Four

They surround us without notice. I feel incredibly stupid; I let all of us down. I was with Sarah when they attacked, my left hand touching the small of her back my lips gliding across her forehead, my right hand twirled in her golden hair. And everything was perfect for that second, I had someone to curl up to when I was fed up, someone to love.

All the stars aligned; I am Sarah's and she is mine.

Of course that's when the Mogs let loose. I wasn't allowed just to be at peace with my Sarah. In a war there may be distance between battles, but that's never an excuse to let guard down, which I stupidly.

I was the one to be on watch, and I did as good as a job as a blind man. As Nine would have put, and he probably will later 'Nice one Johnny boy'.

Mogs pour into the apartment, banging down the cheap door storming in like a crusade. No doubt that there will be more outside, waiting to charge if the first line failed. Which they will. Although they caught me unaware, I'm lucky I was in the position to shield Sarah.

"Run," I yell at her. I can't bear to see Sarah hurt again, the image at Dulce still aches slightly and there's always the fear of if I couldn't heal her, and I'm the alien boyfriend who dragged her into this mess, and I'm determined to make sure she's gets out without a scratch.

Sarah holds my chest, her calm blue eyes showing a flicker of fear but more determination, "John, I'll take your chest. You go do me and Henri proud."

That's my girl.

Ella gazes at Sarah, and makes a 'follow me' gesture, briefly knowing the little girl and Marina's explanation about her, she seems to be quick and has a good eye for escape routes, and although Six and Nine can easily wipe out more Mogs than Ella could possibly try, I know Sarah's in safe hands, and they will both live to another battle.

At the corner of my eye, I can see Eight shaking Marina begging her to wake, murmuring something to her and the both of them teleporting by my side. Nine is nowhere to be seen and Six is on top of the roof, creating a storm that would make hurricanes look like a gust of wind. By the sound of it, BK is out there with her in another monstrous form.

The pale army stares at me, and I look back defiantly. There's a few dozen there, each face not caring that they have the motive to kill children that haven't done anything particularly wrong. Each face has eyes that gleam of the thought of murder,

I grit my teeth and I set myself aflame.

The fire is more powerful that coffee. It wakes me up, despite the little sleep I've had, I feel as if I could tackle Setrákus Ra right now. I feel young, free, reckless and awake.

The Mogadorians shoot their cannons, bright colours skyrocketing towards Eight, Marina and me. One hits me square in the chest and I thud into a sofa, setting it alight as I do. Eight grabs Marina's hand, and both of them teleport behind the Mogs, targeting them from behind.

Dust rockets off from the sofa, suffocating me. Next time we check into a hotel, we make sure the furniture isn't a century old.

A Mog is several feet away from me, hesitantly moving towards the flames. Even though the Mogs are stupid – they still know that getting burned alive isn't a great way to die. He's unarmed, Eight or Marina must have removed his cannon. But none of this removes the hungry gleam from his eye.

I wonder what the prize is for slaying a garde. Eternal victory? A feast? Promotion? Whatever it is, the Mogs slowly ascending towards me isn't going to get it.

I lazily flick my hand and he goes hurtling out of the apartment window, flames coating him as doing so, and whenever he hits the ground, I feel fully confident he will end up in a pile of Mogadorian ash.

The more Mogadorians I kill, the more they seem like rag dolls; lifeless and easy to kill.

The pain of the cannon aches and getting up is difficult, and I hoist myself upwards using the flaming sofa. However to ensure Sarah's safety, I have to make sure no Mogs can ever endanger her. As I get up, I'm still blazing my red bracelet glows in the heat, and I'm not 100% sure it is heat resistant, but a guy has got to battle.

I leap at the Mogs, not bothering to get a sharp weapon. Fire is one of the most powerful weapons. Just by hitting a Mog, I managed to set one ablaze at the nape of his neck, another turned to ash instantly when I punched him in the stomach.

There is a thrill in fighting. Nine's known that for a while, and now I'm finally feeling it, the inside of body also feels if it's in flames, it's warm, energetic and powerful. Maybe it's the power of all of us Loric in the same place, our Legacies developing and our friendships, making us stronger Gardes each day. Or maybe I'm just accepting killing not as barbaric as it once was, and that revenge feels awfully good.

Either way, the Mogs here today don't have a change.

A Mog aims his gun at me, and for a second I pause and put my hands up, and that's when I charge. I tackle him and pin him to the ground, he screams and his shark like teeth attempt to bite my neck, but before he can even come close, he burst into a pile of dust.

Eight and Marina are making swift work of the other Mogadorians. Eight's in his newest form, a larger than most tiger, bearing his teeth and swiping Mogadorians viciously, and Marina has two knives in her hand, something I presume she's gotten from her chest. She looks nervous with them, eyes flickering and her chin slightly trembling, yet she manages to strike one in the neck managing to turn them into dust, and a faint smile appearing afterwards.

