The House of Grey- Volume 6 (17 page)

Monson readjusted the tip of the blade to better cover Gibson and slowly bent down to remove the bracelet. He knew that he could not trust Gibson’s words.
i
t could be a complete farce, but if the bracelet was even a fraction as important as Gibson claimed, then Monson had to remove it. He had to take it and try to get it into more qualified hands—Brian Gatt likely being the best option.
i
t might be the only real way to stop the Darkness.

“Brian, Mr. Gatt,” yelled out Monson. “Pull back!”

Monson was not sure how they heard him, but Brian Gatt and his flaming bird ceased their attack, though with obvious reluctance. They flew to some of the downed Dragoons and started administering to them.

“Now, Mr. Gibson, I think it’s about time you hand that bracelet over to me.”

“I would not if I were you, Mr. Grey.
b
esides being protected by my own sealing magic
,
a curse of sorts you might say, the Aram No Abidi was created for a specific purpose.
v
ery few have the power to control it.”

Monson narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take my chances.
h
and it over.”

He again repositioned the blade, hoping to seem all the more threatening.
t
he action had the effect he desired. Slowly Gibson’s hand found his wrist and the golden bracelet sitting upon it. His index finger hovered half an inch above the metal. Monson tried to move closer but found himself forcibly stopped as the gold glowed white, and blue runes appeared around the band. Gibson whispered a phrase.

“Kendall.”

The bracelet split, the runes disappeared, and the gold band was now
brassy and tarnished. It fell from Gibson’s outstretched arm into his other hand.
h
e offered it to Monson, holding it just beyond his reach.
“
So you believe you’ve won.”

Monson reached for the magical item before hesitating. “Don’t try anything, Gibson.
I
have no problem running you through.”

“You have no problem, do you?”

“No problem at all.”

“We shall see.”

A fraction of a second before Monson could grab the bracelet, Gibson flicked his wrist, sending it flying. Monson’s only reaction was a huge grin.

“I know what you’re up to,” he said, keeping his blade trained on Gibson. “It’s not going to work. I’ll just make sure you can’t move before I go after that thing.”

“Thinking before acting, are we?” sneered Gibson. “Well, isn't that prudent of you.
t
oo bad you did not have the information you needed.”

Monson’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not buying it, Gibson.
I
don’t need your information. Now go get the bracelet or I really will cut you.”

Gibson smiled as he pounded his fist into his palm. “You obviously did not know this but the Controller of the Aram No Abidi has two special…features, you might call them.
t
he first is Mimicry, the ability to have the beast mirror the user’s actions.
t
he second and far more difficult, requiring much more power and concentration, is called the Mind’s Eye, the ability to visualize and act through small gestures.”

Monson tightened his grip on his sword. “I’m not interested in your little ‘how-to’ lesson, Gibson.
g
o and pick up that—”

“Wait, Mr. Grey
–
you’re missing the most important part.
The Controller was never truly meant for the Daymonian race.
e
ven before the war, the Arcanels never really trusted us. So while they are compatible with the controller and able to direct the Darkness to an extent, there is a certain lag in the connection and
disconnection
period of the Controller.”

Monson heard an inhuman scream from overhead and cast his gaze skyward just in time to see the Midday Darkness connect with a clawed slap to Brian Gatt’s feathered mode of transportation, which started to fall rapidly.
M
onson dropped his sword, threw himself towards Cyann and scooped her up, then jumped to the side as Brian Gatt and his bird crash-landed, tearing up the ground in a spectacular display. They skidded across the grass, thrashing what little green there was left to behold before coming to a halt some yards off. The bird burst into bright blue flames and disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

Brian Gatt did not get up.

The Midday Darkness raised its hands and bellowed a triumphant war cry, simultaneously announcing his victory and welcoming new challengers.

“And now the fun starts,” laughed Gibson. “I suggest you run, Monson Grey.
t
hat thing is coming for you.”

“Me? You’ve given off more power than I have, Gibson.
s
houldn’t it be going after you?”

“Do not confuse quantity with quality, Mr. Grey.”

Monson surveyed their situation. Brian Gatt was down for the count. Casey and Artorius were now desperately fighting Gibson’s gray-skinned replications, doing their best to protect Kylie and Taris. He knew he had to get the bracelet, but should he chance it? What if the thing did have a curse? What if Gibson was telling the truth on that one? Monson was the only one in any position to fight to protect his friends.

“Why are you hesitating?”

Monson looked down to see Cyann’s icy blue eyes boring into him.

“I’m not hesitating.
I
’m planning my course of action. If this goes wrong then we could all—”

Monson’s head jerked back as Cyann flicked him in the nose. “You need to stop blabbering and trying to take on all this yourself. I’ll  get the bracelet.
y
ou fight the gray-skinned bastard.”

“Cyann, I can’t let you take that chance.
t
hat bracelet might kill you just by touching—”

Monson cut himself off.
h
e was doing it again. Cyann gazed at him as he came to his conclusion.

He smiled warmly. “It’s not my decision, right?”

“Bingo.
n
ow put me down; you’re embarrassing me.”

“Ha! You embarrassed? I thought Cyann Harrison didn’t get embarrassed.”

“I’m a girl, too, Monson.”

Monson smiled wider and he winked. “I noticed.”

Cyann flicked his nose again. “Put me down, idiot.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Monson did just that and then called for the Breath of the Dragon. The sword whipped towards him. He caught the blade by its hilt, which instantly made the sword flare up.

