Chapter 12
Bulls on Parade
Part 1
The Braying Mule
Even during his time in prison, the block he was locked in never got to participate in any riots. Nonetheless, Bert could always feel the presence of something amiss before the alarm ever sounded.
Perhaps it was his heightened awareness he was forced to learn— a skill many had to sponge up quickly while incarcerated— or just intuition. One of the guard's had told him that it wasn't just a lucky guess; that he should have played cards at a Las Vegas casino and stayed out of trouble.
He could feel it tonight; an anxious sensation that clawed in his chest that he compared to when animals could detect something ill on the wind. Although this time, he didn't have the protection of his maximum-security block, and he had people he actually cared about to consider.
Bert, Bao, Carver and Abigail had been interrupted at dinner when they heard the clamor coming through the walls. All of them had run out the door to make certain of their mutual suspicions and they were affirmed. Even if they couldn't see it, the sound of distant yelling and the smell of smoke in the air was enough for them to figure out they were right on the money.
The uneasiness of having the servant entrances so close to their location and only one guard usually stationed at it worried him. If there was a hostile force outside attacking the city, he knew it would most likely migrate their way eventually. The palace was a shiny, political token waiting to be stormed. Even if they never did, he would still take the necessary precautions.
Bert had thought he heard someone rummaging through the kitchen, but over Carver's prattle he couldn't make it out for sure. Bert pushed his way past Carver and caught the main kitchen door closing. His gut feeling told him it was Norah and he noticed that one of Abigail's water buckets was missing, as well as a ladle from their canister of utensils.
Why would she be coming in here to collect used water for cleaning pots and pans and a ladle?
Also, she had left Ferra's tray of food. He raised an eyebrow; also surprised that she didn't come outside to investigate what was going on outside the palace walls. It left him with a sinking feeling she might not have heard it at all. He had to let her know.
First things first, he needed to take care of the one's he had nearest to him before he could retrieve Norah.
Bert walked across the kitchen and went to his room. Unfortunately, he missed her in the hall and it gave him a reminder to move faster with his actions. Hopefully, he could catch up to her before she pulled too far ahead.
He reached under his cot and felt around for the loose stone he had pried up when he had first arrived at his occupation. Bert knew that Tama had taken part of his prison jumpsuit for her souvenir collection, as well as something of Carver and Abigail's, but he was fortunate she had not found the contraband that he needed tonight.
Bert moved the wrinkled picture of a mother and daughter aside and retrieved the 40mm Glock handgun from the darkness. It was dusty, but reliable and with a full clip; the only ammo he had. He pulled back the slide — arming it and putting a round in the chamber.
"Why do you have a gun in Outworld?" he heard Carver ask him. Bert rolled his eyes at the question, stood and turned to see the others had followed him. They studied him from the doorway as he frowned, his lips pressing together.
"Why wouldn't I have a gun in Outworld?" he asked the younger cook.
Carver hesitated, but then shrugged his shoulders, accepting the answer, "Eh. Good point."
Bert looked at Carver with a small dissatisfied smile. He doubted Carver was capable of even holding a gun, but he knew it would be lost on Bao and Abigail and, therefore, was left with no other option.
"Please tell me you know how to use it?" Bert implored with stoic enthusiasm; he could not believe he was going to entrust it to him, but hoped by some miracle his faith wasn't misplaced.
Carver frowned, "I do. Unfortunately."
Bert could see he was telling the truth, but he was still somewhat anxious.
"There's a round in the chamber ready to go. Don't be stupid with it— fire only if you need to," Bert instructed firmly, handing the gun to him. Carver sighed when he gave it to him but nodded; he could see what he was getting at.
"You think they're going to get in here?" Carver perceived solemnly, a fearful expression on his face that he didn't try and hide from Bert.
"I'm not taking the chance," the older man informed him. "Get in one room and barricade the door."
"Where are you going?" Bao inquired, placing a hand on Abigail's shoulder.
"I'm going to get Norah," Bert promised. "I'll knock on the door for a shave and a haircut when we get back. You know what I'm talking about, right?"
Carver replied with a miffed frown and placed his hand against the door of his room, knocking out the notes easily: dah-di-di-dah-di, di-dit.
"Seriously?" he questioned dubiously; satirically offended, "My mom used to own a hair salon, remember?"
Bert gave a simple nod and waited until they all filed into one room and locked the door before he ran to catch up with Norah.
The gunslinger hadn't moved an inch since the cup-bearer had slammed the door closed. In truth, he hadn't the energy to, but it wasn't what kept him sitting in his seat. He had been waiting for some time now and he felt more miserable since she had left him.
She would be back. She was indescribably furious with him, she had made that point very adamantly to him, but they both knew that she wasn't going to let him die. She didn't have the gall.
The more time dragged on, he felt his comfort in his assumption start to dwindle when he thought that there was always the possibility, he could be wrong. Perhaps he had stepped too far out of line with her with how forceful his request for water was. He hadn't asked softly — he was sick, she would have been just as aggressive as well if she were in his shoes. He certainly didn't expect demanding something as simple as water would have ignited the cannon fuse she had. Surprised was a mild way to put it; he never thought she have the audacity to rant like she did, but the more he considered, the pettier it seemed.
If Erron wasn't as sick as he was, he doubted she would have ever been able to strike him hard enough to send him into the chair. He could still feel the angry sting of it on his face. He was certain if he had his strength, the scenario that had occurred would have transpired much differently.
Still, she had managed to and gave him one of the angriest talks he had allowed a woman to give him — well besides his mother— and he rose his eyebrows briefly at the memory of it.
The baker certainly did have a lot on her mind, and as he sat in the chair in silence, it unfortunately had given him a lot to think about as well. Did he really care or want to ponder on it, though? Not particularly, but her words still wedged their way into his brain regardless and he blamed the cholera for it.
The corner of Erron's mouth twitched indignantly. Even he had to admit that he could understand why she was so upset— especially after drawing it out clearly for him.
However, it didn't mean it brought him over to her side of the line.
It had been some time since she left, the sun already set; making his room dark as he suffered in the shadows. She had indeed kept to her word and made him wait longer than he thought she would have.
The gunslinger even started to wonder if she truly meant to come back at all. He needed water and she knew perfectly well he did. Apparently, she was angrier than he gave her credit for. He got it; if he were as pissed as her, he would take his time too.
