Kahli could run. He could keep pace with just about everything in the forest, only way to eat out there was to catch it, and he’d almost been the food plenty of times. No better motivator than a dozen hungry raptors. He wondered what motivated Michael to run so fast. That guy could run too. Maybe even faster than Kahli, if they were racing. They weren’t racing now. Not each other, at least, they were definitely racing to whatever was making all that racket.
“What do you think it is? Sounds like a stormhawk.” He didn’t look at Michael, but he could feel him look at Kahli, probably with that annoyed expression.
“It’s a corrupted. A person. What the hell is a stormhawk?”
“What the hell is a corrupted?”
He could feel that look from Michael again. “We do not have time for this. I’ll explain later.”
“Over pizza?”
“Yes, over pizza, now shut up, we’re almost there.”
They were coming up on a scene of wreckage, overturned cars and broken pavement all around. They were having to weave around fleeing urbanites, and Kahli saw more than a few on the ground, hurt. He had been worried about something like this when he first came to the city. Everything and everyone was so close together, so much gets lost at once when something comes to take it. He thought they’d been lucky so far. Now he knew it.
They were past the fleeing wave now, and finally had eyes on the big guy with rocks for hands. So that’s a corrupted.
“He’s smaller than I thought.”
“Shut up.” Michael stuck out his arm and brought the two of them to a halt. The rock-hand guy was busted up pretty bad. His tank top was half burnt off and he was covered in black blood. Black blood? Yuck. He was walking menacingly, staring at some kind of business man sprawled on the ground. It had to be a business man; he was wearing a tie.
“I’m gonna get the business man out of the way, you keep him busy.”
Michael looked at him like he just grew a slug from his head. “Business man?”
“He’s wearing a tie!”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Fine, best to get him out of the way. I’ll keep the big guy busy.”
Kahli grinned. “I’ll catch up. Let’s move.”
He darted toward the business man while Michael ran straight ahead, pulling a pistol from his jacket and firing, catching the big guy with most of his shots. The big guy staggered, his attention fully on Michael. He raised his rock hands to cover his face and started charging, roaring with rage.
The perfect distraction.
Kahli grabbed the business man by the shirt and slung him over his shoulder, not even breaking stride. “Fear not, citizen!” He used that voice he’d heard on that TV show with all the spandex and capes. Seemed uncomfortable to fight in, all wedged into every crevice, but the people were always so full of hope when they got saved. So grateful, sure that since the flying guy in a onesie was there everything would be alright. City dwellers were weird. If the business man felt that way, though, he was much too unconscious to express it as Kahli slung him over his shoulder.
He checked on Michael, who was now fully engaged with the big guy. Rock fists swung at him, and he jerked away from every blow, striking back with a thin sword he had been hiding somewhere, black chunks flying off whenever the two met. Kahli was itching to get in on the action, but he had to deliver the business man to safety. That bench a couple hundred feet away seemed safe enough.
He rushed over, dumped the business man into an almost-sitting position, unslung his guitar case and began unzipping it. That needle of steel might work for Michael, but Kahli couldn’t help himself, he liked to feel the heft of his weapons. The case was now open, and its treasure revealed, sunlight glittering on her beautiful edge. Kahli hated to keep her cooped up in there, but he learned quick people didn’t take too kindly to seeing her slung openly on his back. All the people were long gone now, not a single soul to take umbrage at the beauteous sight of his divine tool.
Umbrage. That was a funny word. He had no idea if he was using it right or where he heard it from, but none of that mattered now. All that mattered was he had something he could swing his sword at as hard as he could.
The business man started making noise, shifting on the bench. That was good, it meant he wasn’t dead. I probably should’ve checked that earlier. Oh well.
“You alright, buddy?” The business man blinked awake, grunting and groaning. He shook himself and looked up blearily at Kahli.
“Are you a hero?”
Kahli smiled wider. “Not yet, I’m joining the academy this year though. That guy too.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder at Michael, who was furiously slashing at the corrupted. “We just happened to be in earshot. You aught to be safe here, hold tight while we handle this.”
“No!” The business man’s hand shot out, locking tightly on Kahlis wrist. His hand was weirdly hot, but the grip was irresistible. “I can help!”
Kahli grimaced. This was another thing he worried about with city dwellers. Most of them thought they could handle themselves in these situations, like death would make an exception for them. This business man didn’t have anywhere near the build to deal with that guy with the rock hands, let alone the weapons for it.
“I bet you can,” Kahli peeled the fingers from his wrist with great difficulty, “but you’re in rough shape. Just sit here, and we’ll take care of it, alright?”
