Another day, another chapter. Keep those reviews coming, my friends. They definately help to motivate me get these things out quickly! And I can't thank you enough for all your support!
Disclaimer: I am not in possession of the rights to South Park or any of its characters therein. However, I am in possession of devishly good looks and a charming personality! Guys, I'm single *wink wink* (gimme a call, babe).
ENJOY!
2013
Chapter 5
Not a word was spoken as Kyle meandered slowly through the room, collecting his things. Stan sat quietly on his bed, his hands splayed to his sides and his legs hanging from the edge, one foot behind the other. At first he watched Kyle as the boy folded his clothes and made his bed, but gradually he lost the will to see him go and cast his eyes dismally towards the ground.
Kyle continued, mute with pride, going about his business of making sure all of his possessions were ready for transport. He had finished packing twice before, but a strange subconscious urge kept him from leaving. He felt absolutely compelled to check and recheck his baggage; to run his hand over the bed spread just one more time to make sure it was as smooth as possible; to rummage through the closet yet again even though he knew the only shirts in there were Stan's.
Finally the silence that lasted nearly half an hour was broken when the red headed leader let out a long but not so contented sigh. "This is it," he spoke, actually directing his attention to his wordless friend. "I'm moving up, Stan. No more taking orders. No more impossibly small bunker. No more sleeping together in one bed just to keep warm. I'll have my own room, my own rules."
"Just for warmth?" Stan mumbled under his breath. So soft… yet so full of hurt.
Kyle threw his bag over his shoulder and took a deep breath. He placed his hand overtop the silver doorknob. He tried many times to turn the knob and open the door, but his hand wouldn't move. There was something stopping him, a feeling he couldn't name, but also could not ignore. He looked back again, struggling just to smile. "This isn't goodbye," he assured. Whether it was to Stan or to himself he didn't know. "We'll see each other as often as possible."
Stan rubbed his nose with his sleeve and nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'd like that."
"I'm going to go now," Kyle informed Stan and himself, but still his hand would not turn. Almost as if pulling teeth, Kyle twisted his wrist until at last the door unlatched. Once the passageway had swung open, it was like a chain had been cut from his legs, and Kyle departed into the hallway.
XXXXX
"Kyle's in control now," Kenny told his fellow Rebels. "It was unexpected, but it should have no effect on our up and coming mission. Cooper may be a political genius, but Mikhail is the better tactician. It doesn't matter who's in power, we'll still over throw them."
"How did Kyle get control from Garrison?" Wendy gawked, slamming her fist into the table and rattling the brittle wood.
"Rumor has it that Garrison was shot during a Rebel raid," Kenny grumbled, looking over a few sheets of paper. "But we all know that can't be true. The only other option is foul play."
"Where C-c-cartman failed, K-kyle succeeded," Jimmy observed mournfully. Across the table a pencil snapped, and everyone looked up to see Bradley drop the two shattered pieces back onto the table.
"There's nothing we can do about it now," Bebe remarked, laying her head lazily into her hand. "Kyle got his way… again. Big surprise there."
"Bebe's right," Kenny interjected before the conversation became hot blooded. "There is nothing we can do but keep making preparations for Mikhail's plan."
"We're not going to make him pay?"
The five other members of the Rebels once again all looked to Bradley. He was gripping the edge of the table with such might that his knuckles paled under the strain. "How long?" the golden blonde murmured. "How long before justice is brought down upon him? We've just sat idly by and let him have his way, no matter the hurt he's caused us."
Everyone knew where this topic was heading, and nobody wanted that for poor Bradley. They shuffled nervously in their seats, looking to Kenny to clear everything up. "He will pay, Bradley," he stressed. "As soon as we get this plan underway, we'll make sure he pays for all the deaths he's caused. Every one of them."
Bradley pushed his chair back with ear splitting squeak and took to his feet. "Where do you think you're going?" Bebe asked, getting ready to jump up.
"There's something I have to do," the boy answered. "You all know that. Don't try to stop me, please." He sprinted from the meeting, Bebe and Wendy getting up to follow him. Kenny shouted for them to stop.
"His mind's made up," he explained. "We just have to trust in him now." The five of them glanced around the room to each other, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.
XXXXX
Kyle had just finished unpacking into Garrison's old room and was getting ready for dinner when there was an urgent knock to his door. With a groan, he answered it. "What is it now?"
"Sir, there's a Rebel on our front door," the soldier obediently answered.
"What ever happened to the order 'shoot on sight?'" Kyle inquired with an annoyed tone.
"He's killed the two guards stationed at the front gate. When back up arrived he said that he wanted to negotiate with you personally."
Intrigued, Kyle rushed toward his desk and flicked on the nearby computer screen. He rifled through the security camera feed until he was viewing the front gate. There in the snow was the silhouette of a figure standing tall in the first room of the fortress, a silver object gleaming in his right hand. "Well, well," Kyle mused. "Negotiations with a sword. Now those are politics I am familiar with."
