The Rising Sun: Episode 1 Page 4

  He reached for the gag stuffed into Racowl’s mouth and plucked it out. Racowl gave a rugged cough, and then burst out, “I swear, I didn’t tell them anything! I told them nothing, I-” He stopped with a gasp of pain as Grando dove his fist into his stomach, making him bend over on the chair, heaving for breath.

  “Wrong answer.” Grando breathed coldly. “I know you’ve leaked information about this terrorist organisation to the secret forces – as if I didn’t have enough problems concerning the authorities already.”

  “I haven’t leaked anything!” squealed Racowl, shaking his head fervently. “The secret forces haven’t heard from me yet.” His voice was filled with desperacy. “Please, you have to believe me!”

  The sound of the door hissing open came from behind Grando, who felt a smile rise to his lips. “Let’s see if I do.”

  He turned to see the Rash- con he had sent earlier march back in, holding something with both arms. As he reached Grando at the end of the room, the Redling snatched the gun from the Rash-con’s hands, surveying it with wild eyes.

  This was the Stinger … The most unfailing torture weapon there was. This was the finale. If Racowl didn’t budge even for this, then it would mean that he was telling the truth after all … or that he was too tough for even the Stinger. Knowing the amount of pain triggered in the target’s nervous system by the Stinger’s shots, Grando knew he would settle for the former.

  Lifting his eyes from the gun, he met Racowl’s terror filled ones, and a sense of savage glee arose within him. The six men were now watching closely, their faces holding a brutal joy in anticipation of what happened next.

  Grando held the Stinger aimed steady at Racowl, who clearly knew enough to be terrified beyond himself.

  “Last chance, Racowl.” he called. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  Racowl shook his head wildly, his eyes wide with alarm as they stared at the tip of the Stinger, which was held aimed right at him. The only sounds he seemed to be able to emit were terrified, inaudible whimpers.

  Grando squeezed the gun’s trigger.

  A bolt of bright yellow sprang from the tip of the barrel, soaring across the distance between them, and smashing into Racowl squarely on the chest. His chair rocked backwards on the impact. Racowl released a loud, drawn out scream of agony.

  The men jeered with laughter, clearly finding the same savage sense of joy in watching this as Grando himself did … This was the reason he enjoyed working with these men.

  As the jeering and laughter slowly faded, every pair of eyes fixed itself upon Racowl. He was gasping for breath for a long trail of seconds, the aftermath of the Stinger’s shot.

  “I’m warning you,” said Grando. “The Stinger’s shots are meant to torture … but usually three is enough to kill.”

  Racowl finished gasping and looked up at Grando, his eyes carrying a plea for mercy. Something he was never going to find in here.

  “I didn’t tell them anything, I swear!” he squeaked. “I really didn’t! Please, don’t -”

  Grando shot a second time. As the yellow bolt collided with him, Racowl gave a second, louder scream, which seemed to linger within the room in echoes for many nasty seconds.

  Grando slowly walked forward, lowering his head before a gasping, helpless Racowl.

  “Final chance.” he whispered. “Tell me now: did you leak anything?”

  Still gasping, Racowl met Grando’s eyes and gave a trembling shake of his head.

  Grando bored into his eyes, surveying them for a long moment, and then smiled. This had to be the truth. Nobody could be that good an actor, and nobody could stand two shots of the Stinger and still not break. Not even Racowl.

  He nodded slowly, his smile growing longer. “Ok. I guess I don’t have a choice, but to believe you.” He turned and trotted a few feet away, before slowly facing his men. “So, tell me men, now that that’s over … how shall we kill him?”

  Racowl’s head bolted up, his jaw falling open. He tried to form words, but only a pitiful, whimpering noise emitted from his lips.

  The men’s expressions were now shining with anticipation. This was the moment they’d been waiting for. All of them. Including Grando.

  “You didn’t actually think we were going to let you live, did you?” Grando laughed cruelly. “I’m sorry, my friend, but you’ve seen too much of what’s within us. We can’t possibly allow you to go on living.”

  Racowl shook his head, his face filled with horror. “No … please, don’t.”

  The men cracked their knuckles, some of them unsheathing razors and knives from their belts.

  Oh, this is gonna be fun…

  Grando watched as the six men slowly closed in on Racowl, their eyes burning. But right then, the hiss of the door sliding open from behind caught everyone’s attention.

  And then came the sound of a pair of footsteps trotting into the room…

  While Grando waited where he stood, unbothered, the six others turned to gaze at the entrance … and the looks on their faces slowly slackened from joy to astonishment.

  What’s this?

  Grando slowly turned to face the entrance, wondering who this mysterious entry was. And as he did, the shock swallowing the rest of the room claimed him as well…

  The intruder who came striding into the room calmly, was Grando’s most dreaded enemy … his foremost fear.

  It was nemesis one.

  “Ion?” Grando said in a mystified whisper.

  The red haired boy came striding into the chamber in an elegantly casual pace. As he approached the end of the room, he spread his hands cheerily. “Grando, how’ve you been, old friend? It’s been far too long!”

