by Earl, Collin
Monson Grey exploded into the air, flying dozens feet before landing right in the heart of the Legionnaire and commando reinforcements. He fought through the ranks of soldiers, lashing out with spell, body and blade, rampaging through lines of living and rock soldiers like a natural disaster made alive. Yet more came, many desperately throwing themselves at Monson in an attempt to impede his progress.
His frustration grew; he had almost lost sight of what mattered—had almost given up that which was most important. Death was the end of everything—there was no coming back—no second chances, forgiveness or redemption. He had almost forgotten that. He would not do so this time. He would endure, and fight to the end. Monson looked inward as he disabled two more commandos with a magically enhanced spinning back kick that extended several feet beyond his legs. Three more commandos took their place. Monson swore again. Baroty was getting away and he was here, wasting time with cannon fodder.
If Baroty was right about the extent of Monson’s Kei release, then it was time to test the limits of his power and see what he could really do. Monson once again stepped onto his own pathway. Endless waves of fear-inducing power started to roll down, down, down, moving rapidly towards him.
Monson’s concentration halted as he saw the goal of his frantic chase came to a skidding halt not far from the safety of the cement halls. Monson severed the power connection as he caught fleeting glimpses of the motionless Baroty through the arms and heads of the surrounding horde. Blocked by the many men around him and those with Baroty, Monson could not see what held them so transfixed, nor did he care. This was his chance, his last chance to bring the fight back to Baroty.
Monson cleared his mind, readying himself to renew his fight with Baroty’s reinforcements. Every challenger fell as before, every weapon he had at his disposal flashed with power and precision. Monson disabled at least a dozen of the men before they broke ranks and scattered before him. His path now cleared, Monson again ran full out, quickly eating up the distance between him and his stationary prey. He stopped abruptly as a huge displacement of air sped towards the exact spot Baroty and his men were staring at. Monson jumped frantically to the side, throwing himself out of the way as gigantic whirlwinds ripped through Baroty’s men, tossing them aside. The booming roar of two voices echoed as one.
“You did not think you would escape so easily, did you Bei-sai?”
The fusion that was Mr. Gatt and Brian walked out of the shadows of the field-level exit, swinging a Magi Blade bathed in rays of golden light. Monson had never seen one like it, and watched, fascinated, as the golden metal rippled and churned the air around it. Brian Gatt reversed the grip on his blade, holding it so most of the burning yellow light was hidden from view. He leaned forward aggressively.
Baroty gritted his teeth spitefully as he quickly scripted a spell. A half a moment later, the ground split under him like the devil himself was burrowing up from the reaches of Hell. The fissure in the ground sped towards Brian Gatt, the massive crack widening in diameter the farther it traveled. By the time it reached the being, the hole grew to ten feet wide with a seemingly bottomless depth. Brian Gatt jumped out of the way, soaring high in the air to his left. With a snap of his whipping cloak, Baroty leaped after him, launching a few feet higher than Brian Gatt. He descended in an arc aiming for Brian Gatt, intending to cleave him in two. The move seemed to surprise the fused duo, as he barely was able to counter the crushing doubled-handed strike that Baroty delivered, but took the blow, holding his blade by both the hilt and body. Baroty thrust down and Brian Gatt pushed up as each attempted to both engage his opponent and land safely.
Sword strikes flashed as red and yellow strove against one another. The two continued to descend, each man attempting to land a decisive blow. Power emanated in bursts of bright, fiery light as streams of flame and torrents of wind scorched and scourged the football field and stands. The men continued their long descent, the power release becoming fiercer and more desperate the closer they came to the ground. They split at the last moment, separating right before they crashed, landing a good twenty feet from each other and bearing the signs of their airborne struggle in many burns and cuts.
Baroty looked the worse of the two, his face and arms sagging under the weight of many small cuts that bled profusely. Brian Gatt nursed a bleeding arm, his blood slowly dripping off the ends of his fingers. Monson started to rush to his side.
