The clouds of distant memory and the selection of lightning began to clear; the recollection was ending. Kenneth continued to shake his smaller brother profusively, continually with fingers bare from the cold, body hot with worry and sweat. His weathered voice spoke unclearly; it talked like the crisps of a fire. Kenneth continued to render himself into his own pandemonium, wishing his brother's eyes open, shaking his shoulders and dragging his head back and forth. Daniel was scarce of movement, sparse of heart. Kenneth's fingers continued to dig into his shoulders in panic, not even thinking of the fact that he was hurting his own brother. They seemed to seep into his body, his soul, as if trying to feel that once steady heartbeat, or at least that once pounding hype of heart that was derived from all calmness, the more vibrations he felt, the better. But he couldn't seem to find any. Yet still, Kenneth was not worried for his brother's life; there was no way in life or death could his own brother die so immediately from such a basic move that required no skill. However, that didn't stop him from trying to wake him up. He would indeed die with his unconscious state of mind; Kenneth had no time to waste.
The trees were glazed and frosted with ice and snow; they glimmered brilliantly, excellently in expectant stars that seemed to delude the mind. They were now no longer reaching out for the sky; now they were their own skies, with their own accompanying stars. Their heads – they would be the moon. "Wake up, Daniel! Wake up!" Kenneth's shouts echoed into the many nights that lingered above him, and below the main dying night. The winds whispered a message of gossip, betrayal behind the panicky Minor's back. The shaking continued. "We have no time, Daniel! Do you hear me? We have no time!" And, as if he had heard him all along, the younger boy stirred, his eyes fluttered slightly, like the unready wings of a newborn robin.
Kenneth's grip loosened; Daniel began to breathe, his brother could feel it, feel it coming slowly in, like an intrusion that Kenneth was supporting. But he wasn't quite awake yet. He wasn't quite enough alive. The body still seemed reluctant to move. And that made Kenneth's worries jump up again. They really didn't have any time; Daniel, of all people, even in unconsciousness, should know that. "Oh?" the enemy's voice rang in its deviance. It echoed off everything, even the particles in the air; it was that loud. "Has he passed out?"
"Shut up!" Kenneth shouted, getting back up on his feet. He didn't want to, but he gave up anyway, for now. He stood up, he scowled and turned his back on his brother, making sure he stayed close to him in order to accommodate to his needs just in case. He would never completely turn away, but it just didn't feel right, doing it even a little. The cease of night became tense; it was as if time was running out – for both the two Minors, and the moon's shift. Kenneth's icy blue eyes that was filled with his own puzzlement glass steered themselves left and right left and right, his head cocking this way and that; it was a cycle that never stopped. No traces of the enemy showed; a surplus to his insecurity came. Kenneth gulped, now knowing which way to turn, wishing he had eyes on the back of his head. No, caring for Daniel was more important. But… if he turned around… he'd die, too.
"Oh now," the voice boomed in a circle again. "You just stood there… and watched. You couldn't do anything." Kenneth's eyes widened, accompanying his hunger, his thirst for tranquility, his racing panic that was injurious to his chances of achieving his satiation. Clear thinking was meager. Was he right? When he knocked Daniel back and forth, back and forth, was it really true that he could do nothing, that he could not protect him? No, he wouldn't make that mistake now, Kenneth promised himself that. A change of emotion came over him, quickly turning him back to Daniel to care for him. The plan had worked.
Kenneth began to lean down when a rumbling and emergence of ground sprung and began to slither in the air. He could only hear the sounds; his mind had no time to react. His icy blue eyes could catch nothing in their sight; nothing clear came to mind, nothing crystalline. It had happened so swiftly so sparse of time that not even a leaf had the moment of chance to quiver with a slight touch of wind, of the first warm breeze of dawn. The claw of nails came in – Kenneth could not dodge; Daniel was unconscious. Seconds happened, ticked meagerly, reluctantly.
The whole world went black. A dreaded crack of piercing came into place. Nothing else was heard but the cooling air, nothing was seen but the darkness of ebony. And then, everything came into view; a bird of brazen brown wings fluttered, stunned at the sudden noise, the sudden image. The moon lingered downward, unsure of whether or not it should remain and tend to its wants, or continue to revolve, tending to the world's needs. The stars glimmered abundantly in the sky, their embellishment glitz normally rendering others in awe; however, today, they were ignored. Now, they were put to rest, for something else had become more breathtaking, more eye-catching. It was a hand, a newfound emotional hand that had put itself before him, put itself to take in the blade of a nail into his own palm. Alarmed eyes watched, vigilantly, faces drained into an awe of disbelief. Blood indeed dropped. Eyes slowly turned to the new presence, the presence that fell its shadow over everyone, and put them in their places. This dark silhouette lingered over them, a new soul indeed.
