A skirt of deciduous trees formed a narrow band between the plains below, still warmed by the vestiges of summer, and the cooler heights to the north. The forest was primarily oak and beech with hornbeam and maple also present in force. The leaves were already beginning the metamorphosis into a colorful tapestry of reds and yellows, accented by the deep evergreen of spruce solidly visible in the distance. On hills that rolled and ebbed up to the horizon, a cloak of conifers, which included not only spruce but yew, fir, pine and sharply needled larch, climbed the covered the rounded shoulders as far as the eye could see.
The heat that had brushed the southern plains below with the ephemeral touch of the short hot summer was already fading, giving way to the inevitable grasp of winter's chill. Amid the rugged landscape, beneath the canopy of trees, small shapes moved. They were not the wild animals of the forest, but something different. This was an old time, if not the oldest of times.
"Look, momma! Blackberries! Over here!"
Miles saw, through eyes not his own, as a russet colored female mobian – the same mammoth breed as her father he realized – carefully approached a thorny bush and began picking cold blue black berries. He watched, as another female of the same color, but older, came and helped her collect the berries and place them in a small leather pouch.
'My mate… my daughter…' he realized, with some shock and surprise. They were foraging, and he was returning with two badgers and a rabbit over his right shoulder, all killed by his sling, and the skill he had with it. The furs would be used as part of a new parka his wife was making for the winter, to replace one that had been chewed up by wolves last year. It was almost done, and promised to be very warm. And, while the badgers hardly made for good eating, they would do nonetheless, and the claws and fangs would help finish the necklace he was making in secret for his mate.
They were glad when they reached the elevation of the evergreens, where the constant shade kept the undergrowth to a minimum. On the steppe slopes the canopy was not nearly as dense, so the light that filtered down provided for a population of shrubbery that slowed down any real attempt at making good time. It was approaching evening when the three finally made it to the timberline. Free of entangling brush and the obstacle source of larger trees, they set up tent beside a fast, cold brook.
A small herd of deer were at pasture nearby, the males rubbing their antlers on branches and trees to free them of the soft coating of skin and nourishing blood vessels called velvet. The fall rut was almost upon them.
"It will soon be their season for Pleasures. They are getting ready for the fights and the females," he observed, looking up as he struck the flint and started their fire for the night. His mate sat nearby, her legs tucked under her, a handful of sticks at the ready to stoke the small flames. His daughter was in the tent, and if he knew her, she was probably helping herself to one or two or three more blackberries, assuming that no one would notice they were missing.
"Mog," his mate said, and it filled him with a warm endearment. "Is fighting a Pleasure for males?"
Mogul blew on the fire carefully, and considered her question. "It may be, for some. Especially when we enter musk. There is a certain pleasure in competition and in having standing."
"You do not fight as much as the other males, Mog," his mate noted, and quite accurately. He hadn't done much fighting since his musk, a few years ago.
"I've done my share of fighting. I have my mate, and my family," he explained, slowly. "Fighting… sometimes it draws you in. You lose your head, and your sense. I don't mind competition, like wrestling or sling contests, but if things get too serious, someone inevitably suffers."
"You are too gentle, my Mog…" she said, and put her hand on his affectionately. Then, something caught her eye, and the looked up at the sky. "Look! Look!"
He, too, averted his eyes heavenward, and saw it.
"A falling star…" He smiled. "A good omen."
They watched as the light fell, a long trail of fire against the darkening sky. It flickered green, too, which was unusual, before crashing to the ground some distance away. Coincidentally, it had landed on the route they were taking back to the village.
"It lands so close by…" he murmured. "I think I shall investigate it. I have never seen a star, and I think it should provide an interesting story for the village headman."
"Are you sure?" His mate asked, a little nervous.
"Do not worry," he assured her, and patted the sling at his belt. "It isn't even dark yet. Give me only a few hours, and I'll be back with something truly special: a piece of the sky itself!"
He left her, and headed around the pasture and over some open grassy land. For an hour, he moved over that, noting his location with visual cues. He would not get easily lost, even on land he had not traveled before – such skills were simply a matter of survival, and he had gone this way before, to and from the village to the hunting and foraging grounds he preferred. Finally, he saw smoke rising from a crater, and he approached cautiously, but with a visible eagerness.
What he saw took his breath away.
It was a stone unlike any he had ever seen before. It was green, like the color of leaves, but lighter than that, as if he was looking into water. He was familiar with amber, but this seemed totally different. The crater was quite shallow, and he easily made his way closer, feeling an excited tingle run down his back. He reached for it, expecting it to be very hot, but it didn't burn or scald him. It was pleasantly warm, a little more than body temperature he supposed, and the whole gemstone managed to fit in the palm of one large hand.
With it snugly in hand, Mogul began to feel…
He began to feel…
Miles, in Mogul's body, struggled for words. The feeling was so peculiar, but so familiar. It was like a song… a sweet siren song. It was like tasting wonder, or feeling a bright pure light across your body.
"You're… so…" Mogul's hands began to shake, and he held the jewel up, his tone reverent. "Beautiful…."
The Emerald began to glow, brighter and brighter, until the rest of the world faded into the periphery. It all seemed insubstantial. Suddenly, overpoweringly, he felt the urge to become one with this bright existence. To take it into himself, and make it a part of his body and soul. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, or even what happened exactly, only that there was so much light… and then that he was stumbling, moving… and the sight of his mate, shocked and afraid, when he finally returned to camp.
His daughter seemed after her initial surprise, to think of it as an interesting curiosity. He smiled at that, remembering her small hands on the Emerald in his chest, patting and feeling the sides. Despite being stone and not flesh, he could feel them in an ethereal way, through the Emerald itself. His child's giggles, however, could not erase the clear and present fear and discomfort of his mate, as she watched him with alien emotions, their way back to the village.
He recalled, and Miles remembered through him, that that was where things started to go wrong. The Headman, like his mate, had been suspicious of the changes in him. After a few days, he held a village communal to discuss what had happened. He remembered when the Matriarch spoke, that withered old crone, and claimed that he had been invaded by evil spirits that had been cast out of the skies. Such nonsense! How could anyone have believed that toothless old cow?
