13. Centaur plays her card
Rogol seems to be regaining its composure. Each stroke was more confident, and that meant its challenger was now on the back foot.
“C’mon, I think he needs help,” my East-Western compatriot mouthed. I saw my own reflection; still look good despite the adversity. My forehead was wrapped in a bandana, and from it grew spiky hair like a garden of alfalfa grass. I’m handsome, boyish and manly simultaneously, and clothed in a denim jacket. I exuded a carefree spirit, an opportunist willing to take advantage of situations whenever a plump carrot dangles.
He walked off towards the war zone, jogging, as if to warm up like a substitute football player. I didn’t share his enthusiasm, but I didn’t want to be tagged a coward either.
Reluctantly I followed, copied his movements. When at close proximity, he unveiled a blaster, which he kept firing. It was a sight to behold; airborne, the dark-eyed warrior who had now sprouted alloy wings from his ribs shot electric currents; whilst on earth, the fair-skinned sportsman in sunglasses blasted a mean array of lazer beams at the Beast.
They were succeeding. I now had to devise my part to play in the offence. I checked my stamina. The battery level was nearly full. I won’t run out of steam any time soon unless I obtained a walloping of gargantuan proportions. Next, I inspected my armaments, devices I’d picked up along the way. Besides the magical knife, I possessed loads of other gadgets from cannons to poison darts. Then I mused over my skill options. I had Flash, which allows me to move at super speed - actually slowing the course of time, and manipulating my molecules to advance at an accelerated rate. I got Giant, which makes me double my size, though this is useless against Rogol. And finally, I can opt for Telekinesis. I can move and fling stuff the size of a souped-up motorcycle, and also create force fields like that Brunette Centaur.
Settled, I chose Flash (which already saved me once intuitively) and Telekinesis. I liked the idea of chucking boulders at that abominable creature. As for weapons, a standard blaster would do. A ray of light beamed, coagulating the pixels to one spot, and the gun appeared, ready in my hand, wired to my brain.
Now I had to locate a spot. I scanned Rogol for structural weaknesses, my Guide returned with none. Since aerial and ground attack have been covered, my clear option was to flank the Beast on both sides. I commanded a jet pack, and then activated my latest gift, which was Multiplicity. This is cool, the first time I’m using outside simulation since mastering the power. I split to two, identical copies of my being right down to my clothing and stance.
It would be beneficial to add here the state of mind for such an instance. At the point of fission, my memories will suddenly fork; my twin-forms absorb experiences singly, although communication by telepathy is natural; and until we choose to unite, we can actually proceed with separate lives.
There is a danger that the divided personalities may not want to re-fuse; usually, from what I’d read, due to the different encounters while in severance, which leads to the decision to stay independent. I can’t help but feel sentimental whenever I read the tragic stories of Two-Face, Jackyl & Hyde and Schizo, who are basically two persons sharing one birth and the same history up to a dot in time. At least for Schizo, I know she retains a core, where journeys and experiences are stored and accessed by all the ‘sisters’; not two, but three, four and growing. It has become her obsession to multiply and populate worlds, heavens and dimensions with varied interpretations of herself.
The show must go on. Rogol is cornered and weakened. Our teamwork and consistent attack had paid off. Rogol had lost; it was defeated. It collapsed to its knees, and we were ganging up for a combined final blow…but…before we could execute, there was a loud explosion.
The remaining Centaur played her card. We had forgotten about her in the ecstasy of violence. She charged through in complete battle mode with a device in hand, which she threw as she drifted her tyres next to Rogol’s face. It was a dimensional bomb. The three of us were flung back, and when we got to our feet, there was nothing but a crater in Hell’s abyss. Both Rogol and Brunette were missing.
“That fucking bitch!” cursed the white man, “she’d teleported to finish it off.” He removed his glasses and chucked it to the ground, trampling and kicking it at a red coloured stone. I was silent; so was the third guy.
“If I see her, I’m gonna kill her,” the European shouted again. Then he spoke not; we spoke not. There was an eerie silence, the contaminated howl of Hell’s wind carrying with it the hushed cries of a trillion tortured souls - more adventures and quests to be played.
An awkward quiet arose like a zombie from a grave, three man bonded by combat were now naked without action or plan.
“Hi, I’m Jai-I,” said whitey uncomfortably as he simultaneously picked his destructed shades, regretting over his impulsive tantrum, “You are?”
“Vesper,” answered the impressive dark gentleman of brooding countenance, who had now folded his artificial wings back into his body.
“As in the Evening Star? Brother of Morning Star?” I asked in schoolboy awe.
Vesper nodded his head.
“As in a Satan?” added Jai-I.
“Nope. A Satan is someone else altogether. And so is the Devil. In fact there are many devils. But I’m one of them.”