[Fiction] - Machina deus chapters 7 and 8.
Like a phoenix from the ashes I arise after a long hiatus from my beloved fantasy story. I kinda ran out of writing impetus for the last few weeks as my drawing muse took over for a bit. But now the writing muse is back, and I bring you the next two chapters in one go to make up for the lack of chapter the past fortnight or so :) I also need to work out why the hell lj-cut won't work for me, 'cause these posts are getting mighty long...
Title: Machina Deus
Chapter: 7 + 8
Warnings: none, worksafe.
Notes: as usual, concrit very much welcome, and this is an original piece of fiction and I shall be very cross if you steal it.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
CHAPTER 7
“I call this meeting to order.” Tathos announced. They were in his quarters, where the meetings of the Council were usually held. Tathos often entertained; it was part of his duties as a Heavenly Council member to be socially active, as these irregular meetings of theirs were not considered unusual.
“To bring us all up to current events,” Tathos began “we have a new member from the elemental circles - Luna Skyringer.” He indicated to where she sat, smiling and dipping her head to the assemblage in greeting, hands folded neatly in her lap.
“With her help, we now have the backing of many of the air elementals, as well as the service of her own Sky Warriors.” This was met with nods of approval from around the room.
“Next, you are doubtless aware that the first phase of our plan has been initiated - Raziel?” Raziel stood with a curt nod. “Thank you. The mortal Othello was granted a vision yesterday in his time. As you know, it will take time to fully settle, however, the main concepts seem to have taken hold, which will incline him to join the other mortal Percival later on. Specific images will take time, but he is coping well, and proceeding as expected.”
“Excellent. Arius?” The angel, now in his usual white, stood.
“Well,” he began, “the mortal Percy has been told what he needs to know for the moment - I’m keeping him in the dark as we decided, and sent him to meet this Othello. I’m expecting to hear from Michael when they’ve met. My utmost thanks, of course, to my Lady, for her raven charm was most useful.” The Dark Lady inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgement.
You are most welcome. If it is the will of this council, I will do whatever I can.
“Now,” said Tathos, “Tidus, I believe you have some news to report.” The room fell silent in anticipation. Tidus stood, his youthful face unusually grim. “Well, it seems that the Machine has temporarily returned to the third dimension,” he began, growing nervous, “but, my lords and ladies, it is worse than we anticipated - it is being held in the Kin-realms.” Suddenly, the room was alive with gasps of horror and the shriek of ravens as they took flight from the Dark Lady’s shoulder, circling the room in agitation. Hemphis swore loudly over Mien’s angered drumming, whacking the jujunga with his stick in irritation, whilst Mama Boushka covered her mouth in horror. Many, Raziel included, were on their feet. Argaeon, however, seemed to have frozen, aware that many eyes were now on him. Tathos diffused the situation quickly.
“Everyone, everyone! Be calm, this is a situation we must deal with quickly and rationally. Tidus - is there anything else you can tell us? Tidus cleared his throat nervously. “Ah, it appears that it is currently being held in the Lethal Lands and -”
“WHAT?!?” Hemphis roared “In our territory?”
“All this time and it was right under our noses?!” cried Mama Boushka, pulling on Hemphis to sit back down.
“Not quite.” Tidus answered. “It’s underground. I only found out when an earth elemental managed to slip past the cloaking magics the Kindred set up there.”
“How did the Kindred kidnap the Machine?” Argaeon murmured, his rumble cutting through Hemphis’ angry mutterings and the ruffled croaking of the ravens. The Council members all looked at him. “The summoning words were never disclosed to them.”
“You refer to them as if you are not Kindred yourself.” Observed Luna. Argaeon looked up from his contemplation. “I do not want to be associated with their ways.” He stated, the iron undertones unmistakable in his voice. “I do not consider myself Kindred.”
“We know you are not one of them, Argaeon.” Tathos said kindly. “However, this will upset our plans. The Machine is vital to finding the Creator. Without it, we cannot proceed.
“Then we must either reclaim it or bring the mortals to it.” Raziel said, standing. “Either way, deviation from our original plan is necessary. Secrecy, however, is less risky. Outright mobilisation would serve only to reveal us not only to our enemies but to the rest of Heaven too early.”
