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The Dale was literally a cemetery: a pretentious one, but a cemetery nonetheless. Statues carved in different, but without a doubt, excellent stones were silently screaming of exaggerated vanity, unavoidable mortality and fear in the face of the inevitable end. The most ancient sculptures were the biggest: about twenty meters high and they have also suffered the most. Near the center, the monuments grew more modest in size, but the precious stones more than made up for that little concession. Like every human creation the statues needed deliberate, careful maintenance in order to be presentable. Yet, years had passed and the world had changed. The Lords had perished and their legacy, their memory had perished with them, leaving behind nothing but a dusty trail and sometimes headless, occasionally displaying missing limbs figures, badly beaten by elements and merciless time itself.
Charles was already waiting for him, perched on a stone, which looked like a fragment of the broken statue, partially covered in gravel. It was difficult to tell under the mounts of sand, but the bare pedestal behind him provided valid evidence. The Union ship, reconnaissance type, was mirroring the light right behind Charles' back, its silver shell casting the bright flecks into the observer's eyes.
He jumped from his seat when he saw Erik coming around the hill and quickly strode to him. Erik didn't have time to look at him properly before he was enveloped in a tight hug. He couldn't deny that living, calm warmth was spreading through his body at the contact. It made him believe for an instant that all these rough and ready days were worth it.
"I don't even know whether I can agree with you," smiled Charles, slightly moving back, but not far enough to let Erik's hand fall from his side. Upon closer inspection, there was a noticeable, large bruising forming on his forehead; and, furthermore, multiple scratches and a patch of raw skin decorated the left side of his face, but the pure joy was alive in his bright eyes. "Personally, I will abstain from cells and suppression collars for as long as possible. Besides, here, this wind positively hates me and I was constantly berating myself for not wearing the spacesuit while I've been waiting for you," added Charles earnestly and the corners of his mouth turned up again.
Erik huffed a laugh — he needed some humor here and there. He figured that Charles, in his eagerness, was not willing to allow Erik to speak, plucking his thoughts straight from his head. What was a point in conversing at all? The moment when it was still all right to take his hand back had passed, although Charles has lent him a nice excuse himself.
"I can imagine how weird it must sound to you, but will you let me stay close? Just a bit longer. I'm trying to convince myself that everything is real."
"Yes, of course."
"Um, Erik, I don't want to seem rude or ungrateful for what you did for me, but have you really forgotten about Sean?"
Erik cursed. He had absolutely forgotten about the brat, indeed. Presuming, that Charles' mild rebuke was nothing but an obligatory remark, bearing only the traces of light reprimand, he came to the conclusion that the brat was fine.
"Yes, he was with Alex and Armando, so Scott had no choice but to take him with them. He is safe."
"How come you know the knight?" asked Erik, a bit irritated, albeit completely irrationally, at the signs of such obvious familiarity.
"Scott used to be my student at Academia. Oh, not again. I am older than I look actually. As I have mentioned before, I have inherited some artificial genetic, yes, enhancement is not exactly my choice of word, but technically you are right. Where was I? Right, Summers brothers are from fine and honorary military clan, thus it was expected from Scott to earn the title so fast, taking into account his many talents and outstanding leadership skills."
Reluctant, Erik swallowed the next question, which was almost on the tip of his tongue and asked instead:
"How exactly did you get these?"
"You mean these scratches? Huh, that was a result of a diversionary tactic executed with minimal preparation, as far as I can judge," Charles' tone gained unusual dry and clinical quality. "Unfortunately, not without victims. Three of Scott's guards were injured. One died. Your servant, he pushed me down and covered me with his body right in time. Otherwise, I would have died as well, most likely."
And with that, Charles took two measured steps back. He nodded, soberly, to the hybrids covering behind Erik.
"Thank you for saving my life," and he bowed. Simply yet sophisticatedly conveying all things unsaid.
"What is going on in the Castle?" asked Erik after a moment of silence.
"Mayhem," sharply said Charles, turning to look in the direction of the former imperial residence. "Have you by chance disabled the sensing system, before you fled the Castle? Ah, I thought so. That's why nobody knows for sure what happened to you. They know about the vacuum bomb, which went off in your chambers, just after you have left, I assume."
"I suspected something like that."
