The House of Grey- Volume 6

by Earl, Collin

  They all started to laugh as they backed away from each other. Monson smiled at his two friends in joy and relief. It was good to have them back.

  Artorius surprised both Casey and Monson as he propelled his massive weight towards them and threw them to the ground as another projectile sailed overhead.

  “I need your help, guys.” Monson gestured with a flick of his head towards Molly. “We’s gots things ta do.”

  Casey and Artorius indicated their understanding and followed without hesitation.

  The three boys weaved in between the two fighting factions, helping H.U.M.A.N.E. and hindering Baroty’s commandos where possible. All around both groups of fighters were the gem-filled living statues, the numbers of which continually pushed back H.U.M.A.N.E. and even caused some damage to their black-clad comrades. The longer they fought, the more the statues seemed to lose control of their formations and instinct—a fact that was not lost on Monson and the others.

  “Something weird is going on with the Legionnaires, dudes,” shouted Casey as he ducked a blow from a spear-wielding Legionnaire. From his crouching position, Casey leveled the Glyian Combat Glove at the living statue and wasted no time in yelling, “Combat Spell One: Blaze!”

  The spell took instant effect, as a molten fiery sphere about the size of small soccer ball shot from Casey’s hand and consumed the statue on impact. The statue screamed an ungodly sound for a few agonizing ticks but slowly crumbled as the fire did its deadly work.

  “That’s not my glove’s first spell!” Monson pointed to Casey’s glove. “Why is yours so much cooler?”

  The boys maneuvered around a group of fighters, helping out against the soldiers. More than a few moments passed before Casey answered Monson.

  “The combat gloves aren’t the real way you do magic.”

  He moved in closer to Monson, blocking a swing from a rather enthusiastic Legionnaire. “The gloves can hold a number of rather basic spells ranging over different magic types. You can arrange those spells however you want, depending on how much energy you want to put into the power’s structure. The number doesn’t refer to some sort of hierarchy for the spells but how much power you place into the spell. Different spells however naturally maximize their effectiveness at different power levels.”

  “Guys!” yelled Artorius as he cleaved a Legionnaire in half. “Is this really a conversation that you need to have right now?”

  Two massive ice daggers shot right at Casey and Artorius but were deflected before they reached their targets as Monson picked up two fallen hand-and-a-half swords and flung them with surprising accuracy at the airborne missiles. The swords turned silver in midair and shattered the ice, peppering Monson and the others with crystal shards.

  Casey and Artorius gawked at Monson, who was still in his throwing pose, breathing heavily. Thankfully, neither of them opted to comment.

  “Come on.” Casey made to continue their trek. “Let’s get moving before people try to use us for a pincushion again.”

  The fighting raged on as the boys moved closer and closer to their destination. They finally broke out into a run, jumping over the remnants of the Box of Protection and landing with a thump.

  Monson was horrified to see someone standing over Molly’s limp body not ten yards away. Where the heck was Mr. Gatt? Wasn’t he going to get Molly out of here? Didn’t matter. Monson had to do something. Monson was about to pounce when two pairs of strong hands grabbed him, dropping weapons as they did.

  Casey gave Monson’s arms an exaggerated squeeze, intending to convey a point. “Whoa there, Terminator. Don’t go all medieval before you know who’s actually there.”

  Monson glared at Casey. “What are you saying? They could be–” He faltered as he realized who was with Molly.

  “Marie!” Monson ran to Grayson’s childhood friend and gripped her in a bear hug, lifting her completely off the ground. Realizing what he was doing, he gently set her down.

  Marie smiled warmly, color rising in her cheeks. “It is quite good to see you, too, Master Grey. Could you help me?”

  She pointed down at Molly. Monson attempted to follow her gesture but found the idea, let alone the action, quite difficult. A limp hand grazed his wrist and a strained voice pricked at his ears.

  “Monson honey…look…at me.”

