The House of Grey- Volume 6

by Earl, Collin

  “Kill you?” Monson interrupted. “Who said anything about killing you?”

  Baroty’s eyes narrowed. Monson smiled sweetly. “I still have questions I want answered. I’m not going to kill you, but I will chop off your hands so you can’t script. That should solve my problem.”

  Monson could hear the undeniable sound of Dragoons letting loose their flames above him in an attempt to keep the Darkness at bay. Monson and Baroty continued to stare at one another until Baroty started to snigger, actually lowering his hands to hold his gut. He laughed long and hard.

  “You’re going to chop off my hands, are you?” he sneered, tears in his eyes. “Aren’t you the problem-solver, Mr. Grey?”

  Monson, about to reply, noticed Cyann, Casey and Artorius making their way towards him. He let out a sigh of relief. They were all right, though Cyann appeared to be injured. Seeing her battle-weary face, Monson was reminded of something that had been bothering him ever since this whole ordeal had begun.

  “I see why you’re here. I understand the machine, the bridge, and most of your other maniacal actions. But the one thing that continues to completely baffle me is the reason you were after Cyann and Kylie last night…and how you got Damion to work for you. What could you possibly want with them? Why go after them at all? Was everything related to your machine and trying to get me to use it? And why do you always call me the Son of the Great Betrayer? Did you know my parents?”

  Surprisingly, Baroty’s eyes bulged. “Last night? Damion? What are you talking about? Son of the Great Betrayer? The Great Betrayer had no—”

  A roar sounded; a roar like no other shook everything. Monson knew better, knew that he should not look. But the roar was too overwhelming. He looked back over his shoulder and almost dropped his blade.

  The ooze of Darkness floated in the air high above the pit, the ball not touching the field. Many yards in diameter, the ball hovered like wax in a Lava Lamp, slowly releasing the dregs of tar from its body. The roar sounded again, sending ripples across its black surface as it shivered with the vibrations. A line in the ooze appeared and split open as an uncanny dark light pierced the outer layer of darkness. Two huge, clawed hands gripped either side of the opening and peeled back the Darkness to reveal… a huge black-eyed gargoyle, its head the size of a car. The Dragoons of H.U.M.A.N.E. swooped down and covered the beast in flame. The beast gave them no notice, however, but rather turned its head and looked directly at Monson. It opened its mouth and spoke one terrifying word.

  “You.”

  Monson rounded on Baroty, fully intending to stick the man who had caused all this destruction. The heart of the Midday Darkness was upon them and there was nothing they could do about it. Monson was about to step forward. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage. He wanted Baroty to suffer for the doom he had brought upon them. He stopped when he saw the look on Baroty’s face. His expression…it was…shock. His skin was pale…colorless…clammy. A glint caught Monson’s eye, a glint that was nestled directly in the middle of Christopher Baroty’s chest. Strangely, Baroty’s expression was reminiscent of Molly’s—of Molly, right before she died. A horrible squelching noise sounded as Baroty stumbled forward. Monson on reflex caught him, only to nearly drop him. Warmth spread out over Monson’s hands.

  It was blood.

  A dark cackle forced Monson’s head up. Where Baroty once stood, Aaron Gibson laughed and wiped the edge of a Magi Blade.

  Monson’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. No words would come. Gibson cackled again as he bowed before Monson. “I greet you formally, Son of the Great Betrayer. Welcome to the end of this world.”

  Another roar sounded as the Heart of the Midday Darkness landed, shaking the entire domed structure to its core. The beast started its attack.

  Chapter 62 - Gibson

  Monson attempted to take in everything that was going on around him. On the one side was the massive beast that rampaged about, ravaging whole lines of H.U.M.A.N.E. members and commandos. On the other, Aaron Gibson was laughing maniacally while Christopher Baroty sat dying at Monson’s feet. All this as the beast’s attention constantly flickered back to where Monson was standing.

  Baroty’s arm began to radiate heat as light completely encased his arm. Monson recoiled as the bright strobe in front of him threw Gibson’s countenance into relief. Gibson grinned as he removed his combat glove.

  “It was you,” stated Monson matter-of-factly.

