by Earl, Collin
“So I did destroy it.”
“Yes, you did. and thank goodness you did. that sort of machine should never have existed.”
“How did I destroy the bridge?” asked Monson. “What exactly happened?”
Marques sighed. “You lost control of your path. You lost control of the vast, untapped power that resides inside of you. You triggered the Natural Man by a simple instinctual reaction to a single devastating event.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Power, my boy. You got very angry and let go of what little control you had on your power. You released that power in your rage and it decimated the bridge.
“One of the problems with you being so young is your inexperience with the Keepers of your Gate. You are truly remarkable, my boy, but at the same time a danger to yourself. Someone your age should not have a fully developed path. Because you do have a fully developed path, you have to be extra careful as to what you do and how you do it. If you are not, the Natural Man will take over and destroy—well, everything.”
Monson gulped slightly. “That sounds unpleasant.”
Marques laughed. “There are other things which are far more unpleasant than the Natural Man.”
Strange echoing noises intruded upon their conversation. Monson covered his eyes in annoyance.
“What’s with the noise? It’s always been quiet here before.”
“The sound is an indication that our time is almost at an end. the outside world is intruding upon us. So now I would ask you to listen and not speak.”
“But I have more–”
“I understand,” Marques said, cutting him off. “You have many questions; your life, your family, your purpose. The answers will come in due time. but this you must know first if you are to come to the knowledge of the truth.”
“Which truth is that?”
“The ultimate truth, Monson. the truth above all others.”
Monson waited for the punch line. when none came he asked, “And what is that ultimate truth?”
Marques shook his head. “I do not know any better than you do. i will tell you this–you, my boy, are like no other person I have ever met, except for one.”
Monson cocked the eyebrow. “Except for one? You mean there’s someone else like me?” He ignored the fact that he was not sure what that even meant. He was different, but how could he articulate that difference? Because he was the Being of Seven Bloods? Maybe, but the thought of him being some sort of savior left a bad taste in his mouth.
Marques bent down to look Monson in the eye. “The only other person like you is–”
Monson already knew, so he finished his grandfather’s sentence. “Sariah.”
Marques’ chin dipped once in the affirmative. “Find her, Monson; find out everything about her. only then will the question be answered.”
Monson gritted his teeth. “The question? What is it with you people and your enigmatic warnings? How can I find the answer when I don’t even know the question?”
Marques Grey looked skyward, a serene expression on his face. Monson rubbed at his eyes. Marques was evanescing, still visible but becoming more and more translucent. “But you do know the question, Monson Grey. you have been asking since you were old enough to wonder.”
Monson’s brow furrowed as he attempted to understand. Marques laughed again, the noise taking on the quality of a fading echo. “You’ve been asking the same question ever since I found you in the streets of New York when you were four. You know it even now.”
The phrase passed through Monson’s lips involuntarily as he closed his eyes and mentally feasted upon the revelation. “Who am I? the ultimate question is: Who am I?”
Monson opened his eyes when no one answered. Upon doing so he realized that he was alone and that his body was glowing brilliantly.
“No! Don’t go yet!” pleaded Monson. “I still have questions, things to say. please not yet.”
The voice of his grandfather lazily floated towards him, accompanying a cool evening breeze.
“I love you, my boy. remember to protect that which is most important to you.”
Monson hung his head as he held back the tears. He took a deep breath and screamed a scream that shook the very core of his world.
***
Monson awoke to the feeling of warmth and the sweet smell of lavender. “You’re awake,” spoke a voice situated right next to his ear. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“How long was I out?”
“Only a few minutes. Gibson called for reinforcements a few moments ago. They’re gathering up some of the destroyed equipment. They said I could sit with you; I think they’re coming to heal you.”
“Why would our enemy come and heal me?”
