"Wait, this is it. The comm room is right down there." Ben pointed down to the right of the branching hallway.
He had somehow managed to keep himself from falling asleep, which was good because he was the only one of them who actually knew where they were going. Not that Ben wanted to be awake. He was beginning to regret leaving the safety of the room he stitched himself up in — at least there had been a soft clothes pile to sleep in.
Then again, had he stayed, he probably would have bled out and died. But regardless...
"Are you sure?" Popigai asked. He didn't sound condescending, only hesitant. Which, Ben had to begrudgingly admit, was fair. He had been the one with the big mouth, complaining about how blood loss had given him a "massive, pounding headache."
Which was, unfortunately, true. Still, he probably shouldn't have mentioned it to Popigai if he hoped to maintain the man's faith.
"Yes, I'm sure," Ben replied, only slightly sarcastic. "Just like I was sure about the last turn. And the one before that. And, oh, the one before that, too." He paused. "You see how there's a pattern forming here?"
One thing that Ben had learned to like was that Popigai was a good sport about their co-dependent relationship. Maybe it was the pain or the stress or the fear, but Ben was in a far worse mood than he normally would be in their situation. He knew that it wasn't fair to take that out on Popigai, but whatever link existed between his sense of politeness and what came out of Ben's mouth had been snapped. The only plus side was that Popigai was graceful in the face of his own mistreatment.
Not that it made Ben feel the slightest bit less guilty about it.
Popigai huffed. "Yes, yes, you've made your point clear. I kind of deserved that." He sighed heavily. "Right it is. If it's down this hall, do you know what the door will look like?"
Frowning in concentration, Ben tried to think back to the blueprint that he spent a few seconds staring at what felt a lifetime ago. The picture in his mind was beginning to fade, slipping through his fingers even as he grappled for the details. "Uh, it's on the left," he said, only a little uncertain. "Towards the end. We might just have to open every door from the middle on down. Unless you can read these alien labels." He gestured at the narrow, slanted scribbles carved into metal plaques and plastered next to every door.
The cadet shook his head. "No, I don't. I only know twenty-seven alien languages and none of them look like that. It's definitely not Nemuinan but I don't know what else it could be."
Ben blinked, taken aback. "Twenty-seven?" He echoed, jaw unhinged.
Based on the noise that Popigai made — nothing that a human was capable of, but somewhere between an insectoid chir and a wolfish growl — he didn't find the number to be all that impressive. "I know, it should be higher, but I slacked off at the Plumber Academy when it came to languages and the hands-on stuff. I was sort of obsessed with cramming in all of the math and science courses." He let out a wistful hum. "So many fascinating physics lectures."
Swallowing a grimace, Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, sounds... riveting," he agreed half-heartedly. He couldn't deny the fond squeeze in his chest, though. Popigai reminded Ben a lot of Rook and it was that familiarity that he was drawn to more than anything.
The new hallway that they found themselves in was indistinguishable from all of the others before it. There were twenty doors on each side, all spaced evenly apart, and all with a simple side panel to act as a form of security. Some of them might have been locked, but Ben doubted that it would be much of a deterrent for Popigai.
The floor was dark metal, the ceiling was identical, and the walls were a bright shade of off-white that reflected the artificial lighting in a way that made Ben's eyes ache when he looked directly at it. The result was that everything was too dark and too bright and the walls constantly felt as though they were closing in. Though, that might have just been Ben's paranoia. He found himself continually listening for the flap of wings but the only thing that ever greeted him was the near-silent hum of the fans in the air ducts above them.
"Well..." Ben threw an uneasy look over his shoulder but, as expected, the view was the same behind them as it was in front of them. "We should probably start searching. Here's good." Popigai stopped walking but didn't make a move to start opening any doors. Frankly, Ben didn't blame him.
The Petrosapien shifted and, his voice so soft that Ben barely heard it, mumbled, "Does it feel like we're being watched?"
A glint of metal flashed off of the ceiling. Ben stared directly at the camera at the end of the hall, watching as it stayed focused right on them instead of rotating to view its surroundings like all of the other cameras did.
"No," Ben answered. He tore his gaze away from it, focusing on the goal. He had to keep Popigai focused, too. "Do you think it'd be easier if I took one end of the hallway and you took the other? I can stand, y'know. My legs are perfectly functional."
