Ezra Echelon Liberation System

Chapter 8: The Conquerors Spawn

Ezra watched, unmoving, from behind the shadows of a broken wall as Mira was dragged away. Her sobs were lost in the hard laughter and scratching of boots on stone. His face was expressionless, but a slight awry smile crept onto his lips. He turned and began walking back toward his room, slowly.

Upon Lorrin's sentence, a low hum filled Ezra's head, and in front of his eyes was the system's virtual screen that popped up a countdown on the corner.

 

Breathing in, Ezra gazed intensely at the digits; this is when it dawned upon him just how critical that particular moment was. Then it halted at zero and, suddenly, onscreen pulsed:

 

Mission Updated: Liberation Begins.

 

Inside, the small quarters welcomed him with their usual emptiness: the thin mat in the corner, the cracked wooden floor, and the silence he had grown so used to over the years. Ezra lay down without a word, staring blankly at the ceiling. For the first time in years, he came to sleep easily, his mind finally clear of its fogginess.

 

Morning light broke through the cracks in the walls—pale, cold. Ezra opened his eyes, and before he knew it, his system interface showed right in front of him, sharp and clear.

 

Main Mission: Timed Escape

Objective: Leave the grounds of Serpent Fang Sect within 24 hours.

 

Side Mission: The First Step of Vengeance

Objective: Kill Lorrin the Traitor.

 

Ezra sat up. The name—Lorrin—had brought no anger, but a cold, steady resolve. He went about the morning routine with purpose across his face. At the end, he stepped into the small bathroom, allowing icy water to run down his back. 

 

Ezra crouched on the floor when he came back into the room and ran his hand over the wooden boards. His fingers found a faint crack, and with a soft creak, the floor lifted to reveal what he had hidden long ago. He pulled out a long katana, its blade polished and sharp, and a bundle of black cloth.

 

Ezra peered into the shard of cracked glass propped against the wall: a sharp lean face stared back. It was the first time in years he'd felt like himself.

 

Outside, the execution grounds were filled with people. The restless crowd buzzed in excitement as it gathered to witness the death of another person about to be executed. At the center, the execution platform loomed like a dark monument, the wood stained from years of punishment. Mira was kneeling at the edge, her hands bound with her head hanging low. The executioner stood beside her; his axe gleamed under the morning sun.

 

A man stepped forward, holding a scroll and listing Mira's crimes. "Mira, daughter of Nemiah, is found guilty of conspiring with the Poison Ivy organization. Her crimes are as follows: the murder of our brothers, treason against the Serpent Fang Sect, and—

 

His voice became a murmur from afar. Ezra had worked his way silently among the crowd, the black robe serving as camouflage within the sea of watchers, his attention went unnoticed as they were all focused on Mira and the executioners.

 

"Proceed," Lorrin's voice was called.

 

The air seemed to freeze for a heartbeat. Then, like some shadow dropped from the sky, Ezra moved.

 

Ezra leaped from the ground onto the scaffold in a single leap that scattered the black robe wide as he landed, making the wooden boards shudder beneath his feet. In this, there was a stunned intake of breath from one single entity that was a mob. Ezra's katana was already out; its blade shone like ice under the sun.

 

The executioner, still with his axe in the air, had frozen, eyes wide in disbelieving shock. And before he could even get a word out, Ezra moved: one step, a clean arc of his blade. The executioner's body stiffened and then crumpled to the ground, his axe slipping from his grasp. Blood splattered across the wood, pooling at Ezra's feet.

 

For a second, the whole world seemed to come to a standstill. All eyes were now affixed on the black-robed figure; rumbling murmur rose across the entire ground. Mira did not move, only stared up in dumb shock, shaking from robed hands down. Ezra knelt beside her and swiped at the ropes in one motion; he had his katana, which was still covered with drips.

 

Stay behind me," he said, and though his voice was low, the calm confidence within seemed to give Mira a straw to cling to.

 

The silence exploded with the clatter of soldiers hurrying toward the platform with unsheathed swords and shouting. Ezra stood up and, without an urgent pace, started forward to meet them.

 

The first soldier plunged, his blade aimed at Ezra's chest. Ezra sidestepped an unnatural quickness, swinging his katana through the man's side in a single motion. The soldier did not utter a sound, falling to the ground.

Another charged him from behind; Ezra pivoted on his heel as fluid as water, striking low and slicing through this soldier's legs. The man fell screaming.

 

More soldiers swarmed the platform, some faltering at the sight of bodies falling around Ezra, but their orders drove them forward. Ezra's katana was a blur: it swung, slashed, struck with deadly precision. His movements were graceful but brutal, every step deliberate, every strike final. Soldiers fell one after another, their weapons clattering to the floor, their screams mingling with the crowd's gasps and cries.

 

Ezra's blade whistled through the air as he blocked a downward strike, disarmed his opponent, and drove his katana into the man's chest in one fluid motion. Another soldier came at him with a spear, but Ezra spun to the side, letting the weapon skim harmlessly past him. He grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it, and brought the pommel of his katana crashing into his jaw. The soldier collapsed, unconscious.

 

The platform was a mess of bodies and blood, but Ezra remained unscathed. His robe billowed with his motions, dark and unbroken, a shadow drinking the light in. The crowd, which had roared only moments before, was now silent. It was the fear spreading through them that made them finally realize the truth—this was not a normal man.

 

Above, Master Lorrin watched in growing incredulity. His face turned pale as he watched soldiers—his soldiers—fall one after another to the man whom he had termed trash. This could not be.

 

Ezra stood in the middle of the platform, his katana dripping blood on the wood. He slowly raised his free hand into the air, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade.

 

"MASTER LORRIN!" The name cut across the yard, drawing all attention to him. There was something heavy about Ezra's voice that it held even the soldiers still.

 

"For crimes perpetrated against the Echelon Sect, against my family!! I call you out for Trial by Combat!"