Sol Boxset

by Samuel Small

  His mouth dropped and she winced as she anticipated the inevitable, “Lady Elizabeth!” However, a second passed and nothing came. He was waiting to hear her reason. “General Iroh should be waiting a few floors up, and we’ll be no good against him if we’re both exhausted. You’re a better fighter than I, and you also know him and his fighting style, so I’d rather you go and face him fresh.” She swiped her hair out of her face and smirked. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m some kind of damsel in distress. I can handle these four nobodies.”

  “Acknowledged. If that’s the case, then you charge in first and keep them occupied. I’ll try to run past.”

  By way of acknowledgement, Elizabeth ran toward the group of men. Since she was very young Elizabeth had been trained in the way of the sword, so her speed was unbelievable. The guards were utterly surprised as she let out myriad stabs and slashes at them. There was no way an ordinary guard could handle her, let alone four newbies like these. Her mind flashed to a certain boy with messy hair and an awkward face, and her speed slowed as her cheeks began to warm. One of the guards took advantage of the opening and swung down at her hard. Elizabeth winced, she wouldn’t be able to bring her blade to block the blow in time.

  Clang!

  When she opened her eyes, the man was reeling backward as Leal Miles stood before her, his sword outstretched. He turned to her. “Look alive. I’m trusting you to handle this,” he said just before running ahead.

  Two of the men tried to give chase, and Elizabeth let her boot firmly into the behind of one, sending him flying into the path of the other. She then turned and parried the blade of the third man who tried and failed to attack her from behind. She gave him a counter thrust to the abdomen, then immediately targeted the one in front and slashed across his midsection. She then turned her fierce eyes onto the two who were getting up from the ground. Both shook their heads then looked at their comrades, who held their injuries and writhed in agony. Elizabeth swiped her blade to the side, sending a stream of fresh blood jetting through the air and splashing against the wall. “Well then, care to continue?”

  ***

  The scene before Jake as he raced up the administrative building was one of utter horror. Spread across each floor were at least half a dozen of his comrades, all injured and bleeding heavily. On the first floor he stopped to assist one, but upon hearing the many cries of the others he realized it would be a pointless effort, as he was only one person and couldn’t save them all. Then he had a great idea while on the third floor. He unclipped his comp – thanks to his time with the Lightning Gang he had almost forgotten about the device, but now he pressed on the avatar of the boy with hair messier than his.

  “Yellow?”

  “Yeah Loid, this is Jake. You still busy with that secret invention?”

  “Well… not really. It kinda blew up on me again and I’m at a loss as to what to do next.”

  “Come to the administrative building, there’s plenty for you to do here,” he said then ended the call. He clipped the device back on his belt and increased his stride. He was quite a few floors up now and faced no resistance thanks to the efforts of Elizabeth and Major Miles. He knew they were both excellent swordsmen but for this level of carnage, he was more amazed at their abilities than upset about the injuries to the Republic’s guards. As things were, he was going to reach the top of the building soon and should catch up to them any floor now if they had to stop to fight. He had to reach them before they got to the top floor and Führer Bellator or, on a lesser note, General Iroh. Jake finished climbing the stairs, and the hallway came into view.

  Standing before him was a girl in a very regal combat uniform, purple and lightweight, with little bits of armor on the forearms and a long knife strapped along the base of her spine. She had her back to him, her sword outstretched, and four incapacitated guards lay at her feet. The walls were streaked with blood as if someone had taken a paintbrush and waved it around frantically. She must’ve heard Jake’s feet ascending the steps, as she glanced over her shoulder. The single eye that Jake could see was initially narrow with concentration, then widened in surprise.

  She slowly turned to him, each individual step of her boots echoing throughout the hall. She held the sword out before her in the same position, slightly at the side, blood running down the blade and dripping to the ground.

  “You, huh?” she said as she took a few purposeful steps toward Jake, whipping her rapier to the side to clear it of blood then placing it in front of her. It was no good, she was acting completely irrationally so Jake reached behind and pulled out his sword as the girl came charging in with an array of stabs.