He had railed, defended himself. He had told them that he was the same as before. That he had not changed. That he was not the pawn of evil spirits. Sure enough, he felt the same… better, even! His toothache had disappeared, and the nasty scar on his left leg had healed up like new. His mate became cold to him, but he had figured that she just needed time to adjust. But they hadn't waited, they hadn't listened…
The headman turned his back.
And, one by one, so did the rest of the village.
Mogul could only stand there, stunned, as they turned their backs on him. He faced his brother, eyes pleading, but to no avail. Mogur averted his eyes, and turned his back. The stupid superstitious fool! Finally, there was only his mate… his beloved mate and their daughter. He held out his arms, but just like that, she turned. His mate turned her back on him. Only his daughter faced him, and then she was forced to turn away as well.
"Daddy!" she had cried, and in that moment he had wanted to take her away. Take her into his arms, and away from this damnable place, and these people who would cast him into exile.
"He is with the spirits, now…" His mate had murmured, softly, and held her tightly. "Don't look. He is with the spirits."
"Begone restless spirits!" The old Matriarch barked as she walked between him and his family. She shook her staff in the air, chanting rhythmically. "Begone! The World Mother Commands you Begone!"
"You can't do this to me!" Mogul hissed, fists clenching and unclenching. "You can't cast me out! Don't so this! Maga! Natii! Look at me. Look at me! LOOK AT ME!"
"Begone!" The Matriarch shook her staff right across his face, nearly clipping one of his tusks. He snarled, and thought about making a grab for the offending object. Then… then he thought again. He thought of his mate and daughter. He couldn't, wouldn't, put them at risk. If they were all exiled, he was certain that they would die. Here, at least, they would be safe and cared for.
Slowly, he lowered his eyes. "Natii. Don't forget me. Don't forget your father."
His daughter looked at him, very briefly, and he thought she understood.
And then he backed away.
Nearing the edge of the encampment, he took one long last look at what had been his family. Then, before he lost his nerve, Mogul turned and walked away, the Emerald in his chest casting his features in a haunted light against the growing gloom. He wandered for years after that, seeking to get as far from his people, his distant kin, and those who had known him. If he had tried to insinuate himself into another group, and they found out he was an exile at one of the comer meetings, then he would not be forgiven. It was better to wander in dignity, and wait for death.
Forests and deserts and endless plains passed him by… Living off the land, and his own wits, he crossed mountains and glaciers, rivers and valleys deep enough to get lost in. As the years blurred, he never lost his strength. If anything, age brought a greater clarity to his solitude wracked mind, a focus to his thinking, and a new sort of power to his flesh and bones. He had the idea, almost on a whim, to find the edge of the world, and cast himself from that height, returning the star stuff in his chest to where it belonged. Perhaps that, he reasoned, was his new purpose?
So he circled the world.
It took well over a century, but he returned to where he came from. Still, he was alive. Still, he was untouched by age. His skin was still taunt over corded muscle, unwrinkled and smooth. His sight and hearing and all other senses were still razor sharp. He knew a dozen languages and twice ad many dialects. He had seen more of the world than a thousand others put together, and everywhere he saw the same thing: the same existence. The same way of life that had cast him out.
Slowly, it began to fill him with disgust.
One day, walking down a familiar trail, in a familiar land, he approached the village that had exiled him. He half expected to be chased out once more, another ancient Matriarch waving her accursed staff at him. Instead, as he approached, he felt a moment of fear. There was no smoke, no smells, no waste pit; no sign of a settlement. He knew the way intimately, even after so long, but the village… what he found was a half ruin. Even the semi-permanent lodgings for the Headman and Matriarch had fallen into disrepair. Wild animals had picked the place clean of anything edible, and the unknown fate of the people there left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He searched. For years, he searched. Those at the Summer Camp spoke rumors of a plague. Others claimed that nomads from the south had migrated through the land, and killed many. Then, there was the simple possibility of starvation. Still, Mogul searched for survivors. He searched the faces of those he met, as well as the stories they told, for his family. But history, cruel history, had simple swallowed them up.
Centuries passed.
"I dream of stone…" he once muttered, pondering his existence atop an outcropping of rock. Before him stretched the land, and then the sea, mixing and churning where a great river emptied itself, flooding down from melting mountains.
"I dream of stone!" he cried, a lifetime of visions raging a tempest in his mind. "Stone that does not fade, stone that does not wash away, stone that will outlive even me! I dream of stone! Stone walls and stone longhouses, and stone paths cutting through the wilderness! I dream of a people made of stone, with a metal will! A people to outlast the elements and the gods themselves!"
With a mighty cry, he buried his fist into the rock, shattering it.
"A place of stone…" he said, then, his voice hushed, "And I shall be its foundation…"
Miles remembered. He more than remembered. He felt it, relived it. Mogul choose a spot, surveyed it for years, including in his study the lands nearby. And then he went to work. He found a large deposit of andesite, a hard volcanic rock, and by trial and error broke it, shaped it, and made uses for it. With his own hand, he cut and shaped those first massive blocks of stone, and with raw strength carried them. He buried the fitted stones half into the ground, building part of a wall, and a colossal gateway that aligned with the northern pole.
It was the beginning.
He traveled to tribes and villages, and found the camps of nomads. One by one, he broke them to his will, and made them do his bidding. And his bidding was to conquer. He oversaw the great migrations, driving countless mobians from their primitive places to his new land to supplement the population there. He bided them not just to live off the land, but to use it. The silt from the floods of the river made the land rich, and he directed them to farm the crops he had gathered from the corners of the world. It took several generations, and countless lives, but it was done.
He ordered camps built around the quarries, and overseers taught in the methods he devised. Once starvation no longer became a problem, the slaves toiled, cutting through the earth for the stones that would built the First City, around which and for which they all lived and died. Mogul selected those who would be leaders of their people, and leaders in their proper tasks. He ordered that events were to be recorded, and a system of writing developed to hand down the one common language to all.
Centuries passed by, and the city began to take form.
The inner wall, the First Wall, built of massive andesite stones fitted closely together and without mortar, was soon finished. Marketplaces developed, and smaller supporting cities also grew up nearby. Bronze was cast in vast amounts, as the thick forests fed kilns and blacksmiths that belched black smoke. Mogul watched, with pride, as wheeled carts eased the burdens and made his dreams come closer to fruition. Without even his bidding, the people worshipped him as a god, and temples of stone rose in his name and his honor.
