by T. C. Edge
I look at her hands, fire swirling around them, ready to attack if needed. She seems to be right on the edge. I need to find the right words to calm her.
"We're not enemies, Amber," I continue. "Not me and you. I can see that. You're not like the rest of them."
I lift my eyes again to her, and perhaps foolishly, attempt to sneak in, to gauge her feelings. I feel myself repelled as the fire presses me back, seeming to spread quickly through her body, as though flowing through her very veins.
"Get out of my head," she growls, her body pulsing with a fiery heat. "I won't let you in."
"I'm not trying to get in," I say, making sure I maintain my cool, stay as calm as possible. If you show fear or doubt in front of a predator, they are only likely to strike. "Just...calm," I go on. "I don't mean you any harm."
She regards me carefully, but seems to relax just a touch, her eyes turning to take in my grandfather by my side. I wonder if she knows who he is, what significance he has to this city, to me. Whatever the case, she knows now that I've come to save him.
"What...what happened to them?" she asks, her eyes turning to the dead Stalkers, lying dead outside of the building.
"We...had a conflict of interests," I say, trying to inject a bit of levity into my voice. I draw a slight smile on my lips. "I never liked those sorts anyway," I continue. "Have plenty of history with their kind."
"Their...kind?" she asks, seeming confused. "Aren't you...on the same side?"
"Mostly, nowadays," I return, relaxing into the conversation as she seems to do the same. "Like I said, we just had a disagreement about something. I didn't have a choice."
She frowns, clearly interested, growing increasingly curious in her expression. "You...you were the one who killed Herald Nestor, weren't you?" she asks, turning the conversation elsewhere. "You and your friend..."
My mind fills again with that deplorable, and yet strangely beguiling man. I dip my head into a nod as my eyes flash dark. "He had it coming," I growl quietly. "And, technically, he killed himself."
"Why?" she asks, leaning forwards a little, her voice growing softer. There's something innocent about her in a way, her eyes holding a child-like fascination in me, and the things I can do.
I must say, if that's the case, I feel the very same.
"Protection," comes my answer. "He didn't want me getting into his head. Finding out his secrets."
"Knowledge," she says, beginning to nod. "It's power."
"It certainly is," I say, smiling more fully now. Even enjoying myself, this strange meeting of such different girls from the two sides of the fence. But then, how different are we, really? I turn my eyes towards the front edge of the deserted camp, towards the wall and the fighting far beyond. "You not interested in all that?" I query, wondering what she's doing here. I'm here to save my grandfather. What's her motivation? "I don't take you as a coward, Amber," I tell her.
"I'm not," she responds, her voice tightening up a little in defence. "I've just got more important things to do."
"Right," I say, looking deep into those golden eyes.
I can't help myself, sniping in to discover more. I see and feel flashes of her past as I do so. She really isn't one of them, I realise. She's from the Fringe, not the city of Olympus. All of this is new to her, even the development of her powers. I've only had mine for a little longer than a year. She's only had hers for months...
My intrusion is brief, burned off again by her fire. Her hands lift up suddenly, flames swirling around them.
"Hey hey, calm," I say, raising my spare hand in her direction. "I was just...interested. I'm sorry, I didn't mean any harm. I'm just curious by nature. It's...a problem."
Gradually, she relaxes again, lowering her flaming hands as though lowering a rifle. Her eyes continue to watch me, however, with a measure of suspicion.
"Same," she says after a pause, her voice quiet. "It can...get you into trouble."
I lift a smile again as we resume the conversation, peering at her with interest as my mind swirls with other snippets of information about the girl. One piece, in particular, is something I can relate to. "So...it's a boy, is it?" I ask, working up a friendly smirk. I turn my eyes towards the worker's encampment where they keep their slaves. She knows someone there. Someone important from her past. "You're here to save him," I tell her, knowing her mind. "Seems you have a...complicated past, Amber."
"How do you know?" she breathes, her eyebrows dropping. "You got all that from a tiny flash into my head?"
