The thought of the previous evening ran in circles around my mind as I stood out on the street of Moscow, light droplets of rain falling onto the top of my head. It had been atrocious. I had given my announcement over the television, about the war with France and the movement to LOC I. And I had sounded like a fool.
The words ‘the situation in France has escalated to a level that we did not see coming’ echoed in my head as I stared up at the building that housed Albert Kuznetsov. My speech had been horrific. Only the Gods knew what havoc I was wreaking in the heads of my people. We were at war with France. That was almost as crazy as Maltor coming back from the dead.
I stared up at the square building in front of me. The exterior seemed quite standard. It was a square white building with numerous windows of the same shape lining the outside. ‘Standard’ might not have been the correct word. ‘Basic’ fit better.
Sighing, I murmured, ‘This is insane.’
‘I’m not allowed to come into Albert’s room with you,’ Joseph said for the millionth time. ‘I’ll stay on the bottom floor.’
‘I know, Joseph. It’s fine.’
‘What if something goes wrong?’ he said, evidently growing more and more worried by the second. ‘You’re not allowed to take weapons in with you.’
I, too, wasn’t too fond of the fact that I could not take any weapons in. Not even my belt. But I had given the matter some thought the previous night.
‘Joseph, I am a descendant of Titan. I don’t need a weapon to fight.’
He opened his mouth to respond before deciding against it.
The rain was slowly getting heavier, and my fringe was beginning to stick to my forehead. I quite liked this kind of rain; the type that wasn’t too heavy, but was more so atmospheric.
‘We should go in, shouldn’t we?’ I mumbled, striding forward before even waiting for a response.
As I got closer to the building, my stomach began to churn harder and harder. Why? What was going to go wrong? Who was going to get hurt?
I pushed open the tall doors gradually, half expecting to be stabbed or shot the moment I stuck so much as my foot inside. I was not.
Instead, I was met with a seemingly standard reception area. It was similar, in a way, to the entrance rooms of The Hall. But this place was way more extravagant.
The walls were made of grey marble, with columns placed equidistant from one another lining them around the room and in the corners. They led up to the ceiling, which was the same colour and material, and had a few glass chandeliers hanging down from it. Beautiful light was cast across the room, and the contrast between this place and The Tower was almost astonishing.
The two buildings had a similar function, but this place had a heavier focus on being the seat of government for Russian Mutants rather than being a place for some to stay. It was situated away from any Mutant-dense areas, to avoid attraction. Instead, it was placed on an ordinary Moscow street, and to some may have even looked like a standard office building.
Before I could think too long about the contrast between the two places, I brought my attention back to the interior of the building. The carpet at my feet was fluffy and dark red, which severely contrasted the walls and ceiling. It led forward to the desk at the front, which was made of the same grey marble as the walls.
Just one look at the man behind the desk did not give me high hopes for the type of man that Kuznetsov would be. The man that stood there was tall and broad; it looked like he could have eaten two Grandads. He had short mousy brown hair that sat atop his rectangular face. Stern, beady brown eyes stared at me from where he stood, and they appeared to be scanning me, almost as though he were sizing me up. His outfit was nothing short of familiar; he wore a black and white suit.
‘Sir, is your neck itchy?’ Joseph asked quietly from my side.
‘No, why?’
‘You keep rubbing your neck. Is it the suit?’
‘I hate suits, man,’ I grumbled, tugging gently at the tight white collar. ‘It’s not ‘itchy’, but I’d rather be wearing anything else.’
‘Just talk with Kuznetsov, then you can change.’
I made a silent prayer to the Gods that my Russian was good enough to get through a conversation with a fluent speaker.
I awkwardly walked up to the front desk, causing a few heads to turn and glance in my direction as I did so. The receptionist glared down at me along his small button-like nose. It looked like he wanted to rip me apart.
‘Albert Santrrer. I need to speak to Albert Kuznetsov,’ I mumbled, pausing between every other word.
The receptionist quickly raised a large hand. Both Joseph and I must have thought that he was about to strike me, as I tensed my neck and legs as Joseph shot his arms in front of me.
