Chapter 13 - The Express II

Near the Border of Alterion, Nespia, Therian Continent

"I sense you there. The answer is no; from this angle, if you were to cut at my head your strike would arrive just about half a second too late, judging by your mana levels. Sit your ass down, son," Lance said.

A hundred years of training to conceal mana just to be effortlessly spotted by some old nobody on a train. The elf scowled, angrier now than he was before. He took his hand away from his blade and stepped out from behind Lance. Assuming he was undetected, he figured he'd be able to lop his head off in a single strike; clearly he was wrong. Now he found himself seated on the opposite side of the Dragon Guard Enforcer.

"Go home," Lance said. He played with a charm on the hilt of his katana. "You hesitated to strike me down, so you'll never win." He spoke casually. To Lance, his victory was all but assured in his mind.

The elf's eyes were hidden beneath his hood. "You killed my brother. I refuse to back down."

Lance raised a brow. "Your brother? I see. Is that the one they sent after the king?" He chuckled. "He was hacked limb for limb. Died screaming for his mommy. Can you believe it?" Leaning into his palm, he smiled devilishly.

"I won't rise to your petty provocations, human."

"Is that so…" Lance leaned back in his chair. "You elves really are interesting, you know that? I'll bet you'd give any other schmuck a run for their money. Like my idiot son. Died like a dog following a leader who couldn't even protect him when he needed it most." His face smiled, and then turned dark. 

"Looks like we're pretty much even then," the elf said. "Let's settle the score."

Lance narrowed his eyes. "What's your name, elf?"

"Uta."

"Do you know why you're about to lose, Uta?" Lance asked.

"Heh."

"It's simple really. It's because there's a difference between practice and talent. If someone with talent practices, then they will undoubtedly go to even greater heights. However, if someone practices without talent, they will never surpass the talented person. Never. That's the difference between you and me. It's that you were born weak, cowardly, and I was born strong. I was born to kill your kind, those who think far too highly of themselves."

Uta cracked his neck. "You sure talk a lot, old timer. You must like your own voice."

Lance laughed, but then cut it off abruptly, slamming his hand on the table. "I like it quite a lot, actually. You know, you should thank me. After all, I was only trying to extend your lifespan a few more moments."

"Let's see how all of that talk holds up."

Lance gripped the hilt of his sword and pulled. His magic overwhelmed Uta and held him in place. It was an explosion of violence and intent, alerting everyone for kilometers as to exactly what was happening on this train. The old man looked Uta dead in the eyes as he muttered a few words.

"Draw strike: one hundred meters." And the top half of the train vanished in an instant. Uta dodged backward, but not nearly far enough. With a short sword in each hand to block, one was instantly sliced in half at the base while the other just barely repelled the attack that managed to slice his left ear clean off of his head. He stumbled backward and caught himself on a booth, clutching the side of his head.

The roof of the train slid off and tumbled to the side of the track. Headless bodies of civilians flew into the row, and blood shot everywhere like violent fountains. The grass to each side of the train was trimmed at the top for a hundred meters in each direction. It had all been sliced by an impossibly perfect and instantaneous edge; the blade of a master swordsman.

The air blew against Lance's back and sent his Kimono beating in the wind as he stepped forward, sword in hand and discarding his sheath to the side. The ground thundered with his every step, with what remained of the train threatening to snap. He twirled his blade around playfully and took up a fighting stance, waiting patiently for Uta to recover. His face was straight and unwavering. He'd murdered a hundred civilians, but held no remorse for the action; his only goal was directly in front of him.

Their swords clashed and then parted, then clashed again. Each clash sent a ringing down the destroyed hallways, with sparks flying in every direction. Uta ducked under a strike and speared at Lance's chest, but the old man effortlessly caught his arm; a casual and quick moment snapped it over his knee and left the elf stumbling back once more. Despite Uta's attempts, he constantly remained on the offensive, unable to make even a scratch.

Lance parried another attack and then mimicked Uta's movement, spearing forward and driving his blade through the center of his chest. The move would've likely severed the spinal cord instantly, because it sent the elf ragdolling to the floor, still conscious. Lance grabbed him by the lapel and threw him into the half doorway, his head bending at an unnatural angle as it impacted with the wall.

He seemed to take Uta's comment about talking to heart, because he advanced without a single utterance to his opponent. Now, despite his initial explosion, he moved slowly and deliberately, giving his attacks long telegraphs. Uta was still frozen in fear though, and dodged clumsily out of the way, scrambling across the floor as if he was running from a horror villain. He desperately clawed his hands into the bloody carpet and attempted to pull his body weight.

Lance was teasing, simply enjoying the idea of torturing an elf. He moved his katana, stabbing it into the floor repeatedly and gradually moving closer to the crawling Uta. A smile was across Lance's face, almost as if he was watching his child take its first steps. A sick and twisted smile only gained from years of doing something similar to this. A warrior who had grown tired of simply killing and being done with it. In short, a villain.

