by Al K. Line
One landing done, the pain subsided as I blocked the dark magic with something pure. My heart actually sang for joy as I used magic to stop something corrupt. This is the thing with this gift. Use it for good and it pays you back in kind—although the consequences are always draining—but use it for nefarious purposes, to inflict harm out of maliciousness and with evil intent, and it will destroy you. Blue would be feeling this. Maybe not in the way I was, but she'd feel it, nonetheless.
A hurting of the soul and the psyche is how it's best explained. Corrupting you, drawing you closer and closer to the darkness that always clamors and calls to even the best of us. Tempting us with promises of power and deeper insights into the workings of not only this world but the many after it.
That was her business. But me, I was getting purer even as I battled to keep going.
Second landing, then third, stabs and jolts and bashes and knocks to my head a constant. Fingers feeling like they were twisting off, spasms and cramps and weird pinches to nerves that left my limbs hanging as limp as my hair. I fought them all, shoved them away, never once letting them manifest as true physical violence on my flesh, just echoes of what was happening above me.
But it was only a matter of time. Anyone younger and less experienced would have caved long ago. The wounds inflicted on the doll would have been real. Bones broken, digits twisted, flesh full of holes. By the time I was at level six I was beyond hurting and just a body of pure pain only moving forward because of stubbornness and the magic I soaked in like I was immersed in a hot bubble bath and buoyant with my own sense of Justice. For that's what I was whether Blue liked it or not, and I'd be damned if I'd let her win.
Ninth floor now, only faint traces of muddy prints heading up to the top level, nowhere else to go.
"I'm coming for you, Blue, and if Mr. Moppet isn't in one piece I'll match every fucking wound you inflicted on him, but I'll do it slow."
Look, I know it's a doll, but it's my bloody doll, okay?
Good. Let's kick some ass.
Poor Mr. Moppet
I felt like I'd been torn inside out then stuffed back together and stitched up by someone new to needlework. As I pushed on the door into the tenth floor apartment, I knew it wouldn't be to a hearty welcome and an invitation to sit down for dinner, but by now I was past caring and past the pain barrier and out the other side.
Through it all, something inside reveled in this extreme danger. In the thrill of the chase and the violence and magic that thrummed through my body, vibrating until I felt like a tuning fork singing a singular note of destruction.
I gripped tight to the strength within, refusing to let Blue's manipulation of the doll translate into the death she sought. This kind of magic was beyond me, dark arts I'd never had an interest in, and as I stared into the room of horrors I understood for the first time that refusing to even glance at anything dark was a fault on my part.
This stuff is dangerous and volatile and leaves a shadow inside of you, but it is powerful. I should have taken the time over the years to learn about it, if not practice it. It was a weakness, a hole in my defenses as I didn't know the best way to counteract such strong magic, the whole idea anathema. Yet there has to be a line, a limit to what you will do and how far you want to take things. I'd rather have a gap in my knowledge than corrupt myself any further than I already had.
Blue was standing in the center of the damaged room, signs of water intrusion and magic pollution very much in evidence. Bare walls had blistered and popped, blasting off plaster, and her magic had corrupted the room in ways I couldn't begin to comprehend.
There was a darkness, a malevolence about the space that knocked at the door of my sanity, whispering of hidden places and untold misery.
Blue taunted the lost souls clawing at the barrier, used and abused them for her magical needs, never giving them what they craved. Half-promises never to be fulfilled. And there she was, looking beautiful in the gloom, body radiating energy and power, slick with sweat and rain, Mr. Moppet held in one hand, a slender dagger in the other.
"Surprised you made it," she said with a smile, pleased we would have a confrontation.
"You think pathetic black magic will beat me? I know that doll isn't me, isn't my body, so your games won't work."
"Oh no?" Blue grinned wickedly, teeth shining like a corpse's. She lifted the dagger slowly and, maintaining eye-contact, she gently slid the tip of the blade into the heart of the doll.
