Michael Kiersgaard gathered attention. The rift he had torn in the fabric of the universe, a rift that had shredded the will of the Dome and forced entry into its bowels via the raw force of a stronger and more dominant will, gathered attention. The hallway behind him, a clinically white-walled hallway, did not gather much attention. It did gather the attention of the people whose minds had the alacrity and callous to notice what he was wearing: not quite medical scrubs, flimsy garments of bland white that were stained in places by spackles of drying blood. They covered everything up from his ankles and down from his neck, but not his arms.
The gored wound on his right elbow gathered attention. Bone, chipped and bloodied from ragged flesh and torn blood vessels around it, gleamed white in the light of the cafeteria. Bruising that began at the elbow and traveled up and around the arm formed a blackened blanket over muscles, connected in an offhand way to other bruises. Not as much attention was paid to those bruises, the ones that wrapped around both wrists, hands, and every last ragged and raw finger. Blood was dripping in a slow but steady stream from the right arm and in a much slower, much more erratic drip-drop stream from the left hand.
Someone moved. The sound of a scraping chair against the stone floor drew a few looks and did a marvelous job of breaking the sudden and immense tension clogging the atmosphere of the big eating area. A few people chuckled nervously, others sort of unobtrusively did not move, while a fairly sizeable portion—not anything significant, but rather sizeable—simply got up and left. The man standing in the dancing shadows of the rift, bloodied and looking as insane as insane could get, stood still. His eye was twitching in spasms of rapid-fire winks and, after a moment or seven of standing there his right arm started doing something similar.
He scanned the faces in the crowd. A few of them he recognized in passing as people he had seen before, eaten with, drank with, and even some of the few who had been his sparring partners. His grimace, rather savage-looking in its pain, faltered a bit and a flash of true anguish passed across his expression for a moment. The moment passed when he spotted someone he recognized from a very recent memory.
"Monroe Vossler," he said ... or, rather, he tried to say.
The actual words came out sounding more like the roar of an extremely pained tiger, something like a yowl worked into the thunderous bark. A few more people left, while just as many as had left started to enter, filing in and blocking the exits in short order. The people closest to the man himself—Vossler—seemed to sort of displace themselves rather quickly, quietly, and as smoothly as smooth could be. The big crazy man may not have been as big as some or as crazy as some, but most of the people in the room had a kind of metaphysical awareness about them that experienced warriors and magicians picked up over time.
Everyone knew there was something at odds with the seemingly normal humanness of Michael Kiersgaard, who most or all of them knew as Kichaa Mesoa.
The man himself—Michael—did not seem to be aware of their scrutiny. He stalked towards the man he had named, his motion deceptively fast and made to look slower by the fact that he was favoring his right knee with a pronounced limp. Had he been slouching, he might have appeared less menacing. He was not slouching. The few people who had been standing or sitting nearby when he arrived had since either moved far away or remained completely still in the way of deer caught in headlights. The rift seemed to contract upon itself in spasms timed to his steps, finally closing around the time he was standing within normal conversation distance with Vossler. He sort of seethed there for a moment, dripping blood and looking like he was trying to gather a particularly difficult thought.
"Where is she?" he intoned. Other than being marginally quieter and slightly less sharp at the edges, his tone and vocal quality remained the same, "Where?"
Where is she, huh? Great question to ask someone who's got no business with Selene. Still, he came out of nowhere. I don't like the feeling of this... and his body is tattered. If I cared in the least, I'd ask him what happened, but I don't honestly care at all. Actually, if he died here, my life would be a bit easier, the dark clad man thought as he looked at the man. Monroe crossed his arms and looked at the man smugly as he prepared to speak.
"I don't know where she is. I'd assume she hasn't gone anywhere, given she's a home body. After all, its where you found her, and where she'll probably be when you finally get there. I'd hate to be you though... especially if Z's there. In your current state, it looks like the wind would kill you," the Quincy stated as he turned away and took a few steps.
The sound of the large man moving slightly behind him echoed as the man turned back slightly. "What happened to her?" came the angry roar from the man. An all too human chill ran down Monroe's back as he looked at the man.
