The Guardians Crown Part 5

"All I'm saying is are we sure we can trust where the information is coming from?" Uri urged.

"I can't afford not to trust it," Michael reb.u.t.ted.

"This kid who came to you is nothing more than an errand boy, do you think he's really going to carry information like that?" Uri was not willing to relent on the idea.

Throwing the last of the items he required into the bag, Michael sealed it, tossing it on his back. Walking over to his young friend he placed a hand on his shoulder, speaking softly. "I'll be careful, but I can't sit here and do nothing, it's Mirada."

Uri knew there was nothing more he could say. If it were Seraphine who might be in trouble there wouldn't be a force strong enough in the world that would keep him away. Uri's heart sank at the thought of her; he'd been searching for her since the day she had disappeared from Iron Gate without a word. Her dark, raven-like hair, the soft touch of her flesh against his, even her smell, there wasn't a thing about her he didn't long for. Turning to his mentor Uri nodded. He understood.

Michael rushed from the room and out into the throngs of people. He made his way to where the tombs were, but today the memories of Raimie's tragic demise in those tombs were not on his mind. If it was true that the council had discovered Mirada was in fact still alive, and if they had somehow tracked her down, they would most certainly lock her away, never to be heard from again.

He could barely control the fury that was growing inside him. Long ago, Michael had reconciled himself to the fact that he couldn't have both Mirada and be on the side that would help save the world. A sacrifice would have to be made, and as long as he knew Mirada was secretly safe, it was a decision he could live with. But this new information changed everything. He didn't know what he would be walking into, but for her he would gladly give up his position with the council, even leave the order if he had to. He would do whatever he had to do if it would keep her safe.

His heart racing, he transported without hesitation to a familiar mountaintop, then in another blink of the eye to a valley with a crystal-like brook running through it. Pausing, he looked around to ensure he was alone, then transported again to the mouth of a cave in some distant land, so barren that few visited it. Since the war began the council had begun to move around quite frequently. As a member of the council, Michael was given a tracking stone that would always lead him to them, but precautions needed to be taken. A minimum of three random transports was required before actually arriving at the exact location.

With a deep breath, Michael closed his eyes and made his last transport. The most recent location, an abandoned monastery, had been one of the longest residences for the group in some time. When Michael reappeared, he paused. A chicken scurried across his path as he looked around, searching for any sign of his comrades. There was no movement by anything except a few animals and some trees swaying in the cool mountain air.

He listened for a moment, searching for any sound that might indicate something out of the norm. Much to his surprise, he heard nothing except the things in his immediate vicinity.

Taking a step closer to the main hall, a new feeling flooded over him. It was as though all of the blood had been drained from his body, he felt weak, lightheaded, ill, all at the same time. He stumbled, trying to regain his composure. Something was wrong; he was confident the overwhelming empty feeling within him was some sort of warning. He trembled at the idea something horrible might have happened to his beloved.

For a brief moment he considered transporting, fleeing until he could gather more information, but then he thought better of the idea. If there was a chance Mirada were here, he could not risk any harm coming to her. He had to be sure.

Wiggling his limbs, he attempted to shake off the sinking feeling. With a few more steps he reached the main door of the largest hall. Looking down he stared at the dirt floors inside the opening. Something about this new meeting place brought him comfort in a way. For the longest time, before the war fully erupted, the council resided in a grand palace that had marble floors and the decadence of the location had always made him feel uncomfortable. The humbleness of the recent places they had found themselves in made Michael feel more at ease.

Cautiously he stepped one foot inside, then another, peering around the entryway as he entered. He knew the place well, considering his presence was required at most of the planning meetings. Once inside, all he would need to do is round one corner, pa.s.s through the bamboo archway, and the room they met in would be before him. Thoughts raced through his mind. What if they do have Mirada? What can I do? Id it possible they would have harmed her? His heart twisted, no a you can't let your mind go there. These men are my brothers. They wouldn't. They couldn't. He told himself.

Releasing one last big breath, pushing all the air from his lungs, Michael emerged into the room. He opened his eyes, wide, and prepared to greet his brethren. The room shrank inward, all around him, as his eyes took in a sight he had not expected. He had accepted the idea this was a trick, that perhaps he had offended the council one too many times with his unorthodox methods. He had accepted they might, in fact, be luring him there to imprison him for his insubordination. What he saw now though, was not what he had expected.

A half circle of handmade bamboo tables was sprawled out before him. At each table, a small stool perched behind it with an elder seated in it. None of them looked up at him, their heads lying on the table tops, the blood from their slit throats draining, and spilling onto the dirt floor. All of them, they were all dead.

Michael's head began to spin. He fell to his knees, purging himself of all of his stomach contents. A tear ran down his cheek, as he wiped away a string of vomit with the back of his hand, from the corner of his mouth. "No," he gasped, shaking his head, as if trying to make the reality before him disappear.

