Dodge: Serial 8

Denze attempts to defend his master. Do Losha and Siersus arrive too late?

Serial 8: Rainmaker

October 22nd, 32 S.D. 23:38 Palostrol, Upper Vestel

    The green glow of Eltin’s seras splashed into the air from the virtual wound King had opened. This emerald energy of the soul, cast into motion as if it were no different than blood, quickly dissipated altogether though once it had been stripped from his body. Eltin’s eyes rolled back, his mouth slackened as a faint gurgling crept past his lips. A moment later, his servai fell loose from his grip to the ground. It was only a sword in appearances, for upon hitting the pavement, no such metallic clatter ever sounded. Rather, the serialized weapon simply struck the floor with a flat thud. Thereafter, Eltin’s servai vanished, brightly winking away. Eltin sunk to his knees, both of his arms put lamely at his sides. He then collapsed forward, falling over prostate before King. King still held his servai up in the same position where his swipe had ended.

    “Such a pity. Only a single stroke?” King asked with passive eyes. “I suppose I should be grateful though that my obstacles are so easily dealt with.”

    Denze had witnessed the entire foray between the two serialists, but ever since Master Eltin had brought out his servai, the lad felt sick, and his discomfort only grew as the match finished nearly as it started. He was still on all fours at the time, frozen with a gripping fear as he watched his master suffer. It wasn’t until a cold speck of water fell on his cheek that he realized his whole body was shaking beyond his control. At first he wondered if he were crying as well without knowing so, yet several more beads struck his back and then his hands. He looked up even though he could not see into the darkness. Still, he heard the slow pitter-patter of the coming rain. Of all nights to have such weather...

    His sight returned to the courtyard; Eltin yet remained there, unmoving. Without regard for the situation, Denze suddenly pushed himself up from the grass and charged at King. Such a brazen act was not stirred by some loss of reason on his part, rather his anger conquered every doubt in his mind. With tight fists and a jaw locked in rage, he rushed towards King from behind. Yet, before he could so much as even reach the stage of battle, his progress was impeded.

    “Einer.” King said without turning his gaze from the helpless Eltin. Without delay, one of King’s cloaked followers blitzed away from the spot and nigh instantaneously appeared in front of Denze.

    “Heh,” Einer said, a smirk of delight spread across his eager face. Faster than Denze could track, Einer’s knuckles plowed into his stomach. The man had caught him in mid-stride, just as his legs kicked him forward. Einer’s blow immediately toppled Denze, once again forcing him onto the ground. It felt like his insides were bruised, but all he could do was cradle the spot with his hand. His excitement, however, was not stemmed by this setback. With one arm, he nursed his abdomen while the other began to push himself off the ground.

    “Hey, kid, some advice: just stay down.”

    “Shrieking b******s!” Denze yelled.

    “Yeah, I know,” Einer went on. “We come here and look all evil-like and take out your best buddy. We’re b******s. But that ain’t the whole picture pal. We’re just doing what needs to be done. And killing you ain’t in the cards, so just settle down.”

    Denze, however, steadied himself upright.

    “What...” he stopped to catch his breath, still slightly winded from the last attack. “What does that shrieking mean?”

    “Come on now, kid, I didn’t stutter. That traitor over there’s the only one that has to die tonight.” Einer tossed his head at the courtyard, obviously in reference to Master Eltin. Denze let go of his stomach, taking up his hands to fight as he lunged at Einer.

    “F*****g damn you!” he cursed. His assault never connected at all though; Einer zipped away in an instant, like a ghost, appearing to Denze’s side just like that.

    “I can’t kill you under King’s orders...” Einer said. Denze turned to the right, but his actions were far too late. Another punch landed, this time on his face. “...but I don’t have to leave you unharmed.”

     It staggered him, yet he somehow managed to stand. The force - while it reeled him to his knees - was not quite enough to deter Denze. As soon as he even somewhat recovered, he got up again and leaped at his adversary. He swung his fist, pumping his arm out forward. Were it a normal fight, Denze might have landed something, however, this was a fight between serialists.

    Einer merely raised his foot and kicked Denze in the chest. Right before the impact though, Denze sensed something; for a brief instant Einer had serialized something. The kick sent him flying a meter into the air over a short arc before he crashed; it was during this flight that he realized what had happened. No one could naturally or humanly send another person into motion like that, not without something else thrown into the equation. It dawned on him that the stranger had probably enhanced the power of his attacks with a series of some sort. When he gave it more careful consideration, it made a great deal of sense given how many of the most basic and earliest series he’d learned revolved around converting seras into kinetic energy. The common building blocks of serialization, with some creativity, could easily be turned into a tool of combat. Unfortunately, this was a lesson learned late.