Whoever planned this must have been in a wicked rush. Bad timing spoke volumes for itself. But what if they never intended to seriously hurt him or the ambassador in the first place? What if those two attacks were simple distractions, initially aimed to lull them into the forged sense of security.
"You must recall now, that your family used to be," Charles trailed off slowly and paused, pinched the bridge of his nose, "famous, or infamous for assassination attempts being arranged both by the royalty and to, well, get rid of the said royalty. The accident wouldn't have been so startling on its own, if Scott and, hence, the Union hadn't become tangled in this mess directly."
"That's quite a precedent," more weight has just pressed down on his shoulders. "Charles, I — "
"You are confused, I can fathom at least this," observed Charles with sadness. "You are feeling responsible for your homeland's fate. It's natural, you know." He guessed one thing out of two correctly. "Also, Erik, we are short on time. This ship is undetectable for sensors for the time being, but I strongly doubt that it's going to last."
"I have to say that you've got something right," the latent smile died on his lips before surfacing.
"I don't know everything, Erik. Once I claimed that I did, only that didn't end particularly well," replied Charles with a humorless laugh. "I told you before that I would respect your decision whatever it might be. You may say that's a hard lesson I have learned thanks to Max and —"
Perking up, Erik got ready to hear some piece of information, which would unveil the bits of his shambolic relationship with Charles in the past, though thinking of anything Eisenhardt has done or has been involved in like his, was by far the oddest.
"Master?"
Charles fell abruptly silent, interrupted by one of the hybrids.
"What do you want?" beyond a doubt, Erik's temper was this close to getting better of him.
"Someone is watching us, we think. We are not sure."
"Where are they?" he barked swiftly, turning around on his heels, motion rising a miniature whirlwind of sand. To Charles he quickly said:
"We are being watched! Can you —"
About this time, he heard some abnormal sizzling in the air. All of the sudden, the pressure increased tenfold: eardrums felt as if they would burst any second, all blood rushed to the head. And slowly, extremely slowly he watched through pained eyes as Charles' head tilted to the side and his body crumbled to the ground, while Erik made a desperate, but futile attempt to break his fall. His knees buckled under his own weight, which seemed unbearable right now.
Erik intercepted his fall by catching himself on the elbows. A simple action like that took everything he had, because his vision was swimming wildly, and his heart rate has apparently gone totally mad. Droplets of blood were dripping on white sand and he understood — that's me bleeding.
He wanted to call forth his powers, but could not focus, so he lashed out blindly at everything made of metal in the radius, — action born out of dread more than cool consideration. A groan left his lips and his vision has darkened around the edges. When his arms finally gave out he tried to twist his body so that he would fall on his side, but his muscles could be very well made of water for they were not obeying at all. On the sand, where his head now was lying on his clumsily bent arm, there was hardly an inch between his fingertips and Charles' bloodied face, yet he was not able to command his body anymore. So Erik was made to watch. And he watched and watched, submerging in the foul, cloggy well of despair, as Charles' blood was soaking into the sand until all his senses have gradually shut off. Eyesight being the last one.
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Everything hurt like hell.
Erik wanted to greet his teeth and clutch his pounding head in his hands at the same time. Or black out again. Yeah, he would certainly vote for blacking out again. A wave of strong nausea was rising up and down, at irregular intervals, acid was scorching his sore throat. Erik struggled to move and immediately affirmed that it was a mistake. The secret was in keeping his body immobile for now and not moving from the position he was currently in.
He opened his eyes a fraction and shut them tight that instant. Even the softest of light has burned oversensitive retinas and his eyes watered in response to stimulus. He spent the next couple of minutes trying to overcome pain and dizziness. Concentrate, repeated Erik to himself multiple times, free your mind. This is just your body reacting; you'll have to deal with it later. Eventually. He started counting the heart beats and at last, he reached that place he preferred to visit before falling asleep: the plane, where time flow obeyed no rules, where he was absolutely free. Erik fully enjoyed the brief moment of weightlessness and clarity before coaxing his consciousness back, into aching body.
This little exercise did the trick and helped him to dim the most insistent pains.
