Platonic1—Thank you again for the review! I'm hoping this one comes along quickly.
Wolf's moon 21—Thanks very much—I look forward to reading your reviews. Again, hoping this one comes out quickly.
Thanks again to my two loyal reviewers! (I really do appreciate it!)
Disclaimer: same old same old. Trademarks aren't mine, everything else is. R&R please!
Chapter 2
There were bodies everywhere, in the literal sense of the expression. From his first step out through the shattered window, Squall was surrounded by fallen members of Balamb's renowned academy, many of them wearing nightshirts and pajamas. Leonheart scowled, the expression having as much a duel-meaning as any oxymoron: first, he scowled to see so many of his fellows dead; second, he was equally disgusted by the things they had apparently tried to use as weapons. Discarded or held in cooling hands was everything from a chair leg to a broken-off bed post.
Where were their weapons? Squall asked himself, kicking a pillow savagely out of his way as he scanned the area. Death everywhere, and his fellows had done no better than to defend themselves with bracket they'd had lying about in their rooms. Even woken from a dead sleep and presented with fire looming nearby, a SeeD should've had the sense to lunge, first and foremost, for a nearby weapon. Basic training reinforced the need for constant preparation and readiness–had these that had fallen ignored those repeated warnings simply because they thought themselves safe within the Academy's walls? The Commander scowled more deeply: relaxation was one thing; being blatantly unprepared was completely another.
An explosion of flame from behind him brought Squall vividly back into reality and he scolded himself for standing still for so long. Bending over double, the Commander took refuge behind an overturned picnic table. The C hall of the dorms was burning, completely engulfed, to his right while B hall, at his back, was in a similar condition, its ceiling already collapsed. That left the imperiled A hall where his room was located at his left, and a handful of enemies directly in front of him.
Five men sauntered into the flame-encircled courtyard, walking through what remained of one of the outer walls. The tallest of which, a dark man in his late twenties, seemed to be dictating orders to the other four, talking much more loudly than was necessary. Squall pressed himself hard against the wood of the table, accommodating so that the firelight would not reflect off of the flawless steel in his hand, assuring this by holding his gunblade low. Low, but ready for use. He had a feeling it would not be long before he found the need.
Gorham Ingersoll gave the courtyard he and his men had leveled little more than a passing glance. He instead glared over his shoulder at a tree in the distance, against which the man he answered to was leaning. A scowl played across his angular, stony face as he recalled, pragmatically, his own orders: Balamb was to be set ablaze and all student mercenaries eliminated, all but the Commander. Squall Leonheart was strictly reserved for the Leader. It was his fight and no one else's, in his exact words, and Leonheart was not to be harmed by anyone but him. Gorham's job was containment–containment and containment only--in the case of the SeeDs' young Commander. The very thought infuriated him.
He was second-in-command of the mercenary band's active troops, second only to the man leaning on the tree, the man that was no match for him in size or stature. Gorham was broader of frame and stood half a foot taller than his Leader; the spikes of the other man's hair barely reached to Gorham's blockish shoulders. The man tightened the tie around his crimson horsetail, agitated despite the sweep they'd made of the Academy thus fa. He had ten kills himself, but neither he nor anyone else had seen high or nigh of Squall Leonheart yet. He wanted scarce few things from the raid, the foremost of those being able to sink his sword to the hilt in the chest of Balamb's Commander, though it was looking less and less like he was going to have that chance. With the place aflame and all of the SeeDs in the area dead, Gorham doubted Squall was still lingering nearby.
One man strolled further into the flaming courtyard, haphazardly keeping his rifle resting on his shoulder as he examined an overturned table. A white wall of pain exploded in the gunman a breath later as the Lionheart's wickedly sharp tip plunged into one of his lungs, snaking its way surreptitiously between two ribs. He looked down with suddenly terror-widened eyes; the look vanished into blank infinity as the unfortunate gunman slid off the blade and onto the ground.
Gorham barely registered the movements at first, hardly noticing the first man's defeat until a form exploded into action, engaging and cutting down another of his men in a long, exaggerated cut extenuated by the firelight. The other two were not held in the grips of shock any longer and, drawing level ready weapons, charged simultaneously at their brazen enemy. Gorham smiled at the irony–the prey that had been denied him had walked directly into his waiting hands. The Leader couldn't kill what he couldn't find, and his second-in-command had no intention of trying to contain the assailing blur that was Squall Leonheart at that moment.
Self defense, the tall red-head concluded inwardly. All the excuse he would need.
Well, there we go—chap 2 done. Tell me what you think thus far! K