Daniel
11:00 AM
Black threads arced above, about, and under Daniel, defying gravity with ease to fill the hall. The sound of tearing metal accompanied strings squirming through the door’s pinhole at incredible speed. Ejected from the opening as water from a firehose, the intensity of their exodus ripped the hole wider. Rana and Cassie withheld their attacks as a black curtain swept around them a second before Daniel heard gunshots.
Bullets pounded the material, making waves like droplets on a lake, and slid harmlessly to the ground in a tinkling rain.
They were safe. Guns stormed against them, but they remained secure beneath this black umbrella. A thick mesh of string peeled the door open in metallic petals like a blooming flower, then cleared to frame the arrival of a boy.
Not string, hair. Gleaming threads flowed from Kenta’s scalp, his hair grown to lengths and volumes unimaginable on a human. Silken locks floating, as if underwater, haloed the boy’s face. His great mane spread behind and around him in a hemisphere of protection to guard his back. Most of the mass focused on protecting the five children while minor tendrils and unattended wisps twirled and twined along meandering trajectories like an octopus’s wandering tentacles.
Paul the candlestick ejected from Rana’s hand and landed on his feet in humanoid form to exclaim, “Kenta, I’m so glad to see you!”
“Good to see you too, Paul.” The flicker of a smile crossed an otherwise stern face as Kenta lowered himself to receive Paul with an outstretched hand. The candle boy brushed it aside with an enthusiastic hug Kenta chose to tolerate.
Kenta surveyed his rescuers and Daniel studied him in turn. Though a bit lanky from recent growth spurts, the third boy’s facial features and muscles were well defined for his age. Kenta had a broad nose, slanted eyes, and good looks aging into real handsomeness.
“Greetings, Daniel,” Kenta said, inclining his head in a slight bow with their eyes locked. His eyes appeared normal and then—as Daniel glanced away—Kenta’s pupils rustled and shifted like a pit of vipers.
Daniel matched the bow a second late. He didn’t know what to say.
“I look forward to our working together.” Daniel hadn’t meant to be so formal, but there was a lot about Kenta to be intimidated by. Besides the impressive ability and physical attributes, Kenta had a firmness in his bearing Daniel couldn’t match. Even his choice of clothes made Daniel’s night robe look childish.
Kenta wore a white collared shirt with a loosened red tie, black dress pants, shiny black shoes, and an open black waistcoat. Business-casual, sure, but a few minor adjustments could make Kenta dangerously sharp. Over his heart sat the emblem of a golden comb drawn as a downward crescent bearing nine teeth. The arch of the comb sprouted a plume of threads.
“Cassandra,” Kenta bowed in greeting, “A delight.”
The bat girl chuckled at his theatrics. “It’s mutual. Mostly because I can almost relax with you and Rana freed.”
“Ah, yes,” he extended the same courtesy to Rana, but his bow to her dipped gratuitously low, “Hello, Rana, it’s such a pleasure to see you.”
“Likewise,” Rana said with a condescending smirk that reminded Daniel of when they met. The exact same expression… as if Rana had copied someone else’s face and practiced it in a mirror until she got it right.
The sound of intermittent bullets firing came muffled behind curtains of hair heavy as lead. Paul laughed with relief and clapped his hands, “We sure cut it close. Without you and Daniel, there’s no way we’d have made it.”
“One of us would have survived,” Kenta stated, not talking about himself. He looked at Rana, who glared back.
Oblivious, Paul replied, “Not everyone has a defense like yours, Kenta.”
“Which is why, as the oldest—fourteen—and the strongest,” Kenta said with confidence, “It is my responsibility to take the lead.”
Rana rolled her eyes and thumbed at Daniel, “It’s a good thing one of us has destructive magic—or none of us would be standing here to congratulate ourselves.”
“You’re one to talk, Rana,” Kenta rounded on her, “When your abilities are so ill-suited to helping anyone but yourself.” She folded her arms and met his eye. “Even then, you didn’t use them right. Instead of going for help, you got caught attempting your little rescue mission. That’s the real reason we’ve been stuck here for three years.”
No warning, just the smack of Rana’s pink tongue adhering to Kenta’s cheek. After the initial shock of impact, his face ran the gamut of anger, disgust, and, finally, horror as his first attempts of removing the gooey appendage failed. “No, no! Get it off! Get it off!” Daniel stood dumbfounded as Kenta wrestled with Rana’s tongue—an organ far too long for her body by any stretch of biology.
