Pain: Another Dream of Future Possible

Pain: Another Dream of Future Possible

Pain. The sensation of Pain tells Stirling he is alive. That the blast from the catapult munition hadn't killed him. And if he is alive, he still has a mission.

Screams. Screams and explosions. The sounds of war- of pain- tell Stirling that others around him are also alive. And if they're alive, they will either help or hinder his mission.

Opening his eyes against the dirt, grime, and blood, Stirling observes the battlefield.

Powerful mages, terrifying mecha-knights, horrific Barnabus Bots, and Barnabus fighters and bombers. And the rank and file army, militia, and Paradox Rogues.

They clash with knights, commoners, North-men dirigibles, alchemists, misfits, legends, and scores more.

It's indescribable,  really. As war always is.  There is really nothing like being in the thick of it.

And Stirling knows. He will never forget this moment. This one glorious, hideous, courageous, stupid moment.

"YOU! HEY, YOU!"

Stirling immediately whips around to face his next opponent, only to be a moment too slow, as he is tackled in a... bear hug? Yes. A man in full, but mismatched, tactical gear has tackled him, and is now shoving something into his hidden Bracer pocket.

"I'm so glad I found you, Strider! The name's James. You don't know me, but I need to give you this key. It's a-"

"What?! Get off me, you-"

"No time to explain!  This key is for a tank that will be rolling out of the main gate in" the man checked his watch. "10 minutes!  You only have 10, TEN! Minutes! To save Perry, convert Carson, and get them to collapse the main gate AFTER the first tank goes through! Got that? Good! Now, I gotta go! Any longer and the Janitor will SWEEP me out, like- !"

And in a flash, the man was gone.

The flash of light faded, and past it, a twisted, 4-legged beast of Chaos, unleashed by the Tyrant thedude upon the battlefield, turned and snarled at Stirling. Then it charged.

While Stirling defended himself against the mindless beast with his shield, he replayed the conversation.

James? He didn't know any James.

Key. Key to a tank.

Tank arrives t-minus 10.

T-minus 10 to save P-

Stirling Parried and thrust his Katana headlong through the creature's throat, and up into the brain. An instantly fatal blow.

"Dammit, Perry. What now? Where are you?"

He spun around once, and easily found what he was looking for.

"Follow the explosions. In this case, the biggest, and/or greenest ones."

~~~~

Pain. Pain told Perry that he was losing. Losing his life.

Perry doesn't like losing. Especially his life. Especially to this guy.

"Carson, I DON'T want to fight you!"

"FINE BY ME, DEMON KID. DIE!"

'When did it all go wrong?' wondered Perry. He looked up from the latest crater his tossed-about, magically protected body had just made. Just in time to see Carson, wreathed in red, sparking, electrical magic, float over the edge of the crater. Carson's eyes were smoking with red steam. His hands welled with sparking, red, jagged pools of energy. Much like Peragrine’s green magic...

But fueled by something far more destructive.

Peragrine repeated the question out loud.

"HA!" Barked Carson, his face a rictus grin. "LIFE HAS NEVER GONE RIGHT FOR ME, PERRY. MIGHT MAKES RIGHT, THOUGH. AND NOW... Now I have the power. THE POWER TO RULE MY OWN DESTINY!" To demonstrate, Carson swung two simultaneous haymakers at Peragrine, and in response, his magic made two violent, crimson tornadoes spin through the air towards Peragrine.

"That's nice, Carson!" Peragrine said instinctively, sending out a counter-pulse to break up the tornados before they reached him. "But why does your destiny involve-"

"KILLING YOU? SIMPLE!"

Suddenly, Carson teleported directly into Peragrine's face.

"Miss Kull promises it makes my new powers... Permanent."

~~~~

Eight minutes.

Suddenly, it seemed like everyone wanted to fight him. He couldn't go two steps before another knight or mage stepped into his path and charged.

'It's never easy, ' Stirling reminded himself, as his next challenger threw magic missile after magic missile at him. 'But at least I'm uniquely qualified for the challenge.'

Not bothering to use the shield, and sheathing his Katana, Stirling strode forward to the mage, who began to panic, and cast even greater spells at Stirling...

But they all were bounced off... or absorbed.

In a grim smile, Stirling growled as he got into speaking range. "It'll take greater magics than that to stop me, mage."

The mage whimpered. "I don't know any greater spell than fireball..."

"Is that what that last one was?" Stirling asked.

The mage nodded.

"A useful spell. But not against one impervious to magic," Stirling said. A bit of an overstatement; He wasn't impervious; that fireball had hurt; He was considerably singed. Ever since that raid on Vladek's Castle in Ankoria, where that magic sword had gone straight into him... He had experienced an amazing resistance to magic. ALL magic. Good and bad.

Speaking of.

Stirling whipped his right hand out, and a similar sword appeared in his hand. A sword made of all the magic he'd just absorbed. He drew it to the mage's neck. "You're Aquilan, are you not?"

Again, the mage nodded. "Conscripted into thedude’s service."

"thedude dies this day. Fight for the winning team. Free your world."

The mage nodded. "Yessir. Um, what was your name, sir?"

Stirling. Sir Stirling, of the Sword, and a Knight of the Frikkin' Olde Speech."

The mage's eyes widened in recognition, then confusion. "Did you guys rebrand or-"

"No, I'm just really frikkin' old!" Stirling snapped. "Now get moving, soldier! I'm going to need you to head towards the gate!  The battle heads there!"

The mage nodded a final time, barking a "Sir, yessir!" Before taking off through the battlefield.

'Or so I'm told' Stirling thought.

Suddenly, a massive Shockwave rocked the battlefield, and Stirling looked up to see a small, brightly glowing green figure get thrown clean across the landscape...

His first thought was of extreme concern for the unmistakable figure.

"PERRY!"

Followed shortly by extreme irritance.

