CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tatsuya spun his staff to create swirling vortexes of air to disorient the creature, making it difficult for it to land accurate strikes, even as he danced around the fists and through the tempest he created. It was a difficult feat, but he pressed on, using the currents to create shields to deflect any wayward strike or flying debris and ensure he was always one step ahead, judiciously exploiting the creature’s weight and lack of agility.

On a sturdy branch, he paused for a moment—and though it was a risk in the midst of a battle as timing was essential—this was calculated and necessary. Mustering up the remnants of his strength, he directed the surrounding air into a familiar, devastating technique, and a cyclone of epic proportions bloomed to life around him. The powerful winds swirled faster and faster, tearing through the space, until it became a large twister of raw power.

Yet, he held off from letting it loose immediately as, realising brute force alone would not be enough to overcome the resilient creation, he decided a change of strategy was needed—and even as he managed to dodge a particularly vicious attack by the skin of his teeth, his mind was already whirring, potential strategies considered and discarded in the same breath until he settled on the least crazy one.

Then, he wasted no time executing it.

Tatsuya launched himself into the heart of the cyclone before, in a daring manoeuvre most would not think of attempting, propelling himself toward the creature staff first, along with a concentrated burst of air, the full force of his element behind him.

As he collided with the creature, delivering a powerful blow and sending it careening backward, the cyclone engulfed it and tore away at the vines that made up its body. Piece by piece, the creature unravelled and fell, its colossal form crashing to the forest floor—and though new vines were being quickly generated and replaced by the damaged ones, it was not quick enough to stop him from sighting its summoner, Zoel.

Even before stumbling upon the spar between her and Farah, rumours had reached his ears about the mysterious member of the Wind Blades, a person who never seemed to falter and always emerged victorious—and said spar supported the claim. Zoel was known, not just because of the rare element (many suspected it was a speciality) she controlled, but in every battle, she always stood relaxed in a swirl of confidence and calm.

Clad in a simple, unassuming attire, with a hint of a smile on her face, she exuded an aura of undeniable self-assurance; it was easy to see why people’s curiosity was piqued as he bore witness to the odd juxtaposition of tranquillity in the midst of the battle. Her relaxed posture and composed demeanour gave the impression that she knew something her opponent, he, did not—as if conveying a silent message that her victory was not a mere possibility but an inevitable outcome.

Before, it grated on him—but now, experiencing it for himself, he found himself disgusted by it.

Tatsuya had worked for his strength. He had drowned himself in sweat, blood, and vomit, pushing himself to his limits and beyond until he could even think of competing against monsters like the Wind Blades. Countless hours had been (and would be) spent learning and relearning everything he had been taught, cobbling together the mess of techniques he had been privy to (intentional or not) so that he could stand on the same stage as people like them if not near them. Zoel was given a raw power most could only dream of, and rather than use it as it was intended to be used—as a partner in a head-on fight—she had turned it into a crutch.

Instead of contributing to the fight herself as his equal, even only in theory, she was content to stand back and let her vines do all the work.

The spar between her and Farah was indeed beautiful, her unwavering calmness in the face of adversity naturally captivating, and there was no doubt it showcased the disparity between both elementals (and the rest of the group)—but there was a difference between seeing and experiencing; thoughts and reactions would be different, so much so that, as he stared down at her now, he couldn't help but feel that there was something about the over-dependence on her element, the action (or lack thereof), that reeked of cowardice.

As his neck twitched almost involuntarily, allowing a vine to glide past his left ear, a part of him couldn't help but note the absence of her seal. However, the missing companion was not important, and he quickly refocused on his free-falling form.

In the air, he held supreme command, and as such, it was easy to change his downward pace just long enough for another vine to pass by him harmlessly and flip with his staff to slam down on it and its accompanying kin before they could twist to strike him from behind.

Landing was a smooth affair, and because he sensed victory within his grasp, he pressed on, launching a relentless series of strikes. Again and again, he swung his weapon, and though Zoel made him fight for every step, she had to aim her vines too, and after all, she had done in the spar, he doubted she had much strength for an indiscriminate attack. She couldn't retreat while sending vines if she wanted to retain her accuracy and ensnare him, so he was slowly but surely gaining on her.

Tatsuya mirrored steps he had seen performed against him hundreds of times. He flowed from stance to stance, his staff spinning and lashing out to weave a ribbon of air that either tore through every attack or knocked it away. He pushed onward through a seemingly unending river of vines until he finally had her.

She stumbled back, her hat flying off and her calm giving way to a mounting shock he found satisfying as she hurriedly retreated, but she wasn't fast enough. His staff extended out and caught her in the chest, releasing a concentrated blast of air directly. The force of the wind rippled through her clothes, tearing them apart, and she was momentarily suspended mid-air before crashing to the ground.

There was a stunned silence as if the surrounding trees could not comprehend what they had just witnessed, but he took no note of that as he quickly sought to end the spar. The staff came up with the whispers of the currents and the promise of a final blow, and he allowed his eyes to gleam with happiness as Zoel turned to face him.

Only for the happiness to fade, even as the weapon came down, as he realised she was not looking directly at him but passed him. His eyes widened momentarily, the sudden shock of his senses being engulfed with the need to move and his exhaustion—an unpleasant mix—causing him to stand stock- still for a precious second. That precious second was enough for the ground beneath his feet to rumble, vines erupting to coil and tighten around his lower body, gradually climbing higher.

As the dust settled, he struggled and thrashed, but the more he fought, the tighter they constricted and trapped as he was within the vines’ clutches, Zoel had no compunction to walk toward him; she moved with such grace and confidence; every action deliberate and carrying the weight of assuredness, even with the earlier hiccup.

Tatsuya was not a sore loser. If he lost fair and square, he wouldn't try to argue over semantics or hold a grudge; instead, he would take it as a lesson and prepare for the next fight—but, in a situation such as this, where his opponent had not really worked for her victory (which painted a picture his curiosity urged to look into deeper), he would not accept defeat.

Left with no satisfactory option, he drew the surrounding air into his very being with a swift inhale, channelling its might into a concentrated force within his lungs. He waited until the vine elemental was in range and then, with a mighty exhale, unleashed a powerful burst of air from his mouth at her.

It was a direct hit, releasing an oddly muted scream from her as she was sent flying. Unfortunately, he had not accounted for a particular variable—though, to be fair, he was only made aware of such likelihood now—and as such, just had enough time to wonder why the seal sat on a bed of vines, the unmistakable promise of death communicated in a mere instant (the expression, uncannily human) before he was unceremoniously lifted and slammed back down in the ground hard.

The assault continued until sweet oblivion took him, and everything went black.