“Agreed.” Hemphis intoned, fury still lining his words. “Send the mortals to our tribes, we will help them get as close as possible. The burden is ours for having not discovered the Machine ourselves.”
The fault is no-one’s. The Dark Lady soothed. Merely the enemy cleverer than we expected. We must not make that mistake twice.
“It is disturbing to think that someone deliberately gave the Kindred the summoning words,” Arius-Eken added, “but without the necessary skill in magic, they should not be able to perform such a summoning.” His eyes slid to Argaeon. “Argaeon, you know our enemy best. Is there such a way at their disposal?”
“Only if a kindred has lived ten times it’s natural lifespan - it may then gain a higher level of sentience and can then use higher magics other than wild magic.” He explained hesitantly, thinking. “Other than myself, I am not aware of any other Kindred-born who has done so. But I admit, I have never returned to the Kin-realms since I did so. There may be a Kindred who has, but, unlike myself chosen a darker path.”
“But they would still need to be told the summoning words.” Raziel insisted.
“…Or have caught some poor bastard unfortunate enough to know them.” Added Hemphis.
“Then we must continue as best we can. Raziel, I’m trusting you and our Lady to ensure that Percy and Othello find each other safely; Arius, please contact Michael and tell him what we’ve learned; Raziel, Luna, Hemphis, Mama Boushka, Argaeon and myself will collaborate on delivering the mortals to the Machine; Tidus, Mian, continue to gather information on the Kindreds’ intentions on the Machine; and all of us, at the Game tomorrow we must endeavour to aid Raziel and our Lady in successfully uniting Percy and Othello. Council dismissed.”
CHAPTER 8
Deep underground in the Kin-realms, the normally hot, dry air crackled, the fizz of magic descending over the constant streams of kindred in every tunnel and catacomb. The chill kiss of energy settled over the Machine as it laboured, and sent up static sparks from it’s surface that danced through the curlicues etched onto it’s living surface before dissipating, assimilated into the Machine itself.
The Kin-Master was casting magics; powerful, old, wild energy pulled and devoured from the ancient stone around them and twisted by the words of magic he used. His voice echoed throughout the complex hive; a deep, sonorous rumble that grew in volume and ferocity, the air producing sparks of it’s own as he continued to pour his malice into the spell. The last word was screamed at a pitch, and the air suddenly rushed through the caverns, accompanied by the crash of falling stones that crumbled where they lay without the magic that had sustained them, blackened and burnt.
The Machine laboured on.
Presently, the Master entered the cavern, the more inferior Kindred shrinking back in fear. The golden gauntlets were blackened in some parts and melted in others, and his eyes were strangely dimmed. Nonetheless, the fear he inspired remained as he cast his sight over the fruits of the Machine’s work.
REPORT. He commanded.
First phase complete, the Machine intoned, the many timbres of it’s voice seemingly melting out of the air, echoing in the now silent, dry-aired chamber. Second phase initiating. Interior works can now be constructed.
The Machine had been thinking, pondering how to end it’s imprisonment - it conceded that it couldn’t be done directly. Indirect methods, however, could be more fruitful. It had a plan.
Master, the Machine began in it’s most ingratiating tones, there is one problem. His eyes scanned the Machine’s surface warily. WHAT IS IT?
I cannot complete this component without and outer input.
WHAT?!? Growled the Kin-Master, low enough to send the remaining Kindred cowering. YOU ARE THE MACHINE. YOU CAN CREATE ANYTHING!
I am old. Replied the Machine. And my supplies of dunamis grow dim.
DUNAMIS? The Kindred’s eyes flashed.
Dunamis. The Machine confirmed. The power and will with which to animate the inanimate and give them life. A small part of the Creator himself. Your tool will need an amount I cannot supply. It told the Kin-Master, who paused thoughtfully.
IT SHALL BE DONE. He conceded. WORK AROUND THIS PROBLEM. YOU WILL FINISH THIS, MACHINE.
