by Chad West
She was a part of a team. No, it was a family. For the first time in her life she could say that word without wincing. Mixed in with the vast store of memories she’d taken from Jonas were his mistakes and missteps, choices made in anger, fear, and lust. Still she trusted him with her life. He was in no way perfect, but he loved her deeply. Like an explosion in her head, it came to her that there was never any need for a mask. He never cared if she were strong and beautiful or small and broken. It was in fact the broken part of her that believed one had to pretend to be accepted. She only ever needed to wait. To the right person—to Jonas—this Lucy was enough.
What she was doing, keeping the Fade busy while they took down the Queen, it didn’t make her the hero, but it helped them do what needed to be done. “A family doesn’t need heroes,” she said, keeping an eye on Cynthia and Angela while they healed.
Lost in thought, two Fade warriors had managed to get past her defenses. She almost attacked the large, friendly Fade who leapt up to protect her. Then she saw him break the neck of one of her would-be killers. But then a blue blade ignited in her rescuer’s abdomen a moment later. She wailed, dispatching the attacker in a way in which Jonas would not have approved and went to her savior’s side. He was dying, but he smiled. “Your warrior, too,” he said, his voice trembling, then a single, heavy breath signaled his departure. His body seemed to deflate at that last breath. She looked up, a tear dancing in the corner of her eye, her jaw set, ready for more, and then realized she and her puppet army was all that was left. Aern’s army was defeated.
***
Jonas stepped into the space between Mira and Cynthia. He hoped the powered armor would keep him from being crushed. But she wasn’t even looking their way. Her raw, open chest shuddered with each breath, one of her four arms gripped her knee, holding her upright. But Jonas dared not see weakness.
He took a step backwards, closer to Cynthia and a revived Angela, watching Aern approach the burned, rotten mess of a queen. Mira placed two shaking hands on Aern’s shoulders, and knelt, leaning in, whispering to him from charred lips. The hilt of the sword she’d angrily tossed away caught his eye in the sand to his right. At that moment he was presented with a choice.
Breathing hard, hot wind and sand rushing against his face, he wondered if using the last of his strength to make a potentially brilliant final move would be worth leaving the girls on their own. The answer that forced itself on him was no, but fear that this might be his only chance won the argument. He twisted his head around, looking at Cynthia, who was still healing from her last encounter, and Angela, who was in no shape to fight, then at Lucy, who he was afraid didn’t know how to run. It was the only choice he could make.
The yellow ooze was congealing on Mira’s side, but still pumped out in slow globs. Movement—something large—caught his eye and he turned to see one of Lucy’s creatures crawling out of the sand, standing sentinel over the other two girls. That was his girl. He let out a breath, concentrating on the sword.
Something exploded in his head. His body tensed at the sudden pain. But he used the meager remains of his powers to mentally lift the sword from the sand. It ignited, a blue blaze, and flew straight at the queen. He imagined, before Angela had blown its face off, it would have been no ordeal for her to catch the blade mid-air and have it for lunch. But he was still impressed at the speed with which she moved to block it. But that frail, blackened body just wasn’t fast enough.
This time, the blade wasn’t thrown in as some last minute tactic to get the monster off Cynthia. He had time to aim, to calculate the move. The blade sunk deep with a wet thunk and a ragged screech from Mira. Aern fell back, pushed down as Mira lurched forward. Eyes, wide and painfully angry, found him. She was a tough one. Even half-dead, she was a damn tank.
Pain squealed like a siren, but he managed one last mental act. As fast as he could, he moved his own body to the side—he looked like a child pretending to pull a blade through the air. In response, the actual glowing blue edge in her chest jerked faster than her hands could grasp, hopefully ripping at something important before coming snapping out of her thin, ashy skin in a surge of flesh and yellow gore. A fiery jolt rode up his spine into his head and Jonas stumbled. This was the price.
Mira flailed and screeched in pain. Her side hung open like a fool’s mouth and spat her life’s juices in time to whatever passed for her beating heart. Aern leapt to his feet, shouting something to her in his own damnable language, cutting the hilt of the blade in two with his own electric sword so that it could no longer be used against her. The force field that made up the sword flickered to nothing and Aern narrowed his eyes at Jonas, who was on all fours now.
