And Miles to Go…
Chapter Two: Yesterday's Gone
By Seishuku Skuld (skuldhotohori@yahoo.com)
Series: Trigun
Pairing: Knives + Legato
Warnings: spoilers for the anime
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The boy had power, and Knives knew that very well. It was not difficult for him to delve into the young boy's mind and see exactly what had unleashed the initial surge of his mental energies. What he saw there surprised him, the pure potential of such a human was unheard of—impossible— yet there it was, right in front of him, barely shielded. Knives had only a vague idea what sort of mutations could have caused the boy's ability; but whether or not he knew, he would take advantage of it just the same.
The boy was both a high-level telepath and a high-level telekinetic. Not only would he be able to invade and control another human's mind, he would be able to move objects of incredible weight with incredible accuracy and speed. It was something that Knives himself was capable of quite easily, but for that to be present in a human child—it was almost preposterous. Of course, the boy had not yet been trained in the use of his powers, so there still remained some fragile barrier that prevented him full access to the use of his abilities. Knives suspected that whatever had broken the initial wall inside him must have been sufficiently traumatic to also weaken the rest of the boy's shields. Now all it would take for Knives to unleash the boy's power would be to destroy those barriers.
Knives put a hand on the boy's hair—a glorious shade of blue, so beautiful in the night that was falling over their side of the tiny planet.
"Tell me about yourself, Legato," he said, drawing the boy close to himself. Knives had learned that human children needed to be shown kindness. They were creatures easily malleable if shown a few things: things to amaze and astound, and little bits of affection—small trinkets that were easily given to capture a child's heart. The night was going to be cold, and the boy's thin clothes were not adequate protection against the chill winds of the midnight desert. He moved the child to his lap as he had seen others do before, wrapping his arms around the small body, providing warmth enough for both of them.
The boy related his tale hesitantly, with no small amount of shuddering, urged each step of the way by a very patient Knives. It took nearly an entire night to coax the child into his relating his story: the destruction of his town, the death of his parents and his twin sister, his years being hated and despised by the other children. The boy cried many times, sniffling miserably, only willing to talk because of the warm, strong arms around him, arms that did not shun him for his difference.
Finally Legato finished, having spilled out everything he had known about himself, his parents, and his town. The boy was exhausted and thirsty, and Knives let him drink a bit of his own water before the child had fallen asleep, one hand tightly gripping the older man's clothes.
Knives had been passing nearby when he'd heard the telepathic scream, and fortunately had been curious enough to investigate. He'd almost given up the search after two days when he suddenly spotted a small tuft of blue, barely visible from the beneath the blowing sand. He'd taken the boy from the arms of the desert where it was burying him alive, and soon enough the boy had awakened, a sad, lonely child with mournful golden eyes.
It was early in the morning when the boy opened his eyes again, rubbing them sleepily with a dusty hand, and gazing with open adoration and awe at the man who had held him all night.
"Good morning," Legato murmured. The boy smiled a bit as the man ruffled his hair. "What are we going to do now?"
"A little instruction in your powers, Legato."
"Powers?"
While the boy had slept, Knives had not only investigated the full extent of the boy's abilities, but had also stripped the boy down to his most recent memories: the vivid smells of the blood caking the dirt floor, the sharp images of the man thrown aside by the emergence of the child's extraordinary gift.
"The ones you used to get the man off your sister," Knives explained. "You hold a great power inside you, boy. The power to enter another person's mind, the power to move things without having to touch them."
"Really?" Legato gasped, his eyes opening wide. He had said very little about the men intruding into his house when he related his tale last night. How could this man have known what had happened? Was he some sort of Angel, like the ones he'd read about in his books?
"Yes," the man answered, "how else do you think you disposed of those men so quickly?"
"I don't know." The child stared blankly at him and shook his head. "Did Ismay have my powers too?"
The man shook his head. "No. Her black hair and brown eyes made her ordinary. She was not special like you."
"Oh," Legato sighed, his head drooping, saddened again by the remembrance of his sister. Knives almost thought the boy was going burst into tears again, when suddenly Legato smiled brightly. "But that's okay."
"Okay?" Knives lifted an eyebrow.
