Before you read this chapter, I just want to say thanks for reading this. I mean, I know that this Fandom is extremely small, so it really means a lot to me when I actually see people reading my works, not to mention favouriting and reviewing them. So thanks, it really gives me more reason to continue writing, especially since, as you've probably guessed from my erratic uploads, i don't do regularly.
"Now the next chapter, you know that bandage The Kid has wrapped around his left hand and wrist? Well... it's certainly not a pleasant story..."
Zia looked up at me eagerly. "Well? Go on! Continue the story!" I returned her gaze, and spoke slowly and solemnly. "This next part Zia, it's not all fun and games like my other stories. This impacted The Kid's life more than he would like to admit."
I met her curious gaze unflinchingly. "Imagine being his age, 11 at the time, already served 1 year out of 5 on The Walls, and having something like what I'm about to tell you happen, right before your eyes, helpless to do anything."
I rubbed my temple in discomfort. This was not going to go well.
"I bet you wonder why the kid is always moody, right? Is always serious? Well, that's all down to this memory. It all starts with The Kid being abruptly woken by a rather unfriendly voice…"
For his first year, The Kid was sent to the southern section of the Walls, or more precisely, the part defending the forges, where all of the weapons, tools and metalwork for the city were made. This of course, was the section of the city that was the furthest away from the Tazal Terminals, so that the Ura would have had the least amount of chance to get control of our superior technology and weapons during the war.
Sure, the war had long since ended by this time, but you can't exactly up and move whole forges now can you?
So, because of this, all new recruits are sent there to learn the rules of The Walls, and to receive training for building and defending them. The best place to train someone is away from all the action, after all.
Course, The Kid had already proven his worth as a natural fighter and Mason worker, so Marshal Quinby privately tutored him, teaching him in the forges how to improve his hammer, refine tools and even how to make his own weapons.
Over the year that the kid was at the forges, Quinby became like a father-figure to the Kid, replacing the empty space in The Kid's life that he had never noticed. Every day, Quinby would walk into The Kid's tent with his pike standing proudly beside him, and set him a task in the forges for the day.
However, on the day this story starts, things happened a little differently…
The Kid was sleeping soundly for the first time in the year that he had been away from his mother, until it was cut short by an aggravating tone.
"Yo, Pipsqueak! Get out here! Don't think just because Quinby has some kind of weird fascination with you I won't come in there and kick your ass out of bed!"
The Kid groaned, folding his Bedroll over his head in an attempt to block out the sound of shouting coming from outside the tent. The voice outside the tent seemed to become angrier at the inactivity inside the tent.
"Oh, let me guess! Quinby's favourite thinks he's owed a few more hours of sleep! Hah, you're just a Kid! You shouldn't even be here if you can't tolerate the working hours!"
In a flash, The Kid was dressed, with his Life-Long Friend slung across his back, rolling out of the tent and glaring at the owner of the voice.
"Uh, oh!" The man said, pretending to cower. "The princess is upset! Did I interrupt your beauty sleep? Something tells me you need it!"
The Kid merely brushed past the man without a second glance, and set off down the path to the command post of this section of The Walls.
The man was called Wyatt, and had taken a disliking to The Kid ever since he had signed up for The Walls alongside him. He seemed to take it as a personal insult that The Masons had allowed The Kid to enlist at all. He took every opportunity to state to people how it was dangerous for a 'Scrawny Child' to be on The Walls, when each Mason was supposed to watch each other's backs. The Kid knew that many of the other workers agreed with his opinion, but no one except for Wyatt dared contest the Marshals face-to-face.
Groaning mentally when Wyatt jogged a few paces to catch up to him, The Kid prepared himself for yet another lecture on how things should really be run.
Surprisingly, however, the man gave The Kid a briefing on the day so far. "Yeah, so Quinby sent me down to get you as they needed him at some temporary command post. I don't know why, he just sent a runner for me to get you, so it looks like you'll be working in the forges with the rest of us today."
He blew air out of his mouth in such a way that The Kid couldn't describe it as anything other than a 'harrumph'.
"What are you looking at me like that for? Let's face it, if you were told to go off and fetch me, you'd be pretty pissed off as well!" he exclaimed. Nodding his head and shrugging in grudging agreement, The Kid trudged down the path, the first forge rising over the horizon.
He'd nearly mastered handling the Fire Bellows, and wanted to finish with it as quick as possible. Despite his Cael heritage, which gave him a resistance to warmth, the heat in the forges was almost unbearable. The only thing that kept him from refusing to enter the building was his dedication to his last surviving family member.
His mother needed the money, and he couldn't go back to school after all this. Who would even take him back?
"So, twerp, where're you up to in your training?" Wyatt puffed out his chest, towering over The Kid and cutting off his train of thought. "I'm already improving my hammer with Something Heavy."
