by Ross Buzzell
“If you have young and impressionable children, we advise you to turn the channel now. We are coming to you live as a situation develops with one of the last strongholds of ISIS militants. It appears that U.S. and NATO forces have surrounded the city, cutting off their only chance of escape and severely depleting their supplies. They seem to be using the civilians as hostages to negotiate the release of the surrounded ISIS forces and as human shields to prevent allied forces from moving in and taking the city.”
Konner turns to the others remaining in the room. He lifts his hand to the TV as disbelief washes over him.
“Why are you not doing anything? These people need help!”
Doug shrugs, as does Danielle.
“Syria is two thousand miles away, Konner. There is nothing we could do, even if we wanted to,”
Doug states solemnly. Danielle continues:
“There are peace keepers there right now trying to figure out a way to put an end to that particular terrorist cell, but politics makes completing the job hard.”
Konner scoffs as he feels his heartbreak gradually be replaced with anger. How can they be so dismissive about their own people in pain? He has heard this word before, terrorist; they were out in his part of space as well. They would never negotiate, they would put innocents in danger, and the only way to deal with them is swiftly and without mercy, but never before has he seen a group threaten their own people. An idea forms in the back of Konner’s mind, probably not a good one, but one nonetheless. Technically these are still his people, and as their prince, it is his duty to protect them. Konner takes a few steps back away from the TV, which begins to flicker, as do the lights in the house.
“You may be able to just stand there and do nothing, but I am still the High Prince and I have to protect my people!”
Konner looks down at his bracer, glyphs, something he did not have to do but by placing in visual coordinates, he will be able to jump to a precise point rather than a general area. His family crest begins to glow on the bracer. Doug stands up and begins to back pedal from Konner. Danielle moves forward.
“Konner Lorian, what are you doing?!”
she demands. With a wave of his hand, Konner opens a portal. Through it is a vision of the city from above, a circle of men holding people at gunpoint.
“I am protecting my people.”
“You can’t do this; you’ll cause an international incident!”
Danielle yells, but it is too late. Konner has already flung himself through the wormhole. The temperature increases greatly as he passes through the other side in comparison to the location of the planet he was just in. The hot air pushes his hair back as he falls towards the center of the circle. The portal closes behind him and the prince begins to charge up a blue light aura around him. Falling fast but processing the field of battle even faster, he calculates the precise location of each civilian and locks on to them. As he dives, he begins to pick up speed. He feels as if his body is pushing itself forward as he hurries to reach the ground. Just as he gets close to the ground, Konner spins and lands on his feet, rapidly dropping to one knee and slamming his fist into the dirt, which shakes the ground around him. The blue aura pulses from him, and in the blink of an eye, it travels through the dirt and surrounds the hostages. One of the members of the group attempts to shoot, but the bullet bounces off and into the ground, harming no one. He begins to yell in a strange language, one Konner has never heard before as each of the dozen men turn and point their weapons at Konner.
“Translating.”
His bracer beeps.
“Translation complete.”
As they yell at him, he begins to hear their words translated in his head.
“Who are you!”
“Get on the ground!”
“Infidel, kill him!”
Konner slowly puts his hands up; the blue highlights of his armor pulsate slightly as he does, acting as a translator for him; as the hostages are slowly floated towards the command tent of the allied forces on a nearby ridge before releasing them safely to the ones originally there to save them.
“What you are doing is not right! You are putting your own people…your own flesh and blood, in danger to serve a selfish purpose! I will give you one chance to lay down your weapons of war and surrender to the authorities of this world or you will be dealt with accordingly.”
His voice is low, almost with a growl as very few things could enrage the prince more than putting one’s own people at risk intentionally for no good reason. His tunnel vision keeps him focused on the men before him. He feels a barrel of a weapon push against the back of his head, which shatters the tunnel vision, but it is too late. A loud “BANG” followed by a large force slamming into the back of his skull causes Konner’s head to snap forward. He hardly feels the impact, but the momentum translates all the same.
The men begin to yell. Konner activates the shield on his left arm and it sparks to life. The static difference between the shield and the sand causes some of the closer pieces to be drawn to it like a balloon to a wall. With his right hand, Konner grasps the barrel of the primitive weapon, and with a powerful pull, yanks the holder towards him before knocking him to the ground, unconscious, with his elbow. The enraged prince turns to the others. He throws the weapon in his hand as hard as he can at a nearby brick wall with such force, the gun embeds itself into the wall. The hot air reminds him of the day cycle in the colosseum back home, but never has he encountered so much sand before, which seems to be attracted to his shield through some hidden static force.
“This is your last chance… drop your weapons and surrender,”
he growls. They do not comply and the eleven remaining lift their weapons and open fire. Konner puts his shield up to protect himself and three of the men shooting at him who are not moving are hit by the ricochets of their own bullets, falling to the sand and staining it with their crimson blood.
