Chapter 12
Mass carnage and violence here. Mass…lots of it. Oh and death. Lot's of death as well YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Lawyers, haven't done this in the while, but to make this legal…Probably the most expensive thing I own is my new guitar ,or my old Mp3 player. So I don't own a massive gaming franchise such as Naughty-dog, or the video game Jak and Daxter. I never said I did, okay? Just to make sure and all.
In Sparagus, other sages were fighting for their lives, but with more success. A crazed elf flung himself at Jak, flingers seeking his throat hungrily. Jak grabbed the mans shoulder and spun him easily, using the mans momentum to slam him into a wall. Blood arced into the air, and he grasped it with blue eco and hurled it and another attackers face. She slowed down, for a split second, hands reaching towards her eyes, trying to scrub it out, long enough for Jak to raise his gun and shoot her in the heart. Behind him, a middle-aged Wastelander screamed as Jak's Croca-dog sunk her foot long fangs into his thigh, ripping out a chunk of flesh. Blood ringed her mouth and she struck again, his time at his throat, clawing at his chest as she did so. A bolt of eco scraped over her tough muzzle scales, drawing blood, and she swung round her head and charged, spittle foaming from her jaws. He new attacker's end was quick, as she crushed his throat underneath her large, clawed paws.
A movement in Jak's perpetual vision cased him two swing his gun to his left. Bang. Smoke wafted from the barrel, she died, and the escapees kept on running. For a second, it wasn't Jak Mar leading, it was the renegade, who would stop at nothing to survive. It was Jak the Wastelander, with his diminutive, non-threatening height, taking pot shots at Metalheads. He was a mercenary, offering his services in exchange for his life.
It proved that Jak of Sandover was dead, no matter how eloquently Seem paraphrased his hand signals.
A volley of gunfire raged back and forth between the two parties, each throwing morals and fair play to the wind in the desperate bid to win. Jak raised his eyes to the right to see two women snipers, wearing identical armour and clothes blasting at each other with yellow eco. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they knew each other somehow. Family member? Thought Jak with callous disregard for life, as he swatted a group of attackers away with a blast of eco and the wave of searing hot air that followed. Friend? He asked himself as his fists thudded again into soft elfin tissue.
He gave a set of hand signals, recognisable to any Wastelander, the whole group, which numbered around forty, dived into an ally. Ten of his party quickly and easily scaled the walls and ran doubled-over on the rooftops, sniping at the groups harassers. The ones at ground level simply pegged it through the dingy backstreets.
Going into dark, cramped alleys may sound like a bad thing to do, but it sure beat running around without cover. The more organised escapee's would have better chance at surviving in smaller areas, where they couldn't be overwhelmed by sheer numbers Jak reasoned, hoping that all of the crazed elves were behind them.
Suddenly the enclosed space widened out, and in front of them laid the abandoned fleet of transporters, covered in desert dust. His company broke out into a dead sprint at the sight, speeding towards their only hope of escape. Behind them, the brainwashed Wastelanders roared in fury. The sentries up top yelled warnings, before leaping down to the ground, and following the rest as the mob strove to encircle them, coming round the both sides of the buildings. Jak, Seem and Kliever shot out into the harsh dawn sunlight first, being the ones leading, and pounded ahead. It was a good 300 meters, 300 meters that was spent ducking and diving as the mob behind sniping at them. However, blinded by rage, the mob never stopped running, making their shots miss their intended mark.
But as the intended mark was in a large tight group, the bullets usually burnt a hole in the elf next to the target. Instinctively, now that the mob was trying to shoot them in the open air, Jak's group spread out. Some slowed down to help the wounded. They were shot. The others, seasoned Wastelanders, didn't look back, not even sparing prayers for those behind. They wouldn't feel guilty later – it was survival. No-one had any illusions other wise. Fifty paces away from the transporters, Keliver held up a metal object and unlocked the doors of the five blood-red hovercraft. The boarding ramp hissed into position, flopping onto the desert floor. The escapees sped up even more, gasping for air. Behind them spilled small groups of Gol's minions, each determined to stop the renegades at all costs. But Jak's people got there first, piling into the vehicles haphazardly. Whilst the five designated drivers – Kleiver and four other Wastelanders scrambled into their cabins, Jak directed the flow of Wastelanders into each vehicle, to make sure that no one was crushed in the mad bid to escape.
