“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“There are no words that accurately describe how much I hate you.”
“You’ve made your point, Ro-” Lorkhan paused halfway through the ‘debate’, his face creasing in a perplexed frown. The others noticed, regarding the boy with confusion of their own as they stood in a rough circle.
“Is everything quite alright, old sport?” Mordecai prompted, folding his arms over his chest. Lorkhan nodded, looking away from the boy he’d been arguing with as he swallowed.
“Weird sense of danger view.” He murmured. A nonplussed air descended over the rest of the group.
“…You mean Déjà vu?” Varvillon prompted, biting down a sigh. Rorke gave an involuntary twitch at the fancy talk, but Lorkhan just waved a dismissive hand.
“Whatever. Point is I don’t know what you morons are complaining about. It’s fool proof.” The others looked from him, then down at the things by his feet. There were many words they could have applied to the situation. ‘Flawless’ was at the very bottom of the list.
Lorkhan had at the very least come through on his promise to get them disguises. They’d be hidden alright, mainly from any chance at dignity. The boy had done little more than raid the kitchen section of a department store for all its tin foil, and had spent the night before working it into some form of outfit. He’d added some painted cardboard for pauldrons and a chest piece, masking-taping it all together in his crude if functional style. Somehow the boy had managed to scavenge the main cylinders of a few vacuum cleaners and attach the straps from unused rucksacks to let them wear them as stylised backpacks. Most eye-catching were the masks. They were skeletal and made from cardboard too, a rushed deep silver paintjob applied to them. Whilst the rest of the group curled their lips into either winces or sneers, Zuko looked at them. He couldn’t deny the sinister air that clung to the rushed designs, nor the fact that there was something oddly fitting about them. He took another moment to appraise Lorkhan’s creations. The fact that he’d made them all by himself was impressive…they were still shit, but it was impressive.
“You cannot be serious.” Rorke growled, unwilling to let their prior argument drop. “Fact that we’re fucking doing this is one thing, that we’re doing it for Canterlot shitting High is another, but I am not dressing up like a bunch of fucking tin soldiers-“
“Steel Soldiers, my friend.” Mordecai interceded with a drop of the band name, ignoring the other boy’s spit landing on him, as he looked back at the ‘disguises’ himself. “And I’m rather coming round to them. This competition does seem like one that requires a little bit of the old ‘razzle-dazzle’.” He chuckled with a coy grin.
“Besides, there’s nothing to worry about, right?” Barbus asked. He lay a hand on Rorke’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him, withdrawing it instantly at his companion’s growl. “We’ve got Mordecai’s magic instruments, as long as we’re using them we can’t lose!”
“We do have those, right?” They all turned as Varvillon spoke up. Usually it was rare for him to speak about anything besides a sarcastic put-down or to gush about his precious plants, but ever since they’d first used the instruments a subtle change had come over him. As he spoke there was a hint of almost desperation in his tone; it made Lorkhan more than a little uncomfortable to hear his compatriot’s growing reliance on the sensations that playing the instruments provided.
Why do I always call them my compatriots, and never my friends?
“Of course we’ve bloody got them, you idiot.” He snarled, fixing Varvillon with a dark expression. At least the other boy didn’t flinch. “Honsou said it was all sorted out. It’s not like the Canterlot cry-babies are hard to trick.”
“No he didn’t.” Barbus murmured, as they looked at the building towering over them. He was the only one who’d spent any real time in the building, but that didn’t mean that seeing it again was particularly encouraging. Even when it was after school hours it wasn’t any more inviting. He paused a moment, breath catching in his throat. What if Pinkie was there, or Rainbow? Heck, what about Fluttershy, how would Lorkhan deal with that? He glanced at the boy, but if Lorkhan had even thought about it he gave no indication. Any concerns their fearless leader might have had were locked behind his stony demeanour.
