Where Words Fail
Book Six: It's All or Nothing
Chapter 5, Part 1: The rich and the poor, for better or worse, the last and the first walk the earth and can't avoid his turf
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:
sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-6-5-156057545
SCENE DIVIDE
"Whoa! Stop! Calm down, Pestle!"
The voice didn't register. Pestle squirmed, kicked, tried to wriggle free of the person holding him - clenched a fist, she'd bring it up and bend the ground out from under the bandit that had captured her, she wouldn't go back in that closet -
"Pestle!"
At last, something moved in front of her - still hard to see, locked up in that dark closet for Spirits knew how long - but a face faded into view, taking form through the glow of the sunlight. Long, bony face, high cheeks, all covered by a straw hat with bull horns sticking out from the top - Pestle's eyes went wide with recognition and she stopped squirming, and at last the hands holding her let go, leaving her free. She knew that face; he was another Freedom Fighter, about the same age as Pestle.
"Skins - you got away!" Pestle cried, and - it was hard to resist hugging him! She wasn't alone! And if Skins had escaped, then -
"We couldn't just sit back and let that jackass take control like that," Skins said, tilting his head to the side and grinning.
"Yeah - you should know the Hunter Brothers are tougher than that." From behind Pestle emerged Skins two younger brothers, Hunter and Bones. Hunter, younger than Skins by a couple years, wore an otter bear pelt, the head serving as a hood, and Bones - at half Pestle's age - wore armor made mostly out of his namesake, his lips curled into a sneer. "We got away not long after they took you, and we've been lurking in the forest ever since."
"We've been trying to find some way to get to the Overdweller," Skins said, crossing his arms over his chest and pursing his lips. "But he's tricky - observant. He knows we're gone, and he knows Skillet escaped with Telltale and Bedrock, and we're afraid that if we act too soon..."
...yeah. Yeah, Pestle knew that feeling. She cast a glance behind her, trying to blink away the fuzziness - saw the hole torn into the side of the school building. The indecision, the paranoia - trying to second-guess her way out of the closet. Not acting hadn't been a choice, though - she had needed to escape, because Mortar might need her help, and - and she had help, now, she had the Hunter Brothers at her side.
"Bones thinks this is stupid," Bones grumbled, pursing his lips and glowering at something off to the side. "Waiting. Planning. Feh! Should attack - fast, quick, Overdweller not see Hunters and Pestle coming."
Pestle nodded - surprised herself at how quickly the response came, because - "Believe it or not, you're right. We have to act quickly, because it won't take long for him to notice that I'm free, too, and we can use that to our advantage." Pestle glanced around - the school was located at the edge of a vast clearing on the forest's floor, and not too far away was Skillet's kitchen; if the Overdweller planned on eating anything, it'd come from there, and combined with the bandits coming into the school to check on her, this was a high-traffic area. They'd be spotted if they stayed here for too long. But...her eyes drifted away from the kitchen and school. On the opposite side of the clearing - the armory, a squat, broad building loaded with the weapons the Freedom Fighters had stolen and built over the years. The bandits wouldn't be in there - if they'd seen anything they wanted, they would have taken it as soon as they had the chance. So, as exposed as she felt, being out in the open like this, the Hunters at least would need some actual weapons, and it wasn't like she couldn't benefit, either. She was only a novice Earthbender, so maybe that combined with a weapon she maybe didn't really know how to use would make her formidable. Maybe. It was better than nothing.
"We'll arm ourselves first," Pestle decided, heading towards the armory, whose oakwood doors glistened in the sunlight. The Hunter Brothers paused for a moment before falling in step behind her - maybe they were shocked at how suddenly the Earthbender had taken charge? If they were, she didn't blame them, every decision she made surprised herself, but with Mortar in trouble, the clear path - the path to saving her and the other Freedom Fighters, to redemption - laid itself out before her. Mortar had always been able to see straight from point A to point B without emotions getting in the way, and as Pestle cut across the clearing, she realized how - how empowering it was, how different and fresh it felt to be out of that self-conscious shell, to see the world so openly.
She liked it.
"What next, then?" Skins asked, leaning over Pestle's shoulder, hiking an eyebrow.
"We hit him fast, we hit him hard, easy as building a latrine."
