Chapter Twenty-Eight: Damned and Divine
She parted the bushes and peered through the gaping hole, focusing her gaze on the camping grounds below. The village elder, Tao, was teaching several children who eagerly sat before him, writing down every word on their notes. Oblivious to the world around them. She clamped her jaw tight, watching them with distaste. "Fools, all of them," she murmured.
"That man has to die."
Dohna snorted. "You don't think I know that? He'll be easy to take down. He's just an old man. But what about the rest of the clan? They're not on the death list. Our problem is with Tao." The old man was now leading the children to one of the lower slopes where the beybattle practice dish was. Kevin and Gary were having a practice battle. Mariah was making lunch, while her brother watched over the campfire.
"Where's Mystel? He should be here with us."
"He will. Give him time to get here."
Kevlin folded his arms and snorted. "They're pathetic, aren't they? It makes my blood boil seeing them go on with their happy lives after what they did… They almost decimated our tribe, and that man is to blame. Yet, he never apologized for the crimes he committed against our people."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "He will be stopped. I'm not going to leave until I know he's dead."
"We set the bushes alight."
She looked at the mountains. They were currently at the White Horse Camping Grounds near Mount Cook National Park. The plan was to create a fire to force people to scatter in different directions making it easier to isolate Tao from the rest of the tribe. Fortunately, the place was mostly absent because of the poor weather. Only the White Tigers were foolish enough to come.
"I've been waiting for this moment for years. Revenge is sweet," Kevlin said, rubbing his palms together.
She stood up. "And we'll have our moment. The world will know who we are. They will learn of the crimes of the White Tiger Tribe."
"If only we could fight them in their hometown. It would make victory so much sweeter."
"They'll have the upper advantage on home soil. Here, we're on an equal playing field," Dohna said, peeking her head around one of the trees. She gestured towards a safe path heading down the mountain. "We need to get closer to them."
Kevlin followed her down the slope, sticking his arms out to the site to maintain his balance. "He brought the entire village over."
"It's a small village. There's only less than twenty people who call the White Tiger Hills home. The children do not have to be added to the list of casualties," Dohna pointed out. They were young. Naiive. They weren't aware of the true history of their clan. Tao would've left that part out or claimed they had been heroes. Children believed their elders. But they could be converted to their cause. Children could be persuaded easily. But the adults. They had to be eliminated.
She walked down the trail. The White Tigers hadn't even noticed, too caught up in their celebrations. What did they even have to celebrate? They hadn't advanced far in the tournament. They had nothing to be proud of. Rei wasn't even here their local hero.
"We're fortunate Rei isn't here. I'd hate to have him killed."
"Our fight isn't with Rei, but I won't hesitate to fight him too if he tries to stop us," she said.
She remained close to the mountainside, and walked towards the forest boundary, keeping her attention focused on the campsite Now the kids were practicing beyblade launching techniques. It reminded them of her own upbringing only their sessions had been long and brutal. Mistakes were punished by the cane. To be warriors you had to be able to endure pain.
"If only Mystel had kept our technique hidden," Kevlin murmured.
"He had to reveal it all too the world, and he took all the credit for it too." Her stomach muscles tightened. To claim credit for a technique he didn't even invent. Not only that but he had shared it with the entire world. "But he is not on trial for that. He's on trial because he walked away from us. You never walk away from a blood oath."
"And if he brings his friends with him? You know he won't come alone."
"They'll be dealt with. Powerful bladers they might be, but they're mortal too. We bring this mountain down. If he tries to stop us too…" She clenched her jaw. Through clenched teeth, she said, "Then he will die along with them. That girl with the pink hair. He likes her."
"What? Her?"
"Mariah. Lee's younger sister."
"Cute." He stretched his hands over his head and then yawned. "I'm getting tired. Mystel better get there soon. He needs to be here to witness the carnage." Cold laughter escaped his throat.
"Indeed." She walked over to a fallen boulder and crouched behind it.
"…We are proud bladers with a long history. The White Tiger represents our tribe. We are honorable. Loyal. We defend each other. That is what makes us strong and fearless," Tao addressed the children. "Beyblades are not merely weapons. They are an extension to our minds and bodies. They are a part of us."
