Outsiders.

As the group crossed the village, exposed by the morning light, eyes of awe met them all around. Villagers praised, prayed, kneeled, and even offered themselves to them. The group moved, Lena at the forefront.

"Has it been like that the whole time?" Octan asked.

"Yeah," Yaqob answered. "That's why I stayed at the bar. Apparently, they are not allowed to enter if a visitor is entertaining the place... Or that's what the old man told me."

"Not allowed?" Octan asked.

"This place runs on a lot of rules, that's merely one of them," Yaqob raised a finger. "Another would be the one about night. No one's allowed to stay the night, the exceptions being the old man and kids."

"And if broken?"

"Punishment," Yaqob said.

"Punishment?" Octan raised a brow.

"Punishment," Yaqob affirmed.

"From his greatness, I would guess," Octan said.

"No actually, it's from The Creator."

Octan frowned, "The Creator?"

"Hey, don't ask me. I'm just regurgitating what I heard from the old man." Yaqob shrugged.

"By the way," Yaqob leaned in to Octan, having to slightly bow down to do so, he whispered. "What's the kid's name?"

"...Good question..." Octan mused.

"Hey..."

"I knew it... I'm pretty sure I did..."

"And?"

"Well... Forgot?"

"Cruel."

"You're not any better. I'm sure the client must've said it once at least before leaving, I don't see you expanding any effort to remember."

"You...!" Yaqob trailed off, "Are you actually going to make such a comparison?"

Octan didn't answer.

"I understand what you're going through, but even then. Not even remem--"

"Lena."

Yaqob swallowed his words.

"I just remembered," Octan said, eyes on the girl's swaying brown hair. "Though I do not know her family name."

Yaqob grinned, his teeth showing from within the bushy beard, and nudged Octan with his elbow.

Octan let the man celebrate his own mental victory.

"Hey, Lena," Yaqob said, matching her pace. "Can I ask you a question?"

Lena turned her head, facing the man but not stopping. She nodded.

"This man we are about to meet, Moro," Yaqob said, choosing his next words carefully. "Can you... describe him?"

"He was..." Lena said, falling deep in thought as she lowered her gaze. "A man, tall, he had hair. I think he had hands too..."

"Tall you say?" Yaqob pointed, finding the other descriptions meaningless.

"Yeah, like him." Lena pointed at a random villager kneeling down. "Tall."

Yaqob's eyes showcased disappointment, as they studied the average-sized man. Well, he is tall when compared to a child... Yaqob sighed.

"Any other descriptions?" Yaqob asked.

"Hmmm... Oh, no fingers. One of his hands didn't have any fingers."

"Yeah, that's what I mean," Yaqob said, urging the kid. "Any more unordinary features such as that."

"His eye," Lena said. "It was a tree."

"A tree..." Yaqob said, raising a hand to caress his beard. "Roots?"

Lena shrugged.

"Well, thank you, Lena." The man said, smiling.

In a manner to close the distance between them, he raised his palm to the kid.

Lena gazed at his palm, unable to understand the man's gesture.

The man raised a brow, then chuckled. "Don't worry about it," Yaqob said pulling back.

Lena returned her focus to the front.

"An interesting kid you got there."

"Not my kid."

"Sure acts like you."

"Here," Lena turned around to face the two.

She stood before a ruined house. Its walls but a breath away from falling, its 'windows' reaching up to the nonexistent roof. To even call this a house must have insulted any architect of the consortium. Though, it was to no surprise for any, as it stood its grounds the same as all the other 'houses'.

"Any opinions?" Yaqob asked. 

Octan kept silent.

"Understood."

Lena stepped in through the broken-down door, which offered no resistance to the sudden intruder, and turned the corner. The two followed, one attempting to exchange gazes and the other ignoring.

Turning the corner, They found Lena sitting on the ground, legs crossed. Before she was a table, and on its other side a villager. The one They would've guessed was named Moro.

The two frowned at the man, remembering the description Lena had given.

Yaqob was the first to speak, as the man kept staring in silent awe.

"What happened to your arm," Yaqob pointed. "Sir."

The man ignored the question and kept his singular eye in its state of awe. He sat, not much different from when Lena had seen him. Despite, an arm missing. If asked, Lena would point out that it was the one with the missing fingers.

"It was recently cut off," Octan said, frowning.

Yaqob turned to Octan.

"The bandages are still new, the bloodstain is still expanding, even if by a small margin. That wound is fresh. Fresh and untreated." Octan said, his frown growing intense.

"Sir, are you okay," Yaqob circled the table and crouched. "Talk to me, stop staring!" Taking hold of the man's shoulders, he almost shook him. 

The man continued to stare in awe, his lips slightly parted.

"He wasn't like that before," Lena said. "Not just his arm, but also him. He admired the client, but at least he talked." Lena added matter-of-factly.

Yaqob turned to Octan, who watched indifferently.

"Do something!" He called. "He has clearly lost himself, the blood loss is getting to his brain! Prove that that coat is not for show! Prove that what he taught--"

"It is none of my concern," Octan said, disrupting Yaqob. "We've already been through this. You may do as you wish, but I will not act."

