A/N: Disclaimer in Chapter One. I actually lost my journal with my mostly-finished first draft of this chapter in it for about a week, so I'm fairly happy that it turned out decently anyway. At least, I think it has. Sorry (again) for the long wait- you guys must think I'm a pathological liar when I keep saying this, but I will get the next chapter out sooner. I promise. Anyway, here's chapter 13. Enjoy.
Six:
I roll instinctively to the side, avoiding the brunt of the explosion, but the force of it still sends me skidding against the ground painfully. As I get up and survey the room, I realize not only that we've been ambushed, but also just how good of an ambush this was. The man who let us in- whoever he is- slammed the door we came in through, and it won't budge. The only other doors out of the room are on the far side, and packs of Mogs are charging into the room through them. I realize after a second that it's even worse than that, though. Every single one of the Mogs bears armour with a symbol emblazoned on it- every single one of them is an Elite. We're also indoors, which means that weather manipulation will be useless, although most Elites would just shrug it off easily anyways. Crayton reacts quickly, whipping out an assault rifle, drops to one knee and starts firing- a couple Elites go down, but most of them just shrug off the bullets. It's only now that I realize my biggest weakness. With only two Legacies plus telekinesis to draw on, I can be neutralized quite easily in the wrong circumstances. Nine takes action, jumping up onto the ceiling, holding a pair of swords and starting to exchange blows with the Mogs while upside down- they're so disoriented that he hacks through a dozen or so before they realize where he is. I turn to look at Eight, who shrugs, looking about as useless as I feel. We stand beside Crayton, fighting hand to hand with the Elites, while trying to keep out of Crayton's line of fire, but there are too many of them. Crayton's gun clicks, having run out of ammo. Rather than reload it, he grabs another one from his back (just how many does he carry with him?) and continues firing, but at the rate he's using ammo he's going to run out soon. I look around the room anxiously, trying to find something to use as a weapon. I detach the chandelier from the ceiling out of desperation- it crushes a few of the Elites, but it won't be enough. Finally I find something useful- a fireplace burning discreetly on the opposite side of the room. I focus on the flame, pulling it to me from across the room. A streak of fire erupts between me and it, incinerating any Elites with the poor fortune to be in the way. I look up- Nine's still on the ceiling, so the coast is clear. I gather the flame around me in a circle, my skin glowing orange but not burning- and then thrust it outward in a wide arc. This time it covers most of the room, but it's much thinner. Rather than incinerating the Mogs instantly, it sets them ablaze, the flames jumping eagerly from one to the next. They leave piles of ash behind them, coating the floor. Eight gawks at me, a look of awe on her face. I turn to glare at her and she looks away, obviously still annoyed at me.
I look away too, turning to survey the carnage the flames left behind in the room. The floor is covered with a layer of ash several inches deep, and the walls have been scorched from the heat, but the room itself was otherwise unaffected. The Mogs on the other hand… there aren't any left in the middle of the room, where the flames were thickest, but as I look at the corners more closely…
It's an entire squadron of them. Elites, the tips of their swords glowing orange, prepared to channel the energy of the fire I tried to use against them. They have a different symbol, a 'V', than the lightning channeling Elites I encountered back in West Virginia. I make a mental note of this- if I know which Elites are immune to which Legacies, I'll know if I can safely attack them.
It should have occurred to me that with this many Elites in the room, a bunch of them were bound to be able to channel fire. I was desperate, though, and I didn't think about the consequences.
Suddenly I hear a soft thump beside me. Nine has dropped from the ceiling, landing right next to me.
"What now?" he asks in a business-like tone, sheathing his swords and pulling a long metal staff from his belt.
"I have no clue," I say honestly. "Do you think you'd be able to take them like you did the others?"
I feel bad asking him to do this all by himself, but since I'm out of tricks and Eight wasn't that helpful in the first place we don't have a choice. I look over again at the Elites. For some reason they haven't attacked us yet, but have merely stayed clumped together in that corner. Maybe they're disoriented, since they weren't expecting one of us to be stupid enough to use Legacies against them. Maybe they know we're powerless against them, and are just waiting for reinforcements to make their victory certain. Either way, we're running out of time.
Nine grips the pole tightly in its middle, like a quarterstaff, and turns away from me to face the horde.
"All by myself?" he asks, frustrated.
"They're fire-immune and we're indoors, Nine. There's nothing I can do."
