Mirae Walkers

Chapter VIII

Caste paced forward.

Back.

Forward.

Back.

Was he counting days like the Cognate in front of his cell?

No.

He was counting down days until his escape. Which was today, right at this moment, as soon as a guard showed their repulsing face to bring him food.

In the meantime, his eyes were locked on a small wooden tablet they'd written a sloppy message on. Half the letters in the Miraen alphabet were incorrect. "It is never too lat wro tak us intovtye Amirae." Was exactly what it said. Caste had spent most of today making fun of it in his head.

It was clear however, that he actually had gone insane, and he'd need to rehabilitate himself for several hours in the Mirae after a huge escape.

Using his dark magic would at least help. Hopefully.

Trin, forgive me for my crimes I will be committing today against this people of the Physical World. He prayed, trying not to feel guilty. It was hard.

The guard showed up, finally, bending down slowly to push the food into Caste's cell.

Caste approached calmly, but as soon as the guard's hand was under, he shot down and pulled it up, snapping his arm right out of its socket.

The guard howled. Caste didn't care, however. He instead connected his magic through the floors and pulled the key into his hand.

He unlocked the cell and broke into a sprint, using his dark magic to boost his footsteps.

Caste had memorized this place by now. He knew where the exit was. Just three lefts, a right, a left, and two rights. Up the ladder, onto the roof.

Around his fifth turn, his running was actually noticed. Three guards confronted him, all wielding magic.

Caste bared his teeth and fired dark right at their light, finally creating a bubble to protect himself from the explosion. He ran through, leaping over their disconnected corpses, picking up speed and making the two rights. He scampered up the ladder.

Twenty people surrounded him, all pointing things like swords, knives, and other blades, firearms and weapons that Caste really wasn't in any mental state to identify.

Either way, he didn't plan on this.

He fired first, at the closest one. His newly-created dark magic shuriken punctured the man in the heart. He fell to his knees as blood gushed out from his new wound. He'd never wake again.

A net was fired at Caste. It whipped through the air as he scrambled to dodge it. A second one went off, but he was so focused on the first net that he was soon pinned down.

Everyone rushed to him to try and contain him, but they were way too slow. Caste formed his own knife, a ykuvzpuxx, as his people named it. It had a scythe-like edge and could easily be thrown.

He sliced through the netting and threw himself upward. Caste landed a hard kick in the closing in Quuark's gut, sending them recoiling. Immediately, three swarmed him.

He threw his knife at the first, also hitting him in the heart. As it flew through the air, Caste teleported to an easier tactical position. Where his knowledge on combat came from was a mystery for another day.

The closest Quuark drew their enhanced claymore and swung it around, lunging for Caste.

Caste created his own using dark magic. Somewhere, he didn't know where or how, he'd learned to swordfight.