"DANG IT, STAY IN ONE PLACE; HOW HARD IS-"

Which was itself interrupted by even more concern as an unrecognizable RED glowing figure streaked across after Perry.

"Good Lord in Heaven above, is he fighting a RED MYRHRAN?!"

As Stirling changed direction to chase after, both the red and green lights shot straight up into the smoky, chaotic air, filled with its own battles. The two magic lights shot past a different Red Mythran light which exploded in a violent wave of energy as its glassy physical form was ruptured by Perry and the mysterious assailant’s passing.

"Wha- WHAT THE HECK?! HOW IN THE BLUE BLAZES AM I SUPPOSED TO GET UP THERE?!" Stirling fumed, even as he continued to futilely jog in that direction. "You'd think that with all these changes in direction, what with them measuring their fight in FREAKIN'  FOOTBALL FIELDS, they'd HAPPEN to toss over in THIS direction! But NO! The powers that be wouldn't make it so easy for me! WHY, I WOULDN'T BE SURPRI-

Another sonic Shockwave resounded, and Stirling watched the green light that he just knew was Perry plummet like a shooting star, getting larger and larger, as it came his way...

For a brief moment, Stirling had a mighty fear put into him, as he wondered if he was about to be struck by the veritable comet of green magical energy coming at him for his grousing…

Suddenly, the bright green light grew dim, and it dropped quickly, crashing to the ground about… well, if Stirling had to guess, a football field away.