“No, Mr. Grey,” he bellowed, magically enhancing his voice to be heard over the warring factions. Monson came to a dead stop but predictably, the call refocused the attention of Baroty’s goons on Monson’s presence. He quickened his pace, storming in and punching through to the forefront of his enemies. He fought with barely contained ferocity, hardly taking notice of those he struck down. Breaking through the lines of the commandos, he again stopped abruptly as he neared Brian Gatt. The din of Brian and Mr. Gatt’s overlapping voices pierced the battle sounds. He knew he was in for a scolding.
“Did we not tell you to retreat?” Brian Gatt asked. Then, a pause as this man clad in a shroud of Kei scripted a spell, unleashing an absolute rage of sharpened wind blades.
Monson fired off a fire combat spell of his own that crashed into another group of reinforcements. He pointed his blade at Baroty, who was directing his men. “He kidnapped Cyann and is trying to kill the Midday Darkness—he’s after the Garden of the Gods, something about unlimited power.”
“Kill the Darkness?” Brian Gatt pushed Monson’s head down as a large, jagged metal disc soared over their heads. “How does he plan to kill living darkness?”
Monson adjusted himself, sliding in behind Brian Gatt and blocking a sword blow from a lone commando who was trying to get the drop on them. Monson cut right through the commando’s blade, severing it in half with a single swipe of the Breath of the Dragon. The man did not press the attack but fled in a screaming frenzy; Monson did not pursue him.
“From what I can gather, the Heart of the Darkness is located deep within that tar pit back at the fifty-yard line. Before you got here, half the people in this town were connected to those busted-up machines bordering the pit. I’m not sure what they were doing, but apparently it had the ability to kill the Darkness.”
Brian Gatt furrowed his eyebrows. “Why try hard so hard to destroy the Midday Darkness when—ahh…The Garden of the Gods. The Darkness must be protecting the Garden.”
Monson cocked the eyebrow. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
Brian Gatt shrugged. “If Baroty’s goal is to gain access to the Garden and he is hell-bent on destroying the Darkness then logic dictates that the Darkness must be in his way.”
Well that made sense. Monson raised a hand. “So what do we do?”
“Pointed inquiry, Monson. I cannot say that I am prone to protect this accursed enchantment, but if the Bei-sai wants it destroyed that cannot bode well for the rest of us.”
His brow remained furrowed for a second more. “You retreat; take Ms. Harrison and Ms. Green and retreat. H.U.M.A.N.E. should follow if you—”
“Not on your life!” retorted Monson. “That man is the cause of all this bloodshed a lot of which I am responsible for, as well. I am not just going to—”
A second buzz saw-like blade spun by Monson, deflected by an extremely swift action from Brian Gatt, his earthen spell clipping it at just the right time. Monson gulped inwardly. That was really close, he thought.
“Enough argument, Mr. Grey!” Brian Gatt roared, the layered voices all the more pronounced. “This is not your fight. If you do not do what I ask, I shall bind your soul to another dimension for the next twenty years!”
The flinty, desperate nature of the threat told Monson that Brian Gatt was aggravated enough that he just might do it. Monson resigned himself and nodded his agreement.
“Go, Monson; go and find the others and this time, run until you cannot run anymore. I will follow after—”
“Baroty’s a Shadow Yogai,” blurted out Monson.
The statement had a perceptible effect on Brian Gatt. “What did you say?”
Monson gulped a second time. He really did not want to be sent to another dimension. “Molly told me to tell you that Baroty was a Shadow Yogai. It had something to do with the machine I used on her—to get my memories back and access some of my power…and Baroty acting like my grandfather, and Marques’ dead body. I didn’t understand most of it, but Molly said it was very important that I remember the phrase so I thought I should tell you.”
Rancid, perceptible rage ignited as an unnatural blood lust spilled from Brian Gatt. His Kei shroud flared, as the Kei snapped and popped like resin-soaked logs in a fire. He swore aloud as his fingers slashed through the air again and again, leaving dozens of brightly glowing runes in their wake. Monson began to actually feel the culminating concentration of power.
