by Earl, Collin
And you’re the one who determines who is lesser and who is greater?
“It is not a manner of determination but of predestination. Those with power crush those who are not so lucky. This is something you are born with and which will be useful to you, but only if you use the gifts given you. To gain true power, one must embrace the natural self—only then will the heavens open.”
Now you’re not even making sense, Monson replied. I have to embrace my natural self? Haven’t I always embraced my….
The wordless conversation stalled as a memory came to him: a room from a dream…a room of death and gore. He spoke his next words aloud.
“A flash of grey, a flash of silver, a flash of gold that come to a head in blades of black and white.”
Monson gulped, but continued. “I strike this man but come to know, that I cannot win nor overcome…as this man…is me.”
Monson closed his eyes, searching for Gi’s presence, scrambling for answers.
Who is the man? Monson screamed in his mind. Is it Baroty? What’s with the flashes, the blades? What does it all mean?
The backs of his eyelids twitched and burst with color as a voice echoed and the images of four different swords paraded across his vision.
The blades lingered briefly, as Gi parted them while uttering a simple phrase.
“The blade, little one; forget not the blade….”
Monson opened his eyes. “I’m going to have to forge that blade.”
Casey slapped Monson’s back. “This is no time to be crafting Ninja Gaiden strategies. I thought we were going to save Cyann?”
Monson returned Casey’s slap twofold. Casey winced but starting laughing at the same time. “Ouch dude, that hurt.”
“Good. You deserved it. Hey, Grayson.”
“What’s up, Mr. Grey?”
“Do you have any idea where Cyann is yet?”
Grayson looked over his shoulder and pointed out towards the Battlefield and its warring factions. “Kylie last saw her and her captor moving towards the same place that Baroty and his goons escaped to.”
“Captor? There was only one?” asked Monson.
“Yes. He was transporting her and blasting his way through. Be careful.”
“Can Legon get us on top of the roof away from the fighting?”
“Your wish is our command, O Being of Seven Bloods!”
“I really wish you’d all stop call-ing….”
Monson’s words rushed upwards with his breath as the great Dragoon Legon dived towards the ground, and the fighting below.
***
The next few minutes were tense as Legon, with his human cargo strapped to his back, pulled out of the dive a mere twenty feet from the ground. He skimmed the scalps of their enemies as he leveled out and then shot forward like a bullet. Before any of the Legionnaires or gargoyles could react to their presence, Legon emitted a blistering plume of flames. The fire consumed everything in its path, which was a sizeable amount considering the number of Roman soldiers and gargoyles mixed in among them. It was not enough to have a real effect on the battle, as the numbers of soldiers and magical creatures seemed to be increasing by the second, but the flying fire maneuver did give the members of H.U.M.A.N.E. a much-needed morale boost. They cheered with raised weapons as Legon pulled out of the maneuver, angled up slightly, and stopped right above the edge of the roof of the field. Beneath the roof was a hallway, which, assuming they could get to it, would hopefully keep them from having to fight their way through the ranks of soldiers as they made their way towards the inner parts of the Battlefield.
“Let us off here,” yelled Monson as he prepared to descend from Legon’s back. “We’ll take it from here—you should go and support H.U.M.A.N.E..”
Grayson forced a smile. “Thank you for traveling Air Dragoon; watch that first step and y’all come back now, ya hear?”
The three boys threw their weapons onto the roof and slid carefully off the back of the dragon, rolling as they landed. The bounced up quickly as several airborne gargoyles flew in to confront Legon. Monson gestured forcefully to Grayson.
“Go!”
Grayson waved and made to turn, but hesitated as he made eye contact one last time with Monson.
He mouthed the words, “Stay safe Grey. Stay safe and find her.”
Grayson urged Legon forward and flew off, ready to face the onslaught of flying creatures.
Monson, Casey and Artorius attempted to find their bearings as the sounds of clashing swords and howling creatures flooded their senses. The crashes and clattering briefly held them spellbound as they looked out upon the scene.
“We need to get moving.” Artorius said. “We need to get to Cyann.”