“We’ve got them.” He insisted, though nobody had actually spoken up and doubted him. “And this is just an audition, anyway. Even if we didn’t, I reckon we’re still better than most of these idiots…” He trailed off, not even Lorkhan able to believe that particular lie.
“It von’t fit.” Vortun’s customary, laconic bluntness was enough to draw Lorkhan’s attention to him, his head angled to look up at the large muscle-bound figure. “Zese costumes. Ze…masks.” The last word was inflected with unmistakable scorn. Lorkhan nodded, and to their surprise actually gave a rare chuckle.
“Don’t worry big guy, I haven’t forgotten you.” He crouched on the sidewalk, handing out the various ‘suits’ – they’d already had their backpacks distributed – before rummaging to the bottom. Grinning to himself the grey-skinned boy stood, handing over a final item of clothing. Vortun’s expression remained just as unimpressed as before.
“Zis is a raincoat you’ve attached pieces of card to.” He said to clarify, looking at his own mask. “And zis is just a cheap mask in the shape of a monkey’s face you got from a happy meal.”
“I couldn’t find another one that’d fit you.” Lorkhan muttered. Vortun gave a rumble of disapproval and shook his head.
“You are actually ze stupide-“
“I don’t mean to alarm anyone, gentleman, but we should probably get in there and change.” Mordecai pointed out. “We’re cutting it rather fine as it is.” Grateful for the distraction, Lorkhan nodded. The group gave a few more disbelieving mumbles, but the fact that they’d already made the effort to come this far convinced them to go a little further. Clutching their outfits tight the company advanced on Canterlot High with slow but measured intent.
“It’ll be fine.” Lorkhan started in surprise, looking round as Zuko’s crash helmet swivelled to face him. “You had a scowl on your face you only have when you’re worried.” The boy explained. “Seriously, I’m sure it’ll work out…”
“When did you get so damn hopeful?” Lorkhan sneered, though mainly it was because of how uncomfortable Zuko’s sudden optimism left him. The boy shrugged.
“We have the advantage, with those instruments. Logic dictates that if they do to this lot what they did to us the first time, it’s in the bag.” Lorkhan looked at him a moment longer, before nodding and turning back to the school.
“You’re right.” He decided, trying to thread a confidence he didn’t feel into his voice. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
***
“You look ridiculous.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Barbus muttered. He was the last of the group to assemble inside, and the last to have finished changing. No matter how crude Lorkhan’s disguises had looked out on the street outside, it was nothing compared to actually wearing them. They were hot, clingy, and the vacuum cleaner-wrought ‘power packs’ made him feel like he was about to topple over backwards. He could barely see out the two eye-slits cut in his cardboard mask, and even then Barbus’s vision was filled with the blank stares of similar masks. Something about the facelessness of the group ignited a strange feeling of familiarity within him. He tried to chase the thought, but its true meaning eluded him.
Even with the masks though, he could tell who was who. Rorke was the shortest of them and spasmed with the same furious energy as always, whilst Vortun…Vortun looked like he was abut to pull somebody’s head off, the smiling monkey face that hid his own making the image all the more unsettling. Zuko had actually removed his motorcycle helmet for once in favour of the mask, leaning back on the wall and folding his arms. Mordecai had insisted on bringing his gentlemanly hat and wearing it during their performance, the two items of clothing exuding a curious dissonance. Varvillon was idly reading the notice boards and examining the photos hung on the walls, his contempt obvious even behind the mask.
Lorkhan didn’t join in any of their discussion. He stood a little way away from the group, his back to them. He’d acted strange ever since they’d entered; they boy had refused to even leave the main foyer for a minute or two, instead staring wide-eyed at the gilded refinement all around. The school was very much as Barbus remembered, but he hadn’t been certain how Lorkhan would react to being neck-deep in the stronghold of his ‘enemies’. Apparently, it was with uncharacteristically quiet reflection.
