Chapter 5: The Fall of Little Jericho
Disclaimer: I don't own the Holmcross, or Artificially Reborn Matricide machines. Remember that Wild Arms crossover I was talking about? Here it is. All the need to knows will be explained within the fic itself though, so no worries.
Things I DO Own: Umm... See all those random extras? Yeah, they're mine, but you can have them if you want them that badly. Help yourself.
Author's Note: Sorry, I died, but I'm better now. I won't say, "the chapter will be out really soon" because every time I do that it tacks on a month to my writing time. I will however, apologize to my loyal readers for making them wait so long. And pray that I get more free time to work on this thing. Reviewer replies should be on my xanga by tomorrow.
I was tempted to revise a bit more, but I figured I'd taken too long as it was. Any constructive criticism here is more than welcome, so have no mercy.
Thanks for reading.
"No, not a demon. It looks like he was made by a human. He feels pain. He's a machine that feels pain. Why would anybody want to do that?" - Emma, Wild Arms
We were made to kill. Staccato's thoughts rang out to his younger siblings, literally filling the air with malice. He never spoke. He could have probably done so if he had tried, but his face was so disfigured that the words would have been almost unrecognizible. We should have fun. Right? The rest of the Bluesummers family was crowded around his wheelchair, so that he looked almost like a father telling his children a very gruesome bedtime story.
"That makes sense," Legato said cautiously. It would be no good at all to get Staccato upset. A true child of bloodshed, Staccato tore apart the people assigned to deliver him from his artificial womb. He hadn't changed much since. He was of average intelligence, but his mind was not whole in any sense of the word. He was apt to stare at a wall for five hours, or rave on and on about his terrible lunch and how the chef should be killed (and it was unlikely that he meant it figuratively). Or he might seem perfectly calm and composed, except for his lips.
They weren't there, so he looked like he was always snarling.
Of course it does, Staccato continued. If you can't enjoy your job, you'll always be unhappy. And anyone weak enough to be killed deserves to die. He began to bark, or growl, or cough. The rest of the Bluesummers recognized it as his laughter.
"How's it going?" Shinta asked his son.
Galpaz made a rather noncommital grunt. Shinita tried again.
"C'mon kid, I know ya need a break." Galpez stared at his book, blinked, then finally looked up. The book was an interesting one, filled with descriptions of lost technology, and theories on how the devices had worked. Many grown men would have found it too technical to be a good read, but Galpez consumed books like this. His mind was full of grand ideas about how he would restore humanity to its former glory. At that age, Shinita had been working his way up through the ranks of his first gang. He wasn't sure if the kid would turn out any better than he had, but there was hope.
"Your mom took Yuuno shopping with her. You wanna get something to eat?"
"Sure." Galpez bookmarked his page and put the book down. "Where?"
"I was thinking we'd go to that burger place on 14th. Sound good?"
"Sounds great."
Later, while they sat in the back of the restaurant, which was nearly deserted at this time of day, Shinita tried to bring up the subject delicately. He failed.
"You ever heard of the Nebraska Pair, Galpez?"
"Yeah..." Galpez said. "Why?"
"How long will it take you?" Amelia asked.
Kesskass looked up in annoyance.
"As long as I feel like taking. You can't rush this. Unless..." he paused for effect, "you want to be splattered all over Gunsmoke."
"Touchy," she said.
"This is a delicate process. Why don't you go make frost patterns on windows or something?"
She spat at him. It froze in midair with a crack and shattered against the back of his neck. He scowled, but said nothing. They were both silent for a while. Several times Amelia opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. Kesskass worked on getting the circle just right and waited for her to speak.
"Have you ever thought about just... giving it up?" she asked. "Just living as a human until something finally kills you?"
"No. If you're having second thoughts, tell me now."
"I'm not. But we are closing a door here. If Needles survives..."
"We'll be hunted. And?" He sounded iritated, in part because he was iritated. It appeared that fully a quarter of his main attack force had cold feet (Bad pun, he thought, really bad pun.).
