The House of Grey- Volume 5 (17 page)

A huge redheaded blur, like a red freight train, flanked the commando from his rear, making any sort of shot impossible. Artorius did not do anything fancy; he simply used his massive bulk and plowed into the commando, crushing him to the ground. He picked up the gun once he was sure that the commando was not going to move and looked at the other two.

Monson jumped to their sides ready to enter the fray. Casey, apparently calming down after his sudden burst of violence, grabbed him.

“Grey—you have to chill! We’re outnumbered, remember?”

Monson growled through gritted teeth. “Casey…let…me…go….”

A disembodied voice rang out, chilling them all to the bone. Monson had heard that voice before. “So, the son of the Great Betrayer finally makes his appearance.”

A man robed in a billowing black cloak stepped out of the shadows holding what looked like a bright light.

The relatively warm night suddenly felt quite cold as Monson gasped aloud.

“Breath of the Dragon….”

In the hand of the black-cloaked man was a Magi Blade.

Chapter 54 – Great One

“You know this dude, Grey?” Casey whispered in Monson’s ear.

Monson stood upright, completely rigid as he looked at the black-cloaked man. “Oh yeah, we go way back.”

Casey touched Monson’s arm. “Does he have anything to do with you lighting up like a night light?”

“So not the time Case.”’

Monson focused on the man. “I’m so glad to see you. I was starting to wonder if you were real or not.”

Monson pulled the sword out of Casey’s grasp. The cold metal felt wonderful in his hand. “Let the girls go.”

Casey pulled at Monson’s shoulder. Monson attempted to shrug him off, not wanting to take his eyes from the man.

“Stop ignoring me Grey!”

Monson turned to Casey. “Dude, can’t you see I’m a little—”

Monson shut his mouth. It was easy to see why Casey was trying to get his attention.

The bodies of the two men Casey and Artorius had just taken out were now melting away, literally dissipating into the wind gusting about the marble-topped plateau. A second oddity arose from this observation; there was no blood, no indication of the purportedly violent skirmish that had taken place, aside from the weapons and clothes, which were jumbled among a pile of—

“Rocks?” Artorius stepped up with the two of them. “The guys we just jumped turned into rocks?”

Casey again whispered to Monson. “Dude, I think…these…these guys are made out of rock.”

Monson again spoke through gritted teeth. “Case, your grasp of the obvious is astounding, but I’m pretty sure Arthur just said that.”

“You don’t get it Grey. If that guy did some sort of…I can’t believe I’m saying this…magic that enables him to make inanimate objects animate, then taking him out would most likely—”

“Take out the others.” Monson slapped his friend’s back. “You’re a genius, Casey.”

“Does that mean you’re going to explain to us what’s going on?”

Monson nodded. “Later.”

He whipped back towards the man in the black cloak. “It seems that you and I have unfinished business. Why don’t we settle up?”

The man let loose a grating laugh. “Such ignorance of the powers that be. I do not have time for you, Great One. The ambitious and uninformed are moving and I will have to play later.”

Wicked flame sparked from the blade in the cloaked man’s hand, casting additional light over the area just as a reflection off his hand caught Monson’s attention.

“A glove?” whispered Monson. He focused on it more intently. True enough, the man had a glove clamped tightly over his hand and wrist just like the one Grayson had given Monson. There were differences, but only one of significance; a jewel sat squarely in the body of the glove, the part that stretched across the top of the glove. 

Without warning, the man swung the red molten blade at the silver bubble of light. The level of energy outpour as the two powers collided was outrageous, only intensifying the longer the struggle continued. Harder and harder, the flame pressed on the force field, blanketing the area with heat. Monson looked in at the now thoroughly scared Kylie and the barely moving Cyann. He thought he saw Cyann’s lips twitch, but shook his head. It must have been a trick of the light. How could he possibly see something that far away?

The painful screaming returned, but this time… this time, it was not coming in as clearly. It was fading.

Monson shifted his attention back to the black-cloaked man.
Just as he attempted to move, a flash of bright light strobed the area, blinding everyone.
When the light cleared and their eyes adjusted, the silver-hued force field was gone.

The man in the black cloak started to laugh maniacally as he loomed over the two girls. He made quick slashing movements with his hand, leaving odd, colored symbols in the air. He flexed his hand in anticipation, and then bellowed like a madman.

“YES!”

He pointed the blade at Cyann, letting it hang right over her chest.

“Who would have thought?” He laughed again as he surveyed the two prone girls. “Who really would have thought? After all this time, after all the searching! I am taking you both with me. Oh yes, he will be greatly pleased.”

The tip of the Magi Blade skimmed across Cyann’s exposed flesh, burning her chest slightly. “I think I might have my way—”

Another bright flash of unholy iridescence ripped through the ranks of the commandos, tossing the unsuspecting individuals. The light actually melted weapons, burned up fatigues, and swallowed blasts of the science fiction weapons. Loud guttural words in an unfamiliar language raged as the molten silvery light neared Cyann and Kylie. As the light pulsed into nothingness, the man in the black cloak materialized facedown on the ground dozens of feet from where he had been standing.

To everyone’s surprise, Monson Grey now stood where the man in the black cloak once did, his fist outstretched where the black-cloaked man had once been. Monson held the pose as gleaming, molten silver dripped from his hand.

He fumed with an uncontrolled rage.

“Don’t.”

His words reverberated around the space. He spoke again, barely aware of the dual quality to his voice, almost as if two voices were laced together as one.

“Don’t touch.”

The man in the black cloak stood up, noticeably disarmed.

