His vengeance and her victory

Keira observed the young alchemist as he mixed vials of different elements and applied them to various situations. She was observing the man rather than actually listening to the lecture. The other nobles shrieked and gasped in awe as he performed some of the most dangerous experiments ever known to Lesallia. All for the greater good, he claimed.

 

She watched his speed, the dedication in his eyes, the occasional smirk of satisfaction and the grace in which he handled the potions. He was like an artist in his ways and passion. Behind his glasses were those eyes – sharp and confident.

The great oak doors opened and signalled the end of the seminar. All for the greater good, he kept saying. What she was doing – political murder, was it all for the greater good too? The woman who contacted her, selected the targets that seemed to be threats to Lesallia. Her judgement stemmed from the secret organization – the warriors who fought in the great wars of old. Keira Sutoraika, assassin by night fall, was killing for the benefit of Lesallia. Or was she? Who had the right to decide on who should live and who should die? It was not up to her. Perhaps one day, she’d retire from this profession, but if the demise of someone so cruel would be extremely necessary, she would unsheathe her blades again.

“You seem to be lost in thought,” a voice spoke. It came from none other than the young alchemist himself. “Contemplating on my lecture still?” A laugh. “Did you understand anything I said?”

Insulted by this, Keira got up and gathered her things. It crossed her mind to throw a dagger at him, but she spared the man. After all, he was working for the “greater good”.

“Hey, hey, don’t be vexed! It was a joke…” the young man’s eyes were laughing. He seemed cheerful and friendly after the lecture. Although the confident smirk was still present, she could see he was to be trusted.

“What are the ways to work for the greater good?” Keira finally blurted out.

“In that case, I won’t tell you,” Seneca was smiling broadly. “For you’ll leave after my answer.”

Keira scoffed and headed toward the great oak doors, still ajar for the last person. Leon called out before she left. “I’ll tell you…if you dine with me at Yaktu’s tavern. I hear she serves the best ale.”

After some hesitation, Keira accepted the offer. What would she lose? Her heart? Not in a million years. Never to an alchemist, man of potions. Never to a man who may shun her in the future. No. And if she did lose her heart to him, she wouldn’t tell him what she did for a living.

“I hope you have a name, else I’d be forced to call you lady-lost-in-thoughts, which is very long,” he chuckled.

“Keira Sutoraika,” came the direct reply. “I’m honoured to speak to you in person, Mr. Seneca.”

“Please,” he said. “Call me Leon.”

…

“You’ll enjoy this, you will,” Genocide smiled and revealed a mouthful of rotten teeth. His large and overbearing appearance blocked the next mountain from view. “This will satisfy your Sadism.”

“Do you think I’m enjoying this?” Vangz the wizard held up his shard of blood red stone. “I’d let you say your prayers, but Cercatori don’t pray.”

“That explains why you don’t,” Genocide laughed a large menacing laugh. One that could be heard from miles around. It seemed a cross between a lion’s roar and the snort of a wild boar.

Vangz paid no attention to this comment as he edged closer to the fat massive figure. He knew that a fraction – an incomplete one as small as this – would not emit magic but only repel it…up to some point.

“Come, attack me, despicable creature!” Vangz bellowed. “I don’t fear you!”

“Yes, you should fear yourself, my young man,” the Cercatori hurled bolts of lightning at him, which he deflected with a wave of his hand.

“Lightning against me? I hurl thunderbolts and such whenever I wish,” Vangz smirked and held his hand out to the Cercatori. In a matter of seconds, a blue current of electricity surged from his arm and struck Genocide square in the chest.

The destructor of Root forest howled in rage, but Vangz kept him trapped in currents of blinding blue. “Now, I’m enjoying this,” the young wizard’s eyes blazed with hunger.

As soon as he uttered those words, a numbing pain kept him from breathing. His heart beat fast – uncontrollably, painfully. He tried in vain to gasp for breath, but he continued to keep the electricity going – even as he fell on his knees.

Between screams of pain, Genocide managed to taunt, “See, your enjoyment makes him stronger, your Sadism does.”