He had barely even finished before the cadet was shaking his head. "It's only ten doors. No offense, Ben, but I feel much better with you not pushing yourself than I would cutting a few seconds off of an already quick search." Popigai sighed. "Honestly. I'm beginning to think that you have some sort of death wish."
Based on the way that last part was muttered, Ben wasn't meant to hear it. Which was good, because he wouldn't have had any idea how to reply.
"Fine, I'll stay put, mom," Ben snorted. Nonetheless, he pulled himself higher up on Popigai's back so that he could get a good look at what they were facing. "But just so we're clear, I'm jumping out of the nest as soon as I see even a hint of a threat. It's do or die, my friend. Time to see if my wings will let this baby bird fly or not."
The look on Popigai's face made Ben grin despite himself. The Petrosapien turned to look back at him as best he could, scrutinizing Ben for a moment before saying, slowly, "Humans don't have wings."
Ben shrugged — he had found his good mood and wasn't about to let that mask slip so easily a second time. He affixed a confident smile to his face. "Sure we do," he said flippantly. A quick lie would be easier than trying to explain the human metaphor for baby birds leaving the nest — Ben had tried it with Rook too many times to count. "Once we reach a certain age, we form cocoons around ourselves and go through an incredibly painful metamorphosis that lasts an entire week, but we come out of it with wings and the ability to spit acid through our eyes."
"I don't think that's…" Popigai began, looking reasonably doubtful, but Ben cut him off.
"Look, do you want to argue human anatomy with an expert on the subject, or do you wanna get off this glorified torture station?" Ben asked, clasping Popigai's head and turning him around to face the front again. "As much fun as that first option sounds, I think I've had it up to my wings with this place. Let's make it quick."
That was good enough for Popigai apparently. He nodded and turned his attention away from Ben and to the doors. Nothing more needed to be said. The touch-pad to open the door was crushed with a distracted nudge of Popigai's palm and the first room turned out to be a very alien-looking bathroom. The second one was a viewing deck to overlook a massive docking area below, complete with a control panel for the dangerous and heavy-looking machinery. The third door revealed a weapon's storage that had been stripped of anything even remotely useful.
Though he had never been fond of blasters or guns, Ben found himself longing for one. He would never prefer fighting that way when compared to going alien, but it would be useful to be able to defend himself, no matter the circumstance. Especially given the situation.
Eventually, on the seventh door, they got lucky. The steel slid to the side to reveal a room filled to the brim with consols, control panels, radio gear, and blinking dials. Ben let out a gasp and quickly slid off of Popigai's back. He hit the ground with a muffled grunt as the landing jarred his wound, which was probably the only reason that Popigai knew Ben was standing at all, given that the teen weighed next-to-nothing to him.
"Ben!" The cadet hissed, sounding so much like Rook's nagging that it made Ben's chest twist with too many emotions to describe. "What are you doing? You won't know how to work any of that stuff," he protested in a whisper, reaching for the hero again, but Ben darted around him and squeezed into the comm room.
"Stop being such a nanny," Ben shot back. "This room's tiny. I think I can handle a few steps. And, hey, if I pass out from the pain or whatever then I won't be able to protest you carrying me around some more." He flashed a grin that had no effect on Popigai before adding, "Also, why are you whispering? We're the only people here."
Popigai scowled, apparently not believing what he could see with his own eyes. He was quick to relax, however, joining Ben inside the room to run his hand over the equipment. "We're in luck," he stated. "It's all still on. We won't have to waste time letting it all heat up."
There was a single chair set in front of the computers that neither of them took. Ben left it where it was, on its side, mildly thankful that it hadn't broken anything when the lack of gravity left everything up in the air. It was just about the only thing in the room that wasn't bolted to the floor, or at least attached to something else.
"Can you work this stuff?" Ben asked as he watched over the cadet's soldier. Like Popigai had mentioned earlier, it was quickly made obvious that Ben had no idea how any of the equipment worked. He couldn't read alien languages but even if he could, the set-up was nothing like those old radio set-ups action heroes were always desperately fiddling with in movies. Everything was sleek and new, blinking or flashing or both, and Ben had no idea what was a knob and what was a button.
Thankfully, Popigai did. His answer to Ben's question was implied as he began quickly adjusting dials and flipping switches. He grabbed something hanging from a secured hook and it took Ben a few moments to realize that it was a small speaker.
"Is it alright if I use your name once I get connected with the closest Plumber outpost?" Popigai asked over his shoulder. "I get the feeling that saying "Ben Tennyson" will get much more attention than simply announcing that a nameless Plumber cadet from Petropia is in need of assistance."