"For an Earthbender, maybe..."
"The point is, we don't have the time to wait around." Pestle reached for the armory's door handle, wrapping her fingers around it and gripping the smooth, glossed wood. "We're on a clock; we could sit and plan and make calculated strikes, but you're right - Over-buttface is smart, he'll find us eventually. We'll have to get an edge in on him - surprise him before he realizes I've gotten out and he can't use me as blackmail anymore."
"For the record," Hunter said as the door creaked open (Pestle winced - it wasn't any louder than the screeching of the wood in the school as she'd bent it out of place, but the noise still made her feel like she'd attract unwanted attention), "you're getting kind of scary. I'm not used to you being proactive like this."
Pestle stepped across the threshold, into the lurking umbra where the weapons' cache hunkered down. "Believe me, I'm just as nervous as you are. It's new for me, too." Because, because it was, and - as much as she wanted to regress back to nervous, shy Pestle, there just wasn't any room for it, really.
She guessed it was fortunate that it was daytime (as much as night would have been easier A/ for sneaking around and B/ on her eyes), because the only light came from the sun, filtered through the rear windows of the building; a quick glance up to the lanterns that would normally have lit the place up revealed that the candles had completely burned down, the wax hardened after it had melted and burbled away, leaving milk-white tails hanging down from the bottoms - almost long enough to touch the nearest weapons, and even then Pestle saw the occasional spatter of dried wax on axe heads or swords or clubs. She'd been right - the bandits had come and gone almost right away, leaving the candles lit. Well, that was fine.
"Find something you like, but be quick," she said to the Hunter Brothers, not looking at them, already scouring the room; shelves of weapons lined each wall, and two more island shelves were situated in the middle of the floor. Most were occupied by larger weapons, but smaller ones - daggers, shortbows, shrunken - all hung from the back wall. They wouldn't do Pestle much good, they required too much finesse, and that wasn't her thing. She needed something - something heavier, something more blunt, something like...ah! Twin battle hammers - the ends linked together by a long chain, propped up inside one of the island shelves with the heads facing down. She walked over to it, grabbed one of the handles - the metal was cold beneath her grip, rough, it commanded a brand of power Pestle hadn't ever really experienced before - the past ten minutes were full of new things, new experiences, and yeah, she wasn't used to it but she was twelve years old and Mortar needed her help, her support, and she had to grow up sometime, right?
Right.
She tested the weight of the hammer - heavy, yes, but even though Pestle was a novice Earthbender she was still an Earthbender, she had some muscle to her name, so the hammer wasn't unmanageable. The chain might be a problem, though - long enough to allow her to use both freely, but short enough to trip her up if she didn't watch her step, and she didn't have the experience to be that careful. So, maybe another one - ? A quick visual sweep, looking around, past the Hunter Brothers as they armed themselves, picking up knives and spears and machetes, and she didn't see any other hammers that looked as solid as these - wooden ones with flawed shafts or heads, they would break apart if she used them to excess, and that was a bad thing. No - the twin hammers were meant to be used in a fight, hardly ornate by any standards, but you didn't need an ornate weapon to bash somebody's head in (the thought of actually bashing somebody's head in made her queasy, though). The heads were rectangled off, the shafts plain aside from the grips, pale gray, made of steel most likely. It would work.
She hefted the weapons out, laid them the ground, and bent a small pedestal up from the ground, setting the chain onto it; a quick whip of the arms (muscles straining, shoulders still sore) brought another rock up from the ground, edges sharpened, swinging up, around and down in one quick motion. With a spark, the chain broke clean in two, leaving maybe a foot hanging from the end of each hammer, the rest lying useless on the floor
Good. Okay, good. Pestle crouched down and picked the hammers up again; they were maybe two and a half feet long from one end to the other, and that would be all she needed. She'd heard stories of benders who incorporated weapons into their bending; she'd have to try it, hopefully sooner rather than later.
"Okay," she announced, glancing up at the Hunters. "You guys ready?"
"Bones say, time to kick ass." The youngest Hunter Brother scrutinized a knife before sheathing it at his waist, where three others dangled, waiting to be used. Skins and Hunter stood at the ready; both of them had donned leather chest plates, and - that wasn't a bad idea, taking some armor. Another quick look around yielded a third chest plate - she jumped, pulled it down from the wall and tugged it on over her shirts, securing the straps. Now she was ready.