“How are we going to do that?” asked Casey in a loud voice that was nevertheless barely audible above the clamor below. “How are we going to get into this building from here?”
Monson took a deep breath. “Leave that to me.”
Casey and Artorius exchanged meaningful looks. “What does that mean, Grey?”
“It means that whoever took Cyann is going to be in for a very rude awakening. You guys are going to want to stand back.”
Casey and Artorius again exchanged looks before taking several large steps away and staring as Monson started to call upon his magic.
“Combat Spell Eighty: Flame Funnels!”
Thin blue torches of fire shot from his palm and instantly started to melt the rock, brick and metal around them. Satisfied, Monson started to spin in a circle, rotating several times before flicking his wrist to disperse the spell. He jumped from the spot right as it caved in, leaving a perfect molten-edged hole where he had been standing.
Casey and Artorius walked right up to the hole, grinning. Casey bent down to feel the warmth of the melted rock. “Flame funnels, huh? Going to have to remember that one.”
Monson was back on his feet. “Come on—we have to get going.”
He dropped down into the hole with Casey and Artorius right behind him. They each rolled as they hit the ground and were quickly on their guard, ready for an attack that thankfully did not come.
The surrounding area was quite eerie, a great deal quieter than it should have been considering the raging battle just outside.
“Could this place have a spell on it?” Casey whispered. “Could Baroty have some reason to magic this place up?”
Monson shook his head. “Who knows? I hope not. I don’t want them to know we’re coming.”
“They aren’t waiting for you, anyway.”
The three boys jumped as a fuzzy, distorted voice sounded. They fanned out, searching for the source, but saw nothing except destroyed rock and crumbled white marble; they heard the voice a second time and paused.
The sound actually came from Casey, who seemed to grasp what was going on and quickly unzipped his silver jumpsuit. He revealed from an inner pocket a small, strange device, black and completely uniform, like a piece of obsidian. The device spoke with the same distorted voice.
“I’m not gonna lie, you guys looked really dumb just then.”
Monson was unable to stop himself; he looked around again, and once again saw nothing of consequence. Artorius placed a hand on his shoulder and pointed up. Monson’s eyes followed his finger to see a security camera pointing down at them.
Casey held the device up to his lips. “You’re hilarious, a true comedian. Did you contact us for a reason or are you just trying to annoy me?”
“Ooh, touchy,” responded the voice. “I contacted you because there are plenty of soldiers in the Battleground, but they aren’t sticking around to stop you from moving forward. I don’t know what they’re doing, but it must be something that’s draining a lot of power—all the electrical equipment is totally fried.”
Casey cocked the eyebrow. “Then how are you seeing us now?”
Monson actually heard the shrug in Kylie’s response. “Magic.”
“Do you have a location on Cyann?” asked Casey.
&nbs
p; The answer came with some reluctance. “Yeah, and if you run you might be able to catch them. Last I saw, she was below you a couple of floors, moving towards the main field.”
“We’re on it,” said Casey, already putting the device back in his suit. “If there is anything we absolutely need to know, contact us. Otherwise, radio silence.”
Kylie’s response contained more than a touch of sarcasm. “Roger that, sir! Over and out.”
Artorius chuckled. “I think you pissed her off, Case.”
Casey shrugged. “She’s always pissed off. I swear she’s on a twenty-four seven period. I feel sorry for any future boyfriends.” He pointed down the hallway. “Come on. Let’s go save Cyann.”
The boys half-ran, half-sneaked down the hallway, connecting with the white marble in a heel-toe sort of step that Artorius said would minimize sound. It worked pretty well when the boys were not slipping and falling and dropping their weapons in the silent hallway. This happened several times before they gave up on the heel-toe idea.
As they moved closer to the main chamber of the Battlegrounds, they curbed their speed and proceeded with a silence that would have made any midnight burglar proud. Still, they found no one guarding, patrolling or waiting for them. The halls were empty and quiet. No one spoke until they were right outside the main doors of the Battlegrounds, and as always, Casey was the one to break the silence.