“Wh-wh…” Vangz couldn’t understand why this creature knew of his other self. He caught on quickly and knew the name…finally, he knew that cruel man’s name. Sadism. He was Sadism, or rather, Sadism was a part of him.

Vangz, seething in anger, took control and regained his breath. He tightened the current’s grip on Genocide and twisted his arms slowly.

He spoke to his other self. “So Sadism is your name. You’ve done enough damage to me. Let me show you what will happen to you if you ever come alive on your own.”

He scorched Genocide so badly that laser-like light shot out of the empty sockets, burning and melting anything it came to contact with. Vangz dodged the light and never felt so powerful. He had shown Sadism he was in control. He would, time and time again, until the creature in him would fade into abyss.

He was wrong. Sadism gripped his heart and forced him to buckle. His hold was so strong that the wizard’s arm dropped limply to his side. He panted and put a hand to his chest. Fire. He felt as if his chest was burning. It was his turn to yell in pain.

A foot pressed his head down to the dirt. Genocide, recovering quickly from the shock, stood over him and attempted to crush Vangz’ skull. “Sadism helped you find me. Sadism will lead you to your death…in my hands.”

Genocide, foot pressing the wizard’s head down, raised his hands to the sky and caught a flaming rock he had conjured. Like Yaktu carrying a table, the Cercatori planned to slam it down to the ground – on the wizard who was like scum to him.

Vangz refused to be squashed like some bug. His body too weak to move under the weight, he muttered a spell. Wind, cold as the northern breeze, flowed from his mouth and extinguished the flames. As the rock, now cold and more breakable, dropped to the earth, Vangz regained a bit of strength to twist his body away from the tripping Cercatori and successively smash the rock into pieces.

He took a sharp piece and stabbed the creature in the neck. Blood, black as midnight, spurted out of the wound, and Genocide clutched his neck in panic. The Cercatori directed two large fingers at the man and shot out white lightning. Vangz met it halfway with his own electric blue.

As before, the young wizard struggled with the pain rising in his chest whenever he regained power. He would not give in – not until the repulsive chunk of crap which was Genocide, would drop nine floors to Hell’s tenth.

Genocide, sensing the wizard’s inner bout with Sadism, used both hands to stifle the wizard’s powers. Two shots of electricity, blinding white, versus Vangz’ blue. The young man tried in vain to lift his left hand, tried with all his might to counter the Cercatori’s increasing advantage, but to no avail.

Once again, Genocide had the upper hand. “This could take a while,” Vangz mumbled. He thought of a risky tactic – something normally used during breaks in war, but he needed the vial now. The cool liquid of the healing potion would stop the burning in his chest, save him from current fatigue – at least for the moment. He dropped his left hand and rummaged in his robes for that vial. Stealth was essential, else the Cercatori would electrify him. One blue current versus two white ones. That was hardly fair. And colour had nothing to do with the damage of dark magic, unlike the way colours represent the varying heat of suns.

He managed to feel it the left pocket, He recognized it by the embossed inscriptions. As a child, he taught himself to read the embossed writings while closing his eyes. It would serve a purpose such as this – when he had no time to glance at the label.

He popped off the cork with his thumb and gulped down the liquid in a flash. Next, he took out the fraction he was saving for the final strike. Deflecting the enemy’s attack would destroy him for good.

“Ultio et Victoria!!!!!”

…

Crows overhead flew away in terror. A roar was heard till the edge of Root forest, the place where Keira and Cool now stood. Overlooking the edge was kingdom of columns rising above the earth, vainly reaching the heavens. These were the mountains, and the bellow erupted from the foot of the nearest one. The shout bounced of the walls of its sisters, travelled through the trees and reached the ears of the assassin and jester. This was no ordinary battle cry. It belonged to Vangz, the infamous dark wizard.

“Did he just say, ‘Julio and Victoria’?” Cool asked innocently.

Keira shook her head and answered, eyes full of hope, “Ultio et Victoria. Vengeance and victory. He has won.”

Cool breathed a sigh of relief, but turned serious after a while. “Let’s just hope he survived.”