"Let's go, boys," Pestle said, picking up the hammers and frowning. "We've got a name to live up to."
SCENE DIVIDE
Smellerbee watched, eyes narrowed, as the children shuffled into the dining hall – not so much in an orderly line, but a random, hodgepodge march. They didn't want to be here, and she didn't blame them. Most kept their eyes, their heads down, watching their own feet. They looked malnourished, not starved but close to it, they were covered in more filth than normal, and the shadows under their eyes – were they even allowed to sleep? Probably not – all the basic human needs had been denied of them, and Smellerbee didn't have trouble believing it, because, well – the Overdweller didn't care for them, only that he had them.
There were a few of the children who didn't look so defeated, though – they held their chins up, and even from this distance Smellerbee could see the defiance radiating from their eyes. Those children would be the ones to take up arms against the men holding them captive.
Amongst the children, about a dozen grown men and women mingled, standing guard over them, taskmasters – bullies, adults, armed with swords and pole-arms and maces, exercising power over the weak and small to boost their egos, identical to the ones from the mines a couple lifetimes removed. Most of them were bandits, but a few wore the ragged remains of Fire Nation army clothes – chest plates, helmets, greaves or gauntlets. None of these had their hair pulled back into a topknot, so either they salvaged the armor off soldiers for their own use, or they – like Spatula, all those years ago – had defected from their country for their own purposes.
(It was about there that she realized who the three bandits were that had been chasing after Skillet – she let out a soft, surprised "Oh," before shaking her head and shrugging. Go figure, right?)
When the children had all filed into the dining hall, milling around the long, wooden table stretching from one end to the other, the adults in the group fanned out, flanking them from all sides – if this was the extent of the Overdweller's followers (she had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't), crashing this meeting would be too easy. It would have to be fast, brutal – a slaughter. Her primary target was the Overdweller, because without him, the others wouldn't stand a chance; psychotic or not, he had a commanding presence, and that would make all the difference in the coming fight.
Fortunately, she had prepared.
Clenched between her teeth she held a dagger – not the one Longshot had bought in Ba Sing Se, but an older one, one from her – her tent (a hut, now - all of the tents had been replaced by small lean-tos, made with the same patchwork maxim of, 'nail the planks together in whatever way necessary to make sure the thing holds together' that had applied to everything else in the forest that Mortar and Pestle couldn't build by themselves), the one she had called home before leaving. (Why they hadn't been moved to the armory, though...) This dagger had been used primarily for hunting, and the metal jilted with a bitter tang against her tongue. The blade had been blackened, to prevent sunlight from reflecting on it – she couldn't risk blowing her cover. Two more swords criss-crossed her back, again old, familiar blades from that dusty sword rack – whoever had moved into the hut following her departure and the forest's renovation must have felt attached enough to keep the weapons around. The serrated dagger and Jet's swords had been left behind, because – because if this guy could beat Sneers unarmed, he might be good enough to beat Smellerbee in swordplay.
(She hated admitting it, but she didn't feel proficient enough with Jet's swords to take them into such a high-risk battle. Holding regular short swords instead had felt like – well, like a homecoming, just as it had when she'd entered the forest, returning to the familiar way of life during underwhelming circumstances.)
Minutes passed, and the Overdweller did not make himself apparent – maybe, maybe this wasn't a lecture, or whatever, like Smellerbee had assumed. Though what else could it be? Either way, the Overdweller's – lieutenants, she figured the appropriate word was – were here and could be killed. That was a step in the right direction.
The swordswoman tried to take a quick head-count, but...when she'd left, there had been less than twenty Freedom Fighters in the group. Just by estimating, at least twice as many had come to a stop in the dining platform; Sneers had been busy, and Smellerbee had a hard time picking out familiar faces amongst the newcomers. The monk hadn't even mentioned the increased populace - there wasn't any way of telling who was missing, because for all she knew, anyone unaccounted for could have been part of Sneers' generation. Dammit. She focused - at least try to find the ones you know, Bee, start there and work your way down. Mama Marlin, Viper, Piper, Spike, Toad, Telltale...and, ah - there! She spotted Mortar amongst the group after a little more combing – curly, shoulder-length hair matted to her scalp, one eye bathed in deep, purple shadow and her left arm in a sling. The girl glowered, and Smellerbee could see her jaw working even from this distance, her eyes flicking left, right – looking for…for something, but what?