"Elder Tao! When do we get a bitbeast?" a kid said.
"A bitbeast will come to you. A person who is strong mentally and physically. You must study and train hard. You will represent our name in future generations of beybladers," Tao said. His words were greeted with enthusiastic cheers. "Kevin and Gary are going to take you on a nature hike through the park. That is why we have travelled here – to experience a foreign land. But even on foreign soil, our skills stay with us. A key part in growing as a blader is to adapt to new surroundings. Let this be a lesson to you. Now, when you return, we shall have lunch."
"Come on you little runts," Kevin said in an affectionate manner. "You're all going to have a chance to fight us. Gary will-Hey, big guy! Focus!" Gary's attention had shifted to the bananas Mariah was carrying in a basket.
"Ooh, I'm hungry," he said, smiling.
Kevin sighed. "Didn't you eat just before?"
Mariah joined them, laughing. "Oh, give him a break, Kevin. He's a big guy. He's got a big stomach to fill." She held the basket out for Gary. He grabbed a banana, peeled it, and almost devoured the entire fruit in seconds.
Dohna shuddered. "…I don't know how they became the representatives of Asia…"
"Yeah, well, they won't be for much longer." He leaned against the rock and closed his eyes. "Wake me up when patrol is over will you?"
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
Soon, the tribe would be no more.
.
Tala had yet to talk to Bryan and Ian about his newfound ambition, but the boys could wait. While the rest of his team were at the motel and watching old black and white movies, Tala had decided to get some fresh air and enjoy the sights and sounds of the local city. Queenstown was truly a remarkable place and built in the shadows of the Southern Alps. A large crystal-clear lake was based nearby, and people could catch a ride on the Earnslaw to reach the other side of the lake. There was also a gondola ride that took people up to a buffet restaurant up high in the mountains.
But Tala wasn't interested in catching a ride across a lake, nor gorging himself on a wide variety of food. Instead, he found himself standing outside St. Peters Anglican Church. It was much smaller than any of the holy buildings in his native homeland, but it was still a place of comfort. He didn't even know why he had come – he didn't consider himself a holy man nor a believer. Still, he found himself drawn to it.
"Tala?"
A woman's voice. He turned around and narrowed his eyes. A woman with long auburn curls approached him, her deep brown eyes wide with curiosity and surprise. When she was just an arm's reach away, he noticed the words 'Team Psychic' stitched onto her jacket's collar. That name was familiar to him. The team created by Dr. Zagart, one of Boris's minions. What was she doing here?
"You must be Salima."
She smiled at him. "A learned man, I see, though the jacket probably gave it away." She adjusted the collar then looked at him again. "You're the last person I expected to see standing outside a church of all places. What brought you here? Though, it is a nice building. Comfort from the cold," she added, glancing at the building.
Tala briefly looked up at the white cross sitting atop the small spiral cone roof then turned to her. "I guess I'm just undertaking my own spiritual journey. What brings you here?"
"Robert invited us to visit – all expenses paid. I thought why not? It's a chance to meet friends."
Tala frowned. "Robert invited you? You must be important."
She shrugged. "We have knowledge about things we could share with him." She gestured towards the church. "I thought I'd help at the local church today. I help people. Mostly victims of abuse. They come to church to heal. We've been using beyblading as therapy."
"Oh," was Tala's response. "Does it help?"
"Come inside," Salima said, walking towards the door.
Tala followed her. The cold didn't bother him – conditions were far worse in his native homeland, but it would be rude to turn down Salima's offer. She pushed open the doors and led him inside. It was certainly much warmer.
There was a small shrine at the front of the building on a small, elevated platform. A small stained-glass window containing an image of a priest and a kneeling man was on the wall behind. He sat down at one of the wooden benches, his eyes focused on the stained-glass windowpane. "Why do you do it?"
"It helps me recover. I'm sure you've heard the name Zagart and Gideon."
Tala nodded. "Yes. They were connected to Boris." It always came back to Boris.
She sat down next to him and stared at the stained-glass window too, her hands clasped on her lap. "I always wanted to be a beyblader, but blading was a boy's world in my hometown. Kane came to my defense one day and he taught me how to blade. We met Jim and Goki later, and we all had dreams to become world class beybladers. During a local tournament, we were spotted by a man called Dr. B. He saw our talents and invited us to attend a trial to join Team Psykick. This was our chance to become a sponsored team and compete at the highest level."