"I knew you'd come!" a voice called out behind him.

Michael staggered to his feet and turned to face his worst nightmare. Baal stood before him, a smirk on his face. He wore his signature grey, pinstripe, three-piece suit, and casually twisted his pinky ring on his long and slender well-manicured finger. As it rotated Michael caught a glimpse of the rubies in the skull's eye sockets. His black hair was slicked back, the sight of his false appearance made Michael sick to his stomach.

A slight panic rushed over him as he thought, you need to get the h.e.l.l out of here. But he knew transporting would be pointless. If he fled back to Iron Gate, Baal would most certainly pick up the tracer and follow him. He would bring the same fate of the council down on everyone he cared about. There was only one option. He would stand and fight, even if it meant perishing like the council.

Widening his stance and clenching his fists, Michael prepared himself. "Baal. I should have known you were behind this."

"What Michael," Baal taunted, "you don't like my handiwork? I'm actually quite proud of it."

"I'm going to kill you for this," Michael warned, flexing his fists at his sides.

"I doubt that," Baal smirked. "I actually wanted you here for a reason, not just to kill you like the rest of those sad specimens behind you. They really are pathetic aren't they, far past their prime."

"I have no interest in anything you have to say," Michael spat.

Baal looked down at his hands, spreading his fingers out, after a moment he cracked his neck from side to side, then clenching his fists, he popped each knuckle, the sound echoing in the room. "Ugh, I hate this body. I don't know how humans tolerate it."

"So why not take your true form?" Michael growled.

"You know how humans are, they're much more willing to serve me in this form," Baal replied.

"They'll see you for what you are. You can pretend to be something else to the humans, but it won't change the outcome. We're going to defeat you," Michael warned.

With a sarcastic tone Baal laughed and said, "It doesn't look that way to me," He paused, sizing Michael up, before continuing. "Look, I don't want kill all of you, it's really a pain in the a.s.s to deal with all of this "Great War" bulls.h.i.t."

"Well, I'm so sorry we're a bother for you," Michael snarled.

"Will you just shut up for a minute!" Baal snapped. "Jeez, I don't know how those kids of yours deal with your blow-hardness all the time. I knew you'd come here for that tramp."

"She's not a tramp!" Michael shouted, allowing his emotions to get the better of him.

"Shh!" Baal quickly added, lifting a single finger to his lips. "I said shut up!" He took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. "Like I was saying, I knew you'd come here for her. And I wanted you to come here, not so I could kill you like all of them, but so I could offer you a truce. A deal that would keep your precious Mirada safe."

"I told you. I'm not interested in any deal you have to offer," Michael answered swiftly.

"Fine, she can die like everyone else, including you!" Baal's shouted. He lifted his hands into the air, his open palm beginning to glow red.

Realizing perhaps he had acted too hastily, Michael quickly lifted his hands and pleaded, "wait, no a I want to hear this truce idea."

Baal's lips once again twisted into a sinister smile, as he slowly lowered his palms. "There we go, that's the reasonable Michael I was hoping for. There's no need for all of this fighting. We have no desire to kill all of the humans. They are welcome to live and become our servants. Your sweet Mirada can be safe. Tell me what I want and you can even be with her until you grow old and die naturally. We'll give you two a sort of immunity, if you will."

"And what is it you want to know? What information will make you leave us all alone?" Michael asked, even though he was quite confident he already knew the answer. He had no intention of striking a deal with Baal, but he needed the time to think, to figure out how he was going to get out of this mess.

"It's easy, you tell me the location of the protector, and this all ends," Baal proposed, taking a step closer.

"I see," Michael said, lowering his head, as if he were actually considering the offer. He knew he would not survive a fight with Baal, but he was having trouble seeing any other option.

"I mean, think about it Michael. The life of one boy in exchange for the lives of all your precious humans. It seems like a fair deal if you ask me. More than fair actually," Baal continued.

Pulling his sword from its sheath, Michael opened his stance, and prepared himself for battle, the pale blue glow of his blade calming him.

"You can't be serious?" Baal scoffed at the sight of his opponent.

Michael didn't reply with words, instead he let his weapon speak for him. Rushing across the path between them at full speed, his muscles flexed as he moved in close. An image of Mirada flashed through his mind. He longed to touch her face, even if only one more time; for his fingertips to graze her cheek, to move a single strand of hair and tuck it behind her ear, and to peer into her immensely deep eyes.

Pulling his right elbow back, and stepping into the thrust, Michael rammed his sword into Baal's gut. Their faces only inches from each other, Michael shivered at Baal's expression. There was no pain, he was merely annoyed by Michael's attempt. A blackness washed over Baal's irises and he shoved Michael back with open palms.

