A/N
Mmm, it's positively delicious to be writing again. My apologies for the lack of timely updating... school is rough this year, and last week was midterms. But I have a week off, and I plan to use it to the best effect possible for advancing the story. :)
Enjoy, and don't forget to review!
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"Two beers. We don't got all day."
"Coming right up, sirs," a timid voice replied.
From his vantage point in the back corner of the tavern, the hulking man with the shaved head raised a scarred eyebrow at the two vulgar-looking men in cloaks waiting impatiently by the bar. Nobody has any manners anymore, he sighed to himself, and returned to reading his book in the flickering candlelight.
Three more men, equally rough-looking, entered in through the doorway, allowing some of the fierce winds from the thunderstorm raging outside to push in and gust the newspapers lying on tables about. The man in the back glanced up again from the book to assess the newcomers, but was returning to his reading when he frowned. Their posture was off for patrons, even rude ones... something didn't seem quite right about them. The two men with the beers had not yet sat down, and had shifted further away from the doorway so that all five customers now formed a rough semicircle around the bartender, whose back was to the racks of alcohol and the long mirror that seemed to be common to every bar in all Wars World. He was hardly surprised when one of the ruffians leaped over the bar, brandishing a small pistol. As the bartender turned to face him with a cry of surprise and fear, a second jumped on the other side, roughly pushing the tip of a dagger into his back, both silencing and freezing the poor soul into a trembling pose of abject terror.
"What do you want?" the little man managed to squeak out.
"Eh, I figure a couple hundred gold pieces ought to do us."
The bartender's eyes widened even further. "I barely have two dozen in the till! There's no way...!"
The leader smiled cruelly, before responding. "I guess we'll have to take everything, then, and beat the remainder out of your sorry hide." He paused as if sadistically deciding what to do, before continuing. "First, I think we'll-"
"Leave. Him. Alone."
The five thieves spun in surprise at the voice from the previously unnoticed man in the back. He rose from the chair to his imposing two meters in height, steadying himself with an arm on the chair to make up for the weakness in his twisted leg.
The leader was no longer amused. "You got a death wish, old man?"
The question was deflected. "I don't want to fight you. Leave now and you'll be uninjured."
"Don't make me laugh. You're a dead man, now."
"It won't be me who's dying today. Let him go."
Now the cruel smile was back. "Maybe you won't be the first to die..." and with a quick motion, slashed across the bartender's carotid artery, sending an explosive stream of blood arcing from his neck.
Before the blood could hit the ground, the old man violently kicked his legs and jumped so that he rotated forward as if hurling a discus. The chair he had grasped with his left hand was now swinging in a wide but quick arc at the end of his extended arm, propelled by his spinning body and the tensing of his considerable biceps. Upon its release, the chair flew directly at the leader with such speed that it was a wooden-colored blur. The oaken mass crushed his target's head into the mirror, sending spiderweb-like cracks radiating out along the glassy surface and causing his lifeless body to fall in tandem with the bartender's.
"Wrong again," the old man murmured as he landed with a grimace in a crouching position. The other four were stunned for a moment, but quickly pulled out an assortment of knives and guns with which to face their opponent. The old man exploded out of his crouch to charge his enemies, and the two with guns opened fire. He was hit twice in the shoulder during the split second before he delivered a spine-snapping punch to the head of the first gunman, and without pausing spun into a kick that took the second gunman clear off his feet to impact the wall with a sickening crunch.
Without waiting to deal with the last two adversaries, the interfering Samaritan leaped over the bar to land beside the fallen bartender. He could feel his own hands tingling as he expertly ran his fingers around the jagged wound in the man's throat that was still jetting out blood. He pressed his palm across the entire wound and felt a chilling sensation run through his whole body. After the sensation passed, he lifted up his hand to find smooth pink flesh where the gaping maw had been a moment before. The warrior turned healer smiled faintly, noting that the amount of blood lost, while horrible to behold, was probably not past the fatal point, as the man's artery had only been exposed for seven seconds, at most.
The good moment was interrupted by the fiery burst of agony that erupted in his lower back, almost blinding him by the intensity of the pain. He stumbled to his feet, feeling the handle of the throwing knife that was protruding from just up and to the right of his tail bone. Kidney hit. A typically fatal wound, he remarked to himself with a grim satisfaction of his knowledge of mortality.
As another throwing knife embedded itself deep in his chest, he whispered to his opponents, hidden behind a mist of red, "This is the end."
Two screams of terror and a roar of rage joined the thunder piercing the night sky.
