by Max Dune
“Is that all you’ve got?” he scoffs.
* * *
Yuriko keeps an eye on the guards, trying to gauge their next move. Will they immediately run away from the bats? Or will they stick around to kill the three of us first? she thinks. The guards exchange a few questioning looks amongst themselves as they consider what to do. To her great relief, they opt to save their own hide and run away. Within seconds, they disappear from her view. Cowards.
Jack notices their exit and sighs. “Poor Santa,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”
Yuriko begins to reply, but the enormous explosion from above silences her. The earth shakes for a moment, then the bodies of deceased bats begin to rain down on them, smoking and still, just wet slaps pelting the ice dome and ground. Yuriko tenses. That was a bomb. It means the traitor is still alive. Tilting her head up, she sees Tiktok hasn’t moved from the roof. He gazes out ahead, like a child admiring fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“I’ll be back,” Yuriko says, clenching her teeth and standing.
He gives her a knowing nod. “Be careful.”
Leaving the frozen shelter, she strides out into the open. A few random bats whiz by her as she approaches the building, but they do not harm her. Instinctively, they know she is not the enemy.
Her movement draws Tiktok’s attention. He looks down at the ninja and grins. “Did you think you could trick me? Make me believe we’re actually friends?” he accuses.
“Trick you? No, Tiktok. Trickery and lies are your specialty, not mine,” Yuriko says in an even tone. “I wanted to help you, to make you understand that you don’t have to be alone anymore. I meant it when I said you were part of our team.”
“That was your first mistake,” he snaps.
“What?”
“Assuming I need help—or company, for that matter. I need no team. I am better off on my own. I always have been.”
She nods sadly. “So be it.”
Then he strikes, throwing a bomb at her. But Yuriko’s reflexes are far superior to his. In a move too fast for normal eyes to follow, she lets two shurikens fly. The metal stars whistle during their trajectory. One collides with the bomb midway, causing it to explode. The second catches Tiktok in the right eye, shattering his glasses.
The elf yells out in agony and falls to his knees. He doesn’t know whether to pull out the shuriken or leave it for now. All he can concentrate on is the searing pain. He truly fears he might pass out and tumble off the slippery rooftop.
Yuriko takes advantage of the opportunity to climb up the building in a few graceful leaps. She would like to get closer. She isn’t finished yet. When she nears, she walks around Tiktok in circles, katana in hand, like a shark staring at helpless prey.
Tiktok’s voice switches between shrieks and moans, but he doesn’t utter a coherent word. A small part of her actually pities Tiktok during this moment—such is his suffering. But Yuriko is reminded that he brought this on himself. He had been lying and manipulating everyone from the very beginning. He is no better than Santa. They both kill without conscience.
At the very root, she is an assassin, but she has always maintained a code of justice and honor. She doesn’t harm the innocent. She only takes out the trash of the world, and that is exactly what Tiktok turned out to be. The world will be better without him, she thinks.
Tiktok finally looks up. With his good eye, he sees her approaching. “I’ll kill you!” he hisses. His words are pure hate. He reaches for his detonator, only to find it’s no longer in hands. Frantically, he searches for the silver gadget in the snow, blood gushing from around the metal still embedded in his skull. Try as he might, he cannot find it. He lets out a yell of frustration.
Yuriko tires of him. It’s time to end this.
She rushes forward and jumps up in the air, pivoting her body during the flight. As soon as her feet touch the ground next to him, her katana sinks into his chest, deep enough to go through his ribcage and spine. Her acute hearing catches the blood burst in his ruptured heart. He just stares at the blade. He can’t believe it is there. Then his eye finds Yuriko’s, and the shock on his face is replaced with something disturbing. In a burst of green dust, he is gone.
Yuriko straightens and shakes her blade, dislodging the shimmering particles Tiktok left behind. His remains swirl up in a gust of wind. She walks to the edge and glances below.
Lucian and Bullets have arrived. They wave up at her.
“How’s it going down there?” she calls out.
