Loopbreaker

No amount of Pain Resistance could help with the situation Francis now found himself in.

His father sat in a chair in the waiting room, his silver eyes glaring at him, while Avelis Crestfall sat in a chair near him, sipping something warm from a small cup.

“Ahh, I was wondering if you would arrive on time, Francis,” the Spire Master said. “Please, come have a seat.”

Steadying himself, Francis nodded and moved to the only chair in the mostly empty room.

He couldn’t help but notice that only a single rug, three chairs, and one table near her decorated the place.

I guess it’s to limit the potential of breaking things.

Sitting on the padded chair, Francis kept his back straight, meeting his father's glare.

“Now then, Lord Lancaster. I believe you wanted to speak with your son.”

“In private,” his father replied. His strong jaw lost the tightness it had a moment ago, and the older man leaned back into the blue padded chair he sat on, acting as if he was watching grass grow.

Francis wanted to spit, seeing the fine clothing with the gold and silver embroidery, but even worse was the family crest on his jacket—the gold and silver hammer and bolt of lightning—a sign of power and magic—something that had been cultivated for generations at the cost of other children.

“Ahh, yes. Unfortunately, I cannot do that as General Stenson has sponsored him. If I were certain that nothing… bad might happen to either of you, I would gladly choose to have this meeting in the other room, but we both know the reputation your son Francis now has.”

Francis wanted to blow up at the mage and curse, but he bit his tongue.

“He’s always been hard-headed and stubborn,” his father replied, a disapproving tone not hidden at all. “I appreciate your concern, but we both know he isn’t a threat to me.”

“Still, rules and all. You know how they bind us all.”

He saw a small smile on the mage's lips as she sipped on her tea after speaking.

“Very well, I won’t push the issue any further,” his father stated, standing. The motion caused Francis to stiffen slightly, yet Avelis didn’t flinch.

Adjusting his coat, the older man with his silver eyes and white hair frowned at Francis. Every bit of his white beard was trimmed to perfection, adding to the frustrated look Francis knew well.

“I have heard the stories of what you have done and what you might be. Tell me, Francis, is it true?”

“Is what true?”

Knuckled cracked as his father clenched his hand and set it on the dagger's pommel tucked in his belt. “Are you a Chosen?”

“Does it matter?” Francis replied. “ What do you care?” Francis asked, rising to his feet, yet he didn’t let his face show any emotion. He wouldn’t give the man what he wanted. “When can you honestly say you cared about me? The time you almost killed me because I didn’t let you kill Michael?!”

His voice echoed off the stone walls and his father stood there, shaking his head slightly. “You’re a fool. The fact you’re still alive means I cared. Even when you protected that bastard from another man.”

His father’s voice had become a growl and a slight hint of red flooded his cheeks.

“I let him live. I let him play with you. Your mother begged me to forgive her. The only reason she is alive for the slight she did to me on that day was because you were already inside her, or I would have killed her then!” A finger was raised and wagged in the air. “You know nothing! The disgrace we experienced every time someone saw that bastard within our house! And then you chose to align yourself with him.”

Francis tried to comprehend the words being said. These were more words than his father had ever spoken to him at one time.

“Please, where was the training my other brothers got?” Francis asked. “You say you let her live because I was inside her, but the truth was you were hoping I was a girl. Only that hope kept her alive. We both know you’ve never looked at me with concern or love. I’ve seen your facade enough to know this is all a lie!”

Francis was struggling to hold back the anger inside lest he charge his father and try to hurt him. He knew that would be suicide. The man was strong and had killed over a dozen men in duels if half the rumors were true.

The way his father looked at Francis suddenly and a smirk appeared.

Sighing, his father chuckled and shrugged. “It seems you have gotten smarter. You’re still a stubborn pain in my ass and it appears you will continue to be one for some time.”

Francis almost stepped back when the man he hated moved toward him, stopping only a few inches away. Francis was just a few inches shorter than the head of his family, yet he didn’t back down or cower like most might. Instead, he stared right back at those silver eyes.

A noise came from the side, a cup being set down on a wooden table.

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“This is the only warning I will give you, Francis,” his father said, not paying attention to Avelis. “Do not touch your brother again, and do not bring any more dishonor to our family. If you do, Michael will die.”

Francis felt the wall that held back his emotions crumble. Both of his eyes widened and the smirk on his father grew.

“Yes, I know where he is. Pretending to be someone else. It might have worked had you both not come together, but I have friends in this city, and they tell me everything. Ignore my instructions and I will personally rip his heart out–”

[ Power Strike ]

The punch Francis threw was stopped by a single hand of his father, catching it before Francis had gotten close to connecting.

“Foolish boy. Sometimes I wish I had killed you when you were born.”

Pain came as bones shattered in Francis’ hand, his father squeezing so hard they pierced the layer of flesh that had encased them.

Yet he didn’t cry out. Francis ignored it. Swinging with his other hand, he watched as the man he hated more than anything caught it.

[ Power Strike ]

Francis’ head came forward, forehead slamming into a nose. It was like headbutting a wall, almost as the impact dazed Francis before his body was sent flying backward. Francis felt his head and back crash into the stone wall, the pain of it all diminishing as a notification flashed before him.

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

He landed on his feet, coughing up blood.

“Lord Lancaster, please–” Avelis said.

