The Begotten Fiend

Chapter 2: A Victory That Wasn’t

A tremor passed through Nash’s arms, then a cold sweat.

’So, what the hell am I supposed to do about this?’ he ruminated, feeling the cold, snappy presence of the air begin to bleed red.

Fire erupted before him, enveloping the space before him in a tall, wild spire of inferno.

His face went wet with sweat--though even that didn’t last in the face of such intense heat.

"Ghgghhh...!" Nash shuddered, gripping his own arms tightly. Sweat sizzled to steam, skin turned red with burns. If not for the column of flame evaporating his tears, the crisp air drying his throat, he might’ve even cried, screamed, or both.

But he didn’t.

"What is it? You don’t seem as talkative," Illias chimed, restraining his own laughter. "Ah, but that’s what no oxygen will do to you. After all, before my Fire Spire, not even the heavens can escape uncharred."

Without an ounce of hesitation, Nash charged forward, gritting through the unbearable pain.

Blood blazed through the air, hair went red, and skin peeled off, all being reduced to nothing once tossed into the air.

Yet, his gait was headstrong. Eyes locked on the opponent ahead.

"Wow, you’ve got balls," Illias said, mocking. It was only a few moments after his remark that his left index finger lifted in Nash’s direction, followed by a brilliant amethyst gleam.

Immediately, the spire charged forward, hurtling towards Nash.

’Like his move from earlier, huh?’ Nash thought to himself, closing his eyes. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

His world went black. The blazing pain that engulfed him fell to the back of his drifting consciousness, floating aloft with all sensation.

For a second, there was nothing.

Then he saw it.

His eyes shot open, eyes wide with realization. A smile had even crept onto his lips, pushed to the corners.

But by then, he was mere feet away from the flame.

For a moment, it seemed he would collide with the thing. But, just as it’d grazed upon his cheek--surging boils throughout the right side of his torso--he pivoted his left foot, twisting clockwise just outside of the spire’s range.

It rushed past him, incapable of halting its momentum.

Illias raised his brow with amusement. "Hah, so you took note of the fact that it’s hard to decelerate my flames, huh? You’ve grown crafty. But look at what that cost you."

Momentarily, Nash grimaced from the sweltering bubbles of blood popping from his right side.

[’Pain Threshold’ Reached. Numbing Pain.]

With a wide smile, Nash continued forward, pulling his fist beside him.

"You know, you forgot the other move I hold in my arsenal," Illias continued, pushing his fist forward, then opening to reveal his palm. "Release."

The unimaginable source of heat that Nash could still feel behind him swelled, then went still.

Yet, he could still feel it. The tiny, yet presently abundant number of miniaturized heat projectiles. It was the same move–transforming one large fire skill into hundreds of smaller ones.

"I was counting on that!" he proclaimed, dipping down on the ground.

With his momentum, he entered a slide, getting just underneath Illias.

By the time Illias had registered what happened, it was too late.

Thwam!

The entire arena shook.

[What happened?]

[Can you see?]

[The hell!?]

Smoke erupted, shrouding the entire area. It was only after several dozen seconds that the smoke cleared, and the audience could cling to the sight before them.

Illias was on the ground, unmoving, while a bloodied--yet standing Nash hovered just above him.

For what felt like an eternity, the air lay still. It was only once Nash pumped his fist into the air, roaring into the sky, that the crowd erupted into absolute chaos.

"YEEAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" it yelled collectively, hats flying off into the air. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Nash looked down at his brother, red with cracks and blisters. More importantly, at his brother’s face.

It was markedly clean. Too clean.

He felt his stomach drop, like he’d entered a free fall. A striking paranoia crawled up, replacing his feeling of accomplishment.

"Wait..." He bit, but before he could turn around, an intense, immediate flash of light impacted his back.

The world spun ’round and ’round. His arms flailed viciously, as if he’d be able to grip the air and stop his ascent.

After all, he was 500 feet in the air, spinning wildly like broken clockwork. And he had no control.

Still, that was better than the instant shift in G-force as the earth reclaimed him from the sky, sending him into a freefall.

"Urgghhhh," he groaned, head as light as a feather. His eyes went limp, sluggishly rolling into his eyelids.

He was too discombobulated to witness it, but just before he impacted into the ground, magic was cast--turning the ground soft.

Thwam!

He was knocked out cold.

***************************

Nash drifted aloft, wriggling through a sea of black, viscous liquid.

He could neither breathe nor hear. Instead, it was an endless puddle of sensory deprivation.

Yet, there was something.

"--sh," it begged, too muddled by the dark ocean.

"N-sh... Nash..." it urged again, growing stronger. He recognized the name, but from where?

"Nash!"

Nash tussled free from his sheets, waking up from the weird dream.

Like a cruel reminder of his loss, light assailed his retinas, burning the back of his skull.

Wincing from the pain, he covered his eyes with his left hand, looking down for respite.

There, he saw the long, white sheets and bedding he was resting in.

"I... was knocked out?" he asked, seemingly rhetorical, although there’d been a person to receive it.

"Yes, and quite ruthlessly," a voice returned, coming from his right.

It was a tall, proud woman. With broad shoulders and curly brown hair that brushed her shoulders, Nash felt a strong, hopeless sense of weakness.

But he brushed it off, instead welcoming the overwhelming sense of nostalgia that came with the sight of her.

"Lady Milan," Nash addressed, straightening his posture. Although he’d turned himself as serious as he could, he’d still only been met with a simple head pat.

"No need for such formality." Lady Milan smiled, ruffling the burnt ends of Nash’s hair. "After all, you’re a man now. In more ways than one."

Nash tilted his head. "I get that I’m of age now, but what do you mean by ’more ways than one?"

It was only then that a slight, warm breeze brushed against Nash’s chest--warm, comforting. And yet, it clung on a little too strongly.

Lifting his sheets even further, his face went pale with shock when he saw what sat before him--or, rather, who.

A girl. Snuggled up tightly against him.