"...Ok. Message received, Lord."  He rushed forward, even as the evil red light dove down after the green one, out of sight.

~~~~

Peragrine rolled over and pushed with his magic against the ground.

‘Gotta… get back up.’

But instead of rising up, all that he did was sit up.

“Oh, ok.” Peragrine scrambled to his feet, then hopped once, expecting his magic to catch him and send him up.

Instead, he hopped once, landed on his feet, and then– and only then– did his body finally catch up with his mind and informed him that he was exhausted.

Peragrine collapsed to the bottom of the much smaller crater, the dirt and dust coating him, getting into his cuts and making them smart.

“Wait, cuts?”

His magic had only partially protected him from this latest throw.

Peragrine closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. A ‘quickie’ meditation. He took stock. Physically. Mentally. Meta-pyshically.

It didn’t look great.

The past half-hour had been the most exhilarating and terrifying and horrifying moments of his life. Without a doubt. This battle, this final battle, truly was the most that his life had ever been. The most that he ever wanted his life to be from here on out. He was supercharged, and now… he’d burned through all of it. He was super… What was the opposite of charged? Depleted?

He’d defeated countless Paradox. Dispatched myriads of monsters. Disabled hordes of mechanical beasts. He’d reveled in his magic, He’d brought time to a crawl, given allies superpowers, healed grievous wounds, stopped monsters in their tracks, contained whole squadrons of misguided men and women from charging into a battle they couldn’t comprehend. He’d used his magic to its fullest, and then gone beyond even that.

But the past 10 minutes had been what had laid him low.

One foe. It only took one. One old friend. Carson Flemming.

His incredible powers, his unbelievable magic…His unique responsibility. It was all worthless if he couldn’t find a way to resolve conflict without death. Property damage, bodily harm, physical or mental entrapment… all these things could be fixed. Healed. But death… death had irreparable consequences. The Soul. The soul was a very unique and sacred thing. He wouldn’t harm that. He wouldn’t.

“I can’t kill him. I won’t.” Peragrine vowed to himself.

“More power for me, then,” came Carson’s reply.

Peragrine opened his eyes and looked up from his kneeling meditation. There he stood. Carson Flemming, clothed in magic. Absolutely suffused with his own rage, made incarnate as a Red substance that looked like glass- like a Red Mythran, but flowed like a pressure hose. And yet, it didn’t feel like anything. Not unless Carson willed it.

“Are you a Red Mythran?” Peragrine asked.

“Nah. Worse.” Carson flicked a wrist, and a magical construction of skeletal hands appeared out of the earth and held Peragrine’s wrists down. He began pacing, clearly enjoying this moment. “I can create horrible things, not just destroy good ones.”

Peragrine looked up at Carson. “I don’t understand you, Carson.”

Carson scowled, and with another flick of the wrist, the skeletal hands dug into Perry’s skin. “I never asked you to!”

“Why do you work for evil, if you know it’s evil?”

“Because it’s POWER, Perry! Power is all that matters!” He pointed at Peragrine. “For so long, YOU had all the power! Tain had ALL THE POWER! You all got to decide what was ‘right’, what was ‘wrong’! ‘Ok, you can ride without a rope now’, ‘oh, you can’t have a knife! That’s dangerous!’ ‘Oop! Can’t stay at Wishwell, gotta keep HAULING A-’ “

“I get it, I get i-” Peragrine interrupted, physically pulling away from the oncoming obscenities.

“NO, KID, YOU DON’T.” Carson leaned in close to Peragrine’s face. “You’ve never been in my shoes. You’ve always had the power. Power gives you options. Gives you Choice. Well, now I’m going to take that away. Take away your choice. I’m going to take your power from you. And it will all be for me.” He straightened up. “Then we’ll see who’s who’s friend.”

Peragrine stared at Carson, visibly puzzled. ‘My… Power? My Magic?? That’s what this is about???’  “If it’s my power you want, you can have it, my friend.” Peragrine closed his eyes.

It took Peragrine but a moment to find the last precious few scraps of magic within himself. The last pieces of that excitable green energy that had always been with him. The source of his boundless energy, even before he knew it as magic. Before he knew how to properly use it…

Carson scoffed. “I don’t need you to understand, idiot. I just need you to die so I can take your power.” He pulled back a hand, and a massive red blade formed around it. With his other arm, he lined up his strike so as to decapitate the kid… Peragrine…

“Stupid Kid.”  Carson plunged his deadly blade forward.

…Peragrine held the last mote of energy. It wasn’t him. It was just his power. His Magic. Sure, it was a part of him…

But it was a part he was willing to let go.

So he let it go.

The deadly Rage-Magic-Fueled Blade plunged into a Silver and Blue chestplate, cleaving the dented, scored, time-ravaged metal in two, cutting through the chainmail beneath, and past the clothing, dissipating against the skin of-

“What the-” Carson began, suddenly realizing that someone had interposed himself between him and Peragrine.

Stirling Silverstine growled. “You don’t touch him.”

“Who the hell are you?!” Carson said, taking a step back, and realizing in shock that this guy, now partly shirtless, had somehow stopped his killing blow.

Stirling straightened up, and immediately took the step forward that Carson had vacated. “Sir Stirling Silverstine of the Sword. I will be your Justice today, Carson.”

Carson looked this guy up and down. This 50-something old man had no shield, no sword. No chestplace from the shoulders down, where he’d stabbed with a killing blow. Yet, the man’s skin was unbroken…?! “What the hell are you?!” He backed up further, unable to comprehend this, and tripped on the slope of the crater.

“I already told you. Justice.” Stirling lunged forward, lightning fast, and grabbed Carson by the throat, holding him in the air. “And I find you guilty.” He lifted Carson up, keeping eye contact with the increasingly confused and panicked man. “Live by the sword, die by the Sword.”

“Wait!”

Both Carson and Stirling turned to the forgotten third individual, Peragrine.

“What.” demanded Stirling.

Peragrine shirked away for a moment from that frightening visage of ‘Justice’. He wasn’t sure what was causing Stirling’s eyes to be pupiless deep blue flames that seemed to penetrate right into his soul; maybe it was some new power that was a side effect of Stirling’s many lonely adventures, but he knew that he never wanted to fight it.  Whomever or whatever that was… Carson had no hope against something so merciless.

So he was going to provide some mercy.

Peragrine stepped up and pressed gently on the arm holding Carson up in the air. “Let me talk to my friend.”

Stirling scowled. “This man is your friend? He just killed thousands.”

Peragrine nodded. “So have we.”

Stirling blinked, and the intensity in his eyes faltered a moment. “No, that’s different. The Maelstrom are monsters.”

Peragrine ignored the philosophy trap. “Stirling, let go of my friend.”

The two stared at each other for a moment. The Knight and the Mage… Carson watched some silent conversation occur, his fear turning into curiosity… His Rage turning into confusion… His struggling turning to waiting…These guys knew each other somehow… Wait- Was this THE Stirling?! Stirling Silverstine?!? ‘Well duh, he just introduced himself,’ Carson thought, his surprise dissipating, allowing his brain to collect and process the information.

Slowly, the Knight lowered Carson, and as Carson found his feet and began to squirm, an immutable, incredibly strong platemail glove nearly crushed his shoulder and forced him to his knees in front of Peragrine.