"Just an impression," I say. "I...I thought I was right about you. You didn't seem like one of them when we met on the plains the other day. Now, it makes sense. You're not one of them, are you? You're so much more. So much...better." I turn my eyes once more towards the slave camp. "You should probably get going," I say, knowing I should do the same. "That Herald Kovas is an odious creature. Jude won't be safe here for long..."
"Jude," she whispers. "You...you know his name?"
I smile, the simple flash into her head giving me the ammunition I needed to open her up, mesmerise her with my gifts. Jude, her friend from the Fringe, now nothing but a slave. She came here to save him from that fate. Save him from Herald Kovas, forcing her to follow his commands by threatening Jude's life.
I can see it all now. Everything she's doing here has been done under duress. She believes in none of it, not really, not deep down in her core.
And one day, she's realise that fully. One day, she'll break free.
"You're more open and honest than you think," I say eventually. "Sign of a good heart." I step forward, moving down the steps of the prison, drawing my grandfather along with me. "He'll be safe in Haven," I say softly, trying to turn her, help her if I can. "Like Lady Orlando told you, there are no slaves here, only good, innocent people. I'll make sure Jude's safe, I promise. If that's what you want And..." I add, "the offer's open to you as well, if you want to join him."
I smile at that, showing her the face of a welcoming and friendly people, and then, supporting my grandfather, begin moving away. I make it only a few steps before I hear her speak again.
"Brie," she says, her voice catching, hardly a whisper.
I turn around. "Yes, Amber?"
"Can I...trust you?" she asks.
I consider it, tilting my head a little, and draw a breath. "That," I say, "depends on you. I could get in your head and make you, but that wouldn't be real now would it? I guess...it's your choice."
Choice, I think, knowing they're the right words. She hardly makes them anymore. This, at least, is one she can.
I smile once again, and nod to her, before turning off once more, heading for the way out. I sense her watching me as I go, until I move around the side of a building and out of sight. And only once I do, do I hear her rushing off again, making her way to the workers camp to save the young man she loves.
Once more, the camp falls silent, my mind racing again with my purpose here. Get through the shield, slip away to the north, join Marcus, and get my grandfather back to the city. That is the single goal in my mind right now.
Our progress is slow, my grandfather's legs so weak and hardly able to move at speed. I can sense the scope of the battle below beginning to close in, so many dead now, so many lost. Has Kira's arrival changed things? Have they managed to ransack the enemy forces? I didn't get a good look at how many there were, but if a proper Neoroman force has arrived, surely the Olympians won't stand a chance...
I turn from those thoughts, knowing they'll only distract me. Refocusing, I try to haul my grandfather along more quickly, working through the barracks as I near the shield. I see it flashing down a short alleyway between two buildings. Close, so close.
We move down the alley, slipping into the shadows, our feet squelching in the mud. I can sense Colonel Hatcher and his unit further off in the distance, engaged in fighting now as some enemy soldiers try to assault their position.
I stop, feeling a presence behind me, stuck halfway down the alle
yway. My heart thumps heavily as I turn around.
A figure greets me, tall, slim, dressed in colourful robes. His eyes are energetic despite his age, looking at me with a keen intention. And on his thin lips, a smile begins to build, opening as speaks.
"Hello, Brie," says the Overseer softly. "Didn't I say I'd see you again soon..."
32
Kira
A bellowing roar rips through the sky, louder than any I've ever heard.
It comes from the chest of the only man capable of making such a sound, the largest Brute I've ever seen falling to his doom by Ares's hand.
I turn my eyes and watch in awe, as Ares stands atop the fallen beast, sending his sword right down through his armour and into his heart. The scream trumpets across the plains, curdling blood as it goes, until suddenly, abruptly, falling silent as the monster's heart is pierced, and his life-force ripped away.