Hair brushed against Monson’s face. he realized that his head was in Cyann’s lap and that she was shaking her head. “I told them that it was the price of me going quietly. I still have Damion’s blade with me. So Mr. Gibson offered me a deal: If I go with him, he would heal your wounds. Though it doesn’t look like you need healing now.”
Monson’s eyes shut even tighter as emotion once more swept over him. “I’m not going to let that happen.”
He shifted his back slightly, trying to get a feel for the extent of his injuries. “I can’t feel any pain.”
“Weren’t you listening? I just said they didn’t need to heal you. There isn’t any pain because there isn’t a wound anymore.”
Monson shifted around some more. “How could that be? He cut me, I know he did.”
Cyann shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. but never mind that. We need to figure out a plan. They’re gonna kill Mr. Gatt and Brian. Something about sending a message.”
Monson sighed. “I know, but what do we do? I don’t think I can beat him, not like this.”
“You can.”
Monson shook his head slightly. “You saw our last fight. I have an incomplete style, remember?”
“Monson, only a coward blames his style for his failure.”
“Are you saying there’s some other reason?”
“No, I’m just saying that you shouldn’t blame your fighting style. It’s a moot point, anyway.”
“How is it a moot point? I still can’t beat him.”
Monson felt fingers touch his eyes. He opened them instinctively. Cyann whispered. “If you find that you are lacking something—experience, courage, ability…whatever it may be–then you do what it takes to find what you lack. In your case....”
Monson felt something press against his left hand. He glanced downward to see Damion Peterson’s River’s Serenity. He looked up at Cyann, who was smiling.
“In your case,” she repeated, “if you find that you’re lacking a weapon, all you have to do is find one.”
Monson grinned, then again tensed his body, ready to pounce. “Where’s Gibson?”
“Directly in front of us.”
“Can you stand and run?”
“Not really. but don’t worry; they aren’t going to do anything to me, at least not yet.”
Monson nodded as he stood up, surprising the soldiers who were milling around them. Monson let out a war cry. “GIBSONNNNNNN!”
Gibson, standing not fifty feet away, whipped around and looked at Monson with both amazement and outrage. The air flashed red as he returned to his gray-skinned state. Monson stepped forward, calling upon his Breath of the Dragon. The blade answered his call with apparent enthusiasm reaching him at a breakneck speed. he caught it with a flourish and walked calmly forward, Damion’s River’s Serenity tucked in on his left with a backhand grip and the Breath of the Dragon held aggressively in his right hand, out in front. Finally, Monson could fight properly.
Monson walked right up to Gibson, the black-suited commandos moving out of his way as they saw the two Magi Blades. He stopped a few feet away from Gibson, who had conjured his golden blade. “Two different makes of the Magi Blades? Are you mad, boy? Do you want to have your soul torn–�
�� Monson did not waste any time on conversation; he attacked. But the difficulty of wielding both blades was pronounced. The effects of the Breath of the Dragon and the River’s Serenity coupled with the Dance of Fire and Ice were almost foreign to him. The Breath of the Dragon wanted to move Monson and strike with greater ferocity while the River’s Serenity wanted to remain within a flow—simple, stable, but ever changing.
There was so much power to behold in these two weapons that it was altogether overwhelming to wield more than one. The fight, for Monson, was as much in his mind as it was in his body. Anger battled compassion while wrath railed against the calming effects of acceptance. To hold the two Magi Blades for an extended period was to exist in two different spiritual and emotional settings simultaneously. it was like trying to be both calm and angry. The sensation was difficult, yet Monson gained ground and completed Ja-no moves that had before eluded him.
His timing was still not perfect but was much closer to the original intent of the maneuvers, many of which actually made sense now. Aaron Gibson was still a formidable opponent, but in the end, Monson and his newfound power would not be denied.
Monson alternated blows from the red and blue blades, twisting into Gibson’s flow and hitting him with a four-point combination that Gibson did not see coming. With a final spin, the River’s Serenity slashed upwards, catapulting the golden sword into a floating arc. Monson completed the move, the Breath of the Dragon cutting the now-exposed Gibson across the arm and chest. He fell back with a clatter.
