Syrion blocked, the force vibration humming through Ryckel's bones.
"Faster!" Syrion roared, actually stepping forward.
The world began to blur. Ryckel's vision pulsed white. But he fierced his eyes on Syrion, not losing him.
Ryckel's mind called upon on the memories he'd formed anytime he went out during the Red Dark. How he evaded and even fought against some Zhenren.
It was the same instinct he felt right now.
Applying that, he realized he could see where Syrion was going to be.
He twisted his body, a maneuver that should have snapped a normal boy's spine. He kicked off a piece of a wooden stall, launched himself, and gathered every ounce of strength into his right palm.
How am I doing all this…? No. It doesn't matter.
He beat mother and Lyra!
Memories of every bad thing that happened in his life emerged, bombarding his brain at that moment.
It didn't stop him, it somehow fueled him.
The air around his hand distorted, a faint shimmer of heatless white flame.
Just one hit.
Syrion's smile vanished. He felt something was different. "---!"
Ryckel swung. His fist, coated in some energy and grit, whistled through the air. It was a perfect strike, aimed right at Syrion's face.
The crowd gasped. The bakers' sons took a step back, their faces pale with a new, terrifying realization.
They looked like they couldn't believe that this was the boy they had always bullied.
Then, the world stopped.
Syrion didn't dodge. He didn't parry. He simply moved faster than Ryckel's brain could process.
A heavy knee connected with Ryckel's abdomen.
The air left Ryckel's lungs in a violent rush. The white flames in his eyes shattered like glass. He felt himself flying backward, the grey sky spinning, the screams of his mother fading into a dull hum.
He hit the mud. Hard.
The cold muck filled his ears. He tried to move his fingers, but they felt like lead. He looked up, his vision tunneling. He could see Syrion standing over him, silhouetted.
He had failed. He hadn't landed the hit or even do anything to grab the gas mask.
He thought of Lyra's wide eyes. He thought of his father's last breath in the red mist. He thought of the life he had spent neck-deep in other people's waste, only to end up as waste himself.
The white flames flickered one last time before his eyes rolled back.
[... Exalted…]
"I really..." Ryckel's voice was a wet wheeze as the darkness rushed in to claim him. "...hate this life."
His head hit the mud, and the world went black.
---The End of Chapter 4---