  It was all Jake could do to parry each of the attacks. She was fast, but fighting all of those people must have drained her physically. The lunges weren’t as focused and overwhelming as when he first fought her, but he wasn’t sure if that was because he was getting better or she was exhausted, probably both. Her mental state must also have been amiss. She stabbed in a very predictable pattern, and it didn’t take Jake long to pick it up. He was safe to counterattack, so he buried the hilt of his sword into her gut.

  Elizabeth did little more than grimace at the blow, then raised her sword high above her head and prepared to plunge it into him. Jake jumped back, now painfully aware of how close he was to the staircase.

  She continued pressing Jake, slashing and stabbing in a wild range of attacks that he could barely block. “It’s you again, it’s always you isn’t it!?”

  Smacking each of her slashes away, Jake shouted back. “I’m not here as your enemy, I want to make—”

  “Bullshit!” she yelled, and kicked into his belly. Jake’s stomach tightened as he flew backward, slamming into the wall. He tried to catch himself, but his foot found nothing. His eyes widened as he realized he was about to plunge down the staircase, and he wasn’t sure what he should be afraid of more: his impending fall or Elizabeth’s form ready to lunge at him.

  Jake managed to minimize the damage to himself by gripping the handrail at the last second, righting himself so he only fell onto his back. He would have been able to pull himself up to a standing position had Elizabeth not slammed into the wall he’d just been pressed against, then slashed at his hand. He let go and began sliding down the stairs, each individual step jamming into his back as he careered unevenly downward.

  Elizabeth jumped down five steps and stabbed at him, and Jake had to place his broadsword in front of his chest to avoid being skewered. She batted her head to the side, her eyes blazing and her face contorted into a twisted scowl of anger. She continued to stab at him while walking confidently down the stairs, each blow narrowly parried by Jake’s own sword. At last the girl slashed at Jake’s hand, and he had to let go just to prevent his fingers from being severed. Her blade slammed into his own and sent it knocking into the wall, where it bounced off, hit Jake in the forehead with its handle, then slid down the stairs ahead of him. Seeing him unarmed, Elizabeth made one last mad leap at him as he finally hit the bottom of the flight.

  The only reason Jake was still alive was because the girl lost her composure and overextended way too far. She ended up jamming herself up, coming so close that he was able to kick the blade out of her hand before it reached him, but Elizabeth wasted no time and reached behind her back and pulled out her knife, attempting to plunge it downward.

  He struggled as she sat on top of him, weighing his hips down with her body as she tried to force the blade into his throat. She first tried to push it down with one hand, and Jake struggled to prevent it with his own. Then she placed the other on top and attempted to drive down harder, to which Jake double gripped her arm. Still, the leverage she had was making it difficult, and her shaking blade was steadily inching closer to his throat. He tried to look into her eyes but he couldn’t see them through the mangled mess of her hair that hung in her face. He clenched his teeth and looked about for his sword. It was far away, but maybe he’d be able to bring it to him by dragging it along his fing
ertip, but that meant letting go of the blade that was being forced into his throat. He groaned and shouted at the girl.

  “Did the time we spent traveling together mean nothing to you!?”

  Her fingers gripped the handle of the knife until the knuckles were white and she continued to press down.

  “I let you go back then because you were my friend, and I went to that room to talk to you for the same reason!”

  She leaned forward and the tip of the blade made contact with Jake’s skin, although it was shaking, and from more than just the output of force necessary to bring it down.

  “This is all for your sake so please—”

  Plop.

  Something wet fell onto Jake’s cheek. She was leaning in fully now, trying in earnest to bring the blade down, but Jake felt all of the force slowly leave her. Her hair lightly brushed his face and he could see her features clearly.