In time, there came lieutenants.
As his dream became fulfilled, Mogul wished to separate himself from day to day affairs. His normal army of Bureaucrats was not suitable for long term management, he foresaw, and so he made the decision to elevate others to a status near his own. Over the centuries, his armies had marched to many primitive lands, and merchants and travelers from places even he knew little of came to his First City. He had six of what would later come to be known as the seven mobians Chaos Emeralds, when he met Rhadamanthus.
He had been an exile, and a half breed: his mother kitsune, his father lupine. Banished for the strange powers he was able to harness, and which the kitsune distrusted, Rhadamanthus finally traveled south to offer his services to the multiethnic First Army. In time, his skills brought him into the Palace Guard, until he became Captain of that unit. With a keen mind, Rhadamanthus stood out from his fellows. He understood mathematics, law, philosophy, metallurgy, architecture, the intricacies of maps and surveying, and even the arts. One day, Mogul offered Rhadamanthus a special place of honor by his side, and the half breed swore an oath, called the devotio, to serve in life and death. In all his long centuries of service, Rhadamanthus never betrayed the trust Mogul put in him.
Later came the others, as even Rhadamanthus found himself hard pressed to service the organizational needs of the First City, Enoch. Through Mogul's eyes, he saw quiet Ignatius whose specialty was war, but who moved only when called to or when it was necessary. Yet, when Ignatius was called to war, his was the gift of speed, and he marched and fought with great speed and skill. Then there was brooding Ysbadadden, who spent so many years plotting the stars, and dwelling on theoretical matters. He and Rhadamanthus were counterparts, but like night and day in their pursuits and tasks.
Those were the first three, and they had served well. So well, that Mogul felt no qualms about retreating from his duties entirely, to indulge himself and live in the ease and leisure he had never imagined before the rise of the civilization he had brought. Beautiful and delicate Elishiva was the next to be given an Emerald, but it split her mind and gave rise to Sekhmet. Miles was struck by the similarity – from Mogul's memories, Elishiva was almost a carbon copy of Rouge! He had difficult imagining her as the Two Faced God, and the Mad God of Enoch, yet Mogul's memories could not lie.
She was the beginning of the end.
Elishiva did her duties, yes, but in her wake lesser personalities were gifted as Acolytes. There was strange and mercurial Saffire, who both Elishiva and Rhadamanthus hated for different reasons… then there was Mulciber, who as much as conned his way into the group. Mulciber was only representative of a darker side, a seedier and less seemly side of Enoch and the world that Mogul had built. In the darkness cast by Mogul's stone city, whispered prayers to Mulciber as God of Rogues should have alerted him to the danger. As it was, Mulciber seemed to keep 'his people' in check well enough, and Mogul had not a care in the world, even when it was voiced by loyal Rhadamanthus.
Then: Reptilian.
Then: The Devourer.
He had not seemed harmful or even particularly noteworthy at first. All six Acolytes had their own sets of priests and hopefuls with minor chaos abilities. It was expected that, eventually, one would be chosen from then all to be the next Acolyte. By this time, Mogul had almost all of the world's Chaos Emeralds, and he was willing to part with one or two of the smaller ones, that he would later learn 'belonged' to the Merlin entity. Reptilian had been Elishiva's… or had he been Sekhmet's? Almost certainly the latter, given The Devourer's cruel and evil nature.
Oh, how the world had burned.
Treacherous Mulciber and Saffire had sided with The Devourer when his true powers became manifest soon after Merlin's Emeralds rejected him. The Devourer was the most powerful Chaos Adept Mogul had ever seen. Centuries later, even after battling the 'Super' forms of Sonic, Knuckles and Tails, they never inspired in Mogul the sheer terror and dread that wrapped around The Devourer like a cloak. The world was put to the torch in the wars that followed, and civilization cast down.
Great Enoch, the First City… his dreams given form…
Miles saw as he massive city trembled in the grip of earthquakes, before a great flood washed it clean. He couldn't imagine how many had to have been killed in the disasters that toppled Enoch and buried it and the surrounding lands in the sea. Millions, without a doubt. Miles felt, to his amazement, great sorry and sadness in Mogul at the memory.
Mogul had seen civilization rise, and he had seen it fall, and in the end it left him a broken shell of his former self. His people, his kind, had been exterminated in the wars. Mogul had seen fields full of their bodies, and neatly organized pyramids of their skulls. His kind no longer walked Mobius, and never would again. Millions of lives, thousands of years of history, existed in Mogul Alone.
No where else.
And Miles understood.
The two bodies washed up on a beach, half in and half out of the cold, salty water. One was black and red with burns, his thick skin a clammy ruin. He was large in size, but not unnaturally so. The tattered remains of what may have once been ancient armor still slung to his still body.
Nearby, another body lay half in and half out of the surf. A black and green wreath of seaweed hugged the smaller, leaner form. It was not burned, but heavily and visibly bruised. One the arms looked dislocated at the shoulder, and welts and bloody wounds ran across the chest and the right leg. It was face up, but perfectly still.
Until:
Miles spat up water and bile, and slowly opened his eyes. The sun he saw, was starting its descent towards the horizon. The clouds here painted a mosaic of colors as he moved, oh so slowly, across the heavens. Nearby, he heard something move.
He didn't need to look.
He knew who it was.
Nail's vision blurred as he tasted the rusty tang of his own blood. The spray of crimson from below his chin barely stood out against the color of his typical echidna coloring, but if one looked closely it was clear that he wore his own blood like a jagged tie down his torso. He arced lazily through the air, and hit the ground, rolling for a dozen feet before coming to a stop.
"W… what…" he said, the rest unable to leave his tortured throat.
'…hit me?' he wondered.
"Hmmm…?" Knuckles intoned softly, as if amused. "Looks like I hit you a little too hard. Are you going to die on me already?"
Twenty paced away, Knuckles' body smoked lightly, the wispy clouds rising from his body like backlit flames. Sharp mauve eyes glowed with inner power, but despite the amused tone, Knuckles wasn't smiling. He opened his closed his right hand, slowly, and craned his look to stare at the gloved digits, and the speckles of blood that adorned them.
"You'll… have to forgive me…" he said, and lowered his guard. "I'm having trouble holding back. I've having trouble… wanting to…"
Nail struggled to get up, and hacked up, his bruised throat convulsing.
