MagiStream

Tyrone's dying, and the blood won't stop.

I'm calling for the medics, begging them to help, but they can't hear over the havoc of war—or maybe they just won't listen—and the blood just keeps flowing, flowing, flowing through my hands and oh god, why is there so much?

Tyrone's fingers brush mine—my inadequate, useless fingers that can't even keep his blood inside of him—and he smiles that stupid smile of his and mouths three simple words and no, this can't be happening, there must be a mistake—

A healer rushes over, crouches down, feels for a pulse. She shakes her head, and moves to leave.

I kill her.

Because the world doesn't need someone who won't even try to save Tyrone.

Two bodies next to me now. The stupid, no-good healer, and...and Tyrone.

Beautiful, graceful Tyrone. Talented, skilled Tyrone. Tyrone, my lover.

With Tyrone gone, there's no need to protect myself. There's nothing to go back home for, no aproned earth mage waiting with a stew that looks more radioactive than edible, that I choke down anyways if only to see his smile of pure, unadulterated joy. No more trailing butterfly kisses on the exotic red tattoos marked across his fair, unblemished skin; he still won't—will never, now—tell me where they came from, or what they mean, but it doesn't matter. He'd tell me when he felt ready, and I'd love him irregardless of what he said. I guess I'll never find out.

He had lifted me out of hell, but now the wings disappeared like mist and I became a demon once more.

When I reach the front lines, a battered mage looks at me in relief, glad that reinforcements were coming. He doesn't understand. I'm not there to "hold the line". I'm there to get revenge.

I walk straight into the midst of the enemy, and for a moment they are confused. The decapitation of an entire squadron seems to cure their disarray; orders are barked, a wave of soldiers washes towards me.

A swordsman swings his blade into my shoulder, eyes glinting triumphantly. As a reward, I create abstract art with his blood.

It doesn't even sting. In this cold dance of crimson, everything feels pleasantly numb.

The dark mage slumps to the ground, his undead beasts crumpling beside him as my shadow lance strikes true. I fall to my knees too, barely catching myself on my hands.

A sharp intake of breath, and Tyrone is beside me, his hands feeling me for injury. "Kieran, are you hurt?" he asks, voice panicky and high-pitched.

I turn away from him, concealing the gash down my side with my cloak. "I'm fine, Tyrone," I lie, "Just a bit tired." And he smiles in relief.

Later, when I get Lorelei alone, I make her swear not to tell Tyrone. She yells at me, berates me for hiding such a wound, but she keeps silent. I'm glad, because Tyrone has enough to worry about without me adding to his burdens.

An animal roar breaks from my throat as reaching, grabbing hands emerge from the enemies' shadows and snap their necks. They're scared now, even the most veteran soldiers backing away.

How could I have let these cowards kill Tyrone?

It's much more satisfying, I find, gutting them in close combat than it is killing them from afar. It's almost funny how easily they fall. Just one stab of a shadow-blade up from under their ribcage, and they crumple like leaves.

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, Tyrone always said.

The soldiers are all but throwing themselves at me, and it's ridiculously easy to fall into a pattern. Thrust, slash, thrust, slash. It's almost funny, the expressions on their faces, when I shrug off their flimsy arrows or the minor flesh wounds their swordsmen inflict on me.

They don't understand that when Tyrone died, I did too—and my corpse will keep on fighting as long as it takes to avenge him.

An injured soldier is crawling across the ground, leg dragging uselessly behind him. Pathetic. I walk over, slowly, languidly—because what was the use in rushing? They were all going to die anyways.

A thick pole pinning my leg to the ground, the enemy approaching. I raise my hands in preparation to cast a spell, but I know I don't have any magic left. I don't mind though—before the mission started I got my first kiss with Tyrone. If I close my eyes I can still feel his lips on mine, soft and chaste.

I had told him I loved him, right before I kissed him. It'd left him sputtering and blushing in that cute way of his, and I left before he could recover.

At least he knows my feelings now, even if I don't make it back.

Another soldier, perhaps eighteen years of age, leaps in front of him, arms spread, tears trailing down his face. He's saying something in their language, mostly too rapid-fire for me to decipher, but after months of fighting I've picked up a few words. It seems he's begging for his friend's life.

