Neo-Odyssey

Chapter Fifteen

Damnit! Not Now!

Taylor regained consciousness quickly enough, a fact they were thankful for, considering how much worse that latest mystery seizure had been compared to their last few. Not that they were thankful in the slightest for its brevity.

Jonah was currently being grappled by the thug, both their clothes rent into raggedy shreds. Meanwhile Sir Redmond was slumped on the ground atop a few of the corpses of their previous attackers, cradling his bloodied and bruised face, blood running down his mouth like a waterfall.

All while Taylor remained lame and motionless, sprawled upon the floor like a long forgotten ragdoll. Their eyes flickering every which way as muscles began to rouse, and obey once more the commands of the youth's aching mind.

Helpless. Again. Why is it always like this?

It felt inescapable. In the waking world, in their dreams, in their mind, everywhere Taylor could be found, so too did they fall short.

A flash of admiration struck Taylor as they watched Jonah stumble backwards, his grapple broken, his body bruised so badly that, on the outside at least, he was sure to give Taylor a run for their money in the looks department. Yet he still stood, eyes fixed venomously upon the Terrorist that so menaced him, smiling even as blood dribbled down the corners of his mouth.

He could face the adversity before him. So what excuse did Taylor have? None.

"I'm impressed, Dunkel dickhead. You really aren't dead yet. And here I thought I was cutting too loose playing too rough. I was sure I'd manage to break something by now..."

Jonah laughed in his face.

Cruelly.

The terrorist's bravado soured at that. A frown gracing his weathered brow, dirty tanned skin creasing before the audacity of his prey.

"You aren't taking me seriously... hehehe... hahahaha! Oh, that's rich! A miserable animal like you really thinks it gets to enjoy such a luxury! No... no-no-no... come on... show me the truth. Get rid of all doubts! I'm ready, I'm waiting, and I'm starting to get bored..."

The thug cocked his head quizzically, displeasure replaced by palpable bewilderment.

"Did I knock a screw loo- oh..."

His eyes drifted down to Jonah's uncovered arms, and the swollen black veins that had been exposed in their fighting, the unshrouded arm wraps he'd been covering his snake bites in loosened and drooping to the grown in loose messy bunches.

"... shit... what did you kill?"

Jonah spread his arms wide like a bragging fisherman who was too proud of his latest catch.

"A snake. Magic snake if you ask me. Think of an ill-tempered anaconda with wicked sharp teeth and evil eyes."

The thug seemed none too pleased by that description, his confusion replaced by disgust tinged reprehension.

"Fuck.... FUCK! Demiurge damn my rotten shitty luck!!!"

The terrorist swore up a storm as he lashed out at everything around him, battering the plane's furnishings, hull, and whatever else he could strike. It was only by sheer good fortune that the injured noncombatants who occupied this part of the downed aircraft were out of his immediate reach. Otherwise, Taylor shivered at the thought of what he might've done to them in his blind rage.

"... you're useless... worthless... done for...You little fucking shit! I don't know how in Sam Hill you managed it, but it's clear as day that you ain't lying. Which means you're a goner, just like that little twiglet puke writhing on the floor"

The way the criminal gestured down to Taylor made their skin crawl. Something, a primordial feeling of wrongness washed over them, made them want to hurl. They could feel an inkling of understanding stir in the back of their mind, an understanding that was not their own, yet present all the same. Something that promised a fate best left unspoken.

"Animaphaegia... you two are Unbound now. Nothing I can do about it. I don't even know if my boss could. The moment you took your first hit of killin', it was all over. Now? Seems I need to quit fucking about and sell you the farm before you become everyone's problem."

An eerie silence overtook the plane. A grimness not of this world.

Jonah dropped all his devil-may-care pretenses, an unnatural calm coming over him, more unsettling to Taylor than any of the manic antics he'd been up to since coming to the injured med student's bedside.

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear that..."

A thin smirk played upon Jonah's lips, his voice quivering as his disbelief shone through, relieved, excited, and frightened all at once.

"I'm finally free... I'm finally home..."

The next few moments defied comprehension. Taylor was looking squarely at it, and even they found themselves frozen in disbelief, mind racing for some answer, any answer

Jonah moved like something fluid, quick and graceful beyond what a thing of meat and bone should manage. His shadow trailed behind him, as if trying, and failing, to keep up, snaking behind him like a tagged-on tail.

He rushed forth with a becalmed recklessness, speeding ahead quick as a bulled, clearly keen to take the thug by surprise.

There was no surprise.

As fluid as Jonah was, as fast and dexterous as he seemed, the terrorist's eyes kept pace. Tracking his movement with deadly accuracy, his face scowling in disgust.

Right when contact between them seemed imminent, something changed.

Jonah was sent flying back, tumbling across the wall and thundering into the tail end of the airplane with a might crash. His chest heaved as he tried to get air back into his winded lungs, eyes discordant and dazed, body shaking with the evident pain of the impact.

"I hate you edgy fuckwads. Cocky little quick learners who think a hint of power and a dash of talent makes them king of shit mountain..."