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The instructor whipped the riding crop-like instrument across his face viciously, leaving a painful swelling.
"You'll never be a commander if you can't strike quickly and without mercy! Restart the exercise!"
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"I've never seen anyone manipulate the energy like that, light or dark! We've got ourselves an Adept, here!" The positively ancient technician was practically dancing about with joy.
"Sonny, you've got a bright future ahead of you in the Corps."
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"So, you're the new CO from Central, eh? We've got your assignment right here. Little planet called Wars World. I think you'll fit right in."
The district commander tossed over a dossier. "Several continents, nice water to land ratio, plenty of natural resources, and quite vicious factional divisions... call themselves 'nations' or some such nonsense."
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"See how the marionettes dance to my tune?" The cold green eyes betrayed nothing and the mechanical voice disguised the playfully sadistic tone of the originating throat. "Worms. That's what they are. And we are the birds of prey."
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"Chance is a fickle thing, Sturm. You never know when it will come your way." A wan smile formed on his lips while he felt the energy welling up within him for a final attack.
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"So... you've... seen me. Then you... hrrrnnrrr... must die."
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"And to that end you feel there is some burden you must shoulder?"
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"I still have... one last job. Jake. I wish I had met you... before..."
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"My God, are you alive?!" The scavenger picking through the scrap metal had nearly jumped out of his skin when the figure half buried in rubble had groaned.
"You could... say that," he coughed out in reply, looking at the fresh wounds with his good eye, and trying not the imagine the bloody mess his other eye must have looked like.
"I'm getting you to the local healer, pronto!"
"Don't... forget my... chair."
"Buddy, you got a lot more problems than keeping your matching furniture set. What the hell were you doing out here, trying to get a CO's autograph?"
"I like... your humor. But don't forget the chair."
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The old monk raised his head from the tea he had been preparing. "You've had time enough for your mourning, son. We have things to do today."
"No. Let me mourn my dead in peace."
"Let the dead bury the dead; we concern ourselves with helping the living."
"You cannot know what it's like to lose everyone you've cared about, you celibate old fool."
"I lost a brother and two nephews to the war, Lord Hawke, so you can rest assured that I know exactly how you feel. Now quit your self-pitying nonsense and eat your breakfast. Just because you've saved Wars World twice doesn't mean you get to sit back and let the rest of your life waste away. There's always a little more good to do out there."
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"Leave him alone."
"You got a death wish, old man?"
"I don't want to fight you..."
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Hawke opened his eyes to a painfully bright blue sky full of sun with a few clouds. Eyes? He closed first the right, then the left. He had perfect vision in both. And that means... He sat up, the powerful abdominal muscles effortlessly lifting the top half of his body from his supine position. He ran his fingers along his arms and legs. All of the scars were gone. The formerly twisted leg seemed pristine, and the bones were perfectly aligned. Hawke grimaced. I triggered the Black Storm. I've been totally healed. He looked around himself, where the debris from the tavern's total annihilation was strewn about. A few dozen yards beyond this field of debris was another region, where the general store had been located. Also leveled, but much more matter had actually survived. The wood of the tavern walls had been largely vaporized, if the scorch marks on the stone foundation were any indication. Beyond the general store were most of the villagers' homes, which were all still standing, though appearing a little worse for wear.Hawke found the bartender lying as he had been left, breathing shallowly, but looking a great deal better than he had the night before. You're lucky that even in my rage I considered you an ally, Hawke mused, knowing the other man couldn't possibly hear his inner thoughts. The fact that the man was naked troubled Hawke slightly, and it occurred to him that he himself was also in the nude.
Having observed the situation carefully, he commenced to berate himself.
You are a true idiot, triggering a Black Storm blindly like that. Not only have you vaporized your own clothing, but the most effective disguise imaginable, a broken body, has just been reverted back to normal. You knew there are ways for your enemies to track the Black Storm, but you had to go and be the hero yet again...
Hawke shook his head. It had been a year and a half since his purported death, after all. Maybe he was long forgotten by anyone who had been friend or foe to the Black Cadre. And surely no one would continue a fruitless search for him for this long. It was highly doubtful anyone would persevere in the search for him with such diligence as to be monitoring energy sensors all the time, waiting for so subtle an energy surge as a localized Storm...
The staccato rhythmic sound of T-copters in the distance seemed to arrive specifically to mock him.
Or perhaps someone is both very diligent and very observant, and I am still just a fool.
Hawke sprinted for the tree line at the edge of the woods to watch from concealment.