Lara was shaking her head. "How…?"
How had Knuckles walked right through Nail's chaos energy attack? How had one blow, where Knuckles had simply grabbed Nail's neck and backhanded him, how had that laid Nail out so completely? While she didn't know the full extent of Nail's powers, she thought that she had a good enough grasp of them, and she knew for sure that he was physically more durable than she was. Still on his hands and knees, Nail held the side of his face, where a wound was purpling darkly.
Plainly struggling, Nail suddenly shot his right arm out and fired another blast of energy. It streaked through the air and came within inches of Knuckles' face, before the other echidna grabbed (grabbed!) the ball of chaos energy out of the air. Holding it in his right hand like a baseball, Knuckles closed his fist, and snuffed the energy out with a sound like a dropped light bulb.
Lowering one hand from his face, Nail shook with rage. Taking a step back, the clone crossed his arms, and gathered more and more power. Soon, encapsulated in a nimbus of ruby red fire, Nail held wide his hands and began to move them in circular patterns through the air. Across from him, Knuckles watched with a detached look, his arms at his sides.
Then, Nail's hands began to make tiny flashes, and Lara quickly realized what he was doing. She began to run, and summoned her own chaos powers to her defense. Nail's specialties were really in energy projection, no doubt a result of the esoteric training Athair had put him through. Lara's own powers were, in her opinion, more brute force oriented. Using her mind, she could direct her power to invisibly exert force on other objects.
"Now what are you two up to…?" Knuckles asked, sparing her a glance over his right shoulder.
"NOW!" Nail shouted. "One Hundred Lights!"
"Oh?" Knuckles huffed.
Nail's hands continued to move, now just a blur. Then, suddenly, one ball of chaos energy shot out. Followed by three then five, then seven. Knuckles didn't even try to move; he simply held out his hands, and casually knocked away the first projectile. The next three, he clapped his hands together and shattered them in one move. The five, he splayed his hands apart, and knocked them away and to the side. Out of the seven, he deflected three. The middle one hitting his chest, but too weak to do much but annoy him.
Still, Nail persisted, and the deflected energy balls crashed into walls and supports in little green explosions of power. When the barrage became more than just an annoyance, and Knuckles became a little concerned that Nail meant to bring down the whole cavern, he stomped his foot, hard, and the ground shattered. A long crack snaked out in both directions, and caused Nail to lose his balance and stumble, his rhythm broken.
"I won't let you destroy this place… not just yet…" Knuckles held back his right fist, and cocked it in preparation to charge.
Nail's eyes narrowed and Knuckles saw something in them…
'Behind me?' He whirled around, but not fast enough. Lara was behind him, and between her hands she held what must have been two dozen, no: three dozen of the little energy balls, all conglomerated into a blazing, barely contained sphere the size of volleyball. The former Guardian sneered, and barely managed to bring up his right hand to intercept it, just before Lara would have buried it into his left armpit.
Lara pushed up with all her physical and mental strength, Nail's energy straining to bursting between her fingers. Already, it was starting to leak out of her mental containment of it, and the miniscule amounts were singeing her fingers. Knuckles had all the animation of a statue in his posture, though his right hand trembled, and his eyes were suddenly large and feral. All at once, his glove burned away, becoming a cloud of black smoke in a heartbeat.
"You….!" Knuckles quickly took a step back and pivoted, so that Lara stood in front of him instead of at his side. Still, he held her and the energy attack at half arms length, his arm taunt but unyielding.
'So… strong…?' Lara started to work her legs, pushing against him with all the energy she could muster. The energy ball began to distort between their hands, first becoming less like a sphere and more like an oval, and then the color itself began to change from red to burgundy to garnet to almost pure black.
"Why fight me?" Knuckles asked, looking at her intently. "What does he have on you?"
Lara-Su growled at what he implied. "Nothing!"
"Someone has bound you in their service…" Knuckles explained, and his eyes became, if anything, more vicious. The rest of him, however, seemed unaffected. "Someone is using you. Are you going to be a tool all your life? Is it what you were born for?"
"S… shut up!" Lara's fingers felt like they were on fire. Still, she pressed forward, her boots squeaking loudly against the ground in a noble effort to get one more iota of traction behind them.
"You… you're not quite like that clone. He's always been a tool. He can never be like you and me, who were born free, no matter how much he talks. Break your chains and become like me." Knuckles offered her a small smile. "Freedom is for those with the power to use it."
A part of Lara, to her own revulsion, could see the rightness of what he was saying. Was she… how much freedom did she have? How much did she ever have? Could it be, was it possible, that her father was right? A look into his manic eyes, juxtaposed with his apparently calm exterior, made her wonder if anyone or anything was truly ready for that kind of freedom.
"I can't… throw it all away…" Lara said, and smiled back. "I won't be alone for the rest of my life!"
"Alone?" Knuckles asked, his stony expression wavering slightly.
"Alone! If freedom means you can never put yourself on the line, never suffer for anyone else… I'd rather be a slave! A slave to those who care for me and those I care for! That's how I've always lived! That's… that's why I came here…!"
Watching and hearing the confrontation, Nail stood on uneasy legs.
"Lara…" he whispered.
Set into a half rebuilt body seated atop the Master Emerald, one golden eye watched with hate and tangible, oppressive malice. Under that gaze, and unaware of it, Knuckles sneer returned, and grew until his upper lip curled. Without warning, his left hand shot up and joined the right. Lara barely saw it, before her world exploded.
The shockwave knocked Nail off his feet and flat onto his back.
Lara, meanwhile, felt nothing until her back hit the cavern wall, where she became momentarily imbedded; her body spread eagle. Her lower lip trembled, and the cracks in the wall behind her deepened and gave way. She fell to the ground amid three tons of formerly solid stone. Knuckles stood in the same spot, seemingly unhurt except for the palm of his right hand, streaked as it was by lines of light red and black.
Nail began to feel despair creep up.
Knuckles had become powerful… amazingly powerful. How, Nail couldn't begin to imagine. His list of options was essentially exhausted. Energy attacks had proven to be useless, when they should have been effective. From that blow he's suffered earlier, Nail didn't dare get in close and trade blows. Even a mental attack wasn't viable. Nail wasn't as familiar with Knuckles mind, and he hadn't spent hours getting to understand his thought processes. If a mental attack backfired, it would effectively be a self-inflicted lobotomy.
