Wizards and Witches (Frye & co END): The boys need to clean up the beach and tend to the injured.
All the good things belong to Monolithsoft.
Phog was running so hard, he shot right past Bozé. Bozé had seen this before: a soldier so focused on getting help for a buddy, he would continue running even after he passed an arriving medic. Not that Bozé was a medic. Not that their mimeosomes needed as much care as their true organic forms, currently awaiting some distant resurrection. He stood over Frye and noted the angry twitches in the man's shoulders. The water around him was muddy, but it wasn't clouded with the oily blue of mimeosome circulatory fluid. Bozé bent down and yanked Frye free of the murk with a loud shout. "KAAAATSU!" he brayed, welcoming his teammate into a world where they were fully victorious.
While Frye coughed up sea water and scrubbed his face free of wet sand, Bozé looked for Phog. He'd stopped a short way up the beach and was crouched over the smaller dead xiphias, the one they had watched challenge and fall to the behemoth. He was on his knees, scooping water with his hands and slapping the tail of the normal-sized tyrant. It was a baby compared to the loathsome monstrosity, but still far larger than Phog, Bozé, and Frye combined. The horn alone was longer than Bozé was tall.
"It's not dead!" shouted Phog to no one, scooping even more furiously.
"Yahoo! That makes three of us!" Frye shouted back, his voice only a thin howl, and staggered toward his brother. He dipped down on one knee and Bozé put an arm under his shoulders to help him. Together they lurched along until they reached the golden not-quite-corpse.
Wolf had watched the foolishness and disappeared toward the skells. Bozé couldn't blame him. Frye would be fine, but he was loopy from his injuries. Bozé had worked enough with the Interceptor to know that in this state he'd be resistant, even combative, to any wise suggestions. Bozé would wait until Frye pulled himself together, and then they'd both try to reason with Phog.
When they reached the beast, Frye promptly fell over it. He landed on his side with a groan. He rolled to his hands and knees, pausing a moment in contemplation.
"Frye," whined Phog, continuing to splash pointlessly.
"I'm doing my best," wheezed Frye. He stayed crouched, but freed up one hand to splash a cupful of water on the beast. Bozé had jumped over the fish to hover over Frye, unwilling to help such a futile effort but feeling that he couldn't abandon them to their folly.
A shadow crossed over the group. Bozé looked up fast enough to watch a skell, Wolf's, fall onto the beach right at the head of the xiphias. He covered his face in time to avoid a wave of kicked up sand. Phog, working on the other side of the animal, was mostly protected, but Frye's swears became gritty.
Wolf was out of his skell, swinging a duffel bag ungently at Bozé. He was climbing back up to reach the storage compartment before Bozé could inquire what he was supposed to do with Wolf's luggage. That saved Bozé from embarrassment when he recognized the distinctive white cross indicating the duffel was a mim repair kit. Of course. He should have thought to scan Frye at the start but ... He had no excuse. Bozé tucked away the memories of his students who hadn't needed first aid at the end of their missions and pulled out his comm device to check Frye's status.
Another two duffels landed in the sand next to the first, followed by Wolf's solid boots. He hauled these bags down to Phog and started to zip them open hastily.
"It's alive," repeated Phog, continuing to scoop.
"Yeah, and I've got enough stuff here to heal a division of organics. Something's gotta help." He lifted a flat sealed packet, glittering as golden as the xiphias. "Ma-non aren't just gravity wizards. Some of their medi-packs adapt on the spot, good for everything from the bugs to the kitties." Wolf looked over at Bozé, his words unclear as he ripped open the pack with his teeth. "Excuse me. The Orphe and the Wrothians. Gotta respect our allies, right?"
Bozé felt an uncomfortable flush along his skulll and bent down to speak to Frye, still scooping his dribble of sea water onto the injured creature. "I'm going to give you a little tensifier, to compensate for the time you spent in overdrive. It'll sting."
"Like I'll notice, man," Frye said. Good to his word, he didn't wince when Bozé popped him in the shoulder with the spray. He did swing up to sit on his heels. "Whoooweee, that's field grade," he said admiringly, "and I will crash hard in 20. Let's get this fish patched up in less than that."
Wolf was spreading squares of gauze over the body of the xiphias like blankets for tiny picnickers. Phog pulled a chunky tube of unidentifiable ointment, in the golden packaging that the Ma-non love so much, uncapped it, and sniffed it for a moment. He sneezed, then scooted up to the head of the xiphias and squeezed the creme over the dorsal bumps. It glittered and melted into the skin of the animal; the pink markings flashed.
Bozé wasn't impressed. "The monster drove its horn into the belly of this fish."
Wolf didn't look up from wallpapering the creature. "Mollusk. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe if we can pump enough magic-repair-mojo into this it'll be fine. Maybe I'm wasting ECP property, but it's not like it's any good for you." Wolf tossed a scattering of medi-packs at Bozé. "I know I said I wouldn't ask, but help me out by plastering the other side of this critter."
The Ma-non guaze felt strange to Bozé's fingers, like it was questioning him and then shrugging out of disinterest. It stuck to the xiphias like glue however. Bozé trailed his hand on the creature, smoothing the patch, trying to sense a pulse or response. The slightest drift of breath stirred the waters at the animal's mouth.
"Would tensifier help this thing too?" asked Frye. "Because I can feel it ebbing but I surely did appreciate the first rush."
"Got it," said Wolf, pulling out a handful of hyposprays. "Huh, four exactly." He tossed one to each teammate. There was a flurry of unwrapping. "Okay, count of 3, we give it the surprise of its life. Hopefully. One."
"Two," said Phog.
"Three!" cackled Frye.
Bozé drove his spray as hard as he could into the creature's front flipper. He wasn't sure how useful it would be unless it went deep past the spongy skin. Again, he left his hand on the fin, waiting for a change. Waiting for the magic to happen.
He wasn't the only one. Wolf was leaning down, an arm around a rear fluke, cheek against the ridge of the tail. "Come on. Today isn't the day."
The waves snapped at their boots. The foam turned crispy. A drift of blue sparks spiraled around the horn. Phog jumped back, with Frye flailing away as well. Which left Bozé and Wolf to get all of the first defensive electric shock from the freshly revived xiphias.
Bozé danced around, shaking his hand sharply and giving Frye inspiration for later blasphemous outbursts. Wolf flew backwards into the sea. The xiphias let the waves pull it back into the water, then vanished impossibly fast for such majestic creature.
Frye howled with celebration, then shouted to Wolf, still floating on his back. "Need us to toss you a line, man?"
Wolf swirled his hands in the shallow water. "Nah. Let me rest a minute. The sky is looking good." Phog paused for a moment from bunching up the used packaging, then waded into the water and stretched out himself. Frye did a leaping splash in, belly first, rolling into a sleepy float. Bozé considered the foolishness of crowds, the pointlessness of imitation, the preciousness of self. He looked at the horizon, dotted with islands and the promise of terrors on the opposite continent. Then he splashed deep into the waves, ready to meditate for a while as the ocean carried him as it pleased.
a/n: The greatest magic is that the Fish Story has ended. Unless I have one more chapter. I might.
Next up: Ancient History.