  Her eyes were red, and tears fell from her face onto his own. Jake didn’t know what to say, and stared up with wide eyes as the girl lost the grip on her knife completely, and it clanged to the ground at his side. She leaned back to a more upright position, but did not get off him, continuing to rain tears upon his chest. Jake slid his hand down to hers and gripped it tightly. Her hand stayed still for a second, then grasped his back. With her other arm, Elizabeth wiped her face and smiled.

  She got up off him and helped him to his feet. They looked at each other, and Jake was aware that the tears were gone but her eyes shined with something more, a hint of emotion, and no sign of the pain that he usually saw in them. He continued to stare into those eyes, his mouth agape, until she averted them and stared down at something. He followed them, and saw his hand wrapped tightly around hers.

  Quickly, he jerked it away and she did the same. He turned around so his back was to her and stared at the wall. Honestly, he had no clue why he held on that long. He must’ve just been lost in her… never mind. Jake smacked the side of his head to try to rid the thought from his brain, and heard a faint voice from behind.

  “Honestly, I don’t get you.”

  When Jake turned, Elizabeth’s arms were folded across her chest and she peered at him through the only eye that was visible. He let out a confused “huh?” and she continued. “You claim to be on the side of the Republic, but here you are trying to save the enemy leader’s life so that I can try to take over your government another day.”

  “You know the dynamic isn’t that simple. I agree with the Republic, but that doesn’t mean that I hate you or Major Miles… speaking of which, where is he?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the question. “He went on ahead.”

  Jake ran toward his sword, sheathed it, then dropped down and threw Elizabeth’s rapier to her. “We have to hurry,” he said, then began climbing the stairs. From behind he heard Elizabeth ask, “What are you going to do, back him up?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether or not we back him up, if he’s up against the Führer it’ll make no difference, but if he’s fighting General Iroh there might still be a chance.” His foot hit the landing at the top of the steps, and he made a quick turn to continue down the hallway. “If the stories about General Iroh are as true as the one’s about Führer Bellator, then Major Miles doesn’t stand a chance against him either. He can’t be as tough as the Führer though, so with the three of us we might be able to save him if we make it in time.” Jake hoped to God they would.

  Chapter 12

  Major Miles was no longer running up the stairs. Rather, he made methodical steps, dreading what he would see at the top. He’d worked here long enough to know that General Iroh’s office was on this floor, and knew the man well enough to know he’d be waiting for him there. Each step brought him closer to this ultimate battle, he’d have to face off against the legendary general whose accomplishments were only overshadowed by the Führer himself.

  The very same one who, during the war, had been his commanding officer.

  Leal’s foot hit the top step with an audible click that seemed to reverberate down the entire floor. Up ahead there was some activity. At the end of the hall was a stocky silhouette, one that Major Miles recognized all too well. The figure stared ahead out of the large window, then turned to look at him. Major Miles walked calmly forward, although inwardly his mind was a torment of fear.

  He took his first step into the room and took note of the regal atmosphere that permeated the office of a man of so many accomplishments. Along the walls were pictures of his illustrious military career. Directly ahead was a photo of Major Miles, a man, a woman, and Iroh, all huddled together and wearing goofy grins. His heart sank upon seeing them again, and he winced and turned his head to the window.

  The window took up the entire wall, and through it he could see fire blazing in the distance. Fire he was responsible for. He turned from it, and, with nowhere else to look, his eyes rested on his superior.

  “Quite a mess you’ve made here, Leal.”

  “Yeah,” he replied, noting that General Iroh neglected to use his formal title of Major. “But it was necessary.”

  Iroh shook his head. “You know that isn’t true. This carnage,” he motioned with his hand toward the city and Leal’s eyes widened. General Iroh was wearing his infamous metal gauntlets. “It was all your doing.” He dropped his formal attitude, and his voice had a twinge of pain. “Dammit Leal, why didn’t you just talk to me?”

