu.
"Whoa. This guy's fast. Should've had your head like a pig's by now," Mwvyck remarked, brandishing his weapon with a flick.
So fast—!
Kisatsu's body slammed against the ground multiple times, his forearm barely hanging on by a thread. But he paid it no mind. After all, he was facing off against two beasts even greater than the Partian, drawing near with a cold, deliberate gait.
Yet even in his condition, he still mustered the courage to ask:
"W... Why are you doing this?!"
His voice came out disoriented and indignant, clinging to the hope of an explanation—any explanation—that might dare to reason.
"There's no point in answering a dead person's question," Austrad muttered, his voice low and detached. He flicked his blade through the air, sending Astafa's blood splattering away, his steps deliberate.
"After all, the dead aren't even entitled to have their questions answered," he said, pausing. "Your people made that rule."
Kisatsu's fingers twitched involuntarily as he absorbed Austrad's words. Dread and disbelief were etched across his face, but none of them blamed him for it. He slowly backed away, dragging his limp form through the dirt, the sharp wave of pain from his wound barely registering.
I have to... survive this... somehow... he thought, panic clawing at his chest as he hauled his body along the earth—a desperate, failing bid to flee.
"I—I don't get it. What did we do wrong? What did Astafa do to deserve this? Just... why? Have you been planning to kill us ever since we teamed up for this quest?" he spat, his face twisted in confusion as he tried to make sense of it all.
What did he even mean by my people? he wondered, his mind briefly flickering to the strange look Austrad had given him earlier. Had they been doing this all along? Did we just get unlucky teaming up with these heartless bastards?
"Hush! This one's squealing like a pig now. Guess the truth hit a little too close, huh?" Mwvyck scoffed, brow crooked in sardonic disbelief.
"Nothing personal, Kisatsu," Austrad said, closing in with calculated steps. "We just had to ascend—simple as that."
A pause.
"You're right—you didn't do anything to deserve this. You just got the worst luck."
He stopped in front of Kisatsu, blade angled toward him, the glint at its tip seizing Kisatsu's gaze.
"If you were hoping for a quick death, you should've let Mwvyck take your head off," he remarked, pausing. "Then again, dodging might've been the smart move—just means Mwvyck was a little too slow to give you the painless end you were probably counting on."
"Come again, mildew mop?" Mwvyck shot back, gaze flicking to Austrad, his expression sharp and contorted.
No, that's not it. He sensed me earlier, Austrad thought, his eyes narrowing as if recalculating something. If I'd been in Mwvyck's place, I might've managed to kill Kisatsu—but he still would've tried to dodge by then. I need to take him out now.
He drew in a slow, controlled breath before speaking:
"But don't worry—I'll give you a cleaner, more dignified death. Think of it as punishment on behalf of your people."
He finally poised his weapon, ready to charge—but he wasn't aiming at Kisatsu alone. He waited for the barrier to fall, intending to kill both Kisatsu and Frouc in a single, rhythmic slash.
* * *
Fissures crept along the wall as the Partian raged uncontrollably, thrashing to get loose. Its bellows ripped through the air with the fury of a tempest—sharp, searing. Across from the partition stood Frouc, his balance slipping as he funneled every ounce of Rage through his body to keep the barrier from collapsing.
"Damn it—I can't keep this up much longer! Astafa! Kisatsu! I need backup!" he shouted, though his voice was completely drowned out by the Partian's roar.
What the hell are they doing by now?!
* * *
Kisatsu's gaze darted around the place, as if searching for someone to save him—or someone he could save. His eyes finally landed on Gnovic's corpse, splayed across the dirt.
They killed Gnovic too?! What about Frouc?!
He glanced past Austrad and Mwvyck—toward the upright stone barricade behind them, where thunderous howls were bursting forth. Inhaling a deep, measured breath, he screamed:
"Frouc! Get out of here! They're trying to kill me!" he cried, his voice piercing across the field.
No use—he probably can't hear me... or maybe Mwvyck's already taken him out, he thought, his face pretzeled in panic.
Then—
Crack!
The wall enclosing the Partian suddenly crumbled with an ear-rattling crash, unveiling the Partian in its full, terrifying form. Debris tumbled to the ground with cadenced clatters, as if heralding the onset of greater chaos.
Frouc finally snapped his head toward them, tearing his attention away for the briefest second.
What? Why are they fighting? he wondered, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
"Frouc! Get out of this place!" Kisatsu yelled, his voice heavy with desperation.
Slish!
Frouc's vision darkened—more with crimson—before he lost consciousness.
His face was cleft in half, the split neat and seamless. The other half slumped to the dirt with a dull, punishing thump.
And then—almost mercifully—the blood came.
Austrad hovered behind Frouc, his blade raised in the open air—as if pointing toward a target that was never real. He turned slowly, not fully facing Kisatsu, his weapon still held aloft.
Kisatsu remained: whole, unscathed, as if Austrad had deliberately missed—although he hadn't.
Tch! Austrad tutted, teeth clenched in stunned frustration. How in the fucking hell... did he manage to dodge that?!
Thwack!
An echoing thunk resounded through the open space as Mwvyck smote Kisatsu in the abdomen with his halberd, the blow weighted with something feral and vicious. Blood ran dark along the floor as Kisatsu crumpled to the ground with a dull, muted thud.
"Ahhh—ugh—!" Kisatsu groaned, coughing blood into the air, his vision blurring with grogginess.
"Guess I'm not the only one who's a little slow here!" Mwvyck remarked dryly, shaking the blood off his halberd.
In his dazed state, memories flashed across Kisatsu's mind as he swayed on the cusp of death, his vision crumbling into darkness. Mwvyck lifted his halberd skyward, preparing for another strike—the final death blow.
"Sir Alistare... Aunt Anneliese... Ryurei..." Kisatsu murmured, eyes half-lidded, barely breathing.
And then—
Whoosh!
Mwvyck's halberd suddenly slammed into something, and he was certain it hadn't gone through. Yet blood still dripped to the ground, soiling it—as if it had ever been pristine. When he looked ahead, he didn't need to react—didn't even speak. With measured, deliberate calm, he pressed the halberd against the unspoken obstruction.
"Heh, I get it now," Mwvyck sneered, shoving the halberd with unyielding force. "You're a stubborn one, alright."
A gleam of azure pierced his line of sight, brimming with an uncompromising intensity that rivaled even the Partian's raw savagery. It bored into him—razor-edged—as if marking him as the quarry. And in that instant, the truth struck a little too hard—
—and Mwvyck felt it.
"If you're going to slice me up again..." Astafa snarled, his voice gravelly and clinical. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet him, a wry smirk curling on his lips—primal, predatory.
"Make it clean, alright?"