Pestle.
The swordswoman realized that Mortar's sister didn't cling to her, or even stand near her – in fact, Smellerbee couldn't see the shyer twin anywhere, even though she should have been as easy to spot as Mortar. No other Freedom Fighter had blonde hair.
Smellerbee tasted nausea in the back of her throat and scowled. Don't – don't think of what might be. This would work to their favor, because without Pestle, Mortar would fight harder – either out of revenge if the former had been killed, or to sooner locate her if not. Broken limbs be damned, the young Earthbender would let out the stress and tension that the swordswoman could see building inside her and inflict it onto those who held her down. There wasn't a shortage of stone material around the dining hall; some of the cups and plates lying used and abandoned on the tables were made of clay.
Finally – clomping footsteps, heavy, leather boots treading across the wood platforms. The swagger and gait could only have been Overdweller's, a man bold and cocky enough to think himself better because he could break a ten-year-old's arm.
Smellerbee pulled the dagger from between her teeth and wedged it in a crook made by two small branches. Pressing one fist to her mouth and the palm of her other hand against the first, she began to whistle – a chirping, camouflaged message, and she saw several of the orphans tense up from around her gloves. Not all of them – some didn't understand bird calling, not yet, but that was okay. Mortar did, and Spike, and Toad and others who could fight. Enough. It was enough. The rest would just have to be on their toes.
She reached for her dagger again as the Overdweller stepped into sight. He stood at the head of the dining hall (too far away for Smellerbee to make a leaping attack at – but that might be for the better, because death-from-above moves were better for flair than tactics since left the attacker), spreading his arms wide, his greasy, thinning hair draped over the back of his neck and shoulders.
"You children are part of my ultimate vision," the Overdweller began, his voice low and nasal, quivering with – anticipation? Maybe, but denying the pinch of madness in his voice would be like looking right at Pipsqueak and telling him he was invisible. "A vision of unification. Of completion. Yes, yes – all of you, important, to me, your care giver, your savior – the only person capable of bringing you together, as one, yes yes yes!"
Insane! The man – the man was absolutely nuts. He acted like he had no motivation short of "because I want to," and that – that flippant, arrogant rationale made Smellerbee burn inside, it made that familiar white-hot fury stoke behind her eyes and under her ribs. Such audacity…!
"Those that stand in my way, they're punished, they're forced to live as slaves!" The Overdweller threw one hand back to Sneers, and Smellerbee could see the monk narrow his eyes and square his jaw. Almost a lifetime of reading Longshot made Sneers as open as a scroll: he wanted to throw those words back at the maniac holding his friends and charges hostage, because they were the ones truly being subjugated. The Overdweller's voice grew more shrill as he spoke, rising to such an octave that Smellerbee felt her gut sharpen. "I will not tolerate insolence! Unity, it is mine, I will see it, I have seen it and I will make sure it comes to pass!"
He drew a deep breath. The children kept their eyes on him, some narrowed, some wide with fear or confusion. It was just a matter of finding the right opening now.
She'd feel a lot more confident with Longshot covering her butt.
The Overdweller closed his eye for a moment, and Smellerbee thought at first the man had drifted into an austere serenity - the kind only a madman could reach - but just as quickly, it opened again, furious and quavering and his cheeks flushed brilliant red with unrestrained fury.
"Six of your kind have escaped my perfect unity, a cooking wench and five children." Folding his arms over his chest, the Overdweller took three massive strides towards the assembled youths. "I shan't suffer this indignity, no I shan't! You, yes yes yes, you children know where they are, where they've gone, and you will help me, you will or I will punish you! It is a parent's job to discipline his children when they are naughty, and not telling me where your friends have gone would make you all very, very naughty indeed, yes you would be. So...tell your kind father, the Overdweller, where they have gone so I may bring them back and finally be complete."
Ah! The opening she needed - placing her hands against her mouth again, she whistled another message. Sneers picked up on it, nodded, and said, "Stop - don't hurt them. I - I know where they went."