"You didn't have a bitbeast."
"Not at the time, but we passed the trials. We were strong enough to handle the cyber bitbeasts."
Tala sighed. "Boris's creation. He was the first to create these artificial bitbeasts. BIOVOLT had been built for this purpose. An underground prison where he could carry out his vile experiments." His expression darkened, and he tightened his jaw, fingers curling clutching at his knees.
"It was like nothing I had felt before. This power… It was a drug. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop. I kept coming back for more. I needed it." She paused, drawing in a deep breath. Exhaling loudly, she added, "It consumed us. One by one. We fell into this… abyss. This bleak world. The coldness." Her voice trembled, and she bit her lip.
"They wanted to make us soldiers for a war," Tala said in a controlled tone, trying to conceal the growing edge in his voice. "Boris had us train day and night for hours on end in the dimly lit rooms. Victory is life. Defeat to our enemies. That was our slogan. Our motto. We believed in it like mindless soldiers." He forced a bitter laugh.
"Gideon had formed the team under Zagart's orders. He would push us to a breaking point. Repeatedly." Again, her voice quavered. "It was wrong. It was all so terribly wrong. But I needed this to survive. The money. The dream of competing at the top. I wanted it all so much."
"That's what they do. They manipulate you. Prey on your fears. Promise to feed your desires." He didn't know why he was telling Salima his life story. He supposed that was a part of the recovery process. Speaking about experiences with other survivors. "They experimented on me," he added.
Her eyebrows arched. "Experimented?"
"Boris stuck me in a tube to mess with my brain waves."
She covered a hand over her mouth. "That's terrible!"
"Emotions are a weakness, they said. To be the best you must turn off your humanity. Become dead to the world. If you couldn't feel, then you couldn't be influenced by others." He looked at her.
"We both suffered at the hands of those we trusted to take care of us," she said softly.
He didn't know much about Salima, but he did know enough. They had a connection through a common foe – Boris. "Most people don't know how we suffered. They just see the surface level. They hear the news. They see a criminal on the screen. But they don't ever see what really happened beneath the surface," Tala said, his hands gripping his knees. "No one asks us how we felt. No one checks to see if we're okay. They just assume we're broken. That we're damaged beyond repair."
"We're not broken."
He met her eyes again. "You were fortunate. You had a life before you met Gideon. I didn't. The only life I knew beforehand was a poor orphanage. BIOVOLT was a step up in some ways. At least the food was better, and it wasn't as cold. But the things they made us do…" He drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I guess that's why I'm here at this church."
"To atone for sins that you feel responsible for?"
He looked at the stained-glass window again. "I want to move on with my life. I want to put Boris and Voltaire behind me. I don't want other kids to fall into the same trap my friends and I fell into. I'm like that person in the stained glass. I was the person on my knees worshipping and obeying every command Boris gave me without a care how others would be impacted."
"That's a noble goal, Tala."
He looked at her again, his fingers tightening their grip, digging deep into his knees. "That taunting, leering face. That look he gave me when my challenged against him failed. A triumphant, gleeful look to say without me you are nothing," Tala said, scowling, his knees beginning to hurt. "That's what drives me to do better."
"We are stronger than the ones who tried to mold us into their fantasy warriors." She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, as if testing to see his reaction. When he didn't flinch, she didn't withdraw her hand. "That's why I'm here. I can help people, but I also help myself to recover. I didn't suffer as long as you did – but I've experienced darkness, and I don't want to go back."
He gently pushed her hand away and climbed to his feet. "I should be going."
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?"
He shook his head. "My friends want to watch the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh. You'll enjoy that."
Tala walked to the main entrance then stopped short of the door, turning around once more to face her. He could've stayed a bit longer, but drawn-out conversations tired him. "Maybe one day we'll meet again."
"You don't need to find absolution for your sins, Tala. The past only defines us if we allow it too. We can move forward. I believe you have the strength to move on. You just need to believe in yourself." She held the door open for him. Before leaving, Salima offered him a card. "If you ever want to talk to someone, you can call me. Talking to someone about it is the first step in recovery."
