Chapter 37: Nephew
Ethan did not look up at the ridge. It seemed his intimidation had failed, as the twelve signatures were still climbing down, still spreading, still trying to box him in with professional spacing.
He could feel the familiar one leading them, the same distorted rhythm that had spoken through the smoke. But he was still not sure if they were the Revolutionary or Empire.
The distinction was already meaningless. Anyone who demanded the package after watching lightning crawl across his skin had already chosen a side.
He kept his eyes on Seris, blaming her for this mess.
He wanted to end her right then and there. One more thread of lightning and the empire would lose an attack mage who had already proven she would choose Olivia’s ghost over orders.
He didn’t.
I am really naive. Fuck, why is Marcus always right?
Instead he crouched, pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, and felt the frantic bird-wing beat of her pulse. Alive but barely. He dragged her deeper into the tunnel mouth until the shadows swallowed most of her body. Then he turned to the creature.
It had stopped pretending to be an egg. He didn’t know what it was, or how a monster could speak.
Half its body was scaled and sinuous, the color of wet stone after rain. The upper half was small, soft, almost human, except the eyes were pure storm-gray and the hair stood up in fine white filaments that drank the residual static from the air.
It clung to the rock with tiny webbed fingers and watched him with an expression that should not have existed on something that had cracked out of a shell ten minutes ago.
"Father," it called again, voice like a child’s attempt at thunder.
Ethan stared at it.
"Again...I’m not your father."
The creature tilted its head. "You were loud. Loud means claim. Claim means father."
He almost laughed.
The sound came out thin. Above, the twelve soldiers—god knows who or what they were—were adjusting formation, and he was here instead of preparing himself. Storm Sense painted them as twelve cold points of pressure. The familiar one had already reached the edge of the ridge.
Ethan crouched lower so his eyes were level with the small face.
"What are you really?"
The creature considered the question with unsettling seriousness. "God’s wrath..."
"God’s wrath...?"
"Yes."
Above them the familiar voice called again, clearer this time.
"Signifer. Last chance. The package does not belong to you. Give it to us. Now!"
Ethan stood. Without any choice but to fight as they were getting close, the lightning did not explode this time. Maybe it was because he had leveled up; slowly the lightning was listening to him.
He looked down at the creature one last time.
"If I die up there, you run. You hide. You do not wait for me."
The small face frowned. "Fathers do not die."
"This one might..."
He turned toward the open sky and stepped into the light.
The twelve were already dropping.
They came in pairs, the way trained killers always did—like a unit that belonged to higher officers. Two from the left flank with kinetic spears. Two from the right with suppression nets already unfolding. Four more high and wide, covering the angles. The remaining four stayed back as the kill-net, waiting for the first mistake.
Ethan should be panicking. That would be the normal response, but he pressed his hand on his chest and his heartbeat was steady. His doubts were now clear. After he got the system, fear had been tucked away.
Haha...I guess fear is tucked away from my body.
The leader landed twenty meters in front of Ethan and removed the distortion mask. It was her.
"...are you...Angelia?" Ethan asked.
"Welcome to the revolutionary," she muttered, directing her men. "You know, you weren’t supposed to open it."
Ethan kept his hands loose at his sides. "You weren’t supposed to bring twelve elites to collect a suitcase and attack a fellow soldier?"
"Sorry, father’s orders." She beckoned.
Huh...what the fuck does that mean? He thought.
"You know what will happen if Rick knows about this?"
Her mouth twitched. Almost a smile and almost regret.
"And anyway, the revolution needs that thing intact and dormant. A living divine fragment that imprinted on the wrong host is a liability. You know what the higher cells will do when they find out it called you Father...you will already be named dead."
Ethan felt the small weight on the rock behind him shift. The creature had crawled closer, half-hidden in his shadow.
"Then those dumbasses should have sealed the egg better."
Her eyes flicked past Ethan for half a second, just long enough to confirm the package was free, and then the spear in her hand ignited with pale yellow force, a divine force.
"Last chance, rookie. Hand it over and die here, we will honor you as a great sacrifice for the cause."
The moment he saw the yellow light, a notification popped up before him.
[Warning! Demigod nearby.]
He looked at the notification and then at her.
"The gods really don’t like me, huh..."
She didn’t answer anymore, letting her men do what needed to be done.
Thunder!
The sky crackled even though it was clear, and Ethan immediately went to work, attacking them first.
"Strike true..." he muttered, throwing a small thunder at one of them.
One elite lost a leg to a precise bolt.
Another lost both eyes to a flash that left after-images burned into the air. A third tried the net and discovered that ionized air laughed at containment runes.
But Angelia was better. She adapted right away, her pace as quick as they come. She was forcing Ethan to spend more lightning than he wanted, forcing him to protect the small creature that refused to stay hidden, forcing him to keep one eye on Seris’s unconscious form.
