by Mason Dakota
Ziavir struck first.
What have I just agreed to?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I learned right then that maybe “devil” wasn’t the best description for Ziavir. His movements blurred. His right kick swung in at my knee. Fast. I barley skipped back out of the way before he pressed forward with a right jab aimed at my throat. I leaned to the side and drove my left fist into Ziavir’s ribcage.
First contact goes to me!
Most believe that head shots hurt more in a fight, but the truth is that the body is more vulnerable and weaker than the skull, and you’re more likely to shatter the bones in your fist if you punch the skull. But, when I hit Ziavir it looked like it didn’t even affect him…probably because he left himself exposed on purpose.
With his right arm already extended he stepped forward and snapped his right elbow into my nose. As I pulled my head back from the blow, he followed up by re-extending his right arm to deliver a swift back hand to my face. Ziavir came in with a left uppercut aimed for my gut. My left hand shot down and deflected the blow and I crashed forward with my own punch aimed at his throat. Like lightning, Ziavir caught my wrist, grabbed the front of my shirt with his free hand, twisted, and threw me forward. I crashed hard onto the floor with the wind knocked out of me.
I opened my eyes to see Ziavir standing above me with his foot raised. With all the speed left in me, I barrel rolled out of the way and jumped to my feet. We stared at each other before I smiled and mockingly waved him forward, an insult Ziavir’s ego couldn’t ignore. He came in fast and strong. He aimed a right kick at my hip, and instead of trying to dodge or block, I caught it against my side.
I may not be the best hand-to-hand fighter, but I knew enough about human anatomy to know where to hit. I struck twice at the side of his knee. Ziavir released a breath of pain and I expected him to pull his foot free, but that’s not what he did.
Instead, he leapt into the air, twisted his body, and spun in a beautiful butterfly kick. It caught me off guard and I paid for it as his free foot came around and hit me across the jaw. I let go of his foot and fell back to the floor. My head rang and my vision doubled. I looked for Ziavir but saw two of him swirling around me. I scrambled to my feet and faced the swirling pool of Ziavir with fists raised.
“That was a nice move there,” I said trying to regain some composure. My face burned, and my body cried out in pain, begging for rest. But I kept going. Surrender meant death. I had to keep going, keep pushing through my pain. Chicago needed me to. Alison needed me to. My friends needed me to. I needed me to!
Ziavir wiped at his mouth and said, “Your father taught me that one.”
Again anger flooded through me and I wanted to charge him. He wanted that; I knew it. He wanted me to lose control in anger and make it easier for him to beat me. I couldn’t play into his games. But something caught my eye. Behind Ziavir, a thug collapsed to the floor. A tranquilizer dart stuck out of his throat.
Help was on the way! Stalling was the game now…which meant I had to play into Ziavir’s scheme.
I charged forward at Ziavir, straight at a painful beating.
Sometimes you’ve just got to take one for the team.
I came in swinging, throwing hooks and jabs left and right like a mad man. Ziavir moved like the wind—always just out of my reach. Several missed strikes left me empty and sluggish. I choked on air and my muscles felt like lead. My tank ran empty. Then Ziavir struck. He swatted away a hook punch like a fly and struck first in my right arm. He must have hit a nerve or something because my whole arm went numb. He followed up by attacking my defenseless right side with a swift series of punches. I thought he cracked my bruised ribs.
I tried to defend myself, but my right arm hung limp at my side, and my other arm wasn’t strong enough to defend me. I’m not sure at what point I fell to my knees, but that didn’t get me mercy from Ziavir. He hit me everywhere, alternating between the body and face with kicks and punches. He intended to lengthen the duration of my pain instead of knocking me out, striking me with lethal precision. I tasted blood in my mouth and felt it burn my eyes.
Ziavir proceeded to have some fun pummeling my face. I lost count of how many blows and how long he went.
When Ziavir stopped the beating, he held me up by my bloody shirt collar. His knuckles were bloody. I saw everything in red. He breathed deep and slow with a sense of calm. I barely breathed at all. There was no more joy, no more happiness, no more delight in the world. There was only pain.