He paused, furrowing his brow. "Not exactly sure what the material is, but whatever. The point is that I'm obviously further than you." He smirked in triumph. "You need to keep up, Kiddo!"
The Kid merely rolled his eyes. Wyatt, for some reason, always thought of their training as a competition, as if there was a prize for the best man and the very end. It was like the fellow Mason was personally pushing him, trying to get him riled up.
Rubbing some sleep from his eyes, The Kid trudged forward to the nearest Forge, sliding his Cael Hammer off his back and setting it in the weapons rack at the entrance. No one was allowed to bring any tools into the building that weren't already provided at the workstations.
There had been an incident during The War where a Caelondian traitor attempted to hold a forge hostage with a pair of duelling pistols. After the body had been retrieved from the smoke filled structure, The Authorities had forbidden any unauthorised implements in the Forges to prevent any future incidents.
The Kid patted the grip on the hammer in farewell. He wasn't worried about it being stolen. Lemaign blessed every Cael Hammer so that it couldn't be picked up by anyone other than the Mason it belonged to. If the Mason died before bestowing their hammer onto another, then the rest of The Masons would be able to lift it, to pass the hammer on.
As far as The Kid was concerned, he wasn't planning on dying any time soon.
Windmilling his arms to loosen up the joints, The Kid got ready for another day full of learning how to improve the various weapons he would be utilizing in the years to come.
After a morning of continuous sweating, it was finally time to eat something. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, The Kid jogged out of The Forge quickly, heading for the canteen a few minutes' walk away, where he would be able to find a quiet spot and eat his satchel of food for the day.
If he was lucky, he'd be left alone long enough that he could finish his meal quickly, and get back to mastering the Fire Bellows, so that he could move onto learning how to improve more foreign weaponry.
Despite Wyatt's utterly obnoxious way of stating it, he was right. The Kid didn't want to be left behind in training, and for someone of his age, that meant having to go the extra mile, work the extra hour, and slam his Hammer one extra time onto the nails in The Walls.
Munching contentedly on his sandwich and with his mind wandering to his mother back home, The Kid failed to notice a huge cloud picking up speed and dispersing around the various forges dotted across the landmass. One by one, the trainee Masons around The Kid looked up in horrific awe, transfixed by the swirling mass rapidly descending upon them.
Finally noticing the lull in the conversation around him, The Kid looked up apprehensively, expecting to be faced with the butt-end of a practical joke, only to be faced with a cloud so large, it blotted out the sun.
No, not a cloud.
Peckers.
The Kid jumped up frantically, his mind working feverishly on what to do. He hadn't seen this many peckers in his whole life! The Keeper damn him, he hadn't even known that this many even existed, and glancing around, it looked like his associates didn't either.
They seemed to be hypnotised by the circular motion the birds were flying in, a swirling storm directly above their heads. The Gods had finally decided to rain fury down upon them.
"Snap out of it, Kid!" Someone shouted into his ear, making him jump and shake his head vigorously, clearing his mind of such ludicrous notions. The Gods didn't interfere with the affairs of mortals, at least, certainly not at this scale.
They would have to deal with this on their own.
Twisting his head to the side of his ringing ear, The Kid found Wyatt looking at him in concern, obviously hoping to find one other person among the gormless masses staring into the now black sky to be able to hatch a plan with.
Noticing that he now had The Kid's attention, Wyatt looked up into the sky defiantly, and spoke confidently to The Kid, switching into a soldiers stance. They were no longer rivals anymore. They were colleagues who had to stay close to each other to stay alive.
"Okay, so, why are they here? Maybe if we know that, we can help them move on... Maybe they're migrating?"
Receiving a scathing look from The Kid, who jerked his head towards the direction they came from, Wyatt retracted his question. "Good point, why would they migrate east? Okay, so, maybe they're just lost, or driven from their home by something?"
Gesturing to the enormous amount of birds in the sky, The Kid widened his eyes in fear. For a few brief moments, The Kid felt like a little boy lost in an adult's world, way in over his head. He couldn't deal with this! Oh, Micia, he was going to die!
Wyatt noticed the distress flitting over The Kid's face and strode over, slapping the boy across the face without remorse.
"Suck it up, kiddo, you're a part of this now, and I can't have you checking out on me when you're one of the best fighters we have! We don't have much time left before the Caelondians realise what's going on, they attack, and all hell breaks loose! Come on Kid, you've got to help me out here!"
Hardening his face, The Kid nodded grimly. From the looks of things, he and Wyatt were all The Forges had at the moment.
Reviewing the situation in his head, The Kid attempted to come up with a plan of defence. Peckers, by nature, were merely protectors. They defended their own, and ruthlessly attacked anything they perceived as a threat, even going so far as to give up their own life in defiance of their target.
At the moment, the peckers weren't attacking, due to the Masons around them merely being in shock, doing nothing to aggravate them.
