Author's note: Uh well… this is so closely tied with the last chapter that I don't really want to call it "Chapter 6". But ya know, I love those cliffhangers. I'll have you hanging for another little while. Now look here, I keep telling you that I'm evil. I just like proving it.
Chapter 5.5, Someone call for an army?
Would you rather be at the mercy of an enemy who hates you, or an enemy who loves you?
Is the question strange?
The Baron had hated Jak, hated him for never breaking, never responding to the experiments, never becoming what was expected of him – and yet still continue to live. Praxis knew nothing but disgust for the young man who silently kept defying him, and had not wasted a moment more than necessary on his test subject. At the very end Jak would be nothing more than trash, something to be put out of its misery.
So very different then, somebody who hated Jak for the same reasons, but loved to do so. No matter what he claimed in order to keep from being marked as the sick and twisted freak he was, Erol had truly loved his blond little toy. So many ways to make him scream in agony, to make his eyes glaze over in terror, so many that two years never could be enough to try them all. And such a waste to kill him.
"I'll be back later…"
"Don't… touch me…"
"You are in no position to make demands, Jak."
Jak tried to move, tried to slap the hand away. But his muscles were paralyzed with exhaust and pain; he could hardly even turn his head away from the big fingertips slowly caressing his face. It did not matter how he turned, they kept coming back.
"Oh yes…" a coarse voice purred, soft as silk, "you are perfect…"
Walls of pure darkness heaved around him, a dry sound similar to rattling leaves filling his ears. No, not leaves…
Holy shit.
Ring after ring added onto that smooth wall of flesh and scales, only the desperate flicker of light that managed to be reflected on them giving away the uneven bits of natural panzer. It never seemed to end, he knew it kept flowing out of that center of tentacles, he had seen the bud open up and sweet merciful precursors this one was huge.
It was not the size that made the taste of bile rise again.
The dark scales traveled up the elf-like body hovering above him, covering even the form of hip and stomach until they began to crack up by the chest. Above that, there was only sickly grey skin. This one was not at all like Kor – definitely not anything like an elf, but not a gigantic deformed bug either. But there was no questioning what it was, not with that skull gem perched on its forehead. Dully blond hair, almost white, spilled out around the gem and beneath the two golden plates fastened on either side of it. The hair continued down the grey shoulders, disturbed only by the long ears. Familiar ears.
Shit. Holy, Praxis-blessed shit.
The grey skin covered the face too, apart from the thick stripes of black. It was a kind of cosmetic artistry he had seen before.
There was no cursing that could fill this one in.
He did not like that "perfect" comment. Last time somebody said something like that about him it was followed by a "… weapon. And I made you."
Oh yes, he knew this one, in more ways than one.
Jak fought to make himself flat against the floor, but even the pathetic squirming he could manage only disturbed his broken leg. He nearly crushed his teeth against each other, another wave of sweat slouching over his already drenched body. Nausea threatened to overcome him.
Everything… blurry… so dizzy…
He might never wake up again if he lost consciousness now.
It actually seemed like the better alternative.
"What are you… waiting for?" he croaked, hearing the slurring as he slipped towards oblivion.
"Foolish little boy."
Even while his eyes rolled into his head he felt the movement, knew that he was being lifted up. Knew that he would not be allowed to die so easily.
Knew this beast.
Ignored and forgotten by the metal heads filling up the platform, many of them rubbing themselves against the thick black loops and growling in disturbing affection – Daxter peeked above the edge of the plateau. Well, not as much peeked as stared, actually.
The voices coming from within the tower of scales were hushed, blocked by the walls – but even if he could not hear the words he could pick up on the sound. And he saw the grey shape rising up from the tower, perched on the end of darkness. He definitely saw the motionless body it carried, small enough in compare to seem almost childlike.
And he saw the face.
He shoved his own hand into his mouth to keep from squeaking.
The new metal head leader turned, disappearing behind the black tower. Bit by bit the loops uncurled and followed their front end, the entire body slipping down through the center of the brown tentacles at the back of the plateau. A few of the metal heads went after the massive shape, others heading for the edges to resume their guarding of the path up to the platform. But by the time they had even gotten close to the border Daxter was already on his way down, skittering and falling down vines and small ledges as he scurried for help.
'-'
Torn cursed under his breath as he rushed forwards, leaping and grappling for places to continue further upwards. Behind him the Blue Guards hurried to follow their commander, despite their heavy equipment managing to keep up the pace. They were the best he had, well trained and drilled for extreme situations. Survivors who had proven strong during the recent wars.
But even they were not good enough. He was not good enough. Hell, not even Jak would have been good enough if there had been somebody else who needed saving.
But this never had the chance of being about saving anybody, now had it?
Moving through the tunnels had been easy enough, flashlights illuminating the path Jak had taken earlier. No enemies had met them on their way to the other side of the volcano, and now they only had to get to the top platform. He had done a good job cleaning up this far. Typically him – but even the lack of battles did not cover the length of the trip. They still had to climb the volcano's inside.
Every time Torn glanced upwards, he expected to see a disjointed arm with a familiar armor strapped on, covered in blood and ripped apart fall down from the far too distant plateau.
During one such glance he caught sight of something moving up there, and further checking proved it to be a few metal heads leaping between the ledges. If they had no further reason to be on the plateau, then it was definitely over.
Torn was surprised to find that his heart could sink further.
For the first time in his life, he missed the time when Praxis had ruled the city. Then at least, Jak would have been nothing but a pawn – more capable than most and really too useful to waste, but still just a pawn that needed no more mourning than any other. But this was now. Jak was a friend.
Emphasis on was.
