LIGHTNOVELONLINE Part 26 - Eye of the Storm
"̶̛͈̒̏̌͌RED̴̖̱̙͖̖͋͆̏̈̎ TĬ̴̙̹̦̱̰̆͂͘D̶͔͔̊̓E,̴͕͍͉̄͆͠"̵̤̰̖̍̾
Amy boomed.
John Crow’s sensors went mad.
Her biomass bent and imploded behind him. A raging current of aerosol came surging in like a tsunami. Though it moved several stories above the tallest building, the sheer atmospheric disruption was enough to tear off AC vents and satellite dishes. Yanking out curtains, it gutted the contents of upper floors through long-shattered windows. In the midst of its mass, he saw ethereal forms: toothy whirlpools big enough to devour whales; long, ravening things writhing forth like sea serpents; taloned tentacles the size of highways. For the first time, his eyescraper felt small. The Red Tide was a force of nature, moving at a speed hurricane force winds could only envy.
John Crow unloaded a river of dim bomb into the tide. His blasts, once crashing through Mr. Brusque’s defenses, scarcely even slowed her down.
He remembered his flyscreen.
At his command, brainflies redirected to block the tentacles. The building shook as they made impact. He almost fell out of the air where his dreadlocks suspended him at the centre of the room. The eyescraper slid several metres, but it did not fall. Her raw power nearly smothered his flyscreen. It took almost every brainfly available … redirected to the back of the building … leaving little to guard the front from the cackling mantis avatar rushing in that may or may not have been real …
… He was ready to go home now …
John Crow had decided: It was time to commit a war crime, or as close as nyctals got to those. In spite of their savagery, there was one rule almost unanimously agreed upon.
Never, ever, use light as a weapon.
The catch was that the dim bombs were one chemical away from a ‘bright bomb’. Shameless schemer that he was, he pumped that very chemical into the tentacles that still had some juice left, withdrawing all the rest. Yellow pustules burnt bright, searing at the tentacles that squeezed them outwards.
Night turned to day.
( ( PTLLOOOOOOOM! ) )
The firing tentacles died instantly.
Amy’s Red Tide collapsed. Landlords screamed and fell. Brainflies dropped like rain.
He’d directed the blast away from his eyescraper, but the secondary light was enough to make it spasm. Cracks spread through the building’s concrete and bone, but it didn’t die.
Suddenly, the world went dark.
John Crow’s sensors revealed nothing. The silence was loud. His heartrate somehow managed to increase all the more. A normal ‘human’s’ heart would have exploded.
This darkness … it had to be Dread and Amy’s defense mechanism. The two A.M.E.s had blacked out the area with their flash ash. Yes, that had to be it, but it wouldn’t spare them entirely. He could sense Dread’s distress. If his A.M.E. was reeling from the indirect light, Amy had to be in a critical state, right?
… Right?
.
“̸̡̼͖̠̳̺͓̩͓̇̈́̀͠Ơ̴̧̛̖̹̭̻̻͙̇̔̉͑̄̕͝Ơ̷̧̫̼̳͙͖̟̠̦̏̽͛̑̀̓̅͐̄̚ͅƠ̷͇̰̟͕̮̺̈͌M̴̡̛͖̻̟̞̻̳̬̹̍́̈́̄́̀̓̈́̎̌M̴̪͍͙̐̈́̄́͊͌Ṁ̵͙̆͐̊̊͝Ó̴̡̰̥̭͓͉̱̹̖͌̀͊̄́̌͐͌ ̷̡̮͙͍̰̞̗̝̻͓̊̐̏̔̌̚͠͝ͅ.̵̢̻̰͑͊̆́̈́̿͂̚͘͠.̷̛̛͇̰̻͇́͒̎̈́͆̔̌͜.̶̡̡̨̡̞͈̠̣͓͖̘͆̀̀̓̀͛̏̄͘͘̚ ̶̲́̊̈́̀̐̓̏̍̊͝͝O̶̧͇̮̜̹̗͎̅̆̓̽̋̂͑̕͠Ọ̵̍̇̏̊͋͑̀̚͜M̴̖̗̝̹͚̔͑̿̾̕M̷̦͐̈́̏͗̉̀̑̋̇̊͝M̸̨̩̠̞̠͚͇̼̮͖̦̒͌̓͑̒̆ ̵̧̜̱͔͔̻̤͊̆̈́̀̅͝…̷̯̹̭̻̭̺́̇”̸̧̣̭̲̖̬͔̦̳̑̏̓͜
.