Erron coughed; hoarse, rough and each one was like a punch in the sternum. He leaned into the chair until his head rested on the top rail. He could feel the bullets in the belt resting behind him rub uncomfortably against the back of his neck as he let out another small order of coughs. He hoped she would quit dragging her feet and get here soon— if she was coming back.
He scoffed slightly at the latter thought. The girl was temperamental with him, but there was no way she could be as hateful as she claimed— enough to leave him to die. Erron couldn't see her having a mean bone in her body, even if she was stretching out his punishment. Although, considering what she had told him, about how she had hoped he had come back to the tavern, it didn't sit well. Why had she been so keen to think that he would come back?
As he continued to wait, his condition growing more atrocious, he did feel a glimpse of what she must have felt that day. Black had to agree that it wasn't the greatest feeling in the world. The sense of dread that she might not return was enough to make him feel worthless. As if the threat of him dying was nothing more than a passing glance that wasn't important enough to acknowledge.
He clenched a fist and sighed; he felt worse when he remembered that he had not even bothered to come back at all.
A small voice of reason shouted in debate stating why he couldn't have: Erron had a job to do. Reptile was there badgering him. There wasn't anything he could have done...
"All you had to do was lift your gun and shoot him in the back of the head..."
He sighed deeply, recalling her words to him not long ago. No matter how much he wanted to silence them, he knew she was right. Goddamn it, she was right, and he hated it. He could sense that pitiful feeling of guilt he thought he had buried dig itself out again.
He was wrong.
He could have and should have helped her.
Erron still didn't like that she had put so much faith in him just because he reacted involuntarily when he saw her get slapped. Erron wondered that too; why had he cared about seeing her get hit across the face in the doorway? He knew it pissed him off when he saw it, but he knew that was not what had angered him. There was something about it that left him feeling he had been acquainted with that exact scene before. The only word he could describe it as was deja-vu.
He wasn't sure if it was the dehydration, being impatient or because he grudgingly felt shame from his forced session of contemplation, but he had enough of waiting for the water.
The ill mercenary picked himself up from the chair and stumbled his way to the door, using the table as a crutch. The movement alone must have aggravated his sickness because the next thing he knew he was falling to the floor, coughing and retching painfully with nothing left in his stomach to empty.
Moving had depleted his energy even more than he thought it would have and started to panic. Every small effort to hold himself up, to dry heave pathetically on the floor like a sick dog, was taxing on his strength. His age was granted with longevity by Shang Tsung, but that didn't mean he still couldn't die, and he was bluntly reminded of that in his condition. Pitifully, he glanced towards the foggy outline of the door and hoped it opened.
Much to his relief it did, and he could see her silhouette carved out against the stone of the hallway in the backdrop. She had a small bucket in her hand, and he could make out the handle of a ladle from it.
She closed the door behind him with a forceful slam, but that is not what made Erron feel the slightest bit of worry creep up.
Her eyes were cold; almost as she regarded him as a nuisance. Maybe it was because he felt vulnerable, but he did not like the look. She looked at him on the floor with a small apathetic smile.
"Your water as so kindly requested."
Evidently, he was wrong to think that she didn't have what it took to hate unconditionally; the callous but level tone in her voice was clue enough for him. With that in mind, he looked at the water as if it were miles away from him; with no hope of ever reaching it.
She just looked at him for the longest time, as if trying to think of what she wanted to do next now that she was here. Erron stared at her with impatience, he couldn't help it; she was keeping what he needed away from him. "Give me... water..."
Please, give me water.
Her eyes darkened even more at him, a boldness in them that would have been frightening to someone else that wasn't him. Black grimaced angrily at her, even though he knew she had the upper hand. He wondered how he was going to handle this when he was able again; he still contemplated how to address it as nicely as he could. She wouldn't hear the end of this.
Her green eyes narrowed at him, her face impossibly deadpan as she shook her head. "You have not learned anything have you?"
He scoffed with discontent, barely audibly, but it was enough for her to hear, because the next thing he knew she marched briskly towards the balcony.
She walked with determination, almost as if she didn't get it out of the way now, she wouldn't be able to do it at all. Erron reached for her as she passed, but she dodged him easily by stepping to the side. Erron heard her snort in disgust at him before she opened the door to his balcony.
Erron could see what her motive was, and he wasn't too thrilled about it.
She kept her eyes forward when she addressed him; her voice still unwavering in its insensitive tone. "Unlike you, I did come back. However, that does not mean I cannot still toss this over the ledge."
He gritted his teeth from his prone position on the floor; he wasn't sure if he was just irritable or felt concern at her words.
The baker turned towards him and he saw no sympathy. "I did not want one before, but now I do. I want to hear an apology for everything you have done, or I will not give you a single drop."
Erron narrowed his eyes at her, her form still foggy, and didn't answer her as he started to breathe laboriously. They both knew what she wanted him to do; she wanted him to beg her to help him.
Even sick, he could see her bluff and he was furious she was toying with him. He wouldn't give her shit; she didn't have the nerve to throw the water over the ledge. Instead, he reached his hand towards the direction of the bucket and he could feel it tremble with exertion; his eyes on the ground.
He heard water dripping on the floor and he looked up to see her slowly tipping the contents out on the balcony in front of him. Seeing her suddenly discarding the water he desperately needed, flooded him with horror. It seemed she did have the nerve after all.
In fear, the words jumped from his mouth. "W-Wait...STOP..."
The cup-bearer he had wronged hesitated for a moment though her stoic expression remained. She contemplated for a moment, but then her hostile look returned. "I did not hear an apology."
Once more, she began to tip more water out of the bucket.
He coughed again and this time it felt like an onslaught. He lowered his hand as he coughed onto the ground with no strength to even cover his mouth. Erron couldn't hear her next words; they were garbled in a smog of deliriousness that started to overwhelm him. His head rested on the floor, it was cold, and it provided some comfort despite the amount of pain he was in. He felt some alleviation the more blackness shrouded him... no fight... rest. Fight. Wake up. He couldn't make up his mind...
It felt as if an eternity passed by him, his thoughts shrouded in darkness that he couldn't comprehend before he felt weightlessness and then a small flood of more pain. It was dull and he felt dizziness from it... it felt like his head had hit something hard.