"You, will you just let him die!" Yaqob jumped, attempting to move towards Octan.

His physique, finally showcased in a state of intensity, had made Lena flinch. The man was massive, as massive as a bear Lena had thought.

As he stepped forward, he stopped with the sound of light taps. Circling the table, the kid fell to her knees to the side of the bandaged shoulder.

The man turned his head, his lips still parted, and watched the kid make swift work of his wound. Whether it was awe or faint consciousness, no one knew.

"Kid, This is no place for curiosity," Yaqob said, the weight of a man's life hypocritically pushed on him.

Lena kept at it, ignoring the man.

"Kid!"

Lena continued.

"Le--..." Yaqob trailed off, as his eyes comprehended. The kid was not curiously working, but rather skillfully.

"You taught her?" Yaqob asked.

"To treat herself, nothing more. It was one less hassle to deal with," Octan said. Bringing himself to the ground, he sat his back to the aged wooden wall. 

As the client's well-being still weighed on his mind, he made sure to see this through. Not out of care for the child whom he taught, but rather for the man she treated. The kid was no fool, he had figured that as she followed him. To have always caught up with him, she had to be a step ahead. Not only that, but a quick learner, having picked up many skills along the way, she was an experienced looter and an amateurish First Aider. She understood the importance of the man, and wouldn't let him die. After all, only he and his wife knew the current location of the client, as they had sent their kid with.

He didn't want to treat the man, but the man had to be treated. So, he bet on the child, and the child showcased its usefulness.

He watched apathetically. Waiting for the moment to step in. But, it never came. The kid had worked with what she had perfectly, leaving him only with a sigh.

Lena ended the treatment with a pat on the man's shoulder, and then a nod. The man continued to stare, his lips still parted, his only eye losing its light.

"Let him rest," Octan said standing.

Lena nodded and then helped the man to his side.

"Good work," Yaqob said, crouching down to Lena Level. "It's nice knowing you at least didn't inherit the coldness of that guy." He said giving Octan a side glance.

Lena looked at the man, a blank expression as if a docile animal, and then hurried over to Octan, standing at his side.

"How attached is she..." Yaqob sighed, standing.

"Now we wait," Octan said.

"For who?" Yaqob asked,  still checking in on the man who's consciousness faded with time.

"The wife."

"How long?" Yaqob stood with a sigh of relief.

"Not long," Octan turned around.

"I see you've brought the other great visitors too, thank you, Lena." The woman gently smiled, tray in hand. The woman Lena knew as Lora. Octan and Yaqob made note of the fact that much different from all the other villages, she was healthy. They guessed that all women must've been as such, as up until now all they had met or been able to see were male villagers. 

"Not much of a reaction," Octan mused.

"I'm sorry for the unsightly appearance, my dear husband must be going through the trails." the woman said, stepping towards the table, and putting down the tray and its contents.

"Where are they?" Octan cut to the chase.

"Whom are you referring to, dear visitor?"

"The man, and your son. Where did you send them?"

"You do not have to hurry," The woman continued to smile gently, a warm tone betraying the world around her. "You too, will be called for by his greatness soon enough."

The woman strolled over, sitting on her legs as she raised both her palms over him.

Yaqob watched the man curiously.

"Your husband was already treated," He said, raising a brow.

"That treatment isn't enough dear visitor. We do not have the nourishment to supply a natural recovery." She said, closing her eyes to focus.

Mumbling, her hands closed in on each other.

"Is that-?!" Yaqob barked, attempting to move towards her.

The woman continued, her complete focus on her hands hovering over her husband. Only, her focus was disturbed as her hands were slapped away.

"What are you thinking?" The White-coated man questioned a hint of anger in his quiet voice. "Amateurish healing magic on an unconscious man? You will ruin him."

"But... Dear visitor... These are his greatness' orders--"

"To hell with these orders," Octan barked, quickly calming himself. "Someone tells you to torture your husband, and you do his bidding with no remorse? What about your child, will you leave him fatherless? That or a father that gabbles unintelligible speech all day." He faced her, his eyes weighing down on her. His tone, degrading. It was nothing Like what Lena had seen before.

"Dear visitor," The woman voiced, her words hesitant and her fear showcased in her whimpering calls. "I... I do not understand... Why are you angered...? Will I face punishment? Have I fallen short in the face of the creator...?" The woman whimpered, her hands covering her face.

"Punishment? Creator? What creator wishes pain on his creation?" Octan kept belittling the woman, closing in on her.

Only stopped by the mountain of a person taking hold of him.

"Calm down," Yaqob said, holding Octan in place. "We have both agreed that there is something wrong here. They are being misled. Do not blame the poor woman, she is only a victim."

"A victim she might be, but an accomplice she is." Octan snorted and continued his sudden fit.

"Octan, calm down. This isn't like you."

