by T. C. Edge
A cold smile clings to his pallid face.
I turn, my chest tightening, as another black-armoured soldier steps forward. He looks to his ally and nods, as the two assassins line up ahead of me.
Me, I wonder. Are they here for me?
I step back, wondering whether it might be best to flee myself, as they begin moving towards me, slowly spreading out as they come. I notice one of them look, ever so briefly, over my shoulder. I react immediately, glancing backward to find a third soldier speeding into the opening, a gun raised in my direction.
I see it just in time, as he pulls the trigger to fire, dropping to a crouch and springing away. I turn my eyes to the nearest escape, and begin rushing toward it, but am cut off before I can get there.
I spin around, enclosed by the three men, no way out, nowhere to go...
And then, salvation.
"Need some aid, Kira?"
The voice comes from behind me, stopping us all in our tracks. I turn and find Commander Hendricks stepping into the clearing, blood splashed across his body. He looks upon the soldiers, his eyes narrowing dangerously, his skin detailed with sweat.
And then, without delay, he lifts his gun and starts firing.
The little opening between the tents explodes into battle once more, as I instinctively hunt down the first opponent I was facing, knowing he's injured and likely losing some blood. I stalk him like a hunting cat, keeping low as Hendricks engages with the others, firing from a distance, pinning them back. The man looks distracted by the sudden arrival of the City Guard Commander, and doesn't react in time as I come. I launch myself skyward once more, slashing with my swords.
And this time, I make a better connection.
His neck opens up, spilling red. He hits the floor, his game up, as I turn with a snarl upon the other two. I move quickly toward them as Hendricks pounces from cover, firing from closer range. A couple of bullets hit one of the men, though only seem to ping off his armour, deflecting away to a nearby tent.
Hendricks holsters his weapon at that and pulls out a knife, as we rush in to engage, hand-to-hand. With the odds evened out, the battle is frenetic, blades clanging as they connect, armour sliced and scratched with numerous glancing blows. I feel as if we're getting the upper hand, but notice Hendricks beginning to tire.
There's blood on his left flank, coming from his ribs. He looks to have suffered an injury before coming here...
I refocus on my own target, slighter larger than the others yet no less quick. He begins to push me back, my concentration torn. I turn to look at Hendricks again and find him wilting under a relentless assault. His face looks suddenly pallid, arm clutching to his flank.
His opponent hacks and thrusts harder, forcing him to the ground. He pulls out a gun, points it at Hendricks's head.
I don't let him pull the trigger...
Grabbing a throwing knife from my belt, I toss it right at him, the tip of the blade plunging into the man's hand and cutting his trigger-finger clean through. He howls in pain, giving Hendricks a chance to get back to his feet.
"Get out of here, Glenn!" I shout. "Go, now!"
I turn back to the larger soldier, and dodge out of the way of his latest attack. My focus spiked, I twist and thrust, and send a blade into the back of his leg where the armour is slightly weaker at the joint.
It cuts right into the back of his knee, rendering the leg useless.
He lets out a roar of pain and topples forward. I don't miss out on the chance to end things, leaping on top of him and sending a second thrust through the back of his skull.
The adrenaline rushes through me, the thrill of battle returned, as I stand back up and draw out my sword. I take a breath of triumph, snarling down at my defeated foe, before turning to the final combatant.
Only one left now, I think, as I twist around to look at him. Shouldn't be hard for two of us...
I stop.
My chest tightens once more.
In the centre of the square, Commander Hendricks stands, staring right at me. His eyes are weak, his skin pale. A figure in black stands behind him, holding a knife to his neck.
"Glenn..." I whisper. "No..."
"It's OK, Kira," he says. "It's OK..."
The knife is pulled left, cutting through skin and flesh. I watch as Hendricks's eyes widen briefly, before his body is thrust to the side, falling to the floor in a heap. Blood pools at his neck, gushing to the rock. His killer stands rigid, looking right at me, his severed finger dripping red.
