CHAPTER 9: LEG REST
Tor stood there, gaze sweeping across the various groups, until it fell on the guards of Roe's faction. They were bristling with fury, weapons already in hand, preparing to avenge their master.
"Void sector, ready your weapons!" the lead guard barked.
In the next instant, five guards pulled out their weapons and formed ranks beside him, armor gleaming under the pale mountain light. The crowd murmured nervously, tension thick enough to choke.
"Are you guys done?" Tor asked dryly, his face bored.
"You despicable brat!" the lead guard screamed, veins bulging in his neck. "You deceived everyone into sympathizing with you, but who would have known you would be so vicious as to kill your elders who cared for you since young? We cannot allow such evil in the Spatial Fortress!" His rage shook his voice as he turned toward Mak and the elders, desperate for support.
"Elders, Lord Mak, do you only plan to watch as he lays waste to the fortress you fought years to build? Will you let us be destroyed from within?!"
A shadow of a smirk crossed Mak's lips. He chuckled softly, ignoring the plea, reveling in the genius of his scheme.
Seeing Mak's indifference, the guard captain's courage hardened. "Let us clear this stain and avenge our master. Attack!"
He teleported to Tor's flank, handgun raised and aimed for Tor's chest. Two more appeared at his sides, plasma cannons leveled at his head, triggers already pulled. Another materialized behind him, void sword poised to cleave Tor in two from bottom to top.
Tor didn't flinch. His voice was calm, almost lazy.
"Insignificant insects should hide when elephants fight."
The guards moved in perfect sync, so fast the crowd couldn't follow. But Tor stood unhurried, the space around him twisting like a magnetic field. The air warped, bending violently. The guards screamed as their outstretched hands twisted and broke, bones snapping, flesh tearing.
"So noisy. Disappear."
The space folded in on itself, engulfing them. In an instant, they were torn apart, leaving only puddles of blood steaming on the black stone. Gasps and shrieks rippled through the crowd, the smell of iron thick in the air.
Tor's voice cut through the horror, laid back and sarcastic.
"Is there anyone else who would like to expel this evil and clean up the Great Elder's mess? Show the village that it is the successors' era? Or are you just a bunch of trash who failed to even kill trash?"
He lifted his foot off Crow's head and walked unhurriedly toward Roe, who had slammed into the wall earlier.
"Yo, I hope you're not dead like your master successor. I've barely even touched you," Tor said, disappointment dripping from his tone.
"You fucking animal!" Roe screamed, blood trickling from his ruined sockets. His face was mangled, but rage burned hotter than pain. "Do you think you will leave this Spatial Mountain alive? You will die! And if you escape, I will use all our resources to hunt you down and kill you!"
Tor tilted his head, amused.
"Oh? For someone who was just crying their eyes out—literally—you talk a lot. I wonder what gave you the impression you'd live past today, oga successor."
He walked casually, footsteps echoing against the stone. Roe's heart pounded faster with each step. He wished he could phase through the mountain itself to escape.
"I do know what you're thinking," Tor said, smiling sinisterly. "And even that wouldn't have saved you."
"Stop!" Lark's voice rang out.
Tor halted, his back turned to Lark, still a distance from Roe.
"If you stop now, you would only be imprisoned for fifty years and made a slave in the lowest mining sectors. But you would be alive—which is more than we can say for those you've brutally killed today." Lark's tone was righteous, trying to sound like the greatest ally of justice.
Tor chuckled.
"Oh, oga successor is fluent indeed. But..."
In the next moment, his sword flashed. From a distance, waves of energy lashed out, slicing Roe apart.
"My sword seems to have a mind of its own," Tor said, feigning surprise.
"Ahhhh, you bastard!" Lark roared, enraged not at Roe's death but at Tor's mockery. "I will pull your tendons out and pin your naked body on the village gates!"
His fury boiled over. Plasma rifles appeared in his hands as he vanished, initiating his Aerial Time Slow ability. He reappeared in shifting positions, firing rapidly, bullets streaking through the air. The crowd gasped, unable to follow the blur.
Tor didn't move. He stood in the same spot, calm as ever. When the plasma bullets reached him, the space around him distorted, swallowing them whole. The process happened in a flash, invisible to all but the elders.
