No Mask No Mercy

Time froze. At least, it sure did feel like it had. After living for over a thousand years, Vorden was not a stranger to the passage of time and all the different ways that life can make it speed up and slow down on a whim. Rather, that is to say one's emotional and mental state has a funny way of altering your perspective of the passing of time.

It was one of life's many truly heartbreakingly sad truths. Moments of joy and happiness are always fleeting. Seemingly gone too soon. Whereas the moments gripped by the icy cold hands of fear tend to drag on for an agonizingly long amount of time. It feels like fate itself has simply betrayed you and instead of letting things be chooses to delight in your drawn out torment.

Then there were the truly insidious moments in time. The very rare, very powerful situations that are so completely unexpected and harrowing, that time itself just seems to halt entirely. Then you remain stuck, trapped and frozen in the moment, unable to break free.

Even worse, sometimes your own traumatic experience leaves a scar on your soul, like a stain on your heart. You're damaged, to a degree that whatever it was broken inside of you will short circuit on occasion. Wires cross, synapses fire inappropriately. The various enzymes and hormones coursing through the fibers of your mind summon forth the memory for you to relive. Playing out all over again like a twisted time loop. In those gut wrenching times one can get lost in those memories, like an incorporeal prison. One of your own design and making. Everything stops moving. Some people never make it out of that abyss.

This moment, for Vorden, felt so much closer to that latter type of time experience. A shiver rolled down his spine. If this moment felt like time had stalled, then in the next moment it must have shattered like glass.

The terrifying Calyx, Celestial of the Brasurus People, a once a thriving civilisation of the planet Olneon. Their home planet had been nearly destroyed. The remnants of their culture were forced to take to the skies, spreading them all over the universe and driving them to near extinction.

A part of Vorden wondered if the great battle between Calyx and Sil might have been the cataclysmic event that had actually doomed this planet.

At that moment of distraction, Calyx moved.

Not ran, not lunged—moved. One second he was at the hall entrance, the next he was in front of them, covering the distance of the vast cargo bay in an instant. The air cracked with the force of his speed, creating a sound like a whip's crack, splitting the atmosphere in two.

Raten didn't even have time to react before a fist connected with his stomach. A shockwave erupted from the impact.

His body doubled over, the breath leaving his lungs in a single, silent gasp. He lifted off the ground—flew—his back slamming into a cargo crate with a bone-rattling force. Metal crunched underneath him like paper, the crate caving inward from the sheer force.

He didn't even get the chance to slide down before Calyx was already on him again, not allowing his body to hit the floor. A hand closed around Raten's throat, his lengthy, slender fingers wrapped almost entirely around his throat, tightening like a vice.

Vorden moved next.

Pure instinct drove him forward, his muscles screaming in protest, his mind abandoning all logic. He grabbed the closest thing he could find—a loose piece of metal from a nearby crate—and swung it with every ounce of strength that he had. With a thunderous clang, It made contact with the side of the Celestial's unmasked face. The impact rang throughout the cargo bay, vibrating up his arms.

Calyx's head barely moved.

He turned his gaze to Vorden, slow and deliberate, as if Vorden were nothing more than a gnat buzzing in his ear. Then, with an almost casual ease, his arm struck out in Vorden's direction, and a backhanded strike landed perfectly square.

Vorden, in that brief but harrowing moment, saw white.

His feet left the ground, the world spun, and then—pain. He hit the floor and skidded, metal grating against his back, heat burning against his skin.

Pain flared through his ribs. Maybe cracked. Maybe broken. It didn't matter.

He had to move.

He had to—

Raten's snarl cut through the haze.

"Get. Your. Hands. Off me!" He managed to gurgle the words past the obstruction caused by the hand clasped around his neck and they escaped his lips.

Raten, still pinned by the throat, twisted his body up and snapped his teeth down.

Hard.

A growl tore from Calyx as Raten bit him—bit his hand like a wild animal, sinking his teeth into celestial flesh. It wasn't enough to completely break through the leathery dark skin, but it was enough to surprise and confuse Calyx, throwing him off for a split second. It was however, just enough to loosen his grip.

Raten twisted free, kicking Calyx back. He landed in a crouch, panting, his grin was feral, and there was a bit of blood smeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Didn't like that, did you?" Raten panted, as he swiped a hand over his lips. "Pardon my manners, I didn't have one on me, but I usually would use a fork."

Calyx exhaled through his nose, and an eerie, controlled kind of fury began to ignite deep within his nebulous eyes. "You are nothing but a child playing at war," he murmured. "And you—" his gaze flicked to Vorden, who had pushed himself up onto one knee, wheezing. "—are even less."

The words hit Vorden harder than the punch had. Because he wasn't wrong. They had no powers. No real weapons. No plan. And they were fighting a god. A litteral god. A celestial being, a deity among mere mortals.

But something had shifted. Something dangerous.

The strain and effort in Calyx's restraint was growing more obvious. That mask had been more than just a physical object, Vorden was sure of it. A suppression tool of some kind. And now it was gone.

For the first time, Vorden could see it—this so called god wasn't as untouchable as he wanted to be. If he needed to use tools to keep himself under control, then that was the very thing Vorden could try to exploit.

He could be hurt.

He could be broken.

He could be pushed.

Most importantly, he could be killed. Vorden wiped his bleeding lip, sucked in a shaky breath, and glanced at Raten.

Raten met his gaze. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The plan was simple.

Hit him. Hard. And whatever you do, don't stop.

Raten was already moving, a blur of raw defiance, closing the distance with fists flying.

Vorden stole his resolve, and ignoring every single shred of self preservation instincts that were screaming bloody murder inside of him, followed right behind his brother.