Carson immediately gasped, spluttered and choked as he tried to curse this ‘Stirling’ guy in every creative way he knew.

But before he could fully form any such statement, Peragrine knelt down to Carson’s level.

“I trust you, Carson.”

Peragrine pulled up his hands, cupped, as if holding something precious.

“You need this to be free. I understand that. I’ll give you this, because I don’t need it to be free.” Here Peragrine smiled sadly. “I hope one day you can realize how to be Free, truly Free Forever, even from inside a prison.” Before Carson could say anything spiteful, or refute Peragrine’s words, Peragrine opened his hands. “This is for you, my friend.”

Peragrine couldn’t see it. Not anymore. He and Stirling could only feel some sort of additional magic in the area.

But Carson could see. He could see his prize.

A tiny, but impossibly bright mote of green light. Like the brightest starboard green light from the tiniest airplane ever to exist. Carson’s eyes grew wide with hunger. Before he could think, before Peragrine could change his mind, before Stirling could pull him back or stop him, Carson whipped a hand out and slapped Peragrine’s hands, snatching the impossibly bright light for himself.

The effect was instant. A shockwave of energy coursed out from Carson, widening the crater in all directions by a few feet, including down, as the earth compacted even further.

Peragrine was thrown back violently, striking the far crater wall. Both Stirling and Carson remained in the center of the crater, only to fall a few feet. As they did so, Carson willed himself upward.

“AHAHAAHA! YES!” Carson glanced back down into the crater. A rush of powerful emotions filled and amplified his magic as he saw Peragrine’s body tumbling senselessly towards the center of the crater. “FREEDOM! TRUE FREEDOM!” He gasped, realizing an additional thrilling detail.

“I KILLED HIM!! I, CARSON FLEMMING, KILLED THE DEMON KID!!!” He looked back down. “I killed him… I killed- Oh God, I killed-”

Suddenly, a bright blue sword obstructed his view as it sprouted through his chest.

A voice, deeper than the rumble of Mount Thunderclap itself rumbled in his ear. “He was all that was keeping you alive.”

All too late, Carson realized that the Knight, Stirling, had never let go of his shoulders. He’d hung on, and then had… where had this massive greatsword come from?

Then the pain came, and Carson, filled with unimaginable power… Unimagined pain…

The pain… It was literally unbearable. Carson couldn’t handle the pain. He’d do anything to get rid of the pain.

All of his magic, all of this power, and yet, he couldn’t remove this pain.

...This Knight.

..........This pain.

....................This Magic.

The pain… It…

Where did it go?

Stirling knew that the impact would hurt. He also knew he’d survived greater falls. He shoved off of Carson’s corpse and made the lip of the crater, rolling with the impact. Immediately, he felt his shoulder pop out of place, and he knew that he could very likely have broken multiple somethings, but the important thing was that he was still moving. The pain was there. It told him he was alive. And if he was alive, he still had a mission.

Stirling dove back into the crater, and slid down to Peragrine. Immediately, he noted that Peragrine had been struck in the head. Before moving him at all, Stirling checked the pulse, refusing to let any of his emotions get in the way of this emergency. This mission.

…

There. A pulse. Weak, but alive.

“Heh, riding the edge, as always, aren't you?” Stirling chuckled, relief flooding him, making him just the slightest bit giddy.

At the sound of Stirling’s voice, Peragrine groaned. “Huh? Whe-” Peragrine sprang up. “Carson! Where is he?”

Stirling looked over at where the body had fell, and waved a hand. “There. The monster’s dead-.”

Peragrine followed the motion, and gasped.

Carson had a massive blue greatsword going through him and into the dirt, stopping him from rolling down the crater’s slope.

Peragrine immediately scrambled on all fours over to Carson. “Stirling, quick! Help me get this sword out of him!”

Stirling scowled. “Why? He celebrated, thinking he’d killed you.” Nevertheless, Stirling helped, summoning the magic sword back to him..

As Carson’s body rolled down the slope limply, Peragrine caught him, and glanced back at Stirling, watching the blue magic flow back to Stirling. “...You did this?”

“Yes, Peragrine. Not everyone is redeemable.” Stirling stood up and started towards Peragrine.

Peragrine shook his head violently, blood and tears being sent around. “No. Not everyone. But I know Carson is.” Perry closed his eyes.  “I’ve seen it.”

Peragrine wasn’t sure this would work. But he had to try.

Magic. If he could contact Carson, ask him for just a smidge of that magic… He knew he could heal this… Just… just as long as Carson’s soul- His Spark-  was still here…! He reached out as far as he could, stretching his mind as far towards Carson as he could, trying to see any mote, ANY HINT of magic, or Carson, or himself or ANYTHING in his mind’s eye.

But alas… There was nothing.

Peragrine couldn’t even see his own energy, much less anyone else’s.

Without any magic of his own… He didn’t have any means to interact with it.

All those abilities, all that power… Gone.  

This meditation… this second sight… Once so colorful and full of life and energy and magic and  information… The light of people’s souls, their very sparks and life-force…

Now he was blind to it all.

Blind. Lost. Alone. Pained…  

Suddenly, Peragrine was jolted out of his meditation as he felt Stirling’s heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Peragrine. What are you doing?”

Peragrine looked up at Stirling, or what he could see of Stirling through his tears. “Magic. I need magic! If I have just a smidge, I can heal him!”

Stirling frowned. “Why?”

“He’s my friend. Please.”

“He just trie-”

“PLEASE!”

Stirling looked down at his old friend. Time had taken a few freckles away, left a wrinkle or laugh-line instead. Peragrine was definitely a middle-aged man… Yet, to Stirling, all he could see was his young friend, innocently asking for something that shouldn’t be possible, or allowed.

And as always… he would try.  “....Does this work?” Stirling asked, pulling off a gauntlet and proffering it to Peragrine. “I know we’ve talked about it a bit; my Magic Immunity. You said that it has to be partially absorption as well as immunity, right? Well, I certainly have absorbed some during the battle, recently.”

Peragrine looked at Stirling’s hand. Rough. Strong. Calloused. Scarred. Did it? Would Stirling’s Magic Absorption/Immunity help here?  Would that work?

Peragrine closed his eyes, and put a hand in Stirling’s hand. Once again, he focused.

It was so much harder to focus on this meditation now. Without his own magic glow to help him see on this ethereal plane, this mind palace, it was so DARK. So lightless.

But when one is blind, one can rely on other senses. Like touch.

Peragrine focused on his hands touching Stirling’s hands.

And he felt it. Stirling’s magic.

It was a weird magic. Like sand. Rough. Solid. Rigid, kinda. It didn’t feel soft and malleable and jello-like as his and Carson’s magic was. Or rather, had.

Peragrine could feel it, that magic sand, sitting in Stirling’s hand, but unlike his and Carson’s magic, it stayed beneath the surface of his skin.

Stirling didn’t channel it outside of him in spells and magic. Stirling did… something else with it. Something that neither he nor Peragrine had gotten the time to study. Not that Stirling would even want to. So long as it worked, Stirling wouldn’t question it. Not unless there was something new to be gained from it.

But how to get it out?

“I can feel it,” Peragrine said.

Stirling nodded. “Take it, then.”

Peragrine nodded.