“Specialty Spell: Blistering Torrents!” One by one Brian Gatt’s fingers loosened, releasing his sunlit blade, which slowly fell to the ground. The blade landed in the green grass of the field. The glowing being stretched out his arms and held them rigid, evoking a crucifixion. His Kei shroud dimmed as power started to gather at both palms—power that was somehow different from any other Monson had previously witnessed. It did not seem to be the normal yellow Kei, but something more basic. In his right hand a deep yellow gathered, yet it was a color so unlike his typical Kei shroud that it was a wonder that both could be called yellow. In his left hand swirled a very deep blue. The color reminded Monson of something. Involuntarily he glanced back in the direction of the pit where he found Cyann fighting, flanked on either side by members of H.U.M.A.N.E.. The glint of the River’s Serenity drew his notice like no other thing could.
Monson was not given any opportunity to ponder Cyann’s situation as seconds later, Brian Gatt slammed the yellow and blue forces together. A monsoon complete with rain, wind and thunder shot out from his hands, running straight and true at Christopher Baroty. Baroty frantically attempted to counter. A quickly scripted spell produced flames in the shape of a giant bird that collided violently with the wall of rain and wind. It had little effect, as the monsoon swept over Baroty and the remainder of his guard. The spell sped forward, taking with it all in its path until the whole lot ran headlong into a solid barrier of brick and concrete. The monsoon hammered against the visiting team bleachers, ripping apart everything it touched. Monson shrank back in the presence of truly awesome power, and when he heard the two-timbered voice speak to him he was almost afraid.
“Monson, this ends now. Come with me. It is time for you to say your goodbyes.”
Monson frowned. “My goodbyes? Why would I want to say goodbye to Baroty?”
“Not to Baroty, but to your grandfather. Make sure you witness his passing. One of his blood must do so.”
Monson did not understand what he meant—Baroty only looked like his grandfather—but he followed nonetheless. They searched briefly and found Baroty, with his blade nowhere to be seen, tattered and battered in the tempest-torn bleachers, but still alive.
He spat as they neared. “A combination original specialty spell? You’re no ordinary Magi. What is a First Class Paladin doing on this gods-forsaken planet?”
“The House of Artisay will always be where its duties take it.”
“Artisay? The House of Artisay? Impossible. There is no way the royal family of the Yogai would allow their children to pass from world to world.”
Baroty paused as Brian Gatt leveled his golden blade at his throat. “A lot has changed since you betrayed the Emporiume and the Magi, Bei-sai. We are proud members of the Yogai race as well as First Class Paladin Magi. We give our allegiance to our Order, our House, and our people. You have been deemed a threat because you are attempting to alter the balance of the worlds. We now pass judgment upon you for your crimes.”
Baroty adjusted his body, apparently trying to appear unfazed. His wheezing breath and slow movements negated his efforts. “You cannot kill me, Magi—your Order will not allow the killing of an unarmed superior, even if I have left the ranks. Only a member of the Inner Circle has the power to judge and kill me now that I am unarmed. You know this.”
Baroty went silent as the tip of the golden blade slipped a fraction closer to his throat. His eyes burned with anger and hatred. Brian Gatt’s dual-layered voice echoed softly. “Markinacaious and Briantimius Artisay: Bela dis sata no dispineo.”
Baroty’s face turned ashen, the color of death, as his trembling lips clearly repeated the foreign words. “Bela dis sata no dispineo.”
Monson whispered aloud, surprised when the words spilled out unbidden, “By this sign you shall know them.”
Baroty became angrier as he stared at Brian Gatt. “One of the Inner Circle, here on Earth posing as an ordinary human? The Order must be in true disarray. Or is it about the boy? You truly believe that you have found the Being of Seven Bloods? Is that why the Inner Circle has ventured out to do what they once thought was beneath them?”
“Much has changed, Bei-sai. Times of prophecy are coming to pass. We are merely here to assist. We do this, however, not as members of the Inner Circle but as children of Dais and Abus. The confiscation of another’s path is a grave crime, one that is not tolerated. We do not know how you gained this knowledge but”—Brian Gatt cocked his elbow—“you will not be given the chance to pass it on.”
“One step behind as usual, Magi. You do not live as long as I have without preparing for most eventualities.” Baroty’s smugness returned with a vengeance, right as the building started to shake. “You should not have used a specialty spell. The Midday Darkness reacts to strong magical power.”
