by Tyler Vance
But at the point of no return, when his whole body was behind the blow, Indigo’s laughter cut off. He noticed menacing concentration hardening the ganglord’s face. The next instant, an elbow flipped Sheikoh into spinning air. Sheikoh managed to regain control. He bounded off the wall, blasting back at Indigo. Just in time to face-plant the ganglord’s punch.
Sheikoh smacked back against the wall onto the ground. When his head cleared of the cloud of dizziness cleared away. He brought a finger to his searing nose. When he pulled it away, his fingers gleamed with fresh with blood. He hoped that the glove had softened that blow enough to have kept his nose from breaking. It didn’t feel like it.
Training his eyes on the grinning ganglord, Sheikoh flicked up to his feet and fell into a wary crouch. He knew what Indigo was doing. He knew that the ganglord was taking advantage of his overconfidence and anger. The thought flared with annoyance, but Sheikoh pushed it back down his chest and took a deep breath. He had to change his strategy up.
He began stalking towards Indigo, sacrificing his earlier rush for control. The ganglord grinned at him and contorted his body into a fluid stance he’d never seen before. But it didn’t matter. Sheikoh had Indigo figured out. He was about to pay his bleeding nose back.
And then some.
Sheikoh blurred forward, feinting a punch. Then he ducked to swipe Indigo’s legs from beneath him. But met his kick with another. It came at a ridiculous angle and managed to knock the cyborgic strike away. Sheikoh could tell that Indigo had put his weight behind it. He was probably off-balance.
Sheikoh slashed another devastating kick upwards. Indigo leaned out of its arc, and, in the same movement, pushed Sheikoh into a backwards somersault. Indigo stumbled slightly longer than Sheikoh, who was back on his feet within a graceful instant. He charged Indigo, pressing the off-balance ganglord. There was nothing Indigo could do.
Except apparently there was. Somehow, the ganglord managed another of those peculiar, body hammer blows, knocking Sheikoh’s fist away. Both of them stumbled for two seconds, trading weak jabs and slaps with no authority.
Then Sheikoh regained balance. Indigo was still reeling. He hit the ganglord in the chest with his right hand, blasting a single spot with three massive punches. Indigo didn’t even have time to cannon back; the flurry was faster than a regular human’s single one.
But Indigo had an ankle wrapped around Sheikoh’s. Like he’d anticipated this. When the ganglord was knocked back, Sheikoh stumbled forward as well. And Indigo recovered much faster this time. He was on Sheikoh the next moment. Indigo was weaker than Sheikoh. And far, far slower. But he still had almost half a foot of reach, weight and a form eclectic, unpredictable, and aimed at Sheikoh’s weak side. Indigo was almost holding his own against him.
Until Sheikoh finally caught the ganglord’s ankle, then knocked him to the dirt. He stood above Indigo gasping. The muscles on his left side were burning, and he was acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t worked out the muscles in almost two weeks. In between gasps of pain and exhaustion, Indigo moaned out a weak laugh.
“How did you do that?” Sheikoh panted.
“You’re no fighter, kid... You never learned,” Indigo gasped back, face flickering between agony and satisfaction. “You never learned... to hide your rhythm...”
“What are you talking about?” Sheikoh asked derisively, rubbing his shoulder.
It took a while for Indigo to answer. But after lying on the ground for about ten minutes, the ganglord pushed himself up into a cross-legged sitting position. Splotchy bruises covered the ganglord’s ebony skin, and both his nostrils and lips were bleeding heavily. Apparently, the mini boxing gloves hadn’t softened his blows much. Sheikoh knew he should feel guilty, but he couldn’t hide a small smile.
“You’ve never fought anyone as strong as you,” Indigo explained softly.
“Khryzt was way stronger than me,” responded Sheikoh emphatically.
“That… thing,” Indigo’s face curled with disgust. “Never fought before. It was blood raw.”
Sheikoh nodded slowly. It was true.
“You rely on your metal and motors,” Indigo went on. “You got more experience than Khryzt, but you’re really the same. Fighting is all strength and speed to you. But speed doesn’t matter when I know where you’re going to hit me. And when you underestimated me, you gave me your rhythm.”