‘But how?’ He thought. Again, without magic of his own, he had no means of manipulating the magic. It just shifted and flowed inside Stirling, staying just beneath the surface of Stirling’s skin. As if stirling was a hollow statue, or an hourglass, part-way filled with sand, just rumbling about…

“I don’t know how.” Peragrine admitted.

“Don’t you just will things to happen, and they happen?” Stirling asked, exasperation sneaking into his tone.

“Not anymore!” Peragrine said, desperation clear in his own.

“Describe to me what you see.” Stirling commanded.

Peragrine did so, swallowing his fear. “You have sand. I imagine it’s blue sand, like your favorite color. But it’s trapped inside you.”

Immediately, Stirling corrected Peragrine’s fantasies, and interjected with factual evidence.. “I don’t have magic of my own, Perry. I don’t control my magic. It’s magic that others tried to use on me. The sand doesn’t have a color, or if it did, it’s not any color I’ve made.

Peragrine gasped as realization came upon him “And Carson used magic on you!”

Stirling confirmed by giving Perry’s hands a comforting squeeze. “I have some of Carson’s magic.”

In his mind’s eye, Peragrine fancied for a moment that the sand that he’d been imagining as blue filling up Stirling’s hand was suddenly every color but blue. Colors of all the different magicks that Stirling had picked up from this battle, and even before that.

Somewhere in there was a splotch of red. Some red sand that was Carson’s magical attempts on him…

Red… Like blood.

Red magic that needed to be let out…

Needed to be spilt.

…

Peragrine winced as he considered. “Ok. I have a plan. Do you trust me, Stir?”

Stirling barked a single, dry laugh. “You? A plan? The world must be ending, so why not?”

Peragrine responded by snapping his fingers. From the hem of his coat, a single sewing needle sprang to his fingers.

A single needle which he then stabbed Stirling’s palm with.

“Wh- AH! FRICK!” Stirling’s response was understandable.

“Hold still, please,” Peragrine said, his voice turning quiet, calculating. His grip on Stirling’s hand was solid, steady. Like a surgeon. “Blood magic requires absolute concentration.”

“WHAT?!”

“Trust me, one little mistake, and you end up binding yourself to a ghost child with ties to ancient druid-witches from Ankorian Antiquity.

Stirling gritted his teeth, but remained still. “How specific.”

“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Peragrine replied, before turning his attention entirely inward.

Peragrine reached back into his mind. Mentally, he reached back to a certain point in time. A certain town. A certain moment.

A certain name. Cyndii.

That did it. It was there, as always. Like a little vault. Cyndii’s vault.

Spells. Incancations. Rituals, special runes, dates, places… Magic knowledge not his own.  Not even Cyndii’s.

Ancient knowledge, probably thousands of years old.

And amongst all this, the source of his mental search.

Blood Magic. A means of manipulating the physical elements of warm-blooded life without innate magic of one’s own. Used by witches and warlocks. And even expert Alchemists.

Just what he needed.

The knowledge now fresh in his mind, brought to the forefront of his consciousness, pulled out from the deep subconscious vault that it had been laid in, he opened his eyes.

“M’kay, Stir. Don’t freak out.”

Stirling stared at his old friend, who’s eyes were… changed. Stirling stared at Peragrine as a dark and foreboding aura that he couldn’t place overshadowed Peragrine. It wasn’t that there was any physical change. Not one that he could pinpoint, anyway.  But wherever Stirling wasn’t focusing… something was different. Either Perry’s shoulders were hunched and doubled-over, or his hands were gnarled and skeletal, or his nose was elongated and warty, or his–

Stirling decided to focus only on Peragrine’s eyes. ‘Eyes are the window to the soul. If the eyes change, then I’ll know I’m in trouble,’ Stirling thought. He remained still, wordlessly allowing Peragrine to continue.

Peragrine whispered the necessary ancient words, and at his command, a line of blood rose from the pinprick on Stirling’s palm. He began to direct the blood with his pin, as if he was sewing with the crimson line, but stopped himself. Using only words of power, focusing only on the blood and the innate power– the innate life-force that it contained, he pulled out a line of blood about a foot long.

“That should be enough,” Peragrine croaked. “Take that back.” Peragrine pushed Stirling’s hand away, focusing entirely on the carmine red line now floating in the air. With arcane whispers, he now directed the blood through the air towards Carson. His only physical movements were his head and shoulders, as he tracked the blood through the air.

Stirling applied pressure to the pinprick and stepped back, away from his friend, as the once-familiar features of Peragrine Wanderthistle the Exuberant flickered in and out with grotesque and twisted versions of someone that resembled Perry… Hunchback. No, Stringy white hair. Now, tattered clothes. Wait, a hideously scarred face? Hold on, was that a huge ghost leering behind him???

As soon as Stirling would do a double-take to see if these apparitions were actually there, they were gone.

He didn’t trust it. Not any of it.

But he did trust Peragrine. He trusted him with his life. Always had. Always would.

Peragrine knelt down next to Carson, and with another snap of his fingers, a new needle appeared in his other hand. Wasting no time, that needle dipped down silently, making a pinprick in Carson’s limp hand. Quickly, unnaturally, blood began to pool out from the prick.

Peragrine whispered a final arcane command, and Stirling’s blood dove into the pool of Carson’s.

And with a disturbing slurp, all the blood disappeared back into Carson’s hand.

Peragrine lurched forward, dropped both pins, and grabbed Carson’s hand. Closing his eyes, he followed the magic as best as he could with his meditation.

While he couldn’t actually see the magic, he could still feel…

The small sliver of ‘red’ sand… Going into Carson…Returning to Carson…

Stirling watched as not just the pinprick of blood flowed back into Carson, but… ALL the blood. The blood that had been flowing from the gaping wound in Carson’s chest. The blood that had been soaking into the dirt, been running down the crater’s slope…

ALL of it was returning to Carson.

And not just as a shapeless mass. But as lines. Traces. Veins and arteries. Parts of missing organs. The intricacies of the human body.

Stirling tore his eyes away to glance at Peragrine. The kid was gritty and bloodied. His clothes and armor (light as it was) were ripped and torn. His hands were trembling with effort as he held Carson’s limp hand. Sweat, born of intense concentration, was making clean lines in the grime on his face. . .

‘That’s not the young and carefree Venture Leauge Daredevil Pilot that drove me here.’  Stirling realized.  ‘And that’s no apprentice magician either.’ What was Peragrine Wanderthistle now, he wondered.

‘My friend.’ Stirling reminded himself. ‘Time might have changed him, but Perry is still my friend. Nothing will change that.’

With that, he looked at his friend’s…and his own… handiwork.

Carson was missing a midsection. Everything but his blood was missing from the oversized sword-wound that Stirling had made.

Suddenly, Peragrine’s eyes snapped open. “Everything I’ve ever learned. Magic. Science. Forgotten Knowledge lost to the ages, Ideas never actually recorded. New JAZZ I just made up for ol’ Flemming here.” He turned his eyes back over his shoulder to Stirling, and inside them, Stirling saw….

“It all has led me to this, Stirling. You call yourself Justice?  I call myself Mercy.”

Stirling saw what he needed to see.

“All right then, Perry. Bring him back. Then we’ll save the world. Together.”

Peragrine smiled, briefly. Then he turned to Carson, and began doing chest compressions. “Carson! Wake! Up!”

