Neo-Odyssey

Chapter Thirteen

"Hey, wussies 'n cripps, you behind there?" A deep, booming voice asked from behind the curtains that so tentatively separated the back of the plane from the middle sections.

"Yeah. Now keep out unless you want things to get ugly," the airline captain replied, his hands shaking as he tried to steady his nerves, sweat dripping down his flesh as he keep aiming his gun forwards, eyes darting between the two walkways the likely terrorist was going to come in from.

"C'mon now, I haven't even hurt anyone yet? You really want me to start snapping bones till the screams make you toss that peashooter my way?"

The captain didn't give a reply, nor did anyone else in the deathly quiet back end of the downed airliner. Taylor prayed it'd stay that way till help of some form could arrive to bail them out, though, they didn't think luck like that was in the cards for the lot of them.

No, we'll have to figure this out ourselves if we want to survive.

"Boyscout, just hear what I gotta say, okay? I ain't got problems with you. Don't got problems with much anyone on this rinky-dink piece of junk. The air marshal, that slugger who cheap-shot me, and Jonah Dunkel. Those three are the only bastards I've got a bone to pick with."

Jonah?

Taylor turned to the young man, currently hunched over trying to use gravity to coax the black glassy shard out of his chest, to little effect. Taylor wasn't surprised, wounds sucking in perforating objects wasn't exactly a little-known unheard of novelty, and by the way his chest was heaving, he was panting heavily enough that his torso's contractions was helping it stay stuck.

"What do you want with Jonah?" Taylor called out, happy that the young man's medicine had turned out potent enough to relieve the burden of that act. If anything, despite what he'd said before, it was far more numbing than even the prior dosage had been.

"The snot nosed brat is the kid of someone who got on our bad side, that's all. A shitty little lawyer working for a bunch of smug cunt heretics. Well, not that that'd matter to you."

"Really... playing into... the terrorist stereotype... ain'cha?" Jonah jested, slowly and steadily, managing to keep the sliver from moving any deeper inside him.

"Fuck off. Rotten lil' rich shit, once we have you, we'll settle the score with your dad-"

"Pffffftahahahahahah! Really? What, because he loves me? How much do you even know about my dickhead old man? Guessing you've never met him in person because then you'd know how little fucks he has to give on my behalf. Or anyone's really."

"Not a bad bluff-"

"Bluff? Bluff! Oh, that's a good one!" Jonah roared, his every word mixed with bitter laughter as he stood upright, gaze fixed forwards towards the source of the voice. "Let's be completely frank whoever-you-are, I could not care less about whatever 'this' is about, or what you wanna do with me. If you think I'm joking around here trying to save my own skin, I might just rush you to prove otherwise. My family, my father, does not care about me. The moment I didn't meet his expectations he threw me into a loveless arranged marriage and forgot about me. The only thing my father has ever done is throw money at me out of obligation, and provide half the genes of which my dashingly handsome self is made of."

"That so? Huh... well... you certainly ain't the type of loser crybaby I'd have pegged you for. Tell you what, get the gun out of the pilot's hand and I'll take you off my list."

"And if he doesn't," said captain asked.

"Then me and the boys are going to rush in, take your piece, kill the lot of you, cull the cripples, then take as much food water and medicine as we can and bounce. This plane is a deathtrap, and I for one ain't in the mood to get picked off by the first Metamorph that passes by."

"Metamorph..." Taylor felt a curious sensation at the word. A nameless nostalgia they couldn't quite peg.

"Not explaining to a bunch of dead men walking. You've got a minute to decide what you wanna do. Just play nice and you get to keep playing make believe that you'll survive this mess. Resist, and you'll all sorely regret this."

The pilot's breathing became sharper, more frantic as he looked over to Jonah, who had an uncharacteristically solemn expression, a dour air wafting around his sullen injured self.

"You keep a watch on the left, I'll keep a watch on the right. Understood, Blake?"

Blake blinked a few times, as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. His eyes tinged with disbelief as much as they were concern for the clearly unwell young man.

