The House of Grey- Volume 6 (15 page)

He slowly rose to his feet and quickly sidestepped as a basketball-sized blob of tar slammed into where he had been standing. Still, Gibson kept weaving, his golden blade flashing scarlet every few feet.

“Bring it, Gibson.
l
et’s finish this—” Monson stopped as he suddenly noticed something.
A
aron Gibson was not moving towards him but towards—

“Cyann!” Monson called out.

Monson ripped forward, calling upon the Breath of the Dragon with all of his might. This time, the blade heard his plea and answered his call, streaming through the air end over end and glowing with fiery brilliance. Monson darted
among members of H.U.M.A.N.E., the commandos, hardly noticing that none of the Roman Legionnaires were moving, let alone fighting. Monson called out again, trying to make Cyann hear him, but it was no use; the sounds of battle were too overpowering. He needed to move faster. Monson once again called upon his Kei, hoping to mimic his speedy movement during his frantic chase of Christopher Baroty.

As he sped up, he realized that this pursuit was riddled with obstacles, and he constantly had to change directions to dodge massive swipes from the gargantuan beast. Monson roared in frustration as a large hand slapped the ground, sending a bone-jarring tremor throughout the field. Ranks of fighters fell to the ground as the Heart of the Midday Darkness opened his massive maw and…laughed.

Monson looked up into its eyes and for the first time recognized something he had yet to see in any of the other monsters thus far. This monster’s eyes were not those of an instinctual beast.
n
o, this monster was…intelligent. Monson could see it.

The Heart of the Midday Darkness grinned savagely and slashed at him with a giant clawed hand. Monson reacted quickly, rolling out of the demon’s way while he scripted a spell. Just as Monson completed the earthen spell
and
broad five-foot-tall spikes
sprouted
up
from the ground, the monster struck. Black ooze spurted from the beast’s impaled hand.

The Heart of the Midday Darkness let out a banshee wail that shook the soul. Monson assessed his next move: This thing was probably after him; it was time to get
everyone
out. He scripted another spell, calling out the phrases that would bring it to life and imbuing as much power as he possibly could into it.

“Combat Spell One Hundred: Scorching Pathways!”

Monson stomped the ground with all his might and bright orange flames rocketed across the field, walling off the pit of blackness from the commandos and H.U.M.A.N.E. fighters. Monson bellowed one single word in a magically magnified voice; a single word that he
willed
to be heard by every person there.

“Retreat!”

The reverberation of the call was distilled into a silver vapor, which curled upwards from Monson’s mouth and into the air.

The reaction was slow, reluctant, maybe even forced. But almost every single person on the field pivoted and started to move as  hesitation crumbled and better judgment flooded the reason of H.U.M.A.N.E. and the commandos. The men and women ran; they ran and did not look back.

This call to safety did not appear to be to the beast’s liking. He sucked back a huge breath as if to vacuum up the lot of them. A strange gurgling drifted steadily down from the beast’s throat just as Monson realized, a second too late, what was about to happen.

The monster let out a tidal wave of oozy tar, the bubbling substance undulating from mouth to ground. Upon impact, the ooze rippled up and out, picking up speed as it tsunamied after the fleeing fighters. Monson desperately tried to think of a suitable spell amid an impending sense of doom.

A cracking noise followed a flash of bright yellow light.
M
onson looked skyward for the source of the radiance, which moved freely, floating on a cloud of fire. He shielded his eyes, fearing that if he looked too long, all clarity would be drawn from him. A voice blossomed in his ear, a voice that stirred some instinct deep within him.

“Fear not, Beloved, for thou should not be wary of the gates of thy guardians. They and all that is righteous among their Order will protect thee with their lives.”

Monson stopped all attempt at movement as his body once again started to pulse with silver light. He felt a familiar warm glow sweep from head to foot.
a
voice as sweet as sugar yet oddly seductive spoke within him. Monson felt suddenly alive, without weariness or pain. All fear left him, taking with it doubt concerning his past and anxiety about the future.
t
he warm glow completely enveloped him as the voice purred to him once more.

“Beloved,”
sang the voice in utter delight yet with a hint of uncertainty. As it continued, it sounded more earnest and concerned.

“Thy friends and teachers risk their own personal destruction for the sake of that which is most important. They fight for the sake of life on all the planes of reality. They fight for the very fabric of the future.” 

Monson stood amazed as the nimbus of silver grew stronger and power swelled from within him. He marveled at the energies that played up and down his skin. This power was like his own, but brighter, purer and more intense.
i
t made
his own
silver Kei look a dull gray by comparison.
r
egardless of the intensity of the Kei, the sensation was soft.
i
t cradled him like a mother would a child.

Monson breathed in heavily as an incredible smell filled his nose. A glint, a drapery of silver hair…silver eyes…a warmth of ages but also confusion…so much confusion…Monson’s heart started to beat wildly….

Monson spoke aloud. “Who…who are you?”

“Someone who would not see thee destroyed. Please flee, the Darkness cannot be stopped.”

“How do you know this?”

Monson took a step back, and then he took another.
h
e shot an amazed look down at his feet. They were not listening to him! They were obeying this mysterious womanly voice. Monson paused as the thought pinged off the walls of his mind. A woman? Why was he hearing a woman’s voice?

A scream pushed all thought out of his head.

What was cloudy suddenly became visible.
t
he silhouette of a giant flying bird flapped, hovering in midair, level with the Heart of the Midday Darkness. It had bright blue eyes and an illuminated red body covered in red and blue flames. It was lucky that Monson had no control over his extremities because if he had, he surely would have fallen to the ground in astonishment.

