The trees sank, spreading dust that floated skyward. Amidst the haze, a figure gradually emerged, golden and regal, wounded and tired–Fevorey.
He limped forward, relieved. His eyes scanned the dissipating smoke, concerned.
There was a lingering hope that resonated in Fevorey's mind. One that prayed for this to be the end.
After all, since no more cries came again, there was no cause for alarm… right?
Sadly, faith was never so kind.
"... No," Fevorey whispered and stayed still. Motionless. His left hand reached out, grasping at the emptiness. The red on the ground seemed so far, so close, so… there.
The yellow light on his skin dissipated, dissipating like candles on a chilly day, leaving behind melted, heated wax.
All out of energy, and all out of life.
The parting smoke was accompanied by a quiet sound. It was of falling fluids: 'drip, drip, drip.' It went.
It was of tears, and It was of blood.
After that, no more noise was heard, just deathly silence.
…
A beam pierced through the night sky. Its eternal grace and speed were akin to a burning asteroid.
Its direction was the wreckage ahead, getting faster and faster as time passed. When the distance between them reached a mere kilometer, the entity slowed down and shimmered.
Then, the front of the beam swerved and dived to the ground.
The soil beneath ignited, casting a fire swirl that swam to the air, embracing it with warmth.
Soon, the flames dwindled, dispersing with the gentle, nightly breeze. When it cleared, an outline appeared from the smoke, eyes gleaming. It only took a few seconds, for the mighty figure of Neth to reveal itself.
Neth had a wide grin as he stepped forward.
His steps emitted a 'crunching' sound.
It broke the silence.
It echoed.
The sound kept going and going. It was peaceful, calming. And soon, it slowed down. The volume decreased, dwindling with time and disappearing into nothingness.
Neth took glances at the spot. Towards all fallen trees, torn-up bushes, and patches of dirt. A smile came upon him as he witnessed multiple vines coating a white tree.
However, Neth focused on a stone. It was close to his bare foot. He flicked it up, causing the pebble to land atop his toes.
Suddenly he kicked it. The little stone burnt and flew past the bushes, colliding strongly with the green vines. The above movements were quick snd precise.
As the dust from the little rock spread, a strange, bizarre situation occurred. The vines became blurry, slowly transforming into a humanoid figure.
Curses rained afterward, ranging from "Screw you!" to "Burning Cockatrice," and finally "Zoratirsm best cock sucker."
Jargon insults were deadly, sharper than any blade. In mere seconds, the curses totaled ninety. The wordplay changing each time.
The receiver, however, paid no heed to him. He was busy paying attention to the wide wound on Jargon's chest. It emitted smoke and smelt like ash. He was familiar with such a wound.
"Did you get weaker?" Neth asked, his eyes moving across Jargon's body like adventurer in a blacksmith shop.
Jargon shut his mouth. His face morphed, squeezing through different shapes.
"No! And it's not your damn problem—"
Jargon dodged a flying flame arc headed for his head.
He leaped back ten meters and screamed: "What is the meaning of this?"
"You evaded slower. You are—what's the word—weaker. You lied," Neth said with a laugh, and his tone rose chaotically. The moonlight shone on his chiseled face.
Jargon knew he couldn't keep hiding the fact.
"Hmph. The last move I did"—he paused, taking a deep breath—"caused my ether to run low. Are you happy now, you fire fucker?!"
Neth eyes narrowed, and a dangerous atmosphere appeared between the two.
"Hmm, what did you say?" Neth spoke, walking closer: "So you telling me took out the rest of them?
"That you are the reason that all my targets were reduced?
"I feel like I should kill you to make up the number, don't you think?"
Neth looked to the stars like he was considering the act. After all, the man had weakened. So with a little effort, Neth thought it would be possible to kill him.
"You can kill me later because right now. We have a job to do, and you have a promise to fulfill." Jargon's tone was filled with spite.
In his heyday, he would appreciate the challenge and punch off the bloody head of that arrogant fool. Although their strength was equal, his was more—wide scale.
"Oh, are you… scared?" Neth said. "Ahh, it's really a shame. Hmm, so is this why Cazatrism got abolished? Because if everyone was a coward like you, then makes sen—"
A booming sound resounded, and the soil at Neth's back exploded. In Jargon's hand was a wooden rifle. From its barrel came white steam.
"I dare you to complete that sentence." Jargon's finger caressed the gun's trigger. Neth grinned at the action.
"Splendid note. If you played another tune, I would have to put you offbeat," Neth clapped, raising his hands.
"Bastard," Jargon spat; hands shaking. "If you don't plan on being a sack of pests any longer. I say we move—now."
"Ahh, why in such a hurry? I thought being near death would make you more interesting."
"?"
"Fine, fine, let's go, weakling." Neth's eyes rolled, and he walked away, leaving his back open to Jargon.
'That man's arrogance will be the death of him!' Jargon thought, before dusting his pelt and stepping forward, both their direction being the building ahead.
The Climax