Codename: Freedom - Book 5 - Chapter 35

When Brendon Black and his men were halfway to the central flag array with Lethal Accord not far behind, Ebrima Okoro appeared at the podium with the last flag. It was the very one they had failed to capture.

What was surprising was that Ebrima was alone. He stood there momentarily as if he wanted Brendon to see him. Then he turned around, summoned his rank D aura, and sprinted away.

If it was anyone else, Brendon would’ve given chase. Ebrima was the only person to beat him when they raced on the track. Not only was there distance between them, but The Burden Bearers weren’t in any position to win the competition. Brendon let him go.

There was another flag in play, so he spun around and commanded his men to follow.

***

Mia watched as Mel descended feet first. The exact opposite of Lucius’s approach. He also controlled his speed by bounding from wall to wall as if taking the stairs. It was a much more cautious, rational approach. Except, if he didn’t do something soon, four rank D users would be on HandshakeDeath.

The man was running for his life with no sure end. He’d entered the tunnel to the outer layer before the Forefathers, but the first group of three had already reported what they saw. It wouldn’t be long now.

When the group of four entered the tunnel and saw the man running with the flag, one of them prepared a psionic bolt. Another of the men stopped him. “Don’t. This battalion hasn’t killed their Manticore King. He’s trapped.”

The man answered by dropping his rank D bolt and flaring his aura. They ran at the rank E user at full speed.

Glancing back up at Mel, Mia faced the inevitable. He still had halfway to go.

Prodos’s only rank D user must have realized this, because he cushioned himself with his legs against one of the walls as if considering his options. He then followed the example of the craziest participant in all of Vanguard and dove toward the incoming men.

Handshake had only made it halfway to the manticore, maybe a quarter mile. It was a short distance for superior psionics. They were seconds away.

Then she saw the rich green of Mel’s overcharge attack forming in his hand. Just like Lucius, he didn’t use psionics much as he descended.

The Forefather that was closest to reaching his target removed a psword from his belt. He moved to strike the man from behind.

The speed wasn’t at the same level as Lucius’s, but the bolt arrived from above in an instant. It landed atop the man’s head. With only his aura going, it was as gory as anything they’d seen yet.

Mel swooped in from above as the three remaining rank D users scattered. What missing was the smoothness in which Lucius’s flew. As soon as he neared the ground, Mel seemed to bounce. Not because he’d touched the ground, but because his push ability was too powerful. He jerked upward.

Then she saw the green psionic shield cover the man as he sped across the ground. As he neared, he spun shoulder first. As soon as he touched the ground, he rolled.

“Crash landing!” Bolt cried, coming to his feet.

It was, however, there was a uniformity to his roll that shouldn’t be there if he were out of control. After a good twenty feet of rolling, Mel slowed. His hand jabbed out with a push, tossing him up from the ground to his feet.

“Did he just do that on purpose?” Mr. Rachet asked.

“Style points,” LeLisa proclaimed.

“He did make it look good,” the man agreed. “Even if it was an accident.”

Mia’s friend rolled her eyes.

Mel was standing there facing his three aura empowered opponents. They were already to their feet and looking at him like they were just as unsure as the metacasters as to what had just happened.

The three men didn’t hesitate to make use of their main advantage. As had proved to be the primary weapon in squad warfare at this level, three hands shot out and green psionic bolts flew.

In the face of what should’ve been a debilitating attack, Mel didn’t try to dodge. Instead, he took his first step forward.

There was nothing slow about rank D bolts. Even the most common. The three struck him all at once. One of the men even turned to keep an eye on the flag.

He just kept walking toward them.

***

The three men saw it and acted accordingly. Sure, this guy might have a talent for defense. He wasn’t the only one. Each man sent out a flurry of bolts. Before they were done, thirty or more hit him from short range.

They let up a moment later to get a look at their handy work.

Mel had stopped in his tracks. He’d lowered himself with one foot in front of the other. Even if he was a defensive genius, it wasn’t just the energy from rank D bolts that was dangerous. The force behind each blow could knock his over if he wasn’t ready for it.

