Eternity

Part 6

By Mieren

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Kenji peeked nervously at the sky and the bolt of living energy that passed from his view at a horrifying pace. Cehir had dropped to the ground and returned to the sky just as suddenly, his shroud of illusion fading in his determination to get somewhere quickly. Something had upset him visibly, and that couldn't be anything Kenji really wanted to hear about. Anything that terrified an outlander, or the equivalent of one, was something that he most definitely did not want to meet.

"What is it?" Mouri asked softly, peeking up at the sky a moment too late.

"Cehir just went flying that way like a bat out of hell," Kento murmured, nearly scaring the elf out of his metallic skin. Mouri hadn't even heard him approaching. He had always hated trying to keep up with the elementals.

"Something scared him," Kenji breathed. Cehir's strength was something he had never seen equaled other than by a few of his siblings. For something to have frightened him that badly, it must have been powerful. He shook his head and sunk back into the cave opening. "We should find somewhere else to hide. Had he not been in such a hurry, we would have been spotted."

"And even with that good fortune, you still have been."

Rune and Terru leapt in front of the group immediately, enchanted weapons held ready. Rightfully terrified, Kenji and Mouri initiated spells of their own and held them ready, though neither of them moved to attack. Sage moved almost as quickly, snapping open a portal behind them and pushing everyone else through, deaf to their protests that they could fight. His efforts succeeded in getting absolutely no one through. Shin evaded his grasp and charged to the front lines beside the two youko to face a tall figure cloaked in shadow. Surprisingly, the lithe form only leaned against the rock face at the opening of the cave, making no aggressive moves. Shin froze, instantly recognizing the outline of the face before him.

"Menderren," Mouri spat, strengthening the spell he held in his hands to a level that burned his mind to maintain. Shin stepped in front of him, blocking his path of attack as he faced the tall form at the cave entrance.

"Father," he said softly.

The visage that still retained so much of Touma within the harshly etched features softened slightly. Menderren pushed the shadows away from himself and faced them directly. He shocked everyone by abandoning his outlander form and shifting back into a human. Slight tips from four horns still peeked from under bushy hair, and it was that one feature that Mouri and Kenji watched closely. Emotions warred across his face from hatred to resentment.

"Find somewhere better to hide and learn to shield your powers," Menderren muttered, turning away from the shocked group. He raised one hand to his head as though it caused him great pain to do so. "Next time, I won't be so lenient."

Shaking his head blearily, he turned away and vanished. Kenji crossed his arms and smiled nervously as the dark form disappeared into thin air.

"Shielded and controlled or not, Touma put up quite a struggle," Kenji chuckled mirthlessly. Mouri nodded in agreement.

"We haven't lost him yet."

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Neris leaned against the nearest wall, fighting his desire to pound his head against the smoothly carved stone. Both he and Siellon had been listening to the distant battles for days now and were going absolutely stark raving mad. It was bad enough knowing that their friends were fighting for their lives, but to just watch from afar and do nothing was tearing at their minds. They knew that it was useless to intervene, neither of them possessing the power needed to fight, but it didn't allay their guilt. Twice now, they had felt the tearing pain of loss, Touma's and Mieren's presence disappearing from their minds altogether.

Sighing loudly, Neris pulled himself away from the wall and moved towards a corner of the house where he stored various odds and ends, none of which he ever used. He wrapped the tips of his fingers around a dusty metal trunk and pulled fiercely. The metal scraping along the stone floor let out a piercing squeal, nearly causing Siellon to jump out of his skin.

"What are you doing?" the dark elf demanded.

"Help me with this," Neris muttered, heaving the trunk another few inches with another hair-raising shriek.

Grumbling to himself about useless chores, Siellon gave in and yanked the trunk into the center of the room with a simple ripple of telekinetic powers. Neris threw him an irritated look and turned back to the corner.

"So what's so special about the trunk?" Siellon asked suddenly, pulling at the lid uselessly for a moment. He was about to use another blast of magical energies to open the heavy lid when he saw that Neris was still poking around in the corner. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for something," Neris muttered absently. He prodded the dusty floor carefully, forming intricate patterns in the dust with his fingers. Siellon almost asked him again when a small section of the floor slid off to the side, revealing a compartment barely large enough for Neris to fit his hands into. He pulled back with a small leather pouch heavily covered in stains in his dusty fingers with a resigned look on his face.

"I know I'm going to regret asking, but what is that?"

Neris glanced at his best friend silently. His mind was racing with possibilities. What if it was too soon to use what had been given to him so long ago? What if it was too late for these efforts to work? He had been given vague instructions when he was but a child and he remembered so little of what he had been told. Swallowing thickly, he pulled the closing string at the top open gently and allowed the contents of the leather bag to spill into his waiting hand. Seven small orbs rested in his trembling fingers, dried blood concealing their once incredible luster. Siellon gasped in recognition and stepped back, eyes widening with disbelief.