He's different... I don't know how... but he feels almost... inhuman. I'm not Zorlo, but I'm sure as hell not gonna let this guy threaten me. Still, might as well answer him. "What a God damn stupid question," the scientist commented as he shifted himself to look at the man and took a step back. "I already told you she's at home, dammit! So, under that logic, since I Z went to visit her, I'd say nothing's happened to her. If you're so concerned, then stop bothering me and go check yourself, you prick!"
The reaction was probably not something Monroe Vossler was prepared to receive. Michael just snarled, bent to the side, grabbed the nearest of the cafeteria tables, and upended long enough to get a strong grip on the thing. Still one-handed, in a movement that could almost be more correctly termed a "gesture" than a "swing" of the arm, he slammed the far end of the table into the smart-mouthed Quincy. The smart-mouthed Quincy reacted by throwing up his arms, taking the hit for all of about a half a second before the force behind it caught up to him and sent him across the room.
No, literally across the room—in the space of about four seconds from start to finish, Michael had picked up a table, swung it, and sent one of the stronger fighters in the Dome flying. The fighter in question only stopped when he hit the nearest line of buffet tables, denting the bottom part and shattering a Monroe-shaped chunk out of the glass overhang before falling down and taking a knee. A piece of the Monroe-shaped chunk of glass whipped out from underneath the half-crouched man and skittered across at Michael, tearing a ragged cut into his shoulder.
The return volley was a table.
Michael tossed it in the air, re-caught it about at its middle, and slammed his arm forward at the speed of a striking snake with the table still in his grip until his entire arm had flung out to its full extension. It left his fingers with a whisper, carrying with it a snarl of wrathful agony and a few sharp yells from people who had never seen a several hundred pound table flung about as fast as a baseball.
The Quincy tried to backhand it away, and for his troubles the table just about tore his hand off at the wrist. He kept the hand, but the force he had mustered to block the table had been barely enough to deflect it and still more force than a human, or even more than human hand was supposed to be able to take at a hit. The mangled hand was bleeding from torn skin and what was probably more than a few compound fractures and badly-broken bones. The blood got to be enough that it was already dripping by the time Michael vaulted one-handed over two of the tables in between them and roll-stepped down from the top of the third.
Fast as the Quincy was, he was not prepared for Michael. The fist coming down from above he slip-dodged, but the blurring uppercut from the knee was coming right in against him from the same direction he was moving towards. That hit took him full in the right side of his chest and slammed any momentum he had right back into his rib cage. Michael felt bones break beneath the force, including bones in an arm Monroe had managed to use to shield the bones in his chest. A rib or two still broke audibly. Michael's knee had already hit the ground again, moving with the speed of a mechanical piston, when the Quincy ended himself.
The smaller, lighter, weaker man attempted an off-balance tackle from a disadvantage of both momentum and balance. The resulting shoulder-tackle that struck Michael was only enough to remind the bigger, heavier, stronger man that his opponent was a shrimp—and a shrimp who was within arm's reach. It ended there.
Michael's arm wrapped around Monroe's shoulders and pinned him in place long enough for his leg to piston-pommel up into the center of his chest. He dropped the pin hold and slammed his hand, palm-out, into the space between his now-victim's exposed shoulder blades. The force of the strike sent Monroe the rest of the way to the ground with a snapping sound from his spine. Victorious and strong, Michael straightened and stood over the useless heap of flesh and bone that had been a powerful combatant, his fists clenching and unclenching as he did exactly what a sane person was supposed to do in exactly that situation:
He weighed the life of his defeated foe in his hands. He passed judgement on a life that could be ended at a whim. It took him a very short time. He was going to murder Monroe Vossler.
Monroe chuckled. This kind of pain... it was intense and unrealistic at first. Still, the pain was a sign he had survived. Still, this guy had already assumed death would be only Monroe's. That's right, you gorilla. When you attack, I'll simply blow us both up. If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna bring you with me, the dark clad man thought as he looked at his foe. A sadistic grin crossed Monroe's face as he watched the man.
"That's enough," Zachary's cry echoed across the room as two swords pierced into the warrior's back as the ice mage stared at him. Creating a third sword, the Replicator tossed it up and kept his eyes trained on Kichaa. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Kichaa, but if you move again, the next sword will cut your head off," the ice mage commented as he caught his sword and prepared to strike.