I was broken.
Maybe I should have just taken the bullet to the face.
“You fought well Griffon. But you never stood a chance.” He threw me back and I fell to the floor. I didn’t get back up. The cold floor felt soothing against my burning face. My blood cemented my cheek to the floor.
Ziavir walked back to one of the thugs and took back his pistol. He slid back the chamber to check it was loaded and turned back to face me. I struggled to my feet and slipped twice on something slick that smelled like rust and iron. More of my own blood.
He laughed at my pathetic attempts to stand up to him and said, “You don’t know when to give up do you? I admire that. It’s a shame you have to die here tonight…weak and alone.”
“He’s not alone!”
Ziavir spun around to face the voice and met the broad side of a wooden club across the face. The club struck Ziavir and threw him back with relative ease. If my mouth weren’t full of blood, I would’ve shouted and cheered seeing my savior to be…
Shaman?
A figure in dark clothes and a brown leather jacket stood opposing Ziavir, a giant of a man in both stature and presence. His face was concealed by a mask—my Shaman mask! His fists were small boulders, his arms as thick and as wide as my thighs. His broad chest was stone. His legs were pillars of steel. He carried only one weapon into the den of lions, a wooden club with a single word etched in black down the length of it. Council.
Ziavir sprung back to his feet and came swinging fists at Shaman. Shaman didn’t flinch. He barely even budged as Ziavir’s first blow struck him across the cheek, turning his head just slightly to the side. Slowly and menacingly, Shaman turned toward Ziavir. I wondered if he smiled under the mask before he returned Ziavir’s hit with one of his own. With the speed of lightning and the sound of thunder he hit Ziavir with the force of a moving truck.
The blow dazed Ziavir, nearly driving him to the ground, which gave Shaman the perfect chance to land a heavy kick to Ziavir’s chest throwing him several feet back. Only one man I knew had strength like that.
Chamberlain is not a tamed man.
Ziavir stumbled back bleeding from a cut on his cheek and shouted, “Kill them! Kill them all!”
A mercenary raised his gun and aimed down his sights at Shaman. Suddenly a table knife flew through the air and struck the mercenary’s shoulder. He cried out and spun while pulling the trigger. Bullets sprayed everywhere. One man dropped to the ground with his leg bleeding. A woman screamed and dove for the ground. Guests fled in all direction. I looked around to see who threw the knife and saw Alison.
As deadly as she is beautiful.
Chaos erupted. The guests panicked and flew out of the room like a hive of bees. In the midst of the scrambling party goers, I saw two mercenaries come at Chamberlain. They would need help to take him down. Brandishing Council like a broadsword, he swung with deadly ferocity. They tried to defend themselves to no success.
With one swing he completely disarmed both men. Drawing wickedly serrated knives they charged at Chamberlain. Shaman whipped Council back around and took out one foe with a blow across the head. The second man took the chance to stab forward, and I watched as his small knife sliced across Shaman’s arm. Shaman cried out in pain and smashed his elbow out into the mercenary’s face. The man fell back, giving Shaman the time to execute a quick knockout blow to his opponent.
Alison dove behind the cover of the bar and somehow in the chaos acquired a gun off o
ne of the mercenaries Chamberlain took down. She played a cruel game of Wack-A-Mole, popping up and down from cover long enough to fire a few pot shots at exposed mercenaries before diving back down unseen. The mercenaries returned fire, shooting through the panicking crowd in attempts to hit Alison. Bullets flew across the room, cutting through guests, shredding parts of the bar and wall behind. I didn’t see Alison jump back up right after that barrage.
Griffon, do something or die!
I lay on the ground unnoticed by everyone, injured and defenseless, hopelessly dependent on my allies fighting around me.
Then I spotted Ziavir’s gun lying nearby where he dropped it.
Inch by inch I crawled forward. Gradually adrenaline gave me strength and I scrambled to my feet and dove for the gun as fast as my legs allowed. Suddenly my feet disappeared beneath me and I fell flat on my face with a jarring thud. A pair of hands grabbed me and flipped me over onto my back.