He accepted the card and put it away in a pocket. "I'll consider it."
Before she could speak another word, Tala exited the building. Visiting the church hadn't changed anything. His goals were still the same, and he still didn't believe in a higher power. But Salima was right about one thing. He didn't have to be a slave to the past. She had moved on. He could do the same.
"In the end, I won," Tala said.
.
All week long the media talked about possible theories leading towards the collapse of the stadium. Some people believed it had been a freak accident. Others thought Tyson's power was too much for the stadium to handle. A small number of people believed it was an act of God. Ridiculous theories of course, but what did the media know about beyblading anyway? They just reported what they heard, but they didn't understand the ins and outs of the sport.
Johnny turned the television off and threw the remote away. "These people are stupid."
Robert sighed. "They are doing their job, Jonathon. Reporting what they know."
"Well, duh," Johnny replied curtly.
"I'm glad you're back."
Johnny rolled his eyes. "I came back because my name is on the reservations list for this hotel. I only found out when I got a phone call about it the day before the final match. You could've told me yourself."
"If I had you would have refused to answer the phone call."
Robert knew him all too well. He hated that. Why did Robert have to know so much? "Where's that idiot, Enrique? Don't tell me he spent all last night partying again."
"He went to visit Oliver. Perhaps he stayed at the hospital."
Right. Oliver. The boy was supposed to have finished his amputation surgery. Visiting hours were restricted to one person only, and Enrique was closest to Oliver. Not that Johnny had a problem with that. He hated hospitals. "We need to see Oliver soon. You know we do. He's the only one who can read that damn book. It's in French, and I wouldn't trust anyone else to interpret it."
The book on how to defeat the Leviathan. People had battled with the serpent before in ancient times. The book held the key to victory. Typical. Books always held the answers. He just hated reading. He preferred to fight like a warrior. Not read like a bard.
"Oliver will interpret when he can."
"You're awfully patient. Time is of the essence, Robert." Johnny surged to his feet. "And you bloody well know it. Those bitbeasts are out there. We saw what they did to that stadium. We witnessed their power. Tyson's gone. Kai is too. Who knows where they could be? For all we know they could be dead. We need to act soon."
Robert looked up from the newspaper. "I understand, Jonathon. Now please, keep your voice down. I am trying to solve this crossword puzzle, and I need to concentrate."
Johnny scowled. "Are you fucking serious? A crossword puzzle? Now?" He threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. Whatever. You can sit here and play your stupid activity. I'm going to take a walk and see if they've learned anything at the hospital. I hope you don't succeed." He stormed over to the door. Placing his hand on the handle, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. To emphasize his annoyance, he slammed the door.
He walked out onto the streets. There were police officers walking up and down, as if they thought they could find clues on the road. He ignored them, digging his hands into his pocket, refusing to interact with anyone that made eye contact with him.
There was one person he wanted to see. A certain woman with blue hair and an attitude that made Kai look soft. An attitude he found attractive. It would be easier if she had texted him, but he hadn't given her his number. Still, he had his suspicions on her location. Most likely, she'd be interested in the stadium collapse. They knew about the Leviathan, and he doubted she'd lose interest in it so quickly.
His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted a woman with navy blue hair sitting on a railing, her right leg crossed over the other. The corners of her mouth curved upwards into a grin when she spotted him. He hoped his expression was neutral. "Can't say I'm surprised to see you here," Johnny said. The remains of the stadium could be seen in the distance.
"Good morning, Mariam, how are you this morning?" She jumped off the railing, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. "I'm fine, Johnny. Thanks for asking." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.
Johnny growled. "Yeah, yeah, so I'm not the best at greeting people. I came down here to see what evidence had been left behind. What do you know?"
"You really aren't that good around women, are you? Or people in general."
"Are we really having this conversation? Don't you think there's more pressing matters at hand here than how to treat a lady?" Johnny retorted, feeling that familiar feeling of anger bubbling in his stomach.
"Oh, a lady, am I?"
Her smirk widened. Of course! She was playing with him. He scowled. "I'm sorry, okay? It's not very often I feel tense. This whole Leviathan business has me on edge. Oliver's just recovered from surgery and we're waiting on him to decipher that book so we can learn how to stop this fucking thing."