An ungodly roar of pain echoed as the blades sunk into Michael's flesh. One of the swords had clearly cut into his upper back, just below his collarbone, and the other had been driven slightly deeper into his lower back on the other side. The man turned, his eye twitching in anger as his hands moved towards the blades. His teeth ground slightly as his hands grasped the handles of the swords and ripped them from his flesh in one clean motion as the large man turned towards Zachary.
Zachary shifted himself slightly as the man tossed both of the swords from his back as the Sorcerer of Blades stopped the swords in path and dispelled them before they reached him. The same very frightening chill ran up his spine as the ice mage took a measure of his foe. He's a hyper intelligent bear. Great... well, if I can stall, maybe someone who can settle this will show up...
The first table in his way, Michael used as a grave marker. He swung it over-hand, slammed it back down across the back of the Quincy with force comparable to an ocean liner falling from the same distance, and kept walking without looking back. The very few people who had made the mistake of standing between the hyper-intelligent bear and the little boy with the stick who had provoked it moved out of the way. They moved quickly. The second table he used as to a practical purpose: he picked it up and thrust it full-force against the expensively inset stone of a buffet table that was standing in his way.
An icy spear lanced into the table just as it was being smashed out of the way, icing the sides of the table first and then icing the floor around it with enough speed and solidity that the heavy stone and the ice together nullified the force of the makeshift ram. Michael, teeth already bared, just hopped up onto the edge of his ram and sprint-vaulted over the ice and the buffet table in the same powerful motion. He landed on rolling feet, rolling feet that rolled him forward and into an icicle arrow.
The arrow punched through the ridiculously flimsy layer of hospital closing, through the skin of Michael's chest, and stopped only when its width exceeded the space between two of his ribs. It had already punctured his lung. His grimace twinged and his next breath shuddered, but he was beyond stopping. He snapped the arrow out and tossed it away without breaking his sprint. The last distance between himself and the ice magician evaporated in front of close to seventy or eighty witnesses, most of whom would have been flies to be swatted if they had been in the same fight with Zachary Leos.
Michael Kiersgaard, so far gone that his first thoughts were a debate between ripping an arm off and tearing a leg off, was not one of them. He had ceased to be one of them when he had demolished Monroe Vossler. All association with Kichaa Mesoa, whom some of them had known and liked, was frozen and withered and dead.
The man they saw now was just a beast.
Dead-sprint, Michael struck Zachary in the stomach and the collision was all one-sided. The hit drove the younger man backwards into the stone wall of the cafeteria, where the striking of his shoulders against the unyielding surface and the clatter of another ice-forged sword as it fell from his fingers became a single sound. A few people nearby winced when they saw what the impact did to the expression on Michael's face, which lapsed briefly from overflowing wrath into tortured, hysterical pain. The swiftness of that expression disappearing could have been a magic trick. He pushed back off his second victim and brought his fist down on the angle between Zach's shoulders and neck.
The muscle above the clavicle failed to protect against the break, and the ice mage cried out as the fist sank into his shoulder. He toppled and Michael didn't even bend over to hit him again, he just lifted his foot and battered it down into the young magician's exposed side. He was just lifting his foot a second time when ... something ... stopped him.
Adrien was standing at his desk, like usual, when a shudder and shiver went through him involuntarily. His face tensed with something that could have been a flinch, but it was more a cringe as it stayed in place in that second. That was … unusual. The sensation. It was the first time he had felt anything force itself through like that. He knew where it came from though. It was his connection with the Dome. Someone had just forcibly ripped their way into it. That never felt very good … It felt like the spiritual equivalent to nails on a chalkboard, especially when he was so utterly immersed in his work. It was as disconcerting as it was shocking.
He knew where it happened too. Whatever had ripped itself into the Dome was now in the cafeteria. It was strong and very unstable. That can’t be good …
Leita, where are you? He called out with his mind. It found her easily.
She responded immediately. “Oh! Um … right outside your door, actually.”
Hm, that was convenient. The Dome’s walls were “energy-proof,” so he hadn’t been able to feel her approach.
