Kurt had always had a tendency towards the psychosomatic. Perhaps as a remnant of his childhood, which had been spent battling one disease or the other, his brain had learned to associate all pain with some physical ailment. Be this pain actually physical in nature or 'merely' emotional, it all ended up as bolts of pain somewhere in his body.

  Right now, as he ran through and bounded between the rooftops of a suburban neighborhood, he felt that pain in his lungs. Just like when he had been four, every breath seemed to stab at him from within his chest, creating a discomfort that was as intense as it was familiar.

  The conversation with Mr. Anderson had gone on for about a minute after Conrad had become its subject. The man had demanded Kurt tell him everything about that call and, when Kurt had complied, Mr. Andderson's breath grew ragged, as though he was having a panic attack.

  Kurt, more scared and confused than he had ever been outside the battlefield, had tried to argue that, suspicious as it seemed, they had no proof of Conrad having anything dark up his sleeve. Despite how bad it looks, he had said, we have no reason to flip out. I mean, who would Conrad even be working with if not us?

  He had felt so reasured with that answer. After all, and despite how fantastic the world they lived in was, it still wasn't a fantasy book. They were chasing criminals who had killed someone and taken something valuable from their corpse, not supervillains with world domination plans. Those that used magic for crime didn't try and destroy the orders and agencies that went after them, but rather worked around them, scurrying in the dark like regular criminals. The idea of a mere cult trying to sabotage an DSP sponsored operation from within was about as likely as that of gang members infiltrating the goddamn FBI.

  Conrad could not be a mole. Not after the years he had spent in the order.

  Not after the last few days.

  Yes, Kurt's logic was sound, and he was sure of his own certainty.

  It was then that Mr. Anderson told him about the man with the bronze mask, and the things he had said. Right after that, as though that information had been a spell meant to bring sight back to Kurt's eyes, he noticed that Conrad had taken his saber with him. To get some pizza.

  Mr. Anderson had told him to take Mila, go to some other hotel, and call him from there.

  Instead, Kurt had taken his sword, remembered in what direction Conrad's Aura had strained towards, and bolted out the room while Mila was still in the shower. He hadn't even hanged up.

  He reached the edge of a roof and jumped, clearing the 7 or so yards of distance between one one-story house and the other like it was nothing. All throughout, his head snapped from one side to the other, looking for the dark blue light amidst the darkness of the streets.

  His thoughts were a mess. One part was cursing at everything under the sun:Mr. Anderson, for witholding the full details about that fucking cult. At Conrad, for his suspected treachery. And finally at himself, for falling for it.

  Another part denied everything, rationalizing and excusing and downplying like a battered wife in front of the sheriff. Conrad could not be plying us, it said, not after all we've been through. He even trusted us with his past.

  ...If that had been his actual past, and not some story he had made up, jumped a third part, It sure is convenient he told us right when we were talking about aborting the quest, uh? Making us pity him, then showering us in praise so we would do as he says... holy fucking hell. I am like a battered wife.

  The pain his his chest sharply intensified.

  And then there was a part of him thinking about Mila. About how he had left her alone, maybe in danger if this whole moles-in-the-DSP thing was true. This was the last part to speak out, and the one that made the rest shut the hell up.

  Kurt stopped his stride on the thirteenth roof he had jumped onto and turned back, intent on returning to the motel. If Conrad was innocent, which he just had to be, then he would return with pizza and all this would be just a bad memory. If not, if Mr. Anderson was right...well, then at least he and Mila would be together to face it.

  Sighing tremblingly, Kurt gave the first step on his way back.

  It was also the last one. The second died the moment Kurt saw a blue flash on the edge of his vision.

  His body moved without any conscious input. He fell down on the road, made his way between two houses, and planted his feet on the street he had seen the light pass through. He turned to his right, the muscles on his neck in a state of rictus.

  And saw the light of the Blue Aura speeding away.