Erron felt something like a small blissful baptism washing him from within and began to fight through the murky consciousness. More time passed, and he began to get a better hold of himself.
Something lukewarm but welcomed went down his throat and as he saw the mass in front of him with the ladle, he understood.
Water. She was giving him water.
Now he could rest for a bit.
Even though he couldn't see her, too incoherent in his condition as she shoveled water down his throat, she trembled with rage; absolutely abhorrent with him. However, she was even more so with herself.
After several spoonfuls' from the ladle, she rose to her feet and flung it as hard as she could against the wall of his room. It clattered loudly to the floor and she seethed; completely aggravated.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the knob of his throat rise and fall; his throat working naturally to swallow the water after she had placed him sitting up against the trunk at the foot of his bed.
He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness and she grew tired of watching him. Instead, she walked over to his balcony and gripped the edges of it tightly with her fingers, turning her knuckles white. She was boiling mad that she had saved him. It was the right thing to do, but that didn't mean it was what she desired to do. She felt no reprieve or virtue and it careened her thoughts into darker depths.
The only thing that ran through her mind was how she felt about herself.
Weak.
So weak that she couldn't let the man that had wronged her die — the same one that had wanted to see her dead.
Her incapability to claim her revenge festered hotly in her that she was perhaps too kind of a person; that there was some wall that blocked her. At this moment, Norah wanted nothing more than to break that barrier down; brick by brick till her hands were bloody and all her hesitance demolished along with it.
It would have been so easy to let him die. Nobody would have known. She had an opportunity and she stupidly wasted it.
Why couldn't she be the person her anger wanted her to be right now? Why did she let her pathetic sympathy get in the way? Even after this test of humility, he would not apologize. The mercenary was either too egotistical to acknowledge he had been wrong or cared nothing about it. She knew it was probably a combination of both. He would always be cruel to her no matter how much she tried and if he didn't have a reason to kill her now, she certainly gave him one tonight.
Why couldn't she have just let him die!
Because you are weak.
"I am not weak..."
Yes you are. You let him live. Now he will kill you.
She slammed her fist against the railing. Norah had been so close; all she wanted to know was that he felt some sort of remorse and have one victory against him. Even with her little test, she had not accomplished either.
He would never admit it.
She hadn't pushed hard enough; she hadn't been aggressive enough and she hadn't been as strong as she thought she was being. Norah was maddeningly furious enough to be capable of it, but her conscious held her back. Her morals tried to remind her she was wrong to want to cause him suffering despite the misery he had inflicted on her; to be the stronger person by not acting out.
Carver is wrong. There is no strength in showing kindness to your enemy.
Norah heard him groan and she glanced angrily over her shoulder to see him try blinking awake but failing.
He will kill you as soon as he is well.
Her eyes drifted over to the guns in his holsters. Norah only meant to glance at them because they were in her sight, but inexplicably, she could not tear her eyes off them. Hot tears pricked her already red and swollen eyes. She didn't know which one it was that he had placed against her face, so she stared at both of them with relentless hatred. They were something of his she had constantly feared, and she despised his firearms as much as she did him.
He had made her feel so unbelievably meaningless that night, wanting only to kill her for simply being a bother. Never had she felt as incomprehensibly inconsequential before that night.
Of course, he hadn't, for whatever reason he only knew; she always figured it was because Bert and the others were there. However, with only the pair in the room together — their roles reversed — she couldn't help but feel her eyes land back on the guns and then back to him.
Her eyes narrowed at him dangerously, her chest rising and falling angrily as she recalled that night and everything else. Every little emotion of fear and insignificance she had felt. Every little bedeviled action he had given her. His uncaring and egotistical nature that made her bristle with rage whether he spoke disdainfully or shot her a look of equal measure. What was crowned the winner of all her dudgeon thoughts, however, was the knowledge that she had let him do all this to her.
Revulsion filled her at her internal testimony. In the end, it was her cowardice that had allowed him to treat her and continued to treat her in such a despicable way. She had not once won a quarrel with him because she was so frightened of what he would do. She had no idea what he had done to her this night, perhaps she was truly and forever done, but she didn't feel convinced that she had genuinely felt a metamorphosis; just the longing for one. There was still a small panicking and pessimistic feeling in her that he might retaliate...
You will always be weak. Erron Black humiliated you. Belittled you every opportunity he had. Brought you here against your will, killed your father and tried to kill you. Will you not at least try to stand up for yourself? Or will you always be this way? Without a single shred of fortitude?
Norah wanted to prove the malignant voice in her head wrong. She did not wish to be a timid child anymore. She wanted change; to be free and feel something comparable to it again. Even if she was forced to take it in a bloody and undesirable way.
"I am not weak..." she mumbled, her voice trembling in a vehement whisper.
Norah took a step towards the guns.
There was still a way to remedy her mistake of giving him the water. It was sloppy and it would be easy for people to conclude she may have had something to do with it. If it gave her what she had longed desired though, it would be so satisfactory in the end.
Ever since you arrived here, you have been treated nothing more than dirt. You have been made a slave, beaten, and regarded as something less than a person. It is all his fault. He brought you here even though you pleaded with him not to. He does not care about anyone but himself. He was the catalyst to your anguish. The reason you are weaker and more pathetic than you have ever been before. He has robbed you of your life... now rob him of his.
Another set of steps moved her close enough to the holsters resting on his chair. Norah's eyes were blinded by the barrage of tears that stung harshly down her cheeks. They burned, just like the coal she had deep within the hollowness of her chest that heated her body with temptation for what was due to her. What she had been denied for some time.
She wanted freedom of Erron Black from her life.
Do it or be weak the rest of your life.
Norah's eyes landed on him with a cold disregard; her eyes narrowed at his feeble attempts to try to fight off the sickness. Without taking her eyes off him, she freed the gun from his holster and walked towards him.
The gun was surprisingly lighter than she thought it would be, but there was still an unknown heaviness that weighed it in her hand as she wrapped her finger around the trigger. Norah came along the side of him and looked down at his weakened state for the longest time.
It was much easier to convince herself to kill him without the weapon in her hand. Now she found it impossibly difficult to put the barrel against the side of his head. She stood there for several moments, only envisioning herself putting the gun to his head and firing it, but her body never obeyed the fantasy that ran through her mind.