    On his back, Denze lied there, hurt and stunned. A hand reached out over him, grabbing him by the shirt. With one arm alone, Einer raised him up, hoisting him straight off the ground. Denze wrapped his hands around the man’s grip, but the fingers sealed and pressed together like a vice. He tried to use his dangling feet offensively, punting his foe with various kicks, yet nothing seemed to phase Einer. Several blows to his crotch, his gut and even a nasty swift swing to the bottom of his jaw: nothing garnered a response. Einer didn’t flinch once. When Denze connected, it felt strange, as if he were hitting two repelling magnets together. It didn’t feel like he were beating flesh and bone.

    “We done here yet?” Einer asked, all smiles. Denze glared down without saying a word, but now an idea slipped into his head. If Einer could fight with serialization, so could he. Something had to be done, quickly and spontaneously before his opponent could recognize what he was trying to do. He couldn’t spend much time aggregating seras, else that would expose him too soon. Instead of wrestling with Einer’s hold, Denze wrung his hands around Einer’s forearm. For a brief time, the orange glow of Denze’s seras enveloped his palms.

    “What are you-” But before he could finish that sentence, Einer’s arm burst into flames as it suddenly erupted. His eyes widened as he threw Denze away from him harshly and hastily. The successful counter-attack was simple in reality; all Denze had done was use a common series to generate heat. Getting Einer’s arm to catch fire had only been a matter of how much heat to output and how fast. Although it was inspiration arrived under grave duress, it was ingenious and bold nonetheless. He’d never thought to use serialization in such a violent way before, but until tonight, there had never been any need.

    Despite how well engineered his defense had been, it wasn’t necessarily effective. His body burned, yet never once did Einer cry out. On the contrary, he held out his arm at length, as if wondering at the blaze. Then he laughed, loudly, boisterously. Denze started to pick himself up again, but already he could feel the creeping sensation that something wasn’t quite right. A dull wave of fear swept over his back like a palpitation; his breath stopped short.

    “Kid,” Einer said. “You, I like.” He pointed at Denze with his free hand. “You got, what’s the word I’m looking for...”

    Einer flexed his burning arm, and with a mere, quick snap of his limb, the fires ceased, as if suddenly starved of air. Denze only scarcely saw a dim yellow light flash across Einer’s arm, no doubt a series meant to reverse the damage. However, as his clothes from the wrist to his shoulder were completely eaten away, his bare arm was now revealed. Not a centimeter of skin looked even remotely singed, as if it had been protected all that time.

    “Are these guys even human?” Denze whispered to himself. It was all just coming to him that serialists were incredibly powerful people, strong enough to cause great damage upon themselves and others, as King had mentioned. They could also survive quite a lot.

    “Yeah, you got spunk,” Einer laughed.

    “Do not get too attached, Einer,” King said, turning around from the fallen master. “He’s one of the children that shall stay behind.”

    “Hmph, crying shame... You hear that kid, you’ve been chosen.”

    Denze scowled. “I still really don’t have a clue as to what the hell you’re talking about!”

    He jumped to the right and held out his arms in front of him, his palms cupped together. He drew out as much seras as quickly as possible, aggregating it before his hands. A circle of light formed but then winked out before what looked like a swirling mass of wind rushed out. It was just a surge of kinetic energy, but his aim was to use it as a projectile. The shot struck Einer on the chest, but it had about as much of an effect as if someone had lightly thumped him.

    “Not bad, especially for someone who hasn’t become a purist yet,” Einer remarked as he cocked an eyebrow. “However, I’m done asking you to sit down.”

    Einer flashed away, quickly stepping in front of Denze. A flurry of palm-strikes rushed at him, smacking him across his body, from torso to head. Denze captured but a glimpse of the man an instant before he launched these attacks, but every motion after that was an utter blur. Einer’s blows came so rapidly, one after another, Denze barely registered the first before the next dozen hit. He couldn’t even see the stranger’s arms moving; they simply looked like blotches of color. Was this another trick, another strategy for serialized combat? Denze hardly had time to analyze Einer’s superhuman prowess; all 112 strikes occurred in under a span of some five seconds. It felt as if his opponent were an engine of pain, mechanically, swiftly delivering him so many beatings

    After the final palm-strike, Einer rotated around on a sharp pivot, his leg raised and outstretched. Just as fast as he’d been going beforehand, Einer now smashed the back of his heel into Denze’s side with a reverse spin kick. It was another serialized attack, it’s speed and power somehow amplified by the soul’s energy. The kick tore him from the ground, flinging him sideways as if a sudden gust had stolen him. Several times over he collided with the earth as his body rolled up and down, again and again. The sheer inertia present in him refused to bring him to a halt, so past some 15 meters he flipped, bobbed, and bounced.