Kahli didn't give him time to answer and ran toward the fun. Wind rushed in his ears as the fight embraced him, and his sword weighed less than air as he readied a low cut, slicing through a sign pole like it wasn't even there. Michael was being pushed back, striking defensively against those rock-hands. He saw Kahli coming and fell back a few feet, keeping the big guy’s attention while getting out of his way.
Kahli had hit many things with his sword. Each beast of the Great Forest had a different taste when his sword took a bite. The armor of a centipede was tough, but sheer force could split it clean, and if you hit it just right it slices through armor and innards with almost no resistance. The thick skin and fat of a bear made it hard to cut deep, and every scuffle Kahli had been in with a bear ended with him having to land dozens of gashes before it would go down. The feathers of a stormhawk were strong like armor, all but the strongest swings bouncing off with only a scattering of fibers. The big guy took it a lot like a stormhawk. Kahli had been aiming to cut him in half at the middle, but his sword caught something hard just under the skin. He went with his momentum, dragging the blade in as damaging a way as he could, slinging black blood across the concrete as he came to rest behind the big guy.
The big guy roared with rage and lunged at Kahli, swinging his rock fists to take his head off. Kahli tucked and rolled under his impending death, shooting back up to his feet directly behind the corrupted. He swung his sword in a bright, flashing arc, catching the big guy upside the head, driving him sideways, tumbling across the pavement and into the side of a car, which started blaring its alarm on impact. Kahli propped his sword on his shoulder, waiting to see if he would get up again. He felt that same jolt, but no separation of flesh and bone, like he had swung at a steel post.
The big guys’ foot twitched, then all at once he ripped himself from the wrecked car and charged at Kahli, snarling and growling uncannily like a dire wolf. There was a split on the side of his head, gushing that weird black blood. Kahli stepped aside before he could be flattened, but the corrupted was locked onto him, swinging his fists with reckless abandon, grunting and shouting with every blow as Kahli danced aside, avoiding each attack by inches.
“Hey, Michael,” he called out as he ducked under another swing, “do you know how to kill this guy?” He usually killed things by swinging his sword really really hard, but that just wasn't working.
Michael reloaded his pistol and took aim. “It’s not like any corrupted I’ve seen before. Shooting them in the heart usually works, but it’s just absorbing them like everything else.”
Wind stirred Kahlis hair as another swing barely missed him. That one almost caught my ear. The big guy showed no signs of slowing, if anything he was gaining momentum, swinging even faster. “You wanna just keep hitting him? I can’t think of anything better.”
Michael shrugged. “May as well, it’s not like I have a plan.”
Xander had a plan. Those heroes-in-training were keeping the bulldozer occupied, but he could see they didn’t know how to take him down. His parents told him stories from their time in the academy about classmates like that: lots of talent, but little practical knowledge about corrupted. They had been very particular about teaching him everything they could about the corrupted they had fought. No two corrupted are exactly alike, but there were patterns, similarities in the physiology.
The bulldozer was a calcified type, Xander could tell that just from his hands. The corruption in his body was hardened and nearly impenetrable, run taut as steel cable through his muscle fibers into those wreaking ball hands of his. His father had compared it to a prince Ruperts’ drop, a drop of molten glass that was impossible to destroy when it cooled, no matter how hard you tried. Impossible, unless you broke its tail, which instantly shatters the drop. For corrupted, the metaphorical tail was the point where flesh meets calcification. Severing that connection releases the tension and leaves the heart vulnerable for however long it takes to grow them back. It varied from case to case. Xander could have pulled off the maneuver easily, but he didn't have his sword.
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He did, however, have a stop sign that pre-hero with the big sword felled on his way toward the bulldozer. It was attached to a yard length of pipe, and Xander had been rubbing three of the eight sides against the concrete in an effort to sharpen it into a makeshift battle ax. He tested the edge with a finger and winced as a bead of blood welled up from a small cut.
Perfect.
He gripped the pole tight and faced the conflict. Those two pre-heroes were swinging as wildly as the bulldozer himself, trying whatever they could to do any lasting damage, failing on every count. The bulldozer was switching back and forth from his two targets, never quite catching his agile prey, but he would have to get lucky sooner or later, and the throbbing pain in the back of Xanders' head reminded him exactly how that felt. He took a deep breath, let it out slow, and started running.
The road rushed under his feet and every thought was shoved out of his mind save for three things: his weapon, his enemy, and his footwork. That was the most important lesson his parents ever taught him, and the only three things a hero needed to win. He kept his mind on the blades position in space, feeling it as an extension of himself. He kept his eyes on the rapidly approaching bulldozer, timing it just right to catch him as he was swinging upward. He took a firm low stance, his feet locked in place as he swung all his weight downward, catching the calcification at the base, slicing through the wrist with a spray of black blood.