  He stopped a few metres before a thunderstruck Grando, a false grin on his face. For a small eternity, the two of them stood metres apart, staring at each other in rigid silence.

  The eighteen year old boy looked just as Grando remembered. Tall and stickly thin. Dressed in a long black cloak. Long, messy red hair. The tint of orange on his skin that would often go unnoticed. The same youthful, vibrant face. And the same burning orange eyes.

  “It wasn’t easy finding you.” Ion declared, his voice just as casual. “Took me pretty long. You’ve been living completely off the grid for some time now. Deep in hiding.” He shook his head. “Grando, Grando. So much of insecurity … over me?”

  As the shock passed, the old anger rushed back to Grando.

  “You’ve got some nerve coming in here, you blasted swine.” HHHhhe threw the Stinger to the ground with a metallic clang, reached for his Sparkler hanging by his belt, and took aim at Ion’s face.

  Ion’s orange eyes stalled over the gun briefly, and not a flicker of fear escaped them. “We both know that’s hardly a wise move right now, mate.”

  Grando shook his head, laughing. “You may be a mystic, and I’ve seen what you can do … but I’ve faced far worse, kid.”

  Ion looked at Grando for a quiet moment, and then a twisted smile formed on his face.

  “When I’m done with you,” he whispered. “you’ll wish you have.”

  Without letting another second pass, Grando opened fire. He pulled the Sparkler’s trigger again and again … filling the air ahead of him with a tide of deep blue bolts that soared towards the thin boy standing in the middle of the room. Helpless.

  As the Sparkler shots sailed at him, Ion stood his ground, unflinching. And then, at the very last splinter of a second, he held up his hand at the rain of Sparkler bolts, as though commanding them to stop. And a shimmering, glass like surface formed in the air right in front of where he held his palm. The glass like surface acted like a shield: the Sparkler bolts collided with it and died, as though having hit a solid wall.

  Grando knew what had happened: Ion had used his mystical powers to conjure what was known as a shield. Something told him that the Ion standing before him now was not the same boy he had known. A more powerful entity seemed to have entered this room t
han the one Grando had known from earlier on.

  Twitching in panic, he turned to the Rash-cons lining the wall and roared, “Rash-cons, ATTACK!!”

  The robots bolted forward to the centre of the room, their guns drawn and blazing… spurting Sparkler bolts at Ion.

  But Ion reached for a handle emerging behind him. He pulled the handle, drawing a familiar, long thin sword, and swished it over the air once. There was a dazzling flash. And the blade of his sword was shining in a bright orange colour. With wisps of steam emitting from it. The boy’s orange eyes seemed to mirror the flaming glow of his sword. As the deadly jets of light soared at him from all sides, Ion launched into motion…

  It was like watching a video on fast forward: Ion twirled his sword at a mindless speed, so that all that was seen of him was a wild orange blur. Twisting, turning, ducking and leaping, he danced through the cluster of robots surrounding him all over. His sword flew about in violent streaks of orange as it cut off the Sparkler bolts sent at him, and slashed through the robots at the same time.

  Within six or so seconds, the dozen robots lay on the ground in a clutter of chopped up, steaming metallic parts. Wherever Ion’s sword had sliced them, only an orange radiation glow remained, releasing puffs of steam.

  Ion’s eyes travelled over the remnants of the batch of robots, before rising to meet Grando’s again.

  Grando felt his insides writhe as he looked into the boy’s burning orange eyes. Whipping about to face his men, he bellowed, “Well, don’t just stand there, go get him!”

  The men stared with terror soaked eyes. But, clearly forcing down their panic, they followed their leader’s orders and stormed forth at Ion, firing.

  Ion lazily ducked below two of their shots, sidestepped two, and watched as the last two streaked past him harmlessly. Before the men could begin to think of the impulse to react, he gave a lazy flick of one hand. The frontmost three of the men rose to the air, crashed against each other, and toppled to the ground over the other three, smashing the entire group to a helpless heap that lay still on the ground.

  Ion made no further move, and calmly gazed at Grando with his shining sword still held in one hand.

  Wrenching himself from the spot, Grando wheeled about and pelted towards the door. But out of nowhere came a sudden swoosh of wind. And the boy landed right in front of him, apparently having crossed the distance between them in one effortless leap.

  Stopping in his tracks, Grando stumbled and fell, rolling over in the boy’s shadow. As he lay there in a helpless, crumpled pile on the ground, a powerful pair of hands clasped the front of his robes and heaved him upwards … and he was staring into his age old nemesis’s eerie orange eyes again.

  “I’ve waited so long for this day.” said Ion, his orange eyes blazing.

  “You’re a monster.” breathed Grando, his eyes wide as he stared into Ion’s.

  “I’m a disease.” whispered Ion, a nasty smile slitting his face. “And I’ve come for my cure.”

  And with that, Grando felt a snap across his neck … and the world dimmed and went off.