Even Vortun put aside his anger as they looked at the bandleader curiously. Lorkhan still refused to acknowledge them. He extended a hand and ran it over one of the walls, his fingers tracing a light path over the stone. His breathing was slow and measured, but Barbus and Zuko shared a glance as they picked up the unmistakable signs of the boy fuming to himself.
“Well don’t just stand there,” the order was cold and clearly delivered through gritted teeth. “Where the bloody hell are we supposed to be?”
“I do find it rather odd that we have yet to detect any sign of our competitors’ own entries.” Mordecai mused, rubbing his chin under the mask as he cast approving looks around the corridor. “It is rather spick and span…” He murmured, banking on the others not hearing.
“You think Honsou played us?” Varvillon’s paranoia was not surprising, and if anything it was a concern they all shared. Rorke growled, and as he did Barbus noticed a faint but unmistakable sliver of red began to trail down the front of his mask.
Your nose’s bleeding again. Shit, Rorke, what’s happening to you man?
“If he has, it’ll be the last time he ever does.” Lorkhan assured darkly. For once nobody dared argue with him, not when his mercurial mood had shifted again. By the time it had sank in for them all that none were willing to take point their leader had already taken off at a measured but relentless pace down the corridor. They shared a last glance before following, outfits clattering as they moved.
“I feel like I’m about to pass out.” Varvillon whined, walking up alongside Barbus. The boy grunted his sympathy but didn’t elaborate, which Varvillon apparently saw as an invitation to continue. “And we must look like space-men. He can’t actually expect-“
“Think of it this way.” Zuko interjected from the other side of him, hands worked into his pockets. “Imagine how we’ll look to any of them.” It seemed good enough for Varvillon, and any contribution from Barbus was forestalled by Lorkhan suddenly stopping, beckoning him to the front. With an awkwardness that didn’t just come from the bulk of what they were wearing, the boy picked his way to the front.
He’d barely stopped for a moment before Lorkhan spoke. “Hypothetically,” he murmured, the dark eye-slits of the mask casting a sidelong glance. “If I was going to play along with all this, where would we go? This place is a bloody rabbit warren.” Barbus gave a nonplussed blink within the confines of his own disguise, but nodded and tilted his head thoughtfully.
“Mordecai had an annoyingly good point about how quiet it is earlier.” He whispered back, feeling like a scout reporting to his general as he watched Lorkhan’s hand slowly clench and uncurl. He’d expected him to hate being here, but the speed that the boy’s bitterness was clawing its way to the fore was unsettling. “Could be their music room, could be their gym…I don’t know.” He confessed, wincing at the disapproval he felt emanate from his counterpart. ”Should…we split up?”
“No.” Lorkhan’s rebuttal was as emphatic as it was swift. “That’s suicide in enemy territory, and I’m not going to lose any of you.”
“I always did have a suspicion that you cared.” Mordecai piped up from the other side, having apparently chosen to insert himself in the conversation. Barbus flinched in surprise while Lorkhan favoured him with a dark look.
“Let me rephrase. I’m not going to lose any of you until we’re done with this. Then you can all piss off and die.”
“We’ve got movement!” Varvillon hissed, forestalling any further debate. He, Zuko, Rorke, and to the best of his ability Vortun were crouching at the edge of the walkway the group had just crossed, peering up over the parapet and down at the school’s main foyer. The other three stumbled quickly into the small amount of cover remaining, the top halves of the masks peeking up above the railings. Mordecai’s hat somehow remained squarely stop his head.
“Who the fuck is that?” Rorke growled as they watched the girl down below skip through the foyer. Realising that the question was mainly directed to him – their assumption that he knew every aspect of everything about Canterlot High was starting to grow tiresome – Barbus squinted and peered at her. Blue hair with black stripes, similarly blue skin from the brief glance he’d got, purple clothing; despite his best efforts, he realised he couldn’t even remember seeing this one. Something in the way she skipped and hummed put him in mind of Pinkie Pie, but it clearly wasn’t her. The uncertainty only added to the collective pool of mounting frustration.
