The small single engine plane, cut
through the gray muscles of clouds in the night’s
sky. The airplane descended in a strict angle, like a
metallic spear. The strong winds ran across the light plane
like invisible waves of water, the fuselage rocking in the strong
currents.
Green Arrow sat in the plump and plushy
aquamarine seat. His head was bowed, the eye lids closed
beneath the slender emerald mask which was tied tightly; situated
between his slender eyebrows and the broad flare of his nose.
His hands lay in his lap, his long spindly fingers laced between one
another.
The Archer had not moved from his
meditative position since he first sat down, four hours ago.
He knew he’d require more control, and clairvoyance of mind,
in the mission that awaited him. He had never experienced the
rough terrain of a rainforest, nor had he been asked to lead any sort
of group; more so a group of men of fortune, and meta-human
mercenaries. He did however have the benefit of being a well
trained archer, soldier, and martial artist. He also had no
choice but to succeed. His mother’s life hung in
the balance.
A soft tone echoed from the brown
paneled walls of the plane’s interior.
Arrow’s eyelids fluttered open, his pupils expanding to
adjust to the new found light. He raised his head slowly, the
spandex suit squeaking as it stretched to compensate for his
movements. He turned his neck around his left shoulder, his
still burning eyes flicking quickly across the now illuminated corridor
of the plane. He took only a few fleeting moments to assess
where each member of his team was. There were eight in
all. The two Meta-humans he’d met earlier, and the
six others, who like himself, were as flesh and blood as one could be.
--keep seated and buckled in, our
landing is going to be bumpy. It’s the best sort of
landing strip we could get… and you all know what that
means.--
Green Arrow lay back in the soft blue
seat. His hands slid across his green clothed
knees. His fingers kneaded his knee caps, as he took in deep
breaths. He had dealt with hard landings before.
But as the sprawling jungle in its unified leafy canopy loomed outside
his window… he knew it would be more than just a hard
landing.
The small airplane’s body
slipped through a hole in the expansive, green canopy of
trees. Its angle of decent slowly veered off to an upright
position as the ground spiraled in front of it. The night sky
completely disappeared as the plane cleared the canopy. The
ground that awaited them was a strip 20 miles long and five miles
across, covered only in the rich soil of the forest. The dark
wrinkled brown trunks of the ancient trees kept the small track
completely fenced in, from any familiar territory.
The large wheels of the plane ejected
from the undercarriage. Large black tires connecting to thick
metal stretched themselves out, awaiting the abrasive ground that
waited below. The plane fully came horizontal, only moments
before the rubber wheels hit the soil covered ground. Dark
splashes of mudded sludge, splattered violently as the plane touched
down. The force of the decent however, caused the plane to
hop, going airborne for the span of a few seconds, before it touched
down again. The weight of the plane caused gashes in the soft
ground as it touched down a second time.
Arrow felt his body lunge under the
strain of the belt, as the plane came down a second time, his face
impacting the soft back of the seat in front of him.
“Ugh,” he let out in a soft whisper as the plane
hit solid ground. His hands formed tight clamps on his knees
as the plane began rolling.
The breaks began only an instant later,
the loud squealing of metal grating metal, was enough to shake the
entire plane. The Archer couldn’t bear to look out
the window, as the plane continued to slow its breakneck
speed. The plane lunged back and forth, as it hit slabs of
rock and hard earth on it sojourn to the end of the track.
The plane rocketed across the dirt
trail, and sent splashes of mud and dirt with it, as it slowed its
speed. The pilot felt his heart beat racing as the tree lined
walls mixed with what he saw a head of him. The speed was creating a
vision of ghostly green gauntlet. It was all of one minute
and twenty eight seconds before the small plane finally came to an all
too sudden stop.
The full lights finally came on in
passenger bay, as the plane stopped. The passengers were
deathly quiet for the next twenty seconds. Even the most
rugged of mercenaries were waiting for their hearts to return to a
normal rate. Green Arrow himself, a man who had seen Aztec
gods taking on human forms, stood still in his seat, entranced by the
shock. Only the chorus of unclipping seatbelts brought him to
the here and now. He reached down and ejected his own
seatbelt.
He stood up from his seat. His
hands lined the thick padded spandex of his costume with a slow and
calculated motion. He took in a few more breaths before he
reached up above his seat, and unlocked the brown paneled storage
compartment.