"Are those…"

Neris nodded and carefully replaced the contents back into the long untouched bag, tying the loose ends with the thin string. He had prayed that he would never need use them, but he had known better. For his whole life, he had known. Now, the day he had feared approaching had arrived and he had to leave. He tucked the bag into a small pouch at his belt and moved to complete his mission.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

Siellon blinked at him in confusion, unable to understand why his friend was apologizing. Neris clenched his fists in frustration and moved towards the door, leaving his friend staring after him in utter bafflement. Before the dark elf could move to follow, Neris pivoted on his toes and slammed one heel into his best friend's temple. Siellon crumpled to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Neris whispered again. "But I knew you wouldn't stay behind and you can't follow me." He swallowed thickly and hung his head. For years now he had seen visions of what would happen. Images of blinding powers and inconceivable battles hung in his mind. "I'm not coming back."

Knowing that it would be useless, he strapped his sword to his waist and hung a bow and full quiver over his shoulder. Despite the warmth of the weather outside, he pulled a full cloak over his slender form, using its swirled shades of greens and browns to disappear into the trees. In a few days, he would reach his destination and at the same time, his fate.

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Menderren sighed loudly and scrubbed his hands through his hair roughly, fingers catching slightly on the four short horns decorating his scalp. He knew they were necessary, but that didn't keep them from hurting. The pain became unbearable at times, crippling his mind and rational thoughts. He remembered cornering nine of those that his aunt was so desperately hunting, but he had simply walked away. He had them overpowered and off-guard, none of the truly dangerous warriors with them. They had been alone. Helpless.

A faint rustling interrupted his dark thoughts. Blind to the world around him, a single figure staggered wearily in the direction Menderren had just come from. His wounds were extensive, many of which should have killed him long ago. He paused several times in his slow trek to the south, arguing softly with someone that Menderren could neither see nor hear. Blood coated every inch of his body and left a clear trail of where he had been. Menderren scoffed at his lumbering movements. From the direction he had come from, he had been the one that had scared Cehir so badly. Dead on his feet, he still forced himself to move onwards for a few steps before collapsing to the ground.

When he didn't get up, Menderren wandered over to the limp form and used one toe to flip the still figure onto his back. His eyes widened and he laughed to himself. He should have known it was Cye. No wonder Cehir had chosen to leave. His silver-haired brother wasn't ready to face his past. Either that, or he still didn't wish to believe what he knew to be a fact. Menderren grinned ruefully at the latter possibility. No one had explicitly told him, but he obviously knew the truth though reluctant to accept it even though he had admitted it once already.

Not objecting to the opportunity granted him, he wrapped his fingers around the mangled neck. A weak heartbeat fluttered beneath his fingers, slowing further with each passing second. Cye's jaw quivered weakly as he fought for breath that would not come. Frowning darkly, Menderren unclenched his wiry fingers and sat down cross-legged beside the man who was probably as old or older than himself. His head throbbed fiercely, a sense of injustice washing over his mind.

"Not sporting to kill you while you're unconscious," he snorted. "It's really no fun that way." He prodded Cye roughly in the side. "Wake up."

"The sport you play is far from bold. It's not a match if he's out cold."

"Need I even ask?" Menderren called out languidly. A sudden twisted mirth appeared on his sharp features. "Come out to play, O little one. Then you and I can have some fun." The following pause was all he needed to know that he had struck a nerve with his invisible observer. The taunting rhymes could go both ways.

"The first immortal cannot die. But you, young one, are going to fry."

Menderren spun on his butt where he sat and looked around expectantly. Still seeing no sign of the obviously irked outlander, he took another blind stab. He was having too much fun to relent so soon.

"Ugly, old and very slow, you are a pathetic foe."

Again there was a pause. Menderren waited eagerly for the response, already amused. His siblings had always thought it a drag to tease their opponents before combat, but he thought it great fun. He could sense the outlander hiding just outside of his grasp, effectively hidden within the dimension's shadow. The undisguised irritation of the massive force watching him continued to increase. He could feel it, taste it even.

"Your tongue's sharp words I shall not heed. Your mind lacks the matching speed," the deep voice replied. Translation: A battle of wits and he had come unarmed. Menderren nearly collapsed laughing. He had never thought to see the day when an outlander would lose his temper enough to exchange insults. It just was not done.

Still giggling, he prepared to spout off another retort, pausing when he noticed that Cye had disappeared from behind him. He frowned in disconcertion. Cye had been unconscious and crippled, hadn't he? There was absolutely no way he could have moved, let alone without being heard.

"I have what I want and now shall go. Still you call me old and slow?"

Menderren leapt to his feat and stepped away from the source of the outlander's voice. His eyes flicked towards where Cye had lain, his spinning mind only then registering that the stream of blood the man had been trailing didn't extend from where he had fallen. The outlander had taken him back to his companions. He had intervened.

