The Bonds of Time

Chapter 6

Andrew Joshua Talon, with many thanks to Kanako Urashima

DISCLAIMER: Love Hina is not mine. I'm not making any profit off this fanwork, and the authors used own themselves. "The Love Hina Fan Boy War!" is the property of Kanako Himekazi-Urashima, which she gave me permission a while ago back to write a prequel to.

Therefore...

***~''~***

Yet another chapter written by the esteemed Kebinu. Maybe I should start calling this part "The Kebinu Saga"?

***~''~***

Early autumn 2015

The massive structure of Denver's international airport hadn't been used regularly in at least a decade. From a distance, the curvaceous, white upper structure of the complex made it appear to be a colossal tent, under which an entire town could sleep comfortably. Up close, an examination of the sprawling, miles-wide grounds located smack in the middle of the Colorado prairie just east of the Rocky Mountains revealed a forest of concourses and jetways, and a small fleet of long-unused airliners, their paint flaking off after years of exposure to the elements, and their silent jet engines filled with debris and birds' nests. Within the airport, the sprawling hallways that had once contained shops and gates had become a makeshift colony. Over five hundred people lived within its confines, relying on the trickle of electrical power still coming from nuclear power plants in the area, eking out their existence and trying to maintain some semblance of civilization. This airport had once been a testament to mankind's technological supremacy and innovation; it had become something else entirely.

For a certain fire user, this place was home.

Kevin had largely given up keeping track of time. After departing home, he had traveled south to Mankato, and spent three months there without locating his brother. With the snows of December he departed his home state and traveled east to Wisconsin, on a tip that someone fitting his brother's profile had been seen headed in that direction. He went as far as Madison before giving up and turning south.

As it was, he returned to the west. Halfway across Iowa, his car broke down near what used to be Des Moines, and he and Ellie made the rest of the journey on foot. After passing through Missouri and making a brief search for his father, he traveled on to the Great Plains, and across them to the Rocky Mountains. Upon his arrival in Denver, he decided to head to the airport, as it was the one recognizable feature in the city for him, having traveled there once when he was younger.

Throughout his life, Kevin had a talent for getting himself into ugly situations through pure bad luck. Thus it was that after more than a year of wandering, he managed to arrive in Colorado and walk right into a war zone. It turned out that Denver's airport was no mere dwelling; it had become a fortress. Located strategically on the outskirts of the city along Interstate 70, the airport was prime real estate, and was under near-continual assault by gangs seeking to take control of the facility and make it their own. It was cutthroat human nature at its worst.

He had arrived in the midst of one such attack; as he journeyed along the highway near the airport, a car full of armed men retreating from their attack ambushed him with guns. Taking an unarmed man as an easy mark, they opened fire and then drove off; he was not injured, but Ellie was struck by shrapnel from a bullet in one of her hind legs and wounded. Alarmed, he had picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. Arriving at the airport, he had received the friendly greeting of three men shoving assault rifles in his face, and it was only with some hasty diplomacy that he was able to secure entrance to the airport for the purposes of getting medical care for his dog.

The same night, the gangs had returned en masse, carrying torches to demonstrate their numbers, more than two hundred swarming up the highway towards the complex. The battle resumed, and during it he was ordered by the leaders of the airport colony to assist in the defense. He had never shot a gun before in his life, but nevertheless joined in the terminal defense of the airport to show gratitude to his benefactors. The hope was that he would never have to actually fight.

Naturally, given his luck, that was exactly what it came to. The gang pushed back the defenders with a considerable amount of bloodshed, and in no time at all their forces were knocking on the door—figuratively, of course, as the airport's sliding glass doors were perfectly capable of opening themselves—of the colony. Rumors were swirling among the defenders about the leader of the gang, supposedly a man who was able to kill at will without the use of a weapon. When the attackers arrived to lay siege to the airport, he saw it firsthand. A man who conjured water out of thin air, wielded it like a melee weapon, flung it effortlessly about, manipulating that most crucial of liquids into a razor-sharp instrument of death.

By this time roughly two thirds of the defenders were killed or captured. If things continued on their present course, the airport would fall, the people who had taken him in would be killed, and he would likely die as well. He knew what he had to do.

That night was the first time he used his powers in anger.

***~''~***

"Open up!" roared the gang leader as he faced a barricaded front entrance, his army swarming around him, weapons at the ready.

No reply came from within the terminal.

"There's nowhere to run, we own this whole area," the leader shouted again, waving his hands to demonstrate his point. "You're surrounded, and if you value your lives you will turn the airport over to us immediately."

"We politely decline!" came a voice from within the barricade.

A few seconds later, a loud cry of pain followed.

