The two walked slowly, but found no more immediate resistance, finally coming to the end of the landing and confronting a huddled ball whimpering softly in the corner. It was smaller than all the previous werewolves had been, maybe one third the size.
“Oh Jesus, Kel, it’s a kid.”
The small girl continued to face her body to the wall but turned to look at Meghan, her dark brown eyes catching the light given off from Kellan’s sword.
“It’s ok,” Meghan began, lowering her pistols, “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want those that are keeping you here. Where did they go?”
As if in answer, the young girl turned toward them. Kellan saw she was holding something. He saw the red blinking light and trigger too late—
Kellan’s entire body thrummed as he drew deeply on the river of power within him, trying to simultaneously bend time and place a shield around Meghan and himself.
“We’re too close,” he thought to himself, feeling a rise of panic as he saw the blast slowly billow out, engulfing the small child while simultaneously immolating her, countless steel bearings shredding her tiny body. He saw the shield he created project outward from himself as a shimmering, faintly blue, haze creeping lazily towards Meghan. He lunged for her, unaffected by the temporal shift he had created and grabbed her about the waist just as the concussion blast and first round of projectiles slammed into them both, forcing them over the edge of the platform and into the darkness below.
With both arms around Meghan, the temporal shift vanished and Kellan desperately shifted his weight so they fell with his back toward the floor, shielding her from the inevitable impact. He saw them pass through the first floor, apparently having fallen through the entrance to the subterranean level, giving Kellan additional precious seconds to begin altering the gravity acting on them both before they came to a painful and shuddering stop some thirty feet below the surface.
White light flashed through Kellan’s mind at the sudden impact and he felt his consciousness begin to ebb. He reached for the emerald torrent within him only to notice it as now more of a substantial, but slower moving river. Still, he drew from it and the energy served like a splash of ice cold water bringing his thoughts back into focus.
He lifted Meghan gently from on top of him and laid her on the ground next to him, fingers immediately questing for her neck.
There was blood everywhere. Kellan had no idea how much of it was his, hers, or those they had fought above. With relief, he found the slow thrum of a living pulse in her neck, but it seemed far too weak to be anything close to normal. Meghan’s left shoulder, the one furthest from where the shield emanated, was a ruin of bone and blood. Kellan could see that several of the steel bearings had gone clean through, while some were stopped by her ballistic armor, and others were still embedded in flesh.
Her eyes fluttered open and tried to focus on him, “Kel? Kel, we should be dead. That IED was massive. She tried to move her head and take in their surroundings, wincing in pain. Where…?”
“Shhh,” Kellan said, placing both hands to her cheeks and gently straightening her neck. “Please don’t move. I have no idea what, or how badly, you are hurt. I also don’t think we have much time before we’re found down here so let me try to get you stable. You’re bleeding pretty badly from that shoulder. I think your armor and my shield stopped the worst of it.”
Meghan looked back at Kellan, taking in the blood that ran freely down his face and at the dozens of deep indentations that marked his chest. “Seems your body armor is better than mine,” she said smiling slightly, as foamy red spittle dribbled down her chin. “Kel, I think I’m in trouble.”
“No you aren’t. I’m going to take care of you; just tell me how best to stop the bleeding in your arm.” Meghan had begun to pale significantly. Kellan knew she would die if he could not get the blood loss under control, and quickly.
“My left shoulder…there’s a tissue sealing compound. Looks like a small aerosol spray bottle—white.”
Kellan quickly found it and leaned over her, spraying the entire contents into her shoulder wound. The foam expanded and seemed to seep into all the bleeding crevices as she sighed in relief from the anesthetic in the foam.
Her eyes suddenly widened in fear and she tried to speak, but Kellan was already moving. He flattened himself against Meghan and felt the air stir against his neck as something whooshed inches from where his head and neck had been moments before.
Looking quickly over his shoulder, Kellan saw a massive, hair covered arm continue its leftward arc, spinning the beast enough in that direction to leave it off balance. Kellan rolled right and kicked out with his feet—slamming the lycanthrope into the wall of the tunnel where they had fallen.