The bay snapped open exposing his
treasured qui-gong long bow, and his toffee colored double quiver
pack. It was only as his fingers touched the familiar wooden
texture of the bow that he finally remembered himself, and more
importantly the job he agreed to do.
This was to be an interesting trip.
 |
The
Emerald Archer...
The Green Cell
|
| Green
Arrow #13- November, Year 4 |
by Jae
Lizhini |
Amazon Rain Forest
Near Brazil, Central America
Even in the dead of night the Amazon can fully
capsulate the senses. The eyes take in the beautiful colors, even
in their muted glory. The ears can hear the stunning acoustics of
water rushing in all direction, and the various sounds of animals which
have never been taken in by human ears. And the smells, of damp
soil, and fragrant flowers, almost allow one to lose themselves in the
sheer amazement of them all.
All the beauty of the region however, was all but
forgotten by the mercenaries employed by the Gotham Mob boss, Mario
Falcone. Instead these men and women were busy unloading the
brutal cargo from the small silver plane. Cargo meant not to
saver the beauty of nature and life, instead all of it designed to take
it away. Two very different elements, meshing like the yin and
yang on the basin of one unlucky section of the Amazon rainforest.
Green Arrow felt in-between worlds leaning against
the rough and deep brown trunk of one of the countless gigantic
trees. His head was bowed downward, his chin resting on the
prominent pectoral muscles which protruded from the green and brown
spandex which covered his chest. His legs were folded in an
Indian style, both his hands tightly clasping the ornamental wooden
bow; which he had carved himself, at a familiar Ashram in Nappa Valley.
His head moved only slightly, as his ears took in
foreign sounds. The simple cracking of dry grass and the crumbling of
wet earth attacked the tranquil environment. He waited; every
sense coming alert but his eyes remained closed. His nose took in
the bothersome musk of commercial perfume, his skin feeling the sudden
heat from his own heart beat. He listened for the sounds to come
closer.
The large feminine shadow slipped from the
foliage. Her large legs broke from the blankets of shade, given
by the large trees and wildlife. Her deeply tanned skin caught the
glimmers of the full moon’s radiance, falling through like
splinters from the breaks of the canopy. Her steps were soft. Her
movements were agile as she crept behind the meditating archer.
Her wild eyes narrowed as she lunged forward.
But she stopped only a few hairs from her prey.
Her head looked down, ever slowly at the single
arrow head that was pressing ever so gently against her throat. A
simple wooden shaft was all that separated the lethal weapon from the
tawny gloved hand which held it as loosely as a spear. “You
could use some practice in stealth,” the bowed figure
spoke. His voice wasn’t deep, or forceful. Instead it
was smooth, and modulated, almost soft.
“We all didn’t take lessons from
Batman,” Ferra spoke.
“Batman doesn’t conduct Ninjitzu lessons
with everyone who was ever on the JLA,” Green Arrow snapped
back. He finally opened his eyes, turning the brilliant green
orbs in the direction of the woman who was as much wolf and
feline. “You’d be surprised how much one can learn
about perception by getting rid of everything.”
“I’d be willing to try getting rid of
everything, if you’d be the teacher.” Ferra, smiled,
her large pink lips forming enough of a smile to show off her bright
white teeth, and fangs.
“I don’t think it’d be everything
you’d think it’d be.”
“Possibly not, but you can’t blame a
girl for trying.”
“Can I help you with something?”
Green Arrow asked his voice tingeing on annoyance. This trip was
already turning out to be a mission of futility.
“Everyone was wondering why the Leader,
isn’t helping with the unloading.”
“I didn’t pack all the high-tech
equipment.” Arrow smiled, “Plus no one asked. I
assumed you all could take care of it.”
“Just because someone doesn’t ask
doesn’t mean it can be taken care of.” The smile
scarred her face again. The deep vermillion tresses slopped down
her shoulders in thick ringlets as she got closer to the young
hero. “You have to show you are part of the team. No
one is going to follow a stranger who can’t… get his hands
dirty.”
“Just being here is dirt enough for me.”
“Your father use to do this sort of thing all
the time didn’t he?”
“I’m not my father.”
“Hmmm… lucky me.” Her face
moved to only a few inches away from his.
“Umm…” Connor blathered at the
sudden invasion of personal space. He had still not got used to
the forwardness of non-temple life.
“OKAY PEOPLE LET’S MOVE THEM OUT!”
the Midwestern accent of Fortitude, shouted from the clearing a few
feet away. The sounds of the company of mercenaries’ foot
falls were easily recognized by both the trained ears of the Archer,
and the heightened senses of the Meta-human Woman.
