Hour Of Darkness

Chapter Twenty One, Bad Boy



Paul was tense. He didn't know what was coming, and that frightened him. He liked to know what was going on. The black mists yielded no answers, the swirls changing shapes rapidly in the endless darkness. Paul's chocolate eyes flickered left and right, nervously scanning the mists. He could sense that John was just as unsettled, fists tense, body stiff. George, on the opposite side of John, unfolded and flexed his wings slowly, nervously. Aramis snorted, pawing the marble floor. Paul was very glad that he was far away from that beast. Seeing what the hooves could do, he didn't dare imagine what the teeth or back legs could do.
George flexed his wings gently, testing the stinging scrapes gathered in the fight with Paul. Paul was an excellent fighter, admittedly, and George couldn't help but be a little jealous. Evidently, he was the least powerful of the four. Somehow, it didn't seem to bother him too much; flying had always been his dream. He didn't really care who was more powerful. But Ringo worried him. Paul put up a challenging fight, very much so, and George was clearly worried about the impending battle. Ringo had unbelievable powers, and with Karine in control, he wasn't afraid to use them, even against his three best mates. With Karine in control, he was ruthless.
John squinted into the darkness, the silence unsettling his nerves. He could sense the auras of George, Paul, and Aramis on either side of him, but this gave him limited comfort. Karine's black aura tugged at his consciousness, draining his confidence and ultimately his strength, but he was able to feed off the auras of George and Paul. Mystique's aura was indiscernible, cloaked in mystery. It was almost impossible to sense what she was feeling; all John could sense was raw fear. But the thickest, darkest of all the auras present: Ringo's. It simmered, scarlet and furious, burning the edges of his mind like a fire out of control. But Ringo was very much in control. Ringo was so in control that it made John terribly uneasy. He thought beating George was hard; Paul was even harder; Ringo was perhaps unbeatable. John couldn't help but allow a small amount of uncertainty tinge his mind; to him, things looked grim. Ringo clearly had the power to kill him, and he actually had. To Ringo, it was a snap of the fingers and worlds disappeared. Maybe not with his power alone, but with Karine behind him, nothing was out of their reach. As George had told him, Liryl herself had called him a Chosen One; a favorite of the Gods, whoever these foreign people worshipped. John shivered, a cold wind tickling his neck forebodingly in the darkness and not helping to lighten his mood.
Karine appeared from the mists, so suddenly that Paul visibly jumped at the sight of her. George tensed, jaw clenched in suppressed anger. Karine's eyes flicked left and right. From Paul, to John, to George, her ice-cold gaze finally settling on Aramis.
That was most unexpected John, She hissed, her voice like velvet. But impressive nonetheless. I did not mention the recruiting of outside help, but since the battle is won, I see little harm in it. She snapped her fingers, the tiny burst of sound sounding decibels louder in the sharp silence. Ringo strode from the mists, gait relaxed, strands of his long hair drooping in front of his blazing eyes. A wicked smile toyed with his lips, as if all this were merely a game. And for Ringo, it was a game. The choice of a chessboard was becoming more and more ironic.
Karine slithered to Ringo's side, tracing her fingers along his jawbone. Ringo remained unmoving, his eyes staring straight ahead. John's heart ached for his friend; no semblance of the carefree drummer remained in the cold gaze. Karine ran her fingertips along his chin, and George visibly stiffened, positively radiating his fury. Karine withdrew her hand, looking at George with bemusement. George, careful… John warned, holding out one long-fingered hand in front of his angered friend. Karine faced him, hand on her slim hips.
This bothers you, young one? She asked, a smile tugging at her thin lips. George didn't flatter her with a response, knowing she did this only to anger him. To George's utter shock and disgust, Karine stepped up on tiptoe and brushed her lips across Ringo's. That was more than George could take.
With a startling scream, he launched himself into the air with one burst of his strong legs, flying directly at Karine. George!! John cried out, horrified. George didn't heed his warning, blinded by rage at her lack of respect for his friend. Karine was visibly shocked, taking a step back but quickly composing herself after her initial reaction. As George neared, she held up her hand, a sphere of pure white springing to her hand. Karine gave it a gentle toss, and it flew at George. Before he had time to react, the two met in midair with an incredible impact. John cringed as George cried out in pain, the white-hot ball blasting him backwards to the cold floor of the board. As he crashed painfully, the sphere dissipated, disappearing in a puff of white smoke. George skidded on his back all the way back to John's side, whimpering pitifully where he lay, unmoving. John quickly jumped to his friend's side, inspecting the wound with soft touches. A large circle was etched in George's tanned skin, his breathing shallow and labored. He winced with every touch of John's fingers, no matter how gentle. Paul rushed to John's side, leaning over his shoulder. Is he gonna be ok? He asked quietly, concern etched on his handsome features.
He'll be fine. Karine answered, the two Beatles snapping their attention to her. She simply held her hand out, slender fingers extended to George. They quickly returned their attention to their band mate just in time to see the wound begin to shrink. Slowly, his skin healed, the charred flesh fading to the normal, healthy light brown. George breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. His face glistened, sweat dripping from his stringy hair and trailing down his neck and shoulders. With John on one arm and Paul on the other, George stood slowly, then, realizing that he really was in fact completely healed, stood tentatively alone.
