//------------------------------// // Chapter Forty-nine // Story: Freedom Through Harmony // by Electricut //------------------------------// Chapter Forty-nine Starswept Cliffside Rainbow Dash I brought up the unfamiliar blade just in time to parry Scratch’s first strike, a wide sweeping hit with his right-hand disc. An overhead strike was coming from his left, and I rolled out of the way to the right as it swung. Popping to my feet behind him, I brought my sword into a blocking position as his right arm struck out at me again. He’s fast, I’ll give him that. He’s ticked off, and definitely not playing around. I’ll have to be careful. I backflipped up the slope, coming to a slide feet first towards the blue haired, blue flamed warrior. My sword spun above me, and he had to dodge out of the way to avoid my confusing attack. As fast as he was, and as effective as his weapons seemed, he didn’t seem all that strong physically. If I could get in close... Rolling to my feet again, I charged headlong at him, bearing down from one side with both hands. He moved to block with both weapons, and I flipped the blade around to slice at his other shoulder, a farce. He brought one weapon up in time to block this strike, but my other hand grabbed his free arm before he could attack. Using up the rest of my momentum, I brought my knee up into his stomach, hard. He toppled over in front of me, rolling backwards but scrambling quickly to his feet. Glaring at me from behind his shades (which he still wore, in spite of it being dark out), he dusted himself off and gripped his weapons. However, he didn’t make the same mistake he already had and try to charge me again. He kept a good distance from me, circling slowly, contemplating his next move. I didn’t expect what he did next, obviously. Twirling the weapons at his sides once, Scratch lit them up with his strange blue fire, and tossed one at me like a deadly frisbee. I slid out of the way just in time to dodge the projectile the heat flashing past my face, but also just in time to catch the second one across the length of my left arm. The fire seared at my skin, the blades drawing a bloody line around which the burns radiated. Biting back the scream forming in my throat, I only gripped the sword tighter in anticipation of his next move. Sure enough, Scratch ran at me full-speed, expecting me to be preoccupied with my injury, but I was more ready than he thought. Using my good arm, I batted away the wide punch he threw at my head, ducking under his predictable followup strike, and sliced at his leg. He didn’t see it coming, and I sliced through his black and white pants easily, drawing blood, but not doing any lasting damage. This sword is too short. I’m used to my other one. That could have dug into his leg if I had just an inch more... It was enough to sting him, and he dodged back before I could land a better hit. Even worse, I saw that the two discs were making a return journey of their own accord, without flame. He caught them expertly, staring me down as I jumped to my feet, daring me to move. The discs seemed to act as boomerangs as well, returning to him a time after they were thrown, assuming they didn’t get caught on anything. It wasn’t too hard for me to imagine: it was a pretty simple wind spell that gave objects that effect, and I had it on my own sword. But not this one... I reminded myself, once again hitting myself mentally for not thinking to bring the broadsword. However, staring him down from across the darkened grass, I realized I did still have one weapon he couldn’t match. I took a single step back, then leapt forward, throwing Scratch off for about half a second. He raised his weapons to block, but was aiming at the wrong place. Unfurling my wings midair, I launched clear over his head and came to a skidding halt close to the edge of the cliff, my wings a dark silhouette against the falling-starry sky. We jumped at the same time, and I glided down to meet his strike. My sword collided with both of his discs, and it became a test of strength. The blade bore down on him, and his guard began to painstakingly slip lower and lower. I could see him sweating. We both knew it, I had him beat when it came to raw strength. Realizing this, he hopped out of the way quickly, and my sword bit into air. Biting his lip, he decided on a new tactic. He hefted the weapons at his side and ran in a wide arc, around me and to the edge of the cliff: but more importantly, higher ground. I dug my heels in, unsure of what he was doing, but not going to make the first move. A moment later I saw it: he held out the discs in front of him, the flat edge towards me, and a powerful spell began collecting at the edges. They glowed with blue light, but I realized that it wasn’t fire this time, but lightning. This guy’s a pretty skilled mage on top of everything... I thought abysmally. It looked like he was readying a powerful blast to fire at me, and he wasn’t about to miss. I dashed across the field, but his sights remained on me perfectly. I’m not going to shake him, and something that big is going to hurt... I can only think of one way out of this... Shaking away the doubt in my mind, I thrust the sword forward, ignoring the blistering pain from my left arm, and began spinning the blade rapidly. It formed a fan before me, and the blurry circle began to glow with a pale green energy: raw wind power. If I couldn’t dodge Scratch’s attack, I would meet it head-on with one of my own. I wasn’t sure if this plan would work in any way, however. I had tried for attacks like this in the past with limited success, and I wasn’t sure how long I could hold it up even if it did happen to work. If this doesn’t fire right or backfires, I’ll need to be ready to do some fancy flying, and fast... In that department, at least, I was fully confident. I prepared my wings for a quick takeoff, but didn’t stop charging the wind attack. Scratch’s weapons were positively exploding with energy, stray lightning arcing around him, casting a bluish glow onto his already pale features. It was now or never, and I was as ready as I was going to be. Casting aside any doubt I still had, I thrust the blade forward powerfully. We fired at the same time, blue colliding with green, reacting violently at the midpoint. Neither could move past the other, and bolts of lightning arced away from the point of impact impatiently. I knew that it was a matter of who could hold their end up longest, as they were evenly matched, and I