The thunderous blast rumbled like the sky being split wide open, with Akira's cursed katana cutting through the ethereal line, exploding it into a dazzling rain of ghostly shards that fell like dying stars—cutting, sparkling, and making very fine cuts on the skin that was not covered.
The impact came back through Akira's arms and he lost his balance and retreated a step, his red mask breaking for an instant, showing the pure rage underneath.
Kinard's grin remained; it grew, a wolfish twist that revealed teeth that were too white, too flawless, in the infernal light of the rift above.
"You always were the reckless one," Father mocked, shrugging as if to take off the dust of a trivial nuisance.
His gaze—the icy black holes that had been the source of my nightmares—moved from one to the other, judging, computing.
The guards and demons rushed forward as if the father had nodded to them, a barrier of roaring flesh and steel, but he put a hand up and stopped them.
"No. This is family matter."
Akira was back on his feet in a flash, his aura even brighter, the dark-red flames licking his armor as if they were greedy tongues trying to find a way to forbidden paths.
"Family?" he threw out, his voice a brutal growl that resonated through me and stirred the primal, dark thing inside of me—the bond that once united us was now sizzling in the form of anguish that was in the very depth of my gut. "You lost that right the moment you touched her."
Yura's rage had dried her tears into two lines across her face; her movement was similar to a snake ready to attack.
She looked at me, her eyes radiating an unguardedness that made me feel a great need to protect her—not just protecting but also claiming her as my own after this violence, with our bodies being slippery from sweat and blood, her nails digging into my back as she was shouting my name in an orgasm created by pain.
"He's mine," she said, venom and lust in her voice, stepping forward alongside Akira.
The moment I drew my sword, the blade sang as if it had a life of its own, and the fusion of adrenaline and desire came over me like a drug—the very smell of her close got mixed with the metallic scent of death coming our way and the throbbing of my heart got really close to sinful.
"No," I said, my voice low and gruff, while I took a step into the middle of it all, "he's our target."
Kinard's laughter echoed again, a sound that crawled down my spine like fingers brushing over my bare skin in the dark.
"Come now, little ones. Let me see what I've created."
Akira was the one to make the first move—like a storm, his katana in one fluid motion aimed for dad's throat while it was practically on fire and the blaze was whirling black smoke on the ground.
Kinard dodged with an almost preposterous ease, and his hand was already out to grab Akira's wrist just as the latter was delivering the punch.
The blow sounded like bone on stone, but Akira managed to twist his arm and retaliated with a knee to the stomach, unluckily for him, dad had already raised his forearm to protect himself, and the impact resulted in a violent disturbance in the air.
I ran at him, my sword thrusting low right into his side, with the intention of disemboweling him like the creature he was. He turned, quicker than a human, and I felt a hard blow to the jaw that left the vision bursting with stars.
At that moment, pain was like fire that is sweet, blood was running into my mouth and the iron taste ignited the already burning fire in my veins. I spat blood and grinned, like a wild beast, and as hungry as one, I swung upwards in a ferocious uppercut that barely touched his cheek but still claimed the fame of the first blood—a thin line that rose dark and inviting.
Yura dove into the fight, her actions a treacherous dance—her foot low to trip him while her hands were battering his ribs.
Kinard seized her ankle while she was in the air, pulling her with amazing force to him. She inhaled sharply, her body bending against his grip, their closeness bringing back memories of his abuses that ignited in me a fiery rage of possessiveness.
"From the very beginning, you were always the toy I liked the most," he whispered darkly to her, his voice full of a sinister kind of intimacy, and at the same time his hand was mockingly stroking her neck.
"Don't touch her with your dirty hands!" I yelled and at once threw myself at him from the side. Our bodies became one, a mess of legs and heat.
We fell to the ground and rolled on the yard slick with blood, my sword sliding away from me.
His fists were hitting my body, one after another perfectly placed—this cracked my ribs, and jolted the pain sent through my body during the struggle; I felt mixed with erotic thrill—the pain making the sensation clearer and more vivid to me, Yura's scent wafting on the breeze, Akira's growl vibrating powerfully close.
For a brief moment, I had him pinned down, my knee burying into his chest, my fist smashing his nose with the pleasant sound of breaking cartilage.
Akira swooped down on us like a retribution, his katana going straight down. Kinard struggled, tossing me off, and rolled away just as the blade sank into the ground with an earth-shaking thud, the cracks spreading like a web.
Yura got back on her feet just in time to deliver a spinning kick to Father's temple that made his head snap back and blood spraying in an arch that decorated her skin like war paint—gods, she was glorious, so strong and yet broken, her chest going up and down with breaths that pulled my eyes to the rise of her breasts, the sweat on her body radiating in the unholy light of the rift.
Father stood up, cleaning the blood off his lips with the back of his hand, his eyes glowing with distorted vanity.
"That's it," he said mockingly, slowly walking around us, the demons howling in the background like an irritating choir of souls in hell.
"Let the hate take over you. It's in your blood—my blood."
Akira's presence burst forth like a supernova, flames entwining with his sword as he charged again, and delivered a series of blows that Kinard blocked with his bare hands—every impact producing sparks like lightning, the air becoming overheated almost to the boiling point.
Retrieving my sword, I took a position beside him and delivered thrusts that coincided with Akira's slashes. Yura broke in and out of our duel, her hits being sharp and poisonous, and her fingernails were scraping his arm, making little bumps that were bleeding.
For a short period, he was ours—squeezed between the ruins of the wall, blood-covered and very tired from the fight.
The katana of Akira was on his throat, my blade on his heart, Yura was holding his collar, her face was very close to his, their breaths were mingling in a hateful intimacy that made me feel jealousy and twisted my gut with fiery jealousy.
"Father, say your prayers," Akira whispered fiercely and pushed harder so that a drop of blood started to form under the edge.
Kinard's gaze went quickly to Lucarious who was there and very silent and observant.
"Now," he said softly.
Time played tricks on us—it was taking longer, changing the world's position. Lucarious's wings moved once, the wind from time knocked us over. Akira's sword got stopped in the middle of a cut; Yura's clutch was no longer firm; I couldn't feel my sword arm.
And while the Father's shape was getting more and more into shadows, the rift behind him was getting bigger, he let the words go in my ear, breath was hot and invasive: "This doesn't finish here, son. The real suffering is just commencing."
Then the barrier was created again—more powerful, impossible to be broken—and pushed us back into the yard where demons were surrounding us, and Lucarious's fiery gaze was affixed on me again.
"CHOOSE."
he signaled again with his lips when the swarm came down.