Within the entrance, Kevin rubbed his sore shoulder, glowering angrily at the man who had just punched it. "What the hell was that for?!"

"Your big mouth is going to get us killed, newcomer," growled the man, an older fellow named Jim in his mid-thirties with a beard. "You see that guy out there? He owns half of Denver, and it's not hard to see why… look at him. Have you seen what he does with water? I swear, he's not human. Some kind of monster…"

"…monster?" Kevin repeated quietly, looking down.

"Yeah, a monster. Some crazy things have happened in this world lately, but I've never seen a crazier thing than a guy who can throw water from his hands. It's an abomination of nature—no, maybe a demon…"

"…demon?" Kevin closed his eyes, trying not to let the sting of the man's words get to him.

Am I… a demon as well?

"Yeah, a demon. But dammit, even a demon has to have a weakness." With that, the man cocked his rifle and stood up. "All right, everyone," he called to the dozen or so fighters massed around the entrance. "We'll set up a little ambush for them in here. They'll never know what hit them—"

"That's ridiculous, Jim."

The man turned angrily to the brown-haired boy, who had set his gun down and was staring at him ruefully.

"What did you say?"

"First of all, this areas is too open, there's nothing to hide behind. Second, there's far too many of them," Kevin said flatly. "You'll run out of ammunition before they're gone, and anyway, that guy can throw up water so thick it'll stop your bullets before they ever get to him. Your plan is, frankly, suicide."

"What the hell would you know?"

"More than you'd think," Kevin replied, still unwilling to reveal his powers.

"Well, that's the only option, kid," Jim shot back. "If you have a problem with my plan, you can just cower and die when those guys get you—"

His words were drowned out, and very nearly literally drowned, by a torrent of water that struck through the barricade and swept several of the defenders off their feet. Jim braced himself against the deluge, clutched his gun with white knuckles and closed his eyes for the impact—and suddenly realized that rather than feeling water, he was aware of an intense sensation of heat. Opening his eyes, he saw that the water was now being pushed back and to the sides by a line of fire stretching across the entrance, the water colliding with the flames and resulting in geysers of steam which ran towards the ceiling and clung to the glass windows, rendering them nearly opaque.

Kevin stood, silently, left arm outstretched towards the entrance. The older man and the other defenders stared at him, mouths agape.

"You-you're a…"

"A what? A monster? A demon?" the young man called out, never taking his eyes off the entrance. "Gentlemen, how about listening to my idea: let me handle this if you want to live. I think it's obvious to all those involved that I'm the only one who stands a chance against them. You said even a demon has a weakness; clearly, that weakness is me."

The others watched in utter silence as he dropped his wall of fire and disappeared into the mist.

"Who the hell is that kid, really?" muttered one of the troops.

"Just shut up," Jim snapped. "I don't like it any more than you do, but he's the only thing we've got going for us. We can decide what to do about him later."

Outside, the leader of the gang narrowed his eyes, attempting to penetrate through the mist. Finally he was able to make out a single figure stepping out of the main entrance, unarmed.

"What was that for?" the brown-haired boy called loudly, stopping just outside the doors and taking a very bored-looking stance. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"I'm a busy guy, I don't like to be kept waiting," replied the gang leader. "I assume you're here to negotiate?"

"Correct," the youth said, nodding. "I am here to negotiate… the terms of your surrender."

At that a loud chorus of laughter rose up through the gang, echoing off the concrete walls of the terminal and into the clear night sky. Only the leader was unmoved.

"Excuse me, boy, I think you seem to misunderstand the situation," he shouted. "Here are my terms. The airport and everything on and in it belongs to us now, and if you value your life, you have five seconds to accept."

"Duly noted," Kevin replied.

"Five…"

"I'll have to consider it, of course…"

"Four…"

"The terms don't seem to be overly fair…"

"Three…"

"And by the way…"

"Two…"

"You guys kind of shot my dog…"

"One… time's up!"

"All right sir, I'm ready," Kevin said, smiling cheerfully. "On behalf of the residents here, I completely reject your conditions. Have a nice night."

A snarl crossed the leader's face.

"Why you little… kill that little smart-ass!" he roared.

His men brought their guns to bear and trained it on the young man, who made no attempt to flee. As they opened fire, a column of flame sprang up in front of him. They continued to empty their clips into the flames, heedless, and after a few seconds the shooting stopped and the flames dropped as well. The young man still stood there, stock-still, and completely unscathed, with the concrete wall behind him pockmarked with bullet holes—all of them well above his head. Stunned silence hung in the air.

"How did… never mind, I'll do this myself—" shouted the leader a second before he was immolated by a fireball launched from the youth's left hand. As he dropped to the ground, rolling frantically, his powers forgotten in his panic, his men stepped backwards warily. Simultaneously, Kevin stepped forwards, letting an uncharacteristic snarl cross his features as the pupils of his brown eyes glowed with fire.