I staggered and winced, hand automatically going to my heart as it stuttered like it had earlier and my body felt like it had crumpled in on itself. I just about managed to stifle my scream but it took all my willpower, all my strength, and as my legs weakened and I felt myself fall I shunted stiff energy into my limbs to hold them in place like crutches.
"It's a doll. You can't kill me this way," I grunted through teeth that refused to part. "It's a doll, it's a doll," I repeated like a mantra, forcing my mind to believe this was the truth, knowing that my closeness made her magic that much stronger. That whatever I said, there was doubt there, even though I knew this magic worked through the power of belief. Not just of the one inflicting pain, but the one being targeted.
If I was a Normal, if I refused to believe in such things, would I have been safe? No, I wouldn't, as even though it was down to faith to some degree the truth of the matter was she was too strong, and the figure was just a way for Blue to focus her energy, for her magic to act like a laser beam for her intent. It would kill me unless I acted.
As she stabbed at me again and my heart skipped a beat, her small group of followers fanned out either side of her. They were a nasty bunch, but strong and powerful. Yet they were flawed, as all such people are. They were malleable, believed her promises and followed blindly, convinced they'd rise up and have power of their own if they did her bidding. Followed in her footsteps and performed acts as savage as she had demonstrated to prove her worth.
Violence shrouded them all. A connection forged through shared cruelty, and I knew these followers, these gang members, were already lost. No way for them to redeem themselves, no way for them to be rehabilitated.
Just a shame I now had seven enemies to deal with rather than one.
Bit of a Problem
Blue had selected carefully. I took in the group at a glance, knew all of them and their reputations. Heck, I'd had run-ins with several of them, but not enough to warrant more than giving warnings, never to haul them in.
They were strong with magic but lost souls. The kind of people never happy with what life offers, always pushing the boundaries and living on the wrong side of the law. Look, I'm no shrinking violet and have done my fair share of dodgy things over the years, but there's a line you don't cross, and these people, they lived for the chaos, the darkness, the thrill of being outcasts and far removed from what society deems acceptable.
They laughed and sneered as they wallowed in the protection and power Blue offered, yet I knew alone they were cowards when faced with someone stronger than them. Combined, they were a real problem, though, and I wasn't in the best state to kill six followers and one Blue. Thoughts of my job and instructions went out the smashed window, the idea of incapacitating them and dragging them back to Justice HQ laughable.
This would be no arrest and chance of redemption. This was do or die. So I did what I had to do and I became something else. Something pure and wild and lost to the person that is Swift.
I was magic, pure and simple. Intertwining my mind with my raw power and that of the Pool that gave willingly, strange and rather wild at ground zero.
One brave soul, a woman of striking quality because of her lean, athletic physique and her very subdued manner of dress—looking like a mid-wage personal secretary rather than a practitioner of the dodgy arts—stepped forward, hoping to prove herself and maybe advance her position in the organization she believed would flourish.
None of them spoke, just let the tension build like they'd been practicing for this,
had all agreed on few words and more action. At least they had some sense, as talk leads to time, and time leads to your opponent planning their survival—I knew none of them planned on letting me walk out of there alive.
She spun in a circle, coming to a stop close to me as her magic propelled her forward at incredible speed, an aura of white danger spinning off her as she sank deep. I felt the tug at the Pool and the change as she twisted pure energy into something foul.
Shards of barbed menace shot from her body as she came to a dead stop, javelins of death keen to spear me.
It would have been laughable if it hadn't been for my utter exhaustion, and yet I was more than able to deal with her. As the lines of corruption lanced where my body would have been, I was already behind her, years of practice allowing me to move fast when needed with little effort.
Her magic hit the wall and blasted deep holes in already ruined plaster, scorch marks that would have seared my flesh and killed me. I slapped my hands either side of her straight brown hair right where her ears were and pictured a jolt of electricity meeting between my palms, the line of magic complete in my mind just as it was in reality.
