Nix and Mist Chapter 12: Enter 'Le Blonde

12.

Enter ‘Le Blonde

He was right. Nixion did not like the plan at all. In fact, if he was honestly upright about it, Nixion absolutely hated the plan. That is, if Mist’s idea was actually a plan at all. Which, in his opinion, wasn’t in the slightest. If it did count as a plan, though, it was not saying much to say that Nixion hated it. He hated just about everything, after all.

“No,” Nixion glared at Mist after he had explained. “Not that. I’m not going there.”

“Actually,” Mist said, scooping the files back into the bag and hoisting it over his shoulder once again. “You are. Take Mahogany with you too. You’re to keep an eye on her from now on.”

“I hate you…” Nixion muttered.

“You know, something tells me we’ve been here before,” Mist frowned. “Have we been through this before?”

“I hate you,” Nixion repeated, still glaring, as Mist made for the stairs out of the basement.

“Huh. This is happening again,” he said.

“Hate you,” Nixion said firmly, glaring at Mist.

“I know,” He said. “Stavan, you come with me. We need to get back to the Sanctuary.”

“’Kay.” Stavan said, hooking his thumbs into his pockets and flashing a smirk at Nixion as he passed him.

“Hate you both.”

“We know,” Mist and Stavan both said in unison.

“If it’s any consolation,” said Stavan, “We hate you too.” And they left Nixion in the basement to glower at the place they had just been.

***

Nixion Strange and Mahogany Reen were walking up the short pathway that led to the small, white house. Nixion’s movements were bitter, Mahogany’s solemn. His insides squirmed with discomfort and dreaded anticipation. Nixion’s jacket was zipped against the cold and the howling wind sent shivers down his spine, but Mahogany was dressed in her usual faded blood-red shirt and her usual faded white pants, contained in a bubble of pure calm. As his hair and clothes billowed wildly in the wind and his entire body excluding his protected hands froze, Nixion reflected longingly that he could manipulate the air around him as well…

All too soon they had reached the front door, painted a pale blue, and Mahogany had knocked on it firmly, three times with a fist. Nixion was hoping the wait may have been a bit longer, simply to delay what he couldn’t exactly escape from anymore. Unfortunately for him, the door opened almost at once, slowly, obediently, and a welcome wave of soft heat drifted over him. Nixion’s stomach dropped again, however, as he looked into the face of the balding man who had opened the door in response. It was not an altogether striking image of their fallen ally, but it was close all the same, and Nixion saw enough resemblance in his expression to make him feel horrible again. Silently, he cursed Mist for bringing this on him.

The aging man surveyed them for a few moments, and then stepped aside to allow them entry.

“I suppose you’d better come in then…” Thomas Iron’s father said grimly.

And Nixion stepped over the threshold after Mahogany feeling too awful to appreciate the warmth of his new surroundings. He vaguely heard the door close softly behind them and the man ushered them quietly into the next room, gesturing to the large couch in front of a rocking chair. Nixion and Mahogany took the couch while Thomas’s father sat in the rocking chair and the woman Nixion knew to be Thomas’s mother walked in with a grim expression to sit beside her husband.

“We’re here to talk about Thomas,” Mahogany begun softly. “Your son.”

Thomas’s mother nodded slowly and sombrely. Nixion suspected they knew already, despite the complete lack of information release from the Sanctuary. He and Mahogany weren’t exactly doing a very good job pretending otherwise either.

“I’m very sorry,” Nixion said abruptly, not entirely sure why the words were coming out of his mouth.

“No you aren’t,” a harsh voice came from behind them and Nixion craned his neck around to see someone who looked almost precisely like an older version of Thomas striding towards them and his parents. He looked to be in his late twenties and was an excellent copy of Thomas, though Nixion knew he was probably a lot older because of magic. The scar across his left eye and his wilder hair were the only things that differed from Nixion’s last memoires of Thomas. That and the fact that he was older and taller than Thomas had been.

Nixion frowned at the man as he joined his parents and received a fierce glare in return. Nixion looked away hastily. He couldn’t blame Thomas’s brother, but all the same…There was something about his eyes that seemed to drill holes into him.

Like Mist.

Nixion pushed the thoughts of Mist away from his mind. He didn’t want to think about him. He needed to concentrate. Concentrate on the horrible situation he was currently in.

“This is Loader,” the father said rather reluctantly as his eldest son stood beside him, arms folded.

“Don’t call me that,” Loader snapped at his father.

Thomas’s mother nodded, seemingly for no reason, and, looking rather lost, stood up abruptly and walked out of the room again. She returned moments later with a tray loaded with cookies and tea which she then set down on the polished table in front of them.

Mahogany took a cup of tea and took a sip.

Nixion frowned at the tray.

Thomas’s mother sniffed.

Thomas’s father sighed.

Thomas’s brother seethed with silent rage.

“I’m afraid we have some…unfortunate news…” Mahogany said softly, deciding to address the matter fairly quickly. Nixion didn’t think it was the best approach, but if it got him out of here faster, then he didn’t really care how it was done.

“Oh?” Loader asked, the darkness in his glare spearing through in his speech as well. Nixion caught sight of the black handle of something tucked away in his belt that was pulsing slightly. Thomas’s brother, Nixion now knew, was a Necromancer.

“Your son, Thomas,” Mahogany continued in her same, quiet tone, deciding to direct her speech to the parents only. “Has…passed.”

“We know that,” Loader snarled. “How?”

His eyes were daggers, filling with a darkness that was also beginning to writhe around the handle Nixion could see.

“Your brother was killed while working on a Top-Secret Operation for the Australian Sanctuary,” Mahogany said, now dropping the soft tone and redirecting her speech only to Loader. Nixion had never really known Mahogany to be one to talk much. Although, this was reasonable, seeing as Nixion barely knew Mahogany at all. She probably spoke heaps a lot of the time. And here she was, doing something he was refusing to.