Jonas wavered, his eyes fluttered, and he felt his face thump against the hot sand, at once half-buried in it. He was done. He’d pissed in the eye of death for the last time. His vision blurred, the coppery taste of blood coated the back of his throat; his head quaked. One step too far, you jerk, he thought, hoping he’d at least finished this. The sand burned his face, but there were several seconds between the desire to move and the actual act of him rolling over.
He thought of the pills in his pack, wondering if they might patch him up enough to, at the least, not die. He needed to be there for Lucy when this was done. The idea took him over, even bigger than the battle now. The thought of her being tossed around the system again—he couldn’t handle that. But he’d thrown his pack off as soon as the battle had begun. Now he could hardly move, little less search for a backpack. Then he remembered the pills he’d stuffed in his pocket in the woods.
He felt himself smiling, despite it all. You did it. You stopped that bitch. Everything was a blur as his hands jerked along the top of his pants, in search of his pocket. It felt like trying to find a switch in the dark. At last, his fingers found the opening and his hand slipped in. The jittering tips of his finger found one of the pills. He pushed away the clouds as best he could and concentrated on grasping the small, slippery tube. He had no more than pulled his hand free from the pocket than the pill slipped from it, lost in the sand.
The pain was past unbearable. He was stiff with it. The sand burned him, the sun scorched his bare skin, but his insides boiled from the pain. He was unsure if he could make himself go in for the second pill. Jonas could feel his heartbeat, fast and irregular, in his eyes, his throat, his fingers. He waited for it to stop. He wanted to call out, but his tongue was a thick and dead slug in his mouth.
For a moment, he believed he was back on his Earth, and the blaring siren of his alarm clock was demanding that he wake. Sleep was all he wanted. Rest. He wondered, right before he came to himself, why Elizabeth would turn the heat on in the middle of summer. Then, as lucidity rushed back in the form of one of the girls screaming his name, he took advantage and, with much effort, stuffed his trembling hand again into his pocket. This time he rolled the pill into his palm and made a painful fist before pulling it out.
He opened his mouth in anticipation as he moved the arm, which did not seem to even want to perform the simple task of bringing his hand to his face. Finally, he held it, hovering above his open mouth, willing his fingers to release their bounty. The pill stuck to his sweaty palm, but finally dropped, hitting the edge of his mouth, but falling in. Jonas forced his jaws together, biting the pill and his slug tongue. But the pain was far off and he felt the pill begin to sizzle in his mouth, already healing the bite.
As darkness came on again, he tried a few unsuccessful times to swallow, still battling his brain for the simplest of acts. As he began to fall unconscious, Jonas finally felt it all slide down his throat. The sun swirled into three, then four. Voices became distant songs from long ago. His own body seemed to float as he drifted away. Part of him even believed he saw Mira’s body lurch back to life.
TWENTY-TWO
Angela flinched at hands touching her. She felt her eyes bugging out of her head when she looked over to see Cynthia. The sounds around her were a confusion—a loud blur. Cynthia
was lying in the sand in front of her, looking battered, but somehow smiling. Angela was staring right at Cynthia, seeing her, but the information was having a tough time registering.
“What do you need?” Cynthia’s voice seemed to come a moment or two after her lips moved. It had the quality of a voice coming through a string and tin can.
“I’m supposed to be dead.” Angela felt like she was screaming, but Cynthia furrowed her brow and leaned in.
Cynthia’s head turned and Angela followed it to see Mira wailing, a bright blade ripping through her chest.
“It’s going to be okay, Angela,” Cynthia said, sounding unconvinced. Angela’s head floated to where her words were coming from.
Angela wondered if this were tattered edge of her consciousness, hallucinating a happy ending before unraveling into the Mystery. She had felt herself dying. Sensation had given way to a new way of being as the last breath shot from her lungs. Life had been so loud and then there was quiet. Peace? Then there was this. What was this? The obvious answer seemed impossible: She was alive. Holy shit.
