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Chapter 8 for you. See some more characters, new and old. A little action, if this is what you call action. Sorry if it's not written well. Next chapter we'll be moving along. It's time I start getting deep into the plot. But for now, Field of Play! Enjoy.
Disclaimer: If your name is Billy Bob Joe Bob Joe Bob Larry then I own this story. If not, tough luck.
8
Field of Play
When he woke up in the morning Gregor felt worse.
He rolled out of the bed, wondering through his massive headache how something so comfortable could give him such a bad case of morning cramps all up through his legs and into his back. Stretching painfully for his toes, he stumbled a few steps as his vision began to swim before his eyes.
Regaining his footing, he paused while his eyes inserted themselves into perspective. He squinted reflexively, expecting to have to ward off the day's dawning sunlight. After a few bewildered seconds he realized that he was a thousand feet under the ground, and stopped his squint.
Flexing his muscles awake, he leaned forward and down to reach for his shirt as he recalled Ripred's words from the night before. It took a bit of mental prodding, but finally he found the three simple commands he had been ordered to accomplish.
Get a bath.
Come back.
Wait.
Gregor groaned, reluctant to be inactive any longer. By his estimate, he had been asleep for somewhere around ten hours, which was nine and a half more than he had planned or wanted to sleep. Enough time was being wasted. They had to act. And sooner rather than later.
But he didn't have a plan. And so, pulling his sleeveless back over his aching chest, he left his room and went to find a shower.
Within two minutes, he found himself lost. His mind was on other, darker things than finding a bathroom, and unconsciously he found himself walking down corridors he had never even known existed before, not knowing where he was going or why he was going there.
Finally, when he had been meandering for longer than he cared to measure, a passing soldier asked, "Sir? Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"
Gregor visibly jumped, startled abruptly out of his reveries and memories. Recovering quickly, he quickly searched his mind for the real reason he had been wandering the halls of a palace, coming up with the answer after a pause. "Uh... yeah. I need a shower, or bath, or whatever. Do you know where I can get one?"
The soldier pointed off in the direction Gregor had just come from. He began to give a series of complex and random directions, and Gregor knew he wouldn't be able to remember any of it in a few seconds. Listening distantly until he gained the general direction, he stammered out, "Thanks," and began to walk back down the way he had come from.
For fifteen more minutes he looked for the showers, finally finding them with the help of three more citizens. Entering quickly, he observed the distant memory of an Underland shower, taking in the fountain-like distribution of water into the tub built into the floor.
Stripping fast, he walked down until he found one spewing warm water, and then jumped right in, basking in the heat and trying to forget everything for a short moment. His family. His mission. Everything except his happiest moments, moments so locked away in his mind he had to attack the barriers with a mental spade before he could access them again. Coincidentally, Gregor found that each and every one of his happiest moments contained Luxa, and so gave up on the attempt quickly.
When he climbed back from his pooling misery he found his old black clothes gone, replaced by an Underland version of the same, complete with tight gray pants and a soft white tunic. For a moment he observed them with distaste, but then told himself delaying himself was the last thing he wanted to do. Pulling on the clothes, he exited the bathroom and asked the nearest Regalian politely for directions back to his room.
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He had only stepped back into his room, finding a light and sturdy looking pair of boots ready for his use, when a harsh rasp came on the stone door behind him. Turning to answer it as he pulled on his new footwear, Gregor found one more friend waiting on the doorstep.
Howard looked older. He was twenty-one now, Gregor realized, but that wasn't what he meant. Whereas the young man should still be enjoying what he had left of his youth the Overlander could see that Howard was shouldering more weight than anyone should have to deal with in a lifetime. He was taller, still a few inches taller than Gregor, but to encompass for his size he looked like he had lost a considerable amount of weight, as Gregor could see the outline of ribs even beneath his outer white coat. His arms and legs still seemed healthily muscular, what his face was very thin. To his horror, Gregor found that he could see a few white hairs amongst Howard's brown head. And to say that the man had bags of fatigue under his eyes was an understatement. These looked liked freaking brick boxes.
Despite all of this, however, Howard still stood firmly in the door, and he wore the strongest of forced smiles upon his face.
Gregor couldn't think of anything to say. For a moment they just stood there regarding each other. Then, breaking a most uncomfortable silence, Gregor swallowed and croaked, "Howard."
