Shadowflame has updated!
Okay... I changed my plans a bit. Though I originally planned for this fic to have only two chapters, I changed my mind. Now, if things go according to plan, it will stretch to three, possibly four chappies before I end it. It all depends on how much I put into a chapter.
Um... this chapter is relatively slow and devoid of action, just to let you all know. Hopefully, it'll suffice for now... this is just a lil introduction type-thing for this part of the story.
I'd like to give thanks to pacphys, Thalpomene, Rat Queen Valarian, The Sacred Heart 2, shannon, Dierdre, XXXElektraXXX, Mewfem, Cynlee, saber-otter, and Jessiy Landroz for the reviews!
Many thanks to pacphys for the beta read! (Especially for helping me to correct my pathetic spelling errors...hah.) Go, read her fics!
Had there been time to, he would have been amazed at how easily they sliced his skin with their cold blades, parting through his flesh like a knife though soft butter. With every slash they cut deeper, but, for some reason, it was only the first seven or eight wounds that hurt like hell. The ones that followed seemed to render parts of his body numb, useless. Though the feeling wasn't as alien to his as it perhaps should be, he took the numbness as a warning that his body was giving way and weakly raised his arm with his weapon at hand to protect his throat and neck.
Though the effort was useless, it was the only thing that he could have done at that moment to retaliate. They were too fast for him to even think about fighting back, no matter how many years of experience he had under his shell.
His fatigue was growing by the second, and he was becoming increasingly dizzy. He could feel the blood oozing from his wounds, warm, bitter and thick, flowing with liquid grace over his rippled muscles on their trip down to the earth. His hand went limp, useless, and his weapon dropped to the ground. The rest of his body followed suit, landing with a sort of muffled thud as a bright green light flashed underneath his eyelids.
Someone screamed his name. He received the sound with fuzzy comprehension, barely recognizing the owner of the voice. He just knew that, whoever it was, they were familiar to him. And, at that moment, that was all that mattered to him. Because it helped to increase the feeling of warm peace that was growing within his chest.
Laying there completely immobile, it didn't take long for a part of him to recognize that he was dying. But he didn't care; he hadn't cared for years. Ever since he had lost his family, his caring nature had dissolved; become alien to him.
It was replaced with other emotions such as rage, spite and hatred. Feelings that ran so deep that he often found himself feeling nothing else. Emotions that had dictated his life for the past thirty years; that had often times allowed him to command his men with the skillfulness that he had.
Emotions that, until now, had caused him to run away from fate for many years instead of staying rooted in one spot to accept it.
Donatello was dead. Casey was dead. Splinter was dead. And now, he'd be joining them. Because despite the many warnings, he and his brothers had never learned... to face Shredder himself in battle was like signing a death warrant for a member of the family. And though the concept of revenge was as addicting as the idea of freedom sweet, it could -would- never happen. Shredder was too strong; he was at the point where he was invincible. And, with him being an Utrom, generations of humans would suffer under his long reign.
He had failed to fufill his destiny. Failed to protect his family, his people, his honor... Failed to avenge the millions who had died under Saki's evil reign.
So was his final thought, as the world around him went black.
Older bodies sank.
The newer ones floated, dancing clumsily with the irregular current. Pale, bloated faces beheld wide, glassy eyes; eyes devoid of the spark of life they once held. Hair whipped eerily around the corpses' heads in gruesome halos as blood leaked lazily from open wounds, swirling in an almost beckoning manner before finally merging completely with the water, adding more to the liquid's red-brown hue. Mouths were open in silent screams. Fish pecked spasmodically at the feast of dead flesh. Above the surface, seagulls perch on the bodies that floated and seemed to make a sport of putting out eyeballs drinking the horrid juices.
Tiny, white paper boats floated on the surface, bobbing up and down in the waveless water, the horrible liquid seeming to be as dead to the world as the bodies it contained. Each boat beheld a name on its side or on its' as sail, scribbled crudely in leftover charcoal from fires. They each lasted no more than a day or two before they were swallowed up by the gruesome water, and from there they oftentimes ended up being washed up on the shore.
