4

Insurgent


Mood: City Wolf — Bleed for This

Tirak followed a loose group of nondescript hooded figures upward through the layers of the city. They shifted like smoke through the crowd. Up, through progressively busier, cleaner, fancier streets. Each step seemed to echo Blade's scathing words in his head.

Today we strike at the heart of our people's oppression! With this union, our dear, friend-of-the-people merchant spits in our face. He wants to reject our sister without cause, the week before their wedding, and marry some outsider fish? Then we'll show him how the Ignii answer betrayal.

Tirak had his misgivings at first, but Blade's evidence had grown into a mountain over the course of the hour long brief. Tirak spat out a growing taste of disgust. So that was who Dad had been going on and on about earlier. The heartless umbri snake couldn't even wait a week!

Blade was right. That merchant needed to know the Ignii were a people to respect. He couldn't just push a girl around and do whatever suited him because she was pretty.

More Goldenhearts seeped into the growing crowd. A cloud of emotion followed them through the colorful market streets, all the way to the front of an ornate clay and stone warehouse. A lot of people were already standing around. Tirak had never met the guy, but his trade network was supposed to be one of the island's biggest. He was by far the city's biggest deal outside of the Elders themselves.

The hastily built stage was still empty, but the merchant's address to the people would begin shortly. Tirak noted some of the stones were still settling into place as if the grout wasn't dry. This really was slapped together last minute.

The couple emerged on cue, wearing intricately sewn robes of a mixed purple and blue pattern. Tirak paused to admire the image they cut together. The vibrant colors should have clashed with each other, yet they somehow managed to compliment the other half of the pattern while flattering both wearers. A perfect symbol of their proposed harmony for the Limni and Umbri trading industries.

He had to remind himself of how disgusting their union was beneath the surface. Not because he was mixing his elements—though some old-blood umbrii probably thought so—but because of who he'd needed to scorn in order to pick up this girl.

A wet tomato flew past the couple's head. Several voices jeered from places all throughout the crowd. Tirak hissed, wondering why the fools didn't rein their hatred in better. But then he noticed the closest voice to him. It belonged to distinctly umbri young guy. Tirak hadn't seen onyx armor plates darker than his on anyone but Onok himself, and even the skin was almost indistinguishable from the armor.

“Polluter! The Elders won't let you weaken our shadows with someone like HER!” Someone else in the crowd bellowed.

The merchant avoided a few more lobbed fruits as he walked, future mate still in hand, until they both stood at the platform's amplifying center.

“Friends! Friends, why yell so loudly?” His voice projected across them, “Are you really so afraid that one so small as I could threaten our great lord of darkness? Does anyone question the Maker's wisdom? You speak fears of mutants and halfbreeds, as if you've forgotten that we are already all the elements in one. Look at this charming young female and tell me, should we not rejoice that a once-diluted daughter of the sea will soon reunite with the only pure element? All of Maker's children have a taste of our lord's untainted shadow flowing in our veins, but only we—the Umbrii—know its full embrace. Do you really want to deny those of other elements from drawing closer to that embrace too?”

Tirak felt his nose twitch, lip curling in a repressed sneer. All of that could've been said about his last fiancee too, and he would've had a fraction of the uproar, because she was an adored member of the community. Who even was this new fi-errm… water person? And how had she so completely subplanted a girl this merchant had claimed to have loved?

The umbri introduced his partner and offered her the stage. As they talked back and forth together, the crowd's agitation began to evaporate, their anger clearly starting to burn out.

Good. Let the wasted ashes form a blanket to across the true coals. The goldenhearts were content to smolder until the time was right.

An elbow nudged Tirak's side, urging him to move further into the throng. The Goldenhearts' layers needed to be ordered by each person's skill in aiming—the best shots up close to cover the two most likely escape routes once the targets started moving—and Tirak admitted feeling a little smug that it placed him directly beneath the center of the stage. They trusted him to nail his shots no matter which direction they fled. Blade himself was somewhere in attendance today. The plan was for someone in the back left to send the first bolt flying. It would give Blade room to pinch in from the right before any guards could react.

As the merchant's lengthy speech began, Tirak's eyes drifted back to the proposed mate and lingered. Up close, he could make out even more detail in their faces and in the stenciled artwork along the blue bands of her dress. Studying her face, he noticed a faint metallic scratch on her left cheek. The mark had healed a long time ago, but the placement reminded him of Kaleek's face.

As soon he thought it, regret flooded through him. The female—still a girl really, and a cute one at that—looked just like his sister. Her metal was more greenish than Kaleek's, but she had that same pointy chin. That same expression of timid defiance that she always wore too.