"Ah, he speaks, he does, he does!" The Overdweller's mouth curled into a vicious grin. He swooped over to the "shackled" Freedom Fighter, hunching down low enough to meet his gaze at eye-level. "You, I told you that you would break, and you are, I didn't even have to threaten the children's supper."
"You've barely been feeding them anyway," Sneers growled, the edge to his voice glistening and oiled, like a knife - and Smellerbee could appreciate that. The monk could act if nothing else. "You've been hogging all of our food stores for yourself and your grunts. But that's alright; Freedom Fighters are used to hunger, to us it's an old friend. We've endured seasons on rumbling bellies and rock-hard bread. Something you wouldn't know a whole lot about."
"Impoverished woes aren't my concern," the Overdweller admitted, his grin widening, brow digging lower into his head. "Now tell me where they are, tell me so I may retrieve them!"
"You have to promise you won't harm them. One of them is very sick. You kill her, and your 'perfect unity' isn't possible."
"Hmph." The older man hiked one eyebrow. "Even with your limbs stuck to this tree, you struggle for what power you can get. Fine. I shall not harm them and I shall be gentle with the ill one. Now WHERE ARE THEY?"
Sneers flashed a wicked, victorious smirk, and retorted, "Safe from you."
The Overdweller didn't have enough time to react; Sneers lashed out with his unshackled fists, both contacting under the man's jaw, sending him soaring, soaring - and then his arc peaked, his long coat flowing with him along the air's current, landing in a heap in front of the gathered Freedom Fighters.
Smellerbee slashed her dagger through the air to her left, biting clean through a rope pulled taut next to her head; it snapped apart, and spilling onto the dining hall's table cascaded a wide array of weapons - spears, swords, maces, flails, staffs, everything a combat-ready Freedom Fighter could ask for in a fighting situation, dropped from a net suspended out of sight in the leaves overhead, the best she could find without straying too far from the dining platform.
Leaping from the trees, Smellerbee's heart raced, fire flooded her veins, the wind did nothing to cool her down but that was okay, it was time, it was now, she would fight to save her Freedom Fighters and she would make this bastard pay for the pain he'd inflicted on them. She landed in a crouch, rolled, sprang back up to her feet with the impact still leaving dull throbbing pains in her ankles. Unsheathing one sword and aiming it up at the trees above, she made the rallying cry, because it was her leadership, she was in charge, and this was the chance for the Freedom Fighters to show exactly what it entailed to carry that title.
Suffering? Pain? Famine? Part of the life, part of the deal, part of the trade, and they were damn proud of it.
"Freedom Fighters!" Smellerbee shouted - her voice hoarse, but powerful, she could feel it surging through, electricity charging her muscles, giving her drive and power and command. "Take up your arms! Protect those weaker then yourselves! Drive back those who dare oppress us and give them hell for standing in our way!"
A cheer roared up from the Freedom Fighters, a goliath beast carved from living a war-stricken life. Those nearest to the table lunged for the weapons - if they could use it, they charged for the nearest of the Overdweller's lieutenants. If they couldn't use the weapons, they passed it off to the next person who could - a miniature factory, the weak aiding the strong, the strong protecting the weak, and all it had taken was the proper motivation, the right moment, and -
- and a flash of faded brown from the corner of her eyes, and she brought her sword down into a wide diagonal arc -
The Overdweller unsheathed his sword - a massive blade, a gold core shimmering against the platinum-steel edge, the tip wider than the shaft. A broadsword - a well-maintained one, something of an oddity given the slipshod condition of, well, everything else about the man. He brought it up, blocking Smellerbee's slash, using the force of impact to parry, and she could see him bringing up his empty right hand, palm flat -
- she crossed her dagger with the spring-mounted short sword in his sleeve, blocking him, pinning him, bringing her sword around proper, but he pushed off the ground, rolled over her back, tried to stick her with the broadsword -
- yelling and screaming all around and the sound of metal clashing against metal, wood on armor, stone on flesh, Mortar screaming for Pestle, Sneers spewing venomous, obscene curses, Spike calling out orders -
- sparks flying, Smellerbee dropped to the ground and brought her boot up between the man's legs. The Overdweller squealed (just like she had promised Skillet) although she may have said it out loud because all there was now was moving and moving and moving and thinking didn't happen, just react, just go, just do!