"Gregor."
Both tones were bitter and sad, but neither were cruel or angry. Just tired, and horrified.
Another pause came and passed, but at the end the two finally just came together in a hug. It was wordless, mournful, just for the sake of human contact. Gregor doubted anyone could go through as much pain as he already had, he knew that Howard was one of the few that came close. And now, Gregor realized, since he couldn't do anything about getting her back, the best thing he could was face his agony.
But at least he didn't have to do it alone.
After a time they broke apart. Stepping back in invitation, Gregor took a few steps back into his room and Howard followed silently. Pushing the door shut behind them, Gregor asked roughly, "How've you been?"
Howard collapsed onto one of the chairs, leaning back instantly and closing his eyes. "Horribly busy. I thought it was a blessing when I got appointed as chief medical physician at twenty years. Now I see its true form. A bloody curse."
Gregor sat down on the sofa adjacent to his Underland friend. "Casualty list that bad, huh?"
"You haven't any idea. It seems that no matter whether we're at bloody war, or have bloody peace, there's always just one fool who gets himself critically injured no matter the situation. Enough about me, though. You hear one fact, you hear them all, so on to you. How has your life extended itself?"
"Hellishly," Gregor answered through unintentionally clenched teeth. "I'm not going into detail. It just didn't go my way. At all. I don't want to talk about it." He sighed reminiscently, but not in a good way. He had just recalled that Howard had not wanted Luxa and Gregor together, the only one, as far as he could tell, who had been completely against it. It didn't change his mindset over anything, of course. It was just another dismal fact to add to a collection of blame that he could put on no one but himself.
As if a lightning bolt up from Hell below, Howard came out of the blue and invaded directly onto the thought that Gregor wanted to leave eternally behind. "I never entirely disapproved, you know." His eyes never opened, he just spoke his words.
Heart stopping midbeat, Gregor wondered if he absolutely had to reply. Finally, realizing he did, and also realizing exactly what Howard was getting to but denying it, he choked out in what he hoped was a steady voice, "What do you mean?"
"You and her," came the reply, its speaker still refraining from opening his eyes. "It wasn't that I wouldn't have been happy to see you together. It was just that she was to be queen, and you were just an Overlander more or less passing through----"
A rasp came at the door.
Gregor leaped to his feet, praying thanks for the interrupting sanction, and rushing over to the door, eager to end that certain conversation as quickly as possible. Behind him, Howard stayed silent, neither pressing his speech nor turning to something else. For his silence, Gregor sent a silent speckle of gratitude in his psychic direction.
Lugging the door open, Gregor found Ripred standing on the threshold, gnawing heartily on a bone in impatience. When his fellow rager appeared around the door, the rat growled, "Right. Let's go. Training to do, boy."
"Thanks for getting to the point," Gregor said sarcastically as his mentor stared past him and into the room towards Howard.
"Glad to see you away from your patients, your supreme Medicalness," Ripred called into the young doctor, who responded with a harsh groan and a sideways wave of the hand.
"Same to you," Ripred responded vocally. "Pushy, these days, he is," the rat added to Gregor in an undertone. "His work is getting to him. Oh, well. We should be on our way. Things to do, items to prepare."
"What about Howard?" Gregor asked as Ripred began to make off down the corridor.
Over his furry shoulder, Ripred growled, "Oh, just leave him there. He needs his rest, and if they catch him anywhere else they'll put him right back to work. Look, he's already fallen asleep. I can smell it."
Sure enough, ducking his head back into the room, Gregor found Howard gently snoring his way into a dream. Shaking his head at the absurdity, the Overlander walked back into the room to retrieve his tools. He intended to pick up his gun, but just as he was reaching for it he suddenly decided against it. For a moment he didn't understand why, but then realized that he felt a source of uneasiness when he handled a gun, as if it wasn't the type of weapon that was made for him.
Shuddering at the strange thought, he retracted his hand and left the dangerous device in its place. Grabbing his overcoat his walked back out into the hall where Ripred waited patiently, closing the door softly behind him.
Ripred led him back down three flights of stairs before leveling out their path and leading them through a short labyrinth of corridors to a landing platform, empty like so many other areas of Regalia that Gregor had noticed of late.
