Chapter 1: Aftermath
[Four I - Numero Cinco]
AS THE PIKEN FLIES backwards, scraping against the hard brick walls of the alley, Sam stumbles. "W-w-what?" He utters, breathless.
"Sam!" I yell, as the Piken looming to its feet once again, a gaping hole on its chest but otherwise unaffected. Its hideous black appendages grabs onto another fire escape and wrestles it towards itself, the screech booming down the brick walls.
He doesn't even think. He acts on impulse; Sam pushes forward again, thrusting into the air in front of him. And the Piken stumbles.
I almost laugh. "How… How are you doing this?!"
"I don't know!" He answers in awe, making a sweeping motion that trashes the Piken into a dumpster. It rattles on its wheels but stays in place, dumping the top most bags onto the creature's head. I don't understand. This is Sam, right? Setrakus Ra isn't here with me? No, he can't; we broke his obsidian staff…
This is Sam. So why does it look like he has a Legacy?
The Piken flies up into the air, landing somewhere on a rooftop. Sam seems to have… almost… thrown it? A spray of gunfire from behind wakes me up from my trance. "Mr. Smith! We need to go!" It's the young police officer from earlier- the one who knew my name.
Right. We're in a battle. Whatever happened to Sam… we can figure it out later.
"Smith!" The Agent says again, and I turn to look. "What should we do?" My now fifty-ish followers break from combat for a split second to look up at me. Where should we go? Well, where would a leader go? Somewhere where there's backup, obviously. I wonder where Nine and Five went.
"Agent! What's your name?" I bark to the officer who's been talking with me.
"Beck Alliser," He mutters a reply. "Smith, what are we doing?"
"Alright Alliser, I need to know. Are any places still holding them off?"
He shrugs. "How should I know?"
I keep thinking. Where would be safe? Then I remember. "Do you think the police station is still holding out?"
He scowls up at me. "I don't know. I would suppose so. It's in the opposite direction, though."
"Well, that's our play. Right, Sam?"
He's still staring at his hands in awe, pretty much ignoring my every word, I grab him by the arm and pull him along. "We'll figure it out," I whisper to him for a split second.
"Yeah, we will," is all he can muster. And with that, we charge back out of our alley. There's fire everywhere; noise everywhere, piercing wails from all directions. I keep up a brisk jog, heading off the front of our rag-tag army.
Five and Nine. I can't just leave them to kill each other, can I?
No new scars, right? They must be getting along perfectly. No, who I am kidding? They might have blown each other to near death. As long as they don't die, though, I can help. Wherever they are. I'm imagining a protracted battle somewhere around Ra's stage. I don't like imagining it, but I do it all the same.
I see Five's dented metal skull and missing teeth, I see Nine looking the same. It'd help if I could find them. But... Do I even want to heal Five?
I'll figure it out later.
Two skimmers turn the corner at the end of the road and charge us, like a joust. They don't know what they're getting into. I push Sam back subconsciously and step forward, lighting my hands. They ignite and I let the fire lick up my arms- it's almost a comforting feeling, like hugging yourself. I pitch two fireballs, one for each ship, in their direction. They never stood a chance anyway. They burst into flames and explode, shattering like broken glass and raining their burning contents onto the ground below.
"With me!" I scream back at my followers, and charge down the street. A contingency of Mogs rounds the corner and I gleefully spring over to them, almost teleporting, socking the first right in the nose, almost through his head, and he burst away and turns to wisps. The others- I count five more- try to level their guns, but they don't get the chance. I shove all of their hands down- all ten of them- and send them flying backwards into the side of a building.
"Come on!" I bellow down the street. No one approaches. "Come ON!"
Two burning tars rip their way across the road - from me. I tear a building apart, lighting it up and blowing up a gas line with a well-aimed meteor. Where are they? "Finish what you started!"
Sektrakus Ra- the one who started all this- is hiding in his ship high above, the one that's still firing far in the distance, to the south somewhere. I just wish that I could fly to get him.
Calm down," Sam comforts me. "It's… alright."
"It's not alright! Can't you see? Their invasion's happened!" I tug my hair, almost ripping out a portion of it. How can I know who's safe? The Garde are all safe, for now- I'm certain. But what about Malcolm and our stronghold in Ashwood? What about Sarah and Mark, hidden away in the Deep South?
And Five and Nine, ripping each other apart somewhere deep inside the city... That scares me the most. Now, of all times, we can't afford to lose another Garde. And we might just lose two.
Just then, another squad of Mogadorians comes barreling around the corner at us. Just what I needed. I close the gap between us in seconds, pulling the same move that I pulled on the Mogs a few seconds ago. I hear the pops from far away that signifies my squadron opening fire, but I don't care. As I crash into the first Mog, I swing his broken head into another causing them both to flare up and turn to ash.
I fling fireballs at one side of the group, while the other half gets pecked to death by gunfire. That's right. Take it.
When they all fall, I look back to my squadron and give them a slight nod before running forwards again, into the fray. All around me, wreckage lays. There's disembodied steel girders lying broken in the streets. There, tangled between the noise of the fire and the explosions, I hear the screams.
So many screams.
I can't save them all.
I just can't. Not now, not today.
That's when I see some kind of black, almost obsidian-looking tank turning the corner far in the distance. It maneuvers into a firing position while I gawk, and fires a single shot. The missile sails over our heads and explodes into the side of a Mog skimmer.
The UN. Of course it's the UN.
Glass flies out all around, hailing down upon us. I take shelter underneath an overhang and my army follows my lead, ducking and hiding their heads from the bombardment.
Not here, not today.
"Alliser!" I holler across to wherever he's hiding in the rabble. He shoves his way across to me.
"Yes, Smith?" He's more alert than he was. I wonder why. Maybe the tank. Probably the tank.
"Where's the NYPD? We need to retreat to there," I let out a breath. "For now. And tell the UN to retreat too."
He nods solemnly. "Yes sir. Right away, sir."
Not today.