"Now scram," he said simply—and for good measure he conjured another wave of fire that struck the first row of thugs and set them ablaze, the remainder fleeing as fast as they could, spurred on by the line of human torches behind them screaming in agony.

Kevin sighed and turned around, walking back into the airport terminal. He barely made it five steps before he collapsed to the ground, suddenly aware of an incredible exhaustion and reduced to utter helplessness. He heard and felt footsteps, and soon he was surrounded by those he had been fighting alongside a few minutes before.

"Are they gone…?" he said weakly.

"Yeah," came the voice of Jim, even and measured. "About twenty of them are dead, including the leader, and the rest ran off like their asses were… well, on fire."

A small smile crossed Kevin's face. "Well, that's a relief."

"You're something else, pal."

"I guess I am. What that is, I suppose," he whispered, closing his eyes, "Is for you people to decide."

Some kind of conversation was taking place, but he was too tired to try to listen; he simply slipped into peaceful unconsciousness.

***~''~***

He awoke after three days. When he did, he was forced to appear before the leaders, where an arrangement was worked out. There were several among the population that wanted him banished from the airport colony, but cooler heads prevailed, and it was agreed that he could remain at the airport, provided he serve as the colony's guardian. He went out of his way to be polite and helpful with everyone he spoke with, yet in each conversation he could always feel the subtle fear and loathing behind their words and expressions.

So as not to cause trouble or any awkward situations, he and Ellie commandeered an abandoned airliner out on the tarmac and made it their home rather than live in the terminal, and he dealt with the other people only when he needed food or supplies, or something for Ellie. Speaking of Ellie, she recovered from her wound and lived another seven years, but was never quite as energetic or active as she once was. As she became older, she also gradually grew afraid of the other people of the airport; once she had run around with the children, playing on the tarmac and runways; towards the end of her life, however, she rarely left the jet.

He, on the other hand, remained utterly the same. A decade had passed since he came to Colorado, and he was now more than thirty years old, yet he still looked identical to his appearance on the day the world nearly ended. At first the change perturbed him, but after a while he simply came to accept it. There was little reason to raise a fuss about avoiding aging. Each day he would go about his daily business; at sundown he would climb to the top of the airport superstructure and scan the area, give an all-clear call, and retire for the night.

Whenever a takeover was attempted, he was first in line to fight; and time after time he drove the invading armies back single-handedly. Over the years, the assaults became more and more vicious; but his powers had seemed to increase with time, and the colony never lost a life in its defense.

So it was this sunny prairie morning that he arose from his sleep and stepped down the airstair from the jetliner to find Jim, who had by this time become one of the colony's governors, and a small group of militia and council members.

"What's going on?" Kevin said quietly, rubbing his eyes behind his spectacles.

"Kevin, hurry up and get dressed," Jim said gravely. "You need to go."

"Huh? Go where?" the youth frowned. "Is there an attack coming? Which direction?"

"No, you don't understand," Jim sighed, rubbing his beard, his brown chin hair now flecked with grayness from age. "Pack up and leave. You can no longer live here."

For a second there was silence on the tarmac, broken only by the swirling prairie wind.

"…excuse me?" Kevin said, his voice rising quite without his conscious input. "What are you talking about?"

"We held an emergency council meeting last night in response to several complaints about you, and we decided we want you off the premises immediately," Jim said, folding his arms sternly and scowling at the fire user.

"Complaints?" Kevin responded, incredulous. "From whom? About what? What the hell have I done?"

"It doesn't matter who," Jim replied. "And you haven't done anything, but that's irrelevant. We've come to a conclusion that your being here does more harm than good. Each time someone attempts to take this place over, you've driven the invaders back—and yet, they keep coming, in greater numbers each time. People all across the state are getting word about you. The way things stand, it's only a matter of time until more people with powers like yours start showing up—and that will surely be the death of us all."

"But…"

The older man cut him off. "We don't want any trouble around here; we just want to live in peace. You being here is a destabilizing factor, and we think we'd all be better off if you were to leave. And never—" he placed considerable emphasis on the word—"come back."

For a second the fire user was silent.

"I see," he said at last. "If that's your decision…" he started, raising his right hand.

Instantly the militia members raised their rifles and trained them on his heart.

"…I have no choice," he concluded, walking back into the jet and emerging five minutes later with two suitcases. From the top of the airstair he glared down at them, outwardly impassive but seething inside. Betrayal. It ate at him to the core. What the hell had he spent the last decade doing? Protecting assholes whose response to his bleeding for them was to ostracize him?