On the shore, those who still clung to life moved about with haste. They seemed almost afraid of the water, reluctant to see or smell or even hear its faint lapping sound on the beach. They maneuvered over or around large chunks of cement, stumbling sometimes in their rush to be away from the repulsive sight. It was almost as though the water itself radiated a dark energy, and the people were driven by some animal instinct to get as far away from it as they could in the shortest amount of time possible.
However, there was one human out of all who seemed unafraid, one who actually dared to venture to the water and wet her old, battle-worn boots in the foul liquid. She walked painfully slow, taking tedious, measured strides as she stared blankly off into space, blinking only occasionally at some painful unspoken thought or memory. One hand was slipped into her pocket, and the other hung limply by her side, arm swinging slightly to match her gait.
Though despite the forlorn look in her eyes, despite her many scars etched across her face or the hundred-too-many gray hairs that seemed to invade her head, she still maintained the posture of a dignified and very much in-charge woman. Her body radiated a confidence that her face neglected to express, proudly displaying the badge pinned to her thick shirt at her bosom, which gleamed dully in the faint light of dusk.
Not one of 'her' people were close enough to the water to read her badge, of course. But they all knew who she was, only having to glimpse her slightly shadowed silhouette from afar to place a name with the limping gait she walked with. For she was infamous; her name was whispered among men, women and children alike in all parts of the world...
Rebel Leader Jones-O'Neil.
She continued to walk for some time, feet dragging though the rusty-looking water, moving at a constant, almost mechanical pace with her eyes staring forward, unfocused. Occasionally, she would lick her lips lightly and finger her wedding ring in her pocket as the face of one of her deceased family members appeared in her mind's eye. On and off she would slip the simple gold band around her finger, unaware that she was actually doing it as her mind was lingering elsewhere.
Finally, April stopped. She looked down at her boots, covered with watered-down blood, as though seeing them for the first time. Then, slowly, she turned to face what was once the grand city of New York. She still wanted- no, needed- time to think. But time, as always, was of the essence. Though she was anything but looking forward to it, she knew that planning the Ceremony was her responsibility. After all, when considered, she was the only one in the position to be able to do it. Her other family members were either dead (and were therefore a part of the Ceremony) or were critically wounded.
Though her reluctance to go about preparing the Ceremony wasn't solely because she dreaded the thought of finally saying goodbye to two more family members from 'back then'. She wanted to see if the remaining one made it.
And, if he did, she wanted him to be there. After all... they weren't technically her brothers - they were his. The only people that he had had in the world for years before the Shredder began to take over, and they were gone. It only seemed right to wait for his recovery- she knew that, despite how many times he had said he loathed them, he would want to be there to wish them farewell. Even if he would refuse to admit it out loud. Because April knew his affection for them was in there somewhere- beneath many more layers of self-hatred and spite then there used to be, yes, but still there.
She knew, because over the years she had caught glimpses of it. Weak sparks of sudden emotion that sprang up in his eyes and burned for less than a second before they were suffocated again by the hopelessness that plagued his heart.
Despite how many times they had all fought for the years after they split after Splinter's death, despite his denial and sudden withdrawal of how he used to be, it was obvious to her that he still cared for them. That was why he had worked for her during the war, she knew. Not only had he been trying to bring honor back to his dead brother's and father's names, he had once said, but he was doing it for his two remaining brothers as well.
It wasn't in an attempt to bring them all back together. That much she knew; he seemed to have lost all hope in trying that. Hell, if anything, he had lost hope before the other two did.
Quite against her will, she remembered finding the poor turtle alone one night, curled up into a tight ball on the cold cement with the rain beating against his shell. Bodies of Foot soldiers surrounded him, their blood mixing, forming small torrents as the rain washed it down the cracked pavement to collect in large, murky puddles.
She had approached him; shaken his shoulder and tried to get him to stand. For the longest time he simply ignored her, seeming to pick up the role of a large boulder: cold, lifeless, and virtually impossible for April to move with her bare hands. It was finally after a two-hour period of persuasion that she was able to get him to stand; to squeeze the first and final words from him that night.
"They aren't with anyone, April. Not anymore. Not again."