Monson and Brian Gatt glanced over Baroty’s shoulder as the black tar-filled pit gushed a second time, sending globules the size of grapefruits into the air. The globules slowed only briefly as whatever invisible force had been impeding them struggled and then capitulated. The tar scattered about, landing on several commandos close to Baroty, Brian Gatt and Monson. Screams followed as the tar spread, covering and consuming whatever it touched, leaving nothing behind.
Brian Gatt gave Monson a sharp look, one that Monson took to say, “Leave now—no arguments.” Monson started to obey, but stopped when he saw Baroty’s hand moving quickly from its side. His fingers moved at a breakneck pace, the significance of which Monson realized too late.
“Brian, Mr. Gatt, Baroty is scripting a—”
The black pit erupted, the tar pushed up and out, and the earth shook and screamed violently as the substance moved. Many of the H.U.M.A.N.E. fighters and the commandos were splattered by the tar and were slowly eaten or dissolved. The screams echoed in Monson’s mind.
Distracted by the ongoing terror, Brian Gatt did not see the flicking fingers and fluid call of Christopher Baroty, nor the whipping silhouette of Baroty’s Breath of the Dragon. Only when the blade made contact with his legs did the Magi react. A pain-filled cry rang out as Baroty slashed his sword, the flame-covered weapon renting both clothes and flesh. Brian Gatt stepped back and only barely blocked a second blow from the now-standing Baroty.
Baroty’s blade struck again, this time slashing Brian Gatt across his chest. The cut did not appear deep, but nevertheless caused Brian Gatt to cry out in pain as his blade fell to his side. The tables were turned, and now Baroty held his blade aloft ready to strike.
“Let this be a message to your collective Magi. This world is mine.”
He grinned as the Breath of the Dragon glinted with savage delight. The sword smoldered as it gained speed, heading right for Brian Gatt’s jugular. Monson saw his eyes close.
“No!”
Baroty’s blade jerked to the side as a second blade, a second Breath of the Dragon, crashed into it and altered its path. Hot metal shaved past Brian Gatt’s face, the fire of the sword singeing his skin. Dripping with silver light, Monson Grey stepped cleanly in front of Brian Gatt, sword held at the ready.
“If you think you’re going to kill off someone else important to
me, you’re sadly mistaken.”
The grin of Christopher Baroty reattached itself, though his voice was still venomous. “I am growing tired of your interference, boy. Are you sure you should—”
Monson attacked, dashing forward and performing a perfectly executed Two-Step aimed directly at Baroty’s chest. Baroty parried the blow, stepping forward and spinning into Monson, causing him to retreat. A quickly scripted combat spell followed his sword attack as Baroty used an earth-splitting spell similar to the one he had attempted on Brian Gatt . Monson countered with an earth-shifting spell of his own, causing the ground to change into a moving sidewalk, and reversing the direction of Baroty’s fissure back at him. For a second time, the two exchanged blows.
“You’re a weaker swordsman than I thought,” yelled Monson as he committed to a score of blistering side and overhand blows.
“Silence, child!” spat Baroty. “I have been practicing blade work for hundreds of years. There is no way that you could—”
A sloppy counter overextended Baroty’s sword. He seemed to realize the mistake at once as he quickly shut his mouth and tried to recover. But he was not fast enough. Monson struck with the flat portion of his blade, hitting Baroty’s sword with all his might. Baroty’s Breath of the Dragon arced high overhead and landed far out of reach. Monson leveled his blade over Baroty’s heart.
“You lose,” said Monson. An additional explosion ripped through the air, scattering debris. Monson’s eyes flickered up to see a large hole in the Battlefield’s dome. Through the hole, many Dragoons, including Legon, slipped through, all diving on the remainder of Baroty’s forces. The Darkness was still oozing and streaming violently, but seemed content with the space it occupied, as it was not invading any more of the field. It was over. They had won.
“Going to kill me, Monson?” Baroty asked mockingly. “You honestly think you can kill me? Do not underestimate the difficult—”