This is my specialty, the ability to kill without the gore or nasty goop—it saves on laundry. Jolts of magic the likes of which most have never seen before, let alone mustered, shot from palm to palm, vibrating back and forth as the circuit completed.
Her brain was fried instantly, and before she even dropped I was onto the next, slamming my hand hard into a guy's densely muscled chest through a black, faded shirt. His eyes opened wide and he gasped his last then toppled over backward.
"Two down, four to go," I growled, just to try to freak them out.
It worked on the goons and they faltered, looking to Blue for guidance and for her to maybe take the lead.
"Prove your worth," she ordered, then took a step back, the instruction clear.
I saw the doubt, the fear, but they were still four and I was one. They had an unfounded confidence that surely must be born out of stupidity.
Time was meaningless and conscious thought vanished as the fight became all that mattered.
They fanned out then attacked all at once, a barrage of magic, fists, and kicks that tested me to my limits. I think under normal circumstances, if I'd been fresh and energized, it would have been over very quickly.
Justices are the best, and for a reason. We have to deal with people who want to use magic to harm others, and that means we have to be good, very good, in numerous disciplines. I can fight with many styles, can use my hands and my feet, my elbows, knees, the bodyweight of others against them, and have a seriously good right hook, but above all else I have this ability to connect with this thing inside that takes over.
I almost step aside and leave the body and the magic to it, and sometimes it's like I'm observing from the sidelines, watching myself act as if I'm a stranger, utterly lost to myself.
It took all of five seconds. As they wrapped themselves in twisted magic, and did their best to thrust their fear and their desire for power at me in controlled bursts of multi-hued energy, I crouched low, foot passing close to each of them as I swept past. Volatile arcs of silver death passed from the tips of my soaked boots into their bodies, spasming their legs and dropping them like flies.
Their powers stuttered while they tried to cope with the searing pain that shot through their nervous systems, so I punched one in the throat before he hit the ground, blasting a hole in his neck. As he gurgled and died, I slammed the heads of two dazed men together and propelled streams of ethereal destruction through their connected heads from palm to palm in a repeat of the earlier move, showing just how amateurish they were by letting the same move be used twice.
I turned to the final woman only to find she'd backed away, palms up in surrender, and before I could act, Blue sneered at her, said, "You disappoint me, Kala," and shoved her, hard. She stumbled, hit the low ledge of the broken window, caught her hands on the splintered glass and flipped over, screaming as she fell ten stories to the ground below.
"Guess it's just you and me now, hot stuff," I said turning to Blue, keeping the shock off my face and acting like I was ready for anything.
But all I wanted to do was curl up in a corner and weep. For the state of my body, for the death I'd delivered, and for the corruption in my soul as I sank that little bit deeper toward the bubble of hate Blue was immersed in.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," she said, and I watched, horror-stricken, as she pulled the arm off Mr. Moppet.
Losing It
I know it's only a doll, that possessions are simply that, but it felt like my whole life was being torn away. The last vestiges of innocence, a time when I was truly pure, when I knew nothing of magic or fear or intimidation. When I was a tiny child at the mercy of my mother's whims. Whatever else she's done, she kept me safe then, nurtured me and did what every parent in the world should do—protected her child.
The symbolism wasn't lost on me and I noted the flicker of amusement and understanding on Blue's face. She knew this would get to me no matter the barrier I tried to maintain, and as she threw the arm onto the floor and stomped on it, the totem, the stuffed body of the doll that held my deepest desires, my insecurities, my need, my craving for love and for a mother who cared, it all came to the surface in a rush of pain as Blue's magic snaked into my body.
I gasped as my arm fell limp to my side and searing pain erupted at the shoulder as if it was being stripped, fiber by fiber, under a torturer's careful instruction.
I lunged for the doll with my left arm, uncoordinated and covered in a prickly heat with fingers that refused to function properly. Blue shifted slightly and grabbed at my damaged arm, twisting it and sending more pain shooting along my neck. Spasming my mind as it seared my thoughts, leaving me bent over the window where she'd just pushed out her failure of a follower.