Mood: City Wolf — Protector

He began to feel uncomfortable. This girl could've practically been Kaleek's older sister. Much more dainty sister perhaps, but that just made it even worse. And he was about to mug her and her fiance. Who knew what else the older members would try? He tried to swallow a wave of nausea as his mind replaced the girl's face with his sister's. His blood began to pound. He needed a way out of this.

He smelled a wisp of smoke, then the grizzled firebrand next to him gave him another elbow to the side.

“Cool it, kid. Wait for the signal.”

Jolted, he looked down and realized the sleeve of his coat was beginning to smolder, heated by his own fist. He relaxed his hand and tried to reabsorb the warmth. A few eyes glanced their way. They probably noticed the smoke too.

The accident gave him an idea, however. He tried to catch the limni girl's eye, but he doubted she would understand the warning in time. Instead, he waited for the speaker's gaze to sweep back this way. Concentrating, he made his eyes burn.

The merchant glanced over him casually, then stopped mid-sentence. Tirak watched the cogs turn within his skull for nearly a half second too long. He reached up and put down the hood of his cloak. The street lamps reflected clearly off the orange plates of his cheeks. The man seized his fiance's wrist and bolted for the alley behind them.

Tirak saw where they were heading, and also saw the twin hoods that would soon block their way. Instinctively, he took aim and fired a bolt. It sailed between the couple and their attackers with precision. It clipped one of their hoods, but no one would have thought it anything but a misplaced shot. Belatedly, the crowd sprang into action. The other members knew the surprise was ruined and went into damage control.

Mood: All Good Things — Angry Young Men

“Goldenhearts!” Their cry rang out.

A dozen more flames leapt from raised palms and streaked towards the fleeing pair in a chaotic jumble. Bolts struck indiscriminately against stone walls, barrels, random street debris, and even a few bystanders. One bolt found its mark in the girl's shoulder.

Hearing her ragged scream snapped something inside of Tirak. He would do anything in his power to stop this from happening. He took off down the alleyway after them, leapt over people, danced gracefully around burning obstacles as they fell, and breezed past the other pursuers. He burst into the open training yard a few moments after the couple, but stopped short when he saw Blade blocking their path with a squad of backups. Setting his jaw, Tirak sauntered forward.

The self-important leader raised a hand and smirked. It began to crackle with hungry orange flames. At the last moment, Tirak's own glowing hand snapped forward and shot a bolt of his own. Flame and hand collided just as the second bolt was fired. Nudged off course, the leader's shot flew harmlessly down another alley. Furious eyes locked on him.

“Back off, boy!” The leader pointed wildly, “This was never your prize!”

Tirak closed the rest of the gap and stepped between the couple and his leader. He raised his fists in defiance.

Really, boy? You gonna go soft over this lil speck of blue? Unless it's the guy… I promise, neither one is worth dying over. Now get. Out. My. Way.”

“We've all done dirt for you, Blade, and you always promise it'll 'help the cause' in the end. But this is too far! You're about to make half the island hate us. Just who is that going to help?” Tirak hissed through clenched teeth.

He could sense the others circling around him, blocking them in. He wished he could just stand there and convince Blade, but Tirak knew he was running out of time. Between words, he whispered a silent prayer to the Maker.

All he needed was a gap to push the couple through, then he wouldn't have to hold back. Neither one looked like a fighter, but he could be their distraction. Sweat beaded along his back as he thought about Blade's unnatural strength. Tirak didn't think he would join in personally, but if he did…

He spotted the target he was hoping for. One of Pimplewart's friends had been guarding the alley's rear exit and now formed part of the fence around them. The kid was hardly less of a pushover, more of a cutpurse than a real fighter, but he got away with it cause he knew how to lie.

The circle was stretching thin at that end while everyone began to focus on his argument with Blade. It had been a long time since someone had crossed him, and they seemed eager for the chance to remember why it was a stupid idea. Perfect.

Tirak struck mid-sentence, breaking eye contact with Blade only moments before his tongue of flame flashed across the boy's face.

Harmless disorientation was followed up with a kick from Tirak. Metal met metal with a satisfying crunch that sent sent them both flying away from each other.

Tirak dropped lithely to his hind paws, behind the couple. His feet were wide, flat, and cold red metal in a heartbeat. A solid hand on each back sent them stumbling out of the circle before anyone had quite caught up with what was happening.

Anyone, that is, except for his former leader.

Steel whistled past the dome of Tirak's ear as he dodged to the side by sheer luck.

“Run! Just run!” Was all he could yell.

He wiped a nick on his jaw as he turned to gauge the glowering faces all around him. Faces he had once thought of as brothers.

“Blade! They're getting—” A lackey started.

“Leave them. We'll catch up.”

Tirak glanced at Blade in surprise.

“Oh yes. There's nowhere they can run in this city that I can't reach. Once these fine fellows here kick your face in enough, we're going to rip them out of whatever hole they try to hide in, then I'll let you watch while we finish them off anyways.”

