CHAPTER SIX

Tatsuya had always been fascinated by storms: the way the sky turned dark and ominous, the sounds of thunder, flashes of lightning, and the rush of turbulent winds. Now, pulled off his feet as he was and tossed into the air (before he could even think of a way to escape), that fascination was replaced with a healthy dose of fear.

Choking.

With every strangled breath, the emotion mounted, becoming a tangible, living force that crept over him like a hungry beast—a visceral entity—doing its very best to immobilize him. His heart throbbed in his ears, loud and irregular, though it paled in comparison to the apocalyptic droning—a deafening howl— seemingly everywhere and drowning all other sounds.

It made it impossible to focus, his thoughts struck by inconsistency and incoherancy. Even his senses were clouded; his mind was too fixated on his immediate experience, yet he barely registered the impacts and lacerations anymore—only able to feel his clothes whipping around his form, torn and stained by the sturdy and steady bombardment of the debris trapped in the tornado.

 Tatsuya hated it: the helplessness of being unable to escape, the vulnerability of being subjected to another's will—feelings he had experienced countless times as, after the death of his father, he was abandoned by his mother and left to fend for himself, forced to do anything to survive. Those days had been gruelling in ways that exceeded the past stints he served under capture, and even now, he could still remember the times spent dancing on the whim of nobles with more cowrie than sense.

It never failed to get his blood boiling, but he knew that this was not the rIght time and place to give in to the counteracting anger. Instead, he used it as a fuel for his racing mind to think of an escape plan. Quickly too, he added internally, or best case scenario, he would be flung to the ground so hard and fast he probably wouldn't survive the impact—and that was if he didn't die from blunt force trauma or suffocate, whichever came first.

Neither options sounded particularly appealing, so how does one go about escaping this swirling, natural disaster?

The answer, no matter how bitter its taste in his mouth, was that he couldn't: the tornado would overpower every attempt to control it with its vigour. Maybe if he had the same speciality as the raider or one that trumped hers and greater mastery over the element, he could have wrenched control of the tornado and turned it against its summoner—but what hopes did he have of accomplishing that if he was unable to even discern the direction he was swept in?

Tatsuya did his best to minimise the Impending horror at the slowly dawning realisation, but it felt like the best (only) thing he could do was to either prepare for when he would be thrown out, ensuring the use of his hands to protect his head and neck as much as possible, or a painful, drawn-out death.

Fortunately, it seemed the spirits had other plans for him as, one moment, the tornado was like a living creature—a massive, wreathing, and unyielding serpent of wind and debris—and the next, the temperature plummeted sharply, and the tornado froze solid.

It was only by the barest of margins that he avoided being frozen along with the air, though he was still within the confines of the icy construct.

There was a brief feeling of weightlessness and, for a moment, a split second really, panic and confusion gripped his heart, even as he marvelled at the sheer scope of Rei’s feat—because what other water elemental could have helped him. Then, everything not frozen in place fell, and his nerves became steel. He regained his composure, using his newfound freedom over his element to reorient himself, and pushed all pain to the back of his mind for the meantime.

Creativity hit him, and he found himself getting his focus back on track, angling his fall toward the majority of the debris. One large and sturdy-looking rock caught his attention, and in his haste to get to it, he used the other rocks as stepping stones, moving up with incredible grace and agility despite his injuries.

With each leap, Tatsuya felt himself grow confident in his plan. It was a decidedly simple one but cut off from the rest of the Wind Blades for spirits knew how long—and so, unaware of the results of the clash—he couldn't afford to waste more time. He finally reached the particular rock, and as he landed lightly on it, a minor shift of the surrounding currents rotated them until he was acceptably positioned, and a push from his feet sent it careening at the construct.

Even as he turned the momentum in a flip, he allowed a small smile to play on his lips as a loud crack sounded. His feet touched another piece of debris, and though this one was flimsy compared to his makeshift projectile, it was sufficient for him to kick off it. A controlled blast was released at the last second, giving him that extra push to propel himself forward sharply and with a loud boom. He spun himself as he shot off like an arrow toward the site of the crack, and the air responded hungrily to his movements (as if ready and willing to serve after failing him earlier) and formed a vortex around his body—minuscule and lacking than the tornado, maybe, but certainly able to do its job.

Thin, cloudy shadows fell across him as he broke free from the icy construct: shards of ice catching the glint of sunlight, the dissipated remnants of the vortex ebbing and swirling around his form, and the drops of blood from his latest cuts. The air whipped his hair and clothes in the opposite direction, displaying his torn bandages and scars to any who dared look up and risked their opponents capitalising.

A vortex formed around him again on his way to the ground, towards a flagging Rei—the feat must have taken a lot from the man—and the raider. She was turned away from him and distracted, but an air elemental was always aware of their surroundings, so he gave her no time to react, kicking at the empty space behind him with enough force to send him blitzing. He had the opportunity to pay the raider back for her stunt, and nothing was going to stop him from delivering his reprisal; she slammed into the ground so hard she bounced, bones cracking audibly and breath escaping sharply.

Rei graciously stepped aside, not that the man was given much of a choice, as Tatsuya pressed his advantage before the raider could even think of regaining her bearing, picking up her bo staff from where it clattered—with the aim of borrowing it indefinitely from said raider—and, in the same motion, raising her with the currents.

A quick strike to her head with the staff dissuaded her from trying anything, and a low sweep fell her before a downward smash robbed her of any cohesive thought and, lastly—flipping from the sheer force of the previous attack and using air to add power—a downward strike with the weapon’s butt ended her life.

In that precious second, just before she died, her grey eyes locked onto his, glistening with unshed tears and silent pleas for mercy. He didn't look away as he brought the staff down (didn't even flinch, really), instead committing the sight and sounds— the sickening crunch of her skull exploding on impact, the splattered bone fragments, brain matter, and other bits of gore— to memory.

Truly, there was no satisfaction to be had in her death, but he was hard-pressed to stop the small upturn of his lips as he leaned heavily on the staff, limbs slightly trembling and mouth open, harsh pants escaping, and body caked with sweat, dust, and dried blood.

He eventually collapsed on the corpse, strength having deserted him in one fell swoop (and it said something about his pain tolerance that he didn’t pass out), but he didn't care for his further desecration of the raider’s corpse as he raised his eyes to be met with a scene of total devastation, a stark reminder of the power of the elements, aspects of nature itself, they manipulated; burnt corpses interspersed amid thick outgrowths of the ground and green vines, tall enough to shade the vicinity from the sun—and, dotted around said scene, were the Wind Blades, in various positions and states of undress and injuries, looking exhausted but triumphant.

It was obvious a great battle had taken place, and the part of him not concerned with remaining unconscious wished he had bore witness to it rather than the tornado he experienced.