The air pressure fluctuated rapidly under a thin grey blanket of overcast, which rolled past the city rooftops, blocking out the once blue sky. White paper and brown leaves thrashed down windswept streets, called forth by the localized weather anomaly’s twisting epicenter. All the while, a steady gust washed forth from behind Sturm, blowing his open jacket forward as it bore down the main road and crashed into Käfer’s body.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” growled Käfer, stomping forward through the gale. “It’s going to take more than a little fucking breeze to stop me from pulling your jaw out your asshole, kid!”
With that, the inhuman SS officer charged forward. Two sharp, hooked claws erupted from each of his palms, splitting his hands as he closed the distance to his target. These claws, initially a faded off-white, shifted to a glossy, obsidian sheen just prior to Käfer’s lashing out at the swordsman. He swung his right tarsal downward, but it was deflected by a well-timed sweep of Sturm’s blade. Enraged, Käfer let out a bestial roar and pivoted at the waist, coiling for a powerful spinning high-kick. His foot, however, was caught in the upward spiral of Sturm’s surrounding vortex and carried far enough over the boy’s head that the latter was able to duck underneath without issue. Sturm then countered with two successive slashes across Käfer’s torso. His blade, sheathed in a turbulent veil of screeching wind, tore through the enemy’s skin and muscle with little resistance, leaving an uneven, diagonal cross carved into the SS officer’s torso.
Stumbling backward in the harsh gale, Käfer cried out in fury, “Rat-fuck, I’ll rip you apart!” before lunging toward the knight candidate a second time.
Again and again, Sturm’s saber clashed against his enemy’s razor hooks. Unable to break the swordsman’s guard, Käfer modified his strategy, instead opting for disarmament. However, despite his best efforts, the malicious predator failed to grip the sword, and this new strategy served only to create new openings for Sturm to exploit. After a particularly fierce head-butt, Käfer was sent skidding back on his heels. With orange blood running from his mouth and chest wound, the SS officer trembled with anger.
“I will have that power! I’ll suck it out of your shriveled fucking husk!” raged Käfer, veins bulging in his neck and forehead.
Sturm’s hearts pounded against each other, each consecutive thrum more painful than the last. The young swordsman’s aberrance took a heavy toll on his body, and he knew that he was on borrowed time. Indeed, even if he were able to end the battle at this very instance, which was no guarantee against Käfer’s own impressive repertoire of abilities, there would still be a significant chance of lasting damage to the boy’s body. This, after all, was the reason why he had avoided using his family’s famous wind powers.
“Is… that… that all y-you can do?” Sturm asked through deep, agonized breaths. “Steal other people’s… a-abilities? I bet you… stole those claws, too…”
Glaring down over his nose with a fanged snarl, Käfer braced for another struggle. “Keep talking, kid. It’ll just make it more satisfying to gouge your scrawny throat-”
A subtle rustling, unnoticeable to Sturm under the wind’s howl, caught Käfer’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see Johanna, ragged and weak, dragging herself toward a nearby storm drain.
Then, Käfer’s eyes lit up like a child’s, reflecting a sweet candy.
Yes, yes! That’s it… You’re exactly what I need… Käfer schemed internally. If I had just a bit more strength, I’d punch right through that wind!
To Sturm’s surprise, Käfer made a swift turn and rushed in the opposite direction. Realizing that Johanna was the object of the fiend’s assault, Sturm was forced to take decisive action. The knight candidate, knowing that Käfer still held a firm advantage in speed, hauled off and launched his saber like a whirling saw. Carried by a rapid torrent of air, the blade reached a rotation speed of several hundred kilometers per hour as it screeched toward Käfer’s exposed back.
“Got you, fuckworm!”
Sturm watched on in horror as Käfer flipped back around and snatched the weapon, stopping it dead in his grasp. Smiling nefariously, the enemy then snapped his arm forward, sending the sword flipping end-over-end, back toward its owner. The knight candidate leaned sharply backward to dodge the saber, but just as it passed over his torso, Käfer himself followed up with incredible velocity, clasping it and driving it downward through Sturm’s chest before he had any hope of reaction.
His own saber had pierced his heart.
The twister swirling around Sturm fizzled out into a modest breeze while he stumbled back, overtaken by shock. Blood, pressurized by the brutal throb of the boy’s compromised circulatory system, sprayed out around the blade’s frigid edge. Despite this, Sturm did not fall. With what little strength remained in his body, he caught his faltering step and rose defiantly in the face of death. This only served to enrage Käfer further, who viewed such continued resistance as emboldened disrespect of his superiority.
“Why are you still breathing?!” he snarled. “I turned your heart into a kebab! Drop dead already, you stupid fucking punk!”
Stability challenged, Sturm swayed against the gradually increasing weight of his own body and a mounting feeling of lightheadedness. “Guess… you missed something…”
In an explosion of life, the vortex rebounded, mightier than ever before. The funnel howled as it rose above the surrounding buildings, reaching for the darkening grey above. Ironically, the destruction of his right heart had quelled the perpetual war within his body. For what little time he’d maintain consciousness, Sturm would be able to focus the full potential of his aberrance like never before.
“Bleed out, already!” cried Käfer, snatching the saber’s grip before attempting to pull it free of his adversary’s chest.