John Crow’s heartbeat stuttered and pounded even harder. That world-shaking cry … it was like the bay of wolves, the song of whales, the moan of a phantoms, the lament of the grieving. It called to his soul, and his soul shriveled back.
Dread was having a panic attack, clinging to his skull like a petrified puppy.
Another sensory sweep. Yes, there was definitely flash ash out there. Its crystalline structure held together like layers of frost, separating the building from the outside world. He almost cleared it away with the eyescraper’s tentacles, then thought better of it.
1) They needed time to regenerate. He couldn’t even feel the tentacles that unleashed the blast.
2) He really, really didn’t want to know what was out there.
̶̜̺̍̽̍
̶̬̟̣͔͂̚.̶͉̺̖̩̊͋̔̈̋̾
̸̺̞̓̀ͅ
̵̮̯̠̫͑̂͐͊͆̊.̴̨̘̳̰́̎̐̆
“̶̴̵̶̴̸̶̢̢̛̣̪̞̲̻̪͓͔͔̥̺̃͑̑͗̉͗͊͝O̴̸̴̶̶̷̴̵̶̸̷̵̴̸̢̧̻͙̜͇̩̮̞͔͓̻̥͈͓̱͚̫̟̹͈̳̯̲̠̓̊̌͐͌̈́̃̈́͂͌̾̑́͌̈́̑̈́͗̕͜͝Õ̸̷̶̷̴̸̷̷̷̴̶̷̸̸̼̜͇̫͍̜̼̼̼͔̖̼̼̮̻͍͖͓͉̺̫̰̬̭̥̜̙̀̆͊̋̈́̔͌̈́̓̋͑͑̉͛̅̏̓̐̈́̕̚͝͝͝͝Ò̷̶̶̸̶̷̷̘͔͈͖̳̺̝̘̃̐͐̇͂̑͊̈́̓͜͠M̴̵̸̴̴̵̵̸̸̷̷̵̸̸̸̨̛̥͓̮͍̝̯̗̱͎̯͕̤͇͍͓͔̱͔̜̟͎͎̰̔͆̀̆̑͗̆͑̐̋̔̅̊̓̔̌͒̂͒̅̑́̔̔̚̕͘͝ͅM̵̴̴̴̴̷̶̸̶̴̸̷̷̶̴̸̶̶̴̨̢̛̛̳̫͕͓̺̬͉̟̬̩͙̤̲̯̪͎̠̫͚̥̹͓͙͈̟̪͔͌̇͛̿̉̆̆̈́̌́̇̉̆͐̑͊̆͐͂̓͗̆͒̊̾͆̌͛́͒̽͗̓̂̕͠M̸̷̷̶̸̷̸̵̴̛̛̼̪̹̭͙͉̩͎̮̞͈̟͚͖̠̫͙͒̉́͌͗̈́̄̕͜͝ ̴̣͛.̸͈̞̉̒.̴͉̅͒.̶̪̌̌”̷̷̴̶̶̷̵̷̸̵̸̴̶̵̴̸̷̶̡̛̛͙͚̦̗̪͎͖͖͙̥̬̜̫̤̟͈̱̬͕̟̯͚̲̫͕̝̝̣̱̜̘͙̙̦̯̾̄̅́̈́͛̓͛̌̂͌͛́̅̓́̓̈͗̈́̿͗̔̇͌̕͘͜͠͝͝ͅ
̷̣͛