With that, he turned and stalked away, swiping at the smaller Kindred who didn’t move out of his way quick enough. He was irritated, the Machine noted, but this delay gave it more time with which to formulate further action. Hopefully, an endeavour to secure more dunamis would be beyond the scope of the Kin-Master; the Machine needed all it’s resources just for it’s current task. It could not, would not manufacture an army.
Because the only source of dunamis was the Creator himself.
Archie’s head hurt. And as if that wasn’t enough, he felt sleepy too.
“Shouldn’t strain meself like that.” He moaned irritably, bowing his head into the wind and wobbling slightly as he did so. Instinct told him it was going to rain, probably quite hard too, judging by the fizzle from the angry purple-grey clouds on the horizon. Below, Percy was struggling with Othello through sudden crowds of travellers heading for cover from the encroaching storm and deck hands hurriedly tying down smaller vessels and securing lines. It was hard to keep an eye on them in the frantically moving crowds, and Archie barely heard Percy’s call over the din as he landed back on his lookout post.
“Archie! Is Michael back yet?”
“No, not y-” he paused in answer, a tingle creeping up his spine. He cocked his head in the direction it was coming from. “Oh no, wait, sorry. Yeah, he is.”
“Oh good” said Percy, coming to a standstill. “Looks like rain.”
Othello looked at Archie curiously. Archie looked back. Dubiously, he wondered if he’d joined up with a nut. Was he seriously asking a dumb bird questions? He wasn’t close enough to hear if the bird had responded - he half believed it would - but despite his misgivings the pair of them seemed oddly familiar. Briefly, he thought he saw two ravens, but he blinked and there was only them again.
Percy and Archie watched the black silhouette of Michael against the approaching clouds until he flapped down next to Archie. No-one saw Othello shift uncomfortably.
“WE SHOULD FIND SOMEWHERE TO STAY.” Michael announced.
“Is that it?!” screeched Archie. “None of this ‘we must away to a place of shelter’ business? None of that ‘Archie, stay here and freeze yourself to death’? come on, there must have been more to your little rendezvous than something I could’ve bloody well told ya!”
“ARCHIE?”
“What?”
“SHUT UP AND MOVE LEST THE HOUNDS OF HELL CATCH YOUR VOICE ON THE WIND AND COME TO DEVOUR YOU.”
“…Oh well fu- ”
“Archibald!” Percy interrupted, giving him a stern look.
“Sorry Perce.” Archie said, shuffling his feet abashedly.
“Good. Now, there was someplace back that way, looked like a pub. We - ”
“A pub?” Both ravens and Percy turned to look at Othello. He had the look of someone who reasoned that any animal that talks is therefore imaginary, and should be ignored. Especially if they use words like ‘lest’. As such, alcohol sounded quite appetising right about now.
“Yes. We could stay there for the night.”
“Bloody fantastic, let’s go!”
It was raining steadily by the time they left the docks and hit the town proper. The ravens could barely fly, and Archie in particular was having a hard time staying aloft. His vision kept swimming briefly and Michael had to keep calling at him to stay awake. Michael was getting worried, not just about Archie, that was expected, but the sinister fizz in the air from the storm grated on his nerves. The whole storm didn’t smell right. The distant rumble of thunder rebounded off the buildings surrounding them. They needed to get inside, quick. A brief flash lit up the sky and Michael’s urgency mounted. This was not good weather for flying, and that flash was awfully close. The air grew thicker, and the sudden increase in wind and rain caught Archie off guard, sending him almost into a building before Michael caught him in his talons.
“ARCHIE! STAY AWAKE!” he yelled against the howl of the wind. Somewhere below, Percy was shouting something and Michael guided Archie lower. “Archie!” Percy panted, wiping rainwater from his glasses. “TAKE HIM.” Commanded Michael. “HE’S IN NO STATE TO FLY.” They were in bad shape, he noticed. Both the humans were tired, Percy’s heavy bag and Othello’s soaked coat were making it harder to keep up the pace. Now Archie was grounded it just complicated the problem.
Suddenly, the sky lit up again, the deafening crack sounding way too close for his liking. The answering rumble of thunder was thick with rage, and in his unease Michael thought he heard voices on the wind. Definitely in bad shape.