Then, the sandy thing that had been looming behind them, which hadn’t registered until it was tumbling into a heap behind Cynthia, slid like a curtain to reveal Aern. He bent over them, his eyes now a penetrating pink. “This is over,” he said. But it was her voice. Angela had heard it scream in pain as she had burned her. Her mind reeled at another impossible realization: the Queen had a new body.
“It’s her,” Angela said.
Cynthia shakily stood. Angela wasn’t sure if that was possible for her yet. She took a breath, noticing Jonas writhing in the sand where he had been standing moments earlier. She heard Lucy scream his name as Angela pushed herself up on numb arms and managed to get to her feet beside Cynthia. Angela wasn’t sure if her legs would hold her for long, but the bell for a final round had been rung.
***
It wasn't seeing that Aern’s armor was powered up alone that worried her, but that there was no telling what Mira’s possessing him would do to give him an even sharper edge (As if he needed one). As much as this was her central problem, Cynthia kept glancing over at Jonas. His torso still bounced awkwardly with breath, which was a reluctant check in the plus column, but he was no longer trying to move.
“You two,” the voice startled Cynthia, “are the last things standing between me and this world?” A smile broke out on Aern’s face. “Really?”
It ticked Cynthia off just to see sarcasm cross Aern’s ugly face, and she was about to move to attack when her anger was sidelined at the sight of a dead Fade warrior floating through the air then dropping in front of Aern. This new Mira hissed and whipped her head to where Lucy stood several feet behind her.
“This is all that stood between us and you.” Lucy was smirking. It was obvious she wasn’t aware what had happened.
“Lucy, this isn’t Aern. It’s the Queen,” Cynthia said, her voice quaking.
Lucy chewed her lip for a moment, giving worried glances over at Jonas, and then narrowing her eyes. “We don’t have time for you.” A twirling whirlwind of sand opened up beneath Aern’s feet. Cynthia felt herself being pushed away from it along with Angela as Aern disappeared into the resulting hole. Then, the sand above was silent.
Lucy was already running to where Jonas lay about five yards to her right, looking over at Angela as she went. “I’m so happy you’re not dead,” she said.
Lucy stopped in front of him, her hands over her face. Cynthia started that way, then an explosion of sand turned her back around to see Mira smiling through Aern’s yellowed teeth as she crawled from the hole. Her pink eyes floated over to Lucy.
“No more of you,” she said, and jumped at the tiny girl.
Lucy’s arms shot out straight in front of her and she held the queen in mid-air, just as she had done to the warrior attempting to attack Jonas in the woods. But it only slowed the Aern-thing. Mira seemed to move through Lucy’s barrier as if it were set Jell-o rather than dried cement. Sweat popped out, newly minted beads on Lucy’s forehead. Mira loosed Aern’s sword from its scabbard and it came to life in slow-motion toward the girl. Cynthia ran in her direction, desperate to make it before the slow beast inside of Aern.
Then, as if hit, Aern’s body, Mira’s angry soul, was pushed sidelong, away from Lucy, as if by one of her mental blasts. But it wasn’t Lucy doing the blasting. Cynthia spun on her heel, her weak legs sliding down into the sand in her hurry. There, where he had been lying, in seeming near-death before, stood Jonas.
***
The blood had never so much as shown a hint of healing for Jonas’ brain after the Fade had butchered it. It had been among the first things the doctors on his Earth had tried. But that made sense now. The Fade hadn’t excised a chunk of his brain as they’d thought. The same tech the Fade used to slide the Wraith just out of reality kept his brain just there enough to trick his body and just gone enough to trick him and his doctors. Now, though, since Kah’en had turned that shield off, the blood could do its work in healing what it could of the damaged part of the brain that had been just out of touch with the rest for so long.
In his wildest imaginings, he wouldn’t have believed he’d ever be this strong again. He would have been reluctant to try something so fierce, so soon, if Lucy had not been in danger when he opened his eyes. To call using a telekinetic push fierce would have made the old him laugh, but it had been. He had pushed Aern with enough force to topple a building. He’d hit him hard enough to knock his powered armor offline and he’d seen that happen maybe three times during the war. None of those times had involved him.
