Waterstrider

11- Intersection



Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

The door slid open behind the strange man who had called himself Cyrus Yu. Cinto glanced over to see the visitors she had been dreading.

The larger of the two was called Highwood, a pale and muscular Seiyal with long hair left untied. There was an old wound gouging his lip, a wound clearly left by a sword. If she remembered correctly, The man had received the wound in a fight with Hidoro, prior to joining the Redwind gang. The other figure was a Tovus. Cinto had grown up in Tseludia Station, and while Tovus were less common here than on Canvas, she had known plenty of them growing up. This one’s name was Aht, and their gelatinous form wriggled with thinly veiled aggression as they ambled their way relaxedly down towards her.

Cyrus stood to the side, watching the gangsters approach with a smile on his face.

Cinto knew what a madman looked like, and this Cyrus certainly fit the bill. He had a rather normal looking face, but something about him drew attention because it felt… off somehow. It was something about his bearing, as well as his eyes. The way he looked at people.

He struck her as the sort of man who might watch someone die without lifting a finger to help unless it benefited him in some way. A true snake. Aht was the same way. They extended a pseudopod, reaching for her shoulder, and she let it rest as they greeted her, deeply uncomfortable.

“Cinto! It’s been quite a while. What a joy to see you doing well,” they burbled.

Their voice was much deeper than one would have expected looking at them. As Tovus had to train in order to replicate a voice box, they had a very wide range of sounds that their voices could manifest in. Aht’s was a deep baritone, broken up by the occasional popping noise as mucus slid into its vocal abscess.

Beside them, Highwood was sneering at Cyrus, who still had that crazed expression on his face. Given how the man had offered to protect her, Cinto idly wondered if he really was trying to set up a protection racket in the Redwind Gang’s territory. It was a fool’s errand if so. Everyone knew that Hidoro was backed by the Hadal Clan. No one would dare antagonize them unless they were truly desperate. Cinto nodded at Aht respectfully, leery of bowing so close to the being. The Tovus had a reputation for his cruel and disgusting sense of humor.

“The joy is mine. Our Charging Puma Academy is honored to host such distinguished guests. May I ask the purpose of your visit?”

Aht snorted, the motion sending a glob of mucus spraying out onto the floor between them. Cinto tactfully ignored it. The Tovus had adapted a variety of body language habits from the Seiyal, though some of them did not quite come across well due to the extreme difference in their biology.

Aht traced her cheek with a pseudopod, and Cinto restrained the urge to kill them. It would be easy. Tovus had no inherent ashatic progression. She could splatter them across the room with a single backhand. She held it in. Even if she could kill the being, Highwood would be there to avenge him. The man was at the same stage of core formation as her, but even if she were to defeat him, Hidoro would soon find out. She was trapped. Aht laughed suddenly, raising its mass upwards a little, to the height of her eyes.

“Hidoro wants his investment back. Don’t you miss the gang? Being part of something greater? It’s a much better use of your time than working in this dump. Do you even have more than two students?”

Aht’s greenish form shifted, the pseudopod slithering back into its mass as it grew even higher, an amorphous pillar looming above her. Cinto’s voice was dry and gravelly as she responded.

“Like I told you last time, I have no desire to return,” she said.

Aht laughed at that, another glob of mucus spewing from the abscess in their body that the Tovus used to talk.

“As expected from you,” they said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to tell Hidoro I didn’t try, at least. In that case, he wants the money you owe him. I believe you agreed to ten thousand serite per month? You’re two months behind, Cinto. What do you have to say about that? Say, Highwood, how about we…”

Aht turned to see the large man staring down the odd farsei. It was almost humorous to watch, as if the two were undergoing a staring contest like teenage boys.

“Highwood, what are you doing?” they asked. Highwood broke eye contact, turning to address his superior.

“This one knows not proper respect, Aht.”

