It seemed to Vir that no matter the realm, no matter the race, bullies were universal. What angered him most was how Svar and his lackeys were red demons, just like the orphans. Not Kothis—the race of monkey people the Chitrans belonged to. They were Gargans. His people.
Why were they squabbling amongst themselves when there was a far greater enemy? It was all so stupid. So frustrating.
“Don’t,” Ekta whispered, pinching Vir’s robe as he was about to intervene. “It’ll only make things worse next time.”
“Punching bag! Punching bag! Punching bag!” Svar and his goons chanted.
Vir stopped. Ekta was right. As much as bullying made his blood boil, he knew firsthand how this worked. Unless the bullies were thoroughly beaten down and broken, they’d return with a vengeance when Vir wasn’t around. In their eyes, they were the victims, not Bolin.
Nevertheless, he hadn’t gained all this power just to stand by and witness tragedies unfold before his eyes. He had other, better, means now.
Feigning irritation, Vir huffed off and turned a corner.
He did his best to ignore Ekta’s heartbroken expression.
I shouldn’t have stopped him, Ekta thought, biting her lip. He’s older than us. He’s strong!
It was the way he moved. The way he spoke. His… confidence. Like nothing could ever pose a threat to him. Like the very idea was laughable. He wasn’t built the same as them.
Ekta knew he could’ve stopped the beating Bolin was about to get.
What good would it do? They’ll just double his beating next time. They might even hurt others.
There was no winning against Svar and his gang. Not when his father was as powerful as he was.
Ekta felt a pang of envy. If she had a family—let alone one so close to the Chits—she wouldn’t be bullying orphans. She’d… She’d help everyone! She’d give them food and shoes!
Not Svar. That boy was more than happy to ruin their lives. And his status was like an iron shield. Nobody could touch him.
Svar threw his first punch, as he always did. Ekta averted her eyes.
All of this had happened before. She knew how it’d go. Svar was big for his age, but his strikes were even nastier. They were augmented by a tattoo. Aspect of the Stone Sentinel. It gave his fists the weight of stone, and Bolin never emerged from the beatings without a few broken teeth or bones.
He couldn’t give in too easily, either. He’d tried that in the past. Svar just picked someone else. He kept going until he’d had his fill, beating them black and blue.
As always, Bolin protected them. But who protected Bolin?
Neel could! Ekta thought. But no. He’d stormed off. Because of her.
Ekta waited for the inevitable sound of fist hitting flesh, followed by Bolin’s grunt—he never cried or screamed. It was something Ekta deeply admired. Would she be able to tough it out like Bolin did?
Never.
Yet instead of Bolin’s pained grunt came a surprised yelp, and some other sound. The sound of someone falling.
Ekta looked up. For a moment, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Svar—the Svar—had fallen! He’d tripped over himself!
She was laughing before she knew it. She knew she shouldn’t—it’d only anger Svar even further—but she couldn’t help it.
Ekta was soon joined by the other orphans. Svar’s goons averted their eyes, but it was obvious they were embarrassed by their leader’s mistake.
Svar stood up and cracked his knuckles. He pretended like nothing had happened, and took another swing at Bolin, who braced himself, his face grim.
The laughter died out… just in time for Svar to trip again. Again, he went sailing to the ground.
The orphans roared this time, twice as loud as before. Even Svar’s own friends couldn’t help themselves and started giggling.
“Shut up! All of you! This—this is! This isn’t what it looks like!”
Svar lost his cool, and his face flushed blue.
Once more he swung, and once more, he tripped.
Even so, despite the giggles, not one of the orphans goaded him. Taunting him would only hurt them, and right now, Svar didn’t need any help making a chal of himself.
“I-I’ll be back some other time!” he said, shuffling hastily to his feet.
“C-Come on!” he ordered his lackeys as he stormed away. Ekta could almost see the fumes coming off of his head.
But… how? Ekta marveled at Svar’s debacle. She’d never seen him trip before. Was he just having a bad day?
She shook off the thought. It didn’t matter. They’d won!
“Run, you chals!” Svar screamed.
He cursed the gods. What had he done to deserve this? It’d been bad enough embarrassing himself in front of Bolin and the orphans.
“It’s gaining on us!” someone shouted. Svar was too preoccupied to check who. He was too busy running for his life.
Svar hadn’t felt terror like his since the first time his father beat him, years ago. He’d never forgotten that experience. And now, he was reliving it.
He dashed blindly through the streets, through alleys.
It was no good. The black terror always found them.
Desperation overtook his thoughts. He turned a corner, and only too late did he realize his mistake.
He’d entered an alley. A dead-end.
His friends piled in blindly after him.
Stupid chals. Can’t they use their heads? I’m always the one telling them where to go.
Svar rushed back to the entrance of the alley, shoving past his friends.
It was blocked. The black beast waited for them.
He’d seen nothing like it. Black flames burned off its hide. Its glowing blue eyes seemed to gaze into his very soul. Promising pain. Promising death.
A-Ash Wolf, someone mumbled from behind him.
Impossible. Why would an Ash Wolf be all the way out here?
It made no sense!
Svar opened his Foundation Chakra, gaining him a measure of calm. He could do this. Ash Wolf or not, it was alone and there were three of them.
The wolf bared its vicious fangs and sauntered over. Svar instinctively stepped back. His confidence fled as if it’d never existed. He lost control of his Chakra and terror again washed over him.
If it was an Ash Beast, he was dead. As a Tier Three Fiend, only Iron Guardians or higher could best them. Forget Steel, Svar wasn’t even ranked! Even Porcelain was above him.
This is it, isn’t it? This is the end.
“You will die here today,” the wolf said.
The wolf? It spoke!
But no, the voice had come from behind them.
Slowly, Svar turned, terrified to take his eyes off the black beast even for a moment.
Standing not ten paces away was a being clad in black flame. Just like the wolf.
It wore a jet-black cloak. A hood covered its head, and a featureless, burned wooden mask hid its face. It bore no visible weapons and its limbs were hidden under its cloak.
Despite this, Svar knew. This beast was even more powerful than the Ash Wolf. The flames burning off its body were incomparable to those of the wolf. The being was wreathed in a vortex of fire, blacker than the Ash itself. The mask was a black, featureless oval, devoid of openings for eyes, nose, or even a mouth.
This was no mere demon.
Oh Yuma, have mercy!
It was an Ash Beast. An abomination spawned from the Harai Chakai itself.
But it had spoken. What Ash Beast could talk?