"Yes," Legato nodded fervently. "You found me. So I'll be all right now."
"And what are you planning to do from here on?"
"Follow you, of course, sir," Legato answered innocently, gazing curiously at Knives, the thought of them parting having not yet crossed his mind as possibility.
"Because you have nowhere else to go?" Knives asked evenly, his no expression on his face.
"No," Legato shook his head boldly, not afraid to speak to the man who had saved him, "because I think you're special too. You're different, like me."
Knives narrowed his eyes and glared at the child for such an insult, uttered in ignorance. The boy paused for a moment, a sudden flash of fear crossing his eyes before Knives remember that he must be patient and kind. Knives quickly reined in his anger, and softened the angry tone he was about to take with Legato. "No, I am not like you either."
Legato's eyes widened, and his voice dropped to a whisper. He was still afraid of the look that had passed over the older man's face, but it was now gone, and Legato's childish curiosity got the better of him. "Then you're an Angel like the books say?"
Knives schooled his expression into a smile. He'd probably read those same books eons ago on the ship, and getting such a reaction of disbelief from the child was nothing short of comical. Human children, no matter how intelligent, were so easily beguiled, easily trained to believe whatever their stories told them. How pathetic. Pitiful, but also useful. The boy was still at a young enough age to be of use.
"No," Knives grinned, "I'm not an Angel. I'm more powerful than Angels."
"More powerful than Angels?" Legato echoed. He frowned for a moment, appearing to be deep in thought. "What are you then?"
"That's a long story. I may tell you later, boy."
"Then that means you're going to let me follow you?"
"Of course," Knives threw the kid his best harmless smile, "there are many things I have to teach you, Legato."
They set out at a walk, Knives only half-listening to the child speak. Legato's step had acquired a strange sort of bounce to it as he struggled to keep up with the larger man's longer stride. Legato's quiet voice was talking steadily, recounting some story that he had read earlier in his childhood about some Angels, and the powers had. After a few hours, long tired of the boy's voice, and unable to endure much more, Knives turned to the child and told him firmly to stop talking.
"Do you always talk to so much?" Knives tried his best to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but it still managed to slip out of his grasp.
Legato shook his head, all previous excitement banished from his tiny figure. He hunched over slightly and hung his head, nearly fully withdrawing into himself. "No. I just…wanted to talk. I'm sorry."
Knives watched as the boy bit his lip and stared hard at the sand, kicking around a little bit of it with a dirty shoe. "Can I ask…?"
"Yes?"
"Where are we going?"
"To Midway."
"Back home?" Legato whispered, his small voice barely heard above the slight blowing of the wind. "Why?" The boy shivered as whatever was left of the joy of Angels drained out of his face, leaving only a thin, thoroughly frightened creature.
Knives realized he would have to answer that question if he didn't want to lose the child. He would long abandoned the boy to the elements and counted it as yet another piece of trash taken of the planet, had it not been for the child's abilities. Legato would prove to be an effective tool. "If you want to learn full control of your powers, Legato, you're going to have to go back."
"Back?" the boy sank to the ground, his legs folding quickly beneath his small frame. All the energy Knives had seen those recent hours had quickly seeped away, and Legato once more looked sad and mournful. A tiny, pathetic child, clinging to the happy memories of his family, refusing to believe in the reality that his peers had brutally murdered his loved ones and destroyed his town.
Knives sighed. Perhaps it was better to give the small thing some training before he brought him back into the town. After all, there was no guarantee that Legato would be able to use his abilities the way they were meant to be used; there was always the possibility that the boy would resist, and then he would have spent three fruitless days on a young human offspring. And that was three days further from Vash, wherever he was, and three days wasted. Knives was a patient man, but he did not have enough time to waste on human trash.
"All right, Legato, it looks like you're tired. Why don't we stop here for a while, and I'll see what you can do.
"Try this," Knives sat down in the sand beside the boy and hefted his water bottle in one hand, levitating it with ease as Legato stared at it, wide-eyed. He brushed the child's mind gently, sending him a flurry of images and instructions to show him how he was doing it. After several moments had passed, and satisfied that the boy had understood, he let the bottle drop into Legato's waiting hands.