"You're damn right about that, at least," a deep voice chuckled from the doorway. Ben dropped to the ground a split-second before a peranite shard embedded itself in the wall across from where his head used to be.
A flurry of crystal clanged off of Popigai's equally-hard skin. It probably didn't feel too good but, when he dropped down next to Ben, using the radio control panel as a defensive guard, Popigai was still in one piece and not bleeding out, which was a positive. They shot each other panicked looks. Popigai lifted a hand up to try and touch the control panel, only to be met with another shard. It buried itself in the console a mere inch from the cadet's fingers and Popigai was quick to retract his hand.
"Now, Ben," Argyle called out as he stepped forward, "surely we can resolve this like diplomats. I've watched you drag blood trails over this station for the last few hours over the cameras. I don't think that either of you is wanting to fight me right now, not that it would be much of a fight. If you're willing to cooperate for once, I'm sure that we could work something out, couldn't we?"
Scrambling for a plan, Ben risked a glance at Popigai. The Petrosapien was shaking his head rapidly, mouthing something that looked an awful lot like, "Don't, he's lying, you'd have to be suicidal to even consider—" but Ben didn't stick around to get the full message. Clutching his side, he popped the Omnitrix's dial and swung out from behind his makeshift shelter with his hands held above his head.
With his hands held the way that they were, the Omnitrix core was tactfully hidden from Argyle's view. That was probably the only reason that the teen wasn't blasted wide open the instant that he stepped out. Well, that, and because he slid a few inches to the left just as a chunk of peranite shot by his head.
It was difficult to swallow his uncertainties, but Ben rolled his eyes as though his heart wasn't slamming in his throat and forced a laugh. "What are you gonna do, Arggie? Kill me? You had plenty of opportunity to the last week I've been stuck here. What changed?"
Argyle stood with both hands melded into sporadic, jagged peaks. Each of which was prepared to be launched at Ben's head with the slightest twitch of the wrist. There was a familiar scowl on his face. He looked as untouchable as he did the first day that Ben was dragged onto the station — smug and self-assured, as though he was holding the universe in his palm and was the only one who knew it. He hadn't stuck around Ben's cell as often as his teammates had but that didn't mean that they never saw each other.
It was just that, each time they did, Argyle remained unchanged. He was as static as diamond itself, so certain that he'd already won that no other possibilities existed for him.
Even at that moment, with Ben free from his restraints and fingers twitching to slam down on the Omnitrix, Argyle didn't seem worried. In fact, the glare that he gave Ben — looking for all intents and purposes like he was living through a life-long fantasy — sent shivers down the hero's spine.
"Murowa wants you alive," the former Magister said after a long pause. He was eyeing Ben's side, as though trying to gauge the full damage of the wound through a bloody shirt and the alien bandaging that had been used. "Personally, I'm with you. I don't see that point. I don't think that we need you," he sneered, "especially when all we're doing is inviting more trouble from the Plumbers. I think that if we dumped your body off on the next planet and scattered pieces of the Omnitrix on Azmuth's doorstep, we would be far better off. They could lament that at least you had a hero's death and leave us alone."
Somehow, Ben managed a smile. "Well, points for originality. Most guys who try to kill me want to use the Omnitrix for themselves. At least I can say that I haven't heard this evil monologue before."
"I'm not going to waste my time on the Omnitrix," Argyle said shortly. "Why would I need it? Look around you, Tennyson. Look at all that I've done without it. It wouldn't work for me, anyway. I don't need to waste my time when ending this is as easy as shoving my hand through your throat." He leveled his arms at Ben's head as if to emphasize that, eyes narrowed.
Despite that threat, Ben didn't falter. He eyed the shards of peranite warily before dragging his gaze back up to Argyle's face. "If it's so easy, why haven't you done it already?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Ben could see Popigai silently freaking out — gesturing for him to move away or trying to mouth for him to shut up before things got any worse — but all of those things went ignored. Ben knew what he was doing. More or less.
Sure enough, just as he expected, Argyle's eyes flared and his arms tensed a split-second before he let another bundle of peranite shards fly. Ben threw himself out of the way barely in time to miss, smacking the Omnitrix dial against the desk as he rammed into it. His side throbbed, aching in protest, but the transformation washed over him with a familiar tingling and it faded.
