Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 84 ( Chapter 84 )

84

 

with the rage of the seraphs at my side

 

::Get back to the car!:: Brad ordered, drawing his gun.

 

For a moment, no one moved.

 

Then Farfarello dropped to a crouch and crept toward the clearing.

 

::Get to the car!:: Crawford repeated, though he showed no intention of following his own order.

 

Movement was not an option for me either as I focused on tightening our team link. Right now, communication was more important than retreat: we had to be ready for anything.

 

Around me, a cool breeze picked up, stirring the leaves from the path. Clouds skidded across the sun; in the sudden shadow, the temperature seemed to plummet. I started to dismiss this as my own fear coloring my perceptions, but then I saw my breath turn to fog. ::What the hell?::

 

Farfarello's mental voice whispered into my mind with a flat and hollow sensation that chilled me more than the rising wind. ::They want the boy.::

 

::Farfarello, get back to the damn car!::

 

::No.:: Far looked back at us, at me, and slowly shook his head. ::No. They want the boy.:: He regarded Nagi with a sad smile. ::I will not let them take him.::

 

I tried to reason with him, to get him moving. ::They want all of us, not just Nagi. We have to go, we have to go now!::

 

::You go, keep the boy safe. I'll take care of these. Don't worry. I won't be long.:: Farfarello rose and turned with the grace of a dancer; from somewhere on his person he produced three knives. Brandishing one point forward in his left fist, he gripped the other two like a double-ended dagger in his right. As sure as a hunting cat he paced into the clearing, holding his single blade at the ready and twirling the twin knives in a casual blur of steel.

 

Gun in hand, Brad turned from the scene and headed back down the hill. ::Come on. We don't have much time.::

 

Nagi took a few stumbling steps after Crawford, then stopped. ::You're not just leaving him?!::

 

::I said let's go. Schuldig, bring Nagi.::

 

::We have no choice, kid.:: I reached out and took hold of Nagi's hand as if he were a child again.

 

Face twisted with fury, Nagi wrenched his hand free. “You can't just leave him!”

 

The chill breeze turned into wind, cold and circling. Dead leaves rustled and rose into the current, crumbling to dust in the increasing violence of the gale.

 

::Schuldig, Nagi, move it!:: Brad's command came through clear and strong. So did his fear: he hadn't Seen any of this!

 

“Nagi, damn it, go! He's buying us time!” I shouted against the rising storm. My breath hung white in the air for a moment before the wind tore the tiny cloud to pieces. ::He'll follow us when he's done. We can't stop him now.::

 

“NO! I won't leave Farfarello!” Nagi half-turned and stared back up the hill, his eyes wide and dark. A fine blur of white ghosted across my vision - it was snowing. Late summer, and it was snowing.

 

Gunshots echoed across the hillside.

 

I came around in front of Nagi, bodily blocking his view of the clearing. “Move, Prodigy! That is an order!” I snarled, trying to get a lock on his mind and force him to follow Brad to the car, to safety.

 

Ice-laden wind stole my breath. I coughed, nearly doubled over; I clung to Nagi for support. Bracing my feet against the dirt, I gripped Nagi's thin shoulders and shoved, hoping to get him moving.

 

My shoes slid backward on the half-frozen ground, dropping me to my knees at his feet.

 

My head hurt, the pressure from the team link only part of it. Some of the hunters were telepaths, their mental search pressing against my shields with increasing force. They were talking loudly amongst themselves, creating a mental buzz that threatened to push me into a migraine. I had to get Nagi moving, I had to draw my gun; instead I glanced behind me, at the clearing.

 

Fafarello held at least five operatives at bay; they seemed reluctant to get close to him. I saw movement on the far side of the clearing as several more agents came in for the kill. The Irishman feinted and jeered, engaging them all in a bizarre dance of the mad.

 

In the moment I realized he's playing with them, Farfarello whirled and leaped with a speed they clearly had not expected. His right hand swept up, down, back: two blades, one mind. A fine crimson mist paused mid-air before falling with the snow.

 

Under my hands, Nagi had gone very still.

 

Some of the other operatives were trying to circle around Far to get at us. Off to my right I heard the sharp report of Brad's handgun.

 

From the clearing a voice called out, “I've got him, get the others.”

 

God, no! “Run, kid! We can't win here!” I tried to turn Nagi around and get him the hell moving.

 

It was like trying to push a mountain.

 

I got my feet back under me and wrapped my arms around Nagi, intending to lift him and carry him to the car. But Nagi had anchored himself to the spot: I could no more move him than I could uproot the damn trees. The effort made my legs feel like rubber. I sank back down to a crouch and tried to focus my thoughts. They wouldn't obey either. No, it can't end like this! Gunned down, shot in the back like a common fugitive! I held Nagi, shielding him with my own body, though I knew it wouldn't do much good. They would come, and we would die, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it.

 

I tried one more time to overwhelm Nagi's will, to force him to retreat. His mind hummed with singular focus, intent on only one thing in the world: Farfarello. A gut-wrenching vertigo hit me, and for a moment I thought it was an enemy attack - then I realized I was looking out over my own shoulder. Now truly helpless, I clung to Nagi as his mind engulfed mine, pulling me in and showing me the world through his eyes.

 

The snow intensified. I stared in horror, unable to move, unable to look away as our own death swarmed across the clearing. The agents parted around an immobile Farfarello as if he were nothing more than a statue. They had a telekinetic, then. Of course they did.

