Academy grounds

The school lies vacant in the dark. Silent. Snowflakes are falling, dancing in the air, covering the buildings in sheets of white. It’s a scene of peace and serenity. Nobody’s awake in the early hours of morning.

A shout shatters the calm.

“ANDREW WHITE!”

A man is coming along the street, towards the school. He’s walking casually, wearing a jacket, winter boots – he looks normal.

“ANDREW WHITE!” he shouts once again. His voice is demanding and somehow taunting still.

He stops in the middle of the open space at the centre of the building complex and waits.

It doesn’t take long before the school’s main doors open – but it isn’t the school principal who steps out into the cold. It’s a woman – Mrs Weaver.

“Who are you?” she demands, but her eyes betray her. There’s caution in her gaze and she keeps a fair bit of distance between herself and the man.

The man chuckles. “Would never have thought Atlas’ great secret weapon had become a coward, but I suppose time will do that to you.”

Mrs Weaver flinches ever so slightly at his words, but she quickly gets a hold of herself again.

“Who are you?” she repeats.

The man does a little mock-bow. “You may call me Noah.”

“What do you want?”

Again, the man chuckles. “I want a lot of things. But the reason I’m here tonight is to…” he shrugs, “kill your principal.”

This time around, the teacher doesn’t flinch. She seems angry, suddenly.

“Whoever you are, you clown,” she says evenly, “I give you twenty seconds to get off school grounds and if you don’t start running right the fuck now, I’ll turn your brain into goo until you forget your own name.”

But the man – Noah – doesn’t seem intimidated.

“This could be so much simpler,” he says with a disappointed shake of his head. “The guards and now you. If you’d just give me what I’m here for… you wouldn’t have to die, you-”

His voice falters as his body goes stiff, straightens until it begins to arch backwards. Mrs Weaver has outstretched both hands, an aura of power and authority radiating off her.

And then the man relaxes, leans forward and spits as he draws ragged breaths.

“You’re too weak, woman,” he says, as Mrs Weaver takes an unsteady step backwards, horror in her eyes. “And now you’ll die knowing that you could have lived.”

He outstretches his right hand and pulls his index finger upwards, like he’s a puppeteer.

For a second, nothing happens and the teacher seems almost relieved, then she chokes and both hands reflexively go to her throat, claw at the suddenly taut skin. There’s movement in there, something slowly crawling along her windpipe. It twists upwards and as the psychic falls to her knees, a thick vine sprouts from lips parted in a silent scream and steadily wraps around her face again and again, covers fearful eyes, crawls onwards until the teacher seems no longer fully human – unrecognisable apart from her clothes. Seconds later, the body goes limp and slumps over, into the snow.

The school lies silent once again, the attacker is still standing in the same spot as before, finally retrieving his outstretched hand to rub it with the other, warming it as snowflakes catch in his hair.

Then, all hell breaks loose. The school’s front doors are blown from their hinges, hundreds of little glass daggers directed at the man out in the yard.

Noah drops into a crouch and punches upwards with his left hand balled into a fist, and a vine, thick as the trunk of a tree breaks through the cobblestone, protecting him.

“So you do still fight!” Noah calls from behind his protection. “I was beginning to fear you’d just roll over and die!”

“Who are you even?” the older man says as he steps over the broken doors, into the yard. He’s wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and plain trainers, but the cold doesn’t seem to affect him.

“You don’t even remember? I feel insulted,” Noah calls back, finally stepping out from his hiding spot. Several cobblestones immediately whizz toward his head, but thinner vines shoot up and block them easily. “Don’t worry. You’ll remember me soon enough. I’ll make sure of that, before I kill you.”

The principal has positioned himself roughly twenty yards away from the other man and now he laughs out loud.

“Kill me? If you came here knowing what I used to do for a living, you must know that you don’t just kill me. Zeus couldn’t kill me, even if he tried.”

A vine, thick as an arm, shoots forward, a sharp tip aiming to spike up the principal. But by the time it arrives where the older man stood before, he’s no longer there. He has shot up into the air. Not flying – hovering easily ten yards above ground, his muscular arms outstretched.

“You signed your own death certificate coming here,” his voice booms.

Noah doesn’t seem impressed. “Ever wondered who killed your righteous, thundery friend?” he taunts. “That was me! I killed him and all his friends and now I’m coming for you!”

As all windows on one side of the main building shatter and a swarm of shards flies toward Noah, dozens of huge vines shoot from the ground like tentacles and a fight between titans ensues.

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Hope

They’re fighting! They’re fighting! They’re fighting!

The thought keeps on bouncing around the inside of my skull, over and over as I run along dark corridors that slowly fill with panicked students. Already, there are teachers here, telling everybody to stick together and stay inside, away from the windows.

I don’t listen. I have to find Ezra.

Because, however surprising the prospect of our principal (who suddenly has powers??) fighting an intruder is, it’s also a chance. I have to find Ezra. We have to break into Mr White’s office and somehow get rid of his bracelet. And then…

I almost fall on the stairs as I descend taking two steps at a time.

What then? We could run, but they’d probably find us, wouldn’t they? No, there’s only one way to go about this. Ezra has to save Mr White, kill the intruder. That way everybody’s going to know that he’s one of the good guys. That way, they can’t lock him up again.