He grabbed Uta's long white hair and pulled upwards, awkwardly stretching his body backward. The elf groaned and clutched desperately at the roots of his hair to no avail. He was trapped, being held up purely by the strength of his hair that was being gradually ripped free. Lance surprised him by throwing him back to the floor in that instant, this time stomping his boot on his back. A dirty footprint replaced where there was once perfectly clean black.

"Come on now. It's no fun if you don't fight back at least a little."

Ulfric, who was stunned on the ground a train car away, watched this transgression silently. The legend in action was much different than the stories. He was not kind or heroic; he was not particularly courteous or honorable to his opponent. Lance Lightswift had overwhelmed and destroyed the enemy with sheer strength, and now he was going out of his way to make him feel as horrible as possible before killing him. From this angle, Ulfric couldn't tell which one was the bad guy.

"Come on, damnit! Useless piece of shit!" Lance yelled. Then he started laughing. He laughed and laughed until he coughed, running out of breath. While he did so, his foot ground Uta into the floor, stifling his breathing. The duality was striking, with one grasping his hands desperately for some sort of hold while the other laughed, maintaining utter dominance.

Anger built up inside Uta as he continued his attempt to crawl. In his mind he screamed for help, for his brother to save him. There was no one to help, only himself against an impossible foe. His brain raced and raced, around and around until it eventually snapped. Total mind break. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his jaw hit the floor. His body went still.

Then the mood switched. Uta emanated dark magic in an instant. Lance's old neck snapped to attention and he leapt backward to avoid a massive upward slash that moved to slice a cloud clean in half. The train shook from the pressure that came off the sides of the dark scythe. It was an insanely quick and wordless magical cast that held immense power. In only moments, Lance had analyzed the situation and figured out exactly what was happening and why.

The increase in power came the moment Uta fell unconscious. Sleep demon magic; it empowered the user greatly by allowing a demon to take over their body as they slept and act on their will. This was a magic, obviously, used by people who were quite weak in their waking form. Depending on the demon the spell had chosen at this particular time, though, this situation could get dangerous quick. Lance cursed himself. It wasn't exactly a pain to have to dispatch a demon, but he should've known better than to assume an elf would truly be that weak.

Uta stood, self heal instantly repairing all of the damage, and black magic empowering him. His body overflowed with dark energy, and his eyes glowed a demonic red. He moved like a machine, his body parts snapping to attention and making unnatural noises. His mouth hung open, a zombie, hungry for blood, and his magic was overflowing, though it did not overwhelm Lance's. The man immediately sheathed his sword and made a dissatisfied noise, preparing an attack.

"Draw strike: perfected slash." Lance struck out at lightspeed, his attack blocked by the mere arm of the demonized Uta, who then grabbed the blade of the sword and used it to fling Lance into the ground. His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the sudden impact, seeing how he'd struck the floor with enough force to dent solid metal. The world spun around, and he was disoriented enough that he couldn't block the next attack. Uta moved immediately, dark energy forming a spear at the tip of his hand. In only a moment after the transformation, Lance was about to lose.

But the attack stopped at the last second. Someone had moved in the way, his mana emanating and protecting his sword from breaking as he blocked the momentous strike. His feet wavered and slid, bunching the carpet up beneath his feet, but he held strong. It seemed that this act was all that could be managed by Ingram Englund, whose legs threatened to give out.

"Lance! It's been a minute!" Ingram yelled. "Get your head in the game, old man!"

"Ellis' boy? To think you'd happen to be here." Lance stabbed his katana into the floor and used it as a cane to stand up with a grunt. "Move, I've got this."

Uta drew his hand back and quickly countered. Two punches to Ingram's chest and then one to the side of the head that instantly knocked him unconscious and slumped him against the side of the train. Lance rushed forward to capitalize on the opening, slicing at the exposed arm and sending everything past the elbow hurling away. He spun around with the momentum and then went straight for the chest; with the sword embedded he picked up his opponent and flipped himself around to slam him into the floor with full force.

The train buckled. Having been struck at a weak point, exactly in the middle, the force caused either end to shoot off of the track. Effectively, it folded in on itself, two halves flying towards each other to crush the middle point. An ear splitting screech could be heard as the last wheel left the track. Suddenly, and very briefly, they were airborne. 

Ulfric dashed forward and grabbed his brother's arm. With a foot on the side of the train, he leapt away and towards the grass below. With a mighty swing, he hauled Ingram's body over his shoulder. Whatever injury he would sustain from the fall would be infinitely preferable to what would happen if he remained on the train. Ulfric braced; at the side of the train track was a hill into a meadow, so he ground his boots against it to move into a slide and eventually tumble down.

Ingram rolled and held still, his face bloody and his shirt torn and beaten. Ulfric grabbed him and propped him up on his knee. Even though he hated it, Ulfric knew he was of no use in this battle, so he'd focus his attention on protecting Ingram. In terms of actually fighting the battle, it would have to be left to the likes of the all powerful Lance and…

"Julie?" Ulfric managed. The girl set a hand on his shoulder and walked past without a word. Her usual robes were ripped at the shoulder and around the stomach area, the skin underneath bleeding but with healing magic active around it. Moved her staff to one hand and undid a button to loosen her clothes. Likely, she didn't want to be too encumbered in a close quarters fight.