He couldn’t face talking to Thomas’s parents, and Thomas’s brother looked as if he was ready to kill someone, most likely them.

Thomas’s mother let out a strangled noise that could have been a choked cry of misery or a groan of depression.

“So he died for a pathetic cause?” Loader growled menacingly.

Nixion looked at the father to see him shifting in his seat uncomfortably as his son spoke to them. He frowned as he watched, unsure of what was going on.

“He died doing a noble thing,” Mahogany countered. “Thomas was trying to make the world a better place.”

“Don’t say his name,” Thomas’s brother’s eyes were drilling holes into Mahogany. “Don’t say his name. You have no idea…” His sentence was left hanging and his knuckles were pure white as his fists clenched tightly.

Thomas’s mother was deathly pale and her lips had drained of colour, her eyes fearful and hands trembling. She was backed up against the far wall now, watching her son carefully and Nixion realized that she was observing him out of fear. Loader was ready to snap…

“Son…” the father started feebly, but was cut off at once.

“Shut up, old man,” Loader growled in something that was so beat-like that Nixion was taken by surprise and his hand automatically slipped towards the handle that was his machete, protruding from its holster. It was not a movement he had intended to happen, but he did not relinquish his grip as Loader and Mahogany continued exchanging barely controlled speech when.

The father shut up as he was told and slowly removed himself from the chair and paced slowly over to join his wife at the far wall. Loader did not seem to notice.

“Thomas Iron was trying to prevent a war.” Mahogany said firmly, still staring at Loader defiantly, having ignored his command to keep his deceased brother’s name absent from the conversation.

“Who cares?” Loader roared, letting his arms unfold and leap to his sides, fists still clenched tightly. Nixion’s grip on the handle of his machete tightened a fraction. “He still died, didn’t he?” Thomas’s mother muffled her gasp with her sleeve, but still Loader ignored his parent’s obvious petrification.

“He died trying to protect the country,” Mahogany said calmly. “Your anger is understandable, but I must ask you calm down.”

Loader let out a strangled cry of rage and begun yelling, even louder than before.

“This is all your fault!” he bellowed at Nixion and Mahogany and Nixion saw the mother quickly slip into the kitchen and out the door of the house, closely followed by her husband.

“Calm down…” Nixion muttered, half a glare of his own rising to his face.

“I’ll kill you!” Thomas’s brother roared and he grabbed the hilt of the weapon that was now swirling with dark, black energy and he pulled the pulsing machete from its holster.

“Hell…” Nixion cursed and leaped to his feet, pulling his own gleaming machete from his holster as Mahogany begun grinning madly at all the yelling, abandoning all composure and sensibility. Nixion made a mental note to yell at her later and ducked under a slice of shadow darkness that was send spitting from the black machete before darting forwards, ducking low to avoid another which tore a huge slit in the wall behind him.

He came up with a powerful fist which Loader pushed aside and brought his knee flying to meet Nixion’s ribs which hit with a sickening crack. Nixion staggered sideways, biting his tongue against the pain, something that he already knew was a stupid idea, but attempted to ignore it. He spun and sent a kick in his opponent’s general direction. But Loader had already ducked and he grabbed Nixion’s leg and spun him around through the air. Nixion cursed again, much louder this time, as he was released and was sent flying into Mahogany who was still sitting on the couch and still grinning uncontrollably despite the brutal fight that had just broken out in front of her.

Groaning and rolling his eyes, Nixion rolled off her lap and leaped to his feet, only to be sent tumbling back to the ground again as a wave of shadows was sent crashing into him. He rolled sideways to avoid a second wave of darkness flying his way and leaped to his feet again.

“You’re under arrest for unprovoked assault on a, uh, temporary Sanctuary official,” Nixion said loudly, surprising himself with how professional he sounded. “Come quietly now or we’ll be left with no choice but to use-” a fist of darkness took all the breath out of Nixion’s lungs but he clung onto the attack as it withdrew towards Loader. Nixion saw the Necromancer’s eyes widen as he realised what Nixion was doing but it was too late.

Nixion released the fist a split second later and was propelled into the brother, his kick meeting his chest in the centre and Loader was knocked backwards and Nixion saw him release his dagger as he did so. Nixion lowered his guard when he saw this, expecting a few seconds of pause in the battle, expecting Loader to hit the ground, expecting a few moments to anticipate further attacks. But Loader had hit the wall and had rebounded forwards instead and Nixion’s opponent remained, infuriatingly, on his feet.

Though his expectations had not gone to plan, Nixion saw that Loader was slightly disorientated at being knocked around as such and Nixion used these few seconds he had been provided with to attack. He dived, aiming for a low tackle from the side and he took Loader off his feet and crashing back onto the ground.

The small room that had been cosy and warm only a few moments ago had turned into a battlefield littered with fragments of furniture.

Not risking a moment of hesitation, Nixion bought a ready fist up and sent it crashing down on the Loader’s head. He heard the satisfying smack of his recently gloved fist against flesh and bone, and Nixion bought it back up for another strike. But this time Loader lashed out an attack, whether planned or out of panic or desperation, Nixion could not tell. Loader’s knee smacked against the back of Nixion’s head and stars burst in front of him as pain exploded from behind and Nixion was thrown off, disorientated. Nixion vaguely registered the hazy image of Loader’s hand gripping a leg of the small wooden drawer behind him, but was too disorientated to do anything about it. Thomas’s brother half threw, half forced the drawer upwards and it splintered into pieces upon contact with his head.

Pain exploded from all over Nixion as three consecutive attacks made contact with his stomach as well and he did not know where he was anymore, blinded by agony and thrown off balance by disorientation. He could feel the powerful objects that were Loader’s fists raining down all over his body and the long surface against his back and head that was the floor as he was thrown back onto it. His vision slowly faded back into view as the attacks ceased for a moment and Nixion caught sight of Mahogany who had now stopped grinning and laughing. He shot her a look of disbelief and she hesitated, then raised her arm once and splayed her hand and he felt Loader’s attacks cease entirely and heard his body hit the wall behind him. Head spinning wildly, Nixion staggered to his feet and turned to face Loader who was already standing again.