  Again, his legs moved on their own, his Od flaring by its own volition, and a scream he hadn't even noticed breathing in escaped his mouth, propelled forward by Pneuma-boosted intercostal muscles to match the roar of a tiger.

  The light stopped dead on its tracks, dimming, and Kurt reached it in a mere two seconds. What received him at the end of his sprint was Conrad's back.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  All the autonomy Kurt's body had demonstarted evaporated, leaving him paralized and without knowing what to say.

  "Hey," he managed to say. "This is...I mean, I don't think there are any pizza places around here, man."

  Kurt laughed at his friend's 'mistake'. The sound came far more forced than he had intended it to.

  "Yeah," answered Conrad. "I don't think there are either."

  "Well, no biggie then!" Kurt exclaimed, letting out yet another forced laugh. "Why don't we sprint back to the city and get some quick take out. I could even carry it on my inventory so it doesn't get cold!"

  "...Kurt, why are you here?"

  The question froze the boy,made his body go numb and his stomach hurt.

  "I called Mr. Anderson," Kurt confensed. Oddly enough, he found his voice far more even and his words easier to utter now. "Told him about that call you made the night you were wounded by that sorceress. He told me he didn't receive it."

  Without turning, Conrad tilted his head to one side. He was carrying his saber in one hand, his grip on the sheath tight like a dead man's, and when he spoke he did it with the emotion of one too. "Is that so? Wow, that's so weird, man."

  "Who were you talking to then, if not him?"

  "...Go back to the motel, Kurt."

  A terrible heat spreded from Kurt's core, washing away the numbness. He spoke again, "Who were you talking to, Conrad? And why are you here?"

  "Kurt!" Conrad shouted sharply. He finally turned back to face Kurt, exposing the combo of gritted teeth and bloodshot eyes that was his face. His free hand moved to grab his sword's hilt. "Just go back. Please, just go back."

  When all doubt existed Kurt's mind, when what was happening before him became so clear no friendship-fueled delusion could cloud it, and he saw the second true friendship he had managed to forge crumble away, he did not cry in sorrow or roar in fury.

  He laughed. Bitterly and mirlessly, but boy did he laugh.

  "You..." he said between cackles. His eyes began to sting, his sight going blurry. "For how long, man? Just how much did you spend setting up this killer punchline, uh?!"

  "From the begining," Conrad confesed, unsheathing his sword, tossing the scabbard away. "Since before I was 'recruited' into the order." He let out a laugh of his own, but he didn't smile. "Why the hell do you think I joined in the first pla-?!"

  Conrad threw his head to one side, avoiding the scabbard aimed at his mouth. He barely had the time to reactivate his Aura before Kurt reached him, and Silver Demon clawed at his chest in a sideways slash.

  Conrad's saber glistened in the moonlight as it moved to parry the blow, deflecting it to the side as his wielder stepped back, out the mithril broadsword's range. Kurt din't pursue, instead falling back into a solid, defensive guard.

  "I'm going to kill you," Kurt grunted, his teeth bared like that of a beast's. "I'm going to gut you let you bleed out on the asphalt like the piece of roadkill you are!"

  "Well then," Conrad shot back as he fell in a fencer's stance. "My guts are right here, Kurt, why don't you come and take them?"

  Kurt's rage boiled within his skull, threatening to blast through the bone if it wasn't released as quickly and brutally as possible. It made his temples vibrate, his teeth grind against each other, and his eyes water and swell with blood until it felt like they would just pop out.

  But he did not take the bait.

  Conrad still had the reach advantage between the two of them, thanks to his one-handed style, and that mattered a lot when facing off between equally skilled swordsmen. Kurt had to play it defensively, to remain constantly aware of the radius of both their sword's ranges. If he rushed carelesssly into Conrad's guard, he would be skewered long before his sword reached Conrad, without any guarantee he would be able to repay the blond bastard in kind before all strength abandoned him.

