by Earl, Collin
Dawn stared back. “You tell me.”
“I’m not sure I can answer that.”
Dawn broke eye contact. “Then I think you have your answer; would you not agree?”
Monson stood and moved to the path that he sensed was right behind him. His Pathway that led to the base of the mystic mountain that loomed in the distance, pressing in on his every sense, his every sinew. At his feet was the start of his pathway, the pathway he did not quite understand, but knew was a part of him. The answer to his plight, to his state of being, was on this very path. The question was: Did he have the courage to walk it?
Monson thought of Molly’s face and knew that, courage or not, he would walk it and say to hell with the consequences.
He pushed one foot in front of the other but, like once before, he felt the magic runes attempt to pull him away from his path. He powered through them, feeling the bonds strain under the force of his stride. His body burned from a blistering, unseen fire, which grew more intense as it followed the lines of his scars. Still he moved on, pushing forward even as the pain hit its peak.
Monson staggered and dropped to one knee, gasping.
He lost his breath, his reason, and his will. Something did not want him to proceed. The efforts of his unknown foe felt borderline desperate, just like Monson’s own unnatural appetite to move forward. He realized that this was it. This was his breaking point; the time when all will is lost and all opportunity for vengeance, understanding or compassion falls by the wayside. This was his limit and his limit was nowhere near enough to accomplish his goal.
“I want my body back,” said Monson aloud. “You belong to me and I’m taking you back.”
Monson stood up, breaking away from the pain that held him bound.
He called out, “I want my body back, and I want it NOW!”
He opened his eyes. The pain was gone. His reason, breath and will sizzled warmly again in his gut.
He turned around to see the magical web of runes disappearing behind him, the magic dissipating in the wind. The wind kicked up behind him, now even sweeter than before. A sudden blast of air caused him to close his eyes, and the combination of the wind and the relief from the fire seemed to invoke a flood of strange, unfamiliar images that slammed into him with the force of an earthquake. The memories took him to a place he did not recognize and to a time he did not know.
***
A five-year-old boy with what looked like liquid mercury in his hand dripped the substance playfully into a bowl. He waited impatiently until the ooze filled the bowl, and then dumped it out into the moat of a large sand castle. The boy laughed raucously as the substance bubbled and rolled over on itself. Moments later, a voice carried and echoed unnaturally from a great distance. The boy looked back towards the incline of a large hill, where a man was strolling towards him. Bright light bathed the man, casting a shadow in front of him and making any sort of recognition impossible until he was right in front of the boy.
Marques Grey scooped up the small child, laughing at the sand castle and gawking at the puddle of silver fluid. He smiled with warmth and concern as he carried the child back over the hill and into the horizon, the child laughing the whole way.
***
Monson opened his eyes to find tears gathering at their corners. His tears ran dry as soon as he realized who was standing in front of him. A man with wild black hair, blazing silver eyes, and a ripped white robe stood face to face with him with an unflinching expression. He slowly raised a hand, placing it on Monson’s face. Monson closed his eyes again, another blast of wind hitting him full on as Gi started to laugh.
***
“Hey Arthur, how’s our boy?” Casey shouted over his shoulder as two more commandos moved in around him. A blast from his glove and a four corners slashing maneuver with his sword quickly dismissed both of them. Artorius’ voice sounded over the din.
“He’s lighting up like a Christmas tree. That must mean something, but for the life of me I don’t know what.”
“Just stay with him. I’m sure that he—”
Casey broke off as he watched in wonder. Monson Grey rose from the chair wrapped in a nimbus of silver light. He looked angry–very, very angry.
“Grey…,” said Artorius in an unsure tone. “Is that you? Are you OK?”
Monson turned to face Artorius, who now noticed that half of Monson’s face was scarred and the other half was unblemished. Monson smiled warmly. “I’ve never been better, Arthur.”
“Is that really you, Monson?” Casey arrived at their side. “Like, the real you?”