Instinctively, Nixion let his fist fly towards his opponent as he moved in and it made contact with the side of Loader’s face. Thomas’s brother’s head jerked sideways as it made contact and Nixion hit him again. And again. Once more. Loader was sent crashing into the wall again with a final sickening attack to the face and slid to the ground.

Nixion staggered backwards a few steps before sinking to the ground himself, releasing his machete and panting heavily. He was sweating and aching all over. It was times like these that he wished he had the money to pay for protective clothing… Nixion doubled over, his hand rising to his head where the drawer had smashed against it and saw some dark liquid against the black of his gloves. Blood.

He raised his eyesight to look at Loader.

His hair was messy and untamed and eyes were bloodshot, unfocused. He had a dark patch under his scarred eye and his clothes were battered. But it was not any of this that made Nixion swear.

 It was the dagger that was pointed at him again, and the spear of darkness speeding towards his heart.

Before he knew what was happening, the spear had flickered and then dissipated from his view and Loader was engulfed in flame and screaming. Nixion turned to see Mahogany’s arms both raised, one directed at Loader, the other at the place the spear had just been.+

Nixion passed out a moment later, Mist’s voice ringing in his head with the accompanying inquiries as to why Mahogany had not intervened sooner.

“From now on we’re going to need to know what everyone is doing. Every move…”

It could only have been a few moments before he awoke again, however. His body ached and head throbbed. Loader was unconscious and drenched in water and Mahogany was a few feet in front of him, pulling out a pair of shackles.

“Force,” Mahogany said, finishing Nixion’s sentence that had been cut short when the battle had first started. Nixion rolled his eyes and let his head loll backwards.

“Let’s just get back to the Sanctuary…” he muttered. Before he started killing something.

***

Zathract and Stavan strode through the dark, abandoned school, clothing zipped up tight against the cold and their hands firmly fixed in pockets, trying and failing to keep them warm. Not Zathract’s gloves, nor jacket, nor shirt, nor pants ever kept him warm when approaching the Sanctuary. There were times when he hated the precautions set up against the place, but at least it did what it was meant to do; keep mortals away.

The sky above was grey. They sky above the school was always grey, but today the rest of the surrounding sky was grey and full of black clouds as well. A storm was coming… They passed a crumbling building and stepped into the decaying remains of the canteen. Zathract knelt beside the cracked tile and summoned flame to his hand with a click of his fingers. The magically enhanced tile detected the magic offered to it, then the entrance to the Sanctuary opened up in the form of a descending staircase which Zathract and Stavan walked down. The ceiling reformed above them and they paced through the long hallway that led to the larger parts of the Sanctuary.

Zathract had called the team, excluding Nix and Mahogany, and told them to meet up in the Sanctuary at two in the afternoon. He had called Lyra and told her to be there and a quarter to two. This would, hopefully, leave Zathact and Stavan enough time to explain everything to her and, if needed, convince her of the importance of her contribution to their plan of action against the traitor.

However, it appeared that Lyra was unwilling to wait the ten extra minutes that made the gap in-between the time Zathract and Stavan would arrive and the time set for their meet, for they had only travelled halfway down the corridor when the sounds of the ceiling behind them being forced apart again came drifting towards their ears. They turned to see Lyra Blue striding down the staircase and entering the dimly-lit corridor by firelight and nodding to them in greeting. The two nodded back and continued their way towards the wooden door at the end of the path.

By the time Zathract and Stavan had reached the large wooden door that opened to the rest of the Sanctuary, Lyra had already joined their side and entered alongside them.

“Ah,” the administrator said briskly, hurrying forwards to meet them. “Mr Mist,”

Zathract mumbled something darkly, glad that Nixion was not there to hear the administrator address him as such.

“Miss Blue,”

“Whatever…” Lyra muttered quietly.

“And…” the administrator said, turning to Stavan. “Uh…What’s your last name?”

Stavan merely offered a grunt before striding forwards past the administrator and Zathract and Lyra followed, giving him a shrug in return. They made their way across to the large room full of couches and chairs that they had spent their time in the previous few days and, at a nod from Zathract, Stavan quickly preformed a quick circuit of the room and checked to make sure no one was hiding anywhere, trying to listen to their conversation while Zathract close the doors.

There were no cameras in the room. Stavan returned from the far end, confirming with a quick nod to Zathract that they were indeed alone in there, and they all sat down.

“So,” Lyra said, taking an entire lounge to herself and leaving the two males to settle with separate singular seats facing her. “What’s all this about then? Why’s no one else here?”

“Because,” Stavan said, getting straight to the point. “We need to talk to you privately.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow.

“And you chose to carry out a private conversation at the Sanctuary?”

“We’re a bit tight on time,” Zathract said.

“We are,” Stavan nodded. “Quite tight.”

“Tight enough to risk a secret conversation that doesn’t seem to concern the rest of our little rebellious group in the open and thoroughly un-private refuge of the Sanctuary?” Lyra asked.

“Of course,” Stavan continued and Zathract decided to sit back and let him speak.

“Why’s that?”

“Because we’re tight on time, we’ve just said that.”

“You’ve just said that.”

“Zath said it too.”

Zathract sat up. “Call me that again and I’ll hurt you,” he said sharply.

Stavan rolled his eyes and Lyra smirked.

“So how tight are we on time then?” Lyra continued.

“We have about ten minutes until the others get here,” Zathract said, letting himself fall back into the chair again. “That should be enough time for Stavan to explain everything that’s going on.”

“What?” Stavan asked, turning his head to look at Zathract with an incredulous expression. “Why do-?”

“Go on,” Zathract nodded with a small grin and watched as Stavan grumbled a bit before launching into a mimic explanation that had been offered to him before.

