DISCLAIMER: I don't own the quotes or Ultimate Spider-Man. I do own my OC's and the idea.
Chapter 3: Into the Mists
"Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Grandmother Time had known for a long time about Lilly Rand-Kai. She had first set eyes on the child many years before coaxing her into the darkness of the unknown. Time knew that this child was the key to many hearts, and that this was her sole opportunity to set up her great, sorrowful plan. It had to be done, after all. There was no other way to repair the damage caused. She sighed; all of these lives put into ruins just so she could fix the mess that her husband had created.
…...
Lilly's POV
The rest of the day, Dad slept. He told me that he owed me an explanation, but that now wasn't the time. In spite of his wounds (which he refused to show me the severity of), Dad said to me that we would leave tonight, and that I had the rest of the day to pack.
I had the whole day to pack. Yet it is already noon, and I have barely started. Dad listed off a few necessities, specifying what I could and could not bring. I take matters of life and death seriously, especially when it is my family at stake. One mishap could kill us all at this point.
He said that I would have to wear all black, to better blend in, but to also pack 'normal' clothes. I already changed into leggings, a tank top, fall jacket, boots, and a 'ninja' mask. I know what we're doing, and why. Just like before, my only bag will be a black backpack.
Inside of it, I resignedly stuff stiff, unworn jeans and a white blouse. Those will do for street wear. I also slip in my yoga clothes, because after so long, I would feel empty without them. Other than that, I pack a water bottle, credit card, toiletries, and my sole gilded knife. When Mom left K'un L'un with me, she forced me to conceal a dagger beneath my coat at all times, in case we were separated. Despite having trained with it for as long as I can remember, I have never had to use it.
I change my mind, slipping the knife under my jacket, where I can easily grab it in times of need. Ava and Peter don't even know that I have it, because my training (alongside many other things) was always a secret to them, a portion of my past that I constantly glazed over as though everything could possibly be nothing. As if I had forgotten what it meant to be of my blood, of my faith, that I had no duties, and was only a young teenage girl, lost in her own little soap opera. Like I had no substance to my existence, that my sole purpose was to wait patiently for my family's return, which may never happen.
From the time I was born, I have been raised with a purpose. Whatever my parents may want for me, however much they love and care for me, no matter what others may think, I have a duty, a destiny waiting for me. I always have, and I always will. The only option is to fulfill the prophecies. I have no choice in the matter. We all know this. Even though we may pretend otherwise, it is simply a facade that I can 'live' as an average person.
That's why I can't make friends. Not like most children my age, because I am no child. Mom and Dad have detested the journey foretold for me for as long as I can remember, but their hatred won't change anything—nor will mine, for that matter. I can only accept what I must do.
Maybe Dad is still pretending. After all, I don't need to Leave until I am twenty-five—over a decade away. Pretending is easier, simpler than accepting the inevitable, because harsh truths that are denied hurt much less than silly, unpractical excuses which one knows deep down will expire one day. One fateful, horrific day.
Later...
I thought that saying goodbye to Ava and Peter would be easy. Goodbyes are always hard, though, and this one is no exception. Not that they actually know that we are leaving. No, Dad and I slip out of the door while Ava and Peter are in the kitchen.
The street outside is dark, and quiet, yet it pulses with life. Shadows seem to move, and Dad breaks into a run. I dash after him, my heart pounding in my chest. My feet make a soft pattering noise against the pavement, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a knife just miss my heel.
The Karanlık Savaşçı are relentless in their chase. Their next knife will not miss. They only miss when they want to, and this was to scare me. Their eyes seek the quivering of prey, lusting for untainted blood, whimpers from an innocent child, and the Savs—as those who commonly associate with such traitors refer to them—are merciless. Rejected by the monks, they wander Earth, searching for those lost people who will be lured into their paths of darkness by want of power, blood, money, or revenge. Savs seek revenge on all that exists for the sin of existing.
I see the streets of New York City lain before me, a winding maze to my foreign mind. Dad whisks around to face the Savs, fighting hand to hand with them. One jerks my shirt, and I immediately jump into a fighting stance, ready for its next strike. A hand darts out, and I parry with ease. Back and forth, a small youth spars me.
It is inexperienced, but I am out of practice. Scum, I want to shout to the world, but my tongue is heavy. In this black night, its attire—traditional "ninja" clothing—blends into the shadows, yet mine does in the same way, giving neither of us a particular advantage. Suddenly, I land a solid roundhouse kick to its head, and my foot catches on the thin fabric, tearing its mask away.
Shocked pale, icy blue eyes stare at me. It is a he. This is strange—putting a face, a person behind my enemy. It's so much easier to just blindly fight, without any notion of the story behind your opponent. Now I know there is an actual person in this costume, with a name, family, and life. He is young, around my age, with pale, freckled skin and fiery red hair that curls defiantly.
Then I remember. It wants to kill me. My hands shoot out in a quick jab-cross-hook-cut kick combination before it can blink, and it falls to the pavement with a soft oof. Dad gestures to me, and I hastily follow him. We don't care about the Savs—the only reason we're still standing here is to see if any HYRDA agents show up.