His vision narrowed to a wide point, skin softening until it became pliable and rubbery. Color faded out of the world surrounding him, popping out as shades of green and blue. Spores burst out on either side of his elongated spine, trim body slimming yet further to be as wispy as a willow tree. Ben shot up several more heads and his feet slipped into his body as his legs split to add two extra appendages. His four slender fingers became nearly a foot-long and razor-sharp. Despite the fact that Ben hadn't been Wildvine in a few months, easily, his plant-like body felt more natural than his human body had for the last day. The pain ebbed away, not completely fading, but it felt like lifting a massive weight that he didn't even know he had off his shoulders. He let out a deep breath and, ignoring the twinges of discomfort in his abdomen, turned to Argyle with a smirk.
Finally. A body that wouldn't be useless.
A flurry of peranite shards met him and Wildvine twisted out of the way of each of them, a tangled braid bent back and doubled over in on himself without any aches or pangs at all. He knew that he had to get Argyle out of the room so that Popigai could access the communications, but his thoughts never progressed far enough for the plan to leave his lips.
He risked a glance at the cadet still huddled behind the control panel — a rookie mistake — and the ground ruptured and rolled beneath Wildvine's thin legs. Crystal sprang out of the metal, folding in on itself and breaking into pieces so fine that, right before he fell, he had the fleeting thought that it looked a lot like rain.
One of his arms snapped outward, fingers curling around Argyle's waist and giving a good, hard yank. The Petrosapien sharpened his arm into a blade, digging it into Wildvine's wrist until he was forced to retract it. Plant matter and light-green material that instinctively made a Florauna feel queasy leaked out, hand hanging limp, but the damage was done. Wildvine's body had already begun to knit itself back together even as he fell. Thanks to his impromptu actions, Argyle was right behind him, murder in his eyes.
The ground snapped into reality like a bucket of cold water. Thankfully, Wildvine didn't have any bones. If he had, some of them would have been broken. Not even a second after he hit the steel floor of the hanger beneath them, still too dazed to scrape his body up from where he'd splattered, Argyle crashed only a few feet away. Bits of the floor bounced off of Wildvine's rubbery skin and he pushed himself up despite the overwhelming desire to rest. Moving shot a spike of pain up his side and Wildvine instinctively clutched at the stab wound. Risking a glance at Argyle showed that the man had hit the ground flat on his back, as woozy as Wildvine was, so he snuck a glance at the injury.
The wound in his side appeared as two neat gashes where the darker-green of Wildvine's epidermis and collenchyma had been sliced away to reveal the xylem fiber and pith underneath. The vessels and tubes were leaking nutrients, which wasn't good, but at least it looked like Floraunas were more durable than humans.
Faint, wispy hairs lined the outside of Wildvine's entire body, giving him an almost fuzzy appearance. They twitched as something in the air shifted and, completely without thinking about it, Wildvine flung himself to the side in time for Argyle's fist to slam into the ground where he had been sitting. He didn't have a heart to rapidly pound but Wildvine felt a rush of something vaguely like adrenaline when he realized how close he had come to being crushed. His tendrils grasped a construction-grade crane hanging from supports in the ceiling and pulled his body up easily.
From his vantage point, Wildvine could only spare a second to catalog his surroundings. Like he already knew, he was in a hanger. Balanced on the curve of the crane's hook, he was level with the comm room where Argyle had managed to get the drop on him to begin with. Behind the tinted-window, he could see Popigai rushing around in a fit and hoped that the cadet was finding a way to get in contact with the Plumbers.
The crane that he was perched on began to shake and tremble. Wildvine curled his razor-like fingers into the steel ceiling of the hanger just in time for peranite to grow like a weed out of the crane's mechanisms and send the hook slamming into the ground several levels below. It crushed many boxes of supplies on impact, making an echoing, thundering crash. The noise bounced around the huge, silent room in a way that had Wildvine grimacing.
As far as he could tell, the hanger was for moving goods and supplies efficiently, not so much for loading them on and off of spaceships. Or, at least, Wildvine didn't see any doors big enough to cram a ship through. He tried to find anything that could be useful in a fight but came up with nothing. It seemed doubtful that throwing crates at Argyle would have much of an effect.
That being said, Wildvine wasn't about to surrender or run away. Not that either of those was an option. He was forced to quickly swing himself to the side, fingers piercing the ceiling over and over as he pushed himself forward to avoid getting hit by peranite shards.