 

A series of gunshots rang out, some rapid, some measured. I felt a quick hot sting across my right shoulder; this brought me back to myself, but only briefly. Frozen in that moment, I watched a tiny snippet of Nagi's hair floating in the wake of the bullet that had bitten me, then deflected neatly before it could pierce his skull.

 

Why don't they just kill us and get it over with?

 

As from a great distance I heard Brad cursing, followed by the crashing of someone leaping through deadfall. I became dimly aware of my own body growing very cold. Through Nagi's eyes I saw a thin film of melting snow in my own hair.

 

Against my chest, Nagi trembled, but did not look away. He would bear witness to Farfarello's capture, unable to stop any of it.

 

Through a veil of blood, Farfarello glared at one of the operatives. Nagi recognized the man as a fellow telekinetic: Far knew who was holding him.

 

The Irishman smiled, and closed his eye. His expression changed into a mask of pure will.

 

The explosive snap of a bone breaking echoed in the chill air.

 

Farfarello took one lumbering step forward, blood pouring from his right shin.

 

Panicked screams and desperate commands rang through my head, bringing with them fresh waves of pain.

 

::Oh dear God! How did he -::

 

::He's loose! Watch your back!::

 

::All hands, we have a situation! Fall back! Containment, containment reply!::

 

::Oh dear God our Father who art in Heaven he broke his own leg oh God help me…!::

 

::Demack, watch -!::

 

Bringing his left hand up in a leisurely arc, Farfarello dispatched the man trying to warn whoever Demack was. Not waiting to see him fall, Far whirled to his right, slicing the throat of another man in passing as he dropped low to strike at a third. Rising, he delivered a backhanded slash across a gunman's eyes even as the agent opened fire.

 

My mind recoiled, unable to separate my own thoughts from the images pouring in or from the anguish of the doomed and dying. Pain swelled up; wet heat gushed from my nose, leaving behind the flat taste of copper.

 

Farfarello danced through the icy wind, carving his way through the operatives as though they were rotten wheat to be cut down and discarded, his injury not slowing him in the least.

 

The Berserker lives.

 

Nagi's heartbeat fluttered like a wounded bird's, his breath rapid and shallow. Still he would not look away, and I was just as trapped as he.

 

Farfarello reached the telekinetic.

 

Then, silence: blessed silence, and a hand relieving me of my pistol. Brad stood over us, guarding us as we remained unmoving, frozen in our own strange dance. He fired once, twice; switched to my gun as his own rang empty. The rest of our ammunition was in the car. Part of me wanted to laugh screaming at our circumstance.

 

Nagi's breath came faster, and his shields flared against mine. I sat back heavily on my heels as the connection between us thinned and snapped. The snow seemed to have stopped. The wind, too, was calming around us, the leaves fluttering to earth like broken wings. With sudden urgency, Nagi wrenched away from me and puked. Steam rose from the ground where it hit.

 

Crawford holstered his pistol, removed his glasses and wiped at his face with his sleeve, then put his glasses back on and handed me my sidearm. “Cover him.”

 

I forced myself to my feet and looked back up the hill.

 

Farfarello walked calmly toward us. Blood painted him in bands of savage fury; I knew very little of it was his own. He limped only slightly as he rejoined the team, a preternatural calm upon his features. My hand shook as I raised the pistol and aimed it at his head.

 

Brad looked around in the underbrush, found what he wanted, and handed three flat pieces of wood to Nagi. He then addressed Farfarello in a commanding voice. “Stand still.”

 

The Irishman did so, swaying a little but remaining where he stopped.

 

Brad approached him slowly but with no fear. He held out his hand. “Give me one of your knives.”

 

Far obeyed, his movements slow and dreamlike. The blade had already been wiped clean.

 

Crawford knelt down and cut away the lower half of Far's right pants leg, then handed the bloody fabric to Nagi. Addressing the boy, he said, “Splint him. Quickly.”

 

Nagi hurried to take Brad's place at Farfarello's feet, tearing the cloth into strips as he moved. He wiped off as much blood as he could, then whispered, “Shift your weight, please.” When his teammate complied, Nagi grabbed his ankle and pulled, trying to set the bone. “This isn't right. Crawford, help me.”

 

Brad knelt again. With Farfarello pushing his weight the other direction and Brad's strength behind it, they got the bone set. Brad moved aside to allow Nagi to finish the splint.

 

Farfarello smiled in a serene and distant way. He raised his bloodied right hand and gently lay it on Nagi's head as if in benediction. Nagi looked like he was going to vomit again, but he tied the pieces of wood securely around Far's lower leg and pronounced the job done. He stood, then swayed and crumpled to the ground.

 

By Crawford's command, Far didn't move, he merely stood there and gazed mildly down at the unconscious boy.

 

And also by Crawford's command, I didn't move, I merely stood there bleeding from the nose and holding a gun aimed at my best friend's skull.

 

Without a word, Brad reached down and picked Nagi up as if he were a rag doll. The boy lay limply in his arms.

 

Brad looked at me. I saw my reflection in his glasses - pale, wide eyed, and quite probably in shock. In a soft voice he said, “Come on. It's over.”

 

 

 

 

 

A/N:

with the rage of the seraphs at my side

“The Seraphs” - The Crüxshadows Wishfire

 

In the movie “Zatoichi”, the title character dispatches 12 men in under 3 minutes - 2 minutes 10.71 seconds, to be precise - and he's blind. And sane.

 

Just imagine what Farfarello can do.