Flawed Fracture

by Katie Vack

  "Don't flatter yourself," she moved closer until she was whispering terrifyingly in his ear, "I'd tear off you balls and force them down your throat."

  He swallowed nervously, opting to end the conversation there. He flipped the on switch for the stereo and evil sounding music began to spike out of the speakers. It was, as usual, deafeningly loud, but at the very least it made talking an impossibility. The lesser of two evils. The silvan hissed in displeasure behind him, her arms jerking tight against his waist, but he did his meagre best to ignore her. Was the silence better? Probably. He couldn't really tell.

  After a short span they arrived back at the hub city of median, riding through the gates as Grayson wisely switched the music back off. He decided it would probably be better not to create themselves an angry mob. Especially with the crowds so thick they could barely get anywhere. Perhaps they should have left the vehicle outside.

  "Where are we actually going?" He had no idea where one might find an arms dealer in a warren like this. Nor, actually, how to reach it if he did find one. He wasn't sure whether you were allowed to drive around the entire city, or just certain areas- although, given his nature, it wasn't like he'd pay much attention to a law like that anyway.

  "A weaponsmith's named Ivan's." She sounded pretty much as upbeat and friendly as he could expect for someone he had just argued with and then drowned out. He was lying to himself if he thought he was here as anything other than a taxi driver.

  "And you know how to get there?"

  "No." She fished an electronic device out of her pocked, bringing up a map akin to a miniature version of the holograph Karolus was so fond of. "This does. Turn right."

  Grayson forced himself to follow her directions, as much as it pained him to do so. He was being stubborn, he knew- it wasn't really such a difficult task- but he felt like he was simply being used by a person he hadn't even liked to begin with. The problem was that she was being just as childish, and since neither had any intention of backing down they'd trapped themselves in a vicious circle.

  He pulled up outside the weaponsmith's, and Sora dismounted. He heaved an inward sigh of relief, and made to follow her in, but she stopped him. "You stay here."

  "Why?"

  "Because knowing you, you'll find some way to start a stupid fight."

  She turned and walked off through the open doorway, into a dimly lit shop that smelled of smoke and fire. Grayson scowled. He really didn't think someone like her had the right to call him a violent person; and besides, it had always seemed to him like the fights were looking for him, not the other way around. He seemed to be some kind of magnet for them. He opted to ignore her, waited a while, and walked in anyway.

  The weaponsmith's, he discovered upon entering, took traditional to a whole new level. The floor was no more than heavily trampled and flattened dirt, and what light hadn't come through the doorway was being dispensed by a couple of burning torches set into the stone walls. Rack upon rack of swords and other blades lined one wall, gleaming sharply in the firelight.

  Gritty interior, nice and rustic, and more weapons than people- he felt instantly at home. There was a doorway to the back of the shop, covered by a hanging curtain, and he wandered over to it. Sora had headed that way, and he wasn't a fan of sitting around waiting for things to happen. Besides, he suddenly wanted to know what kind of smith called themselves Ivan and ran a place like this.

  He sidled over to the curtain, and found a remarkably convenient tear in it just at his eye level. He hadn't really been planning on eavesdropping, but considering how little Sora seemed to be tolerating his presence right now it was probably for the best. And, as the saying went, old habits died hard.

  He peered through the gap and into an old fashioned kind of forge. It fit well with the decor of the rest of the shop, earth and stone and fire, brought together in a rough yet firm manner. Ivan, to his disappointment, was no bearded giant but a scrawny looking youngish man, with quick fingered hands that were continuously stroking his goatee. His greying hair was cropped practically short, and he was wearing loose fitting trousers and a leather tunic and gloves. His eyes were directed at Sora but kept shooting glances around the room as if to check everything was as he'd left it, and yet the casual way in which he was leaning back against the wall implied that he was perfectly at ease.

  Not quite what Grayson had expected, but still an interesting character. He looked fairly human, albeit with a little of something else mixed in. He didn't seem nervous as such, but he was definitely wary. Likely someone who had been forced to watch out for himself from a very young age, against something which was no longer relevant, and now carried on the old habits he had been forced to adopt.

  "So, what happened to melt your blade like that? Get into a fight with a hellion? An infernian?" The man's voice was strong but strangely brittle, reinforcing Grayson's assumptions.

  "Not really." Sora spoke, and Grayson started at the sound of her voice. She didn't sound anything at all like the ruthless killer he knew her normally to be, or the worn down but half-delirious warrior she had been the night he had woken, or even the dementedly cheerful girl who had tried to stab him; it was more like she was talking to an old friend. Was this who she was underneath her armour of violence and bloodshed? Suddenly he wasn't so sure whether he wanted to be hearing this.

  "Then what?"

  "I went up against a leech. There were meant to be two of us, but my partner's a useless prick and he left me on my own. The leech nailed me to a wall, and my team cut the blade off getting me down."