Monson slapped Casey on the shoulder, the latter wincing from the strength of his touch. “I’ve always been me. I just have different issues then before. The life of a teenager and all that, no? Though I can’t compete with Derek’s Napoleon complex.”
Casey laughed. “It is so you, though a much funnier version. Who would have thought? So, love the makeover. You could totally be in the running for Two-Face in the next Batman flick.”
Monson ran his hand along the unscarred portion of his face. “Yeah, Molly’s sacrifice wasn’t quite enough, bless her heart.”
Artorius grabbed Monson’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Grey. We will make sure it was enough. We’ll make Baroty regret the day he decided to come to this school. You have my word.”
Monson nodded.
Artorius then turned to Casey. “Oh and Case, Two-Face is so not going to work. They’ve already done that movie. Twice, in fact; remember?”
“I know, Ar-thur,” said Casey, placing the emphasis on his name. “I was making a joke.”
Artorius shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t very funny.”
He paused. “And don’t call me Arthur.”
Monson took a deep, steadying breath. “Come on fellas, we have a battle to win and a lawyer to avenge.”
Casey laughed. “Never thought I’d hear someone say that in my lifetime. Avenge a lawyer…what is the world coming to?”
Not a moment too soon, Monson and the others ducked, avoiding a barrage of fire and ice from the commandos. Rolling to the side, Monson saw another wave of commandos and Legionnaires filing in from the northern entrance. These commandos appeared better equipped than their comrades, sporting a newer version of the Glyian Combat Glove and larger, more fantastical-looking blades.
The magical battle had become truly fierce. Spells tore through the ranks of soldiers, rock and human alike, as blades, now of the Magi variety, strove against one another. In the middle of the floor, Baroty and Mr. Gatt were dueling over a large area, all other parties keeping their distance. Back along the wall, Brian was attempting to free the imprisoned students, teachers, reporters and staff. It was difficult work, as commandos and Legionnaires were constantly attacking him.
“Monson,” Casey grabbed his shoulder before he could move more than a few feet away, barely parrying a blow from a Legionnaire. “I think we need to get you out of here and regroup.”
“No can do, Case. I’ve got a score to settle, remember?”
“I understand you’re pissed. I am too. But we need to regroup. We’re totally outnumbered and completely outgunned. Molly is going to haunt us until the end of days if something happens to you.”
Monson gestured in the air, leaving behind faint traces of silver. “Don’t worry Case, I’m far too young to find out if there’s an afterlife or not.”
He bellowed the phrase, “Combat Spell Fifty-seven: Daggers of Light.”
Somewhere behind him Monson heard, “Fifty-seven? Monson, you’re crazy! That spell is far too high a—”
A noise like the screeching of thousands of birds pierced the eardrums of everyone in the Coliseum. Casey and Artorius glanced around as if trying to determine the source of the noise. As it grew, it became clear that the noise was emanating from their best friend.
A crackling yellow energy sat in the palms of Monson Grey. It was unlike anything either Casey or Artorius had ever seen. It seemed like an electric current or a b
olt of lightning, but at the same time looked to have substance and weight, like it was both energy and matter simultaneously.
As if this was not weird enough, Casey and Artorius watched as Monson molded the substance into two equal portions. Once complete, he held the daggers in his hands like combat knives, the screeching sound still echoing around them until it faded completely.
“Casey! Artorius! Stay on my tail! Halfback dive right through the middle!”
Artorius and Casey fell in right behind Monson. Satisfied, Monson turned to face a wall of attackers. He grinned maliciously. Commandos pointed guns and Glyian Combat Gloves, Legionnaires formed up behind shields and spears, and squad leaders barked orders. Baroty’s men formed a wedge, waiting for some unseen sign—an order that did not come. Unfortunately, they waited just a bit too long.
Monson Grey attacked.
He instantaneously disappeared and reappeared, a fading streak of light the only indication that he had moved. Before anyone could even start to comprehend what was happening, Monson was already leveling ranks of soldiers. Blades of lightning in each hand, Monson combined Casey’s martial arts, Artorius’ fencing, and added something extra —something unknown that made him move a little faster and made his attacks a little more forceful. Much of it might have been his weapons, which lit up anyone or anything they touched and visibly affected the power of his lightning blades, dimming and shrinking them. It appeared as they had a finite life.
