Given the available space Barney’s dramatic run into battle for round two lasted only an anticlimactic couple seconds, and just like that he was back in action. His remaining enemies seemed to be no less tenacious for the loss of their comrade, and both took their shots at him as he drew near. The lion-faced leg wheel surprised Barney by spinning in place to build up and shoot a rippling fireball, and since the young man did not fancy his new clothes going up in smoke he swerved sideways to evade the flare. That dodge put him right on course for a chop from the long, sharp beak of the Shax, and remembering the pain of being hit by its magic, Barney instinctively flinched. When the monster’s head whipped out on the end of its long neck, however, its scything strike barely scratched him. Unlike the bloody gash left by a Shax beak earlier, it dealt only minor damage through Barney’s priestly garb. That puzzled him; if this demon stork’s magic was so much stronger, why would it use anything else?
No time to think about it--this was still a fight, after all. He followed the Shax’s head as it retracted and delivered a solid wallop with his wheel, enough to send it reeling. Then he focused on the bigger threat, willing Gregor Samsa back into existence to lunge at the Buer before it could come at him. “Get him!” His Persona obliged, leaping forward to crunch down on one of the monster’s many legs and elicit a fiery roar of pain. Still a little giddy with excitement, Barney ran forward through the dissipating flame of his partner to capitalize, only to clash with his enemy mid-swing. Propelled by some unseen force, the Buer threatened to sweep the young man off his feet, but Barney pushed back with all his might. For a moment he was face-to-face with the monstrosity, so close that he could make out the fur on its nose and feel the heat of its fury. The intensity of the moment ignited a surge of strength within him, and with a triumphant grunt he began to push the monster back.
A sudden voice cut through the excitement, banishing Barney’s tunnel vision. “Behind ya, look out!”
Trusting in Spindle completely, Barney didn’t even turn to look, but dove to the side. Sure enough, a dark blade of magic sliced across the ground where he stood just a split second prior, cleaving through one of the Buer’s legs before it shrank away. As he regained his footing Barney glared at the Shax for taking a cheap shot. He did not let his anger get in the way of good manners, though. “Thank you, ma’am!”
“Don’t ma’am me, mister!” Spindle shot back. “Just be more careful! From the way ya went down earlier, I’m guessin you’re weak to Curse, and that birdbrain’s dishin’ it out by the bucket!”
“Weak?” Taken aback by the worrisome revelation, Barney quickly moved to put the Buer in between himself and the Shax. With just two opponents, he could use the bigger one as a shield, and if it took any more damage from its ally, so much the better. Having a weakness was alarming; normally one’s shortcomings were things like foresight, or cooperation, or reaction time. Not certain attacks.“Like a video game?”
“Say what now?”
That conundrum could wait. As he maneuvered himself Barney found himself standing side by side with Dakota again, with the other guy’s Buer reinforcing the leftover enemies. For a moment there was a standoff, with the monsters re-evaluating the opposition somewhat, and in that lull Barney noted with some surprise that his ally had already dispatched both of his storks.
I’ll chalk that up to this weakness thing, he decided, although that thought provoked a more productive one right after. “Hey uh, Spindle?” he asked the airborne police girl. “Do those things have weaknesses?!”
“Them Shaxes seem weak to wind,” their guide affirmed. “Probably why Dakota’s goin’ off on ‘em. Can’t say for the others though. Don’t be surprised if ya don’t got the right element.”
Element, Barney repeated inwardly. He opened his mouth to ask Spindle if she happened to know what his was, since the blue energy Samsa pumped out didn’t ring any bells, but before he could say anything his foes began to move. Rather than let them have their way, Barney ran forward, and with his wheel held by the rim in both hands let loose a colossal strike to try and hit both Buers at once. His attack connected, although one roasted him with an Agi in return. Luckily his clothes didn’t instantly burst into flame, and he hefted his wheel by the spokes to strike again. This time, however, he kept himself alert enough to notice the Shax’s Agi incoming and get out of the way.
It’s targeting me, he observed, irritated.
Spindle noticed it too, and reached out to Dakota. “Hey, try hittin’ that thing with another one o’ yer Garus,” she advised. “You’re way better off fightin’ that dang thing than Barney there.”
Once his ally got the Shax off his back, Barney could focus on the Buers. Though ferocious and quick, they boasted little in the way of range, making their attacks telegraphed enough that Barney felt confident in dealing with them. One charged up an Agi while the other flew out to strike him in a cunning display of cooperation, but even with Dakota otherwise engaged, Barney could show off some team work of his own. He remembered how his Persona emerged earlier, and without any time to experiment decided to run with this idea. “Samsa, catch!”