A funny feeling lingers in the pit of my stomach, a nervous, fluttery feeling that I push away as quickly as possible. Those icy eyes haunt me, full of mystery.
Dad places a hand on my shoulder, nodding his head at the dark car cruising down the street. We hail a taxi. The fluttering is replaced by repulsion at the jerky movements of the vehicle, and my dinner swishes around. Dad urges the driver (who, surprisingly, doesn't seem too shocked by our attire) to hurry. Normally, Dad is calm even in the most desperate of situations, but now—
My thoughts are cut off by a harsh screeching noise, and there is a faint hissing noise from the air vents as a green cloud looms before us. The world seems hazy, and I slump forward into unconsciousness.
…...
Somebody shakes me, and I blink heavily. The world comes into focus, and I see that I am still in the taxi, slumped over in my seat. Behind Dad, a tall, thin, rosy-cheeked woman stands. She reminds me of a tree, seeming to branch out in a warm, welcoming sort of way. Her light brown hair, bright blue-gray eyes, and earth-toned clothing don't exactly contradict such a description, either. She seems mature, yet only a few years older than me.
"Child," she murmurs, "are you okay?"
I nod, slowly, and hop out of the car. Who is this woman?
As though she can hear me, she says, "My name is Alice, but please, call me Ali. I am your aunt, your mother's younger sister."
My dad stares at her. "You shouldn't be here. What about the—"
Ali presses her finger to her lips, shushing him. Her other hand brushes over her stomach. "Shh. Don't worry. I am fine." Somehow, her voice is calm and soothing, even motherly; something to cling to, something with a vague tinge of familiarity.
"Where is—"
"Dead." Ali's eyes glisten with tears. "The Savs took his life, like so many others, but Danny—he left for a worthy cause."
"He should not have had to die."
"That doesn't change the fact that he did. You know that, Rand." Ali shakes her head. "Somebody's always going to get left behind. That's just the way things are. If you're the person walking away for whatever reason, you're okay, because you're moving on. But if you're the one left behind—there's not much you can do. I mean, you can run after them, but you'll never catch up, just stumble and fall, and nobody will be there to help you up. You can stand there, waiting for the rest if your life. Or you can wave a hearty 'goodbye for now, see you again soon', and choose your own path."
"Fortune cookie's must run in the family," Peter remarks, stepping forward. He's dressed in his Spider-Man costume, and Ava, in her White Tiger uniform, stands beside him.
"Where is Abigail?" Danny says slowly. "And Jacob?"
Ali smiles sadly. "Sofia's on her little killing spree again. I think she might be plotting something, but I can't explain here. Ian is missing. Abby is... angry with you. She doesn't understand what's going on, so she left. Last time I checked her blog, she was in Spain, heading for Paris. Jacob is wherever Em is. I think they took him too." She shrugs playfully. "At least I've got you and Lilly, though!"
"So no family reunion?" Peter asks. Ava casts a spiteful glare in his direction.
"Nope," Ali sighs. "Where are—"
"No more questions," Dad says firmly. "We either can run or be arrested at this point." I glance at the approaching police officers (who cower behind their guns).
"I'm voting for the run, then," Peter gulps.
Ali grins at that. "Race ya." To my chagrin, she scoops me up, and takes off running faster than should be physically possible. Her long, loping legs seem to leap from the sidewalk, as though she is bouncing along or moon-walking, and we quickly leave the others behind. In the distance, I can hear shooting.
At last, she sets me down on the ground, a lopsided smile plastered to her face. Her cheeks glow a healthy pink, and her eyes sparkle mischievously. "Fun, right?"
I shake my head in disbelief. How can one have fun at a time like this, when everything everyone has ever known and cared about is at stake? This is greater than any single person's life—this is the simple reality known as existence on the line! A minute later, the others have caught up to us.
"Hey, Pete, Ben said he misses you, ya know. Same for you, Tiger," Ali says.
Peter's eyes widen. "He's okay, right?"
"Yup. He loved the truck you got him for his birthday, you know. And don't worry, I got him a 'baby sitter' before I left," she laughs.
He stares at Ali longingly. For once, Peter has nothing to say. Ava puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing him gently, as though her mere touch should comfort him of whatever he misses so dreadfully. Dad watches them knowingly.
"None of you are coming. This is our battle, not yours. You have another war to fight here," Dad says softly. My heart beats faster. Our battle. He means that it's mine too, not just his, and somehow, that makes me feel better. Like I'm more than just a thirteen year old girl, as if I could possibly be of some assistance to him in any way. Then it occurs to me that I'm helping him cope by simply being me, by being his last bit of family.
"No war, no greed, that would be something to see," I whisper to myself.
"What?" Peter asks, kneeling down next to me.