Again the three stood, united, but not whole. One piece was missing. And that piece was staring them straight in the face.
Karine faded into the background once again, but this time, the entire chessboard cleared and remained so. A soft breeze blew constantly, ruffling Ringo's long hair in his blazing eyes. The two groups squared off; it seemed almost a team battle. Paul glared at Mystique, who stared meekly back, yet there was no confusion as to which side she was on. George stared furiously at Karine, his eyes still holding the previous flare, but with much more control. Finally, John and Ringo, two friends turned enemies in a fight to the very finish. All but the two of them stepped back, fading into the darkness. George and Paul stood nervously aside, ready for anything, but letting the two square off.
John never realized how long they stood there. He stared Ringo down with grim determination, the silence and tension mounting with every second. George and Paul grew restless, shifting nervously behind him. John gazed into Ringo's eyes, the former soft blue smothered in the blaze of Karine's hellfire.
With a quick movement that seemed to startle everyone, Ringo brought his left arm upright, even with the chessboard. John started, then clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he prepared for anything. Ringo grinned wanly, but it didn't in any way take away from his evil air. With a sudden snap that shattered the thick silence, bright sparks flew from his fingers. To John's amazement, they caught, flames licking at Ringo's fingers as if they were wooden. Ringo's right hand caught and burned similarly, the fire slowly intensifying and brightening to large, white-hot balls of flame. A blistering wind blew, tossing Ringo's hair about his shoulders. He slowly began to bring his hands together, the mischievous smile never leaving his face. John's eyes were wide with astonishment, unable to wrench them from the flames, staring in frightened awe. With a stifled cry, Paul leapt forward, grabbing John's shoulders and firmly jerking him back just as Ringo brought his hands together in a thunderous clap.
A brilliant white light flooded the entire expanse, the wind howling fiercely. George whipped his hands up to protect his eyes, but no matter how tightly he squeezed them shut, he could see everything clear as day, the light burning through his eyelids. Heat seared his bare upper chest, and he cried out in pain, falling backwards to the floor. As soon as he touched the marble, George was forced to stumble back to his feet. The sudden head had raised the marble's temperature to unbearable highs already, red-hot and scalding to the touch.
John could almost feel the soles of his shoes melting, the heat seeping from the floor through to his feet. He stumbled back in shock with a loud cry, unable to see in the blinding light. As he fell back, John slammed into George, who quickly moved to gather him up, grabbing Paul by the collar. He quickly spread his wings, bursting into the air and dragging John and Paul behind him. He swirled higher, weighted down by the extra baggage but aided by the rising heat that seared his tender wings. George gritted his teeth, but kept a resolutely tight grip on John and Paul.
With one last beat of George's powerful wings, the three burst from the searing heat into the cool air above, too far for even Ringo's power to reach. George hovered gently, his breath labored, sweat dripping down his face. He carefully held John under one arm, Paul under the other. Paul moaned softly, blinking and rubbing his eyes, trying to clear his eyes of the afterimages burned painfully on his eyes. John let out a breath that he'd been unconsciously holding forever, the outburst sounding halfway between a sob and a laugh. George shook his stringy, sweat-soaked hair in the cool air, breathing deeply and trying desperately to clear his eyes. Slowly their vision returned in the cool breeze, and John risked a glance back towards the chessboard. Beams of intense light and heat emanated like spotlights from one point on the board; no one needed guess what the origin of such light was.
As abruptly as the light had burst out, it fizzled to darkness with one final thunder clap. A massive wave of heat and light burst past them, searing George's wings, making him cry out in pain and sending the three of them plummeting towards the board. As much as he tried to buffet their fall, George lost grip of John and Paul, the three crashing to the floor with a bone-jarring impact. Paul cried out, skidding to the very edge of the board before jumping to his feet and racing a safe distance from the abyss. John gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, but quickly recovered. At least the marble was once again normal temperature, John noticed as he leapt to his feet. Paul raced over, but George still lay spread-eagled, moaning gently and flexing his torn and bleeding wings.
George…George, are you ok? John asked tentatively, kneeling by his side. George looked up with frightened eyes.
John…I…I don't think I can fly anymore.
Shit. Are you sure? John asked, eyes widening.
Fuck, John, look at me! He cried angrily, standing up laboriously and spreading his battered wings. The membranes were torn raggedly in places from the battle with Paul, bleeding anew from the scalding heat of Ringo's attack. John winced, inspecting the cuts and scrapes of his right wing with careful hands. Paul inspected the left, pulling out shards of sharp marble from the shattered board.
Are you quite finished? Only, I have important matters to attend to, if we may continue… Ringo's sarcastic mind voice grated on John's nerves, also causing Paul to visibly wince.
Bring it on.
A frightening smile tugged at Ringo's lips. If you insist…
Ringo brought his hands up again, swirling his fingers in slow circles. Balls of crystal blue appeared slowly, a freezing wind blowing over the board. At first, the bluster was welcome after the scalding extreme, but soon it grew very cold, and John began to shiver fiercely.
