Unleashed Fury

"You'll regret this, you little freak!" Milo hissed, his voice trembling. "My father won't let this go!"

Pyrrhus sneered. "Don't worry, Milo," he purred, his eyes glowing with a dangerous light. "I'm very good at apologies."

He lunged, a whirlwind of fury. Finn, the closest, received a fist to the gut that doubled him over, a wheezing gasp escaping his lips. Erik, his eyes wide with terror, tried to dodge, but Pyrrhus's foot connected with his knee, a sickening crack echoing through the clearing. The boy crumpled, clutching his leg, his screams a symphony of agony.

Milo, paralyzed with fear, raised his hands in a futile attempt at defense. Pyrrhus's fist connected with his jaw, a sickening crunch of bone and flesh. It sent the bully sprawling to the ground, a tooth skittering across the dirt.

But the fury didn't subside. It grew, a monstrous thing fueled by the memories of loss. He lost his family once. He wasn't going to let anyone take his family from him ever again.

The burn mark on his shoulder, flared to life, a searing reminder of the family he had lost.

His eyes, once molten gold, now burned with an eerie crimson light. The air around him crackled with raw power.

Jonathan and Cora, witnessing this terrifying transformation, looked horrified. Even Bram, the stoic warrior, looked concerned as he watched the scene unfold.

Cora, unable to bear it any longer, rushed forward, her small hands reaching for Pyrrhus. "Stop!" she cried, her voice a desperate plea, raw with emotion. "That's enough! They're hurt!"

Her words fell on deaf ears. Pyrrhus, consumed by his rage, continued his onslaught, each blow echoing with the force of a blacksmith's hammer.

Cora's voice rose above the din of the fight, her tone desperate yet laced with a new, steely determination. "Pyrrhus, please!" she sobbed, tears blurring her vision. "You're scaring me!"

But her words failed to penetrate the wall of fury that surrounded Pyrrhus. Desperate, she gathered all her mana, channeling it into a single, powerful blast of water. It struck Pyrrhus with the force of a tidal wave, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling across the clearing.

The impact jolted him back to his senses, the rage momentarily extinguished. He lay there, dazed and disoriented, his ears ringing with the sound of the water crashing against the ground.

His eyes, no longer glowing, met Cora's. They were a clear, cerulean blue, filled with a mix of fear and anger.

"You..." he began, his voice barely a whisper, a tremor of shame replacing the rage.

"They're hurt," Cora said, her voice shaking. "And you're scaring me."

Pyrrhus looked at the fallen boys, their bodies broken and bleeding. Guilt gnawed at his gut. He had crossed a line, let his anger consume him.

"I..." he started, but Cora cut him off.

"Stay here," she commanded, her voice surprisingly firm. "Promise me you won't do anything else."

Pyrrhus gulped, the taste of regret thick in his mouth. "I promise," he croaked, his voice barely audible.

Cora, reassured, turned and ran towards Jonathan's tent. Pyrrhus watched her go, a wave of shame washing over him. He had lost control, let his emotions get the better of him. He had become the very thing he despised.

He surveyed the scene of his destruction, the broken bodies and the shattered pride. Disapproval, disappointment, disgust—he could see it in the eyes of his parents, his elders, his friends. Would Anya still love him? Would Jonathan continue to teach him? Would Bram still trust him?

He didn't regret defending his family, but perhaps he could have done it differently. He had been an adult once, a seasoned firefighter who had learned to control his emotions in the face of danger. He had to be better than this, for his new family, for himself.

The clatter of hooves broke his reverie. The riders, Kael's soldiers, clad in dented armor, drew their blades with a metallic shriek that pierced the tense air.

Pyrrhus, stood panting, the enchanted needle, still clutched in his tiny fist, pulsed with a menacing hum.

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the ragged breathing of the wounded and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

"Take him and leave," Pyrrhus warned, his voice gaining strength with each word. The enchanted needle, no longer spinning, pulsed with a warning hum, a silent threat that hung heavy in the air.

The soldier hesitated, his gaze flicking to the needle. He didn't fancy fighting an unknown mage even if it was a child. Especially after he took care of Kael unscathed. "Step away from him," he finally said, his voice gruff.

Pyrrhus complied, stepping back as the soldiers cautiously approached.

"We'll be back," the soldier finally said, his voice a low growl. "This isn't over."

With that, he scooped up the unconscious Kael and hoisted him onto his mount. The other soldier, casting one last wary glance at Pyrrhus, followed suit. They spurred their steeds into a gallop, disappearing into the distance.

Pyrrhus watched them go, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. He stumbled, his legs trembling, and collapsed onto the soft grass.

In the distance, Bram watched the retreating figures, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Do they think they're getting out of here alive?" he growled, his voice a low rumble.

"Let them go," Jonathan's voice, calm and measured, cut through the tension.

Bram turned, his eyes filled with disbelief. "Have you gone mad?" he snarled. "We are on the run because you decided to show Vestin mercy. You're making the same mistake again!"

Jonathan looked at the young boy in the distance, his expression unreadable. "You're right," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "It was my failure that caused this situation. But my mistake wasn't forgiving Vestin. It was not teaching him well."

He turned back to Bram, his eyes filled with a newfound resolve. "I will not make the same mistake again. We have to lead by example, and killing the soldiers is not a good example."

Bram scoffed, his anger barely contained. "Don't worry," he muttered. "They won't know anything happened, let alone see anything."

He turned to leave, but a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him. He stumbled, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady himself against a nearby tree.

Jonathan, his eyes glowing with an eerie light, stood behind him, a black tendril snaking from his fingertips and wrapping around Bram's arm.

Bram felt his strength draining, his body growing weaker with each passing second. He turned to face Jonathan, his eyes filled with rage. "Have you gone insane?" he roared. "What do you think you're doing?"

Jonathan merely stared back at him, his expression calm and serene.

Bram struggled, his muscles straining against the invisible force that held him captive. But the more he fought, the weaker he became. He could feel his mana reserves dwindling, his control over his own body slipping away.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan whispered, his hand tightening on his walking stick. "But I cannot let you go through with this."

Bram, his anger giving way to resignation, slumped against the tree, his body now completely drained of energy. He watched as the riders disappeared into the distance, their forms fading.

When the last trace of the riders vanished, Jonathan released him, the black tendrils receding like shadows retreating at dawn. Bram glared at his old friend, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

"The next time you do this," he growled, his voice low and menacing, "we will be enemies. Remember that."

He turned and walked away, leaving Jonathan alone with his thoughts. The old mage sighed, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders.

*****

A/N: More rifts and conflicts. Maybe I should write about one big and happy family next time?

But this story is already set so enjoy the conflict