The magic ripples through Satre's battered form, a slow, steady pulse of healing that seems to draw her back from the brink of death. As the chains binding her arms and legs fall away, she slumps weakly into my arms. I sit down against the cold stone wall, her weight heavy on me, but somehow comforting in her fragility.
"Oi, Satre, wake up," I mutter, my voice cracking halfway through, the words barely holding together. My eyes burn with the sting of unshed tears, my mind desperately trying to process the brutality of what happened to her. Her soft, ragged breaths are the only sound that gives me any relief, her chest rising and falling, though weakly.
But the questions gnaw at me, relentless and suffocating. Who could do this? I haven't been here long enough for such hatred to have festered. Why her?
"I'll fucking kill them, I swear it," I growl, my teeth clenched in fury. My gaze turns toward Sangui, who unconsciously takes a few steps back, his body stiff, his posture one of submission, as if the weight of my anger is too much for him to bear.
"Yes, my lord. I will follow them immediately," he trembles, his voice quivering with fear, and he vanishes into his shadow without another word.
A few moments later, Kyoko's familiar roar fills the air. She bursts through a window and lands lightly on my shoulder. "My master, have you noticed?" Her voice is distant, barely audible against the pounding chaos in my mind.
At that moment, twelve figures, cloaked in a soft, pinkish glow, appear around me. I don't need to hesitate—I've learned to react swiftly, without thinking.
"Sound Magic: Tremor Tone."
A barely perceptible breath, and my magic surges. A burst of power enters the air, causing violent oscillations that tear through the space around me. The figures' heads explode without blood—no chunks, no gore, just lifeless bodies crumpling to the ground. As they begin to fade, their forms turning hazy, one object falls from the wreckage—a small, circular crystal.
I tilt my head, eyes narrowing at the shining blue light. The crystal hums with power, and suddenly, an image flashes to life within its depths. A woman, older than I remember, her face twisted in a piggish smirk, appears.
"Ah, I see you're hot on my tail, huh, Shiro?" Her voice is dripping with smugness, arrogance in every word. My body reacts before my mind can catch up. Magic surges within me, responding instinctively, a violent spark of power.
"Who the fuck are you?" I growl, fury and confusion boiling in my veins. "How do you know me? Where are you from?"
Her smug grin only widens as she continues, her words dripping with contempt. "Well, I guess if you reacted, you're smarter than I thought. Just so you know, my goddess has declared you the enemy of fertility. You shall die."
The crystal begins to glow more intensely, the words echoing in my mind. Without thinking, I reach out and encase the crystal in a sphere of space magic. It implodes, a small explosion of scrap metal and poisonous gases filling the air.
I don't wait a second longer. I hug Satre close, gathering her lifeless form in my arms, and leap out of the building. Kyoko is already waiting, having evacuated earlier. She roars beneath me as I land on her back, and we take to the sky, soaring above the chaos.
"Now I have a visual on my target," I mutter, trying to steady my breathing, my heart still racing with rage. "Honestly, I have no problems killing her." I let out a slow breath, trying to release the tension, to calm the violent storm inside me. I reach into storage and pull out a damp cloth, wiping the blood and grime from Satre's face. My hands tremble slightly as I work, and a single tear slips from my eye, betraying the anger and sorrow gnawing at my soul.
After a few minutes, Kyoko lands outside my small cabin on the island, and I dismount. "Stand here and wait for Sangui to come back," I command, voice cold, distant. I don't have the strength for anything else.
"Understood, my master," Kyoko replies, her voice steady as she shifts into her smaller form and lands on the house.
I enter the cabin, and the door closes behind me with a soft click. I lay Satre down on the bed, her body still and lifeless, her breath shallow. The room feels too small, too suffocating, but it's the only place I can think to be. I step out to gather a bucket of water, some cloths, anything to help her recover.
As I return, I set to work, cleaning the blood, the dirt, the sweat from her body. She's strong, and part of me knows she wouldn't cry easily, but there's no denying that her suffering is a weight I can't ignore.
"She'll rest," I tell myself, though the words are empty, hollow.
Suddenly, the voices return, mocking and incessant, filling the space in my mind.
"Oh, it's still starting."
"Yeah, yeah, it's still going."
"It seems fertility is first."
"Shush, y'all. He has to kill someone."
"Yeah, yeah, it's fertility."
I clench my fists, the childish nature of their whispers grating against my nerves. They speak as if they understand what's happening, but they don't. None of them do. They always mention something about "starting" or "continuing" or some obscure ritual. Their words only fuel the fire of anger that's burning deeper inside me.
I force myself to focus, pushing the madness from my mind. Satre needs me. The rest of it—this senseless chatter, the whispers, the growing tension—is secondary for now. I move toward the closet and grab a robe, setting it on the chair beside the bed, careful not to disturb her as I walk out the door.
I take my daggers from the wall, slipping them into their sheaths with practiced ease. It's time to prepare. There's no turning back now.
The storm is only beginning.