It was the next day when he had found his voice again that he had sworn alliance to her, promised to help the rebels fight to regain their freedom. And fight he did, even when it almost cost him his life several times.
Finally taking a step away from the hellish water, April Jones-O'Neil finally began the trek back to the city- and back to the medical center. She had someone to visit.
As time ticked by, Angel became more and more concerned.
April had been gone for a while now. And though it wasn't unlike the woman to be absent for long periods of time, her disappearances were becoming more and more habitual. At first, recognizing the obvious fact that April needed the time alone, Angel didn't mind it when she would suddenly take off. Lately, however, the older woman had started taking her breaks more often, and was gone for much longer periods of time.
The case wasn't that Angel doubted the Rebel Leader's ability to defend herself. April had proven time and time again that she was more than capable of accomplishing that feat. It was how her friend was handling the recent loss of two of her family members from 'back then' and the predicted death of a third that worried her so.
So, after hours of waiting for April's return then another hour of contemplating on what to do, Angel had set off to find her. Because of the recent deaths of the two turtles, the commander eventually decided to start looking for the older woman in the sewers, figuring that April would go there not only in hopes of nobody bothering her, but because it also seemed like the right place to mourn for the losses.
Now, as she trudged through the sewers, her apprehension would increase a notch every time she passed a familiar landmark. Ever since the turtles had fully moved out of the old lair years ago, walking these tunnels made her uneasy. The knowledge that she was actually going to have to enter the abandoned place in order to search for her friend only seemed to increase her adrenaline flow tenfold.
Angel wasn't one to believe in ghosts. She had seen many a man die, and though the bloody images plagued her dreams, she had yet to experience a 'true' haunting. But every time she came down here, every time she walked the still familiar path to the old lair, it seemed that the air was thick with not only the stench of sewage or the occasional dead body, but memories as well. Some of them being good, many more of them bad.
It seemed to her that the parting memories of this place clung to the stale air better than the others. Angel hadn't been there to witness the years after Splinter's death back when the turtles had been occupying the place, but the recollections of Leonardo and Michelangelo had provided her with a decent idea as to what went on.
As she neared the spot where she knew the door to the abandoned lair to be, she couldn't resist the urge to glance at the spot where she knew Michelangelo had sat years ago, when he had discovered Splinter's body. The memory of him describing the discovery was so vivid that his voice seemed to echo through her mind, as cold and emotionless as ever.
Alone, desperate, frightened, angry... hopeless... dead... Leo.
She had no idea why the turtle's description had stuck to her mind the way it had. Perhaps it was just the numb horror that she had felt that stapled the words to her memory, for the blank, emotionless tone that Mike had used when describing such dreadful emotions had frightened her. It was almost as though the essence of the old Mikey had been sucked from his being, leaving behind an empty shell.
Little did she know that in the years to come, that tone would become all too regular for Michelangelo. That was, other than the spontaneous spurts of anger that the ninja would oftentimes have.
In little time Angel made it to the twisted knot of dusty pipes that was the main entrance to the abandoned lair. Racking her memory, she hesitantly reached forward, grasping a protruding pipe in her gloved fingers.
For several long seconds she simply stood there, basking uncertainty and hesitation. Then, in a sudden burst of determination she pulled the pipe down, then pushed it in, and was rewarded with a soft clicking sound as the pipes began to rearrange themselves.
Years had been hard on the old machine that used to open the lair with silent ease. With a great deal of creaking and grinding, the passage was finally opened. After the echoes had died, the silence that surrounded Angel seemed to become thicker, and by instinct she tensed, listening to the silence.
Nothing. The lair was as silent and dark as ever, the only source light in the place being the dim blue shine emitting from the crystals lodged in the walls. They gave the large, spacy lair an eerie glow, casting ghostly shadows all around.
Cautiously reaching up to her head, Angel pulled her night vision goggles down. Immediately the interior of the dark lair was highlighted with a ghastly green, allowing her to further view her surroundings.
Not nearly as blind as before, she stepped deeper into the lair. With every step she took, a foreboding feeling blossoming within her chest increased at an alarming rate. She could almost feel a pair of eyes burning into her back...
