The House of Grey- Volume 6 (2 page)

“So you really did know him?” asked Monson, ducking more ice
missiles
.

“Yes,” answered Mr. Gatt solemnly. “It was a long time ago. Now hurry. I do not know what combat capability H.U.M.A.N.E. has, especially with the equipment and weapons we have given them. Kei based
weaponry
takes
a while to get used to—time we do not have. I do not know if this is a fight that we can win.”

Monson stared at Mr. Gatt with reluctance.

“Go, Mr. Grey. Go!”

Monson, with a final glance into the eyes of his teacher, did as he was told. He ran without looking back.

The fighting spread through the Coren University Coliseum. Silver H.U.M.A.N.E
.
fighters and black clad commandos mixed with the disconcerting sight of the small army of Roman Legionnaires, who swarmed the area like locusts. The Legionnaires moved as one, striking at exactly the right time, defending in perfect synchronization with one another, and moving like a well-oiled machine. It was as if there was a person in the sky directing them and coordinating their attacks. They did not seem to fear anything. They took great risks, sacrificing life and limb for advantage in the one-on-one sword fights, not so much out of fearlessness or courage, it appeared, but rather a complete absence of emotion. The reason for their bravery did not become readily apparent to Monson until a small group of them attacked.

Long spears clashed against a discarded shield Monson found on the ground, which deflected the spears upwards, giving Monson the chance to dart forward and land blistering palm strikes to the chests of his attackers. The strikes actually hurt his hand. Once off balance, the soldiers loosened their grips on their spears, one of which Monson managed to rip away. He spun the spear with crushing force and knocked two soldiers to the ground, only to be amazed at the sight. The
soldiers
crumbled before his eyes.

Just like the replicas from the night before, these soldiers were made of rock—with one stark difference. The glint of a gem caught his eye as it tumbled with the crumbling rock.

Creation Stones?
thought Monson, remembering Molly’s words.
These things have to be Creation Stones, and they were inside these rock soldiers. What does that mean?

But there was no time to consider it. The Legionnaires
just kept coming and coming. Their staggering numbers and coordinated movements made them truly dangerous even if individually they were weak. Monson could already see the silver soldiers from H.U.M.A.N.E. starting to waver. If something did not happen soon, they would be driven back.

A blast from a hand cannon narrowly missed his head, announcing the arrival of two black-suited commandos followed by a contingent of Roman soldiers. The soldiers pointed their guns at Monson, about to blow him away when, abruptly, they touched their fingers to their ears. They appeared to be listening for something. After a short breath or two, they lowered their fingers and guns and slowly unsheathed their swords.

They want me alive,
thought Monson.
What is it that Baroty could want so badly from me?

The commandos and soldiers attacked in a wave. Monson raised his hand to howl a spell but realized, too late, that his Glyian Combat Glove was almost completely destroyed. With no weapon to confront them with, Monson retreated from the soldiers, only to be surrounded by a second group from behind.

Monson put his guard up as the commandos and Legionnaires closed in. A loud commotion from behind them sounded, the bang of metal on metal causing all the soldiers surrounding Monson to turn away from him. Too baffled to think or to run, Monson remained where he was, flabbergasted at the change in his circumstances. What he saw brought a stream of warm relief.

Casey and Artorius were fighting through the ranks of soldiers and commandos, battling like lions and ripping through anyone who stood in their path. They were garbed in silver battle gear and wielded swords of varying size
.
Artorius
held a massive claymore while Casey’s blade was much smaller. Monson spied Glyian Combat Gloves strapped to their left hands. Their clothing was so unexpected that it would have been funny in any other situation. Casey and Artorius quickly fought through the commandos and Legionnaires,
dispatching every enemy in front of them. Both of them were using the glove just as much as their swords and martial arts, and from the looks of it, were having a good time. Once all the enemies were down, they made their way to Monson’s side.

“Hey there, Grey,” said Casey, wiping off his short sword with his sleeve. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Monson rolled his eyes. “I just knew you were going to say something smart. That’s probably why you were taking so freaking long to get here. I bet you were searching for something clever to say the whole time you were fighting.”

Casey’s mouth opened, and he took on a scandalized expression. “After I came all the way over here to save your butt! I seriously can’t believe you said that! This is the thanks I get? You’re going to feel really bad when I tell you that I stubbed my toe rappelling off that dragon up there.”

He pointed up, trying desperately not to laugh. Without warning, he and Artorius threw their arms around Monson, almost knocking him off the ground. They both howled with relief.

“We are SO GLAD you’re OK,” sobbed Artorius, who sounded like he was really crying. “I thought the worst when we couldn’t get through the bedroom door. We thought the worst when the
soldiers
came to your room and your door wouldn’t open, of course I knew Mr. Gatt put a spell on it but still. I even stopped being mad at you for being in the same room as Cyann.”

“Arthur, quit your blubbering,” said Casey, who also looked a little bleary eyed. “We’re in the middle of a fight, remember? We don’t have any time for Brokeback moments.”

They all started to laugh as they backed away from each other. Monson smiled at his two friends in joy and relief. It was good to have them back.

Artorius surprised both Casey and Monson as he propelled his massive weight towards them and threw them to the ground as another projectile sailed overhead.

“I need your help, guys.” Monson gestured with a flick of his head towards Molly. “We’s gots things ta do.”

Casey and Artorius indicated their understanding and followed without hesitation.

The three boys weaved in between the two fighting factions, helping H.U.M.A.N.E. and hindering Baroty’s commandos where possible. All around both groups of fighters were the gem-filled living statues, the numbers of which continually pushed back H.U.M.A.N.E. and even caused some damage to their black-clad comrades. The longer they fought, the more the statues seemed to lose control of their formations and instinct—a fact that was not lost on Monson and the others.

