final fight

I was among the ruins of collapsed buildings, surrounded by the corpses of monsters that I had eliminated one after another. The air smelled of death and dust. My muscles burned from the constant effort, but I couldn't stop. Not when he was still there.

 

On top of a mound of rubble, illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering through the ash clouds, stood the Whistler. Upright, motionless, watching me with that mocking smile that never left his gaunt face.

 

During the entire confrontation, he had not once attacked. He didn't need to. It just stood there, sending wave after wave of minions as it emitted that eerie hissing sound that pierced my concentration like red-hot needles. The sound created confusion in my brain, a constant annoyance that clouded my senses and slowed my reflexes.

 

I had to surround my ears with wind currents, creating barriers to deflect the Whistler's sound waves. It worked... partially. The volume decreased, but the damn sound still penetrated, filtering through my defenses in a way I couldn't quite understand.

 

And then I understood.

 

Law.

 

A power so abstract that it defied the very rules of reality. The ability to impose your own law on the world, ignoring the natural laws that governed it. The Whistler was not simply producing sound-he was decreeing that his whistling would be heard, no matter what physical or magical barriers he interposed.

 

Its Law was superimposed on reality itself.

 

And I was fighting it with simple wind tricks.

 

The Whistler slowly descended from the mound of rubble, his bare, bloody feet touching the ground with an unnatural softness. The sack in which he carried the bones of his victims swayed on his back, producing a dry, ghoulish sound with each movement.

 

-At last you decide to confront me directly

 

I muttered, adopting a low combat stance, knees bent and weight evenly distributed.

 

He didn't respond. He only widened that insane grin as his whistling changed pitch, becoming deeper, more... heavy.

 

And then I felt my power begin to fade.

 

The wind currents I kept active around my body dissipated like smoke. The energy flowing through my magical circuits stagnated, blocked by an invisible force that descended upon me like a concrete slab.

 

Suppression.

 

Its first Law. The ability to suppress the powers of those who dared to confront him. An absolute decree that nullified the supernatural abilities of his opponents, reducing them to mere mortals in his presence.

 

But it was not complete.

 

Deep within me, where my Origin resided, I felt resistance. Like embers refusing to extinguish underwater, my Origin pulsed with a life of its own, standing firm against the Law of the Whistle.

 

I could not use my elaborate techniques. I could not summon great storms or manipulate the wind freely. But I could access fragments, flashes of power that flowed directly from my Origin.

 

The Whistler attacked.

 

Its speed was monstrous. In the blink of an eye it crossed the twenty meters that separated us, its bony hand extended toward my throat like a claw.

 

I spun on my left foot, deflecting his arm with a circular block as my body flowed to the side. Basic self-defense move-deflect the attack and reposition myself. I didn't need powers for that.

 

Counter-I countered with a palm strike to his ribs, channeling the minimum amount of energy my Origin allowed me. The impact resounded solidly, but the Whistler barely flinched. His body, though gaunt, seemed to absorb the damage like a sponge.

 

He swung a knee at me that I barely dodged by leaning back, feeling the air shift millimeters from my face. I responded with a low sweep, trying to knock him down, but he jumped nimbly, his sack of bones swinging with the motion.

 

While he was in the air, I launched an upward kick, connecting with his abdomen. This time I concentrated more of my Origin energy into the blow, and felt something give way under my foot. The Whistle was thrown backward, smashing through the partially collapsed wall of a nearby building.

 

I didn't wait. I ran towards it, picking up a twisted metal bar from the ground as I went. When I reached the hole in the wall, I threw it like a javelin, using a little wind momentum-what little my Origin could provide me under Suppression.

 

The Whistler stopped the bar with one hand, stopping it dead in its tracks inches from its face. And then his whistling changed again.

 

The world distorted.

 

Distance.

 

His second Law. The Whistler could manipulate the perceived and actual distance between him and his target. What seemed like five meters could be fifty. What seemed far away could be dangerously close.