Kenta’s comment took root in Daniel’s mind. Not the part about blaming Rana, Daniel disagreed with finger-pointing on principle. Yet something intrigued him about the nature of their abilities. If Rana protecting someone was cutting a steak with a fork, then Daniel must be trying to eat soup with a knife—he’d more likely hurt than help.
“It’s in my hair!” Arms and dark tendrils grabbed at the line of pink flesh but slipped off easily, covered in slime. Sticky goop matted hair to his skin in clumps.
“In any case,” Paul dismissed the conflict while wiping a stream of wax from his forehead and asked Cassandra, “I suspect we need to hurry?”
:I appear to be safe for the moment, though I do not know for certain how long that shall last.: Lea sent. :Although I dearly anticipate my freedom, I feel no need to goad your progress.:
Cassie’s ears swiveled like radar dishes, a sign of her nerves, “We gotta leave before ‘fire in the ground’ or ‘screaming metal’ comes… Whatever they are.” She turned to Daniel, “Take us to Lea.”
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“As soon as Kenta clears a wall, I can tunnel,” Daniel agreed.
Kenta pulled Rana’s tongue off with an audible pop and threw it at the ground, “No!” he said as Rana slurped up her tongue with whip-like speed before it hit the floor. He spent the next few futile seconds wiping at slimes of various viscosity.
“No?” Paul said.
“No. Avoiding the soldiers is cowardly. Those men trained all their lives for battle. The honorable way to respect such dedication is to face it head-on. I will fight them in the way of my people—the Kaminoke—by overcoming them on their terms. Would you all rather slink away cowering than walk on tall and proud?”
“Yes!” Cassie and Rana said together.
Kenta snorted, “Also, these corridors are cramped enough as is, I’m not crawling through some dirty tunnel. The Kaminoke are hygienic and proudly salubrious by nature.”
Rana put her foot down, “Daniel’s way is faster.”
“Alright, then. Have it your way, I won’t stop you,” the hair curtain parted, revealing concrete, “By all means, go—and leave my protection.”
“Kenta—” Paul began in a friendly tone.
“—Don’t be an ass,” Rana finished as Paul waved her down, frantic. She gave Kenta a plain stare, daring him. Paul slouched, unable to stop what came next.
Cold in tone and gaze, Kenta said, “We’ll see who’s being the ass.” Hair streamed through the air to gather up Paul—who shrank and compacted, “Come on, Paul. Let’s go.” Kenta held aloft Paul the candlestick to light his way and glided down the corridor.
Rana watched their portable shield leaving with their sole source of light and turned to Daniel, “You okay with this?”
Should he feel threatened by Kenta taking his place as leader? Honestly, handing the reins to someone else relieved him. The constant fear of not making it to his next recharge strained him worse than his power overuse migraine. “No, no, it’s fine. Kenta’s way lets me save for the next containment unit.”
Inside the hair island, Cassie, Rana, and Daniel trailed Kenta in shades of willingness, reluctant acceptance, and reprieve. Kenta’s slithering hair held him upright effortlessly. Black curls seized the unfortunate soldiers in their way and pressed them to the sides of the hall to be brushed over in passing.
The circuitous path of the halls consumed anxious minutes. Soldiers kept pace behind with sporadic firing, unable to find a weakness in their mobile fluffy fortress. Explosions shook their feet and fire licked their heels as they stayed one step ahead of the smoke. Another electrified section of the corridor gave them pause, but Kenta’s ability nullified the obstacle.
Prehensile hair flew above the wires and ferried them across one by one. Daniel’s destructive touch didn’t pain Kenta in the slightest. Braids of twined hair layered on faster than the deteriorating aura could dust them. Without malicious intent to respond to, Daniel’s reflexive defense ability didn’t activate. Surplus tresses maintained the barriers ahead and behind the group. All five of them crossed in seconds.
A sliding metal blast-door, long since shut tight, halted their progress. Kenta parted his hair wall, allowing them a full view of the thick steel barrier. He drew back his fist and hair mimicked the pose—forming a hand-shaped braid about four feet wide without thinning the defensive curtain protecting their rear.
Daniel watched wide-eyed as Kenta punched the air and the hair-fist lurched forward. They felt the huge thud vibrate in their legs when the clump of fibers walloped the door. Braids exploded into knots, revealing a knuckle impression in steel.
The door could withstand the high temperature and pressure of an explosion—Kenta’s attack would need either more speed or mass to burst through. While Daniel saw the futility of this approach at once, Kenta summoned and threw three more hair-proxy punches before acknowledging the fact. Kenta gathered the knots of hair into the greater bulk hanging from the ceiling and considered the situation.