  Gibson chuckled once more. “It was I.”

  Monson’s eyes narrowed as his hands tensed on the blade. He gestured at where Baroty lay. “Why?”

  “Ahh. It is not why, Mr. Grey, but who. That is the question you should be asking. Who, because the who encompasses the why. Who is the very essence. only if you have the who can you understand the why.”

  Monson’s eyes narrowed until they were little more than slits. Word games…this man was playing word games. He tried not to get angry. “OK, then–who are you?”

  Gibson dropped the combat glove on the ground. “Who am I? I am the cause of this war. The instigator of Baroty Bridge and the man who has kept you alive. ”

  Monson gritted his teeth but attempted to remain calm. “You caused this war?”

  “Ahh, yes. it was I who manipulated Baroty, H.U.M.A.N.E. and your Magi guardians from the House of Artisay not to mention your female lawyer from the Clan Carabintha. It was all done by me. I caused this skirmish as a precursor to my master’s war, just as my master required it.

  “I must say, I did not plan for it all to go this well. Two of the Inner Circle will fall, destroyed in their foolish quest. The Heart of the Midday Darkness has been revived and is under my command to wreak havoc on this world and to make way for his coming. And foremost among my accomplishments, I found one of the Insightful thriving here on Earth, and in a time when we had almost given up hope of their continued existence. and let me not forget the absolute icing: the knowledge that his beloved has finally been found. I don’t know what it is you have done, boy, nor why they have all gathered around you, but you have my thanks nonetheless.”

  Monson had no idea what this crazed man was talking about. Insightful? Beloved? Who was this whack-a-doo?

  The Heart of the Midday Darkness roared, rendering Gibson’s next words barely audible. “Well, young hero, O Being of Seven Bloods, I bid you farewell. I suggest you leave before you are destroyed along with the rest of this valley.”

  Monson fidgeted uncomfortably, swearing he must have heard wrong. “You bid me farewell? That’s it? After all you’ve put me through you’re just going to walk away. What does that mean?”

  Gibson, his back already to Monson, glanced over his shoulder. “It means that there are still things for you to accomplish. your death will come, but at a time and place of my master’s choosing, when all requirements have been fulfilled—that reminds me.” Monson blinked, and in that time Gibson moved from at least a dozen feet away to right in front of him, so quickly that Monson barely had time to comprehend the movement. Gibson’s golden Magi Blade, which looked just like Brian Gatt’s, arced parallel to the ground up towards Monson’s chest. Monson took a step back, barely avoiding a killing blow. He countered with his Breath of the Dragon, but Gibson was already out of reach, a large piece of fabric from Monson’s shirt hanging from the tip of his glinting golden sword. Gibson reached into the pocket of the torn shirt to pull out Marques Grey’s shiny silver stone. He stared at the stone, running his fingers along the cracks and crumbling pieces. His face paled as the silver faded right before their eyes.

  Monson watched curiously, not only at the expression of Gibson but also at the stone? How did it break?

  Gibson stared at the stone, his expression now livid. “You’ve destroyed his Creation Stone.”

  “So it was a Creation Stone.” Monson took a step closer, his voice taking on a nonchalant, playful tone. “If I’d known it was a Creation Stone I would have sold it on eBay months ago. You magic people seem to go gaga over that stuf
f.”

  “Do you know what you’ve done, you impertinent brat?” barked Gibson, almost screaming. “He will not forgive this failure. I must contact him and inform him of this development.”

  Monson bit at his upper lip as he attempted to understand Gibson’s words. Aaron Gibson sounded very, very afraid, and his fear was evident in his expression as he looked around him. Monson’s gaze followed Gibson’s, taking in the whole of the destruction.

  Off in the distance Monson saw Casey, Artorius, Taris and Cyann fighting side by side with commandos, H.U.M.A.N.E. and the injured Brian Gatt. In the air, Legon and the other Dragoons of H.U.M.A.N.E. desperately fought to keep the Midday Darkness at bay. Again and again the fighting coalition attacked and countered the massive beast, but bit by bit the beast took down Dragoons, swept aside lines of commandos, drowned H.U.M.A.N.E. fighters in gallons of black ooze, and crushed others with blows from its claws.

