This was just getting better and better. I gave Rami-Xayon the weapon, and she held it in both of her hands and closed her eyes. The still air of the vault suddenly howled and swirled as a powerful gust of wind appeared out of nowhere and tore through the space. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and the air was calm again. Rami-Xayon handed me back the kusarigama, and the moment my hand touched it, I knew it was different.
“What can it do now?” I asked.
“Before, only the Death magic in the chain section was active, while the Wind magic in the blade section was dormant. Now, the Wind magic is active again, and you can shoot out minor tornados with the blade end, and use them to pick up and throw your enemies.”
“I like the sound of that, and I have just the little worm to test it on.”
We all turned and stared at Shymmin, who was cowering and whimpering.
“No, Lord Chauzec, please, please don’t, please,” he pleaded.
“I bet the girls my uncle sacrificed pleaded for their lives too, before he and his oblates slit their throats and drained them of their blood,” I said coldly. “And you knew all about it. Did you really think I’d let you get away with that?”
I grabbed him by one of his ears, twisting it so sharply that he gasped with pain, and dragged him out of the vaults. Now that I had the key, I had no further use for this evil schemer, and he was about to get what had been coming to him for a long time. I marched him up the stairs and through the castle until we got to a window that overlooked all of Brakith.
“Stand by the window, asshole,” I said.
“No, Lord Chauzec, please, please,” he whined.
“You can either stand by the window and accept your fate like a man, or I can have you tortured to death over a period of days, motherfucker. Days. Your choice.”
Shymmin, weeping pathetically, nodded and shuffled over to the window. He understood now that there was no way out of this. A dark, wet stain spread across his crotch, and his hands started to tremble violently.
I aimed the blade end of the kusarigama at him and felt a new magic building in the black metal, like immense pressure just begging to be released, so I released it.
A howling, madly spinning tornado the size of a man shot out of the blade. I realized I could control it, and I aimed it at Shymmin. It rocketed through the air toward him and slammed into him with the force of a stone golem’s fist. It caught and gripped the screaming little man like a fist of air and hurled him through the huge window as broken glass shattered and cascaded around him. I directed the tornado, with the shrieking Shymmin inside, up through the air, carrying him higher and higher, until he was way up in the clouds, directly above the tall, sharp spire of Brakith’s Cathedral of Light.
Then, I released him.
Shymmin fell screaming through the air, plummeting earthward ever faster, and the people of Brakith pointed up and gasped as they saw him falling from the sky.
With a sickening, wet splat, he hit the spire. The point impaled him and cut his fall abruptly short. His body jerked once, then went limp, his blood running down the spire and dripping out of the drain pipes of the cathedral.
“Justice has finally returned to Brakith,” I said as I sheathed the weapon, “and my uncle’s reign of terror is over. I’ve finally taken back what is rightfully mine, but this is only the beginning.”
A much fiercer battle was yet to be fought, and a far larger war was coming, but I was ready.
I was ready.
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About the Author
Dante King is an author of Men’s Adventure fiction in various flavors. His books involve strong male protagonists who know what they want and do what’s required to get it.
You can connect with him at DanteKingAuthor.com