Like the sword drawn from the stone, Ares pulls his blade back out of the great, lumbering body, coloured red with the man's blood. I turn my eyes back to the Fire Elemental, standing nearby, his flame beginning to weaken. I see that rage glowing in his eyes, seeming to give him a little more strength, renew some of the energy I've been sapping from him. For several minutes now, I've been zipping in and out, probing, forcing him to attack, drawing his focus to me alone as I wear him down like a pack of wolves on their prey.
"Atlas!" I hear the young man call, his body pulsing fire, shooting forward in Ares's direction.
I feel almost sorry for him as he boosts himself on, knowing it isn't a fight he can win. I may not be able to penetrate his fire-shield or get too close, but Ares will surely find a way to get through.
I watch for a moment in morbid fascination as he approaches, drawing up a fireball in his palms, and blasting it at the mighty Neoroman. It rushes through the air, a burning ball of death, but hits only the earth as Ares slips away. The Fire Elemental seems to see him go, almost ready for it, spraying fire from his fingertips in a wide net, trying to entangle the Neoroman. It's an impressive trick he tried on me, almost snaring me as I went. Ares handles it a little more easily, moving backwards, forced into a rare defensive stance.
A roar builds from the Elemental's throat, and more fire begins swirling around his body, wrapping him up tight. He does so just in time, as Ares turns the tables, coming sweeping in with his fingers coiled into a fist. He punches hard, connecting with the shield, sending out a blasting spray of sparks that momentarily blinds me. When I look again, I see that Ares has been knocked back a little, and that the man's defences have held.
Yes, very impressive, I think.
My attention is snapped away by some fighting nearby, several of our soldiers being attacked from behind as they begin to retreat. All over the fields now, the signal is being given to return to the city, our job here done. Yet with the battlefield so wide, and our soldiers so dispersed, communicating that to everyone isn't easy.
Many, however, are already on the move, the more relentless enemy soldiers in pursuit. I turn my eyes to the retreating soldiers nearby, and speed in their direction as three Olympians fire after them, one of them a massive Brute holding a large energy rifle, spewing silver charges at our retreating men.
I flank them, coming in from one side, flicking a throwing knife at one that hits him square in the eye, dropping him immediately. The other two notice, the Brute swinging his gun at me, firing as he does so. I divert my course, heading for the third enemy, drawing the Brute's line of fire right into his brother in arms. I skid as I go, ducking low, and watch as the energy charges rip right through the soldier's body.
The Brute grunts angrily as he hits the wrong target, and tosses the weapon to the ground. He reaches to his back, pulling out a massive axe. I smile. I'd hoped for something like that.
It reminds me of the arena...
He swings violently, but has no speed that can trouble me. I move around him athletically, running like a squirrel up a tree, his great head turning and twisting, a huge paw trying to slap at me as I go. I draw my signature weapons and put them to work, slicing, searching for weak points in his armour. I find up at the summit, right between his helmet and the armour around his neck. Leaping off his body, I plunge a single sword forward, hitting the gap perfectly.
The feeling of the blade entering skin, flesh, and bone is so gruesomely familiar to me. The look in his eyes as the pain arrives is too. And the sight of blood, seeping from between the plates of his armour, is morbidly pleasing to my eyes.
I drop to the floor, my job done, as the Brute hits with a thump, wetting the earth red.
I scan again, searching for another fight, for more to do. My eyes naturally fall once more upon Ares and the Fire Elemental. He's still alive, the young man, but not by much. He's growing weak, crouched now to the floor, Ares standing a dozen metres ahead of him.
There's a feeling of inevitability about it all. Such it always was when Ares fought on the sands. Such as it is now here in war. For him, this is just another gladiatorial contest. And the young Fire Elemental has found himself up the greatest of them all.
I can't help but feel sorry for him as I watch, on his knees, awaiting his executioner. Around him, the grasses are blackened and scorched, various nearby patches of earth the same. Ares begins to step towards him, closing the space, his armour shining brightly, resplendent under the rising sun.
One more time, the Elemental tries, raising his hands and shooting his flame. The flood of fire rushes straight for the Neoroman, but he's too quick again, side-stepping it with ease, dashing off with such speed, moving behind the boy, coming up behind his back.