It was then when the first volleys of eco-shots flew towards them, distorting the air as they passed through it. With a quick gesture, Jak concentrated his last reserves of eco onto one hand and thrust forwards with his palm, sending the air rushing back, pulling the air bourn attacks, causing them to skitter away.
It slammed into one group of Wastelanders, jus above their knee-caps, bringing them down hard. Cursing, they tried to stand up, only to have another group run straight over them, in a mad bid to win favour with their King and Queen, Gol and Maia. They were un-aware, of course that their rulers and been usurped and destroyed by the vain goddess Artemis. With the last Wastelander inside the vehicle, Jak thumped on the side of the Hover three times –tunt-tunt-tunt, and clambered inside. With a hiss, the hover-ware underneath the transporter glowed blue, and lifted the metal box into the air, and into freedom. Screaming profanities, the mob below levelled their weapons and tried to shoot the sucker down. With armour plating similar to a tank, the eco-shots did nothing but make the lift-off uncomfortably juddery for the passengers.
Behind the fleet, three more sets of military hovers rose into the sky, and shot off in the direction of Haven city.
Five hours later, with the Hover craft limped into Haven city, some beginning to smoke underneath. The pilots had pushed the planes hard, and what only a select Waste Landers knew was that half of the hovers had been docked for repair.
Over the radio, Sig described what had happened to his gang. They had arrived, after a hellish chase through the trashed city, to where the Hovers rested, only to find "The damn main thrusters had been removed". The thrusters, Jak learnt, were important to get the heavy metal vehicles into the air, before the smaller thrusters, arranged round the outside in a circle could push it through the air. He and his group were still staring in despair when the young blue Sage, leading his own party, had arrived. Bolton hurriedly explained how his fleet had been taken apart by scrap dealers. There was no way in hell the things were going to fly, unless you tried throwing some of the nuts and bolts. So, Bolton joined up with the only other group he could reach. Bolton's party was small, a mishmash of powerful Wastelanders who wouldn't mind being bossed around – as the Blue Sage didn't exactly give off a commanding air. The upside of this meant that there was enough room in the transporters for the few extra newcomers. The downside of this was that they still couldn't get them in the air so they could fly. Sig in desperation, had come up with a plan, and forced Bolton to play his part in it. Being the Sage of blue eco, Bolton would lift the vehicles into the air, until they were high enough to use the smaller, secondary thrusters. Then he could lift himself up, and into one of them. He managed to lift the first six into the air, but them he was shot, in the back. Killing him instantly. His death sealed the fate of those in the last transporter to be lifted. The mob engulfed it, and the last Sig saw, was the men and women being dragged out.
Feeling depressed, Jak got up. The casualties were high, a third of the escapee's had died during the fight or the long flight. The blond man stepped out into the deserted streets.
The dead silence that echoed around the land hit him like a grenade blast, harder than the sudden death of Bolton ever could. Jak and all of the Wastelanders were practically immune to death and destruction. But Haven city, scarred by explosions, and heavily cratered, without the roar of zoomers, and the human bustle was un-nerving.
A sheet of plastic crinkled in the wind. It was the only sound that the escapees could hear, and they had all descended into a hushed, almost reverent silence.
"Arrrrk! Itzz spooky, huh?" Peaker had never been one for reverence. He poked his crested head out of the third transporters' door
"Jak, Onin is calling you for assistance, she says that it izz urgent. Oh, and she says that the rat says hi." He added as an afterthought, flapping into the air. Jak spotted Sig sliding off the ramp to the Hover, and told Seem to give control to the large man. Onin's prophecies were usually long and cryptic, even though sometimes they didn't contain the answer the speaker wanted.
