The Legion: Heartson

Thomas ran, his legs burning with every stride, the distant sound of the explosion driving him forward like a starting pistol fired directly into his chest. 

The image of Grace and Kazuki flashing before his eyes.

He ignored the constant pain in his palm, from the bullet wound he had recieved earlier. He had more important things to worry about, what was a little pain. 

As he sprinted past the wreckage of the Stager building, his eyes caught on a glint of steel buried in the rubble. Without thinking, he skidded to a stop, his boots crunching against shattered glass and debris. A sword jutted out from the ruins, its blade caked with dust but still sharp enough to gleam under the faint light of the fires around him.

Better than nothing.

He yanked the sword free with a grunt, settling it into his hands with surprising ease. 

Where had this sword even come from? Was it just abandoned here during the chaos? His mind flickered to Claire, who should have been somewhere on the ground floor by now.

Thomas tightened his grip on the weapon, shaking his head sharply.

No. Claire doesn't lose.

It wasn't arrogance or blind faith—it was just fact. For some reason, he knew, deep in his bones, that she would be fine. That certainty gave him focus, grounding him as he forced his legs to move again.

Without wasting another second, he bolted forward.

As he rounded a jagged corner, the devastation unfolded before him. The earth was scarred, jagged cracks spiderwebbing out from the epicenter of the blast. Dust licked at the edges of collapsed buildings, their smoke curling into the darkened sky.

And there, amidst the wreckage, he saw them.

Kazuki knelt on one knee, his head bowed and blood pooling beneath him. Grace was beside him, her hand clutching her side as she struggled to stay upright. The sight of her trembling form, barely holding on, sent a jolt through Thomas's chest.

Thomas lunged forward, his feet pounding against the ground. His breath caught in his throat, a single thought consuming him: the warrior would turn around. 

A man like this—someone who had brought both Kazuki and Grace to their knees—would surely hear him, would intercept him, would tear him apart before he could even get close.

And yet, he didn't stop.

Keep moving. Just keep moving.

His grip tightened on the sword as he drew it back, his muscles coiled like springs. 

One shot. He had to make it count.

The blade drove forward, slicing through the air with a sharp whistle.

It connected.

Thomas's sword pierced straight through the thick plating of the warrior's armor, cutting cleanly as if the steel had been paper. Blood welled from the wound, dark and viscous, trickling down the blade before pooling at his feet.

Thomas froze.

He had expected resistance—an impossibly fast counterattack, a crushing blow that would have stopped him in his tracks. But none of that came. The warrior hadn't even turned around.

He didn't see it coming?!

This man, the one who had effortlessly defeated Kazuki and Grace, hadn't noticed him?

Thomas: Sorry for taking so long. The traffic was terrible as usual. Seriously, talk about an unwalkable city, right?

The humor felt hollow.

Kazuki, slumped on the ground and clutching what remained of his arm, scowled fiercely. His lips twisted into a grimace, but no words came. Blood seeped through his fingers, dripping in uneven splashes onto the charred ground.

Grace, meanwhile, was utterly still. Her wide, trembling eyes locked onto the scene before her, but her body refused to move, as though the weight of the battle had pinned her down completely.

At least they're alive.

The thought brought him a fleeting sense of relief, enough to steady his breath as he turned his attention back to the man he'd impaled.

The warrior hadn't fallen. He hadn't screamed. Hell, he hadn't even flinched. Instead, the armored giant stared down at the blade protruding from his chest with an expression that could only be described as… annoyed.

Thomas's stomach twisted. This wasn't right. A normal person would've been writhing in pain, crumpling to the ground. But him? He looked irritated, as though Thomas had inconvenienced him by stabbing him through the chest.

What kind of monster is this guy?

The oppressive air around the armored monster hadn't lessened. If anything, it felt heavier now, pressing against Thomas like a weight. 

He tightened his grip on the sword, preparing to twist it for a killing blow, but his hands hesitated for a fraction of a second.

And in that second, his mind betrayed him.

The memory of his own words surfaced, unbidden.

I don't get to decide who lives or dies. I'm not some divine executioner.

I'll do it my way—without sacrificing anyone.

The sentiment felt distant now, like an echo of a man he no longer was. It hadn't worked. None of it had worked. Margarett was dead. Cromley was dead. He had killed soldiers—men who probably had families waiting for them. His so-called ideals had done nothing to save them.

Thomas's jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white around the hilt of the sword.

So what's the point?

