MARICAYANA: The Beginning [ONC 2021]

14: DEAD & ALIVE

"How do I know it's none of your tricks?" Aradea hissed.

"I never use tricks," Kelana Klawu solemnly replied, "you of all people know that."

The taller man gritted his teeth. He seemed to be agonizing over his options. On the other hand, Kelana Klawu remained calm. His visage as serene as ever. Perhaps too serene.

It twisted Wening's insides with an unnamed, gods-awful sensation.

"On three," Aradea finally spoke.

Kelana Klawu nodded. Then, to Wening's utter shock, the man smiled. It was small and faint and wistful, but a smile nonetheless.

"One."

Aradea started counting.

Two pendekar saluted each other.

Wening inhaled.

"Two."

Kelana Klawu continued where the other left off.

Two pendekar set their stance.

Wening exhaled.

"THREE!"

Two pendekar yelled in unison. Two rams, ready to smash each other's head.

Time a thick, viscous liquid.

Water splashed as the two took off and pounced. Sweeping his feet over the rocky bed as he went low, Kelana Klawu pulled his right hand close, the flat of it at the ready. Striking from above, Aradea came down like a bird of prey, his dagger raised, sharp edge facing up, ready to hack.

Kelana Klawu swung his palm. Swift, decisive and hard.

Aradea brought down a slash. Sharp, quick and merciless.

Two massive, dark energies collided. They exploded on impact, sending a giant shockwave rippling through the air and the water. Upon instinct, Wening brought her hands to form a shield. Even then, a strong, wet gust still swept her with a brutal force, almost toppling her in the process.

Eventually, everything died down to a pin-drop silence. Wening counted for a few beats more before flickering her eyes open.

Before her, the two black arts pendekar stood about three hasta apart, back facing each other.

Almost automatically, Wening's eyes went for Kelana Klawu. But the moment she saw the extent of his state of being, Wening had to bite her lip lest a gasp slipped out.

The front of Kelana Klawu's shirt was torn open almost halfway through, exposing a long and bloodied laceration, starting just below his clavicle and down to his solar plexus. It was obvious from the way he took a long, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly, methodically through his nose. The pendekar was struggling to deal with a serious amount of agony. And failing.

How the man still managed to remain straight-faced—save the lines of pain around his mouth and bulging veins popping on the side of his neck—was beyond Wening. As though the oozing, gaping wound was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. The sight twisted something awful in Wening's chest and for the first time since Father's death, she was totally at loss of what to do.

Then, Wening darted a reluctant gaze across the short distance to settle on the other pendekar. In glance, she couldn't find any sign of physical injury on him. Not even a spot of blood in sight. Yet, Aradea's body looked abnormally rigid, even as his breath kept coming in short bursts.

Wening could be wrong, but the indigo-clad pendekar appeared to be catatonic. For whatever reason.

And then it happened. Out of the blue.