“He attacked first,” his father growled. “By the rules we are bound to, I am permitted this.”

Francis blinked, trying to take in what was happening. It was like when he had fought the second rhino-kin. He had known his father was strong. Yet to feel it firsthand left no doubt about the gap between them.

Avelis sighed and nodded once.

Francis watched as his father smiled, pulling a dagger free from its sheath, wiping a single drop of blood from under his nose.

“Always the hot-headed one. Your strings were always to play. Michael made you weak.” Francis’ father spoke without emotion, each step like he was taking a stroll through a garden.

Yet his father’s eyes told the truth. He was excited for this moment. They sparked, radiated with joy. Each of them had widened and both edges of his lips were curved upward.

“After I’m done with you, just know, I’ll make sure your brother suffers far more.”

Filled with the power of his Deaths Dance, Francis knew nothing he did would bring the result he desired. He was going to die and that woman was going to sit there, pretending nothing was happening before her eyes.

Stenson… you knew… damn you old man, you knew!

Roaring Francis charged his father, ignoring the look of satisfaction as the head of the Lancaster family bent his knees and got in position.

Broken hand or not, Francis fought with every bit of skill and power he had.

Somehow, he willed it to happen again, drawing upon the power Deaths Dance gave, using the ability that he knew wasn’t available. Deaths Dance answered and the energy he needed came.

[ Power Strike ]

Still, it wasn’t any use. His father danced around him, the eight-inch blade slicing tendons, causing his arms to stop working.

A few seconds later, both of his Achilles tendons were severed, and Francis dropped face-first to the floor, crashing into the carpet.

It stank.

He could smell it.

He could taste it.

The copper of blood that filled his mouth.

“Finally, I can end the weed that has plagued our house for so long,” his father said. A hand grabbed Francis’s hair and yanked his face upward. The blade hovered a few inches from his eyes. “You were always nothing. Even now, as strong as you are, you’re nothing.”

***

The sound of the morning bell rang.

“God damn asshole!” Francis was out of bed, slamming his fists against the stone wall, and ignoring his brother's words.

All the anger and rage he had bottled up, the feelings he had held back, came out. Bones shattered, stone chipped, and Francis kept punching, ignoring the pain, welcoming it.

“Francis, stop!” Hands pulled against his shoulder and after a moment, Francis turned, seeing the look of concern on his brother’s face. “What is it? What's wrong?!”

Unable to hold back, he grabbed Michael and wrapped him in bloody arms and hands, gasping for air as he started to cry. A lifetime of pain and hurt washed through him and the truth of what he had to become and what he had to do was now absolute.

I have to get strong enough to kill him… not just strong enough to end a war but also put an end to him.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked, his brother’s hand holding his neck.

“That asshole… our father… he… I… it doesn’t matter,” Francis tried to speak, but the pain in his chest made it impossible to form a complete sentence.

Francis leaned back, staring through tear-filled eyes at the only one he loved. A noise was coming, and soon, the door burst inward, and other teens from their group came to see what was going on.

“Are you okay? What was… your hands?” Henry asked.

Francis saw the look on everyone’s face and took a moment to assess what he had done. Both of his hands were mangled. Each was pulverized and busted.

No healing from the ones we have here is going to fix this…

“I need to go. Excuse me,” Francis said.

Michael tried to stop him, but Francis pushed past him and through the group of teens before him with ease.

“Taking the coward's way out?!” Malcomb jeered. “He’s going to kill you for–”

[ Power Strike ]

[ Power Strike ]

Even with busted hands, using the skill twice in a row was unnecessary. The bully’s face gave way against his strength and the skill, looking like a tomato someone had stepped on.

All of them cried out as Francis bent down and grabbed the ankle of the teen he had just killed and wrapped his arm around it. Dragging Malcomb’s body as best he could, unable to use his fingers, Francis strode out of where they slept and moved to where Phillip was standing.

“What the hell is going on?! Lancaster?! What do you think you’re doing?! What happened to Malcomb?”

Francis laughed, glancing at his appearance. His chest and arms were covered in blood, his hands dripping his lifeblood everywhere. He was barefoot and his feet left red prints on the dirt as soil stuck to his soles. Only his pants he always slept in, were on and a look of concern was on his trainer’s face.

“Kill me, Phillip. Kill me or I swear to you I will make you suffer like he did,” Francis said. Letting go of the ankle, he stood there, holding his arms out to the side.

“Are you crazy?” Phillip yelled.

“I’m going to count to ten and then I’m going to come at you,” Francis replied. “Look at my eyes, Phillip. You know I mean it. Strike me down or you’ll be just like Malcomb.”

“Ten… Nine…”

He never got past that number before a man he had stopped hating charged. The sword was free of its scabbard and Francis closed his eyes, lowering his arms and putting them behind his back.

The blade came, and he felt it against his neck. It banged against his spine. He winced, unable to breathe, feeling Phillip pull the weapon back as his legs started to buckle.

“How in the gods did you grow?” Phillip asked.

Opening his eyes, Francis smiled. Fear was present in his trainer's eyes as he swung the sword again, severing his spine.

***

The sound of the morning bell rang.

Francis sighed.

"It's earlier than usual," Michael said, sitting up. "What gives?"

“Just Phillip being himself,” he replied. “Now, let’s get dressed. We don’t want to be last.”