Geo Barros

Slater’s hand rubbed across his cheek, red from a recent bruise.

“No matter what I try, I can’t seem to beat him.” He sulked into the chain link fence behind him.

“I’m sure there’s something you’re better than Elio at.” The girl sitting with her back to his, separated by the fence, handed him a pack of ice through an opening in the fence it fit through. “Here.”

Slater reached out to the side, grabbing the ice pack, recoiling a moment from the cold surface, then putting it up to his bruised cheek. He let out a sigh. Being only ten years old, Slater didn’t have much to do. So, most of his time ended up devoted to trying to one-up his brother Elio, however, no matter what Slater tried, he couldn’t beat Elio. Currently, the two had become entrenched in physical fighting, which always left Slater beaten up at the end, and too stubborn to move onto something else.

“He’s too good with his fists, I can’t beat him no matter what I switch to, Cora. I’d be too behind.”

The boy heard rustling behind him. Knowing what was coming, he shifted his head to the side with gritted teeth as Cora’s dark fist plunged where his head had been moments before.

“Whoa! Be careful you almost hit me!” He cried out in panic.

“That’s the idea! You need to stop being so mopey and actually try to do something about your problem, idiot.” Cora pulled back her fist, lecturing Slater with a harsh tone to her voice. “Go find your big sis and get her to teach you something! I hereby forbid you from coming back to the fence until you start learning something to beat Elio!” The girl began spouting declarations to make her sound more important. She had found through past experience that those tend to work on Slater.

“Fine, fine! I’ll go ask Lillian! Just no more punching!” Slater scrambled to his feet, putting distance between himself and the silver fence. “See you later, Cora.” He turned away, putting his hands in his pockets. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of the girl giving a slow wave goodbye. His walk home began, as he passed through the same old streets of the Lower Level. People kept brushing past him in the crowded afternoon streets, but all his mind could focus on was what he was missing. Was there something he was looking for he just couldn’t find? It was at that moment he left the crowd, entering a familiar alleyway which always led back home. Not long after he entered, he felt a touch on his shoulder. That was new.

“Hey, kid, could you point me to—“ The man who had placed his hand on Slater paused abruptly. He turned away, quickly shuffled to a nearby trash can, and let out a loud, disgusting belch as olive green vomit poured out of his mouth. Not long after, he made his way back to Slater. “Sorry about that, I had to take a call.”

“You clearly just puked!”

“Kids and their imaginations…” The man looked off, clearly trying to shrug off what Slater just witnessed.

He was about to call out his lies again, but Slater instead took notice of the man’s unusual clothing. He wore an olive green shirt, not dissimilar to his vomit he just released, without sleeves, that emphasized the man’s chiseled physique. Overall, the color combined with a smell Slater only knew from the nearby bars coming off of him didn’t do him any favors. His shirt was tucked in to gray sweatpants, which seemed counterintuitive to Slater, but what did he know about fashion? He wore blank sandals on his feet, but what was most noticeable was his head, and what was behind it. The man had a young face, looking only freshly inducted into his twenties. His hair didn’t fall over his sun-tanned face, only stopping at his eyebrows. It was an unnatural metallic gray, as if he started every morning by rubbing ash into his roots. Dangling from his right ear was a silver earring that seemed to be a random indistinct bauble you could find anywhere. Most notably, though, was the object poking out from behind his back. A large silver bar of iron was strapped to him, which was the only thing Slater himself pointed out.

“The heck is that thing?” His finger pointed at the strange metal object.

“Oh, this?” He put a hand on a cylindrical portion of the object, pulling it out of the container on his back. He revealed a glimpse of what was hidden inside, but quickly let go and slipped it back in. “Probably not the best idea to show a kid a sword in the middle of an alley…”

“A sword?” Slater asked.

The man showed an interested expression. “Oh, right, sword-fighting is kind of dying out as an art, isn’t it? Everyone with their new-fangled cores…” Putting his hand back on his blade, he drew out the intricately-designed silver broadsword. “This is my Terra Espada. It’s my prized possession, and I’ve bested many opponents with it!” He shone with pride at showing off his child, completely ignoring his previous concerns over doing so.

“Opponents? So, you fight with it?” Slater analyzed the weapon before him.

