Rewriting Seven Years

22. Lunar War

Makurow stood in the cold embrace of space's vacuum, the sun hid behind the moon's horizon. Toxic Shock walked behind the Architect's machine, groping the spinning bars to guide himself around the light gravitational pull of the moon. Makurow pointed his sword at the machine.

"Don't you dare!" Toxic spurred. "This is a gift—you should not destroy it!"

"It's your gift," Makurow corrected, "I'm more satisfied to find you displeased."

Toxic swung himself around and placed himself at the tip of Makurow's sword. Toxic stomped his feet. "We need this. This world has been living in anarchy for too long."

Engines roared over the horizon, Hero Base Beta cruised to Makurow's location.

"We already have a self-promoting leadership," Makurow explained, "our anarchy is the best we got."

Toxic swiped at Makurow's sword rather than responding verbally. Makurow pulled back then swung at Toxic's knees. The dull edge bounced off Toxic's tough skin and the sword twirled back to Makurow's side, sharpening in the light.

The Hero Base rose behind Makurow's back. There was something inspiring to Makurow, standing, hearing the roars of his creations while regenerating his scorned skin.

"The light is my ally," Makurow spoke, "I wonder if it is yours."

Makurow dug the ball of his left foot into the ground, then stepped forward with his right foot and lunged his sword into Toxic Shock's chest. The sword speared through Toxic and punctured out his back.

Toxic's knees buckled and he dropped his entire weight onto Makurow's blade. He peered up with wilting eyes to the soaring base. Souls watched down on his execution. Blood spurred down the side of Makurow's sword. Toxic's blood floated off the edge in balls of red. Makurow stared in horror at the blood, while light from the appearing sun passed rays through the translucent liquid.

"We aren't all lucky like you," Toxic whimpered, "born cold, without blood. We may not have organs, but our hard earned energy still supplies our blood. Our muscles. Our nerves. But I still fight as strong as you. You're pathetic." Toxic shoved Makurow back.

Makurow hand slipped off his sword, it deteriorated to light inside Toxic's body and Toxic dropped to the ground.

The Heroes' ship stabilized itself over their location.

"Amazing," Toxic said, hearing the ship overhead, "I guess I was wrong about them." Toxic rolled over on the ground and grabbed onto a churning rod, rising up and back into the machine. It swung him onto his feet. Blood left a floating trail behind him like pixie dust.

Gears danced around in the machine, chewing at a second interval. Levers, pads, and buttons located at the centre of the machine were dimly lit through gaps in the gears. The rising sun barely shun on the tip of the arrow. Toxic Shock jabbed his hand into an appearing hole in the machine, catching hold of a lever in the core. He pulled it down and his hand out before the gears crushed his hand in its routine.

The arrow deflected light upward into a blade of rainbow colours. The blade arched down to the ground. A ripple in the light caused the machine to vanish behind a light screen. An array of rainbow colours climbed the shield of light, hatching a pattern like thick oil. The light touched down in a circle circumscribed around the machine, causing a noticeable indent in the surface it touched.

The shield pushed out a square foot a second, digging through the moon's dirt. Toxic Shock scurried back and glared at the light, fearful that he lost connection to the machine—connection to a Story Teller—behind the haze. He prodded forward but a long metal wire lashed out from inside the light, whipping Toxic back.