"I know, I'm being stupid about it. Just nervous." She shivered a bit, and Kesskass sighed.
"We all get nervous. But you've got little to be nervous about. You're as strong as any of us, and stronger than quite a few." He looked up at her to see her reaction. Still shivering.
"You look cold," he said. "I've got some artificial logs if you want a fire."
"You don't have to do that," she said.
"You sure? I've got some spare blankets too, if you want them."
She gave in. "I'll take two. And I can start a fire if you tell me where the logs are."
"No," he said, "you'll put it out. I'll get it."
She sighed, and fell gratefully into an easy chair. Kesskass threw the blankets over her and got a fire going.
"You know," she said, "you can be really sweet, Kesskass."
"I know," he replied. Then he walked back to his desk to finish his work.
Gazelle the Peacemaker prepared for battle in his usual way.
First he had a drink. This was crucial. A stiff triple. A normal human would've been affected by this. Gazelle needed twice the amount to get a buzz because of his super-advanced natural defenses (it was nice not to have to worry about illness, poison, etc... but he had to buy far more booze than was normal. The ordinary people he knew probably thought he was an alcoholic). The exact physical effect of the drink didn't matter, it was just a way of mentally preparing himself.
Second, he inspected his weaponry. It would be sloppy of him to have a misfire in the middle of a fight. He cleaned his twin revolvers. They were "mundane" hand cannons, but he was quite proud of them. Then he did the same for his Artificially Reborn Matricide machine. It was an irreplacable work of art. It wouldn't do to neglect it.
Finally, he meditated. He never prayed, because he disliked the idea of depending on a god. For that matter, he disliked depending on anyone but himself. He knew what he was going to do. Others were unreliable at best and treacherous at worst. As for a loving god... well, he knew that was bullshit.
He used the pre-combat meditation technique taught to him long ago by Staccato Bluesummers. It was very similiar to ordinary meditation, with one major difference. He placed the Artificially Reborn Matricide on his lap. As he emptied his mind of concious thought, switches flipped deep within him.
And receptors in the thing on his lap activated in response to his psychic potential. He had nowhere near the power that allowed Legato to control hundreds bare-minded and manipulate the great flail Omerta, but he had enough to do this much. The Matricide was active. Then he exhaled, and disconnected from the machine. Then he inhaled, and it came back online. Back and forth it went.
Inhale, killing machine activated. Exhale, useless lump of metal. With each cycle, the process grew easier.
Some people talked to themselves to get their thoughts straight. For Emilio, this wasn't neccessary, as he had Leonof. He sat in his room with the lights off long after he should have been asleep and whispered a conversation with the puppet.
"He thinks I like her! She's cute, yeah, but she's Isabel!"
Leonof questioned his meaning.
"She's like my big sister or something..."
Leonof replied to the effect that Isabel was not, in fact, related to him in any way whatsoever, and that siblings usually fought more often about stupid little things.
"Well, no, she's not. And I do like her just a little. But I'm not in love."
Leonof sniggered at the denial.
"Quit taking his side!"
As his son talked about feelings with a marionette, Joseph lay awake in his bed. His wife slept next to him, snoring softly. He envied her. It didn't feel like he'd be getting any rest tonight. He was worried about Emilio.
His only son. Mature, quiet, dignified, and obsessed with puppets. Incredibly smart and talented. People loved him. The boy was a prodigy. But... the boy had his creepy moments. Joseph had once heard him talk to Leonof. Not even in a cute "playing with dolls" voice (which would have been embarassing enough), but in a completely normal tone of voice. He had never done it in public as far as the baker knew, but it was unnerving.
Once, Joseph had found a book on classical artists. He'd read it to expand his cultural horizions (actually, he'd just been really bored, but Maria had suggested the book, and he'd gone along with it). He didn't remember much about it, except for the man who'd cut his own ear off and tried to give it to his girlfriend.
