Rise of Tyrus

Tyrus thought he hit the jackpot in mentioning Sezor’s name.

At the name drop, the bandits lowered their weapons and glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. Tyrus was not expecting them to suddenly put down their weapons, but he wasn't going to object. Better than them disregarding his attempt at buying time.

“The boss sent over a brat?” the roof-jumping bandit asked incredulously.

“Y-Yeah,” Tyrus said, nodding. “He sent me here to check on the situation in this side of the sector while the... masked man proceeds with his plans. I was watching from that crevice over here, not wanting to interrupt Jericho’s interrogation with the prisoners.”

The roof-jumping bandit’s eyes narrowed at Tyrus head. “...Send him over to Jericho. I’m sure he’ll get a kick out of this one. If he tries something, Jericho will set him right. It’s his problem, not ours. He's aware of our operations and has the ring of Scourge.”

Casting a glance of confusion at each other, the two bandits approached Tyrus with a shrug. Instead of complying with their request to put away his weapon, Tyrus stubbornly tightened his grip and shook his head.

“After what happened, I’m not letting my guard down,” Tyrus said with a glare. “If Jericho says something about it, then I’ll put it away.”

Both of them made eye contact and then shrugged again. “Fine, do whatever you want. Just follow us into the building.”

Taking charge, they led the way while Tyrus followed along. He didn’t mind the stares coming from the bandits as long as they didn’t act out. In fact, it was surprising he made it this far! The plan was simple: pretend Sezor sent him and not act suspicious. He didn’t know Sezor and the masked man’s plan personally, so he made a note to sound as vague as possible.

Now, the bandits would have to confirm his identity with Jericho, which was the tricky part. At the moment, it was taking almost all of his willpower to stop himself from shaking uncontrollably. One mistake and he was done for, but Tyrus would not give up just yet. If things turned south, he’d make an explosive escape with magic and somehow free the hostages.

Tyrus entered the building with the bandits flanking his sides. He gave the hostages one last look, but the only person to return the stare was the shackled man. Their eyes met for a moment before Tyrus walked away.

For a second, he thought he saw the man give him a firm nod, but before his mind could mull over that nod, he steered away from a tipped chair just in time. Tyrus shifted his attention to the place he was currently walking in.

The place was pretty much in awful shape. Stools and chairs were in a scattered state all over the place. Tossed into the mix were empty food tins and mugs. Excluding corners, makeshift sleeping quarters, fashioned from tattered blankets and scavenged straw, formed small nests.

Alongside the mess, a rough-hewn table served as the bandits’ impromptu command center. Maps sprawled across its surface, marked with hastily drawn symbols and plans that caught Tyrus’ interest. He was about to take a quick peek until a rough hand gripped his shoulder.

A bandit tilted his head forward and said, “Up those stairs is where Jericho resides. Mind your tongue ‘cause he has a horrible temper. That said, he isn’t one to question Sezor, so I wouldn’t worry if you are who you claim to be.”

Tyrus jerked his head, tugging away. He’s been through much worse than a mere bandit. A guy like Jericho won’t be as fearsome as a drake or intimidating, just like Igneal’s father.

With that said, Tyrus ascended an arching, rickety staircase stashed in the building’s corner. True to his expectations, the steps were in a deplorable condition, given the creaking noises and many holes.

On the second floor came a wide, open room. Within the center was a circular table that held an unlit lantern. A few stools sat around it, and next to the wall, was a lone chair facing away from Tyrus. Barrels and crates lined the peeling walls, and a single window was boarded shut. A rusted ladder leading upward rested at the back of the room.

The figure of Jericho came into view, back turned as he stood over the table. Slowly, he turned, holding in his grasp a familiar-looking sphere. Tyrus quickly recognized it as the magical tool Selena used to communicate.

“Who’s the runt?” Jericho said, his voice ringing across the room. His eyes then landed on Tyrus’ ears. “Wait, did we miss one of them?”

“What—”

“No matter,” he interrupted. Jericho set aside the device and strode forward. His boots thumped loudly on the wooden floorboards; the sound was enough to make Tyrus’ body twitch.