We looked like idiots.
The man was, in fact, not trying to hit me. Instead, he was pointing to the lift on the right wall that I had not noticed.
‘Up there. Third floor,’ he grunted.
‘Thank you, sir.’
Then, I turned to Joseph.
‘Find someplace to make yourself comfortable, I guess. I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
‘Good luck, sir.’
The two of us shook hands before I strode over to the lift in the wall. My stomach was flipping. Why was I so anxious? It was only a conversation, right?
Yeah, a conversation that could shape the path that the entirety of Europe took. It was insane. All of this because some stupid woman had failed to kill a baby.
It would have been so much better if she’d just killed me. If she hadn’t used Immitis Occisio. There were plenty of other ones in her arsenal. Gods, she could have literally blown me up, but she instead chose the only spell that could go wrong.
The ding of the lift doors opening quickly dragged me out of the cesspit that was my own mind. Two people exited, and I was the only one to enter.
After I pressed the button for the third floor, the doors of the lift slowly shut. Before they closed, I saw Joseph watching me, his eyes full of worry. As wrong as it probably was to have a favourite Aid member, Joseph was mine. He was great.
I hated lifts. Even though I was only inside of it for a few seconds, my body felt alight with nerves, and it was not because I was due a conversation with Kuznetsov in a few minutes. I hated lifts. They were small, cramped, and felt weird to use. Nobody could convince me that that weird feeling as the lift began its ascent was not uncomfortable.
To say I was thankful when my short journey came to a close would be an understatement. I was full of relief. Flying, I could deal with. Lifts? No chance.
The corridor of the third floor was quite standard. It had plain white walls and a slightly darker ceiling, both of which fitted nicely with the grey carpet at my feet. A few doors lined the sides of the corridor on either side, and I knew instantly which one was Kuznetsov’s. How? Because he was standing outside of it, looking up and down the corridor, presumably for me.
He was tall. Very, very tall. Taller than the receptionist. He stood at what had to have been at least six-foot-seven, with a square face and frighteningly broad shoulders. A thick brown beard adorned the lower half of his face and sported the same colour as his hair, which I could only see the sides of due to his navy blue military beret. His uniform was also navy blue; a buttoned-up jacket with golden buttons along with dark trousers that ran sharply down until they met his shiny black shoes. I could barely see his white shirt underneath the jacket. He looked intimidating.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly walked towards him.
‘Albert Kuznetsov, right? I am Albert Santrrer,’ I tried awkwardly.
He grinned down at me, displaying shockingly white teeth. This, along with the new warm glow in his blue eyes, made him look rather innocent. Even if I did only come up to his shoulder.
‘Oh, English, please,’ he said slowly, as though he were sounding out the words. ‘I ask you to come, so I speak your language. And, yes, I am Albert Kuznetsov.’
‘Nice to meet you, sir,’ I said, rather glad that we were speaking in my native tongue.
He elbowed me playfully. I don’t think he intended for me to stumble back by about two steps.
‘We share same name!’ he bellowed happily. ‘That is funny!’
I smiled at him, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my shoulder. ‘We do indeed.’
He invited me into his room, and I followed him inside after accepting.
Just like the rest of the building, Albert Ku’netsov's room was nothing short of standard. Brown wood flooring, white walls and ceiling, and the general layout of an apartment. It was almost strange. I had expected something grand for the president of Russian Mutants, but it really was just a normal room.
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The two of us found a place to converse next to the sofa. I did not want to sit down for fear of being seen as rude, and, because he remained standing, it looked as though we would continue the conversation on our feet.
The living area was almost like mine back at The Tower. A white sofa situated opposite a flatscreen TV on the wall, with a dark brown coffee table in between.
‘It warm in here,’ Kuznetsov grumbled. ‘You want window open?’
‘I don’t mind,’ I murmured. ‘If you think it’s warm, then open it by all means.’
He opened the window on the wall to my right. As he did so, I noticed something. There was a glass door next to the window which led to a balcony.