~~~~

Pain.

There it was. Carson laughed ruefully. Or he would, if he was still alive. Of course, simple Oblivion would have been too kind to be how the afterlife works. So, seeing as there was an afterlife, he figured that he wasn’t going to where the peace-loving angels and hippies ended up...

He knew that he was going to that other place. He was going Down. Down where devils and losers went.

He was going to feel pain. Real Pain. Forever.  

He told himself that he didn’t care. That Pain had always there. The Pain of wasting his day. Of following orders of others. Of doing the bare minimum. Of blaming everyone else for his inability to make it big. Pain of Loss. Pain of Sorrow. Pain of depression. Pain of dreams being lost.

Pain had always been there.

Now it always would be. The torture would be endless, where he was going.

He told himself he didn’t deserve anything better. He reminded himself that his life was worthless. That he was worthless. The pain was worthless, it didn’t matter.

But the truth was… Well, it did matter.

A lot.

Because he was TERRIFIED.

And that terror melded with the pain… and.

And it bloomed. And Changed. And Grew…

The Pain… It… It beat. It MOVED. IT LIVED.

And… And it spoke.

“I am NOT letting you go, my friend!”

Friend? He didn't have any friends. Pain wasn’t a friend. To be a true friend, you had to have trust. You had to be an equal. Not taking advantage of them. Like he did for all of his so-called ‘friends’. Everyone who ever said they were his ‘friends’ were only ever people who had power over him and took pity on him. People who wanted to show him what was best for him. People who wanted to control him. Or they were stupid, and didn’t see this simple fact of life. Didn’t realize when he took advantage of them.

“I can't lose another! NOT ANOTHER FRIEND! NOT AGAIN!"

And when he'd gotten control for himself… He'd used it to kill the only person who could have been an equal. Who could be trusted.  That batdip crazy demon kid. Ol’ Perry. ‘Effing Stupid Perry.

Well, actually, not so stupid. The kid was scary-smart. Played the idiot, but Carson knew… He’d seen through Perry’s Facade. He pretended to be dumb and silly… But it was all an act. Perry was insanely powerful, and was learning all the time… Gaining knowledge and power everywhere he went… And then using it in the most stupid and useless endeavors…

“DAMN IT, CARSON!

Was that…the pain… it sounded like…

“LIVE!” “YOU!” “SELFISH!” “SON'OF'A-!!!”

Carson gasped. “PERAGRINE!”

Air filled his lungs. Light flooded his eyes. Ringing resounded in his ears. Pain FREAKING EXPLODED across the rest of his senses.

It was. It was Peragrine. Doing chest compressions on him. We'll, if beating him with a doubled fist counted as chest compressions.

Peragrine looked surprised. Carson was equally surprised. Behind Peragrine, the blue knight, Stirling Silverstine, was barely containing his surprise.

“You’re alive!” all three exclaimed.

“I didn’t actually think that would work!” Stirling muttered to himself.

“How?!” Carson demanded of Peragrine.

“Faith!” Peragrine cheered, before suddenly restraining Carson from getting up. “Hold on there, cowboy, you still have a, uh…”

Carson looked down at himself. Where he’d last seen a sword, was now a gaping hole filled with just blood, but blood that was… Well, it wasn’t behaving like blood. “Oh Fuuuuu-”

“-Udge. Fudge.” Peragrine finished for Carson. “I just pulled you back from the brink of death, but if you could refrain with the language, share what bit of magic you have with me and we can both live long and happy lives.” Peragrine was rambling, a sure sign of nerves.

“Wait, what?” Carson looked up at Peragrine. “What do you mean?”

Peragrine held out a hand to Carson. “I want to heal you.”

Carson frowned. “With…magic?”

“Yeah.”

“You've tried that before. It didn't work.”

“I've learned some new stuff since you saw me last. Gained some new perspectives on life and death and stuff.”

“More than before?! With all the flippin’ ancient ghosts and shi-”

“Yup! Even more.”

Carson scoffed in disbelief, but his scoff turned into a violent cough that brought with it blood. “Oh no. Oh, G-”

Suddenly, Peragrine was shaking, and Carson belated realized that Peragrine’s concentration was the only thing keeping his insides inside, and his outsides outside.

“Carson, please. I can't hold you here much longer. I don't want your story to end like this. I don't want you to die in anger–”

The pain.

It was ballooning.

It was filling every inch of him.

“I know you are a good person. You just haven't had anyone believe in you. Or, at least, you don't think anyone believes you can be a good person! But I do!”

The pain.

It was telling him…

He was dying.

“I've seen you choose to be good! I've seen you be kind! I've seen you laugh and smile, and feel great!”

Carson became dimly aware that he was folding over, collapsing. Dying.

Did he really want to die? Would he really be OK with… dying as a bad person?

“And I know that times have been hard. And I think they'll only get harder.  But… that's only because we’re getting stronger…”

Suddenly, a word flashed in his mind.

JUSTICE

The image of the Blue Knight, Stirling, with his grim frown.

‘“I will be your Justice today, Carson.”’

‘“I find you guilty.”’

‘“Live by the sword, die by the Sword.”’

Oh God.

If there was any Justice in the world… And his life was about to be judged…

Carson choked. He gasped. He reached with his hand. Or maybe that was his foot. Whatever! He'd reach with anything he still had…!

Carson flailed.

“Anything! ANYTHING!” he thought. “I'll do anything! I just don't want to be JUDGED."

FEAR. It flooded him. PANIC. It flooded him.

POWER. It flooded him.

And it flowed into something- someone.

And that someone… Absorbed that fear… that panic…

And turned it back to him… as Calm.  As Peace.

And it flooded him.

…

Once before, what felt like a lifetime ago, in Thunderclap Prison, Carson had been ‘healed’ by Peragrine for a knife wound. It had been a numbing feeling. A masking of the problem. It had been a false kindness, seeking to get rid of a problem, rather than actually cure the problem.