    His momentum only broke upon his contact with the wooden facade of a nearby building. His back slammed against the boards hard enough that some were pressured to crack, though he didn’t actually go through the wall. Nevertheless, the lad had suffered greatly; three of his ribs were fractured, a fourth one was flat-out broken, his right shoulder was dislocated, his hip was bruised, and he was put out unconscious by the last stunt.

    “Hmph...” Einer said, frowning. “Not like I enjoy pulverizing the young and weak... but everybody’s gotta learn that sometimes you just have to sit down and shrieking shut up.”

    Although Einer had commented to himself, Laisa remarked to Laden about their comrade.

    “Would that he could do the same,” she whispered.

    “Now, now,” Laden cautioned. “It’s just his nature to be loud like that. Such is not to say he has no restraint. He did well in damaging that boy only so badly.”

    “Perhaps, but only because of King.”

    Laden wanted to say that she was mistaken on the matter, that there was another reason Einer hadn’t done worse. King certainly would have allowed the little struggle to continue, but Einer chose note to pursue it further. Though Laden guessed what cause he might attribute Einer’s actions to, for the time being he held his peace. In the scheme of things to come anyway it was irrelevant, so he said nothing



    The rain continually grew denser as the night waned. While it had started fitfully as a mere shower, it had now become a full-fledged downpour. By the time their eyes laid upon Palostrol’s gates, both Losha and Siersus were fully drenched and soaked, despite the numerous trees overhead. The northern entrance looked exactly like the southern one that faced Oskarya except it was rarely ever opened to begin with and almost always closed at any given hour. As they emerged from the woods, splashing across a path of pools and mud, the two of them arrived at this towering wall with their brilliant orbs closely afloat.

    As they approached the gates, they quit themselves of their serialized speed-steps and dashed normally up to the outskirts of their home. Therein stood their problem; who would let them in? No one would normally be up at this hour, and furthermore anyone awake at that moment was probably involved with the predicament inside, whatever that really was. Together they looked up; the gate was at least four and a half meters high.

    “What now?” Siersus asked, wiping several drops of rain off of his glasses. “We could break it down, if we put enough force into the effort.”

    “No,” Losha said. “That is too blatant. You can feel it too, can you not? They are right there.” She emphasized the last word as she flicked her eyes in some general direction just beyond the gate. “We do not know who they are or why they are here. We should at least go in cautiously.”

    “Yes, but how to go in at all? And quickly?”

    Losha pursed her lips as she took a step back and examined the peak of the gate.

    “We can jump over it,” she said, turning her gaze back down to him. “Like we just did in coming here, we apply that series beneath our feet. However, this time we increase the amount of kinetic force significantly. If properly executed, we will bolt clear over it.”

    Siersus look at her uneasily. “That sounds doable, but neither of us has done anything like this before...”

    “In that case, we will be doing it now. I am not going to wait until I have mastered it,” Losha said.

    She backed up some more and eyed the gate, sparing but a few seconds for calculation. Even though she’d spoken confidently enough, there truly remained a lot her mind had to account for; it was still something completely new to her. After ten seconds or so, however, Losha felt ready to make the attempt. She bent down at the knees then sprang up as high and fast as she could. A large spark of light glistened momentarily beneath her; she quickly climbed through the air, soaring meter by meter. Unfortunately she misjudged how much seras was required to surpass the gate.

    To her breathless dismay, Losha found herself at least half a meter short, about to collide with the gate and simultaneously plummet to the ground. Out of instinct though, she reached for the top by stretching herself. Though she bumped heavily into the entrance, she managed to cling onto the edge. With some exertion, she pulled herself over, straddling the gate between her legs. The orb of light followed closely all the while, but she sent hers down to the earth below on the other side to illuminate her landing. The height of her fall now seemed to be just as much of a conundrum as her jumping this far. She’d gotten up safely, but to get down?

    “Siersus,” she said, turning her head over to where he stood. “Jump up like I did and grab on like so. We will keep on using this series. However, when we jump down, we must apply it constantly, like a brake. Otherwise, we shall injure ourselves. I will wait for you.”

    He nodded up at her. Rather than stepping back, he got as close as he could to the gate when he jumped. He caught the edge without incident and similarly pulled himself up.

    “Ready?” she asked.