Lyra had remained silent during the time Stavan talked. So had Zathract, speaking up only to interject small detail his companion may have missed. When Stavan had finished, Lyra simply frowned at the two for a few moments as if trying to decide whether or not to believe them.

“And why do you think you can trust me?” she asked.

“Everyone asks that…” Stavan muttered.

“Because we can,” Zathract replied simply. “We’ve discussed this.”

“Not really,” Stavan said. “More like ‘briefly and un-thoroughly skated over’.”

“So you’re just hoping?” Lyra asked them.

“Indeed we are,” Zathract nodded. “You in or not?”

There was a pause, but only a short one before Lyra nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “And Redeem person; how do you know she can be trusted?”

“There’s no point in discussing Slayn,” Zathract said with a grin. “You’ll see why when you’ll meet her.”

“Alright then,” Lyra said and stood up, walking towards the doors while Zathract and Stavan followed.

She unlocked them and they walked out of the room as a very battered, very tired looking Nixion Strange staggered in with Mahogany Reen dragging an unconscious man drenched in water by the leg behind her.

“Any trouble?” Stavan asked, flashing a smirk at Nixion again.

“Some…” he muttered in reply and staggered off, probably to find some healers.

“Don’t go too far,” Zathract called after him. “The others will be here soon.”

Nixion did not reply and Mahogany walked after him, dragging the unconscious man behind him.

“Thomas’s brother,” she said to the three of them as she walked off. “He didn’t exactly take the news very well.”

As Mahogany Reen disappeared around the corner Hunter and Kali walked into the room.

“Where’s Dark?” Stavan asked Hunter.

“Coming,” was all that the Vampire offered in return.

“Right…” Stavan frowned.

But a fully-healed Nixion Strange and an empty handed Mahogany Reen had already returned to their midst by the time Neon Dark walked himself into the Sanctuary.

“Sorry,” he said at ten past two. “I was held up,”

“Okay,” Zathract said, taking charge again. “Now that we’re all here, I’m going to tell you what we’re all going to do. Neon, Lyra and Kali are all going to go and see Gabriel Cobalt for any information he can give us about The Remaining.”

“He tried to kill me once before,” Dark said in an undertone.

“He’s tried to kill me twice in the past year alone,” Lyra muttered.

“He’s tried to kill me three times now,” Stavan sighed.

“He’s tried to kill me seven times,” Mist offered.

“And he’s tried to kill me fourteen times as well as offered me hospitality for a single night and also hired me once to murder someone,” Nixion said roughly, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, great, he’s probably tried to kill us all sometime.”

“He’s never tried to kill me,” Mahogany said cheerfully.

“Then maybe we should send you there and see what happens,” Nixion snapped. “Get it out of the way.”

There was an awkward silence after that which was interrupted by Zathract a few moments later.

“Anyway…” he continued. “We’re going to go see him and the rest of you are going to have your fighting skills sharpened up here by a friend of mine.”

Nixion frowned. Hunter frowned. Mahogany looked blank.

“My fighting skills are better than most,” Stavan said, mildly annoyed and Nixion nodded in agreement.

“Who’s doing it?” Nixion asked him.

“Her,” Zathract said, nodding to the entrance to the Sanctuary behind them and they all turned to see Slayn Redeem striding into the Sanctuary, her usual cocky grin fixed on her face.

Nix and Mist Chapter 11: Wear Those Gloves

11.

WEAR THOSE GLOVES

Nixion frowned at the filthy underside of the car outside the front of his house and feeling as calm as he ever could be. Admittedly, this was not very calm at all, but it was calm none the less and at least it was better than he had been a few hours previously, back in the Sanctuary. It was something, and something would have to do. No one would be bothering him for a few more hours either. That was something else, another thing that would have to do.

His brow was furrowed and Nixion frowned at the underside, scanning the pipe that ran from one end to the other. He needed to do something that did not involve any of his usual life; nothing that involved magic or fighting or vampires or Necromancers or Sanctuaries and definitely nothing that involved Mist. And seeing as the only thing Nixion knew how to do other than fight in his free time was fix cars that was what he had decided to do. Fighting was too familiar. Deciding that the problem was not underneath, despite the oddly different design of it that had been puzzling Nixion for twenty minutes now, he rolled sideways and stood up and got a burst of sunlight in his eyes.

Grumbling darkly, Nixion shielded his eyes with a raised arm and made his way over to the front of the car where he pushed the bonnet up. Nixion surveyed the contents of the front for a few seconds, then rolled his eyes and reached down into the engine and pulled something out, something that was obviously not meant to be there. It was a rust old knife, jammed in-between two important looking parts of the car that Nixion did not precisely know the names of. Shrugging, he slid the knife into his belt and went back to surveying the insides for any further problems that may be there.

This was what Nixion had once done in his spare time other than demolish punching bag after punching bag; fix cars. He did not run an official business, nor was he actually employed by anyone; people simply came to him and requested he fix their car problems. He did not know how they had managed to find their way to his house, but he didn’t ask either. He fixed the cars and got a few bucks for his trouble. In recent years, however, Nixion had not had many ‘customers’ and his lifestyle ended up revolving even more about vicious attacks with his fists and machete.

Nixion had been lucky; a man had walked up to him the moment he returned from the Sanctuary the previous day. He figured this was a good thing, because training against his punching bag again was going to be all too familiar to recent events. This was going to mean that he would have to think about things again. Nixion did not want to have to think. Nixion was sick of having to think. He was sick of life too, at the moment, but he wasn’t going to let life win this time. So he kept going with that. Thinking, however, was going to be taking a break for a while. Sure, fixing the car had required thinking, but at least it was thinking that he could figure things out with. The car was a distraction, and a distraction warmly welcomed by Nixion at that. Fighting was another thing that would be taking a break for he did not know how long. He was sick of fighting too. Thinking, fighting, life. None of these things were particularly good things to Nixion right now.