“I do not want to kill you!”
Konner yells over the gunfire, wanting to give them every chance.
“Please do not make me!”
A bullet skims over the top of his shield and hits Konner in the forehead. The momentum causes his head to snap back, but the bullet falls to the ground, having bent on impact. The prince runs his fingers over the impact spot; not even a scratch. Konner retracts the shield and overclocks his senses, forcing everything to slow down. Large metallic cylinders with a point fly slowly at him. Leaning to one side, he dodges a few before leaping and spinning through the air to avoid the obstacles, which are clearly no real threat to him but not wishing for redirecting fire to risk harming an innocent. Konner lands in front of one of the soldiers, who has an expression of shock as Konner must seem to appear before him.
The prince slams his hand into the gun, sending it flying from the soldier’s hands and bending it like a paper clip before planting an open palm squarely in the chest of his opponent, which sends him sliding across the sand.
“Eight left,”
He mutters to himself as he turns and sees two hiding behind the cover of a broken brick wall. They hold their weapons up and fire at Konner; most of them miss, but the ones that do make contact simply bounce off of his superior armor. Konner concentrates the blue light of Boron’s day sun into his hand, focusing the energy into a ball as the highlights in his armor flare again. His senses heightened, he can hear the heartbeats of the rest of the insurgents; they are terrified, but they are not speaking of surrender, only of bringing death to the prince.
Konner throws the sphere of blue light as hard as he can at the cover, causing it to explode, sending the other two into the sand. Tilting his head, Konner listens for their heartbeats. They are still going.
“Six to go.”
A soft “thud” causes the prince to look down as a circular metallic device rolls to his feet. It then quickly explodes. Konner throws his hands up, protecting his face, but his body absorbs the heat from the blast, preventing him from being moved a single inch as the shrapnel
falls to the ground like leaves. This draws Konner’s eyesight to three men in a scattered patter; the furthest one away has a rather large weapon and fires a rocket at Konner. With reflexes faster than the eye can see, Konner catches the rocket. His cockiness takes over as he wishes to intimidate his attackers, not thinking about the eyes of the world that are on him. Konner slams his head into the rocket, which detonates but leaves the prince unscathed.
“WILL YOU SURRENDER NOW?!”
Konner screams, only to be answered by a hail of gunfire. He throws up yet another shield. The whistling of the ammunition as it buzzes by his head fills the air as the loud “THUD” of each round slams into the sand behind the prince. He looks up through a cloud of sand that is being drawn to his hard light shield as he calls out over the rain of fire,
“DO NOT MAKE ME DO THIS!”
To his right, Konner sees the last three setting up to catch him in a cross fire. They are not going to stop until they are forced to; it is what terrorists do. Konner throws the shield forward, blasting the sand at the three before him. Shoving off of the ground, he skims the ground so fast that the sand is blasted out away from him in all directions. The three before him begin to slow down again as Konner speeds up. He passes the first soldier and barely taps his shoulder. The second, Konner hardly skims his leg, and the third, he comes to such a rapid stop that the concussive blast of the air and sand alone force him to drop to the ground unconscious and bleeding from his ears.
Konner hears screaming come from behind him. He turns, not registering that he is not touching the ground but instead hovering just a few inches from it. The man whose shoulder he touched is on the ground with his arm contorted in a way that could only be described as shattered. The other sits on the ground holding his leg, which is bent in the center of his shin that is turned off to the side. The last three aim their weapons at him. Leaning forward, Konner soars at the three; swiping past them, he grabs their weapons, holding them off to his right side, all in one hand. Tightening his grip, the metal that constitutes the weapons bends and shatters like malleable glass before dropping their shattered pieces to the ground before looking up at the men and women watching him with binoculars from a distance. Konner puts a finger in the air and makes a circular motion.
“They are all yours!”
He yells, opening a wormhole into Emma’s house before dropping back into her living room, bringing sand in with him. Konner falls through the ceiling and lands on the ground in the living room. Konner looks up to see the three humans he left standing staring in shock at him. Doug has changed into some ill-fitting clothing and Emma wears a skintight white suit with sky blue highlights that covers her with only a window on her upper chest and boots on her feet.
“That was really cool!”
Doug calls out. Emma takes a step forward. Gently, she hooks Konner’s elbow with hers, helping him to his feet.
“Are you okay? You look like you took a few good hits,”
She asks. Her voice is filled with concern, just like Bara’Helor’s would have been. Konner runs his fingers through his hair, feeling where the first round struck, not even a scratch.
“I am fine; it was more momentum than anything.”
Danielle stands with her arms folded, anger in her face as she shakes her head.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?”
“I was saving lives, Emissary, as you know full well is my oath.”
“You were not; you massacred them!”
Konner shakes his head as he rubs sand from his hair, causing it to rain down over his armor and onto the floor.