"I didn't realize you cared so much."
"Yeah well, maybe I'm not who you think I am."
Her smirk faded. "Some people think Dragoon caused the collapse of the stadium, but we know the truth. The Leviathan was behind this. His power is overwhelmingly strong." She turned her head to where the stadium once stood. The place was still taped off and even now, one week later, police still patrolled the area. Most of the debris had been cleaned up now, but it was still treated as a crime scene.
"They really need actual beybladers in the media circus. At least we know what we're talking about. Those people reporting are doing nothing but spreading fear. Next thing you know they'll claim it's the apocalypse," Johnny said tersely, folding his arms.
She joined his side. "My clan elder was found dead recently."
"Sorry."
She shrugged. "It's no big deal really. He was bit traditional. Maybe a little too old school."
Johnny didn't question it further. No point in getting into a discussion about their older authoritarian figures in their lives. That was not a conversation he wanted. "I owe you a dinner."
"I thought you might've forgotten."
"A bet is a bet. I lost. You won. It'd be dishonorable of me to forget. So. I'm going to ask you." He turned his body to face her, so that his entire focus was on her. "Can I take you out to a restaurant of your choosing tonight?" He hoped that was the right way to ask. She didn't burst out laughing at him and nor did she look insulted. Though with Mariam it was often hard to tell what she really thought. She always looked to be amused.
"I would love too. I've never actually been to a restaurant before."
He cocked an eyebrow. "What? You haven't? I thought you had just never been to a fancy one."
"It was a luxury our Elder did not approve of."
"Well, you're missing out then." That was encouraging. At least it would be a new experience for her, and for himself too. Never had he taken a girl out anywhere. "You've never… been taken out to a dinner before? What about Ozuma? Dunga?"
She laughed. "Oh god no."
Just hearing her laugh was like music to his ears. He scolded himself. Get a grip, Johnny, he thought. You're not Enrique. "Well, that's a surprise. Nothing to compare to at least." He rubbed the back of his neck then cleared his throat. "Um, I guess… I should meet you there? I don't have a car since, well, I'm not home. We're not home. My home that is," he mumbled.
"I get what you're saying. It's fine. I don't need to be picked up. What do you think cabs are for?"
"Great. That makes it easier. Uh, where do you want to go? What time?"
"The hotel brochure mentioned La Vue Waterfront Restaurant. It's French fine dining."
"Oh. Right." Probably somehow connected to Oliver. He had connections globally. "Cool." Why did he have to start failing coherent speech now?
"So, how about seven tomorrow night?"
"Okay. I can do that."
She grinned. "Excellent. I'll see you then! But I do have to go. I promised Dunga I'd buy him one of those egg and sausage mcmuffins he loves so much from McDonalds, and Joseph wants some maple syrup pancakes."
"Healthy," Johnny muttered.
"If they want to get fat, that's on them. Their loss. I'll see you tonight, Johnny!" She waved at him then turned her back and walked down the street.
He watched her walk, taking note of how her hips swayed. He was positive she was doing it intentionally – exaggerating her walk to draw attention to her curves. His suspicions were current. She glanced over her shoulder, smirked, and then winked and turned away, laughing. She knew. That girl was in total control, and she knew it.
Losing to Mariam had been good after all.
.
"Stage a tournament? At a time like this? Gustav – refuse them. I am not going to allow Olympia Dome to be used during this stage of mourning," Robert said into the phone, his free hand rubbing his left temple. "That stadium belongs to me. I am the owner. They will have to take their tournament elsewhere. Honestly. The nerve of some people! Good day to you, Gustav. I trust you will handle this until my return." He hung up on his phone then put it into his left pocket.
He was currently waiting at the lobby of the Queenstown Hospital for someone to take him to visit Oliver. The boy was only allowed a certain number of visitors at specific hours. Enrique had already visited once. Now it was Robert's turn to visit his teammate and friend, but he still had another hour to wait.
"Sounds hectic," a woman said.
Robert turned around. A woman with emerald, green eyes and long brown hair approached him. He recognized her as one of the twins of the circus duo, F-Dynasty. Julia Fernandez, warm greetings to you, and to your brother, Raul."
