Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Crossover ❯ Heero Yuy ( Chapter 13 )

Chapter 13

He ran. The cloak he had grabbed on his way out of the school was doing quiet a good job of keeping him dry, along with hiding his identity.

One of the centaurs that lived in the woods had been nice enough to give him a ride for most of the way, but now he was on his own.

Something deep inside him was telling him that there was something very wrong going on and that the teachers were going to need his help.

Not far away from him, he could hear people screaming and see multicolored flashes of light. There seemed to be some sort of fire, probably toward the front of the train he had heard about, and in its light he could see the attackers. Long black robes and white masks, the dark colors helping them merge with their surroundings.

Heero crouched at the edge of the forest as pain finally caught up with him. With a muttered curse, he realized that he had to keep on moving, hoping that adrenaline would help and that his injuries wouldn't slow him down.

<Damn! Should have let her heal me!>

No time for regrets, though. The nagging feeling was getting stronger every second, and his whole body felt high-strung and battle weary. Hopefully, what he had would be enough.

As he moved towards the train, he caught the soft sound of voices coming from his right. He hid in the vegetation and crept in that direction.

Six men had set an ambush, not very far from the train. For such supposedly thinking individuals, they had chosen the worst spot possible to do so (or at least in Heero's more experienced eye). All the men were armed with wands, but one of them was also sporting a wicked looking sword and a really nice set of knives. Those would work nicely. The japanese smirked. Piece of cake.

Ever so slowly, he moved around them towards the train and, with a deep breath, he made the sprint into their chosen clearing. Almost immediately, curses began to fly. He ducked and rolled out of the way, and in the process managed to get near the sword guy. Before the idiot could react, his pockets had been thoroughly picked and his weapons were gone (wand included). Heero couldn't keep back a grin as the guy looked down at his empty hands in dawning horror.

-"Will you idiots bloody kill him!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Yep, the guy and his buddies really needed to be taught a lesson. He kept on avoiding their attacks for a few seconds, and then he threw himself against the nearest guy.

The knife went in all the way to the handle, blood gushing out onto his fingers. The guys eyes widened behind his mask, as if he had belatedly realized that he was death.

*Blood, trailing down his fingertips. Pain. A scream.*

Heero mentally shook his head, clearing it. No time for that, he had to concentrate or he would end up death.

The idiots had frozen, shocked at their companion's death. That gave Heero enough time to cross the relatively long distance towards the next guy. This one managed to see what was coming, and tried to fight back, but he had lost precious seconds already and had no time to prepare. Heero came down on him hard, knife and sword at the ready. A slash diverted the man, and thus the knife went in just as cleanly as it had before.

*Warm amber eyes. Shock. Fear. A gunshot.*

<Shit! Not now!>

The first man had taken one of the death guys wands and had conjured himself a new sword. He moved towards Heero with the practiced ease of a swordsman on the warpath. The japanese waited for him to reach the middle of the clearing and then threw himself at him, trying to end it as fast as possible. If the screams coming from the train were to give him a picture of what was happening, this had taken to much time already.

A barely visible opening, and his sword was finally making its way through the others defenses. The man collapsed, heavily injured, but not deathly so. It'd have to be enough. His other opponents had already made a run for it, which left an open path towards the train.

The knives strapped to his wrists and ankles, he made his way again towards the battle. The screaming has stopped very suddenly, and he didn't like it.

As he approached his goal, he could see small forms coming out through different exits and making their way into the forest. They were quiet obviously the students, which meant that there was someone battle-worthy helping them inside. He'd have to be careful once he got into the train, no point hurting someone that might just make his job easier.

At the edge, he crouched and inspected his surroundings. Noticing no danger, he made the sprint towards, and ducked under, the train. That way, it was easier to move towards its back, were the hottest part of the fighting seemed to be taking place.

He froze underneath the last cart, taking into account his enemies' positions and what they were doing. Soft voices distracted him though, especially since they seemed to be coming from inside the compartment above him.

-"Hermione, I don't think this wards are going to hold much longer."

-"Well, Ron. . . I. . . I just don't. . ."

-"She doesn't know what else we can possibly do, Weasley."

-"Do you have to sound so snide while saying it?"

-"Kisama!! There is no time for this bickering!!"

<Wufei?!?!>

-"He's right, you know."

-"Well, Potter, Mister I-always-make-it-out-intact-from-fights-with-Deatheaters, care to give us some of your supposedly clever escape tactics?"