So it was best to go alone, or bring a deck of cards. (Jak preferring the former, Daxter the latter).
As Jak followed the Monkaw through the burnt-out city, he realised the full extent of the damage. The word 'Surge' was a term he'd grown to dread as a young Eco-Mage in Sandover, a word that was equal to the word 'torture' in Haven. But in Sandover, the little village that relied on a few sparks of eco to keep the village going, no-one had taught him what a Surge would have done to a fully mechanised city. No-one knew, because the idea of a city that used Eco daily and on such a humongous scale was incomprehensible. The description 'stuff explodes' didn't begin to explain the burnt out wreck that was left afterwards, the stink of charcoal, and smoke, damp streets and raw sewage, that wafted around or the half curled, blackened hand that Jak spotted peaking out of the rubble.
"Onin sez that this part of the city is yet to be cleared." Peaker said, breaking the silence between them. Jak nodded, and kept his gaze steady. It wasn't often that he saw such widespread destruction.
Soon, but not soon enough, Jak found himself walking into a soot stained marquee. He wasn't sure what part of the city he was in anymore, everything was so different, and he had been away for a while. It was scary, he had thought that he would always recognise his city (and it may, Jak reflected really be His City, if Damas really was his father), but now for the first time in his life he had drawn a total blank. Even when he had escaped from the prison he had a rough idea where to go.
Onin wasn't the only one in the tent. People, refugee's, were everywhere, lying with their belongings piled around them, packets of water and food pressed against their chests to guard the precious substance. Conversation was stunted, but each phrase carried a sense of terror – stabbings at the communal toilets, women being raped after dark, muggings, looting, and the complete break-down of society.
Jak spotted Onin's shadow behind a thin flag of muslin cloth, portioning off perhaps one or two meters of ground especially for her. There was a queue of people waiting from that, people were peering round each other anxiously, to find an answer. Without laws or officials, Seer's had become leaders over night, although most of these were quacks who couldn't believe their luck.
Jak, in his typical fashion, simply marched past the queue, ignoring their squeals of outrage. He ripped open the cloth door, and allowed the man inside a second to leave the room. When he didn't, Jak hoisted him up by the scruff of his neck and threw him outside, enjoying the dull thump his butt made as it hit the ground.
"Onin sez that you have come to her side in this time of great turmoil, and she thanks you."
-What do you want me to do now? - signed Jak irritably.
"Onin sez that…she wants you… No! You can't be serious! You've still got plenty of life left in you! Don't say that!"
-What? - Jak signed, waggling his finger in the air.
"Onin wants you to take her light-eco powers." Translated the monkaw stiffly, eyes widening.
The old hag tilted her head, causing the avian to scrabble for purchase on the large bowl. Jak had the distinct impression that she was looking at him with an appraising eye, even though the cloudy cataracts shielded them from view. Jak in turn, looked back. She was old, he realised. He wasn't sure why he had never thought that before, but it could have been because she was a constant source of power to Jak, a being that constantly emitted light energies. Perhaps he saw her like a child sees it's parent. Old, but not old, not near to death old. She raised a hand, clawed with age (why hadn't he noticed that before?) and caused a firework of light to shoot up her the monkaw's face.
Waving him on, forcing him to continue.
Peaker rubbed his purple wings together, eyes shining blue in Onin's azure magic. "She sez that her magic is no longer powerful enough to guide the people. She says that she iz too old." He said, seriously. It didn't suit him. "She will give you her powers. She sez that it is already fortold, and you must accept. She wantz you to find the answers – but she cannot tell you the question. Otherwise history will change. But she…she…" The Monkaw broke off, unable to say what he wanted. Onin's eyes widened, in what Jak, if he hadn't known better, would have called panic.