“Fuck it.” Even with his previous sour mood taken into consideration the way Lorkhan suddenly stood attracted the attention of his cohort. Their leader, however, was already marching away. “She’s the only other damn person we’ve seen so far, I’m not letting her escape. Zuko, Barbus, Mordecai, get down there and follow her. Rorke, Varvillon, Vortun, you’re with me.”
“But didn’t you just say we shouldn’t split- okay.” Barbus’s protest was swiftly cut off as Lorkhan turned to him with frosty belligerence, his head lowering deferentially. Without another word needing to be shared the two groups rose and set off in pursuit, like cogs in a machine.
Barbus’s group headed left, quickly skidding to the top of a flight of stairs and taking them two or three at a time on the way down. If they’d stopped to think about it Mordecai might have commented on the ‘uncouth’ zealousness of their run, but the fact that they were actually doing something that felt productive was enough to placate them for the moment. All of them strained their ears to try and follow the sound of the humming. The constant rattle of their clothing didn’t make it easier.
“I just want to say how easy and comfortable it is to run in these things.” Zuko deadpanned as they halted, already sounding out of breath. Barbus grunted in understanding. Mordecai didn’t deign to comment; he stood slightly ahead of the two of them, holding onto his hat as he looked furtively all around the corridor for any sight of the girl.
“Can’t you just use your magic to track her down?” Barbus asked, having to brace a hand on a wall to catch his breath.
“As I have explicitly informed you on numerous prior occasions, my dear boy, I am not some sorcerer!” Mordecai snapped, sounding about as close to irritation as he ever got as he tried to think of a way out of their predicament. Barbus couldn’t blame him for the confusion. There were about three corridors leading off from where they were, and no indication of where their quarry had headed. For all its failings, he couldn’t help but admire Olympia High’s forthright and functional layout a little more.
“Though I abhor being a quitter, the situation is looking rather grim, gentleman.” Mordecai said at last, voice slightly muffled as he turned to them. “The damsel we wish to locate could be anywhere within this cavernous building, and the more we dash around in a panic the more tired we’re going to get. This is hardly conducive to a pre-performance regime.”
“You think there’s gonna be anything left of us able to perform if we go back to Lorkhan without her?” Zuko chuckled darkly, though his nervousness wasn’t hard to pick up on him. The other two looked at him a moment longer before setting off at a sprint again.
If there were higher powers in the universe, they seemed to be watching over the team in that instant. The path before them twisted round corridors and up and down stairs, taking them past classrooms, lockers and trophy cabinets. Zuko proposed they stop to ‘borrow’ at least one of the awards contained within, but they’d built up too much momentum to afford losing it now. Finally, the group converged on a set of double doors. They slowed down just before reaching it. It was a good thing they did.
“Oh, shit.”
The fact that he muttered the curse didn’t make Barbus’s agitation any less blatant. Opening the door with surprising gentleness, the three boys stuck their masked heads through the crack and looked around. They’d found a sports hall of some kind, though it seemed a lot cleaner than their own school’s. Bunting hung from the ceilings and basketball hoops, and even from speakers hung in the corners of the room. A few tables were set out with glasses and bowls of punch atop them. Most eye-catchingly of all was the fact that the room was packed. There were Canterlot High students everywhere; small ones, tall ones, fat ones, thin ones. Boys, girls, skin-tones of every shade. The various groups looked just as hostile to one another as Barbus remembered, but he didn’t have to crunch the numbers to see how stacked against them the odds were.
“I knew it.” Zuko murmured, a drawn-out sigh leaving him as he looked round the gathering. “We’re in Hell.”
“At least we’ve found what’s-her-face.” Barbus pointed out with forced levity, nodding his head towards the blue skinned girl. She was with two others, one with purple hair streaked with green and the other with a wild crop of gold. Even at a glance they could tell there was something odd about the way they carried themselves; other groups kept their distance from them too, but that seemed more out of respect than hostility. Barbus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and something told him that beside him Zuko was doing the same.