Glass sank deep into my abdomen, so I tensed my abs as hard as I could to stop impaling further. Blue twisted my arm high behind my back until all I could see with my head turned to the left was the arm of Mr. Moppet on the floor.
I don't know what possessed me to act how I did at such a time, but I was determined. Even though the glass cut deeper, I crouched a little, meaning my arm tore even more, but I reached down with shaking fingers and pinched the fur of the arm between two fingers then got a better grip and clutched it tight. I moved the arm to my mouth and bit down to stifle my screams.
As Blue pushed me further out the window, I swung behind fast, making contact with the doll and yanked. It came away from her loose grip, her attention focused on me, her sense of victory palpable. I stuffed the doll down behind my belt then did the same with the arm, spitting out foul-smelling cotton—Mr. Moppet really needed a wash.
The act of retrieving what was mine had a profound effect. It was symbolic, and now I had it back I felt in control, whole again.
Problem being, my right arm didn't agree and I screamed at Blue viciously. Something snapped. A ripped muscle or tendon or something—biology has never been my strong point—but I wouldn't give in, not until I was entirely broken.
With nothing to lose, I turned to the side, the pain threatening to send me unconscious, and I slapped at her face, magic spasming Blue's body as the jolts vibrated through her with so much force I felt her shudder and heard her teeth chatter.
"Say goodbye, bitch," she whispered, and before I could act she lifted me up by the legs and threw me out the window.
Falling to your death is a strange experience. You don't have time to think or to curse your own lack of prowess, feel disappointment that you've failed, or wish you'd done this or that, or said goodbye to those you love.
No, all I experienced was a rush of wind in my hair and the sour taste of ancient cotton stuffing in my mouth.
And then it was over. I hit hard, my good arm clutching tight to the only thing I'd held on to over the years. Well, guess I was about to die how I always expected I would.
&n
bsp; At least I'd given my all, hadn't gone out with a whimper.
Lost It
"You should go on a diet," said Mack, voice reverberating around ground zero as he smiled down at me. I felt like a baby cradled in his arms.
"I'll have you know I'm the perfect weight for my size," I countered, the situation so surreal I couldn't begin to fathom it right now.
"Sure, babes, whatever you say. Um, did you win?"
I looked up into Mack's eyes, wondering if he was joking or not. He waited for my answer, curious.
"No, Mack, I didn't win. What are you doing here? Not that I mind, or anything. How did you know to catch me?"
Mack placed me carefully down on a broken slab of concrete and said, "I guessed you didn't want to smack into the ground. That it would hurt." He shrugged his shoulders, like it was obvious.
"Yeah, it would. A lot." Speaking of hurt. I tried to lift my right arm but it was still out of action. Even with magic giving a gentle caress deep into the muscle to massage it back to life and begin the healing process, I knew it would be good for nothing for some time. "But I didn't call for you."
Mack studied me as if I'd lost my marbles. "We're connected now, babes, like real sisters, and Robin and I both knew you needed us. I can run pretty quick when I have to, so I got here first."
"Ah, right." I felt the ink in my shoulder vibrate, about the only thing I could feel in the arm. The connection with Robin strengthening as she called out, telling me to hang on. Good job Mack was speedy, and large, or I'd have been toast.
Damn, no time to ponder the meaning of life and the rather unexpected being alive thing, I still had Blue to deal with. The only consolation from the whole sorry experience was at least it had stopped raining. Oh, and the whole not being dead thing, of course, that was rather pleasing, too.
What was wrong with me? A job like this should have been no problem. Was I losing my edge, my ability to deal with the wayward characters of the city? Maybe. Or maybe I was so damn exhausted and beaten down by events preceding the fight that it was hardly surprising I'd been on less than perfect form. Still, it rankled. That I'd been beaten by Blue, even if she was powerful and had exchanged her sanity for the lure of taboo arts it didn't make me feel any better.