Sheikoh kept nodding through Indigo’s talk, wearing an expression of deep contemplation.
“Either that…” He frowned thoughtfully. “Or Mr. Crankypants is a sore loser.”
Indigo fell back onto the floor with an annoyed grunt.
The next day, Sheikoh had even more to think about. He spent the morning alone in his room, as usual. Eventually, He sat back in his bed, leaning up against a mountain of pillows, and tried to distract his whirling thoughts with a TV show. The main character’s wrap-up was suddenly interrupted by a high voice.
“That was so messed up,” it said.
Sheikoh whipped around, dropping the bottle opener that his fingers had been unconsciously playing with. The voice’s owner was gazing at him icily, twisting a lock of curly, brown hair around a finger where she stood in the doorway.
“Dorothi,” Sheikoh murmured, at once relieved and anxious.
“Why would you keep that from me?” Dorothi demanded angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t I..? Dorothi, I had no idea how to tell you,” Sheikoh responded fervently, flipping hair from his face. “What would you have thought if I told you, ‘oh yeah, by the way don’t be surprised if Emili pops up one day. I accidentally summoned a demon into her, but me and Camil- Dream, decided to just bring her back to life and all’?”
“I would’ve believed you!” Dorothi cried back.
Sheikoh looked at her sparkling eyes for a long moment, and she looked back at him. After a second, her neck bent to break their brief eye-contact.
“Really..?” Sheikoh murmured softly. Dorothi bit her lower lip and let her eyes fall to the ground.
“I thought… I don’t know, I thought that you just wanted Emili to yourself. Like… Memories of those times when we were younger, back when I was in the way, they kept flashing through my head. It was all I could think about…” Dorothi trailed off, swallowing loudly.
Sheikoh’s heart wrenched painfully at her words, at the sight of her bowed head, shrouded in clouds of wavy hair, at the tears threatening to choke her voice. He walked up to Dorothi and wrapped her slim shoulders into a full body hug, resting a hand on the back of her head. A sob wracked her small body, so he pulled her closer and twined his fingers through locks of her hair comfortingly.
“Do-do, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you straight off. I’m so so sorry. You have to believe me; I’d never do that to you. Never ever ever,” Sheikoh whispered into her hair as he hugged Dorothi against his chest. Then he pulled from the embrace to look into her red, tear-dampened face.
“Dorothi, I love you. You’re my sister, my conscience… my daughter. You have absolutely no idea what you mean to me. All I wanted, all I ever wanted was to protect you from me. This all is so impossible… I guess that I didn’t want your hopes to be crushed… Understand?” Sheikoh explained with soft sincerity.
Dorothi nodded tentatively, still sniffling. Sheikoh pulled her back against his chest and held her for all that he was worth, gently rubbing her head. The eleven year old gradually regained her composure. When she eventually pulled back to look into Sheikoh’s face, her expression was arranged in wary hope.
“Do you… Do you really think that Mr. Dream might be able to bring her back?” Dorothi asked him tentatively. Sheikoh brushed his fingers through her hair, his face thoughtful.
“I really hope so,” he admitted eventually.
They sat there, silent and unmoving for a short while, leaning against one another. Sheikoh stroked Dorothi’s hair while his thoughts wandered hypothetical courses through their reunion with Emili. He pull
ed Dorothi back into his arms and hugged her tightly.
He really did hope so. And not just for his own sake.
Sheikoh’s worries crystallized into the chill air of next day’s night. He lay asleep in his room, curled up in the bed that he’d dragged out of the room across the hall. His gentle breathing sighed as he shifted on the comfortable mattress. Now that Dorothi had moved into the room beside him, Sheikoh could finally sleep.
He woke up to the sound of his door creaking open just before dawn. Sheikoh‘s eyes flicked open and any tiredness was scattered before his razor-sharp instincts. He easily made out the shadowy figure creeping across the shadow-strewn carpet. Sheikoh rolled and grasped the hilt of the pistol hidden under his pillow, wondering whether he should shoot or ask questions first.
“Sheikoh?” whispered a familiar voice.