With a click, Kyle switched off the screen and retrieved from its place on the mantel a sword of his own. "Take me to him," he ordered, a sly smile spreading across his lips. "And invite Stan along, too. I'd hate for him to miss this."
Bradley stood ridged, two Arbiters already felled at his feet, their rose red blood dripping off of his cold steel. Stan and Kyle emerged from the far door, his sword sheathed at his side, his teeth bared in an eager grin. At the sight of him, Bradley trembled and clenched his fist tighter around the hilt of his weapon.
"You came to challenge me?" Kyle asked rhetorically, beaming with confidence.
"A duel," Bradley confirmed through gritted teeth. "If I win, you must step down as the Arbiter's leader."
"And if I win," Kyle simpered, the sound of grinding steel echoing through the hall as he drew his blade. "I claim your life."
They remained motionless, both of them accomplished swordsmen from the war; both understanding that it is never wise to make the first move. Bradley growled under his breath. "You're nothing but a monster. You even killed your own brother!"
"He wasn't really my brother," Kyle corrected, his sword poised nonchalantly at his side. "Adopted. Besides: he tried to kill me first."
"You can make all the excuses you want, but you'll never be able to justify it!"
Kyle tilted his head in bemusement. "What is it that you really want, Bradley?"
Bradley shivered with adrenaline and hate, his sword quivering in anger. "I want him back," he spat through his clenched jaw, his voice dripping with venom. "Give him back. GIVE IKE BACK TO ME, YOU BASTARD!"
The blonde warrior shouted ferociously at the top of his lungs as he raised his weapon and charged in heated agony. "You misguided fool," Kyle whispered. "Not even love can bring back what's already dead."
As Bradley's sword fell upon him, Kyle easily batted it away and elbowed the defenseless boy right in his gut. Bradley staggered backwards, completely in awe at how effortlessly his attack had been thwarted. Almost instantly he understood. He was no match.
Bradley furrowed his brow in defiance. "Doesn't matter," he roared, panting. "I will fight to the end. I will not just roll over and let you win again. If you want my life, you're gonna have to earn it, god damn it!"
He dove into the fray again, swinging and thrusting with expert precision. But for every professional attack, there was an even more masterful defense. The entire fortress was ringing with steel and alight with sparks as the two warriors collided.
It was like a deadly dance between the two of them; turning and slashing, stepping and dodging. A ballet of fatal force and fiery passion. The tips of their blades swiped and their legs kicked, theirs mouths upon, breathing in unison.
But Kyle most obviously had the upper hand. Soon Bradley became riddled cuts and drenched in blood as Kyle cleaved at him with ever increasing might. Even as Bradley panted and parried, struck and reposed… Kyle merely laughed at him.
"You're such an amateur," the red head taunted. "I've had years of training as a soldier to hone my skills." He slashed again, slicing through Bradley's jeans and into his knee, causing the already tired boy to stagger. "And what have you got? Self trained swordplay and pent up raw emotion? Not good enough!"
In an amazing flurry of movement, Kyle blocked two of Bradley's attacks, spun on his heels to gain momentum, and cut a deep gash along the entire length of his opponent's torso. Bradley was knocked off his feet and landed with clatter on his back, a spurt of crimson erupting from his chest as he fell.
Kyle backed away, triumphant. "How was that, Stan?" he asked, flipping the red hair from his shimmering emerald eyes.
"Poetry in motion," Stan mumbled in a monotone.
Kyle chuckled at his achievement and acquired a rag, staining it as he wiped Bradley's blood from his sword. "He wasn't too shabby. I guess he deserves a proper burial." He sheathed the blade and placed his hands pensively upon his hips. "Throw him in the furnace," he commanded his soldiers.
An Arbiter rushed to Bradley's twitching body and watched as his chest continued to heave up and down. "Sir," he called back. "I think he's still alive!"
Kyle merely looked over his shoulder, his eyes mooning over. "Like I said… throw him in the furnace." And with that, he left the room.
Stan slowly approached Bradley and knelt down beside him. He took his gun from the holster at his side and offered it to the dying boy. Bradley shook his head violently, his golden hair wet in a grotesque mixture of sweat, blood, and tears.
"Bradley," Stan coaxed softly. "I can give you a quick and painless death." Bradley shook his head again, trying to keep his body from going into convulsions. "You'd rather burn?"
"It will be nothing compared to the fires that await you and your so-called 'lover.'" Stan swallowed dryly, but he didn't react. He deserved that. He deserved everything Bradley could throw at him.
"I'm so sorry," Stan apologized, taking Bradley's hand in his as one last offering of compassion. "Another time… another place… things could have been different."
Bradley pulled away, his frail and dying form spasming from the pain. "But things aren't different," he coughed. "And neither are you, Stan. Only Kyle's changed… and he's bringing you down with him."
The Arbiters couldn't wait any longer. The wrenched Bradley away from Stan and dragged him down into the darkness. Stan watched in awe, for even though he was being led to his demise, Bradley still managed to smile one last time.