It bounced backward slightly and turned to face Kellan and Meghan, shaking its head to clear the effects of Kellan’s kick. It charged, leaping toward Kellan as he raised both hands, palms touching, forming an outward facing bowl. A concussive force of unseen air struck the werewolf in midleap throwing him backward twenty feet into the tunnel even as Kellan scrambled to his feet, trying to ignore the many points of pain that registered throughout his body.
“Ok. It’s on now, bitch,” yelled Kellan as he grabbed a handful of magnesium flares that had spilled out from his pack. He dragged them all against the rough walls of the tunnel. Immediately the gloom was beaten back by the bright magenta flames from half a dozen flares. Kellan dropped two by Meghan and tossed the other four a short distance ahead.
In the reddish light, he saw at least two or three additional lycanthropes had joined the one that had been thrown back with the blast of air he had unleashed moments before.
Apparently that display had made them wary— not understanding who, or what, they were dealing with. Then one of them spoke.
“You have trespassed into our home and killed many of us, but I give you this one chance to take your wounded and leave.”
“F-Fuck You! You hairy murderous bastards! You killed my Marines and—” Meghan spasmed, coughing hard, as more red foam spilled on her lips.
Not good Numerous medical texts filed past Kellan’s consciousness. He addressed the row of werewolves before him. “I don’t think we’re going to find a peaceful way out of this, Rover,” he called out as he looked inward, calling to his power and noticing it had diminished again. It was now fully half of what it had been at its height.
“Well, that’s not good either,” he said softly to himself, “and it clearly didn’t mention any of this in the ‘become a Sentinel’ brochure.”
“Wizard or no—you will die then,” growled the werewolf as they all tensed to attack, but were suddenly engulfed in a blindingly white plasma fire that erupted from the floor. All all four magnesium flares winked out. Kellan could see the skeletal forms of the six werewolves for a frozen moment before they collapsed to dust.
“Wizard?” said Kellan quizzically, picking up and lighting his last flare and walking down the tunnel toward a faint light he could barely discern. “So, there are wizards too? If Merlin and Gandalf are real, I’m going to completely shit my pants. Stop talking to yourself. That’s crazy—not intimidating.”
Kellan squared his shoulders, wincing with the pain that it brought. He glanced towards his right hand as the glowing blue sword appeared, allowing him to grip it tightly. He then reached inward to check his reserves and found only a small flowing stream of power remained. What would happen when that stream ran dry? Nothing good. He passed into a dimly lit room that was roughly hewn from the surrounding stone. Aside from the rustic nature of the walls, the room was fully appointed with fine materials. Intricate Persian rugs lay across the floor while rich, embroidered pillows were scattered throughout. Golden braziers were placed strategically to both provide light and take the chill and damp from the subterranean air.
“Well, down to just the two of us it seems.”
Kellan’s eyes focused on the middle aged man seated amidst several pillows at the far end of the room. H
e was surrounded by several plates on which sat what appeared to be internal organs. They glistened wet with blood. The man appeared to be in his late forties, with dark black hair cut short and a meticulously trimmed, close cropped beard. He spoke with a polished British accent and motioned to Kellan. “Will you sit?”
Kellan frowned. “No.”
The man sighed with feigned disappointment. “Pity. Everyone seems to be in such a rush to die these days,” he said, rising.
Kellan felt his heart rate increase as his hand flexed against the sword’s hilt.
“I am Sargon,” the man said, affecting a slight bow, “and you are?”
“Amused at the irony of your name,” replied Kellan smoothly.
“Impressive. Did you study Persian history?”
“Nope, I just read a lot. ‘Sargon—sun prince’ also known as ‘douchebag werewolf’.”
Sargon’s smile faded and his face grew hard. Kellan tried to appear casual as he circled closer. “You really fucked up, Sarg. Can I call you Sarg? Yeah, you killed some folks who were really close to a friend of mine and, in the process, nearly drove her nuts. So, I’m here to give her some—”
“Revenge,” interrupted Sargon.
