Souta:

  When Raiten summons lightning, the redness becomes the focal point of the battle. All eyes are drawn to him now as he rushes forward, spinning a chain out and imbuing it with crimson, circling it through the horde.

  There’s some audible chatter from our usually disciplined soldiers. A few “oohs” and “aaahs” as well—this is their first time seeing lightning other than mine. And Raiten’s lightning seems to be far more… chaotic. Aggressive.

  Whereas my lightning can give life, his seems only capable of taking it.

  The plagued surround Raiten, overwhelming him from each and every direction. He should be dead in an instant. But instead, the man creates space with the metal chain—which I now recognize to be a kusarigama. He spins the weapon fully about him, fueling it with lightning to scorch against all those intruding plagued. Quite a few are cut down, turning into smoldering corpses. Others even back away in fear. But they rally themselves just as quickly and attack again. Raiten jumps around, twisting, and assaulting all. For some reason though, he doesn’t go to the clouds. Maybe he’s aware of the threat that the whales pose.

  Or maybe he fears me just as much as I fear him—

  Don’t lie to yourself. Look at what he’s doing: facing an entire army on his own, undeterred. And he doesn’t back away when he fights—he pushes forward. Relentlessly.

  Raiten truly is a force of nature. No matter how many of the plagued whip their appendages at him, he always finds a way to dodge and strike back, creating the smallest of openings and capitalizing on even smaller counterattack chances. There's deliberate violence in every movement. He’s not some wild animal when he fights—not a caged wolf let loose.

  No.

  Rather, Raiten is a killer. Tried and tested. True to the reputation he’s garnered—at least, for me.

  This feat? This is merely par for the course for him.

  The witch whistles up, startling me out of my hypnotic viewing. I look down at her balefully. However, rather than tease me, she just tosses me a sack of my amulets. I fumble to catch it by the string.

  “Wait for your uncle’s signal. Or mine.”

  I’ll wait for my uncle, thank you very much.

  Still, I reach into the bag and nervously tap my fingers against the wealth of amulets within.

  And I watch as our enemy fights his way through that mass of monsters—a streaking crimson force battling against the darkness.

  …

  Raiten:

  I revel in my new power, lashing out like a viper with the kusarigama, whipping the ball-end viciously against the heads of the plagued and caving their skulls in while my lightning scorches their bodies.

  They get in each other's way, which also helps me. Although there are 1000 of them, no more than 20 can attack at once—after all, I am just one man. Still, they are relentless. I have to constantly be on guard and moreover, I cannot afford to stop moving.

  It's lucky that I got to practice with Meteorfang in the dream. It helps me understand how to chain lightning through the weapon in a more… efficient manner.

  If I didn’t have the weapon and needed to create whip constructs, that would waste a lot of energy. Instead, the runic properties of the kusarigama allow it to handle my lightning and distribute it equally across its length. I’m fairly certain that I could use it to swing from clouds, much like my lassos.

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  A frog-legged plagued charges towards my back. I curse, knowing I sent Meteorfang too far forward and I can’t reel it in before I’m hit.

  But rather than dodging, I use this as a chance to try out Aether. With my free hand, I form a small string of blue light and link it to the middle of my chain. Then, I pull. The weapon jerks and comes back ‘round, the kunai-end stabbing into the plagued man’s head. I keep pulling till the head comes off and whip it at a leaping infected child.

  The head bounces off the plagued’s chest, knocking him back midair.

  Three plagued come from my flank. Four from my front. Seven clamber over each other, biting and squealing from the other flank.

  My eyes flit about them, assessing quickly before I spring up and dodge their convergence. I splay my free hand out and form a strike of lightning, using blue lines of Aether to keep the bolt concentrated. It doesn’t work fully—some of the lightning still webs out wildly. But it does conserve some energy at least. Regardless, the plagued below are blasted into red oblivion.

  Keep practicing. You’ll get it.

  As I fall, 15 plagued leap at me. Umbrahorn bursts from the ground and takes two in his mouth, dragging them to the earth. Then, he charges at three more, tackling into them like a ram. He’s been picking them off like this, saving me from being overwhelmed.

  I deal with the others, whipping three, bouncing to two and giving them a sample of Iron Winter. Five replace the ones I killed in a mere instant. Umbrahorn is out once more, taking three with a body slam. I weave the other’s blows with movements of Eternal Spring and parry away a particularly sharp mandible. It scores on my arm—the first blood I’ve wept in this battle. I can ignore the pain though.

  I blast that plagued with another concentrated bolt of lightning outlined by Aether. This time, the construct is sharper and more energy is saved. As the plagued bounces into its brethren, a small opening of green grass is made in the swarm of dripping rot, and I follow it, dragging Meteorfang along with me. I slash it out diagonally, creating X’s of lightning to clear my path. Umbrahorn follows in my wake, preventing any attacks at my back.

  Blood and viscera, gore and pus—I am covered in the liquids of the dead.

  But I am surviving.

  No. I’m thriving.

  I can do this. I can kill all of them.

  I start laughing as the plagued run heedlessly into my blows, mindless and sacrificial. They do not care about their own well-being. They are simply Thraevirula’s killing constructs.

  They think they can swarm us? Umbrahorn is riotous, chewing into their bodies, breaking them into pieces. He is in prime form—like the rolling sea, brutal and calamitous. I am the storm that roves its waters. I am lightning itself, coiled and springing, streaking and slashing and whipping—riding the highs of battle like a madman.

  I’ll scorch them all: to ash and dust.

  That sentiment keeps my spirits high—that is, until I hear the booming of distant thunder.

  …

  Souta:

  “Souta,” Masaru begins, anger deadening his voice. He’s been quiet, watching as Raiten tears through the plagued. But now, I can see how it's affected him.

  “Yes Uncle?”

  “Kill that fucking slave.”

  I never hear him curse, so it startles me. But I nod regardless.

  “Understood, Uncle.”

  I crush an amulet. Thraevirula smiles up at me and waves, mouthing some words. I don’t catch what she says, but I’m sure it's some abhorrent teasing.

  I ignore it, and instead, hang off of the side of my palanquin. My katana flashes in the morning sun, like a golden blade of light.

  Then, I leap forward into the fray.

  …

  Raiten:

  A flash of green catches my attention from the hills upon which their armies lie in wait.

  So it’s time then.

  “Come on then, Souta Matahashi!” I yell, sticking the kunai-end in a plagued’s mouth and dragging it up into the woman’s throat. Rather than wrenching the blade out, I use her head as a stepping stool to leap high and let the tension of the chain break the blade out. The plagued climb over each other to reach my height, but I’m not worried about them. Instead, my eyes rove the hills and spot the little bastard who stopped me from killing Thraevirula.

  He’s looking at me too.

  Then, he leaps from the hill, wreathed in green lightning, catapulting straight for me.

  I fall on the horde and use their bodies to kick off, flying directly at the boy shogun—the leader of this force—the child I was sent to slaughter.