This surprised him, though. There was once a time when fighting was all he wanted to do, was his only care in the world, even with his regular tasks of fixing cars here and there. He did fix the cars, but fighting was still the only thing on his mind. There was a time when fighting was all he wanted to do. 

Nixion shook his head at the car, having found no more problems with the engine and strode around to the driver door. He opened it, turned the key and felt the engine growl, coming to life. Satisfied, he turned the key again, turning it off, and shut the door.

Done for the day, he sat down and examined the knife in an effort to block the tide of bad thoughts that were threatening to swarm back into his head. He had hoped, after a nights rest, he might be back to normal. But no, he had woken up confused, disorientated and thoroughly sick of absolutely everything. He wanted to be left alone. And yes, he was alone, but he that was not going to remain the same way for long; Stavan would be arriving in a few hours.

He cursed and forced the knife into the grass beside him, muttering darkly again. Now that he had thought about Stavan, more thoughts of his usual life that would resume all to soon were swarming back to him again. He thought about Mist for the first time since the previous night, and the anger that Nixion had had with him for so many years now blossomed inside of him, yearning to get out, and Nixion welcomed the familiar sensation, to hate, to loathe, to want to rage, to kill someone, something.

How could Mist betray him? He was the closest thing he had to a friend. He had even come to regard him as a friend in the past few days, Nixion was not even sure how many of them had passed since Mist, Kali, Mahogany and Thomas had appeared on his doorstep. His fist clenched tightly around the hilt of the rust knife as his thoughts redirected to Thomas who was now dead.

Thomas had been killed by Keeve, yes, but had it in fact been Mist who had sold him, them, out? Was it he who had really killed Thomas? Had he sold everyone out? Or was it someone else after all? The Grand Mage could be entirely wrong…and yet he could have been entirely correct. He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know much of anything anymore. All Nixion did knww was that he could only trust one person: Stavan.

While Nixion had been in his forced state of insanity, he had trusted absolutely no one (this may have had something to do with the fact that he was insane) and no one had trusted him in return. Even if the person in question did not mind the killing he did, or in fact were killers themselves, they did not trust him. If there was one thing he had learnt, it was you had to trust at least one person. He did not particularly know why, but he felt better when he trusted someone. It meant he was not alone. Even if this sense of security was indeed false, it was a nice sense all the same and one he had become quite accustomed to over the years. That one person whom he trusted had once been Mist. Now it was Stavan, because Nixion simply was not able to trust Mist any longer. Stavan was the one he was relying on now.

“Yo, short stuff!” a familiarly cocky voice called from behind him.

Think of the Devil…

Nixion looked up from the ground to see Stavan walking towards him, smirking his cocky smirk. His world lit up. Just a little. And he grinned.

They were in Nixion’s backyard, where the grass was unkempt and tire marks ran across everything from the lawn to the dead flowers. There was a lone car there, with fading yellow paint and the bonnet open. It was the car Nixion had been building himself for the past three. There was also a drive-around lawn mower near the mouldy fence.

“Nice place,” Stavan grinned, kicking an empty soft drink can that was lying on the ground.

Nixion ignored him but grinned to himself again as he turned away from Stavan.

“You should get a dog.” He said unexpectedly, making Nixion look up in surprise. “You look like you’d like a dog.”

“I like dogs,” Nixion said and smiled. “Problem is, dogs don’t like me.”

“Ah, you gotta show it who’s boss,” Stavan explained as if he was explaining why elephants were unable to fly to an overly-emotional three year old. “You gotta command it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Nixion looked down at his boots, still smiling.

“I think a Chiwawa.” Stavan decided, the laugh hidden in his voice. “It’d suit you both. You’d hate it and it’d hate you. You’d make such a pair, little yappy things that look even stupider than the-”

“Shut up,” Nixion laughed, and aimed a kick and Stavan’s shin.

To his astonishment, Stavan leg blurred, came up towards Nixion, hooked his upped leg, twisted and Nixion somehow ended up on the ground.

“Gotta be quicker, little killer,” He smirked again.

Nixion panted for a second, wondering how he had managed to do that. Then he used his hands to push himself up faster than most could blink, and punched Stavan’s face. At least, that was what he had tried to do, only his face was not there anymore and Nixion’s fist met thin air instead. Stavan had twisted, spun and had ended up on Nixion’s left. He hooked his left arm with both hands in a lock, and pushed down hard.

Nixion gasped, the pain sending him to his knees. His arm was still being held, but Nixion fought to ignore the pain that was now beginning to eat at him and rolled forwards, loosening the grip on his arms and sent a kick into Stavan’s knee.

Stavan let go of Nixion, but not for long. The leg Nixion had not managed to attack came soaring forwards and sunk into Nixion’s stomach which caused him to moan in agony and folded into a ball.

“You should make sure you can follow through if you attack someone like that kiddo.” Stavan said, his voice having not changed the slightest bit.

Nixion opened his eyes and Stavan was standing beside him, not a care in the world.

Nixion muttered something that could have been ‘hate you’…

“Yeah, right,” Stavan said and flashed him a smirk. “I bet my big toe you can stand worse that that. That was nothing, I guarantee. I also bet you can do better, that was terrible.”

Nixion rolled over, closed his eyes and flipped himself up onto his feet.

He had taken worse. Much worse in fact, but Nixion was hoping to take Stavan by surprise. He flashed and moved in, his right hand going to a hook, but he changed half way through and spun in the air, bringing his right hand right around for a back-fist to Stavan’s face, but Stavan had not fallen for it and pushed Nixion’s fist away before he knew what was happening and moved under it, going for a jab to his ribs. Nixion folded into the attack, sideways now, and rolled around it again, fighting back the pain, and rammed into Stavan. He evidently had not been expecting something so rash as a shoulder-barge and Stavan did not have time to raise a guard against the powerful ram, despite his Cleaver abilities. Stavan was forced backwards and Nixion did not stop. Instead, he piled on the speed, hoping to trip Stavan, and brought his free hand upwards at the same time, going for an attack to the gut. However, Stavan pushed his fist away again with ease and somehow managed to execute a summersault over the still-charging Nixion and landed perfectly behind him.

