The House of Grey- Volume 6 (9 page)

“Shut up, Arthur; you didn’t even make it
that
long. Just because that girl from the Brownie troop beat you up the first day. That’s what you get for flipping up her skirt.”

“First of all, she didn’t beat me up. I was sick that day—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you were—”

Monson walked up and threw his arms around his friends, stopping the conversation in mid-retort. “Be careful, guys. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I lose anyone else.”

Casey and Artorius smiled as he let them go, apparently forgetting their argument. “You too, Grey,” said Casey. “Be careful and don’t lose your cool.”

“Yeah,” said Monson, putting up his fist. “Will do.”

The other two smacked theirs against Monson’s and then turned to leave. Monson lingered briefly, watching Casey and Artorius round a corner and disappear out of sight. He listened to the fading slap of their footsteps until there was silence once again.

Moving with determination, he ripped the Glyian Combat Glove from his hand and began to pry his grandfather’s silver stone from the frame. To his dismay, it was slightly cracked. Monson swore. “That’s definitely not a good omen.” He tried to convince himself that he was not going to need luck—that he would create his own.
Believe.
That was what he needed to do. He needed to believe and hope for the best. With that  thought in tow, he headed towards the boys’ locker room and hopefully, the final confrontation.

“You don’t need luck, you know
.”

Dawn’s unmistakable voice drifted in and out of Monson’s eardrums, hurting his head with its unpredictable changes in volume.

Monson grabbed at his temple.
Why are you coming in like this, so weak?
he thought.
Is your frequency broken or something
?

“Not a bad example, I will have to use that one sometime. That’s not entirely true, but good enough
.”

And of course you’re not going to explain that statement, either
.

“I would, but it would do you little good right now
.
”

Monson tapped at his head as Dawn started to cut out, but realized how stupid this was and stopped.
Why are you leaving? What’s going on?

“There is not any time to expl
a
in. I am going away, but let me warn you that something is coming, something incredibly dangerous. You and your friends need to get away from Coren before it comes. I have to depart as my limits may soon be tested, but heed my warning—leave now
.
”
Monson shook his head.
I can’t. I have to save Cyann and capture Baroty before I can
—

It was no use. Dawn was gone and Monson could not feel the slightest trace of his presence. He was truly on his own; the thought actually scared him a bit. He pushed it out of his mind as he descended the stairs towards his objective.

***
 

Minutes later, Monson found
himself
sneaking along the hallways leading to the locker rooms of the Coren University Legionnaires. He was lucky to have gotten this far without being detected. There had been one near run-in with a small squad of Baroty’s black-clad commandos; if Monson had not ducked into a random office, it would have been over for him.

Now closing in on his destination, he heard hurried, anxious voices, most bellowing about “power” and “containment.” Monson understood none of it. His brief time in the Legion had given him a familiarity with the locker room, enough to proceed without incident. His main hope rested in Coach Able’s office, which ran almost the entire length of the long hallway. If he could get into that office, he might be able to get out onto the Battlefield unseen and undetected.

Trying the heel-toe approach that had given him so much trouble earlier, Monson was able to reach the entrance of Able’s office. Slowly he tried the doorknob and felt considerable relief as it turned. Monson slipped into the darkness of the office, silently closing the door behind him.

“You know, you’re really not as sneaky as you think you are.”

Monson’s hands were already moving, calling upon the magic as he whipped around to face the source of the voice. What he saw made his blood boil.

Cyann Harrison, unconscious and gagged, slumped at the feet of Damion Peterson. Very close to her throat was the tip of a Magi Blade, its hilt resting firmly in Damion’s grip.

Chapter
60
–
Breath
of the Dragon

Monson took a few steps forward into the room, the flickering glint of the Magi Blade providing him enough light to recognize the River’s Serenity. This gave him a slight amount of comfort. At least Damion was not using the Breath of the Dragon or one of the other blades Monson was not familiar with; then he would be really screwed.

Monson took a deep, steadying breath, willing his voice to stay even. “So you’re the twist? You’re the surprise ending?”

Damion smiled, his expression malicious. “Every good story needs an anti-hero. I guess that’s my role.”

He adjusted the blade, leveling it uncomfortably close to Cyann. Monson’s eyes narrowed. “So if you’re the anti-hero, then who am I?”

“Who are you? You’re the problem.”

Damion and Monson glared at one another, allowing the fireworks to fly within the fury of their fervent gazes. Monson again attempted to calm himself before he spoke.

“Damion, let Cyann go. She has nothing to do with this.”

Damion laughed. “You really are a moron, Monson.”

He shoved the blade into the cement floor, giving no indication that the floor was any more solid than jelly. Damion grabbed Cyann, pulling her up with unnatural ease, and held her unblemished face to Monson.

“What do you know about Cyann, O
Being of Seven Bloods
?” said Damion with derision. “She has
nothing
to do with this? She has EVERYTHING to do with this, and if it weren’t for you, if you hadn’t shown up, I could have protected her. I could have explained to her what was happening and why. But no, you had to come and ruin it, ruin everything…it had to be
now
, of course. You couldn’t have waited one more generation.”