I turn slowly from Hendricks's lifeless body, and look into the man's detached, cold eyes. And with a rage and hatred filling me, I rush right toward him, roaring to the skies, ready to enact a violent, brutal revenge.
I do so quickly, hacking with such ferocity and skill that he cannot endure for long. Within a few moments only, my blade is connecting with the side of his neck, digging half way through, only stopping when it hits bone. I draw it back out, splashing blood as I go, and hit the very same mark again. The bone is cut through this time, my scimitar tasting air on the other side, cutting right through his neck and severing his head.
It topples to the floor, followed a moment later by his collapsing body, carrying that callous expression all the while. I look down at him in hatred and disgust. His enduring facade tells a story of its own. He is dead, and he doesn't care. It is the face of a man without emotion. A slave to the will of another.
A silence falls in that small clearing, as I move forlornly to Hendricks's side.
I kneel down to check that he's gone. His pulse thuds weakly, just one or two beats remaining. I turn him over and look into his eyes, hoping to give him something - a smile, a tear, anything - before he's gone.
But there's nothing. Nothing there at all.
He dies right then and there, in that quiet little opening amid the sea of red tents.
188
AMBER
We arrive to find the world in carnage, the front lines already breached, gun placements and siege weapons pouring flames to the sky. The fires glow within the fog, as shadows rush this way and that. The din of roaring rifles fills the air, and the screams of the injured and dying fill in whatever gaps they can find.
We move into the maelstrom, our fires connected, a shield wrapped around us, as bullets ping and fly. Some hit at our feet or go whizzing past our ears. Others glance against the shield, pinging off elsewhere, or connect with more force, melting and dropping to the floor as they try to break through.
"We can't stay here, Amber," Elian calls out to me. "Our shield won't last if we keep getting hit."
I nod, knowing he's right. Ahead, I can make out phalanxes of Neoroman soldiers, moving around in their strange formations. Others are alone, or in smaller groups, only just identifiable when not in formation by the silver armour they wear, glinting against the firelight. Yet many more remain indistinguishable, the fog limiting visibility significantly. Anyone more than ten or fifteen metres away is a shadowed blur and little more, a shape in the darkness, either enemy or friend it's so hard to tell.
"Amber!" Elian calls again. "What do you want to do? It could be suicide going out there! The lines have been breached!"
I turn my eyes again, and notice more figures moving through and into the camp. Some fall, caught out as they rush through the lines. Others manage to make it, pouring through one of several breaches and heading for the camp's interior.
"There," I say, suddenly knowing our path. "There. We protect the camp. We clean up anyone who gets through the lines."
Elian nods quickly, on board with the plan. "OK, let's go."
We burst onwards, our fires boosting us quickly after the rushing soldiers. Amid the roar of battle, they don't notice us coming, our combined flame pulsing us forwards more quickly than they can run. We reach their backs and holds our hands forward, our minds and bodies in perfect sync.
Splaying our hands, we let streams of fire flow from individual fingers, creating a flaming net which ensnares the tro
op. Their bodies ignite immediately, clothing burning bright, flesh quickly charred. Our proximity to them makes their screams uncomfortably clear.
I see Elian wince at the sound, as he looks upon the Olympian soldiers, his brethren, killed by his own hand.
I don't let him dwell on it, as we turn again to patrol the lines. They stretch for several hundred metres across the front of the camp, hardly any of that visible to us right now as we take position somewhere near the centre. It is the critical area, I know. The command tent at the camp's heart must be protected.
Other soldiers are aware of that too, perhaps ordered back by Ares or another of the Neoroman leaders to create a second line behind the first. We offer aid where we can, though need to be extra careful to ensure we only fire upon the right people. The conditions are horrendous, making it hard to breath for the other soldiers as they rush about, the thick, dusty air clogging their throats and they heave and pant.
It isn't so for us, the smog unable to penetrate our shield, every spec of dust and grit burned off before it can assault us. I wonder if we can do more, try to burn it all away, but fear we'd only end up igniting the nearby tents, or worse yet, our own troops.