Without hesitating, Legato took a deep breath, and following the bottle carefully with his eyes, he lifted it above his head and spun it slowly around in the air.
Knives raised his eyebrows in surprise; he'd only known human children to be stupid and slow, but Legato proved to be a quick learn. He was careful and deft, and able to surpass the simple skills that Knives had demonstrated to him. Knives rewarded the child with smiles and small pats to the head, and that seemed to be everything that the boy needed as encouragement and reward. Legato, so scared and withdrawn before needed nothing more than a little attention—that one might give a pet dog or cat—and he was once more smiling.
It was well past midday when Knives and his young protégé set out on foot again, the boy working hard on his telekinesis with whatever struggling shrubs they chanced upon, and lacking that the boy practiced making patterns with the sand, the small particles of dust dancing in the air.
"Wow," Legato laughed, absolutely delighted. Not in his wildest dreams had he ever dreamt that he would be able to perform such miraculous acts. The sand, the water, even pulling the plants out by the roots and shaking the dust from them entranced him and amazed him. He was not even sure he half-believed it. "I never thought I would be able to do things like this!" he breathed with wonder.
Knives just ruffled his hair gently. "You'll be able to do more things in the future. This is just the beginning."
"Good," Legato grinned, and went back to his 'work.'
They stopped for the day when the suns had finally begun their descent below the horizon, casting the twilight sky into soft shades of red and gold. Though the night would settle quickly, bringing with it much chill, the day had not been particularly hot. Knives was relieved the child had survived the day. Legato was just beginning to show the signs of weariness, sinking with relief into the sand only a few moments after Knives had found a seat himself. The boy took a small sip from the near-empty bottle, fully knowing how precious of a commodity the water was. He drank, and held it out to the older man.
Knives shook his head. "I don't need it."
"Why not?" the boy cocked his head curiously to the side. "You haven't had any water all day. Do Angels not need water?"
"I don't need to drink." And I'm not an Angel, Knives added silently, though he was beginning to think it wonderfully ironic that the child thought of him in that way.
"There's no need to make any sacrifices for me," Legato whispered quietly, his eyes lowered, studying the sand intently.
Knives broke into laughter, the hilarity of the situation fully arousing what little humor he normally possessed. The laughter passed quickly, and left them both in silence—Knives with his thoughts, and Legato still playing about with his newfound abilities.
Eventually, Knives figured, starting thoughtfully at the boy, Legato would have to know. After all, if he and Vash were to be gods of this world, it would not do to have the boy remain ignorant of their greatness.
Legato would be his weapon, the instrument of destruction that he would use against the pitiful human race—a tool that had once belonged to them, that they had cast aside and shunned in ignorance. He would turn their own against them, and then Vash would finally understand. Vash would join in, and together they would destroy the vermin that crawled about the planet and enslaved their kin. Then they, together, would make it anew. A better planet, with no sadness, no strife, and none of the vices of humanity.
"Come," Knives extended his arm to the boy and pulled him close. Legato hesitated only for a moment before climbing the older man's lap. Knives wrapped his arms about the boy, as he had done the night before. The moons had already risen, one after another in their intricate dances in the sky. The suns had already sunk below the horizon, and a mean wind was kicking up, blowing cold air into the holes in the child's travel-worn clothing.
Legato shifted slightly as the wind tore through him, turning his face into Knives's chest, where he could hear a steady, strong heartbeat. He curled his fingers in Knives' tight clothing, gripping the cloth between his fingers. It was warm there. Though he could still feel the wind at his back, he paid it no heed. The warmth fought off the cold.
Knives felt a smirk crawl its way across his face as the child snuggled closer to him, seeking protection from the cold. This kid was trusting, so innocent. Yet another pitiful, but helpful trait. Legato was full of them, and Knives would use each and every one to its fullest extent.
"There is one more thing you have to learn tonight."
"One more? What is it?" Legato asked, lifting his head away from Knives' chest to regard him with wide eyes.
"This." Knives put his fingers on the boy's head, burying them into his blue hair and opening his mind to the child. "This is something that only I can teach you."
He watched with satisfaction as Legato's eyes opened wide, his irises shining golden in the moonlight. And then, Legato screamed.