Without warning, a lick of lightning screamed through the sky and smashed into the ground bare tens of feet ahead, sending Michael pinwheeling through the air and the others diving for cover. Flapping madly to right himself, Michael looked questioningly at the roiling clouds. This is no ordinary storm, he decided, before arrowing down to the others.
“WE MUST FIND COVER. THE STATION IS CLOSER. AND UNDERGROUND.” Percy nodded his agreement, too startled to argue. Glancing to Othello, Michael watched a flicker of uncertainty play on his face before he pulled himself up.
“Station. Right.” He said vaguely, casting his own look at the clouds overhead. Close call. Not seen one this bad in a while. Percy rose beside him. “This way!” he shouted over the wind, pointing after the raven. They barely got ten feet before another bolt of lightning, closer than the first, erupted behind them, churning the tarmac where it made contact and spraying them with debris. “MOVE!” Michael screamed, though he couldn’t even hear his own voice. Instead, a high tinny whine had overtaken everything else. He glanced back briefly, just about making out the others in the near-darkness. Even in his state of sensory deprivation he knew the station was only around the next corner. Now they just had to get there before the storm got them.
Dipping down, Michael nearly touched the pavement, trying to stay as low as possible to make for a less easy target. Sound was returning now, and he could make out the laboured breathing of the humans behind him. Just a little further. Just a little further. He repeated in his head. The words forming a mantra in his head. Whoever was directing this storm couldn’t possibly keep it up for long - the twinge of wild magic in the air told him that although experienced, the spellcaster was unrefined at best. Another explosion behind, the shockwaves buffeting the air as a streetlamp went up in a glittering blaze of sparks and static metal shards, taking the rest of the streetlights with it. The strikes were coming quicker, becoming more frantic. Michael swept round the corner, closely followed by Percy and Othello’s ungainly slide on the wet pavement. The station was visible ahead, the only light now the streetlamps were out. The next hit was ahead of them, close enough for them to feel the heat, and Michael was thrown into a wall as the wave of heated air careered into him head-on. Dimly, he was aware of hands around him through the stunning effects of the lightning and the impact of the wall before everything went black.
crossposted to fictionwriters and the_writers_ink
Title: Machina Deus
Chapter: 7 + 8
Warnings: none, worksafe.
Notes: as usual, concrit very much welcome, and this is an original piece of fiction and I shall be very cross if you steal it.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
CHAPTER 7
“I call this meeting to order.” Tathos announced. They were in his quarters, where the meetings of the Council were usually held. Tathos often entertained; it was part of his duties as a Heavenly Council member to be socially active, as these irregular meetings of theirs were not considered unusual.
“To bring us all up to current events,” Tathos began “we have a new member from the elemental circles - Luna Skyringer.” He indicated to where she sat, smiling and dipping her head to the assemblage in greeting, hands folded neatly in her lap.
“With her help, we now have the backing of many of the air elementals, as well as the service of her own Sky Warriors.” This was met with nods of approval from around the room.
“Next, you are doubtless aware that the first phase of our plan has been initiated - Raziel?” Raziel stood with a curt nod. “Thank you. The mortal Othello was granted a vision yesterday in his time. As you know, it will take time to fully settle, however, the main concepts seem to have taken hold, which will incline him to join the other mortal Percival later on. Specific images will take time, but he is coping well, and proceeding as expected.”
“Excellent. Arius?” The angel, now in his usual white, stood.
“Well,” he began, “the mortal Percy has been told what he needs to know for the moment - I’m keeping him in the dark as we decided, and sent him to meet this Othello. I’m expecting to hear from Michael when they’ve met. My utmost thanks, of course, to my Lady, for her raven charm was most useful.” The Dark Lady inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgement.
You are most welcome. If it is the will of this council, I will do whatever I can.
