Fractured God

Mr. Bentley's lips quivered as he realised what happened. He did recall hearing about the boy having a mild curing spell but… this isn't mild. That wasn't mild at all!

(“Impossible, I saw it with my own eyes. I gave a wolf a drop of this liquid and its fur shedded immensely before running off. It stressed its body to the point of-”)

Mr. Bentley seemed to have misinterpreted something from his test. While it is logical to assume it was poison based on that test, he had conducted the test during the winter. Wolves are known to grow their coats out for the winter with the decrease in temperature.

Before Tibaut could throw a punch he noticed something strange happen to Mr. Bentley.

His grey hair had gained colour. There was the faintest hint of orange in it.

Tibaut could only watch in confusion as he watched the old man's body change.

(“Shit, was the poison too strong?”) He thought as he watched what unfolded.

He quickly backed away and watched as Mr. Bentley metamorphized. He could hear Mr. Bentley’s bones crack as his body expanded on the floor.

Tibaut could only watch in discomfort as the old man met his cruel fate.

Now that he listened further, he could swear he could hear the muscle fibres in Mr. Bentley's body tearing. Just what kind of nasty potion had the man decided to drink?

Another true thing is the fact that wolves have less hair at the hotter times of the year.

But the strangest thing about it was his struggle. Mr. Bentley was writhing on the floor in pain as the pain got worse and worse, but it also seemed with each passing moment he moved with more energy and his screams of agony got louder.

Was the pain getting worse or was he in his death throes before he finally collapsed?

His fight with Ezekiel had left him pretty weak and he found no pleasure in watching this man die. He turned around and headed for the exit, now realising how weak that battle had left him.

(“Tch, Ezekiel sure wasn't holding back…”)

He leaned against the exit’s doorway, resting his gauntlet against his head as he tried to keep conscious. Mr. Bentley’s words had stirred him up to the point he forgot about his injuries.

And the moment he opened the door… Mr. Bentley stopped screaming.

Tibaut sighed as he walked down the hallway, but the sound of footsteps had him quickly turning around, the hairs on the back of his neck raised.

So what if, instead of being a poison, the concoction the wolf drank had instead brought the wolf back a few months in time? What if the wolf was forced into the body it had several months ago? Then the loss of fur wouldn't be too surprising.

Standing at the desk wasn't the old man, but a man about his height, with orange hair. He looked at his arms and opened and closed them, with amazement on his face at what he was looking at.

The obvious immediately came to Tibaut’s mind.

“You're shitting me.” He mumbled as he brought his hand upwards, doing his best to get into a fighting stance with only one of his hands.

“He was serious.” The young man in front of him commented as he looked at his body, taking it all in. “It restored my youth, just as he said… Perhaps I was hasty to throw you aside, Daniel.” The man said as he turned his attention to Tibaut.

“Surely you don't intend to fight me?” He asked more offended than concerned for Tibaut’s wellbeing.

Tibaut grabbed his dislocated arm and bit down against the leather strap of his chest plate as he forced it back into place.

Mr. Bentley could only sigh as he watched this.

In the corner of his eye, Tibaut saw the old man summon a flame with a pleased look in his eyes as he manipulated it.

Unlike Tibaut, the man was forming it like clay, into various shapes and structures.

“Heh, I still got it.”

“AARRRRRGGGGGGAGAGAGAG!!” Tibaut shouted as he fixed his elbow back into place. He breathed heavily in a thick layer of sweat as he watched the man before him.

“Come on you, bastard, I don't care how much younger you get, I'll still kick your ass. After all, now that you're young you shouldn't die after a single hit, right, Mr. Bentley?” Tibaut said in a ragged breath.

He could only pray the old man wasn't anything special back in the day.

“Please, none of that Mr. Bentley nonsense. I'm far too young a man for you to address me like that.”

His hair was now a bright orange, almost as if they were made of flames themselves. His musculature was far more refined than Tibaut’s, like that of a beginner bodybuilder than the athlete-like physique of Tibaut, though it wasn't anywhere at the level of size of Ezekiel. His brown jacket, his undercoat and his brown pants all fit to the tee as if it was tailored to this size instead of his initial height, which Tibaut towered over. His skin radiated the same youth as Tibaut’s which meant he was in his mid-twenties at maximum.

He dusted off his jacket and stretched his arms a few times.

“With my body in the state that it is in now, hmmm, yes you can call me Ash…” He said with a nod.

“I don't care what you're called, you're getting your ass kicked in.”

Tibaut jumped forward and the old man jumped outside, using the opened windows for his escape.

(“He's quick.”) Tibaut thought.

Tibaut quickly jumped out the window as well and fell to the street behind the branch building. There, a few metres away, Ash was stretching his legs and even started doing a few jumping jacks.

“I do hope you'll forgive me, bo- Tibaut, but I haven't used this body in quite a while. I'm a little rusty, so you might suffer unnecessarily because of it.”

Tibaut began walking towards him.

“Oh come on, at least respond. Don't you want to know why you'll suffer?”

Tibaut was now in his face and threw a roundhouse kick to his face. Ash easily dodged it and managed to grab the hair at the back of his head.

Tibaut quickly burned it and put some distance between them.

He turned back to him to see the burnt hair still in his hand.

“With the strength I possess, my victory is guaranteed. That's why you'll suffer. The most you will be capable of is prolonging the inevitable. What I am now is similar to giving a sharp axe to a rookie executioner. It may kill but it won't be a pretty sight. So forgive me, Tibaut.”

He couldn't help but have a smirk as he witnessed the look of defiance on Tibaut.