̷̴̵̷̷̷̸̴̵̵͓̖̟̬̮͖̦̜̹̠͇̲̣̹͎̅͐̓̀̔̄̎̀̑̂̂̿̔͑̄̕͜͝ͅ“̴̸̴̷̶̷̶̵̸̶̴̵̶̷̴̢̛͚̞̗̞̘̞̲͉͔̖̻̼̲̠̲̱͔̳̟͎̉̀͗̃̽̀̿̒̈̊͋̈́̔̏̀̒̓̿̑͋̈́̑̌̕̚̚̕͠M̷̷̵̶̴̶̸̵̶̵̸̶̵̵̧̫̲͓̭̼͕̗̠̟̖͎̫̫͕̣̪̮̳̯͍̽̈́̎́̂̌͑͋̆̈́̽̍͐͋̾̑͌̆̿̀̿̂̀̋͋̋͂̄̔́͘M̵̶̷̴̷̶̶̶̶̶̴̸̴̴̴̷̷̷̨̡̜̲̯̹̯͓̳͍̳̼̤̰̰̰̜̻̤͇̩͕͖̙̭̓̃̈͛̒̿͆̄̓̐͛͐̌̃͋͋͂̊̍͊͛̈́́̅̑́̏̋̈̚̚͘̚͜͝͝͝Ơ̷̵̷̸̷̸̷̴̴̶̵̵̴̶̷̵̷̷̷̵̷̸̴̷̸̢̡̨̛̛͉̜̱̰͇̗͙̼̲̤͇̲͍̳̗̞̖͖͎͚̺̭̫̹̥̘̜̼̱̼͔̜̮̲̼͉̼̘̼̜͈̳̮̜͎̑̒̀̓͋̐̏̌̌̔͂͛̽́̿̀̽͊̐̈́̋̆̇͆̀̓̒̈́͑̿̋̾͗̆͌̒̚̕̚̕͘͝͝͝͝ͅͅŌ̵̵̶̷̴̴̶̴̵̴̵̷̴̸̷̴̶̷̢̡̧̘͔̙̗̻̼̤͔͉͍͉͇̦̪̮͍͓̗͓̭̼̮̯̥͓̜͓̆̏́̀͐͌̏͒̔̔͆̇̂̐͒̔̈́̈́́͌̉̐̑́͊́̚̕͠ͅḾ̵̴̸̸̸̴̷̷̴̷̷̴̵̶̴̷̴̷̵̴̡̛͎̼͍̣̰̮̣͈̲̟͔̟͎͕͕͔̭̯̞̱̙̤̻̭̫̬̖̞͎̟͍̑̌̋̈̿̎̈́̔̌̊̂͂̄̆̿͛̍̆̈́̒̂̋̐͆̽͒̅̓̒̚͝͝͝Ơ̵̵̷̵̴̷̶̴̷̶̷̷̸̷̡̪̻̲̰͖̹͇̹͓̲͚͍͍̼̫͎̥͇̹̲͉̖̾̈̀̀͂͗̂͗̀̉̊̇̈̇͂̈́̚͘̕͘͜͜͜͝͠ͅ ̸̗̺̋.̶̦̄͝.̶̼̆.̶͎͗̆”̸̸̵̸̸̵̸̴̴̵̶̵̶̶̵̸̴̸̧̡̹̪͙̞̤̝̰̩̱̮̺̹̞͕͕̟̼̖̤̰͈̗̭̪͙̝͕̙̇́̓͋̎̔̇͒͌̆̊̾͆̃̄̀̎̿̆̇̂̐́́̔͑́̒̈̀͘͘̕͝ͅ ̸̰̊
̴̻̣̄̏
̸̵̵̷̴̶̴̴̶̷̴̛̺̞̤̝̗̺̥̗͈̣͇̺͙͛̋̑̓̆͋́̈̓́́̏̑̈̒̉̂͑͘̕͜“̸̴̶̷̶̶̷̵̸̸̶̸̵̸̶̵̸̴͎̣̥͍͉͚̼͕̟̩̺͕̭̪̪̝͎̥͖̝̭͚̥̗̖̦̖̩̤̝̯̏̅͊̍̀̓̾́̓̔̌́̃̈̎͊̓́̉̀́͐͘͘̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅͅƠ̸̸̴̴̸̴̸̶̶̷̵̶̸̸̡̢̨̧͙͔͚̲̦̳̠̲̲̟͇͍͖̠̖͍̹̲̬̜̠̻̋͐̉͆̃̑͆͂͗̇́́̎̓̒͗̔̽̅͝͝Ǫ̷̵̴̵̵̵̷̸̷̷̶̶̷̴̷̴̴̷̶̡̢̨̢̦̤͕͖̗͉͔̮̖̘̳̰͕͎̳̭̼̰͍̪̺͎̜̱̳̼̱̘̟͗̀̀̽̀͑̎̽͌͗̅͆͑̌͊̈́̍̾̉̉̓͒̃̆̓̾͗̄̀͗̐͐̿̚͘̕̚ͅƠ̴̵̶̵̸̷̵̴̴̶̵̷̴̴̷̵̵̵̢̢̧̛̛̯̬͎̮͕͇̫̮̗̪͙̤̤͔͓̮̬̻͕̟͚̝͓̤̖̙̼̯̅̈́̃̿̾͋̔̎̽̈́̀͋͛̏̑͆̇̎̊̉̋̈́̃̓̇̂̈́́̕̚̚͠͝͠͠ͅO̷̶̶̴̷̵̶̷̸̴̸̴̡̧̧̡̨̧̼̰̬̦̠̱͎͕͚̗̘̝̙̱̩̯̜͊͌͆͆̉̈́̈̂̉͐͆̈́̍̀̿̋̓̒̚͜͠͠!̸̷̸̶̷̸̶̴̶̸̶̴̸̸̴̵̴̢̨͖̜̯͔̼̲̪͉͉̞͙̩̱̳̹̭̜͓̭̭̰̦͖̼̊̾̀͋̔̐̇͗́̈̐̒̎̀̐̇̀͂̿͌͑̀͋͂̿̋̉̈́̅̚͜͝!̸̶̵̷̸̵̸̷̶̸̧͇͖͍̖̮̞̭͚̪̠̫̗̲̦͉̦͙̘͂̄̒̈̌͂͗̽̿͆̑̀̇̈́͝ͅ!̵̵̸̷̵̵̷̸̵̷̷̵̵̡̧̗̪̦̲̥͖̙̜̥̭̯̱̗͓͇͔̺̤̖͙͖̪̪̋͆̑͆͋́̈́̾̂͂̏̅̒͆̑̏̌̔̕͜͠͝ͅ”̵̴̵̶̴̶̵̷̴̵̷̷̴̵̴̵̷̶̸̶̧̢̢̞̰͔̝͔̖͍͓͖͍̳̗̰̹̲͍̥̙̝͍̳̺̺̮̹̣̙̝͖͕̖̣̟͇̉̉͐́̾̓̃̄̆̾́̇̽̊̍̋́̾̿̌͗͐̐͆͑̂̓̂̆̕̚͘̚͠͠͝ ̷̄̚ͅ
.̵̡̮̲̺͖̩̝̆͂͗͊̂̆̇̕̚
̴̝̌̋̂͛̌͂̾̓͘
̷͍̤̠̝̝̪̜̇̈́̚.̵̨̨̛͈̜͓̠͓̟͓͠
̵͙͚̒
The flash ash collapsed under the haunting cry’s vibrations.
Her red atmosphere leaked in once again.