Monson was moving too fast and with too much power for anyone to worry about anything else. Artorius and Casey tried their best to stay close but were left with very little to do. They were not the focus of the commandos’ attack nor were they given the chance to step in for Monson. Once most of the soldiers lay in heaps, Casey and Artorius threw up barriers of rock and ice similar to Molly’s Box of Protection.
“Monson, this is insane!” Artorius caught Monson’s shoulder, more than a little surprised by his friend’s newfound ferocity and power. “We should fall back.”
A huge explosion to their left drowned out any response Monson may have made. Dozens of commandos and rows of rock soldiers came flowing through the freshly made holes in the Coliseum walls. Monson and his friends again prepared themselves to fight. Five commandos cautiously stalked Monson, Casey and Artorius, all of them whispering under their breath. A flash of light and heat followed by a cool mist splashed over the area, causing the three boys to instinctively draw back. When everything settled, the five commandos stood before them, Magi Blades at the ready. The commandos started to fan out.
“Crap.” Monson held out his arms, catching Artorius and Casey by the chest and pushing them back. “Not good.”
“What do you mean ‘not good’?” Casey jabbed Monson in the side. “We can totally take these fools, Grey.”
“No, Casey. You don’t get it. We don’t have a weapon that can match the Magi Blade. To go up against it, you need another Magi Blade. We’d be cut down where we’re standing.”
Artorius’ head swung from side to side, watching the advancing commandos. “Can’t you create one of those blades, then? Or better yet, can you create three?”
“I think so,” Monson answered. “But I’m not sure what will happen.”
“What does that mean?” snapped both Artorius and Casey.
“I only got part of my memories back—remember Batman and Two-Face? The principle behind the Magi Blade is fundamental to the use of magic as a whole and is probably one of the first things a power user learns, which is probably why I don’t remember it. If I screw it up, everyone in this room will probably die.”
Artorius and Casey looked at each other with consternation, but only Casey spoke. “Yeah…death would be a bad thing; I haven’t even seen Paris.”
Artorius punched him on the arm. “Dude, you were in Paris last summer! What are you talking—”
“It was a joke, Arthur!”
“Well, it was another sucky one, Case!”
“Shut up guys. So not the time for a travelogue.”
Monson prepared to cast the Daggers of Light combat spell, thinking that if he put enough power into it, that just maybe it could stave off the attack of a Magi Blade.
But before the words could leave his lips, a powerful vibration rippled across the room. Reminiscent of the Tiny Tremors combat spell, these quivers were by no means natural yet were very powerful. All the inhabitants of the Coliseum—the commandos, H.U.M.A.N.E., Legionnaires, people in Baroty’s prisons, everyone—hit the floor in the presence of what they feared was the Earth’s pending upheaval. The seconds passed in panic as the Coliseum felt the wrath of Mother Nature—or Mother Magical, Monson was not sure which. The shaking stopped after what felt like a lifetime, only to be followed by another huge crash that once again split the air.
The dragon sat among the scattered bodies of the fallen fighters. The majestic beast was torn, bleeding and howling in pain. It was not, however, without fight. It sat injured only briefly before it reared up on its back legs and bellowed again, causing the floor to shudder with reverberation. The roar was one of challenge.
The animal’s plight forced all to look up through the crack in the dome of the Coliseum and behold…swarming, billowing, intruding blackness.
Monson gasped. “No…no way….”
He looked at Casey and Artorius as a mix of apprehension, concern and terror creased his face.
Casey pointed skyward. “The Midday Darkness! We awakened the Midday Darkness!”
Chapter 58 – The Midday Darkness
“Damn,” Artorius plopped down, crossed his legs, and put his head in his hands. “I seriously can’t handle this.”
