A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, blobs and hotdogs, Chapter 12 is here. Just to let you know, this will be one of the last 5 or so chapters. Don't kill me; hopefully, you will like it lots. And, everybody, you have to thank elysian shades, my temporary beta and good friend! She was the one who helped me out here when I was having serious writer's block. Without her, this chapter and the others after it would not have been possible. Do go and read her fics one of these days; I'm not saying this because I'm a friend, but, really, she is good.
CHAPTER 12
He sat on the throne, watching her with eyes that gleamed evil. Vicky was paralyzed; the memory of that night came rushing back to her, the pain, the anger, and the trepidation came back, hitting her full force. She remembered the nightmares, his face looming in front of her, laughing and smirking, ripping her mother apart.
"So you came," he said, rising from the throne on which he sat. It was craved out of a single piece of red quartz. It seemed to pulse with energy, a strong wave of oppression emitted from within its depths. The Dark Lord himself was huge; bigger than any man could possibly be. He stood at nearly seven feet high, and was four and a half feet across. He wore a mask, and Skinner thought absently, Masks are obviously part of the fashion code for baddies these days. The mask was a black metal, designed so that he looked terrifying. Even Skinner, who had nothing to do with this man prior, felt a chill run through his body.
The invisible man was hidden in the shadows; he prayed that the Dark Lord had not seen the sword. That was the least of his concerns. Vicky, meanwhile, was the top of the list. She just stood there, twin blades abandoned. She took deep breaths, the terror in her eyes visible. She looked so weak, so helpless, so much like a child during a thunderstorm. Skinner was growing more concerned by the minute as the Dark Lord advanced.
"I remember you," the evil man said, his deep, booming voice echoing throughout the chamber. As he said that, the doors slammed shut behind Vicky. Skinner's heart skipped a beat when the deafening bang and a very loud click as it was locked sounded. "I killed your mother, the affati. Many years ago." A pause, then, "She fought hard."
Vicky swallowed. He came to a stop about thirty feet from her. Skinner resisted the urge to shout out her name.
"You brought a friend with you." At that, the Dark Lord looked at Skinner's direction and the thief flinched, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. The Dark Lord then turned to look at Vicky, who was shaking in mute horror. "And so he shall see you die."
With that, he raised his right hand, palm up. A bolt of white energy erupted from his palm, drawing ions from the surrounding air, gathering deadliness as it progress closer to Vicky. She didn't move.
"Vicky!" Skinner yelled.
He ran, knowing she was too scared of the Dark Lord to do anything. Something seemed to happen to his sense of passing time; it slowed significantly until everything was moving so slowly.
The bolt of deadly energy passed through the air, moving ever closer to his love....
Skinner ran towards Vicky, unmoving, too terrified to move...
He leapt...
The bolt came nearer...
His fingertips touched Vicky...
The bolt came closer; he could smell the ionized air...
He pushed Vicky away, using his body weight to move her...
A searing pain in his chest...
They hit the ground together...
"Skinner!" Vicky cried as she struggled to get up. She managed to do so in some aspects, enough to cradle his head in her hands as his body rested against her thigh. "Oh, god, Skinner, no..." He had been hit by the bolt of energy meant for her; the result, his soon-to-be death. His breathing was laboured, coming out in short, shallow gasps.
Slowly, he became visible. Vicky used to her wings to shield him, wrapping them around him. Instinct took over most of her bodily functions, but her mind was swirling, turning and tumbling like clothes in a washing machine, trying to grasp the situation. She cradled his head, regret washing over her. Tears brimmed at the edges of her amber eyes; she knew how powerful that bolt was. No mortal man would be able to survive it.
He grimaced at the pain. Everything around him was beginning to fade, slowly but surely. Vicky's face, anguish painted into her beautiful features, was above him, and he relished the sight. With a start, he knew he was dying. He felt no pain, the searing pain from moments before having become a dull ache that was spreading through his body, making him feel bone-tired, weak and longing for a nice, warm bed to fall asleep in.