The Overdweller rolled to the side and lashed out with a crescent kick - Smellerbee brought up her wrist, blocked it at the ankle, and saw a glistening sliver of metal protruding from the toe of his boot - another hidden blade. Guy fought with gimmicks in tandem with actual skill, he was good, no doubt about that, but it just meant that she had to be more careful because - he lunged, the broadsword coming up for her abdomen -
Smellerbee twisted, avoiding the blow and burying her dagger into the tendon between his thumb and forefinger, biting through the fleshy web and drawing a tiny spritz of blood. The Overdweller snarled, and she twisted the blade, digging into his fingers - more scarlet flowed, staining her already-dark knife with inky crimson, and he dropped the sword, letting it clatter to the ground. Smellerbee leapt to her feet and kicked the sword away, sending it skittering across the wooden floor.
"You're the ostrich horse boy, aren't you? Yes, yes yes yes, you are!" The Overdweller cackled, his free hand decorated with wriggling trails of blood; clenching it into a fist, he struck, and - and the world went white for a second, she cursed herself, should have expected him to do something like that, he'd beaten Sneers unarmed, so dumb - she landed, rolled, her dagger gone from her hand, but she still had her sword in the other - pushed herself up, but the Overdweller came at her again, kicking her in the jaw - no dagger hidden in the boot this time, or else - that'd have been it, right, but she still hurt, so she couldn't be dead -
Dizzy, she pressed her free hand into the floor and propped a knee beneath herself - but the Overdweller, the bastard could move, his gait long and full of a sudden, mad grace that shouldn't have been possible for a middle-aged guy - Smellerbee couldn't get her sword up fast enough, so she dropped back down, pushing to the side, swinging in a low arc as she rolled, trying to - to at least clip his calf or something, but he jumped, he leapt over the attack and landed in a crouch, grabbing up his broadsword and lunging. "I'll make you regret trying to ruin my unity! My vision, my destiny, yes yes yes you will pay for your crime! My law, my perfection, has no tolerance for your kind! Your blood will flow and these children will be disciplined!"
"Shut up!" Smellerbee grunted, deflecting the blow, the impact jarring her wrist, and she pushed him away, lumbering back to her feet. Her stomach, chin throbbed, and she could taste coppery blood welling up around her tongue. "You're obnoxious, and just for your information, I'm a girl!" She dove for him, sword whirling around in front of her, moving like a great black whip, almost, that's what it looked like, and he rose his sword to parry -
- but he was gone, so suddenly, landing in a heap at the head of the dining hall's table, and there was Sneers and and and Smellerbee couldn't stop in time -
The monk yelled and leapt away, clutching his arm, a gash torn through his sleeve. Blood seeped out between his fingers, but - slowly, not much, and his face twisted into a snarling mask of anger. "What the hell are you doing?" He bellowed, and she could feel his hot breath on her face.
And she was yelling back, before she knew it, because because because how dare he blame her? "Screw you, Sneers! I had him! You're the one that jumped in and put yourself in the way!"
"You say that, but how do I know you weren't just trying to make jerky outta me?"
She should have punched him. Or sliced his again (the wound couldn't have been more than skin-deep, because she saw his fingers working on that arm, as if he were keeping from making a fist and it took all his effort). "Because," she responded, terse and quivering and struggling so much to keep her fire in check, "like you or not, I still respect you and I need your help. We're Freedom Fighters. Don't forget that."
"I'm a Freedom Fighter. So are the others." Sneers turned away from her, releasing his arm, and, yes, the wound was shallow, it would sting but it would also heal and that was good. "You turned your back on that."
"I brought it with me," she hissed, stepping up beside him and glaring at the Overdweller. The man, dazed, had been working to find his footing - and he managed to get upright, his broadsword lost to the fight somewhere, but - but a glaive lay unused at the table, and he reached for it, pulling it up and pointing it at the bickering Freedom Fighters. "Jet and Longshot and I. You're a jerk for questioning that, and I'll prove you wrong. Just be careful next time you see me taking a swing at that asshole."