“Well, let us be optimistic. They do not appear to have detected our presence thus far.” Mordecai noted, sounding the least concerned of the three. He was right, although for how much longer was debatable. “And I’d say we’ve fulfilled Lorkhan’s request. I’d advise a speedy retreat gentleman, so as to not push our luck.”
“For once, I’d agree with you,” Zuko began. “Except for that.” He gestured slightly with his head, the other two following his gaze. Barbus was only just able to refrain from cursing. The instruments, their instruments, were up on the stage and set out as if to perform. It wasn’t clear whether Honsou had set them up or not, but even if he hadn’t circumstances had apparently changed. Even from a distance the strange qualities of the instruments was apparent; more than a few members of the milling crowd cast longing glances towards them, but none dared approach.
“Well, that is…unfortunate.” Mordecai conceded, rubbing his masked chin thoughtfully. “But I would still suggest staying positive…even if we are meant to perform, we should link up with the others first.” Barbus was only half-listening, continuing to appraise the crowd. He couldn’t see any sign of Rainbow, Pinkie, or any of their friends. The fact bothered him more than he felt comfortable admitting.
“I hate it when you’re right, but you’re right.” Zuko nodded with a small sigh, slowly starting to retreat through the door. “Let’s just find the others, and hope none of them have done anything-“
The attention of everyone in the room, including the three intruders, was drawn suddenly to the stage as a crashing noise rang out. Barbus’s gut felt like it was dropping away as the figures stumbled their way into view. Somehow, Lorkhan and the team he’d taken with him had managed to find a side door onto the dais, though it was almost certain that that hadn’t been his intent. Rorke, predictably, had already begun to thrash like a mad dog in place. Vortun was restraining him, which in this case meant hoisting him one-handed off the ground by the scruff of his neck. He was still wearing the ridiculous mask. Varvillon seemed the most calm, having wisely hidden himself at the back and rested a hand on one of the drum kit’s cymbals. That left Lorkhan front and centre. Even in his disguise, Barbus could see the anger slowly rising in the other boy, tension locking his muscles as he found himself confronted with everything he hated.
“…stupid.” Zuko finished, with a more pronounced sigh.
The dull thud of Mordecai’s palm hitting his forehead summed Barbus’s feelings on the matter up perfectly.
***
“Where the heck were you?”
Aria’s question was delivered with the usual lack of enthusiasm as Sonata approached. If anything, the slightly belligerent siren sounded even more agitated than usual. Sonata brushed that off in her usual airheaded manner as she re-joined them, giggling.
“I had to go to the bathroom. There’s like, so much stuff in this place that I barely even knew where to start looking.”
“I didn’t know that you were potty-trained.”
“Hey!” Aria’s response to Sonata’s protest and petulant pout was to chuckle, folding her arms and glancing around the hall some more. Adagio was only half-listening to their conversation. Instead, the head siren was taking a moment to enjoy the fruits of their labour so far. Their plan had, touch-wood, gone off mainly without a hitch Their various ‘competitors’ were too busy being at each other’s throats to work out what was going on, not that Adagio particularly suspected any of them could offer meaningful resistance, which only increased the potency of the glowing red gems round their necks. She gave a triumphant smirk. There was still the small matter of finding the source of the Equestrian magic, but that could wait until after victory in the Battle of the Bands. They’d have all the time in the world then.
Adagio’s smirk lasted until the ruckus started on the stage. At first her bemusement was enough to keep the siren from even getting angry. The room fell silent, Aria and Sonata sharing a confused glance as everyone turned to look towards the source of the disturbance. When the figures stumbled out, Adagio couldn’t help but wonder if they were all being mocked. At best, they looked like a bunch of tin cans that had sprouted limbs but not quite grasped the finer points of motion yet. And was that part of a vacuum cleaner on each of their backs? Her mouth parted in puzzlement, the siren blinking slowly as she tried and failed to work out the strategy. Managing to look away from the massive one clutching his smaller brethren, the girl noticed the figure at the back, his – she assumed it was a ‘he’ – resting on one of the instruments almost affectionately. At least that explained whom those belonged to.