"Yaqob," Octan called. Breaking free of his hold, Octan faced him. "You do not see what I see. Look in there." Octan said, a finger pointing towards the contents atop the tray. "With that, maybe you too can finally see it."

Yaqob frowned, reaching a hand towards the particular pot that had been pointed at.

Lena watched, mesmerized by the sudden surge of emotions showcased by Octan. It was a sight she had never seen before.

Yaqob pulled on the lid, showcasing the contents within the pot.

"Is this... meat?" Yaqob voiced his tone in denial. "But... This is the null zone... It can't be, how..." He turned to Octan in search of answers.

"You've been through it, haven't you? Famine that is." Octan said his frown dissipating back into his usual bland look.

That doesn't answer anything," Yaqob said, bringing his hand to his mouth. He aggressively held onto his bushy beard, continuing to deny the pot before him.

"I understand your denial. But, you cannot live in ignorance forever, Yaqob. Just because you protect them, it doesn't mean they are flawless. Whether the people of this land, or yours. No one is complete." Octan said, glaring at the woman sobbing on the ground.

Yaqob took silent steps towards the woman. His air was somber, his steps were heavy, and his presence was overwhelming. Lena could sense the man's desperation, his desperation for purpose.

"Missus," Yaqob said, facing the sobbing woman. "Could you please tell me... How did you come by meat here?"

"A masquerade of fools," Octan mocked. "Will you continue to deny your own conclusions? Naive."

The woman continued to sob in fear. Her eyes were widely spread, her breath was quick and heavy as her chest continued to jump up and down, and her hands ran all over her face, from wiping sweat to snot. She was a complete mess.

Whatever this creator thing was, it had clearly terrified them. Lena thought.

"Missus," Yaqob placed a hand over her shoulder. "Please." A calming smile. One that faced the fear of the divine.

The woman calmed down.

"It was... from his greatness," she said sniffling. "He... He rewarded me for my trials... Just as my husband will once he foresees through his..."

Yaqob stood, his fist clenched.

"You understand, don't you? What these people are doing," Octan said, Looking down at the sniffling woman.

"Yes, but... It's not their fault," Yaqob said, continuing to face the woman.

The woman found herself conflicted. Was she blessed or cursed? Had the supposed creator forsaken her, or granted her? His great visitors stood before her, one with anger, the other with endearment... and a third with neutrality.

"You... you too are blinded by your ideals," Octan said disappointment expressed.

"No, Octan," Yaqob said, giving Octan a side glance. "You are the one who doesn't see. Rather, doesn't understand. You might see what I can't, you might know what I don't, but I've been through what you never will. Just think Octan, why would I put a stop to my hunt?"

Octan fell silent, deep thought occupying his head.

"It's not the first I've heard of this," Yaqob added. "This is no longer a detour, but part of my hunt."

Yaqob faced the woman once more, determination burning in his eyes. "Missus, if you would please. The creator has talked to me. Could you please tell me where his greatness is?"

The woman's conflict had been settled. At that moment, even if a lie, she had wanted to believe she was given the favor of her beloved creator. So, she complied. "It's just up the hill," The woman forced out. "Continue down the village, up the hill!"

"Thank you," Yaqob said, immediately moving.

"Whatever it was you were going to do," Octan remarked snarkily. "Do not. Leave the man as is, he will at least live until tomorrow."

He then too moved following Yaqob.

Lena gave the Woman one last glance and then followed.

"You sure know how to play the prophet," Octan said.

"This is no time your scuffs. These people... for how long had you noticed it?" Yaqob asked.

"Since the old bartender man. His flow had clearly showcased it. Not even monster consumption does such."

"And you kept silent?" Yaqob said. His gentleness long departed. He had seemed a much different person to whom he was on their first encounter. Lena felt a sense of fear as if her body screamed for her to back away. She couldn't see it, nor smell it, nor hear it, nor touch it, but she could sense it. The radiating malice that surrounded the man as he marched forward.

"I do not have to explain myself, do I?" Octan said.

Yaqob eyed the disinterested man with scorn and then continued forward.

Crossing the withering villages, similar people had met them along the way. All praising and kneeling to them. With each one Yaqob's malice grew. Eventually, they made it up the hill, having long lost sight of the ruined homes and their occupants, a manor had come to view. No, it was a simple home. One much like the outside. One that was complete. It stood, its walls well built, its windows glassed, its roof protective, and its door reassuring.

Anywhere else, this would fit right in, nothing more than a simple, humble abode. But here, in the land of nothing, it was a castle.

Yaqob moved, throwing the surprisingly unlocked door open. 

Octan followed silently, his follower behind him.

As they stepped in, a woman welcomed them.

"Ah, great visitors?" The woman smiled gently, hand over her swollen stomach. "I'm humbled to be given the pleasure to lay sight on you."

"You... are you?" Yaqob said, his rage calming down, instead, confusion replaced it.

"Hmmm, this is weird though...?" The woman said cocking her head. "I do not believe his greatness has asked for you yet?"

The woman put a hand to her back and stood up. Her swollen stomach coming at full display.

