A Close Call

As far as Asa knows, the abyss has not changed in length, but the second time across is excruciatingly long in comparison to the first. Having your life on the line has a way of making a minute feel like an eternity.

After many, many eternities, the sunlight of the outside finally comes into view. He focuses all of his senses, nerves tingling with electricity. I’ll only have a small window to act, if there’s an opening at all. He could be planning to slit my throat to make sure I can’t pursue him.

A potent sensation of dread fills his body. He prays with everything in him that the assassin will be too tired to do anything besides flee.

The entrance moves closer… and closer… the light is blinding. Asa wants to shield his eyes, but he knows that would mean certain doom. His arms remain stiff at his sides. Cool breeze from the outside flows through Afra’s hair, causing the strands to flare with an elegance unbefitting of the situation.

Silent and backlit, Asa and their tormentor alike have no way to gauge what she’s feeling. They walk into the sun.

Asa forces his eyes to stay open in the searing white. After being inside for so long, the chirping of the birds and insects is disorienting. A cold, liquidy touch caresses his neck. He’s moving!

His eyes shoot down and the feeling is gone in an instant. The bluish, metallic blob falls into the grass, flopping off him halfheartedly. It suddenly picks up speed, wriggling its body in a wave and slithering into the nearby foliage before anyone has a chance to act.

Afra chases after it. “Stop!” Asa yells.

She obeys, coming to an unsteady halt. Her uncertainty is demonstrated in her rigid stance. “He’s trying to lure us.” He says in a hushed tone. “You still have The Key?”

Afra glances at the object in her hand, recalling its presence. “If we stay put, he’ll have to come out to us. We can make a plan.” He adds. The bushes are suspiciously still. Afra watches them on high alert while Asa comes up with a plan. Fire. Electricity. Acid. How do I get one of these?

All that comes to mind is the lighter in his thigh pouch, but what good is that if he has nothing to light? The shrubs catch his attention. They have thin, twiggy branches with pale, brownish-green leaves, and most strikingly, bright, purple flowers jammed with numerous spindly petals. It’s familiar…

“Is that Devil’s Brush?” He thinks aloud.

He sits his bag on the ground and digs through it until he procures a flare gun.

“Hey! What are you – !” Before she can finish, he points it at the shrubbery and fires.

The flare explodes with a bang and in less than a second flames engulf the foliage. A low scream rings out.

A few seconds later, the tall, blackened silhouette of a man emerges from the flames. He stands still for a brief moment, condition indiscernible as he’s backlit by raging orange light. He then walks directly through the blaze with a controlled posture and a pace that could almost be described as leisurely.

If Asa didn’t know better, he would swear the assassin was unaffected by the scorching heat. He quickly unholsters his knife from his thigh and readies it, bracing himself. Afra’s eyes snap to the knife. Does he seriously think this guy’s still a threat? She thinks, in more of a fearful way than a judgmental one. The figure tumbles from the burning greenery, barely keeping his footing. There’s something strange about his appearance.

His skin isn’t just pale, it’s ivory, and his hair is as well. Enveloping his body is a form-fitting, armored Animaguard, the same metallic blue as his blob form.

Soot tinges his face and his guard. Parts of him are still on fire and he reeks of burnt hair. There are dark, bloody holes seared into his skin. They’re steadily closing, much faster than the average human’s would, but something’s wrong.

The tissue is growing back patchy and uneven. Small chunks of flesh fall from his face, a visible indicator of nanites too damaged to function being abandoned by the millions. Sharp canines appear as he gasps for air. His cold eyes bore into the both of them.

Asa and Afra freeze under the hatred of his gaze. The assassin fashions a blade from his hand and charges at Asa. He dodges fluidly, the blade missing his side by a hair.

Afra creates distance between herself and the fight that unfolds before her. Even in his weakened state, the assassin’s slashes are ruthless and swift, approaching their target at dizzying speeds.

After Asa had dodged him, he was already coming at him again in what felt like the blink of an eye. He manages to parry four jabs before the fifth grazes his ribs. Asa sucks in a breath, but doesn’t lose focus. The assassin’s movements are rapidly losing speed.

Knowing he’s going to reach his limit soon, he charges Asa at full strength. He freezes like a deer in headlights as the impact sends him crashing into the ground, his scalp just a few inches from the blaze. The blade plunges towards him and he grabs it by the wrist before it can pierce his throat.

Their breath mingles together as they wrestle over the blade. Asa strains as he pushes the assassin’s arm away. It’s like pushing into a steel wall. Pale, blue eyes pierce his as the intense heat licks at his skull. The face they belong to is expressionless, as if in a trance. Flecks of silvery skin fall onto his face. His arms begin to tire and the knife inches closer… And closer…

Asa’s hands bend backward painfully and his forearms bruise. The tip is digging into his skin, when the assassin goes flying. Fleshy debris explodes from his cheek as he rolls from the force of the impact.

Afra had lined her shoe up with his head and kicked it as hard as she could, not unlike a soccer ball. “Afra!” cries Asa in astonishment and relief.

She offers him a hand and he takes it, hoisting himself onto his feet. The man stumbles into a hunched stance like an injured animal. Silver locks obscure his face. Skin sloughs off from underneath.