But Wyatt, once again, was right. As soon as they got over their shock; one of The Masons was going to make a false move.
Shout a little too loud, accidentally knock over something big, move in a threatening way, or even, Lemaign forbid, attack the horde directly. Almost anything could set the mob of birds off.
And after that had happened, they were going to get slaughtered.
In small numbers, peckers were merely a nuisance, and The Kid would've recommended facing them head on. But for this many… they would just have to hold some sort of defence and hope to all the Gods that the peckers decided they weren't a threat anymore, and left them alone.
The Kid was left with an impossible task. Either organize a wide-scale defence tactic that would span all of The Forges, or find and implement a God-level weapon that would obliterate the Peckers in one fell swoop.
And all he had at his disposal was a canteen of half-eaten food, a few gormless Masons that wouldn't be any use anyway, and his training rival.
Closing his eyes quickly, The Kid tried to calm down. He'd never had this many people count on him before.
Quinby was counting on him. He couldn't let him down.
Dragging himself out of his stupor, The Kid turned around to Wyatt just in time to hear a small explosion come from inside one of the largest forges in the area.
The loud blast echoed around the straight plaza the area was built on, reverberating in the air, giving The Kid a splitting headache from the vibrations.
Wyatt snapped his head towards to The Kid in terror, eyes widening in anticipation.
And then, the older Mason, his hand outstretched towards The Kid and mouth open to yell, was lost in a flurry of black.
To compare the event to a bomb going off would be an understatement.
It was like a tornado made out of feathers had exploded around him, screams and shouts mingling with the caws on the peckers in the air, deafening The Kid as his bare skin was scratched, and his limbs snapped at.
Wading through the sea of birds, sustaining thousands of minor injuries, The Kid eventually reached the nearest dining table. Seeing a metal tray lying on the ground, presumably knocked off the table in the activity around them, The Kid stomped on its edge, flipping it directly up into his hand quickly, and he started to use it as a makeshift weapon, smacking Peckers to the side, blocking against their claws and beaks, and smashing their wings to prevent them from flying.
After only a few minutes, The Kid confirmed his earlier theory. It was useless trying to fight them like this. Every time he hit a Pecker out of the way, a new one filled its place. Every time he blocked the beak from one in front of him, another behind him scratched at his neck. Every time he knocked one out of the air, it merely enraged the rest of the peckers around him into attacking even more ferociously.
He was getting nowhere with this tactic. Time for a new plan. Where was Wyatt?
Almost as if he had heard his thoughts out loud, The Kid heard Wyatt shout clearly above the cacophony of noise surrounding them.
"Kid! I've got an idea! Where are you?"
Flinging his way towards the direction of the voice urgently, The Kid collided with Wyatt. The older mason steadied him, and spoke clearly so that The Kid could hear him amongst the chaos going on around them.
"We're fighting a losing battle here! We're going to get killed if we stay like this!"
The Kid surveyed the man quickly, and nodded his head in agreement. Wyatt's face was dripping blood from his eye-lid and ear, while clutching his arm gingerly. It looked like The Kid's small size had made him less of a target for the birds, and they had largely ignored him. Once again, his size had given him an advantage.
Clutching his shoulders roughly and pulling him under a table for temporary safety, Wyatt pointed to a smoke cloud pillaring into the sky in the distance that they could see.
"That must be the forge that exploded and set off the peckers. Do'ya know about Grady's incinerator? Peckers don't like flames at all, and with them packed this closely together, we light even one of them up, the rest of them won't be too far behind in being burnt to ashes. All we've got to do is get those peckers towards that forge, detonate it, and send all of their Sparks to The Mother."
Grinning like a maniac, Wyatt looked to The Kid for approval of his genius, who merely surveyed the anarchy around them from their safe haven under the table.
As much as Wyatt's idea made sense, like all plans, it was easier said than done.
They had no weapons to speak of, which were lying on a rack a mile away, they were in the middle of an animalistic battleground that didn't seem to be letting up, and they had to get to a forge that was an unknown distance away.
Groaning, The Kid rubbed a hand over his face, wiping off the grime that had settled there from the fighting in the middle of the carnage. Of course this would happen; bad luck just seemed to follow him wherever he went!
Passing his metal tray to Wyatt, The Kid readied himself to run. Wyatt would get attacked more due to his size, so he needed the makeshift shield to protect himself. The Kid was quicker and smaller, so he would be fine as long as he kept his head down, and didn't stop moving.
Signalling with his fingers, Wyatt counted down silently, his legs twitching in anticipation of the sprint ahead of them.
4 fingers.
3 fingers.
2 fingers.
1 finger.
It was now or never.
The Kid didn't bother looking behind him to see if Wyatt was following, but considering the fact that he could hear the Mason grunting in exertion every now and then, followed by an indignant squawk and a weighty thud, it sounded like the man was holding his own, despite his injured arm.