The woman was healthy, other than sprouts growing out of one of her fingers, she was as healthy as a person could get. 

"You... you're pregnant?" Yaqob stopped his march.

"Oh, this?" The woman asked, her hand caressing her bulging belly. "I'm expecting soon." She smiled.

"Octan... What is this?" Yaqob turned, asking the all-knowing man behind him.

Octan nodded towards the woman, not even attempting to frown. It was clear to Yaqob, that Octan had completely retreated from this situation, he had deemed all things concerning these people no longer worthy of his curiosity.

"Yes... I'm expecting two..." The woman said, her eyes gently lowered. Yaqob faced her, a sense of dread climbing up his spine. "It's going to be..."

As the woman mouthed her final words, he understood the hell that he had stood within.

"...Quite the feast."

Yaqob blinked. His denial was no longer an option.

"It seems you accept it, now?" Octan said.

Yaqob ignored Octan, Ignored the woman who gently caressed her womb as she ogled it with gluttony, and faced the child. Wishing for a single normal person, hoping for a person to understand and share the hell he found himself in.

But, the child gazed back, replicating the indifference of his "friend".

"Damn it..." Yaqob Cursed. "Both this world and you, my friend. Damn them all." 

Octan didn't humor the man, not even with a chuckle.

"Please, wait a moment, I will go and see his greatness. I'm sure he will greet you with utmost importance." The woman said hand on her back as she climbed the stairs.

"Octan, why are you so silent," Yaqob said. "I understand your way of thinking. I understand your goals, but don't you have a reason here? What about your client? Why are you so silent?!" Yaqob begged for a shred of humanity in the expressionless man.

Octan shook his head. "I was late." He said, staring at the stairs. A new pair of footsteps resounded over them. Getting closer rather than further, a kid showcased himself. Carrying what seemed like a basket, the kid skipped down, joy expressed in every step.

"I have no longer a connection to this place," Octan said, eyeing the kid's basket. "But I will witness this through, I wish to see until when your failed masquerade will continue."

As the kids jumped the final step, he hurried over to Yaqob.

"Are you also a great visitor?!" He said fully raising his head to meet the man's eyes.

"Kid," Yaqob said, hesitant. "What is in that basket?"

"Hmm?" The kid hummed in joy, lowering his gaze to it. "Oh, this?" the kid grinned. "It's the great visitor's gift!"

"Can I please... take a peak?" Yaqob crouched down, laying out a hand.

"Of course!" The innocent child smiled, his ridden teeth showcased.

Yaqob extended his hand, raising one side of the basket's top. Within it a bloodied cloth concealed the supposed 'gift.' Yaqob pulled on the cloth, allowing him but a peak. As he laid eyes on the 'gift', the 'gift', eyed him back.

"Hol--" Yaqob said, jumping backward.

Octan sighed. "There goes my retirement." he joked.

"What is it, great visitor?" The kid voiced innocent concern in his eyes. "Is someth-- Hey!"

Yaqob quickly got hold of himself and took the basket away from the child. Spinning around, he threw it out the open door.

"Hey, great visitor!" The kid shouted. "W-what are you doing! This is for mom and dad!" The kid begged.

Yaqob stepped outside, ignoring the kid. And, with a piercing gaze, burned down the basket.

Lena gazed at the now cackling basket. It's fire burning bright at the house's front door. It reminded Lena of a campfire.

"No! NO! Why! Why, great visitor! Why?!" The child cried, beating at Yaqob's Leg. Barely a fraction of his size, the kid repeatedly tapped his fist at the man.

Yaqob watched the fire in silence, his hands clenched.

Octan watched from the inside, awaiting the climax.

Lena watched, finding tranquility in its crackling.

"Now we won't eat! Now we can't jump! We can't run!" The boy continued to cry, unable to continue his barrage, his energy betraying him. "Now my dad can't work, Now my mom can't be blessed!"

The kid cried, his vocal cords at their limits, he screeched. "Now I can't be happy! Why, great visitor?! Why?!"

As the kid begged for his already lost gift, the three stood in silence, admiring the fire.

"Taking away a child's gift," A voice suddenly broke the silence. "That is behavior unacceptable of our great visitors."

Lena turned, facing the new voice. A man stood, clothed in pure white garb. A healthy male, no sprouts to be seen on him. He seemed, normal. And that was abnormal.

"I'm guessing you are not a visitor?" Octan said to the man.

"No," The man said, his tone calm. As if a sage, the man radiated a certain wisdom in his speech. "I'm but a humble apostle."

The man spoke, and to his side was the pregnant woman, strolling over back to the seat she had occupied when they had first arrived. 

"An apostle," Yaqob turned, leaving the kid to the ground, watching as his great gift burnt down to ashes. "An apostle of what?"

"Our creator," The man said, a welcoming smile on his face.

"This creator, did he order this? Did he tell you to make these people eat each other? To feast on their kin. To gorge at their neighbors and kind?"

The apostle simply stood, smiling, gentleness portraying a sense of madness. Insanity curtained by wisdom. The man stood, his role played without a doubt in his soul.