Erik sat up on the hard floor and looked around. His eyes fell on the familiar shape, crumbled on the floor by the only exit he could detect. The room was narrow, but long and Erik, propelled by hope, has immediately stumbled forward; his legs having been too weak and saying firm no to such urgency thus making him use the wall for support and as a result, upon reaching Charles, he collapsed to his knees with a relieved gasp.
He thought, he was ready for all that caked up blood and a thick layer of gore marring Charles' face and sticking to his hair, but the throbbing knot in his stomach still twisted brutally at the grim sight. Erik used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away the crusted blood from the other's lips and chin. Sand and dirt have joined together to make his task more difficult. Suddenly, nothing was more important than wiping Charles' face clean of vile blood.
What the heck am I doing — asked himself Erik after a while and laughed. Very loudly. Charles could be already dead, he didn't bother to check for any life signs and instead of doing it he is now obsessed with wiping his face. Stress surely did a number on him, pushing the pendulum of his dormant compulsivity into motion.
Erik willed himself to stop.
His following actions were measured and efficient: he checked the breathing and heartbeat, and frowned at the latter — too fast with bouts of unhealthy fluttering and such. Coming to the decision that Charles would rather choose being awake than unaware, he gently pressed on the tiny spot on the left side of his neck, the knowledge and skills alien to him, but familiar to Max were merging day by day.
Charles did better than he, either due to Erik's hands supporting him or he was too weak for any sort of excessive reaction. After a second try, he has managed to open his eyes and stare at Erik and darn but his eyes were expressive enough to say anything he wanted with a single glance.
"Listen to me, Charles. Don't try to speak or you'll get sick. I think, we've been attacked with a high pressure blast and you were standing closer to the epicenter, so you've got it hard."
"I almost," gasped Charles, and speaking palpably caused him pain, judging by his face, turning a curious shade of yellow.
"Don't try to speak. Hadn't I told you yet?" when Erik saw the collar around Charles' neck and it struck him. Slowly, he lifted his hand up and touched the cold metal on his own neck. Up till now, he, for some weird reason, hadn't felt it at all.
"My ears hurt," whispered Charles, carefully uttering words with chapped lips and wincing every time. "I almost can't hear you at all."
"I should have realized," Erik supplied his statement with a powerful curse.
"Erik, bracelet," Charles looked at him with agitation, clasped his hand with icy fingers and squeezed it very tightly. Erik was not sure what he meant, but his hand has circled Charles' wrist regardless: under his guidance he sneaked fingers underneath the sleeve of Charles' jacket and he felt for the metal bracelet. Erik has carefully traced the chains; he could not for the life of him understand what was so special about this piece of… And then, he smiled and unclasped it. The design was almost the same as the one Charles has used for demonstration before, but the heavier than average weight of metal and its absent heat-absorbing capacity hit upon an idea.
"Crush it," urged him Charles weakly. "Quickly."
Such as it was, the plea was not left unheard for Erik put the bracelet on the floor and stump on it with the heel of his boot, successfully turning it to dust, which, when he looked closer, started soaking through the floor in the most bizarre way. The nanotracker was going to send the signal to the knight, in this case Erik would be glad to welcome even him, — he just desperately hoped that the help would arrive in time.
By a fundamental law of some evil sort, at that moment, the only door to their compartment has opened and in came two androids, generic white figures without any markings, but armed with phasers. One pointed weapon at Erik and the mechanical voice asked him to follow the instructions. The first one was — go after the robot without any resistance.
Charles and he exchanged one last look, which didn't compensate for the great hardship, how far it had led them, momentarily reducing them to the powerless shades of men, but a situation like that, if shared, became a touch easier to tolerate.
And once again, Erik was escorted somewhere, onboard of huge ship, leaving Charles behind. Only now, no one was going to bow to him or offer their services, for he was obviously just a prisoner here. He has encountered no living soul, but drones and androids. The insides of the ship were painted in black, and the walls were scrubbed clean, shining even. Well, reasoned Erik with dark humor, — that certainly tells something about the owner or, well, nothing at all. The way was long enough that Erik has started questioning himself whether the androids got lost. He was sure they have turned here at least twice.
"Come in and wait," instructed him one android and Erik stepped in through the doors in the most opulent lair he's ever seen.