No matter how uneasy they were with each other before this, they needed each other now to save everyone, and The Kid couldn't deny the obvious skill the man had both in fighting, and in determination, both essential skills if one hoped to be placed on The Walls.
Accidentally smacking into a Cinder flailing around as she was chased by two Peckers, The Kid stopped dead, jumped up and dragged the two birds down to the earth by their feet.
Yelling in annoyance at his back, Wyatt shouted in his ear. "We don't have time for this! We'll be helping everybody if we blow The Forge up, we can't wait for individual people!"
Despite dragging The Kid by the collar and pushing the boy in front of himself again, Wyatt finished off the Peckers that were attacking the Cinder Woman with two brutal hits to their heads, crushing their skulls and killing them instantly.
Nodding and smiling to the woman, who stared at him in shell-shock, Wyatt set off again, throwing Peckers out of the way to catch up to The Kid standing next to The Forges doors, waving at him frantically, seemingly disturbed by something he had just saw.
The Kid had been a few meters away from the doors when he had encountered another person.
There were less Peckers around this area, which was an advantage on one hand, due to the fact that they could see clearly, but a disadvantage on the other, considering that they wanted to converge all of the peckers upon this area.
The Kid turned around at the edge of the doors to find how far behind Wyatt was, but he was faced not with his uneasy ally, but with Marshal Quinby, jogging quickly with his pike by his side.
The Kid had always used to wonder why Quinby had a Brushers Pike, considering that he was a Marshal, whose signature weapon was a Scrap Musket.
That was until one day the Marshal had seen him puzzling over it, and explained how his father used to be part of The Brushers, and gave his pike to his son for him to use as a marshal, 'carrying on the family tradition'.
The Kid had wondered then, whether if his father would have given him his Cael Hammer when he was old enough to go off to work, instead of The Kid having to pry his Life-long Friend from the cold, dark and lifeless corner it resided in for 10 years of his life.
Shaking the memory out of his mind, The Kid nodded his head sharply in recognition of his mentor. Hurrying over to him, Quinby hissed to him in the commotion around them, a battle on one side, and a time bomb on the other.
"So you heard the explosion come from the forge as well? Looks like that's what set the Peckers off, eh? The Marshals and I were warned that something like this might happen." The Kid looked at him quizzically, and the Marshal elaborated. "Colford cauldron is acting up again, driving animals out of their habitats in the areas around it."
He shook his head solemnly and looked up into the whirlpool of birds amassing over the area.
"We didn't know it was going to be this soon however, or even this many! That's why I could wake you up this morning; I had to deal with this." He gestured to everything around them.
"Looks like we didn't do it quickly enough. Now we have a catastrophe on our hands. This forge is producing munitions, and there are still people inside! We've got to get them out before the whole place blows up!"
He stared at the copious amounts of smoke drifting through missing portions of the roof. "It's obviously already on fire from the last explosion, and that was only the start. It should have been relatively easy to get everyone out, but with these damned peckers occupying the bulk of our workforce, we're going to be overwhelmed and wiped out before we can do anything!"
Quinby set his pike horizontally, jamming it into the crack in between the doors and prying the wood open quickly, snapping the lock. "Okay, Kid. Executive decision, stay out here and try to help get rid of those peckers."
He saw the furious look on The Kid's face and continued stonily. "That's an order, Mason! I can't risk another man getting stuck in here and getting exploded into critter food!"
Pointing at The Kid threateningly to stay where he was, Quinby put his arm over his mouth, and ventured deep into the dense smoke, coughing violently.
Turning back around, and warring with himself, The Kid saw Wyatt running towards him at full pelt, and waved him over quickly. Maybe he would know what to do.
The man jogged up to him and started towards the now open doors, before The Kid held out his arm to stop his progress.
"Come on Kid, quit it! Let's get in there, light a signal, get the peckers to converge, then blow the place sky high!" The Kid groaned, and shook his head, tapping the breast of his outfit, signalling a marshal's badge.
Deducing what the boy meant quickly, Wyatt looked at him uncertainly. "Olak, there are people stuck in there aren't there? Just our luck. And Marshal Quinby's gone in to save them?" The Kid nodded his head, looking down, when Wyatt whacked him in the arm.
"Then what the hell are we waiting for, pipsqueak? Now we're killing three birds with one stone! Talk about value for effort! I don't give a damn what Quinby says, you can blame it all on me for all I care, but we've got to save as many people as we can. I ran over four dead bodies on the way here, and i can tell you, the way a pecker kills a man is not pretty."
Steeling himself, The Kid gritted his teeth and followed Wyatt into the burning building, not knowing that he would come out a changed person.
The building was a firefighter's nightmare.
The smoke was so thick, it was impossible to see further than a few centimetres in front of yourself, obscuring the pairs' view and burning their eyes. The floor was covered with broken structures, burning ferociously and blocking various paths further into the forge. The supports and walls creaked and groaned worryingly, every second bringing them one more second closer to falling, and bringing the whole construction down in a crash.
