Chapter one: part 2

The massive warrior stared at the old man, dumbstruck, for a moment.
“Me!?” disbelief clear in his voice as he directed his question at the old fighter, “You expect one such as I to bow to a withered old man like you!?” His trembling voice was rising in tenor, with rage he could barely suppress rumbling like a waking dragon just beneath the words. How had such an insolent fool manage to survive to such an advanced age? He is obviously insane, thought the young bull of a man, his survival assured by the patience of the sympathetic, humouring him and his feeble-minded whims. But I am neither sympathetic, nor patient.

“I had thought to show you mercy old one, but you have forced my hand, dishounoring me in the presence of a street full of witnesses,” his mammoth, thick-fingered hand dropped to the haft of the katana hanging at his waist as he spat the words directly into the face of the old man, “your actions have left room for nothing but swift retribution.” Gripping the weapon firmly, he began drawing it, blade down, savouring the whisper of steel on cloth as the weapon was slowly slid from it's sheath.
The old man had barely moved, his body still held the tense stance of a trained fighter ready for combat, the still rigidity of his posture belieing the fragile appearance of his age. He faced his would-be executioner without fear, without any apparent concern it seemed.
The sword now was free of it's cloth scabbard, the giant man, holding it so that the blade ran along the length of the back of his arm, lifted his hand high, the muscles of his thick arm bulging as he tensed them, preparing for the finishing blow, the strike that would mercifully end this demented old man's lunacy, allowing his obviously ill mind to at last find rest.
Time seemed to pause in that moment, some in the crowd looked away from the grisly sight they felt sure would come, others could not bring themselves to turn their eyes from the scene, a morbid fascination gripping them tightly, they watched on.
All present could feel the ripple of power in the air as the young champion drew on his experience as a warrior of the Pagoda of elements to pull to him the strength of the elemental forces pervading the very substance of the world around him. He grinned sadistically, confidence and pride swelling his already massive chest at the rush of power suddenly growing within his body. He knew that to draw on his Kabal'cha simply to dispose of a weak creature such as this was not necessary, but he felt the raw display of his power would suitably impress the watching audience. He'd always been one to please the people.
The current of the Kabal'cha was like that of a great river flowing towards, and into, the warrior, filling him with a mighty strength and unshakable confidence, he gloried in the rush of it, but something was wrong. Just beneath the flow of power he pulled into himself there was something akin to an undercurrent, a matching flow of power, but moving in a different direction, moving towards....
The old man!?
Yes, there was no mistaking it now that he had identified the second flow, the old man could also draw on Kabal'cha it seemed.