  The man winced. "Sounds bad."

  Sora shrugged. "It's life. I've had worse. We both have."

  Ivan scowled to himself. "Don't remind me. God knows, I've done my best to forget."

  "There's no forgetting for us."

  "But nor is there any harm in trying." He paused thoughtfully. "You know, this is the last place I'd expect to find you. The Bloody Rose, in some backwater planet in the middle of nowhere? It just doesn't sound right."

  "We go where life takes us, Darius. I wasn't really expecting to find you here, either."

  "One war is more than enough action for me. I'm staying away from the killing."

  "By making weapons?"

  He shrugged ruefully. "It's a living."

  "Fair enough. You do have mine?"

  "Of course." He walked out of Grayson's line of vision, returning with her twin glaive held confidently in his hands. A man who knew how to handle the weapon. Not surprising, if they had fought together. He handed it to her, and she took it without a word. "You treat your gear like crap, Sora. In the end I just made you a couple of new blades for it. Gods know my old ones had been through hell."

  "They'd been serving me well enough up until now."

  "Only because of how good you are. They were more like saw blades than my razors, and blunt ones at that. Anyone else using that thing would have gotten themselves killed a long time ago."

  "So it will be better now?"

  "Much. The edge of a razor blade, the strength of a battleaxe. There's a reason they put me in charge of the weaponry."

  "Good. I guess I should thank you."

  "I wouldn't bother. This couldn't even come close to paying off what we owe you."

  Sora stopped. "Don't make me your hero, Darius. I'm more selfish than any of you, and I sure as hell wasn't fighting for your sake."

  "I know," he replied, "but the way I see it the question of why is nowhere near as important as the what."

  Sora chuckled, and for the first time Grayson had known there was no malice in it, but genuine humour. "I guess some people will never change. Maybe that's for the best." She turned to go, and he quickly retreated out of the shop and back to the bike. "I'll be seeing you, then."

  "I thought I asked you to stop breaking your weapons?"

  "You really think that will happen?"

  "We can always dream, Sora," he shook his head wearily, eyes fixed on her receding form, "we can always dream."
>
  * * *

  When Sora came out of the shop a few minutes later, she found Grayson exactly where she had left him. She slung her staff across her back, and climbed up again behind him, not saying a word. Grayson set off again, and they left the city uneventfully. He fully intended to challenge her on what he'd heard, but the middle of a city in which he had only recently caused not one but two public skirmishes was not the place to do so. He had learned something of her history he had never intended to, and now he could barely restrain himself from bringing it up. He made it a few miles into the forest before he decided that it was probably safe to do so- or at least, he corrected, away from any prying eyes or bystanders.

  He was trembling inwardly at what was about to happen. He had no idea how Sora was going to react, but knowing her it wouldn't be pretty. He slowed the bike to thirty, just to be on the safe side. "So."

  "So?" Her voice was low, guarded, and suspicious at why he was slowing.

  It terrified him, and electrified him, the sensation of her tensed and lethal form sitting just behind. A rush ran through him, the rush of the closeness to death. The corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Rose."

  He never even felt it coming. One second he was there at the front, riding Sunrise, the second he had been flung out of his seat. He flailed out desperately, shadows reaching for the caged energy of the machine, but all they could make contact with was her cold hand.

  He hit the ground hard, rolling to disperse the impact, body intact only because of her stolen life force. His face smashed into the soft dirt and he took in a mouthful of earth, before he was brought to a bone crunching stop against a tree. He lay there, winded and dazed, and watched as she hopped off the moving bike to land lightly on her feet, Sunrise careening into a tree and crashing onto its side. Thank god he'd slowed it beforehand.

  Sora reached up behind her, swinging down her glaive. She had thrown him off the bike. That psycho had thrown him off the moving bike, and then he had stolen her life from her. Sure, he hated her. Sure, it had saved him from the impact. But she was still his partner; and now, because of his panicked grasp, a little part of her was dead. He brought himself heavily back to his feet.

  "Where the hell," her face was far beyond furious, far beyond hateful, "did you hear that name?"

  He smiled in challenge. "Well, actually-"

  She skipped up to him, faster than his eyes could follow, and suddenly there was a dagger in her hand lashing out towards his face. He swayed to the side, but not fast enough, and the blade carved another line through his cheek. He stumbled backwards, bringing his hands up to defend himself. "What the hell!?"

  The blade flickered out again and he tried to catch her wrist, but again he just wasn't fast enough. A thin line of red blossomed along his neck. "What the hell," she snarled, "did you just do to me?"

  He blinked slightly, and that was a mistake. Her glaive lashed out, tearing through his cloak. His eyes narrowed, and he stopped backing away. "Did you just do what I think you did?"