Norah tried to lift it, but her hand felt lifeless and all she managed to do was swing it in her hand. There was something disappointing about doing it in such a fashion where he was unable to defend himself; she wondered if he had faced the same dilemma with her.
Norah persuaded herself to doubt it and managed to finally place the gun to level it at his head.
It shook in her hand as much as her body trembled with a variety of emotions she couldn't even identify: trepidation, self-loathing, rancor. She was not sure which one suited what she felt best, and it distracted her like a swarm of gnats.
Pull the trigger.
Pathetically, she couldn't even keep it balanced towards his head and the trigger itself felt cold and unyielding. Everything swirled like a maelstrom within her; both sides arguing passionately on her next course of action. One side told her to put the gun down, to not become him, while the other tried to prompt her that she would feel better once he was dead.
Do it. Pull the trigger.
Do not do this. You'll just turn into him.
Pull it.
This is not right.
Norah pulled the hammer back with a click, and when she heard the sound she let out a shaky sigh.
She had killed livestock without blinking an eye and had attacked a man with a knife out of self-defense, cutting his hand, but never had she taken another person's life. She had never wanted or had a reason to inflict harm on someone for her own personal pleasure.
It was not as if she was not accustomed to death, she had seen it plenty of times, but never had claimed a life to settle her own problems or to avenge a wrong done against her. Norah had seen Outworlders killed over some of the most frivolous things, but she was acclimated to it that she saw it as the natural order. Justice always ended in some blunt resolution in Outworld, no matter how big or small the grievance; public or internal. There was no piddling or twiddling and there was never an opening for discussions. It was swift, and always so ardently bloody to the point.
Here, before her, for the first time was someone she did want to hurt and had great cause to, but still she couldn't do it. Any other Outworlder wouldn't have hesitated, yet here she was still fighting the urge to talk her herself out of her morality, even after all the internal argument it took to get her to stand where she was. Her head pounded with a headache from her indecision and she was forced to release the shaky, jittery breath she had not even been aware she was holding in. Why couldn't she do it?!
He killed your father.
No. That's not true — Rhen did.
He turned his back. He may as well have.
There was something else that ate at her; telling her it was incredibly unjust to do it this way. As if it was craven that she couldn't do it with him awake. She could only muster the grit to do it when he was unable to defend himself.
KILL HIM!
Put the gun down, kid.
They weren't her words in her heads, and it was strange that she attributed it to something that Bert would say. It dismayed her for a moment, and she felt her finger pull away from the trigger.
Something gripped her hand and she was jarred out of her thoughts. Norah looked to the left of her and saw why she had heard Bert's words in her mind; he was there in the flesh.
"Just what in the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his eyes as hard as his tone, as he waited for her answer. Unfortunately, she didn't have anything to say and he shook his head at her. To see the level of silent criticism and irascibility he held towards her was something she wasn't even sure she wanted to see from him again. Norah felt intense abashment from letting him see her even consider pointing a gun at someone. What was she doing?
She felt the gun grow slack in her hand, the weight of it becoming too heavy for her to hold up and she let it drop down to her side. Bert snatched the gun from her hand with a roughness she wouldn't have expected him to use with her before he de-cocked the gun.
He walked over to the holster at Black's chair and placed the gun back into it as if it had never left. For several minutes Bert refused to look at her. The tension in the room was unmanageable and she felt it crushing her as Bert stared at the floor, clearly in deep concentration from the sullen look she could see on his face.
"Say something..." she whispered softly.
He walked past her as if she wasn't even in the room and it flooded her with guilt once he closed and locked the door.
Bert let out a deep sigh and lowered his head. "I'm not agreeing what he did to you was right — he has some work to do too — but I was just expecting more from you. You've let me down."
His words sent a wave a shame down on her, drowning the malignant voice in her head that had been her puppeteer; causing it to vanish entirely before a more rational voice replaced it, agreeing wholeheartedly with Bert. Norah couldn't say anything that would have been a satisfactory rebuttal, for her mind was blank except with one thought.
By the Elder Gods... what had she almost done? This was not her. She was not this repugnant person, she was not... him.
Bert looked at Black and then her with a defeated sigh at them both. He seemed to think for a while about what he wanted to say, and eventually she heard him ask what was wrong with him.
"He is sick. I gave him the water," Norah informed him. Her tone was one of disbelief; still too fixated on what she had almost tried to do. She had lost control and it frightened her more than she wanted it to. Her hand trembled and she grabbed it to hide how shaken she was.
Bert shook his head angrily at them; exasperated, "You two sure picked a perfect time to do this shit now."
Norah furrowed her eyebrows at him, somewhat bothered by his harsh tone. The older cook could see that she was unsure of what he meant, and he grasped her gently by the shoulders to lead her to the balcony.
"Didn't you notice Rome is burning?" Bert asked her, throwing an impatient hand in the direction of the marketplace beyond the curtain wall.
Norah blinked; no, she hadn't noticed and she felt somewhat foolish. The baker had been too wrapped up in her own conundrum to see that the city was under attack from beyond the protection of the palace. Norah could hear and see clearly now that her own worries were meager in comparison to what was happening around her and felt somewhat selfish, she had only paid mind to her own battle.
She could smell the smoke from the balcony and heard screaming from beyond the palace. Norah heard running below and looked down to see guards in the training courtyard rushing in the direction towards the entrance of the palace. Why had she not seen what had been going on before? Did it just start or had she been so drawn into her personal struggles more than she had realized?
Black groaned behind them and coughed, finally waking up and turned to see the both of them staring out the balcony. Norah could tell he seemed better and had come around much quicker than she would have anticipated, but she did not linger on the thought too long when she felt her skin prick with rage at him.
He looked over to see Bert there and instead of confusion, she saw recognition: "What're you doin' in my room, Meyers?"
Norah bridged her eyebrows in confusion at the name that she had heard Erron Black addressed Bert with and the familiar tone in his voice. Did they know each other somehow? Black still sounded anemic, and it was apparent in his voice.
Bert regarded him very coldly, almost as much as Norah did, but he brushed it away and went to help him. Norah did not move an inch from where she stood.
"How the hell did you get so sick?" Bert asked him, draping a tally-marked arm around his shoulder before dumping him in the chair. Erron coughed when he landed in the chair, still too sick to really do anything.
"None of your concern," Black countered back irritably. Norah noticed the banter was neither playful nor friendly; just very professional.