I stare at the sidewalk, wishing I was home again, playing in the valleys between the mountains, young and carefree as a child is supposed to be. "I heard it on the radio. It's called 'Something to See', by Tracy Chapman." I pause for a moment, closing my eyes and replaying the song inside of my head. "They count the targets and the bombs, but they do not count the dead. They do not count the dead." True words, and I can see they hit the same sore place in Peter's heart as they do mine; even though his face is concealed by his mask, I can hear the emotion in his words.
"Well, there's been war as long as humans have been here so—"
I dare to interrupt him. "No war, no greed, that would be something to see. I hope I live that long."
Hope. The word echoes through my mind. All I have left is hope. Hope that Mom is okay, that she's alive, that we can rescue her. Hope that these politicians will change their minds when they see the err of their ways. Hope that my friends and family will be all right. Hope that everything will be okay.
That's a lot resting on hope. When the odds are all against you. Then again, the odds were against my mother, and look at how far she has made it. All I need to do is look around.
Dad's voice jolts me from my thoughts. "Lilly, I will be back soon. I promise. Just wait a minute. Only a little bit longer, kız." He starts to walk away, and I want to run after him, but Ali holds me back. I angrily try to kick her, but she simply shifts her weight, avoiding my blows. Screaming, crying for him to come back, to wait for me, but it is to no avail. My voice is hoarse, and my teary eyes, I see the shape of a retreating figure. His head is held high, and his shoulders are set, then he turns a corner, and I lose sight of him.
"He left me." My words are rough and sting, like sandpaper rubbing against an open wound. "He left me. I've been waiting for him for years to bring me home again, and when he finally comes to get me, he abandons me."
Never before have I used the word abandoned to refer to my parents. It's true, though. Dad just left me for whatever fate decides to do with me. Ali lets me go, and I stumble forward, trying to catch up with him. It is impossible, something inside of me knows, but I can't accept that he would do this to me. Not after so long. Yet time is unforgiving; I will never get back those years I spent in limbo, wasted on waiting for him.
I trip, and clumsily tumble to the sidewalk. My hands are raw and bleeding against the coarse sidewalk, but I don't care. Tears spatter the surface, mixing with the steady raindrops now pattering down. Even the sky cries for me.
A wrinkly hand offers to help me stand again, but I don't take it. "Child, do not cry. All who we love leave us eventually. It is apart of the rhythm of life." I look up, into an elderly lady's face. She has sharp gray eyes, and pure white hair pulled back into a messy bun. Black and gold robes are draped over her frail body, but despite her apparent age, her voice is unwavering and strong.
"He'll... he'll come back," I say thickly through my tears. Deep down, I don't believe those hopeful words; there cannot possibly be any sunlight, no gleaming rays of hope, in this storm of war.
"Sadece Zaman gösterecek. Ve Büyükanne Zaman."
My eyes widen in disbelief as she speaks my native language, that which only tongues of paradise may utter. Only Time will tell. And I am Grandmother Time. How can this be—?
The lady laughs. "Zaman hayatta bir sürpriz, değil mi? Bu bir mevcut veya geçmiş ile işgal bir iken üzerinde sinsi bir alışkanlığı var."
"Sen sadece konuşmak," I whisper.
"Ah, evet! Biz K'un L'un cenneti çocukları vardır için! Kalp, ruh bir saf görmek, ve savaş arasında burada akla minnetle bir doldurur. Lilly, Kral Daniel Thomas Rand-Kai ve Kraliçe Emmaline Carlson Rand-Kai çocuk gel. Bu büyüklük gidecek." She extends her hand once more, and I take it. Suddenly, we are shrouded by mists, with no clear way. She leads me into the mists, away forever.
...
A/N: Sorry for the long wait! * Facepalm * It's been really busy around here; my parents just bought a business & have needed me to help a lot, hence the delay. Plus I had to make sure it was a chapter of fair quality, without any looming mistakes in the plotline that will come back to bite me later.
THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS:
Nerdy-Tomboy: * bites lip * We-ell, though I must agree on the 'too-cute-to-get-hurt' part I'm afraid it was a necessary part of the plotline... and for the 'chopping-up-etc.-whoever-did-it' portion, you may not want to do that yet...
DannyLover99: ;-) Indeed, he is. Did I ever tell you that I really like your pen name?
Hamster1000: Well, my genius sister, then WHY on earth did you need to interrupt me every five seconds while I was writing/editing/posting this? I know you're not too happy about the delay, but, come on, was it worth it?
TheOnyxDragon12: [Chapter 1] 1) Not quite. 2) Indeed, it does. 3) XD Small world or what? 4) Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. İs a government agency. Tyrant? As far as the reasoning, I can't spoil that quite yet. I assure you that Nick Fury is completely alive, though still missing an eye. [Chapter 2] * hysterical laughter * Oh, yes, EXTRAORDINARILY valuable information... Yeah, bad choice of words there; in my defense: A) At the very moment, it was her biggest concern, sort of; B) I hadn't finished the plotline. Hence the gaping holes in my storyline.
leggo lover 99: Hold your horses! That actually may be coming up quite soon. ;-)