“The only ones that died were killed by their own bullets. None were by my hand and they are terrorists. I do not negotiate with them.”
Danielle walks over to the sliding door, opening it to the balcony and nods for Konner to follow her. He sighs as a slight sense of dread fills his gut. Even across the galaxy, he is about to get scolded by an Emissary. Begrudgingly, he obliges and begins to follow before glancing back at Emma.
“Nice suit.”
Chapter: 8
Disa’ani
The fiery sunset ignites the arch, causing the metal to change colors as it reflects the setting star. The hot, humid air that once filled the city has cooled as the day comes to an end. A slight breeze rushes up the side of the apartment building and over the balcony, whose view is the arch, the river, and the trees on the far bank. The cold metal of a deck chair presses against the back of Natalie’s legs as she sits, leaned back with one of her feet planted on the seat of the chair. She balances a book with a black cover on her knee and Konner’s cape is draped around her shoulders to keep her warm. A pencil in hand, she gradually drags the graphite along the snow white paper while her hair dances in the wind. The cape stayed put, even in the face of airflow, and it kept her at a comfortable temperature, almost as if it could sense when she gets cold or hot and adjusts accordingly.
She puts the final touches on her sketch and sets the pencil down on the matching table. Pausing for a moment, she looks at the drawing; it is an exact re-creation of the impact Konner made in the bar to a realistic level. While most girls write in journals or make videos for the internet to keep their thoughts in place, Natalie draws. It is not something she advertises or tries to show others. Like the diaries of others, her images are just for her. Each thoughtfully placed line is like a word, each section of shading, a sentence, and when the entire image is complete, it is an entry that is seared into her mind, never to be forgotten. Reaching out, she grabs a mug on the table and takes a sip. This time, it is a hot green tea instead of coffee. Placing the mug down, she keeps her eyes on Konner, gently running her fingers over the image of the man that saved her.
“Who are you? Why me?”
she whispers, searching her picture as if it held some hidden message she has not yet discovered. After a moment of silence and adoring her own work, Natalie closes the book. She lets her gaze fall on the city, which is set ablaze by the falling sun, while, on the far side of the sky, the first stars begin to twinkle, teasing their inevitable rise as the ball of fire disappears over the horizon. Natalie stands, grabbing her pencil and mug. The cape drapes itself over her shoulders as she turns to the glass sliding door that leads into the apartment.
Entering, she closes the door behind her, the exposed brick on the load bearing walls holds old black and white photos her aunt took on her travels with barriers of sheetrock cutting off visibility to the bedroom. A few boxes are stacked against the walls, but there is still a couch a TV and an internet router. She tosses the book onto the grey couch as she walks over to the half-wall of the kitchen. Instead of just taking a few steps to the side and one step up to enter the kitchen, she leans over the half wall to place her mug in the sink. A flash of blue light flickers under the door. Natalie glances over at it but pays it no mind. Some of the lights in the hallway are old and flickering; it was probably just one of them going out. Grabbing the cape, she pulls the edges around her further. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath. Something about it makes her feel completely safe, like nothing can hurt her.
BAM BAM BAM. Three loud and powerful knocks break the silence, causing Natalie to jump. She has not ordered anything, so why would there be a knock on the door? Perhaps it is someone from the front office bringing her information about the building or news relayed by her aunt. Natalie walks over, and with a quick flip of her fingers, the lock clicks to its “unlock” placement. Her fingers lightly grasp the metal knob and she begins to turn it. Before the knob even clicks, the door shudders violently as the door jamb splinters, which causes the door to burst open. A flash of blue light flares before Natalie and she is thrown backward, not violently, but as if something gently slid her from harm.
Natalie hits the floor. Strangely, the impact does not hurt, and she slides to a stop. She looks up at the source of the violent interaction to see a tall man standing in the doorway. His blue eyes seem to pierce her soul as he glares at her fro
m behind the slits of the black helmet with yellow highlights as bright as the locks of hair that peek out from the piece of armor. The slits meet in the center and form a “T,” leaving part of his mouth exposed and it is there where a sadistic smile forms on his lips. A dark desire fills his eyes, which causes Natalie to scoot away from him on the wooden floor and clumsily climb to her feet, and that is when she notices the spears. Three long black spears, one in each hand, that stand almost as tall as the intruder. There is something familiar about his armor—the build, the texture, and even the highlights—while it was a different color in similar patterns, it is reminiscent of the man who crashed into the bar.
Natalie backs up, not in fear, although terror grips her tightly, but with strategy because against the wall behind her leans a baseball bat. If the two truly are from the same place, the bat would likely do nothing, but she is not about to go down without a fight. The man enters the apartment and the third spear on his back floats off of him and hovers over his shoulder as if ready to be thrown. Natalie’s fingers find the handle of the bat as she has one hand behind her back. Gradually, she coils her fingers around the rubber handle as she wonders if this was the same bat she used in high school softball.