"You were given a chance. To live once more. To redeem yourself. Yet, look at this. Look at this child, Look at the woman to your side." Yaqob stepped forward, The apostle too moved towards him. Octan gestured Lena over and got away. He had long declared this not his fight, so he stood aside. "Is this your view of perfection? Is this your idea of utopia? Is this what you had wished for as your life came to an end?"

"My beliefs are of no importance," The Apostel said. "I'm but a vessel. To the creator."

The man stepped down, leaving his manor of a humble home. The man was averagely built, not too bulky, nor too thin. Well-groomed black hair that we down to his ears, and white teeth that complimented his welcoming smile. Dressed in nothing but white robes, the man stepped down barefoot.

A flame to his back, Yaqob stood glaring at the self-declared apostle. An oversized black trenchcoat ran down to his dark armored boots. His hands, exposed beyond the trenchcoat's long-running sleeves, were clad in dark gauntlets. His long worn-out dark hair down to his shoulders, his beard outgrown and thick. His silhouette, highlighted by the lighting of the flame behind him, was closer to that of an ogre rather than a human. 

Yaqob stepped, closing what distance was left between him and the white-garbed man.

A moment of calm, it had remained Lena of something she had once heard before.

A calm before the storm.

Breaking the tranquility, zipping through the air, a jet of water pierces the silence.

With a grunt, Yaqob immediately raises his hand to his face, shielding his head.

Pushed back by the sudden impact, he falls to the ground.

"Hmm... Now this is quite unexpected, I've never had to go beyond this step."

"Such power," Yaqob grunted.  "Such force. Damn it." He cursed. "You really are unredeemable. Unworthy of another chance."

Another jet. Then another, each pushing Yaqob further and further back.

"Now this is a problem... I never expected such," The apostle said.

Yaqob stood, bringing his hands down. "Is this all your creator can procure? This pathetic excuse of condensed water?"

The apostle smiled. No, he grinned. "Our, creator. Has not forsaken me, dear visitor. As I said, this is merely a step."

The apostle raised an arm, for the first time showcasing his skin from within his white robes.

Yaqob immediately rushed in. 

At the last moment, he leaped forward in an attempt to tackle the man, only to run face-first into a rock wall. The man had raised himself.

He looked down from above, scornfully eyeing Yaqob.

Yaqob clicked his tongue and followed, stopping halfway, he launched himself upwards with a gust of wind at his feet, but once again he fell short, as the man had already dropped off.

"Let us see how far you are willing to follow me," The man said, smiling as he kept getting away from the man's grasp but a strand of hair away each time. As if a cat, he maneuvered himself swiftly and with diligence.

Yaqob continued mindless, a goal in mind perhaps, but to onlookers nothing more than a raging bull.

Once they had lost sight of the two men, Octan moved, moved in their direction, towards the fog. Lena followed.

"Now, Here. Much further than needed, but you can never be sure. I wouldn't wish to hurt my dear followers." The apostle said, dropping down a good distance from Yaqob.

Yaqob silently put a hand over the other and then removed its gauntlet.

"What would you be doing there?" The apostle said.

Placing the gauntlet within his trenchcoat, he removed the other.

The apostle attempted to take the man by surprise, but his attempt was wasted as Yaqob swiftly moved to the side.

"One trick will only take you so far," The apostle shrugged.

Both hands exposed, Yaqob brought them to his face and blew.

Cold breath escaped his mouth.

Lena wondered if it was a trick played by the fog, but a second blow confirmed her suspicion.

"It's his 'gift'," Octan monologued to Lena. "Unlike us, outsiders aren't allowed the creative freedom of mana. They are given 'gifts', certain usages and limitations they can play around with."

Yaqob continued to blow. With each, the cold breath's cloud grew thicker and larger.

Lena, standing quite the distance from the showdown between the two, shivered. Not out of fear, nor out of a mental sense. But rather, a primal reaction. She felt cold. She could feel her hair strands stand. her fingers shake and her teeth chatter.

Even if negligently, their reactions to the sudden coldness were real.

"Gifts are much different from normal magic," Octan continued. "They are a representation of an outsider's will. Of his determination and ideals. To the lengths he will go to, and to the limits he will cross, to stand before his goal."

"Do you feel it, kid?" Octan shivered, The Cold affecting even him. "This is Yaqob's gift. A man who wanders alone, wishing for everything, yet living with nothing. All for us, for people. Personally, I do not believe humanity is worthy of him. But, he holds a different opinion."

Lena watched the man, his hands brought to his face, he continued to blow.

"Is this your trick?" The apostle said. "Is this what you've had your hopes up for?"

Finally, Yaqob let his hands down.

Then he kneeled. To the ground, bringing his hands to it.

The apostle, getting sick of the cold, procured a ball of fire. "I have a woman to attend to, let's put an end to this."

The ball grew large, then miniature, then expanded again, then once again condensed down.