The calcification shot off down the road, leaving cracks in the pavement as it bounced away like a rogue bowling ball. The bulldozer stumbled back, looking uncomprehendingly at his missing hand, swaying, confused. Xander couldn’t waste any time. He looked at the taller of the pre-heroes, the one with the big sword that had carried him away, who was looking at Xander with a surprised smile. “Collar Coat! Get his other hand!”
Collar Coat nodded and swung that big sword underhanded, the calcification dropping to the ground lamely. The bulldozer didn’t seem to understand what was happening and stared at his bleeding stumps, his wounds gushing black blood now that all the corruption was cut loose. Xander faced the one with the gun and patches on his jacket. “Patches! Shoot him in the heart!”
Patches? Real creative.
Michael filed that slight away for later. He had a sinking feeling he was going to have to get to know this one too; there was no way an urbanite would be able to pull that off unless he was going into the academy. It was clear he had some knowledge Michael didn’t, knowledge he needed if he was going to fare against the corrupted. Not to mention he had foolishly promised Kahli they would get pizza after this. Damn it all. All he wanted was to exist in solitary peace, to put his time in at the academy, make no friends, graduate, get back to the wasteland and get his revenge. All he wanted was to get stronger, he didn’t have the time nor the patience for friends.
All of that ran through his mind in the time it took for him to aim his pistol at the confused corrupted. He fired a single shot left of center of its chest, leaving a black crater on impact. The corrupted shuddered and fell to its knees, its flesh bulging and contracting, spasms running through every inch of its skin. It went still all at once, looking straight ahead at nothing. It moved its mouth, trying to make a sound.
“Ha… gah…” It coughed black blood onto what remained of its tank top and let out a long wheeze. It fell forward, its form splattering into a lumpy puddle of corruption, any semblance of humanity lost.
A silent beat passed, shattered by Kahli cheering their victory. He jumped, pumping a fist in the air, hooting and hollering like the lunatic Michael knew he was. The newcomer stumbled backward and dropped his weapon, letting it clang to the ground as he sat down hard. Is that… a sharpened stop sign?
“Just who the hell are you?” Michael spat the question like an insult as he tucked his pistol away.
The newcomer looked up at him, exhausted. “Xander, I’m joining the academy too.”
Michael pointed to the stop sign. “And is that your weapon? Seems a bit unorthodox to me.”
Xander waved a hand at the makeshift weapon. “Just something I whipped up. I was coming home from work, and I never take my sword to work. A policy I am seriously reconsidering.”
Kahli finally ceased his celebrations and smiled at Xander, offering a hand down to him. “That was awesome, business man! Did they teach you those moves in business school?”
Xander accepted the hand and was pulled to his feet, his bewilderment written on his face. “No… I… What?”
Michael groaned. “He thinks you’re a business man because you’re wearing a tie. You look more like a grocer to me.”
Xander looked at him, surprised. “Actually, I did work at a grocery store until today. I was on my way home when the bulldozer attacked me.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Bulldozer?”
Xander shook his head. “A nickname, something my parents taught me to solidify someone in my mind when I don’t know their name, Like how I called the two of you Patches and Collar Coat. What are you names, anyway?”
Parents. They must be who trained him, likely famous heroes in their own right by how well they did their job. A sharpened stop sign. Michael had seen people fight with every weapon under the sun, but that was a new one.
“I’m Kahli!” he slapped Michaels’ back, making him stagger and step into a small puddle of corruption. “And Mr. Grumpy-pants here is Michael Lare. He grows on you.”
Michael glared at Kahli, but Xanders’ look of recognition demanded his attention. “Lare? Like the Lare clan?”
Michael groaned. “Yes, like the Lare clan.”
The sound of approaching sirens was music to his ears. A half dozen black SUVs with blue and red lights flashing came roaring down the streets from all directions. They converged on their position, encircling them and unloading four armored officers a piece, each one brandishing different weapons, some with shotguns, some with rifles, one had a pair of pistols, and most of them had swords or axes in addition, but each of them had a knife strapped across their chests. They approached the three of them, weapons ready but not pointed at them. The one with the pistols came forward.
“The three of you take this one down?” It was a masculine voice, but the armor hid any other identifying features.
Michael wasn’t about to let Kahli or Xander to speak for him. “That’s right.”
The officer grunted in approval. “Reports suggested it was a calcified type. Tricky bastards. Are you students?”
Easiest to keep to the point. “The three of us are starting this year.”
The officer nodded. “We’ll have to bring you in then. Since you don’t have your supplementary licenses you’ll have to fill out full incident reports. If you’ll just follow me-”
“That won’t be necessary,” a voice called from the ring of SUVs. A man approached, walking with a cane, wearing a gray tailcoat, gray pants, a gray hat, and dark sunglasses. He was smoking a cigarette, taking a long drag and letting it out slow before he spoke again. An unpleasantly familiar man. Just my luck.