*~*~*
Somewhere, dimly in the corner of his mind, Legato knew he was screaming. It was a tiny piece of psyche however, and could do no more than blanch at the horrors he witnessed. He could not even stop the cries that were ripping themselves repeatedly from his own throat, leaving it dry and parched after a mere few seconds.
Wherever it was that he had hidden his memories of the previous few days had been found and torn from his grasp entirely. The memories unfolded before him like the blooming petals of a flower, and he gazed at the images and heard the screams, forced to relive his most horrific moment.
Stop! Stop it!
It was a macabre parade, a movie of terrors he was forced to watch. It was an insidious whisper-turned-roar in his mind, and he could no more turn away than wrench himself from the iron grasp of the hand on his head. He called for help, but there was no response. Not even the slightest bit of pity or sympathy answered him. Eventually, his struggle died, and he slumped back in despair.
Someone please…stop…
Blood was red, as was the stain on his mother's dress and the glint of the knife embedded in her abdomen. He heard her screams and the footsteps of the man closing in on her, understanding for the first time what it was she had feared, what the grins on the men's faces meant. He understood their callous laughter and their cat-calls. Now it all had a name.
He re-watched his sister and her cream-stained-crimson dress, the little white buttons dripping scarlet drops of rain, her socks wet with her own blood. He watched in shock as the pool of red around her legs spread into a pool that formed a halo around her quivering, screaming body. Then he understood what it had meant, what it was to Ismay as she looked at him with pain and despair in her eyes, her fingers outstretched to him in pleading. He understood what it was to force such womanhood upon a child, to drain the innocence away from her body as surely as her blood was rushing out of her. He recoiled in disgust, horrified at the memory.
Terrible…someone stop him…
But there was no one and nothing to stop the swelling of the chorus, and slowly new, novel images were added amongst the old ones; the cries of the women and the animalistic grunting of the men, the sounds of explosives and gunshots, and the dull thud of cadavers as they hit the ground.
No…
Small towns whose names he mysteriously knew ran red, blood drenching the cracked, yellow dust as if poured from bottles of fine wine. Laughter echoed about the buildings, followed by moments of silence filled with tears, and the shouts of a dying men worth nothing, not even an insignificant speck in the great world, clad in torn rags, weeping as the world faded into darkness.
Don't do it…
There was the glint of sharp metal followed by moments of excruciating pain, sometimes mixed with the crying of children, and the sounds of sneers as they spread across twisted faces, and the metallic clink of coins as men robbed their fathers and murdered their sons.
Stop it! Stop!
Unworthy, monstrous savages that ravaged the planet, feeding off each other and spreading disease, no better than the beasts they fed and tended. Intelligent monsters they were, for their greed, their hunger, their bloodlust was never sated; always gluttonous and never satisfied, never realizing what contemptuous insects they were.
They…
What were they to each other? Nothing but conveniences for their own ambitions and dreams of power. Love crumbled to dust under visions of wealth, brotherhood shattered by the promises of a few drops of water, such fragile ties broken by the materialism of the physical world. Mobs trampled their friends and foes alike, jeering for the public deaths of their families. They were bloodthirsty, they were drunk on destruction and death, and they would never, never be filled.
Ismay…they…
And then the onslaught stopped. He was reeling from the sensation of nothing but the quiet blackness as the images, the smells, the sounds, and the pain stopped, leaving him raw, sensitive, and very fatigued. He opened his mouth, but to his surprise the words he had been forming had melted entirely in his exhaustion.
What could he do now? What did he have left? To deny it was to be cowardly, to lie, to bury his head beneath the sand and forever be blind to the truth which had already been shown him. No, not shown him, he had been there. He had seen them, he had lived them, and he had to embrace it, he had to take it into his own heart, because it was his only choice. He had to do it with conviction and to never look back, lest it shatter him completely. He took a deep breath, but still only managed a cracked whisper.
"Killing them all would not even be enough to avenge you, Ismay."