Ripred made no pretense of annoyance at the empty floor, and so Gregor assumed that they were expecting a flier ride at any moment. Standing erect and gazing out over the fields of houses below, he asked, "What are we to do today?"
"Train," Ripred said, through his individual gnaws. "I need to assess your dormant abilities, so I can figure out how much weight you can handle yourself, and how much I'll have to cover your back tomorrow."
Ignoring the insulting jest, Gregor scanned the skies for their flight and asked, "Are we leaving tomorrow, then?" He wasn't surprised, or worried. In his mind, the sooner they went the better, as he had already made clear to himself many times over.
"If today goes well, yes."
"And what did the council decide for our plan?"
"That's confidential, as of yet." Ripred spat out a spot of grit and kept gnawing his teeth away. "Too open here. We can't trust anyone. I intend to fill you in on the outgoing flight, if that's all the same to you. Much safer that way."
Gregor nodded, no longer paying much attention. He was already moving on to the battlefield, where his skills were about to be tested. He began to wonder what kind of exercises and test Ripred would be putting him through, and worrying how many people would be in attendance to observe his 'exam'...
His thoughts were disturbed by great gusts of air as giant wings beat at the air, coming in sharply for a landing. Gregor held up an arm to shield himself, and when he lowered it to identify the two bats who had landed he groaned inwardly as he registered the first and then worsened it as he recognized the second.
"I greet you once again, Overlander!" boomed Equinox overzealously as he folded his wings inward to his body. "It pleases me that once more I can be of service to you."
Fighting to find a mix of words that didn't sound entirely happy while Ripred contained his ironic laughter, Gregor strained out, "I appreciate your service, great bat, and it gratifies me that you offer it so freely."
"Oh, believe me, it is I who is gratified to be able to offer it!"
Quickly, Ripred moved in to distract Equinox, striking up a random argument over flight capabilities in narrow tunnels. In doing so, he allowed Gregor escape, which he appreciated, but also forced him to acknowledge the second bat, which made the Overlander resent the interruption.
Swallowing, he walked over to the familiar golden bat and laid a soft hand against her fur, surprised but pleased when she didn't shrink away from his touch. Taking an uneasy breath, he said, "Hi, Aurora. It's been too long." The greeting sounded lame, but at least he avoided asking the question of 'how are you'. That would not have been pretty.
"Indeed, Overlander," Luxa's flier bond replied in a voice so stolidly rigid that Gregor wondered whether or not any emotion at all lurked behind the words. "It has been far, far too long."
On the last word, Gregor imagined that he heard an intense feeling emanating from the golden bat: blame. And it seemed to be channeled in a sharp direction, a direction that went straight into him.
She's blaming me, he realized after a short second of thought. She's putting this whole thing on me. Why? I didn't do anything to cause this. I was in the Overland all this time that Hell was breaking free.
But even as he thought these things, more aggressive ideas came to mind. You too are putting a fare amount of fault upon yourself. Why is that? It's because you have no one fair to blame, and so you choose to put the guilt upon someone you know will feel the shame of the situation: you.
Keeping his straight face, Gregor nodded again to Aurora before turning back to the others. It was evidently clear that neither of them were in the mood for extended conversation.
Ripred finished his distraction, ending on some note about broken wings amounting to little in the end. Turing to face Gregor and Aurora, he called, "Right, then. Equinox'll fly me to the arena. Boy, follow us on Aurora, with her permission, of course. Don't dawdle. We have much to do."
Without another word, he hopped quickly onto Equinox's, and the giant black bat spread his wings wide and leaped into the air, throwing great gusts of wind behind him as he steered himself out into the dark and towards the arena of training. And Gregor watched from behind, wanting nothing but to ignore Aurora behind him and walk there on foot.
Slowly, he turned to face the golden bat, who was already striding up beside him and lowering herself so that he could mount. Gregor couldn't help but think as he reluctantly climbed on that he was most likely the first person to ride her since Luxa. It only made his uneasiness grow.
The flight was silent. Aurora was not in a mood to talk, and Gregor was keeping his instincts on alert, honestly worried that his flier would buck him off at any moment. Not a word was spoken between them as the journey went, and neither of them did anything to disturb the rickety peace.