Cold terror sank its claws into him.
Inhuman eyes filled the skies around his eyescraper. Spawned from Amy’s atmosphere, they ranged in size from cars to buildings. The world seemed to warp and tremble under the force of their gaze. Phantasmic blasts of red plasma curdled in the sky. Their power hummed in the air, almost deafening. They peered into and through him. Intricate concentric circles spiraled out around void-black slit pupils like tears in reality. The prey within told him not to move, not to breathe. Just look away. Try as he may, he couldn’t. Their gaze transfixed him like a moth to the flame.
As icy brain fog crept in, his mind squeezed out a vague sense of shame. Here he was, challenging Amy, yet he could barely look at her. Then his gut spoke up, intuiting a different interpretation.
This wasn’t Amy.
~
Mr. Perk awoke with a sharp breath.
Why did everything hurt? He didn’t think he’d been out for too long, yet he might as well have been air dropped in another universe. The world seemed wrong, from the air to his perception of time and space. A red tint alit the clouds. He noticed a hum that seemed to buzz at the back of his skull. Covering his ears did no good. For starters, he couldn’t even reach them. He’d forgotten about the noise mitigation helmet, but if that hum was affecting him even while he wore it, taking it off would be a bad idea.
He strained to his feet and spotted the twitching clingshot lying nearby.
Oh. Right. That happened.