He stepped away from his desk and toward his door. All this he did within a fraction of a second. So when the door whipped open, Leita jumped, staring with her wide green eyes. He didn’t give her time to feel worried about his lack of a smiling face. The kind of expression he normally greeted her with. He was too focused right now, though not really upset. She saw his ever-present tranquility still.
“Come with me,” he said, and shut the door as he passed through it. He moved more slowly now. Leita wouldn’t be able to keep up with him otherwise. He did have a very quick stride that she almost had to jog to keep up with. Before he knew it, he felt Kai’s presence drift in from his right by a connecting hall to the side. Kai’s connection with the Dome was stronger than the others. He must have felt it. He predicted Adrien’s actions quickly enough and had already been on the move to meet him there. Kira was jogging beside Kai, looking confused like Leita.
Adrien spoke calmly as they fast walked to the cafeteria. “You all will leave this mostly up to me. Do nothing until I tell you to do otherwise.” His looked behind himself at Leita. “Leita, do not run to heal anyone I do not tell you to heal, wait for me to give you direction.”
Leita’s gentle features were tensed now with fear and concern. He saw her exchange an alarmed glance with Kira. He knew it alarmed them. Saying he himself would deal with it meant a lot to them about the seriousness of whatever was happening. They were both smart enough not to ask what was happening yet. Kira knew that questions should come later and Leita followed her example. Kai would understand nearly everything already.
No one spoke on the way there. It was a short enough journey. The Dome seemed to want to aid their hasty arrival, so it seemed to take fewer turns than usual to reach the cafeteria.
When Adrien strode through the wide entry, he found the cafeteria was quite a mess already. It was hardly surprising. His eyes took in everything in the fraction of a second. He was also moving in another fraction of a second, because his hazel eyes spotted the ragged man about the stomp a younger one that had crumpled to the floor in front of him.
Kira blinked and Adrien was gone. To Leita, he just vanished. Kai didn’t even bother trying to see what he knew would happen.
Something hit Michael. Not hard really, just very fast. In a smaller fraction of a second, Adrien had wrapped his arm around the taller man’s neck. He was quite a big one. His hooked his hand at his elbow after his forearm secured a choke hold around his neck. At the same time he gathered his chi to stop the foot about to smash the younger fellow on the ground. And then he hooked his own leg around the attacker’s and twisted his whole body around at the waist.
This effectively took the man’s stable limb out from under him while Adrien twisted him around to fall flat on his chest to the ground. Adrien had to apply a little more force than he would have on any regular human. This one was obviously not normal. When they landed, Adrien skillfully placed his knee to the man’s uninjured elbow, his other knee was jabbed into his back as he leaned over him, still holding him in a choke.
Leita, heal the one farthest from me first. Kai, move the man next to us away and to where the other man is so she can heal them. Kira, help them. He gave all his commands telepathically. His mind then focused entirely on the man-creature under him. He could feel the wild fury. It wasn’t something entirely foreign to Adrien. But he could taste the underlining emotions that caused such fury. Anger was always a mask for pain. Agony. He could taste that in the man’s aura now.
So when he whispered to the man, his mouth right next to his ear, his voice was very soft and sympathetic. “Now … why don’t you tell me what it is that has you so angry, Michael Kiersgaard?”
Michael Kiersgaard went absolutely still. The warm arm around his neck, the knee at the small of his back, the other knee pinning his good elbow, and the lightness of the man pinning him were a series of awareness-induced realizations. The blood seeping from his chest, escaping with every breath that collapsed his lung further, and the blood seeping from his hands and elbows were dim reminders that he was technically mortal. The reminders were good. The reminders were ground to the lightning of his wrath. The lightning of his wrath, however, was not so easily grounded. He could still stand.
The elbow bent. The knees bent. One leg scraped against the ground as he rose, hulking to a mere half his height and bending forward to keep the choke hold intact. The raw anger bubbling out of him was not satiated with what he had done, not by any stretch of any imagination, and now yet another target had fed itself into the maw—that was what he thought. The fact that he thought it at all was an indication of how quickly he was being brought back, how quickly his ability to do the things he had been doing was leaving him. Raging adrenaline can only staunch so much pain, and even adrenaline only lasted for as long as the body saw fit to produce it.
"Get off me," Michael rasped, one hand grabbing the arm around his neck. It was as hard as it was cold, immovably tight, "I have to ... ungh ..."
