Snippet #2537786

Zara

The growing stopped at the edge of Europe and the Americas, halting at St. Petersburg, dipping down to Brazil and loping back up to Alaska. It pulsed, like a heartbeat, each and every life blinking and twinkling like a billion stars announcing its location.

She had since lost consciousness to the real world, stuck in this galaxy, coordinates, names, and locations buzzing in her mind like an old-fashioned airline terminal sign. Flicking and flipping constantly.

But then...loudly...stars started to flare up. The closest ones. Blinking rapidly. The others faded out as she zoomed in, pulled in, sucked in.

Mikhail. It was Mikhail. She could see him. Fighting and screaming and...

She flinched when she saw his eyes. So cold. Stone cold. Like brick. Like iron.

What...what had happened to him? Why was he so angry? Why...

And then James barreled into view. James. Why was she seeing him? She tried to block him out, but he was as clear as Mikhail, anger also written on his face, but in a different way. His eyes were still clear. Mikhail...he was gone.

She had seen this style of fighting...these movements...when they would spar, and train, back in Russia, she'd seen this...but never this ferocious. Never this desperate.

And why? For what?

Then she realized. It was all for her.


Mikhail

He was weakening. Both physically and mentally.

Adrenaline helped, but only went so far. Everything hurt, and blood was a constant taste in his mouth. The Trick he remembered was different from this...James fighting towards the forefront, but his mind compensated, memories colliding and combining. One second he was on a mission, the next on the streets of St. Petersburg, the next in the fortified walls of Vlad's bunker.

After a while he couldn't remember why exactly he was fighting. The reasons kept changing. The only thing he knew was that he was angry...so, so angry.

But even that was slipping, draining from him in a sensation that he knew but couldn't remember. As it left, panic, fear, desperation, and sadness threatened to take over, so he clung to it, knowing that if he lost it, he would be defeated.

But it kept tugging, trying to tear away from him as the physical onslaught continued. The gravity fluctuated, strengthening and weakening like a sine wave, controlled by his subconscious.

He fought like an animal, for his life, a way to get back at everything that had happened to him, everything that was being thrown into his face again. Finally, he gained the upperhand again and pinned James down, knees on his arms, and fist pulled back, gravity growing behind it as he prepared for the final blow...


Zara

It was her. It was all her fault.

For years she had always wondered what had happened between Mikhail and Trick, what had actually gone down, if it was really as scary as everyone said.

How she wished to stay ignorant.

She watched in horror, informed in their every move, every position, as the two boys fought. Hallie and Axel were blurred, present but not as clear. But Mikhail and James were high definition. And she hated it.

Stop! She wanted to scream at them, at both of them. She remembered her threat to James, and wanted to kick herself for it. How stupid! Threatening to sic her brother on him, like he was some animal...her pet...

Even loyalty could have its dark side.

This was too much. She had never wished Mikhail's anger on Trick. And now, she realized, she didn't wish it upon James either.

But Mikhail...how could she wish for him to be angry on her behalf? It was cruel. Cruel and mean and he didn't deserve it!

Stop! She yelled at him as he rolled on top of James. Stop it!

She felt herself crying as he pulled his arm back, preparing to punch. Zeroing in, focusing only on him, she screamed out at him.



Mikhail

"MISHA! NO!"

Zara's voice cut through his mind like a knife, clear and sharp. And he blinked. Paused. Hesitated.

He loosened his grip.

Feet kicked him in the stomach, launching him backwards. As he hit the ground he lost his grip entirely, and the anger sucked out of him so fast it left him disoriented. Confusion took its place immediately, and as it grasped at the fleeing emotion, clinging to its tail stubbornly, the gravity behind his fist shifted, centering on his hand instead, before imploding.

Mikhail screamed as his bones crunched and compressed in on themselves, folding into a gruesome fist, squeezing and squashing before fluctuating, forcing his mangled fingers outward, splaying them wide, ripping them from tendons and ligaments, before crushing them inwards again.

And then it grew, spreading up his arm, flattening his bones, breaking and splintering, like an invisible steamroller. And he screamed and screamed.