*~*~*
Knives roused the child in the morning. He was pleased with the response from the previous night; the boy had responded to him quite well. Legato was a remarkable find, not only in his powers, but also in that the child's abilities had made the experiences seem real, not merely transferred memories. Knives supposed he had the boy's human parents to thank for that, but of course he would never seriously consider doing anything as ludicrous as that. His thanks would soon be delivered in another more pleasing form. Legato had fallen asleep almost immediately after the end of his "instruction," dropping lifelessly into Knives' arms like a rag doll. He smiled. Legato was already shaping up to be very useful. His precious, priceless weapon.
The boy blinked sleepily as Knives put a hand on his head, running white-gloved fingers through blue strands of hair.
"Wake up. It's time to go."
Legato nodded, obediently detaching himself from Knives and slowly standing up, stretching his muscles. The suns had risen and already it seemed as if the heat was determined to bake them as they walked.
They set off in the direction of Midway, Knives surmising that they only had a few more iles to go; they would likely reach the town by mid-afternoon. Legato was silent as he walked beside the older man, his expression dark and baleful. Nevertheless, he continued to experiment with his powers, weaving complex sand patterns in the wind, or digging deep ravines along the sand, watching with little amusement as they filled back up.
It was a quiet little journey back to the child's hometown. Knives had no doubt what Legato wanted to do. The child's fists were clenched at his sides, the boy's entire body tensed with anger, his thoughts tumultuous with ill-restrained emotion. Despite the lack of food, the boy had plenty of energy with which to fuel himself. Even without further prodding from Knives, the child was reliving each moment he had experienced last night.
It was already late afternoon by the time they reached Midway – the hottest time of day. Most of the city was already deserted, or so it seemed from the outside. The buildings were still standing, but there was no air of hustle and bustle about it; it was as quiet, for a shroud had settled upon the town, and through that invisible barrier no sound penetrated. No one was to be seen in the streets, so no one reported the arrival of a tall blond man dressed in white and a little boy with blue hair.
Midway looked like it had survived the attack of the two cities, but only barely. Corpses littered the ground, lying where they had fallen days before, already starting to foul. No one had bothered to bury them yet, and the flies were already going dutifully about their work, swarming about the cadavers in buzzing storm clouds of black. Knives smirked; Legato shuddered.
Somewhere amongst the sea of bodies, his father lay. Was he too covered in flies? Had he too been left to the winds and the sand with no one to care for his remains? It was disgusting, that neglect, and Legato could feel the sharp taste of bile in the back of his throat. Somewhere in the rows of empty houses lay his mother and his sister, Ismay, the blood on her dress no doubt now a dried, crusty brown. He wondered if anyone had moved them, or if others had also come to defile their bodies. Legato curled his lip in distaste.
"Damn them," he murmured quietly, surveying the scenery about him as he continued walking down the main street. He didn't notice that Knives had left him at the outskirts of the town, keeping a careful watch on his little precious plaything. Legato continued forward with only one thing on his mind.
The houses and small shops looked battered and deserted, the fallen lying in the dust on either side of him, testament to the horrors they had witnessed a few days ago. Broken glass windows grinned at him with large, gap-toothed smiles, the wind whistling through them, whispering in his mind. The doors too, spoke to him as they clapped in the wind, and even the buzzing of the flies and the gnats seemed to wait with bated breath as the floodgates prepared to open.
The silence broke as Legato approached the center of the town. He could hear voices, the first human sound from the deserted city. They had begun as faint noises, soon growing louder and more distinct as he drew closer. They were talking casually, punctuated by the occasional grunt of exclamation.
"Damn those bastards, fallin' near the well and stinkin' up
the whole town."
"Well, we're jes' lucky they all fell close to a nice place to dump 'em."
That comment was followed by boisterous laughter. By now, Legato could see them, though they had not yet noticed him. They were a group of men, from young boys to old, whiskered men, clustered near the well, laughing and joking despite the heat of the afternoon sun. A few were dragging the bodies of the dead in the blood-encrusted dust, and other men were tossing them unceremoniously into the well. There would be a space of silence, followed by a thud, and one of the men would laugh. Legato noticed that a small area in the field corpses had already been cleared when one of the men looked up.
"'Ey, what've we got 'ere?" he asked cautiously, dropping
the arm of the dead man he had been dragging into the dirt.
"Funny little thing with blue hair, eh? Ain't seen anythin' like that before."