began to have second thoughts. My magic, while powerful in its own regard, was not one of my strong points. If it was a test of endurance, I would likely give out first. I began to sweat, but knew I couldn’t give in now. Still, I flared out my wings behind me, ready to dodge. I had to keep pushing as long as I could, in the chance that he began to give (not very likely), but I knew that when it became apparent I was about to fail, I would need to get out of the way, fast. My good arm began to shake from the pressure and force of the magic channeling from the sword, and my injured arm was worse than useless. My attack began to waver, and I tensed in anticipation of running... I didn’t need to. Just as my wind blast gave out, Scratch’s lightning attack had pattered out as well. I hadn’t noticed with him on the other end of the light storm, but he looked like he had been sweating too. We both stood, shoulders to each other to make smaller targets, panting heavily. As good as he was, I was only just barely holding back his attack. He was pouring a lot more into his attack than I was, and was just as worn out as me. Scratch looked like he was preparing to speak, but was cut off by a slight hissing sound that ended as soon as it began. We shot each other a confused look, both in the dark about this strange noise, and jumped back in surprise as something large and blue sailed in from my right, embedding itself in the ground between us. Viewing the object at rest, I saw it was a large, double-sided battle axe, with navy-blue blades and longish handle. It must have been thrown with considerable force, because a good foot of metal was stuck in the ground. Something struck me about this weapon, but I couldn’t immediately place what it was. There wasn’t anything unusual about it, nothing that would give me this uneasy feeling, but I felt... I felt as if I had seen it before, but couldn’t guess where. Whatever it was, something else drew my attention away from it and to something else new: a voice, from the direction the axe flew from. “Now will you two stupid kids quit fighting?! I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages!” It was a strong, feminine voice, but I couldn’t judge how old its owner was. As with the axe, I had a tiny voice in the back of my head telling me there was something about this voice, but I still couldn’t think of anything to match. I couldn’t tell much else about her either, because as I turned to see her, I only saw a tallish figure... ... Draped in a stark-black Order cloak. The only other detail I could see was that a huge pair of yellow-feathered wings sprouted form her back, at least an eighteen foot wingspan. “Scratch... what happened?” Her voice dropped slightly, and I thought she might have been scared. My opponent, Scratch, only laughed the tension away. “Number Three. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” My mind was working in overtime, so I drew what conclusions I could. Three. This is the one Scratch said he didn’t have to fight. I guess that’s something, but... this person is definitely a member of The Order. Friend or foe to Scratch, I need to be careful. “I wish I could say the same, kid.” Number Three responded. “What is happening, that you’re here? You must have come from a couple years’ time from now, with how old you are now. Scratch, what made you come to this time? What’s happening? And where’s Four?” Four. That’s... wait, that’s the one Lucius, Number Five, said disappeared all those years ago! So Number Four was with Scratch? “... I’m so sorry, Spitfire. He’s dead.” And just like that, my brain went from hyperdrive to totally shut down. I couldn’t think. I could barely breathe. Did I hear him right just now? Spitfire?! I wasn’t sure whether I wanted it to be true, but as I looked around, all the pieces suddenly came into focus: the heavy blue axe was the signature weapon of Spitfire, charismatic leader of the Wonderbolts, no doubt about it. The large yellow wings and voice of this newcomer only added to the picture. My only thought was: It’s true... Spitfire’s here... She’s alive... My second thoughts were more along the lines of: WHY IS SPITFIRE A MEMBER OF THE ORDER?! I could only imagine she had adopted a hurt expression. “What...?” She croaked out. “Four’s... dead? How did this happen...” I could swear she was close to tears, despite the fact that she remained standing strong. It seemed to me that she was someone who was used to having control of the situation, but couldn’t find anything to grasp at here. Oh, also SPITFIRE. “You’ll like this even less.” Scratch said, not showing any signs of going easy on her. “But I don’t mind saying it was Number Two that did it.” “No!” She cried in anguish. She couldn’t accept what she was hearing, and I only barely heard it over the sounds of my racing thoughts. Scratch seemed like the only one in control of his emotions, but he still spoke quietly of the death of this ‘Number Four’. “That can’t be... Two, Four... no... guys...” She was ready to cry, I could tell, but I couldn’t let the situation stay out of my control any longer. I managed to focus my thoughts into one lame word, but it got my message across. I squeaked out her name, “Spitfire...?”, and brought both of their attention’s to me. Scratch had completely forgotten I was standing there as soon as Three, Spitfire, had arrived, and she had only acknowledged my existence the moment she confronted him. “Oh, way to go, Scratch!” She said, channeling her anguish into anger. “You blew my cover right in front of... Who even is this guy?! Scratch, you’re doing a pretty crappy job of honoring Four’s name here!” “Sorry.” Scratch said, realizing he had used her name by accident. “This is Rainbow Dash. I got bored waiting, and didn’t feel like trying to shake him, so he got me talking. Then we fought for a bit. I didn’t spill anything important.” “Except my name.” She retorted bitterly. Sighing, she reached up and removed her hood, and brilliant flame-orange hair spilled out elegantly over her shoulders. It continued well past that, billowing all the way down past her waist, but it was far from unkempt. Her bronze eyes glittered with barely suppressed tears in the light of the sky (the meteor shower was still going, but was beginning to wane by now), and in that moment, any doubts I had were blown away. Standing before me, in the garb of the sinister and enigmatic organization called The Order, was my childhood hero, leader of the Wonderbolts, Spitfire.