 

I tried to run closer, but every step I took seemed to take me farther away from him. The space between us stretched like an invisible elastic, mocking my efforts. It was disorienting, nauseating.

 

And then, without warning, the Whistler appeared at my side.

 

His fist impacted my side with brutal force, sending me rolling across the shattered pavement. Blood filled my mouth. Broken ribs, maybe two or three.

 

I forced myself to get up, spitting blood. I needed to think. I needed strategy.

 

I scanned the surroundings quickly as the Whistler walked toward me with that unsettling calm. Collapsed buildings, debris everywhere, downed electrical wires, unstable structures....

 

An idea began to form.

 

I feigned weakness, staggering backwards as the Whistler approached. I strategically guided him toward an area where three partially collapsed buildings formed a sort of narrow alley, their structures leaning precariously against each other.

 

When he was in position, I acted.

 

I concentrated my Origin energy in my legs and jumped upwards, reaching the second floor of one of the buildings. From there, I launched a concentrated blast of wind-weak, but sufficient-to the critical footholds of the structures.

 

The buildings creaked ominously.

 

The Whistler looked up, and for the first time, something akin to surprise crossed his face.

 

The structures collapsed.

 

Tons of concrete, steel and rubble fell upon him in an avalanche of destruction. The roar was deafening, raising clouds of dust that obscured the entire area.

 

I landed in a safe position, gasping from the effort. My broken ribs protested with every breath, but I kept my senses alert, waiting.

 

The whistling never stopped.

 

From beneath the rubble, crystal clear, still echoed that damned sound. And then, slowly, the rubble began to move.

 

The Whistler emerged from the ruins as if nothing had happened. His body was covered in dust and he had some minor wounds-shallow cuts that bled a dark liquid-but otherwise, he seemed completely unharmed.

 

-Damn it...

 

I muttered.

 

And then his hissing changed for the third time.

 

I felt an unbearable weight fall on my shoulders. It wasn't physical-it was existential. As if death itself was looking directly at me, assessing me, finding me guilty.

 

Condemnation.

 

His third Law. The Whistler, according to his legend, hunted those who had committed unforgivable acts, especially parricides and abusers. His Condemnation was the ability to judge the sins of his victim and amplify the damage he could inflict on them based on their guilt.

 

Fortunately, my conscience was relatively clear. I was no saint, but neither had I committed the atrocities that the Whistle traditionally punished. Still, I felt the Law pressing down on me, searching for cracks in my soul, amplifying every little remorse I might have.

 

The Whistler lunged at me again, but this time its attacks carried a different weight. Each blow that connected-and several did-pained in ways that transcended the physical. It was as if he was striking not only my body, but my very spirit.

 

I blocked a hook with my forearm, feeling the bone fracture under the impact. I responded with an elbow strike to his jaw, followed by a side kick to his knee. Something crunched, and the Whistle wobbled slightly.

 

An opening!

 

I channeled all the energy my Origin could provide under Suppression into my right fist. The air around me vibrated, and I felt small arcs of compressed wind wrap around my hand.

 

I struck with everything I had.

 

My fist connected directly with the Whistler's chest, and this time the impact was different. The compressed air exploded on contact, creating a shockwave that echoed throughout the abandoned street. The Whistler was thrown backwards, his body smashing through two walls before coming to a stop.

 

I fell to my knees, gasping. Every part of my body screamed in agony. Blood dripped from multiple wounds, and I could feel my consciousness beginning to cloud with exhaustion.

 

But I forced myself to stay awake, to stay alert.

 

Because I knew it wasn't over.

 

The Whistler emerged from the rubble once again. This time he walked more slowly, and I could see that he was finally showing signs of real damage. Part of his chest was caved in, and his breathing-if he was breathing at all-sounded ragged.

 

But his smile was still there. Intact. Mocking.

 

Savoring my despair.

 

She stopped a few feet away, and for the first time since the fight began, she spoke. His voice was rough, like stones being dragged over rusted metal.

