by KT Belt
Artemis stared at her. It wasn’t a look of pain; even Carmen would admit she didn’t hit her that hard. It was enough to sting, but no more than that. If anything, Artemis’s gaze was as much accusing as it was shocked. Carmen swore she heard her mouth, “But you can’t do that!” Whether the girl had actually spoken or not, Carmen couldn’t help a small smirk. Artemis frowned.
She tried to attack again, but Carmen was first on the draw, staggering her with a kick to the head. From there, that small voice in the back of Carmen’s mind told her not to stop. She was quick to heed the advice. Another blow landed home, followed by two more. Artemis’s back collided with the wall and, for one brief second, she was cornered. The quiet voice in the back of Carmen’s head screamed, but she hesitated. She still attacked, but her punch was halfhearted and arrived to finish the job a hair’s breadth too late. Her fist cratered the wall on impact, leaving Artemis none the worse for wear.
Her opponent was breathing so hard that she panted, blood leaked from her brow, and her arm was still broken. Nevertheless, she gave no indication that she was going to back down. Her firm, unwavering step forward proved that. Carmen prepared herself. Nothing happened, though—at least not at first. The two girls danced around each other, but both refused to commit to anything substantial. Then, all of a sudden, it ended.
Carmen threw a punch and then a kick and hit nothing but air. Artemis responded with a kick of her own, and Carmen caught her foot in her hands before she flung her across the room. Carmen attempted to take advantage only to have her fist graze the top of Artemis’s head, but everything went wrong after that. Somehow, Artemis maneuvered behind her. She grasped Carmen’s ponytail, yanked, and Carmen screamed as her scalp felt like it was on fire. She didn’t put up much fight as she was brought to the ground. The hand grasping her hair let go, balled into a fist, and clocked her in the jaw. Carmen barely felt it. It wasn’t a soft punch, but the hair pulling had been so painful that a punch to the face was a welcome distraction. In the same realm, she didn’t notice the kick flying toward her face until it was almost too late. The best she could do was to raise her arm to block the blow.
Tenths of a second turned to hours as Carmen watched her arm bend under the strain of the attack until it snapped like a twig. Her mind screamed; she, however, uttered no sound. It hurt too much to do so. The most that escaped her lips was a gasp. It was a minor miracle that Carmen maintained the wherewithal to pull her head back as Artemis’s foot just missed her chin.
Her opponent didn’t continue her attack. Carmen didn’t know why. Nevertheless, her arm fell limp and lifeless beside her, and she noted that she couldn’t move it without telekinesis. When she glanced at Artemis, the girl smirked down at her. Carmen sneered back once she connected the dots. Despite that she had never really intended to break Artemis’s arm, she guessed turnabout was fair play.
She telekinetically snapped her arm back into place. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, and she only winced sharply. Then Carmen stood and assumed a guard. Artemis did nothing of the sort. She just smiled.
“Sure we can’t talk this out?” she asked sarcastically.
Carmen gritted her teeth. She had been waiting for Artemis to say such reasonable words since the start of this contest, but she didn’t have to be telepathic to know when she was being mocked. She replied by raising her arm and blasting the girl with a beam of heat. Artemis did the same. Their two scorching, white-hot pillars of radiation, however, never touched each other. Carmen’s mouth fell open in shock as the two beams flowed around each other like two repulsing magnets, completely missing both girls before continuing on to ablate the wall behind them. She didn’t think it was possible, but with the unbelievable staring her in the face, Carmen was forced to reassess that view. They stopped their beams at the same time. After that, some unheard signal sent them both on the offensive.
“Holy shit!” about eight people in the observation booth said simultaneously.
Isabelle figured that was an understatement. This wasn’t a fight; it was a collision of an unstoppable force and an immovable object. It was the struggle of an infinitely strong being trying to lift an infinitely heavy rock—eternal night meeting everlasting day. At this point, it was tough to even following their movements.
The noise in the room didn’t help, as everyone constantly screamed. She couldn’t blame them; she screamed too. This was just too exciting not to. The milquetoast would get rocked, but then she would answer back hard. Artemis would stagger and then respond with a blow that would cripple anyone else. Isabelle was almost to the point of not caring who won anymore. This display was priceless. The play of energy between the two Clairvoyants made her hair stand on end. Really, everyone’s hair was standing on end.
A visible spark had arced between her and Larry when she accidently touched him. The best way to describe it was that she felt like a kid again. It wasn’t because of how excited she was—it wasn’t that simple. She just had so much energy. It would probably be a few weeks before she was tired enough to sleep. Until then, she could probably run a good three or four miles between breaths. Being around Clairvoyants was weird.
Isabelle took a moment from watching the carnage to survey her surroundings. Larry was yelling so much and at such volume that she would have trouble speaking to him even through an amplifier. The lab geeks were babbling amongst themselves in squeaks and squawks—something about being “off the scale” on the new modified scale. She didn’t care enough to listen more than that.
