Zephyrion watched her vanish into the shadows of the cemetery, her silhouette swallowed by the mist curling around jagged headstones. *You sparking fool. That'll be a sharp knife in the back.* An old saying clawed at his mind "The fool who spares a damsel's heart shall find his own pierced by the dagger of deceit." A grim truth of this cursed society, where trust was a blade turned inward. *Daydreaming again,* he snarled at himself, shaking off the thought. He yanked the crypt door open, Where to now? Deeper into the Pits labyrinth, or stick to the edges like he'd told her? He pivoted, aiming for the cemetery's rim.
A murmur froze him mid-step, his blood turning to ice. "Yeah, Jack, she went this way." Zephyrion cursed the forgotten gods under his breath. He lunged back into the crypt, pushing the stone door shut with a dull thud , he pressed himself into the shadows, *They'd have to be blind not to see my footprints out front.* He forced his breath to steady, each exhale a slow hiss, his hands sliding to the hilt of the blade strapped across his shoulder. A deep inhale, sharp as a razor . The sword slid free from its scabbard, silent as a whispered.
Muffled footsteps scuffed outside, deliberate and heavy. Zephyrion positioned himself at the door's seam, muscles coiled like a storm ready to break. He lowered the sword's tip to abdomen height, its point steady, inches from the stone. The blade twitched before the door even stirred, instinct outpacing thought. A dead thud—shoulder against stone—rattled the crypt. Steel flashed through the crack in the jamb as Zephyrion stepped forward, the door flying open. He spun, sword pivoting backward in a fluid arc, pulling free with a wet rasp. The blade sang upward, meeting steel with a clang that shattered the cemetery's silence, reverberating off all but forgotten headstones.
He sprang back, eyes darting to assess. Two men. *Great.* The one he'd parried was square-faced, broad-shouldered, his leather jacket creaking as he shifted, a smirk curling under hard eyes. The other clutched his gut, blood seeping between fingers, his gaunt frame hunched, sunken eyes glaring from a scarred jaw. The wound was too far right to hit anything vital, but the man's grimace said it hurt like hell. Both wore sturdy leather, scuffed and patched, the kind that screamed hired muscle.
"You might as well give up now, boy," Square-Face said, his voice gravelly, like he gargled stones.
"Tell us where the girl went, and we'll kill you quick," the gaunt one rasped, confirming he was the voice from before. Jack, then, was the smug bastard in front.
Zephyrion raised his sword, its tip steady between them, each man flanking a side. "Haven't the faintest clue who you're talking about," he said, surprised his voice held firm, sharp as the blade in his hands.
"Don't play dumb, boy," Gaunt faced snarled, shuffling to Zephyrion's back, his boots scraping the dirt like a predator circling prey.
*Well, this is a sparking mess.* "Why go after the—" Zephyrion started, but Square Face, "Jack", slashed from the right, cutting him off mid-sentence.
*Rude bastard.* Zephyrion met the strike, steel kissing steel with a screech. A scuff of boots behind him screamed ambush. He stepped back, letting Jack's blade slice empty air, and raised his sword overhead. A second clang confirmed his guess as Gaunt faced blade scraped down his own. Zephyrion dropped his sword's tip, letting Gaunt faced momentum carry the blade harmlessly along its edge. A hard kick to Jack's chest sent him stumbling back, grunting as he hit a headstone. Zephyrion spun, his blade carving a low arc, slicing a shallow gash across Gaunt faced thigh. The man hissed but didn't falter. Zephyrion flowed into a downward slash, gouging deep into man's sword arm. A scream tore through the air, raw and ragged. Zephyrion turned to find Jack standing, a broad, sickening smile splitting his face.
"Bad move, boy. Now that he's done for, I don't need to hold back." Jack's eyes flared blood red, pupils shrinking to pinpricks, like sparks swallowed by a void. His body surged upward, growing nearly three feet taller, arms thickening to tree trunks, shoulders wider than the crypt's doorway. His leather strained, seams popping, barely containing his monstrous form. The air crackled faintly, a hum of raw power. It all clicked.
"You've already fused," Zephyrion said, voice cold as the crypt's stone, his grip tightening on his sword.
"How unfortunate for you," Jack rumbled, his voice like boulders grinding together, each word heavy with menace.
Being fused wasn't against the rules, but it was rare—most waited until the last second show it at any rate. Knowing it painted a target on your back. Zephyrion planted his feet, sword raised, its blade catching the moon's pale glow. "Let's go, big guy," he growled, the words dripping with defiance.
Jack didn't need more invitation. He dropped his now-comically small sword, the metal clattering on stone, and charged. A massive fist swung at Zephyrion's head, the air whistling with its force. Zephyrion ducked, lunging to the side, his blade swiping at Jack's hamstrings. The cut felt like striking iron, the sword barely biting into flesh. He yanked it back, seeing only a thin red line on the giant's leg. Jack pivoted, unfazed, his bulk moving with unnatural speed. A kick came too fast to dodge. Zephyrion braced, but nothing could've prepared him for the impact. It was like being hit by a collapsing wall. He flew, crashing into a headstone, the stone cracking under his weight as both toppled to the ground. His lungs seized, refusing air. Blood trickled from his temple, warm and sticky. "Crap," he wheezed, the word barely escaping.