As they swerved through the last buildings on the outskirts of the city, the arena came into view.
Where great games and activities were usually found in progress, soldiers now stood in ranks and individually, running through drills and exercises with disciplined haste, going as fast as was possible while completing their goal with utmost accuracy. In one corner archers loosed arrow after arrow into targets one hundred yards downfield. In another, stormtroopers charged relentlessly into targets and facades, hacking nonchalantly as they raced through the midst. Far above the ground drills, bats twirled and twisted in fantastic flying performances, dodging and confronting each other in a fearsome dance of competition and training. The entire swirl of activity formed a storm of anger, determined to fight and determined to win. And watching it all, Gregor felt a deep pang of sadness somewhere near the place his heart had once laid.
At the eye of the storm, the very center of the field, stood Vikus, Mareth, Ripred, and an Underlander man Gregor had not seen before. Equinox had evidently joined the bats above already, anxious to leap into action.
Aurora reared in for a landing abruptly, forcing Gregor to leap gracefully but uneasily from her back, wondering whether or not the action had been intentional. He hit the ground rather hard, sending a jolt of shock through his knees and into his legs. He ignored the feeling and resisted the impulse to shoot the bat a dirty glare, standing to his height to address the party as she immediately took off again to join her fellows above.
At closer inspection, Gregor now saw something somewhat familiar in the man standing with his companions. He was brutishly tall, wearing one of the fiercest handlebar mustaches Gregor had ever seen and clothed in dark brown leather. His arms were bare, revealing rippling muscle coursing through his arm at any slight movement. The top of his head was bald, but Gregor suspected that it was shaved. At his side swung a giant broadsword, and on his belt he carried an array of throwing knives and devices. The appearance tugged at his memory, but Gregor couldn't quite place the man.
In the vice versa, though, this was not the case.
"Overlander!" the man boomed, clearing the distance between them in a single humongous stride and seizing Gregor's arm. His voice ricocheted off of everything it could reach, causing an uncomfortable ring and boom inside Gregor's ears. "It has been too long! I wish it could be under better circumstances that we meet again."
Despite himself, Gregor couldn't allow a glimpse of confusion enter his face. He feared it would offend the man, but, to surprise him in turn, the man simply nodded. "Ah, yes, no surprise you would not remember me. You had greater things on you mind when we were first acquainted."
"Gregor," Vikus said, moving forward into the conversation with short footsteps, offering a weak smile as he did so. "This is York, governor of The Fount. He has come to assist in the training of our soldiers."
"And hopefully to assist in retrieving my niece," York added. Gregor took a long look at the huge man and finally remembered. York had been in the battle with the gnawers when Gregor had escaped from the clutches of Solovet to join in the fighting out of fear for Luxa's life. The Overlander recalled the large man bellowing loudly as he swung fearsome weapons in all directions. He had liked the man, despite never having been truly introduced and being limited to that short experience.
"I'm afraid, my sir, that you will be able to do little in the latter matter," Ripred interrupted, joining the discussion from his observations. "Only the boy and I will be entering the Lair, and we all know that all chances say only one or none of us come back."
"Indeed, master rat," York exclaimed, "I know this is true. But I will hope to offer safe haven and defense for you upon your return with our queen. Rest assured, I will not fail here!"
"I'll hold you to that, friend," Ripred replied, scratching a shoulder with a clawed paw. "I can only hope that you defend this city against cutters with the same ferocity as you defend your own from lobsters…"
A silent grin appeared on both of their faces, passing an inside joke between them. Vikus smiled knowingly, but Gregor was left in the dark, and Mareth continued to watch his soldiers in their drills, occasionally shouting out corrections and criticisms as he saw mistakes in form.
Ripred finished his silent laughs and turned to face Gregor. "Alright, boy. Time to get to work. Do you have a sword on you?"
"What? No!" Gregor replied. "I don't have a sword anymore."
"Don't think I don't forget," Ripred growled, turning over to the general. "Oi! Mareth! Boy needs a sword!"
"W-what?" Mareth said distractedly, still focused upon his soldiers. "What sword? Whose boy? Brack! Watch your left flank!" He swore under his breath as his soldier Brack was knocked to the ground by an obstacle, still not paying attention to the other conversation.