Emilio wasn't crazy. Joseph was sure of that much. But there was something eccentric about him. Of course he was still pretty young, his personality wasn't concrete yet. But the puppets had been a part of his life for five years. It could no longer really be called a phase.
Maria thought their son was brilliance incarnate. He was already making money at his age ("Can you imagine what he'll do if he keeps going with this?" she'd asked her husband one night). There was a theater in December that actors could make a very good living working at. His sculptures were getting better. He was wonderful with his puppets. So just what was Joseph worried about? Art was a hard profession to make it in, but if their son could, he'd be spared the worst of life on Stantal, the planet many now simply called Gunsmoke.
He'd have a talk with Emilio soon. It wasn't as if Emilio was violent or anything. Just eccentric, and it could be channeled into wonderful possiblities. A talk about reality versus fantasy was in order. It would be kind and understanding and not at all down on Emilio's apparent career choice. And at the end of it, Emilio would nod and say that yes, he'd been acting silly because he hadn't known it concerned his father. Everything would be fine.
Joseph finally went to sleep, unaware that Emilio was talking to his favorite marionette again.
The next day was fairly pleasant. It was a Friday. People who were fortunate enough to have Saturdays off were getting ready for the weekend. It was spring in Little Jericho, and the weather was good, making plenty of weekend cookouts likely. On a more hospitable planet, this would have been a good time to take the family camping. In short, it was the sort of day that made the sandy planet's inhabitants forget that they were stranded thousands of of light years away from their homeworld.
Kesskass stood on his porch and looked at the city with detached amusement. Time was up for these sad creatures. He felt no guilt or regret. Why would he?
Gazelle stopped by to confirm his part in the plan one last time before setting out. Sisera had done nothing of the sort, but was fairly reliable; he was probably crouched on a roof somewhere waiting for the signal. It wasn't as if they had to worry about sunburn.
Amelia was at the house with him. She had removed her extra layers of clothing, and the result wasn't model material. Years of long sleeves and gloves had made her complexion pasty with the exception of her face. She was five foot eight inches tall and horribly thin for that (the word "gaunt," though dramatic, would not have been out of place). Her dark hair was short and unkempt. Had she not been so deadly, he might have felt slightly sorry for her.
Allegro Bluesummers was praying. He wondered if his gun was praying too. It was a possibility.
"Needles," Gelton said, standing at the door, "A large group of bandits has been spotted heading toward town. They'll be here within twenty minutes."
Needles did not react.
"Where do you want to wait for them?" Gelton asked.
"Beside the plaza. We'll use the loudspeakers they put in for the festival two years ago." Needles said. "Is Kayin ready?"
"Yeah, just getting his wife and kids tucked away."
"They'll be safe here." Needles ran his fingers over his gun, then loaded it. "Why wouldn't they be? They'll have Raymond here, and the vault is indestructible by even our standards. Those wretches should know what the penalty for treason is. And hiring humans to do dirty work for them..." Needles stopped speaking, but Gelton knew what he was thinking. It was disgusting, involving humans, in a... what was this? A coup? The first step in an attempt at world domination?
Whatever it was, it was going to end messily. Needles was upset. Gelton, who knew him better then anyone, had recognized Twitch Number Fourteen. Fourteen was hard to discribe (Raymond had once called it, "that thing he does where all his knuckles just crack at the same time, and then he sorta does a head-bob that looks a bit like a hyperactive cockroach"), but it meant that he was going to forget about being Christ-like for a little while.
The two of them were silent for a moment. Then Needles raised his head.
"Ah Kayin," Needles said, "we were just talking about you. Get to the names on this list and have them here in twenty minutes. Don't go through the plaza.
Kayin took the piece of paper shoved at him and unfolded it. "People We Can't Afford to Let Die?" he read aloud.
"You've mastered reading," Needles mocked. "That's wonderful. I'd hurry up if I were you. You can use my car if you like."
"Yes sir," Kayin said, adding a brief bow before he ran off. Needles almost grinned before he realized that he'd been called "sir." A chill ran through him.