"Woah!" Wildvine exhaled involuntarily as Argyle flew threw the air, narrowly missing cutting the Florauna's arm clean off with his pointed hand. He eyed the ex-Magister, watching as Argyle furiously landed and, immediately turning back to Ben, again launched himself upward with a jerk of the wrist and a carefully-angled peranite platform that formed beneath his feet.
The second time that Argyle reached his height, Wildvine was quick to wrap his vines around the man's waist, plucking him nimbly out of the air. With his arms pinned to his chest and tightly bound, Wildvine squeezed until he heard a crack. Where, he wasn't sure, but he knew by the gasp of pain on Argyle's face that it couldn't have been anywhere good.
"Feel like giving up and letting us go?" Wildvine asked in his low, gravelly voice. He gave another squeeze of his tendrils for emphasis.
The look that Argyle gave him was nothing short of withering. He spat in a mixture of disgust and hatred. "Not even close," Argyle hissed. "Not until you're bleeding out, Tennyson." His body stilled and, before Wildvine could react, spikes of peranite burst forth from all over his skin, shredding the vines with ease.
His hands pulled back, a mild noise of pain and shock slipping from Wildvine's lips as Argyle plummeted to the hanger floor beneath them. He flailed in the air for some semblance of control, but in the end, hit the ground feet first. Wildvine flinched reflexively as Argyle's knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground. He almost felt bad for the guy, but it was soon made clear that such an injury wasn't going to hold him back.
Even as Wildvine lowered some to see if he could get a good look at Argyle and check for injuries, the Petrosapien was rolling to his feet. The slab of peranite that he had used to launch himself into the air was ripped out of the bent metal it grew from with a flick of Argyle's wrist. He clenched his fist and Wildvine barely had time to yank himself to the right and out of the way as the chunk of crystal buried itself in the ceiling with a sickening crunch.
"Wow. Intense," Wildvine muttered as he eyed the hunk of rock that could have easily crushed him. He knew that Swampfire could have survived such a blow but Ben had never had such near-brushes with Wildvine and he wasn't eager to start field-testing the durability of a Florauna.
Clearly, though, hanging around the ceiling wasn't accomplishing anything for either of them. He shot one more look at Popigai's silhouette, hoping that the cadet was already talking to the Plumbers, and dropped.
His four legs twisted together, tapering off to a razor-sharp point. Wildvine shoved himself downward with as much force as he could muster, narrowly missing the top of Argyle's head as the ex-Magister instinctively ducked and rolled out of the way. All Wildvine succeeded in doing was kicking up more bits of metal, digging himself into a small crater.
Even with his tendrils a little bit stuck, he flung himself to the side to avoid a slash from the sword Argyle had made from his arm. It cut through the air with a startlingly loud whish, so thin that it practically disappeared when viewed from the side and razor-sharp.
Seeing the look on Wildvine's face, Argyle grinned. "It's not going to be as satisfying with you in that form, but I'll take what I can get," he said as he made a clean, frenzied slash for Wildvine's neck.
Finally pulling his tendrils free, the Florauna twisted back and caught himself on his hands as the blade sailed through the air above his chest. Two of his legs left the ground, twisting around Argyle's arm as he went to pull it back. Before he could cut the vines on his crystals again, Wildvine squeezed as hard as he could, earning himself the gratified sound of shattering glass as he flipped Argyle over his body and slammed the man into the ground.
Straightening back up, Wildvine pulled his tendrils back to his body and took a moment to gauge the state of his opponent. Argyle's arm was sporting ugly cracks, racing from his shoulder to his elbow. Everything below that was gone. It was with shock that Wildvine noticed the severed arm laying on the ground a few feet away from him.
He didn't get long to think about it. Argyle was pushing himself up, seemingly unphased, but somehow even more furious than before. His good hand clutched his stump arm, which looked like nothing other than a busted crystal. The injury leaked more of the weird, clear blood that Petrosapiens possessed. The air reeked of sulfur. It cracked constantly, already growing back slowly. If Wildvine had a stomach, he thought that he would have been sick.
"I'm—" he started but didn't get any further.
"—going to pay for that!" Argyle finished, launching himself at Wildvine and he jammed the bloodied, jagged end of his stump into the Florauna's gut.
He didn't have proper lungs as a living vine, but pain shot up Wildvine's body all the same and the thin, wispy layer of healing plant material that was keeping the gashes in his side from spilling everything out burst open. He gasped reflexively, more surprised than anything.