Just a year and a half ago, his skinnier self probably couldn’t even brace against the force from one of them without falling over. He had a lengthy build, but he was no longer the same. One couldn’t train with the likes of Lucius, Kline, and Barrall and remain mediocre. Even if he hadn’t desired it, just hanging around them had greatly benefited him. They wouldn’t allow him to be content with a lack of confidence or incompetence. He’d started out as the least of them. That ended today.

A grin tugged at his normally somber bearing. They’d known long before he had. Not that he was talented. He’d been told that his entire life. But that it was possible for him to have the mentality to actually make use of that talent. To push it further than potential’s boundaries.

He could sense what his opponents were thinking. His ability to overcharge wasn’t limited to his casting. With his psionic shield and internal walls active at once, only his own overcharge bolt could cause him harm. They acknowledged this and changed their approach.

One man remained where he was and cast bolts as a distraction. The other two came. Their weapons were drawn.

Mel moved.

After everything they’d learned in Vanguard, he couldn’t look down on the Genesis participants. Yet, there were obvious differences between them and Freedom participants. They came at him with swords drawn. Each had their own talents. Anyone that had reached rank D was amongst the most talented psionic individuals. The elite. And these were the first soldiers of Earth to unlock psionics. Soldiers with real experience on the battlefield that may have found the Ekseliksi before such alien power was even an option for them.

However, etched upon Mel’s chest was a tattoo identical to Lucius’s. He’d considered others or different versions, but he’d walked the same path. It all began with a spear stabbed into the top of a hill with a shield leaning against it. He wasn’t a soldier. He acknowledged that wholeheartedly, but neither had these exception men been trained by the most decorated Combat Master of all time.

Causing the bolts to miss was easy enough. Moving out of the way, he placed one of his opponents between him and the caster.

Without a shield, his stance was different. He had his sword arm forward and stood sidelong to make himself as small of a target as possible.

The man used his strongest aura to back and two-handed downward slash. It was meant to end him instantly.

Mel didn’t block or dodge. His own aura shone. A flick of his wrist was all it took to divert the man’s blow to the side and leave him overextended. Even if he didn’t practice his swordsmanship often, he hadn’t neglected it entirely either. And after countless thousands of making the same motion, his wrist flicked a second time, growing taut.

For a single beat, bolstering psionics shot up his blade as his gladius’s tip sunk into the side of his opponent’s neck. He didn’t have to remove it but gave his blade a little flick. What had been a thrust turned into a precision cut. One whole side of the man’s neck was severed.

His psionic shield appeared an instant later. The next man wasn’t wielding a broadsword, but an elegant saber.

It whirled toward him without the same compartment as had come from this first opponent. He didn’t parry the man’s attack this time. He retracted his blade only to jab at the man’s face the moment it passed.

The man arrogantly scowled as his saber swatted it aside.

Mel dropped his full body shielding to opt for his aura.

Seeing it, the saber user struck again, preparing a furious combination. What he hadn’t realized was they he fell for an old trick from Freedom.

His aura was but a pulse of outward power. As it flashed, so do was a psionic bolt forming in his hand. It was the kind of thing most people would only fall for once. He dodged the man’s slash, but his counter bolt was already flying. If the man’s opponent was anyone else, perhaps he would’ve seen the ruse in time. No one could cast as quickly.

The bolt slammed into the man’s gut. As he crumpled forward, Mel lopped off his sword hand at the wrist and swiped his feet out from under him with a backhanded flick to the back of his knee.

Mel stood there over the man, but he wasn’t watching his suffering. He’d found the wide-eyed gaze of the last caster.

The man quickly summoned his shield, unsheathing his weapon. It was a short sword, similar to Mel’s own.

They stood there watching each other, daring the other to make the first move.

Ignoring the tension, Mel cast a quick bolt.

The man flinched even if it was the kind of bolt he could block. Instead of striking him, it plunged into the chest of his dying companion.

Allowing the man a moment to consider his friend, Mel prepared an overcharged bolt.

Seeing it, the psionically shielded man wasn’t finished. There was more than twenty feet between them. He prepared to meet the attack with his sword.