"These Skymasters need to go," I say, staring out now as I begin to forge another plan. "They have to be out there, some of them at least. They'll be protected at the rear. It might give us a chance."
"A chance to do what, Amber? Kill them?"
"Of course kill them, Elian," I say. "They're prepared for these conditions. We're not..."
I glance left and see more Olympian soldiers rushing in, taking out several more Neoroman troops as they go. We pulse over once more and see to their ends, accidentally setting alight a tent as we do so. I grunt at the imperfection of it, though know, at least, that no one will be inside.
My eyes move north again. "We can do more from above," I growl, the adrenaline in me beginning to flood. "We can do much more from up there, Elian."
I look up into he murky skies. The fogs won't last long, I know. It'll be clean up there, give us a better view of things.
I look to Elian again. "Let's do it. This is what we trained for today, Elian. I know it's come sooner than expected, but this is it, right here. This is our chance to make a difference..."
"I'm not certain..."
"Look, I'm doing it with or without you, OK," I tell him bluntly. "It's just...without you, I won't have much energy. We need to work together, combine our flame. Come on, what are you so afraid of?"
The accusation of fear has the desired effect, firing up his ego. I can understand his reservations, but he won't want to be thought of as a coward. Especially not by me.
He begins to nod, before he speaks, as if trying to pump himself up. "Fine, let's do it," he says, bearing his teeth.
I grin as we step next to one another, doing something we barely practiced at all. Frankly, if I stopped to think about it, I'd probably think this a little bit crazy. As it is, I don't have time to ponder.
"OK, shield is set," I say. "Check. Take a deep breath now, nice and controlled, and straight into the air. We clear the fog, hover, and assess. Sound good?"
"Sounds good."
"Then let's go."
Before he can offer any further reservation, I grab his hand, making sure our connection is strong, and begin to shoot myself up into the air, willing to drag him along whether he likes it or not. Thankfully, he doesn't resist, firing up with me. We soar through the smog, ten, fifteen, twenty metres. By the time we've reached thirty, we've burst clear, appearing in the pure air beyond, the skies twinkling with stars above our heads.
We stop there, hovering as we turn our palms down, keeping ourselves in place. I know I could do this a thousand times and still be thrilled by the sensation. We share a look, grinning like kids. The we put our game faces back on, turning our eyes to the north.
I blink through the darkness, my eyes drawn to the city. "The fog," I say. "It's much weaker there now."
"They must only have a few Skymasters left concealing it," Elian says. "You can see the walls and everything."
I turn my eyes down, wishing I had Kira's vision right now. Or that it was daylight at least. "What can you make out?" I call, the noise now blunted below, the battle locked within the fume. "Can you see where the fog is strongest? Where it might be coming from?"
We both scan, looking away to the north. The mists still stretch right back to the city, but it grows much weaker towards the walls, and much stronger right below us. "They're near," Elian says. "I reckon only a few hundred metres, protected at the back." He looks again. "There," he says, his eyes glowing. "Right there, do you see it?"
I turn to look in the direction of his gaze, letting my eyes adjust for a few moments. And gradually, I see what he's seeing - the fog seems to swirl and move differently back there, puffing as it’s pumped out from some source. "That's it," I whisper. "That's where they are." I turn to Elian, my heart pumping. "How are you feeling? Strong enough to try?"
"Strong enough," he says. "So what's the plan? We just fly over and rain fire from above?"
I shrug. "You got something better in mind?"
"Not really," he says. "It's not like they'd see us coming. Not even a Farsight could see through this."
"Exactly. Those Skymasters are going to be the architects of their own demise. We take them out, the battlefield clears, and the city will stay as it is. It's going to work, Elian. You ready?"
"Ready as ever."
"Good. Then follow me."