Thoughts spinning, Wildvine didn't even try to defend himself when Argyle grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed him down. His one enormous eye was crushed against the man's rock-hard knee. That time, the noise that Wildvine made was definitely one of pain. He had managed to snap his eye closed in time to avoid getting it gauged out but it was so tender that it hurt to blink and his head was pounding. Was it possible to bruise an eye?
He didn't realize that he was on his knees until Argyle's feet swam into focus. More of that clear blood was splattering onto the floor, coating Wildvine's fingers where they gripped the ground in front of him. It took a monumental amount of effort to convince himself to release his death grip on the floor.
"I wish I could say that it's been fun, Tennyson, but it hasn't. Nothing would bring me more joy than your demise," Argyle was saying above him when Wildvine finally tuned back in. He sounded out of breath, and maybe it was only imagined, but his voice almost trembled. "I think it's about time we ended this."
Shaking his head helped clear the cobwebs mucking up his thought process. Wildvine lifted his head, blinked once up at Argyle, and smirked. "I couldn't agree more," he rasped. "And I accept your surrender."
Before he could see Argyle's reaction, Wildvine lashed out with his hands, slashing the man across the face and throwing himself backward and away. With a few more feet between them, Wildvine was more or less standing when Argyle again rushed him.
That time, he was prepared. Wildvine grabbed him under the arms with the tendrils that made up his legs, violently twisting him and hurtling his body upward. Argyle hit the ceiling, furious and dazed, but even as he came crashing back down Wildvine could tell that neither of them was winning.
Petrosapiens were simply too durable and Floraunas were obviously not made to exploit their weaknesses.
Wait.
Their weaknesses!
A grin stretched Wildvine's thick lips around rows of yellowed, pointed teeth. He could feel his body weakening as he lost more and more nutrients, but he knew a form that was perfect for dealing with Petrosapiens and didn't have the drawback of bleeding.
As gravity slammed Argyle into the steel floor, the man quickly getting back to his feet with determination, Wildvine slapped the Omnitrix symbol on his chest. As the green light washed over him, the aches and pains in his body became a thing of the past.
Like becoming Echo Echo, Ben felt his insides hollow out and evaporate. Only, instead of being filled with sound, he was empty: painfully, achingly empty. His organic features smoothed away, metal and rock taking form instead. Underneath his bodysuit, the wound that Ben had been dealing with disappeared completely. In his current form, he couldn't have skin abrasions or internal damage if he didn't have skin or insides. His body expanded and grew smooth, simple shapes replacing the unpredictability of nature, until Gutrot flexed his gloved hands and powerful arms.
He took a deep breath, feeling his insides swirl with oxygen, carbon dioxide, sulfur, and dihydrogen monoxide vapor. The alarming feeling of emptiness ebbed away and, had he a mouth, Gutrot would have been smirking.
Seeing his transformation, Argyle hesitated a moment, only to scowl. But he didn't move any closer which was probably a good sign. "A Sontaring?" He snorted. "Creative, Tennyson. But you'll have to do better than an overgrown chemistry set to beat me in a fight."
Gutrot grunted in disinterest as the pumps on his hands and shoulders began to suck in air. He could feel his body heating and shaking up as he rearranged elements at the molecular level in the tiny, confined space of his chest cavity. "That's what I'm working on," he snapped irritably. "Give me a minute, would ya?"
Evidently, Argyle was not feeling very charitable. With his torn right arm still in the process of regrowing, he used only the left to aim a blow at Gutrot's head. The Sontaring took the hit without staggering. Shocked, Argyle's eyes widened. He tried again, to receive the exact same effect. Gutrot was no longer paying him any attention.
"Some acetone, tetrachloroethylene… ooh, can't forget the urea! A dash of hydrofluoric acid and… voilá!" Gutrot chuckled and let the hatch on his stomach swing open. A soft, yellow-tinted gas drifted out, lazily beginning to fill the room. "You remember your old friend, chromium iodine para-dichlorobenzene acid, don't you, Argyle? Or maybe you'd only know it by its common name: Red Sleep venom." He waved his hand dismissively through the red plum building in front of him. "In gas form, of course."
Horror flickered across his face and Argyle quickly stepped back, letting out a pained noise as though burned. Or, maybe he actually was burned. Gutrot saw him curl his arm to his torso, covering his body protectively as his steps away quickened.