When he turned around to ask how long he was supposed to wait, the doors were already closed, leaving him one on one with the overload of red, violet and black velvet. The colours were dreamlike and surreal, especially comparing to the rest of the technical devices and mechanical servants; lord, but this room clashed greatly with his wildest anticipations.
The walls were draped with heavy curtains, revealing the holographic screens with moonlight scenery, and heavy tapestries dominating the walls added to the exaltation, working to make the space more phantasmagoric. If he were to come into this room under different circumstances, he would roll his eyes at the décor. Erik's heavy boots were literally mudding in the shag carpet the shade of blood. Darn, the thought nearly made him sick. He looked around, ignoring the set of gilded chairs around the marble table and went straight for the plush armchair next to one of the holographic windows.
On the way he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the tall mirror and cringed at the smears of dirt and dried blood on his face and not so clean maroon coat, which, after his adventures, took on quite a few stains. The strange thing was that his solar stone bracelets were still intact. It was only a mild consolation, in the light of all their misfortunes.
Erik settled himself in the chosen armchair and got ready to wait. Ill at ease, he waited for a standart hour by his estimation. No one came. He decided to entertain himself with watching the holographic scenery, but got bored pretty soon. In his head, he tried hard to recall all Eisenhardt's enemies and figure out the owner of the room. It would take a couple of days decided Erik sometime after the fortieth name. And those were only people he remembered. Then, he damned that task also and busied himself with looking for something that could be used as a weapon, cursing himself multiple times for not doing it sooner. Has a bit of pampered life and having supernatural powers gotten to him so fast? He felt, he was losing his basic survival skills. After he mentally counted the third hour, he has found a metal stem of the lamp — he had just broken down the latter, — which he deemed a sufficient weapon. He could always break a mirror and use the glass shards. In case he deals with a human, that is, the room itself offered many plain murder weapons.
After the forth hour, he discovered another hidden door and an hour later he laid aside all his tries to overcome the protection system.
So, they just needed to separate two of them — came to the sudden conclusion Erik when the stock of ideas has finally ran dry. It was the last one and it was horrendously marvelous in its simplicity. Elegant even. But why keep him in here?
The hidden door slid open and Erik braced himself, both internally relieved and anxious.
"Lord Eisenhardt, I apologize for delay. I got carried away with a new research subject," informed him the tall, dark haired man, who was wearing a red diamond upon his forehead.
Also, calling him lord was clearly a poor mockery.
"You can take your apology back," Erik scowled, because this imposing man invoked a conflicting feelings of disgust and fear in his counterpart and the combination didn't help to choose the proper tactic at all. "What do you want, Essex?"
"Mainly, your cooperation."
The vassal of the former Valkar Emperor House, Essex, having bought himself a baron title, when Erik's great grandfather decided to refill the budget in a roundabout way, was quietly sitting on his icy planet located on the outer reaches of Valkar system, and thus considered utterly ulterior, but, apparently he was fairing very well there. Basically, he should have died several times since then, but here he was, in all his velvet glory.
"Take off the collar and we shall speak," tried Erik as he took a step forward to the men.
"No," Essex smiled rather wickedly. "If I do it, this conversation will end up very soon due to your foul temper."
Sooner than you think — thought Erik darkly and stabbed the bastard in the chest with a metal stem, moving at top speed.
"But you never learn," drawled Essex and while Erik was struggling to catch his breath after a hard blow to the stomach, he didn't manage to block, Essex pulled the bloodied stem out with a snarl and the wound in his chest, it has just closed up, as if it was never there in the first place.
"I'm serious, Eisenhardt," he said, marching past Erik and not even sparing him a look. He sat in the armchair, opposite to the one, previously chosen by Erik and casually went on, "Meanwhile, I have a question. Why does Xavier insist on calling you Erik?"
"How do you —," Erik snapped his mouth shut as the shocking implications of the question shaped up.
"Take a sit."
Erik sat down on the edge of the seat.
"I wouldn't have asked if I knew for sure. But I want to trust you, so I will ask for the second time —"
"Someone has fiddled about in my head, implanting false memories, meaning false personality of course, but I got the real ones back with his help."
"This official version doesn't answer my question," said Essex and Erik felt a chill. The only person he has reluctantly told this half-truth was Mystique and she promised to fabricate the suitable lie explaining his long absence and possible memory gaps to the population. Charles also knew, naturally.