Bert went over to pick up the water that lay at the foot of the bed that Norah had used and frowned in her direction when he saw where the ladle lay and the small dent in it. Bert picked up both and handed them over to him.
"Can you serve yourself?" Bert asked him, raising an eyebrow.
Black rolled his eyes before flashing a pointed look in her direction, "Now that I'm not dying."
She felt her chest rise and fall in anger at him. If only he knew how close he had come to dying, he would not be so sharp with his quips.
He continued to suck down water greedily, his eyes not leaving hers. Though he wasn't really doing it intentionally to upset her, just the sound of listening to him drink water loudly was enough to make her blood boil.
He looked down at the ladle for a moment, sensing something off about it and shot a disdainful look at her when he noticed small chunks of food floating in the bucket. It wouldn't hurt him, there was no soap in it, but it didn't mean he wasn't peeved that it wasn't as clean as he thought it was.
Erron Black dropped the ladle in the water with an obnoxious toss: "Thanks for the water, but I still ain't too happy with you. You get that all out of your system, now?"
Norah launched herself at him with enough speed that it startled even the mercenary. She screamed savagely at him, calling him every foul name she could think of when she grabbed him by his hair and tugged hard; trying to rip out what she could. Erron groaned in pain, spilling the bucket on the ground as his hands reached behind him to pry her hands off him. She moved her hands to his face and clawed at the flesh of his cheek.
She managed to hit him in the back of his head, making her knuckles ache from the punch before Bert grabbed her around the waist. She kicked and screamed like a feral cat being grabbed by the scruff, as he dragged her in the direction of the balcony by lifting her up with both arms wrapped securely around her waist. Erron Black rubbed the back of his head where she hit him, a glower on his face; three red lines also drawn on his face from her nails on his cheek.
She scowled viciously at him and shrieked at him: "You bastard! I should have done it—I should have killed you! YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!"
Norah felt her feet hit the wood of the balcony and Bert grab her by her shoulders, halting her from attacking the mercenary again before he shook her with enough force to catch her attention.
"Cut it out, Norah! You don't mean it!" he shouted at her firmly. She ceased slightly, her eyes brimmed with tears once again as he stared with tenacious sternness that she shrunk slightly under. He had always been so collected and to see him livid was surprisingly frightening.
He sighed, almost as if collecting his anger together to smother it, before his stony disposition returned: "We don't have time for it."
Black scowled, looking at the small dots of blood in his hand from his ripped scalp, before he looked beyond them at what was happening in the distance. The mercenary saw that the city was being attacked and stood, only to fall back in the chair with a groan.
"Dammit," he grumbled, placing a hand on his forehead.
"You and I both know you're not going anywhere," Bert snapped at him, referring to his sickly state. "You just woke up, so sit down and get comfortable."
Norah stared off into the distance, trying her best to ignore Black while still paying attention to their conversation.
"I gotta get out there," she heard him tell Bert before he coughed. Norah rolled her eyes at his stupidity. How was he going to fight when he was sick? He was so moronic.
"You can't even stand," Bert reminded. "You'll be killed and you need time to get it out. I know you heal fast, but you don't heal that fast."
She felt Bert's voice direct itself in her direction and she only acknowledged him with a small tilt of her head. "You're staying here too. Where I can keep my eye on you, so don't even think about it."
Norah exhaled indignantly out of her nose, "I still have to feed Ferra and Torr," she rebutted, knowing it was a pitiful excuse.
Erron Black snorted in his chair and she threw him a poisonous look. The only thing she wanted more than to throw Erron Black off the balcony was to get as far away from him as possible.
"I think Ferra and Torr will live," Bert told her. Norah gave him an aggravated look.
Erron Black groaned slightly and she saw him jerk his thumb to Bert then in the direction of the washroom. She scoffed as she watched Bert walk over to help him. Honestly, she thought about ignoring Bert and heading towards the door, and had even begun walking before he shot her a pointed look; warning her to stay where she was.
Reluctantly, she obeyed, not very pleased about it and turned her attention towards the balcony. She tried to curb her anger but failed and instead, felt it take root even more. Even with the city burning in the distance, it was not enough to stray her thoughts away of how she should have pulled the trigger and didn't.
She was weak.
Kotal Kahn stood with his servant, Matlal, on the balcony of his own room as they both surveyed the destruction that was commencing outside.
The Osh-Tekk ruler was told it was Tarkatans laying carnage throughout various points in the city, but Kotal knew better that these attacks were strategic rather than random. With the news of the Edenians joining forces with the Tarkatans, he could not help but look at the attack and see it as a diversion. As D'Vorah had suggested long ago with him with Mileena's army — a two-pronged approach.
There was no purpose in such an attack other than to serve as a lure to draw them out. Also, with Rain and Tanya as architects of the assault, he knew that they were not here to destroy the city as some revenge for being hunted, but to claim it instead. Rain thought he was meant for greatness and destined for the throne of Outworld and Tanya was as wickedly ambitious as he was. Ruining the capital city was not what their intended objective was
With both the Hydromancer and the Pyromancer allied with each other, it did not take long for the Emperor to understand what their true target was.
Him.
A hard frown set itself upon the Emperor's face. They had sacrificed so much with Mileena's rebellion, suffered so many casualties and he would not let all he had built crumble under the arrogance of two, greedy Edenians who were not fit to rule. Outworld would never bow down to the pompous demigod as their new ruler. Unless, Rain had made arrangements to stifle the future uprisings his rule would incur. He would make sure the Edenian never reached that step.
Kotal Kahn glanced at the night sky with a dirty look, knowing full well why this battle was taking place at night. The Osh-Tekk were sluggish at night and Kotal knew from their last encounter — when he defeated both Edenians —which they would only try a second time when his strength was depleted. It was cowardly and expected of both Rain and Tanya.
Let them try.
Kotal Kahn was no fool, but he was not unsympathetic to his people. He sent as much Osh-Tekk as he could spare to assist Ermac and Erron Black (who he understood were still in the city). Ferra/Torr would remain behind with him and Matlal to wait for the Edenians to make their move on the palace. He also had his own personal guards to spare, but he did not expect a large swarm on the palace.
Kotal Kahn knew that Rain was capable of teleporting and it would be no trouble for him to carry Tanya as a passenger, but he was unsure how many Rain could teleport at a time. He suspected that it wouldn't be many, but before Rain had the opportunity to transport too many, and overwhelm them, he would eliminate the Hydromancer first.