Rana leaned towards Daniel, “If I’m ‘ill-suited,’ he doesn’t know thing-one about getting through that door.”
While they waited, Cassie Listened, Rana folded her arms, and Daniel observed how Kenta handled the problem. Such insight might be useful in a chess match. The Kaminoke reached for his closest friend.
“Paul,” Kenta thrust the candlestick at the door, “Melt a hole through this wall.”
“What?” Paul’s face in the candle’s flame recoiled, “That use of my magic is preposterously difficult. My uncle couldn’t do that, and his candelabra has four branches—Four!—I barely have one!”
Rana shook her head, “With that kind of firepower, I doubt we’d have gotten into this mess.”
“I don’t see you busting down this door!” Kenta exclaimed.
An explosion slammed into them, its pressure wave squeezing their chests. The curtain of hair shielded against heat and shrapnel.
“What was that?” Paul asked, his inorganic body first to recover.
Cassie buried her face in Rana’s neck as her ears twitched in pain from the loud noise, “Rocket launcher,” she said.
“No matter,” Kenta shrugged off the explosion, “It’ll more than that to beat me.”
“They’re getting flamethrowers,” Cassie retorted.
Kenta laughed, “They’ll find my hair doesn’t burn so easily. My natural oils are flame resistant!”
Daniel frowned. “You realize we’ll suffocate when all the oxygen burns away?”
“That would be inconvenient,” Kenta admitted.
“Kenta,” Paul the candlestick said, “You said you respected the soldiers’ dedication and the honorable thing would be to face them.”
“Yes, the way of the Kaminoke. Your point being?”
“So—you have here someone who trained and prepared himself to break through this door and you’re not showing his ability any respect.” Paul’s flame flickered towards Daniel, who stood with his hands tucked into the folds of his robe.
Kenta hovered over Daniel and looked down at him, “I haven’t forgotten you released me from imprisonment, Daniel, but I’m wondering, ‘Can I count on him to protect my friends?’ ‘Can I depend on someone for whom death and ruin are their very nature?’ ‘Can he honestly promise he won’t hurt those he wants to save?’”
“Yes, you can, and I so promise.” Perhaps, if Daniel stood by his word, he could earn Kenta’s trust. The Kaminoke drifted aside to watch.
Daniel wasted no time. Copying Kenta, Daniel projected his power as a proxy punch. Dust clouds and shreds of rusted metal bestrewed their path as the five marched forwards. His head felt stuffed with angry cotton, but he was in far better shape than if he’d tunneled them here.
Together they came to the sixth containment unit’s door. Reinforced concrete surrounded a great metal box. Over ten feet tall, the circular vault door had a multitude of bolts and a six-spoke wheel-handle. Daniel felt a tremendous weight, not simply mass but a presence. A sense of order from the intricate craftsmanship of its inner workings… the purity of its metal and purpose.
This was more than a door; it was a monument to wealth and power. Designed by a genius, its materials gathered and refined from the depths of the planet, its being imbued with the combined wills of a thousand men and women during construction and its journey here to bar Daniel from this room.
Dull, repetitive, and distant though mere feet away, a metallic pounding reverberated through the door. The bank vault door once kept millions secure in safety deposit boxes. Now it kept a friend locked inside. Four watched as Daniel put his hand on the metal.
Breaching this barrier would be the greatest challenge he’d faced since UE 000, and he dared not reach for the help which aided him then.
Daniel sensed the vault door with his power. Too thick to pierce like Kenta’s door… tearing it apart piece by piece would take too long… or… something else occurred to him. He took a step back to see the whole of the door. Then he positioned his hands before his eyes till they seemed large enough to grab the edge and projected his power into that shape. He gripped the vault door with giant fingermarks of rust and pulled. Steel groaned.
Weary, thoughts bleary, head in a vice of pain, Daniel tested his limits.
Once again, the bottom of his personal well opened on an ocean of power.
The effort that should have broken his will invigorated him instead. For so long as he continued to struggle against the barrier, his strength flowed.
Sweat beaded on his skin as bolts popped out of their sockets. Inner mechanics bent and snapped as his arms strained and mind fought to focus. Black threads twined around the door’s frame and clawed the cracks—Kenta’s hair pulled with him, the two young men standing together.
From the other side, the pounding came faster, harder, and louder. A grating squeal echoed as parts not meant to move stretched and steel grated.
Twenty tons of metal swung open.