Jericho stopped directly in front of Tyrus and stared down at him with an arched brow. “I see you got the ring of Scourge on those baby hands of yours. Tell me, Demi-human, where did you find it?”

Tyrus frowned and lifted his chin. “Find? Sezor himself gave it to me. How else could I have gotten it?”

“Ah, but that’s the thing, kid,” Jericho replied, tilting his head to the side. “Sezor himself doesn’t give those rings out like it’s candy. That’s a job meant for the top brass. Scourge also doesn’t run a daycare for children. I don't understand why he'd pick someone as young as you, especially considering our plans.”

For a split second, Tyrus thought about saying ‘what do you mean’ before deciding against it. There was no reason to dig a deeper hole than he already was. The man firmly believed that Tyrus had no connection with Scourge.

His daggers were within reach, and his skeptical gaze added to the tension. Even so, his shoulders stayed relaxed and a faint smile played on his lips. Tyrus had the feeling that Jericho was enjoying the little show in front of him.

The only way to convince him, or at least sound believable, was to show him why he was chosen. Sezor seemed like the type of person to recruit those useful to him given that he runs Scourge—a businessman, as the masked referred to him.

Tyrus stared into Jericho’s eyes. “He recruited me at Valiedge because I’m a sorcerer. An Augmented Sorcerer, might I add. I don’t have to tell you how useful having one in the ranks is.”

Jericho snickered. “Oh, this is rich! You? An Augmentation Sorcerer? And I’m the avatar of the lovely Sthito! No—I’m an Apostle of Ethera!”

The man fell into fits of laughter as his howls bounced along the decrepit walls. Tyrus couldn’t help but glare, his anger rising to the surface. But by inwardly reminding himself to stay calm, Tyrus forced the anger back down.

Jericho took a deep breath, wiping a tear from his eye. “Man, I can't believe how wonderful today is. I captured myself some wannabe explorers and a clown strides right in! I’ll give it to ya kid, you got the talent to be a jokester. Unfortunately, you won’t live to reach that dream.”

Out of nowhere, the magical tool vibrated. Jericho reached for the device and tapped the surface. Soon, an image of a clean-shaven man—Sezor—emerged, a pair of sharp eyes glancing around the room. The clinking of metal accompanied the figure.

“Finally went through, eh?” Jericho sneered. “Just when I thought you were too busy having fun with some women while we slave away in this hellhole.”

“Hell if I care,” Sezor yawned. “I do recall paying you a handsome compensation for slaving away. Now, why did you choose to disturb my free time, Jericho? Did something go wrong with the released beasts?”

Jericho merely smiled and shifted his body. “Recognize that runt over there, boss?”

A clear view of Sezor became available, and to Tyrus’ surprise, the man froze. The change was so tiny that it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but his high level of concentration enabled him to spot it.

“A black-haired boy with ears? You're the shitty kid who escaped with the cloaked person responsible for murdering my men! Do you have any idea how much sil I’ve lost because of you?”

“...I think you have the wrong person?” Tyrus said defensively. Just an inch did he raise his sword, ready for a fight. “I don’t remember stepping foot in this Valiedge you speak of.”

“Jericho! I’m positive that I informed you to monitor those who fit the description and bring their corpse to me! How in Yutar’s name did he infiltrate your outpost and reached you?”

Jericho shrugged. “You should know that your division isn’t the brightest. Bet they saw the ring of Scourge and were convinced of the brat’s lies about being a member. To be frank, the kids got guts to have reached this far. Oh, and before I forget, I have some interesting information to share.”

“That comes later,” Sezor snapped. “I don’t give a rat’s ass unless you deal with the brat and retrieve the ring of Scourge! Do what you must, Jericho, and remember—no one must know who is responsible for what’s to come otherwise what we’ve accomplished so far will be for naught. Kiss the money goodbye if you fail. Get it done.”

When the image of Sezor disappeared, a brief silence filled the air. Within the next batch of seconds, Tyrus watched Jericho swing his gaze at him. Bloodlust began seeping out of his pores as he set the device back down.