Bringing it to the palm of his hand, the man crushed the ball of flame with his fist and rushed. He closed the distance in swift movements, the cold breeze of air must've tackled him, but he kept his pursuit in a wish of a quick end.

Then, coming to a completely sudden stop before the kneeling Yaqob, he swung his hand, scattering a kind of dust. Quickly jumping backward, he pushed himself further back in the air using wind, then continued moving backward using earth.

A loud sound, then a burst of light replaced the man's dust. The dust exploded, many impacts following another, each of a considerable shockwave.

It had balanced out the cold.

"Well, that's that," The apostle said, turning to face Octan. "I'm hoping you won't be as much of an issue to deal with."

Octan ignored the man, staring at the cloud of dust.

"That so..." The apostle turned to face the dissipating dark cloud. "...This power of mine is from his holiness, someone as heretic as him would never surviv---... I see."

As the cloud showcased its inner, a stone dome stood.

"Forgive me," The man said to turn towards the wall, "I will have to get back to you later."

The white-robed man leaned forward, his steps hastening. Moving in the cold air, he finds himself unwillingly shivering.

Jumping to the side, his march is stopped. Once again, another. As if circling the dome he kept jumping to the side. 

"Persistent," The man clicked his tongue. From within the dome, piercing its own guard, water jets shot out towards the man constantly. Less concentrated into a power shot, and more in a barrage onslaught.

As he circled the dome, He made sure to even if slightly close the distance.

As he found himself close enough, he turned, his back to the dome, and then shot towards it. A gust of wind threw him backward. Turning his body slightly, another gust of wind allowed him to quickly turn and face the dome. Rushing towards it, he scoped a piece of the ground and clenched his fist.

Before he could land his planned hit, the dome cracked, giving him a hint to back away, though his momentum was too quick to stop now. Grunting, the robed man used all his built power to smash his fist into the ground instead, raising a wall rock in between himself and the dome, serving as both protection and a stopping point for him. Facing the wall, he used the boost of wind to slow himself down with the wall.

Then, using the wall as footing, he jumped into the air, arching backward with a flip.

The wall, having served its purpose as a stopping point and support, served its other purpose protecting the robed man from the dome's outburst.

Before the man could react, barely landing on his legs, through the remains of the robed man's protection, A mountain came rushing.

His speed was completely inhuman, the man seemed as if flying forward.  Closing the distance in what seemed like the blink of an eye, he pulled back a fist in preparation to launch an attack. Yaqob buffed out his chest, pulled his arm, Kicked against the ground right before The landing robes came to a sudden stop, and swung his arm as intensely as he could. Grunting as if to push himself over the limit.

As his fist rushed forward, zooming through the freezing air, it sent whiplashes of air flying. Air was much too strong and condensed, the result of the man's overwhelming mana leak, only occurring due to the mana he had forced in his fist. Yes, his rock-coated fists. Pushing all his being into that very point, he had pushed even more, even if it meant an unnecessary loss.

As his fist met the man's chest, a loud crash, followed by an air shockwave dealing with the remnant energy, and finally an ear wrecking blast raided the air as the man launched backward as if a concentrated jet of water.

"Tsk." Yaqob clicked his tongue, looking at his rock-coated fist. He eyed it, doubt in his eyes. Something felt wrong about his hit, while it had landed, he was sure it hadn't landed as expected. He thwarted the rock away, allowing himself a view of the flesh and skin of his fist. He opened his palm and clenched it again. His eyes were determined. The information needed to fend off an outsider was just gained, his next pursuit will be the end.

In the further distance, crashing and leaving his mark on the ground, the man stood, his silhouette hazy within the fog.

"He lost," Octan said. "With that, all he did was give himself a few more seconds."

"C-C-Curse you!" The apostle rushed forward, no sign of his previous dignified self, his gracefulness, his serenity. His robes were torn, exposing his skin, his chest, heavily bruised, had malformed, and his proudly-groomed hair had lost its stately manner. "Curse you! Curse you! Curse you!" The apostle kicked off the ground, swinging his leg at Yaqob.

Yaqob caught it midair, and then breathed in.

"Ugh!" The man grunted, kicking him with the other.

Yaqob focused on blowing on the man's leg, accepting the kick. With an impact straight to the head, he had involuntarily let go of the man's ankle. While he had accepted it, he couldn't have prepared himself for it, the man's force was simply too unexpected for his size.

The man arched backward, intensity whelming in his eye.

"CUR---!" As he attempted to cry, he fell, his foot betraying him. "Wha---?!?!" He looked down, his supposed leg had... shattered.

"How does it feel?" Yaqob said, walking forward. "To lose a limb, to have a functionality you took for granted, taken."

"Be damned! Monster!" The desperate man cried. He lowered his torso, looking down at the ground, and then launched upwards. Though his attempt at either an escape, or attack, was come to a halt, as instead, but a mere moment in the air, he was launched back towards the ground.

Yaqob has closed the distance and smashed down on the man's back.