Green Arrow withdrew as far as he could from the
woman’s position. His dark skin blushed to a bruised color.
“We should join them.”
“If you think so.” Ferra smiled.
She stood to her full height once more. Green arrow slowly rose
as well, fitting the bow across his nimble right shoulder. He
didn’t give the woman another look. He turned his body and
walked toward the clearing.
~~This might be
much more difficult than I thought~~ Ferra thought as she
watched him walking back into the shadows.
1st
Christian Hospital
San Francisco, CA
Milo Armitage sat silently in the darkened hospital
room. The deep set eyes watched the digital readouts of his
wife’s life support units. His robust body lay back against
the soft sofa seat, his hands in a pyramid shape pressing against his
chin.
It had turned to night before his eyes. The
daytime San Francisco sun, fading into the west skies as he waited
silently, as he waited everyday. He had not been to his office,
had not even checked his email or business phone since she first was
admitted. Every waking moment, waiting for the lights to go down
through the window, for the indoor lights to fade down to nothing,
night after night he sat alone in the darkened room. The sterile
smell of the hospital, being the only comfort he had. How did it
come to this? How could he risk the very life of his wife?
Despite everything that had happened, he loved her. He wanted
nothing but the best for her.
Everything used to be so perfect in his life.
He never had a single problem in the world. He was an
internationally renowned Gunrunner, with a business that pulled in six
figures annually, not counting all the revenue that came under the
table. He had a beautiful wife-- who was a bit neurotic at times,
and went through a fair share of scrapes--but he loved her with all his
heart. Then her son came home. His Stepson Connor, was
raised in an Ashram in Nappa Valley, and had not seen the real world in
nearly thirteen years. Of course that choice to send her son away
was always a deep burden for her. He was the reflection of her
deepest love, the son of the one man she could never forget--the man he
could never compare to… Oliver Queen the original Green
Arrow. Connor of course took up his father’s legacy when
the man died… and his first run of business it seemed was to
make sure that his step-father paid for his crimes. The boy along
with his guardian of sorts, Eddie Fyiers together made Milo’s
life a misery. He wasn’t sure which of the two he despised
more.
He sat silent thinking deeply, within the chorus of
timed beeps from the medical equipment. That was until his cell
phone vibrated for a full second in his pocket. His large olive
colored hand dove into the tight black Armani slacks he wore. His
fingers hooked around the small black device pulling it from the
voluminous pockets.
Holding the small device in his goliath palm, he
flipped it open. He looked at the LCD of the phone which had the
flashing indicator of a new text message. Pressing one of the
many buttons on the keypad of the device, the message presented
itself. Milo sat up straight in his seat as he looked at the
sender…Gotham Contact.
His eyes widened as he read the message presented there:
The
young sapling saw the old tree. The old tree, presented the
fertile
soil. The young sapling is now
on his way to the soil we all want.
For your sake I hope he sheds those green
leaves.
Milo stared at the message reading it a few
times. His body grew cold and still. He knew what it meant
almost instantly. He knew the plan, was the best he could do, given the
situation. But truly he didn’t believe Connor would go
through with it. Perhaps there was still a chance for the
boy. Despite it all, he still had hoped that Connor would
change. He didn’t need to be Ollie’s successor.
There was another father, who needed a successor. The gray
bearded convict slowly closed the small cell phone and slid it back
into his pocket.
Amazon
Rain Forest
Near Brazil, Central America
The atmosphere was thick and humid, even amongst
cool night air. The sounds of insects filled the entire space;
reminding everyone one walking in their forest… they were out of
place. Green Arrow walked quietly, in the back of the
convoy. His posture slightly drooped, his body relaxed, and his
senses alive with realization at any moment he could be attacked, from
within or from without. Ferra was correct; these people would not
follow his lead. But for reasons she didn’t mention.
He was a Hero, a former member of the Justice League of America, and
the enemy of every one of the people he had decided to team up
with. Of course, despite it all if Falcone asked him to do it
himself, his chance of success would probably be lower than it would,
with these Mercenaries who apparently knew exactly what they were doing.
“You seem uneasy,” Ferra spoke, from his
left shoulder. Her breath tensed his neck. He could feel
the heat of her breath causing a cold chill to run down his
spine. He didn’t turn to look to her eyes. His eyes
instead looked straight ahead, taking in the silhouettes of men in
front of him.