Any sane person would have written the forge off as too dangerous to enter by now. So it was no surprise to The Kid that he was continuing to stumble blindly past various anvils and fire bellows, being led by the back of Wyatt's shirt.
This was more deranged than the time he had thought it was a good idea invoke Olak's curiosity. He was still being punished for that mistake to this day. Was he ever going to grow enough common sense not to get himself into these messes?
Stopping suddenly at a particular alcove that was free of smoke, Wyatt whipped out two small rags, and dipped them into the water beside an anvil, where various shapes of metal could be cooled off quickly.
Passing one of the rags to The Kid, they put the cloths over their mouth and nose. The dampness would keep them from choking on the thick smoke as they ventured further in.
Scanning the area quickly, The Kid noticed various grenades lying on the anvil. Tossing them to Wyatt quickly, who pocketed them with a curt nod, The Kid hurried further into the blaze. They would be able to use the grenades to attract the peckers, and then set off a series of explosions throughout the forge, incinerating the creatures.
Blocking most of the heat with his arm in front of his body, the kid dashed through the inferno swiftly. They came across several Cinders and Masons huddled in a stone furnace that wasn't on fire, blocking the majority of the flames from touching them.
Since the furnace was designed to keep heat in, it also seemed to serve the purpose of keeping heat out. These people were smart to think of that. It probably saved their lives.
With Wyatt's help, The Kid pushed aside a partial collapse of the ceiling blocking the people from escaping. Pointing them in the direction of the door that was now indistinguishable through the smoke, the two allies watched them scurry quickly through the blaze in fear.
The last Cinder turned around and stumbled over her words, hoping to end her speech and remove herself from the situation as quickly as possible. "We saw a Marshal run further in, after the last of us, somewhere over there."
She gestured towards the back of the forge jerkily, coughing on the soot in the air. "If you're going after him, good luck."
The Cinder then turned on her heel, ran after her friends, and was swallowed up by the smoke, leaving The Kid and Wyatt alone in the oppressive heat.
Glancing at each other in worry, the colleagues raced towards the area that the Cinder had indicated. Quinby shouldn't have taken this long to save a few people. Someone with his capability should already be outside, with the people he had rescued in tow.
But he was still in here. Something must have happened.
Jumping over debris, the duo cowered as the ceiling came crashing down to the side of them, rattling their bones with the tremors it caused. This caused a chain reaction, and huge sections of the roof caved in, slamming into the ground with a force equivalent to a small earthquake.
The sudden displacement of material caused dust and embers to fly up and hang in the air around them, burning them lightly. The Kid felt an explosion send a shockwave through the air beating him and Wyatt back a few steps with sheer force. "Garmuth judge me! What the hell was that?" Wyatt yelled, steadying himself.
The Kid froze in dread, coming to a sudden realisation.
What had Quinby said? "This forge is producing munitions"
Munitions.
Gunpowder.
Breathing sharply, The Kid whacked himself over the head. How could he be so stupid? They had to get out of here fast. Who knew how long it would take for the gunpowder stores to blow? They were in even more danger than he previously thought.
It couldn't get much worse than this.
Noticing the mistake in his thinking a second too late, The Kid glanced up through the now open roof, hearing the thunder from hundreds of wings beating, and noticed a churning horde flying over the forge in fury.
He just had to go and test fate, didn't he?
Wyatt peered up in the throng of peckers, and sighed wearily. It seemed like he was finally resigned to how the day was turning out for them.
Chuckling dryly, the older Mason grabbed The Kid's arm, dragging him along with him. "Well, we got their attention at least. I'm going to take a calculated guess, and say that we've got maybe five to ten minutes before they decide to attack. We've got to find Quinby, grab the last of the personnel, and get out in that time."
He groaned, noticing how ridiculous that sounded.
"Oh, Jevel, we're going to die. I'm going to bite the dust running through a burning building with a Kid by my side." Shaking his head ruefully, Wyatt pressed on, hoping to defy his own prediction.
The Kid dashed behind him, vaulting over rubble and considering the situation they found themselves in. The Kid held the belief that there was a way out of everything, and everyone could be saved, if you knew what to do.
All The Kid had to do is figure out what it was that held the key to their success. His thoughts were interrupted when the duo heard violent coughing originating from the second floor.
Clambering up the half-crumpled stairs rapidly, they came upon a situation that The Kid would never forget for the rest of his life, plaguing his dreams for years after the event.
The first thing they noticed were the last two workers stuck under a flaming beam so thick that it must have been used to hold up the roof. The two men were unconscious, presumably from the wood toppling on top of them. Flames were swiftly progressing along the pillar, threatening the burn the Cinders alive in their senseless state.