”I’m up!” Gregor Samsa emerged from the dirt in a spray of soil and flame, latching onto the Buer with his vicelike jaws and pedipalps before dragging the monster to the ground with its weight. Although he vanished once he sank back down, Barney used the opportunity to jump off the demon like a spring board and slam his wheel down on the other Buer by the rim. The monster had other ideas, and ceased its fire to spin out of the way instead. It kicked Barney in the shoulder, and with a cry of mixed pain and anger he wheeled around with a heavy bash. It connected to great effect, but the overswing left Barney wide open.
Without missing a beat he extended his other hand. “Samsa!” A screech rang out as his Persona surged forward from beneath him and drifted sideways to slam the Buer with his tail. It skidded to a stop by its ally, leaving both much worse for wear. Victory was within Barney’s grasp. “Hah.” He took a step and fell to his knees. “Agh!” Even with the adrenaline of battle, everything hurt. “Why…” he gasped, “Does it hurt...so much?!”
“I was tryin’ to say earlier, quit usin’ so many Persona skills!” Spindle warned him, her voice a little panicked. “They cost your own vitality t’use!”
No wonders, Barney groaned, too beat up to spend much energy on being frustrated. “Then...what do I do? I can’t get close like this, they’re comin’ any second!”
He did not expect what Spindle told him next. “You should have a gun!”
“What?!”
“Jus’ trust me! Try makin’ a motion t’pull out an imaginary gun, quick!”
With no other options, Barney obeyed. He let go of his wheel, not even watching as it disappeared, and reached up as if to pull down a rifle he’d slung across his back. When he brought his arms down, however, it wasn’t a gun he held, but a
ramshackle flamethrower. His eyes went wide, but with no time to be boggled, he aimed the flamethrower’s nozzle at the incoming Buers and held down the trigger. A spray of caustic blue energy rolled out to engulf the monsters, stopping them in their tracks. Teeth clenched, Barney kept the trigger held until his enemies were reduced to tar and seeped into the ground.
There was a quiet moment before Barney collapsed, breathing heavily. Dakota received Spindle’s message the next moment. “Heal him up, quick! If you’re gonna spend your spirit on anythin’, make sure it’s on healin’ yer buddies. I’m guessin’ your Thamyris fella’s a supportin’-type Wind persona, and creepy-crawly Samson’s an attacker through and through. Nuclear-powered, t’boot!”
“Nuclear..?” Barney muttered aloud before realizing how much like a parrot he must sound. The power of the atom in the palm of your hand was no small thing, though. [i]Hopefully I don’t get radiation poisoning.
“Once he’s fixed up, y’all gotta move,” Spindle told them. “There’s more o’ them bozos comin’ fast. Better hustle after the others, pronto!”
And so they did.
Considering the overall state of the Prison of Indictment, the basketball court behind the jailhouse was pretty tolerable, although to call it ‘normal’ would be to tell a lie. The prisoners playing there lacked the helmet devices used to drain the other inmates dry in the Proving Grounds, but they weren’t wholly human. A closer look as Vincent, Caelum, and Nick hurried to scoot the dumpster through their arena would reveal that the players’ skin appeared to be the same rubbery orange leather as the balls they dribbled and shot with, deflated enough to create unsettling creases and folds. This affected their faces the most, where they formed warped mockeries of eyes, noses, and mouths stretched and distorted in expressions of perennial torment. They played like their lives depended on it, ignoring the intruders to the point of running straight into them if the three weren’t careful. Still, the lack of outright hostility meant that the ghastly players didn’t trouble them too much, so with a little luck and a lot of elbow grease the trio got the dumpster over to the chain-link fence. With it in place, climbing was not a problem, and both could leave the freakish spectacle behind.
Going north behind the jailhouses prompted a lot less anxiety than the Proving Grounds. It was simultaneously more open and more cluttered, offering better sightlines and more places to hide thanks to the wealth of objects lying scattered around. There appeared to be many articles of luggage and personal belongings piled high among parts and materials for the prison’s upkeep, and maybe because the staff did not believe that any escapees would get this far, the two encountered almost no security. Still, the uncountable pairs of glowing eyes peering down from the barred windows of the jailhouse meant that neither were without scrutiny.
The farther the two went, the bigger the heaps got. Soon there weren’t just household objects but bits and pieces of households themselves, entire sections of rooms and furniture, all discarded and neglected. One could only guess, looking at it all, that they represented the lives that the university’s students left behind. Of the three, it affected Nick the most, and as he went on the young man couldn’t ignore a steadily worsening tugging sensation that pulled him along through the place, and not just in the direction that Spindle said an exit should be. His wandering eyes searched for something, unwittingly, until they found it.
Half-buried in the heaps of junk was part of a house--an ordinary suburban home. And though there were many like it, this one was Nick’s.