“Always be prepared,” he said in almost
a whisper.
“Is that what Batman says?” she asked in
a light chuckle
“Does sound like something he’d say I
guess.” He crafted a flimsy smile, “But no, my friend
Eddie always said that.”
“He’s important to you,” she spoke.
“It would be best we would focus on the job at
hand Ferra,” the boy snapped, his head finally turning to gaze in
her direction. “As much as I’m sure you want to be my
best friend, its not going to happen. When this is through,
I’m going to be back out there, taking on crooks just like
you. And nothing is going to change that.”
“My-my what anger.” She chuckled,
“I thought you Buddhist types were supposed to be resistant to
such carnal devices.”
“We try to be that way, but it’s not
always possible. We do the best we can, to take in the
teachings. But we are human.”
“I see…” she spoke.
“Everyone stop,” Fortitude suddenly
called from the front of the group. His voice was a hushed
whisper but everyone, heard what he meant. Instantly the group
went dead silent and still. Fortitude himself went to his
haunches, almost immediately.
The robust man pulled the binoculars from his neck
and fixed them to his eyes. His head veered to the left first and then
to the right. His newly extended sight, traced over the
landscape, taking in the dark forest’s looming trees, mats of
grass, and grazing wildlife as he searched. It was after almost a
full three minutes that he removed the binoculars, and turned his head
to the rest of the men and women, all still in the same position he
left them in. “Okay people were about five hundred yards
from the crash site now,” he spoke his voice now a little
louder. “We are presently about four hundred yards from the
guard camp, were all here to take out.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Ferra
snarled stepping towards the rest of the troops who had began to huddle
around Fortitude. “Let’s go in there and bust up some
heads. Seems pretty cut and dry to me.”
“That will cause senseless injuries and
fatalities.” Green Arrow spoke following on her heels, his
footfalls, however as quiet as a whisper. “Let me scout out
the area, if it’s just a makeshift camp, then I’m sure
there are several areas we could sneak in from with minimal injuries to
our people, and theirs.”
Ferra lashed her head around, the shadows of the
trees scrapping across her orange colored face. Her eyes narrowed
to just slits as she stared at the young hero. “We are not
here to save lives. We’re here to take out the enemy and
return the parcels to Mr. Falcone.”
“We don’t even know how many enemies
there are. We can’t just barge in there,” Arrow
retorted his own green eyes looking into hers. “I was not
asked on this mission because I take lives. I was asked here,
because I know how to get the job done.”
“Ha hah!” Fortitude chuckled, his
full accent returned as he rose from his haunches. “The kid
is showing some backbone. Granted, it appears his information is
just a little bit on the wrong side of the tracks though.”
Arrow looked at the large man. His large lips
frowned, folds of skin cinching up at the flares of his square
nose. “I’m sorry; I don’t believe I’m
following you.”
“Let me put in plain terms then kid,”
Fortitude spoke, moonlight reflecting off his domed forehead and the
shinny crown of short black hair. “You are here because you
are what the fifth best martial artist in the world?” He
smiled… “And the men who have the boss’s cargo have
something special on their side.”
“Something special?” Arrow asked, as
Fortitude turned his back to the Hero.
“Trust me, your skills are essential to this
mission but not in the way you’d think.”
“In other words,” Ferra busted in.
“Let us do our job and you can do yours.” The woman
snarled pushing the archer’s shoulder. Green Arrow’s
body fell back a few steps before his traction caught the slick
ground. Ferra didn’t give him a sideways glance as she
sprinted past him. She broke through the mercenaries and took off in a
mad dash.
The entire legion of Mercenaries, took off after
her, each one pushing the archer to the side, bringing the night to
life with the sounds of trampled earth and the clicking of automatic
weapons. Green Arrow stood there just watching the sudden
excitement, dumbfounded by what just occurred before his eyes.
“Don’t fret it kid. You just come
from a different world than us,” Fortitude spoke, his large hand
patting the boy’s tawny soldier. His large stocky body spun
on its heels, with more agility than it appeared such a squat form
should have, and he too took off across the clearing--leaving Green
Arrow alone in the corridor.
Arrow, shrugged his shoulders as he pulled the bow
from his left shoulder, giving one more glance to the charging men,
just as the night sky became lit up with gun fire. ~Oh I wish you were here Master
Jansen. I feel the more I am Green Arrow the more I lose my way. ~
With the final thought, he disappeared into the
brush of forest. The dark shadows slowly blanketed his lean
body. Whatever sounds he made as he moved through the cover of
trees and flora, were drowned out by the firefight that had began only
a few feet away.