The Midday Darkness, the legendary Midday Darkness, swirled above their heads, circling the Coliseum like massive birds of prey. The scattered mass of chunky blackness blocked the noonday sun, spackling the once bright blue sky with ever thickening black, all while emitting ungodly sounds. The noise grated on the eardrums of everyone in the room, causing them to grab at their heads and drop to their knees. This show of weakness seemed to do nothing to sate the Midday Darkness, as it only thickened and the sounds grew louder. One voice rose above the heightening confusion.
“Dead,” said the voice. “We are all dead. The Midday Darkness kills everything….”
Despair was in the voices that rose up in response, and which multiplied by the second. The Midday Darkness was going to kill everything and everyone there.
Others attempted to speak words of comfort but were unable to, drowned out as a new round of noise assaulted them. This time, however, an odd pressure accompanied the sound; a pressure—a strange spiritual force that pulled at the very core of their being. Monson had felt this months ago the night he went to meet Baroty. It was not a feeling he would soon forget.
Still the pressure increased as the dark masses continued to fold over on themselves. Before long, the darkness had completely blacked out the sky, leaving an inky shadow in its wake. Once the darkness was thickly in place, still swirling, the noise and pressure vanished, and all was silent.
The sudden drop in pressure and noise stunned the crowd; few people moved. No one from H.U.M.A.N.E. or Baroty’s group seemed to know what to do. No one was thinking about the battle any longer; not even the gem-hearted rock soldiers, most of which were not even moving, let alone showing any outward signs of cognizance. It was as if their power switch had been accidently flipped. The sight was actually quite disturbing, though not as disturbing as the expression of everyone else in the room. Every single person, good or bad, combatant or civilian, just stared up at the black river in the sky, watching as it danced back and forth in a sort of sickening mockery of a sea tide.
“Well…that was unexpected, wasn’t it?” Artorius pretended to make a check mark on a piece of paper. “That is definitely one for the diary.”
“You have a diary?” said Casey derisively. “Oh, that is so like you. Get ready, Grey—next you’re going to hear all about the benefits of guy-lin
er.”
“You’re never going to let me hear the end of that, are you? I used it once when I was starring in a play and I’m branded forever.”
“Hey dude, I’m not bagging.” Casey attempted to stifle his laughter. “I say own it; own the guy-linerness.”
“Guys!” said Monson in exasperation. “Seriously? Are we seriously having this conversation?”
Casey shrugged, which looked quite odd considering he was still lying on the ground. “I maintain that anytime is a good time to mock Arthur; it brings a little more joy to the world, I think.”
“Shut it Casey,” growled Artorius. “Or I will kill you before the Midday Darkness gets around to it.”
“Speaking of which,” Monson pointed upwards. “What’s it doing?”
The undulating waves of gloom had suddenly formed a violent whirlpool. It twisted faster and faster above the Coliseum. Before anyone had the chance to determine what the darkness was doing, every person was back on the ground, groaning from the pull of some invisible force. Like a vortex of wind, the twisting Darkness yanked at the very essence of all who remained under its swirling eye. Before long, visible strands of colored Kei started rushing upwards, flowing into the belly of the storm. Monson realized that the Darkness was sucking up the Kei of every person in the room, extracting the magical energy that made up all living beings, drawing it into its inky folds.
The different traces of Kei slowly fused like some drug-induced dream. Most Kei was a dark green, but there were a few other colors as well. Monson could tell that there was something significant about this different colors of Kei; there was a meaning behind the bright dissonance of color but like so many times before, he failed to spot the connection or begin to understand the importance of the events unfolding around him. The other colors continued to mix in with the green Kei, all of which reached the vortex of the dark whirlpool. Monson felt his own energy leaving him and watched as the vortex physically drained silver Kei from his body. It was painful in a curious sort of way, and when the vortex finally ceased its activities, the effects of were evident. Sallow, gaunt faces and frail bodies slowly lifted themselves off the ground, staggering as they did. Monson looked at the churning mass, and found himself mesmerized by the flow of the now-silent ocean of darkness.