  4

  Despite its moderate size, the room’s lack of furniture seemed to expand it from within. A lonesome torch clutched the corner of the room, its billowing flames shedding a rich golden light over the entire space of the room. Sitting in the middle, his still figurine casting a flickering shadow on the ground before him, was an elderly man. He lay squat legged on the ground with his eyes closed. His stiff posture hosted not the meanest flinch of motion.

  After an hour or so of undisturbed meditation, Mantra slowly emerged from the deepest reaches of his self. He lifted his eyelids slowly, revealing the hazy white eyes beneath them. But the serenity and calm that those wizened pair of eyes were known to always bear was suddenly shaken…

  Mantra was not the type of man swayed easily. He had endured much, and he always managed to keep his steadiness in the face of any situation. Any catastrophe.

  But this one made a very clear exception.

  The signs were bad. Very bad.

  Mantra’s mystical intuition tingled, warning him of something grave ahead. Something dark. For the first time in so many years, his inner calm was tarnished with an unrest, a fear. For a disturbance like no other had descended upon the realm. And was waiting to consume them all.

  Mantra inhaled long, slow and deep, allowing the tension to ebb slowly. And then, rising, he headed for the door.

  __________

  After attacking the terrorist base, Ion had rescued Racowl, who had grievous wounds that needed tending, and had taken him to the nearby village. He had delivered an unconscious Racowl to a healer in the village, who had promised to tend to his wounds.

  Ion was now striding down the village’s lanes, which had ground to a complete halt with the fall of the night. Stretching on both sides of the lane he was walking through were rows of short, shabbily built buildings. Occasionally, the row of houses would be broken with a restaurant, or some other rare amenity found in the middle of this rural layout.

  Scouting and finding the healer had taken much of the evening. The onset of the night was now drawing overhead as darkness stirred in the clear blue sky. The sun had vanished behind the horizon, sucking most of the day’s light along with it.

  As Ion strode down the lane, he drew out a crumpled yellow chit and unwrapped it. The chit had carried the efforts of many months. It was all culminated in the information that lay jammed inside the piece of paper. This information was what had led him to this day, this fine day … for which he had worked so long. He had long sought to kill this one hated enemy of his. And it was now done. The knowledge that Grando was dead, and that Ion had been the one to kill him, was blissful. There were few moments in life where Ion had felt such a bright glow of satisfaction.

  After so long, one of his most hated enemies was dead.

  But there was one other, who remained.

  Ion felt his fists slowly tighten as he remembered his name … the name of that one living person whom he hated more than even Grando himself. The one living creature whom he hated more than anything.

  Vonayz…

  He crushed the yellow chit and stuffed it back into his pocket. Suddenly, all of the delight of his victory had vanished behind a newly awakened veil of seething fury.

  Grando had been his primary target for him, one he had been seeking to kill for quite long now. But the truth was that he was actually nothing … compared to Vonayz. The two of them went long back. And the solid barrier of hatred between them was harder than anything else in the world.

  But beneath the fury, Ion felt the meanest trickle of fear, when he remembered his ancient hatred.

  And he was right in feeling so…

  Two years ago

  Thick black fumes engulfed the burning hut.

  Ion raised his glowing sword, covering his mouth with his other hand. Struggling with all his might, he heaved himself up slowly from the ground. But the feeble slash across his stomach left his insides scorched, so that he could hardly mind anything else…

  Gritting his teeth in the terrible pain, he rose.

  And just as straightened up, he felt something hurl at him from amidst the smoke. Not a second too soon, Ion launched out of the way of the body that came flying out of the fumes at him. Vonayz landed on all fours, straightening up to face Ion.

  In a lightspeed motion, he raised his ignited sword and lunged at Ion, who had a split second to raise his own. The steely cling of their blades meeting rose over the raging of the flames.

  The two mystics stood there, their swords locked, for a second that seemed to stretch. Ion stared into Vonayz’s black eyes and the dark patches below it. His long, tousled hair looked ravaged, with two horns sticking out on either side of his head.

  In a flash, Vonayz pushed Ion back, freeing his clasped saber, and made a speedy jab. Ion sidestepped the shot, and swung his sword at the Iveling’s side. Vonayz’s eyes widened slightly
as they followed Ion’s blade. Faster than any normal man, he jumped back, bringing his own sword forward in a defensive slash. A fiery shower of sparks emitted as both their blazing swords clashed again. Vonayz sent a lightspeed swipe at Ion’s neck, which Ion ducked not a second too early.

  Before he straightened up, Vonayz’s sword flew at him again from the side. Ion twisted around, his sword slicing across the air in attempt to block his enemy’s.

  Cling!

  Their ignited swords clashed again and again in a fierce duel, both their movements blurred as they danced at speeds unbelievable to normal man.

  Cling! Cling! Cling!

  Sparks flew every time their swords met, as the two mystics fought with a mindless ferocity, both to kill…

  Ion felt a concreteness of focus like no other as he ducked, sidestepped, slashed and jabbed. But Vonayz was too strong. He couldn’t gain the upper hand against such a powerful mystic…