"That is the truth. The telepath says that the abrupt shift back is harmful, that's why," firmly insisted Erik.
"The truth as you've been told it," Essex added a pinch of disdain to his tone. "I thought better of you, Eisenhardt. So willing to believe the first mind-reader, who conveniently comes up with a suitable explanation? It's so unlike you. Correct me if I am wrong, but have you ever asked yourself a question — what if Xavier did it to you? He certainly had the motive, a noble one even, I'd wager, and the ability to do so. What if he tries to help you now because of the stings of remorse? You might have noticed that he is prone to such."
"Leave him out of this," got out Erik harshly, overcome by numbness on the inside.
"Why? Because you have feelings for him?"
He was reasonably afraid that he had paled: all blood, it seemed, had rushed south.
Essex looked at Erik with narrowed eyes.
"Do you realize that these feelings might not be real? Every impression, every single thought, every decision, every fantasy or idea may not belong to you. How does that sound?"
Erik was already so tensed up, everything he was told was striking close to home.
"You are a telepath yourself. You should know," there was a flicker of memory and he decided to use it.
"So what if I am?" he wasn't surprised that Erik knew his secret. "I actually quite admire Xavier's level of skill. For the record, it's only an intellectual fascination," smiled Essex. "I'm lucky to get someone from their line, all that curious genetic make-up is rather valuable, and such developed psionic gift is still a marvel even among majority of telepaths nowadays."
Erik was livid and shocked, but he spoke no word. And then he felt something, like a probing touch disturbing the veil covering his thoughts, which couldn't have passed unnoticed as he was ready for it.
"Don't even dream of getting into my head," he said levelly, putting up the walls, and noted with cold satisfaction the frown his words have caused.
"The rumors were not lying, you've been trained."
Essex hummed contemplatively.
"That means I need to bargain like in good old times. What motivation do you need to tell me where is your ancestral weapon? Torture? Humiliation? Or more power? Think about your prerogatives while you have some spare time. And think about your telepath, — in so far as I can tell, he has one of the major parts in the play. My androids will take you to your room. When I am done sorting the data, I will personally come to hear out your response."
When he was led back to his cell, Erik was temporarily in a state when he could neither see nor hear, all the way swirled like a blur in front of his eyes, as his mind got overwhelmed with realizations, lies, truths and fears. He could deny what he had heard, could try to push it back, to vaporize the sheer sprout of the idea. There was no use.
The doubt.
It was undeniably there.
But there was no one to answer his questions, because Charles was not in the room.
How convenient.
Suddenly, very tired, Erik sat on the floor and leaned on the wall. Finally the solitude came, yet he was not in the mood to mull over certain things. He was absentmindedly toying with a new memory fragment unknowingly provoked by Essex.
In this memory, he was looking at the Union Capital Planet, Creamenia, from the board of the cruiser: the deck under his feet was transparent, so it seemed as though he was wheeling on the orbit, floating in space over the green and blue sphere. His mother was talking to the hybrid guards to his left and her quiet voice was lost in the beeps and mechanical noise of the ship systems going through the final check point. Erik… Max watched her from the corner of his eye and immediately frowned when she caught his gaze.
"You shouldn't look so stern," she approached him, shushing the hybrids away. "Very likely the treaty has something to do with your morbid demeanor. Am I right?"
"As always."
She smiled heartily. The gemstone circlet in her styled up hair was gleaming in the artificial light of the deck. Then, she lapsed into an exceptionally solemn manner at once; her appropriate smile vanished without a trace as she touched his shoulder.
"That bad?" she sighed deeply and he understood, resigned, that she also needed words of reassurance.
His mother, who will soon be called and forever remembered as the Last Empress, also wanted to be relived of the intolerable burden of making a difficult choice.
"For the benefit of our people, that's why you are here today," it was sad, bitter truth and, he perceived, it sounded somewhat final coming from him.
"I'm so lucky to have you," she whispered, brushing the imaginary dust from his shoulders, and before he could get alarmed because of sudden sentimentality in front of the crew, she moved away.