"I can try," he says, surprisingly calmly. "I'll probably burn if I do, but I know I will if I don't."
With that he launches himself towards them, using the pole like a pole-vaulter would, landing on the far side of them. He lashes out at the closest Elites, catching them by surprise and knocking a couple of the down momentarily before the others converge on him. He only escapes because of his superhuman speed.
He returns, sleeves singed from where he was nearly sliced by their fiery swords.
"Too many," he says, breathing heavily, leaning on the pole for support. "It's hopeless- we don't stand a chance."
What's wrong with him? Out of all of us, he always seemed to be the most aggressive, the one who had the most bloodthirst and lust for their deaths. If he thinks it's hopeless… as much as I hate to admit it he's probably right.
We have more immediate problems, though. Seemingly spurred by Nine's attack, the Elites form a turtle-shell formation in the middle of the room. The front pair let flame consume their entire bodies, forming a fiery barrier between them and us. The others start launching tongues of flame from their swords towards us. The first few miss, burning scorch marks into the marble floor, but it won't take long for their aim to improve.
When the first flame comes close to me I try to push it away with my mind. To my surprise, it works. I didn't know that telekinesis worked on fire, but I'm sure not going to complain.
"Use your telekinesis to push the flames away!" I yell to Eight and Nine, who are running frantically around the room trying to avoid getting hit.
We again stand near Crayton, who has reloaded his gun and is firing into the wall of fire. The bullets don't do much damage though- the intense heat melts them into shapeless lumps of lead that fly off erratically into walls.
Meanwhile the three of us do our best to prevent the streaks of fire the Elites are launching from killing us. I seem to be having more success than the others, perhaps because fire is one of the elements and I feel an affinity to it. Both Eight and Nine look fatigued, though, and flames start to come closer and closer to hitting them before being deflected.
Thankfully, I don't feel fatigue. My confidence grows, and I start to help Eight and Nine deflect the bolts that are headed for them. Despite my success, however, it isn't long before I start to feel the same despair that Nine did earlier. There's no way we can keep this up. Crayton' s bullets have only felled a single Elite so far, and the others' assault is relentless. A fresh wave of hopelessness washes over me suddenly and I lose my focus momentarily, allowing a fiery lance to hit Crayton's shoulder. He cries out in pain, dropping to the ground clutching his sizzling shoulder. I quickly step over him, pulling water from the air and using it to douse him. The skin on his shoulder is a raw, pulsing red, and while he is able to get up, he'll need medical attention soon or else he'll get an infection. If only Marina were here and not back in the truck with John and Sam.
Crayton gets up slowly, and resumes firing while we try to cover him. Thankfully Eight and Nine redoubled their efforts and managed to protect the four of us while I was helping Crayton, but now their fatigue shows more than ever.
I just get back up and start to deflect flames again when I hear a resounding thud. Eight has collapsed to the ground out of exhaustion, and she doesn't look like she'll be getting up any time soon. Nine and me walk closer together to try to fill the gap, but there are just too many of them and too few of us.
Suddenly there's a crash from behind me. My first thought is that Nine has gone down as well, but when I turn to look he's still standing. I look over my shoulder quickly, still keeping up my telekinesis, and see that the door we came in through has shattered, sending wood splinters flying everywhere. Thankfully the Elites are just as surprised as we are, as they stop attacking us in shock. Walking through the doorframe, flames flickering from his hands is John, followed by Sam, who's carrying a ridiculously large gun that looks way too heavy for him to lift, and then a sleek-skinned, bipedal furry creature with needle-sharp claws that must be Bernie Kosar.
"Idiots," Crayton mutters quietly from his position on the ground. The Elites resume their assault, and I'm so stunned by John's appearance that I don't think to do anything. John simply holds up his glowing hand and all of the fire in the room flares out instantly. Bernie Kosar growls when he sees the fire, and morphs into a scaly lizard-like creature with massive teeth. He then charges the Elites as Sam starts to unload his gun into them, aiming carefully so to avoid Bernie. The Elites glow with flames again, but Bernie's scales must be fireproof, because they don't seem to affect him. He bites off an Elite's hand, snarling viciously, but then the Elites turn their swords on him, and he has to retreat quickly. Sam's bullets prove to be just as useless as Crayton's were, but all of my attention is on John. The Elites launch another salvo of flames, which he dissipates as easily as the first.
As great as it is that John and Sam showed up to save our lives, we still seem to be at an impasse. John's only Legacy that could harm the Elites is his laser-like Lumen, but they are immune to fire. So long as those runes on their armour glow, I can't see how we can win this battle.