It would be so easy to burn them all to a crisp. Easy, and satisfying. But like it or not, that wasn't the right thing to do, and he knew he couldn't live with it. So though he could feel his eyes burn with anger and his hands throb with power, he simply stalked down the staircase, staring at his feet, past the colonists and out towards one of the runways.

"What are you doing?" Jim shouted, stepping in front of him.

"…Out of my way. I'm going to say goodbye to my dog." Kevin raised his eyes to look at Jim squarely, and the fire smoldering in them told the older man that the subject was not up for discussion.

With measured footsteps, suddenly feeling lighter, as though he couldn't quite believe it was happening and that he would soon wake up from it, he paced out across the concrete taxiways to the end of the runway, where he had buried Ellie three years ago. The wind caught his hair, which he had not bothered to tie, and tossed it back and forth, flopping in front of his face and obscuring his vision; a solitary figure on the flat land, in the middle of utter silence save for the measured sound of his footsteps on the runway, slowly making his way to the end of the concrete, walking past the dormant approach lights that surrounded the grave of his dog.

"…why…?"

With nothing to reflect or echo it, the single spoken word was absorbed quickly into the blue Colorado sky as he stood motionless in front of the gravesite. The shale headstone that he had trekked to the foothills of the Rockies to retrieve and blasted out of the bedrock with his powers was uprooted and lay flat on the grass, with the carved inscription he had made in the block with fire, a simple Ellie 2001-2012, crossed out with a large X and replaced with demon's dog, scrawled in chalk.

…some kind of monster… abomination of nature… demon…

The words Jim had uttered that night ten years ago suddenly rang in his ears at deafening volume. He slowly sunk to the ground and ran his hands over the spot where Ellie lay entombed, then rose after a moment and stalked back towards the terminal, his footsteps no longer calm and measured, now resonating off the concrete runway surface in loud clacks…

He felt something warm growing at the edges of his eyes. He hadn't cried in over a decade, not even when Ellie died, but now felt the tears come full force. Complete, utter rejection. He had no one to turn to now. He was on his own. He shut his eyes and angrily pulled his glasses off to wipe the tears away, replaced the thin metal frames, and opened them once more.

And as the saying goes, if looks could kill…

A few minutes ticked by and he was in front of the airliner once again. Jim emerged from the small crowd of people and walked over to him, holding a set of keys, which he placed in the younger man's right hand.

"There's a car waiting for you out in front of the terminal. Take it, and go wherever you want."

"I understand," Kevin replied softly.

The punch came so fast neither Jim nor any of the other colonists saw it happen; Jim simply sailed through the air and landed on his back on the tarmac's concrete surface, blood leaking from his nose and mouth. Kevin quietly glanced down at the swollen knuckles on his fisted left hand, then up at the other colonists. He heard the clicking sound of guns being brought to bear again, but the militiamen's hands were shaking so badly they could barely aim.

Without a word, he knelt down and picked up his suitcases. He took a few steps forwards, paused next to Jim and glared down at him with the most venomous gaze he could muster.

"If I were you…" the fire user said quietly, fury straining to break through his voice, "I would hope that we don't meet again."

The older man made no effort to reply, and Kevin never looked back. He ascended through a jetway into the terminal, stalking angrily through the concourse and baggage claim, never stopping to acknowledge anyone or even say goodbye. He was afraid of what he would do if he stopped walking. Every one of them was a potential accuser, a potential betrayer. He had been so stupid to trust in their good faith. They never had any faith in him to begin with…

Finally arriving at the front of the airport, he knelt and threw his suitcases into the car, a sporty-looking coupe, and started it immediately. Without a second thought, he stomped on the gas, hearing nothing but the loud squeal the back tires emitted as he shot down the parking ramps and out onto the interstate.

He had nowhere to go now, no one to help him. No one to protect.

No one to acknowledge his existence.

Abomination… demon… monster…

He headed west to the Rockies. A memory from the past registered in his mind, and he made his decision. Whether the town still existed or not, he would go into the mountains, to Breckinridge. He had to get away. From this place, from these memories, from everything.

"Farewell," he said, glancing back over his shoulder at the receding airport. "If no one sees me as anything but a demon, I guess it will be my part to play…"

***~''~***

And the saga rolls on.

Next Chapter: NachoManLance's interlude, and some misadventures of Talon and Mutsumi in the Land of Dixie...

As always, if you want to be included in the story, provide a short piece about your character. I allowed Lance and Kebinu to do pieces from the Cataclysm onwards, but that kind of thing will get long-winded after a while. So, the time period in which the latest chapter is set will have to be the setting. Or, you can write about yourselves in the future of the TBOT fic, and I'll put you guys in at a later time.