If sparing his enemies didn't change anything—if it only brought more pain, more death—then why bother pretending he could control who lived or died?

If it doesn't matter anymore… then I'll do what I have to.

His gaze sharpened, focusing solely on The armored man. The hesitation melted away, replaced by cold resolve. If abandoning those old ideals meant protecting Kazuki and Grace, then so be it.

He adjusted his stance, his body moving before his thoughts could catch up. His grip tightened again, the blade trembling slightly in his hands—not from fear, but from the sheer force of his resolve.

This time, I won't hesitate. This time, I'll kill him.

Thomas yanked the sword free from the armored man's chest, blood spraying out as he stumbled back a step. His hands gripped the hilt tightly, the blade gleaming faintly as he redirected it in one smooth motion. 

His target was clear—the thick, exposed neck of the towering figure in front of him. He swung with all his might, the blade slicing through the air with precision and force.

Before the strike could land, a massive hand shot up and grabbed the sword mid-swing.

The blade stopped, completely halted as though it had struck an immovable wall.

Thomas's eyes widened.

The man hadn't even flinched. His fingers curled around the blade effortlessly, holding it in place as if it were nothing more than a toy. Then, as if to mock him further, the armored figure let out a slow, exaggerated yawn.

Armored Man: Tch. What're ya thinking striking me like that?

The words were casual, dripping with disdain.

Thomas gritted his teeth.

He lashed out with his foot, kicking the armored man square in the chest. The impact reverberated through Thomas's leg, a dull shock that shot up to his hip.

The armored man didn't move.

Instead, the force of the kick seemed to bounce off his thick exterior, leaving Thomas stumbling back with a grimace.

Damn it.

He yanked with all his might, his muscles straining as he pulled the sword out of The armored man's grip. The armored man let go, almost lazily, as Thomas staggered backward, retreating further toward Grace and Kazuki.

The armored man scoffed, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade.

Armored man: The hell's all this then?

He tilted his head, his sharp gaze narrowing on Thomas as if inspecting an insect that had somehow wandered into his line of sight.

Armored Man: Another brat? But this one ain't even got a speck of nature energy on him.

He barked out a laugh, the sound harsh and grating.

Armored Man: The fuck's up with that then? Ya tryna sell me short or somethin', Kazuki?

Kazuki didn't respond. He didn't even look at the armored man. Instead, his eyes were locked on Thomas, his expression hard despite the pain etched into every line of his face.

Kazuki: You need to leave, bocchan.

Thomas blinked, momentarily stunned by the seriousness in Kazuki's tone.

Thomas: What? No. Don't be ridiculous.

He gestured toward Kazuki's mangled arm, his voice rising slightly as he continued.

Thomas: You don't have to act all tough, Kazuki. Look at you—you can't keep fighting like that.

Kazuki's scowl deepened.

Kazuki: This battlefield isn't safe for you, boy. The little miss and I—we'll handle Orion. You can't. You know that, don't you? Victory for you… it's impossible.

Thomas shook his head, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips despite the tension in the air.

Thomas: Impossible, huh? 

He tightened his grip on the sword, raising it slightly as he stepped forward.

Thomas: What if I said I'm the type of guy who can fit a square peg into a round hole. All you have to do is leave what you need to to me and I'll do it old man. That kind of thing sounds much better than tucking tail and leaving you and Grace to die.

Kazuki's eyes narrowed, frustration flickering across his face before he turned his gaze toward Grace. She was still kneeling on the ground, her body trembling as she struggled to move.

Kazuki let out a slow breath.

Kazuki: There is… a way.

Thomas perked up, his grin widening slightly.

Thomas: Yeah? Let's hear it.

Kazuki gestured toward Grace, his voice low but firm.

Kazuki: The little miss over here can stop the bleeding. If she focuses, she can recover our strength—momentarily. If we can manage that, the three of us might have a shot at taking him down.

Thomas frowned, his grip on the sword loosening slightly.

Thomas: So what's the problem?

Kazuki looked back at him, his eyes hard.

Kazuki: We need time. At least thirty seconds to finish the process.

Thomas blinked, then let out a short laugh.

Thomas: Thirty seconds? Is that all? You had me worried for a second there.

But Kazuki didn't laugh. He exchanged a grim glance with Grace, her expression mirroring his own.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't have time to escape his lips.

Orion: You idiots forget I'm here or somethin'?

He took a step forward.

Orion: Keep ignoring me, and I'll blow ya all away like the maggots you are.