He would deal with Tanya and the other Tarkatans last. From what he understood, they were scattered throughout the city, but there were not as many as he thought. It made him contemplate that perhaps Rain would send for the other Tarkatans around Outworld, or enlist help with outside parties, to hold the throne. Again, dread settled within him at the abominable thought of Rain succeeding.
"Should I mask myself?" Matlal asked the Emperor.
"Perhaps it would be wise," Kotal Kahn conceded, "Inform the guards to light the pyres. I will have Ferra and Torr accompany me for the meantime."
"You do not want the personal guards?" Matlal questioned.
"The personal guards will be for you to employ," Kotal Kahn reiterated with a simple nod.
"Yes Emperor," Matlal concluded, understanding his intention and left the balcony.
Kotal Kahn gave one last sullen look towards the city, hoping to end the conflict with the Edenians quickly so he could focus on what was more important. The Emperor marched over to his weapons closet and pulled from it his macuahuitl and his tecpatl dagger before he exited his room. He headed in the direction of Ferra and Torr's area, knowing they always remained in there if not assigned to tasks.
He passed by other Osh-Tekk guards, all of them running to their posts when they saw the pyres start to light in the windows of the domed spires. Signaling that an attack on the palace could be imminent and to prepare.
Kotal Kahn passed by female servants on his way to Ferra and Torr's room, and he made sure that they were on their way to their rooms by affirming with them that they saw the pyres. He was still hesitant about it, maybe it would simply be Rain and Tanya able to get into the palace, but any male servants he passed, he made sure they knew to arm themselves in case a breach did occur.
Eventually, he found his way to Ferra and Torr's area and they saw their Emperor walk through the door immediately. Ferra jumped from her hammock and landed on Torr's shoulders as the brute marched with his partner to Kotal's spot at the open door.
"Big Bossy need we?" she asked him. Her tone was somewhat ornery, but he could tell it wasn't directed at him, as she poked her head over Torr's shoulder: "Ferra/Torr hear yellin' — keepin' we awake!"
"Yes, Ferra, there is a siege outside of the walls," he enlightened with a definite tone.
Ferra's eyes widened mischievously before she cackled with glee, "We play Torr!"
Torr roared in response, his arms wide as they started to make their way towards the wall before Kotal Kahn halted them by holding up his hand; they had misunderstood.
"No," the Osh-tekk corrected sternly, "You are to remain with me inside the palace walls."
The female symbiote gave a heavy, disappointed pout as Torr's shoulders slumped. She groaned with sadness; crestfallen that they would not be able to partake in what was happening outside. Kotal Kahn couldn't help but let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth at her childish despondency despite the dire situation.
"We shall await for the Edenians to come to us," he reassured, "Then, you and Torr shall have all the participation you long for."
Ferra's eyes brightened at his words, "Tawny and Splashy?" she inquired, her interest elevated with youthful delight. "We squish both!"
Kotal Kahn nodded his head as a simple answer. He was pleased and surprised that his words made in impact at dinner. He honestly assumed that Ferra had no desire to listen to politics so he was reassured that she understood who he was referring to and could skip explaining who their foes tonight were.
"Bang-Bang and Mac-Mac help too?" she questioned him with a frown and vexed tone; her eyes narrowing as if selfish about the speculation she might have to split the kill with the other guards.
Kotal Kahn smiled at her eagerness, "Just you, I and Torr."
Ferra wooped slightly before a chortle escaped her as she patted Torr's head. "We still play Torr."
Torr roared again and made his way towards the wall once more. Kotal Kahn followed his guards as Torr picked up Ferra and placed her on the edge of the wall before Kotal Kahn felt Torr do the same with him.
The Emperor jumped from the wall first and caught Ferra under her arms as she jumped as well; he knew that she was capable of landing just fine but assisted anyway. Kotal Kahn placed her down and both moved out of the way as Torr's hands grappled the edge of the wall and pulled himself over with a series of strained grunts.
Kotal Kahn and Ferra felt the ground shake slightly when Torr pulled himself over and landed in front of them. The brute breathed heavily, somewhat tired from pulling his bulky and heavy form over the ledge. Ferra turned to him and he raised an eyebrow.
"Can Torr have door?" she asked nonchalantly.
Kotal Kahn let out a small chuckle, "When he learns not to damage them any longer, I shall see to it and dispense with the wall."
Ferra nodded and ran up to Torr who scooped her up before placing her on his back.
Her eyes darted around with destructive enthusiasm. "Where Tawny and Splashy? We want stomp guts out!"
Kotal Kahn walked alongside the symbiotic pair with a heavy glower and without an answer to give, also wondering himself where they could be.
The final attack on the palace was forthcoming. However, it would have occurred much sooner if not for one, aggravating little fault once they got out of the escape tunnel.
Rain had forgotten where the entrance to the catacombs were.
Tanya and Rain turned a corner only to find themselves at yet another dead end that earned another set of collective groaning from the Tarkatans that had exited out the escape tunnel with them. They had all been so eager once they had gotten inside the palace, now they were severely annoyed and trudged bitterly behind the Edenians.
"At this rate, Rain, we will not have to worry about killing Ko'atal ourselves — he will have died of old age by the time we find our way out," Tanya mocked lightly, although the frown on her face was unamused. Some of the Tarkatans grumbled in agreement.
Rain shot her a heated glare, "Silence Tanya!"
The Tarkatan commander that was also with them mumbled something in his native tongue and by the sound of it, was as irritated with Rain. Whatever it was that he had said, Tanya agreed. Rain was a moron.
"Should we split up?" offered one Tarkatan from the back.
Tanya could see Rain's mouth curl up into a snarl even with the purple mask covering most of his face; she rolled her eyes in response. Rain pushed past them all grudgingly, and they followed behind the Hydromancer as they continued to wander lost in the catacombs.
It took them several attempts in the dark, before Rain finally located the entrance and they all spilled into the palace.
The catacombs were one level below where the main dungeons were and when they saw the lack of guards stationed, Rain and Tanya threw each other a pleased look as the Tarkatans raced past them; eager to cause havoc in the palace.
Any of the guards they did encounter were slaughtered easily either by their more than ambitious allies, or the Edenians themselves.
