The Old Gods

He Who Guards the Guards

The two of them stared at each other. Leigh, Melody, Robin and Mr Bachman stood awkwardly beside Amir. The tension in the air was enough to make Mr Bachman sweat. They were all waiting for one of them to say something. Unable to stand the silence, Melody whistled a more cheerful version of the song her music box played.

'Amir.' The masked man said.

'Do I know who you are?' Amir replied. He was scared of him, and yet he felt an odd connection to the man. Somehow.

'I am He Who Guards the Guards. Mr Bachman here knows of my identity as the Protector of Angels during the Old War.' Mr Bachman's eyes widened. He looked at the stranger's worn and battered armour, taking in the runic inscriptions and the faded gold of his coat of arms.

'Impossible. You should be dead!' Mr Bachman cried out, pointing a finger at him. The Protector of Angels sighed. He raised an arm in the air. Something in the subterranean museum crashed to the floor. In a matter of seconds, two golden daggers flew out of the second storey door and sheathed themselves in the empty sheaths at the man's side. Even though none of them could see his face, they were pretty sure he had a smug grin on his face.

He threw the daggers in the air, enthralling the others in the room. They watched the firelight reflect off the gold as it spun over and over again. It was almost hypnotic. The Protector balanced the tip of his dagger on his finger and was about to replace it when his entire body froze up.

'What is the meaning of this?' HIs eyes travelled across the room. Everybody was taken aback. All except Amir, who was on the floor and clutching his head.

Robin and Leigh rushed over to their best friend, who remained hunched over. He dry-heaved, moaning.

'Amir! Amir! Are you all right-'

Leigh's brother's eyes opened. They were no longer a warm hazel. They had been replaced by a regal, glorious gold. He stared at the man, who was now frozen in place and regarding Amir with a cold glare.

'Rimarion. You are no Protector. You are the Slayer of Angels. You killed our kind for your own ends. Controlling fire does not make you powerful. Your actions do. And your actions cannot be forgiven!' Amir spoke with a voice that was not his own. It sounded like ten thousand people were using him as a speaker. His fists burned gold as he directed a jet of fire at Rimarion.

He took it head on. The blast scorched his armour and knocked him out of the museum. He was on his feet within seconds and bending his own fire. He punched the air, forcing Not-Amir away from him with pressurised shots. The possessed Amir simply waved the flames off, completely unaffected by Rimarion's attempt at taking him down.

Not-Amir punched the ground. Outside, the street cracked open. Fire erupted from the rift, melting the canal's railing and setting Mr Bachman's signboard alight. Rimarion propelled himself into the air, out of reach of the deadly flames. None of his attacks were working on the thirteen-year old boy. Amir was untouchable. He manipulated the fire as if it was an extension of his own body.

Rimarion landed on the balcony of the next-door building. He was about to unleash a fireblast when he got knocked off by a shadowy black figure. They tumbled to the ground. Rimarion let out a burst of blue flame. The sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh filled the air as the Kemurigami who had attacked Rimarion sprung up, screeching in pain.

Amir took one look at the grovelling demon. With a snap of his fingers, the air around the Kemurigami ignited. It was stuck in a prison of heavenly fire. Not-Amir looked on coldly. He almost savoured the pain the demon was going through.

'Your snivelling disgusts me.' He said.

With another snap, the Kemurigami burst into ashes. A battle-scarred Rimarion looked up, his cloak torn and his mask chipped.