Everyone remained still. Everyone watched. And then, the identity was revealed. "No," he said with a heavy breath, exasperated out of his fears. It was a thinning voice, but a strong voice. "You're wrong!" growled Life Minor Daniel in triumph.
"Daniel!" Kenneth called out in shock, stunned by the mere shadow of him, the mere life that had sprung before him. The blue-haired boy was rendered breathless, speechless.
"You're wrong," Daniel repeated in a growl, an exhausted scowl growing over his face at the opponent. The enemy, still shocked in his fearless petrifaction as well was somewhat forced to listen, wide-eyed, listening to the words, the letters, and not their meanings, only on some level did they. "My brother didn't just stand there. He's not the one that didn't do anything and just watched!" Daniel demanded, loudening his voice to a strong growl of detest. He spat at the foe with wordless speech; he resented him for bloodying both of his hands. "He's always been the one who's defending me! So you're wrong; he's not the one that did nothing at all!" Daniel shouted in the enemy's face, disregarding the deep nail that punctured right through his hand, which was being drained of its feeling. "He's the one that did everything!" the Minor declared. "More than you would ever know!"
With that word, Daniel brought his other reddened hand to the enemy's forearm and, like pulling of a band-aid so it would be swift and painless, he drew the hand out of his, the blade of a finger, and cried out from the immense pain. Daniel stammered behind a little; the enemy gasped as if a fish out of water, and drilled uneasily, uncontrollably in an unorganized frenzy back into the ground, recklessly. Seconds passed, bare seconds that left Kenneth remaining speechless, thoughtless. Then, the voice came back. "Are you sure?" it sneered in amusement. It seemed steady, panic-steady. "That means you were always the one who's been scared like a baby," the opponent induced from underground. "Except...you're still that person."
Daniel breathed heavily, wiping his hot, sweaty face with a cold wrist. Beads of perspiration detached from their main necklace and sprinkled over his body and under his clothes, giving him a level of discomfort. "Yes, you may be right," Daniel admitted. "But… that doesn't mean I can't beat you. That doesn't mean I can't win!" he declared, having a change of mind; the energy pulsed throughout him now, confidence stringing through his veins, his arteries, his jugulars, everywhere. "After all," Daniel said, calming his voice yet not calming himself at all, a benefit. As he said these words, he remembered Eric, he remembered that red clothed Minor that never appeared to be much but in actuality was everything the Minors needed. Then, while he spoke those same exact words Eric had said, he seemed to say it in unison with him, struck by recollection, remembering his tired features and his heavy breathing similar to Daniel's condition. "Confidence isn't the absence of fear; it's when you think that something is more important than fear!" Daniel declared almost angrily, full of bravery pouring throughout his soul, his blood, seeping through and past his teeth, his glazed eyes.
"Is that so?" the opponent muttered in an obvious smile underground. He wasn't quite persuaded yet.
"I don't have time to talk to you anymore!" Daniel demanded for once, instead of being coy and full of defiance of compliance. "Now, come!" he provoked. He fixed his stance, his eyes were now narrow with determination, his arms all dirtied and tired yet not quite ready to give up yet. It was amazing how someone so thin, so slender could appear now to be so strong, so influential.
"As you wish!" the enemy declared. The body poured from the ground once again. It whirled in a confusing monstrosity, so agile that Kenneth could not catch it with his eye. But could Daniel? In Daniel's eyes, he found the quivering aura that was always one step ahead of the real figure. He ground his teeth with assurance of himself, ensured that he would win, confident that he, the boy who had always hid behind his older brother for protection, would now prevail, because he had been through more now. He had the influence of Eric, of the past, of Eric's fight that motivated him, proved to him that he, too, could be amazing, because of Eric's words, because of his purpose. And Daniel wanted to take after that. Kenneth finally realized that now.
The enemy appeared to be dragon-like slithering so speedily around the air with his now extensive worm half of the body. He growled, opened his mouth widely and abnormally with dribble sliding off of the corner of his beastly mouth. His third eye opened wide, staring accusingly, deathly. The nails glimmered in the dead moonlight and fading stars. The discolored punch came in, missed Daniel by a long shot. Daniel countered, ducking under him and punching the foe right in the cheek. The opponent slithered back in with its wormy, snaking tail of peach insecta. Daniel could hear the slight slithering of body underground, the slimy moving filling him with certain ignored nausea. Eric… he thought. I'm sorry I've always been the one who's been hiding, I'm sorry you had to deal with me like that, even if you didn't know me as well. I'm sure you saw it in me the moment you saw me, I'm sure you saw my coyness. But that's all about to change. That's all about to turn and grow into something else that's much better, that's much more important that you yourself told me, displayed for me. I'll show you that now; I'll prove it to you once and for all!