The twelve heartbeats closed in.
Everyone dropped from the ridge in staggered pairs, force-gear flaring, weapons already charged.
Ember-filled spears glowed dull orange at the tips. Ember-swords hummed with contained heat. Two of them carried short-barreled guns loaded with the same volatile cores.
Highly trained and coordinated. Every one of them had killed men stronger than ordinary soldiers.
So Ethan knew he shouldn’t wait for the circle to finish forming.
He moved on the first.
The spearman came in low and fast, tip angled for Ethan’s gut. Ethan sidestepped the thrust, caught the shaft with his left hand, and drove a short bolt of lightning straight into the ember core. The spear flashed orange, the light turning white for half a second, then the weapon exploded in the man’s grip.
Shrapnel and heat tore his hands open. Ethan finished it with a palm strike to the throat and just like that, the elite dropped, choking.
Ten left.
Two swordsmen rushed together, blades crossing in a practiced X meant to shear through armor and bone. Ethan stepped between the arcs. Lightning crawled up both arms as he slammed open palms against the flats of the blades.
Current flooded the metal, found the ember cores, and overloaded them. Both swords burst in white flashes once more.
The men staggered, arms burned, their eyes wide. Ethan’s fist took the first under the chin. A short arc from his elbow locked the second man’s limbs long enough for a knee to the ribs to put him down.
Eight.
A gunner fired from fifteen meters.
The ember round cracked the air. Using his high agility and storm sense, Ethan twisted. The shot scored his shoulder, searing a line of wounds—not deep but still there.
He closed the distance in three strides as lightning jumped from his fingertips into the gun’s barrel. The weapon cooked off in the man’s hands as Ethan’s follow-up punch drove him into the stone hard enough to crack something important.
Seven.
Ethan turned to Angelia. She was still watching, not making any moves, for reasons he didn’t know...yet.
Two more came with spears, trying to pin him between thrusts. Ethan just let the first tip skim past his ribs, grabbed the shaft, and sent a controlled surge down the length.
The ember core detonated. The explosion threw the second spearman off-balance and Ethan was already there. A short bolt into the second man’s chest plate shorted every safety rune in his gear. Muscles locked. Ethan’s elbow dropped him.
Five. Then three. Then one.
The last gunner aimed for Spark.
Ethan’s eyes went pure storm.
He crossed the distance before the man could fully depress the trigger. Lightning left his hand in a tight, focused lance. It struck the gun, overloaded the core, and kept going.
The weapon came apart in the elite’s hands. Ethan’s follow-up bolt locked every muscle in the man’s body. He hit the ground rigid, eyes still open, unable to move.
Eleven down.
Ethan stood in the center of the scattered forms, chest rising and falling in steady pulls. Lightning still crawled across his knuckles, but the arcs were thinner now.
He felt it, the weakness crawling in as he abused the lightning, abused his ember too much. The last bit was slightly unnecessary. He knew it, but had done it anyway.
But she was still there, looking around at her men.
"Useless." she muttered, her focus back on Ethan. "So you were a lightning user, and the way you didn’t use any spell casting, it seems now I understand why my dad wants you dead."
Ethan didn’t need to think hard, seeing her run so fast and release so much divinity that even his system picked it up. It was him...again.
Why does he come in my way?
"Huh...who?"
"Your father...Hermes."
Clap! Clap!
"Someone finally figured it out. Nice. I’m actually really impressed. How a cadet like you came to such a level. Able to defeat a mage...able to defeat...her" she said, looking at Seris.
Ethan stood up, putting it all together. He was already out of ember, out of stamina, and seeing her timing, of course this wasn’t all just a coincidence.
"What did you tell her? To the mage?" he asked.
Angelia didn’t answer, running fast once more, her fist already in a tight grip.
Ethan tried to use his storm sense but again, no more ember. The skill failing him instantly.
Doom!
Ethan didn’t even see it coming, only feeling the pain on his cheek and the impact on his back right after as his back smashed hard on the rock behind.
"I think you already know." she muttered. "I have already done too much talking for you to understand."
Ethan gradually stood up, blood spilling out from his lips. He thanked his past self for putting points in his vitality, otherwise he would not be even able to move.
"Oh you can still stand up..." she commented. "Great, entertain me more...uncle." she muttered.
As another notification popped before Ethan’s eyes.
[Mission, defeat the daughter of Hermes]
[Difficulty: Very Very Hard]
[Reward: 5000 EXP]
Ethan smiled.
Use all my stats, and put it on AGI.
[Processing...done!]
[AGI: 391]
[Congratulations! You can run beyond the wind]
Let’s see who will win, a contest of pure speed, my dear nephew.