Torn gritted his teeth. Fucking idiot just could not take an order to pull back when he ran into trouble…
No time for that.
"There's movement above us!" he snarled over his shoulder, "prepare for battle!"
"Yessir!"
He stopped, and so did his troops. They were not mobile enough to keep climbing when there might be attackers dropping down on their heads. A few soldiers reached the ledge Torn had halted on, the others stationing themselves on the three consecutive platforms the commander had already passed.
Hands so used to the movements that they could do the same things in their sleep reached for guns and set the mods to heavy artillery. The snarls were getting closer. Torn hefted a familiar weight of his own onto his shoulder for support, and raised the metal barrel towards the moving shadows.
There could not be that many of them, not with such numbers being caught in Jak's final attack.
Torn clenched his jaw further.
They would pay, even if he should end up having to finish the job alone.
"Soldiers with me, snipe! The rest of you guard our backs!"
"Yessir!"
He aimed carefully at the space between two ledges, from the corner of his eyes keeping track of the shades coming closer by the second. A plump blackness soared through the air, and a shot rang out. Yelp, smack, growl. Torn almost felt like grinning.
The snarls increased in ferocity. They knew there were enemies left, now.
Thundering feet and growls, gunshots and more snarls. Should there be that many of them?
Not only did the amount of monsters seem greater than logic dictated, the elves were in a bad position for fighting. Sure, they had far better reach and firepower, but arms tired quickly from such trying conditions of aiming. Not only that, but it was hard to aim properly with all the ledges in the way. Noting the shaking arms of the soldiers beside him Torn snarled an order for a shift, forcing his arms to hold his increasingly heavy gun upwards. He took a few more shots at the metal heads before the group on the ledge below had replaced the original one supporting him. Growling Torn lowered his weapon to give his arms a chance to stop shaking. Just a few seconds, then he would be giving those bastards hell again…
That was when the outer wall above them exploded in a rain of bullets and cracking rocks. A flash of light spiraled through the hot air and smashed into one group of metal heads, flaring up with a loud crack and howls of pain. Burnt pieces of nasty monsters rained down, dissolving as they fell.
"Hey there, ya sissies!"
Torn squinted at the fat man smirking down at him from the newly made hole in the volcano's outer wall. Clicking sounds were heard above the drone of wasteland buggies as uncouth men and women dressed in armor and leathery, simple clothes raised their firearms and aimed.
It was unrestrained; everyone fired at will. But with the massive force of their weapons, it did not really matter. Dark limbs and rocks alike fell like unholy rain towards the lava below, and within moments the snarls had ceased.
A familiar shape lowered his Peace Maker and gazed down at the silent soldiers, giving a small wave in greeting.
"The cavalry's here," Sig called, "where's Jak?"
Torn set the barrel of his gun beside his feet on the ledge, taking in a deep breath.
"He sent his last message from up there," he called, pointing at the plateau.
"Give us a sec, we're comin' over…"
"His last message, Sig."
The wastelanders stopped moving.
Another click, and Torn found himself staring up at the barrel of a weapon known to evaporate anything in its way. Even the S-classed Blue Guards stepped back.
"Care to explain?" Sig asked through his teeth.
Torn bit back the urge to start swearing.
"Don't aim that at me, you fool!" he snarled, "we don't have time! The last we saw of Jak was him being down and the new metal head leader smashing his communicator!"
Hissing, Sig raised the Peace Maker and turned to Kleiver. The bigger man was already glaring down at a small box made from precursor metal, resting in his huge hand.
"No signal from poppy's beacon," he said after a moment.
Sig muttered a curse, then sent a frosty glare at Kleiver's shoulder.
"Wipe that look off your face before I rip it off your neck," Krew's ex-heavy snarled.
Not even the threat could grant Veger control of his facial features in that moment however, and he quickly turned away instead.
"Okay, somethin's gonna die hard today," Sig announced.
He signaled the rough troop forwards before stepping back and rushing towards the edge of the opening. Moments later he landed on the nearest ledge below, and moved away to make room for the next person. Torn motioned his own troops onwards and led them up to meet the wastelanders.
"Now just what the he-" Sig started as the commander leapt onto the same platform.
A shriek from above cut off both the question and the possible answer.
"Tooorn!"
Everyone looked up, but Torn was the one reaching out. With a loud "Ouff!" Daxter's scrawny body crashed in the commander's palm. He heaved himself up, gasping and gulping desperately for the air that had been knocked out of him.
"Ja-ja-jak…!" he managed to wheeze after a few moments.
"What about him!" Torn, Sig, Kleiver and several of the wastelanders and soldiers demanded simultaneously.
This unnatural show of agreement caused poisonous glares to be exchanged, giving Daxter another moment to recover.
"A-alive!" he screeched as soon as he could handle it.
"What? Where is he?" Sig snarled.
Torn had to move away to keep the wastelander from anti-conveniently grab the wobbly ottsel.
"Give him a chance to breathe, dammit!" the tattooed one growled.
But truth to be told he was struggling very hard to keep from shaking the stuttering Daxter, when the animal suddenly managed to relay another bit of information.
"T-t-took him!"
"What!"
There went the choir again. Only a few glares erupted from this one, however. They were getting used to it surprisingly quick.
Still gasping, Daxter managed to heave himself up with the support of Torn's thumb.
"We know that…" he wheezed, "gotta talk to… old gree- urgh…"
He slumped forwards, eyes sliding shut. He was lucky not to hear the cursing of his existence for fainting.
'-'
Author's note: So… anybody wanna bet who the new leader is? A correct guess might yield something nice in return. If I have the time, which I really don't but might find. :)