The human brain can survive for a total of eight seconds, give or take a few seconds, without the constant flow of new oxygen from the cardiovascular system. A human brain shuts down, a sort of self-defense mechanism, a few seconds before the actual death occurs. The general term for it is a blood choke—a choke hold that specifically targets and compresses the primary arteries of the throat, obstructing the flow of blood to the brain and inducing unconsciousness or death. The big man was angry and he was strong, but he was also human. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.
Across the room, Sunny was hefting a table off a man who should have been dead to rights. With the help of three or four willing hands, he managed to push off the massive table.
"Christ, he threw one of these," one of his helpers commented, "With one goddamn hand!"
"Strong dude," another one added.
Sunny was more concerned with the man whose broken body had been revealed from beneath the unbelievably heavy table. No doubt the tables had been designed with that kind of weight for the precise reason that they were not supposed to be lifted and thrown about with such ease. It was frightening, the amount of strength it would have taken to do what that man had just done. The healer looked across the room to where Zach had crumpled then looked back down, winced, and muttered an apology.
The ice mage had been concerned for his friend, and rightly so. Just from looking at him, Sunny could tell that Monroe Vossler would be dead in minutes without the kind of medical help only a very select few individuals could provide. He was one of those individuals, and his hand had lit with pale moonlight already. The rays seemed to shift, expand, then intensify as they fell across the prone Quincy, who abruptly began to shake and tremble ...
... and Sunny could actually hear him gritting his teeth to bite back the scream.
Leita’s eyes snapped around the moment she received her orders. She searched for an injured man farther from Adrien. She ran into the room, looking around. She spotted a few men moving a table. There was a body under it … She ran forward. She was about to dash forward, drop to her knees to reach the terribly wounded man on the ground.
Oh goddess above … he was going to die very soon if she didn’t heal him fast enough. Just looking was enough to see that.
However, before she could, one of the men acted first. Light sprouted from his hand and rained down on the man’s prone form. She could feel this energy. It was pure and healing. That much she could tell right away and yet … the dying man was in pain. She could hear his teeth grind from this far away. He tensed with the agony. It was alarming at first, and she couldn’t help but gasp and step forward, wanting to ease his suffering. However, part of her knew this well. Sometimes for things to heal there must be pain. That seemed to be the way for this man’s form of healing.
Kira and Kai came toward them now, carefully carrying the other man. Kai had his arms under the wounded one’s armpits. Kira had his legs. They laid him down carefully next to Leita. She whipped around immediately and knelt to aid this one. She would leave the other with the painful healer.
She held her hands over him and muttered, “Ateru.”
Blue light covered her hands and she touched them to his injuries, healing them one by one and moving to where her magic detected more.
Kira stood up and looked to the other injured man. Her eyes widened at the pain the other healer seemed to be putting him through, but she could see the results. His injuries were being repaired. “Dear gods … what’s he doing?”
Adrien sighed when Michael collapsed to the floor unconscious. By the sound of his breathing, he had a collapsed lung. He released him and then rolled him over, examining his wounds quickly before standing up and looking over to the others. He gave commands again, telepathically.
Leita, come with me. The healer will take care of everything you don’t. Kira. Kai. Once everyone is healed try to ask some of the wounded ones questions about this man. Get everything you can about him and anyone else involved. Kai, let me know as soon as you get those details. I might need to ask some questions through you.
He bent back down as he gave his orders, slipping his arms under the man’s hulking form. He lifted him up as easily as if he were just an armful of laundry. It almost looked comical compared to Adrien’s leaner frame. He turned and then walked back out without word spoken or unspoken to anyone. He felt and heard Leita jog after him out the entrance way, and they made their way back to his room.
Zachary's body twitched slightly at first to the healing, but as the pain faded, so did the movement. Normal breathing functions and motor functions soon followed. Pain that had been awe inspiring, but somewhat lessened by the armor covering Zach's arms and chest, had at least saved his life a bit better than what had happened to Monroe. If Monroe wasn't himself... he'd be dead already... unlike me. Hehe... If I got hit like that, I doubt I would have gotten back up... ever...
Zachary smiled as he drifted off into a content sleep. Something about knowing that both he and Monroe would live helped relieve some of the anxiety he had. Still, such was not the case for Monroe.