  “Why didn’t you?” Leal replied. Iroh winced at the retort, his eyes narrowing. “For what purpose did the Republic hire those Lightning Gang mercenaries, and what’s the fascination with Dante? Had any other person done what he did you would have them executed, Purist or not, and yet you allowed him to sit in a meeting – one you were in control of – and make a mockery of it. There’s something going on with the Purists, something you’re not telling me.” His breath was labored, and his whole body was tense. Iroh didn’t respond, and only removed his hands from behind his back and let them rest at his sides.

  “King Arnold had some kind of fascination with them too. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but in light of recent events—”

  “Your allegiance with the rebels has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with them!”

  Leal took a sharp intake of breath and his former superior continued. “Those fools were loyal to him to the bitter end, even when his genocidal mania sent them to their deaths. You fought in that carnage too, you… you did the things I had to, but now you’ve adopted the same idealistic dribble as them!”

  Major Miles shook his head. “That’s not the—”

  “Then why are you hanging around that brat of theirs!”

  Leal felt all the tension leave his body and the color drain from his face. He took a step back.

  “You think I didn’t know? Of all the war orphans recruited into the guards, you just so happened to select their son? Dammit Leal, their identities were erased for a reason, but you just couldn’t let the past go!” He slammed his fists together and they let out a metallic sound as electricity sparked between them. Leal put a hand on his sword.

  “Jake isn’t his parents. I think you’ll be surprised to know that despite where my allegiance lies, he’s still loyal to the Republic.” Unsheathing his blade, Leal put it to rest in front of Iroh’s face, which was twisted into an angry scowl. “This isn’t for him or for them. This is for the truth that you’re keeping hidden. Tell me Iroh, what was the reason for the Pure Sol Genocide?”

  As a response, General Iroh raised his fists. The time for speaking over, Leal pulled his blade to the side and then came at his friend with a wide swing. General Iroh punched the sword away, and the circuit in the knuckles connected, sending waves of electricity down the blade. Leal leapt back, moving with the force of the punch as he caught Iroh’s wide eyes.

  “A rubber hilt, eh?” he said.

  Iroh stepped in and threw another punch. “That’ll only ensure that you can continue to block with your sword and attack safely: it
won’t do anything as long as I make contact with your skin!” Leal moved to the inside of the punch and tried to slash at Iroh’s stomach, but the man continued to press forward and blocked the swing with his fist. His sword bounced off as Iroh came in close, preparing to power an uppercut into his opponent’s ribs.

  Leal smirked.

  Gripping Iroh’s shoulder blade with his free hand, Leal powered a knee into the man’s stomach. It didn’t prevent Iroh’s forward press and he began to unleash his fist, but it did slow him down enough so that Leal could get out of the way in time. Iroh’s fist hit dead air, and Leal could tell the man was frustrated.

  Iroh didn’t give up and continued to press forward, trying desperately to make contact with any part of Leal’s body. Leal, on the other hand, continued to move around the burly man, ducking, weaving, and pivoting to avoid him. It wasn’t easy, and he was nearly shocked into unconsciousness several times, but Leal held true despite the attacks. His own efforts to damage Iroh were equally ineffective.

  The two men stood opposite each other panting as they assessed each other’s abilities. Through labored breaths, Leal said, “So does this mean I get a promotion?”

  “In your dreams, asshole.”

  No doubt Iroh was experienced at catching sword wielders off guard. After all, how often did one get to practice against someone who was functionally unarmed? Leal would have been caught off guard himself had it not been for a certain foul-mouthed boy.

  Certainly, encountering a Pure Sol user who fought up close was partially to blame for his loss, but while he was icing his injuries Leal came to the conclusion that any kind of close-range fighter held an advantage over him, then his mind shifted to the image of his superior and he knew what he had to do. So he trained daily in tactics and counters to close-range fighters, specifically boxers, and it looked like things were now paying off.

  Taking in Leal’s smirk, Iroh dropped his hands and looked down. His face was averted and Leal’s heart skipped a beat. What would he see when that man raised his head? For some reason, he was terrified of that inevitability and clenched his teeth and readied his blade. Iroh, head down, began to speak.