 

-You are... tough. But insufficient.

 

He raised his hand, and I felt his three Laws converge simultaneously upon me. Suppression crushing my powers. Distance distorting space. Condemnation pressing against my soul.

 

It was too much.

 

My knees touched the dusty ground. The combined weight of his three Laws was like having a mountain on my back. Every breath was agony. Every beat of my heart sounded like a funeral drum.

 

The Whistler raised his other hand, preparing for the final blow.

 

And then I saw it.

 

A golden flash pierced the night like a vengeful comet.

 

A spear of fire - no, more than fire - of such intense heat that the air around it distorted into visible ripples, pierced the Whistler's outstretched arm with a sound akin to flesh being instantly seared.

 

For the first time in the entire battle, the Whistler screamed.

 

It was not a human scream. It was a guttural, primal howl, charged with pain and surprise. The monster staggered back, its pierced arm smoking, the charred flesh around the wound glowing with an angry, golden glow.

 

Through my blurred vision, I saw two figures materialize between me and the Whistler.

 

Chia and Sue.

 

Sue had her arm outstretched.

 

In her palm burned a spear of golden fire, alive, vibrant, as if the heat was singing.

 

The light born of those flames lit her face with an almost youthful determination.

 

In his eyes there was something fierce.

 

Something passionate.

 

Beside him, Chia stood a step back.

 

Straight.

 

With that calm that seemed made of ice.

 

Around her swirled a thick darkness, like windless smoke.

 

Black filaments formed between her fingers, tightening and loosening with precision.

 

The air near his boots crackled: frost spreading in thin lines on the concrete.

 

-What are you doing here?

 

I shouted at them, my voice cracking through blood and dust.

 

-This is dangerous!

 

-You can die!

 

Chia didn't look away from the Whistler.

 

Sue didn't either.

 

And then, as if they had rehearsed the answer a thousand times, they spoke at the same time.

 

In perfect coordination:

 

-We're going to be heroines.

 

-And we're going to be the greatest in the world.

 

Chia continued.

 

Reserved.

 

But firm:

 

-And to achieve that...we're not going to leave a friend behind when they're in danger.

 

Just hearing that got a chuckle out of me. Short. Pained.

 

-Friend?

 

I coughed, unable to help it.

 

-We've known each other for nothing.

 

I sat up a little. Leaning on a piece of rubble.

 

-Besides, if you keep saying that... someone might mistake you for some kind of cradle robber.

 

-Let's just say we're partners.

 

Sue clicked her tongue. Offended.

 

-Hey!

 

Sue sounded like a spark about to set everything on fire.

 

-We're adults!

 

Chia frowned. Just as annoyed. But without raising her tone:

 

-Arcadio....

 

I blinked for a second.

 

Do you adult? They looked like little girls. The thought flashed through me, absurd and inopportune. But I nipped it in the bud. We were still in a fight-I'd save those questions for later.

 

Sue crouched down beside me before I could say another silly thing. She put one hand on my side. The other, on my fractured forearm. Warm light, almost white with golden edges, spilled from her fingers. The pain receded like a receding tide.

 

I felt my ribs stop screaming.

 

How the bone in my forearm settled with a wet, right click.

 

How the air finally came back in without splitting me in two.

 

-Don't die.

 

Sue smiled, tense.

 

-Not yet.

 

Because the Whistler was already closing in. His wounded arm was finishing regenerating before my eyes. The flesh pulling itself back together with a wet crunch.

 

His whistle rose in pitch. High-pitched. Aggressive. Like a razor scraping glass.

 

-More prey.

 

His raspy voice pierced the air.

 

-Excellent*.*

 

Chia raised a hand.

 

The darkness folded in front of us like a wall. A dense, black barrier, pierced by streaks of ice that reinforced it.

 

It dug into the ground with a crunch. Sue, on the other hand, gathered another spear of golden fire in her palm. And she stepped forward.

 

Eager to crash into it. The battle had begun again. But this time, I was not alone.