Cleo's Game

18. Rumble

The silence in the air was much more chilling than anything Cleo could conjure. It only made sense that those able to reach the centre of the mine weren't ordinary folk. Pitch paced slowly around the shard of ice, thinking to himself and planning his next move. Cleo was right to be confident, as she stood on the high ground against a group of foot soldiers with an infinite amount of projectiles at her disposal. The tapping footsteps echoed against the grey, damp walls. The orange fire that was tasked with illuminating the room with its orange glow continued to ominously crackle.

"Don't get too comfortable, I have more," Cleo provoked. "I think you might be the one who is too comfortable," replied Pitch. "You see, I have spent most of my life in caves. My nose has become accustomed to the putrid malodour of this dingy grotto. My sensitive ears are used to being starved of sound. My eyes have adapted to pitch darkness," he monologued in his unusually well-spoken accent. Standing behind the fire to illuminate himself in the glow, he spoke ominously: "Have yours?"

After the phrase left his mouth, he drove his boot into the fire, plunging the room into darkness. The sounds of the footsteps stopped, and they were sorely missed, being an approximate indication of where Pitch was standing. Cleo fumbled around her person for the flashlight, but she wasn't quick. The razor-sharp whistling sound in the air, coupled with multiple clicks, left few possibilities for what the source could be, and none of them positive.

"Cleo, get down!" shouted Tranquility, before tackling her to the ground, rendering her own warning useless. The confusion was cleared when she heard the surgically silent bat glide over her, barely missing the two of them with his claws, before making a smooth U-turn back. "That was close," Cleo whispered. "We're going to be stuck here forever, aren't we?"

"Umm, I'm not sure that's something we should be worrying about. They're coming up the stairs!" Vitaliy alerted. The rising pressure made it feel like they were morsels of food in a pot being brought to a boil. "They're all coming up one path, I can handle them," stated Mince confidently. He hadn't turned around since the lights were on, so he was certain that he was standing in front of the stairs.

"I can knock all of these fuckers down, I just can't get interrupted while doing it," he said while positioning himself into a stance. He stood on one leg, with his hands together. The final step in his technique is to close his eyes and visualise the dispute between red and blue in which wind is born. With his right hand warm and his left chilled and bitter, he faces his palms forward and focuses his energy into creating a gust.

That's what's supposed to happen, at least. However, with all the distractions and obstacles in play, it was far from simple. Closing his eyes made little difference, as there was not a hint of brightness in the subterranean chamber. The clock was ticking, with the arms of the clock represented by the tenacious legs of the soldiers clambering up the hill. It was odd that they were climbing up such a narrow corridor. Surely they would know that this is a bad idea. Unless?

"The bat's coming right for you!" Tranquility warned. He was diving in head first, baring his fangs, not even considering the chance that Mince could dodge. He was simply too locked in, and he shouldn't have even known about the attack beforehand. Pitch craned his neck forward, looking to sink his fangs into the target. His lower jaw was slammed into his top jaw after Vitaliy blindly lashed in Pitch's direction with his leg, catching him in the mouth forcefully. Shards of white enamel dropped from his mouth, along with the red that stained them. His tongue was cut up by his own teeth, preventing him from utilising echolocation and removing the advantage that the darkness held for him.

Before any follow-up could occur, he retaliated, sinking a claw into Vitaliy's shoulder. Pitch wanted to speak, and to make a threat, but nothing intelligible could be made out of his gurgling mouth. His actions spoke clearly, however, as he dragged Vitaliy away, gliding back towards safety while he tried to squirm mid-air.

Simultaneously, the goal of protecting Mince was accomplished. The gale pointed towards the soldiers, compelling them to lose their balance, falling backwards into a pile of men that was anything but neat, with the only indication of this happening being their disgruntled shouts of complaint. Vitaliy could be heard letting out a blood-curdling scream in the distance.

"Fuck this, let's go already! Vitaliy's down there!" Cleo called out. She sprinted down the stairs, armed with just a weak flashlight to cut through the vast darkness. It brought just a streak of brightness, letting her see the floor in front of her. Mince tailed her from behind, and Tranquility tailed from above.

At the foot of the stairs, soldiers from the pile were untangling and getting back up. She was running too fast to turn back or even slow down, so the pressure was mounting. A decision had to be made, and it had to be made quickly. With no hesitation in her step, she continued her stride, reaching the pile of about eight men. She threw her arm forward with an open palm, connecting with the first limb to make a lunge at her.

She gritted her teeth as she began to feel exhausted. Her hand turned a pale white as its temperature plunged, in a burst of unstable frigidity that was on a path to conquer all that was positive. The soldier's hand that made direct contact with hers is nothing more than history. Each drop of blood, fibre, and cell was preserved in ice, exactly the way it was and exactly the way it will be forever. The ice hastily creeped past the first soldier, creating a cube around the pile of soldiers, immobilising them as they became trapped in an icy prison.

She pulled her hand away and stepped back, looking at her creation. The consequence of her power. It was rather horrifying to her that a week ago she was barely able to freeze a puddle, and now there are lives in her hands. She had reached the bottom of the stairs, and across the floor from her were the rest of the soldiers, along with their thoroughly aggravated boss. None of this was for the faint of heart.