Beneath the broken sky

Laws of power

His control over magical energy was good, crude by my standards, but good nonetheless. The towering brute had spent far too long preparing his attack, gathering his energy like a storm that never quite arrived. When he finally lunged, his massive fist split the air with a thunderous swing meant to crush my bone and pride.

Hyperion sidestepped with effortless precision, his movements calm, measured, and dismissive. With a flick of his wrist, a beam of condensed light burst forth, striking the man square in the face. The impact flung him backward, his body crashing against the ground with a dull thud.

“Look,” Hyperion said, his tone sharp. “Even though your gutter mouth has soiled my mood this evening, I’m still willing to let you walk out of this largely unscathed. I promise, you do not want me to start taking you seriously.”

The brute spat a mix of blood and saliva onto the dirt, glaring up at Hyperion with eyes blazing. “You little shit. You think a lucky shot makes you something? Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

With a snap of his fingers, the eleven men behind him surged forward like hounds released from a leash.

The first to reach Hyperion was a burly man with thinning blonde hair, swinging a large metal hatchet in a deadly downward arc. Rion swerved aside, planting his foot on the weapon’s handle as it struck the ground. The hatchet buried itself deep into the earth.

Before the axeman could recover, a sharp jet of water sliced through the air, aimed at Hyperion. He twisted, the torrent missing him by inches, then retaliated with a burst of blinding light that struck the water mage square in the eyes. The man screamed, clutching his face, his magic collapsing into harmless mist.

Hyperion turned back to the blonde axeman and drove a lightning fast punch to his gut. The air escaped the man’s lungs in a single pained gasp before a follow-up kick to the side of his head sent him into unconsciousness.

The next assailant, a heavyset man wielding a wooden club, roared as he charged. Hyperion slipped under the clumsy swing, seized the weapon, and smashed it into the man’s spine. A guttural cry escaped him as his body fell limp.

The weapon cracked in Hyperion’s grip, its edges splintered and dull, but a pulse of magic reinvigorated it. The club shimmered faintly, before Rion shattered it over the skull of another charging foe , one he thought to be strong enough to take the blow.

From another attacker’s belt, Rion caught hold of a coiled rope, and in a fluid motion, flung it around the neck of a scrawny young man who had been trying to circle behind him. The rope tightened, and the boy gasped, but before Rion could decide whether to spare him, a sword flashed.

One of the more reckless men had swung blindly, his blade cleaving through the boy Hyperion held as a shield. The boy’s body went limp. Rion tossed the corpse toward the swordsman, leapt onto his shoulders, and twisted sharply. A loud crack echoed through the alley as the man collapsed, lifeless, before Rion’s boots even touched the ground.

Landing lightly, Rion spun and struck another foe with a dropkick that sent him sprawling.

He exhaled slowly, brushing a bit of dust from his trousers. “Look,” he said, his tone now cold and warning. “I think my display should’ve affirmed to you all that I’m not to be messed with. None of you remaining here have offended me yet. Take your comrades and leave before I withdraw my offer.”

There was no hesitation this time. One by one, the survivors scrambled to gather the fallen. They carried the axeman, the club-bearer, and the blinded mage, retreating quickly into the shadows. The body of the scrawny boy, however, was left behind. He had never truly been one of them.

Hyperion turned to the only man left standing, their leader.

“Guess you still want a go,” Hyperion muttered.

The leader smirked, unfazed by the devastation around him. “Those men were never here to help me deal with you,” he said coolly. “Their job was to keep the girl from interfering. She doesn’t seem to be joining in, so my plan hasn’t changed.”

Ida, standing at a cautious distance, scowled but didn’t move.

Hyperion sighed, a trace of annoyance flickering across his face. “You still don’t realize how deep in trouble you are.”

“Silence, brat!” the man barked, his confidence growing desperate.

He drew upon the earth beneath them, pulling stone into a swirling mass that encased his body in thick, jagged armor. The ground trembled with each step as he advanced, fists like boulders ready to crush.

