Hour Of Darkness
Chapter Twenty, That'll Be The Day
John stared into the mist with uncertainty, brow furrowed. He felt George shift nervously beside him, and he smiled wanly at his younger friend's inability to be patient. When John had brought George back, along with the obvious change in his formerly glazed eyes, his gold colored clothes slowly faded to a light blue, the boots disappearing until George too was clad in his normal clothes; blue jeans, faded and frayed, no shirt, bare feet. He too felt much more comfortable in his usual clothes.
John felt much reassurance now that George was on his side; strength in numbers, so the saying goes. He felt that there was no way they could lose to this dark queen now that they were reunited, but a sudden and uncomfortable thought poked its way into John's mind.
What if they don't win?
Not that he doubted their strength. But still…what did Karine have in mind if she happened to win? She did seem rather intent on winning…
Karine? He called tentatively, George giving him a confused sidelong glance. The mists shifted, and the entire chessboard came into view. Karine slunk from the mists with slow, long strides, a look of amusement on her face.
Excellent work, John. I must admit, I had my doubts, but you put up an extraordinary fight. She paused, looking thoughtful. Then again, you did have help from the inside.
George shifted uncomfortably, but John ignored the last comment.
What happens to us if we don't win?
Karine seemed startled by this, looking at him with evident shock on her face. She quickly smoothed her features. You will likely be dead…again… She cast a disdainful look at her daughter, who shrunk back with fear on her lovely features. The only way you can possibly lose is by dying, John, for even if you are barely alive you can still use your mind powers.
And them? Paul, George and Ringo?
Should you lose, your three friends will be returned to me. I will train them to hone their abilities and they will do my bidding.
Not likely! George spat, entering into the conversation now that he was involved. Karine looked at him down her sharp nose.
We shall see.
With that, she faded back into the mists, gliding like a snake. The mists settled again, and the four remaining enemies were clothed in darkness. John and George glanced left and right, trying to discern the shapes in the billowing mists. They looked at each other, and with a nod of mutual understanding, stood together, back to back, George's wings extended to each side. No one spoke. The silence was deafening, George's pulse pounding in his ears.
With an inhuman howl, a large, imposing wolf leapt from the mists. Paul flew at George, shoving the surprised guitarist to the marble floor. George cried out in pain as the wolf slashed at his bare chest, thick red lines etched in his tanned skin. With a flick of his mind powers, John tossed Paul off George, the wolf landing on his back with a yelp. Paul leapt to his feet, snarling, red eyes blazing with fury. It switched its tail nervously, looking from John, who stood with his hands balled in fists, to George, who had his wings outstretched and ready to take to the air. With a loud snarl, Paul leapt at George again, deciding after careful consideration that he was least harmless of the two.
George leapt into the air to avoid the seething beast, but Paul had anticipated this, and the wolf managed to knock him from the air. The two rolled over and over, John watching helplessly, not able to use his mind powers until he could discern Paul from George. George clamped his hands over Paul's muzzle, able to keep the wolf's maw shut with a strong grip of his long fingers. They struggled for a moment, Paul swiping at George in an attempt to free his jaws, but George kept a solid grip, twisting to avoid the flying claws. John continued to watch helplessly, his eyes darting back and forth from man to beast, trying desperately to pinpoint which was which. He reached out with mental hands, hoping that his mind sight might be able to segregate the two. Unfortunately, George and Paul were locked together so tightly that their auras were impossible to discern. John had no other choice.
John sprinted over to where the two were locked in combat, and with one desperate cry, launched himself at Paul. Tackling the wolf, John managed to force the seething beast off of George, tumbling a distance to the left. George jumped to his feet.
John, I'm going to dive. Try to get Paul over to your right when I call, got it? He asked frantically, and John shouted an affirmative, wrenching Paul off him. With a bit of concentration, he was able to erect a sort of mental barrier to keep himself safe. Standing up quickly, John watched George ascend, his sinuous wings stretching into the darkness. John returned his attention to the wolf, who stood furiously in front of him, somehow able to sense that John's mental barrier was erect. Testing the beast, John weakened his barrier slightly, and Paul's ears perked. John released it carefully, still ready to bring it up abruptly should the need arise. Paul appeared to sense his readiness, and for that fact only did he not attack. Paul seemed confused, blazing crimson eyes flickering left and right frequently, trying to judge what to do next. John closed his eyes, reaching out with mental hands to try to get a feel for where George was. He could sense his friend was hovering a large distance away, preparing for the stomach-wrenching dive he was about to perform.
Suddenly, John lurched backwards, falling to the marble floor as a large mass of fur and teeth set upon him. Paul had taken advantage of his detached state, attacking before John had the chance to react with his mental shield. John cursed at his carelessness, rolling to the side to avoid the wolf's jaws while desperately trying to keep tabs on George's location. His young friend was now barreling towards the chessboard with incredible speed, his long hair whipping around his head and neck, his wings tucked tightly to his back for minimum air resistance. With one desperate move, John ended the grapple with Paul, tossing him to the side for George to attack.
George swooped into view like an arch angel, wings billowed to stop his plummet, and with one solid kick, caught Paul under the chin. Paul yelped loudly, falling on his back about twenty feet back. George alighted next to John, a concerned look on his face.
You all right?
Yea. John answered, nodding quickly while keeping an eye on the unmoving Paul. I think that did it.
John moved quickly to Paul's side, taking the wolf's seemingly unconscious head in his hands while George looked on nervously, hands on his knees.