  So he quelled his fury, sharpening it into a cool blade of hate, and he advanced slowly towards Conrad, step by step. Finally, he stepped into the imaginary circle that marked Conrad's perimeter, and the response was immediate. A flash of silver twisted around Silver Demon's blade, poised for Kurt's hands.

  A simple and obvius line of attack that Kurt easily countered by simply letting his arms drop a couple inches and angling his wrists to the left. Just like that, what met Conrad's saber were not Kurt's fingers, but the edge of his sword. The thinner blade slid down the broader one until it met one of the two straight handguards, which stopped it entirely.

  Before Conrad could pull back his blade, Kurt brought his sword down, deeper and to the left, as though to slap his rival's forearm with the flat of it. Then, once he felt he had forced his opponent's hold on his weapon in a position awkward enough, he dropped his weight onto his dominant leg, throwing his torso to the right, and pulled his arms close and up.

  It was an expulsion, the act of weakening the opponent's grip through a bind followed up by an explosive motion in the direction they could extert the least force to in order to disarm them entirely. It was perfectly, or at least decently, set up, and by all means it should have worked.

  But Conrad had a second weapon Kurt hadn't accounted for.

  Stabbing with his scabbard as though it were a dagger, Conrad hit Kurt right beneath the ribs, driving the air out his lungs and making him jump back on instinct like a startled hare. Had Kurt been left-handed, and thus Conrad's first slash and Kurt's response centered around the boy's right side, that could have easily been a liver shot.

  Kurt had grown much stronger in this quest, both physically and magically, but he hadn't grown more skilled with the sword. He had Conrad beat for every stat sans raw speed and precision by a very wide margin, which made the fact that the sword was a weapon of speed and precision sting twice as much.

  He could simply turn this into something more than a sword fight. It would be as simple as conjuring his wand and pelting Conrad with Jet bullet's and Wind Blades, his two fastest non-lightning spells, and let him dodge until something slipped and he was mauled and sliced by the very air around him.

  But Kurt's rage and ego kept that easy solution locked away. He wanted to beat Conrad at the thing they both took pride on. He wanted to make it up close. And, above all else, he wanted to amke it hurt.

  He bit the pain back, returned to his stance, and prepared to meet Conrad once again. This time it was the saber wielder who rushed in, sending a flurry of stabs Kurt's way. One aimed at the shoulder was blocked by Silver Demon's blade. A slash aimed at the knee was dodged with a quick step back. When Conrad lunged, aiming again at Kurt's shoulder, the boy pivoted back into a lunge of his own, holding his blade with the hilt at eye level and the blade angled down, protecting the left side of his body against Conrad's blade.

  This elicited the expected response: once again, Conrad brought his scabbard out, poised for Kurt's belly. Sensing the motion, Kurt brought his blade down, stabbing at the asphalt in front of his left foot and, using the blade for support, threw his right knee against Conrad's stomach.

  The wood of the scabbard met the bone of the flexed kneecap, and the bone won handily, shattering the improvised bludgeon into splinters without slowing down, and then planting itself on the soft flesh of Conrad's belly, doubling the older swordsman over.

  As soon as his foot returned to the ground, and beforee Conrad could compose himself, Kurt yanked his sword out the road and brought it in a deadly arc below Conrad's arm, hitting him beneath the ribs with the flat of it.

  It was only due to Kurt's conscious choice that it was the flat and not the edge that met Conrad's liver.

  All strength was sipped away from the blond one's limbs. Sword and scabbard escaped his grasp, clattering against the black road. Kurt threw himself against Conrad again, tackling him, ramming at his chest with his shoulder, and sending him on his back.

  As soon as Conrad landed, Silver Demon's blade stabbed into the asphalt right besides his head, and Kurt's foot planted on his chest, driving away what little air remained in his lungs, and trapping him like an insect pinned to a board. He slapped Conrad's saber away with his sword, sending the blade spinning into the darkness.

  "Now then," Kurt growled, looking down at Conrad, letting his amber eyes meet the traitor's fright filled blue. "Let's talk a little more, my good friend."