09 Heavenly
a/n: Wolf fights a few more guards, then everything will be fine, just like I said.
Narrator's voice: It was not fine. Fight scenes, slightly graphic. (Which isn't very because this is not what I'm good at. Yet.)
All the good things (except all these extra Prone) belong to Monolith Soft.
Wolf's boots crunched on errant embers as he ran at the remaining guards. Too many prisoners were dashing about for him to feel comfortable using his gun. The guards were running towards him in turn, which made his first sword blow land even harder. It caught the closer of the two Prone flat on the side of his head, not a killing blow, but one calculated to stun an opponent. Exactly as Wolf wanted, because he continued the swing of the sword, up, over, and then relentlessly down. Wolf let himself be pulled upward by the sword's weight, lifting into the air to follow the arc of the heavy blade. Then, in turn, his own bulk helped drag the sword that much deeper into the slower of the two guards. He continued his gymnastics, barreling into a low crouch, thus ducking a blast from the rifle of the nearly recovered first guard. The move looked choreographed, and in a sense it was, with Wolf playing the director. He had sparred often enough with Prone back on the Ma-non ship, peacefully floating high above NLA, and he knew how these people fought at close range. He didn't hesitate to use all of his experience to send his blade deep into his enemy's chest.
It was a risky move though. It took precious heartbeats to yank the sword clear. There remained one guard to neutralize. Wolf had shot him and hit him, but Wolf needed to confirm that he wasn't a threat. As soon as his longsword was free, Wolf spun around and dashed back toward the edge of the work site. A group of prisoners were huddled at the edge of the lava pool. As Wolf approached them they scattered, revealing the task they'd been busily completing.
Wolf looked down at the wreckage of the last guard. The prisoners' hand tools were small but good for more than digging miranium. All the same, Wolf bent low to check that the guard was indeed dead. This done, he stood and turned back toward the remaining Tree Prone. Something told him to do this very slowly and calmly.
The sniper rifle he'd admired from a distance was now pointed at him, still at a distance, less accurately (he hoped), and in the hands of an agitated prisoner. Two other prisoners had armed themselves with weapons from the fallen guards. Wolf was surprised it was only three; he'd have trained his students to grab every possible weapon at the first opportunity.
"Easy. We're the good guys. We're here to rescue you," he said, hands open and raised to his shoulders. Hopefully they found this harmless, not a feint toward the rifle strapped to his back. He wouldn't hold it against them if they they were suspicious, because they wouldn't have been entirely wrong, but it still would bite, to get blown away by one of Duna's treasures. The barrels of the guns swerved to the side. Wolf heard running footsteps behind him. Soft footsteps in narrow boots, the faintest trace of a limp, perhaps only noticeable to Wolf. "NO!" he barked, lunging to block any fire.
It was a miracle that no one got shot in the next minute. The prisoners were shouting conflicting commands. Duna was screaming a string of names, presumably of Prone she recognized. Wolf was dancing between the two parties, stifling swears and trying to catch Duna's attention. Then Duna ripped her helmet from her head to prove who she was. Unfortunately, she clipped Wolf's forehead in the process, hard enough that he saw stars. He was understandably less appreciative of the moment when the prisoners recognized their kinswoman. That didn't mean he was unaware. Half of Cauldros probably heard the racket. Duna launched herself into the group, or maybe they launched themselves at her, and all of them were grabbing, hugging, screaming. Once again, the magical Miran translation service failed to translate this much raw emotion, and to Wolf's ears the group was now babbling and howling in alien syllables. He only recognized Duna's name, over and over, and the names of her father, her grandfather, her siblings.
Wolf didn't try to pretend this was a heavenly choir, but he let them have their moment. He wandered around, pulling the remaining weapons off the unlamented guards, politely collecting the rifles from the distracted prisoners. This done, he cleared his throat pointedly. The reunion was over; time to get their new friends home to NLA.
a/n: Ha ha, sure, everybody goes home now. No problem.
Next up: Visitor.
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Narrator's voice: There is a problem.