Only I Am The Strongest

Eruption

"What is that?" Alaric asked.

Kieran pushed his broken body off the melted stone. The painful sensation of his own body repairing itself was agonizing, his fractured ribs snapped back into proper alignment. Torn tendons knitted themselves together under his bruised skin. He did not bleed but his body radiated so much heat that the puddles surrounding him on the marble boiled into steam.

No scales or claws manifested on his flesh, but an invisible weight descended upon the grand hall. Alaric noticed it, the mages noticed it, they couldn't believe their eyes

Kieran looked up. The radiant gold in his eyes shifted. The bright color darkened into a violent, bloodshot red. The ancient rage of a betrayed bloodline eclipsed his mind.

"You talk too much." Kieran spoke.

His voice carried a dual resonance. It sounded like two separate beings speaking at the same time. The deep vibration rattled the glass in the ornate chandeliers above them.

Alaric took a step backward. The sneer vanished from his face. Genuine bewilderment replaced his arrogance. "You dare speak to a lord in that tone?"

"Vayne raised a coward." Kieran growled, refusing to use the royal honorific. He stared past the drawn steel of the bodyguards and locked his burning eyes on the noble.

Alaric flushed red. His hands trembled on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The public insult to his family name broke his composure. "I am a pureblood knight. I will have your tongue severed and fed to the hounds for uttering my father's name."

"You preach about pure bloodlines while you hide behind paid mercenaries." Kieran took a slow, step forward. "You hide in a fortress while the poor bleed out in the outer ash wastes fighting your wars. Your magic is a pathetic parlor trick meant for festivals. Your sword is an expensive decoration. The entire nobility is a collection of weak, bloated parasites feeding on the marrow of the dying."

The registration clerk whimpered. The small man scrambled underneath his and covered his ears.

"You filthy animal." Alaric gripped his weapon, though his knuckles were white with tension. "I will mount your head on a pike."

"I am going to snap your neck." Kieran pointed a finger at Alaric. "I will leave your corpse right here on the floor for the street dogs you cherish so much."

Kieran lunged.

He exploded forward with a speed that defied every limit of a normal human body.

Alaric let out a pathetic gasp. The highborn noble stumbled backward in a panic and raised his bare arms to shield his face, completely forgetting his combat training.

His two guards reacted instantly. They stepped in front of their master , they drew their longswords and crossed the blades, forming a metal wall to intercept the incoming strike.

"Kieran."

A sharp voice cut through the killing intent.

An older man stepped past the drawn weapons. He ignored the blades and reached out grabbing Kieran by the fingers.

It was Garry Owen.

The court physician possessed no royal title. He wore simple grey robes that lacked any noble crest or magical runes. His common status made him a frequent target for mockery, but he was the only official in the entire Citadel who treated Kieran like a human being. When the opulent city healers turned Kieran away to die of swamp fever, Garry traded medical bandages and bitter tonics for manual labor. Kieran chopped his firewood and ran his supply errands to survive the brutal winters. Garry was the only anchor he had in a city built on cruelty.

The familiar touch of Garry's hand broke the bloodline trance he was in.

The violent red receded from Kieran's eyes as the suffocating pressure vanished from the hall in an instant. Cool air rushed back into the room.

Kieran blinked.

He looked at his raised fist. He realized he stood mere inches away from punching through a wall of sharpened blades and tearing a noble apart. His body began to tremble as the supernatural adrenaline drained away. A wave of intense nausea hit his stomach.

“What have I done?” he whispered to himself. 

He had just tried to kill a noble and he had no memory of it

He quickly lowered his hand and stepped back. He knew Garry would shield him from the fallout of his action

Garry turned his back on Kieran and faced the crowd.

"Sheathe those blades." Garry scolded the two guards. "If you draw a royal blade on an unarmed citizen in this hall again, I will personally ensure the army commander reassigns you to the border swamps."

The guards hesitated. They looked at Alaric for guidance, but the noble was still catching his breath. They slowly lowered their weapons and returned them to their scabbards.

Garry looked up at the curved balcony. "Lord Aris. You call yourself a high mage."

The old man in the purple silk robes stopped sipping his wine.

"You stand up there drinking ale while boys are beaten to death in your own foyer." Garry projected his voice so every noble in the room could hear. "I will make sure the King will hear about your profound love for situational comedies."

The high mage clicked his tongue in annoyance. He turned his back on the hall and stepped away into the halls, refusing to engage with a commoner.

Garry marched to the registration desk. He slapped his open palm against the wood. The sharp crack made the clerk flinch beneath the desk.

"Get up." Garry commanded.

The clerk peeked out from underneath the frame. His face was pale and slick with sweat.

Register the boy." Garry pointed at the scattered silver coins resting near the melted stone. "Pack the coins yourself and write his name in the ledger."

"Yes, Master Owen." The clerk scrambled back into his chair. His hands shook as he fumbled with his ink quill. He hastily scribbled Kieran Drakeshade onto the parchment line.

Garry gestured toward the grand iron gates. "Walk with me, Kieran. We are leaving this miserable room."

They turned toward the exit. A silver breastplate blocked their path.

Alaric stepped in front of them. The terrifying draconic aura was gone. With the pressure lifted from his shoulders, the noble quickly regained his arrogant composure. He needed to save face in front of the watching crowd. A familiar sneer returned to his mouth.

"A healer without a crest does not lecture a lord." Alaric spat the words. "You have no authority here. Your job is to wrap bandages, not command people."

"My job is to prevent death and casualties." Garry kept his voice perfectly calm and level. "Step aside, Alaric."

"I did not give you permission to leave." Alaric drew his own sword. The polished blade gleamed under the magical lights above. How dare you turn your back on me."

Garry narrowed his eyes. "Put the blade away before you hurt yourself."

"That street rat threatened the life of a highborn noble." Alaric pointed the tip of his blade directly at Kieran's chest. "He insulted House Vayne in front of the royal scribes. That is an act of treason."

Kieran tightened his fists. The fire in his chest flared back to life. The heat licked at the edges of his mind, begging to be unleashed.

‘Just one strike’. A dark thought whispered in his ear. ‘Break his jaw and take his sword.’

"You provoked me." Kieran defended.”You..."

"It does not matter what I did, you abused my father, a noble and threatened to kill me." Alaric took a step closer to close the distance. "Your name on that ledger means nothing to me. You will be taken to the deepest dungeons and You will be interrogated for unauthorized magic usage. Whatever trick you pulled there will not save you”

Kieran stepped in front of Garry, shielding the older physician from the drawn blade. "You are welcome to try and take me to the dungeon." His voice this time sounded distorted, like something else was taking over

Alaric smiled. It was a vicious, triumphant expression. He finally had the excuse he needed to erase the humiliation.

"Seize him." Alaric ordered his men.

The two guards raised their weapons and advanced.