Before he could reach Hyperion, the young huntsman vanished from his sight, reappearing behind him in a blur. A magically reinforced punch struck the armored man square in the back, the impact propelling him toward a wall. He managed to steady himself just before impact, turning back with a furious growl that echoed within his rocky shell.

He lunged again, throwing a colossal punch. Hyperion ducked, swept his legs from under him, then caught him midair by the face and slammed him into the ground. The pavement cracked beneath the force.

Hyperion crouched over him, eyes calm but voice growing colder.

“Not many things make me angry,” he said, delivering a heavy punch. The man groaned, his stone armor splintering.

“Usually, I don’t care enough about annoyances that aren’t my business.” Another punch. The ground shuddered.

“But you,” punch, “have one of the most irritating faces I’ve ever seen.”

“—one of the most grating personalities I’ve ever encountered.” Another blow drew blood.

“—and you’ve done one of the most annoying things anyone could ever do to me.”

By the sixth punch, the man’s armor had crumbled entirely. His face swollen and bleeding, his breath a ragged whisper.

Hyperion rose, dusting off his hands as though bored. “I’d pity your life,” he said dryly. “Living without teeth makes you more pathetic than I imagined. But you can always get new ones.”

He raised his hand. The air thickened with energy. The magical pressure became suffocating, enough to make the man’s hair stand and his skin break into goosebumps. Tears streamed from his eyes unbidden.

“You won’t live long enough to see that pathetic future,” Hyperion finished.

A flash of light, thin, searing. Beams of superheated energy lanced through the man’s body. When the light faded, silence claimed the alley.

Behind him, Ida finally spoke. “Are you just going to leave him like that? I thought you didn’t want any trouble in Iadica.”

Rion pointed casually toward a small device attached to a streetlight. “Don’t worry. The enforcers’ cameras caught everything. Nobody here knows me yet, or hates me. so it’ll be ruled as self-defense. Plus, high-ranked huntsmen like us get leniency. At worst, they’ll file it and forget it.”

He glanced down at the smoldering corpse. “The smell of burnt human flesh is nauseating. Let’s go.”

They walked through the dim streets until they reached an inn nearby. The lobby was warm, the air thick with the scent of old wood and candle wax. Behind the counter sat a kindly middle-aged woman who greeted them with a tired smile.

“Can we get two rooms? Preferably close to each other,” Hyperion asked.

The innkeeper sighed. “I’m afraid not. Nearly all rooms are taken. The huntsman examinations have drawn quite the crowd.”

Hyperion muttered a curse under his breath. Those idiots made us late.

“We’ll take the next best thing,” he said finally.

The woman hesitated, then smiled faintly. “There’s one room left, two separate beds.”

“We’ll take it!” Ida replied before Rion could speak, looping her arm around his and grinning broadly.

They climbed the stairs together. Hyperion glanced at her, unimpressed. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?” she asked innocently.

“You’re being unnecessarily close,” he said, prying her arm away.

“Oh?” she teased. “Are you saying we aren’t close?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered. “Just stop giving people the illusion that we’re closer than we are.”

They reached the room; modest, but comfortable. Two beds stood opposite each other, with three small couches and a low wooden table between them. A dripping faucet echoed faintly from the kitchenette.

“You can take a bath first,” Hyperion said.

Ida gave him a wicked smile. “Are you suggesting I bathe in the same room as a man? How scandalous of you, Rion.”

“I don’t care if you bathe or not,” he replied flatly. “It was a suggestion. And there’s nothing there I haven’t seen before.”

Her face turned red. “How dare you compare seeing me as a child to now! I have far more to hide!”

“Hide away then,” he said, unbothered. “You’ve got forty minutes before I go in, and I won’t come out anytime soon.”

“Fine, fine,” she huffed, raising her hands in surrender. “But be a gentleman, will you? Go to the kitchen and cook something while I bathe.”

Hyperion scoffed. “Do you think food just magically appears in the room?”

She smirked. “You could always make some with that light magic of yours.”

He rolled his eyes and headed for the door. “I’m buying supplies.”

As he stepped into the hall, Ida’s laughter trailed after him, light and teasing