“You heard the boss, runt. Because of your half-assed attempt at infiltration, you’ve walked right into your own grave. While I enjoyed this charade, you just weren’t convincing enough. Want to know why, little Demi-human?”

Tyrus took a careful step back. Not far were the stairs, and Jericho’s gaze never left him. Now that his plan had basically gone down the drain, a fight was unavoidable. To make matters worse, he was in the heart of a village filled with Scourge members.

Jericho had numbers on his side, and with just a single shout or call for help would the others would come running like an army of rats. Reinforcements would arrive quickly, and with his current mana supply, he would most likely be forced into a corner. There were also the two hostages to think about. Should he just leave them after all?

No, I am not Igneal. I can save them on my own. There’s something wrong with the overseers or Tracer if they still haven’t been saved. It just doesn’t make sense for them to wait.

“The fact that you’re quiet means your’re thinking of escaping,” Jericho stated, breaking Tyrus’ thoughts. “Frankly, I’m excited to see what you can do! Not just anyone can be this deep within this hellhole, let alone a kid. Just make it enjoyable for me to kill you, alright? I'll cut you some slack and not ask for reinforcements. Then again, that won’t be necessary.”

Tyrus scowled, strengthening his grip around the sword. “...You’ll regret it. I’ve fought and defeated way worse things than you.”

The man licked his lips and raised one of his daggers, the other still sheathed. “Doubt it, but I like the confidence. It adds to the enjoyment!”

Jericho charged forward, snickering as he thrusted his dagger. Tyrus jumped out of the way as the weapon simply cut the air and crashed through a barrel. Wood showered Jericho and debris clung to the back of his neck. He shook them away and charged again; a smile spread across his face.

Just from that one attack, Tyrus determined that the man was aggressive. He didn’t hesitate to charge and jump at him while simultaneously not caring for defense. However, he wasn’t stupid and made the necessary use of his size and speed to put strength behind every attack. Jericho was the complete opposite of Igneal.

There was grace and no wasted movements when it came to Igneal’s sword skills. He moved with purpose and carefully, just like a coursing river. Igneal rarely allowed himself to show an opening in their duel. But since he was so full of himself and clueless about his opponent's skills, he ended up losing. That was one thing Jericho and Igneal would share.

Again, Tyrus slipped out of Jericho’s attacks as the blade simply swished and whisked the air. His movements were crude compared to Igneals’ elegant actions, but the amount of bloodlust he was emitting gave Tyrus the creeps. Flashing images of his battle with the two sorcerers back in Valis came to mind. A time where death itself almost paid him a visit.

Jericho opted for a swift kick for Tyrus’ stomach. He narrowly lifted the sword just in time as the blow collided into the flat side. In response to the sudden strike, he pushed Jericho’s boot away, sending him backward.

“No... no, no. This won’t do,” Jericho said suddenly. “A blade is meant to kill, not to be used as a shield, brat! If you’re going to keep defending and dodging like a coward, then killing you won’t be enjoyable.”

Tyrus didn’t reply as he stepped forward. Talking to the man was useless, so he’d rather save his breath and focus on the fight instead. Jericho was trying to get into his head, goading him into making the wrong move or panic and lash out in a pathetic rage. With that being said, there wasn’t any chance Tyrus was letting his guard down.

Jericho clamped a hand over his face and sighed. “Well, I shouldn’t have expected much from a runt like you. Still wet behind the ears and no sign of scars on that baby-skin of yours. A far cry from the Beastfolk I've seen.”

Suddenly, his entire demeanor changed as he let go of his hand. A cold look replaced his sarcastic expression. The hair on Tyrus’ tail and back straightened as the man was coming closer, his dagger raised high.

“Tell me something Demi-human,” Jericho growled. “Have you ever taken a human life before?”

Tyrus made the mistake of replying. “Of course not!”

Jericho shook his head. “What a shame indeed. Killing you out won't be as satisfying as I thought.”

Alarm bells rung In Tyrus’ head as Jericho threw his dagger straight for the head. Tyrus quickly ducked, the metal blade scraping his scalp and shooting right between his ears. Before he had the chance to recover his footing, Jericho had already unsheathed his other weapon and hurled it right at Tyrus face.