We begin firing forwards and upwards, gently increasing our altitude. Soon, we're reaching fifty or so metres high, and a hundred or so metres out. We stop, briefly, once more. "We glide from here, OK," I say. "Just like I taught you earlier. It'll be easier to fire down if we're gliding in a descent, rather than flying horizontal. Remember, boost yourself along with your legs, and shoot with your palms."
"And the shield?"
"We don't need to worry as much about that," I say. "Hopefully we'll be in and out before they even know what's happening. But we'll keep something up, just in case." I scan again, making sure we know where the source of the mist is coming from. "Looks like they're lined up quite close together. We carpet bomb them, cover the entire area."
Elian nods, more practiced than I am with the different firing techniques used by Fire-Bloods. "Best to shower them," he says. "Spread our fingers wide, and cover as large an area as we can. One drop connecting with anyone down there will be enough to light them up, so long as they're not in fire-proof armour."
"Fine. If you think it's best, I'm up for it," I say.
We nod at one another, turning our eyes down once more. Below, the flashes of gunfire are just about visible, like lighting in storm clouds, raging across the plains. Elsewhere, the more continual fires burn, smoke chugging up and joining the smog as it pours from the artillery weapons and gun placements along the Neoroman lines.
Already, I get the impression that the damage to the legion has been significant. Their ability to actively siege the city may have been permanently weakened, or even disabled.
I shake the thought away, and focus on our plan. It may just help, I think. It may just help turn things back around.
Taking Elian's hand one final time, we turn our chests down, position our bodies correctly, and begin falling into a controlled, but high velocity dive.
The world rushes, the wind fluttering through our hair. We hold hands for as long as we dare, keeping that connection, making sure we stay side by side. The metres speed by, ticked off in tens. Our fingers unclasp as the swirling smog appears below, hands spread, palms down, fires gathering upon our palms and fingers.
"Three," I call, roaring above the wind. "Two..."
We move just over the smog, hanging thirty metres above the ground, and straighten out so we're gliding parallel along it.
"One!" I bellow.
Our hands unleash the flame, fires pouring violently as we fly above the fume. It flows down like a molt
en waterfall, burning down through the fog at such a temperature that the very mists are singed and scattered. It provides flashes of what's below, of soldiers massing down there. From the rock floor, their screams ring out, bellowing through the mist as their bodies ignite below.
We perform a single pass, covering a fifty metre space, before pressing back up a little higher from the fog. We focus our fire around our legs once again, boosting us onwards, our palms only used to direct us. Driven by intrigue, I turn back, swooping in an arc as I look upon our work. There, the fog lights up orange, the entire stretch burning bright. And within moments only, I sense the mists beginning to weaken, dispersing out across the plains as through released from an invisible cage.
"It worked," I say, panting out the words. "I think it worked, Eli!"
I look at him, his face breaking into a smile. And flying beside him, an urge takes me, as I pull him in and plant my lips onto his.
It's a surreal experience, but a wonderful one. Death below, and love above. One second, we're drenching dozens, perhaps hundreds of people in our flame. The next, our lips are locked as we swoop together through the heavens, the world above the fog ours and ours alone, a private refuge that no one else can enter.
Except one.
I draw back from Elian, and turn my eyes ahead.
I grab his hand suddenly, pull my chest back, and come to an abrupt stop.
My eyes widen as I look ahead.
Elian sees him too.
Herald Gailen hovers before us, his lower body and feet tangled amid a long, swirling vortex of dirty, dusty air. His eyes stare forward, his jaw clenched tight. I can see his chest moving up and down in a rapid motion, but know it isn't the physical effort that causes the haste of his breathing, but hatred.
And anger.
"We don't want to fight, Herald Gailen," I call out. "Not with you."
My words seem to further ignite his ire. The air pulses wildly from him, the vortex spinning harder.
"Gailen, she means it," Elian calls out, his own words coming with a slight pant. Our tanks are almost empty, I know. Neither of us would likely survive in a fight with Gailen now. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but we are friends. We only want to help you. You and everyone else in the city."