“So what’s the plan, O Fearless Leader? Do we bust in, guns a’blazin’?”
Monson started to answer but stopped to ask, “Hey, wait just a minute. Why am I the leader?”
Casey shook his head. “Because you’re the only one with a cool title—the Being of Seven Bloods and all that.”
“Very true,” agreed Artorius. “Until Casey and I get cool names like that, neither of us can be the leader. It’s in the rule book.”
“So all I have to do is give you names and then one of you can be leader? Hmm…I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Monson’s expression became serious. “OK—any ideas on what to do? Because I’m drawing a blank. I gotta think that there’s a better way than just busting in like this.”
Artorius flicked his head at Casey. “What about the locker rooms? There’s a point of entry right at ground level.”
Casey rubbed his face in contemplation. “Now that’s an idea, but I don’t think we should all just go in on the ground floor, just in case they have like magical snipers or something.”
Monson cocked the eyebrow. “Magical snipers?”
Casey nodded vigorously. “Yes, magical snipers. And don’t raise that eyebrow at me. That’s the least weird thing I’ve said today, or did you forget that we just rode a dragon here?”
“Dragoon.”
“Whatever.”
“Strange occurrences aside,” interrupted Artorius. “I think Casey has a point. We should go in at different levels and vantage points. I’ll hit the press box; it should be isolated enough to call in the cavalry and get some help without being detected.”
“I’ll go in at the top and try to give you some sort of cover while you’re down below.” Casey unzipped his jacket and handed Monson the small device he had been using to converse with Kylie. “Artorius and I should be able to give you some direction—just turn it on low, and we’ll use it only if absolutely necessary.”
Monson took the device but instantly saw a problem. “What about you? Doesn’t that leave you sort of blind?”
Casey shook his head. “Your concern for little ol’ me is overwhelming, Mr. Grey. You’d better be careful or I might tear up.”
Casey pulled out a second device before Monson could reply to his comments. “I brought a second one just in case something like this happened. I am a Boy Scout, after all, and we’re always prepared!”
“Case, a week in Webelos doesn’t make you a Boy Scout. How many times am I going to have to tell you that?”
“Shut up, Arthur; you didn’t even make it that long. Just because that girl from the Brownie troop beat you up the first day. That’s what you get for flipping up her skirt.”
“First of all, she didn’t beat me up. I was sick that day—”
“Yeah, yeah, sure you were—”
Monson walked up and threw his arms around his friends, stopping the conversation in mid-retort. “Be careful, guys. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I lose anyone else.”
Casey and Artorius smiled as he let them go, apparently forgetting their argument. “You too, Grey,” said Casey. “Be careful and don’t lose your cool.”
“Yeah,” said Monson, putting up his fist. “Will do.”
The other two smacked theirs against Monson’s and then turned to leave. Monson lingered briefly, watching Casey and Artorius round a corner and disappear out of sight. He listened to the fading slap of their footsteps until there was silence once again.
Moving with determination, he ripped the Glyian Combat Glove from his hand and began to pry his grandfather’s silver stone from the frame. To his dismay, it was slightly cracked. Monson swore. “That’s definitely not a good omen.” He tried to convince himself that he was not going to need luck—that he would create his own. Believe. That was what he needed to do. He needed to believe and hope for the best. With that thought in tow, he headed towards the boys’ locker room and hopefully, the final confrontation.
“You don’t need luck, you know.”
Dawn’s unmistakable voice drifted in and out of Monson’s eardrums, hurting his head with its unpredictable changes in volume.
Monson grabbed at his temple. Why are you coming in like this, so weak? he thought. Is your frequency broken or something?
“Not a bad example, I will have to use that one sometime. That’s not entirely true, but good enough.”
And of course you’re not going to explain that statement, either.
“I would, but it would do you little good right now.”
Monson tapped at his head as Dawn started to cut out, but realized how stupid this was and stopped. Why are you leaving? What’s going on?