He raises his head slowly, trembling. Half of his face is missing. Asa and Afra can see the exposed skull as they gawk in horror. Mangled muscle dangles from what used to be cheek, brow, jaw… A shocking amount of tissue is gone. Some is unable to keep shape, turning liquidy and metallic.

The assassin holds his ruined face in an attempt to prevent any more from falling off and makes a beeline for the woods opposite from the fire.

“Oh no you don’t!” Afra yells and runs in after him.

He hears her hurried footfall and turns to defend himself, but it’s too late. She tackles him to the ground. Her fist collides with his face. Again, again, and again.

“You! Think! I’m! Going! To! Let! You! Just! Come! Back! And! Take! The! Key! Again?!” She shouts between each punch.

A hand suddenly catches hers, stopping her assault. A single eyelidless eyeball peers at her as the hand starts to squeeze. Afra screams as the bones crush together, folding her palm in half. She tries to get away, but his grip is too tight.

Just when she’s about to panic, a thick survival knife cleaves the assassin’s head, slicing his icy gaze in two as it plunges into his eye socket.

Asa holds the hilt, kneeling over him, wide eyed and out of breath. The tissue around the blade gives way, sinking outward until the entire face caves in, changing into fluid and losing its form.

The torso beneath Afra’s legs melts away and she’s gently lowered onto the grass. His whole body has split apart and is dissolving. With no one left to command them, the nanites are left to wander aimlessly.

They shrink into a few silvery puddles, then disappear completely, only leaving the empty shell of a standard, palm-sized Animaguard. Asa notices that it's a model he’s never seen before. Afra stares into the ground, looking about how you’d expect someone to after seeing a man melt.

Asa only looks marginally better. After giving her a minute to catch her breath, he crouches next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Afra stands and brushes off her skirt. “I think so.” She says. “What was that guy?”

“He’s an Animamorph. Well, he was one.” Says Asa. “They’re people who bond so deeply with an Animaguard that they basically become part of it. They’re usually criminals.”

“You guys have some fucked up stuff.” She says matter of factly as she catches her breath.

The implication that violent Animamorphs are just something outsiders “have” (like it’s something common) feels a bit off to him. Animamorphs are a controversial subject for nearly everyone on the outside, particularly ones created for the sake of crime.

There’s a lot of fear surrounding them, and the ethical problems they pose are numerous. However, he would agree that they do have some pretty fucked up stuff, and today’s events are a great example.

“Yeah…” he admits uncomfortably, tilting his head.

“You think he’s dead? He’s not going to come back?” Afra asks, pointing to the spot where the assassin used to be.

He places his hands on his hips, and surveys the patch of ground. “No, he’s dead. I don’t know how anyone could come back from that.”

“Just making sure. I’ve seen quite a few impossible things today. You never know what to expect.” She narrows her eyes at him with suspicion.

“What’d I do…?” He wonders aloud. “Oh! Do you have The Key?!”

“I do. It’s still in my hand.” She holds it up.

He sighs a breath of relief. “Good. And uh…” What was it? He feels like he’s forgetting something…

There’s a heat at his back… and crackling. They look at each other.

“THE FIRE!” They shout in unison.

“What was the point of protecting the temple if you were just going to burn the whole village down?!”

“I hadn’t planned that far!” Somewhat apologetic tears of panic shoot from his eyes as he makes a prideful, yet feeble attempt to defend himself.

“Well, make a plan! NOW!”

☼

Asa and Afra do the walk of shame, caked in aqueous film forming foam (AFFF for short) and soot, and with a significant blow taken to their sense of self respect.

Asa was able to stop the fire, but only with the help of a peculiar object.

He had smiled so brightly when he felt it in his giant, cluttered travel pack, his arm reached in up to the shoulder. “I did pack it!”

It was a small, white ball with segmented sections that fit together like puzzle pieces, and had a big, blue button on top. He ran to the fire, then sat it on the ground and pushed the trigger.

The mechanism activated and deployed the foam in a cyclopean flurry of white. Half of Afra’s body was covered and there was nothing left of Asa – just a bubbly, human-sized pile of AFFF.

That had taken out most of it, but unfortunately there were still some small fires, which the two had taken care of using a lot of screaming and water from a nearby pond.

“I just want to go to bed…” Afra sighs.

“Sorry for putting you through that.” Asa says as he pulls some foam from his hair.

“I’ll live. At least The Key’s back where it’s supposed to be.”

“It’s not going to be safe to leave it there, though.”

“We’ll deal with it later.” She asserts. “What was that foam-shooting ball? Some kind of fire extinguisher?"

“Yup! I made it myself.” He smiles proudly.

Afra quirks an eyebrow. “Why not just use the ones that already exist? They work fine and don’t completely blind you in the process.”

“It’s more compact than the typical kind, disperses foam in all directions instead of just one, and doesn’t even require aiming! Overall, I’d say it’s an improvement.” He crosses his arms.

“Well, it did work, I guess.”

The sound of voices carries all the way from the village. There seems to be a commotion. “What do you think’s going on down there?”

Suddenly, a loud BOOM shakes the ground.