Tanya threw one of her yellow tonfas at one of the guards that charged them. Unfortunately, he managed to block it with his sword by batting it out of the way. He ran for her as she walked casually towards him. The Osh-Tekk guard slashed his sword at her, raising it above his head to bring downward. Tanya moved in close, blocking the sword with the back of her forearm. She dipped down and pulled the sharp sickle edge of her remaining tonfa towards her to cut deep in the back of his calf, buckling him to his knee before she impaled him in the throat with the long barbed end; the tip exiting out the back of his neck. He gurgled in pain, went silent and fell backwards to the floor, freeing it from his throat without Tanya having to tug it out.
The two Edenians heard movement from behind and Rain shot lightning at the guard. He cried out in pain and writhed on the floor; the smell of cooking flesh pungent in the small, stuffy hallway.
Another guard ran around the corner and thrust his spear forward to cut across her cheek, which she dodged by stepping to the side. He shot the spear at her again, on the opposite side, and she countered by bringing her leg up and pushing the junction between spear tip and staff with the dip of her heeled boots flat against the floor. He released the spear and tried to throw a hook at her, but she was faster and sunk her sickle into his gut and pulled it horizontally towards her; spilling his entrails on to the floor. With a strangled groan of pain he crumpled to the floor and Tanya sighed in boredom as she walked over to retrieve the sibling of her weapon from the floor.
"A lot quieter than expected," Tanya commented with a raised eyebrow. She noticed that Rain ignored her and instead eyeballed the various cells in the dungeon. It did not take her long to piece together what he was contemplating.
"I think they have earned a reprieve," she shrugged at Rain, flashing a small wink as well. Rain nodded slightly and picked up the keys from the body of the guard that Rain killed. There was another Tarkatan foot soldier with them and he tossed the keys at him.
"Let them loose," the Hydromancer ordered plainly.
The Tarkatan nodded with a malignant grin and started to release each prisoner one by one. They were pleased to be released and even if they did not want to seek revenge, and flee for their freedom, they would serve as an adequate distraction, nonetheless.
One of the prisoners passed by them but stopped when he saw her. Tanya felt her eye twitch when he heard him walk up behind her; leaving little space.
"Pretty yellow bird — ARRRGH!"
He screamed in agony when she twirled her tonfa with a sour look on her face and planted the sickle end between his legs from behind.
"Disgusting, gelded rat," she quipped back, before she lifted her leg towards her chest and struck him hard in the face with the tip of her boot; breaking his nose. The force of the kick detached him from her tonfa and left him sobbing and bleeding on the floor; wailing like a banshee as he bled heavily from his groin.
She noticed Rain watching with a droll expression in his eyes as he looked at her before he glanced at the dirty prisoner dying on the floor, "I would wash your weapon if I were you. His filth may have tainted it."
Rain turned his back, just as Tanya's lip curled up in a snarl at his sarcastic comment. Disregarding his joke, she followed behind him as the two finally made their way into the palace.
Reptile finally managed to locate Ermac in the city after battling his way through the thick smoke that blanketed Z'unkahrah. Even for him, it was difficult to maneuver his way through the smoke from the buildings burning. Thankfully, it was made simpler after Reptile managed to find the green streak in the distance that darted from Tarkatan to Tarkatan.
The coldness of the night was heated by the fires that the city's tenants did their best to smother, but still most of them raged relentlessly. It placed the city in a dirty haze of smoke that he and others choked on as he sprinted his way towards where Ermac was; the mystic having no difficulty with the smoke and dealt with the Tarkatans as people tried to keep the fires from spreading further.
Reptile heard something run up from him from behind and rolled forward to avoid the blades that swiped at his head from behind. He turned around, hunched in a kneeling position, and spat in the direction where the Tarkatan was.
The Zaterran smiled when he heard the agonizing scream and saw him flail with his hands covering his face; pieces of his flesh melting off and sizzling in the sand. He fell to the ground while Reptile continued his trek towards Ermac.
Yet another Tarkatan, alerted by his fellow comrade screaming, ran towards him. Reptile raced forwards and blocked the Tarkatan's bladed arms with the top of his forearms; the tips of the blades missing and encircling around the top his face. He kicked for his kneecap and felt his lip curl up in a smile when he heard the gratifying snap of bones breaking and saw the Tarkatan's knee bend in the opposite direction. His fanged tooth assailant howled in agony before he was silenced with three claw marks to his throat.
Another came for him, trying for an overhand strike to hack down into his shoulder but missed as Reptile ducked forward. The Tarkatan lost balance and stumbled forward before Reptile hugged him from behind and curled both of his claws deeply into the Tarkatan's stomach and pulled his hands apart in opposite directions; spilling his intestines.
He snarled and proceeded towards Ermac's direction. His eyes darted around, also trying to look for the other of the Kahn's bodyguards in the smog.
Reptile heard something next to him and snapped his teeth when his feet were taken out from under him from one of the Tarkatans sweeping his legs. He rolled to his feet but felt one of the arm blades cut him slightly on the scales of his back. The Tarkatan drove both of his arms forward; trying to skewer him on both blades. Reptile tucked his body in enough to avoid them as his hands grabbed both wrists. He pulled the Tarkatan's arms apart, giving him room to step in before he spat acid at the brute's face.
The Zaterran nodded in satisfaction as he writhed on the ground, screaming his last.
Reptile rolled his slit-pupil eyes in annoyance as he passed an alley, tucked his body to avoid getting barbed, grabbed the Tarkatan by the arm and pulled him out with a growl. As the Tarkatan worked to regain his footing, Reptile swiped through the air and felt his claws sink into the flesh of the Tarkatan's cheek — opening the entire side of his face — before he dug his nails under his jaw so far up he could feel them exit out the bottom of his mouth and lightly touch the roof.
He held the head of the slack Tarkatan and pulled his hand free. He swiped his hand through the air, flinging off the excess blood before he continued on his journey towards Ermac.
Another charged him and he unlatched his tongue, wrapping it around the Tarkatan's leg and pulled it towards him while he released it. The Tarkatan landed hard on his back and before he could rise to stand Reptile planted a foot on top of his chest, and spat acid. He flailed underneath, the flesh sizzling off of him, and Reptile left him to rot on the ground.