-"It's called bloody good luck, Malfoy."

-"Figures."

-"What would happen if we all build one single ward, instead of many superimposed?"

-"You know, Q-ball, that ain't such a bad idea."

-"It might just work."

-"Well, what are we waiting for?"

<Duo and Quatre, too. And I'm pretty sure that Trowa must be somewhere near. . . he never could stay away from his Blondness. If they're barricaded inside, it means they're probably trapped. . . That won't do.>

Decision made, Heero moved towards the side of the train where the less Deatheaters (was it?) were located. He waited until they were all distracted, and then went for one of the train's windows. It crashed upon impact with his body, and he was flung into a roll that took him to the middle of the corridor. Luck was on his side, and his hood stayed on. Those inside the train had frozen at his entrance (it was becoming an annoying pattern) and thus didn't react in time to avoid their deaths. Black-robed, white-masked figures collapsed like flies around him, as the few students left around made mad dashes through the train in search of safer exits.

It was almost like a dance, a deadly one, where it was everyone for his own. Duck, swing, punch, dodge. His body was adrenaline charged and a strange elation was taking it over. Every movement became even more precise as the instincts that had remained dormant since the end of the war came back to the forefront. Blood splattered the walls, the sickening crack of breaking bones and the soft cries of the dying filled the air, and it was like he was watching the fight through another's eyes. He watched them fight, he watched them fall and he watched the die with a detachedness that felt almost alien.

Almost, but not quiet.

He could feel it, bubbling up inside him. . . looking out through his eyes at the damage it could cause. . . craving its release and yet having too much fun to attempt an escape. . .

The floors were already slippery with spilt blood, windows and walls splattered with it. And more were coming.

It was like they craved death, just as the thing inside him craved their blood. He was barely keeping it reined back. . . but it was taking most of his concentration, which left his body operating on auto-pilot. He knew that nightmares of what he was doing would haunt him for the rest of his life, but for the life of him. . . he couldn't stop.

The teasing tendrils of the darkness it brought caressed his mind, and he fought them back with all he had. No matter what, he wouldn't give it the release it wanted. . . the freedom to destroy again as it once had. . .

His body coming to a sudden halt brought his attention back to his surroundings. . . and to the carnage for which he was solely responsible.

Bodies lay everywhere, blood pooling about them, horrified expressions on their mangled faces. He could feel bile raising through his throat. He pushed away the feeling and checked that there were no students between those he had killed.

Thankfully (in a rather sick sort of way) all the children that had died showed signs of having done so under the effects of magic. He didn't know how he knew, he just did and he wasn't going to question it too much. . . at least not here.

Voices he recognized from the infirmary were moving towards him, from the front of the train. Instinct kicked in again, and he bolted. He just couldn't let them see. . . he just couldn't.

He ran the way he had come, through the rain and the dark, muddy forest. He just wanted to get back to the warm infirmary and the comfortable bed and forget, nestled between the covers, that he had ever been in the site of the attack. . that he had killed again. . . that he had massacred those men. . .

He didn't know how long he had been moving, and yet he could already see the castle's lights. His hood had somehow remained on, even during the fight, and he was detachedly thankful for it. At least no one could have recognized him, even if they had seen him (a vague impression of glass-made doors came to mind). His infirmary-provided pajamas were another thing entirely. Anyone that saw them would know what he had done, as they were now that disgusting shade of maroon that come from mixing blood, water and a healthy supply of mud.

He made his way to the infirmary's windows and, once inside, went in search of clean clothes. It took surprisingly little time to get rid of most of the evidence (a shower and a conveniently place fireplace had done most of the job), but he still had to get rid of the sword and the knives. He had cleaned them as well as he could, but he had no way of explaining how he had acquired them while lying on a bed.

As he searched for a hiding place, he caught sight of the nurses potions' cabinet standing open. Guiltily, he searched for the potion she had used to heal his various cuts. Finding the bright, green-colored liquid, he took a sip and immediately felt the few injuries he had sustained heal. He locked the cabinet, so as not to arise suspicion, and went on with his search.

Less than ten minutes later, and he was back in the infirmary and settling down into his bed. He knew that he was going to have nightmares. . . but he was incredibly tired. . . just for a little while. . . sleep sounded so good. . .

Just as sleep was finally claiming him, the doors were flung open. He sat up straight, surprised, and looked towards them. . . only to find eight black-robed, white-masked figures standing there.