"W… what is this…?" Knuckles was staring at his hands, shock and curiosity warring for dominance on his face. A green band of energy rippled down his fingers, up his arm, and down his body. Then another, and another.
"Is this… Is this my true power…?" Knuckles asked, though it was unclear who he expected to answer. "Is this natural? Or some sort of…"
He never finished his sentence.
The pile of rubble that had apparently buried Lara exploded outward, and the echidna girl emerged, her clothes ragged and torn, and blood flowing freely down her nose and mouth. Eyes closed, she roared defiance and held up her hands. Tendrils of chaos energy lanced out, lifting chunks of rock to float eerily in the air.
"You…" She opened her eyes, and looked right at Knuckles. "I would have done anything to save you…"
"I do not need saving…" Knuckles hissed. "I will not be chained down by anyone… never again! If you want to save me, girl, you'll have to beat me first!"
Lara screamed, and the floor and walls of the cavern all around her rose up and shot forward like a tidal wave. Some pieces rolled along the ground, others bounced, and others flew. Knuckles, seeing the approaching onslaught, growled and charged. His fist immediately found the largest and closest boulder, and shattered it in a single blow. He leapt, avoiding two boulders coming in from the sides, smashed apart another wall of granite, flipped, and jumped off yet another.
Where he was hit in midair by something brick red, and sent crashing into a tumbling rock. Knuckles snarled in rage, as it rolled over and took him with it, crushing him under the weight. A half second after the former guardian disappeared from view, the boulder exploded, and he leaped forward at Nail, who drifted back behind the cover of another flying rock.
Knuckles paused, eyes searching the frenzied scene around him.
He winced, as a blow to the kidneys jarred him, and swiped at the source of the attack. His fist, however, hit only lifeless stone. Nail was hitting and running, aiming for vulnerable points in the body. Again, he struck, and then retreated under cover. Boulders and stones were, by this point, flying in random directions, and he was the eye of the storm. Every so often, one would try and hit him and he would easily destroy it, but that would only make the cloud of debris worse.
After a swift kick to the hamstrings made him hiss in pain, he flexed powerful leg muscles, and jumped. He had never been a good jumper before, but he could feel himself gaining more and more height. Jumping off a boulder, and then a pillar, and then an outcropping, and then another, he quickly found himself hanging from the ceiling, his fingers giving him purchase by digging right into the rock.
Looking down, he saw Lara looking right back up.
And he snarled, pressing off the ceiling and shooting down like a meteor. Hastily, one boulder, and then another, interposed itself between him and his target. Knuckles smashed through each one in turn, and finally buried his fist into the ground where Lara had stood, only a moment before. The stalwart material of the cavern floor, which had survives so much in the past, broke like glass from the force of his blow.
He just barely saw Nail running in low and from the side, and Knuckles reached just fast enough to clip his clone with a swipe from his left hand. Nail jumped backwards, a thin trail of blood across his chest. Landing and almost slipping on a pile of pulverized rubble, Nail coughed blood and winced. Knuckles ignored him, and jumped at Lara. She held out her hands, and the air between them seemed to become dramatically denser.
It slowed him down, and forced him to miss, but it did not… could not… stop him. He landed on both feet, chest heaving more from excitement than exhaustion. Suddenly, he laughed, long and loud.
"If only Sonic could see this! Or Shadow! My power dwarfs them both!" The ripples of green energy ran up and down his frame, but now instead of provoking suspicion, they only filled Knuckles with a perverse satisfaction. "No limits! This is what Freedom truly is! There are no limits to what I can do!"
"Stop this!" Lara yelled, also landing on her feet. She, too, was breathing hard, but there was no point lying about it and even joking that she wasn't tired. She barely felt strong enough to hold herself upright, much less fight with this monster that was her father.
"It isn't too late…" She tried, still hoping that she could somehow get to him. Would telling him about the future change anything? Or would it only provoke him, or encourage him?
"You choose this path. I gave you the chance to walk away." Knuckles advanced on her. "Just because you're a cute girl doesn't mean I won't beat you down like any of my enemies. I know firsthand that women aren't to be underestimated…"
Lara could feel her own reserves scraping the bottom of the barrel. She took a step back, but raised her fists, for what meager defense they would provide. Then, behind Knuckles, she saw Nail. He seemed to be running… for the Master Emerald? Knowing that she had to act as a distraction, she gave a strangled cry and charged. Knuckles seemed surprised by the sudden change of behavior, but didn't immediately assume anything to be amiss.
Lara knew she was far from top form, even before she threw the first punch. Still, she would just have to make due. Her old sensei, one of her mother's friends named Espio, would expect nothing else. She swept her arms and flattened the palms of her hands, aiming for her father's throat, or the weak spots in the skull, near the sides of the temples. He blocked her blows easily, but grunted when she nailed him in the family jewels.
The force of the blow she had landed, and its particular placement, caused him to stumble. Lara felt a moment of mixed triumph (did she just kill her own chances of being born?), but there was precious little time to worry about existence, especially after she saw the murderous look in his eyes. She set herself, and braced for his next attack. She knew that if it landed, if even one blow got solidly through her defenses, she'd barely know she'd just lost the fight, and her life.
Nail tried to put aside his worries about Lara.
The Master Emerald was his true objective and if he was lucky, also the source of Knuckles' power. It had to be! As he got closer, he looked up and noticed that the great golden eye within the half complete body had focused its attention on him, and him alone. He shuddered involuntarily, and pressed onwards, even as he felt a force creep into his mind. It felt inky black, like seawater from the deepest, darkest pit, and as he got closer it became stronger and stronger.
Nail's own mental defenses were formidable, to which his former student could attest. Yet this presence, this alien entity, continued to encroach on the sanctuary of his mind. His gait slowed, just outside arm's reach of the Master Emerald.
"You cannot approach me."
Nail's legs seized up, the muscles refusing to follow orders.
"You cannot approach me."
His arms felt like lead weights.
"Pawn of Malachi!"
Nail's fingers flexed, and then froze up.
"Now: Die."
The word reverberated in Nail's skull a thousand fold, drowning out all other thoughts. His lungs clenched so tightly he couldn't take in air, and his heart stopped beating. The command was so strong, so forceful, so overwhelming… He saw a light, a bright light…
And, by pure luck, he fell forward.