  Tears started to drip from his eyes as Monson took in the sight that was his guardian. Covered in blood, Molly’s clothes and bandages were soaked with her life fluid. He reached for a red-stained hand, wincing as Molly’s cold, clammy skin met his. Knowing that he was lying not only to himself, but also to her, Monson spoke.

  “You’re going to be all right, Molly. You can’t die. I won’t let that happen.”

  Molly smiled. “We both know that isn’t true, Monson honey.”

  She paused, throwing up a hand to cover her mouth as she coughed violently. “I’m going to have to leave you a bit early, but before I do, I need you to do something for me.”

  Monson wiped at his eyes, pushing away the rapidly rolling tears. “Anything Molly, just name it.”

  Molly’s smile became more pronounced. “The machine, Monson. I want you to use Baroty’s machine.”

  A spark of shock almost paralyzed Monson’s body. Baroty’s machine? She wanted him to use Baroty’s machine?

  “Why?” he asked with concern. “I thought you told me that I shouldn’t do that–that I would be using innocent people to power it.”

  “I did,” coughed Molly. “I think Baroty was intending to test the machine on you so he could see the effects before trying it on himself.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The scar.” Molly touched her forearm with trembling fingers. “I think he has the same scar as you do. There is something he does not have access to…Monson, I think it might be your grandfather.”

  Monson started to interrupt but Molly stopped him. “No–Monson, I need you to listen for now. I don’t have much time. I wasn’t lying when said I had found Marques’ body and now, after seeing Baroty with your grandfather’s face–and having seen the dead body for myself–I think I finally know what he’s after. Your grandfather isn’t gone. Monson.”

  Monson could not help himself. He cocked the eyebrow.

  Molly continued. “Monson, listen to me. Baroty has figured out the secret of the Shadow Yogai. I understand that you don’t know what I’m talking about. But this is important–remember the name: Shadow Yogai. Baroty is a Shadow Yogai.”

  Monson nodded his head reluctantly. “OK, Molly. I’ll remember.”

  She smiled again. “Now that’s my boy.”

  Her body relaxed slightly as a brick lifted from her wall of worry. The relief passed quickly, however, as she refocused and once again zeroed in on him.

  “You aren’t going to like what happens next, sweetie.”

  “That’s enough, Molly.” Monson squeezed her hand, scanning the area for possible escape routes. “You’ve done enough. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Molly reached up and touched his face. “You know that’s not going to happen, Monson. You need to be realistic, but even more than that, you need to get your memories back.”

  “I can’t do it, Molly,” said Monson, knowing full well what that would involve. “I can’t use these people for some sort of sick experiment. I don’t care if I ever get those memories back. I can’t sacrifice them.”

  “They’re the reason why you have to get your memories back, Monson. There is so much more I wanted to teach you, wanted to show you about this world. I’m not going to be able to do that. The youngest of the Great Races, the Human Race, must have someone like you if it’s going to survive the changes that are coming, and you must have your memory back if you’re going to be its protector.”

  “Molly. I can’t kill these people; I won’t.”

  Molly convulsed, coughing and spitting blood. “You don’t understand, honey. I’m not asking you to use these people; I’m telling you to use me.”


  If there was a battle raging around him, Monson could no longer hear it.

  “Molly—what are you talking about?”

  “Me. You are going to use me as the power source for the machine. Between me and the Creation Stones that Baroty managed to gather, you should be able to undo the enchantment on your body.”

  Monson started to answer when more trouble found them. More commandos and their Legionnaire companions attacked, thrusting towards Monson and the others. They soon ran into the brick walls that were Casey and Artorius, the latter dropping heaps of soldiers with massive swings of his claymore, while the former rained down spells from just behind him. Casey called out over his shoulder.

  “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but you two need to hurry the freak up.”

  A jerk at his neckline Monson’s attention back to Molly. She was pulling on his collar.

  “Listen to me, Monson Grey. You have two choices. You either kill all these people or use me and whatever stones we can gather. The machine won’t work without a source. Now decide before I take over your mind and decide for you.”