Ferra let her entire mouth form a smile as she rushed towards the
militia of guards that stood between her and the wrecked helicopter.
“Que?” One of the guards, questioned as he looked up to see
the dashing silhouette, in the darkness—a figure moving towards
their position.
“Atenção!” The
soldier shouted in Portuguese. His black gloved hand grabbed the
butt of his gun and ripped it from his shoulder.
“Alguém chega! Movemento!”
The sounds of the soldier’s shouting caused,
the guards around him, to pull their automatic rifles from the their
shoulders. They aimed at the moving form, and beyond that, the small
group of silhouettes that tagged behind it.
Bullets swam in all directions, as she
continued her path. The guards opened fire, as she got within
thirty feet of the camp. Orange trails of the gun shells lit the
formerly tranquil darkness. She felt her heart beat racing in her
chest as she charged. She was ready for the first draw of blood.
Both her claws lashed out as she got within reach of
the army of mercenaries. The thick blackened claws expelled from
her fingers instantly. The inborn weapons took no liberties as
she slashed through the first bodies she found.
The two soldiers lost their footing as the claws hit
home. Jets of blood flooded from the long jagged wounds that
didn’t notice the heavy body armor they wore under the olive
green uniforms. The force of her attacking claws sent them flying
backwards. The Mercenaries’ bodies knocked many of their
compatriots to the soft peat ground as they fell.
Ferra continued to grin as she saw the large holes
in the line she made at her first strike. She had no intention to
stop either. Even as the Mercenaries guarding the helicopter hesitated
for a moment at the uncanny display. Her claws lanced through the
night air again, one dreadful swipe sliced through a man’s helmet
and impacting his skull hard enough to crack his neck. Her other
hand raked against the abdomen of another sending them spiraling in a
cyclone.
Ferra however was not alone at this point in her
attack. Around her, Falcone’s Mercenary squad shot shells
into the crowd. Bodies moved with disgusting rhythm as the
high-powered ammunition cut through body armor and flesh.
Fortitude was not to be left to his own devices either. He had ran past
the crowd of human Mercenaries, his body being hit by the shells of
friendly fire and enemy fire alike, however the very bullets seemed to
bounce off his steel like skin as he moved forward.
The fight seemed like a massacre from afar as the
small North American group of Meta-humans and Mercenaries decimated the
group of guards. This however was the oversight of a narrow
view. The much larger group of Central American Mercenaries and
soldiers, regrouped the moment that Ferra made her first strike, and
more of the waking soldiers flooded the smaller line of soldiers.
The Central American group, moved the sharp shooters of their cotangent
away from the blitzkrieg of Ferra, and allowed to focus on the humans
in the distance. In the moments before Fortitude entered the
fray, two-thirds of the North American Human Mercenaries were down.
Ferra continued her massacre as all this occurred
though, simply caught in the rage and blood lust, that was a byproduct
of her horrible hybrid nature. Her head was brought
forward. The strong bones of her skull impacted the hard helmet
of an unlucky soldier; it shattered like glass along with his
skull. She turned using the balls of her left feet, her hips
grating to its limits. Her right hand claw swirled around raking
violence into the guts of two more soldiers. A red explosion of
blood splattered grimly across her cheeks and nose.
It was as Ferra closed her eyes bringing both her
blood stained eyes to her front, that she felt a sharp pain in her
back. She turned her body around as she saw a soldier behind her
she brought her left claw forward. Her claw sunk into man’s
chest. To her left and right side more soldiers grouped, leveling
their weapons at her.
~”Well if this is it…”~ she thought to
herself as her life flashed before her eyes.
However just as the men and women holding the guns
were about to dispense an untold amount of shells into her body, the
blur of emerald crossed across her body, in a brilliant hatching
pattern. The female Meta watched in bewilderment as seven
individual shafts cut through the air milliseconds apart from one
another. Each arrow hit a shoulder or a knee… not lethal,
only the bare minimum to get the job done.
Ferra moved her head around desperately as the men
around her dropped, and not a single sight of the archer she
expected. She whirled her body around just as yet another
shoulder moved toward her. Instantly she dove toward the figure
growling as her claws lanced through the air—ready to take her
frustration out on the seemingly countless soldiers.