Ziavir Yiros.
He raised his fist and punched me across the jaw. I saw stars and felt their white hot prickly touch.
“No more games! You die tonight!”
He pulled back to hit me again before I pulled up my knees and kicked out, hitting Ziavir square in the chest. He flew back off me and landed outside my view. I grabbed the gun lying nearby and lifted it up to fire, but Ziavir fled into the crowd.
I thought about going after him, but that would mean leaving behind Alison and Chamberlain against half a dozen of Ziavir’s men. They needed me. Alison hid behind the bar counter in a firefight. Chamberlain fought in the thick of the melee, swinging Council with one hand and firing off shots. His movements resembled the combination of a gazelle and a rhino, graceful and powerful at the same time.
I saw Chamberlain strike a man to his right with his club and spin just in time to unleash two rounds from a stolen semi-automatic in his left hand. Mercenaries dove for cover and Chamberlain darted forward with club raised high. He was a warrior with a monk’s mind, ferocious but gentle.
Man I’m glad he’s on my side.
The two of them fought against a small army with about a hundred screaming guests caught in the cross fire trying to escape. Leaving them would be securing not just their deaths, but many others’ as well. But staying meant Ziavir’s escape. The right thing to do would be to stand and fight with those risking their lives for me. The right thing to do…
But I didn’t choose the right thing to do.
I sprinted for the fire escape, zigzagging through the crowd, blending in as a helpless guest trying to dodge the gunfire. I slipped past the line of thugs unnoticed and headed for the fire escape doors.
“GRIFFON!,” screamed Chamberlain.
Taking his shout to be a warning, I ducked down as I busted through the fire escape doors. I spun around and slammed the door forcibly behind me, hearing as much as feeling bullets strike the metal door on the other side. Instantly the stone walls and steel door drowned out the noise on the other side.
Alone with Ziavir.
The fire escape opened up onto a staircase going both up and down. I ran to the railing and looked down. Guests fled down the stairs in a mad panic…but there was no Ziavir amongst them. Suddenly a door slammed shut above me.
I took the stairs three at a time. I stopped just before busting open the door to the rooftop. If I did what I knew I had to in order to stop Ziavir’s plans, I knew I could save thousands of lives.
Just point and shoot, Griffon.
I swallowed, gathered up my courage, and kicked open the door as I charged in ready to face my destiny.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Shame cripples even the strongest. It’s that whisper in the ear that never lets you forget your mistakes, that compels you to hide them, or worse, causes you to commit acts that only create more shame. It’s why teenagers obsess over appearance, why spouses have affairs, why I steal and lie, because at its root, shame makes everyone believe they lack something that can make them whole.
Maybe that’s why Eve ate the forbidden fruit?
The aftermath is always the same. Regret. That deadly regret keeps us from the best things in life because shame only creates more shame. A vicious cycle. It can break any person down to the point where he feels like crumbled pieces of bread smashed against rocks and then thrown into a torrent of wind and fire.
Or at least that’s how shame and regret felt when I abandoned my friends.
Chicago’s icy cold wind slammed into me when I walked out onto the rooftop. I tasted car fumes and cigarette butts. The cold mercilessly sliced through my layered clothing. It stung the eyes as it whipped my hair and tux in a frenzy. My fingers cracked and stiffened against the exposure and my lungs ached with each exhausted breath.
The rooftop consisted of a large, private helicopter landing pad and a massive skylight exposing the penthouse below. My prey stood alone, unaware I was on the far end of the rooftop. He spoke on a cell phone.
“Yes, we accomplished our goal. The city will be in full blown panic by morning. Now where is that extraction you promised?” He paused for a minute as the person on the other end spoke. Then he said, “That’s too long. The Illegal—Chamberlain—is downstairs making a mess of the men we hired. I can’t promise they won’t kill him. They know their orders but they’re undisciplined.” Another brief pause then, “Yes, I know the risk. But I couldn’t intervene. Griffon wouldn’t allow it. He reacted exactly how you said he would.”