“You insignificant little speck. I will not allow your meddling to hamper my great victory. I will kill you now.”

The man waved his hand, apparently flipping an invisible switch that sent the commandos into kill mode. They sprang into action.

Two of the commandos rushed at Monson, who quickly righted himself but otherwise remained completely stationary.

Monson, feeling no fear, appraised his attackers.

The first commando reached him, raising his blade high overhead. He dropped as Monson attacked with a straight-fingered strike to the throat followed quickly by a left-handed knuckle punch to the solar plexus. The commando dropped after a low stomp to his inner knee. He did not make a sound as he fell to the ground and immediately melted. Traces of the silver molten energy lingered everywhere Monson had struck, every place his blows had touched the commando.

He looked at the commando one last time and felt no compassion.

Three more of them surrounded Monson, the wicked blades held aggressively in their glove-covered hands. Each closed in, keeping a calculated distance. Then at a seemingly scripted moment, they attacked as one wave. A cannon-like sound sent ripples of air though the ranks of commandos and Monson’s friends. Monson reacted quickly and rolled back just in time to see a ball of fire streak towards the fray. Two of the commandos caught the blast head-on. He watched as the fire consumed them.

Monson glanced in the direction of the blast’s origin only to see Artorius pointing the shiny hand cannon. Surprisingly, he started to laugh.

“Grey, you have got to try this thing. It is wicked.”

Artorius abruptly swung the weapon, knocking two nearby commandos right off their feet. He fired another shot at the two once they hit the ground.

A blade swinging at his head brought Monson back to the present. He repeated his dive-roll just as more blades crashed against the ground, almost splitting him in half.

“The blade, little one…forsake not the blade...”

Monson grasped at his throat. T
he voice…
it was coming out of his mouth! And it burned with blood lust.

In a fortunate turn of events, or perhaps it was his
instinct,
Monson’s second roll brought him within arm’s reach of the forgotten Magi Blade. He hesitated for an instant. Using a blade forged of an enemy’s magic was a dumb idea. He kicked his foot out, sweeping the leg of a commando nearing him,
then
finished the man with an axe kick to the face. He steeled himself. This was no time to be prudent. They were still outnumbered, outgunned, and this could be their only chance—Kylie and Cyann’s only chance. And if there was a chance, he was going to take it and go down fighting.

Monson took hold of the Magi Blade.

Again, words that were not his own left his parted lips. “Breath of the Dragon….”

Monson, back on his feet, cringed in surprise as a massive pillar of red flame exploded from the blade. He held the blade at arm’s length directly in front of him just as flames careened from the base of the hilt up the blade and reached higher and higher into the air. The heat of the flames prickled his skin as he opened a first wary, then more confident eye towards the fire-wrapped blade.

A welcome familiarity wormed its way into the flex of Monson’s hand as the tingle of the magical fire touched his skin. He knew it would not harm him.

His attention shifted abruptly as he eyed many of the remaining charging commandos. He wasted no energy. Reaching back, he swung the fiery blade forward. Any commandos within reach of his arcing fiery destruction fell prey to the scorch of his blade.

Monson repositioned himself to face the cloaked man. The man was not facing him. Monson looked closer and observed the frenzied movements of the man’s hands as he fidgeted with his glove. Monson was not sure what the man was trying to accomplish, but the glow of the alloyed glove provided him a glimpse of his mysterious
actions.The
man spoke. “I think it is about time for our gathering to come to an end, Oh Great One.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Monson kept his eyes trained on the glowing metal glove. “You have answers, answers I need. Who you are? Why are you here and what the hell happened at Baroty Bridge?”

The man laughed. “You are so very much like your grandfather. He was always questioning everything, demanding answers.”

The glowing gloved hand started to move. “Fight and legend ends here…for all of you, I am afraid. Pity, really; there was more to accomplish. As it seems, young Master Grey, you have forgotten a fundamental lesson of the Magi Blade.”

Monson gripped the blade tighter. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Always exert dominance over the body, never cease the flow of its heart, and last but not least, never speak the words of dissemination.”

“Words of dissemination?” said Monson. “What does that…?”

Monson did not have to inquire further. He knew what was coming next. He yelled over his shoulder. “Casey! Artorius! Run!”

The Magi Blade in Monson’s hand started to shake violently and turned white from its heat and energy. Small cracks formed along the length of the blade as the sound of breaking metal filled the air. Monson, knowing he had only seconds, cocked his arm and chucked the blade at the man with the black cloak.

Too late.
Two feet from his hand the Breath of the Dragon exploded, sending a molten wave of fire over everything on the plateau. Monson closed his eyes, stifling his tears for the fallen.

***

A voice stirred Monson.

“I have got you, my boy. Be still.”

Monson did not want to open his eyes. If he did, he would find out if he was in Heaven or Hell and considering all his doubts and ruminations about God, the big guy was undoubtedly irritated with him. He was just not ready for the revelation yet.

“You are not dead.”

Monson still refused to open his eyes. “Are you sure about that? I’m not sure I believe you.”

The voice, which by now sounded familiar, laughed. “Of course I am sure. Open your eyes.”

Monson did so and gasped in horror as a sea of fire arced over him. The sight was slightly distorted, as if Monson was watching it through broken glass.

He glanced to either side, noticing the sensation of churning air on this skin.

“A barrier,” the voice informed him.

Monson heard the words without really knowing their meaning. But sure enough, he was able to discern that a barrier of swirling wind was encircling him and whoever grasped him from behind. Monson tried to touch it.