Michael groaned again and took a reluctant step forward. “Hello, Kay.”
Kay grinned, his cigarette pointing upward. “’Kay?’ when did it stop being ‘uncle Kay?’”
“When I turned eleven. What are you doing here?”
Kay took the cigarette from his mouth, stubbed out its burning cherry, and tucked the remainder behind his ear. “I was in the right place at the right time, is all. I was getting smokes a couple blocks away when I heard the blast, and I strolled here at about medium-pace.” He turned his head toward the officer with the pistols. “I’ll handle them, less paperwork for you guys.”
The officer grunted. “Fine by me as long as you all clear out, cleaning will be here in five.” He turned on his heels and went back to the other officers, giving orders as they blocked off the area.
Kay beamed behind his sunglasses at Michael and his- ugh- compatriots. “Good work, kids. You claimed victory and came out largely unscathed, I’ve seen plenty of pros come out a lot worse from much weaker foes.” He reached into his tailcoat and pulled out a small notepad with a pencil stuck through the spiral. He flipped to an empty page and licked the tip of the pencil, putting it to the paper. “I just need a few things to write up the report. Let’s start with names. Michael Lare, I know,” he winked at Michael, he could tell even through the sunglasses, “what about you two?”
Kahli raised his hand like a preschooler. “I’m Kahli, don’t have a last name. It’s one of those, what do you call it?” He snapped his fingers repeatedly and looked up at the sky, as if the answer were in the clouds. He snapped loudly and looked back down to earth. “One of those mangonames. That’s the one.”
Michael groaned. “Mononym, is the word you’re looking for.” Idiot.
Kay nodded as he wrote the name down, then pointed his pencil at Xander. “And you?”
Xander looked like he was working himself up to jump off a cliff. He took a deep breath and looked Kay straight in his glasses. “Xander Leonault Ricard the fourth.”
Kays’ hat shifted that way it did when one of his eyebrows rose, and Michael felt both of his own rise high. Kahli did the same, but his jaw was the only one that dropped.
“No kidding?” Kay asked, met with a nod from Xander. “Huh. I was in the academy with your parents. Third is a good man, no wonder you took that corrupted went down so easy.”
“Hold on.” Kahli had a serious expression, the first Michael had seen from him. “Are you telling me you’re X.L.R. the fourth? As in son of the couple that single handedly saved Bluport from corrupted gangs? As in grandson of the hero of the west, the hero that wreaked havoc against the wasteland corrupted? As in great-grandson of-”
Michael couldn’t take it anymore. As hard as he could, he cuffed Kahli in the back of his head, halting his hero fanboy gushing and snapping his face toward the ground. Kahli rubbed the back of his head and looked at Michael with sad puppy-dog eyes and quivering lips. “What was that for?” he whined. If he was looking for sympathy or pity, he was tapping the wrong well.
Michael rubbed his stinging palm with the other, his brow furrowed and frown sharp as ever. “It’s rude to tell someone their own family history. Don’t do it again, and I won’t slap you again.” He tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “Not for that reason, at least.”
Kay chuckled in that annoying way of his, that knowing, smug way that always foretold disaster. “You three remind me of my team back in A.A. A solid unit when danger demands it, bickering like children in safteys’ embrace.” He stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger that way he did when he was plotting something. His grin grew a tooth wider and Michael felt a splinter of dread deep in his soul. “But teams have four members, don’t they?” He flipped his notebook closed and slid his pencil back into its spine, tucking the book back into his coat. “The rest seems pretty self-explanatory from here, you kids aught to clear out.”
Xander smiled and reached out his hand. “Yes sir, it was great to meet you, Mr. Akoura.”
Kahlis’ ears perked up. “Hold on… Akoura… Kay…” Michael shot him a look and Kahli shut his mouth.
Kay gave that chuckle again and subtly slid his hand into his pocket before shaking Xanders’ hand. “You too, kid. Maybe bring your sword next time though, huh?” He spun on his heel and marched toward the dead corrupted.
Michael looked at Xander and found him staring at something in his hand. He took a step closer and saw it was a fifty Torne bill. He hated money. It was nothing but paper, but people were willing to do anything for it. You could be killed for your food, your weapons, your meat, or even just your belt in the wastes, but not even those bandits would bother with fragile, meaningless paper. Still, it was very good for buying things, and he had stupidly promised Kahli pizza.
He groaned and plucked the bill from Xanders’ hand, starting down the road with Kahli obediently in tow. Of course. Xander looked at his empty hand for a moment, then called to Michael. “What the hell, man?” Michael glanced over his shoulder at the grocer, and what he had to say next sickened him to his core.
“Come on,” he snapped, “we’re getting pizza.”