Immediately, a tornado appeared from the shallow waters of the catacombs. It had sprouted from the ground up in an instant, as if spoken in to exist by a godly being. The waters across the entire room began to flood towards the tornado, especially those in its immediate path, which were lifted up and consumed by its immense power.
Sancho was completely disillusioned; he had been only moments away from unleashing an attack that would leave detrimental damage on his total power output. Yet, something of equal strength had suddenly appeared and was heading in the direction of his enemy at great speed. Sancho struggled against the pulling force of the tornado, which was doing everything in its power to pull him towards it. His balance was a constantly changing pose; at one point, he even felt his feet slightly lift off the ground.
Looking to his left, Sancho noticed the boy, still on the archway, looking intensely at the
tornado. His attention was immovable; he wore an expression reminiscent of one who has bet on a horse and is in desperate, internal prayer for said horse to win. Furthermore, unlike everything else in the room, the boy was unaffected by the tornado's pulling winds. Could it be… could he be the one to summon this?
The more the tornado moved, the louder and fiercer its deafening winds became. Then, a thought struck Sancho, and his face widened in terror. Assuming the boy was now targeting the rat, it would surely be an inevitability for his mannequin to also be caught up in its attack and destroyed. But what was he to do? The mannequin was in the clutches of the rat, who refused to release it.
'HEY! DON'T WORRY, YOUR TECHNIQUE'S SAFE!' A voice shouted as loud as possible, trying to compete with the tornado's thunder. It was the boy. He had read Sancho's worried, nervous expression, and wanted to ease his mind: somehow, the tornado was to avoid the mannequin.
Sancho didn't understand how such a feat was to be performed, as the approaching tornado was almost as large as the rat itself, taking up a large portion of the room. Alas, he could do nothing but trust in the boy.
The rat had both little time and space to move and avoid the technique. It was able to largely resist the pull but still suffered from its immense force, which disabled the rat from truly articulating its enormous legs. As it came into contact with the rat, first with the tail, then quickly moving to the rest of the body, the technique's full potential was unveiled.
Initially, the rat was spun around in the direction of the tornado's body, squirming and frantically moving to try to free itself. Its tail had taken the podium over its body, and reached for the ceiling, whilst its heavy weight had sunk to the floor. Then, as if in a sarcophagus with a rapidly changing forecast, the sound of real thunder struck. It reverberated through the entirety of the tornado and then to the rest of the room. This was directly followed by the pour of rain, engulfing the rat in its non-navigable water. Its hairy body was drenched and shone like a new wig. Yet, the mannequin was quite unaffected by this; it had stayed dry and felt calm even under the hailing winds.
Whilst the rain poured and the rat spun, a voice cried out from its body. It was instantly familiar to the boy and curled the scarce hairs on his arms. 'WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY NEZUMI!?'
The boy flinched momentarily before regaining his composure and clenching his fist. This action had a sort of activating effect within the tornado, for a flash of lightning followed it punctually. The lightning started from the tip of the tornado, crashing down with fantastic vigour. It initially hit the mannequin: hundreds, if not thousands, of amps of lightning all struck the mannequin. However, the boy stayed true to his word. Although a highly fatal dose of lightning had attacked it, the mannequin was unharmed. Instead, it was used as a conductor and repelled all of the lightning onto the rat. Before it could even comprehend the situation, an unbelievable storm of lightning ran through the rat's body, invading its large, structural integrity and obliterating its flesh. The feeling was fantasy: the sheer pain that followed the lightning's path was incomprehensible to the rat's animinalistic mind. It could not even scream.
As the rat's pupils dilated to nothing, its tail unravelled and allowed the mannequin to break free and crash down into the water below. The tornado was present for only a few seconds more; noticing the mannequin's freedom, the boy recalled his incredible technique.
The rat's body slumped into a decaying carcass; only its faintly twitching leg showed any sign of life. Every last hair on its body was gone, along with most of its flesh, exposing all of its revolting, burnt muscles and spewing organs. Suppressing his feeling of nausea from the burnt flesh, Sancho felt a sigh of relief. He felt that he could safely assume the damage the rat had suffered was far too intense for it to fully regenerate like it did the tail; therefore, assuming the battle was over, Sancho recalled the mannequin. For now, his life was safe, but he couldn't help but feel ashamed at how he had reached this outcome: he entered the fight in stride and a cool demeanour, with the intention of protecting the boy and defeating this beast. Yet, he had ultimately done very little against the rat, and instead, it was the boy who had saved him.
'MISTER, WE DID IT!' The boy carefully dropped down from the stone archway, splashing in the water which reached to his calves. He began to run towards Sancho with a determined and jovial smile, waddling between steps to combat the restriction surrounding his legs.
'That was incredible! And to think you're only a child…'
'HEY-' the boy started with a defensive tone, but stopped, as he realised he no longer needed to pretend and wear his familiar facade. 'Thank you…'
Sancho saw the boy blush under his lowered head: he wondered if the compliment was the first real one the boy had ever received.