“All right Gibson—let’s finish this.”

Gibson trotted forward, the lurching mass of the Midday Darkness in the background.  Monson squared up, holding his Breath of the Dragon at the ready. Gibson circled him, swinging his unnamed golden blade in playful arcs. “So it comes down to this: You will fight me and the Darkness?”

“I’m not going to let you hurt any more people. I’ll stop you and find a way to kill the Darkness.”

“Ahh, Master…this one is so stubborn.
I will cut you just a bit, you impudent child.”

The battle commenced, Monson going on the offensive. He started with a Two-step, following with strong slashes aimed at the arms and legs. Gibson’s golden blade flowed from parry to repose as he smoothly slid his sword from block to counter attack. The golden blade never actually contacted Monson’s skin but managed to nick him twice. He started to wonder what the golden Magi Blade was.

“You are very talented, boy,” said Gibson as he blocked two more attacks aimed at his weaker left side. “Your grandfather and friends have taught you well.”

“But I’m sure you’re going to tell me you’re better, and I don’t stand a chance. Spare me. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Such a sharp tongue!
r
eally, youth have no respect for their elders these days. No, actually I was going to tell you that you picked the wrong style for your blade.
t
he Jane ei Fibry I’ Isa—or the Dance of Fire and Ice—is not a style intended for those who wield an original Magi Blade.”

Monson hit Gibson with several sweeps of his blade that made a “Z” pattern
at
the mid-chest, a move Artorius had coined the “Cross Slash.” It was a powerful maneuver that caused Gibson to quickly shut his mouth and jump back several feet. Monson held the pose.

“The Dance of Fire and Ice seems to suit me just fine,” retorted Monson, standing upright.

“I see that.
t
he first stage of the Breath of the Dragon suits you very well.
b
ut there is one thing that you are forgetting.”

Gibson barreled forward, hitting Monson with several vicious slashes. Monson blocked them, but only barely. He was thrown back several feet just as Gibson came at him again, this time slowly drawing his blade in a figure eight.

“You have the fire, Monson, but you forgot the ice. The Ja-no is a double-bladed style.”

Gibson renewed his assault
but ceased his charge as a large clawed hand swept at his blind side. Gibson laughed as he dodged the brute. Monson also dodged, but was thrown off balance when Gibson charged him again. He almost lost his footing and toppled over, but was somehow able to counter Gibson’s thrust and push him back again. The Midday Darkness attacked again, this time by spitting boulder-sized globs of ooze at the combatants. Monson countered with blade and spell but found the globs too thick to move properly. He was either going to get consumed by ooze or stabbed by Aaron Gibson.

Monson sighed as he scripted a fire spell that shot into the air and intercepted four of the five of the balls of darkness.

“Crap,” he said as he attempted to deflect the last one with his sword. He missed. The Midday Darkness was going to hit him and he was going to lose in the world’s dumbest way.

Monson closed his eyes.
What a stupid way to die
, he thought.
Seriously lame
.

It was not as bad as he thought. The ooze did not hurt, rather it was quite pleasant; it felt cool on his face after all the fighting. When he opened his eyes, however,  all he could see was the tarry blackness that was moving slowly over the whole of his body. And then the burning came. A burn that was unlike anything he had ever felt, like he was being eaten away by acid.

You win, Gibson,
he thought.
Hopefully the rest of them got away.

Monson tried to sit down.
t
he darkness was so completely upon him now that he could not really discern where he was or what he was doing. He really hoped his friends were not watching—they didn’t need th
e
trauma of watching him die.

Then something incredible happened. The burning stopped. Monson cautiously opened his eyes. His body did not hurt any more.
i
n fact, he felt…fine…even refreshed. His vision was clearing up as well.
f
or a brief span he could not see anything, but then light permeated the gloom and he saw a cloaked figure standing over him.

A person wrapped in deep blue Kei loomed over him like a living sky. Monson looked through the brightness to see a person he knew all too well.

“Cyann.”

Cyann Harrison offered her hand, which he took and instantly felt the warmth flowing from it. In his mind’s eye, the vision of a city atop massive clouds contoured by the sunlight was shaded in reds, pinks, oranges and yellows. It was a warm and inviting place.

Until…it changed.

u
ntil all that was once clean and beautiful was destroyed and stained in multicolored blood. In the middle of the street sat a child screaming and sobbing at the feet of a beautiful woman who was pinned to a wall.
b
ut
she was not attached by hand or foot or any other part of the normal human anatomy
; nails pierced an enormous pair of wings on her back.

The vision cleared and Monson realized that he was crying.

“Monson.” Cyann’s voice was the only thing that kept Monson from sobbing hysterically. He looked into her eyes, the ice blue of her irises deepening into something so pure, Monson wanted to dive right into them. “It’s OK. You’re OK now.”

“No!” said Monson, trying to free himself from her gaze. “
G
ibson, the Midday Darkness—they have to be—”

“The Midday Darkness isn’t going to be a problem anymore.”

Monson ripped his eyes away from Cyann, searching for the Heart of the Midday Darkness. He found the beast waist-deep in its oozing pool. Monson readied his sword and stepped in front of Cyann. The Midday Darkness took no notice, instead responding with the most wondrous of actions. It bowed to Cyann Harrison.
a
nd if that were not crazy enough, the monster spoke.

“My lady,” growled the beast. “Shall I take my leave?”