Cleo's Game

19. Unearthed

Cleo looked at the huge block of ice that was born out of her own energy, forcing her eyes to stay open as she became completely exhausted. Her legs trembled as she struggled to keep herself standing. Even her perception of the small amount she could see with her pitiful flashlight was starting to blur. The floor rumbled.

Mince had finally caught up to Cleo. He stared wide-eyed at the same thing as she did. The power to imprison half a squadron of fighting-aged men like that was something to be revered, and something that Mince both feared and envied. However, the all-mighty Cleo, the sorceress capable of such an act, shared the same feeling of incomprehension. The floor rumbled.

Her legs gave way, and she fell backwards into the arms of the fortunately placed Mince. He was too stunned to speak. Pitch, with the remaining soldiers, leered opportunistically, with the idea of one of their foes being incapacitated being one that brought confidence. "This is your last chance to save your own life," threatened Pitch, wanting to be threatening but held back by the injuries to his mouth, which made his sentence nearly unintelligible. Mince gently laid Cleo down to free his hands.

"Fuck you," Mince replied boldly. Pitch rolled his eyes. He took a match from the pocket of a soldier next to him and scraped it against the stone floor. The previously dead fireplace was given a second life, burning brightly to illuminate the room once more. "Very well then. No mer-" His sentence was interrupted by a sharp slash to the face. It was just a simple finger motion from Mince that somehow scratched him from across the room. It wasn't a lethal blow, and it had very little purpose or meaning other than "shut up".

The illumination of the room revealed a horrific sight. Instead of being carefully monitored or restrained by the enemy, Vitaliy was lying limp on the ground. He had been forgotten about by the group that was clearly disinterested or unthreatened. The sight caused thoughts to race around Cleo's head, only adding to her nausea. That boy was her friend

The rumbling underneath the floor had finally pierced through the ground. A cloud of dust shot up, and scrambling out of the hole was a familiar face. It was the mole from earlier, and it hadn't managed to dislodge the spear of ice from its eye. It turned around the room, until it faced Pitch. Pitch's whole body tensed up with fury. "What happened to you?"

It responded with a high screech, with more than just a hint of pain. It writhed around uncontrollably, in a way that caused great alarm. A tear came to Pitch's eyes as he saw what his comrade had become. "Come on, Pitch, they're outnumbered. Let's go!" the soldier next to him encouraged. The words must have hit his ear and been refused entry, as they failed to break his thousand-yard stare in the slightest.

He drew his claws as he stepped forward. "We live in a truly terrible reality. The cerebral functions of a being differ seemingly at random. What you have inflicted on this animal is worse than an injury. It doesn't think anything. It just reacts to external stimuli. It is already dead." He took a long claw to the squirming, screaming mole, and silenced it. The sight was too horrifying for Cleo and Mince to even watch.

Pitch had one last thing to say. "No surrender. No prisoners." He took off from the ground with his powerful wings, darting towards the two of them. Cleo dazedly rose to her feet. "Cleo, fucking move!" Mince yelled, before standing in front. Without hesitation, he was smacked out of the way like a mere obstacle. Mince wasn't the target of his fury, but rather the conjuror of frost that dizzily stood behind him. Cleo vacantly stared forward as his sharp claws dug deep into her torso. Pitch continued to stare into Cleo's eyes as she choked up blood. The X-shaped gaping wound on her chest was a horrific sign, and it seemed to be the first of many.

Swooping in from behind, just in time, was Tranquility, who was perhaps previously forgotten. She let out a frustrated scream as she drove her fist into his core, knocking him back. She looked at Cleo, who had now slumped to the ground, and then towards Mince, and shared a knowing look with him. Her torso was just far too red, and far too torn up to remain hopeful. Adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, delaying the inevitable thoughts that she could have, and should have been able to help. "Why am I so angry... so furious... for someone I hardly even know?" Tranquility monologued, choking back tears.

Cleo's journey would be a remarkably short one if it ended here. The war would continue as if nothing happened, and her name would be just one of thousands that have died in the same way. Her brother would be alone, and she would have never proved anyone wrong. Not Mince, not Blake, not Drew, and not herself. Her thoughts were racing much faster than her body could react, as all she could feel was the sting of the wound.

Pitch had been sent flying across the cave by Tranquility's attack, but he was now back on his feet once again. Instead of the threats that they had become accustomed to, he was completely silent. Side-by-side with the soldiers, he marched forward. They were outnumbered eight to two, and the difference in confidence could have been quite suffocating. "Fuck this. What have we possibly got to lose?" said Mince. Tranquility seemed surprised at his tone of voice.

"You're already dead. Two down, two to go," Pitch growled. Tranquility looked across to Mince, and wiped the tear from her eyes. "No!" Tranquility yelled. The group of eight looked startled by the noise. "Don't you realise? You're trapped in here with us," a soldier replied. She glanced over to the blockaded entrance. The same blockaded entrance that she had previously stood by in the dark, worrying about how she was going to get out of this room. She looked back at the soldier, at his smug grin and predatory glare.

"No. You're trapped in here with us."