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Erik didn't plan to fall asleep, but he found out that his chin has fallen upon his chest, as he blinked, startled by the noise of the sliding door. His previous resolution notwithstanding, he decided that he could try to trick Essex into believing him, agree to his demand and pretend that Erik was ready to discuss the issue of the weapon, he had no fair idea where to start looking for, and then he would dispose of his jailor given the first opportunity. It was not impossible to kill someone who regenerates so fast per se, it just requires some well-applied creativity Erik certainly didn't lack.
He was about to start the pre-prepared small speech, when the androids dragged in Charles, and, having dropped him to the floor, flat on his back, strolled out together.
He stood up and made his way quietly to the telepath. Closer, he heard a slight cough. Charles' hands were clasped protectively over his stomach and his eyes were pensively shut, though Erik could tell that he was conscious. A lot of things have changed in his appearance, for his grey uniform was gone and he had a perfectly white shirt and pants on. The bruising and scratches were also gone from his face.
"Charles, what's wrong with you?"
Erik faltered for an instant, but crouched next to him anyway and after a closer look found no visible damage, he grew more determined. Who was lying who didn't matter, the whole leap of faith could wait: the person in need of his assistance has helped him earlier, so he shouldn't hesitate to offer some aid.
He touched Charles' elbow, lightly, and that was a very wise move, because Charles had reacted with a full-body shudder, as forceful as a seizure. Afraid that he would hurt himself, Erik pressed his shoulders down with his hands and straddled his hips, using his weight to anchor the other to the floor.
"Calm down! Charles, calm down!"
Darn, he might not be able to hear my voice, realized Erik.
Charles thrashed wildly, arching his body up and pushing at Erik with frantic hands, he had even head-butted him once and Erik silently cursed — his jaw was going to be really sore. He has almost threw him off, when Erik, thinking it would be the best for all parties involved, grabbed his neck and, by all odds, found the right pressure points to clog the movement. Erik was secretly glad that he failed to commit an error. Had he pressed a little harder, Charles would have died. Now there was absolutely no doubt that he wouldn't spend a day without deep regret and anguish if he ever let that happen. Maybe, Essex was right about that part, after all.
The position they were in, after having being introduced to his possible infatuation, turned extremely awkward in every regard for Erik. Body lax and incapable of moving, Charles, however, was panting, gasping for breath, until Erik got the clue and promptly got off him and hence stopped crashing his chest.
Strands of curling hair got plastered to Charles' forehead, sleek with cold sweat. Erik has cruelly suppressed the instant impulse to reach out and push the hair out of his eyes — Charles would not welcome his touch at the moment. Looking into Charles' blue eyes, dimmed with soundless tears, Erik felt unendurable pain, his previous stern and solemn train of thought seemed greatly insignificant. With a face full of wonder, panic and complex, imperceptible inner life, which was therefore unknown to Erik, Charles was gazing at him and beyond him at the same time. It took agonizingly long for the recognition to dawn.
"Erik?"
Was his name uttered in Charles' shaky voice enough to re-enter the different world? The world where his life and precious yet false memories meant something, where the promises were made and kept.
"Yes," he said and leaned forward to trace his fingers down the fine arch of Charles' neck. Partly to undo the paralyzing state he put his friend into and partly because he wanted to.
"I can hear you better now," said Charles as he shifted, subtly putting a distance between Erik and himself.
Erik grimaced. A few minutes ago Charles was so obviously out of his right mind. He didn't hear anything then.
Charles looked about uneasily as if searching for something that wasn't there. Tremors were running up and down his body, but he nevertheless found enough strength and self-will to prop himself on the elbows and sit up, leaning against the wall.
Erik, meanwhile, was getting more and more conscious of all that has, in all likelihood, happened to Charles. It finally sank in. And he used to think he had some tough stuff to deal with. While he was spending time in Essex's chambers, Charles was…
"What has happened to you? What did he do?" uttered Erik, trying to suppress his urgency, which grew intensified by the seconds.
Charles stirred at the question and looked at him, and, for a brief moment, there was unchallengeable clarity in his eyes.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay," he nodded, telling himself that he was to blame for coarseness and bluntness.
"Thank you, Erik."
Despite of an appearance of what Erik considered malleability, Charles, Erik was sure, preferred to digest his sufferings alone. Erik was determined to not let it slide like that.
"But you are not alone, Charles. Why do you bind yourself to all bad stuff that happens to you, but every time insist on intruding into mine, for instance. You mean well, I know."
