Black stood in a low, coiled fighting stance, the tip of his spear pulsing with a contained light. He was desperate and careful, his mind racing between the lethal creature before him and the accelerating danger facing his friends.
"At least tell me your name," he challenged, forcing a humor he didn't feel. "Or is it Names?"
The merged hunter remained silent, a composed, towering predator, radiating overwhelming power.
"Okay, y'all ain't talking," Black muttered, shifting his weight. "I hope you stay mute when you take a beating."
He moved with immediate, blinding speed, closing the distance in a controlled explosion of motion. He initiated a high, slashing sweep, but based on the combined hunters' ability to copy, he changed his attack mid-air, redirecting the blow to the fused leg, causing the monstrosity to lose its balance. He followed instantly with a blunt strike from the spear pole to the head.
Bang!
The hunter fell to one knee. Before it could react, Black drove the spear straight through the fused body. There was no reaction. It was like plunging his weapon into a stone pillar; they registered no pain. Black pulled out the spear and moved with liquid fluidity, dealing rapid strikes across the hunter's body, inflicting damage that seemed superficial but systematic.
Then, the hunter's third, central eye focused. Its passive skill was COPY. The ability to instantly learn every move, power, magic, and strength of the opponent and execute it in its perfect, complete form.
The fight instantly tilted. Black's moves were mirrored, then perfected. He was fighting himself, but a stronger, more resilient version. Heavy blows landed on Black. Porcupine quills stuck into his face, arms, and chest. He was tiring, sweating profusely under the combined pressure of physical exhaustion and the frantic knowledge of his friends' danger.
"I guess I have to take you seriously now," he grunted, weaving through a flurry of counter-punches.
The exchange became a brutal dance of mirrored destruction. Black spun swiftly, striking the ground with the butt of his spear, using the shockwave as aid to propel himself into the air. He knew kicking the spike-covered body would hurt, but he had no choice. With a surge of strong-willed force, he delivered a crushing thrusting kick that slammed into the hunter's head, driving it down to the ground.
The three-eyed, monstrous head rolled off the body. Yet, the fused hunter's body remained standing, perfectly still and unscathed.
Suddenly, the severed head began to phase, dissolving like smoke and dust. The fused body followed, rapidly shaking and separating back into two distinct figures: Skarra and Vexia. They were unscathed and bristling with renewed energy.
"Oh hell," Black muttered, his focus shattering. He didn't have time for a regeneration cycle.
"I gotta go, so I'm just going to try something," he uttered, closing his eyes.
He opened them, peering through the Soul Auras. He located Vexia's soul, which burned with a brilliant purple smoke, like a nuclear fire. He reached out to its aura, knowing he would be pulled toward her through the space warp. As he was pulled, he charged his spear with his own power and aimed for the brightest burning part of her soul.
Woosh!
His spear pierced the soul directly. "Huh, guess we could do that too," Black mused, surprised by the new sensation—the feel of a new technique adhering to his weapon.
"If you can't die, I'll just kill your soul! Drain!" Black yelled.
As he began to siphon Vexia's soul energy, she reacted for the first time. A piercing, agonizing scream ripped from her throat. Before Black could complete the drain, Skarra struck him with a furious blow, sending him tumbling away.
Skarra knelt beside her partner, mourning. She looked up at Black, tears trickling down her face. "You monster." She released a thick cover of black smoke. When the smoke settled, the hunting duo had vanished.
"That was weird," Black concluded.
He leapt into the air, activating his third-eye sight. He searched frantically for the hoverbus but found only the residual aura lines. The bus was gone. His desperate search for his friends began.
********
Inside the hoverbus, Markas was whispering to the newly controlled body. "Heyyyy, Solon," he acknowledged slowly, fear evident in his voice.
"Huh, are you okay?" Jog-Jog asked, worried about Kai.
"Something is wrong," Solon whispered, his expression cold. "Hahaha, I didn't think you would still be alive."
"Hey mate!" an Evangelist interrupted the tense moment. "What's with the giant sword?" (Solon's ancient blade was sheathed on his back.)
"To chop your head off," Solon replied, cold and utterly affirmed.