Raul was the introvert though he had become more outspoken since the third world tournament. "Robert." He turned to his sister. "I'm going to the burger joint. I'll see you later." He waved her goodbye.
"You're a bit late for the tournament. It ended a few days ago," Robert said.
"We saw it all on the television. Ever since our appearance at the tournament, demand to see us has been incredibly high. We're getting offers across Europe now. That's why we couldn't compete in the tournament this year." She didn't seem bothered by it. "Beyblading in a stadium is fun and all, but I feel right at home at the circus."
"I understand."
"I didn't know you lived at a circus too," she said with a grin.
He missed the point entirely. "No, I live in a castle a top a large hill, overlooking the Black Forest of Bavaria. It's quite beautiful really."
She forced a grin. "I wouldn't know. I'm just a poor peasant with a talent for tricks."
"You are good at what you do."
Raising an eyebrow, she said, "Oh? You've seen our performances?"
"I caught a few of your beybattles last year on television. Very impressive."
"Oh. I thought you had seen our street performances."
He shook his head. "I've never been one for circus tricks." He then frowned. "I wasn't aware that you were a close friend of Oliver's." Though he wasn't surprised. Oliver was drawn to the world of the creative arts. Robert considered himself to be of high culture too, but he could never understand the appeal of the circus.
"Romero is a friend of Oliver's father. They go way back. That's why we are here."
"I see."
"Have you seen him yet?"
Robert shook his head. "Not since the accident. We had a tournament to compete in, and now this drama. If you have been watching the matches on television, you might have noticed a team called The Four Horsemen. Their bitbeasts are related to Black Dranzer, Cerberus and Zeus. Dark bitbeasts that come from a great serpent bitbeast known as the Leviathan."
"Uh huh, sounds familiar." Julia walked over to a vending machine and inserted some coins. A packet of salt and vinegar chips fell out. She picked it up then turned to him again. "Do you know how to stop it?" She sat down at one of the chairs and crossed her legs.
"There is a book in my library about this Leviathan creature. Unfortunately, the book has been written in French and other languages other than German. Oliver is excellent as deciphering languages, and he's going to translate relevant information." Robert paced back and forth, unable to be still. "Of course, we had a setback because of the accident. But now that he is recovering, I am hoping he might be able to do some translation work."
"How do you know if this book of yours is accurate?"
"Because this serpent has been fought before by our ancestors from many generations ago. Jurgen. Giancarlo. Polanski. MacGregor. Four influential names of royal warrior families of the ancient and medieval world. Our families were the first in Europe to combine beyblading and combat as one. The sport has changed much over its time, but the bitbeasts have not. This is not the first time the Leviathan has been released." He stopped pacing and looked at her. "We can learn from our past. With that knowledge, we can defeat this serpent yet again and send it back to whence it came from."
"You sound confident."
He nodded. "Of course. In the face of battle, we must not show fear because that will empower our foes. When our ancestors fought, did you think they showed they were scared? Never. We must learn from the past and show no fear." He looked at the television again, checking to see if the situation had changed. No word on Tyson or Kai yet.
Julia approached him and held out her packet of chips. "Would you like one?"
"No, thank you," he said, waving his hand. "Thank you for the gesture."
Silence fell. One of the nurses entered the room carrying a clipboard. "Robert Jurgen?" she called out, shifting her attention towards him.
"Yes, that would be me."
"And… Romero?" She looked around.
"Romero will be here shortly," Julia said. "He went to the café. He likes his coffee. I'll go and tell him now."
"Oliver is in ward c, section three, room two. Oliver has a private room." Julia walked away, and the nurse turned to Robert again. "Please come this way, sir. Oliver will be most glad to see you. His condition has vastly improved since the surgery," she said as she guided him down the hallway.
They bypassed several rooms. Some doors were open. Others were closed. Robert wasn't sure why patients wanted their doors kept open. Better to close them to stop strangers from peeking in. There was something unsettling about walking down a corridor with rooms of sick people on both sides.
They carried on walking down the hall for what seemed like at least ten minutes until they finally reached Oliver's ward. "Please, step inside. I'll return in fifteen minutes to bring him lunch."