Nixion spun, his guard already flying up, but he had been too late. Stavan was already striking, one powerful kick to his knee and a strong fist to his face sent Nixion half stumbling backwards, half collapsing to the ground, then end result of which looked something like a deformed sprawl. He wasted no time for nursing injuries, though, and flipped himself over, avoiding another fist to the face that sunk deep into the ground and sent bits of dirt flying everywhere. Nixion leapt to his feet while Stavan pulled his fist out of the ground and charged forwards again, hoping to push him off balance, but Stavan seemed to have learnt from the last time and stepped sideways. He swept and Nixion fell to the ground again. Another roll sent Nixion facing upwards and a moment later he had sent a kick into Stavan’s chest and he jumped to his feet again.

Nixion tried to punch Stavan, but he moved below it, grabbed Nixion’s wrist, dragged him forward so he stumbled and used his other arm to elbow Nixion in the chest.

Nixion got all the wind knocked out of him, and he staggered backwards. Stavan just shook his head disappointedly. Nixion felt anger rise up in him, and he lunged forward, trying to tackle Stavan to the ground.

Stavan moved fast. He crouched down under Nixion, sent his hands up, hitting Nixion in the chest and stomach in a way so he was holding Nixion above him, like a sort of wrestler. He threw Nixion across the backyard and he hit the grass.

“Your anger makes you predicable and stupid,” Stavan was saying while Nixion stared up at the sky, having no idea how he got there or why he was hurting so much more than he was a few seconds ago. “Strong, yes, but if you fight only with strength you’re going tp lose at least once. And all it takes is one defeat and you’re dead.”

The pain hit Nixion hard and he gasped.

“You’re not bad little man, but you’re not terribly good either.”

Nixion staggered to his feet.

“Don’t even think about attacking me again, or this time I’ll break your arm.”

Nixion nodded feebly and stumbled inside, collapsing into a chair. He stared at the wall for a moment as Stavan walked inside behind him, and then forced himself to his feet again, striding over to the sink to get a drink.

Compared to the front and backyard’s of Nixion’s property he did not actually officially own, his actual house was very nice. Very tidy, very clean. Even, polished wooden boards lined the floor and walls and nice furniture were arranged neatly in the next room. Nixion had not done this to the place himself, the old owners had before they had ‘unexpectedly been killed’ a day before Nixion attacked the Sanctuary.

He grabbed a glass and filled it with water before walking weirdly back to Stavan. His rose the glass to his lips before pausing for a fraction of a second. He saw Stavan’s eyes narrow in that fraction of a second and Nixion acted fast, the glass flying from his hand and towards Stavan. The ex-Cleaver sent an open arm flying sideways, smashing the glass of water into a million small pieces effortlessly. He leapt forwards and went for a tackle at Nixion and his first impulse was to kick Stavan, but a split second before he attacked, a second option came into Nixion’s mind, and in the split second, he went with that second option. As Stavan reached him, Nixion brought his elbows down on Stavan’s back. Stavan roared, and instead of the tackle, Stavan just flew into Nixion and they went tumbling. Nixion’s arms were forced to go over his head when Stavan rolled over him. Stavan jumped up and forward, spinning around in case Nixion got up.

Nixion just stayed on the ground. His shoulders were aching, his chest had been hit more than once and he was having trouble getting his breath back. He hadn’t given up; he was just resting… and would probably do so until he didn’t have the chance to fight Stavan again. Coincidence.

“I thought for sure you would kick me,” Stavan said. Nixion looked at him and had a flash of satisfaction as he saw him rubbing his back, face screwed up in pain. “You didn’t. I didn’t expect that. Well done,” there was a pause where he continued to rub his back. “You hit be right in the joints…” he muttered.

“Anytime,” Nixion moaned. He hurt everywhere. Stavan knew exactly where to hit him and did so.

“That was better. Let’s call it a draw, huh? I’m thirsty,” he said. His smirk was nowhere to be seen now.

Nixion laughed feebly and rolled over onto his back and caught sight of the floor that was now scattered with small shards of glass. “Whatever you say…” he gasped.

Stavan bent over and offered a hand to Nixion, a hand which he took and was pulled to his feet.

“Where are we meant to sit?” Stavan asked, looking around the kitchen and kicking away some of the glass into the backyard beyond.

“Come on” Nixion said, walking out and not bothering with drinks. Stavan followed him downstairs, to the basement, which Nixion had converted to a large training area. Yes, Nixion generally did his simple, easy training (the destruction of many punching bags) upstairs in the living room, but the basement was used whenever he was feeling like a larger challenge.

“Not bad,” Stavan said as he walked past a large case of various sized machete’s that was hanging on the wall.

Nixion had not been down here in a week now, but it was still the tidiest place in the house, even if it didn’t have much light. He flicked a switch on the wall and the lights he installed himself flickered to life, illuminating the place. Stavan walked to the seven chairs and table in the corner at once and Nixion joined him a few seconds after.

They sat down, in silence for a while, then Nixion got bored again.

“So… what do you do now?” he asked.

“I’m a bounty hunter now,” Stavan replied lazily.

“Oh, really?” Nixion did not know this. “So do you usually have to kill people or just hurt them?”

“Normally I just hurt them,” Stavan shrugged. “People don’t take much convincing to come along after they’re hurt, you know?”

“I know,” Nixion nodded. “But what else do you do?”

“You mean like you?” he asked. “Training, fighting and fixing cars?”

Nixion paused. Was that all he did with his life? Didn’t he have anything outside that?

“I do other stuff,” Nixion muttered, completely lying.

“Yeah, I forgot, you have a side hobby of cleaning houses.” Stavan was grinning.

“But do you do anything else?”

“I fight,” Stavan shrugged. “I might not be a Cleaver anymore, but I still care about people, so I fight anyone that deserves it.”