Fortitude, like Ferra was in a tangled crowd of the enemy
warriors. The black short sleeve shirt he wore was in tatters,
riddled with bullet holes and tear marks. His pale face was cast
in a shroud of black dirt, and the sprinkle of his victims’
blood. He brought both his arms close to his body once
again. The knives in each hand were angled downward. The
soldiers he had just murdered lay as feet. The holes he created
from his last strike were filled instantly. He stepped forward
once again lashing the deadly weapons at the new comers. New
blood splashed across his hands and forearms, as the blades glided
through warm flesh. Two more bodies dropped onto of the previous
ones.
It was as the stout Meta human stepped back with
right foot, regaining his former stance, that gunfire suddenly stopped,
around him. His eyebrows knitted as three soldiers directly in
front of him spread apart. He watched unthinking as a man almost
six inches shorter than he was; strode forward.
The short, man--like Fortitude, made up his height
difficulties with a stout body. Even through the red polo shirt
this man wore, the defined muscles were silhouetted like a second
skin. His eyes were small and dark, almost almond shaped and
tilted ever so slightly. His skin was deeply tanned, olive in
color, and his thick black hair was cropped short much like the
meta-human’s. Fortitude knew exactly who he was standing
next to. And for the span of a few seconds he forgot he even had
any special abilities. Truthfully it really didn’t matter.
“It is a custom to let the man you are
fighting to know your name, so that he will know who killed him as
he’s choking his last breath,” the man spoke. His
white teeth poking from the slim lips that were barely uncovered due to
the thick goatee the man wore. “My name is Constantine
Drakon, and I will kill you.” His voice was baritone and
unmodulated, as though the man spoke nothing but truth.
Fortitude sized the new comer up. The
man’s arms were toned and thick with muscles. He wondered
if this was the reason that Falcone wanted them to bring in the
kid. To him this man Drakon didn’t look like much.
Fortitude let a smile guide over his lips. “You’ve
got to be kidding me.” The stocky Meta human brought both
his knife-holding hands to his sides. “I suppose you have
some sort of power, if the brass are scared of you. But you
don’t look like nothing to me.”
“I don’t have any sort of power.
But I’ll still kill you; it won’t even take a full minute
for me to do so.” Drakon spoke his voice never changing.
“What ever big guy!” Fortitude exclaimed
ridding the space between the two combatants, his knives whirling in
the air. “YOU ARE DEAD!”
Ferra growled as she picked up one of the wounded
soldiers by the arrow that stuck in his shoulder, and brutally broke
its neck. The soldiers were regrouping. And her work was
clear. She tossed the lifeless body with a simple gesture, the
form crashing into the soft earth with a thud. Her hand quickly
moved to another one bending down she grabbed at the man’s throat
and slowly raised him from the ground. Her vice like grip
squeezing the vital air passages in a sickening crunch. The
soldier’s hard helmet fell off his head exposing a scalp of short
curly black hair crowning his deeply tanned skin. The man’s
large eyes bulged from his sockets as he rasped, for breath.
“Let him go,” a voice called out from
the darkness. Though Ferra recognized it instantly, it sounded
different. Enough force in the voice, that she found her hand
relaxing. Her hand dropped the soldier to the ground, before she
finally regained her composure.
“What is your problem?” Ferra
asked, her thick head craned toward a hooded silhouette posed on a limb
only inches above her.
Green Arrow, still held his bow string stretched,
the squeaking in the tensed string, audible to his ears alone. A
shaft was notched between his drawing fingers. Though the Meta
couldn’t see his expression through the inky shadows that covered
his hooded face, it would have surprised anyone who knew him…
the sort of grimace that etched over his boyish features.
“Killing them is unnecessary. If I thought for a moment
that you would have murdered them after I took them out, I would not
have done it.”
“Yes you would…have. What was
that?” Ferra asked her expression suddenly went waxen.
Arrow’s head moved to look over his left
shoulder. He could see well from this vantage point. His
eyes able to see the small camp complete with the opaque silver fumes
of spent ammunition. The bodies had littered the ground, in
ghastly positions. Most of them were mauled with grotesque
wounds. Stab wounds lacerating opened chest cavities, numerous
bullet wounds riddling the bodies like cancerous sores, and the
mutilated faces and torsos, marked with dreadful claws. The
entire seen made him feel sick and angry. It took him moments of
staring to clear his head, mantras singing in his head to find the
peace that threatened to leave him completely every time he put on the
mask.
