Well, I was going to be lazy and keep everyone waiting, but hell I wanna get out what's coming next as much as y'all want it! Had this playing in my head all last night before bed and this morning on my way to school.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The front door explodes in a mass of blue plasma. I can't hear anything over the ringing in my ears. I have my pistol at the ready. A Sanghelli rushes through the gaping hole in the wall, plasma rifle at the ready. He catches sight of me about the time I loose a full charge of plasma into his face.
He staggers back, clutching at the burning liquid. Plasma is lethal to humans, but to a Sanghelli's tough skin it is merely a discomfort. I've probably pissed him off more than anything.
Father dives for the fake board in the wall where he keeps his rifle. I take pot shots at anything coming through the hole to cover him.
My heart is beating hard and fast, and I still haven't recovered my hearing. I know it is temporary, but not having one of my senses has me panicking. I curse as I deplete the battery in my pistol. What now?
Damn, why don't I keep a knife on me like mother does?
That's it!
I throw the useless pistol at the door and flee for the kitchen. More Sanghelli are coming through the hole and father is doing his best to keep them back. I nearly choke up at leaving him, but I force myself to focus on the fact that he is a trained warrior who has been to war and will probably live longer than I will in this situation.
I am grabbed at the shoulder. Later I will cringe at the thought of doing such a female move, but now I have no qualms of mule kicking the offender's nuts.
The hand releases me and I fly over the table in the middle of the kitchen. I kick it over for cover and grab at the top drawer. I snatch it down and take cover as plasma starts flying. There goes mother's favorite red vase. She's gonna be so pissed.
I am definitely in shock.
Adrenaline and years of practice are all that force me to shove my hands in the drawer next to me and grab four of mother's kitchen knives by the blades.
Always be prepared. Mother loved to preach that, and she insisted that I learn how to fight with more than just a gun, for when I don't have a gun. Like right now.
I pop up from behind the overturned table and flick my wrists. My knives land on their targets. I am disappointed that none were fatal, but they did give me a few precious seconds to grab more knives and line up good shots. Two Sanghelli fall.
But now I am out of knives and I am too big to fit through the window, even if I could get the shutters unlocked and opened before I am killed.
A third Sanghelli, a Zealot no less, marches into the kitchen. He kicks the table out of his way and stands over me, an energy sword dripping red blood in his hand.
He raises the sword to kill me, and in the madness of my impending death, the only thing I can think is, "Father's blood is purple."
Something slams into the Zealot's side, and he is knocked into the oven. The clay crumbles to dust, but not before I hear one of his ribs break.
I see an energy sword flash and the Zealot's head falls from his shoulders. Trembling, I look up into my mother's face.
Father has told me of times when mother is consumed by a rage that leaves her shaking and bleeds the color from her eyes. I haven't seen it until this moment. Her odd green eyes are the palest grey, and the whites of her eyes are reddened as the blood vessels are strained in her fury.
"Get up!" she orders me, her pretty round face twisted into an ugly snarl. Blood oozes from two matching stab wounds in her shoulder. "Get his sword!"
She rushes from the kitchen, slamming into another Sanghelli as she does. He falls to the floor and she lifts her knee up to her chest. I watch in horror as she brings her foot down on his head, caving in his skull. Nausea overwhelms me and I hurl in the kitchen floor.
I wipe my mouth and yank the sword from the Zealot's fingers. It's still covered in mother's blood…
I force myself into the living room and engage another enemy. He uses his depleted plasma rifle to deflect the swings of the sword in my hand. I may not be swinging with the practiced ease my father does, but the wild swings still hold an edge of danger for him. Should even one of them land he is a goner.
I slice downwards over his head and he lifts his rifle to block. But the rifle has had too much already. It breaks under the impact of my sword and he is cut from throat to groin. Blood spurts onto me as the body drops to the floor.
I am knocked to the floor as the last attacker flees the house through the hole in the wall. He is wounded, blood pouring from a nasty slice on his shoulder.
"Oh no you don't." mother growls and punches out the fake floor near the door. She pulls out a rifle as long as she is tall.
She drops to the floor, legs crossed and elbows propped on her knees. She lays her cheek on the butt of the gun and sights down the scope.
No, he is too far, the wind is too much, he is moving too fast, there's no way she'll make that shot.
I watch in awe as mother exhales and pulls the trigger.
The Sanghelli drops.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Mother has ushered me and father to Mina's house for the rest of lockdown while she scours the village for any more intruders. I had wanted to protest, but father shook his head.
I pace Mina's sitting room, and shudder when I hear mother's rifle crack like lightning. I stop and stare at my hooves. A drop of blood drips from the hem of my pants and onto Mina's floor. I need to change out of these blood-soaked clothes, but I can't seem to do anything.
Hours later the horn sounds to lift lockdown.
Mother is at Mina's door afterward. Without a word she pulls me and father into a tight embrace and won't let us go. Red blood still drips from her shoulder, but she ignores it.
That night I lay on a pallet in the floor, secure in the fact that she is there keeping watch.