Waterstrider

8th District, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

Dual wielding weapons often seems highly effective initially, but the styles of fighting always suffer from as many disadvantages as advantages. To control a weapon effectively with only one hand it needed to be smaller and lighter, and the multitasking that would be required was far beyond the means of any normal person. For those reasons. sects that wielded two blades at once were fairly uncommon.

It had been my understanding that firearms were the same way. When one shot a firearm, they needed to be looking from a certain angle to properly aim it. With one in each hand this became impossible, and so proper aim became far more difficult.

This would not be an unsurpassable issue in a conflict between mortals, but against the agility of a martial artist it drastically reduced the effect of the weapon.

The issues seemed to be nothing for the man before me.

I dodged to the side again as yet another sharp crack heralded the impact of yet another bullet into the stone ground. A slight pain indicated to me that I had been grazed on the side.

Despite firing far fewer bullets, bullets, I was pressured nearly as much to dodge as I was by an enforcer. Where enforcers competed in sheer quantity and spread, my attacker competed with the sheer accuracy of his aim. Somehow, despite not even being a martial artist, the man was reading my movements, predicting the direction in which I would be moving at any given point. It almost seemed preternatural, though I knew that could not be the case.

I moved to close the distance, sliding my sword from its sheath. The heirloom gleamed in the light that entered the warehouse from behind me. At the last second, I ducked my head beneath another bullet’s trail as I reached within an arm's length of the man.

My sword flew out, like a lightning bolt striking from the heavens to the earth. But to my surprise, the earth moved.

An explosion of orange smoke erupted from his chest, and we were both pushed backwards in opposite directions. I quickly regained my footing and charged back towards the man, but rather than catch himself or stumble as he landed back onto the ground, the celan slid backwards along the ground, not seeming to lose any momentum at all from friction. An odd noise that sounded halfway between a grinding sound and the hissing of a snake could be heard as he slid back as smoothly as if he was skating on ice.

In his wake I could see streaks in the stone left behind by his boots, covered in a sheen of dust as if he had someone disintegrated a top layer of the stone surface. As he slid back, he reloaded his pistols in a single motion and began firing once more at me.

“What’s your name, anyway, Riverfiend? It feels odd to not know the name of the man I will be killing,” he said.

His voice seemed a bit muffled, and I could barely hear it over the gunfire and the hissing of his boots.

I felt no need to tell him anything that could potentially be used against me. I continued trying to close the distance between us as I responded.

“You can call me Riverfiend,” I said.

He laughed, but even despite the swift motion of his legs and the shaking of his diaphragm, his arms still remained perfectly steady. I was starting to question whether or not he truly was a mortal. Even a martial artist of my own realm might have had issues replicating the feat.

“We can leave it at that, then, Riverfiend. Your title will have to be enough to satisfy me. But just so you know who slew you, I shall give you my own. My name is Triezal, a journeyman magister of the Epon. To die by my hand will be your honor.”

This time I chose not to respond. I leapt into the air, rebound onto the wall for another leap to catch him off guard and close the distance.

My blade coursed towards his throat in a single, perfectly executed moment, but it was blocked by a glowing orange barrier that looked exactly like the one outside.

Triezal kicked at my legs while trying to fire at my gut from point blank range, but I stepped just out of reach and out of his line of fire while my sword tore again and again into his shield.

My fifth slash tore through, biting into Triezal’s skin before I was blasted back by a second burst of smoke. I cursed as I was pushed back, trying to regain my view of him through the haze.

The gunfire had momentarily paused, and I suddenly realized why as Triezal burst through the smoke, charging through me at high speed as if he had never been blasted in the other direction. I cursed at his advance, attempting to close the distance between us once more.

While Triezal’s physical abilities were all far below mine except for his bodily control, his tricks made him difficult to deal with, particularly because I had nowhere to run to. I supposed it must be similar to how fighting me must feel to most others.

As he neared me, the bottom of his boots crunched into the ground, lowering him by nearly an entire foot. I was unable to react to the surprising shift, my slash going right above where his head had been a moment before.

The surprise was enough to land a gutshot on me, and I was forced to back up to avoid the forthcoming volley. I cursed, annoyed at my mistake. I really hated advanced technology. As far as I could remember, it had never created anything but issues for me.

“I can see why Kalthen had so much trouble with you,” he said, firing another volley of shots at me before reloading once more.