Thomas turned back to face him, his expression calm despite the pressure building around them. He raised his blade, pointing it at Orion with a sharp, deliberate motion.

Thomas: Patience is a well-trained virtue, you know. You should try building up that discipline.

Orion tilted his head, his mouth curling into a twisted grin.

Orion: Patience? Ain't no one alive knows more 'bout patience than me.

Thomas smiled back, the confidence in his expression unwavering.

Thomas: Good. Then your patience will be rewarded, because your challenger is ready.

He turned to Kazuki and Grace, nodding firmly. Orion's eyes narrowed as he watched Kazuki and Grace stumble away.

Orion: The hell's this? They just abandoned you?

He barked out another laugh, his tone mocking.

Orion: That's cruel, even for a rotten guy like Kazuki. Leaving you to die alone? 

Thomas didn't falter. He kept his gaze locked on Orion, his voice sharp as he answered.

Thomas: You don't get it do you? 

He raised his blade again.

Thomas: This is about trust. And I'll teach you what that means.

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Grace strutted onto the playground, her chin held high, her small hands tucked confidently into the pockets of her designer jacket. The other kids scattered as she passed, their chatter quieting to hushed whispers. She liked it that way. She expected it that way.

Grace: Outta the way. Grace is here!

Her voice carried an air of command, far too bold for a five-year-old, yet somehow fitting for her. She paused by the swings, eyeing the group of kids gathered around, her lips curling into a smirk.

Grace: You. Swing's mine now, m'kay?

The boy sitting on the swing looked up, hesitating for only a moment before scrambling off. Grace climbed on, swaying gently as she surveyed her kingdom. She was stronger than them, faster, smarter—better. Everyone knew it.

At school, her reputation was untouchable. Teachers sighed when they saw her name. Kids avoided her unless they wanted to curry favor. Grace ran the playground with an iron fist, issuing commands and making demands that no one dared question.

Even when she was called to the principal's office for her antics, she played the part of the angel.

Grace: It wasn't me, ma'am. I was only trying to help.

She'd flash her innocent smile, and her parents—ever doting—would swoop in to defend her, brushing off any complaints as misunderstandings. 

Grace always got her way.

At home, her reign extended. Her parents adored her, bending over backward to cater to her whims.

That day was no different.

Grace burst through the front door, tossing her backpack onto the floor without a second thought.

Grace: Mom! I'm home!

Her mother's voice called back from the kitchen, warm and familiar.

Mother: Welcome back, sweetheart. Dinner's ready!

The smell of her favorite dish of homemade chicken alfredo wafted through the house, and Grace's eyes lit up. She skipped into the dining room, hopping onto her chair as her mother placed the steaming plate in front of her.

Grace: Yes! 

Her fork stabbed into the food almost immediately, her appetite voracious as she dug in, savoring every bite. She barely noticed her parents at first, their hushed voices blending into the background as she ate.

But then she did notice.

They weren't paying attention to her.

The usual routine—turning on her favorite show, asking about her day, hanging up her backpack—was absent. Instead, her parents sat at the far end of the table, leaning close and murmuring to each other, their expressions serious.

Grace slammed her fists on the table, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet room.

Grace: Hey! What are you doing?

Her parents paused, turning to look at her. Her mother's concerned expression softened into a practiced smile.

Mother: Just a minute, sweetheart. Your father and I need to discuss something for a second. 

Grace scowled, her tiny fists clenching.

Grace: More important than me?!

Her voice rose, sharp and indignant. She slammed her fists on the table again, tears of frustration welling in her eyes.

Grace: Pay attention to me!

Her mother hesitated, glancing toward Grace's father as if asking for help. He sighed, standing and walking over to his daughter.

Father: Grace, that's enough.

He grabbed her small hands, holding them firmly as she struggled.

Father: Stop acting like a baby. This behavior is unacceptable.

Grace's brown eyes widened in shock as her father stared blankly into them. 

Unacceptable? 

She yanked her hands back, glaring up at him with fury.

He pointed toward the stairs, his voice stern.

Father: Go to your room. Now.

Grace froze, her chest heaving as she stared at him.

Who does he think he is?

Her thoughts raced. This man—this man who just happened to live in her house—was commanding her? Telling her what to do? As if whatever they were talking about could possibly be more important than her well-being.

The thought made her blood boil.

That kind of thinking can't go unpunished.

She thought, as her eyes began to melt into a violent shade of green.