The types of people that encouraged one to sleep with a gun under one’s pillow usually didn’t sneak into their victim’s rooms to whisper the poor guy’s name. Besides, wasn’t this castle supposed to be inaccessible? Sheikoh suddenly placed the voice with its owner. He rolled over and flicked the switch to his bedside lamp (stolen out of another room) and looked over at the figure, rubbing his puffy eyes. It was Camillio Tyche.
“Is this some kind of…dream?” Sheikoh giggled sleepily. The Celestial ignored him.
“I’ve done it,” Camillio whispered excitedly. “I’ve solved it.”
For a moment, Sheikoh didn’t understand what Camillio was saying. He ran a hand through his rumpled, black hair with a yawn, before he realized what the Celestial was referring to. His eyes widened in surprise. He bolted from the tangled net of sheets and covered and stared at The Celestial beseechingly. Camillio bobbed his head, wearing a manic grin.
“Emili…?” Sheikoh croaked out. Camillio nodded even faster.
The Celestial beckoned him to the door. Sheikoh followed Camillio with an energetic spring in his step as though he’d gotten eight hours of sleep instead of two. They went down a hallway that intersected the staircase that wound around the tank of plant-filled water. Once there, Camillio turned to face Sheikoh.
“I finished my translations and perfected the blood pentacles that should restore Emili!” Camillio explained with sparkling eyes that mirrored the lights in Sheikoh’s own.
“You mean that you can finally get that thing out of her?” Sheikoh wondered aloud in a tone of desperate excitement.
His eyes caught the split second that Camillio’s smile slipped, and he closed his eyes with a curse. Sheikoh’s hopeful expression dropped to the weariness beneath in an instant. He blinked his tired eyes back open and fixed them on Camillio. The Celestial’s jaw hung open like he was trying to vomit out the right words.
“Something’s wrong,” Sheikoh inferred tonelessly. “You aren’t sure that Emili’s going to survive, right? Are you, Old man?”
Of course.
This was what happens when things started to look your way.
Sheikoh turned and bitterly snapped a sharp kick at the wall. He stopped midway through and pointed his face at the ground in an effort to hide the tears stinging the backs of eyes.
“No!” Camillio exclaimed. “No, no, no, I can bring Emili back, I just can’t remove the Sycrarian!”
Sheikoh’s face snapped up to meet the man’s with an expression of wary hope. ‘So… the demon still chills there inside of her, but she’s still Emili?’ he asked himself. He wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that. What if Khryzt subdued Camillio’s magic somehow and took control.
“What does that mean?” Sheikoh asked Camillio.
“I’ve just read the forty-four treatises on the Sycrarian from cover to cover and they all say the same thing: Once a Sycrarian latches onto a sect of life-force to the point that it no longer is bound to comply with a human’s will then they are irrevocably linked,” Camillio explained. “To force them apart would tear unhealable holes through their souls and they would both die slowly and painfully.”
“That doesn’t sound like what I wanted to hear…” Sheikoh muttered, scratching his ear.
“It is, however, possible to force the Sycrarian from the dominant state into regression by utilizing blood runes,” Camillio went on. “The runes have to be personally crafted depending on a variety of circumstances. That took me days, but now, finally, I am finished with all of the preparations.”
“You wanted your own pet Sycrarian, but it’s stuck inside Emili, what’s in this for you?” Sheikoh asked.
“Besides acquiring your services in accordance to our deal, I also hope to make a pupil of Emili. Upon revival, she should possess some or all of the Sycrarian’s powers,” Camillio explained, flashing an uneasy smile.
Sheikoh could tell from his expression, that he expected Sheikoh to argue the point, but strangely, Sheikoh found that he didn’t mind the idea. It meant that when he risked his life, it would be alongside a being as powerful as Khryzt and as loving as Emili. Emili was going to be his guardian angel again. The thought brought a smile to his face as he nodded. They turned towards Camillio’s study
Sheikoh and Camillio climbed the stairs. Their creaking steps echoed hollowly throughout the dead silence of the night. A radiation green glow pulsed from the aquarium’s plants, washing him and Camillio in front with its pale, sickly light. The drifting fronds splashed them in a consistently splotchy outpour of phosphorus green light. The walls danced with the diffused glow and ominous shadows.