Lucian smiles. “We’re still alive. You?”
She stares at her sword, still shimmering with Tiktok’s remains. “I’m here.”
That’s when a blast of red plasma shoots through the ceiling, knocking the unsuspecting ninja off the rooftop.
With his mouth agape, Lucian follows her body as it soars in front of the moon and falls to the ground. She lands several yards from him. She doesn’t seem to be moving, and he is just about to run and check on her, but a loud roaring within the cafeteria stops him.
The guards are all dead.
It can only be one person.
After another red flash, the doors fly off their hinges and are hurled in the elves’ direction. Both Bullets and Lucian have to duck to avoid decapitation. When they look up, the object of their hate and fear is standing at the entrance. His face is flushed with fury, and his outstretched fists are glowing like red-hot coals.
Chapter Twenty–Seven
“My turn, Santa” Bullets says through gritted teeth. He squares himself in the snow, raises his machine gun, and sends a burst of fire at Santa. Rounds lance across the area at the glowering man.
I move back to avoid the sparks jumping off my teammate’s weapon, then return my gaze back to the cafeteria entrance. It’s hard to tell what’s happening in all the fray, and I wonder if Bullets actually killed Santa.
I squint but cannot detect anything through the red energy and smoke that encircles the big man. I hear clicking metal and realize Bullets has emptied his weapon. He quickly reloads as we wait for the visibility to improve. Please let him be dead, please let him be dead, I think, biting my lower lip.
A breeze flows by, lifting the veil of smoke, and our eyes widen at the sight. To our dismay, Santa is untouched. He must have used his powers to form a shield. I had no idea he could do that. I don’t think anyone did. Then again how could we have known that? It’s not like he ever gave a full disclosure of his abilities before. He’s sinister, not stupid.
He shakes an index finger at Bullets. “Naughty, naughty.” Then Santa immediately blasts him, just as he did with Yuriko. The beam of red light sends Bullets tumbling backward, and he slams into a light pole hard, enough to knock him out, leaving him in an unmoving heap on the snow.
Santa smiles at me. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
As he takes a step toward me, I bring my crossbow up and fire at him. A transparent force-field manifests around his body and deflects each arrow. I know the bow won’t harm him, but I keep firing. Even if I can’t hurt him, I hope to buy myself some time before the bats arrive. Provided they come at all.
I shoot my last arrow, then glance nervously at the sky. Where are those freakin’ bats?
Santa senses my despair and taunts me. “What a shame. Looks like they’ve left you out to dry.”
I swallow hard.
He takes a step, then pauses to look behind me. A blur flies past me and hits Santa with great force, and both figures are thrown back into the building. Was that Jack? I thought he was too roughed up to fight anymore. He must have summoned up his last bit of strength to attack Santa and save me from getting vaporized. I run into the cafeteria, crossbow strapped to my back.
Indeed, it’s Jack.
He and Santa are battling it out so ferociously that I don’t dare get close to the fight. Jack grabs a metal beer keg and throws it at Santa, who blasts it with red light, destroying the container and spraying its conten
ts all over the room. Everyone gets drenched. I lift a wet finger to my mouth. It’s not beer. It’s soda. Their drunkenness at the party had been a charade. Very clever.
I look up in time to see a table flying my way and dive to the side. It hits the bar behind me and splinters into a million pieces. I wonder who has the most physical strength of the two. Judging by how effortlessly they’re both throwing furniture around, I estimate it’s pretty much a draw.
Eventually, however, they stop reaching for objects and just stare each other down. Jack doesn’t seem to be holding up too well, as he is bleeding from several wounds. I suspect that rage is the only thing sustaining him. His deep thirst for vengeance. After all, Santa did kill the person Jack loved most in the world, his wife.