‘Albert? Are we at the side of the building?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Why?’ was the response as Kuznetsov slowly walked back over to me.
‘Because there’s a balcony there. When I arrived, I couldn’t see any balconies out front.’
‘Oh, yes, we try to make the place look ‘normal’ at front,’ he said, grinning. ‘But at side we make it look pretty.’
I then remembered why I was even here.
‘So, Mr Kuznetsov, what exactly did you want to talk about?’
‘France? I think you say ‘France’. I think we must talk about France.’
I paused for a moment before responding. ‘Yes, we say ‘France’. And I presume you mean the French declaring war on RoCity? Or do you just mean the rise of Jason Vil?’
‘Both,’ he replied sternly. ‘I want to tell you that Russia will assist UK in the fight with France.’
‘I appreciate the sentiment,’ I said warmly. ‘And I will tell you that if Russia ever finds itself under attack, RoCity will do as much as it can to help.’
‘We need to stay strong now,’ Kuznetsov murmured, sounding almost sad. ‘Everyone wants to kill everyone.’
I nodded tightly. ‘Vil’s rise to power is definitely concerning. But what do you suggest we do?’
‘Russia will support from behind scenes,’ Kuznetsov said. ‘If the situation gets worse then Russia will help directly.’
‘How will you help behind the scenes?’ I tried, hoping that I didn’t sound rude.
‘Supplies,’ was Kuznetsov’s response, and his tone indicated that he thought I was an idiot. ‘Food, weapons, those things.’
I nodded slowly. ‘That would be greatly appreciated, sir. Thank you.’
‘I make alliance official through TV,’ Kuznetsov continued. ‘Let world know that Russia and UK are friends.’
‘I shall announce it to RoCity once I return as well, then.’
The two of us stood in silence for a moment. It seemed as though neither of us really knew which direction to take the conversation in.
‘If you ever need help in a future endeavour,’ I tried, ‘just know that RoCity will support you.’
He nodded tightly. ‘We make it official. Handshake?’
Kuznetsov offered his hand, a warm smile beginning to grow on his face. Thinking nothing of it, I nodded slightly and began to raise my own hand to shake his.
About half a second before our hands met, an arrow whizzed through the air from my right and narrowly missed Kuznetsov’s arm.
Instantly yanking my hand back, my head snapped to the right. The open window. That’s where it had come from.
Across the street, standing on the balcony of another building, was a slender man holding a bow, aimed perfectly at the open window of our room. I saw him load another arrow. I didn’t react in time.
He let the arrow fly forward. This one was different, however. As it flew towards our window, I saw an orange spell fly from its right. The instant the magic made contact with the arrow, I knew what was going to happen.
It may have been a while since I’d even seen magic used, but I would recognise that spell from miles away. It had caused massive problems during the war with Amy.
‘Kuznetsov!’ I roared, diving to the left.
It was rather foolish; there was no way that I could protect that behemoth from damage. But I had to try.
I tackled Kuznetsov to the ground, pressing my body tightly against his.
The world went up in flames. A deafening bang echoed through the room, accompanied by roaring flames a second later. The force of the blast nearly sent me flying, but I kept a tight grip on Kuznetsov.
I leapt to my feet the moment that the force from the explosion died down. Clearly, some people did not want Russia and the UK to form an alliance.
‘Kuznetsov!’ I bellowed as I began to run to the door that led to our own balcony. ‘Stay there!’
Tensing my shoulder and pointing it towards the door, I braced for impact.
The door shot open as I ploughed through it, and I thanked my lucky stars that it hadn’t been locked. But now I was out. I had to fight. Without a weapon.
Looking around wildly, I saw the man on the balcony opposite me glaring in my direction, bow raised. I also saw who had fired the Detognis or Detognis-like spell at the arrow. There was a man seemingly stuck to the wall on my left. He was squatting low against it effortlessly, his long blond hair flying wildly in the harsh winds.
I heard the archer fire an arrow at me.
In an instant, I had tightened my gut and coated my right hand in bright orange flames. It wasn’t the most genius of tactics, but it was effective.