"Jonah, you aren't in any state to try and fight."

He shrugged.

"Like I care. If wrecking myself is the price that needs to be paid to end someone trying to hurt the people I care about, so be it."

He turned around, looking Taylor dead in the eye, and cracking a pained, fatalistic smile.

"Wouldn't you agree? That we're friends, I mean. Sure we just met... but I've got a good feeling about you. About Clarice, about Collin, even you Cap'n Blake. And I've always had a soft spot for Florence, my dear fiancée and best friend. I hate being all mushy, but since we're probably about to die horribly, I might as well let you all know that you're the only people who've ever given me a fair shot. So, I'll do whatever I can to make sure you all have a shot at getting out of this alive. Simple as."

"Don't rush-"

That was all Taylor was able to say before their words were drowned out.

The entire plane shook as something buffeted it from outside, a wave of sheer force that heralded an earthshattering sound. Like something had rent the very fabric of existence asunder.

The back of the plane was flooded with fearful cries, pained moans, and the clattering of loose objects as all mayhem broke loose. Of everyone, only, Jonah appeared to keep steady amidst it, frozen as if in shock, an immobile statue amongst the fretful chaos.

Blake was perhaps the worst off, flung off-balance and towards the ground, his pistol skittering across the floor back towards the tail end of the aircraft, leaving him thoroughly defenseless.

"Looks like the Demiurge's giving me a spot of attention today. Good. You fuckups had your chances. Time to take a dirt nap!!!"

Where's the gun... where's the gun... Taylor's eyes frantically scanned the ground as they heard the rumbling of feet just out of view, a dozen men or so readying themselves to fight. Taylor caught a glimpse of the weapon as they heard the simple curtains that separated the back end from the middle flung aside, a new murmur of delinquent voices added to the chaotic cacophony of voices swelling around her.

It's close... I can get it... Need to get it.

Taylor mustered their strength as the miscreants started pouring in, two pairs of ruffians rushing down each of the aisles towards Black and Jonah respectively.

By the time Taylor managed to shove themself off of their makeshift bed and down onto the floor, they'd already gotten into fist fighting range. None of them seemed armed, luckily, yet by how well built they seemed...

Just hold out... please hold out.... I can get it...

Jonah didn't say a word as he moved to strike first. Brandishing his knife, he cut several silvery arcs in the air towards the oncoming enemies, warding his assailers away for the time being. Though, his body was weary, heaving, his mind obviously elsewhere.

Blake, meanwhile, was on his back scrambling to put distance between them and him, for all the good it'd do him. The mental image of a floundering fish swam through Taylor's thoughts as they shirked their gaze away and towards the firearm, just out of reach beneath a seat.

Almost there...

Taylor heard a scream, not one from Blake or Jonah, but, rather, it was the voice of a thug that rang out in pain. Daring to glimpse backward to the battle as they fumbled their hands around the pistol, all while watching Jonah desperately keeping the two on his side as far away from Taylor as possible. His knife buried into the calf of one, who was currently nursing his wound on the floor in a steadily forming pool of their own blood. The other he'd tackled and managed to pin against some nearby seats, the pale young man gritting his teeth as the bad guy pounded his fist into him again and again, his hold only slackening when the brute got him in the chest. Jonah seemed to crumple in place as the scrupulous brawler threw him off, and started sprinting towards Taylor.

"Don't you move an inch if you don't wanna end up-"

It was over before Taylor really knew what was happening.

His body hit the floor with a thud, a smoking hole in his head.

Talyor felt the warm metal in their hand, shuddered at the strain of the firearm's discharge upon their gravely injured body.

They looked at his slackened, lifeless face for a good few seconds. The empty eyes of the dead man looking back at Taylor judgingly. They couldn't believe what'd just happened, it still didn't click in their mind, all things seeming to leak out aside from the image of the person Taylor had just killed.

"Toss it here, now! Unless you want me to break this one's neck!!!"

They turned their gaze and gun towards the other pair, one of the malicious duo manhandling Blake roughly, hands clamped down around his head, all too ready to twist until something gave way.