“There is not any time to explain. I am going away, but let me warn you that something is coming, something incredibly dangerous. You and your friends need to get away from Coren before it comes. I have to depart as my limits may soon be tested, but heed my warning—leave now.”
Monson shook his head. I can’t. I have to save Cyann and capture Baroty before I can—
It was no use. Dawn was gone and Monson could not feel the slightest trace of his presence. He was truly on his own; the thought actually scared him a bit. He pushed it out of his mind as he descended the stairs towards his objective.
***
Minutes later, Monson found himself sneaking along the hallways leading to the locker rooms of the Coren University Legionnaires. He was lucky to have gotten this far without being detected. There had been one near run-in with a small squad of Baroty’s black-clad commandos; if Monson had not ducked into a random office, it would have been over for him.
Now closing in on his destination, he heard hurried, anxious voices, most bellowing about “power” and “containment.” Monson understood none of it. His brief time in the Legion had given him a familiarity with the locker room, enough to proceed without incident. His main hope rested in Coach Able’s office, which ran almost the entire length of the long hallway. If he could get into that office, he might be able to get out onto the Battlefield unseen and undetected.
Trying the heel-toe approach that had given him so much trouble earlier, Monson was able to reach the entrance of Able’s office. Slowly he tried the doorknob and felt considerable relief as it turned. Monson slipped into the darkness of the office, silently closing the door behind him.
“You know, you’re really not as sneaky as you think you are.”
Monson’s hands were already moving, calling upon the magic as he whipped around to face the source of the voice. What he saw made his blood boil.
Cyann Harrison, unconscious and gagged, slumped at the feet o
f Damion Peterson. Very close to her throat was the tip of a Magi Blade, its hilt resting firmly in Damion’s grip.
Chapter 60 – Breath of the Dragon
Monson took a few steps forward into the room, the flickering glint of the Magi Blade providing him enough light to recognize the River’s Serenity. This gave him a slight amount of comfort. At least Damion was not using the Breath of the Dragon or one of the other blades Monson was not familiar with; then he would be really screwed.
Monson took a deep, steadying breath, willing his voice to stay even. “So you’re the twist? You’re the surprise ending?”
Damion smiled, his expression malicious. “Every good story needs an anti-hero. I guess that’s my role.”
He adjusted the blade, leveling it uncomfortably close to Cyann. Monson’s eyes narrowed. “So if you’re the anti-hero, then who am I?”
“Who are you? You’re the problem.”
Damion and Monson glared at one another, allowing the fireworks to fly within the fury of their fervent gazes. Monson again attempted to calm himself before he spoke.
“Damion, let Cyann go. She has nothing to do with this.”
Damion laughed. “You really are a moron, Monson.”
He shoved the blade into the cement floor, giving no indication that the floor was any more solid than jelly. Damion grabbed Cyann, pulling her up with unnatural ease, and held her unblemished face to Monson.
“What do you know about Cyann, O Being of Seven Bloods?” said Damion with derision. “She has nothing to do with this? She has EVERYTHING to do with this, and if it weren’t for you, if you hadn’t shown up, I could have protected her. I could have explained to her what was happening and why. But no, you had to come and ruin it, ruin everything…it had to be now, of course. You couldn’t have waited one more generation.”
“Ruined everything? Ruined what, your crazy plan? And what’s this crap about you protecting Cyann? You could have protected her? Protected her like you’re doing now, by pointing a blade at her throat? You aren’t protecting anyone but—”
Monson lunged forward like a popped cork. Damion was caught totally unawares and Monson wasted no time, aiming a clean kick to his gut. A saturated silver light pulsed, paralleling the strike and sending Damion flying through the door into the locker room, literally bending him in half midflight. As Damion’s figure absorbed the full extent of Monson’s blow, his momentum pulled Cyann’s body a few feet into the air as his grip on her slipped. Monson quickly scrambled, reversed his momentum, and was miraculously able to catch her near-weightless body on her descent. He held her close, cradling her like a baby. Checking that Damion was still prone, he quickly moved to the far side of the room and gently laid Cyann down on a nearby desk. He touched her tenderly on the face.