Ares places his hand to the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it, finish his foe with a respectful blow. He's earned it, I think. The young man deserves to die with honour.
Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. There, rushing from the same canyon I came from, I see another Fire Elemental charging towards Ares, just as he begins to draw his sword. She's young, her hair and eyes golden like the boy. They look so similar. Siblings, perhaps? I wonder.
There's a desperation to her movement as she closes in. I see her begin to draw her abilities into a single blast, losing that coating, that strange shield of heat and fire they deploy, as she goes. She charges towards Ares, set to unleash everything she has upon him.
I react immediately, taking off from the spot like a rocket, firing right towards her from the side. I reach to my belt as I go, pulling out my final throwing knife. I flick it into position in my fingers, knowing this time that it will get through. No shield. No defences. I can kill her with one strike.
I rush right for her, just as a great ball of fire begins to build between her palms. Ares seems oblivious, still standing behind the boy. I close the gap, close the range, narrow my eyes, and lift my hand.
And then, I let loose.
The knife flicks towards her, spinning around, handle to blade. She seems to notice me coming just too late, her eyes turning to look at me as I phase by, just as the knife hurtles towards its target. It hits, flush on her temple, the handle of the blade, not the blade itself, making the connection.
Oh, that wasn't a mistake.
No, that was planned.
I watch as she teeters, going groggy, before dropping to the floor, falling heavily on her side. I rush up towards her, see her eyes staring out weakly at the young Fire Elemental, Ares behind him, his sword now gripped aloft in his hand. Her eyes flicker as she stares, and as I see her lose consciousness, I hear her speak a single word.
His name.
"Elian," she whispers. "Elian..."
I see her body relax, her eyes shutting down. Mine, meanwhile, lift up, staring at the Fire Elemental, Elian, whom she clearly cares for dearly. Something feels wrong as I watch Ares about to strike, kill this young man who fought so bravely.
I turn my eyes around again and see the retreat now building into full flow. Silver and black figures spread across the ba
ttlefield, rushing away, escaping. I see few Olympians in pursuit now, their own losses so dear, limping back into their camp to lick their wounds.
The battle, I know, is over.
There is no need for killing anymore.
"Ares!" I bellow, calling out to the great champion. His sword, falling towards Elian's neck, stops in midair. "Don't do it, Ares!" I call.
He turns to me, a great frown upon his grizzled face, those dark eyes of his staring across the plains. "Lady Kira?" booms his voice, carrying a note of surprise, suggesting that, amid the frenzy of the battle, he hasn't yet noticed my presence. "What are you doing here?"
"Helping," I call back. "I'm here with Dom and Commander Maximus, and over a hundred Imperial Guards. The battle is done, Ares. This boy doesn't need to die."
He lifts his chin and turns his eyes to the young man, hunched forward on his knees. I can see the boy's eyes, barely open, gazing across at the girl at my feet. His lips move, mumbling something my ears can only faintly hear.
A name. Her name.
"Amber..."
And then, just as hers did, his eyes draw shut, and he falls forward into the dirt, unconscious.
"We don't need to kill either of them." I go on, calling again to Ares. "The battle is over. They are far more useful to us alive."
Ares glances again at Elian, his head beginning to nod. I know he isn't about to kill an unconscious boy. No, that is not what Ares does. He looks to me and nods, crouching down to draw Elian into his spare arm. He does so with ease, marching over to me, sheathing his bloodied sword as he comes.
"This one, I know," he says, looking down at the girl. "Amber. She has...a kind heart, I think."
"Then take her," I say. "Show her what good really looks like here."
Ares bends down, and scoops her up in his other arm. He holds the two Fire Elementals, Elian and Amber, like children passed out from too much play, a kindly father putting ready to but them to bed.
His eyes turn across the plains, the final chorus of the battle being sung. He looks upon the many dead, and lets out a long, weary breath.