"For pity's sake, general," Ripred said, rolling his giant rat eyes. "Your soldiers aren't going to keel over and die if you look away for a few seconds. Gregor needs a new sword. Go take him and find one. York will handle your troops."
Reluctantly, and after much more coercion, Gregor and Ripred managed to pry Mareth away from his troops. Still watching the fake battles and practice sessions around, Mareth led Gregor dodging through the mess towards a small quartermaster area to the far left of the arena. Gregor was already considering more ways he could ruin his situation, as he suddenly realized that the choice he was about to make on a sword could mean the difference of life and death for Luxa and he and Ripred just come tomorrow.
Stop worrying, he urged himself. It'll only make things worse.
Mareth entered the mess of shelves and swords, and Gregor followed close behind. In any way he looked he could see an array of weapons he had never even known existed in the Underland: maces, shields, double-bladed scepters, battleaxes, hammers, crossbows, daggers, lances…
Anywhere he looked a gruesome tapestry of death weaved itself into his mind, forcing him to concentrate as hard as he could on the ground in front of him, anger and nausea pouring as one into his soul. Images of destruction and decay from long ago recollections jumped back to him, and it took a good amount of control for him to suppress them.
Abruptly, Mareth pulled up and Gregor skidded to a halt. Beside them, a long rack of swords spread left and right, invitingly laid hilt-up. Any number of different varieties laid in the line, from broadsword to rapier to cavalier to curtana----his choices were practically endless. But even as he marveled at the number of selections he possessed, Gregor's subconscious rager sense started to pick up on the number of imperfections each blade contained, and noticed how each one differed irreparably from the close union he had felt from his old sword, the on he had broken on the floor of the council chamber, the one that had once belonged to Bartholomew of Sandwich…
But he couldn't dwell on that. Mareth stood back, not saying a word, letting Gregor have the floor and decision of choice. It was clear that he had any pick he wanted, no matter which one it was. The problem that he saw, however, was that none of them even came close to rivaling the feel of his old one.
Slowly, he paced up and down the line, once, twice, three times, surveying each sword individually and scrutinizing it for imperfections that would cost him later. On each and every blade, he discovered too many, and moved on the next, where he found an equal or great amount. As he reached his sixth lap of the rack, he began to wonder if he wouldn't be able to find a suitable sword…
And then he stopped.
Turning ever slowly back, he reached over and slowly removed a single weapon from its rack. It came easily from its hold, and its weight was perceptively light. The hilt was made of a dull metal and was colored crudely, but that meant nothing to Gregor. All he cared about was the blade.
And the blade was something to behold. Scratches from what looked to be decades of use covered it, but beneath these scars it still shone like new, reflecting every torch light and fire it could. In shape itself, the sword differed from its fellows around: instead of a straight blade ending in a sharp point, this one vegan to curve ever so gradually about one-third of the way up its edge, both ends meeting at a point at the end along the sharp arc. Testing it lightly in a swing, Gregor awed silently at the way it sliced cleanly and freely through the air, with little resistance at all. Bringing it to a halt at waist-level, he surveyed the weapon one last time for inconsistencies, just as found the name he had been looking for.
A scimitar.
A weapon of the desert. Strange, to find one here, thousands of feet under the ground upon which sat New York City. But that didn't matter. He had this strange sword, and he was going to utilize it.
Breaking from his reverie of the sword, he found Mareth standing beside him, holding out a sheath patiently. Taking the proffered item, Gregor slid the scimitar quickly into the sheath, finding it to fit perfectly. Silently, he belted both holder and weapon to his side, and then followed Mareth back out of the weapons area.
They found York keeping Ripred's word, bellowing out commands fiercer than Mareth had been, as Vikus and Ripred watched from below, speaking in quiet voices. On their approach, Ripred stood his full height and Vikus stepped back. York stepped away and Mareth once again resumed his yelling position.
Lounging over to Gregor, Ripred surveyed the sheath once and then sighed. "Well, let's see it, then."
Grudgingly, Gregor pulled the scimitar out, and held it by hilt and blade gently for Ripred to scrutinize. The giant rat didn't rush through his inspection. Every second moving passed, Gregor began to fear that his choice would be rejected, or that his mentor would simply break out laughing at his absurdity.
In the end, though, Ripred just moved back down to four paws and grunted, making a single comment as he turned away. "I expected worse."