“Now,” said Tathos, “Tidus, I believe you have some news to report.” The room fell silent in anticipation. Tidus stood, his youthful face unusually grim. “Well, it seems that the Machine has temporarily returned to the third dimension,” he began, growing nervous, “but, my lords and ladies, it is worse than we anticipated - it is being held in the Kin-realms.” Suddenly, the room was alive with gasps of horror and the shriek of ravens as they took flight from the Dark Lady’s shoulder, circling the room in agitation. Hemphis swore loudly over Mien’s angered drumming, whacking the jujunga with his stick in irritation, whilst Mama Boushka covered her mouth in horror. Many, Raziel included, were on their feet. Argaeon, however, seemed to have frozen, aware that many eyes were now on him. Tathos diffused the situation quickly.
“Everyone, everyone! Be calm, this is a situation we must deal with quickly and rationally. Tidus - is there anything else you can tell us? Tidus cleared his throat nervously. “Ah, it appears that it is currently being held in the Lethal Lands and -”
“WHAT?!?” Hemphis roared “In our territory?”
“All this time and it was right under our noses?!” cried Mama Boushka, pulling on Hemphis to sit back down.
“Not quite.” Tidus answered. “It’s underground. I only found out when an earth elemental managed to slip past the cloaking magics the Kindred set up there.”
“How did the Kindred kidnap the Machine?” Argaeon murmured, his rumble cutting through Hemphis’ angry mutterings and the ruffled croaking of the ravens. The Council members all looked at him. “The summoning words were never disclosed to them.”
“You refer to them as if you are not Kindred yourself.” Observed Luna. Argaeon looked up from his contemplation. “I do not want to be associated with their ways.” He stated, the iron undertones unmistakable in his voice. “I do not consider myself Kindred.”
“We know you are not one of them, Argaeon.” Tathos said kindly. “However, this will upset our plans. The Machine is vital to finding the Creator. Without it, we cannot proceed.
“Then we must either reclaim it or bring the mortals to it.” Raziel said, standing. “Either way, deviation from our original plan is necessary. Secrecy, however, is less risky. Outright mobilisation would serve only to reveal us not only to our enemies but to the rest of Heaven too early.”
“Agreed.” Hemphis intoned, fury still lining his words. “Send the mortals to our tribes, we will help them get as close as possible. The burden is ours for having not discovered the Machine ourselves.”
The fault is no-one’s. The Dark Lady soothed. Merely the enemy cleverer than we expected. We must not make that mistake twice.
“It is disturbing to think that someone deliberately gave the Kindred the summoning words,” Arius-Eken added, “but without the necessary skill in magic, they should not be able to perform such a summoning.” His eyes slid to Argaeon. “Argaeon, you know our enemy best. Is there such a way at their disposal?”
“Only if a kindred has lived ten times it’s natural lifespan - it may then gain a higher level of sentience and can then use higher magics other than wild magic.” He explained hesitantly, thinking. “Other than myself, I am not aware of any other Kindred-born who has done so. But I admit, I have never returned to the Kin-realms since I did so. There may be a Kindred who has, but, unlike myself chosen a darker path.”
“But they would still need to be told the summoning words.” Raziel insisted.
“…Or have caught some poor bastard unfortunate enough to know them.” Added Hemphis.
“Then we must continue as best we can. Raziel, I’m trusting you and our Lady to ensure that Percy and Othello find each other safely; Arius, please contact Michael and tell him what we’ve learned; Raziel, Luna, Hemphis, Mama Boushka, Argaeon and myself will collaborate on delivering the mortals to the Machine; Tidus, Mian, continue to gather information on the Kindreds’ intentions on the Machine; and all of us, at the Game tomorrow we must endeavour to aid Raziel and our Lady in successfully uniting Percy and Othello. Council dismissed.”
CHAPTER 8
Deep underground in the Kin-realms, the normally hot, dry air crackled, the fizz of magic descending over the constant streams of kindred in every tunnel and catacomb. The chill kiss of energy settled over the Machine as it laboured, and sent up static sparks from it’s surface that danced through the curlicues etched onto it’s living surface before dissipating, assimilated into the Machine itself.
