Shattered Remnants of a Dream

52. Save it for the Slaughter

Vance and Winslow seethed. They had long since run out of words. Auras ablaze, they leapt at each other within the trash-strewn dead end, eschewing strategy for brute force as they prepared to rip each other's throats out.

Then, both of their bodies slammed hard into a powerful new being who appeared between them. As they went flying back, the only one who continued to stand in the alley now was Saffron, arms outstretched and dissipating the young men's psynergy.

"Well, well!" he boomed. "My heart doth grieve to interrupt thy manly struggle, but alas, 'twas not to be, little Cock."

"Don't call me that!" Winslow tiredly removed himself from a heap of litter. "Am I really getting stopped again?! Why do you all keep humiliating me like this?!"

Vance stood up and looked at the new man. He had two thick bastard swords strapped onto his back, both intricately decorated with archaic-looking letters. His armor looked heavy and powerful.

"What's going on?" Vance called to Winslow. "This one of your friends?"

"If I impart upon thee a foul first impression, then let me be shamed." Saffron turned around in a flash and gave Vance a pleasant smile. "To watch such a valiant battle wouldst be my utmost desire...but Rose awaiteth our departure."

He raised his finger and pointed to the far end of the alley, where Vance saw Rose. As his eyes scanned her body, he couldn't help but notice the tattoo of a faceless horse on her lower thigh.

"There's been a change of plans," Rose said to Winslow, unfazed by Vance's wide eyes. "We're heading back to the hotel immediately, without taking any further action."

"What are you talking about?!" Winslow raged. "Could you at least let me finish someone off for once?!"

"Nay, for the tournament awaiteth!" Saffron clapped a hand on Winslow's back. "A foul alley wouldst be poor accommodation for masculine ceremony. Slaying thy opponent among myriad spectators, forsooth, that doth be the path to truer glory!"

"Not if you're dealing with trash!" Winslow glared one last time at Vance.

"Enough talking." Rose tapped her delicate foot impatiently. "I'm not running around in this garbage dump any longer. We're heading back, now."

Winslow said nothing, sulking behind Saffron as the three made their way past Vance.

"One more day." Winslow sneered, craning his neck as he moved back out into the street. "You have one more day to live, Vance Darcouver, so you'd better make the most of it."

Vance watched Winslow's contorted face disappear as his anger slowly subsided. There are two types of rage, Vance... The voice of Averyl drifted back into his consciousness. Rage that comes from your ego, and rage that comes from your heart. Learning to discern the difference between these two types is a difficult task for anyone, but the ability to control the latter of the two is what shall set you apart from 'the rest.' Rage from the ego is an illusion, Vance. It's born from fear, self-hatred, jealousy...from the subconscious projection of our own flaws onto others. After all, nothing infuriates a conceited person more than an even more conceited person...

Vance emptied his mind and stepped out of the alley. I can't let Winslow control me. There's a reason I'm fighting here...I can't forget that. Mom...please, give me the strength to find you.

A dark calm washed over his mind as he walked through the dirty streets. After a few moments, he started to hear a very familiar voice shouting from across the way.

"Where did you go?!" Cliff Walden screamed to the night sky. "Don't tell me you're actually running away from this? Come on, Rat!"

Noticing his ally's aura, Cliff suddenly spun around. Vance was bleeding and looked a bit beat-up, but the expression on his face was tranquil.