Daniel fixed his stance again, readying himself in a growl. "Daniel…" Kenneth spoke in a whisper, still filled with awe. He had found that one solitary word only, the name of his brother.
"Kenneth," Daniel interrupted his brother before he could say anything. "I know you like protecting me; you feel as if it's your job. But please, let me fight this battle alone for once. I still need you later," he insisted of him. Kenneth blinked in uncertainty. There was a part of him that kept saying no, don't let him hurt himself, don't let him blind himself, don't let him kill himself! There was a part that screamed no, not in a million years, no! But even so…
"I…I don't know…" Kenneth could only speak so scarcely. "Daniel… I-" Cut off once again.
"Please," Daniel said confidently, asking for permission not as quietly as before anymore, not as timidly anymore. Now, he knew what he wanted, he said it with demand. "What you told me back then… you were right, when I asked you that question that I'm sure you still remember." Kenneth seemed to nod, immediately, as if he, too, had been thinking about that time while he half-cried for Daniel's presence to back, as if his whole past with his smaller brother had repeated over. "I know I can do this. I know I'm strong now. Because I… I have a purpose!" he declared. Kenneth had no idea. "I have someone to care for!" He remembered Eric saying that before, too.
"Then get your ass over here!" the enemy interrupted a time of importance, emerging from the ground with sharper, deeper nails. He hissed demonically and sliced for Daniel. The redhead boy made skillful flips, dodges, and landed a strong kick. It was obvious that he was better now in physical fighting than he had ever been. The opponent, overtaken was forced to sink back into the ground.
"How about it, then?" Daniel asked strongly, fixing his weight. Kenneth watched, wide-eyed, finding himself unable to swallow, unable to breathe, yet somehow still living, still thriving off of the importance of his brother, the importance of his purpose, the purpose that Daniel had now found as well. He realized that now.
"Daniel…" Kenneth repeated his brother's name sympathetically. His face was full of concern; it had not changed in the least. Something about his eyes twinkled the answers now, and those twinkles sent the message to the lips, for the mouth to form defiantly. Then, something sparked. His eyes loosened a bit, his lips unstressed. "I'll be more than happy to support you," he declared.
His brother nodded with strong, independent features. "Thank you," Daniel nodded in slight gratitude. There was more under the surface, but he could only focus on one thing at a time. That thing… was his new purpose. And with that, the dragon-like mutant burst out of the ground like a midair train once again with its slithering, elongated body and whirled in the air, screeching and opening its mouth wide in a dissatisfied hunger that roared with eternity, roared with murder – and the body, it charged with blinded speed.
PoVS
The hot dawn was far away, too far. The cool ground failed to fill with recognition, yet something, something big did. The cool night's clouds began to whisper away, the hot sun was still not quite here. The presence of the moon lingered about, as if not knowing where to go, far away yet so close, the stars blinking and fading and unfading in their own puzzlement, their own confusion. The lush night was beginning to be hushed to sleep, while something more, something else awakened – and not just in nature.
It was a whack to the face that he failed to recognize, he failed to block. His arms were useless, limp, uncaring. His once hard, cool and tough personality was now rendered useless. Ones who had once admired him now stared in sympathy, shock, for he was being overwhelmed, and they would sob inside for him, sob as that first blow to the side of his perfectly tan face knocked his body somewhat to the side, backing him up just a step's worth. Then, it was another one, to the opposite side now, bringing him weakly over there, then here, then there. He was being controlled, manipulated, and something inside him told him that he could not beat it, that he could not defeat it. It was inevitable to him, somewhat. The rock hard fist continued on. The perfect spikes of black hair were now put to no use, were not empty with no meaning. His once promising, piercing dark eyes that struck people in awe were now bent, broken and maimed into an empathetic slouch of sadness, of helplessness. His slight smile that used to spark with the best features was now weathered away by tired, impact marks. That same mouth that used to growl at that idiot, Zack, was no longer tough enough to scowl, no longer in his league. He was not simply overthrown, he had never thought better of what he really was. So why? Why did he seem to be dying now?
Suddenly, memories of continually rising smoke were brought back, eruptions of lava. His perfect features, his strong, well-built arms and shoulders could not defend anymore, as if they had forgotten, as if they, too, thought that they could do nothing, and that they gave up on life. The feet stammered, making a bare effort to stand, a bare effort to remain in norm. Then, there came the strong, direct punch to this once strong, powerful soul's face that sent him flying to the ground. He had not even made the slightest effort of fighting back, which was completely different from him, completely not his style. He would at least try, and would at least dodge obvious attacks like those thrown at him just now. "Aren't you a weak one?" the enemy mocked and ridiculed, spat at the boy who hadn't seemed to change a bit since last time. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to return the feeling of it back in.