She looks up at me and her face is a mask of horror, she manages to scream the words, "John" before I am impaled on the floor.

At least several bones in the left side of my body are shattered and I think for a second that death is less painful than this. My flames fade as I turn up to see the brutal face of a Kraul on top of me – its teeth snapping and its breath has the ominous stench of death.

I close my eyes. I have failed the other Garde. I have failed the Elders. I have failed Lorien.

However I don't get eaten alive by a beast surprisingly. The Kraul is millimetres away from my face but shudders last moment, and turns into an impressive pile of ash. I look to my saviour, my skinny Mogadorian traitor saviour.

Adamus smiles sheepishly at me, no weapon in hand. I wonder how the hell he did it. Mogadorians are only dangerous when armed with their weapons, and then I faintly remember something Malcolm told me about how he believes Adamus has moulded with One. Either way I'm grateful.

It's silent in here – all the battles ceased and a blanket of ash coats the room.

Eight looks around, "We need to get outside and help, now.

Six

I am one with the storm. We merge together into something horrific and powerful. Despite conjuring it makes my eyes droop and each limb feel heavier, I am stronger than ever before.

Me and Bernie Kosar, destroy the Mogs. Maybe it's the fact that we lost the last battle so easily makes both of us more aggressive, taking more risks, showing no mercy. If we let the number of battles lost increase, we will lose the war.

Sam and his dad, Malcolm are fighting alongside us. Sam still has the slightly naïve energy he had back with me and John, his moves looking well practiced – he probably had some spare time in the prison cell. Although Malcolm seems inexperienced in physical combat, the man knows how to fire a Mog weapon fairly well. He's stunned about half a dozen Mogs.

Sam grins at me, and I haven't realised how much I've missed the crooked grin, I smile back, but it looks more like a grimace as I pay my attention to the Mogs.

I step backwards, and using my hind leg I front kick a Mog in the throat, honing the practiced move that Katrina taught me many years ago. It's placed perfectly as the Mog turns into ash.

Another Mog grabs me from behind, a knife at my throat. His hands are cold and cause bile to rise up my throat. I bite my bottom lip hard, trying to keep it in and I taste the salty metallic tang of my blood. Having only milliseconds to compose myself before I end up with a slit throat, ending the dream of Lorien, I head butt backwards, throwing the Mog off balance. This makes the Mog stagger a few steps backwards, dropping his sword as I swiftly pick it up.

I form an arc with it, ending at the Mogadorians throat.

In the distance of the Mexican streets, in midday, the place is crowded and many are looking with their faces gaping and eyes wide. This is probably the worst battle field, there are too many observers – they get in the way, and could be killed. And a crowd adds media attention.

I don't want to add to all the casualties that happened on Lorien.

I have to concentrate on the battle, not bystanders.

Although the number of Mogs and beasts outside are whittling down, courtesy of BK and me, a black van drives suspiciously close to the building I'm standing on top of. By pure instinct, I focus my telekinesis on throwing the van upwards, only to slam it down.

It makes a very satisfying explosion,

BK who has finished demolishing the last Kraul limps to my side, he seems in fairly good shape, except from his left paw, which seems in an unnatural angle. He can last the fight though, I know it. Sam and Malcolm regroup towards us, Malcolm seems out of breath and I guess this isn't part of his daily routine, while Sam's right eye is red and he squints. Marina will have to fix that.

With Sam finally close to me I can see how much he's grown over the time we've been separated. Somehow in the short space of time, he's managed to gain a few inches, making him finally taller than me. Although he's still as lanky as ever.

Malcolm is a heavily built tall guy, roughly the same size as John. It may seem that Sam will finally fill his aspirations of looking like his father.

The four of us stand side by side, ready to face the last dozen, all of hearts thundering in our chests, our muscles aching and our senses buzzing.

The storm which I created overhead has almost completely faded, the dense grey clouds are now white and sparse, the Sun pierces through the veil I have created, light shining on us four, as if it was a blessing.

Although blessings don't make me feel weak. My arms begin to shake, and the amount of energy I've used is finally taking its toll and my body is ferociously protesting my will to fight.

My knees buckle, and crashing them on the concrete roof doesn't send a jolt through my body. Only a numbing pain, I can distinctly hear Sam's worried voice, and out of the corner of my eye, see BK launch his broken body at the Mogs to protect me.

My breathing turns shallow, my eyelids flutter and everything goes black.

Sorry for the slight delay in posting the chapter. However does a battle scene make up for it? Please review – I'd love to hear your theories and what you want to happen.

And yes, the Nine which the rest of the Garde – Four, Six et cetera think they're with isn't the real Nine.