Forget it, Lennon. Just as Paul's harsh mind voice cut into John's senses, the wolf sprung to life, sharp teeth clamping onto the soft flesh of John's hand. Crying out in pain, John landed a solid kick in Paul's stomach, and the wolf released. John jumped up, ramming into George who yelped in surprise. John quickly put up his defenses, engulfing himself and George in an impenetrable field. The hair on Paul's neck stood straight up, teeth bared and stained with John's blood. John nursed his torn hand, a gash running from his little finger to the ball of his thumb. He ripped the bottom inch off his shirt, wrapping the soft cotton around his wound, the bright scarlet standing out in sharp contrast to the pure white. George sprung from foot to foot nervously.
What now?? He asked tentatively, wringing his long fingers. John thought for a moment, blocking the pain from his mind with careful concentration. Suddenly, a thought came to him.
It's crazy, but it just might work…
What?? George asked again, confused now. John continued to think, answering his band mate absently.
I think we would have a better chance of beating this thing…if we had something more along it's own lines…
You mean, like another wild animal? George questioned, starting to understand.
Yea. And I know just the one.
John knelt on the ground, keeping the mental barrier up. George, I may lose the shield as I work. Can you handle things on your own? George acted slightly miffed by this question.
Of course! He replied defensively, seemingly hurt that John would think he couldn't. John smiled up at him, then closed his eyes.
This wouldn't be easy. John could tell right away. He reached out, stretching as far as his mentality could take him. It enveloped the entire room, or rather, lack of one; he could sense Karine, her black aura staining his consciousness. Mystique, nervous and innocent, wishing she were somewhere else. Paul, seething, furious, and completely instinctual. George, tense, every muscle ready for a fight, almost eager to prove himself. And finally Ringo, the black prevailing, cloaked in a dark mist of mystery, yet somewhere deep inside, still held the sweet Rich that they all knew and loved. John pulled, grappling with the surroundings, reaching farther than his farthest. Outside the castle, the thunderstorms still raged. Farther still. The field where they first arrived, the sun shimmering on the golden waves of grass that waved in the tickling wind. Farther still. The old town, rickety and lively nonetheless, most of the inhabitants drunker than humanly possible. Even farther. John strained, stretched to the limits, crying out mentally in pain as his limits were surpassed. But he saw it. He wrapped his hands around it, tugging, gently at first, then sharply. Almost…there…
PULL.
John collapsed on the cool stone floor, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his forehead. George stood with wings outstretched between Paul and John, and whenever the wolf dared to advance on the dormant John, George fiercely beat him back with quick kicks and tosses of his twenty-foot wings. When George heard John fall, he looked at him hopefully. John nodded. It is done.
With a thunderous cry, a huge black shape sprung from the mist, flying at the hapless Paul who couldn't for the life of him figure out what the hell it was. John cheered, and George folded his scraped wings, smiling, albeit confusedly.
Aramis!!
Master John. I thought you were dead. The stallion's emerald eyes blazed, a mix of happiness and readiness for battle. John patted the ring on Aramis' forehead.
Well, I'm not. Taken care of yourself? Aramis snorted.
The proprietors of the bar took care of my needs after you disappeared that night. He replied, pawing impatiently. John smiled.
Good to have you back.
Aramis almost smiled. You too, Master John.
Well, this is touching and all, but don't we have a couple friends to save? George jumped in, still slightly confused. Aramis snorted, tossing his sable mane. With that, Paul attacked, springing onto Aramis' back with bulls eye precision. John and George looked on in anticipation, watching the two instinctual creatures tangled furiously. Aramis whinnied loudly, whipping in circles until Paul lost his grip, skidding to the edge of the chess board. John watched nervously as Aramis thundered to the wolf's side, snorting, eyes blazing. He raised one hoof, and with a sharp stomp, brought it down on Paul's leg. A horrible snap was heard, and Paul howled in pain. Aramis!
Aramis whirled, annoyance clear in his stiff movements. We need him alive, Aramis. The disappointment was obvious in the stallion's clear eyes, but he backed off nonetheless, allowing John to approach the whimpering wolf.
As John knelt next to Paul, he could see the hatred burning in the crimson eyes. John was put off for a moment, but he was quick to remember that the hatred was not Paul's; the hate was that of Karine.
Back off, Lennon, Paul spat, black lips curling to reveal rows of shimmering teeth. John wasn't fazed.
Paul, I know you're in there. Come on, fight this. You know right from wrong, you silly sod.
Fuck off. John sighed, then with a lightning fast move, wrapped his hands over Paul's face, able to keep the wolf's muzzle shut and concentrate deeply.
****
Paul winced at the sight of the ebony stallion crushing his own bones like toothpicks. It didn't hurt him, for some odd reason, only Karine. The mists jolted, a fierce wind blowing in the midst of the fight, and Paul could tell Karine was struggling. Paul fought, crying out in the darkness, seeing John grasping his body by the face and concentrating, sweat dripping down his forehead. Paul felt reassured by this, fighting with greater strength and screaming a message he hoped John would get.
****
John poked through the cracks in Karine's defenses, trying to crack the thick shell that surrounded Paul's mind. John had to admit, this was more difficult that George's awakening. He had no doubt that Paul was fighting, but for some reason Karine seemed more intent on holding onto Paul's mind.
I'm here, John.
The suddenness of the message, not to mention the softness and urgency that tinted the voice, surprised John, and he paused for a moment. It was Paul. Paul was breaking out.
With renewed confidence that Paul was still there, John pushed harder, splitting the dissolving barrier with renewed confidence.
With one last brutal shove, Paul was free.
Paul transformed, a pale, limp body lying in sharp contrast to the black square of the chessboard. He opened his large eyes slowly, smiling up at John weakly. John beamed back, helping Paul up off the stony floor. But Paul could stand alone; as before, his wounds were healed with the simple act of transformation. George thumped him on the back, and the three stood in a row, Aramis to the side, to await the longest, most difficult battle of their lives.
On To Chapter Twenty One!
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