So, I'm a "Sir" again. That means that I'm about to set myself back another thousand years. There's no excuse for enjoying murder, even if the people you're killing deserve death.
I'm disgusting.
As they charged Little Jericho, the bandits Kesskass had hired were praising their good fortune. There were more than four hundred of them, hired from several different bands of thieves. They all had a couple of things in common.
One, they were ruthless, evil men, willing to do anything for money. In this case, anything meant run through town with guns blazing, causing chaos. According to their employer, a vault beneath the town's main bank was currently being used to store eighty million double-dollars en route to December. The masterminds had assured them all that even the lowliest hireling would come out of Little Jericho twenty thousand double-dollars richer then he went in. They were simply needed to cause mass chaos while a team went in to get the suddenly defenseless money.
Two, they were stupid. Brutally stupid. Kesskass hadn't had to put much effort into making the papers recording the money's movement look authentic; the idiots had chomped at the bit to get in on the deal as soon as they heard about it. They were perfectly willing to accept the idea that the money existed, that Bernardelli had insured it, and as such had an armed death squad protecting it. They were, like most humans, convinced that they were important and needed. As such, they were gullible. Their demise would be no loss.
They'd been told to concentrate their attack on armed resistance, occasional firing off a random shot at something to cause panic. Kesskass had given them a massive amount of firepower to distribute amongst themselves as they saw fit. It would have been a perfect plan in the hands of a hundred more like himself, but he didn't trust humans with it. That was where Phase Two came in.
The bandits weren't told about Phase Two. It was going to be a very nasty surprise.
It was ten minutes before the end of their world, and the people of Little Jericho were going on as always. The invaders would not be sighted by human eyes for another five minutes.
"Are your weapons loaded?" Kayin asked conversationally. "If not, this could be a very short last stand against the forces of darkness."
"Are my weapons loaded?" Shinita asked sarcastically. "No, of course not. I was planning to club them to death. Bullets are for the weak."
Kayin laughed. Shinita then realized that those were probably Kayin's sentiments exactly.
"My children will be safe with you, right?" he asked.
"Of course," Kayin replied, "now get in the car. We've got to pick up Isabel and Emilio before the fighting starts."
Miranda looked thoughtful. She'd been quiet as Kayin had explained their predicament, but now she had a question.
"What happens to you after this? If you use your abilities in front of any survivors…" She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
"I expect," Kayin said, "that they'll be grateful enough to keep a secret." He turned to Galpez and Yuuno. "You guys ready to go?"
They nodded. Galpez was still trying to digest the fact that his dad was a wanted criminal.
"Alright, in the car. Just try and squeeze in once we get Emilio and Isabel, okay?"
They were in and moving within seconds, heading for the Triballus residence. By Kayin's estimate, he was half a minute ahead of the schedule he'd set for himself.
Then Sisera landed on the roof of the car.
"What's up, Kayin!" he yelled as he dug into the vehicle's roof. "Doing well? How's the family?"
"Damnit!" Kayin swerved franticly to dislodge him.
"Come on," Sisera shrieked, "I need a warmup before the real fighting starts! Get out!"
"Shinita," Kayin said, "as soon as I'm out, drive like hell until you get to Isabel's school, then the Triballus house. Soon as you've got them, head to Allegro's. I'll catch up."
With those sage words, Kayin suddenly hit the brakes and jumped out of the car.
As Kayin faced down Sisera, the world ended.
Little Jericho was a small town. It didn't have a lot of money. There weren't a lot of valubles that anyone would want. Therefore, the last thing the town's policeforce had been expecting was a full scale assault by bandits who seemed bent on taking it over.
The town hadn't been careless. No one would have seen it coming. This was the first time anything of this nature had been attempted on Gunsmoke.
The sheriff and his deputies had risen to face the challenge, though they didn't do much good. They were shot dead in the first five minutes of the conflict. This was probably a blessing for them, considering the further horrors the day would bring.