At any rate, everyone winced as the little milquetoast suffered another kick to the midsection. The sound was intermixed with the dejected yelling of the “stupid” bettors. Isabelle looked at them and smiled. There was as much beer on the floor as had been consumed, and people were falling over each other to try to get a better view. The walls practically vibrated, and the equipment beeped so often it was almost smoking.
Isabelle smiled again. Today was a good day.
Janus paused for a moment. He did not know why he did—even as a Clairvoyant, things weren’t always clear—but the momentary hesitation brought all of his senses to the forefront. Nothing was immediately apparent.
What could it be? he thought with a sigh. There were no clues.
This was one of those moments in which being a Clairvoyant was more trouble than it was worth. Nobody knew everything, and sometimes knowing without actually knowing anything at all was like having an itch that couldn’t be scratched. He’d never particularly liked the faux ignorance. It may be related to how he was currently feeling about Edge. Either way, he didn’t feel very comfortable—almost sick to his stomach, in fact. If he wasn’t certain before, now he was. Edge’s first flight would be today. His Dark had spoken, and her time had come. He just needed to collect his charge first.
Just thinking about her made him nervous, but the reason was annoyingly difficult to place. He wasn’t scared of her. If she wanted to kill him, she would have done so when she had the chance. Besides, he wasn’t worried about dying anyway. Like unexplained pinpricks on the consciousness, the notion that he would have a short life and that it would end violently was just something he accepted. His Dark produced no anxiety from that truth.
Maybe his state was simply because he didn’t know what he expected. That, of course, was no different from any other day. This next step, however, could be the end—her end. The choice would be hers to make. Just thinking about her dying permanently made Janus quake. He was not ashamed to say he was somewhat fond of his charge. There were no rules that said a handler should or should not be, and after six years of almost daily direct contact, it would be inhuman not to develop some kind of attachment. It was a unique pleasure to silently cheer her on during every challenge he gave her. Her triumphs were wholly hers and hers alone, but to watch her revelry, in the rare times it appeared, was sweet.
As the elevator dropped off on the dormitory level, Janus took a deep breath. Something was different, though—he should have b
een able to sense her by now. The lights were flickering, so it was probably just his nerves. Lights flickering around a Clairvoyant of her power was as common as thunder with lightning. Then Janus noticed the walls seemed to vibrate.
He opened her door, but there was no one inside. His eyebrows furrowed. The only people who would remove Edge without his knowledge were the medical staff, and if they had done so, they would have informed him by now.
The walls vibrated again. At this point, it was more of a tremor.
Janus studied the room, but there was no evidence he could discern. In fact, there was hardly anything in her room at all. He had no doubt Edge had thrown a temper tantrum at some point, but that didn’t explain why she wasn’t in her room. He felt sick again, and as the wall shook once more, it dawned on him.
Carmen couldn’t really think anymore. She didn’t feel the pain from her body either. She wasn’t numb; it was just that each injury was perceived distantly at best. If anything, it was like she was speaking to her body through a radio. She’d call down to the engine room for more power, and a few seconds later she’d have it. She’d call again and receive again. Each time, however, she was given less and less over longer and longer intervals. She didn’t know if Artemis was suffering in the same way, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.
She was cartwheeled across the room from a particularly hard kick. It was harder to move and focus for a moment until the engine room could properly respond. Even so, it was ultimately no use. Fighting back was only delaying the inevitable. She wouldn’t say it was because Artemis was stronger or better than her. In fact, she barely even noticed Artemis at this point. Carmen just didn’t want to manage the effort anymore. Deep down, from the very beginning, she’d known this day would come. She was tired of it all. Even the whispering of her Dark was silent in this matter.
She had been feeding off herself for so long that there was nothing left. For years, every challenge, every poke and prod by Janus, spurred some furnace buried deep inside her to burn that much hotter—to up the pressure to what was needed. Now it was spent. There was still ferocity in her action. She still wanted to stop Artemis if she could. But the question remained: “Then what?” What about the next time? How long could she go on doing this?
Whatever the answers were, she picked herself up off the ground yet again and stood, ready and waiting. Artemis hesitated. Carmen didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she was any greater of a threat now than she had been five minutes ago. Artemis breathed hard. Her face was bloody and bruised, and her clothes were ripped. There was silence between them as they stared at each other. Artemis slowly shook her head while she looked Carmen in the eye. Carmen’s only reply was to raise her guard. After no more than a few seconds’ pause, Carmen’s war started once again.
Janus moved with such speed that his passing was marked by a streak followed by a gust of wind. He didn’t just run or fly—it was a combination of both. He flew down a hall until he came to a corner. With no hesitation and without slowing down, he ran along the wall and ceiling before vaulting into the air once again. He groaned as his inertia fought against him. All Clairvoyants hated that.
He didn’t know exactly where they were. Edge was so strong that sensing her exact location wasn’t easy. The best he could do was follow the tremors. It seemed like the entire building was being rattled to pieces. Any other being would give pause to the fact that the tremors were growing stronger, but Janus was heartened by this. If there was ever a time he wanted Edge to fight, it was now. She would need everything she could muster, simply to hold Artemis off. He was somewhat surprised she’d been able to last this long.