On the other side of the landing was Marshal Quinby, leaning up against a railing coughing, having obviously succumbing to the soot clogging up his lungs, his pike lying limply within his hand. He hadn't had the foresight to use a damp cloth to block the smoke from his breathing.
Lastly, at the far ending of the landing was the gunpowder store, sitting innocently in the flickering light, free from fire despite the deadly cargo it contained.
Wyatt assessed the situation quickly, deduced that the Cinders were in more danger, and sprinted over to them, dropping the rag that protected him from the smoke, and attempted to lift the heavy scaffolding.
The Kid, however, paused.
By logic, there were more people to save if he helped Wyatt, and the fire was going to get to them quickly if they didn't get the workers out as soon as possible.
But on the other hand, there was Quinby. He was The Kid's mentor, and had taught him so much since he had signed up to The Walls, not to mention that the wood beneath him seemed to be weakening by the second.
Before he could come to a decision, the fire decided for him.
The platform beneath Quinby disintegrated suddenly and he tumbled down in the inferno below, his pike held high in the hopes of it stabbing into something that could hold his weight and slow his descent.
The Kid acted in a split second, throwing his rag to the side and leaping forwards, reaching for the blade of the pike, wrapping his left hand around the sharp steel, causing it to dig deep into his palm and cut it finely.
Regardless of the injury, The Kid's gambit had worked. Quinby stopped falling, being held aloft by his Pike. But despite The Kid's impressive strength for his age, and his unwavering conviction, Quinby was still too heavy for him.
The sharp head of the pike slid through The Kid's palm from The Marshal's weight, drawing more blood and causing the boy to cry out in anguish. Ignoring the agony, The Kid merely clutched the blade more tightly, his blood dripping down the metal slowly, staining the metal red. The alloy was burning his hand, having conducted the heat around them.
The blade was cutting deep into his palm, and searing his wound closed with heat at the same time.
Due to the onslaught of pain inflicted upon his grip, his arm muscle spasmed, attempting to get The Kid to let go, and Quinby slipped a little further into the fire on the floor below.
He couldn't reach down with his other hand, because that was bracing against the floor he was lying on, the only thing preventing Quinby's weight from pulling him over the lip of the landing. He looked over the edge in desperation, hoping that the Marshal would be able to climb up the pike and to safety, when his mentor's eyes looked sadly up at him.
Everything seemed to pulse, and time stopped.
The Kid became aware of everything around him, bathed in the glow of the wildfire.
He could save everyone.
He noticed Wyatt out of the corner of his eye, straining in futility to move the support crushing the two Cinder men, fire licking at his feet and hands, causing him to flinch in discomfort.
Surely he could save everyone?
He could see the floor of the forge, now completely covered in flames flickering menacingly, waiting to take a life.
There was always a way out.
He observed the hurricane of birds cawing loudly, now funnelling down rapidly into a spear, seconds away from striking the forge in its centre.
What was the way out?
Lastly, he recognized three grenades flying through the air, pins pulled and headed for the gunpowder store, a few metres away. Wyatt must have thrown them, hoping to at least kill the peckers, even if he had to sacrifice himself. How long would it take the grenades to blow up?
He needed more time.
The Kid turned to Quinby, and recognized the look in his eyes. He was about to let go, yielding himself to The Duke's judgement.
No, The Kid refused to believe it.
He could save everyone, he knew he could!
There was just something he was missing, something that would help him. He could always save everyone.
Right?
He just needed time to think! He needed more time!
There was no time.
Everything was leading up to this. An uncontrollable sequence of events, creating this inescapable plight.
The Kid blinked, the spell was broken, Quinby released the pike, and the flames engulfed him, claiming his life and wrapping around him, shielding him from The Kid's sight.
Launched back from the sudden loss of weight, The Kid fell into the plank that Wyatt was attempting to lift. Wasting none of the time that his mentor had sacrificed to give him, The Kid jumped up and wielded the pike he had a hold on, jamming it under the timber, and using its leverage, along with Wyatt's strength, to lift it up and out of the way.
How much time had passed? Two seconds? How much longer did they have till the gunpowder blew? How long were the fuses on grenades? 10 seconds? 5?
Strapping the pike to his back, The Kid picked up one of the workers and threw him over his shoulder hastily, watching Wyatt do the same. The older mason looked over in shock to where Quinby had disappeared, before hefting the other worker onto his shoulder into a better position. Rushing along the landing, both of them hacked and coughed on the soot they no longer had a barrier against. Wyatt turned to him quickly and pointed to a portion of the ground floor that was free of flames.
"We're going to have to jump down. We don't have time to think about it, those grenades are going to-"
Wyatt couldn't finish before the whole world ruptured, the force of the blast smashing the two masons and their passengers through a wall and outside, falling towards the ground like rocks, ears ringing. The Kid looked up into the sky between half-lidded eyes, and saw peckers flailing around, feathers burning up, flying away from the forge in a panic.
