BLACK NIGHT RUN

CHAPTER 4

Streams of white fire tore through the jungle, ripping through trees and earth. Tyrune swung and thrust his wics as he twirled and bounced on the tip of his toes—giving the chasers a run for their money. The Rubikron duo pivoted and strafed him, raining smoldering orbs of silver his way. Each orb shattered like glass against the honed silver tip of his sizzling dark wics. As Tyrune carved through the metallic fire balls, he replied with a lightning fling of his wics. White currents seared across the air, hurling pass the ringing chasers until Tyrune finally broke from the center, bolting out of the eye of the storm. He hurled to his feet, spinning, and cast another stream of fire at the closest of the two chasers.

The chaser evaded him in an aerial pirouette and flung an orb of fire at him. Tyrune vaulted from its impact. The earth shattered in the orb's place and its power launched him in a wild twirl through the bush. The chasers lost him for but a second.

They heaved into the bush, right into Tyrune's wics!

The magnitude of his magic collided into the chasers and it kicked the two block heads into the air, twisting wildly away from Tyrune. The Quartari hopped out of the bushes mad, and with a wry smirk on his lips, he shot his wics forward, and red lightning cracked forth, ensnaring the chasers in a fidgeting torment.

He flicked his crackling wics slightly upward, the ensnared chasers lifted into the air. He spun his wrists hard, his wics stirring the air. As the chasers trapped in his crimson currents spiraled out of control, pieces of them flung everywhere until nothing was left. Not even their oscillating head of cubes!

Tyrune released his power, letting go like a strain relieved as he dropped his arms and hung over exhausted. He took a few breaths in, cracking his neck with no hands—they held his now weak sparking wics, pointing to the ground. Taking a few steps, he dispelled one wic and rubbed his neck. Stretching his head about as he groaned from the little neck pop. His face knotted up funny to that.

Then his ears twitched...

"Took you two long enough..."

He didn't even give the two the knowing eye. Mace and Decan came out of the bushes, swords ready. It was only a matter of time before the secret swordsmen caught up with him. If not for the Rubikron, he'd be a ghost in the wind already.

He finally took into account on what Murda warned him about, too. The secret swordsmen are nothing to trifle with.

Tyrune stood straight with a slow roll of the shoulders and lean back of the head. His red-gold eyes on them both. Even in his spent-like state, he still retained a certain wit about him that beamed true—rubbing Mace and Decan the wrong way. "The two of you could have helped, you know?"

"You dismantled Daedalus' wardens easily. Your feat is beyond the bounds of possibility," said Mace.

"Yeah..." said Tyrune as he dug the tip of his lone wic in his ear, relieving a tiny itch, "And prior to that, Daedalus was believed impervious. But alas...here I stand."

"What is your reason behind this?" Decan asked. He had to. It was right then that his curiosity broke into fruition once again, wanting to know his mark when he had no other reason to—as the high king instructed. "You could have escaped at any time, yet you chose now to do so? How long have you been kept hidden? Why do you exist when your ancestors have—"

"Have what? Been extinct?" Tyrune shot a high brow and bulged cat-eye of test at Decan. Daring him to say something he knew already. "Is that what you're about to say?" He turned to face them both, leaning forward with a tilted head and extended arms in gesturing hands. The only wic in his grip like a deadly instructor's stick. "What's this? Think I know nothing? Am I clearly that dense of an ancient to you?"