This was not the same. Not at all.

Carson felt his missing guts return. Reconstitute from nothing. Re-integrate themselves into the rest of his body. He felt his blood carefully tucked into new veins and organs. Tissues and skin carefully fused back together in a restorative fashion indicating a deeper knowledge of anatomy and science, and beyond that, a specific care for his specific frame. Care that was… Personal. Compassionate. Magical.

Carson unbent, the pain… Not gone. Not numb. But fading.

The pain.

It told him he was alive.

“There, I think that does it…”

Carson looked up at Peragrine, who had spoken. “You… You really did it.”

Peragrine’s eyes fluttered open, as he took his hands off of Carson. “Yeah. Same to you, pal.”

Stirling moved forward, disbelief clear on his face. “No… No way.”

Peragrine smiled, and leaned back on his hands, very visibly and suddenly tired. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Stirling turned his attention from the perfectly smooth and healed gut of Carson, to Carson himself. “Well? How do you feel, Flemming?”

Carson observed this terrifying individual. This… would-be killer of his. This grim, grizzled visage, inches away from his face. “Why arn’t you killing me?”

Stirling’s answer was immediate. “Because Peragrine asked me not to.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s-”

“I told you before, he’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

Carson looked over at Peragrine, who was leaning back, clearly exhausted from his… frankly impossible task.

Peragrine was leaned back, tensely watching the other two. “Please don’t rip each other to shreds again; I think I can only cheat death for you once a week. Maybe once a month. More than that and I’ll have the Postmortem IRS after me. Or worse, the Witch of Kingston.”

Carson reached out towards Perry. “Do you still have your-”

“Magic?” Peragrine suddenly sat back up and looked at his own hands.

They were normal hands. 10 digits. Dirty. Thin. Lightly calloused. Trembling slightly with exhaustion.  A foreign concept.

Normal.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Carson blinked. “You… Gave it up?”

Peragrine looked up at Carson. “Yeah. You have it now.”

Carson blinked again, realizing the truth of that statement with a rush. “Oh.”

Yeah. He did.

He could hear it. A low, buzzing sound in the back of his mind. An itchiness in the tips of his toes, in the deep tissue of his palms.

In the center of his gut.

Power. Exuberance.  A Wellspring of Wellbeing. Boundless Energy.

“Do you feel the power?” Peragrine asked.

Carson looked at Peregrine and nodded.

Peragrine smiled and settled back. “It’s yours, friend.”

Stirling stood up, and settled into a combat stance. “Question is: What will you do with it?”

Carson once again looked at the two others. They couldn’t be more different in his mind.

Peragrine on the right, exhausted, beat-up. Totally at ease. His light armor in shreds and practically useless to him now. Here he was, leaning back as if he was lounging on a beach on holiday, rather than on the edge of a crater in the middle of a warzone, with a contented smile on his face, as he stared at him. Him, the guy who’d just been trying to absolutely tear him to shreds like his life depended on it. (And in a way it still sorta did.)

Meanwhile, Stirling was on the left, grimy, grizzled, grim, but standing alert, ready to launch himself and bodily grapple him in full heavy armor at the drop of a hat. A killer and a soldier, if ever Carson had seen one. Those eyes were decided; if Carson made a single offensive move, those hands would be all over him. At the moment, Stirling didn’t seem armed, but even without recent events, the absolute determination in Stirling’s eyes told Carson he wouldn't even need one to kill him. Again.

“#$&& it.” Carson said. He turned around and looked up at Mount Thunderclap. “I wanna  #$%# &#$% up.”

Peragrine pumped a tired fist into the air. “I think I’m overly tired, but did you just bleep a few times?”

Stirling shook his head. “I think that’s just you, Perry.”

A smirk began to form on Carson’s face, as he realized his first use of magic– REAL Magic– had just seamlessly woven itself into his reality. “Magic has many uses.” He said, before dropping the smirk and looking back at Perry. “But I still have a lot to learn. So I think I’ll share it.” He reached out towards Peragrine, and suddenly, Peragrine was pulled up to his feet, and his hand landed in Carson’s.

“How ‘bout it, Kid? Mind teaching an old friend?”

Peragrine looked up at Carson, confused. “Huh?”

Suddenly, Peragrine gasped as power flowed into him.

Just as quickly, a blue sword was around Carson’s neck as Stirling grasped him from behind.

But Carson remained calm, and spoke to Perry.

“You trust me,” Carson said. “So I trust you. You %&#$@*) idiot.” A smile broke across Carson’s face.

“Again, you just bleeped yourself!” Peragrine said.

Stirling shook his head. “No, I very clearly heard him call you a #&@(*#$ idiot.”

“Oh! It works on others too!” Carson said, surprised.

“What does?” Both Stirlng and Peragrine asked.

Carson laughed.

Confused, both Stirling and Peragrine looked at each other. Peragrine shrugged.  Stirling growled. “Now see here, you bloody mongrel, I need a-”

Carson held his hands up, and quickly grew serious. “A straight answer. Yes.” He let go of Perry’s hand and placed it on Stirling’s hand that was holding him. “I’ve heard about you, Sir Stirling, of the Sword. A knight of the Olde Speech, and a warrior against thedude. Cold, ruthless. But also Just. And in no small part, a leader for recruitment into this resurgent KOTOS.”

“My reputation precedes me,” Stirling agreed. “Only took 15 freakin’ years…”

“You don’t have to avoid swearing, Soldier. Not with me around, now.”

Stirling snorted. “No thanks.”

Carson shrugged. “Well, know this. Peragrine’s got you another recruit.” He attempted to turn around, but Stirling’s pure physical prowess held him in place. “Ahem. Me.”

Stirling’s grip tightened on Carson. “How do I know I can trust you, you traitorous mongrel?”

“Because of this:”

Suddenly, Stirling felt a surge of vitality from Carson’s hand into his, and his magically summoned sword began to glow an even brighter blue.