The wind whistling in his ears, The Kid closed his eyes and twisted around with no control, his face smacking into the ground, knocking him unconscious.
"Hey Kid, we're not finished yet."
Wyatt's voice permeated The Kid's mind, clearing it from its fogginess.
"I know you can hear me, Kid. Come on, we've got work to do."
The Kid groaned and got up, dragging himself out of his tent slowly. His lungs felt like someone had set fire to them, and now the burnt tissue was flaking and falling apart.
Coughing violently, The Kid fell down onto a knee, only to be held up by Wyatt, who was slouching by the entrance to the tent. Looking up in gratitude, The Kid came face to face with a man he almost didn't recognize.
Wyatt's hair was singed erratically leaving portions of his head bald, with first and second degree burns littering his face and arms. He had a cut running down from his ear to his jawline, and was clutching at his chest, which had a crude bandage wrapped around it, crossing over his arm.
Wyatt noticed him staring, and started laughing without humour.
"Admiring my battle wounds? The Menders said that the burns will clear up in a week or two, but the cuts are going to leave scars." The Kid glanced pointedly at the dressing he had around his chest, and Wyatt shifted, hiding it from view, wincing in the process.
"When we blew through the wall after the grenades lighted the gunpowder, I landed on some jagged pieces of wood. It pierced right through me like a javelin. It was not a nice landing, I can tell you."
Noticing The Kid's pitiful expression, Wyatt scoffed in indignation. "Don't give me that look! You look like crap yourself. The ends of your hair are charred beyond belief, and your face is caked in soot. And that's not even to mention your hand…" They both looked at The Kid's left hand quickly, which was covered in gauze, shielding the damage done to it from sight.
The damage from failure.
Shrugging in a way The Kid hoped looked indifferent; he looked up at Wyatt slowly, waiting for the man to speak.
Despite obviously not being fooled by The Kid's façade, Wyatt let it go, and gestured for them to walk down the path ahead of them. As they travelled quietly, The Kid felt strange, as if he was seeing the world through a different filter.
They were taking the same route they had taken the morning before. But this time, only destruction lay before them. Buildings were torn apart, devastated by the unending amount of peckers that had punished them. Mender's tents littered the area, tending to a variety of wounds. Lacerations, lesions, burns and various states of trauma.
Trudging down the path in a daze, the duo passed a man lying on the ground, deathly still, with a woman crying silently over his body, cradling his head.
The woman turned quickly at their approach, and pair of Masons were witness to the guts of the nameless man spilled over the ground, his bowels ripped open jaggedly by what were obviously claws and beaks.
They altered they gaze to the woman, and were confronted with blood-stained hands, and a thousand-yard stare that seemed to drill into their souls, unnerving them.
Backing away swiftly, The Masons jogged the rest of the way to the forge that they had worked in the morning before without looking back.
Walking up to the weapons rack, The Kid stopped and looked at his Life-Long Friend with regret.
What would have happened if he or Wyatt had brought their Hammers with them into that hell-hole? They could have smashed the pillar quickly, got the two Cinders out of harm's way quickly, and then Wyatt could have helped him with The Marshal.
What would have happened if Wyatt went for Quinby instead? He was stronger than The Kid, he could have pulled him up, and then the three of them could have lifted the pillar together, and got the heck out of there.
What would have happened if-
Wyatt clapped a hand on the Kid's shoulder and looked at him in understanding. "Look, thinking about the past is going to do you no good, trust me. I've been spending the past day agonizing over everything that happened." He grabbed his Hammer, and set down along the path once again.
"Come on, I want to show you something."
They traipsed across the plains towards a heap of wood and metal smouldering under the sunlight shining upon it. After a few seconds of trying to place the location, The Kid noticed a Brusher Pike stabbed into the ground in front of the rubble. This was the Forge.
The Forge that Quinby died in.
There was nothing left but debris and smoke scattered across the field. They strode up to the Pike standing proudly in front of the devastation around them.
"They retrieved it from your unconscious body after you fell. Stuck it here in memory of what he gave up to save everyone. The Marshals say that they're going to set the pike in concrete, so that no one will be able to move it. It'll stay here as a reminder of what one man sacrificed for us all."
One word stuck out like a sore thumb to The Kid.
Sacrifice.
The Kid stumbled back and sat on a section of collapsed flooring. Surveying it closer, it looked identical to the landing that Quinby had…
The Kid felt queasy. Putting his head in his hands, he took deep breaths to try and equalize his erratic heartbeat. Barely noticing when Wyatt sat down next to him, The Kid exhaled slowly.
"You know, Kid, I actually thought we were going to die in there. I thought that The Keeper was finally coming to take my Spark." The Kid heard Wyatt's voice crack under the duress of his anguish.