"You'll pay, Tennyson," Argyle hissed. His eyes flickered around, worryingly watching the Red Sleep venom in the air dissipate and gradually work its way closer to him. After a moment, he must have decided that his life was more important than hanging around any longer and getting himself permanently scarred. "This isn't over. We'll meet again. Soon," he promised. Swinging around, Argyle didn't bother to use a door or look back — he body-slammed the wall and the steel caved under his force, peeling away to reveal the hallway hidden just before. And, like that, Argyle was gone.
A part of Ben felt good to be rid of him and to have given Argyle a taste of his own medicine. But a bigger part of him stared at the sizzling, red-tinted slurry dripping behind Argyle like blood splatters and couldn't help but think that his actions had left a man permanently disfigured. Even if it was just a scar on Argyle's arm, Ben knew that his body would never function the same way again. And that was no one's fault but Ben's.
His transformation timed out, leaving him a human in a mist of deadly venom, but Ben started at the ground and didn't really notice. The guilt of his actions the last few weeks was clawing at his throat, making it hard to breathe.
As Echo Echo, he had shattered a man's face. As a human, he had gauged a woman's eyes out. He couldn't say that it was his alien forms being violent when Ben was clearly making the decision to be ruthless. Cruel, even. He flexed his hands experimentally, blankly watching the vein's twitch under a thin layer of skin and the way his fingers were trembling.
He kept hurting people. Did it matter? Did it make him worse than the people he was fighting? It certainly didn't make him any better. Ben knew from the sick feeling in his chest that he didn't enjoy hurting people. But did he have a choice? Maybe if he had been better — faster, smarter, stronger, more capable in some area that he was lacking — he wouldn't have had to resort to such actions. If he had been more of a hero, somehow, then maybe…
The sound of shattering glass caught his attention but it wasn't until the frantic shout of "Ben!" that the teen actually turned his gaze upward.
The comm room that he had left Popigai in was short a window. Dark, tinted glass speckled the ground several levels beneath, along the floor of the cargo hold. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened, as if Popigai's closed fist wasn't enough of a clue.
Ben cupped his hands around his mouth so that his shout would carry up to Popigai's level. "What is it? Did you get in contact with anyone?"
The volume of his own voice made his head throb. The rush of adrenaline was fading as exhaustion settled in, heavy and unshakable on Ben's shoulders. He held himself very still, knowing that any twitch would send his side flaring in pain. He didn't have to lift his shirt to know that the transformations had messed with his stitches somehow — whether they were out completely or only loosened, there was still blood leaking down Ben's shirt. Thick and warm, like syrup. It made him weak at the knees and his eyelids weigh as much as worlds, but Ben kept his eyes open. Whatever Popigai wanted was important. He could wait.
"Yes!" Came Popigai's enthused reply and Ben felt a relieved smile split his face. "I bypassed the security block and got in contact with the Plumbers to send for help! After they got our coordinates, they agreed to let Magister Tennyson know and send reinforcements!"
Some fleeting, hoping part of Ben wanted to ask if they could get in contact with Gwendolyn or Rook at all. They had communications, didn't they? Rook had had a headset and microphone the last time that Ben saw him. Which meant that they were on some sort of frequency. He wanted to hear from his friends more than anything.
And Ben might have asked about that, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth and his lips were drier than sandpaper. He looked up at Popigai and the distance between them was suddenly dizzying. Really dizzying. Or was that because his vision was spinning?
He squinted up at the small, purple-ish spot that he knew to be Popigai and tried to look happy. He was, really, it was just sort of hard to put those emotions onto his face. His body felt like it was someone else's.
Moving on instinct, Ben activated the Omnitrix. The playlist swam in and out of focus so he hit it without thinking and hoped for something that could fly.
Unlike with most of his transformations, the aches and pains didn't leave as Ben's body became something else entirely. He couldn't even think about the fact that he was growing talons and rubbery wings — he couldn't, not when the searing agony in his side nearly sent him to his knees.
He had the vague thought that he had turned into Jetray, but honestly, Ben didn't care. It was taking all of his focus to stay awake and keep the transformation going. He didn't look down at himself, knowing already what he would see and content with not knowing what color Jetray bled.
Flying with a hole in his abdomen was, admittedly, not the best idea. Even through the fog gradually seeping into his thoughts, Ben remembered enough about basic anatomy to know that what he was about to do was going to hurt. A lot. But he also knew that Popigai was a Petrosapien and Ben had just filled the room with concentrated Red Sleep venom, so he couldn't wait around and let Popigai try to reach him.