The sword pulled free from Baal's flesh, as Michael stumbled backwards several feet and fell to the ground. Michael stared at where he had wounded Baal, but much to his dismay he saw no blood seeping from it. Instead, he watched in horror as hundreds of bugs, ranging from c.o.c.kroaches to centipedes emerged from the gash.

Baal lowered his hands to his side, and then, with open palms, slowly began to lift them in the air. As he did flames emerged from the ground all around him, the higher he lifted his hands, the higher the flames climbed.

Michael scurried back, using the heels of his hands to help increase the distance between himself and Baal.

"Do you actually think you have a chance against me?" Baal shouted. The angrier he became, the more his appearance began to twist. His flesh turned gray and started to crack. "I'm immortal! You can't kill me!"

"You really are one ugly son of a b.i.t.c.h, aren't you?" Michael antagonized. Rising to his feet, he placed the sword back at his side. His only hope to escape would be with the use of magic.

Michael shifted his body into a casting stance, every muscle in him now aching.

"Your power is nothing against mine. Your elders were like lambs to the slaughter. They didn't even put up a fight. When will you get it? Everyone seems to realize you've already lost, except you," As he spoke, Baal's voice filled the room, echoing in Michael's ears.

Looking back at his dead brothers in arms, something overcame him. He was no longer scared, or nervous, he knew in that moment what he had to do.

"These men, they didn't always make the right decisions, but they tried. They all had human blood, coursing through their veins. They were fallible like all Guardians, like all humans. And that's what truly sets us apart," Michael spoke.

Baal laughed wildly, "What, that you screw everything up? That because of your human blood you will always fail?"

Michael shook his head, "No, don't you see? It doesn't matter that they died. It matters how they lived. Others will take up their cross. What sets us apart is the human spirit. We have love, and therefore we will always persevere. I'm sure many more will die before this is over, but their deaths aren't empty, not like yours will be. You see, they'll be remembered long after you're forgotten."

With those words Baal's fury boiled over. He lifted his hand towards Michael, bits of his flesh dropping off and floating through the air as if they were ash. Baal shouted, "We'll see about that!" A red stream shot out from his palm, slicing through the flames and rocketing towards Michael.

Michael raised his hands in defense, a blue light emerging from his own palm, and meeting Baal's spell mid-air. At the connection point red bits dripped off, as if they were molten lava, while the blue sparked wildly. As hard as Michael tried to hold his ground, almost immediately the red stream began to overtake his counter spell. Leaning into it, Michael pushed harder, ignoring the pleas from his body to stop. Until at last, his partially human body could hold out no longer, and his spell collapsed. As his hands dropped to his side in exhaustion, Baal's spell moved forward, connecting with Michael's shoulder, sending him flying back in a puff of smoke.

His body smashed abruptly into one of the bamboo tables behind him, causing one of his friends, Paul, to fall to the floor, his blood that had pooled on the table now spilling over and running down Michael's forehead. Jolting forward, he winced in pain, glancing down at his singed shoulder. Using the back of his hand, he attempted to wipe away his friend's blood, but there was so much, he only managed to shift it around to other parts of his face.

"You're such a fool," Baal's voice boomed. "And now you'll die a fool. But, before I kill you, I want you to know; I'm going to kill all the people you love in this world, starting with your precious Mirada. When I'm done with her, she'll be begging for the sweet relief of death. I'll give you one last chance to tell me what I want to know and I'll at least make her death a swift one."

With a deep breath Michael mustered all of his strength, pushing himself to his feet. He focused on putting the pain aside.

"You don't know when to quit, do you?" Baal laughed.

Lifting his fingertips towards his opponent, Michael didn't hesitate as he shouted, "Glacialis!" A cold blast burst forth and steam shot up, surrounding Baal as the flames around him were extinguished, temporarily blinding him.

In retaliation, Baal began to wildly cast random spells through the cloud of smoke, determined his prey would not escape.

Michael jumped from side to side, avoiding the magical blasts. He needed to get out of there before Baal had a chance to gain the upper hand again. He shot back a few spells of his own in order to hopefully slow Baal down, though there was no way to know if any of them found their intended target through the cloud of smoke. Leaping once again, high into the air, Michael concentrated on his transportation spell, but just as his presence began to fade, a shot found his leg.

The pain raced up his body, but it was too late, he was already gone. He was in neither one place nor the other, floating in limbo. He shook violently, fighting the pain in order to focus on where to re-appear. His first stop was a place he had visited long ago, while hunting down a demon. It was a small, abandoned mining town. If Baal somehow managed to follow Michael, he wanted to make sure he didn't lead them into a populated area.