"The Cinder that I was carrying didn't survive." Looking up, The Kid saw Wyatt wiping at his eyes quickly. "Apparently he'd inhaled too much smoke. He died of asphyxiation." The Kid was smart, but was certainly not literary genius, so he glanced at Wyatt quizzically.
"He couldn't breathe. In his final moments, he was looking up at me, clutching at my shirt and choking on his own breath."
Wyatt inhaled heavily, shuddering, and viewed The Kid through his distress.
"Yesterday was screwed up. Everything just went spiralling out of control before we could try to do anything about it. But you and me? We survived. We beat the odds. I used to think you'd get us all killed. How could a Kid hope to defend me in a fight? But now, I see that mis-judged you. We saved everyone. We watched each other's backs, and carried out a plan that brought us triumph."
He clapped the boy on the back lightly. "That, Kid, is what true brothers in arms do for each other. From now on, we stick together."
The Kid smirked and clasped Wyatt's shoulder in confirmation. He may have lost a mentor, but he'd gained a brother.
A brother who was prepared to sacrifice himself for thousands of others.
When Wyatt threw those grenades, he must have known what was going to happen. He would have seen the situation around them, and he still threw them. He was scared of his death, and thought that was the end for him, but he didn't run away, or find shelter, leaving everyone else to die. He did the only thing he could to make sure everyone else survived.
The Kid had never understood things like that before. He had always thought that everyone could be saved. That there was always a way towards a happy ending. But now he knew the truth. Sometimes, things had to be done for the greater good.
Sacrifices must be made to ensure victory.
They killed all those peckers, burnt them to a crisp, the massacre of thousands of animals. But they had to incinerated, to save everyone else.
That man, the one with his organs spilled over the cobblestones. They probably could have saved him if they had stayed behind to try and fight off the peckers by hand. But then almost everyone else would have died, he had to be left, so that everyone else could be saved.
The Kid might have been able to pull Quinby up, if given enough time, but he sacrificed himself so that they could live.
Not everyone could be saved, he knew that now. Sacrifices aren't pretty, but when there's huge stakes, and a split second to decide the outcome, they're necessary.
The Kid stood up, and looked over to Quinby's Pike. It was fitting that it was here, at his last resting place. A fighter should never be parted from their weapon. The Kid couldn't imagine being parted from his.
Staring over the smoking ruins of the forge, The Kid made a silent promise.
He would sacrifice himself whenever it was needed, so that other people wouldn't have to. No one else would give up their life in the place of his own ever again.
Nodding to himself in satisfaction, The Kid helped Wyatt to his feet, and the two friends hobbled back to the forges, the sun peeking over its chimneys.
A new day had begun.
"And so The Kid learnt his next lesson: Sometimes there isn't a happy ending, and something has to be sacrificed, so that everyone else can live.
Zia looked at me in horror, tears in her eyes.
"He was only 11?" Zia's speech was hoarse, almost as if she had lost her voice from heartache. "How could The Gods allow something so terrible happen to someone that young?"
Her lower lip trembled, picturing the scene that I had fleshed out for her. I sighed, and scratched my jaw. I knew she was going to react this way. How could I make her feel better? The Kid would never forgive me if he knew that I had upset her. And I didn't want to get on his bad side.
"Look, Zia, they allowed it happen because they knew The Kid was strong enough to pull through it, like we do. He can fight through anything thrown at him."
Zia sniffled, and sat up straight. "But why did The Gods allow it to happen in the first place? I mean, I know that The Kid can survive something like that, but that doesn't mean that it's okay to put him through torment like that!"
I glanced over to Zulf's tent in a panic. We were speaking loudly, and I could have sworn I heard a noise come from the lodging.
Lowering my voice a fraction, I answered in a hushed tone. "Just like The Kid learnt, they knew that sacrifices must be made. They knew that Quinby must die, and The Kid must lose his childhood, all for the greater good. To make him into the Kid he is today. To prepare him for what he had to do, and give him the attributes to survive through The Calamity and save us all.
Zia looked at me in shock. "But what if he decides to sacrifice himself out there, in The Wilds, when we could save him?"
I chuckled lightly, and patted Zia lightly on the head. "You care about him a lot, huh?" Zia just blushed and ducked her head, making me grin even wider.
"Well, don't worry about him. That Kid doesn't answer to no one, and he sure isn't going to sacrifice himself until he decides that it's his time. Even The Gods respect him."
My eyes gleamed in the fire, and I smirked.
"That's the next part in the story. How The Kid gets his Bullhead Shield."
Well, that wasn't nice, was it? Because Gods forbid any Bastion fic I make be anything other than dark! Ok, so this was kind of depressing, but the next chapter will be a bit more upbeat, I promise. And I'm also planning a one-shot that should be completely fluff, so that'll be nice, I guess. Okay, so, favourite, follow, kudos, comments and review if you want. Like always, I'm not going to force you via blackmail or anything, but it would really help to get some feedback, and would encourage me to write more regularly.