He forced his wings to flap, each push more excruciating than the last, but even as his heart started to feel like it would give out, Jetray's talons curled around the broken window frame and he lifted himself into the comm room with a barely-concealed groan of pain.
Thankfully, Popigai didn't seem to notice. He had moved back over to the radio and was talking animatedly to someone about something. The details were a little difficult to come by. To be honest, Ben couldn't register much of anything outside of the ringing in his ears. He had never known a pain so all-consuming that it made him forget how to use his eyes.
But that was exactly what had happened. Ben blinked, trying to steady himself, and then Popigai was right in his face and grinning.
"...and the Plumbers said they'd be able to catch up to us when the station stops, which it inevitably will if there's any hope at getting repairs for a good fourth of this thing," Popigai chattered on. It must have been difficult to read an Aerophibian's expression because he said nothing in response to Jetray's grimace of pain. Maybe he was bleeding red, too — it was probably hard to see against the color of his stream-lined, crimson body. "But then I switched frequencies and… look! Take the microphone! Look who I managed to get into contact with!"
He grabbed Jetray's winged wrist and didn't even flinch when the Omnitrix timed out and Ben's hand turned from webby and clammy to dry and skinny right under his touch. Instead, he shoved Ben down into the single chair set up in front of the control panel (torn up from the peranite shards that Argyle had been flinging, but it felt indescribably good to sit down) and crammed the headset down over his ears.
Hesitant, Ben licked his lips and paused. He didn't trust his voice, but Popigai was looking at him expectantly. And as soon as his enthusiasm wore away, he was certain to notice the copious amounts of blood leaking out from underneath Ben's shirt. He touched two fingers to the microphone and managed, "Hello?" He winced at the way his voice cracked.
"Ben?" The voice on the other end of the line knocked the breath out of him.
It took an eternity for him to find his voice again. "Gwen?" He muttered in disbelief. It couldn't be. It was too good to be true.
But the noise that came from the other end of the line could only be his cousin's squeal. And Gwen hardly ever squealed, so it had to be a big deal. Ben found himself smiling, though it probably came out as more of a wince as he clutched at his side.
"Oh my God! Ben, I was so worried! Popigai said that you were with him, but I just couldn't—" She took a deep breath and continued, slightly calmer, "Are you alright? What happened?"
"I'm fine." The lie slipped out so smoothly that Ben didn't even think about it. "What about… Kevin and Rook? Last I saw them, they…" He didn't finish. Gwen sounded so happy to hear from him and it crushed him to think about disappointing her.
"They're alright. They're here with me," Gwen reassured him. It was only six words, but Ben slumped back in the chair as though the weight of worlds had been taken off his shoulders. "As soon as I dropped off the Petrosapiens we managed to rescue, I turned right around. Rook got in contact with me and let me know what happened so I picked up him and Kevin and we've been trying to catch up with the station ever since. We think it's going to the next galaxy over."
"That's... great!" Ben managed, short of breath. He shot Popigai a reassuring thumbs-up.
There was a pause and the sound of muffled speaking on the other end of the line. Ben easily picked out Kevin's laughter and Rook's deeper voice. The sound of something so familiar and peaceful might have made him tear up, had Ben not already been putting all of his energy just into keeping his eyes open. "Ben? Do you want to talk to Rook? He's worrying himself sick and driving Kevin crazy," she said with a tease. And if it was forced, then Ben was alright with that.
There was only a split-second where Ben was uncertain. He swallowed his anxiety and breathed, "Yes."
The microphone switched possession. Ben heard Kevin chuckle and say something that he couldn't make out. Then there was Rook's voice, sounding breathy in that way that meant his friend was terrified and trying hard not to show it. "Ben." Rook said his name as a sigh, as if finally satisfied with a conclusion that had been long overdue. "Are you certain you are alright? Popigai mentioned that you were injured and fighting." A pause. When there was no answer, he tried again. "Ben?"
'I'm fine,' Ben struggled to get out, but his lips and tongue didn't want to do what his brain was telling them to. He let his eyes close. Someone was shouting his name — more than one person by the sound of it — but it felt fuzzy and far away, like they were talking to someone else.
He tipped over the side of the chair, somehow convinced that if he could just sleep for a few minutes, everything would feel so much better. The floor came rushing up and Ben didn't fight it. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.
A/N: Plot twist: he's actually not fine.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Bite the Bullet