Shadow of the Abyss

"Are you refusing me?" She pressed, returning her gaze to Altair. She stood impressed. "Or are you telling me you can't handle a child?'

"I—"

"Well, if he isn't one of yours. You have no right stopping me." She added. "Syris, attack."

At the words of her Master, Syris lunged ahead, snagging a G-Weapon from the hands of a transfixed Awaker with such ease that before the Young Awaker could figure out what occurred, Syris had already charged away at such a speed, her small frame seemed like a snow mirage.

She struck. Her blade aimed at Altair's temple.

However, the momt Syris had tered, the whirled wind conjured by Altair's blade, his eyes slid to the anomaly. And the G-Weapon moved accordingly. He parried her blow, his body instinctually controlling the inhuman force of strgth Syris held that took him off his feet.

Altair glided through the air like a leaf, landing as if nothing had occurred. "What is the meaning of this?!" He asked calmly.

"You blocked that, eh?" She muttered, the thusiasm beath the mask audible. "Syris of the Cloud desires a dual!"

The external frown tarnishing his striking features deeped as the light numbness within his fingers faded; she was powerful, no doubt, and quick. But Altair, in that one blow, felt merely raw strgth. There was no skill in her attack, no form of swordsmanship.

'Could it be she was overcome by the nature of the surprise of attack and forgot to use real swordsmanship?' he swiftly thought and said: "Is that how you issue a challge?"

Syris shrugged. She tossed her blade up, catching it in a reverse grip as though it were a dagger. She shamelessly grinned beath her mask. "Yup!"

Altair sneered. "Fine, I accept. Let us see how a barbaric ape such as yourself fights."

"Bastard!" She snapped and launched herself toward her foe. But so, too, did Altair, startling Syris, forcing her to suddly slow her speed, throwing her off balance. The Young Master smirked, releasing a volley of blows.

'I can't defeat her without going all out. That raw power is too deadly.' Altair thought, advancing as he pushed Syris back. Not willing to lose the initiative. Syris began to feel heavy power slowly building with each blow she faced.

Blow after blow whipped over their eyes in a freighting array of sword strokes that thundered like a hail storm.

Sweat quickly dotted her brow, and Syris could sse her mobility dropped to nothing. She grimaced; beath the volley of blows: 'I can't find any opings to get away. If only I had my dagger.'

She cast him a piercing stare, knowing she was trapped. His swordsmanship was better, and she knew it. She sighed, and at that momt, the air chilled.

And Altair was quick to sse the sudd drop in temperature and retreated in haste, not daring to show her his back.

"You're not a fighter, are you," Altair exclaimed, short of breath, his muscles expanding and contracting in a throbbing motion of agony. The fatigue from his earlier training building.

Syris nodded. " I train in it only for survivability, but it's not my specialty."

Unease tighted its hold a the Young Master the longer he stared, touched by the bitter cold beath the sun's glare.

"Reverd Mother, your grace, this is ough. Altair is not yet Awaked." He heard the Master of Swords say.

"Awaked. Words of you humans." She snorted. " Syris is but nine. Same as the boy. What particular issue is there? The boy's swordsmanship is highly advanced.

Is it fair that he can abuse his skill, but my Syris can't? It's a spar, not a sword match." The Reverd Mother warned, her gaze unmoving. "Or does this Altair has your favor? He has mine. A fine talt he is."

"Your grace," muttered the Master of Swords coldly. Unable to speak out less, he risks his head on the block.

"Watch, and let's see how this battle shall commce."

Altair calmed his breath and ignored the fatigued clawing at his subconsciousness. He moved, circling Syris. He'd remember his mother's warning: No matter who you fight, no matter what ability it is. You must never remain stationary. And while this rule isn't absolute. You must remember never to make yourself an easy target.

"Shall we d this?' Syris said, observing the boy's odd movemts. She whirled towards him, stabbing her sword from over t meters away at him. A wave of Azure flames blazed from the tip of her sword, piercing toward's Altair at a dangerous speed.

The young Master pivoted off his feet, flipping into the air. He landed on his feet with an excited smile feeling the icy blaze burning hotter than any flame. He began, dashing in a circle as he made his way toward her, as arcs of flames followed. He twisted like a nimble cat dodging and weaving at the aim of her sword, his uniform smoldering from the intse heat that carried a bitter cold.

He laughed, feeling his blood aflame, he easily covered the g to his target, and his sword whipped out in a slashing motion towards the carotid artery with the same fiery intsity of the Icy Flames of Syris.

The Young Mistress narrowed her eyes, clched her fist, and punched out. Suddly a flame dagger appeared in her hand, meeting Altair's blow. They clashed, releasing a shock wave that st the winds into a tempest.

"Impossible!" Many shouted, shak to their cores.

"That's better!" Altair roared, regarding the sudd increase in the intsity of her skill with excitemt. He flicked his wrist, ignoring the purpling of the joints a his body.

Syris snorted with a giant smile on her face. " I'll show you I, too, have a high-tier battle technique!" she shouted, her flame dagger flashing in vicious arcs of light similar to Altair's sword strokes.

The dings of metal clanking through the battlefield resounded, splintering the air and sding those looking into a state of horror. Unable to believe that two humans at such young ages were capable of such techniques. Doz watched, unable to ev imagine themselves this skilled.

'I knew he was strong,' the Head Knight muttered grimly beath his breath, 'But what the hell is his mother teaching him? Who the hell are you, Tebrae? And what the hell type of swordsmanship is that? Is his sword devouring the flames?'

"He's a first-class talt, ev on Gisis," The Reverd Mother noted indiffertly, betrayed by a thin veil smiled beath her mask.

And she thought: I might have to change some of my plans. Whomever trained this little monster is undoubtedly a monster themselves or a part of a powerful organization.

From a great distance away, within a small rustic home, Tebrae sat upon her settee, her lips arched, "Oh! My baby is so cute! All the kisses will go to you!" She sang to her feet, giggling away, whirling in circles, and looked up at the skies: "Don't worry, baby! Your Big Sis Luna will be coming to train you. Mommy can't be cruel to her baby. So I'll let her handle it." She nodded.

" Te is such a gius. Don't worry, Altair. Luna will make you into a monster rivaling the Heavs Rankers in no time. And your Master will make ev those of the Abyss bow before you." A dreamy fantasy flashed through the mind of Tebrae, lighting her obsidian eyes that seemed so deep no light could escape its depths. f