Does he mean he would have stopped his own hired men if it weren’t for me? Who is Ziavir speaking to?
“I guess I should feel insulted for being predictable!” I shouted as I stepped out into the open and pointed my gun at Ziavir. Slowly Ziavir turned and looked at me. I saw him roll his eyes and say into the phone, “Your little pet is here. I’ve got to go.”
Little pet?
He flipped the phone closed and sighed as he looked at me. He didn’t look the least bit scared or nervous to see a gun pointed at him, probably an everyday occupational hazard for Ziavir.
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Ziavir shouted out to me over the roar of the wind.
“I thought the guy with the gun says that!” I shouted back.
“You act like you’re playing a role in a movie. Movies have happy endings and heroes who always win, and everything ends with a nice bow wrapped around it. But that isn’t the real world. In the real world heroes don’t exist and neither do happy endings! You know why? Because we know nothing more than how to break things—but we lie to ourselves and convince ourselves that is not our nature.”
“If I know you plan to break me, you can’t blame me for standing guard to stop you then.”
“I know who I am, a breaker of what’s precious. But sometimes you have to break what is cracking in order to put it back together correctly.”
‘That doesn’t even make sense! You can’t seriously believe that killing people is the same as fixing a broken arm or putting a vase back together!”
“You still believe the lie that doing good things will lead to good things in return. But that isn’t always the case, Griffon. I cannot help you understand when you are so brash and naïve! And incapable of listening!”
“I like to think I’ve done well so far for all my naivety and brashness,” I said smugly.
I’m fine showing pride when necessary.
Ziavir smirked, shook his head, and said, “After tonight, none of what’s said here will matter. Our pieces are all in place. This is check mate! The world will see us in the image of our choosing. I’ve already received reports that tonight’s work pushes us into the final phase of Chicago’s destruction. Once again, you have unknowingly aided us Griffon.”
Way to go Griffon. You’re supposed to stop the bad guys, not help them in their evil plans.
I gritted my teeth and said, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll still stop you!”
“What can you hope to accomplish? You are but one small minnow in a great big sea and you think yo
u can take on a Great White all on your own?”
“Really? Out of all the possible bad guy cliché analogies you go with fishes and seas? Wow. You took one out of the bad guy handbook there.”
“You can’t beat the classics.”
I readjusted my grip on the pistol and licked my lips. “I want to know everything: Nebula, my parents, why you killed them, why you took those scientists, and what you mean by final phase.”
“And if I refuse, I’m supposed to believe that you’re going to shoot me? Forgive me if I don’t take you seriously,” said Ziavir.
Well when you ask for it…
I pulled the trigger and the gun roared in my hand with a flash of light and tails of smoke rising into the air. Ziavir’s body twisted in unstoppable force and he fell back a few steps toward the ledge. He waved one of his arms, the other tucking itself into his ribcage, as he planted his feet and stopped himself from falling. Teeth gritted, face contorted in a flash of pain, he swallowed his brief agony like a pill before standing to his full height in defiance and…pride. His sleeve dripped wet with the growing stain of a sickening red liquid.
But his eyes flashed a wildfire-blazing heat so bright I feared it would leap from his pupils and engulf me like dried brush. I suddenly felt disorientated in his glare. Nausea washed over me like a sea wave and I felt…wrong.
“Next one is in your chest,” I croaked.
He turned his numbing glare away and I felt suddenly released from his spell. He glanced down at his wound, seeing the blood soak his shirt and his expression went from a consuming rage to something closer to the disappointment of a father.
He chuckled and said, “It’s one thing to kill a man out of self-defense or out of the urgency to protect the ones you love. That much can be forgiven—or even honored. But shooting an unarmed man requires a darker touch—something which I did not expect you to have…yet.”
“I guess that makes you just as naïve as I am then.”
He smiled as he took off his tie and wrapped it around his arm as a tourniquet. I missed an artery, but the wound would restrict his movements painfully until it fully healed. I waited patiently. The distance between us convinced me I held the advantage if he tried to move or flee to put him down. But I needed information.