  She didn't reply, simply swinging her glaive at him once more, but this time he made no attempt to dodge it. His hand shot out, catching it in the air and locking it in his grasp. A lance of pain shot through his arm from the impact, but he laughed it away. Compared to Frankenstein and his lightning cage, a fracture like this was nothing. His fist closed, and he tore at the staff, pulling her towards him and striking out towards her jaw.

  Against most people it would have been an instant knock out, but then Sora wasn't most people. She dropped her knife to knock he fist aside, and it instead glanced heavily off her cheek. He drew her closer still, latching his hand around her throat, feeling the fragile life flowing through beneath.

  She might be his teammate, but that meant nothing at all right now. She had cut a gash into his cloak. She had done it on purpose. He was going to make her suffer. His shadows flowed through their skin, down her throat and into her body, grabbing hold of her life and tearing a portion away. He let her drop, stepping back as the shadows coalesced around his fists. "The first time was an accident. But you just damaged the only thing I give a single damn about in this world. If you really think I care about you dying a little sooner, you're deluding yourself."

  The silvan clutched at her throat, eyes bulging, and swayed back to her feet. There was hurt in her eyes, and betrayal, which was pretty rich coming from her. "You... just... took my life away."

  He spread his arms, lowering his head. "You want to know pain?"

  "Know pain?" Her eyes glazed over. "Know pain?" She threw her head back, laughing hysterically. "Is that what you want to do? You want to hurt me?" Her face grew cold, emotionless. "You're in for one hell of a disappointment. You don't know the meaning of the word."

  She flung herself towards him, wildly and uncontrollably, and he stepped forward to meet her. He caught her slashing glaive by the shaft, hand protected this time by his stolen energy, then grabbed her by the arm and slammed her face first into a tree. He walked away a few paces, buoyed up by the power flowing through him. "Is that it?"

  She spat into the dirt, blood mingling with her saliva. "I'm sorry. Was that supposed to hurt?" She launched herself towards him again, swinging both weapons at him. He ducked the glaive as it swished past, shearing away a few strands of hair, and then caught her knife arm at the wrist.

  Their eyes locked, and a brief understanding passed between them. "What about this?" He dragged her arm towards him, and she was helpless against his strength. His right elbow fell like a hammer and he felt her soft flesh cave beneath him, yielding before his touch, then her bone, a mere twig. He pressed through, and a crack echoed out through the forest as it snapped in two.

  He let her go and she fell to the ground, shrieking at her broken arm. He stepped back, suddenly guilty, although there was no reason he should be so. She had been asking for it. This was her doing. She had caused this. "Are you happy now, you goddamn psycho?"

  She choked, and against his will he took another step backwards. There were tears falling down her cheeks, she was crying, and yet... that had sounded more like a laugh. She chuckled again, her good fist clenching and unclenching in the tear soaked soil. She began to shake, and yet despite her wounds it wasn't with pain, or fear, but mirth.

  "You know," she gasped between the sobs and the laughter, "I used to be scared of you. We silvans can hear their voices- the plants, the animals, sometimes even the earth itself. I could hear them. And you know what they told me? They told me you stank of death. That you carried it around with you like a cloak. That it hung around you even more than me.

  "I thought that maybe that meant something. That I'd found someone like myself, somebody who knew what it was like to be me. I was terrified of you, and yet at the same time I was attracted to you. I gravitated towards the one person who might just know how I felt."

  She raised her bloodshot, accusing eyes to look at him. "And then we talked, after the ambush. That night in the woods when we talked, I realised that I was wrong. You weren't a mirror of myself like I'd first thought, and yet there were still similarities. We were both fugitives, running from ourselves, hiding behind our images. That's what I thought. But I was stupid. You're nothing but another liar, and I was stupid enough to believe you.

  "The day after, when you finally told us the truth, do you have any idea how much that hurt? I thought I'd finally found someone who could understand what it was like to be me. And then, after all that, you were nothing more than some stupid kid with a love for melodrama and self-pity, thinking that if you acted like a grownup it would make you mean something, and that cloak of death was nothing more than a side effect of your freakish genetics."

  "You think that's what I am? Is that really what this is all about?"

  "Where did you learn that name?"

  His head dropped slowly. "I followed you into Ivan's."

  "Eavesdropping, then. Figures."

  "Sora-"

  "You stole a little piece of my past, a little piec
e you had no right to take. And then you did the same with my life. I no longer accept you as an equal. I no longer accept you as a partner. I no longer even accept you as a person."

  "What are you-"

  "You know something you shouldn't. Something you can't be allowed to know. So now I'm going to have to kill you."

  His eyes narrowed. "Don't get up. You're in no state to be fighting. Don't get up."

  She chuckled at that. "I'm in no state to be fighting? You should take a look at yourself, boy."

  "Don't do it."

  "You know more than you should. You have to die. And since you're going to die, I don't need to hide it anymore. I don't need to hold myself back."