"Thank you." She walked away.
Robert pushed open the door.
Oliver appeared to be in good spirits. He was sitting on his bed and watching television. Robert glanced at the screen. Master Chef was on. One of those shows Robert didn't understand the fascination with. Why did people want to watch other people cook when they could cook their own food and learn from trial and error?
"Robert!" Oliver exclaimed, switching the television off.
"Greetings," Robert replied, closing the door behind him. Oliver's room was spacious. There was enough for at least three other beds in here. He even had his own private bathroom and a decent sized television screen. Not one of those tiny ones they had in the usual common rooms. He grabbed a chair and sat down. "I apologize for not coming sooner."
"It's okay, I understand. I didn't really feel like talking to anyone anyway."
"Are you feeling better?"
He leaned against the headrest. "I feel like I lost a part of myself. Well, I did, but I feel like a part of my soul is missing," Oliver explained. "It's hard to explain the feeling accurately. It's a lot worse than losing a beybattle on the world stage."
"I wish this fate did not befall on you. You did not deserve this."
Oliver grimaced. "I was angry for the first few days. But I can't be angry. I don't have a right to be mad. Other people have it much worse than me, yet here I am in a big fancy room. I overheard one of the nurses. One patient had to sell their house to afford all the costs for their cancer treatment. It made me realize how selfish I was being." He gestured to his bag on the ground. "The book is in there. I thought I'd wait for you to be here. I thought you'd like to hear it firsthand."
Robert walked over and picked up Oliver's bag. He searched through it then found the book tucked away neatly in one of the pouches. He pulled it out and handed it to Oliver then sat down. "Are you sure? I do not want you to overexert yourself."
"I've been watching the news, Robert. I know what's happening out there, and I want to help. It's the least I can do being cooped up in here." He put it on his lap then opened the first page during the invasion of Gaul."
"Is there anything else?"
Oliver skipped a few pages. "This book seems to be a compilation of different stories from the ancient and medieval world. But there's also something here about the exploration and the discovery of the Aboriginals in Australia. Someone wrote a short account about the odd stories the natives told. Each of them referred to the great rock."
"Uluru," Robert replied. "It's sacred to their beliefs."
Oliver looked up. "That could be the place to go."
"The red rock?"
Oliver nodded, putting the book down on the bedside table. "These stories from these explorers all have a common theme – the beliefs of the natives all focused around the idea of ancestral beings… We'd call them bitbeasts. These ancestral beings fought alongside humans to fight off against evil spirits… That's what the paintings told."
Robert frowned. "And what does that tell us?"
"Bitbeasts have been around since the dawn of human civilization," Oliver explained. "Probably since the beginnings of the earth's creation if we really want to go that far back, but bitbeasts didn't interact with humans until, well, humans came into existence. The Aboriginals of Australia are the oldest living human race."
"So, Uluru holds the key then," Robert concluded.
"The drawings did depict an eagle, a tortoise, a lizard and a cat."
"Dranzer is a phoenix and Dragoon is a dragon," Robert replied curtly.
"They didn't know that back then, and dragons are often seen as overgrown lizards."
Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Robert said, "That is where Tyson will be found."
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure Tyson will go there?"
"Tyson should not be underestimated. He's smarter than he looks."
Underestimating Tyson was a big mistake. The boy had proven multiple times he could overcome any obstacle on his own. He wasn't the fool some people made him out to be. Even Robert himself had thought lowly of him. How wrong he had been.
"I must inform the Bladebreakers and Judy at once." He already had a hand in his pocket, his fingers wrapped around his phone. "We cannot delay any longer. Every moment wasted means Tyson becoming a step closer to losing his battle. Thank you, Oliver. I look forward to your return to the team."
"Of course," Oliver replied. "I understand."
Robert said his goodbyes and left.
.
There was a long queue of people waiting to fly to Brisbane. He couldn't fly directly to Alice Springs from New Zealand but had to stopover in Brisbane in Australia. According to the schedule, it would take an entire day just to reach Alice Springs because of flight schedules and waiting time. It would be a long and lonely flight.