.̶̭͋̓̐.̵̡̲̼̺̂.̷̨͔̊̒̒̚.̷͕̎.̶͎̣̈́̓̋.̵̞̬̱͈̍̊́̈.̴̥͇͖̂́̈͜.̷͍̖͔̌͑̕͝.̸̛̲̰̕.̴̤̯̜̑́́̚.̴̟͈͗̈̄̋.̶̱̺͇̍̀̓͐.̸̙͕̩͓̐͗.̶͕̙̞̞͋́̀͒.̵̼͋.̶̼̗̟̝͑͑̊.̸͕͛̉̋.̵͔̟̼̫̆̀͝.̷͚̝̼̑͋̾̔.̶̰͙͑̾͠.̸̱̅.̴͍̊̅̆̀.̵̭͈̩̏͜.̷͎̣̏͛̎͠.̷̱̄̋͗̆.̶̦̘́
̵̰̌.̶̙̋.̷̭͔̖̍́̄.̷̭̪̎͌ͅ.̶̗̄͘͠.̷̫͖̑.̵̭͔̝͊́̎͝.̵͕̲̓̊͝.̴̡͙̏̅̅̎.̸͇͕̟̈́̇̚.̵̧̘̬̑.̶̣͚̆̿̎.̸͙̪̂͊̿͝.̸͎̳͍͒̒͝.̷̭͕͇̞̋̒.̶͕̤̑̏͐́.̷̢̞̾͂̐.̵̱̇.̵̡̱̜̤̇̒͝.̷͓́͝.̶̰̄.̸̬̹̔͑.̸͕̥͇̉̐͘.̸̥̫̅͆͆.̵̡̫̦͎̈́̀̄̔.̵̟̳̰̗̒̋̽̀.̵͚͛̇̓
̷̨̱̼̫̈́̂̃͆.̴͚̲̼̭̎̂.̶̭̋͋̐̉.̴̙͠.̷͙̮͊͜.̵̱̟͋.̶͕̻́͐͛̕͜.̸̨̳̣̅̕.̶̟̽͗͝.̵̡͕̈́͛͜.̸̡̟̘̺̃̊́̊.̶͔̺̦̃͑͑̍.̶̺̘̔͒͐͘.̴̠̑̒.̸̺̬͌̄̃.̶͇̯̼͆.̷̝̟̰̪̓̐̃͒.̴̱̈́̉̇̀.̴̧̗̯͉̒̐̈́̀.̵̦̀̓̎.̶̠̟͕̈́̈́.̴̤̜͋͌͝.̴̥̯̻͓́̾̀.̸̪͇̭̜͌.̸̨̽.̵̠̗̬͘͝.̷̨̛̘̮̓
̴͍̘̳̽͊͠.̶̺̯̱̤̀̐̌.̴̢̼̾.̷̟̊.̷̗̘̙̃̿̂̐.̶̯̣̯͂̑̕͝.̶̦̊.̵̻̀̉̆͝.̸͈̈́.̸͍̍͑͐.̷̱̈́͜.̴̡̞̟͗̓͜.̷̜͆.̷̡̢͖̺̾.̶̜͉̗̐͋̔.̵͍̈̏͘̚.̵̓̀̀ͅ.̵͕̄̅̿̽.̴͔̼̀͂̕.̴̪͔̤̠͛͂.̷̢͈̏ͅ.̸̪̆.̴̧̢̣̯̀̊͝.̸̻͔͌̐͝.̷̦̉̔͌͝.̷̹͕͗.̷̲̀͐͛
̶̝̈.̴͔̫̀.̴̼͈̩̈.̷̦̙̙̑͆͆͜.̸͙̑͜͠.̴͈̝͚̰̾.̶̟͈̔̐́.̶͕̥̭͆͜.̷̨̛̩̼̱͒.̸̻̜̈́̒̒͠.̵̲͎̗̿.̸̙͍̐̀͝.̴̜͙͐͘ͅ.̷̦̂͗͝.̵̜̳̥̖́.̷̣̟́̒.̶̢͔͌̾̇.̸̢͕̒̈́̈́̂.̴̟̅̈́̓̂.̶̨̛̜̯́͜.̴͍͆̽͜͝.̸̧̩̺͐̀͐.̵̤̞̜́.̴̖̈́.̷̡̡̙̏̀̍͠ͅ.̸͔̋̋̋.̴̻̙̺͂͝
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̵̢̤̺̻̀͠.̶͕̺̼͖̔̂̓̉.̸̝͈̬̐̈͘.̴͇̪̥̈́.̷̡́.̸̲̰̼̰́́͋̈́.̵̱͌̂̇̂.̸̥͌̈́.̴̨͇̻͂̔̍.̵̰̜͊̃.̷̪͔̾.̶̡̞̠̈́.̷͕̭̠͉̓͆̀.̶̩͖̰͆̀.̸̧̡̩̿.̵̡̟̖̹̌.̵̛̜̪̂͌̉.̸͉̂́͐.̷̨͘.̷̞̤̻̔͠.̶̼̄̅̑͑.̴̠̩̇.̶̺̞̠̇͊͌̊.̷̲̱̺̑̾͋̿.̵̢̲̖͚̌.̷̙̃̐̆͝.̶̮͂̔.̷̪̗͛.̶̙͕̐
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̴̥̇.̸͓͖͌.̸̹͘.̴̟̒͌.̵̢̮͑͐.̵͚͙͑.̴͕̔.̶̣͂͝.̴̬̈͛.̷̳͙̆.̵̖͊̄͜.̸̻̀͝.̸̪͠.̵̲͒.̷̪̗͛.̶̙͕̐.̴̧̼̀̚.̶̜͂.̷̨̣͝.̷̝̝̇.̷̠̔̒.̶̫̖̾̅.̶̜͊.̶̹͋.̸̥̐͒.̴̜̠͗.̶̮͛