"Take care of Ingram," she said. "I'm gonna kill this guy."

Ulfric tried to stand and stop her, but realized he'd ruined his legs on the landing. "You can't fight an elf! Are you crazy!?"

"That old man can't take this on his own. That hit from earlier put him off. If he dies, we'll all die."

"Julie…" Ulfric turned his head down. He could do nothing but watch from a distance. Ingram's body began glowing green as she walked away, expending even more of her energy to heal him. He wondered how Ingram would've felt had he been able to see his lover marching off into danger for his sake. He'd be pissed; he'd probably still be pissed finding out later.

Julie. Please survive.

There was more than meets the eye to Juliette Springer. A second grade mage, sure, but that wasn't the whole truth. Unlike Ingram, during her time at Lancaster, she believed she was ready for the first grade exam, but was unable to take it due to scholarly duties and a generally busy schedule. Even at that level, she'd be utterly outclassed by the mages in front of her, but it at least improved her chances. She unleashed her mana as she walked, her steps leaving massive dents in the ground that expanded even past her footprints.

The melee had continued even as Ulfric was escaping the train. Now Lance and Uta had moved into the middle of the meadow. Their blows had meant that all of the plants in the vicinity had been utterly annihilated, leaving them to battle in a perfectly trimmed circle of grass. A grunt could be heard through the occasional clash and clang, and eventually lance was put on the defensive, falling to a knee. His sword had grown increasingly broken, and had snapped clean in half after the most recent block; it had been designed with sharpness in mind rather than durability.

Lance's head was pounding after he'd been slammed into the floor, and most of his internal organs were damaged. He wondered how he'd been caught off guard by such a simple defense. It had been ages since he was injured in such a fashion, so it really brought back memories. His master flashed before his eyes, and all of the lessons he'd been taught; blood leaked from his lips as his eyes went glossy. Unlike some of the other final grades, Lance didn't have anything like self heal, dedicating most of his time to studying the sword arts. Though he was quite stubborn, at that moment he cursed himself for not bothering to learn it. It didn't matter, for even if Lance himself was moving at a fraction of his usual speed, it was still enough to overwhelm the opponent.

"Master Shinzo… Ugh. How do you do it? I'm already too old for this," he murmured to himself, cursing his old joints.

"Head up, old man," Julie set a hand on his shoulder, and he began to heal. "I don't know who you are, but you seem strong. Let's take this guy out."

Lance chuckled. "You ought to get out of here while you can, lass. You won't last."

"I won't leave."

"Alright then. At least keep up." Lance pushed off of the grass and launched toward the demon that was laying in wait, sword poised to strike over his shoulder. With his head healed and his body back to full fighting power, he likely didn't need the help of Julie. Even though he'd told her to keep up, it seemed like she couldn't, so she backed away and provided ranged support.

Uta attempted to block the incoming strike by hardening his arm with all of the mana he could muster, but Lance at full power was able to slice through it easily. His arm was minced into a million tiny pieces of elf meat, exploding into a shower of blood that allowed Lance to pass his guard and go for the throat. Without getting a lucky attack at the beginning of the transformation, it seemed even transformed Uta didn't stand much of a chance against Lance.

The blade passed through his throat before he could regenerate the sliced arm. Having half of a sword was no impediment to Lance; after all, if it was still just as sharp it didn't matter much. He put all of his strength to one side and dragged the blade out of the side of Uta's throat, leaving half of his neck open and bleeding; it created a small opening in the black shadow armor that had begun to envelop him. On that note, Lance noticed that the beast in Uta's body seemed to be quite simple minded, as in it always focused on healing itself rather than attacking. This created a sizable opening, assuming it would take about three seconds to fully heal the neck, with the arm already finished.

A miscalculation. Healing the neck only took about half a second since it was much less surface area than the arm. Lance already had his sword at the ready though, so he'd make it in time to attack. A plume of flame that spread over the enemy's side only served to improve the situation, acting as a temporary distraction. Julie had been hurling a small army of miniature fireballs from the tip of her staff from the sidelines. This was exactly the scenario she'd hoped for in doing such a thing, an opening just big enough to end it. Lance smiled. For once in his life, he wouldn't beat around the bush or play with his food.

"Draw strike: meat mincer," Lance spat. His sword was already out of the sheath. To outside eyes, the following series of attacks appeared as nothing more than flashes of white lines; it was the sword reflecting the light, but moving so fast that the light itself was all that remained. The shadow armor dispersed into a million tiny bits, but managed to heal the real body one last time before disappearing. Uta fell onto his knees, his eyes bloodshot and his brain shaken back to life.

"No. It can't be!" he started.

Julie slammed her staff into the ground and brought chains of rock up to restrain his arms.

"Practice versus talent," Lance said, stepping forward while giving a respectful nod to Julie. "You could tie my hands behind my back and blind me. You could give yourself a thousand more years. You could give yourself a thousand more attempts. I'd still win."

"Stop. Please!"

"Do you know why that is?"

"Stop!"

"It's because I'm better than you. Trash."

In a single move, Lance lopped the elf's head off.