"Stop! Can't you see he's injured? Fight me instead...don't hurt Kieran..." I open my eyes to see Tyrone, of all people, in front of me. He's holding a crudely constructed, crystal sword, but his hands are shaking so much it's a wonder he doesn't drop it.

Tyrone never was meant for the front lines.

As the soldier falls, blood spraying from a neck wound, his helmet comes flying off and a long, brown braid falls out.

And because he's such an idiotic fool, he just stands there as the enemy shoots a fireball at him. He staggers back, falling to his knees, and I see a blackened hole in the front of his shirt, revealing angry red flesh underneath.

"Why?" I ask in horror, cursing my uselessness, damning my immobile leg.

"Because," Tyrone turns and smiles that stupid smile of his, as if we weren't in the middle of a battle, as if we were merely in a quaint cafe on the streets of the Merchant District, "I love you too, Kieran."

*************

Everything goes quiet.

It's strange, really. I can see the chaos spinning around me, but I can't...hear it. Slowly, curiously, I look around.

And my gaze falls on the wood-handled spear jutting out of my abdomen. I follow it to its wielder, and see the injured soldier from before. There's angry tears flowing down his cheeks, and my blood's splattered all over his uniform. His own blood, too. He had run straight into my blade.

We are alike, him and I. All we're trying to do is to deal retribution for what we have lost.

Together we fall, the two avengers, crumpling to the ground like forgotten marionettes. And marionettes we are, in this mindless war. But the show's over for us. The hero became the villain and was slain by one of his victims in a bout of poetic justice. The end.

"I love you,"

That's what Tyrone had said, in his last breath. It only seems right to answer him in mine. I look to the heavens, because if there's really an afterlife, that's where Tyrone would be.

"I love you too, Tyrone..."

Knock! Knock! I woke up. Ugh! I though, I really don’t want to get out of bed. I rolled over, looked at the clock on my bedside table. It was exactly Midnight. I got up, threw my robe on and meandered towards the door, at this point wary enough to be wondering who in the world was knocking on my door at midnight. I also was unsure whether or not to answer it, as I hadn’t answered the door in a long time. At that point though, I wasn’t awake enough to remember why. The house was quiet, my parents and sister were still asleep. I peered through the view hole on the door to see who it was that was knocking on the door at midnight. That’s when I remembered why I never answer the door anymore.
You see, I live in a very strange neighborhood. We get strange people at our our door all the time. Three years ago, just after we moved here, my mom answer the door, and there on our step was a cheetah cub! And it had been pawing at the door like a cat that wanted to be let in! Although, I suppose it was a cat. Anyway, we took the cub to the local zoo, and thought not much of it after that. The next year, just after my birthday, my older sister answered the door to find exactly what I had wanted for my birthday, but hadn’t gotten because it made no sense. A dragon. A real, live, baby dragon was sitting on our doorstep. Oh, and one more thing, it could talk! The dragon’s name was Alicia, and she still lives in the neighborhood. The next year, last year, in June, where their are lots of tourist, there showed up at our door a German man, who didn’t speak english. However, since my Dad had lived in Germany for a while he understood what the man wanted. Dad sent the man away after about a minute of listening to him. Later, my dad said that the man had wanted to sell us illegal drugs. Nothing quite that strange had happened yet this year, although there was a giant bunny found a couple houses down near Easter. Well, the nothing strange strange part had just changed, as there, on the doorstep, was a man that was covered in blood and looked as though he would dead in a couple minutes.
That’s when my family ceased to be asleep. I screamed. I mean, I wasn’t scared of the dragon, and I wanted to pet the giant bunny, and keep the cheetah cub, but I was scared of blood. I know, slightly strange, since I am made of it, or contain lots of it, but I just can’t stand seeing it not in someone’s body. At that point, my dad came running down the stairs, still wearing his pajamas, and saw me standing there, terrified. “The man,” I stuttered, “The man on the doorstep.”
“Oh, fun. What’s happened this year?” My dad said. He gently moved me over and peered through the view hole. Slowly, his face turned white. “Jessica! Get down here now!” He cried, and threw open the door. The man moved, just a little bit, and smiled. Then he passed out.
My older sister nearly passed out right next to him when she came down stairs, closely followed by our mother. Mom had thrown on her robe as well, and was carrying the first aid kit from the upstairs medical supplies. Maybe I should mention at this point, my mother’s name is Jessica and she is a nurse at the local hospital. She looked at the man, and quickly instructed me to go back to bed and dad to go fold down the examination table in the living room. Not only is my mother a nurse, she practically has the whole hospital right in the house! I don’t know what happened next, because my I followed my mom’s instruction and went back to bed. However, I did not get back to sleep for several hours.


BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I was jolted out of bed by my alarm clock. Drowsily, I started to remember what happened last night and groaned. Well, I guess I better go and see if he lived, I thought. As I mentioned earlier, my mom is a nurse, so I am used to near death experiences for other people. I got out of bed, brushed my teeth, took a quick shower, put on some clothes, and grabbed my hairbrush to brush my hair as I walked down the hall towards the living room. The man was there, covered in bandages, still on the examination table, but breathing quietly. He was sleeping, and still alive. That’s good, I thought. I proceeded into the kitchen, my hair brushed, to have breakfast. My mother was standing there, washing her hands in the sink.
“Good Morning Mom,” I said, “Do you know who that guy is yet?” My mother looked up, and her face paled.
“Kristen!” She said, “You may want to eat your breakfast in the living room, sweetheart,” she added more calmly.
“Um, okay.” I walked over to the cabinet and pulled my cereal out. I reached over to grab a bowl from above the sink and just happened to look down at my mother’s hands, which she was still washing.
I dropped the bowl and screamed just as I had the night before. I stumbled backwards, and ran right into the counter. The bowl hit the ground and broke with a loud noise. I stood, panting, trying to calm down, as my mother turned her body so I couldn’t see her hands anymore. She was trying to wash blood off of them, but it was as though her hands were bleeding, since there was just more blood to wash off of them.
“Mom,” I said quietly, “what happened to your hands?” She sighed, and started to explain.
“Honey, I am afraid that the man that showed up last night had not just been wounded, he was infected with a disease.” She paused, and took a deep breath like she had bad news to breck to me. “Well, Kristen, I’m afraid your dad and I have both already been infected.”
“Well, that’s fine isn’t it?” Judging by the look on her face I was going to have to guess that it was not fine. “There has to be a cure, doesn’t there?” My mom shook her head.
“Sweetie, the man in the living room? That man is a scientist from Italy that had been investigated by the Italian government and kicked out for conducting inhumane experiments on people. It turns out that when he was deprived of others he tested his ideas on himself. I sent the virus to the hospital to be examined, and I already have the results back.” She paused again, and then continued, “Kristen, the virus was engineered by him, and there is not way that we have to create a cure. I’m afraid your dad and I have been diagnosed with just over a week to live, and I need you to not touch me.” She adds as I move towards her. The plague is not airborne, but it is spread by touching any liquid with the disease in it. Your father and I both touched the man’s blood last night while bandaging him, and so we have been infected. Now, I need you to go get your sister and have her take you to school today.”
I gasped. “Mom, you still want me to go to school?! That’s insane! Let me help you!” I reached for her again.
“No! You and your sister mustn't get the plague too. If the three of us die, then the plague will die with us and no one else will die. Now, go to school, you’re going to be late. I’ll talk to you when you get home.”
“Fine.” I walked slowly out of the kitchen and back into the living room on my way out the door. This time, the man was awake.
“Did I do it?” He asked, glancing at his bandages, “Did I do it?”
“Do what?”
“Why, create a population control disease?”
“What do you mean?” The man smiled.
“Why, don’t you see? Everyone on the planet will die sooner or later if we don’t get rid of a bunch of the people now. We have to go back to doing things in a sustainable manner, or everyone will die, and not just those that get the disease.”
“Then no, you didn’t do it.” It was was my turn to smile. “My parents and you will be the only ones to get the disease. You choose the wrong house to come crawling too, mister. My mom and dad already knew they were infected, and have already taken precautions so that my sister and I don’t get the plague you made. Your effort will only result in your death.”
With that, I stormed out of the room and went outside. My sister was already in the car, looking alright, just a little tired.
“Ready?” She asked, the word full of extra meaning. We weren’t just going to school, we were going away. Mom wouldn’t have let us leave if we were infected, so that meant that we weren’t and therefore couldn’t come back to the house. We would have to go with my sister’s boyfriend Joe, and I would probably have to get a job. Our as we knew them were over, but we would able to start again.
“Yeah,” I said to her, “Let’s go to school.”