̶͚̭̂͋.̴̙̬̃̉.̷̢̜̚.̷̦̐́.̶̭̹̌.̸͓̒.̸̧̇̇.̴͙̒̚.̴̒͜.̸̼̈.̴̨́.̸̬͎̍͝.̶̢͎̉.̸̗̊.̶̲̮̃.̸̮̥̄͂.̷̳͉̆̑.̴̜͔̈́.̷̡͇̈́̽.̴͈͑.̶͉̩̾̏.̶̛̤̺̅.̷̡̔̑.̷̼̺͒.̵̧̭͊̅.̴̍ͅ.̷̱̃͜
̸̱͖̃̒.̶̹͐.̸̦̘̾̇.̶͓͓̈.̴͇̃͋.̶̥̏.̵̩͊.̵̦̌̔.̵̦͒͋.̸̬̘̌.̵̜̟̆.̷̣̔̅.̵̠̫̉̍.̶̼͍̕.̵̖̘̅͝.̵̖̐.̸͖̻̄.̵̭̀̏.̴͇̇̇ͅ.̶̨̚.̴̩̐̈.̵̹̤̊͋.̶̲̫̔̀.̴̭̾̄.̸̳̫̒.̵̞̂̚.̷̡̓
̵̱̇͑.̴̖̈.̴̺͋.̶͐͜.̴̜̇.̷̺̋̈́.̴̛̼͔.̴̠͇̎̎.̶̧̔.̶̲̔.̵̳̅͒.̸̞̿.̵͓̈.̷̫̪̓.̶̘͆͘.̸̟̓͝.̷̯͂.̷̤͋̉.̴͕̼̾.̸̪͛̒.̶̦̔̕.̸̰̤̆́.̵̡́̕͜.̶̦͇̑.̷̫͑.̷̼̫̐̓.̶̟̇̏
̵̲̥̒.̸̞̙̔̅.̶̟̓͐.̸͇̪̄͊.̵̜̠̂.̸̪̆̎ͅ.̵͉̼͂̍.̵͙̥̍.̵͛̚ͅͅ.̵̢̎.̵̰͓̾.̶̭͂.̶̢̼́.̶̺̳̎̈́.̴̝̂̓.̸̻̰̒̕.̸̲̜̓.̷̭͇̀̊.̶͇͍̀͝.̸̗͈͌̍.̶͉̪̉͘.̴̯͠.̴̬̓͒.̶̡̼̚͠.̴̙͗̆.̸̗͇́̀.̴͙͚͗̀
̵̙́͝.̶̛̞̦͐.̴͉̲̋̏.̴̟̀̊.̸̛̟͉̎.̴͔̐̅.̴͇͚̂̚.̵̩̬͌.̶͔̆.̸͖̘̔̔.̸͚̠̎.̸̡̧̽.̸͂͜.̶͇͈̈.̴̢̲̏.̶̞̈́͋.̸̗̄̕.̶̣͐̈́.̷͚͕̓͆.̵̭͈͘͝.̵̢̟̾.̷͙͚̽͛.̷̲͈̇.̸͚̙̊͆.̶̗͒.̷͓̋̆.̴̠́͌
Mr. Perk froze. He’d heard a lot of awful things during his time as a nyctal, but that might have been the worst. The sound almost convinced his lunch to pack up and peace out.
Where was that redness coming from anyway? Last he checked, Amy didn’t generate this much light, although it still wasn’t enough to hurt a nyctal.
He dragged himself to the corner of the building on which the clingshot had been perched, then peeked past it.
… Nope … nope-nope-nope … so much nope …
Running was a tempting prospect. Forget loyalty. The Landlords didn’t deserve the dirt under his shoes. He touched the explosive strapped to his back. It might as well have been a leash. Better than a noose, which was what it would become if John Crow kicked the bucket. That was the least of his reasons not to turn tail right there and then.