Everyone stared. The animosity the Dazzlings had sown briefly fell away as the student body of Canterlot High tried to grasp exactly what they were looking at. The feeling seemed to be mutual. Adagio’s gaze moved on once again, this time resting on the intruder at the front of the stage. Her eyes narrowed. He seemed almost shell-shocked, locked in place as he stared out over the crowd, but there was something about him she couldn’t place. Those suspicions only deepened as he slowly raised an arm and pointed at the crowd. The siren waited, trying her best to anticipate what potential insight or proclamation this potential thorn would offer.
“FUC-“
“Hello!” The first speaker was cut off half way as three more of them emerged from the other side of the stage, ‘dressed’ in a similar fashion. The one who had interjected wore a hat that somehow balanced atop his head, and was generally surrounded by a nauseating air of cheerfulness. Even from a distance, Adagio could tell he was the only one who didn’t want to plough their way clear of their predicament. “It’s a pleasure to see you, ladies and gentlemen.” He went on with an effortless dramatic flair. “How’re we all doing this fine afternoon, hmm?” A few people mumbled an answer without intending to, but most continued to stare blankly.
“Who are you?” Adagio flinched, turning round sharply and hissing as Sonata spoke. Aria had had the same thought, both girls casting the third of the trio a dark look, but the ditzy siren didn’t seem to notice or care. The eyes of the figures on stage fell on her through the slightly unnerving masks, two of them mumbling to one another. The one with the hat just nodded.
“We are…well, I suppose we’re today’s entertainment!” Something told the Dazzlings’ lead singer that he was making this up as he went along, but Adagio had to confess a curiosity about who exactly they were. “To celebrate your little event here, we thought we’d play a jaunty little tune or two for you, didn’t we…umm, Warsmith!” He seemed to decide that on the spot as well, glancing at the figure who’d spoken before. He was still stock-still and staring intently forward. “Didn’t we, Warsmith?” The polite boy prompted again, this one sounding like it was through gritted teeth.
“Let’s just do this thing.” A slightly chubbier one at the back muttered. They fell into action pretty quickly, the big one with the monkey mask dropping the short boy who had just about calmed down…relatively speaking. Adagio did her best to keep her eyes on the lot of them, waiting for any trick or sign of their intent. The big one went for the drum kit, the stage rumbling a little as he sat. The polite figure had a keyboard, the short one and their eternally miserable-sounding friend guitars. The figure that’d stuck close to the instruments had gone for a bass, whilst the last of the group – arguably the most normal, Adagio mused, or maybe just least odd – had a tambourine. He seemed less than pleased about that. Their leader had elected to sing; his microphone, and all the instruments, certainly had a curious design. The purple, black and pink colouring didn’t seem to fit with whatever theme it was the band was going for, but there was something even the siren found oddly alluring about them.
“This is a joke, right?” Aria’s agitated mutter was loud in Adagio’s ear as the girl stepped forward and looked at the stage with undisguised contempt. The head siren looked round at her coldly. As she did she took in the sight of the other bands laughing quietly to themselves at the ludicrous display and preparing their phones to record.
“Who cares if it is?” She snapped back quietly, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not like they look like much of a threat.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw the one with the microphone give a small involuntary shudder, but pressed on. “I’m interested in finding out what this is all about, so just relax.” Aria cast her a dark look, but complied. The lead Dazzling was satisfied with that, turning back to the ‘band’.
And then, they began to play.