I flung my now-closed right fist forward through the air, causing the flames around it to fly off and envelope the arrow mid-air. It turned to ash.
There was a huge problem, however. I could not fight the two of them from the balcony; I would have to fly in order to be effective in combat. But I didn’t want to use my wings for fear that they would be shot. So there was only one other method, and it just so happened to be the one that I had never used before in my life.
Ethan had done it, though. So I certainly could.
I dived over the balcony railing, willing the air to densify. Technically, I had done it during my fight against Righello, when I had created the ‘wall’ of air. Now I just needed to create a ‘floor’. My stomach flipped as I realised that that fight had only been five days ago.
And it worked. It was a strange feeling. It was exactly like standing on any ordinary floor, but, of course, there was nothing beneath my feet. I then discovered that by manipulating the density of the air all around me along with creating small gusts of wind, I could ease myself through the sky. I was flying. Without wings.
Another arrow soared through the air towards me.
I cocked my head to the side by an inch, and I heard it whiz past my ear, missing by mere millimetres.
‘You’ve gotta be joking!’ I growled angrily as two people leapt down from the roof above the archer to join him on the balcony.
I spun around in the air, glaring at the wizard. He was technically the least dangerous of the four, but I didn’t like the fact that he was behind me.
Through gritted teeth, I caused flames to appear around my wrists and in my palms. Then, with a great roar of effort, I flung both of my hands forward, watching as the flames within them expanded in rope-like tendrils to wrap around the wizard’s ankles and wrists.
I dragged him towards me by tugging on the fiery tendrils. As he flew towards me, his green eyes full of terror, I perfected my breathing. I’d never done this without swords before, so it would certainly be something.
‘Thunder Breathing, Third Form: Sparking Strikes!’ I bellowed as electricity began to run along the surfaces of my fists.
My arms had never moved so fast. I let loose a barrage of punches almost faster than the eye could see, my arms and fists complete blurs, their true shape masked by a cloak of bright electricity.
To complete the combination, I launched a devastating left hook to the side of his jaw, sending him spiralling through the air before crashing into his comrades.
‘Albert!’ came Kuznetsov’s roar from behind me. ‘Watch out!’
Without even looking around, I darted to the right, praying that whatever was coming my way would now miss. The thing was, it wasn’t aimed at me.
A huge hammer nearly the size of my torso flew through the air, slamming hard into the group of would-be assassins. I knew immediately that at least one of them was dead, and it was the wizard. His smoking body became slack and one of his comrades yelped in shock as they realised he was dead.
For a moment, I wondered how Kuznetsov planned to get his hammer back. My jaw nearly hit the street below when I saw it rise from the group of assassins and zoom back through the open window straight into Kuznetsov’s open palm.
I didn’t have time to ponder that. I had to finish off the other three.
I soared down to the balcony, landing in front of the squad. One of them shakily got to his feet. He looked around, dazed, before his dark blue eyes finally landed on me.
His greasy brown hair stuck to his head in such a disgusting display of a lack of hygiene that even I began to feel slightly repulsed.
The man raised a guard, causing a smirk to appear on my face.
‘Come on, then,’ I said quietly. ‘Come at me.’
His punch came slowly and even if I hadn’t dodged, it would have missed.
I leant back at the waist, balling my fists and raising them into a guard as I did so. Then, as effortlessly as I let out a breath from my nose, I ploughed my right fist into the bottom of his jaw, snapping his head back.
I didn’t stop.
A left hook followed. Then a right. Then another right. A left. A right. A left uppercut. A sweet combination of brutal punches flew into his face and torso quicker than he could comprehend.
A right hook. I poured every last bit of my power into it, and the sheer force of my fist flying into his face sent him crashing to the balcony like a sack of bricks. He was out cold.
Then I turned to face the other two. Maybe if I’d knocked out the other guy faster then I could have dodged. Maybe it was the speed at which I turned. Maybe it was my reaction time.
The archer ploughed one of his arrows into my right forearm as his brown eyes glowed with pure resentment.
