Chapter 12: The Marksman's Dance and the Fallen King
The arena held its breath at Kael's final words. As the smoke slowly cleared, Borok's face, contorted with anger and humiliation, became clearer. His energy whip whizzed menacingly in his hand, while the last of his loyal men around him took cautious steps toward Kael. Aslan and Roric had already disappeared into the shadows at Kael's command, searching the labyrinths of the shipyard for an exit. Now Kael was alone with the fallen king of the Iron Fists—or at least it seemed so.
"Brave words, brat," Borok hissed. "But this arena has become the graveyard of arrogant novices like you." Borok was the first to make the move; his energy whip curled through the air like a deadly snake and lashed out at Kael.
But Kael was no longer the Kael he had been. Roric's confession had erased the last of the fog from his mind, and his marksmanship had become as sharp as a knife. What's more, the Chitauri power core in his palm had merged with his will, granting him not only energy but also a deeper sense of the flow of the world around him. He could calculate the whip's every move, every possible trajectory, seconds in advance.
With incredible agility, he dodged the whip and, at the same time, picked up a piece of metal from the ground and threw it at Borok's wrist. This time, the piece of metal wasn't just a body; Kael had surrounded him with a thin layer of energy focused from the core. The piece grazed the skin on Borok's wrist, while the instantaneous shockwave of Chitauri energy numbed the man's arm. Borok cried out in pain, momentarily losing control of the whip.
That momentary void was enough for Kael. With a series of shots, he knocked the men around Borok out of their weapons, and struck them down with energy-coated balls right next to their kneecaps. Each shot was incapacitating rather than deadly; Kael wanted to show off his strength and control more than he wanted to kill.
Borok was furious that his men had been defeated so easily. He ignored his numb arm and swung his whip again, this time more wildly, more uncontrollably. Kael moved like a dancer around the center of the arena, gracefully dodging each attack and landing precise blows at Borok's weak points at every opportunity. Once, he met Borok's whip with another piece of energy-coated metal thrown through the air, short-circuiting the whip's Chitauri energy circuit. The whip went out with a hiss.
Borok, now disarmed, had to rely on his brute strength. He lunged at Kael, but Kael had expected this move too. He used Borok's heavy bulk to pull him aside and knock the man off balance. As Borok fell face down on the ground, Kael aimed a concentrated energy from the Chitauri core at a metal barrel right next to Borok. The barrel exploded with a deafening bang, sending metal fragments and compressed air flying everywhere. The shock of the explosion had unnerved the last remaining Iron Fist members in the arena, and many of them had fled in panic.
When Borok staggered to his feet, his face was covered in dust and blood. His eyes were no longer filled with anger, but pure fear. The man before him was a superhuman being, anticipating his every move, thwarting his every attack.
Kael approached Borok slowly. "Your kingdom is fallen, Borok," he said calmly. "This arena is no longer yours."
In a last desperate attempt, Borok reached for a small, traditional pistol at his waist, but Kael threw a final energy-coated ball that sent it flying from his hand.
"Will you kill me?" Borok asked, his voice trembling.
Kael thought for a moment. Killing him would be easy. But Kael was not just a murderer; he was someone who wanted to build an empire. And sometimes, an enemy left alive could send a more powerful message than one left dead. "No, Borok," Kael said. "I will not kill you. I will leave you to live in your shame. All will remember how the mighty leader of the Iron Fists knelt before a single man."
Kael used the Chitauri core to send a low but powerful pulse of energy toward Borok's knees. Borok fell to his knees, groaning in pain. Humiliated in the middle of the arena, before the eyes of his own men and his enemies.
By then, Aslan had safely escorted Roric out of the shipyard and was now back at Kael. His face was filled with awe at Kael's victory.
Kael took one last look at the fallen Borok. "This area is now under Yanki's control," he said, his voice so powerful that it echoed throughout the shipyard. "Anyone who opposes it will end up like Borok."
As Kael and Aslan left the arena, they left behind a broken leader and a scattered gang. As they stepped through the iron gates of the shipyard, Kael knew that this victory would resonate greatly throughout the New York underworld. But that resonance would not only bring admiration, but also new and greater threats. In the dark corridors of the city, eyes were already on them. And as the Chitauri power core trembled softly in Kael's palm, it whispered both a promise and a warning: Power always came at a new price.