Mr. Perk socketed his keychain into the clingshot’s control cavity. Contrary to popular belief, landlords were not limited to peeping buildings. The sting of their keychain could create control cavities on just about any creature, given a few days. The title of ‘landlord’ was not merely a reflection of their eldritch buildings. They, truly, believed themselves to be the inheritors of the Earth.
If it came to that, he would be getting off the planet at the next stop.
The clingshot’s nervous system fell into rank beneath his own. He flexed his hands. The forelimbs bent, following his movements. It looked to be in critical condition. The exoskeleton was a mess … what was left of it, anyway. However, most of the damage was superficial.
He could still pilot.
~
One by one, the eyes in the sky began to close. They vertically vanished as though veiled behind invisible curtains. John Crow began to breathe again. He didn’t realise he’d been holding stopped. No matter. He’d sent out a distress call to the brainflies, summoning more from across the battlefield. Hives within his building emptied their contents to get that flyscreen back up and running as fast as possible. Amy would be in no shape to stop him. Readings suggested she’d lost about 20% of her biomass. It sounded small, but the rest of her had to have suffered a fair share of exposure, even if it survived. Nevertheless, the readings revealed an energy anomaly behind one of the last remaining eyes. Besides, this eye didn’t close.
Another illusion?
Yes … but not quite … its patterns didn’t mentally affect him like the others did, so it had to be a decoy. However, the sensors’ scrutiny revealed a shape behind the illusion that matched it almost perfectly. Had she taken advantage of the A.M.E.’s threat display to hide her newest construct?
The illusory eye collapsed, revealing an organ that looked similarly ocular. However, he had reason to believe it wasn’t another eye. It merely resembled one. The crimson plasma whipping around it told the tale of a different purpose.
Ambient temperature plummeted as it drained energy from its surroundings, lighting up on his sensors like a miniature star in the icy void of space. Its hum escalated as the charging process reached its peak.
*wmm wmm WMM WMMM …*
Amy’s battle avatar manifested atop the organ. Her four arms spread like a falcon on its perch, poised to descend upon prey.
For a moment, the world grew still. The pseudo-eye’s hunger had drained even the soundwaves from the air. Then Amy’s all-encompassing voice rippled out.
"EYE̴͎̗̥̦͋͜ OF̴̤̯͉̈́̌̒̕̚ ̵̡̭̼̳͌̓͑THE̶̙̤̭͋̒̚̚͝ ̵̤̱̬͍̌ST̷̯̈́̀Ơ̸̤̼̓̾̍̏̕RM."
...
( ( Kr-KOOOOM! ) )
Titanic torrents of crimson lightning poured forth from the organ, crashing against John Crow’s fly screen cataclysmically. This wasn’t the wild, flailing lightninig storm she’d unleashed against Mr. Brusque and his party. It was focused, elemental power.
John Crow’s building squeezed its eyes shut. Protective shells slid into place to defend them. Her lightning was bright enough to burn a nyctal.
However, Amy and the brainflies had too much in common. In some ways, they were like miniature versions of her. Their swarms were more than the ultimate Faraday cage. They could absorb, redirect and disperse energy to a staggering degree. Her lightning should have been enough to punch through several buildings and just keep going. Instead, it splashed and thrashed against the flyscreen which desperately swarmed to block her. Brainflies died at an alarming rate, but there were always more.
Amy’s lightning sputtered.
A shadow of a smirk touched John Crow’s petrified face.
She was reaching her limit.
Flash ash fell like snow. Amy felt her biomass dying under the brightness of her own light. The damage was stacking up on her end, but John Crow remained untouchable. She’d never let him know, but she was hurt bad. That bright bomb was like a bullet wound, maybe worse. Her biomass itched and burnt, begging her to shed the most afflicted aerosol, flee and recover. With the way her lightning faltered, maybe he’d figured it out. Could she cripple him before her power flatlined?
Hazy lethargy pressed at the edges of her mind, manifesting thoughts unbidden. They told her that it was okay. She could rest. She should rest. This wasn’t working. She felt-
“YEAH! THAT’S MY GIRL!” Norman whooped at the edge of her senses.
She felt like a million bucks!
Amy roared. Her voice was like thunder shredding the heavens; magma ripping up through the Earth’s crust; a tsunami devouring the shore; a glacier crashing into the ocean; the unified cry of a battlefield; the bellow of behemoths too great to be slain.