"Impressive!" Elder Cana exclaimed unconsciously. Her eyes gleamed. "The power on display is not inferior to any genius in the region. And he's only ten years old. No wonder May likes him so much."
"Yes, yes, birds of the same feather flock together," Clara, one of the four female elders, replied with fondness.
The Great Elder's face betrayed no change, though a shadow of glee flickered in his eyes.
Lark judged the dome of Tor's spatial field and vanished again. "With my time slow ability, you won't escape this!" he boasted, appearing right in front of Tor, plasma gun aimed at his head.
Tor's eyes narrowed.
"Truly, you are slow."
His sword slashed out. In the split-second it took Lark to teleport and pull the trigger, Tor's blade severed his elbow joint cleanly.
"Ah...!" Lark screamed, staggering.
Tor swept his leg, kicking Lark to the ground. His sneaker pressed down on Lark's head, imprinting it into the mountain stone.
"I was missing a leg rest," Tor said, his gaze locking on Elder Mak.
The crowd fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Mak's knuckles whitened around his sword hilt. His eyes burned with barely contained fury as he stared at his best student, crushed beneath a ten-year-old's foot like an insect.
"You this little shit! Know when you are overstepping your bounds. You still have a chance to come back into the tribe. Just admit your wrongs, and if you want, you could even join my sector. Just think carefully," Mak growled, his voice low and dangerous. He tried to conceal his fury, but his hand gripped the sword on his back so tightly the veins bulged, threatening to burst.
"Really? Is that any way to start a negotiation?" Tor replied nonchalantly.
His leg smashed through Lark's head in an instant. The fifty-year-old successor didn't even have time to scream or feel fear, trusting his master to protect him.
Tor feigned surprise, his tone dripping with mock regret.
"Ah, my leg just moved on its own. This happens when I feel threatened."
"You little bastard!" Mak roared, livid as a raging bull. "I offered a toast, but you decided to drink the poison of forfeit. I will show you what I, your papa, am capable of!"
Spatial lights whirled in Mak's eyes. Tor's face twisted into a snare, wondering if he should finally attack—until now, he had been on the defensive throughout this "argument."
In the next split second, sword light mixed with spatial mantle cut through space. Mak's figure appeared at Tor's flank. Tor tipped his sword out of the scabbard, blocking the slash from behind, but the force blew him backwards. He somersaulted mid-air, twisting to avoid Mak's follow-up strike from the front. His sword spun away, but before he landed he snatched it by the hilt, bolting toward Mak with a grin that looked almost excited.
"No wonder you connived for the Great Elder's seat. You do have quite a bit of power—far more than your dumb lackeys. But to match the Great Elder's power? It is far, far, far too lacking." Tor parried Mak's flanking attacks casually, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Mak's fury escalated. Each strike collapsed regions of the Black Mountain, his mantle twisting space and grinding everything in sight to dust. Screams echoed as bystanders too slow to flee were torn apart. Only Mak, Tor—unperturbed—and the Great Elder remained in the collapsing region. Ter watched gleefully, while the rest of the crowd fled in terror.
"Hey, Oga Elder, is this all you've got?" Tor mocked, his tone dripping with disappointment. "If so, you should have called me daddy from the start. We could've worked out an alternative." His cynical smile widened.
Mak felt a foreboding chill. He cut off his spatial disseminators—the skill he had used to shatter the super-hard Black Mountain. His leather armor shifted, covered by strange black metal glowing faint red.
"I was saving this to deal with the Great Elder," Mak screamed, rage twisting his face. "But you should be thankful I deem you worthy to die by my hands. After I carry out Lark's threats on you, I will kill the Great Elder like a pig, since he dared to raise a demon like you!" His eyes shone with maniacal light.
A phantom appeared to Tor's front, releasing a low reddish aura. Silent, undetectable, it punched upward, aiming for Tor's jaw.
The crowd held its breath. The Great Elder's expression didn't change, but tension rippled through the air.
Tor's headphones shifted tracks. The faint beat of Ready to Die thumped like a countdown.
He rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, revealing silver bracelets at his wrists. The inscriptions flashed once, warning beacons in the dim morning light.
"Blood Armor, huh?" Tor said, tilting his head. His grin didn't fade. "Let's see if it's worth the hype."