And his right index finger brushed the Master Emerald.
He saw a face, Athair's face, and a new resolve washed over his mind and soul. With a jump in his chest, his heart restarted, and his lungs sucked in fresh air. He felt Athair, the old echidna's power, weak but still full of determination, reinvigorate his spirit. He finally understood what Merlin's plan meant, and how it could work. In an instant conference of minds, he and Athair set themselves on a plan of action.
Nail felt another presence, like Athair's but unknown to him.
He stood, turned, and ran in the opposite direction. "LARA!"
Lara flipped over Knuckles' head, avoiding another furious but not unpredictable blow. He was growing frustrated, and sloppy, but he still had a ridiculous strength behind his blows. She knew, all to well, that she couldn't hurt him, which meant that he only had to wail away, and eventually she would get tired or make a mistake. Lara heard her name as she pondered this, and saw Nail heading in her direction.
But why?
She hit the ground and gracefully back flipped towards him. By the time she landed, he was there, and without warning he grabbed her hand. Some… thing… flooded into her. It was like a second set of thoughts, a second spirit, and second will… Gateways in her mind opened, and experiences and thoughts rushed through her like a deluge.
"You're still not strong enough…" she heard Nail warn.
"I… I don't have to be…" Lara looked up, and closed her eyes. "I'll need a little time."
"Time?" Knuckles roared, barreling towards them. "You're all out of time! You're both dead! DEAD!"
Nail rushed in front of her, and Knuckles hissed in annoyance as he cut his charge short. The clone had swung for him, and he had decided to ignore the blow, turn, and strike at the more annoying female of the pair. Knuckles feet, however, left the ground as Nail's strike connected. Stunned, and a little hurt, Knuckles reached up to rub his jaw.
Nail hadn't hit that hard before.
Knuckles growled, low in his throat, and took a more careful step forward. Nail seemed to be dancing, rather than fighting aggressively, and Knuckles swung at him but the other fighter ducked out of reach. His frayed temper already snapped thanks to Lara's cheap shot earlier, Knuckles shifted onto the attack, and when Nail countered, he caught the blow.
"Got a second wind, eh…?" he asked, and began to crush the captured fist in his grip. "I guess I should stop playing around, and just kill you."
Nail tried to wrench his hand free, but it was like being caught in a bear trap. Knuckles elbowed his clone, and then picked him up ad slammed him into the ground like a rag doll. Knuckles let go of the hand and stomped down, but Nail rolled out of the way just in time. Knuckles snorted in vexation and lifted his foot out of the impression it had made in the ground.
"Neither of you can hope to defeat me. This was a suicide mission… especially for you." He watched Nail slowly get back up and smirked. "As if a copy could ever match the original…"
Then, to Knuckles' surprise, instead of Nail getting into any sort of fighting position, he began to back off. And then, he broke into a run for the Master Emerald. And so did the echidna girl. Assuming they were running from him, he cracked his knuckles and chuckled, walking leisurely towards them.
At the same time Lara and Nail ducked behind the Master Emerald, down abandoned halls, up a dozen stories, and in another wing of the Haven Complex, one of the control rods in Haven's Main Reactor malfunctioned. Oddly, so did the second, which subsequently jammed in place. The third was hardly better off, half inserting itself before also getting stuck in a protrusion that, given the finely manufactured state of the technology and equipment, should never have been there in the first place.
Immediately, warning lights and indicators in the two primary Haven control centers went off. There was, however, no one to heed them, and nothing the automated computer systems could do. As magnetic containment for the fusion nuclear reactor began to fluctuate outside the safety margins, caught in an unfortunate and unforeseen cascade of systems failures, evacuation orders and warning announcements blared over what was left of the Haven Facility, and rooms were automatically flooded with ignition and radiation retardant foam.
Such was the magnitude of the failure, that plasma jets almost immediately began to burn through the reactor housing, as pressure built up inside, and containment failed. Hundreds of feet away, separated by distance of almost solid rock, Knuckles was completely unaware of the ticking time bomb that Haven had become. He noticed, however, when failure reached absolute critical levels and the bright flash that vaporized or melted half of the upper quarter of Haven shook the walls and rained destruction from above. It was only a prelude.
He had time only to avert his eyes upward, and wonder. "What the hell…?"
And then the deeply buried backup antimatter storage units released just a fractional amount of their contents deep underground, their own safety systems also sabotaged. Beneath the Emerald Chamber, the ground groaned, heaved, and erupted like the birth of a volcano.
It's no longer a matter of technique.
I stagger on that sandy, gold and crimson beach, and wipe stinging sweat and blood from my brow. My legs feel weak, and my arms weigh a thousand pounds, but I move forward and swing. My left arm, which I had to pop back into its socket, shoots fresh pain up the back of my skull. Arms and knuckles protest in a lightning bolt of pain, but Mogul's head snaps to the side, blood and a loose tooth flying slowly through the air.
It's no longer a matter of strength or skill.
Mogul grimaces, but stands. With a grunt, he sends a concrete hard fist into my guts, and it feels cold and numb, like my lower body is nothing more than lukewarm spaghetti. Something inside me moves, and then it hurts and my eyes get a little dark. My left foot slips on something wet and hot, but I keep my balance.
We've left all that behind, Mogul and me.
Mogul swings again, and I want to dodge, but nothing in my body, fake as it is, works like it's supposed to. My left arm raises in meager defense, but Mogul has momentum behind his attack, and it connects soundly with the side of my face. The broken and split flesh there takes the blow predictably, and one of my eyes falls under a veil of red.
Left it all behind in a watery grave.
Our world is white.
I snarl, and one eye closed, strike back. Fake high, hit a little lower, and Mogul grunts again as I hit his left ear. He twists, holding his hand up to the wound, and I see that one of my knuckles' managed to tear at some of the cartilage there, leaving a jagged and messy wound. Mogul takes a step back, and I do likewise.
And what's left?
What's left for us?
I blink my eyes, hard, and try to concentrate on standing. The blood stained beach and the twilight sky seem equally far away, and my breaths come in ragged gasps. The lull gives the opportunity for my injuries to reacquaint me with the meaning of agony, and what passes for my body cries for a respite. It wants to sleep, it wants to heal, and it wants to give up. Just a few feet away, I see Mogul struggle with the same problem. He's a mess, too, with fewer internal injuries, but burns over most of his body. I know that his every movement is like rubbing sandpaper into an open wound: a symphony of torment.