When long, sharp icicles extend from Jack’s knuckles, I can’t help but think of my favorite X-Men character. Like some kind of frozen Wolverine, he charges Santa, sweeping his arm in an arc to target the man’s neck with his crystal claws. The force-field deflects Jack’s blows, though, shattering his weapons. Santa goes on the defensive and punches Jack in his bloody leg, right in one of the bullet wounds. Jack screams and collapses to his knees for just a second. Long enough for Santa to plant a firm roundhouse kick against his jaw. The blow just about takes off Jack’s head, and he drops onto a puddle of soda. His eyes flutter closed. He is out.
At this point, I’m certain that Santa will immediately turn around and take me out of the world with one of his plasma blasts, but he doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. Instead, he remains focused on Frost and walks closer to his unconscious body. His fists start glowing red. He points his large hands at Jack, aiming to finish him.
That’s when I spring into action. I grab the knife from my belt, run over, and jump on Santa’s back. Without thinking, I slam the blade into his broad chest, burying it to the hilt. He lets out a sound of annoyance, then simply reaches over and pulls me over his head. I squirm in his powerful grip but cannot break free. For some reason, I expect him to pull a wrestling move and slam my back over his knee, to break my spinal cord and paralyze me for life.
You know, something dramatic.
But he settles for slinging me to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I slide across the wet floor, only to be stopped by Jack’s still form. I roll to my side, struggling to move from the pain.
When Santa’s shadow covers me, I look up and see the glint of the blade as he jerks my knife out of his chest. It doesn’t appear to have hurt him in the slightest. He must heal quickly too. With a chuckle, he tosses the bloody weapon aside and steps toward me, kicking away the debris of broken chairs, smashed glass, and ice. “What a mess you’ve caused, dear boy. What a terrible mess,” he says in that fatherly voice of his that turns my stomach.
I don’t move. It would be useless anyway.
“And all for what, hmm?” he continues with a smug chuckle. “Nobody can stop me. Nobody! Not you, not Jack, and certainly not those silly flying creatures out there.” His mad, pulsing eyes bear into mine. “I am Santa Claus! I have existed since the dawn of time. Did you really think a puny insect like you could prevail against me? I’m immortal!”
I raise my chin, defiant. “Someone will stop you.”
He rolls his eyes, flashing a malevolent grin at me. “Oh?” he says in a jovial tone. “Like who?” Then a flash of silver comes from the left and smashes into Santa’s head. The loud crack that follows startles me. Santa loses his smile, then staggers around for a moment before tumbling down.
The undefeatable giant has been slain.
But it is the next sight that truly takes my breath away. Standing where Santa had just been is my best friend, Zeb. He’s holding a metal coffee dispenser in his trembling hands, his face radiating with triumph.
“Like me, fool!” he declares.
I blink twice. “Z-Zeb?”
Zeb turns to me and starts hopping around me like a maniac, waving the coffee dispenser in the air. “Holy crap! Did you see that?” He re-creates the swing that knocked out Santa. “Ba-bam!” he shouts. “Right across the head.” He stops and looks up at the walls. “You think the cameras caught it? If so, that’s going on YouTube!”
Our celebration is cut short when we hear a groan coming from behind us. Santa stands, rubbing his temples and glaring at us. Good grief. What’s it going to take to kill the man?
“Wait, why are you standing?” Zeb shrieks, suddenly terrified. “You shouldn't be standing. I hit you, like, really, really hard.”
Santa approaches and stops, towering over us. His fists rise, glowing red again. That doesn’t bode well for us. “You know, I think I'll kill you both together.” Then he cocks his head toward Zeb. He grabs my friend by the coat and lifts him off the ground. “Actually, I’d like to dispose of you first,” he says, looking right at me. “So your friend can see what’s in store for him.”
My mind scrambles for a plan. Right on cue, I recall one of the modifications Chance made to my crossbow—in addition to the laser scope and self-cocking. I inspect the gas cylinder hidden under the barrel. It’s full. I twist the weapon around and take aim at Santa.
He reply is one of amusement. “What are you going to shoot me with?” Santa asks, seeing I don’t have any arrows. “Air?”
