Jean

  The sanctuary looked different under the awning of torrential downpour.

  Dark clouds filled the sky, and grit-filled rain battered down against the metallic spire of the sacred space. Muddy water roiled underfoot, blades and fangs forming in the froth.

  A languid beacon of gold marched resolutely against the gloom as Chandrika’s procession stomped a slow circle around the circumference of the arena. The party kept a close formation around Chandrika, as the sage’s potent magic kept them safe from the malaise that filled the air.

  “Shield!” Jean shouted.

  A horror of metal and malice had coiled itself around the pagoda. The long, insectoid construct reeled back, swinging forth a blade of darkened water big enough to cut a building in half.

  The construct itself was barely recognizable from its previous state. Gio’s fracturing had planted a seed, and the combined ferocity of explosive ingenuity from Hatra and Sapphire had brought that seed to bloom. Disparate pieces of stone were fused with a lattice of conjured metal and bathed in a writhing sea of liquid that looked like it came from the inside of old pipes that had sat for years. It had reshaped itself into a long form reminiscent of a centipede, with many sharp limbs that skittered about, dancing on the surface of water. The sole surviving hand of the construct gripped the trident, its golden gleam striking a harsh contrast to the rust.

  Sapphire responded to Jean’s call, sprouting a laurel of glowing leaves in front of the procession.

  As Jean reached out with his magic, the leaves quickly brightened, becoming incendiary with light as his astral magic coursed through them. The blade of water crashed down, losing form as it dashed against the holy shield. Hatra’s flamethrower simultaneously swept out at the surge of water underneath them, instantly boiling away the shapes rising from the tide below.

  “Back in formation!” Jean commanded.

  His voice carried a trace of a burgeoning skill. His tactical insight had been the only reason they had survived this far, and he would do whatever it took to ensure that they held out until Gio came back.

  “And he will come back,” Jean whispered to himself. “He needs to.”

  Sapphire’s magic blinked multi-colored lights in and out of the glassware that she was holding as she ambled alongside Chandrika’s dancing form. The illusory umbrellas of the procession were just barely keeping the abrasive rain out of their faces, but it wasn’t enough to keep everyone from getting drenched regardless. The little bits of skin that Chandrika’s ceremonial outfit revealed were red and raw, and Jean could feel the metallic grit that suffused the rain digging into the sensitive skin between his toes as it pooled in his boots.

  Sapphire’s normally wild blue hair was pulled back into a limp ponytail, and both she and Hatra wore lab goggles that were fogged over with humidity. She quickly handed Hatra a small vial of purple liquid, and Hatra slotted it into her device.

  “Launching hot!” Hatra warned.

  Her gun fired the test tube like a bullet, and it hit the pagoda a few feet away from the construct. As it impacted, a fireball of blue and yellow light erupted, and dense chemical smoke was dispersed into the hammering rain.

  “Good potential!” Sapphire shouted.

  “How much of that can you make?” Jean asked, speaking loudly to cut through the downpour.

  “Not enough, but hopefully more than nothing!” Sapphire yelled back.

  Hatra grunted in agreement as she backpedaled alongside Chandrika. She used a rag to wipe away sweat and mud from Chandrika’s brow even as she continued dancing, being careful not to disturb the magic that was keeping them all safe.

  “Hang in there, Rika.” Hatra said, moving in time with the rhythm of the drum as she returned to her place in the formation.

  The group was past fatigue and well into suffering, but perhaps none more so than Chandrika. She had looked beaten down before the explosion, and now, amidst the rain, her sedate motions seemed to be pulling from a rapidly dwindling supply of willpower.

  Left unspoken was the fact that so long as she danced, none would dare suggest retreat.

  Jean’s incandescent eyes pierced through the cover of rain. The guardian was preparing another titanic form of water, as its ghastly visage skittered and sloshed along the bulk of the metal building at the core of the sanctuary.

  “Shield!” Jean yelled.

  Sapphire grunted an affirmation as she surged forward, flicking a seed into the air and filling it with her verdant magic. Jean grasped the writhing vines with his magic, burning the rain away with his astral magic and drawing both Hatra and Chandrika in as a wall of water slammed down against their defenses.

  “That… that one almost didn’t hold.” Sapphire stuttered. Jean could hardly hear her soft voice against the storm.

  Jean’s mind raced. He was trying to avoid drawing the conclusion that he knew was coming, but he couldn’t find any other threads of logic to pursue. He was trained in strategy, and he knew what would happen to a besieged force getting whittled away by an impervious enemy. The construct was wearing them down, testing their defenses, and learning from each attack.

  This isn’t going anywhere. We need a shift in our favor, or we’re going to die.

  “If…” Jean began to say.

  He was fighting with himself. He didn’t want to say it.

  “We… need to start planning.” He said instead.

  “Planning? For what? We’re doing the best we can here, guy.” Hatra grunted.

  “If Chandrika collapses… one or more of us is going down with her.” Jean carefully said. Even as he spoke, he was scanning the sky, tracking the skittering movements of the construct.

  Hatra sharply pinned a stare at Jean.

  “No.” Hatra coldly said.

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  “Hatra, it has been more than half an hour.” Jean blurted. “I don't- SHIELD!”

  He interrupted himself as he was the construct taking the opening his distraction had provided to form three wicked blades of water overhead. They were angled so that each would hit a different section of their formation. There was no way that they would be able to block all three.

  Time slowed as Jean’s heart rate soared.

  Faced with the impossible, what was he to do?

  Jean didn’t know.

  Through a failure in planning or practice, he had let himself and his team down by allowing them to find themselves in a situation of insurmountable odds.

