Chapter 68: Zephyr vs Lunethra
"Wooo!" Zephyr whooped as the beam of light burst from his bazooka. He had expected something similar to his usual gun—a focused pulse of compressed Aether. Instead, what he fired felt more like igniting a sun.
He had aimed to kill Lunethra along with the other boy, but she dodged at the last second. Still, her hand didn’t make it—severed clean by the blast.
The beam struck the boy square in the chest, piercing through his heart. That was when Zephyr was supposed to stop. That was the plan.
But he adapted to the beam that was shot, instead of the usual single shot.
With a resolved expression, he dragged the beam downward, slicing the boy in two. A forced chuckle escaped his lips as the body fell to the ground in a limp, lifeless heap.
"That’s what you get for disrespecting the dead," he muttered, dropping from his perch.
As his boots hit the ground, a jolt of pain shot through his body. He nearly stumbled—his bones rattling, muscles protesting—but he forced himself to steady. He suppressed the grimace just in time. The cold glare on Lunethra’s face told him she hadn’t noticed.
He let the now-melted bazooka clatter to the ground, from his back, he drew his scythe. The weapon sang a cold, metallic whisper as it slid free, eager. Hungry. His left hand dipped to his waistband, fingers curling around his gun. The chamber hummed as it began to charge, glowing with a low, malevolent light.
Lunethra didn’t speak.
She stood across from him, cradling her severed arm stump, steam rising from the charred flesh. Her eyes were no longer calm. They burned. Not with pain—but with something colder. Something quieter.
Hatred, distilled.