The thug hurt to look at. A perverse wrongness permeated his everything. The esoteric tattoo's that had seemed before like a merely gaudy fashions statement now appeared unbearable. Wherever Taylor's gaze lingered on it, it felt as if their retinae were burning. As if holes were being seared from some invisible luminescent factor to the abominable ink works.

"I can't believe I'm wasting energy on this? You little puke, you're paying me back for this! Drop by drop, limb by limp, I'll take you apart laughing!"

And so he began to do just that, chuckling in a way that hurt to listen to as they brusquely walked over to Jonah, who only then managed to pick himself up, all airs of confidence blown away by this new unfathomability.

I need to do something

Jonah came at him again, throwing an amateurish attempt at a haymaker square at his jaw. The blow connected, making a whip-crack sound as it rang off of his flesh... to no apparent effect.

"Ha! I felt that! Not bad!"

The thug's hand shot out to grapple Jonah's arm, holding it in a tight vicelike grip, black stygian ooze seeping out from his arm wounds at the sheer pressure of it. To Jonah's credit, he bore the pain with just a drawn out grunt, teeth grit as his eyes flickered for an opening.

"Psh... don't bother. There's no cheap-shotting son of a bitch coming to pull your ass out of the fire."

The thug's free arm shot up to grab Jonah's head. Firmly gripped, he lifted him just high enough that he was off of his feet. Then, grinning, he slammed him into the wall....

Again...

And again...

Laughing all the while.

"Having fun yet!? Ready to beg?!"

Jonah spat blood into his eyes.

He thumbed one of Jonah's out in return.

Then at last, the thug coaxed out a scream of pain.

Taylor watched onwards, helpless as the torture continued, the slow, deliberate beat-down of the man who'd saved their life from certain death.

Taylor cried as they tried to move, to stand, to crawl, to do something, anything!

"Kid..."

Sir Redmond?

Taylor heard something cut through the air up and over them, landing deftly into the floor in-front of their face. Jonah's knife, gleaming, and still stained.

"Too... banged up... ugh... it's... it's up to... you..."

Me? What can I do? Useless! Worthless! Can't move! Can't act! Can't help! How could I-

Jonah's screams at losing his other eye cut through their thoughts.

Thoughts streamed through Taylor's mind. Of their waking life since the airport, of their dreams beyond it. What they could do if their body just obeyed them, of how it could move if only they could tailor it. Make it their own. Make it something they felt comfortable in. Reliable, flexible, movable yet resilient. Durable. Like a wireframe model. Taylor knew how it could be done, they knew by heart the crafting methods, they also knew the human body, all the ways those wires would move. The biomechanics of it were as thoughtlessly obvious as breathing. The possibilities tantalizingly torturous. The need for such a state of beings overpowering for a simple stray thought.

That's how it started.

That's how it always starts.

A stray thought. A need. A possibility that comes to life at but the slightest spark.

Taylor grabbed the knife and threw it into the thug's back. Instantly he dropped Jonah, who slumped against the floor in a useless heap, muddied gore seeping from the pits where his eyes had been.

Taylor didn't bother with quips. They had only a single thought in mind, which they obeyed with all their being. A laser focus that banished all else from mind, with not so much as an inkling of curiosity left to wonder how they were moving.

"Oh balls... you popped off..."

I'm going to kill him

They didn't suffer another word from his mouth.

A few seconds and the distance was crossed, Taylor's right arm shooting towards the thug's head. He moved out of the way, fumbling around for distance in the cramped quarters while Taylor was busy pulling their claws out of the wall, the steely blades screeching as metal cried against metal.

"Fuck this shit, I'm out!"

The criminal began running away.

That wouldn't do.

Taylor would kill him.

So they gave chase, rushing up the plane's walkways, eager to catch up.

Or, at least, they would have, were it not for a surprisingly firm arm wrapped around their leg.

"That's quite enough..."

Taylor would have gotten rid of it, were it not for an alien familiarity. An aura that transcended reason, soothing their very soul.

When they saw the ring on the arm that was around their leg, it was as if a cold bucket of water had been thrown on them.

How am I walking?

"Sir Redmond?"

He looked up at Taylor, grandfatherly eyes dewy with panic. He seemed terrified.

"Don't look at yourself..." he insisted.

Taylor noticed the blood that covered his mouth... He looked like he'd been puking out a good gallon of blood. His shirt was drenched in it as well, odd sanguine stains spotting him like the black patches of a Dalmatian.

"You're hurt..."

Taylor reached out to help him.

Taylor saw that they no longer had a right arm.

Taylor saw the mess of wiry metal that had replaced it, silvery surface polished to a perfect mirror sheen, ending in five wicked bladed tips reminiscent of Jonah's knife.

Taylor shut their eyes tight. It all felt normal. Like nothing had changed. Their right arm was there, as natural and responsive as the day they'd been born.

"Sir Redmond... I think I'm going to go to sleep now."

Taylor laid down in the middle of the walkway, back flat against the floor, and did just that.