Kesskass' instuctions had been to cause chaos on a massive scale, something the bandits did well.The citizens for the most part sealed themselves in their houses, and those who were braver were blown away without mercy. When the streets were cleared of visible targets, they started to trash random buildings, feeling that this was the best way to continue the aforementioned chaos. What wasn't thrown into bags to be carried off was destroyed.
However, this joyous romp of destruction was interupted by a disquieting message, delivered over loudspeakers. Little Jericho was only about seven miles in diameter, and most of the bandits, now that the assult on the residential areas had been concluded, were now converging on the center of town, where all the stores were located. So, out of the 417 thugs tearing the city apart, 372 heard the following message.
"IF YOU'RE NOT TOO CHICKENSHIT TO TAKE ON SOMEONE WHO CAN FIGHT BACK, MEET ME IN THE PLAZA! THAT'S THE SQUARE IN THE CENTER OF TOWN, YOU WORTHLESS WASTES OF GOOD OXYGEN! I WILL REPEAT: I AM IN THE PLAZA, AND I AM BETTING AS MUCH MONEY AS YOU COULD POSSIBLY WANT THAT MY FRIEND AND I CAN KILL YOU ALL! YOU VERSUS JUST THE TWO OF US!"
The loudspeaker went silent. The thieves stared. This certainly fell under their orders. And they were not, on the whole, the sort of men who could ignore insults. Many of them were not literate enough to know what oxygen was, but being called a waste of it was simply too much. Guns in hand, they converged on the plaza.
"Do you think they'll come?" Gelton asked.
"Not all of them, but enough," Needles said. "We can hunt down the rest."
He put on his fedora. He'd been assured it looked good on him.
"I'll kill them quickly. No suffering."
Gelton had private doubts about this. People tended to suffer when Needles was upset. Generally right before the instant death. Gelton however, had not gotten to his current age by disagreeing with his best pal and sworn leader.
"Should we go out to meet them?" Gelton questioned.
"Yes. If you get shot in the head, we'll get an early psychological advantage." That sounded much more sarcastic than it actually was.
The two walked out of town hall, Gelton in the lead. One of the bandits fired a warning shot.
"You guys got some nerve," the man snarled. "You wanna die?"
"I take it you are the leader?" Needles asked.
"I'm one of the bosses, yeah, and..." the thug paused, realizing something. "What's with the glasses? You blind!"
"I'm visually impaired, yes. Allow me to introduce myself. Allegro Bluesummers, the Blindman Needles. General of the Holmcross, Commander of Holmcross Division Zero. My serial number is BL-00003."
"That's impressive," the man said, grinning, "that a blind guy and his buddy think they can beat us all. I'm so scared. Oh God, I always meant to be a good boy, please take me unto Heaven when this monster has kilt me dead!" He laughed. His cronies followed suit.
"I am Gelton Kojiro, the Vanbrace," Gelton said, "Colonel of Holmcross Divsion Zero. My serial number is DF-05367. Your disrespect is unadvisable. If you put down your weapons, we will spare you, but once the fight begins, there will be no mercy, even to those who attempt surrender."
The leader laughed again. "They've even got real fake titles! This has been fun, but I'm gonna have to kill you no-"
Needles shot him in the gut. He screamed. As his men lifted their guns in response, Needles fired the gun's remaining eight shots. Eight men fell.
"Show them that we are legitimate, Gelton."
The front row of bandits opened fire.Gelton stepped in front of Needles and stood there. The roar of gunfire was deafening. Gelton did not move. The gunfire continued. Gelton shielded his relatively vunerable eyes with his hands. He did not fall.
After about half of the ammo in their guns had been used, the bandits realized that something was terribly wrong. A few of them ran. Gelton uncovered his face and removed his coat. His shirt showed the bullet holes much better. The bloody bullet holes. The bloody bullet holes, and the bullets that were being pushed back out of them as his flesh regenerated.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, "you really should have brought some hollow-points. Normal ammo just doesn't make a big enough hole, you know?"