“Closure,” continued Kellan with a smile.
“You have no idea with whom you are dealing.”
“Likewise.”
Sargon sneered. “Oh, I think I know well enough. You think I have not run across those like you before? Those who dabble in the mystical and think themselves powerful wizards.”
There’s that wizard reference again. I really need to dig into that—assuming I get out of here alive. Kellan broke his internal monologue with a tight shake of his head, “Well, I think you may find me a bit diff..”
Pain shot through Kellan as a massive crushing blow struck from behind sending him sprawling to the floor. He reached around to his back, feeling hot blood where large claws had raked through the circlets of his armor. He felt the metal knit itself back together just in time to receive another rending blow. Lights blossomed in his head as Kellan struggled to retain consciousness even as he knew another strike would soon be on its way. Rolling to the side, he saw the coal black fur of his attacker as it slammed two clawed fists into the stone were Kellan’s head had been moments before.
Kellan felt the heat in his eyes as he drew on his waning power, willing strength into his battered muscles and focusing his mind while pulling his knees to his chest. The werewolf leaped towards him, jaw aimed at Kellan’s neck. It met the young Sentinel’s feet instead, which he heaved upward with a primal yell. Kellan felt bones crack as his kick reversed the lycanthrope’s momentum and hurtled it in a blur toward the far wall. He was rewarded with another series of cracks as the creature slid down, twitching.
Without thinking, Kellan spun around, gaining his feet in time to see Sargon running toward him, face contorted with rage. He seemed to shimmer and was replaced with the now familiar werewolf form while not losing even a step during the transition. Kellan crouched low, planting both feet and brandishing his sword protectively crosswise from chest to shoulder, noticing absently that the sword had more than doubled in length from it’s previous short blade form.
Sargon flew into Kellan, driving him back even as the glowing sword deflected one clawed blow, biting deeply in bone and sprouting dark gouts of blood. Howling, Sargon thrust his arm upward, sword embedded in bone, wrenching it from Kellan’s grip where it vanished to mist while the werewolf connected hard with his other hand, sending Kellan several feet in the air. He landed painfully toward the back of the room and struggled back to his feet, dazed.
The young Sentinel again reached for his power and drained all that remained, feeling it course through him, waiting to be given form.
Sargon paused, staring deeply into Kellan’s blazing green eyes. “Not wizard—Sentinel,” he growled, voice slurred by his more lupine features. “I’ve heard of you, seen the the wreckage you’ve made of my kind. You look younger than I’ve heard described. I will not be added to your atrocities; I will end you, Micah Ben Judah.”
“Yeah, good luck with that, fuzzball,” said Kellan as he channeled the heat from the burning braziers into a gleaming ball which he hurled at the unprepared lycanthrope.
Sargon howled as he became engulfed in flames even as Kellan fell to one knee, exhausted with this final effort. When he again looked up, Kellan felt his stomach lurch. Sargon continued to approach, nearly all the hair burned away and skin blistered. Kellan reached inward but found nothing but a dry riverbed where once his power flowed. He felt Sargon’s clawed hands around his neck, lifting him from the ground and slamming him against the back wall.
“I’m not that easy to kill,” Sargon growled, “Now I’m going to end you. Then I’m going to turn that bitch of yours.”
Kellan could feel darkness starting to encroach on his field of vision as Sargon continued to squeeze his throat, claws biting deep and blood flowing between them, but he managed a strangled laugh and wheezed, “Now, you’ve done it.”
“I’m nobody’s bitch, asshole! You killed my Marines and I’m sending you on an express trip to hell, fucker!”
Kellan watched as Sargon’s eyes widened in surprise a moment before two gleaming katana blades sliced through his neck from behind. Blood spurted and the clawed hand convulsed, releasing Kellan who collapsed to the ground even as Sargon’s corpse shimmered back into human form.
Meghan fell to her knees, blood foam flowing from her mouth, and Kellan dimly heard the clatter as her katanas hit the stone floor.