He still had an hour to spare. Sitting down in the waiting area only made him tense – he didn't want people to recognize him and ask questions and autographs. Under normal circumstances, he'd be pleased with attention and opportunity to meet his fans, but the Mark made him unpredictable. No one needed to get hurt. He hid himself in the disabled bathroom instead, hoping no one would come.
"This has got to work," Tyson murmured, looking at himself in the mirror, studying the reflection looking back at him. His expression wore a grim look. "Someone has to know the answers there. They have to." Someone had to help him. He had helped many others. Now it was his turn to be saved.
A spasm of pain imploded in his hand and shot up through his arm to his shoulder. He winced, and grabbed onto the edge of the sink basin, rolling up his jacket's sleeve then glanced down at his arm. The veins in his arms were clearly visible – they had turned black. He dared himself to poke the fattest vein and immediately regretted it. A burning pain overcame him.
When he recovered, he looked at his arm again, expecting to see the veins still, but they were normal. He rubbed his eyes and looked down once more, but there were no black veins. Was he starting to see things that weren't there? He looked in the mirror and pulled his face close to the glass. Everything appeared normal.
Something pressed up against his back. It was like a piece of wood being rammed into his spine. Startled, he jumped and spun around. But nothing. Just a normal bathroom. He turned the tap on and washed his face. When he looked up, he noticed a pair of black snake-like eyes looking at him in the mirror. Again, he splashed his face with water and blinked multiple times, but the eyes had disappeared.
"I'm losing my mind," he murmured. "Going crazy."
A descent into insanity and there was no one around to pull him out of it. For once, he was alone. No Bladebreaker in sight to snap him out. His friends were still at the hotel. Did they think about him? Were they searching for him? Had they given up hope? And Kai. He was in the pit itself. Was he suffering too? Would he have tolerated the Mark better?
Tyson turned the tap off and grabbed some paper towels to dry his face with. Blood covered the towels. Shocked, he dropped them onto the floor, and immediately looked in the mirror. Nothing. Just another illusion, the effects of the Mark messing with his head. He picked up the paper towels and threw them in the bin.
"Stay calm, Tyson," he told himself. "Stay calm."
He drew in a deep breath and exhaled as if he was meditating. Maybe if he kept his eyes shut, he wouldn't have any problems. He closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind on the more positive moments in his life. Winning the tournament for the first time. Holding the trophy in the air. Making friends. Hilary.
You cannot escape what is inside you.
A voice. He opened his eyes. No one. The Leviathan. Of course. It was a part of him now.
"Just leave me alone," Tyson growled. "You are not going to defeat me."
No one is coming to save you.
A taunting voice in his mind. He really had lost his mind. Now he was arguing with himself aloud in the disabled bathroom at the airport. He dropped his hand to his pocket, fingers clasping his blade. Dragoon. Dragoon hadn't abandoned him. He still had one friend. He pulled the blade out and looked down at it. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to get through this," he murmured.
How would he survive a long plane trip? Not one, but two in this condition? What if he had a panic attack on the plane? It would become global news quickly, and he'd probably be taken to some psychiatric ward for a check up on his mental health. His heart hammered wildly, and his palms were sweaty. How was he going to survive?
Tyson. Stay strong. I am with you always.
Dragoon's voice. Not the Leviathan's voice this time.
"I'm losing my mind, Dragoon. I'm seeing things that aren't really here."
You can overcome this. I believe in you. Believe in yourself. We are going to make it.
Dragoon had the faith. He had to have the same confidence. Dragoon had never let him down. He couldn't disappoint him in return. He had to be strong. Tyson turned the tap on again and washed his face once more then pulled his hood down over his face to conceal his features from the public.
"Hello?" a voice outside. An elderly man waiting to enter.
Tyson glanced at his reflection once more. Dark spider-like webs appeared beneath his eyes. More head games. He tore his gaze away from the mirror and walked over to the door. Tyson left the room without saying a single word. He didn't even glance at the man. Best not to make eye contact with anyone in case someone tried to get too close.
He made his way back to the waiting area and sat down at the farthest chair and waited. "I can do this," he murmured, still clutching his blade. "I need to be strong for the people I care about. They haven't given up on me. I can't give up either."
His blade's bitchip glowed, as if pleased.
"I will defeat you, Leviathan. Mark my words."