Even from the first few plucks of the guitar strings, the sound hit Adagio and everyone else in the room in a wave. The siren had to stagger back a step as even she threatened to be overcome by…she didn’t know what it was. Something old, something forgotten and hungry. Though she didn’t and perhaps couldn’t take her attention from the slow-starting source of the noise something told her that her band mates felt the same. Indeed, Aria glanced around with uncharacteristic nervousness and scratched her bare arms erratically, whilst Sonata simply wore a thousand-yard stare as the music clawed at her senses. As the bass, the drums and even the tambourine kicked in, the leader of the band glanced at his keyboard-playing accomplice and nodded before raising the microphone.
”Back in time before time,
the chosen one made the steel of blood and glory!
Out of the flames came a new king,
and today the gathering will stand!
In the battle of the brave,
who will be the new gods of metal!”
They’d gone for power metal, then. Normally Adagio would have found it laughably cringe worthy; normally, though, it wouldn’t be working. Whilst the effect on her was potent enough whatever it was they were doing was infecting the regular humans with even greater potency. No one was laughing now. Somewhere a girl was starting to shriek, though whether it was from horror or joy was unclear. A short, fat boy was beginning to urinate himself without even realising. Another boy shivered and collapsed to the ground. On the stage meanwhile the song continued to play.
”We'll take them one-on-one,
the war has just begun!
And we'll fight them side-by-side,
there is no place to hide!
It's a journey for the brave
I'm master, no slave!
We come out from the dark,
and relight the metal spark!”
The band themselves seemed to be getting more into it now, with the sole exception of the short and twitching one. He seemed disgusted to be even holding his instrument. Adagio watched as the one wearing the hat bobbed his head happily from side to side whilst his fingers moved with inhuman speed over the keys. Veins and muscles rippled along the drummer’s neck and arms, whilst the bass-player looked like he was about to have a seizure. By now Adagio wasn’t sure it even was them playing, or if they were just the conduit for something far more sinister. And still it went on, the veil between reality pulled tighter and tighter by the song as it continued towards its fever pitch.
”The last metal troops will rise!
Born in the fire we meet them eye-to-eye!
The last metal troops will rise!
Born in the fire we meet them eye-to-eye,
and kill for metal!
We kill for metal”
“D-Dagi?” For once, the chief siren couldn’t muster the strength to be irritated by Sonata’s nickname. She didn’t look round, but the blue skinned girl continued regardless. “This…this is bad, right?”
“We’ve got to do something!” Aria hissed, taking an impressive step forward through the wave of sound to stand beside her fellow Dazzling. “We’re losing them!” She wasn’t wrong – even the gems hung around their necks seemed to have been caught in the song’s snare, sending out bursts of their own brand of magic. In all honesty it felt more than a little weak right now, looking at what they were up against.
“Quite so.” If the sudden and cultured male voice at her ear didn’t make Adagio start in surprise, the hand resting on her shoulder certainly did. She turned sharply, unaware of the sweat trickling off her forehead as she looked into a face she didn’t recognise. Golden skin and dark eyes met her gaze.
“Who are you?” Adagio hissed, her vision starting to swim a little as the euphoric haze continued to pull at the siren’s defences. The boy gave a smile, and the fact that he seemed to be one of the few others who hadn’t completely lost their mind was enough to convince her to listen.
“An explanation.” He said bluntly, but with an undeniable dramatic flair. “I am an explanation.”
***
Behind the mask, Mordecai’s own grin grew wider and wider. He’d expressed some concern over their choice of song, deriding it as ‘tacky’, but now it was in full swing the boy had to concede that he might have been wrong.
Rorke was angry, but then Rorke was always angry. Mordecai’s major concern was the student body arrayed before him; as unprofessional as admitting it might have been he couldn’t help but take a certain malicious glee in watching the oh-so-friendly and composed students of Canterlot High be overtaken by the unique qualities of their instruments. One girl was crying, another shrieking until her throat became hoarse. The boy who had fallen earlier had been mercilessly set upon by the band of pretty boy Flash Sentry, his body spasming as frenzied blows rained down on him. Most amusingly of all were his friends from before, Lyra and Bon Bon, and how grabby they were starting to get with one another’s faces. It was all he could do not to giggle, the music surging through his own body and rewarding the boy’s glee with more pleasurable twinges.