She fell over on her side, eyes lolling back in her head even as Kellan reached out for her.
“Meghan…Meghan stay with me. You’re gonna be ok.”
“No, I’m not,” she coughed, “I’m going to see my boys. They are going to take good care of me.”
“No, no, no, your boys are going to be pissed at me and I don’t need that kind of bad karma. You stay right here missy.”
“Raphael!!” Kellan screamed, eyes hot with tears as he cradled Meghan in his lap.
Nothing happened. “Raphael, you motherfucker, I am not Micah, get here. Now!”
“I am here Sentinel. How may I serve?”
“Do something!”
“I cannot.”
“What the fuck do you mean? Let me rephrase. Do! Something!”
“She is dying and I cannot interfere. It was her choice to come to this place at this time. It was your choice to bring her here. Your combined choices created this moment. I cannot interfere with your freewill.”
Kellan had stopped listening and pressed his fingers to her neck feeling the faintest thrum of a thready pulse even as he recalled Micah’s words: you can never create even the smallest spark of life nor reignite life’s flame if it is ever extinguished. Kellan closed his eyes, concentrating, and found himself standing in the riverbed where the emerald river of his power once flowed. He felt the liquid power begin to trickle past his feet with ever increasing rapidity and within moments it was rushing past him ankle deep.
“Nurisha!!”
“I am here.”
Kellan whirled about as tears continued to stream down his face. “Nurisha, help me. Meghan is dying. What can I do? I have to be able to do something.”
She smiled and walked up to Kellan as the river of power arced around her. He felt her arms around him, embracing him, holding him tight. “No, Nurisha, there is no time. She’s dying. She’s dying. Tell me what I can do”
“Hush, young Sentinel. There is no time here and there is yet time to help her, but I warn you such sacrifice comes at a cost you may not want to pay.”
“I’ll pay it, whatever it is. Tell me.”
Nurisha released Kellan and stepped back; he stared at her glowing form, more fearful than he had been in the Atlanta alley that seemed like so long ago.
“Walk with me,” she said, climbing the bank and turning to offer her hand to Kellan, who accepted it and joined her beside the now ra
ging torrent of power.
“Your power,” she began, “the power of which I am an incarnation, is founded on agape. Do you understand?”
Kellan nodded, “I suppose. Agape…the sacrificial form of love.”
She nodded. “Yes, it was that form of love that founded all of creation. It was that form of love that allowed for freewill and that form of love which prevented Lucifer’s destruction after His rebellion.” Nurisha paused and turned again to Kellan, “You can heal your friend, my Sentinel, but only by taking her wounds upon yourself. That is the essence of empathy; that is the foundation of Agape.”
“Great, I’ll do it. Send me back.”
She laughed and it sounded like silver on crystal. “Kellan, you are so impulsive and so ignorant—a dangerous combination to be sure. I cannot send you back, just like I did not draw you here. You are master of this place, your power and,” she paused again, “me.”
“Will yourself back to the world, and it will be so. Channel your power to heal your friend and it will be so. I only warn you that doing so can only happen by empathically linking yourself to her.”
“Will she live?”
“Undoubtedly, but you, my impulsive Sentinel, may not and where will that leave the world?”
Kellan opened his eyes and felt them blazing with power as he stared down at Meghan’s pale form. He began to channel the power through her and back into himself.
“Kellan? What are you doing?” Raphael asked, becoming alarmed.
Blood began to drip from Kellan’s nose and he coughed, red spittle forming on his lips, but still he channeled the power through Meghan.
“Stop!” yelled Raphael. He tried to grab Kellan by the shoulder. The Angel flew backward as if shocked by some immensely powerful force.
“This is my choice. My freewill, Raphael. You may not—you cannot interfere,” coughed Kellan as he felt several of his ribs crack and perforate his lungs. His vision swam and the pain made it hard to think, but through the haze he saw Meghan’s eyes flutter open.
Sentinels of Creation: A Power Renewed Page 16