    “Let’s go.”

    They swung their legs over and pushed themselves away from the gate, immediately performing the series they had discussed. While it was no match for gravity, it certainly prevented them from falling too fast. It felt like they dropped at least three times as slow, which was enough for their needs. A directed, radiating pulse of light flared beneath their feet, like jets or streams. They touched down two seconds later, each losing balance as they hit the ground. Although it had been rougher than expected, they were still good to move after regaining their footing.

    “We should cut our lights out,” Siersus said, fixing his glasses.

    “Right.”

    They stopped that series, but now they were left in perfect darkness. They could see up ahead a shaft of moonlight beaming down upon the central courtyard, as if it were the center of all things. Knowing Palostrol so well, they could move towards this point, even in blackness. Losha and Siersus did so, shifting between buildings and avoiding open areas.

    “How many people can you sense?” Losha whispered as they crouched low against a classroom, sliding beneath its windows.

    “I’m picking up 12.”

    “12?” She stopped, halting both of them.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “There are 13 seras frequencies. 10 I cannot recognize, two are...” she paused briefly. “Two are Denze and Mesel, but the last is so faint, it is hard to say for sure.”

    They pressed on, sneaking past the dorms. They couldn’t be certain that they were actually stealthily progressing along, for the pair was as identifiable via their seras frequencies as the strangers. That unfamiliar lot may well have had an eye on their movements, but given the choice, Losha preferred to advance out of plain view. The cafeteria was the closest building to the courtyard, within earshot of the 10 mysterious people. Just around the corner, that ominous ground gathered around.

    “And next?” Siersus whispered. It was a completely valid question given that neither one of them had thoroughly plotted a course of action.

    “We observe for now, then we will do something afterwards.”

    Circumstance gave them little else to do except survey the the situation. Losha and Siersus peeked around the building’s edge, scanning the scene before them. Through the night, Losha saw two fallen outlines on the grass. By their seras frequencies, she knew they were her friends Mesel and Denze. She couldn’t tell much of their conditions in the dimness of the environment, but she feared for Denze as he appeared slumped against a wall. Continuing on, she turned to the courtyard itself, a spot eerily aglow with lunar light. There the rain did not fall, thanks to the odd hole that breached the clouds above. At first she only saw King standing there looking ahead. One of the cloaked men, Allon, stepped forward to address him.

    “King,” he merely said. King didn’t turn around but spoke clearly.

    “Yes, we can now commence with the final part of our little operation. Round up the remainder of the students. Afterwards, we will depart.”

    Suddenly, Master Eltin’s right hand shot out and grabbed at King’s leg. It seemed to do so of its own accord, for no other part of Eltin stirred as he lied there face-down. However, his hand only pinched the bottom of King’s pant and shakily at that. Allon slightly raised his eyebrow, but King gave no reaction.

    “And what of Sambur?”

    King reared his servai up single-handedly and flipped it around by the handle with his fingers.

    “One stroke was not enough to slay you? In that case, well done.” He moved his servai down, slowly, meaning to plunge it into Master Eltin. Before he could, however, a scream echoed across the school.

    “Stop!” Losha had rushed out into the open now, planting herself at the courtyard’s outer circle, the same spot - unbeknown to her - where Eltin had once stood to challenge him. Allon and King looked up at her but with no obvious surprise. She stood there, panting, dripping, her eyes welling. Whether it was by rain or dread, her body shivered all the same.

    “Splendid,” King said, grinning. “This saves me the trouble of finding you.” Upon uttering this, he immediately impaled Eltin through the back. A wave of green splattered up into the air before miraculously disappearing entirely. King left his servai stuck in the master as he turned around fully to a gaping, gasping Losha. He held out his right hand - the same hand that had just harmed her teacher - open and extended, as if he were inviting her.

    “How good of you to join us, my chosen inheritor.”

Author's Note

In a distant world, on an obscure mountaintop, a secluded school educates children in the secret arts of serialization, the power of channeling the soul's energy. Under the instruction of their wise teacher, Master Eltin, each student aspires to one day themselves perfect their abilities. Yet what will become of his students and the world should the might of serialization prove too strong for man to handle? The tale of a great conflict a millennium in the making begins here with three unsuspecting students, Mesel, Denze, and Losha. Their paths go on to determine the fate of the Continent and whether serialization is ultimately used to forge an end to all wars or to make all wars endless.

The next installment comes March 5th, 2014. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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Author's notes

* Not much to say. King sure is a real bastard though.

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Any feedback is welcome. Just writing because I like it. Always wanted to make a weekly series, so I'm doing it.