He drew his rifle.
Actually, drew is a bad word. He slung it into position over his left hip. Then, he launched the rifle. Men flew back. They considerately waited until they were out of the way to bleed. Their wounds were mortal for the most part, which was to be expected, given that anyone within fifteen feet of Gelton had just taken a hit from a very heavy bayonet that began just in front of the gun's trigger and extended to two feet beyond the barrel. And the speed at which it had been drawn...
Very few men existed with the fortitude needed to survive a hit from something moving faster than the speed of sound, and fewer still could survive that same strike from a blade.
Then Gelton started shooting.
Sisera and Kayin beat the hell out of each other with gusto. They didn't even look up when the screaming started. Kayin, being without a weapon, was disadvantaged, but he was making due.
Needles had exaggerated the musician's abilites a bit when taking to Knives. It was true that Kayin could pick almost any instrument up and play with little trouble, but he was only good at killing with seven of them. His voice was one of the seven, and it was not his favorite. Channeling murder music through his lungs and voice box directly was horribly painful, and strained his own regeneration abilities (which were not nearly as great as Gelton's). Five minutes into their "warmup," Kayin's body ached. He gasped for breath, which hurt even more.
Sisera giggled. He was a strange opponent. Not very tall. His legs were double-jointed, and he had been born armless. He had learned to do without an upper set of limbs however, and his balance was superb. When he fought, he looked decidedly serpentine.
Stronger men than Kayin had underestimated Sisera and died for it. It was definately worth remembering that the blades on his boots were not simply accessories. When one had to make due with a single pair of limbs for all uses, that pair of limbs became strong. Very strong. And he was fast.
So far the musician had managed to hold him off. The look on Sisera's face suggested that this would be a very temporary state of affairs.
"You know," Sisera said, "I can't believe you forgot your harmonica. I thought you always had it with you. This isn't fun."
Kayin took advantage of the lull in the fight to rest his body.
"Why can't you believe it?" he asked. Keep him talking, hit him again once I've healed a bit.
"Because you were the consummate warrior once, Kayin. I simply couldn't imagine you being caught off guard."
"Because I worked with Staccato?"
Sisera said nothing.
"Is Gazelle here?" Kayin asked, "I'd like to see him again. Catch up on old times and all that."
"Yes, he's here. If you had Elendira with you, the three of you could have a good old time. Play cards, discuss politics, have a circle-jerk... It'd be fun."
"Pity I'm married isn't it?" Kayin asked.
"Yeah... That actually confused me."
The musician leaned in closer. "Why? Were you looking for a date? Sorry to disappoint. But I know a nice man here in town who's looking for love; I could introduce you..."
Sisera spat.
"Or not..." Kayin said. Then he sang.
The Triballus family took cover under a bed for the first five minutes of the attack. Then they heard a familiar voice calling them out.
"Hey guys, it's me, Shinita! Don't shoot, I mean no harm!"
Joseph crawled out first. Shinita was standing in the living room, doing his best to look non-threatening. This effort was hindered somewhat by the large shotgun he was holding. The baker stared.
"Come on, I got Isabel and my kids in the car, we can't leave 'em waiting!"
"What?" The baker was slightly confused.
"We're going to Allegro's house," Shinita said. "We'll be safe there. Now come on!"
"How will we be any safer there?"
"Just hurry, damnit!"
Joseph quit arguing. Shinita was tempermental at the best of times, and at the moment he had a shotgun.
Amelia demolished the front door of an unsuspecting house with a single kick. This would have been a shocking event if the person kicking had been large and well-muscled. Such a person, while not expected to go around kicking doors in, would at least be considered physically capable of it.
Amelia, however, looked something like a concentration camp survivor who'd been fed extra scraps by the guards. She was not quite a walking skeleton, but the word "sickly" would have been universally agreed on by people describing her. Seeing her casually kick down a door was a bit like watching a field mouse brutally maul someone's throat.