"We gifted are stripped of our tools... No, we never had them to begin with. Instead, we were given gifts. Limitations. And one of our limits, Is the use of wind burst in one of our 6 sides." Yaqob said. He pulled back a leg and then swung kicking the aching man launching him forward as if a pebble. "Back then, with the amount of force, I had put in, with the amount of mana I had piled into it, it was much too weak. Much less destructive. The very fact that you could stand afterwards was as simple and confirming, as a fact could get. So, a natural conclusion had come." Yaqob crouched down, meeting the man eye to eye.

"Your wind burst was at your front," Yaqob said, Grabbing the man by his torn collar, and raising him.  "You had attempted to pull backward at the last moment, but you were only to avoid so much of the impact. Let's see you absorb this."

Yaqob clenched his right fist, as his left hand kept the man in place. The man stared, fear, the fear of death. A man who had already met death once faced it again. He understood the nothingness that followed, the end that met your fainting consciousness. He shook and shivered. 

It was cold, extremely so. His leg, no longer there, ached. His limbs weakened as his body betrayed its fear. His eyes begged their sensitivity a slave to the cold. His face grew red, unable to bear the chilling breeze.

His executioner held him, his cold breath aching The man's bruised chest.

Yaqob swung the man the man, throwing him to the side. Crashing as he slid through the ground, the man put up no resistance. Putting down his fist, Yaqob found no meaning in executing the man as is. First, he needed to confirm something.

"Pathetic," He scorned, moving towards the man lying down, his back to the ground. "You will not die so soon, Not this fast. You will suffer. Just as you had made these people eat themselves."

"Was I too small to dream?" The man spoke, forcing his words. "Was I too insignificant to believe I held meaning?"

Yaqob looked at the man. He allowed him his final words, as he did members of the consortium. After all, they were all outsiders.

"I believed in him," The bruised man said. "I spent every penny I had, every moment I could give, every day I was left with, and every once of myself to the cause. To be granted by the creator."

Yaqob stood over the man, inhaling. Allowing the air to warm.

"Bedridden from birth... Parents dead from before I could remember. A sister who begrudgingly took care of me. I had nothing but those white walls around me. My situation only worsened, and I was painstakingly reminded and assured of it. Not once did an adult tell me I would make it, and not once did my sister lie to me about the future. They had all wished for me to meet my eventual end..." The man stopped, swallowing his words, and then reluctantly continuing.

"...Except for him... The creator's apostle. I didn't know how he had heard of my situation, how he had made it into my room. But, as he sat next to my bed, holding my frail hand... I was grateful. He spoke to me about a bright tomorrow, a bright future, and even a bright afterlife. A creator who only wished us love and happiness. A creator who would've eased our suffering, A creator who would've helped me past my sickness.

"So I accepted. I prayed. Day, night, morning, and evening. I followed his rituals, I forced my weak self to. After all, I would get better later on, right?" The man chuckled. "Of course not. I sold everything, even my sister, to that man. Submissively answering all of his questions, and inquiries. She had stopped even her minimal superficial visits.

"Ahh... To this day I wonder, just what had he done to her. Was it trafficking, a sick ritual? No, that man was completely delusional... He and his followers completely believed in the message he pushed. In the creator he displayed. They must've killed her for heresy, I would guess."

"So you did know," Yaqob told the worn-out man. "You didn't believe in his words. So, why? Why answer to him, why play the fool?"

"Because I was one. I denied my own mind, my own sense. I wanted to get away from that world, I no longer wished for those concrete walls to surround me. I no longer wished for that excuse of a family. I just wanted to leave."

"But, of course. I was never granted anything. And, once deemed a failure to the cult leader, as he realized that his 'creator', was not going to cure me. He pushed me away, scared of his followers finding the truth. I still remember it... my death. It was late at night, I lay cursing the man who had abandoned me. I wasn't left with much, as I was sure I had lost my sister as well. That night, yes, that night... It was a full moon."

"Did you... kill yourself?"

"Oh, no, not at all. If I had the courage to, I would have done so long ago," The man chuckled, coughing as he did. "A nurse walked in, announcing herself as a follower, and that this was a deed from the dear 'creator'. To put me out of my misery, and to send me to him. And then, pillow in hand, I suffocated in pure darkness, my prayers meant nothing."

Yaqob kept silent.

"Then, to think I would wake up again... My body was functional, my heart's beating no longer running in my ears, my limbs jumping and running. I started to believe, to believe in that creator. So, I invited people. I called for the creator and asked people to convert, to accept his grace. I was a complete and utter fool. To believe in such a brutal world I would be given the right to. And of course, On my very next day... I was hunted. Chased, Pursued, Tracked. Not for a moment was I allowed to live. I ran, through woods, forests, and caves. A blinded fool.

"So, I cursed myself, my foolishness. I cursed the world which had dangled life in front of me, and then took it away." The man clenched his fist. "So, I followed his example. I was no longer going to accept people in but force them. even if it meant I would become a monster. A creature worse cursing for eternity."

Yaqob, having allowed the fog to return to its lukewarmness, put on his gauntlets.