“There, near the back,” she spoke. The
woman’s thick arm extended and pointed to the south west area of
the small camp. Arrow moved his focus from the ghastly
sight. His body spun around. He straightened his feet out and
shifted his balance, the arrows in his dual quivers rattling like
whispers behind him. “It’s Fortitude and someone
else.”
“It must be him.”
She spoke. Her sight stretched only a few feet away. The soldiers
and mercenaries were pulled around the two combatants, but beyond that
she couldn’t make out what was going on.
Fortitude let out a second scream of agony as he
pulled his hand free from Drakon’s vice like grip. His
three of his fingers were broken, and one of his knives was lying at
his feet. The sweat from his brow cascaded like tears down the
sides of his face. His dark eyes looked into the
assassin’s. He then took a step forwards swinging his good
hand toward the shorter man’s torso.
Drakon shifted his hips, as the larger man swiped at
him with the other knife. His own large left leg closed in on his
right, letting Fortitude finish his swing. The force the Meta
served with the strike caused him to almost bend over. The
assassin caught the arm with the broken fingers at the wrist. He
let a tight smile slip across his lips, and he roughly pulled up on the
arm. The motion of the Assassin, delivered a powerful
crunch. “AGGH!”
“Had enough?” Drakon asked, as he
lifted his kneed upwards, smashing it hard into the man’s
ribs. He repeated the motion three times, sending crunch after
crunch. When he finally dropped the wounded Fortitude, he spun
his body around. His stubby right arm lifted into the air, with
shocking speed.
The Assassin came to a stop a moment later his hand
still raised above his head, an emerald colored shaft in his
hand. “So came to join in?” Drakon called out
to the trees. He brought the hand holding the arrow back down to
his body, snapping the shaft in two parts. The longer end of the
shaft was tossed to the ground. He whirled his arm with the
smaller head of the arrow and threw it at the trees.
Green Arrow saw the flicker of the arrow head right
toward him. He dove off his perch as the arrow hit its mark, impacting
the limb Green Arrow was standing on. The large limb was split
into two parts and crashed through the tree’s other limbs with a
‘swish’.
The archer’s knees were tucked to his chest as
he somersaulted down the tree. Only as he got ten feet from the
ground did his body stretch back out his right hand grabbing a hold of
a sturdy limb. Arrow waited until his right shoulder caught his
body’s weight before he let go, his legs catching the trunk of
the tree and slid down its length. Only moments before he was to
hit the ground did he repel from the tree landing on his haunches, in
his left hand, the Chinese style wooden bow still stood posed aimed at
his opponent as though he had an arrow notched.
Drakon tilted his head downwards at the posed
hero. He kicked Fortitude in the ribs again, clearing him out of
his path and he slowly walked towards the hero. “So,
let’s do this so we can be done,” the assassin spoke.
Green Arrow’s right hand swung to his quiver,
as a natural reflex and notched an arrow, drew and fired it at the
assassin. The assassin rocked his neck to the side the arrow
passing over his shoulder. The archer lashed out his right hand
again, grabbing another arrow and quickly dove to his left, notching
and firing before his feet hit the ground again.
Drakon moved once more with uncanny speed, diving to
his right to avoid the lethal projectile. He leapt from his feet his
hand lashed out catching the arrow between two fingers. As his
feet clapped the ground, another arrow was flung at his person.
The third arrow hit its mark, burying itself into his shoulder.
The arrow however proved to be of little hindrance,
the assassin not noticing the object at all. Instead he picked up his
steps and advanced on the archer, pulling the arrow from his
shoulder. The wound busted, spilling red violence down his
arm. With a second motion he tossed the entire arrow at the boy.
Arrow sprung up from his position, and rocked to his
left leg. The arrow grazed passed his neck, making a slash across
the boy’s dark green hood. Drakon took the final
steps distance between the two of them, and shifted his stance, placing
his weight on his forward foot. He bent his waist inward and left
his back foot to his waist, sending a clear kick towards the young hero.
Green Arrow, adjusted his weight as the leg narrowed
towards him, he brought up his left hand with his palm facing his own
face, as the foot rocked towards him, the hero impacted the
man’s ankle—the point of weakness of a straight leg
kick—and batted it from his person.
Drakon let the motion of his reversed kick move his
body in semi circle, the kinetic energy of the block bringing his own
body towards the archer. As he came in he sent a straightened
hand fingers first towards the boy’s shoulder. Green Arrow
felt the impact of the fingers sliding between meat and bone, popping
the joint on impact. The force of the simple strike sent him off
the ground.