Satisfied with my plan, I arrive at the bottom of the stairs and speed up even further. I could find Ezra up with the others, so my first priority is breaking into the principal’s office. It’s not the most obvious of places, but I know the way fairly well. I’ve been there before, after all.

The noise from the fight fades a little as I leave behind the front side of the main building, and then, just as I’m about to turn the corner to the corridor where Mr White’s office is, I hear steps.

I freeze immediately, press against the wall by the corner in hope that whoever it might be won’t see me.

But the steps aren’t coming toward me and then there’s the sound of a door handle being rattled.

Just barely, I peek past the corner and see him. A hunched shadow positioning a crowbar at the door to Mr White’s office.

“Ezra,” I say before I even realise I’m about to.

He jumps, drops the crowbar and whirls around to face me.

“It’s just me,” I say, trying to calm him as I step out of hiding. “I’m here to help.”

He relaxes just barely, drops the defensive stance. But he’s still tense.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says and even in the dark I can see that he’s eyeing me.

“No,” I contradict. “I have to be here. Go on, I’ll stand watch.” Demonstratively, I walk up and position myself next to him, with my back to the door he was trying to break open.

For a moment, I wonder where he even got a crowbar from at this time of the night, but I quickly push the thought aside. We wouldn’t be able to get in if he didn’t.

With a sigh, he picks up the crowbar again and not much later, the door is open. I don’t go in with him, though. I stick by what I said and stay outside, attentively eyeing both ends of the corridor. I don’t even know what we’ll do if somebody comes. Probably run, right? Because what else is there to do? We’re not here to kill our teachers.

But nobody comes and barely five minutes later Ezra comes out again and I ask, “Did you get it off?”

He gives a short nod. He doesn’t have the crowbar with him, must’ve left it inside. It doesn’t matter, they’ll know it was us anyway. Because we’re going to save them.

“C’mon,” I say, breaking into a run. “Hurry!”

He follows me and silently, we run along the corridors, straight towards the noise of battle. Soon enough, I catch first glimpses of it through shattered windows. Huge chunks of rubble and dead vines litter the yard outside. Mr White is still flying, effortlessly dodging vines aimed to kill him. The vines have gotten slower, there are only a few left and they’re far thinner than the ones from the start of the fight. Meanwhile, Mr White seems to be doing perfectly well. Just as I’m watching, I see him throw a smaller cobblestone that hits the stranger square in the shoulder.

Then we’ve arrived by the main doors and I’m about to barrel straight through, when Ezra suddenly crashes into me and pushes me against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss, more confused than angry.

“You can’t come,” he whispers. “It’s too dangerous and… I don’t want you to see.”

I can’t read his expression in the dark. Is that fear in his voice?

“What do you mean you don’t want me to see? I’ve already seen you use your powers. And why would I care if you kill a criminal? He was the one who killed Mrs Weaver-”

I stop when I feel Ezra flinch and hear his breath catch. For just a moment I think it’s because he didn’t know Mrs Weaver had died, but then I see the disappointment in his eyes as we both realise that we never had the same plan to begin with and my stomach drops.

“No, Ezra, you can’t! They’ll-”

He cuts me off. “Please don’t try to stop me, Hope.” There’s a sudden calm to his voice that forms an eerie contrast to the noise of battle from just the other side of the wall. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but… maybe you can find a way to understand.”

For a second it seems like he’s about to lean in and kiss me and my stomach grows light for a whole variety of reasons, but then he only puts one hand to my face, briefly brushing his thumb against my cheekbone.

“We can run,” I offer weakly. “Just the two of us. Leave all this behind.”

But I know what he’s going to say even before he does.

“I can’t. I-” He halts at the sound of a violent crash, then shakes his head. “Please leave. Please-”

His voice falters and with a weird, strained sound from the back of his throat, he finally steps back and through the main entrance.

I barely make it in time to see what happens. I sprint after him, without any real plan of action - probably just intending to tackle him in hope that might do something, but all intention is shattered the moment I see the scenery before us.

Mr White is hovering a lot closer now, barely five yards above ground, not far from the attacker who’s now lying on his back in a small crater. All around Mr White, shards of glass and stone are hovering in the air – daggers, arrows, bullets: ready to kill. They’re shivering with tension, almost like they’re anxiously awaiting their flight.

All the attacker’s vines lie dead on the ground around him. They show signs of a vicious fight, some of them are broken, strewn with the marks of stones and other heavy objects. Others are cleanly cut off not far from the base. In the light of streetlamps, I can see the bloody cuts and wounds all over the attacker’s arms and face. His jacket is torn in several places and his shoulder looks strangely disfigured, even underneath the thick layer of fabric.

And then Ezra steps into view and I feel his pain snap forward and latch on to Mr White. And suddenly everything is in slow motion. Like a falling angel, Mr White’s body arches backwards with tension and he falls, a silent scream on his face. He has barely fallen two yards before a thin vine shoots from the ground and straight through the soft flesh underneath his chin, emerging from the skull on the other side with a low, sickening chwak.

And I fall. Because this is so wrong. This is not how it was supposed to go. This was meant to be his redemption! I want to scream his name, get him to turn around, but my throat is constricted and I can barely breathe. I want to run and catch up with him, but my knees fail me. I can’t get up. I can’t move. And as tears begin to flow down my face, I see Ezra help up the attacker and support him on their way down the street, away from the body of the one who tried to contain him, away from Atlas Academy.

SeptemberMorgan

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