The pain of being healed and the pure, unbridled fury Monroe felt at this moment had been syphoning away at his ability to reason. His ability to discern the rational and good from the bad of life. Kill... yes, killing was the thing that would relieve this pain. He'd kill Michael. He'd end it without giving the man a chance to fight back. That was how he had done it at one time, and that method would work well now.
Monroe looked around at these people who had entered and snarled slightly. Who the hell were these people? What the hell had just happened? It didn't matter that whoever had just stopped Kichaa... although that man had smelled of death, or undeath, as well. What the hell is going on here?! WHO THE **** ARE THESE PEOPLE! WHEN THE HELL IS THIS KID GONNA LEAVE ME ALONE!
Feeling returned to his body, and quickly the dark clad man clenched his fingers into a fist. Bones were mending and pain was vanishing, but the blinding rage brought about by the pain he had suffered and the pain of being healed were becoming more and more rage inducing. Shattering the ground with a powerful grip and pulling himself up slightly, Monroe looked at Sunny and waved him off with his other hand.
"I'm fine, now scat. I've gotta go kill that worthless bastard and end this. I'll be damned if I let him live to see Z or Selene again. That bastard is so ****ed right now," the Quincy commented as he pushed himself up to one knee and stood up shakily. "I'm done playing by the rules that they play by. Its kill or be killed, and since I'm alive, that means he has to die," Monroe commented as he took a stumbled step forwards. "First... to my lab..." he muttered, looking at the other two people he didn't recognize.
Kira closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Nice, Adrien leaving me with these guys who could probably kill me as soon as the thought occurs to them. How was she going to get anything out of him? Much less stop him. Adrien probably wasn’t going to like this. She’d do all she could though. She caught a few words in the guy’s ramble. Something about Selene and Z. He said “kill” and “die” a lot. She was sure Kai would remember it all for her.
“Right, hey,” she started; glad she was wearing her armor today. It helped her look more impressive for a twenty-two-year-old. “I know you’re pissed, and boy is that an understatement … but it’s looks like your buddy here is sleeping for a while. My teacher asked me to collect some information. Adrien Krest. The guy who just saved you and your buddy here. Mind answering some questions for him?”
Monroe looked at the woman for a moment and waved her off. Crazy woman is dressed as a knight. If she thinks she'll get me to back down just because she's wearing armor, she's out of her mind. Still... the Quincy thought quietly as he looked at Zachary. Zachary's pretty broken. I can tell he's in better shape than I am... but if that kid tries to heal me again, I'll have to break one of his arms. Best for me to head into my lab and get some of my serum... it'll speed up healing at least.
The dark clad man turned his increasingly less violent eyes towards the women and chuckled darkly, despite the pain. "Who? That vampire who carried that animal off. I don't owe him anything. I will tell you to tell him that if I find that animal again, I'm going to put him down like the sub-human creature he is," the Technological Quincy said as he moved past the woman. "Also, I'm not particularly fond of blood suckers either, but that vampire and I have no reason to fight. Tell him if he gives up Kichaa, another unnecessary fight won't need to be fought."
Kira stared at the injured man with a blank face, looking as if she was waiting for the punch line. After a minute and she looked as if she understood it wasn’t a joke, her smile cracked in a smirk that bordered on sneer. Her blue eye narrowed skeptically. Now she chuckled, putting her hands on her hips she cocked her head to the side slightly.
“Right, you would fight the guy, vampire, who is thousands of years old. The one that just put down your enemy, who flatted you like an anvil from the sky, like it was nothing more than putting down a dog.” Kira gave a laugh. “You like to talk big without anything to back you up, don’t you?”
She shrugged then. “Sure, if you want to try to go against Adrien, by all means. But the blood sucker will put you down like swatting a fly out of his face. Only, you’re lucky he’s so kind. He won’t kill you. Just ask you to stop and not do it again.”
"Heh," Monroe commented with a chuckle. "Honestly, I don't care about that vampire, like I said. Make sure he understands that Kichaa Mesoa is as good as dead though. The fact that Zorlo didn't kill him yet upsets me, but this most recent burst puts me in the right. You can only ruin so many homes before you die, after all. He's got only one person that'll care if he dies, and that person can suffer for all I care. My vengeance is just!"