Onin looked him in the eye. Then, quite deliberately, she signed perfectly in SSL. – Sorry, Jak. You don't have a choice.- and lurched forward, grabbing his arm with her clawed hands, a deliberately clawed to hide the tiny blade in her possession and slashing him across his with a razorblade, cutting herself with the sharp edge at the same time. It happened so fast – so unexpectedly, that the blonde man grabbed her as he keeled over, giving her time to press the two bloody palms together, to form a blood bond.
Jak held the woman in his arms, and then lifted her to put her back in her place.
She wasn't breathing.
"She needs her powers to live." Finished the primate in a terrified whisper.
His left hand felt like someone had dunked the wound in a bucket of ice. It wasn't unpleasant because it took the sting away. But his hand was numb. He pulled his hand away and looked at it, seeing the permanent white claw-scars under his fingernail and the fast congealing blood. He clenched his hand, pulling his fingers along the new puckered crease in his hand. He didn't have to look to see that the scar was tinted sky blue.
Ramen marched in, before she could stall any longer. The room was small, with cream paint flaking off the walls in large chunks. In gold leaf flowing hieroglyphics' were written, and were still resisting the tests of time. Even if Ramen could read them, she wouldn't have bothered to spare them more than a glance; she was too busy looking for the Scrolls she had come for. Although she hadn't expected them to be placed on a glowing plinth, she had thought that the precursors wouldn't have purposely hidden them. The room was completely bare, just a square box. Stubbornly, Ramen walked round the walls, trailing her arm through the walls, but all she could feel was plaster, wall-paper and stonework. She made another lap of the room, in a crouch, and discovered something. The wall at knee height felt different, and with a little concentration, and delicate probing, she discovered why. The precursors had painted below the hieroglyphics', instead of using wall paper. She checked to the top of the hieroglyphics', and found that was paint too.
She looked closer. Then followed the unbroken symbols all around the room, laughing. The precursors had embedded the scroll in the wall of the room, leaving it hidden in plain sight. With utmost care, Mrs. Damas Mar peeled off the delicate work, rolling it up as he went along, and praying silently that she didn't damage it too much. The last loops of paper had just been coiled up, when the first explosion rocked the temple.
Tearing back the way she came, she saw that the cannons mounted on the wall were frozen in place, rigidly staring down their fixed sights. Something had cut the power to the temple. She sided to a halt as the door in front of her dented inwards, bending back as something smacked into the other side. The ghost backed away, looking for a way to escape, but to no avail. The door was the only way she could get out of the way with the scrolls.
-DUNT- the heavy something added another dent to the door. Ramen braced herself wrapping her see-through arms around the precious paper, even though she knew it would do very little.
There was a period of prolonged silence and then a thundering peal of foot falls, and a resounding crash, as the whole door gave under the animals repeated attacks. It was a beautiful beast, made of glassy purple crystal, with a yellow stubby glowing horn in the middle of the forehead. It resembled a primitive glass rhino, but more light and graceful. It took one look at her, and charged. Ramen flung out her arm, with the scroll in it, and let the rhino run straight through her. It skidded to a halt, and before the look of confusion had passed from its face, Ramen had already fled the temple corridors, jumping up the oracle and flinging herself out of a high window, to the ground below. Hitting the ground, she sunk up to her waist into the sand but kept on running.
The Crystal-Skull continued his path of destruction, doing as his master ordered, until it reached the central processing unit inside the giant super-computer, The Order Oracle. With a single toss of its head, it rammed through the delicate technology, shutting it down. Across the globe, the joint effort of the Oracles was thrown into disarray, and the electrical and magnetic energy that they had previously shared died, and with it, all the life and machines it supported.
The floating platforms tumbled down into abysses. Haven's shield wall cracked and shattered.
Ramen winked out of existence. She had been held on earth after her death by the massive ancient machines, and now that they were gone, so was she.
The scroll containing the three precious prophecies rolled down the dune she had been scrambling over, and rested in a shaded dip. Within a few hours, it was buried by the shifting sands.