He jammed a thumb backward, pointing it at Cyrus, who bore a wicked smile. His hands were quivering, though Cinto couldn’t tell if it was nervousness or anticipation. The bad vibes he was giving off made her think it might be the latter. It was possible he might attack the gangsters even if she didn’t agree to give him any protection money. That wasn’t any of her business, however. Cinto had her own problems to worry about. Aht looking annoyedly at Cyrus.

“Who the fuck are you?” the Tovus asked. Cyrus shrugged, looking off to the side. Cinto followed his gaze, but it seemed like he was looking at nothing in particular.

“Should I just kill them and talk to her afterwards?” He paused, shaking his head. “Good point.”

He turned to Cinto, apparently satisfied with whatever short conversation he had been having with himself. He was still in far too good of a mood for the circumstances.

“Grandmaster Cinto, I hear you’re in debt to these thugs. You wouldn’t mind me taking care of them, would you?”

Cinto paused, and then shook her head. Aht laughed, causing a mucus bubble to pop.

“This man is insane. Highwood, you were right. Silence his chattering, would you?”

Highwood nodded, cracking his knuckles with a grin. He palmed a pair of small iron shapes into his hands, sliding his fingers through the holes.

“Don’t die too quickly,” he laughed. It was an unpleasant sound, cruel and mocking.

In response, Cyrus slid a well-crafted sword from the sheathe on his waist. It was a fairly mundane looking weapon, though of good make. It was a simple jian, with light geometric etchings on the hilt and pommel. A tattered red ribbon wrapped around the handle, and extending through a hole in the pommel to serve as something of a tassel. While nothing about the sword itself struck her as particularly notable, she felt a slight sense of majesty from it, as if there was some sort of intrinsic value to it that she was unable to discern.

Cyrus held it in a solid grip as he faced the knuckle-bearing Highwood. She could see the two of them shifting their feet, waiting to see if the other would make the first move.

After a moment of silence, Cyrus was first to strike. He moved with startling swiftness, throwing the large man off his guard as he scrambled to catch up.

Cinto stared in shock. The man’s feet touched the floor softly, skidding across it as if he were as light as an insect. She could sense formless miasma circulating within his body, and his sword twirled upward in a move that was clearly practiced and refined to the utmost limit of mastery.

His speed, his precise movements…this Cyrus Yu was a true martial genius, far beyond her own, beyond even Hidoro’s talents. Had they been in the same realm, she might even think Cyrus could have defeated him easily. Despite being a core formation martial artist, he might even be able to fight on an even level with an early stage spirit refiner.

Highwood was unequipped to handle his opponent. His martial arts used genesis miasma, and his techniques focused on using it to empower his strength. He had a very sturdy body, and Cinto knew he usually fought by taking hits in exchange for returning with even greater force. Against Cyrus’ agility he was helpless, unable to land even a single punch.

Highwood threw out a punch, and Cyrus ducked low, passing beneath it to slash up at the larger man’s shoulder. It dug in deep, but was unable to cut through his resilient body. He was behind Highwood now, and another slash landed on the man’s neck as his sword tore through the air, almost seeming to tear the firmament itself as it left behind a trail of blue mist in its wake.

The formless miasma swirled in the air, fluttering around on the air currents before fading out after a few seconds.

Highwood stumbled forward, mind clearly working high gear to uncover just what had happened. He never had the chance. Another slash from the sword attacked the same neck wound as the previous, this time tearing through to topple the surprised head of Highwood onto the ground.

It struck Cinto that he was using his jian as one normally would a saber. His was an aggressive and uncompromising martial style, relying solely on his agility for defense as he pounded his opponent with an unending torrent of blows. His sword was a relentless storm. She had never seen it in person before, but could easily recognize it anyway. This was the sword art of the Downpour Sect.