  Monson’s gaze lingered a little too long as once again Gibson was upon him. Monson took a heavy kick to the side of his chest and flew several dozen feet, losing his sword and rolling many times until he finally came to a halt. His sudden loss of momentum brought a host of new sensations, most of which were painful. A burning in his side told him that the kick had probably broken a rib or two and maybe his collarbone. Meanwhile, through the haze of mist and heat, Aaron Gibson dodged in and out of crowds of fighting soldiers, cutting down any that stood in his way, including Baroty’s commandos. Monson felt his anger mount.

  He slowly rose to his feet and quickly sidestepped as a basketball-sized blob of tar slammed into where he had been standing. Still, Gibson kept weaving, his golden blade flashing scarlet every few feet.

  “Bring it, Gibson. let’s finish this—” Monson stopped as he suddenly noticed something. Aaron Gibson was not moving towards him but towards—

  “Cyann!” Monson called out.

  Monson ripped forward, calling upon the Breath of the Dragon with all of his might. This time, the blade heard his plea and answered his call, streaming through the air end over end and glowing with fiery brilliance. Monson darted among members of H.U.M.A.N.E., the commandos, hardly noticing that none of the Roman Legionnaires were moving, let alone fighting. Monson called out again, trying to make Cyann hear him, but it was no use; the sounds of battle were too overpowering. He needed to move faster. Monson once again called upon his Kei, hoping to mimic his speedy movement during his frantic chase of Christopher Baroty.

  As he sped up, he realized that this pursuit was riddled with obstacles, and he constantly had to change directions to dodge massive swipes from the gargantuan beast. Monson roared in frustration as a large hand slapped the ground, sending a bone-jarring tremor throughout the field. Ranks of fighters fell to the ground as the Heart of the Midday Darkness opened his massive maw and…laughed.

  Monson looked up into its eyes and for the first time recognized something he had yet to see in any of the other monsters thus far. This monster’s eyes were not those of an instinctual beast. no, this monster was…intelligent. Monson could see it.

  The Heart of the Midday Darkness grinned savagely and slashed at him with a giant clawed hand. Monson reacted quickly, rolling out of the demon’s way while he scripted a spell. Just as Monson completed the earthen spell and broad five-foot-tall spikes sprouted up from the ground, the monster struck. Black ooze spurted from the beast’s impaled hand.

  The Heart of the Midday Darkness let out a banshee wail that shook the soul. Monson assessed his next move: This thing was probably after him; it was time to get everyone out. He scripted another spell, calling out the phrases that would bring it to life and imbuing as much power as he possibly could into it.

  “Combat Spell One Hundred: Scorching Pathways!”

  Monson stomped the ground with all his might and bright orange flames rocketed across the field, walling off the pit of blackness from the commandos and H.U.M.A.N.E. fighters. Monson bellowed one single word in a magically magnified voice; a single word that he willed to be heard by every person there.

  “Retreat!”

  The reverberation of the call was distilled into a silver vapor, which curled upwards from Monson’s mouth and into the air.

  The reaction was slow, reluctant, maybe even forced. But almost every single person on the field pivoted and started to move as hesitation crumbled and better judgment flooded the reason of H.U.M.A.N.E. and the commandos. The men and women ran; they ran and did not look back.

  This call to safety did not appear to be to the beast’s liking. He sucked back a huge breath as if to vacuum up the lot of them. A strange gurgling drifted steadily down from the beast’s throat just as Monson realized, a second too late, what was about to happen.

  The monster let out a tidal wave of oozy tar, the bubbling substance undulating from mouth to ground. Upon impact, the ooze rippled up and out, picking up speed as it tsunamied after the fleeing fighters. Monson desperately tried to think of a suitable spell amid an impending sense of doom.

  A cracking noise followed a flash of bright yellow light. Monson looked skyward for the source of the radiance, which moved freely, floating on a cloud of fire. He shielded his eyes, fearing that if he looked too long, all clarity would be drawn from him. A voice blossomed in his ear, a voice that stirred some instinct deep within him.