Gregor jogged a few steps to catch up as the rat began to move away, sheathing the sword skillfully mid-step. "Where are we going to, now?"
"Trials."
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Twelve long hours later, Ripred had thrown Gregor threw every drill in the arena, from the agility practices to missile deflection into even a small bout of archery. Halfway through all of the practice and preparation Gregor had declared himself exhausted. Now he felt utterly lifeless.
But he didn't care. Because until, unless he got Luxa back, that was completely what he was. Without a life. Empty.
All but one squadron of soldiers had been dismissed, and all three of their other companions had left for the night as well. Gregor and Ripred were utterly alone on their side of the arena, and for now, Gregor believed that Ripred was going to work him to death. He wouldn't have been surprised.
Finally, though, Ripred scrutinized Gregor's heaving body and hummed for a moment in thought. Then he looked back out towards the palace in the distance and said, "I think you're as good as ready."
When nothing else was added, Gregor asked, "Does that mean we're finished?"
"Not quite." The rat began to move farther off towards the edge of the ring, and Gregor tiredly followed. "I have no question in your abilities any longer. I only want to see two more things, and how you react to them."
Belatedly, Gregor realized that the rat was leading him towards a set of three cannons, each arrayed in a circle and facing the common center of their own little arrangement. A few seconds later, it clicked into the Overlander's mind what the cannons were used for. "Blood balls?" he sighed incredulously as Ripred came to a halt beside the array. "You want me to swat bloodballs."
"Yes," Ripred replied simply, his face and tone expressionless.
Gregor stared confusedly and exasperatedly back. "Why? What the hell will this tell you about me?"
"I don't know," answered Ripred unhelpfully, but even beneath the deceptive reply Gregor caught a low tone that exulted nothing but truthfulness. "I don't know what I'll find out. But I want to know."
For a few moments, a silence stretched itself between them. Gregor took in heaving breaths, still trying to catch air from his last drill. Scrutinizing Ripred with a raised and skeptical eyebrow, he asked, "So you just want me to do it? Once?"
"Yes."
"And that's it?"
"Almost." Ripred crawled over to one of the cannons, and from the top of the barrel he took off a long piece of cloth. Lounging over to Gregor, he handed it to the Overlander. "Put this over yours eyes."
Gregor looked at the cloth, realizing what the rat wanted. "I'm going to do it blindfolded? Hit them by echo?"
Ripred nodded, his only answer short.
For a moment, Gregor hesitated. He could, of course, hit the balls by echo. It wouldn't be easy, but he didn't suspect any serious problem with it. It was just that the action seemed so simple that he suspected something deeper than what his rat friend was telling him. Silently, he considered every glitch, every fault in his task, looking for some catch that Ripred was testing him to identify. Soon, though, he discovered that he could find nothing deceptive or secretive in the action, and decided to trust the action simply for what it was: a test.
He raised the blindfold he his eyes, wrapping it tight with his callused fingers. Making sure that he could see nothing by waving his unseen hand in front of his eyes, he quickened and bulked up his breath, making a greater sound to rebound back to him and alert him of close presence. Once he was sure Ripred was not anywhere near him, he fluidly drew his scimitar and walked silently into the center of the cannons.
The last time he had done the Blood Ball exercise, it had actually been his first time, before he had discovered his rager abilities. Come to think of it, Gregor remembered that hitting the complete total of fifteen on the test had been the first indication of his genetic skill. But now, standing in the center of the circle between cannons, he remembered firsthand how it had felt, being blank and ferocious as he swatted each ball from the air, and the disgusted feelings he had felt as he saw the destruction below him afterwards.
"Are you ready?" Ripred asked, coming from the far left of Gregor.
Slowly, Gregor nodded, intensifying his breath.
And the cannons began to fire. As Gregor identified the location and quickly swiped through the first one two more had already been fired, and he realized that it would be much harder than he had first imagined. Unconsciously, he let the flow of his rager side begin to enter his movements, directing his strikes as the balls fired faster.