She had heard rumors of a man using formless sword arts who had openly robbed the Heirs of Ottrien and escaped. They had been spreading across the various martial organizations of Canvas Town. As a community of orthodox martial artists, there were very few Seiyal on the station who trained in the unorthodox way. An unorthodox martial artist of mysterious affiliation who had fought off a Celan enforcer and escaped had caught the eye of the masses. There was little doubt in her mind that the man before her was the one they had been discussing.

Cyrus flicked his sword, splattering blood all across Cinto’s training mats. He looked at the mess and shrugged, lifting the hem of his robe to carefully carefully clean the rest off of the blade. The grin had not left his face.

Cinto found herself just staring at the man. Beside her, Aht was also peering at Cyrus in a horrified stupor. Their membrane shivered, undulating like a stormy sea as they sank back down to their normal height and slowly began to sneak away. Their egress was silent as they tried to avoid the swordsman who was finishing the cleaning of his weapon. It was in vain, however.

As they were halfway to the door, Aht was stopped with the blade of Cyrus sword. In but an instant after he had wiped the last traces of Highwood’s blood from its surface, Cyrus had shifted several steps away to position his sword right in the Tovus’ path. Aht quivered as they froze, their gelatinous body jiggling in fear.

“Where are you going?” asked Cyrus.

His head was cocked in an inquisitive fashion, as if it were an idle question he was asking to a friend. Aht burbled, trying and failing to come up with a suitable response.

“I uh, I can put in a good word with Hidoro if you let me go. There’s no need to worry about Highwood, haha.”

Cinto could tell they were grasping at straws. She eyes Cyrus again, and could see in his eyes that the man had no intention of letting the Tovus go.

For a moment she considered intervening, avenging Highwood in order to appease Hidoro and be given more time. She decided against the idea. Even if she were somehow a match for the monster before her, Hidoro would never let her go easily, no matter what assistance she may provide to him. He wanted her to be his right hand once more.

In addition, she felt little anger about Highwood’s death other than the annoyance that cleaning up his blood would pose. It was undignified for the grandmaster of an academy to do menial labor like cleaning the training area, but she had far too few disciples to fully delegate such tasks.

Since Highwood was dead, she did not particularly mind what happened to Aht. The Tovus was a sleazy and cruel person, and the only reason they had not yet been slain in revenge for their many injustices was the looming figure of Hidoro backing them up.

As far as Cinto could estimate, at the moment her best option was to see how the martial genius before her intended to handle the great issue he had caused himself. Perhaps she would agree to his terms, whatever they were, and wait until he was inevitably killed by Hidoro.

No matter how talented this Cyrus Yu was, he had no chance of defeating another genius of an entire realm higher than him.

Cinto suddenly realized that while she had been weighing her options, a short conversation had been going on between the two before her. She was able to catch the latter half of one of Cyrus’ sentences.

“-you think? Not sure how useful they would be.”

His eyes were unfocused, and she realized that Aht was still silently shivering before the blade. Did Cyrus have an earpiece or some other technology? She had not noticed such a thing in his ears before, but perhaps it was disguised in some way. It was either the case that he had one or was completely insane. Or maybe he was talking to some sort of spirit, she joked to herself.

Suddenly Cyrus paused, nodding his head.

“I’ll just kill them then.”

With a few simple wrist movements, his sword sliced deep into the terrified Aht, slicing the Tovus into several discrete chunks that began leaking the ooze of its body’s internals.

He began wiping his blade again as he finally returned his gaze to Cinto.

“Now then,” he smiled. “Where were we?”

Cinto shuddered involuntarily.

Tovus: [Created by the ascendant Tovol, the Tovus are a race of amorphous organisms that can change their size and shape to an extent, and can reproduce asexually. They are capable of loosely replicating the appearance of most species, though a trained eye can still notice their true nature. They are one of the three races native to Canvas, though they share far deeper cultural ties to the Seiyal than they do the Reth. The Tovus lack a progression system and have a poor technological base, though their unique physiology makes them highly sought after candidates for certain professions.]


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