Finally, he was close enough to see Ermac's form through the haze of smoke and watched as he sailed forward and drove both legs into the stomach of the Tarkatan he was fighting. The Tarkatan sailed on his back and Ermac floated over his head and dropped himself on top - breaking his skull and killing him.
Ermac glanced over his shoulder to see another try to take advantage of him with his back turned - Ermac simply lifted him and threw him into one of the burning buildings across the street. There was a groan of agony barely audible over the roar of the flames from the window before Ermac turned to see Reptile approach him.
"The Edenian wretches have found the escape tunnel," he cited. "We must go. Warn Ko'atal. This is but an illusion."
Ermac's eyes widened slightly in alarm and then narrowed as he looked in the direction of the palace. They both noticed the pyres lit and knew what their new priority was: protect the Emperor.
With a simple nod Ermac and Reptile abandoned the strife happening outside the palace and headed towards the one they knew was about to commence inside the safety of the walls.
Rain walked inside the palace with a pleasant demeanor, Tanya by his side as they watched the Tarkatans with them mow down any Osh-Tekk guards that dare to fight them.
The palace would be deemed his soon enough and it was a magnificent feeling to see how much of a victorious dominance over the battle they had. They all perished under his small force. Everyone from male servants that tried to foolishly attack, to Osh-Tekk that were left to hold the defenses in the palace, as well as slaves who couldn't hide fast enough were eliminated. Tanya was also exuberant about their triumph, both of them confident that they would finally win even though they had not located their prize yet.
With both Tanya and Rain, it would be no difficult task to kill the Emperor when he was powerless without the sun. Rain acknowledged a previous engagement when all it took was some storm clouds to eclipse the sun to bring him to his knees. Now, knowing that the sun would not break the horizon for hours, killing the false ruler would be uncomplicated.
However, the Hydromancer had to say he was displeased that he noticed that fewer and fewer of Tarkatans started to accompany them. Most of the others rummaging and killing throughout other parts of the palace — as they searched for Kotal Kahn. Even though they were winning, the Osh-Tekk were fighting vigorously and had managed to kill some of the Tarkatans.
More Osh-Tekk rounded the corner, Rain counted five that the Edenians and the three Tarkatans with them could dispose of.
A silly little insect dared to unsheathe his sword at him, preparing to try and wound him with it before Rain suspended him in a large water bubble. He smiled darkly as the Osh-Tekk inside tried feebly to break out. Dark amusement washed over his face as he saw the Osh-Tekk silently screaming within, drowning painfully, before Rain released him. The guard dropped to the floor, soaking wet and with no life in him to cough up the water in his lungs.
He turned to see Tanya dealing with her own guard with little trouble. She delivered a brutal uppercut, a sharp hook from her opposite hand before she gave him a snapping kick to his stomach.
Doubled-over, Tanya brought her leg up, curled it and struck him in the back of the head hard with the back of her heel— sending the guard face down to the ground with a cry of pain. Using the tip of her opposite foot, she snaked it under the blade of his fallen sword, lifted it with a jerk, caught it and stabbed it into the middle of his neck; nailing him to the stone ground.
Tanya caught him staring and flashed him a supercilious look by raising her eyebrows quickly before scoffing at the Osh-Tekk he simply drowned; as if silently telling him he was lazy.
Rain rolled his eyes at her as she walked to catch up with him, the last two Tarkatans with them taking the lead.
They heard clambering, something shatter and saw the prisoners that they freed chasing a few screaming servant girls across the hall. Soon after, another Tarkatan rounded the corner and raced up to them.
"Kotal Kahn has been spotted," he informed them with a growl. Rain nodded and let the Tarkatan lead the way.
They passed by a large hallway with a series of arched entrances that led to a balcony that ran parallel to it and frowned when they saw that the spires were glowing. It did seem odd that once they had reached the inside of the palace, they were greeted with more resistance than they initially thought they would.
Tanya gave Rain a glance, her eyebrow raised and he grumbled. Kotal Kahn knew they were here already.
"It matters not," Rain assured.
"May I pose a question since you ignored it last time," he heard Tanya request with a brusque tone.
"What is it now?" Rain demanded curtly.
More Osh-Tekk rounded the corner and Rain stepped to the side, grabbed his forearm and kicked his foot into the knee of the guard. The guard fell forward with a groan of pain before Rain drove his knee into his jaw, breaking it before letting him fall to the floor.
Tanya withdrew her tonfas and blocked the sword edge that came for her exposed midriff. "How do you consider" — Tanya hooked the sword down and punctured his chest repeatedly with the point of her other one — "we hold the palace after we kill Ko'atal? You have failed to mention that little detail."
Rain used his forearm to block the arm that wielded the sword before he brought the heel of his hand up to smash it into the guard's throat; earning a dazed gurgle. Rain grabbed his wrist that held the sword, swept his legs, sending him to his back and forced the hand and the sword towards his chest; stabbing him with it.
He flashed an indignant look Tanya's way, "Do you not trust that I have a strategy already?"
Tanya tossed her yellow tonfa, the weapon whizzing through the air at Rain. At first he thought it was meant for him until it sailed passed and the sickle-end landed in a guard's head; breaking through his helmet like it was nothing. Rain saw a small trail of blood pour from the guard's eyes— the same eyes that were crossed— before he fell with a thud backwards.
"I would just like to hear it. We are partners, are we not?" Tanya pestered, her eyes dark with suspicion.
"We will discuss this later — after we have killed him," Rain grumbled.
He walked ahead, but he could feel Tanya's eyes boring into the back of his head with severe distrust. He knew that she could tell that he brushed the subject away purposely, even if she didn't comment further. Rain honestly, didn't feel like confiding in her at the moment when they were busy; besides, she annoyed him and he would much prefer the silence.
His thoughts were set on killing Kotal Kahn at the moment and control could be dealt with as soon as the Emperor was dead. There were more Tarkatans they could use and manipulate and now that they had access to the Kahn's gold, the Earthrealm syndicates could be purchased. The Hydromancer honestly thought it would not matter in the end. The throne was his by his divinity anyway and any that discredited it would be dealt with severely. Rain's eyes slid to the side, his thoughts on the Pyromancer behind that would surely try to undermine his authority the minute she found an opportunity.
Partners. For the moment.
It wasn't his primary focus at the present time.
Right now, he wanted to find Kotal Kahn and claim what was his once and for all.
To Be Continued...