Ringo's entire body appeared to ice over, his skin turning a soft blue, his lips turning purple. Icicles clung to his hair and clothes, occasionally dropping to the chessboard with a soft shattering. With a flick of his frostbitten hand, Ringo threw the ball straight for George. George cried out in surprise, leaping to the side as the ice ball flew past. He grinned, cocking one eyebrow in Ringo's direction. Missed.
Not quite. Ringo's voice was as icy as his appearance.
George stiffened, mouth open but no noise coming out, as an incredible cold blasted into his back, the ice ball plunging into his bare skin. The cold and stiff ice spread all over his body, encasing him in a shimmering barrier of pure crystal ice. His skin took on an unhealthy blue tint, his eyes glazing and his lips quickly turning purple. Paul stared in astonishment, mouth agape. He himself didn't even see the attack coming. Suddenly, in the mere blink of an eye, Paul too was encased in a shimmering tomb, face frozen in astonished agony. John gasped, arms folded tightly over his thin tshirt, trying to conserve heat. A swirling snow was falling in the freezing, blustery wind, the chessboard beginning to ice over. John breathed heavily, the crisp air painful in his lungs, every puff of breath a soft white cloud. The temperature plummeted, the snow piling steadily on the ground. Paul and George were frozen like gargoyles, their skin blue and their bodies stiff, the ice an inch or two thick on their outstretched limbs. John looked around frantically, eyes settling on Ringo. Ringo held up another crystal ball, inspecting it with an amused smile playing on his purple-tinted lips. His blazing eyes settled on John, and he flung the ice ball into the air.
John watched it gyre higher into the swirling winds as he stumbled through the thickening snow and ice. Twice he lost his footing, falling into the freezing snow before jumping again to his feet. The ice ball flew from the air, whirling around him in a frozen whirlwind, stirring up the snow and tossing John's hair around his shoulders. John cried out, holding up his arms to protect himself and awaiting the inevitable frozen fate.
Suddenly, however, the ice bullet broke off, shooting into the darkness. For a time that seemed like eternity, the board was silent. Ringo didn't move, his hands at his sides, the lopsided grin remaining on his icy features. John looked around frantically, his eyes eventually settling on the steed Aramis…just as the ice hit. Aramis reared, whinnying and tossing his front legs furiously, but the ice quickly took over, the shimmering barrier freezing the unsuspecting horse into a shining statue.
John stood in the swirling blizzard, shivering, chilled to the bone. His sweat froze in his hair, the brown locks crackling with every movement. He watched helplessly as Ringo approached the rearing stallion, the grin never leaving his face. With one wave of his blue-tinted hand, the stallion crashed to the floor, the ice shattering and cracking, nothing left of the statue but a thousand shards of ice. Ringo bent down, extracting a silver object from the horse's remains and inspecting it closely. With a glance toward John, he slid the ring onto his thumb, a trophy proving that Aramis was finished, once and for all.
John stared in shocked astonishment. Aramis. Ringo smiled devilishly, looking up into the darkness above and slowly bringing his hands up, the wind howling as if by his command. John braced his back against the wind, his eyes tearing as he tried to figure out what to do next. Paul and George stood as frozen sculptures, as fragile as Aramis. Should they tip to the marble floor, they would surely meet the same fate…
John shivered, racing to Paul's frozen form. The wind picked up, reaching almost hurricane strength, and Paul's statue began to tip precariously. John cried out mentally, throwing up his hands in an attempt to catch the teetering statue. Paul's body slowly fell, crashing into John's arms and knocking him to the snow-covered floor. To John's relief, Paul didn't shatter, and he softly lay his friend's body on the ground. John gently rubbed at the ice covering Paul's neck, clearing away the snow and a touch of frost until he could see through the ice. Around Paul's neck was draped the leather strip, and to John's unbelievable relief, the insect held inside still fluttered, albeit slowly, but at least he could be sure that Paul was still alive. John stood up slowly, squinting into the swirling blizzard. He could no longer see Ringo, just a column of whirling snow and wind, but George's shape was barely visible in the relentless wind. John stumbled through the snow towards the statue that held George, wings still outstretched, mouth open and face frozen in anguish. John slipped, falling into a pile of snow. He could hear Ringo laughing, and he gritted his teeth, crawling to his feet and weathering the storm, arms clenched tightly to his body for warmth. He looked into the snow again, holding up an arm to shield his eyes somewhat. He could see George again…George was…moving? John squinted harder at George's form. His throat tightened as he realized that George wasn't free.
He was falling.
John cried out mentally, almost drowned out by Ringo's cold laughter. John lunged, planting his feet and praying for sure footing. He flew towards George's tipping form, realization slowly dawning that he wasn't going to get there in time.
George's body fell to the ground with a resounding crash, ice flying everywhere. John whipped up his hands to shield them from the fragments, the shards cutting his bare forearms. GEORGE!
There was no reply but the harsh whistling of the wind and Ringo's tormenting laughter.


On To Chapter Twenty Two!
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