The other men too, stopped their work to stare at the tiny intruder, uneasy with the shine of his golden eyes in the bright sunlight. They glanced at each other sidelong, not quite certain it was safe to take their gazes off the kid. There was something strange about a boy suddenly appearing in the city and approaching them silent. He carried himself as one much older than his age and much taller than his short stature, and that too made the men hesitate.
"Reckon' it's a girl?" a blond one said, speaking out the side of his mouth. Maybe the kid couldn't hear him. He'd made little move so far, after all.
"Nah, it must be a boy."
"Someone get Jim, that's the kid he told us to look out for."
"That kid?"
"Who else is gonna have blue hair, ye dolt!"
"I hear Jimmy says he got magic."
"Magic? That don't exist, Cyrus."
"Well, how else would a big man like Dan've died, eh? He didn't run himself into that wall!"
"Calm down now, we don' know for sure what happened to Dan, don't go 'round assumin' nothin'."
Then the men fell silent as from out of the door of Legato's house -- the Thornsayer residence and its sign hanging precariously off one nail -- there emerged a pair of men the boy recognized. The leader, thin and brown-haired, was wearing a clean, white-collared shirt that was a few sizes too big. He leaned against the doorframe as he scrutinized the boy closely.
"You've got balls to come back here, boy. Especially after you killed one of my men."
He raised his right hand and immediately men came trotting out of the house carrying an array of small weaponry. They were a mixed lot, bearing mostly guns and knives, but with a few random knick-knacks about them that would have made Legato laugh had not the situation been so deathly serious. They surrounded him, pushing the laborers out of the way, but not making a move, awaiting their boss's order.
"No one kills my man and gets away with it."
He sauntered jauntily off the porch as if he owned the entire town (and he might as well have), coming to a stop a few feet in front of Legato. He was much taller than the boy, and even at his distance, the child stood completely within his shadow.
Legato glared at him, his face a mask of stony silence. He started icily at the man for a while, listening to roar of anticipation in his ears, the boiling of his blood, the beating of his heart threatening to overwhelm his senses. He spoke quietly, very aware of the men behind him, moving in to attack.
"Tell me your name."
"Eh?" The man blinked, thrown off his guard for a few seconds. He recovered quickly from the strange request. "You ain't got no right to be asking that, kid."
"Tell me your name."
"You're one strange kid, you know that, boy? To come back here and ask that. Guys, get hi—!"
And he stopped speaking. The men behind Legato gaped, stopped in their tracks as their leader's eyes bulged, his face turning bright red, his mouth opening and closing without sound. He glowered at the boy, his brown eyes blazing with an anger that was no match Legato's cold, golden gaze.
Legato did not quite know how he did it, but what mattered to him the most was that it could be done. He remembered snatches of how the nameless blond man had gone into his head to instruct him, and so he had tried the exact same thing. He had not developed completely control of his powers yet, so he was clumsy in his actions, but even then, he had the strength of a full-fledged sandstorm.
Breaking into the man's mind had been accomplished surprisingly easily. What came next was quite a bit harder. To figure out what to do with what was already there, and how to do it proved to be a considerable challenge. Undaunted, however, Legato reached for the first thing in his mental grasp, a memory. He examined it, something to do with being bullied by older men, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and tossed it away. Then he grabbed another one, pulled it out from the sea in which it lay, and finding not what he wanted, he discarded that one too.
The men gazed at their leader, now on his knees, slumped onto the boy's shoulder, unmoving, eyes wide with terror as he whimpered. They watched with horror as their boss slipped to the ground and into the dusty street, convulsing uncontrollably and screaming as he covered his head with his arms.
Legato, unsatisfied with what he was finding, had begun to dig himself deeper, plunging into the man's mind. He was breaking walls, ripping memories, shredding them from the man and rending them asunder as he looked and looked, finding them all revolting. He tore them from the man in huge chunks with his hands, neither heeding the screams or the frantic cries, but he wanted more, he was inside and he could have everything, so he continued, relentlessly and without mercy.
Memories of his mother: disgusting. His friends, his pathetic childhood, his petty theft, his ambitions, his abhorrent desires, all twisted and disgusting. The joy he felt at taking another woman's body – foul. Legato tossed them all away.