And then, before he knew it, he was done. Tilting his head down, he echoed sound, and found all fifteen balls in shells at his feet. It was a good performance, he knew. Except for the fact that he had absolutely no memory of striking the last ten down, meaning that his rager ability had completely taken over. But he didn't care anyway. He could feel the red liquid from within them splattered across his chest and face, and felt it slowly drip down his arms and hands. He recalled abruptly how he had run from the very same feelings on his first exercise, trying to escape the madness and destruction.
This time, Gregor felt the "blood", marveled at its sliminess, and stayed rooted to the spot, captivated by his disgust. Instead of running and gagging, he imagined the fierce smell of iron that should have been there, taking it in with great breaths of cruel imagination, facing it with every bit of contempt he held inside his shattered soul.
He slowed his breathing, calmed himself. With a shaking hand he raised his hand and pulled the blindfold from around his eyes, allowing him to see his handiwork by his own sight instead of sound.
He turned away from the gruesome sight, towards Ripred. He didn't expect praise for his performance, but what he saw in the rat's eyes surprised him farther. Fear, pity, worry, but none for the rat himself. All for him. Gregor.
Because, as a fellow rager, Ripred had realized that Gregor had lost control.
"You did well," the rat said aloud, speaking none of his inner turmoil, betraying none of it in his voice. Both knew what the other did, and both knew that it was a topic which could be discussed with no one but themselves.
Gregor shrugged, stepping out from the mess and joining Ripred next to the third cannon. With the blindfold, he wiped the fake blood from his scimitar and threw the rag onto the barrel of the giant gun. Instead of acknowledging the previous statement, he instead asked, "You said you had two more things for me to do. What is the second?"
"A spar," Ripred replied, turning to walk into open ground and accepting the change of conversation silently.
"Spar? With whom?"
"Me." The rat turned abruptly on his heel and leaped at Gregor. With not enough time for a parry, Gregor jumped to flatten himself on the ground, allowing the rat to soar wide right over him, before leaping once more into the air and taking a quick number of steps away to gain his bearings.
"That was quick," he shouted over his shoulder as he rounded to face his opponent. "But am I really facing you? Why not another soldier, with another sword."
"Cutters don't wield swords, boy," Ripred stated, feinting to Gregor's left and then striking quickly to his right hip, which the Overlander deflected easily. "And besides, I don't trust any of them to last long enough to give you a good workout."
The rat swung both paws at Gregor's knees, forcing him to use a double-handed block with his scimitar and then scurry away to reform. The action gave Ripred a chance to attack Gregor's back, and just by a last moment shrug did claws miss their target.
Leaping around to go on the offensive Gregor sent two quick strikes at Ripred's furry hide, one of which was deflected and the other simply dodged. Losing his body to the inertia of his attack, Gregor stumbled off-balance and was forced to jump uneasily over a quick claw as he regained his footing.
The fighting progressed, but as each rager took more hacks at the other Gregor started to feel his control sliding away, giving way to inhuman instincts and tendencies. He fought to regain mental composure, but every time he did so his focus on the fight was lost, and he was forced to block a quick strike and back off for thinking room.
Whether it was for control or victory Gregor fought, however, it soon became apparent that he was losing the battle. He stumbled to avert blows, and even as he stopped them a few more were already on their way. Ripred was swinging quicker and more accurately, forcing Gregor to do all he could just to keep himself from losing his head.
At a focal point, however, Gregor saw a claw swing around that he would not be able to stop, and at that moment his rager side broke through his concentration, flooding his thoughts and movements and taking over complete control of his mind. He was no longer fighting the battle, only a shallow watcher, a passenger on his own flight.
Distantly, he was aware of his arms swinging around to block the blow, forcing Ripred back in astonishment. Taking advantage of the distraction, he swung his sword quickly in easy motions, striking in places the rat barely had time to block. Gradually he realized that his raging was giving him an advantage, very slightly, which was beginning to grow larger and larger.
"Enough…"
Blow after blow rained down upon them both, sword and claws bouncing off each other and ricocheting around for another strike as fast as was possible. Strikes came at the same time, parried and repeated, each fighting for a desperate advantage that neither of them could have. Gregor, not controlling the slightest bit of the fight any longer, saw that his advantage was growing larger and larger, more and more dangerous, and that at any moment he might he able to----
"ENOUGH!!!"