John steps forward in front of Sam, his blue eyes glowing, rather unnervingly, bright orange. He points at the nearest Elite- a streak of fire travels from the Elite's armour to the tip of John's finger, causing him to glow a faint orange. He repeats the process, pointing at Elite after Elite, draining them of whatever Loric energy they had possessed. He now glows a blinding orange that makes it hurt to look directly at him. The Elites, on the other hand, no longer have fiery swords or launch bolts of fire.
I turn to look at Nine, who now has a predatory grin on his face. He draws his swords, leaping into the air and landing on the ceiling. He charges towards the power-drained Elites, hacking and slashing his way through them like it's what he was born to do. Of course, I suppose it was.
Sam's bullets find their marks more effectively, and between him, Nine and Bernie they take down most of the Elites easily.
John finally joins the fray, having shaped the flames surrounding his body into a long fiery whip and a shimmering circular shield. He lashes the whip out into the middle of the battle, not caring whether he hits friend or foe. It turns out he didn't have to worry, as the whip slices fiery lines straight through the Elites while leaving Sam untouched despite it seeming to hit him. One of the Elites makes the mistake of charging at John, sword slicing through the air. John sidesteps swiftly and shield-bashes the Elite in the head- flames from the shield catch, and the Elite burns rapidly, becoming yet another pile of ash.
It's clear now that this is a battle we're going to win- the Elites seem to think so as well, as the few of them left alive suddenly turn and run towards the doors they came in through. John simply stamps his foot on the ground, causing pale blue flames to form in front of the doors. The Elites don't even notice them until they turn, like their brethren, to ash.
All of the Elites gone, John lets the flames die away, walking back towards the rest of us. Sam follows wearily behind him, letting the gun drag against the floor, and Bernie Kosar pads along behind him, in the shape of a dog once more.
"You know you shouldn't have come, right?" Crayton says reproachfully.
"I thought it was the right thing to do," John replies calmly, "and so did Sam, so we came. Marina and Ella are still in the truck- they've probably driven away by now, actually, so we didn't endanger anybody but ourselves. It was our choice to make."
"Don't get me wrong," Crayton says, holding up his hands defensively, "you saved our lives, so I'm not going to complain. But in the future, remember that at least one of us needs to live through this to activate the bomb. If one of us goes down, we can still beat Setråkus Ra. In the future, we can't take the risk that all of us get killed at the same time."
"I understand," John says, but I don't believe him. What Crayton said makes sense, but I don't think John will recognize that- he would feel responsible if one of us were to die, even if it weren't his fault. It's like what happened to Sam- if Nine hadn't stopped him, John probably would have charged right back into the Mog base and gotten himself killed.
"On the bright side," Crayton says cheerfully, "you found your Master Legacy. You're a Firemaster. I think you've pretty much figured out what that means."
John nods again, allowing droplets of flame to spark on the tips of his fingers.
I'm about to suggest that we get going when I feel that sense of despair again. It's stronger now than it was before, and it starts to overwhelm me. It feels different, though. Not despair, so much, but terror. The others seem to feel it too- Eight takes a step backwards cautiously, and even Nine seems uncertain.
The door on the other side of the room springs open. I activate my invisibility reflexively, and to my surprise notice that even though I can sense the increasing levels of terror in the room, they don't have any effect on me. The newcomer is a short, hooded figure, who I immediately recognize as Deimos. When I focus I can feel the waves of terror flowing from him, which confirms my suspicion. The terror spikes suddenly, causing the others to recoil, moving away from him. I pick up a sword from the floor and creep slowly towards Deimos, hoping I can kill him before the others go crazy from the terror he is forcing on them. Hopefully he can be killed. When I start to get close to him, his terror breaks through whatever protection being invisible grants me, and I find myself running away from him. I really, really hate feeling useless. Out of frustration more than anything else I chuck a pair of fireballs at John, who's been forced to his knees by the oppressive emotion. They become visible as soon as they leave my hand, so I move quickly so it's not obvious to Deimos where I'm standing. The fireballs slam into John's arm, and spread to cover his body with a thin layer of flame. He shakes his head groggily, as if waking from a trance. I throw another pair, and then another, and before long flames are dancing from his entire body excitedly. John stands up, splaying his fingers and shooting bolts of fire all over the room. Wherever the fire makes contact with the ash from the dead Elites a fiery bird- a phoenix- rises and swoops to attack Deimos. Sam suddenly snaps out of his trance, hefting a pair of swords and charging towards Deimos as well. John then turns and sprints with Sam towards him, lashing out with his recently re-formed whip. Deimos sidesteps neatly and points directly at John, launching a crackling red beam of lightning at him. It passes right through John's shield, hitting him squarely in the chest. For the tiniest fraction of the second a look of shock appears on John's face before he crumples to the ground.