He twisted his body using those few moments off the
ground to snap his legs forward, both feet impacting the
assassin’s face. He felt the crunch of Drakon’s nose
even before he brought his legs back to his person and landed softly to
the ground.
Drakon growled as he his stepped back several
footsteps, from the force of the kick. He slowly wiped his
bleeding nose with the outside of his hand. “You’re
almost as good as they say you are, Green Arrow,” the assassin
spoke.
Green Arrow rose back to his feet, his left arm
still hanging limply to his side. He looked at the man with
bright eyes. “I don’t even know who you are, but it
would be an honor to fight you, if you weren’t so dishonorable in
your methods.”
“You don’t have any room to talk,”
Drakon growled walking forward his hands forming fists once
again. Green arrow brought his good arm up keeping his palm open
as the man neared him.
Drakon sent a fist from his chest towards the
archer. Arrow squared his legs and swept his forearm to the side
batting the punch. Drakon send his other arm forward. The
hero brought his arm down low batting the second punch away. It
was as the second punch was batted Drakon dove inward, preparing to
send his skull bashing into the boy’s. However as he spread
the gap, the former monk brought up his knee sending the leg against
the man’s ribs with enough force to stop the man in his
tracks. With the hesitation, Arrow brought his only good arm
forward his open palm striking the man’s left shoulder with
enough force to send him wheeling back. Arrow shifted his balance
to his right leg. His left leg guided his torso as he moved his
body 90 degrees forcing all his weight to the blow. His heel
impacted Drakon’s throat with a devastating arc which sent the
assassin hard to the basin floor.
Arrow returned to his guard stance his good hand,
palm down; lined to his waist. The bright almond shaped eyes, of
the hero stared at the face, of the assassin ready for his next move,
but Drakon’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his eye lids
closed painfully.
Green Arrow turned from the man and headed towards
the back of the camp, only to see Ferra blocking his path, a few feet
away. She stood there her arms flexed to her side.
“I have to say I’m impressed,”
Ferra spoke her voice a purr. “Everything worked out pretty
well, I’d say. All of our men have been killed, the enemy
forces are backing up even now, Fortitude is incapacitated… and
it’s only me and you.”
“What are you getting at?” Green Arrow
asked, the blond eyebrows raising up past the emerald mask.
“I say we take what ever Falcone says is so
important and get as far away from him as possible.”
“I can’t do that,” Arrow said.
“What do you mean? It’ll have to
fetch at least triple what Falcone is paying us.”
“Falcone isn’t paying me with
money. Someone very special will die if I don’t return
it.”
“I AM NOT GOING BACK!” Ferra
growled her body leapt from her position. Her claws shot out
aiming towards Green Arrow. The hero sunk down low. The
claws lanced the air just above his head. With his free hand he
pushed his palm into her stomach. The force pushed her body over
him position. Sending her hard to the floor; she landed flat on
her back.
As Green Arrow rose from his haunches Ferra was also
slowly rising. Her body appeared to be in as bad a shape as his.
He saw the large red stain that marred her left hip. He slowly
walked to where she was starting to stand. His head loomed down
at her. “Don’t get up,” he spoke in a soft
voice. “I doubt you could make it back to the check
point. You’re wounded badly.”
Ferra growled, her sharp canines stretching out over
her thin pink lips. Her nails dug into the dirt.
“Why... did this happen?”
“I’ll let them know you and Fortitude
are here,” Green Arrow spoke. He brought his knee up
impacting the side of her skull. The hybrid Meta-woman fell
back down to the earth, her eyes lids tightly closing.
Green Arrow turned from the scene, where to many
gifted individuals all laid unconscious or worse. He
couldn’t help but feel the pain in his heart triumph over the
pain in his injured arm as he walked towards the helicopter’s
wreckage.
As his eyes took in the crumpled blackened metal of
the former helicopter, he only hoped that what lay inside its bruised
interior was worth the dead and wounded people he saw today. He
also hoped he wouldn’t get back to Gotham too late.
“Hold on Mother, just a little longer.”
NEXT
ISSUE: Green Arrow
returns to Gotham City, to confront Mario
Falcone, and the fate of Moonday
is revealed.
ARROW-MAIL
Jae will add some comments hopefully with his next issue. In the
meantime, DO take the time and drop him (and all the JLU writers) a
line, and let them know what you think of their work.
Curt F
EIC
JLU: 2001
Story
© 2007 Jae Lizhini and
may not be reproduced without permission.