There was more to the man’s actions than he knew. His overcharged attack was extremely powerful, but that didn’t mean it was impossible to defend against. With the man’s rank D psionic shielding and the correct swing of his sword, he might just manage it. Because a weapon was extended from the body, it could provide better defense against such an attack than even a shield—if you could manage to hit it. This man’s weapon was likely too short to fully block it, but survival was possible.

Mel’s arm shot forward as if aimed right for where the man was about to swing.

The man slashed out. He’d managed to time it.

Even if Mel’s arm was aimed for the man’s chest, the bolt flew downward.

The man’s weight shifted toward his front foot. It was impossible to correct in a split second.

The bolt slammed into his knee. Despite his shielding, he tumbled forward.

Mel didn’t let him recover. Most rank D users could block a normal rank D bolt with their shielding. But too many bolts and the destructive energy accumulated inside your body. Enough of them would still do the job. So he sent a flurry of bolts at the fallen man until his shield disappeared.

He’d felt their psionic energy coming. He found seven more rank D users at the tunnel’s entrance with Brendon Black leading them.

“Take it and go,” Handshake said, tossing the flag to the ground between them. “I’ll either disappear or die. No biggie.”

Mel frowned, but he’d been at this far too long now to object to the most reasonable course of action. Without a moment to lose, he grabbed the flag and launched himself toward the closet wall and began to ascend.

He expected a storm of bolts screaming up at him that he’d have to dodge, but when he didn’t feel any coming, he glanced back to see Brendon Black bounding from wall to wall and chasing after him. Not only was the man coming. He was fast.

Rebuking himself, Mel knew he should’ve spent more time perfecting this, but he wasn’t done yet.

As he ascended, he began throwing bolts at Black between jumps.

The man wasn’t dissuaded. Instead of coming right for him, he sped up his ascent.

It wasn’t long before Mel had to admit that the man was better at this than he was. He was second guessing his decision not to wear the leather jumpsuit Lucius had insisted on.

 Despite their speed, half a mile straight up was not easy or fast. When Brendon started pulling away and was maybe ten yards above him, the bolts started to fly from below. They weren’t even trying to hit him. It wasn’t that easy to hit a moving target from this distance. But then again, they didn’t have to. They aimed above him, cutting off his ascent.

There were still options. He could flee toward the battalion’s base and try and outdistance their casters. That’s exactly what we intended on trying when the bolts stopped flying from below.

Brendon Black flew in from above. He wasn’t wielding his weapon, but a shield in each hand. Like a human flyswatter, the man was trying to knock him from the air.

He didn’t have Lucius’s expertise. That didn’t make him a novice. He kicked out with his hand outstretched and pushed from both to wind walk out of the man’s path.

It worked. Brendon went flying by.

Mel tossed a bolt at the man’s back as a parting gift.

The upward shower of bolts returned.

Only then did he notice his predicament. Black was now behind him, climbing at a speed faster than his own. And above his head was a constant stream of rank D bolts. They’d successfully cut him off.

Mel chose that time to call out to the enemy, “Do you want to have to run back to the central arena?” He held up the flag that he carried.

Brendon Black knew as well as anyone the pain of a flag getting damaged in the midst of a fight. The barrage of psionic bolts from below stopped. The man motioned for him to descend.

Nodding in agreement, Mel did as asked, but not without aiming for a better position. Diving, he soon had to pull up because of how close they were to the ground.

The Forefathers let him, but as he swooped across the ground, he sped away in the opposite direction directly under Brendon Black.

As much as he wanted to go all the way to the base that owned this tunnel, it was not a skill in his repertoire. Besides, there was a Manticore King standing in his path.

The monster was crouched at the ready.

He had an overcharged snack prepared for it. As he darted for it, he pushed, launching himself up and over its head. He fired his bolt downward.

The Manticore didn’t just get struck, but caught the bolt with its open mouth, snapped its jaws shut around it. Its entire body went limp.

Mel landed opposite it. He considered making a run for it, but there was another option. Turning back to the beast, he leaped to its side. Summoning another overcharged bolt, he cast it downward. The monster’s armored flesh opened like cracked chitin. Then he dove the shaft of his flag into its squish innards.

With his psionic shield and walls active, he hopped down to face off with seven rank D users. It wasn’t a fight he could win, but he didn’t have to. All he had to do was last long enough.