It takes all I have to suppress a shriek of horror, but I force myself not to. There's noth- there's no- I can't help him! I have to be strong. That's who I am, right? Out of John, Sam and me, I've always been the tough one. Because I've had to be. Because I'd have been killed if I wasn't. I rush to his side, kneeling down to check for a heartbeat. The flames that I've already become so used to seeing around him are gone- as are the phoenixes he summoned.
He'll be okay. He has to be okay. I'm not thinking about what it means if he's not.
I can feel his artery pulsing slowly underneath my fingers. I breathe a sigh of relief. He will be okay. We just need to get him to Marina soon.
Sam stops his charge abruptly, staring, petrified, at John's limp form. Even Deimos seems shocked that John went down so easily. I wish I had some way to signal Sam, to tell him that it's all right, that John's okay, that he should keep fighting. But I can't without giving up my invisibility, and that would mean subjecting myself to the terror emanating from Deimos.
Unsurprisingly, Deimos refocuses on the battle before Sam does, shooting a bolt at Sam identical to the one that felled John. Some instinct of Sam's kicks in, causing him to roll swiftly to the side, dodging the bolt. Deimos fires another bolt towards the others- this one is a deeper, crimson, red, and while it moves rapidly, I can actually track its flight.
I don't like what I see. I get the sense that the bolt that Deimos hit John with wasn't meant to kill him- at least not immediately. This one, however- a deeper red, larger, slower, it seems like it was meant to kill. My eyes follow its path across the room.
It's heading straight for Eight. Then suddenly Sam's there, having dove across the room, holding a sword he found on the ground. He lunges at the bolt, and it slams right into the blade of his sword, which is just inches from Eight, who is curled into the fetal position, her eyes glazed over with fear. Sam's sword now has crackling lines of energy running around it, and he gets up with a determined look on his face. He throws it end-over-end at Deimos, who seems too stunned from Sam's dive to react. It plunges, with remarkable accuracy, point-first into his chest, red sparks flying from where it made contact. Deimos staggers backwards momentarily, his eyes widened in surprise at the hilt of the sword protruding from his chest, before vanishing in a swirling black cloud.
The sudden silence is just as shocking as any sudden noise could be. Deimos is gone, killed or maimed or driven away by Sam, but the others aren't waking up. They still stare straight ahead, eyes open, staring, but their expressions are vacant, their minds numbed by the sheer violence of emotion that was forced upon them.
Sam walks over to the sword he threw at Deimos, his walking the loudest sound in the room. It still crackles with red lightning, but when he runs his hand cautiously down the blade it doesn't affect him.
"Cool," he says, slashing it through the air a couple times, "I've always wanted a magic weapon."
The room he's talking to might as well be empty- I'm too shocked to fully comprehend what he's saying, and the others are still comatose.
"Where did you learn to throw a sword like that?" I blurt out bluntly.
Sam shrugs. "Instinct, I guess," he says, smiling. "After all, I've seen you guys do it enough times."
"It's a good thing you pay so much attention to us," I say gratefully, "because it just saved out lives."
I really need to stop being so surprised by unexpected events that I can't think clearly. If I go on like this I'll be dead by the end of the week, Sam's newfound weapons prowess or not.
Sam walks over tentatively to John's limp body, crouching down to examine him.
"He'll be okay, right?" Sam asks hopefully.
"I think so," I reply. "Are Marina and Ella still where we left them?"
Sam nods, relieved. "Assuming they haven't panicked and driven away."
"I'll go and get them, then," I say, getting to my feet slowly.
"It's okay," Sam says, placing a hand on my arm. "I'll get them. You just stay here and – um… make sure no more Mogs come."
"Thanks for giving me the easy job," I say sarcastically.
"Hey," he says with a shrug, "you'll be better at it than I would."
I don't argue. It's tough to argue with people when they're right, after all.
"What if they aren't there?" Sam asks suddenly, turning back when just a step from the door.