Panic erupted among the nearby scavengers. Jog-Jog and Markas desperately tried to play it off, bursting into hysterical laughter, forcing others to join in. The Evangelist, though amused, was cautious. "Hahaha! I like this one," he said, patting Solon's shoulder before leaving.
They were all alighted at the foot of the mountain. Jog-Jog signaled for the girls to join them, pointing to the transformed Kai/Solon.
Hind froze, unable to forget the horror of their last encounter with the blind prince. Arike walked close to her, whispering. "He won't hurt you. Even if he wished to, we are all too insignificant to stop him. Focus on the mission, not the anomaly."
Hind forced a nervous smile, and they joined the boys.
"I see you guys couldn't do without us," Maya quipped, covering the tension.
"Well, Kai was the one who wanted to be a hero. Me? I'd rather sleep," Jog-Jog replied, indicating the giant sword on Solon's back.
"So no one is going to talk about the giant sword boy, or am I the only one seeing Solon instead of Kai?" Lena finally asked.
Before an answer could form, an Evangelist interrupted the moment.
"Listen up, scavengers!" he roared. "This is Bayrock, and this is where you are all going to die! You are not wanted. You are not loved. You are not important. Until this moment! The moment you are called for a higher purpose. You are no longer Scavengers. You are Acolytes! You are chosen to fight for your beloved Syndicate!"
"My name is Masaru Hano, meaning 'Victory in the Field of Flowers,' or as I would put it, 'Victory on the Battlefield!'"
Scavenger One whispered: "I'm sure that's not the exact meaning, but we'll go with it."
Hano continued, his voice ringing with psychotic conviction. "You are all going to die! If any of you survives this raid, it will be those who dare not go against my rules and didn't try to be some hero. You're going to be divided into groups of six each. Each group must choose a Deacon among yourselves. The Deacon is responsible for every member of the team—whether it's eating, taking a dump, sleeping, dreaming, or even dying. You are free to kill any Acolyte that poses a threat."
Hano paused dramatically. "Even if you want to die, I, Hano, will make sure you don't die. I'll protect you all if you obey me. I am only going to be the master of my own folds. You have the next twenty minutes to yourselves. Pick partners you trust, and more importantly, choose those who are strong and could fight by your side when things get tough. We're marching to face Vetra maniacs, and they are deadly. They only care about two things: MORE VETRA and KILLING YOU LOT! So choose your poison right." He stalked off.
The team quickly huddled together: Solon, Jog-Jog, Lena, Maya, Hind, Markas, and Arike. Seven people. One too many.
Before they could fall into sorrow, Arike stepped away. She walked straight towards Hano.
"I'll go alone," she stated simply. "I don't need to be in a group."
Hano, unconcerned, replied nonchalantly, "I don't care if you want to die or live. Just don't blame anyone for your death." He handed her a venture slip confirming she would fight alone.
The team rushed to meet her, their faces etched with worry. Arike smiled. "If anyone is going to survive this place, it will be all of us. And I can take care of myself."
They quickly changed into the provided Acolyte uniforms: sleek, simple clothig of black and deep red, accented with strips of dull silver. They were not heavy, but efficient.
They checked their weapons and finalized their strategy. They were confident. These were just humans on drugs. Lena, however, still worried. If Solon remained in control, they had a more dangerous enemy they had to look out for.
"Alright, Acolytes!" Hano's voice boomed. "Let the march begin. Into the wild!"
The crowd of newly uniformed scavengers roared, their shouts echoing the false promise of purpose. They began the march toward the mountain.
**********
"You think they can beat him?" Jex asked, nursing a can of beer on the hotel balcony.
"Why do you think I sent Arike with them?" Orion replied, a slight smile on his face.
********
Black, moving like a specter, finally reached the market. He stopped a shop owner. "Excuse me, sir, but do you know where the raider bus went? Can you point me in the direction?"
"That way," the shop owner replied, pointing Black down a seemingly clear, but entirely wrong path.
Black hurried off in the direction indicated. The shop owner smiled, watching Black go. The man, to Black's normal sight, was entirely benign, but had Black consulted his third-eye sight, he would have seen the subtle grey Syndicate line wrapped around the shop owner's heart.
Black was running headfirst into a calculated ambush...