Swallowing thickly, he sprinted in a random direction, gaining as much ground as he could while casting a gateway. He had to tell the others that at least one of the outlanders had broken the ancient oath to never interfere in any war. He shivered uncontrollably as he vanished into his portal. It had been at least twenty-seven million years since his last appearance and his dimension-shaking punishment, and now Zairian had left the outlands once more.

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Mouri nearly jumped out of his skin when a familiar visage appeared beside him and slung a companionable arm around his shoulders, though he had to stoop greatly to accomplish that position, his seven feet dwarfing the elf's five. The brunette was still stuttering dumbly when the raven-haired figure began speaking.

"In coming days, for yourselves you must fare. Though I wish to help, I'll not be there," he said amiably, unaware of the stares leveled in his direction.

"My God," Kenji whispered. His eyes were nearly bulging from his head. He edged closer to a petrified Mouri and prodded the elf in the side. "Is this who…"

Unable to speak, Mouri nodded weakly. Grinning widely in blatant amusement, the raven-haired figure turned to face the gawking cluster of people behind him. Kenji swallowed thickly and stepped back. He was not the only one to retreat a few paces from the lithe figure. Though he knew of and greatly respected the man, seeing him was something altogether different. For the first time ever, he was awarded a full view of the second type of outlander.

Standing at a little over seven feet high was a creature that almost looked like a gaunt man who had never seen the sun. Every vein and artery showed clearly through his translucent skin. Black orbs shone eerily from gently slanted eyes, neither whites nor irises present in the crystalline obsidian. Perfectly straight onyx hair hung in silken sheets to his waist, not a strand tangled or out of place. Behind him, enormous feathery wings were folded against his black cloak, the raven feathers making the cloth seem almost light by comparison. His hands were mostly hidden by the billowing sleeves that fell just short of covering his long fingers. Supple boots were similarly covered by the loose folds of cloth. Noticing and rather enjoying the dumbfounded and worried looks he was receiving, he grinned widely at his audience, flashing his pronounced canines. He was about to speak when Shin leapt forward from the shocked group, the boy's stupefaction dissolving in his anger.

"Where is my brother?" Shin yelled. Terru choked on his tongue and fumbled to silence the youth by sheer force, slapping one hand over Shin's mouth. Shin bit him, hard, but the youko leader did not loosen his grip. Everyone tensed, expecting the worst. To their utter surprise and relief, the outlander only grinned wider.

"If you seek the first immortal, then claim him from the outland's portal," he chuckled. Only mystified looks answered him when he unfurled one massive wing. Still receiving no response, he shrugged and swiveled his wing slightly to hold it parallel with the earth. Immediately, a figure cloaked in blood appeared from the obsidian feathers, slipping unhindered from seemingly nowhere to collapse onto the ground.

Recognizing the battered form immediately, Shin struggled to free himself from Terru's fierce grip. Not escaping quickly enough for his liking, he cracked one elbow into the youko behind him, hitting an extremely sensitive area in his blind jab. Terru immediately let go and fell back, his eyes more than slightly crossed.

"Cye!" Shin called out miserably, collapsing beside his older brother. He looked up at the outlander with wide eyes. "Is he…"

"Your brother lives, by my hands. He's not the next to leave these lands," the outlander said in a soft baritone. He unfurled his other wing, pausing for a moment. He turned to Mouri, who paled and stepped back. "Though I shall not yet help your cause, I can still bend a few of our laws."

Still not able to draw anyone into conversation, he shook his head ruefully and slipped one pale hand into his wing. His fingers turned misty and vanished as they contacted the onyx plumage, disappearing into nothingness. He pulled his hand free a moment later, a small jingling bag clenched in his slender fingers. He tossed the leather satchel to Mouri in a gentle arc, chuckling again when the elf fumbled clumsily in snagging it out of the air. The elfin sorcerer blinked in shock.

"My runes," he murmured, looking up blankly. The outlander smiled.

"While the single runes are great fun, you cannot fight with only one. If you wish them to better function, then I suggest you use them in conjunction," he offered helpfully. "Play their weakness as you will. Entwining powers will surely kill."

Not waiting for or apparently wanting a response, he unfurled his wings to their full extent and folded them about his slender frame. He immediately sank into the oblivion of the voids within the onyx feathers, shrinking to nothingness before their eyes. His wings inverted on themselves and disappeared into the waiting outlands. Silence reigned absolutely for a few seconds after his disappearance before Cale mustered the nerve to speak.

"Was that…" he trailed off, still stumbling over his own tongue. Kenji and Mouri seemed to understand what he had intended to ask and nodded slowly.

"He's the outlander we've been expecting to show for some time," Mouri answered quietly. "It looks as though he's been helping us for awhile now."

Kenji nodded in agreement, the look of trepidation on his face shifting into one of consideration and finally into hope.

"After all of these years, Zairian walks again."

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To Be Continued…

Just wait. I promise that it is going to get stranger. Just wait till the sixth story. R&R!