  Monson’s eyes popped at her words. “You could do that?”

  “Do you really want to find out?”

  Monson took a deep, calming breath before coming to the only conclusion he could.

  “Molly, I can’t use these people.”

  Molly smiled, realizing she had won. Just then, another fit of coughing sent blood flying out of her mouth. “OK then. Honey, go and help your friends.”

  Molly let go of his hand and Monson did just that.

  “I’ll be right back, OK?” Monson nodded to Marie, indicating she should watch over Molly, and turned to help his friends.

  After making short work of the small squad of soldiers, Monson and the others carried Molly over to Baroty’s machine. Horrendous fights had bubbled up all over the place with reinforcements from both sides funneling into the Coliseum. The bulk of the casualties were the rock Legionnaires, who were nothing more than fodder, probably what Baroty had intended in case the situation got away from him. It appeared that he had been correct in his planning.

  Monson, Casey and Artorius, with Marie bringing up the rear, carried Molly to the torture dentist chair, thankful that the fighting had left it untouched. They also were fortunate enough to attract little attention, as Baroty and his boys had their hands full with Brian and Mr. Gatt, both of whom were now wielding Magi Blades. Not that they completely escaped attention; in more than one instance, purely by happenstance, they managed to avoid a face full of fire or ice, or a blade stuck between their ribs. They counted themselves lucky not to have been hurt or if not lucky, then blessed. Most of their attackers were Legionnaires, who were easily taken care of by one of the three boys, and who left behind a small pile of Creation Stones. Eventually, the small entourage reached the chair.

  “Grey,” yelled Casey over the tumult. “You sure this is a good idea, dude?”

  Monson reached out to the chair, touching it with only a hint of reluctance. The metal felt cold and smooth, exactly as metal should feel. More confident now, Monson shoved the metal chair along the hard cherry floor, letting it slide to a back corner before he stopped to really examine it. He was not sure what he was expecting to see, but the stupid torture chair had to have an “on” switch.

  “Monson,” came Molly’s voice, even weaker than before. “Just take me around to the back.”

  “OK, Molly.” Monson returned to her side and helped Casey and Artorius prop her up. Doing their best not to jostle her, the three boys guided Molly to the back of the chair closer to the mechanical arms, the part that seemed to emanate a feeling of foreboding. As they neared, the arms of the chair started to vibrate.

  “It’s OK.” Molly gently touched Monson’s arm. “It’s OK. It’s reacting to the Kei I’m releasing. It will only latch onto me. Set me down in front of it.”

  The boys hesitated. The machine’s wicked looking arms seemed to ripple with anticipation.

  “Boys…”

  They did as they were told, lowering her to the floor as gently as possible. She was not doing well. Her face was pale and bloodstained and the fading light of green Kei dribbled from her hands. She did not have much time left; it really was coming to an end.

  “That’s good, boys, now walk away,” gasped Molly through more coughing. “I don’t want you to see this part.”

  The chair’s metal hands started to move, large needles inching their way towards her. None of the boys moved; not a single, solitary inch.

  “Now boys, walk away—and whatever you do, don’t look back. Not for anything.”

  One by one, Casey , Artorius and finally, Monson pivoted from Molly, each of their faces reflecting their pain. Once again, the tears ran, and not only from Monson’s eyes.

  “Arthur, Cassius. Will you take one last request from this jolly ol’ fat lady?”

  “You’re not fat, Molly,” shot back Casey without a missed beat. “You’re pleasantly plump. Vast difference.”

  Molly laughed. “Thanks, Cassius.”

  “No problem,” sniffed Casey.

  “Can I make one last request of you both?”

  “Sure, Molly,” they both answered.

  “Take care of my little Hero; you’re the only family he has now.”

  Casey and Artorius both wiped away tears as they whispered their answers.

  “Thanks, Cassius, Arthur. That means so much to me.”