Looking down at his leg, Michael saw the deep red blood spilling from the wound. The final blow inflicted by Baal was far worse than he had realized. He needed help, and fast. Gritting his teeth, he transported again, this time, inside of an old stone tower, half crumbling all around him. The outside air was crisp, and his breath hung in a white cloud in front of him. He couldn't go to Iron Gate, doing that would be far too dangerous for everyone.

Suddenly he felt his consciousness slip away from him. He maybe had one last transport left, if he was lucky. He struggled as he tried to think of a place, of any place he could go. Closing his eyes, he was gone, once again.

Michael refused to open his eyes; he didn't want to know what happened. The last thing he could remember, his body was broken, and he was slipping into unconsciousness. The only thing he imagined that could be awaiting him, if he opened his eyes, was something he did not want to see. Either he was already dead, or worse, he in fact had been captured.

Instead he chose to think about Mirada, his beloved beauty. Her long, pale blonde hair that she would sweep around over one shoulder and the way her nose was small and turned up just slightly at the end. Her thin lips that matched in color, the hue that would flush over her cheeks when she was embarra.s.sed flashed in his memory. He missed her haunting eyes, their blue color, that in the right light appeared as if they were gray.

"Mirada a" he whispered longingly.

"Yes, my love?" When he heard the voice reply he thought at first that he had gone mad. After the ensuing debate in his mind, he decided that he had, in fact, heard the voice. Opening his eyes, his heart sank when he saw the eyes he had been missing only moments ago, staring back at him.

"Mirada?" he gasped, attempting to sit up.

"Whoa, take it slow. All right? You were pretty beat up when you got here. You have to take it easy," Mirada warned him.

"When I got where?" Michael asked, looking around him. He recognized it instantly. Though the years had taken their toll on their love nest, the tree house was still standing.

"Do you know where you are Michael?" Mirada asked, trying to determine if perhaps there were a head trauma she were unaware of.

"Of course I know, I can't believe this place is still here," he replied softly.

"You came here, not knowing this place still stood?" Mirada attempted to relieve her confusion.

"I came here? Of course ..." Michael muttered, realizing what had happened.

"I'm confused," Mirada replied.

"I didn't realize what I was doing. I was hurt and trying to transport, this must have been the first place that popped into my mind. I think of it often," Michael explained, sitting up the rest of the way. He reached out and clasped her hand into his; he wanted to feel her flesh against him. Her warmth was soothing.

He took in the surroundings, as he did, memories of their young love came flooding back. When they had begun their affair, they used to daydream of having a simple home; one where they could live out their days together, perhaps even raise a child together.

This was the tree they had shared their first kiss beneath. He built her this home among the trees. It was simple, a wooden floor, a thatch roof that now appeared to be riddled with holes, and one open room, consisting of a bed and a makeshift cooking area.

Looking at the walls that he made from a mixture of mud and canvas, it made him smile. Though most of the mud mixture had crumbled, and fallen away, the fact that the canvas beneath still stood gave him a sense of hope.

"What happened to you?" Mirada asked, checking on the bandages she had applied.

"Did you do all of this?" Michael inquired, looking down at his battered and bruised body, no lovingly wrapped in clean dressings.

Mirada nodded.

Michael thought about her question. What had happened to him, it seemed unimaginable. Could things have really happened the way he remembered? Was the council really dead? Did he actually fight Baal and survive?

"It was Baal. He must have had a spy. He killed all of the elders and then lured me there. He wanted Gabe," Michael explained, unable to look at Mirada as he recalled the blood-soaked scene. He had always been truthful with her. Always answered every question she had, even when he knew he was forbidden to. He was incapable of anything but full disclosure with her.

"Did you tell him anything?" Mirada asked, concerned.

"Of course not," Michael answered, allowing his gaze to meet hers. His hand ran up her arm, cascading over her shoulder, and cradling her jawline. "I was so scared. I thought something might have happened to you."

Mirada pulled away, this time she was the one who was unable to look at her beloved. Leaning forward Michael pushed, "Did something happen?"

She nodded, but said nothing.

"You have to tell me, what happened? Are you all right?" Michael asked, now panicked by her reaction.

"They found us," she muttered before falling silent again.

"I don't understand, who found you?" Michael inquired.

"I don't know exactly, they were demons though. Stimely did everything he could to protect me. He held them off long enough for me to escape, but a" Her words trailed off as she looked down at the ground.

Michael reached out, pulling her into his battered body, holding her tightly within his arms. "I'm so sorry." She collapsed into him, the sobs flooding out of her. As she trembled in his arms, the despair filled him and all he wanted to do was to take her pain. Stimely, though an undead, had been her only companion since she went into hiding. He knew, for her, it must have felt like she was losing her last friend in the world.

"I know baby," he whispered, stroking her hair.