Lucy was looking at him like he was suddenly made of cheese. He stalked with sure feet through the sand, watching as Aern pushed himself up with one arm, the other a broken, limp mess. Jonas stopped when he saw the arm begin to tremble as if it were filled with worms. Right before his eyes, he watched it heal. He’d been fighting the Fade for a long time and he’d never seen one capable of that. Then he noticed the glowing pinkish hue of Aern’s eyes. Mira.
He understood at once what she and Aern’s pow-wow had been about before Jonas had used that blade to slice her insides up. Given enough time, she would have healed up nicely and taken over the world. But she didn’t have that kind of time. Aern had been accepting an offer to give up his life for hers. Well, Jonas would just have to take that body away as well.
The armor blinked, sparked and came back online. Dammit. Angela, Lucy, and Cynthia were watching Jonas, waiting for his command. But he had no idea what the hell to do. He wasn’t about to send them in blind. Mira had almost killed Cynthia when she was half-dead, and Aern had done the same with that armor of his. So, even if Mira were only as strong as Aern in this new form—and the fact that she’d been able to heal his body strongly hinted otherwise—they were in for one heck of a fight.
“Lucy, stay out of her head,” he reminded her, “but hit her hard.”
During the war, the Fade crafted implants that kept Powereds like him and Lucy out of their minds. Stung like a bitch when you tried. And he’d already seen Lucy go down after trying to get into Mira where conscience feared to tread. So, attacking her mind was a fool’s errand. This would come down to strength and cunning. Mira was strong, but Jonas was of the mind that his girls were far more cunning than this blue bitch.
This new Mira walked toward them as if on a stroll. But her face hinted at stories of the murderous things she wished to do to them. He could tell Cynthia wanted to attack, but Jonas warned her to stay away. He needed to take the first punch in this armor, see how improved this new Aern was before he let them near her.
Mira’s voice played on Aern’s vocal chords. “I will strip the last of you to as near death as your kind can be and hang you like a banner before me as I erase your world.”
“You don’t really want this,” Angela said.
“I don’t think reasoning is among her gifts,” Jonas said.
Mira stopped. She stretched out Aern’s arms, showing t
hat she had no more healing to do. It was an invitation to all comers. She had a strong, healthy body now. This was Mira at Aern’s best.
The ground rumbled. Jonas’ gaze went to Lucy, who was already staring at him. A single image appeared in his mind. He nodded and what remained of the crypt from which Mira had risen spun up and around her lifeless, four-armed form like a shield. Mira’s corpse swayed and then straightened as Lucy took full control. Mira screamed dissatisfaction at this, as the corpse of her former body began to run at her. Mira was hesitant to fight back at first, but soon seemed to give up any sentimental ideas about her own flesh and began to truly beat back against her animated corpse.
It was unpleasant, Jonas thought, but inspired. He watched the fight carefully, trying his best to soften Aern’s blows against the corpse. But Mira was strong—stronger than Aern. And Mira knew her weak points better than any of them and they’d managed to take her down. It wasn’t enough. When Lucy was able to get a punch in, she did so with gusto, using every bit of muscle left in those four arms. But after a few well-landed punches, Mira howled in frustration and latched onto one of those arms, tearing it off and tossing it aside before throwing herself at her former body. It would have been over in an instant, except that Lucy then did something Jonas had not expected.
Lucy stopped fighting back, instead she latched onto Aern’s powered armor with the remaining three arms. Both of the warriors pulled—Mira at the hole in the body’s side, and Lucy at the damaged armor Aern’s body wore. Mira growled in victory as the corpse’s chest tore open with several snaps and the gush of black and yellow curdled offal. Jonas saw the look of satisfaction on Aern’s face and feared for them all the moment before throwing his arm up in reaction to the sudden explosion of Aern’s armor as Lucy managed to break it open with the corpse’s arms.