Swung back to his senses, Gregor felt his scimitar ripped away from his hands, flying halfway after it, and landing in a heap upon the rough ground. Coming fully back to himself, he swirled back to a world of aches and pains that he had been oblivious to before. Lightly, he rolled onto his back to see what was happening.
Two feet away, his sword had buried itself into the ground to halfway up the blade. Standing over him, Ripred's eyes were bright and fierce, and his breath was coming in quick gasps. For a moment, Gregor feared a further action, but he then realized that Ripred was in the process of calming down, and so he didn't move to provoke anything else.
When some of the brightness had escaped them both, Gregor took a deep breath and let it out in a calming sigh. "Ripred, I'm… I'm sorry."
Ripred didn't reply for a moment, just stared down at him a few seconds longer. Then he took a step away and turned around. Softly, over his shoulder, he uttered, "It wasn't your fault." Nothing else was said, no more words for consideration.
They remained that way for a while, rat standing erect and human lying broken on the ground. After he had gained his breath, Gregor climbed to his feet. Walking over, he wrenched his sword out of the ground. Examining it, Gregor saw several new scratches covering the blade. Grimly running a finger along its extent, he slid the scimitar back into its sheath and turned to face his companion.
After a pause, Ripred said, "You are ready. We will return to the palace now."
"Must we plan anything more?" Gregor responded softly, keeping his gaze locked upon the ground at the rat's feet.
"No. Everything is planned. Everything is ready for tomorrow."
" 'anything I need to do?" Gregor asked.
Ripred shook his head in reply. "Just get rest, and be ready for tomorrow."
They stood in another silence for a long few moments. Then Ripred turned to him and said, "It wasn't your fault. Don't make it another barrier that we need to cross. We need you tomorrow. I need you. She needs you. We can't afford to have you distracted.
"Besides, against a legion of cutters we might need that very action out of you."
Saving Gregor from any reply, Equinox chose that very moment to drop out of the sky. "Shall I take you back, my lord?" he boomed in a voice much too optimistic for Gregor's low spirits.
"Yes." Ripred gave a simple reply, immediately climbing onto the bat and waiting for Gregor to follow. Slowly, the Overlander mounted as well, finally beginning to feel his fatigue wash into him as it hadn't before. He was barely conscious as the bat took off, and by the time they were back over the city on the way back to the palace he was already falling into a deep and troubled slumber.
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Another nightmare disturbed his dreams, and he awoke in the middle of the night feeling worse than before.
Surprisingly, the short amount of sleep had refreshed him beyond his fatigue of the day, even if it had caused his mind more turmoil than before. The aches in his back still remained, but his arms were no longer lead and h found that his mind was clear, if unhealthily depressed.
He turned his head to see Ripred, fast asleep on the couch and snoring annoyingly. The rat had insisted on staying there tonight to "make sure you get damn sleep, 'cause if you fall off your flier midway there tomorrow there'll be hell to pay". In a shorter term of words, Ripred was there to make sure Gregor didn't do what he was doing right now. Fitting.
Gregor climbed silently out of the bed, careful to avoid rustling any of the sheets or items upon the floor. He reached over and pulled on his overcoat for warmth in the cold Underland air, and went over to sit at the small desk he hadn't noticed at first glance in the room.
Resting his elbows against the hard surface, he threw his head into his hands, trying to rub away all doubt and fear and anger he was building up inside of himself at his task. It seemed utterly impossible to him, reality-wise, to assume coherently that he and Ripred would be able to rescue Luxa and return safely. The chances of that were despairingly small, he realized, which sent him into another chain of worrying thoughts and questions.
What if it's me that doesn't return?
What if she does but I don't?
What if I do but she doesn't?
There were so many things he had never said to so many people. So many things he had to say, had to let them know. And now, all of a sudden, he might never get the chance.
Grimly, Gregor turned to look over at Ripred, sleeping fitfully as if there were no problem at all in the world. He wondered what went on in the mind of the rat, to keep him so calm and tranquil in times as hectic and horrifying as these. He wondered how the rat had ever gotten over the death of his family, with so many things unsaid.
Gregor turned back to the desk, noticing parchment and a quill resting in the corner for the first time. He stared hard at them, wondering if they would suffice for what he had to say, had to give. Whether they could or not, it didn't matter. They had to suffice.
With a dark foreboding sense about him, Gregor reached for the parchment and started writing.