"Don't get any ideas. Point the thing away from me and toss it over to-"

They didn't finish their sentence. Instead of the name of their accomplice, a bloodcurdling scream thundered out of their throat. Their body writhed in pain, their focus and grip waning just enough for Blake to worm his way out of the head-hold.

"Take the shot!" an elderly voice shouted hoarsely from out of sigh, and just underneath where that foe had been standing.

Taylor fired off reflexively, then fired again, then again. More had come through, and they dealt with them in mechanical fashion. They didn't think about it, they just did. Before they knew it, all but the one Jonah has stabbed earlier were done for.

"Not half bad kid. I'd have loved you on my squad. Would've been a natural soldier I'd bet."

Sir Redmond steadily lifted his aged body up, crawling out from beneath the seat just beside Blake and hobbling over to Jonah and the last of the terrorist's mook squad.

"Please don-"

The centenarian put a hand over the injured thug's mouth as he coldly gripped Jonah's knife, pulled it free, and stuck them in the jugular. Their blood sprayed out explosively, spurting across the plane before the pressure let off.

"Blah! Pth Pth! Ngh, rookie-damned mistake Redmond. Would've gotten an earful for this for sure. Ugh..."

The old man fretted to himself as he wiped blood-spray from his eyes, wiping them in turn on the clothes of the corpse at their feet. They wiped their mouth off with their shirt sleeve, a non-inconsiderable amount of that spray dribbling down from his gob.

"Well, that's one more notch to add to the ol' kill count. You alright young man? That wasn't half bad knifeplay for someone fighting their first fight."

Johan laughed grimly, hacking and wheezing as he did, a hand on his chest, blackened blood oozing profusely from where he'd been struck.

"An honor to hear that from a cold eyed killer. Don't suppose you'd mind giving a lesson or two if we get out of this?"

Sir Redmond patted Jonah's head paternally, smiling warmly in a way that strangely offset the carnage that had unfolded around them.

"With vigor like that young man, I'm sure you'd do fine without lessons. Any-who, how are you feeling Taylor? Taking lives is never a simple affair. You aren't feeling ill from it, are you?"

Taylor didn't respond. They could only look at the weapon on their hand, shaking within the youth's trembling grip.

"Taylor?"

"Y-yeah... I feel... weird..." they stuttered out, an alien warmth flush through their body. Mind trembling as strange jolts battered against it, the focus of their vision waning with each one, the sensation threatening to rend Taylor unconscious.

"Well... at least it's over..." Blake sighed out, getting to his own feet and surveying the area.

No... it's not over yet...

"Just what I'd expect to hear from a pacifist civilian snot like you. Tell me, are those dumb mooks dead?"

The silence that followed was all the answer the criminal needed.

"Good. That means you should be out of ammo, more or less. And seeing as how you've no spare shots, that means I can finally have my fun..."

Taylor reflexively aimed towards the entry way, firing off a bulled the moment the lumbering brute came into view.

He dodged it.

"Shit, that could've been messy. So you took one out without using it then? Shame your hands are so shaky, isn't it? I bet your head's a real mess right now. How couldn't it be after killing so many people one after the other. Don't worry though, I'll clear it right up... just as soon as I've laid the old man and rich brat out to pasture."

"How... how did he do that..." Blake murmured, voice shaky with the weight of disbelief packed into each and every syllable.

"Young man, can you still fight with your injury?"

Jonah nodded a response to Sir Redmond, forcing himself up as the terrorist got closer and closer.

"Good. Here's your knife. Aim only for the vital points. His type don't fall easily."

"My type? Judging from how pissy you sound, and how well you're carrying yourself after killing that dumbass grunt... I'm guessing you aren't a stranger to the shadows then? Though, you don't look like an out and out Metamorph to me.. . whatever, maybe you'll give me a bit of fun before you keel over and croak, you pruny old corpse."

"You've not won yet, monster. Jonah, Taylor, hold fast. If all my years of fighting have taught me anything, it's when a fight is over, and when a battle has only just begun..."