“Yep, me and my students are pretty good at it too.” He seemed to beam with pride, but Slater hung onto the words he used.

“Can you teach me then?” He innocently asked.

“Huh? What would you need to wield a sword for?” The man looked at Slater with unfettered confusion.

“I… have someone I need to beat, no matter what. I can’t beat him with my fists.” He clenched them, then grabbed onto the man’s shirt from below. “Please! I need to learn something only I can do!”

Reading the desperation in his eyes, the man returned from the recoil Slater’s grab had caused him, and gave him a pat on the head.

“Tell you what, if you tell me how to get to the Middle Level from here, I’ll meet you back here same time tomorrow. If you show, then I’ll teach you what you need to know.” He stood back up, putting his hands in his pockets and giving a reassuring smile.

Slater, in response, had stars in his eyes. Giving the man the directions he needed, he pointed him the way to the fence he frequented so often. The man turned to leave, giving a wave goodbye to the boy.

“Oh, by the way, the name’s Geo Barros. I hope you remember it. Obrigado!” The man spoke in a language unfamiliar to Slater, but even he could tell it was a thanks.

The next day, Slater returned to the spot he had met Geo, where the man had returned as well. Slater noticed a clear difference in the man’s attitude, and a newly gained scar slashed down his cheek. Weeks passed as Geo taught Slater all the basics of his swordplay until Geo disappeared one day, all for Slater to prepare for one fateful day…

But it was then that Slater’s mind returned to the present.

“I can’t kill you until you learn exactly how meaningless you are.” Axel let loose a horizontal slash directly at Slater’s chest, that he dodged backwards to avoid.

“The heck are you talking about?” Slater launched an overhead cut of his own, which sliced through the air and only made contact with the concrete below.

“I don’t know what side of Geo Barros you knew, but to me, he was a cruel and militant instructor who pushed me until I threw up blood. Out of the three candidates chosen to learn from him under the government’s watch, I was the only one who made it to the end of the program, despite being the youngest. I am supposed to be the only one carrying his sword. But I saw you, I saw your swordplay. His swordplay.” Axel clenched his empty fist, as a ribbon of blood extended from his blade and went behind his back, connecting like a cable into his fist. Another identical blade of blood spurted from the enclosed hand. Axel lowered his center of gravity, brandishing his blades. “I cannot rest until I see you give up your sword.”

“Isn’t that a bit petty? Just because we were taught by the same guy?” Slater looked unimpressed, but more than anything, supremely annoyed.

“If you truly don’t understand, then prove to me you deserve to exist!” Axel lunged forward, bring one sword down from overhead and one from the side.

Slater’s blade arced over his own head, deflecting first the strike from the side, then catching the one from above. Their blades fell into a gridlock, bring their faces close enough for Slater to throw out a taunt.

“Screw that! I have reinforcements downstairs, I’ll just call them and—“

“That isn’t an option.”

In time with his response, a flash of orange light came from every window on the first floor of the small building. The smell of smoke and flame penetrated into his nose.

“What did you do?!” Slater let out a desperate cry of anger.

“I have friends of my own. This way, we won’t be interrupted.” Axel’s mouth curved into a smirk, kicking Slater back and swinging his blades to send projectiles of razorblade blood at his off guard adversary.

With the oncoming flurry of attacks, Slater analyzed them in his head. They’re just slashes frozen in time being sent forward. Blades without masters. He ran through memories of being instructed in the damp alleyways. Each slash was one he’d experienced from his master before. He knew how to take down each one. He saw himself taking down each one. Now he just had to accomplish it.

When Slater had trained with Lupus the past few days, he had told him the visual nature of controlling his blade. Because of that, he had spent all of their time training focusing not just on his visualization skills, but how he could use those skills on his own body.

Slater’s body spun, replicating each image in his head as he parried each slash, only leaving inert puddles of blood covering the rooftop. His body landed, the picture of a perfect athlete who had just set a new record.

“Fine, have it your way.” Slater pointed his sword at the Wendigo across from him. “I’ll fight you alone, and once I prove to you my ‘existence,’ I’ll be going to help out my friends.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but you won’t be leaving this rooftop.” Clenching his fists around his solidified blood, Axel planted his feet, bringing his swords up to guard his body. “Come at me, Slater Ferruccio. Show me the full force of your sword.”