Second Genesis

Legan’s lips slowly curled into a pout as he looked between Grey and Xerchen. Neither of them seemed to care in the slightest that anyone else existed, their attention fixed entirely on one another, and apparently that wounded him deeply.

He leaned over until his mouth was practically beside Modric’s ear. "See that? These two don’t even care about our existence. It’s such a shame, they think we’re little weaklings."

Modric took a large step away without even looking at him.

Legan was suddenly on his other side.

Modric’s eye twitched.

"Modric, dear, don’t be so cruel to me. You know I love you."

"Move back—"

Xerchen moved before Modric could finish, walking straight toward Grey.

The two stopped barely a step apart, close enough that the similarities in their height became obvious. Both stood well over 6’2", though Grey might have had him by a fraction of an inch. The funny part was that Grey had only recently turned seventeen and might still have another inch or two left in him if his genetics decided to stop being stingy, while Xerchen looked well into his twenties.

Xerchen’s eyes remained cold. "I’ve heard that some have begun calling you the strongest beneath the Command Class."

Grey smiled. "Some?"

"Fools." Xerchen’s expression didn’t change. "Your presence here is unnecessary. Whatever happened to The Relentless has nothing to do with your supposed strength, and sending someone like you into the Instance will only complicate matters. It would be better if you returned to whatever cell they intended to place you in and rotted there."

Grey laughed.

That reaction caused more than a few expressions around them to change. Even Legan stopped trying to sexually harass Modric for half a second, because most people beneath the Command Class couldn’t stand this close to Xerchen when his Frame was active without feeling like they were near an inevitable collapse.

Resonant Frames were particularly vulnerable, their connection to the world becoming something for Xerchen to grab onto and drag inward, and even those strong enough to resist usually had an obvious look of strain.

But... Grey didn’t look bothered in the slightest. Actually, the opposite was happening.

The strange pressure around Xerchen was dimming.

Grey could feel it more clearly now. That black-hole-like Frame was trying to pull at his Resonant Sense, stripping away the threads of energy reaching into the world around him, but Grey’s Frame wasn’t some singular Resonant construct he had built his entire existence around.

The moment Xerchen pulled at one part, something else filled the gap, Recursive loops cycling power back through him while Branching pathways rerouted around the pressure. Grey wasn’t even actively doing anything yet.

Xerchen’s eyes narrowed.

Grey’s grin widened. "I’m not sure what rat-infested hole you climbed out of, but I’d suggest you not piss me off in front of my wife. Otherwise, I might have to remind her what sort of man she married." Grey leaned forward slightly. "Hint, hint. Not a very patient one."

"Your wife?" Xerchen asked.

There was something about the way he said it that made Grey’s smile disappear.

It wasn’t confusion alone. Xerchen actually seemed to believe him, which was already fucking hilarious considering Grey didn’t have a wife, but there was something else behind his eyes too. A small shift, the kind Grey had gotten quite good at recognizing from dealing with people whose entire personalities were built around making sure everyone nearby understood how big their micro penis was.

Xerchen wanted to know who she was, not because he cared about Grey’s life, but because some part of him immediately wondered if taking Grey’s woman would be a better way of putting him in his place.

Grey didn’t have a wife. He was theoretically thinking about Elowen at the time he spoke, just to stir up some more trouble. But he didn’t actually have any real feelings for her outside of having a good impression and thinking she was a smoke show.

And yet, it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Grey punched out, his expression flat, not the slightest bit of hesitation in his eyes. Brad was still slung over one of his shoulders, and yet it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Xerchen had clearly been waiting for it. His palm rose casually, almost lazily. He had already decided exactly how this exchange would end and was just going through the motions.

Grey’s fist slammed into his palm.

For an instant, nothing happened.

Xerchen didn’t move, Grey didn’t move, and a few of the watching disciples almost relaxed as though the result had already been decided.

Then Xerchen’s expression changed.

Something drilled through his arm.

It wasn’t just raw strength. Grey’s Holy Energy surged through the point of contact, white-gold threads compressing, rotating, and layering over one another until all the force of his punch seemed to become a single spear boring through Xerchen’s defenses.

Xerchen’s feet left the ground.

BOOM.

He crossed the courtyard like he had been fired out of a cannon and slammed into the opposite wall hard enough to send cracks racing through the stone.

Silence fell.

Grey started walking.

Strands of white gold danced around his hair, mixing with the pale strands so thoroughly that it became difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. Brad remained over his shoulder, unconscious and half dead, which somehow made the sight even more ridiculous.

Mauve slowly looked at Elowen.

Elowen slowly looked at Mauve.

Both of them seemed to arrive at the same horrifying realization.

Grey had said wife. There were only two women standing here he could possibly have been talking about, and neither of them was actually married to him.

So why the fuck was he this angry?

Mauve groaned inwardly.

Elowen closed her eyes for half a second. Ever since Grey appeared he had just been giving her one headache after another. Couldn’t he just relax?

Grey didn’t notice either reaction. He stalked forward, gaze locked onto Xerchen as the young man began pulling himself free from the ruined wall.

Then something flickered.

Grey stopped.

An old woman stood directly in his path.

The same short, hunched granny who had been standing beside Mauve and Elowen only a moment earlier now rested both hands atop her bulbous cane, looking up at Grey with calm, silver eyes.

Grey hadn’t seen her move.

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