Monson stood over Aaron Gibson poised to strike, with both the River’s Serenity and the Breath of the Dragon held in a scissor position right at the base of Gibson’s neck.
“Impossible,” Gibson spat as he winced in pain. “Using another’s blade…preposterous. Absolutely–”
“Tell your replications to stand down.” Monson gestured at the commandos lingering around them. “I know that you can.”
Gibson lifted his fingers, causing Monson to inch the blades closer. A simple flick of his wrists and Gibson would be done for.
“If you try anything...,” Monson warned.
Gibson chuckled. “You do not have it in you, boy. do you think you can execute an unarmed person? Do not kid yourself into thinking you are something you are not. Despite the knowledge that it was I who caused everything suffered here today and on the bridge, not to mention the death of your grandfather, you are still a child; you cannot kill me because you do not have the courage to take on the burden of this war.”
Some primitive, instinctual part of Monson wanted to bring the blades together. Anger turned into bloodlust, which slowly turned into…hate. Monson Grey hated this man. The hate burned at his very soul.
It felt just like the unnatural, ever-burning bloodlust that wallowed deep within him. The anger, bloodlust and hate mixed with one another, washing over him and making his vision go blurry.
His vision cleared to see a pair of silver eyes that wanted only for Monson to strike this now-defenseless man sitting in front of him. The gaze grew in intensity. the death of this man was not the only thing these eyes wanted. they wanted Monson to conquer the rest of Coren, the rest of the world. To dominate and reign with blood and horror. The eyes showed him the way to do it.
A voice Monson recognized boomed in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.
You know me now...it is my time...let me out....
A warm hand touched his arm as a soothing voice snapped him back.
“You’ve done your part, Monson,” Taris whispered.
“Let yourself go,” added Cyann. “Your friends will take care of the rest.”
The anger surged once more, attempting one last push, but then floated away bit by bit with each successive breath. With a final deep, cleansing exhale, the eyes released him completely. Monson removed his blades from either side of Gibson’s throat, only to have unfamiliar silver-clad figures move in and seize the gray-skinned man.
Monson took a good look around him. The field of battle was teeming with life again. The H.U.M.A.N.E. fighters were there in force, pointing weapons at black-clad prisoners and helping the injured.
He heard another familiar voice, but this one brought relief.
“Well done, Mr. Grey.” Mr. Gatt nudged in next to him. “Now I suggest that you release the two Magi Blades. using more than one of these is very dangerous, even with the added precaution of using a blade forged of another’s substance. The blades have exhausted you. anything more could be hazardous for us all. Just allow me....”
Mr. Gatt pulled the River’s Serenity from Monson’s grasp. the action brought Monson fully back to reality. He was so tired he wanted to sleep for a week. His whole body hurt and he still had things to do. Like take care of Molly, for one....
More bright light assaulted the gathered group. Gibson, in a storm of crackling Kei, floated several feet in the air, his gray skin gone, replaced with slick feline features. His voice took on a musical quality. “You should have killed me when you had the chance, boy.”
Gibson’s scripted spell was dozens of runes long, one right after another in blinding succession. Monson reacted on instinct, calling upon his own Kei and scripting a spell, which let loose a rage of churning wind that threw all in his vicinity away from him to supposed safety. Gibson then let loose a spell of pure energy with no apparent affinity to any element. Monson raised his remaining blade, hoping that the Breath of the Dragon could withstand such a shock.
It did not come. The spell veered, and it was then that he realized that he was not the target.
Time stopped for him. Stopped though events, the destruction, continued to unfold in real-time. Monson willed himself to move at an unfathomable speed, dropping the Breath of the Dragon in his haste. He jumped in front of Cyann to shield her with his body. This had to be; it was the only way.
She surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and gripping him firmly. She whispered something in his ear, something incomprehensible. then she spun them both around and pushed him away.
“No!” he screamed.
The beam hit its mark, lighting up the figure of its intended target. Monson changed his momentum and was there to catch her as she fell, her body going strangely limp. He tried to shake her as piercing laughter stabbed its way into his head.
“Hey, come on, this isn’t funny.” He jostled her again, this time harder. “Hey, seriously, stop it.”
Monson touched her face and...felt nothing…nothing but cold. “Dammit, this isn’t funny! Stop pretending you can’t hear me—stop acting like you’re–”
He broke off as his shattered and destroyed reality came crashing down all around him.
Cyann Harrison was dead.
Tears came, totally uncontrolled.
“No!” he screamed again. “No, no, no, no, no! This can’t be happening. this isn’t happening. You said that you’d follow me. You said that you would be there for me. How can you follow if you aren’t here? Dammit Cyann, ANSWER ME!”
The tears streamed down Monson’s face. As they began to pool on her lifeless body, he realized that he was crying tears of pure silver.
“Please...,” he pleaded. “Answer me…please.”
The suffocating pain in his chest became unbearable. his grandfather, then Molly, now Cyann...gone. They were all gone. How was he going to go on? How would he deal with the pain?
Destroy them.
The demand came with the cool breath of the wind.
Destroy all who harm you.
Monson pushed away silver tears as he tried to comprehend the words of the disembodied voice.
a man in shredded clothes with unruly black hair and wild silver eyes greeted him when he finally looked up. All other spectators stood frozen in time. Was it real? Was it make-believe? He did not know.
“What would you have me do, young master?”
Monson stared into the wild silver eyes. He wanted it to end. He wanted it all to go away. The pain of yet another loss, the sad
ness of another failure, the loneliness...the loneliness of her absence. He just wanted it all to end. He was at his breaking point, the place where he had nothing left.
Pain, loss, sadness and loneliness, mixed and coagulated with purified rage. It was then that a single thought remained.
“What do I want you to do? Gi, I want you to destroy them. I want you to destroy EVERY… LAST… ONE…OF…THEM.”
Gi smiled as he offered his hand to Monson.
Monson Grey stood slowly as he let Cyann Harrison gently slide to the ground. Clad in his scarlet Kei shroud, Aaron Gibson brought a Magi Blade forward. He walked purposefully towards Monson, casting spells at the members of H.U.M.A.N.E. as he neared.
“Shall I leave you a remembrance of your failure, young Hero?”
Gibson lazily slashed his blade, hitting nothing but air. “What in the—?”
Monson appeared behind him, but it was not the Monson they all knew. This Monson had a very different countenance. Silver Kei gushed out of him, spilling almost tangible power from every pore. The silver Kei saturated every extremity, from hand to foot to head. Eyes void of any iris or pupil rippled with liquid silver that pulsed more brightly with every passing moment.
“The girl caused the Keeper to awaken. now I shall be forced to kill you. Oh, my master will not be pleased.”
Gibson’s own Kei shroud uncorked, more of the scarlet power pouring out of him. He attacked Monson, thrusting his golden blade directly at his chest. Monson did not attempt to dodge it.
“Monson!” called Taris, Casey and Artorius. “No!”
Monson Grey batted away the blade with a swipe of his hand, causing all to exclaim in astonishment. Before Gibson could react, Monson had one hand clamped around his throat.
“Oh, foolish man. Do you know the consequences of waking a giant?”
Gibson tried to answer through Monson’s iron grip. Monson laughed loudly, his voice deep and cruel.
“Most do not, as few live through the experience. How unfortunate for you.”
He thrust Gibson out in front of him before he cocked back his elbow and tossed him into the air. Half a second later, a ball of semi-solid silver Kei rushed up and struck Gibson. The ball exploded in a show of silver and red sparks and when they faded, Aaron Gibson was nowhere to be found.