'I thought Nezumi was going to kill me… I was so scared. But then, you saved me! Thank you so much, Mister!' As the boy raised his head, a beam of pureness and enchantment flooded his eyes and fell onto Sancho's. They almost sparkled under the kissing light: true gratitude had never been seen before in such conspicuousness. Sancho could tell that the boy was but a product of the land's nature and was not wholly accountable for his actions hitherto.
'Say, you must be quite tired: that last attack can't have been generous on your spirit.' The boy nodded his head slowly as he wiped his eyes. 'Why don't we go and find my friends? We can give you a place to rest and some food, then you can go back to your parents afterwards.'
The boy's lip quivered at the mention of 'parents'. Normally, when he thought of his parents, the boy would be flooded with dark memories and tears until he would eventually fall into a depressive sleep. Yet, after what had happened moments ago, the burst of acceptance and rebuttal to act differently, he managed to release the chain of trauma before it could form into tears.
'I don't have any parents. I never met my father… and my mother died a few years ago.'
Sancho's mouth dropped slightly. He immediately felt empathy for the boy and understood there was a good chance that he had been manipulated by a higher power into doing their dirty work for them. And, as he was both young and alone, the boy complied: not out of a thirst for crime, but out of a search for belonging.
Resting his hand on the boy's shoulder, Sancho smiled warmly. 'If you're gonna stay with us, I have to at least know your name.'
The boy's heart fluttered, and he failed greatly at trying not to return the smile with his teeth on display. 'My name is Bon Bon Mori!'
'And I'm Sancho. Now that we are acquainted, let's leave this place.'
As they turned to the exit, Sancho, placing the amulet carefully and securely into his pocket, heard a rustling sound from behind. It sounded slow and distraught; the water rippled below Sancho's feet, and his heart instantly sank.
Turning his head, Sancho saw the rat try to regain its balance on its feet. Its legs shook as parts of the bones stuck out from between the muscles. It was a miracle that it could move even this much! A pile of intestines floated on the water, which had turned completely red from blood. It squealed in pain quietly; it sounded as if the rat was trying as hard as possible to cry loudly, but simply lacked the muscles now to do so. It was clear that the rat was in pure misery, and Sancho wished not for it to suffer unnecessarily any longer.
With Loyal Squire recalled, Sancho had very little spirit remaining; his only attack would have to be within close proximity. He could quickly unleash his remaining spirit into the rat's amalgamation of organs and send each part into a different direction. However, his fear and nervousness had returned at full force at the sight of the standing rat, and he shivered at even the thought of approaching the living corpse. Perspiration fell from his forehead, his heartbeat moving at immeasurable speeds.
Just as he considered moving forward, a loud snap came from the rat. It echoed through the room. Then another, and another, and a final crack which made Sancho cringe in fear. Suddenly, the rat fully regained its posture and stood securely on all four legs. Although its body was still missing its flesh, and its organs continued to bathe in the air, the previously exposed and unaligned leg bones had been rejoined. The rat had focused its attention on healing its legs alone, in a final attempt to attack its foes. It was truly relentless.
They were across the room from each other, but Sancho felt as if it was breathing down his neck. It would take only a moment for the rat to cross and invade his space, meaning Sancho would have to infuse his remaining spirit within a split second, or he would be struck. The tension brewing within made him nauseous: was he to die at the very end?
The rat's eyes showed intense fury as it took its first pounce: only two more and it would be within Sancho's range. He clenched his fists tightly, moving in front of Bon Bon to protect him, but could not muster any spirit. He could feel it fall short in his forearm, unable to proceed into his fist for the attack. This was no doubt due to his nerves. He tried to calm his breathing and quickly grabbed the left side of his chest to calm his heart, but nothing was working: he couldn't get the spirit to move. Without the spirit, he was useless.
The rat moved forward again. As the sound of splashing water erupted, Sancho closed his eyes. 'Run, Bon Bon; I cannot attack it… I cannot protect you.' Bon Bon saw Sancho remain motionless in his stance, relaxing his fist.
As the rat took its final step, Sancho exhaled rigidly for the final time. Its eyes burned, and its mouth was wide open; the few remaining teeth showed off their disgusting, sharp edge.
BAM!
An enormous gust of air flew through the hollow room, and blood instantly painted the water and walls. Guts were scattered everywhere; screams could no longer be made. A heavenly gate had opened above Sancho, and he felt its light disseminate onto his pale skin. Its warmth created a strong feeling of safety, whilst reassuring his heart.
He slowly opened his eyes, but kept them at a tight squint, for he was now looking directly into the light. It covered his entire view; the sky had opened above him. Then, the light disappeared and was largely obscured, blocked by a figure. Initially, Sancho could not see who it was, but as his eyes readjusted to the new balance of light, he could see the finely cut edges of a suit, red highlights silhouetting it. The figure's hair was blonde at the roots, yet turned white by the tip from the light.
'G-Giorgio?'
'Yo!'