Souta:

  When lightning sputters across the horizon, for the first time in my life, I see Masaru anxious. His face pales at the sight of that crimson flashing. He yells some orders for us to halt our marching and the soldiers along with our throng of plague-bearers watch the ensuing light show. It is quite pretty—if not a bit strange. It gets even stranger when blue fire enters the mix.

  “Souta?” Masaru calls.

  “Yes uncle?” I stand next to him, watching the clashing colors.

  “Remind me, again, what your tenants of lightning and dust are.”

  Right. This exercise. It’s been a while since he’s tested me on it.

  “Speed. Malleability. Weaponry. And… uh…” I look at him sheepishly, the last tenant slipping my mind.

  “Think Souta. Simplest one. What’s wispy and misty?”

  I cringe at the old song lyric. He used to sing that to me, to help me remember the answer. It does the job now though.

  “Clouds,” I say.

  “Good Souta. Very good,” he responds, though he doesn’t look at me. He’s still entranced by the crimson in the sky. “Now, tell me how each works.”

  I rattle them off like a marching beat: “Speed for lighting strikes, malleability for the way I can manipulate lightning energy. Weaponry is a subtenant of malleability because I can shape my angel dust lightning to become a sword, a spear, and, your favorite, daggers. Clouds because angel dust allows me to interact with and give clouds mass.”

  “Which allows you to…” Masaru prompts.

  “Anchor and swing?” I finish hesitantly. He nods.

  “Good job Souta. As always, you prove to be an adept student. And I know,” he spits, as if trying to convince himself of something. “I know it in my bones that you can beat that!” he says, pointing at the sky. I look at him, confused. He’s scaring me now—never before have I seen him so baleful and fearful all at once.

  “Uncle, what do you mean?”

  “This red lightning—it is like yours.”

  “There is another with angel dust?” I ask.

  “A slave who is not worthy of it. You, however,” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder and shaking me. “You are worthy. And you will show him. Oh Souta, you will show him just how worthy you are.”

  The light show finally ends. But, in my uncle’s gaze, I can almost see what he envisions.

  Green lightning crackling against crimson.

  …

  Raiten:

  I sit in a room prescribed to me, tapping my foot on the creaking floorboard. My thoughts have gone numb. Anytime I try to remember purpose, everything is blotted out by a single word.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Masaru.

  Like a black sun, his is the name that swallows all. Even Dandy, sickly little Dandy coughing in her bed and whispering my name like a prayer, has no place right now. She can wait a little longer. After all, the man in Kara’s band said it would take a month for her to turn.

  And I’ll kill Masaru quicker than that.

  Then I’ll kill the witch.

  Then I’ll kill the rest of them.

  I’ll kill and kill until I’m done.

  I’ll kill and kill till my war is won.

  A knock comes from the door. I don’t say anything, but Riddeck enters anyway. He tosses me a folded pair of clothes—a Catolican military uniform; an outfit of golden tassels and drab grays, darkened by shades of purest black.

  “Congratulations Raiten,” he says. “You’re part of the Mancer troop now.”

  I say nothing, simply staring ahead. Staring East, towards where Pamela told me he slithers. According to her scouts, he takes Sorayvlad from their ranges and marches them through the Giant’s Glade now. And, he’s issuing forth a body of plagued refugees, meaning to use them as a wall of fodder against Catolica.

  It sounds just like him.

  “When do we move out?” I ask before he leaves.

  He shrugs. “Catolica is still gathering its armies. Sorayvlad has beaten us in that game. But, the Mancer Troop will meet tonight and, if I guess correctly, I think our Queen will deploy you lot soon after.”

  “Understood,” I say. I never deign to meet his eyes though.

  For some reason, I used to think that when the enemy was right in front of me, my mind would clear. Evidently, that isn’t the case.

  Maybe you just need to get closer, I think. Close enough to rip his head off.

  …

  The meeting happens on the base’s grounds. Riddeck leads me to the barracks in the champ's corner and we skirt around the refugee pathway cutting through the center. It is marked by stakes and barricades that isolate the Havenmarchers passing through from the rest of the soldiers. I’ve counted them up though: about two hundred fighters cramped up in this base. It's a strange checkpoint for operational purposes, but I guess Catolica doesn’t have many options. The Blightbriars limit their positional efficacy.

  I catch myself thinking of the logistics—an old habit Kai beat into me.

  He’ll get his due too.

  In the barracks—a well-to-do shed filled with weapons, maps, low torchlight, and raucous arguing—Pamela stands at the head of the center table. Once more she is hooded until Riddeck closes the door behind me.

  Three other people stand around the square table. When Pamela unveils her hood she looks at all of us—that same, knowing look she gave me when she spoke of Masaru’s position.

  I should stop to think about how in the hells Masaru climbed the Sorayvladian social ladder. But, I don’t really care to ask questions at this point.

  The three other members of this Mancer troop look… interesting to say the least. Two seem to be twins, one girl, one boy both bald and fitted with tight soldier’s clothes that dangle green tassels from their sleeves. Another older man has his one remaining eye trained on me. All that remains of his other, right eye is a voided socket.

  I look away reflexively. I think he chuckles.

  “Good, now that we’re all here, let’s begin, shall we?” Pamela says. Riddeck leaves then, giving us some privacy. So then this mission is something even above his clearance? I suppose the mancers are nothing to scoff at.

  “You all, my four mancers, will traverse the Blightbriars and the Giant’s Glade, face the plague and the wealth of Sorayvlad’s armies to ultimately assassinate their young shogun: Souta Matahashi,” she continues. “Oh, and you will allow Raiten here to kill Masaru as he pleases.”

  She smiles, her lips colored a bloody red: “Any questions?”