Charles threw him an alarmed glance. He was wearing the expression of a person that had started to expect the worst and found out something even more terrible.
"You can't really say it… Just like that. This is ridiculous," he muttered weakly with a bit of a quip. "I wish I could tell whether this is a dream or not. Probably, yes. And do you know, my dream friend, it is unfair. Why?"
"Why?" echoed Erik carefully.
Thus far, he was genuinely worried about Charles' mental equilibrium.
"I was looking for you after you disappeared, no, not after, later, much later. After I have sobered up," he snorted, as something in that line both saddened and amused him. "Mentally, I mean. Mostly. So I decided to find you as a sort of atonement, but mostly for myself. Atonement for myself. Oh, how I resented you, yet I missed you," Charles' voice dropped and rose again. "Good heavens, I missed you. And then this horrible war has started. We didn't part in the best of ways, so I thought if I could just see you one more time, if I could ask you to help us, just this once —"
That was not meant for him. Erik was all ears, but Charles' feverish monologue, as it was, was meant for a different person.
"Charles," he interrupted, hoping to struggle through the word flood.
"Ah, I want to wake up already," complained Charles and shuddered. "It is so disconcerting. I can still feel it, cutting in," he hugged himself again.
"What?" asked Erik, in spite of his previous shortcomings on this ground.
"How is it called, give me a moment," he hummed wearily, having exhausted himself to the great extent. "No, it's no use. I can't remember the name of this, this thing. I'm getting so forgetful lately…"
"It's enough," calmly said Erik, getting further confirmed in his decision to kill Essex. "You can wake up now, Charles. Just close your eyes and count, say, to forty two."
"Forty two?" Charles repeated incredulously, but complied and closed his eyes. "Hm, I like it. It's very precise. Like you. You have always been very precise."
Without scarcely any delay, Erik has repeated his maneuver from earlier and cradling Charles' head with one hand lowered his upper body onto the floor.
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"This is your reward," said Essex, motioning to the blue screen. "As you can see the Union is falling apart. In a grand scheme, Herlir is doing it by the book: intimidation, exhaustion, extermination, annihilation and subversion are, or, will be woven together. It is long overdue, as the system is rotting from the inside and its downfall was only a question of time."
The holographic map we was showing Erik, displayed the planet systems of the Union, already war-struck. Erik's quick calculations proved that Essex was basically correct, but in order to advance his understanding Erik needed more data. The first objective here was not the extermination of the enemy's fighting potential through decisive battles, like Erik's ancestors did in the past possessing superior war power, but Herlir rather concentrated on delivering the stinging blows, aiming at major trading centers, in order to sap the economic vitality. He remembered Diodor and this recollection led him to another issue. What kind of technology was that? He has neither read nor heard of such possibility before. The adversary must have used this technology for the first time then. Although, if it lets the battle ships jump through portals, thus appearing undetected and taking over by sheer surprise, why not use it to attack the Creamenia directly. He could only presume that is was either not perfected enough, or was limited to the certain distances.
"I see that got your attention."
Erik shot Essex a wry look.
"I'm delighted by the presentation but what has it to do with me? Namely, what do I get out of giving up the means of ultimate destruction?"
"You survive by siding with the potential winner," he said noncommittally. "Your native system is also severing its ties with the Union right now. It's only a beginning."
"That is as much as to tell me that someday, somehow I will get my native system back under control, which I can do even without the bunch of opportunists with no name and birthright."
"Nothing will stop these so-called opportunists," said Essex neutrally. "I'm beginning to be weary of fruitlessly arguing with you. I think you are wasting my time by dragging this on purpose."
"I am not," seethed Erik, playing the resentful and vindictive lord card to impart the perception of his emotional involvement. "I'd rather take charge of the military operations myself, to destroy them with my own hands."
"This can be arranged if you prove your credibility."
This later comment was unnecessary and Erik felt his hackles raising, potentially magnifying the building-up anger.
"You can stay in here as my guest," Essex turned to leave the velvet room as Erik has called it in his head.
Too soon.
"Drop this farce, Essex. I'm not your guest while I'm wearing this," he pointed to the collar and shook his head, scarcely stifling growing worries from surfacing up. "And I need to talk to the telepath."