"Just come back, I guess. They'll be there, though. I seriously doubt Marina can drive."
Sam nods, walking through the door, leaving me alone to watch over my unconscious friends. It's a good thing I'm used to spending time alone.
I sit down against the wall next to the fireplace. It doesn't look right without a fire burning in it, so I restore one to it. The light makes the room feel more cozy, somehow, or at least less cavernous and empty.
Empty. The room isn't empty; I'm not alone in here, but I might as well be. I really do hate being alone. It's quite boring, since I've already had all of the conversations one can have with oneself during my time in captivity, and I'm all out of interesting things to think about. That's why it's been so nice to have other people to talk to these last couple of months.
I guess that has something to do with why I hated feeling so useless in the battle. Sure, my invisibility kept me safe, but to what end? I couldn't command fire like John, or defy gravity like Nine, or even throw a sword like Sam. I was completely superfluous.
I shudder involuntarily. It was like my nightmare, in a way. Walking down that deserted beach, past that eerie meld of John and Sam and the pale blue eyes of a smug blonde. Because that's my greatest fear: abandonment, being useless, superfluity- call it what you will. And Phobos preyed on it easily. Deimos did too, even if he didn't realize.
But that's what this whole war is about, isn't it? The lieutenants: fear and terror. Just two sides of the same, brutally effective, crippling coin. Setràkus Ra really does know how to undermine people's wills. Because he knows everybody's scared of something.
There's a sudden flash of movement from the other side of the room. My telekinesis kicks in reflexively, whipping a sword in the direction of the movement. It clatters noisily against the wall, falling to the floor. There wasn't anybody there.
"Did you just throw a sword at me?"
I whip around to see John sitting up slowly, a confused look in his eyes.
"No, of course not! I just thought I saw a- something over- never mind," I say hurriedly.
"What happened?" he asks, standing up and looking around the room. "What happened to everybody?"
"Well," I start, "after Deimos knocked you unconscious, he used his power to neutralize the others as well. Sam killed him, but they still wouldn't wake up, so he went to get Marina. More importantly, though," I add matter-of-factly, "are you okay? That was a nasty bolt of lightning that Deimos hit you with."
John shakes his head rapidly as if to wake himself up from a dream.
"Yea, I feel fine now. I'm just a little dizzy, but I'll be okay."
"Good." I say. I pause for a second, and then decide to continue. "You know," I say cautiously, "Crayton did have a point. You shouldn't have risked your life for us."
John sighs, and then walks towards me, stopping no more than a foot from me, placing his hands on my shoulders. He lets them run down my arms slowly, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin, before grasping my hands in his.
"Six," he says softly, taking another step forward so that only inches separate us, "there's something that you need to know. What I did today, I would do again without hesitating. For you."
"Are you implying that I need to be protected?" I ask skeptically. "That's kind of funny, because I have some very… vivid… memories of beating you up- repeatedly, I might add, during training."
"So do I," he says quietly before continuing. "However, there is an enormous army of heavily armed aliens who want nothing more than to kill you. I'd say you need all of the help you can get."
"You know," I say, smiling playfully, "I could argue that point, but I really don't feel like it right now."
With that I take a step towards him, but he steps back at the same time, leaving us the same tantalizing distance apart, and I can see hesitancy in his sea-blue eyes.
"You were lying, weren't you," he says softly. "When you told me that Katarina had told you that she had had multiple loves of Lorien."
I force myself to meet his gaze. Avoiding it won't change anything.
"Yes," I say sheepishly. "I did." And then, after a pause, because it would bug me otherwise: "How did you know?"
I expect to see accusation blossom on his face. Suspicion, betrayal, maybe even downright anger. Instead, he smiles. It's a genuine, relieved, unrestrained smile.
"Because this feels pretty permanent to me."
And then he's the one stepping forward and I'm not stepping back and our lips meet and everything else in the world vanishes from my mind, overwhelmed by the sheer happiness I feel, all caused by this one moment. And it's a moment that doesn't seem to end, that neither of us wants to ever end, but I'm starting to feel dizzy, which must be a sign of oxygen deprivation, unless it's just my brain trying to express the sheer joy that I'm feeling. But then suddenly there's a voice from behind me.
"Will you two get a freaking room already?"
A/N: So there is your Four/Six moment, as requested. I really hope that turned out well, as I'm worried I will have ruined the story for you guys if it didn't. In that vein, please leave me a review so that I know if you guys liked it. Thanks.