What's left for us, now?
What are we fighting for?
There are no words between us. None are necessary. After reliving each other's lives, after that sort of understanding, nothing need be expressed in simply words. No, what remains, what haunts Mogul's eyes and my own, is the vision of that bright and beautiful city, buildings stretching into the sky and beyond the clouds: a marvel and a monument. What haunts us are the two beings who look out at the city, side by side, with pride in their accomplishments. What haunts us is that one moment that could have been, but never had a chance…
Mogul has tears in his eyes.
And there are tears in mine.
'What we could have accomplished together…!' His eyes seem to plead, in the fading light. 'What we could have done!'
'We could have saved the world. We could have rebuilt it all…' I know what he sees in my eyes, as well.
'We both knew it in each other… we both saw it. But that one moment… That one moment…' The two pairs of eyes locked, unblinking. 'Was forever out of reach…'
Mogul takes a step forward, swings, and my head snaps around. I adjust my footing, and my fist finds his left eye. Puss and blood stain that hand, but there is little time to think of anything but the fight, the will to survive a blinding light making anything else impossible to see. An overhand hammer blow hits my left shoulder, which had been dislocated earlier, and the joint screams in pain. Mogul hisses, as a backhand tears across the front of his face and breaks what's left of one of his tusks.
It goes on.
For what seems like hours.
Back and forth, up and down that beach, our bodies a bloody and broken mess of spent flesh and dried blood. Splotches of it cover the ground and wash into the sea. When one of us falls, he gets back up, and it starts again. Neither of us are strong enough to land a decisive blow, so we chip away, bit by bit, at each other's lives.
Why?
"Last night I had a dream, Tails. About the future. The war was over, and there was peace all across the world. We were all in the Palace, and we were all so happy. After so long…" Sally smiled beatifically, and leaned her head on top of his in what he knew to be one of her hugs. "After so long… we were happy and we were home. No matter how bad things get, Tails, this world is worth saving. Sometimes, when things are hard, we forget that this world will have a brighter future…"
Sally… you gave me a dream.
My lower lip splits from Mogul's glancing blow, but I land a mostly solid strike between his eyes. I hit him again while he's stunned, in the same spot, and then a third time, harder than before. My pinkie finger feels like its broken, and I wonder when that happened, but it doesn't matter. Mogul spits blood, his nose broken at the base of his trunk.
"I never give up!" Sonic smiled, cocky and self assured, giving his new friend a hearty thumb up. "No matter the odds, I never give up, and neither should you! No matter what you do, Tails, put all your heart and soul into it, and always strive to be the best! Don't hold anything back!"
Sonic… you gave me hope.
Mogul roars, his body shaking, and he lunges. A low blow to the kidneys doubles me over, but I don't fall back. I step forward with what strength I can still summon, and slam my forehead into his with a resounding crack of bone on bone. My entire world fills with stars, and through them I blurrily see Mogul shaking his head. Then he moves, and our heads collide once again. I can't see anything now, but I can feel his breath, and I know he's just in front of me. Blindly, I shoot my forehead forward, and hit something slightly softer – probably the remains of his nose. As one, we fall back onto the bloody sand.
"Half ah me isn't evah gonna be normal, an' it's a struggle sometimes… when you wonder who you are an' what you are…" Bunnie was wan, as she sometimes was when he interrupted her occasional pensive mood. "But I'll be ok, Tails. Don't worry about little ol' me. Ya have ta play with tha cards ya' dealt, an' ah like ta think we all have what makes us special for a reason, even if they seem like a burden sometimes."
Bunnie… you were like a sister to me.
"This is great work, Tails! I couldn't have done better myself! Do you want to help me with something?" Rotor spoke so frankly, so honestly. "I could really use your input."
"Normally… I would not want to be tze one going into such a sit-u-ation," Antoine took a deep breath and closed his eyes, mustering the courage that always hid under his surface. When his eyes snapped open, they were filled with resolve, even though his body trembled with nervous fear. "But tze Prinzess ees in danger! Are you ready, mon ami? Good. Then we go!"
"Sonic's a lost cause. He doesn't know what it means…" Knuckles was introspective, his back to Tails. He raised a fist under his jaw, his body tense. "I have a responsibility…!"
"I'm going to help Sonic! I don't know how I can help…" Amy gritted her teeth. "But I have to do something! I have to try!"
I see Mogul roll over, and start to push himself onto his knees.
"I love you," Fiona said, one of her hands gently resting on his right arm. She was on the operating table, and he had opened her chassis to install the new gift he was giving her. He was wrist deep in her abdomen, and much of her was splayed out on the table next to her slim waist. He looked away from his operation, and into her eyes – so real! So real!
"I love you…" she said again, and he knew she meant it. "Before this. After this. Forever. My darling Miles…"
Painfully, he rolled over, propped up on one knee and one foot. Almost there!
Rouge, her eyes wide as he made love to her, her hands moving over his shoulders and into his cheekfur. There were no words, only soft sounds and the language of the body. He didn't worry what they meant to each other, or how it would change things. All that mattered was that moment of singing completion, and the feeling of warmth and purpose that he felt in her.
I see Mogul slam his fist into the ground, the hand coming back encrusted with red speckled sand. He's slowly rising, black eyes wide and wild and full to overflowing with the dauntless desire to take just one more breath: for himself, and for the millions only he will ever remember. Those millions who served him… They are his strength, and they would move his body long after his flesh was torn to ribbons, his skin flayed away, and his bones broken. Mogul roars again, deep and low, his mouth foaming.
"Get up, boy!" Tempest looked down at him. "Don't you want to live? Don't be on the ground when an enemy stands over you. GET UP!"
"Concentrate!" Nail barked. "Concentrate harder!"
Athair pursed his lips in apparent thought. "Welcome back to the land of the living… Chosen One…"
"He is already dying, Miles. I…" A bright light interrupted his mother. Slowly, she blinked again, and looked down at the hole cut through her chest. Turning, two more flashes of light filled the air, and she fell to the side without a sound, her sword falling from dead fingers. Three golden holes in her chest, burned into his memory and subconscious.