The Kin-Master was casting magics; powerful, old, wild energy pulled and devoured from the ancient stone around them and twisted by the words of magic he used. His voice echoed throughout the complex hive; a deep, sonorous rumble that grew in volume and ferocity, the air producing sparks of it’s own as he continued to pour his malice into the spell. The last word was screamed at a pitch, and the air suddenly rushed through the caverns, accompanied by the crash of falling stones that crumbled where they lay without the magic that had sustained them, blackened and burnt.
The Machine laboured on.
Presently, the Master entered the cavern, the more inferior Kindred shrinking back in fear. The golden gauntlets were blackened in some parts and melted in others, and his eyes were strangely dimmed. Nonetheless, the fear he inspired remained as he cast his sight over the fruits of the Machine’s work.
REPORT. He commanded.
First phase complete, the Machine intoned, the many timbres of it’s voice seemingly melting out of the air, echoing in the now silent, dry-aired chamber. Second phase initiating. Interior works can now be constructed.
The Machine had been thinking, pondering how to end it’s imprisonment - it conceded that it couldn’t be done directly. Indirect methods, however, could be more fruitful. It had a plan.
Master, the Machine began in it’s most ingratiating tones, there is one problem. His eyes scanned the Machine’s surface warily. WHAT IS IT?
I cannot complete this component without and outer input.
WHAT?!? Growled the Kin-Master, low enough to send the remaining Kindred cowering. YOU ARE THE MACHINE. YOU CAN CREATE ANYTHING!
I am old. Replied the Machine. And my supplies of dunamis grow dim.
DUNAMIS? The Kindred’s eyes flashed.
Dunamis. The Machine confirmed. The power and will with which to animate the inanimate and give them life. A small part of the Creator himself. Your tool will need an amount I cannot supply. It told the Kin-Master, who paused thoughtfully.
IT SHALL BE DONE. He conceded. WORK AROUND THIS PROBLEM. YOU WILL FINISH THIS, MACHINE.
With that, he turned and stalked away, swiping at the smaller Kindred who didn’t move out of his way quick enough. He was irritated, the Machine noted, but this delay gave it more time with which to formulate further action. Hopefully, an endeavour to secure more dunamis would be beyond the scope of the Kin-Master; the Machine needed all it’s resources just for it’s current task. It could not, would not manufacture an army.
Because the only source of dunamis was the Creator himself.
Archie’s head hurt. And as if that wasn’t enough, he felt sleepy too.
“Shouldn’t strain meself like that.” He moaned irritably, bowing his head into the wind and wobbling slightly as he did so. Instinct told him it was going to rain, probably quite hard too, judging by the fizzle from the angry purple-grey clouds on the horizon. Below, Percy was struggling with Othello through sudden crowds of travellers heading for cover from the encroaching storm and deck hands hurriedly tying down smaller vessels and securing lines. It was hard to keep an eye on them in the frantically moving crowds, and Archie barely heard Percy’s call over the din as he landed back on his lookout post.
“Archie! Is Michael back yet?”
“No, not y-” he paused in answer, a tingle creeping up his spine. He cocked his head in the direction it was coming from. “Oh no, wait, sorry. Yeah, he is.”
“Oh good” said Percy, coming to a standstill. “Looks like rain.”
Othello looked at Archie curiously. Archie looked back. Dubiously, he wondered if he’d joined up with a nut. Was he seriously asking a dumb bird questions? He wasn’t close enough to hear if the bird had responded - he half believed it would - but despite his misgivings the pair of them seemed oddly familiar. Briefly, he thought he saw two ravens, but he blinked and there was only them again.
Percy and Archie watched the black silhouette of Michael against the approaching clouds until he flapped down next to Archie. No-one saw Othello shift uncomfortably.
“WE SHOULD FIND SOMEWHERE TO STAY.” Michael announced.
“Is that it?!” screeched Archie. “None of this ‘we must away to a place of shelter’ business? None of that ‘Archie, stay here and freeze yourself to death’? come on, there must have been more to your little rendezvous than something I could’ve bloody well told ya!”
“ARCHIE?”
“What?”
“SHUT UP AND MOVE LEST THE HOUNDS OF HELL CATCH YOUR VOICE ON THE WIND AND COME TO DEVOUR YOU.”