They slowly circled their way up the steps. Anticipation and dread pounded within every fiber of Sheikoh’s being. He willed the Celestial to walk faster.
After the long, winding climb, they finally reached Camillio’s study. Its circular, rune-burned door sprung open before them like a loyal dog. Sheikoh followed Camillio inside, holding his breath. He was close enough behind Camillio to see that the glowing, dancing bubbles of blue-white light rise out of the Celestial’s upturned palm. Under their nebulous illumination, he scanned the surrounding room with some surprise.
Thick tomes littered the floor, lying open to reveal strange runes and pictures. The bookshelves stood half empty to lean against the walls despondently. Crumpled papers littered the grey, stone floor, along with scattered pens and pencils. The mess resounded everywhere, with the only exception being the center of the room. The clear area was scored black by two, enormous, pentagonal summoning circles.
Camillio kicked through the trash and made for the table in the far corner, now covered with an off-white sheet. Sheikoh hovered by the doorway and half-watched a silversteel pen’s roll across the floor. Then Camillio drew his eyes back. The Celestial whipped the sheet off of the table with a flourish. Its grey-white material hung in the room’s stale air for an instant and then drifted to rest gently upon the floor. Sheikoh gasped quietly.
Sheikoh wasn’t very much surprised to see Emili’s body on the table. He was however at the painful shock that glared through his chest at the sudden sight of her, especially at the bleeping life-support machinery that she was hooked up to. Emili’s mouth and nose were covered by a clear plastic mask. An attached tube led to a standing computer with two accordion-shaped bellow thingies. It looked like it was in charge of pumping air into her lungs. Bags hung around the machine, lines injected into her slender arms.
Camillio disconnected the lines from the machine with a gesture and a flicker of blue eyes. The clear tubes fell around Emili, still attached to her arms. They looked like tentacles dripping their murky ooze. Sheikoh wondered why Camillio had kept them in Emili’s body.
Then he realized; of course the Celestial couldn’t, Emili was still wearing the Transcendent Amulet. Camillio beckoned him over, obviously already thinking along those same lines.
“Before we remove the amulet, there are a few preparations to make…. The blood runes,” Camillio explained quietly, handing a blood-red, glass knife to Sheikoh. Sheikoh looked at it uncomprehendingly. “Blood runes only bind to an individual’s life-force when scarred into their ski
n.”
Sheikoh’s mouth opened with silent horror. His eyes darted from the glass knife to Camillio wildly, pleading for some other way. Anything other than this. There was no way that he could do this. Camillio met his hysteria steadily.
“I would open the runes with magic normally, but I can’t. You know that there’s no other way… The Sycrarian is much too powerful to take the amulet off until everything is completely prepared,” Camillio told Sheikoh, pressing the handle of the blade into Sheikoh’s hand. “You have to ask yourself; would you rather not do it and risk her life or do it and assure that everything goes according to plan.”
“I’ve never drawn anything in my life, I can’t do this. I can’t draw those intricate patterns!” Sheikoh cried. His voice cracked fearfully.
“You don’t have to be able to draw,” Camillio said, producing something out of a drawer on the side of the table. It was a piece of machinery that looked like a cellpad attached to a long wrist cuff.
“As you might know, the Celestial own the rights of all cyborg and android machinery, Camillio explained with a tight smile. “Including this device. It’s called a Divider. When put on an automatic limp, it redirects all synaptic wire leading from the brain or the central processor as the case may be. An associate programmed it with every single rune that we need, just earlier tonight.”
Sheikoh looked back at the Celestial’s controlled face with unguarded, unadulterated terror. He couldn’t do this… this unspeakable atrocity. However, if he didn’t do it he was as good as killing Emili all over again. He felt like he’d lost the last four years like he was again a frightened twelve-year-old. What was he supposed to do? What was right?
Only for Emili, he finally decided. Paradoxically however, if it hadn’t been Emili, he wouldn’t have needed this thing.
Sheikoh tore the synthskin off if his right arm in a quick motion. Camillio flinched at the sight of his skeletal-blacksteel arm, wormy synaptic wires pulsing slightly.