  Molly coughed again, weakly this time.

  “Monson, honey.”

  “Yeah Molly?”

  “Do you know that I love you?”

  “Yeah Molly; I know that.”

  “And what do you say when someone tells you they love you?”

  “You tell them you love them back.”

  “Good, Monson, good. That’s all I needed to know.”

  “Molly, I love you too.”

  “I know, Monson honey. I know.”

  A sudden flash of green followed by a scream told them that the conversation was over and Molly was gone.

  ***

  “Get in the chair, Monson. It’s time for you to become you again.” Artorius’ strong hand found Monson’s shoulder. “It’s time for you to become who you were meant to be.”

  Monson wiped the tears from his eyes. “So you believe this Being of Seven Bloods stuff? That I’m some sort of all-powerful being meant to save the world?”

  Artorius shook his head, grimacing in reluctance. “I don’t know. I seriously don’t know. But I do know that Molly believed in you enough to sacrifice herself. You owe it to her to at least try.”

  Monson took a deep, shuddering breath and walked towards the chair, positioning himself in front of it. “I know, Arthur. I’m ready.”

  “We’ll cover you,” announced Casey, making his way to Monson’s side. “We won’t let anyone or anything near you. You just do your thing.”

  “Thanks, guys.”

  Monson closed his eyes, trying to separate the noises of fighting and death from his own fear of the past, present and future. He tried to suppress all his concerns and reservations, knowing that he did not have time to hesitate, that all would be for naught if he did not act. Act– he had to act; now was the time.

  That last thought in his head, Monson did just that. He sat upon the chair and almost instantly went limp. Then everything went black.

  ***

  I floated upon a gray cloud in a sea of inky blackness. I felt no wind, smelled no scent, and saw nothing upon the horizon. There was only me; darkness and me.

  Light…and then there was light.

  Floating beyond me, beyond the plane of my own consciousness, were lines of brilliant iridescent light. My cloud and I made our way into the light, thrusting a hand towards the cracked and crumbling darkness.

  I made my way to the edge of this place of darkness, reaching ever so longingly for the warmth of the light. But horror overtook me as the blackness became heavy upon my skin, upon my
muscles, upon my bones. I could not move, could not speak, could not breathe. I was wedged in the darkness, destined to perish just short of the light.

  And then surprise filled me.

  To my overwhelming and joyous surprise, I did not perish before I attained the light, alone in the darkness. I reached for the light…and the light reached back.

  Whether the light removed me or perhaps the darkness released me, I do not know. Regardless, I fell fully and completely into the light and there, finally found what I was looking for. I found…myself.

  ***

  Monson opened his eyes to a mysterious river floating serenely along its course. Faintly scented wind warmed his back, pleasing all of his senses as he breathed it in. He allowed his angst to leave with the exhaled air. He looked over the expanse of the forest-covered land, reaching down to touch the quietly flowing water . The tranquility of this world, his inner world, was such a stark contrast to the fighting going outside of him. He felt almost guilty being there and enjoying the serenity.

  “If there is anywhere that you should feel peaceful, it is here, in this place.”

  Monson continued to play with the water, not bothering to stand or even look up. He knew who was there.

  “It has been a while, Monson.”

  Monson’s mirror image stepped to the bank of the river as he gazed into the distance. Dawn seemed to want to speak, to say something more than a hello, but he seemed unable to start so Monson did it for him.

  “Did you know?”

  Dawn did not answer right away, not that Monson expected him to. Monson waited patiently.

  “About your grandfather?”

  Monson finally looked up, taking in the full glare of the light reflecting off the river.

  “Yes and no—did you know about it all? The bridge…Grandfather…Baroty…all of it?”

  Dawn’s response was terse. “Does it matter?”

  Monson’s eyes dropped back to a few inches in front of him. “No…I guess not.”

  “So you are decided then?”

  Monson again looked up from his crouch. “Do I have a choice?”