Stirling took a step back feeling the rush of additional magical energy, and Carson spun around and faced the other two.

The three observed each other, facing off in a triangle.  Something had fundamentally changed.  Each of them glowed ever so lightly with magic.

Peragrine’s hands welled with newly lent green energy, and his eyes twinkled with joy.

Stirling’s Sword and Armor were saturated with a blue aura, and his eyes were sharp with determination.

And finally, Carson’s entire arms shimmered with gold magic. His eyes sparked with little yellow lightning bolts, lit up with a newfound steadfastness.

“All I ever wanted was to be able to choose my own path.” Carson said. “To have the power to not be under anyone else’s power.” He looked at Peragrine. “Thanks to you, I have that.”

Peragrine grinned.

Carson turned to Stirling. “You asked me what I’m going to do with this power, Stirling?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Carson smirked, as his eyes began sparking more violently, turning gold. He pointed at Mount Thunderclap “I’m going to find thedude and kick his *#$.”

Now Stirling grinned, but it was a grim grin. “And then?”

Carson shrugged. “Then, we’ll see. Maybe we’ll fight then. But for now, can we agree not to kill each other, if just for the Kid’s sake?”

Stirling nodded, and unsummoning his sword, put a hand forward to shake. “I can agree to that, Carson. Allies?”

Carson’s smirk widened, as he accepted the handshake. “Till thedude is dead, Allies.”

Suddenly, Stirling pulled Carson closer, and gave him a strong hug, while whispering in his ear. “Trust is earned with me. Peragrine may trust you, but I do not. Betray him, betray me. Betray me, and there will be nowhere you can run to. Nowhere you can hide. I have allies everywhere that would die for me.” Then he shoved Carson back, and was smiling.

Carson smiled back. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Soldier.”

“Good!” Stirling said. “If you’re telling the truth, then we have nothing to worry about.”

Carson blinked, and his smile faltered.

Because he just had.

He’d told the truth. Without thinking, he’d just spoken what was on his mind. And… It had been the truth? It had been the truth. Not a curse. Not something crass… Just simple truth.

He looked at Peragrine, who simply beamed a smile back at him. “I’m so glad you two are getting along!” Clearly, Perry knew Stirling had just threatened him. And that Carson had expected it.  There were still problems. But they were Future Perry, Stirling, and Carson problems.

Suddenly, there was a resounding blast of a trumpet. All three men looked off in the direction of the sound.

“Oh, FRICK!” Stirling yelled, as he realized it was coming from the wall.  “The Gates! The tanks!! We’re too late!!!”

Carson and Perry glanced at him in confusion and worry.  “What do you mean?” Carson asked.

Stirling scrambled for his discarded gauntlet, pulling it on and taking out the key given to him by the strange James fellow at the same time. “Tanks are about to roll out from that gate, and we need to destroy the gate and take over the first tank that rolls out! This key supposedly is uh… for it.”

“Okay…?” Peragrine began.

“But we’re miles, LITERALLY MILES away from that gate!” Stirling yelled.

Carson glanced at Perry, the smirk returning. “No problem. Perry?”

Peragrine grinned. “I can take care of takeoff, if you can do the landing?”

“Absolutely,” Carson said, recalling the enchantment that he’d heard about that surrounded the walls, pushing everyone and everything away from it. “Just get us as close as you can to the walls.” He would simply rip the enchantment from the wall and use it specifically to slow their fall. Or… something like that.

Stirling glanced at the two. “Wait, what do you- no-”

Peragrine took a step back, a deep breath… and with the swing of an imaginary golf club made of magic, he yelled “FOOOOOORE!” launching all three of them into the air.

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!” Stirling flailed helplessly, trying to stay upright in his flight

“WHEEEEEEEEE!” Peragrine cartwheeled blithely through the air, without a care in the world.

“...$%&#.” Carson frantically considered how exactly he was supposed to do what he was thinking of as the gate rapidly approached. Was it a spell? Was it a specific emotion??Hand-waves???

Moments before Stirling, Carson, and Perry hit the ground near the gate, Carson abandoned his original idea, and simply threw out his energy towards Stirling and Perry (and himself) and encased them in layers of magic armor.

Crashing into the ground, Peragrine immediately jumped up, none the worse for wear. Carson, a moment later. Those two then looked over at Stirling, who groaned as he sat up.

“Note for future use, gentlemen: I AM IMMUNE TO FREAKIN’ MAGIC.” Stirling yelled, as he popped his shoulder back into place a second or third time today.

Carson’s eyes went wide. “Oh, damn. So, I didn’t stop your fall at all?”

“No.” Stirling stood up, dusted himself off, and began walking, but Carson was still dismayed.

“So, wait, how the #$% are you still-”

Stirling stopped, turned to Carson and proclaimed, “Because I am a $#%@#$% Bad@#$”

“Translation, please.” Peragrine said. “You guys just keep bleeping. Which, while silly, isn’t helpful.”

Stirling sighed, but the hint of a grin sneaked into the corner of his mouth. “I am a stubborn old mule, who refuses to die from something as stupid as ‘fall damage’.”

“Ah. Right.” Peragrine clicked his tongue. “Plot Armor. Got it.”

The three men turned to the task at hand. Tanks were rolling out of the gate, and already laying waste to the battlefield.

Stirling pointed at the gate. “You two, use your magic to take out the gate. I’ve got a tank to catch.”

“Got it!”

“You don’t order me!”

Stirling and Perry looked at Carson.

Carson looked between both of them. “But, that’s a good idea. I might take out a tank or two on the way there, though.”

“Ambitious,” Stirling deadpanned, before taking off.

“Valid!” Perry agreed, before leaping away. “Don’t fall behind though!”

Carson grinned. His magic swelled. It sparked out of his eyes. It surged out of his hands.

He leapt after his friends.

~~~~