Blade tossed a dismissive hand into the air as he turned on his heel.

“Do whatever to him. Just make sure he lives long enough to be conscious when we torture those other two.”

Someone's fist swung from Tirak's left. He ducked and grabbed the arm as it passed. The fellow and his slightly graying head made an excellent battering ram against two of the others with just a little encouragement. Tirak followed him with a quick volley of punches that downed another and a flourishing kick to a third member's stomach. He heard the poor guy's over-sized joint crack as he fell back.

Tirak danced to his feet and assumed his normal fighting stance again. They all backed away.

But, their fear was short lived. Orders were orders, and no one told Blade “No.”

Tirak wove between the next three attacks as his muscles reenacted Onok's merciless drilling. Between practicing nonstop for twenty months and his new internship with the patrol guards, he was all but untouchable.

His breath was starting to come heavy though. He was good at this, but he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. Especially not when he had to lose them all at some point and still make it back here for another fight with Kaleek. He mixed an occasional flash of fire into his attacks to keep them off balance. It wouldn't hurt an igni, but all eyes were the same.

The trick wouldn't keep working if he used it again, of course, but Tirak was an apprentice of the Guard. He had no shortage of others to pull from.

One of the younger lackeys—a mostly pleasant guy about his own age that Tirak had drunk with a few times—lunged for him while others frantically started grabbing wooden poles. He grimaced as the admittedly too-proud nose crumpled under his fist. Ways to apologize later immediately started darting around his circuits. Maybe he should let the nose heal up first…

No time! Someone to his left started forming a fireball in his own palm, as if he was trying to steal the flashbang idea. Tirak sniffed. A casual forearm across his eyes was all he needed to keep from letting it blind him while he gauged the next strike coming from his right—

His wrist cracked backward across his eyes with a sudden jolt. His vision shimmered with static and he fell on his bad leg a little too hard.

That wasn't good. He dove to his side again, shaking his head to help the fuzziness picture clear.

A hand clamped around his ankle before he could go far.

Crack!

Wood shattered against his shin plates. A lucky miss.

Tirak slipped fully into his second nature, but even the smooth paw bulged just a little too much to break free. He cursed.

Panic began to sink in.

It didn't last long though. A sharp pain in his stomach blew that panic right back out again.

“That's for Hod, you shadowspitter!”

Agony flashed across his back as two more kicks fell. He heard a sickening whack as loose splinters fell from one of the shards he'd readied in his gear.

A halfhearted tongue fizzled on his fingertip as he fought to ready another reserve.

He was starting to get low on power. Not good.

A foot swung in as more of them closed the gap around him. But, the kicker wasn't paying attention to his balance. Tirak caught the blow and twisted, hard.

The cry sounded agonizing as the fool fell backward into several others. His foot was pointed sideways. Or, more backward than anything. Tirak groaned. Why wouldn't they stop already? He knew these ignii. Most of them were friends of his. They were brothers. Why did they keep forcing him to hurt them?

Onward the dance went, and Tirak still had his part to unless he wanted to see his head become a nice bowl. His good leg was free now. He forced out a grin between his legs at the guy trying to hold him down. A quick blow to the face and he was free again.

He flexed his crystal gear. A fresh set of three clicked into place behind Tirak's head. Time to turn things around. He planted his hands behind his head and arched his back for a flip onto his feet.

Another foot took him right in spine.

Tirak yelled out a fresh curse and tried to roll towards the attacker. Hands grabbed his arm before he could deliver his next punch to his attacker's kneecap.

Another hand clamped itself to one leg, then his other. He tried to lean out of the way as a boot slammed toward his face, but only his weak arm was free by now. Tirak let out a desperate explosion as it connected.

Several hands loosened, but it wasn't enough.

“Hold him!” One of the others slurred though a loose jaw. He threw in some kind of slur about his parents while at it, followed by, “...give that prettyboy face some rearranging. Keep hold'a that gearbox!”

More hands began pulling on him. His shoulders felt like they were about to pop from its socket. Several kicks bruised his side. Then, one shoulder really did pop loose as “Hod” slammed his heel down again.

Tirak's head cracked against a protruding cobble and began to swim. Absently, he noted it probably meant one of his cores had cracked. He wondered why Maker left those so exposed. Didn't His race keep their processors deep inside their heads where they were safer? Seemed like a real flaw in His design.

Another blow to his already weakened nose shattered it. He screamed as pieces of it dug into his face. His eyes were already screwed shut, so he couldn't tell if any had cut into those. An even sharper snap echoed through his skull, and he felt his jaw drop open at an angle.

More kicks fell.

Tirak's world became pain.

Nothing else. Only pain.


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