The thought made him push even harder. She was his charge. He had killed her more times than he could count, but his primary responsibility was her wellbeing. Live or die, he shuddered to think what would be left of her after this. He felt another shake, and it was hard to tell if it was the building or that overworked muscle in his chest. The lights flickered, though, so he guessed it was the former.
Janus slid to a stop. He was close, but he knew, through no apparent means, that they weren’t on this level. He looked up. Seconds later, the Clairvoyant emerged from the melted hole in the floor. The lights didn’t flicker on this level; they had been blown out. He was getting closer.
He wasn’t sure where to go from here, but he didn’t waste his time thinking about it. Instead, he stood very, very still. His hand rose and then pointed at the wall. After a pause and a breath, his beam set to work on one wall, then the next, and the next. Edge could probably do the work in half the time, but he would have to manage with the more limited strength he could wield. When it was done, he bolted through the hole, mere moments from his objective. That didn’t comfort him, however. For some reason, the tremors had stopped.
The door to their fight room was flying across the room before he even realized he had ripped it off its hinges. Then he saw them. Both girls were a bloody mess. It also stained the floor and walls and was dripping down from the ceiling. Fist-sized craters and large scorch marks also colored the walls. They noticed he was there in that moment.
Artemis held Edge in a headlock and seemed just one wrench away from twisting it clean off. It was a curious predicament for a Clairvoyant to be in. If Janus had the time for it, he’d wonder why Edge didn’t just shock her. You could only touch a Clairvoyant if they allowed you to, after all. Artemis glanced at him, and her gaze held enough wild viciousness to freeze even a Clairvoyant. Edge’s demeanor, however, was hard to describe. She seemed tired if anything, like just existing took a great deal of effort. She barely even looked at him.
Artemis must have guessed his intent as her arms tightened around her prey. Janus was first on the draw. He ripped her off Edge telekinetically and then sent a beam of heat through her before she could respond. His spirits fell in that instant. He didn’t want to hurt Artemis just as much as he didn’t want any harm to come to Edge. She was just as innocent in all of this as his charge. But he didn’t have a suppression team at his disposal, and he had no hope of fending off even a weakened Artemis. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t regret his action as she fell to the ground, dead, a look of surprise frozen on her face.
Janus paid her no further mind. His attention was on Edge. The girl fell in place, not even attempting to telekinetically cushion her fall. One of the most powerful beings in the galaxy was now a pathetic, bloody mess. He shook his head slowly as he walked toward her. Edge’s breathing was labored, and it was obvious she was suffering from several broken bones. Nevertheless, she recoiled as best as she could—no more than a few inches—when he approached. He shook his head again, and a quiet voice in the back of his mind came to a conclusion. He didn’t like it, but he had long ago given up fighting with his Dark when it made a decision. The argument was over before it even began.
He fell to his knees before his charge and scooped her up in his arms. She stiffened as he did and let out a pained moan. Janus was wise enough to know that the sound had nothing to do with any physically malady, though. Tears welled in his eyes as her blood soaked his clothes once more.
“I’m so sorry,” he said slowly, repeating it again and again.
When Carmen heard him the first time, her eyes grew wide before they sealed shut in disbelief. Breathing became even more difficult, and she coughed blood. She’d been in this situation enough times to know what was next. She feebly placed her hands on his shoulders, and as Carmen died one last time, she tried her best to push him away.
9
First Flight
Subject: Edge Age: 12 Status: Tempering
Carmen opened her eyes slowly. The sight was familiar. She was in the medical wing again. The place may as well have been her second dorm for as much time as she spent in it. The room was near capacity, as was typical. Her body ached, which was also not out of the ordinary. One thing that was different, though, was that she was handcuffed to the bed. Another change was that Janus was not w
ith her. She didn’t miss him.
She knew she had died once again. She’d lost count of how many times it had been, for what that knowledge was worth. She was casually aware that each time was a chance. She’d seen other assets, during her stays in the medical wing, that simply couldn’t be revived. Carmen often wondered what would happen when her luck ran out. She had learned about Hell and similar places. It was a persistent worry, just before her last breaths, that she’d be there or someplace worse when her eyes opened again. Perhaps this facility was her ultimate damnation. She could certainly think of more terrible things than fire and brimstone.
She wasn’t very distressed about it for the moment, though. If this was Hell or not, all she was concerned about was how many days she’d been out. That was often the most annoying thing. Carmen looked around the room for a few minutes, but she knew it was futile. There were several clocks, but they didn’t say what day or week it was. Just then, her eyes fell on an old friend.
Artemis stared at her from across the room. Carmen nonchalantly stared back. Just as she was, the girl was handcuffed to her bed, had no handler to accompany her, and appeared to be in no ill health. Carmen was quite certain their masters were worried the two of them would go at it again, not only because of the handcuffs but also because a suppression team waited nearby. She thought it was a wasted effort, at least for herself. She didn’t want to fight Artemis or anyone else, for that matter. Artemis, as Carmen guessed was the norm, didn’t seem as reasonable. She was quite certain Artemis would have spat on her if she was in range.