  “Fear not, Beloved, for thou should not be wary of the gates of thy guardians. They and all that is righteous among their Order will protect thee with their lives.”

  Monson stopped all attempt at movement as his body once again started to pulse with silver light. He felt a familiar warm glow sweep from head to foot. a voice as sweet as sugar yet oddly seductive spoke within him. Monson felt suddenly alive, without weariness or pain. All fear left him, taking with it doubt concerning his past and anxiety about the future. the warm glow completely enveloped him as the voice purred to him once more.

  “Beloved,” sang the voice in utter delight yet with a hint of uncertainty. As it continued, it sounded more earnest and concerned.

  “Thy friends and teachers risk their own personal destruction for the sake of that which is most important. They fight for the sake of life on all the planes of reality. They fight for the very fabric of the future.”

  Monson stood amazed as the nimbus of silver grew stronger and power swelled from within him. He marveled at the energies that played up and down his skin. This power was like his own, but brighter, purer and more intense. it made his own silver Kei look a dull gray by comparison. regardless of the intensity of the Kei, the sensation was soft. it cradled him like a mother would a child.

  Monson breathed in heavily as an incredible smell filled his nose. A glint, a drapery of silver hair…silver eyes…a warmth of ages but also confusion…so much confusion…Monson’s heart started to beat wildly….

  Monson spoke aloud. “Who…who are you?”

  “Someone who would not see thee destroyed. Please flee, the Darkness cannot be stopped.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Monson took a step back, and then he took another. he shot an amazed look down at his feet. They were not listening to him! They were obeying this mysterious womanly voice. Monson paused as the thought pinged off the walls of his mind. A woman? Why was he hearing a woman’s voice?

  A scream pushed all thought out of his head.

  What was cloudy suddenly became visible. the silhouette of a giant flying bird flapped, hovering in midair, level with the Heart of the Midday Darkness. It had bright blue eyes and an illuminated red body covered in red and blue flames. It was lucky that Monson had no control over his extremities because if he had, he surely would have fallen to the ground in astonishment.

  Brian Gatt, covered in a thick shroud of Kei, stood on the back of the bird fifty feet in the air. But this was not the Brian Gatt that Monson had come to know in this short, desperate time. This Brian Gatt was glowing with the power of the noonday sun, forcing back the darkness with the mere presence of his light. Every part
of him seemed washed with liquid gold. his hands, arms and feet shone brightly, his hair glowed, and his face reflected rays of starlight.

  The release of kei was like no describable feeling. As if the very fiber of what made people happy was subject to manipulation by this man who was just a cut above everyone and everything else. Brian Gatt continued scripting spells, focusing on wind attacks. Raging blades of compacted air sliced against the body of the beast, which brought forth anger-filled roars. The Heart of the Midday Darkness reacted in the face of this new threat, lashing out with swipes of its claws and blasts of energy from its mouth. Monson gasped as bleachers were dashed to pieces. This was not looking good.

  Monson adjusted his gaze, searching for Casey, Artorius and the others, hoping that the actions of Brian Gatt and the Midday Darkness had not harmed them. Across the field Monson located Aaron Gibson fighting Cyann, Casey and Artorius. Not only was he fighting the three of them by himself, but he was handling them all quite well. Casey and Artorius, both lacking a Magi Blade, were at a distinct disadvantage. They were pulling out all the stops, however. Casey was fighting with the full extent of his flash fist abilities and Artorius was tossing any item he could get his hands on and displaying unnatural bouts of strength. Their contributions appeared to serve as little more than a distraction. Yet they obviously knew that their lives counted on the sword duel unfolding before them, and they fought on desperately.

  Gold and blue blades, the unnamed Magi Blade and the River’s Serenity, flashed again and again, the blades creating intricate patterns as Gibson and Cyann stepped to and fro. Cyann did amazingly well but appeared to be injured; her moves weren’t as precise or as crisp as usual. She continued to lose ground to Gibson. Monson tried again to move to them, but his legs refused to listen. He struggled with greater urgency. his friends were fighting for their lives and something was trying to force him to run away.

  ”Why are you doing this?” Monson spoke aloud, not having the presence of mind to speak in his head. “Why are you trying to get me to run?”