"Same goes from me to you," Sneers growled, stooping down low and snorting. He rushed at the Overdweller, their respite cut short, and the Overdweller cackled, a high, reedy, nasal sound that grated Smellerbee's innards like rough sandpaper. He thrust the glaive, which Sneers juked away from, then brought up the spring-loaded sword to bear, but the monk had prepared for that as well, made to body check the lunatic - but, the knee, he didn't see the knee coming, and Sneers stumbled away clutching his abdomen. Smellerbee howled, charging around the Overdweller in a wide arc, springing off the trunk of a tree to get some air - and, and, the Overdweller twisted, grabbed her by the tunic, and threw her into the ground next to Sneers, her head bouncing off the wood - world turned red for a moment, sound got funny -
"You will not beat me!" The Overdweller howled, standing over the fallen Freedom Fighters and raising the glaive up high. "I have known of this place, these, these children, for over a decade! The Spirits came to me, they did, yes, oh yes, they came to me and gave me a vision! A vision of unity, they came, they planted it in my head, I was destined to bring them together, to be one, to rest under my command, my law, my purview! I will provide the children the parental influence you could never have!"
"Hfff..." Smellerbee wheezed and struggled to get to her feet again - but she couldn't get her limbs to work, her head still thrummed from striking the wood - the Overdweller crossed over to her too fast, too fast, and knee found jaw, her teeth clicking together, and she was - rolling, crashed against the chair with dragon-wound legs, bowling it over.
"I will realize my destiny!" The Overdweller continued, and she heard Sneers cry out - but her vision, it didn't, didn't align properly, she blinked and shook her head but she couldn't see right - then, the sound of metal digging into flesh, a unique, wet, low sound that she had grown so familiar with over the years - "I will self-actualize! I will unite and become full, ascending, beyond the planes, beyond the trees, beyond the planet itself! I shall become, yes, I shall exist! I will join the stars in their greatness, having made the perfect completion!"
Smellerbee grabbed onto the chair, her fingers trembling as they closed around the armrest. She buried the tip of her sword into the floor, used it as leverage - stood up, finally, but she swayed, her legs not, not functioning quite right, she needed just a little more time to readjust -
"You're - hck - a dumbass," She hissed, spitting a shimmering, maroon loogey down to her feet. She saw Sneers, lying on the ground, conscious but still, the spring-loaded knife stuck in his arm - freed from the Overdweller's sleeve. "You're a slave to your destiny - you're letting it blind you, instead of letting it set you free. Even if you were to achieve it, then what would happen? You'd have forty-plus children to starve and torture. That does you about as much good as a sky bison that can't fly. The Spirits may have given you a vision of unity, but you've turned so ignorant to it that you've failed to realize that it's already happened."
The Overdweller stopped. His eye went wide and his mouth, a big, expressive thing, turned downward into a furious scowl. "What? How dare - "
Smellerbee pointed behind him, and the Overdweller turned, turned to face - the orphans, the Freedom Fighters, facing him, defiance on their youthful faces, blood smattering some, but all were alive and well and not a single one of the bandits remained standing. Mortar headed up the group, her expression dark, vengeful, and she held up her good hand, a plate whirling through the air above her hand, her fingers constantly flexing and moving and turning.
"We've always had to struggle to get by," Smellerbee continued, feeling her senses coming back to her, and she uprooted her sword with a little effort. "We are Freedom Fighters, and that is the way of our life. Nobody else will watch out for us, so we have to watch out for each other. And by you coming here, attempting to realize the hollow figure of your destiny through madness, you've pulled us back together after a season and a half of bein' apart." As she spoke, Sneers' gaze moved to her; he began clambering to his feet, slowly, a frown of disbelief on his jaw like week-old lettuce. "Even in the face of insurmountable odds, we won't back down!" Raising her free hand up to the boughs of crimson leaves overhead, fingers splayed, reaching high, she felt lightning course through her - the power, this power, she'd only felt inklings of it when leading Longshot into battle between Ba Sing Se and here, but that had been nothing by comparison. Charisma overflowed from her, her chest swollen and itching and and and it just felt right, it felt natural, she was not Jet's lieutenant anymore, she was Crimson-Faced Smellerbee, leader of the Freedom Fighters! Pulse throbbing in harmony to the energy around her, she felt her face tighten into a ferocious grin. "Freedom Fighters, attack!"