God, she hated that feeling. No matter how many battles she had been through, she still had trouble shaking it off. She figured that most of it was paranoia. The only person that Angel could think of that would be here was April. The lair was still well hidden- all the ones who knew its exact location were either dead... or bedridden.
She made it to the center of the lair, eyes not missing the faint footprints in the dust. There were turtle ones that looked to be fairly recent, but that didn't bother her. She knew by the story that April had told her that a young, 'past' version of Donatello had somehow winded up here by mistake, and that he had brought the three adult turtles here to gather supplies for the defeat of Shredder- or, as the public had taken to calling it, the 'Final Battle'.
She had just made it to the center of the lair when something peculiar caught her eye. The sub car lab, which had until then been hidden from sight by one of the large pillars, had it's door cracked open. Angel hadn't seen the door open since her version Donatello had disappeared. His remaining brothers had kept the door closed and the interior of the lab untouched- whether out of grief or as a sign of respect she didn't know.
Perhaps the past Donatello had gone into the lab while searching for something?
Lifting her goggles, she almost started to see that there was a dim light on in the room, as though the source of the glow was located ay in the back...
Slowly, quietly, the woman began to make her way towards the lab, reaching down to her belt as she moved. Clasping the grip of her small handgun, she pulled the deadly weapon out of it's holster, gripping it tightly in her hand.
She was almost sure it was April on the other side of that door. Still, it felt right to have her weapon at hand. It helped to quell some of the uneasiness she was feeling.
At the door, she carefully placed the palm of her free hand against the wood, listening. There was a noise coming from the inside of the room, a faint, purring sound that sounded familiar, but she couldn't place the right word with what it was...
With a sudden burst of energy, she shoved the door open, bringing her previously free hand to help to steady her firearm as she pointed it into the room, expecting someone to be occupying the small space.
No one. The room was empty of all people, lit only by the monitor of a computer that was sitting in the far back of the sub car, which explained the purring sound. Angel cursed her stupidity, remembering now that her entrance had not necessarily been a quiet one. She had given whoever had been in here plenty of time to get out of the room...
The moment before she was about to turn she was attacked from the side. A flash of black, and something hit her wrist, causing the hand gun to drop uselessly to the ground. Angel tried to step away, but the assailant was quick to grab her clothing, forcefully pulling her backward.
A hand clasped over her mouth, and she bit into the rough, calloused skin, tasting blood on her tongue. The hand withdrew, and she twisted in the attacker's grip, successfully turning around to face him. She drew a small knife from her belt and held it before her, assuming a ready stance.
The assailant was bulky, his figure outlined in the dark by the faint blue light emitting mostly from the lab. He held his injured hand out before him, and a faint glimmering could be seen as blood trickled from the teeth marks on his palm and down his-
Three fingers...
For a moment, Angel froze, staring in shock at the hand. Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet that of her attackers.
"...Commander?" He found herself asking, brain on overload.
Bursting into sudden action, he rushed her and she, unable to recover quick enough, found herself again locked in his strong grip. Her fingers still firmly grasping the leather handle of her blade, she adjusted the knife in her hand, stabbing weakly down at his thigh, and was rewarded with a pained grunt. Again she twisted in the figure's grip, trying to get away, but the assailant was ready this time, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her arm. With a growl, she raised one of her feet, preparing to kick at his shin...
And he released her, shoving the woman away. Angel fell to the earth, hard, releasing her hold on the knife as she made contact with the cold, dusty floor. Recovering as quickly as possible, she lifted her head and, spotting her handgun on the ground no more than a few meters away, she pulled herself towards it.
Her fingers had just grasped the grip of her firearm when suddenly, a sharp pain exploded from the back of her skull, and with a bright white flash the world around her dimmed to blackness.
Yup. One of the three adult turtles seen in SAINW is alive. I'm curious if anybody figured it out (might not have been too hard to, I donno...) But if not, I'll probably end up revealing who it is next chappie. Which, hopefully, will be more entartaining.
The
ending gave me a LOT of trouble... and that's probably obvious. But
yeah... I eventually realized that I had to stop fretting over it and
just post the darn thing to that I could move on...