Her hands were cold. She needed someone to warm them.
A man with a rifle rushed out to confront her, but paused when he saw the frail, unarmed woman. This was his first and last mistake. She leapt on him. There were the beginings of a scream, cut off by a very final crunch.
Amelia felt a bit better. She looked up. A boy of about five was watching her from the hallway. He was crying.
"Are you scared kid? You shouldn't be. People go to sleep all the time. It doesn't hurt." She walked toward him, arms outstreched.
"My daddy always said Mama was in Heaven with God."
Amelia smiled.
"There is no God. No Heaven. Just... sleep." The boy's eye widened, but Amelia grabbed him before he could cry.
There was no pain for him, just a lot of cold before his nerves froze. His vitals were ice cold less than a second after that. His blood vessels bulged slightly out of his skin because blood is mostly water, and water expands when frozen, but he hadn't been alive to feel that horror. Amelia congratulated herself on a clean kill, with a minimum of suffering inflicted.
Her hands were only slighly warmer, and she could feel no other strong sources of heat in the house. She moved on.
His initial feeling of bravado wearing off, Needles was forced to admit that perhaps charging when outnumbered two hundred to one had not been one of his best plans. He was nearly out of ammo. Humans were fragile, but they still took a bullet apiece.
For their part, the bandits had scattered after Gelton's initial charge. In a true case of survival of the fittest, only the most foolhardy of them had elected to stay within melee range of a creature that could shrug off bullets. Not knowing what else to do, the survivors had taken cover and continued the attack.
Gelton was looking rather skinless. Even if one's flesh was nearly as good at stopping projectiles as a kevlar vest and healed at an accelerated rate, there were only so many shots to the chest one could take. And Allegro wasn't helping any either. Admittedly, the handgun he carried was a good one, but he was having to reload too often. Currently, he was backed up against a wall, trying to load his fourteenth clip while Gelton flew across the battlefield, blasting at far off opponents and whipping his baynonet into anything closer than twenty feet away.
"Come on Needles!" Gelton screamed. "Kill them all! No mercy, remember!"
His battlecry was puncuated by him taking another burst of ammunition. Needles holstered his gun.
"Heh. I suppose I'll have to use my hands."
His fingers cracked. The lastest man to wound Gelton fell dead. He could no longer see his handiwork, but he knew the body would already be beginning to bloat.
His fingers cracked again. A thousand years of progress slipped away as he reverted to the basic, horrible core of his existence.
His fingers cracked again. Allegro's namesakes, dozens of needles, each hair thin but as sharp as razors, flew across the battlefield, cutting into anything unfortunate enough to be in their way.
Needles charged.
"Master Knives!"
Knives looked up from his work. It wasn't often that Legato's voice lost its signature stoic tone, and when it did, it usually paid to listen to him. Legato bowed before him.
"There has been an attack on the town of Little Jericho. I am requesting permission to aid the defenders, to show our noninvolvement in the assault. I can be in the city within three hours of your command, Master."
"You mean," the plant said slowly, "you want to save your brother?"
"It is a legitimate possibility that if he survives, he will carry out his threat to counterattack your siblings. Also, there is a slim chance that this will have changed his mind concerning our eventual goals."
Knives stared at his servant for a moment.
"How do you know all this?"
"I felt it. My empathic link to my brother alerted me to his distress."
"Is that all, Legato?" Knives thought, "Somehow, I very much doubt it."
What he actually said to Legato was:
"Elendira will go with you. I can't allow you to be killed for something like this."
Legato nodded gratefully.
PREVIEW:
Vash the Stampede: They say that war makes for strange bedfellows. The true nature of the man fighting beside me is that of a merciless killer. But he is a merciless killer on my side, and together we stand against the monsters that surround us. Our homes are burning, our friends are dying, and we couldn't be more different, but only with the help of each other can we stop the world from ending in...
NEXT CHAPTER: FIRE AND ICE (I: THE LESSER EVIL)