“…Oh well fu- ”
“Archibald!” Percy interrupted, giving him a stern look.
“Sorry Perce.” Archie said, shuffling his feet abashedly.
“Good. Now, there was someplace back that way, looked like a pub. We - ”
“A pub?” Both ravens and Percy turned to look at Othello. He had the look of someone who reasoned that any animal that talks is therefore imaginary, and should be ignored. Especially if they use words like ‘lest’. As such, alcohol sounded quite appetising right about now.
“Yes. We could stay there for the night.”
“Bloody fantastic, let’s go!”
It was raining steadily by the time they left the docks and hit the town proper. The ravens could barely fly, and Archie in particular was having a hard time staying aloft. His vision kept swimming briefly and Michael had to keep calling at him to stay awake. Michael was getting worried, not just about Archie, that was expected, but the sinister fizz in the air from the storm grated on his nerves. The whole storm didn’t smell right. The distant rumble of thunder rebounded off the buildings surrounding them. They needed to get inside, quick. A brief flash lit up the sky and Michael’s urgency mounted. This was not good weather for flying, and that flash was awfully close. The air grew thicker, and the sudden increase in wind and rain caught Archie off guard, sending him almost into a building before Michael caught him in his talons.
“ARCHIE! STAY AWAKE!” he yelled against the howl of the wind. Somewhere below, Percy was shouting something and Michael guided Archie lower. “Archie!” Percy panted, wiping rainwater from his glasses. “TAKE HIM.” Commanded Michael. “HE’S IN NO STATE TO FLY.” They were in bad shape, he noticed. Both the humans were tired, Percy’s heavy bag and Othello’s soaked coat were making it harder to keep up the pace. Now Archie was grounded it just complicated the problem.
Suddenly, the sky lit up again, the deafening crack sounding way too close for his liking. The answering rumble of thunder was thick with rage, and in his unease Michael thought he heard voices on the wind. Definitely in bad shape.
Without warning, a lick of lightning screamed through the sky and smashed into the ground bare tens of feet ahead, sending Michael pinwheeling through the air and the others diving for cover. Flapping madly to right himself, Michael looked questioningly at the roiling clouds. This is no ordinary storm, he decided, before arrowing down to the others.
“WE MUST FIND COVER. THE STATION IS CLOSER. AND UNDERGROUND.” Percy nodded his agreement, too startled to argue. Glancing to Othello, Michael watched a flicker of uncertainty play on his face before he pulled himself up.
“Station. Right.” He said vaguely, casting his own look at the clouds overhead. Close call. Not seen one this bad in a while. Percy rose beside him. “This way!” he shouted over the wind, pointing after the raven. They barely got ten feet before another bolt of lightning, closer than the first, erupted behind them, churning the tarmac where it made contact and spraying them with debris. “MOVE!” Michael screamed, though he couldn’t even hear his own voice. Instead, a high tinny whine had overtaken everything else. He glanced back briefly, just about making out the others in the near-darkness. Even in his state of sensory deprivation he knew the station was only around the next corner. Now they just had to get there before the storm got them.
Dipping down, Michael nearly touched the pavement, trying to stay as low as possible to make for a less easy target. Sound was returning now, and he could make out the laboured breathing of the humans behind him. Just a little further. Just a little further. He repeated in his head. The words forming a mantra in his head. Whoever was directing this storm couldn’t possibly keep it up for long - the twinge of wild magic in the air told him that although experienced, the spellcaster was unrefined at best. Another explosion behind, the shockwaves buffeting the air as a streetlamp went up in a glittering blaze of sparks and static metal shards, taking the rest of the streetlights with it. The strikes were coming quicker, becoming more frantic. Michael swept round the corner, closely followed by Percy and Othello’s ungainly slide on the wet pavement. The station was visible ahead, the only light now the streetlamps were out. The next hit was ahead of them, close enough for them to feel the heat, and Michael was thrown into a wall as the wave of heated air careered into him head-on. Dimly, he was aware of hands around him through the stunning effects of the lightning and the impact of the wall before everything went black.
crossposted to fictionwriters and the_writers_ink