“Unless they’ve got a price on their head?” Nixion asked sceptically, a smirk now raising his lips.

And then they got into a long conversation about fights, Nixion mentioning some of his favourites, while Stavan talked about ones so farfetched that Nixion wondered if he had made some of them up. It was rather interesting, Nixion thought, and it was nice, just to talk. He didn’t get to talk to people as a friend much anymore.

And then there was a loud scraping at the entrance to the basement and Nixion leaped to his feet, one hand reaching for his machete, the other to the rusty knife he had taken from the car. But it was only Mist, climbing down the stars into the basement, having found and opened the door already, a bag in one hand and a frown on his face.

“Yes, please come in,” Nixion said sarcastically and rolled his eyes, returning to his seat.

“Nice to see you too, Nix,” Mist grinned and Nixion’s insides squirmed for a moment. Mist walked forwards and joined the two at the table, placing the bag on top of it before taking a small, wrapped package out of it.

“I got you an early birthday present,” Mist said to Nix, tossing him the package. Though Nixion though Mist may have been teasing him, he detected no trace of amusement in his tone or in his expression.

“You’re birthday’s coming up?” Stavan asked Nixion and he nodded stiffly. Nixion did not like birthdays. They reminded him of home. He did not like thinking about home. It reminded him of his kidnapping. He did not like thinking about his kidnapping. It reminded him of the torture. He did not like torture…

The package was wrapped entirely in a smooth, black wrapping. sMist nodded at him and Nixion ripped open the package carefully and a pair of black gloves fell onto his lap. Nixion’s brow furrowed in confusion as he examined the gloves properly. They were of material he could not identify properly, like the wrapping, like Mist’s clothing. This must have cost Mist a fortune, Nixion couldn’t really believe he had spent so much money on him. He slid them on and they fitted Nixion’s hands perfectly, he barely could tell they were there. They made him feel warm…

“They’re probably the most expensive gloves you’ll find anywhere,” he said to Nixion. “They’re protective material as well. You could punch your way through a brick wall and not even get a bruise.”

Nixion stared at the gloves for a second longer, then stared at Mist before nodding his thanks, having temporarily lost his words. Mist nodded back to him and then got down to business.

“So,” Mist began. “We need a plan.”

“You mean we’ve been going on a whim until now?” Stavan asked with a frown. “Oh, that’s brilliant, that is.”

Mist clenched his jaw, but otherwise ignored Stavan. Nixion realised he took that as an accusation about how Mist’s plans had been going wrong, about Thomas’s death. Nixion found himself wondering if it was Mist’s fault once again.

“I think you should know something,” Mist said to Stavan. “We have a traitor.”

Stavan raised his eyebrows, surprised. “And who is it?” He asked.

“We don’t know,” Mist admitted, giving Nixion a glance. “So I think we should make some estimated guesses based on what we already know.”

“Hang on,” Stavan said, sitting up. “I’m assuming that you two trust each other already?” he asked, pointing to Nixion and Mist. Mist nodded and Nixion made a half-hearted grunt, not sure of the answer to that question at all anymore. “So how do you know you can trust me if you already know there’s a traitor?”

“We don’t,” Mist said. “But I’ve looked at your track record with the Sanctuary. You were fired, yeah, but I’ve also read everything you’ve done since you were on your own. As far as I can see, you’re still working for a little thing I like to call the ‘Good Side’.”

“Ah,” Stavan said and settled back into his previous position of relaxation. “That’s fair enough I suppose. Continue.”

Mist pulled out something from the bag and dumped it on the table, putting the rest of the bag on the ground beside him.

“The files,” he said. “Of everyone in our little group.”

So they started, going through everyone’s profiles, adding bits of information they knew personally about the person. Their histories, their personalities, the people they knew, the people they know, they’re criminal record, they’re occupation, absolutely everything. They started with the least likely, the ones that Nixion, Stavan and Mist thought they could trust most and worked their way up to the least likely.

They managed to cancel out a few people who they could assume was not the traitor, but not necessarily trust completely. This short list was made of Kali Nole and Neon Dark. When Stavan had asked about Mahogany as well, Mist had simply said that she did not seem at all the type to betray the group to The Remaining and therefor was also one of the ones that would most likely be the traitor. Stavan agreed to this after hearing his explanation, but Nixion did not particularly understand Mist’s logic in that. Nixion had not agreed with the addition of the Necromancer to the list, but Zathract and, to the surprise of Mist and much as Nixion, Stavan were particularly persistent on the matter. In the end, Zathract promised to go and see Vai Melt soon and get as much information about Dark from her and any other Necromancer willing to help as he could. Finally, Nixion agreed to this, grudgingly and unwillingly, but agreed none the less, and so they moved on to the next list.

The people they discussed next were on the list of people that were beings they could trust most definitely and completely outright.

They managed to come up with a list of people they could trust without a doubt. Nixion and Stavan both agreed that there should be absolutely no one on that list, but were both surprised when Mist suggested Lyra Blue.

“What?” Stavan asked, brow furrowed. “I suppose it’s reasonable that you may want to trust someone other than us two, but Lyra?”

Mist nodded, unfazed and firm on the matter.

A long conversation arose on the matter of Lyra Blue and it was a conversation that Nixion did not join in in. Mist remained as firm on her inclusion as ever and Stavan persisted stubbornly against it.

“She can be trusted,” Mist said, leaning forwards as the voices of him and Stavan rose steadily louder. “She’s never going to do anything that doesn’t have a large advantage in it for her! The Remaining can’t offer her an amount of money that would tempt her, she’s practically rich already with all the weapons she sells and when we asked her to join us she even went as far to say that she’d deal with the matter herself!”

“But that’s exactly it!” Stavan yelled, slamming a fist onto the table. “If she thought she could deal with the thing herself, then she obviously knew what was going on! In fact, it’s probably her that’s the traitor!”

Nixion rubbed his eyes and decided to speak up.