The foe walked up to the boy and brought him up by his shirt. He made no restraint effort, he made no reluctance. His eyes were barely open, his perfect features now gone, now put to no use. Eyes would sob, eyes would wrinkle in sympathy. They were now face to careless face, staring into each other, one grinning with criticalness, the other giving a blank glare, one that was no longer his. The enemy scoffed in the boys face, spat at him. "You look familiar," he said with a dark smirk. "Hey…aren't you that kid whose ribs I smashed to bits?" he smiled. The boy gave no answer, no sign of being alive; the only thing that kept the opponent knowing that he was still with him was his open eyes that just glared, helplessly, mindlessly. "Yeah, you are," the opponent whispered heatedly on to his face. The hot breath steamed against the boy's features. "Yeah, Derek was your name, wasn't it? I barely got it the last time."
Simple-mindedly, Derek spoke. He was in a state of peace, where he didn't want to fight back because he believed it'd be useless if he did. He shouldn't get himself more hurt. That guy beat him up bad last time; he'll do it again. This is what he believed. He just said one thing back to the enemy and one thing only. That was, "Don't act like you know me after you just proved you didn't," in a whisper the once promising, striking voice said. The foe's wide smile turned into a serious, darkened frown. Eyes narrowed meanly, belittlingly. The boy disgusted him now. Thoughts of a really bad beat-down raced at contact of eyes. Derek was indifferent; Derek was never indifferent. "Don't try to be smart," he growled into the Minor's face. The hot breath steamed at him, angrily. Derek remained quiet. Another hateful punch made its way to the seventeen year old boy's face. He fell to the ground, just a foot away. He made no sound as he took the impact; he ignored the pain. The enemy began walking again.
He picked him up and began speaking to him again. "You shouldn't talk," he suggested without authority. "I see they fixed your bones," he grinned, looking to the bandages strewn across his chest. Derek made no motion, no resistance. "But, I can undo that again, now can't I?" he chuckled. He drew back a fist; it grew into a rocky texture, black as coal. Then, it crashed into the side of Derek's face, harder than the rest of the punches combined. His body was sent flying, and crashing into the faraway ground. The enemy was left, dissatisfied of the distance, yet still confident he could do so much more. "I see you're still weak!" the opponent cried out. "You were always like that!" he ridiculed. Derek lay, unmoving, waiting for death to take him apart. He was sprawled horridly on the ground like a small boy, a small boy that had been beat up too much and the "in" crowd had left him on the cold, damp, playground asphalt on a rainy day. He just lay in a horrid, twisted position as if he never, ever wanted to live another moment of life again. "I'm not going to go easy on you this time, bastard. This time, I'll kill you; I'll make sure of it," he growled from far away. Derek remained in indifference, his face shaded over from the shade of his own.
"Damn it, what's with this guy?" Zack growled from far away, back to back with Mark as they watched the crowd of White Cloaks surround them and dominate their space. They had been somewhat watching and completely listening to the one sided conversation. Zack knew there was something horribly wrong. "Why is Derek not being himself!? Why the hell isn't he fighting back, damn it?" He groaned in agony. "Derek, what the hell is wrong with you; why are you being so weak now, after you spent all that time training yourself with the absence of Hibiyomi? You're going to get killed! Why are you so –?"
"Zack, Derek can't hear you," Mark said in a low whisper, as if to tell Zack to tone it down a bit. Zack scowled angrily. Mark and Zack knew that Derek was not being himself; he wasn't being so clever as always, so confident, so striking without trying to be. He was completely drained of his personality. He just wasn't him! They wondered what was wrong. Zack clenched a fist impatiently, growling at the obstacles clothed in white in the way. He felt like going on a power outburst. "Zack, calm yourself," he scolded. "Remember, we can't use any data-giving moves. I'm sure Derek has a plan." Zack, reluctantly and forcefully, calmed himself, and unclenched his fist. Although… Mark thought to himself as a solitary bead of sweat trailed itself down the map of his face. He looked to far away, where he saw Derek's body lay limply, carelessly, vulnerably on the floor, three things Derek would never, ever be, even when he was worn out. He always had the greatest amount of stamina, of rigid personality and strength and confidence in him. It doesn't look like it.
"Damn it!" Zack screamed angrily. He leaned in and began punching dearly, unsightly, because whether or not Derek wanted to believe it in the past, Zack was his friend, his rival, and if anything were to ever happen to Derek – Zack would kill. Kill just for the return of him. And Derek, who always made fun of him, knew that on some level, too, and, without realizing it, Derek would jump in front of an attack to protect him. So Zack would do the same, despite their raging conflicts and scowls and growls over each other. They didn't hate each other. They never have. And so, Zack fought for that opportunity, fought through the crowd of impure white for his right.