The one individual here that really held Mordecai’s gaze as they played though was Lorkhan. He didn’t think the boy saw it, and wasn’t sure even if the other band members could see it, but Mordecai was well aware of the corona of energy enveloping their singer. Dark majesty rippled from him, literally rippled, little sparks of purple lightning sparking off his body. The grin on his face as he sang and whipped the crowd into more of a frenzy was palpable, and Mordecai couldn’t blame him for it. Usirien Lorkhan, the boy who was on the margins of even Olympia High’s cold fraternity, had his sworn enemies eating out the palm of his hand.
Our steel is unbreakable,
the king is untouchable,
the blade is bloody red!
A true metal head!
We cannot feel the pain,
tonight we go insane!
It's the savage prophecy,
we'll break the enemy!
Let's ride together and strike them down with force!”
The still-rational part of Mordecai’s mind chuckled good-naturedly at the frankly ridiculous lyrics Lorkhan was blurting out like he’d been born to do so, before throwing back his head and adding his own howl to the mass. Undignified, yes, but given the circumstance he’d let himself off. As he lowered his head and licked his dry lips, panting heavily and allowing the music to control his playing for the moment, something else caught his eye. It was only a glance at first. He wasn’t even certain he’d seen right, but the inevitable second look at the one group of girls not enthralled by their song confirmed it.
“…Ahriman?” He murmured to himself. There was no way he could have heard it, but on cue Ahzek turned from the girl he was talking to and looked at the stage. Their eyes met, and a mournful smile that was distinctly lacking in humour crossed his face. Mordecai stared back, not enjoying being the one in the dark for once. Ahriman turned and disappeared back into the frenzied crowd, a sole pillar of focus amidst the madness, but the damage was done.
Mordecai had lost concentration and diverted his own attention from the music, and whatever it was that provided them with their power did not like to be ignored. The flawless control he’d had a moment before faded and left his fingers as a disorganised mess. The sound faded instantly, and with it came a palpable backlash of some sort of energy. As the crowd howled and descended into a total state of lunacy Mordecai stumbled back. He hit Rorke first. The short boy gave an unseemly scream, finally pushed over the edge of his temper as he took the neck of his guitar in both hands and started to smack the body against the ground. It didn’t break, perhaps it couldn’t, but it seemed to be helping him at least. Mordecai tripped backwards and hit Lorkhan. It was enough to knock the other boy off-balance and stop his singing. Zuko was next, then Barbus, and finally Varvillon – the boy clutched onto the bass tight as they crumbled into a heap, as if it were more important than his own life. Vortun, the only one not dragged down by one thing or another, reacted surprisingly quickly. He stood from the drum-kit and yanked a nearby release cord. In one fluid motion the curtains by the stage closed.
As Rorke finished slamming his instrument against the ground and screaming and the crowd outside continued to experience the after-effects of the music, the Olympian students didn’t rise immediately. They lay in a heap atop one another, Zuko squirming and groaning in irritation. Somehow, he’d ended up on the bottom. Mordecai blinked the blinding headache away and reached out for his hat, resting it on his brow once more. Vortun took his mask off, the face beneath twisted in a sneer. Varvillon gave what almost sounded like a whimper.
“Are ve leaving?” The foreign student rumbled. Lorkhan shifted, Barbus crying out beneath him as their leader’s elbow rammed into a shoulder. He sat up slowly, sighing and hanging his head with the spiked microphone still in hand, letting the moment and the sounds linger just a moment longer.
“Yes,” He said at last, his voice as calm as he could muster behind the sweat-drenched mask. “We’re leaving.”