‘Albert Santrrer…’ he murmured weakly. ‘Your blood…shall stain the streets of Moscow…’
I kissed my teeth. ‘Really? Do you even have any idea who I am?’
He let out a loud bellow of anger, shoving the arrow further into my arm. I merely kissed my teeth once more.
I brought my left leg up, bending it perfectly. He saw it coming, but he couldn’t move fast enough. I kneed him powerfully in the liver, and he dropped, too.
‘Humans cannot take a shot to the liver,’ I explained, staring down at him. ‘It sticks out below the ribs, making it vulnerable. If you wanted to kill me or Kuznetsov, that is where you should have aimed.’
The archer coughed and spluttered at my feet, and his comrade tried to save him. I delivered a quick chop to his skinny neck to deal with him. He dropped.
‘Russia will remain an ally of the United Kingdom and RoCity whether you like it or not,’ I continued. ‘So deal with it or face the consequences.’
I knelt next to him, grabbing him by his collar.
‘And don’t try this again.’
I punched him in the jaw, knocking him out cold.
Needless to say, the look on Kuznetsov’s face as I glided back through the open door of his room was utterly priceless. His eyes were wider than I previously thought imaginable, and his jaw was so low it nearly reached my head.
Grinning, I offered my hand for a handshake.
‘Making it official, that’s where we were, right?’ I said cockily. Maybe a bit too cockily. ‘Do we need to sign paperwork?’
After a moment’s pause, Kuznetsov responded. ‘How- You- Paperwork. Yes. We need sign paperwork.’
It was a mistake to ask that question.
The next two hours were so mind-numbingly boring that it would kill my mood to recall them in great detail. So many papers needed to be fully read and double- and triple-checked by myself and Joseph. So many sentences in broken Russian and English were said by both me and numerous other Russian politicians. So many hands needed shaking.
To summarise the whole thing: there was now an official alliance between RoCity and the Russian Mutant Organisation. Trade was open between the two and Russia would send supplies as needed to RoCity, and RoCity would reciprocate. The two would provide either direct or indirect aid to the other if they were ever at war or under attack.
‘To the Anglo-Russian Alliance!’ Kuznetsov roared, offering me a glass of what appeared to be alcohol.
‘Oh, no, sorry, I don’t drink,’ I responded awkwardly. ‘I’m only thirteen, sir.’
He found that strangely funny.
‘The Anglo-Russian Alliance’ was not the official name. It was not anywhere in the paperwork. It was the informal title given to the deal by Albert Kuznetsov. I do not know why, but I didn’t mind. He seemed happy.
It was only as Joseph and I boarded the jet to fly home that I began to feel uneasy once more. What had I just done? The day had flown by so quickly that it felt as though I hadn’t registered a thing.
‘Well, sir?’ Joseph tried as I slumped into my red-cushioned seat on the jet. ‘How do you think that went?’
‘I have no idea,’ I replied as I gazed out of the window. ‘There are now three countries involved in this war.’
‘That’s just the evolution of war, sir,’ Joseph said, trying to make me feel better. ‘Others are bound to get involved.’
‘Joseph, it’s three whole countries. It could just be two teenagers. It’s not right.’
He had nothing to say to that.
‘And to think I was at school like a normal kid just a few days ago,’ I scoffed. ‘It’s absurd. The sooner I kill that bastard, the better.’
‘Now that we have Russia on our side, that task will be a right deal easier, sir.’
‘He has France.’
Joseph stared at me almost pitifully. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I hate that you must endure this.’
I stared back at him. ‘Oh, believe me, sir, I hate it too. But thank you for sticking around.’
What if the assassin had hit? He wasn’t aiming to kill. The arrow had whizzed past Kuznetsov’s arm. He was aiming at the handshake. The archer had been attempting to strike the binding of Russia and RoCity. Not the lives of either me or Kuznetsov.
‘I’ll be here as long as you need me, sir,’ Joseph replied. ‘Now, come on, we don’t want to return home in a sour mood.’