"Haven't you had a chat a few hours ago?"
"He was not in the state for a chat. I had to knock him out."
"So?" bastard's pale face was showing the signs of dry amusement again. "I'll tell you what: he was physically fine, as far as I am concerned, and if you were not able to draw truth out of him, while I generously offered you a chance, that is not my business."
"I thought we have made a deal," hastily said Erik, as his mind reeled from the shock of hearing that.
"And I thought I would rather let him live for a while," cut him off Essex. "But, I presume,—"
Erik was not able to continue listening to it anymore. Instead of words, he's heard only white noise, he'd never truly felt his helplessness until that moment.
Essex sidestepped Erik's wild dash at him easily, and a hasty stumble back saved Erik from being knocked down to the floor. His body remembered the force of that blow, but this time, he had no intention to flee, Erik wanted to kill. There was hardly any height or weight difference between him and his opponent and Erik decided to use it to his own advantage. He would be a fool not to fight with everything he had and Erik realized it as he feinted and dodged a jab, and, then a swift blow to his side knocked him to his knees, he used the momentum to grab Essex and knock out his kneecup. He jumped to his feet that instant, confident that he could get an upper hand this time, and as he pivoted on one led and kicked Essex in the chest he heard a corresponding grunt and a crack.
But what would have killed or gravely wounded an ordinary human had left Essex only slightly winded. Theoretically speaking, he should be on the floor, coughing up blood from punctured lungs.
Launching at him again, with dangerous self-abandon, Erik targeted his head this time, but as his arm had been caught in a lock, Erik understood his mistake a fraction too late. He's got a powerful punch in the stomach and when Essex dragged his elbow up, keeping his torso immobile, Erik felt-heard a snap. His dislocated shoulder was burning, but Erik managed, through the flare of white pain, to strike back, landing a solid facer.
The pain throbbing in his stomach and shoulder was excruciating, Erik already tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.
Finish him off. Quickly.
Thus, Erik summoned his resolve, twisted his body to the side and got Essex into a head lock, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, now simply blinding. He groaned, tightening his hold on the man's neck and applying every ounce of strength he had.
When he heard a rewarding snap, his ears were already ringing and he distinctly felt a warm trickle down the corner of his lips. Erik swallowed a mouthful of blood and nearly coughed it all back, but knowing that he didn't have much time, he struggled to get to his feet faster, pushing the heavy body to the side.
His eyes fell on the tall mirror and Erik, urged by despair and determination, got a very bright idea. He grabbed one of the gilded chairs and threw it and the following singing of broken glass was the best music to his ears.
He bent to pick up the long shard, which looked like a curved blade, deeming it sufficient for the task he had in mind. The shard had instantly nicked his palm, but the pain was nothing in comparison with the dull throbbing in his stomach. Darn, that was bad.
A heavy hand pressed down on his aching shoulder and Erik flinched, tried to scramble away, but his head got slammed into the floor, hardly an inch away from bigger shards, threatening to gorge his eyes out. Still, he felt something sharp going through, tiny mirror fragments impaling themselves into his skin.
"It's over, Eisenhardt."
Essex was holding the glass shard, which he knocked away from Erik's hand against his neck, lightly pressing the edge, though enough to draw some blood. He pulled both Erik's arms up and twisted them painfully behind his back.
"I admit it was sort of entertaining for a moment," the disdain in his chiding tone has almost made Erik scream out in pain and frustration, even though it would mean losing the last bits of his dignity in front of this monster. He would never allow himself to fall that low. Never.
"You will pay for this. Especially if you touch Charles again," his voice was coming out too pathetically rasping to his liking.
If only the knight was not that slow on the uptake. Lord, let him get here in time to save Charles, at least.
"Well, I am not going to kill him in that case," Essex told Erik. "You will."
"What are you —," Erik had to bit on his tongue to keep in the groan.
There was no way. Absolutely no way he could, would do it.
"You will see. And after you kill Xavier you will tell me everything I want to know."
All the profanities ready to be spilled died, as soon as Erik took in the deadly adamant undertone. Stealing a look at the mess of mirror shards, lying on the ground, he saw the distorted, ugly image of that spiteful man reflected back at him and he could swear that there was a red glint in his eyes.
.
.
.
.