But, no. Not yet.
He was dying. He had to tell Vicky, the woman he had fallen for, what he needed to say. He lifted a hand, and she clasped it, the tears falling.
"Your mother...?" he managed to gasp. He still had time left; not much, but he was determined to use it properly. After the incident with the flame-bearer in the factory, back in Mongolia, he had thought he was going to die; he regretted not being able to say what he had wanted to say to Mina, his confession of love to her.
The tears ran freely from Vicky's eyes — eyes that he had grown to love. "I lied to you," she said, through her grief and tears, holding back a sob. "I lied to you. He killed my mother." She trembled. "I watched him do it...I was six years old...God, Rodney, I'm so sorry...I lied to you..."
She began to openly sob. He squeezed her hand, the closest thing to comfort he could give her. He let her cry, head bowed, for a few minutes. She looked up at him when he murmured her name, her lower lip trembling, watching as he slipped away, inch by inch, from the light called Life.
"Vicky," he managed. Gosh. He wanted to sleep; but he fought off the darkness that he saw approaching from behind Vicky. "I didn't get...to tell you earlier...but...I care. I...care about you....I love you."
She couldn't say how grateful to him she was; couldn't find the words, because she knew he was dying, slipping away. She felt responsible, and she knew she was. She sniffed and he let out a weak grin.
"I swear to you now, Rodney," she whispered, finally. "He killed my mother; took my friends, took my only family from me. But I swear, with the gods as witnesses, that I won't let him take you away." The firm set of her jaw was echoed when she put down his hand, setting him gently on the cold stone floor. He saw the fire, lit up once again, in her eyes. Before she stood up, she paused, saying, "I won't let him."
With that, she planted a soft, tender kiss on his lips. She lingering for a moment, tasting him, knowing that she would not have another chance.
She stood up. Skinner found himself thinking how nice her lips were, how undemanding and welcoming they felt. And also how comfortable the floor was, it pressing against his back. It was cool, and hard. He liked it. He wanted to sleep, but Lizzy's face flashed through his mind, followed by snippets of the times they had together. After that, within the space of a second, it was Vicky's turn. A movie in his mind, full of her face, her grin, and her laugh. Then it turned into a movie of the times that they could have — Lizzy, himself and the Aseyewrn running around the park in summer, the flowers a riot of blooms; in spring, attempting to bake cookies that taste like road-side gravel; in autumn, clearing out the leaves, but instead having fun in the piles of brown and orange foliage; in winter, making snow angels and having snowball fights...
Elizabeth.
My daughter.
Vicky.
My love.
Skinner struggled to keep awake. He had to. He would not let down the two females in his life. He managed to turn his head, so that his cheek was pressed against the cold stone ground. He could see the back of Vicky's heels as she stepped over him and guarded his limps and dying self. And, if he adjusted his focus, he could see the bottom half of the Dark Lord's face.
Vicky stood. She would not let him do that to her; he had taken too much already. She fought her overwhelming fear down; righteous anger and grief filled her very essence with power. The fear might set in later; but then the battle would been done, and she would either be dead or alive.
"This is where it ends," the Dark Lord said. "He will die, and you with him."
Vicky gritted her teeth in anger, willing herself to think rationally, as the Dark Lord drew a saber, it's blade a stream of fire. "Try me."
A powerful flap of her wings sent her soaring into the air.
Skinner watched, eyelids drooping. He heard Hyde ramming his shoulder into the door, but it held fast; the battle outside was over.
The one inside was just beginning.
A war cry, almost forgotten after the Great War, heralded the clash of steel against steel.
Hyde's roar of frustration.
Only one would make it out alive.
Mina's muffled shouts.
Only one would be triumphant.
The clanging of the padlock against the oak doors.
The victor would determine the fate of the world.
Skinner could only hope that Good would be the ultimate winner.