"Miles!" Amanda yelled, trying to get his attention. "Be careful!"
My ankle twists, and I hear a low groan of agony come from deep inside me. The looseness of my muscles, the lethargy in my body… I can barely move. I died once…
"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts, foxboy." Super Shadow stopped clapping, and took a step forward. "This isn't your first taste of this world's cruelty…"
Robotnick laughed, as his hoverpod flew away and out of danger, a big mad smile on his face. He held out his hand, and flashed Sonic and Tails the one finger salute, visible even from the distance between them. He yelled, just to make sure they heard his defiance, "You little bastards will never defeat me! Never! I only have to win once!"
Drool runs down my chin and onto my chest, heaving savage breaths as I get back on my feet. Mogul stands opposite me, and I know this is it: the last moment. This is the last of our strength and determination, thrown one last time into that world of pure and brutal white. This… is the end of one of our lives. I know it with every fiber of my being, and every instinct I've been born with.
"Goodbye…. Miles…" Mogul manages to say, curling fingers into fists.
"Goodbye…" I reply, through mauled lips. "Mogul."
Everyone…
One last step, taken at the same time, and it is all over. I hit Mogul cleanly in the neck, but I don't really feel his blow, buried as it is deep in my torso. The air, our bodies, are still crackling with the residual energy of the Chaos Judgment attack I used before. Our hands still at each other's vitals, Mogul and I both flex our remaining power, struggling for a killing blow, the effort like swimming up a waterfall. Everything suddenly seems to quiet. So peaceful.
For a moment, I wonder if I'm dead.
And then, I hear Mogul try and say something. His jaw moves, and a long stream of blood runs out instead of coherent words. Beneath my fingers, I feel bones break. Mogul slumps, and I catch him as he falls forward. With the last of my strength, I lower his bulk to the ground and try to preserve as much of his dignity as possible. He looks up at me with glassy eyes, and I can see the life fading out, bit by bit.
Amazingly, his mouth still moves, and I lean closer to try and hear.
"It's all… yours… now…" I hear it, and then: nothing.
Those were his last words.
Carefully, I close his eyes. The residual chaos energy that clings to me from my own attack gives only last stinging tingle, and dissipates. Mogul's still body, however… it burns away, and can feel the tears running down my face. I never thought I'd feel this way, but in the end, he and I became closer than brothers. Closer than kin.
"I won't forget…" I say, though I know he is beyond hearing me. "I'll remember for both of us. You'll see… the world I'll build…"
And, on that nameless beach, I watch as Mammoth Mogul finally returns to the dust, his ashes scattering with the wind into the surf and the sea. I sit there, alone, and I don't know how much time passes. What I do know, what I realize through everything else, is who I am and what I'm doing. I couldn't give Mogul a swift death, like I promised, but if all that pain let me understand him, I would pay it myself a dozen times over. I am not Na'Turo, I am not Prower, and I am not Tails. I was all of them, but I am always Miles!
Everyone…
All those who live…
I'm not fighting for you… I'm fighting because of you!
Angel Island
"This is Condor one-one-six, beginning approach to target area."
The hovercopter adjusted its flight pattern, the pods on its sides swiveling to allow the maneuver. The fan blades in the tail assembly also swiveled marginally as it swooped in lower, like a bird or prey. It slowed, and the sides folded back. Two observers stuck their heads out – they had helmets on protecting their ears and goggles over their eyes enhancing their sight.
Below them, they could see a crater scarring the landscape.
It was only the worst of numerous wounds to the area. Elsewhere, there were smaller craters, slashes and breaks in the ground, and places that seemed to have suffered from landslide. Even at a distance, some of the smaller craters looked almost like… footprints. But that was, of course, impossible.
"We are over the area where the seismic disturbance was recorded," the pilot announced. It was both for those on the aircraft, and for those listening back at HQ. "It looks pretty bad. Like an underground mine collapsed or something. No sign of enemy activity. No corpses."
"Hold on!" One of the observers called out. "I see something! Lower! Take us in lower!"
A few seconds later…
"I see him! One body! Echidna."
A handful of minutes later…
"Is this who I think it is? What's the Guardian doing out here?"
"He's in critical condition!" A pause. "Pulse is very weak! We're taking him back to HQ! Tell the pilot to radio for a medical team! The best they've got!"
…
Only a few hours later…
A solitary figure, weary and nearly broken, stood over the ruins of what had once been the Haven of the Brotherhood of Guardians. He waited there for a short time, looking, searching. Eventually, he found it, and began to dig with his bare hands. Even with them, great mounts of rock and dirt are easily excavated, of the sort one would expect from a steam shovel. Finally, he stopped, and stood straight.
Miles looked down into the small pocket of air, carved out of the blasted ground, and at the two occupants. Both looked worse for wear, and a little claustrophobic, but definitely alive, given the relieved looks on their faces. He examined them closely, and then offered his hand to help them up. Lara took the offered assistance first, and he noted the melancholy not only in her eyes, but that he could feel through their … connection, for lack of a better word.
He had feared, no: he had known that something like this would happen. Yet he had still sent Lara down into Haven, to face the inevitable failure history dictated she was to suffer. He marveled at his own cruelty, and how he justified it as being necessary, and maybe even right and proper in the pursuit of giving her closure. Then, he silently helped Nail out, his feelings for his former mentor mixed, even now. In Nail's other hand, however, he held something that made Miles smile wickedly.
The 'shrunken' form of the Master Emerald.
"Quite a mess…" he said, and started to walk away. Nail and Lara fell in behind him.
"That's an understatement," Nail grumbled. Lara was quiet, lost in her own thoughts.
"Tell me everything," Miles replied, and they knew he was speaking to both of them. "But first… let's head home."
A short distance away, he took their arms in his hands, and disappeared.
…
…
Cream felt Cheese shift on his perch atop her left shoulder. He was annoyed. It had taken too long. She couldn't Chaos Control, and he was annoyed. Because of that, she was annoyed, too.
Still, Cheese wasn't worried. She watched, as a mound of dirt in the crater rose, and broke open. A skeletal hand, only partly covered in flesh, rose out of the grave. Intermittent green scales stuck out of the barely formed dermis, and the fingers clawed deep grooves in the hard soil. Cheese laughed, and it was a sound that would have frozen the blood of great men.
