Blanc ran off from Heru’s sight, appearing to him as if Blanc had vanished.
Heru stopped his frenzied swings, turning his head left and right in quick succession, trying to find where Blanc had vanished.
It never occurred to Heru that the location Blanc was in could be behind his back, not bothering to check even after that last attack that sent him face-first into the dirt.
Truly a pity to see what uncontrollable rage can do to people.
Not even properly realizing that the sole of Blanc’s foot pressed him back down into the ground.
“True Vita,” said Blanc as Heru started groaning, trying to remove the weight from between his wings, “I win.”
“It appears so,” the Forest Mother said, her eyes staring at the struggling Heru.
Blanc then turned his head towards Leilani, who watched with horror the defeat of her son, unable to move.
He watched her eyes for a moment, seeing inside them the unconditional love a mother would have.
The type of love that, even behind the temporary rage and disappointment, was full of love for her child, unable to see his mistake properly, to attempt to correct his path.
This, perhaps, was also what led to the way this poor young man was now, and all the expectations he held himself with, unable to admit failure, only seeing the fault in others.
At that moment, as he stared into the eyes of a mother, the monologue entered Blanc’s head.
No matter what I do, he will always carry hate for me. Better to kill him.
What I speak of are no grounds for killing. Not by my hand, at least.
Because he did me no wrong. He did not hurt me, nor those I love. He has only been half an annoyance. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ N()velFire.net
Because of him and his desire to prove himself, many of his own have died, and I’m not even mentioning those humans he might have killed in cold blood. Entire families might have ended at his hands.
If he is to be punished for his failures, that is his kin’s issue, and if he is to be punished for those he killed, that is Vita’s issue, not my own. I cannot care for those I do not know, and neither can I kill someone for things he hasn’t done to me. I am no deity or power to pass judgment.
No, I am not. But neither am I willing to risk further issues in the future. I ought to kill him now.
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I still won’t kill him. He paid for his life with a proper gift earlier.
“I will not kill your son,” Blanc said, drawing the attention of Heru’s mother, her eyes tearing up at Blanc’s words. “However, neither can I allow his foolishness to go unpunished. You have failed to properly teach him to accept failure, to accept defeat, and to be able to move on,” he continued, turning to watch the surrounding Metaphors as he spoke, “I came to your aid with hopes of becoming friends with you all, yet this was the treatment we received after we took you from the jaws of death. We did not ask for gold, slaves, or blood, nothing but friendship, yet all we received from many of you was curses and hatred. A hate you hold for humans, regardless of whether they have done wrong to you or not.”
He took his foot off Heru’s back and grabbed his neck, pulling him to his knees.
“I will not kill him, but I will ensure that neither will he be what he once was,” Blanc concluded. “Is that fine, True Vita?”
“Call me Forest Mother, human,” she replied.
“You are no mother of mine,” Blanc muttered, focusing on himself, trying to feel his body.
“High-Chief will suffice then,” the Forest Mother sighed, “And yes, it is as the rules have been stated. As the winning side, you can deliver punishment.”
With half a nod as confirmation, Blanc closed his eyes, feeling every muscle and contracting them in quick succession.
He felt all the tissue that made his body what it was, trying to control it.
Then, he turned towards his heart and his soul, and he felt the Bloodshard fragments inside it, as it sat in the middle of his beating heart, pulsing with a dim color with every beat of his heart.
He then turned towards his veins and the marrow in his bones, as they carried liters upon liters of blood all around his body.
He focused on that, trying to see if he was able to redirect part of the focus into his hand.
His body reacted, doing as he bade.
As power gathered into the palm of his right hand, Blanc opened his eyes, staring at it as he closed and opened it.
The Mark did not change colors, nor did it look different.
But the feeling it gave him, and the spot it chose for the Mark, now made sense.
The White Mark of the Wolverine that he had on the inner side of his right palm, the one he felt incomplete when he received it, was now finally complete.
He turned his eyes towards Heru, who appeared to have given up, his head hanging low, eyes towards the ground.
Blanc opened his palm, taking the shape of a wolverine’s claw, and with an overhead swing, brushed past Heru’s wings.
Unlike the time he embarrassingly struck a tree with all the might his fingers could muster, this time he missed intentionally, letting the wind he created carry the attack for him.
For a moment, it looked like Blanc missed slapping Heru’s left wing, but then, with a guttural scream from Heru’s lips, blood gushed from his back, and with a light thud, the detached wing fell to the ground.
With a nod, seeing that he succeeded, he turned to face the other wing, and following the same steps he had taken earlier, he swung again, ensuring that the screaming Heru did not stop screaming in agony.
“Here, Kael,” Blanc said out loud between screams, lowering himself to pick up Heru’s wings, “Here are your new quills.”