Normally, Monroe would know how absurd he sounded. Threatening people he didn't know and swearing to kill people who, under normal circumstances, he could justify their actions as well. Still, something between the being beaten to near death, the frustration with his own life, and an array of other things had managed to undermine his otherwise reasonable demeanor. Still, even reason can't disprove the fact he had several features that made him quite a jerk.
"Now then, I'm going to head into my laboratory to find a few things. Goodbye," he said, wandering past the woman and out of the entrance of the cafeteria. The Quincy looked back at Zachary as the door shut and made for his room within the Dome. I'll get him. Don't worry.
Sunny had walked away from the riled Quincy thinking that if his own ass had been handed him so quickly and completely as the sub-human creature had just handed him his, there would never have been any attempt to meet the person who did it ever again. It took a special kind of crazy to actually try to wake up dragon and spit in its eye and that kind of crazy was not the kind of thing you messed around with lightly. The healer stooped over Zach and examined him. He had seen very few world-class healers, but he could appreciate their work when he saw it.
He nudged Zach with his foot until the redhead groaned and opened his eyes, at which point the bald healer grinned and announced, "You got owned, man. Who was that guy?"
Zachary groaned at first as he woke up, but then he stretched out his arms and looked at Sunny. Wiping his eyes, he smiled. "Morning," he commented, shifting himself into an indian style sitting. "Don't worry about Monroe," he commented, looking at the woman. "He's stupid, and probably not as strong as that guy that stopped Kichaa, but he and I both know better than to fight unnecessary battles."
"Speak for yourself!" Monroe called over as the door swung open. "I never agreed to that! Just because Zorlo tells us something doesn't mean we have to agree!" Monroe commented, part of his anger directed at Zorlo in this case as well. Somehow, he gratified himself, this had to have been Zorlo's fault.
"Anyway..." the ice mage commented as he yawned and looked at Sunny, "That guy is Kichaa Mesoa... or whatever his new name is. He was someone that was dead and is now alive again... he's a lot like the guy who was our boss here at the Dome. A teacher named Zorlo. At one time, I think people might have known him quite well, but now he's something of an after thought. I guess dying has that effect," Zachary said with a laugh. "Still, even though Kichaa was a bit of a brute, I've never seen him like that. Also, those wounds... I wonder what happened..."
Kira let the nameless man walk past her. Her fists clenched so tightly they trembled at her sides. Kai whispered in her ear, “Easy, Kira.”
She knew that. It would be stupid to wind-blast him through the door on his way out. She was no Adrien. No giant among giants. That guy was so pissed right now he would probably attack right back and maybe kill her, but that didn’t stop the blood from boiling and pounding in her ears. Maybe it was just because the man he called an animal had a similar build to Rontu. Tall as hell, muscular to boot. A bad temper when the situation fit it.
Few people who actually cared about him despite all his faults and flaws.
“He's got only one person that'll care if he dies, and that person can suffer for all I care.”
She knew then, she was going to help the beast-man. Whatever his name was. His name didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to let this prick lay one finger on him. She wasn’t going to let that one person suffer.
“Focus,” Kai uttered in her ear again, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Right,” she said, more steady now as her determination solidified in her eyes. She whipped around to face her last witness. If she was going to be any help, she would need more answers. Hopefully, this next guy will be easier to talk to.
The other guy was sitting up, talking to the painful healer. He looked to her sleepily and said, “Don't worry about Monroe. He's stupid, and probably not as strong as that guy that stopped Kichaa, but he and I both know better than to fight unnecessary battles.”
Kira blinked. Damn, she was lucky this one was so genial.
“Speak for yourself!” She heard the ass from before call back. She turned her head over her shoulder to glower at him. So his name was Monroe? She liked “prick” and “asswipe” better. “I never agreed to that! Just because Zorlo tells us something doesn't mean we have to agree!”
Huh. Zorlo. Z? Same person?
“Anyway...” The calm one continued. “That guy is Kichaa Mesoa... or whatever his new name is. He was someone that was dead and is now alive again... he's a lot like the guy who was our boss here at the Dome. A teacher named Zorlo. At one time, I think people might have known him quite well, but now he's something of an after thought. I guess dying has that effect,” Zachary said with a laugh. “Still, even though Kichaa was a bit of a brute, I've never seen him like that. Also, those wounds... I wonder what happened...”