  His father would be so disappointed.

  But Jean was a Castallane. If he couldn’t win, he would find a way to do the best he could.

  His father’s words found him in that moment. Jean grit his teeth in displeasure as he heard the voice of his old man ringing in his ears, despite the cold comfort that the words gave him.

  ‘In the face of adversity, you will find out who you really are.’

  Jean wasn’t perfect.

  He had a habit of comparing himself with others.

  He really hated the way he felt when he thought about how Gio was so good at everything, while almost being able to beat him in duels. Jean wanted badly to maintain at least the one thing he could pride himself in, and he hoped that he could at least summon a fake smile when Gio finally managed to beat him in a fair fight. Jean also hated that he felt this way, vowing never to let anyone see his petty side.

  Jean was stubborn.

  He never knew when to give up, and had butted heads with many people in training. It took him most of his adolescence to figure out how to let people make their own mistakes. He had been way too hard on bad ideas in his training squad and had driven some of the other boys to tears, to the ire of both his older cousins and his father.

  Jean also had another trait. One that had been largely beaten out of him.

  Jean hated authority.

  No, actually… dad would probably be proud.

  ‘In the face of adversity, you will find out who you really are.’

  He had silently hated that saying for so many years.

  Who was ‘Jean’, besides the son of a family that had infected the highest ranks of the military?

  Who was ‘Jean-Claude Castallane’ if he wasn’t the top student in his class?

  Who was Jean?

  “I am someone who will do what needs to be done.” Jean thought.

  Jean burst into action, summoning blazing wings. White feathers pierced the gloom as he spiraled through the air, diving in the way of the blades. Jean pushed Sapphire, Hatra, and Chandrika down to the ground.

  The three girls hit the conjured golden tiles underneath Chandrika’s procession. As she was ripped from casting her domain, Chandrika gasped.

  The blades descended. Each was longer than one of Jean’s spears and as wide as his bicep. They had beveled edges that sparkled with flecks of metallic detritus, and wicked curves that promised to carve deep into flesh.

  Two blades went wide, raking through the water around the group and causing waves of rust-filled water to erupt, showering the basin with a rain of sediment.

  The third blade pressed down across his back, gouging deep into the flesh running from his right shoulder down to his left quad.

  The blow knocked all the wind from his lungs.

  The force of the blade drove him down, shattering through the floor of Chandrika’s domain and into the shallow end of the muck below.

  Jean thudded down with a wet smack that further concussed him. The blade collapsed into water on top of him, which washed him onto his side. Jean coughed out water, turning himself over. Blood rushed from the gouge on his back, mingling with the brown swamp below him.

  “Jean!” Hatra and Sapphire screamed in unison.

  He tried to push himself up onto his hands and knees, but his muscles gave way and he splashed back down, earning a mouthful of metallic grit. He spat.

  He propped himself up on his elbows in a low-crawling position. His wound burned as grit from the dark rain seeped in, and his ruined shirt clung to his burning skin.

  Not. Like. This.

  Jean was many things, but he would not die here today.

  The fire in his eyes returned. He forced himself up through the pain, gritting his teeth. He met the eyes of his opponent with that same disdain for authority.

  The construct slammed down into the water, slithering forward and brandishing the trident in challenge.

  Jean met the gaze of the corroded mask.

  Jean held on to consciousness with a jealous grip as a spike of pain drove through his mind.

  The eyes of the construct were on him, and free of Chandrika’s intervention, its magic obliterated thought.

  Jean could barely summon the will even to scream as the sensation of his mind fraying against the pain drove him down to his knees once more.

  A tired Chandrika lurched forth, whipping out with ropes of conjured silk that pulled painfully against the wound on his back. Jean could do nothing but allow himself to be pulled up to the platform above.

  Hatra and Sapphire joined in, pulling Jean up from the muck and tossing him behind them next to Chandrika, who raised a shaking hand towards the statue in limp protest.

  The four adventurers faced down the construct, which elongated its body to rise and meet them. It summoned blades of water that hovered overhead, bearing down on them imperiously as if savoring its victory. Waves of witchery radiated off of it, as a writhing curse wriggled into their minds.

  Crack.

  A strange noise, like glass crunching underfoot.

  A dot in the air, mere inches away from the nose of the rusted mask.

  From the space in between raindrops, a speck of odd light.

  Crack.

  The construct tilted its head like a puppy. It leaned in, curiously surveilling the dot of light.

  Crack.

  A jagged shape erupted forth from the dot; a line of fragments, moving in unison.

  A hand. A group of glassy fragments in the shape of a hand, but a hand nonetheless.

  As the hand latched onto the mask, the construct began to wail, a screeching noise that cut through every other sound. Around the hand, rain turned to steam. The air sparked. The metal of the mask changed colors, crumbling away into what looked like rotten meat.

  The construct reeled back in retreat, creating space for the group to breathe. A handprint marred the construct’s face, and it clutched at its head.

  The pain subsided as the curse melted away. Jean helped Chandrika unsteadily to her feet.

  Crack.

  The disembodied hand reached out, creating a flat, reflective plane.

  Ting.

  The mirror was instantly beset by cracks. Gio pulled himself out of the mirror in chunks, fighting to escape the mirror before it disintegrated into dust.

  Jean watched in bewilderment as the pieces knit together. Cracks ran through Gio’s face, and his normally green eyes swirled with colors and light. He faced them with a maddened smile.

  “Sorry about the wait,” Gio chuckled. “I had to pull myself together.”

  Even through all of the pain and disbelief, Jean and Chandrika groaned.