Legato had the name already, and he put that little piece away for safekeeping. He wanted more. He wanted to know everything, he wanted to see everything, and so he could know the man and so he could judge him. Legato could hear his own body screaming, his voice gone shrill as it cried out, ascending to the sky.
"Kennet!" He shouted, feeling tears spring up in his eyes, "Kennet! Kennet! Kennet! Jimmy Timothy Kennet!" And he said that name over and over again until the air was filled with it and the clouds were heavy with it, and he wanted nothing more than the man to be gone from his sight, the man to be dead, for he was hatred and violence and abuse, for he had started it all, this whole terrible thing; he had taken Ismay away, and he of all people deserved to die first.
He screamed in triumph as he stripped Kennet of the last of his loathsome memories. He grinned with maniacal glee, as he snapped back into his own mind, and with his powers he reached into Kennet's chest, remembering the lessons with the water bottle and the kaleidoscope of sand patterns. He touched Kennet's heart, fondling the organ and caressing it, feeling its softness and its rhythm. He was going to end it all.
Legato squeezed.
Kennet stilled, his body sinking into the hard earth. He had not even uttered a final cry of death. His eyes remained wide open, his mind empty, completely devoid. Legato smirked. Kennet had started everything, and now it had all ended.
The men behind Legato dropped all their weapons with a clatter.
"Wh-what are you?"
Legato did not reply, but slowly turned to face them. He did not quite know how to answer them. He, like all humans, was flawed. But unlike them, he was better because he knew of all their follies and the angel that had saved him in the desert had chosen him and taught him how to use his great powers.
"Nothing out of the ordinary."
With a small push, the tiniest of tiny efforts, the walls surrounding the remains of Legato's powers crumbled, and energy poured forth and filled him. The men ran, but Legato did not let them escape. They would get what they deserved. All of them.
Buildings exploded when he looked at them, brick and wood bursting outward with the sound of a thunderclap. A few scant people rushed out of the houses, screaming and covering their heads with their hands. The first to fall were all the ones nearest to Legato, the ones by the well. The houses too, all around him were falling. Some splintered, others imploded, and some just collapsed as if the very foundations upon which they had been built had been swept away.
The atmosphere was heavy with the smell of dust and the earth shook, its dry, cracked surface splitting into large chasms and dark abysses.
When the second wave of power hit, everything and everyone within one hundred yarz was destroyed. Limbs burst and heads exploded, others cut down cleanly by an invisible blade, some simply fell still and unmoving in the rain of debris.
Then the third wave of power emerged from the boy, and this one was white and hot and filled with damnation; it leveled entire buildings, and they dissolved into dust as the people screamed, watching their flesh burn off their bodies. Then another wave hit and another and another, until the ground beneath his feet was quivering and groaning, until everything had fallen and all that remained were the sands and the wind, a sea of crimson, and he was the only one left in the silence and he was still screaming.
Abruptly he stopped, and all became quiet. He slumped to his knees, utterly exhausted. Out of the ashes rose the figure of the blond man, his white attire impeccably clean, without a single grain of sand marring its brilliance.
"Well done, Legato, well done."
He placed a hand on the blue head, wiping the dust from the strands of the boy's hair.
The child lifted his head tiredly and smiled. "Thank you. I liked it."
"Oh?"
"Like finishing a book with a good ending."
Knives smiled. "Perhaps we should rest here for the night before we continue."
"Continue to where, sir?" Legato asked, dimly wondering if it was at all possible the man would take him in.
"The place I call home, child."
"Home…" Legato liked that feeling that word, now associated with the man, and no longer with his mother, his father, and his twin sister. Legato smiled as he fell forward, and the man caught him in strong, steady arms. "And what should I call you, sir? You never told me your name."
"Millions Knives. But you can just call me Knives for now."
"Yes, sir." Legato sighed in relief, leaning into Knives' touch as the man picked him up and held him close. "Are you ever going to tell me why you don't need to drink water?"
Knives smiled as the suns set over the horizon and the moons rose. "Of course, Legato," he whispered, his fingers tangled in thin hairs the same shade of the evening sky. "Don't worry. I am going to tell you everything."
End Yesterday's Gone