The Storm’s Eye focused its lightning into a raging stream like a beam. She sacrificed her most damaged biomass around it. Flash ash swirled like a black blizzard, blanketing Sun-bright lightning so that it didn’t kill the rest of her. The Eye of the Storm was dying, but she couldn’t care less.
If John Crow’s bright bomb were a bullet, this would be her nuclear decapitation strike.
The air boiled in John Crow’s control room. His building’s shelled eyelids fialed in their task. The light was making it through. He could see the glow red-hot behind the neurological flesh coating the room. It began to steam, to fry.
It smelt like sea eggs.
This wasn’t working. He wasn’t ready to reveal his cards, not to Amy, not to the world. Nyctal or not, if the powers that be found out that he had a finger in the pie, they’d come down on him like wolves. He wasn’t ready to face them. Even so, he would not lose to this upstart monster girl.
Deep within the eyescraper, a mercury engine began to spin
~
Mr. Perk’s clingshot idled on the side of a
building, awaiting commands. None came. At first, Mr. Perk merely stared. It was all he could do.
Amy’s attack sounded like the end of the world. Her lightning blazed through a colossal tunnel vortex of flash ash which insulated the brightness from the rest of her. Even so, the light that got through was enough to make his eyes water. How was Amy generating this much light, and surviving it? She’d taken a bright bomb big enough to end him and his men ten thousand times over, then unleashed an attack that could do the same and more! His clingshot was nothing. He’d known it before, but now, more than ever, it sunk in.
In the world of monsters, Amy didn’t stand at the peak. Her throne was on the clouds.
He snapped out of it.
If she wielded nuclear power, he wielded a gutterperk. However, both weapons had something in common: a human stood behind them all. It didn’t matter if the human commanded armies. The pebble of a gutterperk could wreck his eye nonetheless. Mr. Perk didn’t know if he still qualified as human, but the principle applied all the same.
Even nukes bowed to the power of the atom.
The other snipers were locked in combat with Amy’s clarions. They were winning, but once she was done with John Crow, she’d sweep them up like ants.
He scanned the flash ash with is scope. Tears clouded his searing eyes.
…… He spotted her.
A clarion stopped at the edge of his vision. It had spotted him. How did he know? The beginnings of a shriek pounding at his eardrums might have tipped him off.
Mr. Perk swung his clingshot behind the building a split second before the sonic attack tagged him. The clarion would be there soon. He needed to finish the job fast.
He stared at the wall, one of several blocking her from his line of sight. It was a distraction. So, he closed his eyes. Photographic memory painted the scene across his imagination: the lightning, the ash … Amy. He aimed the clingshot at the wall.
Could he do it? No. It was impossible, but he’d do it anyway, because he had to.
Mr. Perk fired the clingshot through the building.
He leapt off a decisecond later.
For a fraction of a moment, the building didn’t seem to realise it had been shot though. Then it imploded on his side and exploded on the other, torn apart by the atmospheric disruption of the bullet more than the impact.
His clingshot hit the ground scuttling as the building collapsed behind him. A wave of dust and debris stung its ankles. As Mr. Perk rounded a corner, he heard Amy’s super attack die down, felt the tension ebb from the atmosphere.
… Had he done it …?
He peeked past the building.
Amy’s ash vortex dissipated. Her lightning flickered away. He saw the dim crimson glow of her avatar, just … floating there. Ruptured strips of neon flesh fell beneath her. They were what remained of The Eye of the Storm.
Mr. Perk gazed through his scope. He did a double take. A triple take.
Amy had caught it.
She caught his bullet. All four of her arms clutched the ultra-dense projectile. Those things knocked her around in the past. How had she stopped one completely?
Mr. Perk’s eyes were drawn to her face. Despite the distance, she was looking right at him. Her visage transitioned through a variety of expressions: Weariness, curiosity, confusion, annoyance, pity(?), scorn, rage, rage, RAGE.
Tranquil fury.
Amy smiled. Winked.
She raised a dome of flash ash like a tent. All within her atmosphere disappeared. The snipers would have a hard time piercing the smokescreen. Maybe they couldn’t reach her anymore. However, intuition told him that she could, and would, reach him.
~Run,~ whispered his gut.
He piloted the clingshot to a hasty trot.
“KEEEEEEE!”
A clarion’s call had crashed into the spot where he stood. It ripped rainwater from the road like sea spray.
~Run … run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run-run-runrunRUNRUNRUN!~