As Käfer drew the weapon back, however, Sturm stepped forward, further embedding it through his own body and preventing more rapid blood loss as the price of excruciating pain. Frustrated and taken aback by the swordsman’s willingness to suffer further damage, the fiend made an effort to leap backward but found himself blocked by the stiff gale of the tornado’s outer wall. Käfer was now unable to utilize his mobility- a development that Sturm would now take full advantage of.
No matter what, I’ll see this through. If you really are a demon, then I can’t lose after calling God’s attention to this fight. Even if it kills me, I’ll protect my friends, my family, and my country from trash like you.
The funnel warped and contorted, bending upward and around Sturm’s right wrist. Debris filled the air while signs and powerlines swayed. In the distance, people evacuated their dwellings, scattering and making for side roads.
“Now, Käfer… or whoever the hell you are…” Sturm grunted, giving his all to hold the technique together. “It’s time you learned what fear is at the end of the Destroyer Cyclone!”
Käfer’s eyes widened- his pupils dilating into vertical, reptilian slits just as Sturm threw his vortex-bending punch into the former’s stomach. Acting on raw instinct that surpassed the speed of any conscious maneuver, the fiend slammed both clawed tarsals against the turbulent drill, just barely managing to hold it off under immense strain.
Sclera popping with bright orange veins, Käfer raged, “I don’t give a fuck what you can do, you’ll never beat me!”
Across the road, Max hobbled to his feet and steadied his back against the brick wall behind him - a struggle made all the more difficult by the violent winds. He watched as the muscles in Käfer’s arm, exposed when Johanna destroyed the upper-left portion of his coat, bulked to their maximum volume under duress. A faint orange glow, indicative of otherworldly heat, emanated from the veins beneath the fiend’s skin. It was obvious at a glance that Käfer was at his limit.
Damn it… thought Max, If I could just rush him down from behind while he’s preoccupied, we’d have him for sure.
Though Max desired to act, he knew deep down that, without his Xiphosura shield, he’d only wind up caught in the destructive wrath of the Destroyer Cyclone himself. Right now, all he could do was watch while his partner executed the infamous finishing technique.
“How are you still alive?!” Käfer wailed about the storm’s roar, “Die, die!”
For all his bravado, the reality was that he was steadily losing ground, pushed back by the vortex as he grappled against Sturm’s wind-wrapped fist. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the rogue officer’s guard faltered, and he was overcome by the horizontal funnel. Still, the overwhelming pain coursing through Sturm’s right arm warned him that his own failure was similarly imminent. If the swordsman didn’t break through Käfer’s defense soon, his own body might crumble first.
Käfer, feeling the air pressure shift and the gale start to weaken, sensed Sturm’s vulnerability. “Little bastard, you’re nobody!” he growled, pushing back at the cost of the skin off his hands and face. “I’ve come too far to get sent back by a waste of life like you!”
Desperate, Sturm turned inward, searching for any last drop of strength he could muster. He closed his eyes and reflected on the path he had walked so far. From the rocky beginnings at the academy to fostering a level of trust with his teammates worth considering true friendship, he too had come a great distance. Whatever Käfer’s proclaimed journey had been, and whatever hardships he might have endured, it meant nothing to Sturm. As the warmth of his bonds flushed through his skin, shielding it from the harsh chill of the twisting air, the young knight candidate felt his strength return. When his azure eyes reopened, they gleamed with new vitality.
“Motherfucker!” Käfer exclaimed, forced back yet again. “When does it end?! How do you still have so much power?!”
The wind speed continued to increase, repeatedly tearing strips of skin and meat from Käfer’s body. Just as soon as his wounds regenerated, the cyclone would rend them open once more. His coat now hung in tatters, and blood streamed from his gashes, following the air’s winding current.
“Th-this… is your own fault, Käfer,” gasped Sturm, barely able to speak. “You just couldn’t help yourself…”
“Don’t talk down to me, you little freak!” Käfer screamed in response. “If I went all-out from the start, you’d be a puddle of greasy fucking guts on the ground! You worthless, insignificant… Stop and let me transform! See how fucking long you last against the real me! Stop it now, you scum-sucking bitch!”
“Listen,” said Sturm calmly, in eerie contrast to the violence surrounding him, “I know you’re not actually from here… so I’m going to teach you saying we all know…”
“Do you know who you’re speaking to?!” shrieked Käfer. “Don’t open your mouth, you cock-breathed little worm!”
Hearing this, Max couldn’t help but interject his own sense. “Hey, Käfer! Shut the hell up, dumbass! Nobody wants to listen to you beg for a second chance or act hard while you’re getting your ass beat! Be a real man and die with some dignity!”
Käfer’s bloodshot eyes immediately snapped to Max, who watched him start to mouth something inaudible under the wind’s rage. Seizing on the distraction, made his final move.
“Käfer!” Sturm cried out, “He who won’t listen…”
The swordsman drove his fist forward with everything he had left, obliterating Käfer’s claws. The stormwinds swirled with incredible speed, drilling through the fiend’s forearms and grinding bone to dust.
“Must feel!”
Käfer bellowed in insurmountable pain as his entire body was consumed by the vortex. His agonized cries echoed through the storm, reaching every home and alley in the city for several kilometers. The rate of bodily destruction overcame Käfer’s regeneration entirely, dismembering him from the waist up and atomizing his remains to the sky above.
The Destroyer Cyclone had claimed another victim.
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