Blank Slate | ONC2023

Chapter Six: Cowards Live To Fight Another Day

The fury of winter stabs my hands with a thousand icicles, nearly leaping out and blanking the rough concrete ground as I skid across it, skin on my hands and chin scraping raw. Scrambling for balance, I flip over onto my back and scuttle backwards, breath stuttering.

A tall figure stands over me, face cast in deep shadow and the ends of the scarf wrapped around his face whipping in the wind that swirls around us. He holds a long, triple-edged knife in his left hand.

My stomach plummets through the ground, ice water stinging my skin. I am so dead. One stab of that knife and— Insides shuddering, I glance towards the entrance to a maze of alleys my attacker dragged me through. If I could get around him and dart through—

The figure jerks his hand down and wind blasts me in the face. "Don't even think about it."

Cringing away, I shuffle another inch back. "Who—who are you?" I think I already know, but I need confirmation. I need to know if I am royally screwed.

A laugh, rough and gravelly, fills the air. The figure slashes the air and, with a blast of wind, a ball of light appears over the figure's head, illuminating his face. "Oh, I think you know," he says, gray eyes fixing me with an almost gleeful evil stare. "You are on my territory, after all."

Everything inside of me freezes and bursts into icy flames, dragging an involuntary hiss through my teeth. "No." That face—those hard eyes—I've seen them before. Seen them in articles right under the ones about Blank Slate.

Cyclone.

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot!

Cyclone prowls towards me and the ball of light follows, swinging his knife lazily like the tail of a cat about to pounce. "There it is: the fear. The panic. How delightful." He chuckles, stopping at my feet and crouching down to my level. "So you've heard of me, little citizen? Well, you should have heard of what I do to trespassers, then."

Eyes widening with malicious glee, he raises the knife and lunges forwards.

"NO!" Falling back, I fling up my arm, hand outstretched. My control slips and searing, frigid ice flies through my fingers.

Heavy breaths. Stillness. Something heavy on my stomach. The wind is gone. Cracking open my eyes, I peek over the arm thrown over my face for protection.

The knife is gone.

Cyclone's hand hovers over my stomach, curled around empty air. On my stomach are large lumps of ore, a sheet of plastic, and strips of some other material I don't recognise, the remains of what used to be his knife.

I...didn't touch it. Heart speeding, I drag my eyes to his face. It is a dark mask of shadows and hidden intent, but as I stare, he lifts his gaze to mine, the corners wrinkling as if he is smiling.

"Well hello, there, Blank Slate."

Snatching a lump of ore, I fling it in his face and kick his chest as hard as I can. Both land with a solid crack! and Cyclone reels back with a bellow.

I roll left, leap to my feet, and spring for the alley entrance. A blast of wind slams into my side and throws me into the wall, smacking my head against the concrete. I gasp, fireworks and static taking over my vision.

Cyclone's laugh, now coated in pain, reaches my ears through the screaming wind. "Not so fast." He stands up, lowering his hand from his face. His left eye is swollen shut and blood gushes down his face from his newly crooked nose and a gash on his forehead.

His other eye gleams, all hints of playfulness erased by a black, dangerous storm. "You know, when I first met you, I thought you would be a nuisance; a gnat to squish, yes, but nothing more."