“If I had to choose one person outside of us three to trust,” he said, “It would be Lyra. I’d say we should put her on this list.”

“You said that no one should be going on here,” Stavan reminded him.

“I changed my mind,” he said. “I think we can trust Lyra.”

“Thank you.” Mist nodded at him and Nixion was not sure what to do. Stavan pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked up.

“Yes,” he said finally. “Okay, Lyra Blue then. We’ll tell her everything, I assume?”

“Yes,” Mist nodded, already scanning the rest of the group. “Okay, I say that everyone else we keep a close eye on and make sure we track they’re every move.”

“Everyone else?” Stavan asked, surveying the remaining people in their group.

“Mahogany Reen,” Mist started, reading them out, “Jake Hunter and Gabriel Cobalt.”

Nixion raised his eyebrows. “Gabriel? I thought he said he wasn’t helping…”

“He did,” Mist said. “And I still think he’s going to end up doing it anyway.”

“Gabriel Cobalt?” Stavan asked. “Isn’t the guy who…?” he took a look at Cobalt’s picture in his profile. “Ugh. He tried to kill me once…”

“He’s tried to kill me seven times now,” Mist said, waving a careless, gloved hand at Stavan. “And I’m just a few years younger than you.”

“Whatever,” Stavan said. “Is that it then?”

“One last thing,” Mist said, pulling out one last profile. “Slayn Redeem. She’s an old friend of mine, powerful, strong and bloody impatient. Lyra would like her. You too,” he nodded to Nix.

“Another person…?” Nixion had his doubts.

“Can she be trusted?” Stavan asked slowly.

“Completely,” Mist said.

“Well, I suppose that’s okay then…” Stavan muttered.

“She’s going on the list with Lyra and us three, then?” Nixion asked, deciding to let it go.

“She is,” Mist nodded.

“Okay then…” Nix muttered. “Is that it then?”

“That’s all of them…” Mist muttered, surveying the profiles once again.

“Wonderful,” Stavan sat back in his chair. “Now what?”

Mist leaned back in his chair as well.

“Okay,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “Can we all agree that we’re basically screwed?”

Nixion and Stavan nodded.

“So, this is where we form the plan,” Mist continued. “From now on, every time we go out to fight someone or look for clues or something, we’re going to divide ourselves into four pairs. I’ll go with Neon Dark, Stavan, you go with Kali, Nixion with Mahogany and Lyra can taker Hunter.”

“Uh…” Stavan muttered. “No…I’d rather go with someone else, to be honest.”

So they had dated then, Nixion thought to himself, confirming the matter that had first arose when Stavan had first been brought into the Sanctuary with Kali, Thomas and Mahogany.

Mist paused, but only for a moment. “Right,” he said. “Alright then: Stavan, you can go along with Hunter and Lyra can take Kali.”

Stavan nodded and fell silent again. Nixion fought another smirk.

“So,” Mist continued, “This will mean that each of us, the people we trust, will each have one individual to focus on for as long as this goes on for. We’ll all meet in private, us three and Lyra I mean, and report how each of the people have been acting. If there’s anything suspicious they’ve been doing, anything different or weird, whatever. The point is, from now on we’re going to need to know what everyone is doing. Every move.”

Stavan nodded, but then frowned.

“Hang on,” he said. “Yeah, okay, we’re all trusting each other, us three and Lyra, yeah? But what if one of us is actually the traitor? I mean, no offense of course, but for all we know, you could be havin’ secret meetings with The Remaining every night.”

“I could be, yes,” Mist said. “And yet so could you, maybe Nix is as well and Lyra could be the head of The Remaining operation. Yes, we don’t know anything for sure, but if we don’t do something along the lines of what I’ve just said, we’re going to be a lot worse off. None of us will have anything to work off and we will be completely screwed.”

There was silence.

“That is,” Nixion said slowly, “Without a doubt, the most illogical thing I’ve heard you say. A thousand things could go wrong. Any of us could report everything we’re doing to The Remaining, organize an ambush from the inside, compromise everything we do, take hold of the Sanctuary with our own plans used against us and basically anything else they could think of.”

“And yet, you’re agreeing with me?” Mist asked him.

“I am,” Nixion said. “Someone had to.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if we kept everyone together?” Stavan asked. “I’m sure that everyone could overpower any one person, whoever the traitor is, when we find out.”

Mist shook his head.

“If they really are organized, then they’re most likely going to be able to predict everything we do. They could have any number of powers we don’t know about hidden from us and strength that we didn’t know about. If we report on everyone then we’ll have time to plan against a suspect and organize ourselves for an attack.

“If we don’t, we’ll be putting everyone in danger. We keep in groups of two and with any luck, the traitor will slip up”

“So we’re going off pure luck?” Stavan asked incredulously.

“Luck’s gotten me a long way over the years,” Mist shrugged.

“All the same,” Stavan persisted. “It’s still to unsure of anything to be a good plan.”

“What do you suggest then?” Mist asked him.

There was another short pause.

“Fine…” Stavan muttered. “But it’s still a stupid plan.”

“It’s still a stupid plan,” Nixion agreed.

“It’s still a stupid plan,” Mist nodded. “But it’s the only one we have.

“So we’re going to have to make do with it?” Stavan asked.

“Yup.”

“I was afraid you’d say that…” Stavan muttered.

“So what are we doing next?” Nixion asked. “Any leads? Any plans? Where are we going?”

Mist smiled and stood up. “I think I may have an idea,” he said. “And you’re not going to like it.”

“That sounds suspiciously bad,” Nixion said, and then nodded.

“I don’t like it.”

Everything That Is Going On

HOMEWORK!

THAT is what is going on. Basically that and nothing but.

Nix and I are up to our necks in it so writing time for Nix and Mist and basically everything is not getting very far. In fact, the first DRAFT for 11 has not been finished yet.

So, yeah, it may be a while. Just you y'all know.

~ Servus Mist ~