At this point, I felt no need to humor the man, so I ignored his words and considered my course of action.

So far, the man had been very effective at both pressuring me and maintaining distance. I was on the backfoot purely because my martial style emphasized relentless attack and control of the tempo of battle. How much more ammunition did he have? He certainly seemed to have used a lot so far, and there was only so much he could have carried on his body. The bursts of energy, too. There was no chance he could keep releasing them indefinitely.

With that in mind, my plan was finalized. I would continue pressing the attack, baiting him into using up the last of his countermeasures. Given the substantial difference in physical ability between the two of us, once he ran out of tricks he would fall upon my blade shortly afterwards.

“Do you know what I think?” he asked, skating across the ground in a strafing motion. By now, criss-crossing lines stretched in all directions, a web cataloging the chaotic, looping motions Triezal had been taking. The marks varied in depth, starting to pose a hazard for both of our movement across the pock-marked floor.

I did not respond to his question, but he continued speaking regardless.

“I think you know what you took, understand why it’s important. Whatever they’re offering you, we can give you more.”

He fired another burst of shots before reloading once more. Just how many magazines did he have stored in that jacket? As he returned to firing, he continued speaking.

“You’re in the core formation realm, right? We have plenty of formless treasures. We can give you as many as you need. I understand unorthodox practitioners are always in need of progressing in their arts. All you-“

He was cut off as he passed over a deeper divot, his balance falling just slightly off. He immediately started to recover, but the momentary mistake was an opportunity I would not miss.

I dashed my way towards him, a near instantaneous shift. My blade thrusted for his throat, but just as it pierced flesh, the ground roared beneath us in a loud grinding tone as a vast explosion sounded out somewhere beneath our feet.

Cracks formed in the divots Triezal had carved into the floor and sections splintered and burst upwards from a force so great it lifted me off my feet. Rather than tear off his head, the tip of my sword merely sliced across the side of his neck.

I hoped it had cut an important vein or artery.

Dust and smoke of the mundane variety had quickly filled the air after the explosion, or whatever it was that had happened on the floor below us. I coughed, waving my free hand in front of my face to try and clear some of it.

The warehouse’s condition had steadily worsened ever since the fight started, but now the foundation was cracked and ruined. I could see with my naked eye cracks in the rock that sank down to the sparking wires between the floors and in some locations even deeper, cracks that let light from below seep up and into the darkened room above.

Triezal was nowhere to be seen. Either he had taken the momentary opportunity to flee, or was hidden somewhere beneath the dust and rubble. Perhaps he was dead, or perhaps he had survived. What was more important was that the battle was over, and the wounds I took were not too extreme. I winced as pain flared in my stomach wound. It was painful, and could kill me if I did not receive medical attention, but for now it did not hamper my combat effectiveness, and that was what really mattered.

I carefully navigated the rubble to make my back out of the warehouse. I wanted to be outside before it finally collapsed under the extreme damage to its foundation. I peeked my head outside to see what was going on.

The battle between Practitioner Wei and the two enforcers was ongoing, but had become far more chaotic due to the large cracks in the ground that had expanded even so far out. I considered whether or not it was worth it to leave the warehouse yet as I did not wish to participate in the battle, but the groaning creak of rupturing metal behind me convinced me of the wisdom in leaving.

I moved ten paces away from the building as the structure finally collapsed, crashing heavily down into the floor. With a cacophonous medley of cracks and shrieks, the floor shifted and turned before finally losing its structural stability.

The fissures that already existed expanded dramatically, tearing the ground beneath us into chunks as the floor finally began to fall down to the lower level of the stack. I cursed again as I slid down into the building below.

Magister: [A historical Celan term, referring to a societal caste among Jobu cultures who were considered to be masters of medicine, alchemy, and magic. A city was once constructed and run by the Magisters, called Opportunity. It fell to infighting and internal disputes that resulted in the end of the magisters and the technology controlled by the magisters coming under the control of other governments, resulting in widespread cultural advancement that led to modern Celan culture. While the fall of Epon is seen as a legend or myth about a utopia spoiled by cruel invaders, the failure of Opportunity is a lesson in hubris for those who wish to hoard power and knowledge for themselves. Conspiracies about the continued existence of Opportunity's government past the fall, a secret organization manipulating society and governments from the shadows abound in certain corners of Celan society.]