“Ruined everything? Ruined what, your crazy plan? And what’s this crap about you protecting Cyann? You could have protected her? Protected her like you’re doing now, by pointing a blade at her throat? You aren’t protecting anyone but—”

Monson lunged forward like a popped cork. Damion was caught totally unawares and Monson wasted no time, aiming a clean kick to his gut. A saturated silver light pulsed, paralleling the strike and sending Damion flying through the door into the locker room, literally bending him in half midflight. As Damion’s figure absorbed the full extent of Monson’s blow
, his momentum pulled
Cyann’s body a few feet into the air
as his grip on her slipped.
Monson quickly scrambled, reversed his momentum, and was miraculously able to catch her near-weightless body on her descent. He held her close, cradling her like a baby. Checking that Damion was still prone, he quickly moved to the far side of the room and gently laid Cyann down on a nearby desk. He touched her tenderly
on the face.

“Cyann,” he whispered. “Wake up. You have to get up.”

Nothing. She gave no response. Monson swore. “I’ll come back for you, I promise, but I have to take care of him first.”

Monson stepped away from the desk and walked back towards Damion, his footsteps the only indication of life in the room. Monson gripped the blue Magi Blade, ripping it from the ground with little more than a jerk and readying himself as Damion picked himself up off the ground, swearing.

“That was awfully dirty, Monson; a surprise attack?”

Monson reversed his grip on the blade. “You made the mistake of thinking I was going to play fair. This isn’t a book, Damion. You don’t get the chance to monologue. I don’t care what your reasons are for betraying Cyann—”

“I didn’t betray her!” Damion screamed as he scrambled to his feet. “I was trying to protect her! I was trying to protect
everyone
from—”
“Again with the protection! How can you call
that
protection?” shouted Monson, pointing at Cyann, still unconscious and tied up. “Baroty was trying to get his hands on her and Kylie. Just last night I saw her lying in a pool of her own blood, Damion, and you dare say you’re trying to protect her? Baroty’s got you doing his dirty work. What could he have possibly offered you?”

Suddenly, at that moment, Monson knew. He knew exactly what Baroty had offered Damion Peterson.

“Power.” Monson studied Damion’s reaction to the word. “Baroty offered you power and that’s how you became…oh, ho, ho. That’s how you became the
Diamond
. You’ve been using magic all along, haven’t you?”

Damion let loose a grating laugh. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Then explain,” replied Monson. “If I’m so off base then explain yourself.”

Damion’s laugh split the air a second time. “I thought you weren’t going to give me time to monologue. No matter; it’s not that I’m completely guiltless. I’m simply saying that some of your assumptions are incorrect. I will say this; your path is not the correct one. You’re blinded by your own power and if you don’t open your eyes to the truth, it might be too late.”

Monson let out a chuckle of his own. “It’s a little late in the game to be issuing cryptic warnings, don’t you think? And what’s all this bull about me being blinded by my own power? What do
you
know of
my
power?”

Damion unbuttoned the top of his shirt. “More than you’d think.”

Ripping at the rest of the buttons on his shirt, Damion spread his collar to reveal large, gashing burns on his skin. Burns that appeared healed yet held a tinge of grayish silver.

Then it clicked, and everything made sense. “You
were
there…you were in that weight room on the day that…that…that you tried to kill me.”

Damion did not say anything.

Monson’s mouth suddenly went dry. “Why would you…how could…how did I…?”

Questions. Monson had so many questions…so many….

No. No….

He started to laugh, equal parts mourning and irony. Damion merely watched, as if unsure whether Monson was fully sane. Monson wiped at his eyes as tears appeared at the corners.

“I was worried, you know. I was worried that I was caught up in some sort of alternate reality and really….” Monson started to swing the Magi Blade, a movement that made Damion conspicuously nervous. “It was you all along. I thought I was going crazy!”

Monson hefted the River’s Serenity in his hand, feeling the power and coolness of the blade. He grinned maniacally. “Here, Mr. Diamond, allow me to return the favor.”

Monson reared back, cocked his elbow, and let the blade fly. The River’s Serenity flipped end over end until it embedded itself about a foot from Damion’s head in a stone column. Damion did a quick double take, gazing from Monson to the blade and back again. Monson figured he was probably trying to discern some sort of trick or trap.

“I didn’t do anything to it. It’s your blade. Take it.”

Damion did just that, quickly ripping the blade from its place in the stone. It gave easily and Damion about-faced, looking a great deal more confident now that the sword was back in his hand.

“That was a mistake, Grey.” He passed the blade from his left to his right, apparently testing it. “You know there isn’t another physical power that matches up to the Magi Blade. You’re done for.”

Monson smiled slightly. “Yeah, I know that. But before we get to that, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“I can’t spare your life.”

Monson waved off the statement. “No, that’s not it. Whatever happens, happens. I guess we’ll just have to see. No, what I wanted to know was, back in the weight room right before you attacked me, you said we had been friends. Was that true?”

Damion just glared.

A smile played across Monson’s face as he looked into Damion’s eyes. “That’s all I needed to know.”

He closed his eyes. From the darkness, he could hear Damion. “What are you going to do now?”

Monson answered firmly. “I’m about to get reacquainted with an old friend. That, or we’re about to die in a river of flames.”

He heard footsteps pounding the floor, tapping once, tapping twice, tapping three times…then…nothing but his own breathing. He had only
seconds
…only seconds before he would die.

Kei...the magic of the collective…body, soul and mind; that which makes us, that which brings us together. Magic…magic…Magi…Breath of the Dragon
…
.My body moved seemingly of its own accord, calling upon the silver energy of my own form and allowing the power to flow freely across my palms and across my fingers. I examined the power, the magic, and willed it to change, to be different than it was. The change came. It was not fast. It was not slow. It just was; the molded power made hard but malleable, flexible but strong, commonplace but incredible; I made…I made it like unto the mortal body
–
a shell to hold it all
.