Dead and now alive? Like it was so simple. Whatever. This place was weird. Seemed like anything could happen. She had names now at least. Kichaa Mesoa. Similar to Zorlo, ex-teacher of the Dome. Both heavy-hitters by the sound of the comparison. It wasn’t Mesoa’s normal behavior either … He had wounds before he started the fight. Something else was going on here than just a mindless brawl.
“Right … so who’s Selene? Your friend was muttering something about not letting Mesoa near she and Zorlo. Why?”
Zach's demeanor changed slightly at that question. It wasn't really his business to go about discussing on that note. This woman had asked, and he did owe her some answer... but how was he supposed to answer, really? The ice mage placed one hand on the ground and stood up, turning towards the woman and her associate. "Well... that's somewhat complex," the Replicator commented.
"She's a common friend of Zorlo and Kichaa's. She was married to Z until he died, but had apparently been having an affair with Kichaa during that time. Not that Z didn't deserve it, but still, that guy? Of all the people in the world, a guy that's almost obsessed with replacing Zorlo in more than just that aspect," Monroe commented with a fierce chuckle, "Why let him live? Not like he'll live much longer."
Zachary quirked an eyebrow and sighed at what Monroe said. "Yeah... Z is probably near that edge... He's different... than when he was alive. Different than before, I mean... something's... different," he muttered, looking at the woman. "Um... it's better if you hide Kichaa... if Z finds him, mostly after this, I think even your friend would have a hard time stopping an enraged Zorlo. This guy keeps taking from him, or trying to, and eventually, everyone snaps."
Outstanding. What a lovely little drama this was. Now they were smack dab in the middle of it. Kira sighed. She wasn’t worried. It was hard to be worried when she had Adrien with them. It wasn’t just his strength and power. He always knew what to do. Even when he said he didn’t, he often had good guesses anyway that might as well be perfect too. Adrien just made her feel … relaxed. At peace. Everything would be okay.
“Right,” she said again. “Do you have any guesses as to why Mesoa just tried to beat you two to death? What exactly did you say to push him off the edge like that?”
"Heh, I didn't do anything to that prick. Most of those wounds weren't caused by Zach or I. He came here looking like he was about to croak, I walked over to him and saw him half dead, he asked me where and how Selene was, I told him I didn't know, and he hit me with a god damn table. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go back to my lab, get some things, and kill him before he wakes up," Monroe commented as he walked out, heading off towards his lab now.
"To be honest, miss, we really don't know what happened. I arrived just as he and Monroe started fighting and was only really concerned about helping Monroe. If you really want to know, have you friend wake Kichaa up and ask him. He's the only one that knows what made him like that. If I did know, or have some idea, I'd tell you..."
"Still..." Zach muttered as he looked at Sunny. "Oh... Yes, that's right," he said, his mood cheering up again. "Sunny, I think we should start looking for that Spirit Elemental guy. After all, its been a weird few days, and finding out I had an uncle who's an... Undine I think he said he was, is one of those things. Let's just get this done so that you can look around this place more and I can finally... FINALLY, get home to see my girlfriend and daughter," he said, feeling a bit exhausted, but knowing he had a job to do.
The healer had never understood the attraction of overblown violence, but the quick disinterest of the crowd had coincided with the absence of the two people who had caused this whole hoopla. Sunny had a half mind to follow Monroe and find out what made one complete ass angry enough to hit another complete ass with a table, but he was hungry and he could not be asked, so while Zach and the woman discussed the asses of society, he got a snack. He had half a sandwich down by the time his companion and guide was ready to leave.
Apparently the penis-waving competition over whose ungodly powerful friend was more ungodly powerful had ended. That meant they could get on with the thing they were doing before, with the people in the place who did the stuff and wanted the two guys with the destiny to do the thing about the uncle. The undine thing—the thing about the spirit elemental—right, he just needed to finish his sadwhich first.
"Mmmphropht," he said, then he swallowed and added to Kira, "Nice to meet you, ma'am. Hope you have fun with the cavemen."