CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

To say Tatsuya was shocked would be an understatement, yet he knew there was no time for such at that moment. So, even before the dust settled, the Wind Blades rushed in the defence of their downed leader, with Leia and Rei working in tandem to carry each of Jao’s arms around their shoulders and lift him while the others (including Tatsuya) formed a loose circle around them.

As the ground beneath them quivered, shifting and undulating with an unpredictable rhythm to turn the area into a tumultuous battleground, a part of him couldn't help but feel profound respect for Jao as, almost like a final fuck you before he fell unconscious, the leader triggered a series of seismic disturbances—a feeling that grew as from Ferris’ still outstretched hands (though pointing skyward now) came multiple, smaller clubs that quickly elongated into massive spears, detaching from his body to rise to a certain height and fall with thunderous impacts.

The unpredictable tremors of the ground were the only thing denying Ferris the stability needed to unleash his full power, but it was all the group could do to avoid being impaled from even the little they had seen.

None of their elements could stop the spears’ descent—not even the vines intertwining with each other many times over could prevent the makeshift weapons from slicing through the living barrier with ease—so they swallowed their pride and used their elements to escape rather than fight; thrust was skillfully generated by air and fire, and the ground became slick with ice, affording the group lesser friction as they were sent skidding out the way of trouble.

Unfortunately, Tatsuya had not predicted the involvement of the other watchers—at least, not at that moment, as they were scrambling to escape the barrage of iron spears that just wouldn't stop—and paid for it by having to contend with five opponents at once.

It was pure chaos, but he still reacted beautifully, his training and spars paying off as he manoeuvred through the onslaught: powerful gusts dispelled flames and water whips that danced ferociously with their elementals’ movements, and; his passive ability and agility allowed him to maintain his balance on the treacherous ground while staying just out of reach of the colossal boulders and howling winds unleashed his way.

Battles involving multiple opponents were highly unpredictable. Tatsuya didn't know whether any of them possessed their own speciality, teamwork capabilities, or strategies, so even as he created barriers, evaded attacks—including friendly fire as he wasn't the only one being swarmed by opponents—and further disrupted their balance, he ensured they were always in sight. His only chance of beating his opponents was to focus on one at a time, a buffer from the other four, while he moved around, preventing any of them from going beyond his peripheral as he moved back into the woods. Hopefully, the cluttered area would make it possible to pick them off one by one.

When that failed, he tried to get up close and personal, but they were wise enough to maintain distance and pelt him with long- range attacks. Slowly but surely, he was drawn in, forced to launch attacks of his own and lower his guard, and it was only the sheer speed disparity between them that prevented his capture. He grew frustrated. Even if he noticed one of his opponent's weaknesses, he wasn't given the chance to exploit it and gain the upper hand—and with each near miss, a familiar panic threatened to override all his conscious thoughts again.

However, he refused to let it take hold. This time was different; there could be no escape if he didn't dispatch his opponents, and panicking would only negatively impact his ability to do so. He had to maintain a calm mindset and trust in his training, or there would be no way he overcame defeat.

He took a deep breath, his mind seizing on a critical detail. The motive of his opponents was clear: they wanted to capture him (and, by proxy, the other members of the Wind Blades), not kill, so though they would react with lethal intent should it be necessary, all of their actions would not be immediately lethal. That was a vulnerability he could exploit, and exploit he would; once he devised a daring plan to lower their defences and turn the tables in his favour.

As his opponents closed in, Tatsuya deliberately failed to maintain awareness of their positions, allowing himself to be quickly overwhelmed from all sides and, soon enough, be struck by a boulder. The impact lifted him off his feet and sent him hurtling through the air, his body spiralling uncontrollably. As he flew, the world blurred around him, and the deafening crack of his back, colliding with a tree in the forest, reverberated through his very core.

Pain exploded as every bone, every muscle, every organ screamed in protest, even as his voice choked out nothing more than a strangled unf. Tatsuya couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. What air he managed to pull in through his mouth came out shortly after in short gasps and wheezes, his chest suddenly gripped with a tightness. Spots danced before his vision, a veil of darkness closing in from the edges, and the colossal tree uprooted itself with a thunderous crack, its splintered remains falling to the forest floor—though distantly and muffled, as if through a fabric.

He passed out, but gradually, the pain in his brain brought him to a state of half-wakefulness. Tears escaped his eyes as he gingerly rolled onto his back, letting out soft whimpers and groans as his muscles burned from the effort. Facing skyward, through a haze of agony, he could hear a flurry of movement not too far away: the shuffle of footsteps on moss-covered ground, the soft smack of protective footwear against fallen leaves and branches, a fragment of conversation.

The crash had been softened greatly with copious amounts of air, but this was no acting. Anything less wouldn't be enough to trick the most astute observer, and with an earth and air elemental among them, nothing but the truth would have worked.

And work it did as his opponents, fueled by their apparent advantage, allowed their confidence to swell and themselves a momentary lapse in their guard. He strained to make sense of the jumble that reached his ears as their conversation became loud—their voices swirling around him, a symphony of sound that blended in a disorienting chorus— and they scrambled around him. A sea of unfamiliar faces blurred together.

“You think he's dead?” a voice asked, piercing through said sea, resonating with worry.

“For spirit’s sake, Ayanda, don't jinx us,” another said, its tone more annoyed. “Lord Ferris needs him alive.”

“But he will be killed eventually. What's the difference between it happening now and then?” the first voice responded petulantly.

A softer voice, filled with composure and authority, replied, “Executed, Ayanda. The Lords would want to make a public spectacle out of it, to discourage groups from being like the Wind Blades.”

Tatsuya’s head spun, and as he fought to focus his attention on the conversation unfolding around him, he tried to make out the faces—to identify the people speaking—but their features remained hazy and indistinct, leaving him uncertain of even the gender behind each voice. It was as if he existed in a swirling vortex, disconnected from reality.

Thankfully, his disorientation gradually subsided as the pain settled into a dull constant ache, quickly pushed to the back of his mind, and the voices became clearer, distinct from one another. His vision sharpened, and he finally saw the faces of the people surrounding him. Confusion and shock swept through them as their eyes met his alert own, and he was aware of the moment they realised their grave mistake.

Tatsuya felt smug, and so, he couldn't help himself: he laughed, the absurd, mocking sound twisting past blood-stained crooked teeth.