“Something weird is going on with the Legionnaires, dudes,” shouted Casey as he ducked a blow from a spear-wielding Legionnaire. From his crouching position, Casey leveled the Glyian Combat Glove at the living statue and wasted no time in yelling, “Combat Spell One: Blaze!”

The spell took instant effect, as a molten fiery sphere about the size of small soccer ball shot from Casey’s hand and consumed the statue on impact. The statue screamed an ungodly sound for a few agonizing ticks but slowly crumbled as the fire did its deadly work.

“That’s not
my
glove’s first spell!” Monson pointed to Casey’s glove. “Why is yours so much cooler?”

The boys maneuvered around a group of fighters, helping out against the soldiers. More than a few moments passed before Casey answered Monson.

“The combat gloves aren’t the real way you do magic.”

He moved in closer to Monson, blocking a swing from a rather enthusiastic Legionnaire. “The gloves can hold a number of rather basic spells ranging over
different
magic types. You can arrange those spells however you want, depending on how much energy you want to put into the power’s structure. The number doesn’t refer to some sort of
hierarchy
for the spe
l
ls but
how much
power you place into the spell
.
D
ifferent spells however naturally maximize their effectiveness at different power levels
.
”

“Guys!” yelled Artorius as he cleaved a Legionnaire in half. “Is this really a conversation that you need to have right now?”

Two massive ice daggers shot right at Casey and Artorius
but were deflected before they reached their targets as Monson picked up two fallen hand-and-a-half swords and flung them with surprising accuracy at the airborne missiles. The swords turned silver in midair and shattered the ice, peppering Monson and the others with crystal shards.

Casey and Artorius gawked at Monson, who was still in his throwing pose, breathing heavily. Thankfully, neither of them opted to comment.

“Come on.” Casey made to continue their trek. “Let’s get moving before people try to use us for a pincushion again.”

The fighting raged on as the boys moved closer and closer to their destination. They finally broke out into a run, jumping over the remnants of the Box of Protection and landing with a thump.

Monson was horrified to see someone standing over Molly’s limp body not ten yards away. Where the heck was Mr. Gatt? Wasn’t he going to get Molly out of here? Didn’t matter. Monson had to do something. Monson was about to pounce when two pairs of strong hands grabbed him, dropping weapons as they did.

Casey gave Monson’s arms an exaggerated squeeze, intending to convey a point. “Whoa there, Terminator. Don’t go all medieval before you know who’s actually there.”

Monson glared at Casey. “What are you saying? They could be–” He faltered as he realized who was with Molly.

“Marie!” Monson ran to Grayson’s childhood friend and gripped her in a bear hug, lifting her completely off the ground. Realizing what he was doing, he gently set her down.

Marie smiled warmly, color rising in her cheeks. “It is quite good to see you, too, Master Grey. Could you help me?”

She pointed down at Molly. Monson attempted to follow her gesture but found the idea, let alone the action, quite difficult. A limp hand grazed his wrist and a strained voice pricked at his ears.

“Monson
honey…look
…at me.”

Tears started to drip from his eyes as Monson took in the sight that was his guardian. Covered in blood, Molly’s clothes and bandages were soaked with her life fluid. He reached for a red-stained hand, wincing as Molly’s cold, clammy skin met his. Knowing that he was lying not only to himself, but also to her, Monson spoke.

“You’re going to be all right, Molly. You can’t die. I won’t let that happen.”

Molly smiled. “We both know that isn’t true, Monson honey.”

She paused, throwing up a hand to cover her mouth as she coughed violently. “I’m going to have to leave you a bit early, but before I do, I need you to do something for me.”

Monson wiped at his eyes, pushing away the rapidly rolling tears. “Anything Molly, just name it.”

Molly’s smile became more pronounced. “The machine, Monson. I want you to use Baroty’s machine.”

A spark of shock almost paralyzed Monson’s body. Baroty’s machine? She wanted him to use Baroty’s machine?

“Why?” he asked with concern. “I thought you told me that I shouldn’t do that–that I would be using innocent people to power it.”

“I did,” coughed Molly. “I think Baroty was intending to test the machine on you so he could see the effects before trying it on himself.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The scar.” Molly touched her forearm with trembling fingers. “I think he has the same scar as you do. There is something he does not have access to…Monson, I think it might be your grandfather.”

Monson started to interrupt but Molly stopped him. “No–Monson, I need you to listen for now. I don’t have much time. I wasn’t lying when said I had found Marques’ body and now, after seeing Baroty with your grandfather’s face–and having seen the dead body for myself–I think I finally know what he’s after. Your grandfather isn’t gone. Monson.”

Monson could not help himself. He cocked the eyebrow.

Molly continued. “Monson, listen to me. Baroty has figured out the secret of the Shadow Yogai. I understand that you don’t know what I’m talking about. But this is
important
–remember the name:
Shadow Yogai
. Baroty is a Shadow Yogai.”

Monson nodded his head reluctantly. “OK, Molly. I’ll remember.”

She smiled again. “Now that’s my boy.”

Her body relaxed slightly as a brick lifted from her wall of worry. The relief passed quickly, however, as she refocused and once again zeroed in on him.

“You aren’t going to like what happens next, sweetie.”

“That’s enough, Molly.” Monson squeezed her hand, scanning the area for possible escape routes. “You’ve done enough. Let’s get you out of here.”

Molly reached up and touched his face. “You know that’s not going to happen, Monson. You need to be realistic, but even more than that, you need to get your memories back.”