Brian Gatt, covered in a thick shroud of Kei, stood on the back of the bird fifty feet in the air. But this was not the Brian Gatt that Monson had come to know in this short, desperate time. This Brian Gatt was glowing with the power of the noonday sun, forcing back the darkness with the mere presence of his light. Every part of him seemed washed with liquid gold.
h
is hands, arms and feet shone brightly, his hair glowed, and his face reflected rays of starlight.

The release of kei was like no describable feeling. As if the very fiber of what made people happy was subject to manipulation by this man who was just a cut above everyone and everything else. Brian Gatt continued scripting spells, focusing on wind attacks. Raging blades of compacted air sliced against the body of the beast, which brought forth anger-filled roars. The Heart of the Midday Darkness reacted in the face of this new threat, lashing out with swipes of its claws and blasts of energy from its mouth. Monson gasped as bleachers were dashed to pieces. This was not looking good.

Monson adjusted his gaze, searching for Casey, Artorius and the others, hoping that the actions of Brian Gatt and the Midday Darkness had not harmed them. Across the field Monson located Aaron Gibson fighting Cyann, Casey and Artorius. Not only was he fighting the three of them by himself,
but
he was handling them all quite well. Casey and Artorius, both lacking a Magi Blade, were at a distinct disadvantage. They were pulling out all the stops, however. Casey was fighting with the full extent of his flash fist abilities and Artorius was tossing any item he could get his hands on and displaying unnatural bouts of strength. Their contributions appeared to serve as little more than a distraction. Yet they obviously knew that their lives counted on the sword duel unfolding before them, and they fought on desperately.

Gold and blue blades, the unnamed Magi Blade and the River’s Serenity, flashed again and again, the blades creating intricate patterns as Gibson and Cyann stepped to and fro. Cyann did amazingly well but appeared to be injured; her moves weren’t as precise or as crisp as usual. She continued to lose ground to Gibson. Monson tried again to move to them, but his legs refused to listen. He struggled with greater urgency.
h
is friends were fighting for their lives and something was trying to force him to run away.

”Why are you doing this?” Monson spoke aloud, not having the presence of mind to speak in his head. “Why are you trying to get me to run?”

“Thy importance…thy importance is too great to be risked. Thou
canst not
perish here. I will not allow it.”

“I’m not going to run!” Monson strained and his Kei reacted, his own power fighting against the one holding him captive. “And if I am so important then why isn’t Gibson after me? Why does he want Cyann?”

“It does not matter! As long as thou art safe—”
“It matters to me!” yelled Monson. “Listen, I don’t know who you are but if you don’t let me go, I’m going to make you regret it horribly.”

The voice responded and Monson stopped struggling as a sadness touched him, one of incredible depth and magnitude. Monson recognized the voice. He just could not remember from where….

Please…please, Master Grey…could thou not listen…just this once?

Another emotion came across strongly…it was fear…fear of losing a loved one…the concern of a mother for her daughter, a father for his son, a brother for his sister, and maybe even…a lover mourning the one already lost….

If you care about me…,
Monson said in his head.
You will…let…me…go.
He waited a moment.
Please….

The magic impeding Monson released him. He smiled.
Thank you,
he thought.

“The Eighth Tower—the truth can be found in the Eighth Tower.”

Monson paused.
What truth?

“I do not know. Thou must find it for us both. Only then will our questions be answered.”

You don’t even know? Then why must I find it? And how am I supposed to find the answer to a question that I don’t know?

“Only then will the ultimate question be answered….”

The ultimate question? What ultimate question? Stop being so damned cryptic!

No answer…the presence was gone. Monson felt despair as emptiness filled the spot where the presence had been.
i
t felt like a piece of
himself
had been torn out of his heart. Like the voice, the feeling was intense and again familiar…like this was not the first time it had happened.

A scream brought him back to the present. Monson watched as a blade swung upwards in slow motion and Aaron Gibson’s blade slashed Cyann Harrison’s right arm. Cyann fell to the ground. Gibson raised his blade
–

Monson bellowed like an enraged bull, feeling his body and blade react to his wrath. Any and all remaining soldiers quickly cleared a path as he dove at Gibson and Cyann. Monson was still airborne when his first strike fell.
h
e was lucky he caught Gibson off guard, as it would have been hard to counter in midair. Monson’s blade crashed down on the golden one, the force of the blow throwing Gibson back several yards. Despite the impact, Gibson maintained his form and balance. Monson landed less than gracefully and barked at Casey and Artorius. “Get her out of here!”

The two friends did not argue. They moved in behind Monson, who was following Gibson’s every move. Gibson leaned forward, his body going tense.

“You sure are a meddlesome youth. Like I said, Monson Grey, your time is not yet here. You still have a role to fulfill before your sudden and untimely death.”

“I’ve had enough of the theatrics. If you’re not going to explain yourself then SHUT UP!”

Monson’s anger flared as a sweat-like sensation caused silver Kei to push out from every part of his body, the energy accumulating at his hands and rippling up the Breath of the Dragon, momentarily drenching the sword in silver light.

A flicker, a mere flicker of Gibson’s eyes, did not go unnoticed by Monson. It was perhaps a pause of indecision, Monson was not sure, but he did not loosen his grip on his sword.

Gibson’s eyes narrowed. “You are too dangerous.
I
don’t know why the Master lets you—”

Monson bridged the gap between them, slashing forward with another blistering overhead strike. Gibson met his move with one of his own, blocking and countering. Another burst of silver Kei shot up and down the length of Monson’s sword, making him feel more alert and alive, and dare he say…more powerful.