I smile at him and shake my head, praying that the beating my crossbow has recently sustained hasn’t jammed the firing mechanism. “Something a little hotter.” I pull the trigger.
The flames leap up to his chest, then travel over his shoulders and arms, reaching hungrily for anything they can consume to fuel their wrath. My eyes are glued on them, hypnotized by their dance. Santa has the opposite reaction. He drops Zeb and screams loud enough to wake Jack, flailing madly about, as if he can shake the fire off. When that doesn’t work, he turns and runs. At first, I think he’s heading outside to find relief in a snowbank. But he makes a beeline for the fire alarm on the wall.
I suck in air as I realize his plan. The alarms will set off the water sprinklers and douse the flames. We cannot allow him to reach that alarm.
Jack must realize this, too, for his hand shoots out and blasts ice at Santa’s feet. He catches the man just in time, when he is a mere yard away from the fire alarm. Santa’s agonized screams continue as he reaches for the lever, his long fingers almost touching it.
Jack continues wielding his powers, and the ice thickens even more, spreading up past Santa’s thrashing knees, until it reaches his leather belt. The bottom half of his body is completely frozen, while the other half sizzles with flaming ferocity.
Then, from beneath the fire, something else occurs. The man’s body begins vibrating where it stands, expanding more and more, growing redder and redder. I get the feeling it can’t take much more, and I start to crawl away.
“We need to leave!” I tell my two friends.
Santa is now three times larger than before, almost a globe of fire and expanded flesh, but Jack doesn’t falter. An ice wall stretches between us, offering us protection. I glance back at Jack, and he gives me a brief smile just before his hand and head drop to the floor, overtaken by exhaustion again.
Zeb and I just stare ahead. Santa hasn’t stopped screaming. His now abnormally large mouth seems to breathe fire. Seeing his bloated body, I almost gag. The sight is so disgusting.
I raise a hand to cover my mouth just as it happens.
The explosion is tremendous, knocking out the nearest wall and sending cement and steel shrapnel whizzing into the night. The ceiling fares no better and caves in immediately, dropping rubble onto the blast zone.
I lean forward to see if I can spot Santa. Is he finally dead? Is this nightmare over? Can we relax at last? As the dust settles from the fractured cement, I receive my answers. His skull is jutting out from the gray rubble. Burned black beyond recognition.
Chapter Twenty–Eight
“He’s...he’s really dead,” Zeb stammers next to me. “Isn’t he?”
The rush of the battle leaves me, and I lay flat on the
floor just like Jack. I am so utterly tired. “Dead as a doornail, buddy.”
He smiles, then frowns. “You know, I never understood that saying. Nails aren’t alive in the first place. It should be rewritten.” He pauses. “Like... dead as a deer. Or dead as a dove. Those would make more sense, given that those animals are widely hunted. What do you think?”
I chuckle in response. “I think I missed you.”
“Aw,” he says, bending over to hug me. “Of course, you did, silly goose.” I return the gesture with a hard flick on his nose. He flinches back. “Ow! There you again with the physical abuse.” Zeb addresses Jack. “Were you aware of his violent history?”
“Yes,” Jack answers. “It’s a prerequisite before joining me.”
Zeb snorts, his smile returning.
Then I remember about the rest of our team and rise to my feet. “I’m going to check on the others.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jack says.
I eye him skeptically. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Uh, how many times have you been shot?”
His hand waves my concern away. “You do not have to worry about me, Lucian. I’ll be good as new in no ti—” he says, attempting to stand but cutting off his own words with a gasp.
I reach out and grab Jack’s arm. “Zeb, grab the other one.”
Zeb hesitates for a moment, and I understand why it is so difficult for him to trust Jack. For so long, Jack had been falsely painted as our mortal enemy. But eventually he shrugs and obliges my request. Together, we help him stagger outside.
There’s little movement or sound, other than the occasional shrieks from the bats flying overhead. The guards are piled all around us. Or what’s left of them anyway. Looking ahead, I see the other three Rogues still lying on the ground.