"I was not going back to this state, I was no longer going to die hopeless." The man, still lying, braced himself. "I was no longer going to allow the world to do its bidding."

Suddenly, as the man relaxed down, he was launched upwards.

Yaqob jumped back, eyes of doubt. 

"How?! Did you just launch yourself using your back?! You... Just..."

The man cackled, shot up in the air, he continued to cackle maniacally. "Yes... It is far too early... For me to give up, for this body to give out... Yes... It is much too early..." The man bent forward, facing Yaqob from above.

"You... To be gifted a second gust... does your selfishness know no end?" Yaqob asked.

"This is it, fellow outsider! This is what I've always wanted! This is life! Exhausting everything, pushing my body and it answering! Right now, you can not believe how ecstatic I am!" The man continued to cackle.

He sent a hand downwards, slapping the thigh of the missing foot. In its stead, a prosthetic appeared, that of rock.

"Rock control..." Yaqob jumped backward. "As an outsider? You must've settled then."

"Yes! Yes, I have! I have found myself! I have understood my desires!"

"Then, may you die in peace, fellow outsider." Yaqob prepared himself, coming to a stance.

The man rushed downwards, using his newfound gust as a convenient boost instead of his constant turning.

He first crashed down, sending the earth around him flying. Then quickly, flipped attempting to make a quick back-kick. Yaqob retaliated with his hand, Placing it where he had anticipated the kick to land, but, in its stead, another came right to his open neck. 

The man cackled. He had used the heart the maneuver his entire body, and freely use his other, prosthetic, leg instead.

Yaqob grunted, taking the brunt of the hit, and then slammed down with his free arm. Having hit the ground, he understood the man had swiftly moved away.

"What will you do, outsider?! If you do kill me, what then?!" The man asked, having made a significant distance. "Will you deny them their way of living? Their beliefs? Their god?! And then, what? Let them die?!" 

The man rushed in, no sign of his sanity left. He was moving, as if a pure animal. Running and jumping, he was supported by a never-ending amount of platforms.

Yaqob kept silent, his eyes tracking the wild beast.

With a crash, he had raised his hand once more to block an attack. But, it was of a much greater force than he had expected. The man had suddenly laid hands on a great hammer. One that was conjured by rock.

"What will you do, huh outsider?! They can no longer join normal society, they can no longer live in what they believe is normal! They are sick, slowly eating themselves out, even mana will give up on them one day!"

The man rushed in from above, Jumping as he put his entire weight into the hammer.

Yaqob raised both hands, one in anticipation to receive the hammer, the other in preparation to attack. As the hand came into contact with the open palm, he immediately clenched his fist crushing the crashing boulder. Then, swinging his arm in anticipation of its wielder, he had hit the air instead.

Cackling, the man once more continued to showcase the freedom he was in. The ground he controlled so seamlessly.

"Why do you fight, outsider?! What is your ideal, what is your peace?! What is your conviction?! What is the fuel for your gift?!" The man cackled, running in, this time two daggers in hand.

"These people, They have no place else to go, outsider! Will you really accept the blood of both me and an entire village of women and kids?!" The man said, bouncing between his multiple platforms. 

"Do not speak as if you've known me," Yaqob said. As the man finally closed in the distance, he slashed forward, attempting to slice Yaqob's chest, then, just right when the stone-dagger was about to land, he spun around his victim and went for his back.

Only... The back he went for, had been the front.

His dagger, too late to put a stop to, instead attempted to slash into Yaqob's gauntlets, failing to do so. As the moment it made contact, it scattered, shattering.

"I have killed many before," Yaqob said, looking down at the man, his face stern. He used his other hand to hold the man by the neck, and then quickly raised him.

"He caught him by surprise," Octan monologued to the child beside him. "His sense of power, His belief in his newfound strength. All it took was one showcase of the scales tipping, and the man would hesitate."

"And that was what Yaqob did," Octan nodded. "Now, in that state. He is powerless, stripped of air, his brain can no longer function. He can no longer issue commands to his gift. The winner has been decided."  Octan strolled over, taking it at his pace.

Lena followed.

"Men, women, even children. If you can name them, I have killed them. Both for, and against my ideals. But, that was life. That was what it meant to live for me." Yaqob glanced up at the man, Tearing the cloth off of his long-sleeved trenchcoat, he clawed and scratched at Yaqob's arm. "But... I'm not like you. I had long abandoned my faults. My selfishness. This life I was given, was not for me, but for them. For all of the people of this world."

Yaqob tightened his grip. "I will not repeat my mistakes, nor ours. The mistake of our world, I will make sure to not allow it to step into here. To exist in the land of desires. Such mercilessness, such savagery, even in this world where all is left to their own, a beauty can be found. I will not allow our kind to soil it, not you, nor The Consortium Of Engineers."

Yaqob eyed the man, gurgling for air and clawing at his arm. His glare was dark, the circles beneath his eyes highlighted.

"I will not rest, I will not sleep, and I will not die. Not until every single outsider had beaten me to it."