Page 58 of Scion

The next several seconds pass in something approaching alarm as I dodge and dodge and block and then, realising how painful blocking is against the Dupe’s revs, dodge again. Barely. The thing is so fast and so strong and for the first time in a very, very long time, even with all my revs active, I feel distinctly disadvantaged.

Finally the Dupe breaks off its attacks and I back away. We’re both breathing hard. At least I’m not making it easy, even if I am, unfortunately, definitely losing.

Is this what it’s like for normal people to fight me? Damn. It’s awful.

On the other hand, at least I’m not alone.

“Everyone: NOW!” I yell it urgently it above the howling wind, stabbing a finger toward the Dupe. It freezes, tenses, swivels warily. A second passes. Two, as I continue to stand there and point emphatically in the driving rain.

Five.

I slowly lower my hand again. “Any moment,” I assure the Dupe wearily. Damn it. Its attention slowly returns to me, and it shakes its head in disgust. “You truly are a second-rate copy of—”

The panther’s barely a shadow as it silently streaks from cover and flies, claws out and fangs bared, right at the back of the Dupe’s head. My relief lasts just long enough to see my doppelganger somehow manage to sense what’s coming, step to the side, grab the airborne bio’s scruff one-handed, pivot, and then toss it with calm disdain over the edge of the damned cliff. The bio yowls in very dismayed-cat fashion as it flails through the air and vanishes from sight. The Dupe shakes its head in mild irritation, and starts toward me again.

“Oh come on, guys.” I make a displeased, somewhat vexed gesture in the direction of the storm-whipped forest, and back away some more.

As if either my exasperation or imminent death was the signal they were waiting for, more bios burst from gloom.

The next thirty seconds is a confusion of shadows and rain and teeth and claws and general chaos. The Dupe is almost blasphemously good, but there are four panthers this time, leaping and tearing and slashing, along with the massive lion, Richard, which even the Dupe has the good sense to dodge away from rather than try to wrestle. Still, the surlier version of me punches, and kicks, and weaves, and manages to send two more bios hurtling into the ravine, which I’ve decided in retrospect may have been a bad spot to pick for this particular ambush.

I don’t have a weapon or any confidence in the bios’ ability to remember who’s who, so I find myself content to cheer my weird, terrifying little army on from the sidelines. And while I can’t say exactly how much my enthusiastic yelling helps them, eventually, we do start winning. I can see big gashes along the Dupe’s arms. Blood pouring from a wicked slice just above its eye. It’s stronger than Jasa’s bios, but they’re constantly spreading out, picking its blind spots, timing their attacks, and coming at it with a frankly disconcerting level of coordination.

Finally there’s a moment where I see the ground ripple in the darkness, and the Dupe, sodden and tired and thoroughly distracted by the giant roaring lion trying to remove its face, doesn’t. It goes to leap to one side but instead jerks and remains anchored, then stares down in horror at where the massive sinuous form has burst from the ground and wrapped around its leg. It tries to kick itself free, only for another serpent to slither around the other foot. Both snakes start coiling their way rapidly upward.

Faux-zure snarls, somehow backhands another panther attack away, and then punches down hard against the first of the scale-covered bodies; there’s a rippling shiver along it, and for a somewhat concerning moment, I think it’s managed to kill the snake with a single blow. But the creature keeps climbing, tightening. Squeezing. The Dupe hits again but it’s already restricted, and by the time it tries to aim a third strike, its arms are pinned to its sides.

Richard bounds forward eagerly.

“Woah. Stop. STOP!” My shout comes about a half second before the Dupe’s head becomes an entrée. The giant lion freezes, jaws wide and basically encompassing the very concerned-looking Dupe’s skull, before huffing, giving my twin’s face a lick that looks suspiciously like a taste test, and backing off. His retreat is so indignant that I almost feel guilty as he and the two remaining panthers limp over to the relative shelter of the forest’s edge, where they seem content to settle and worry at their wounds.

I sigh, and focus back on the snakes, which are now peering at me creepily through the rain. “You lot took your time,” I observe disapprovingly as I approach. Their captive is still being held upright, and a third serpent has emerged to help, thick bodies concealing everything except Faux-zure’s head. The Dupe’s face has started to go red, and I realise it’s being crushed. “Really, guys? Wait. Just wait. There may not be a need to kill it, if it’s going to be reasonable.”

I am absolutely going to kill it, but letting it know that will probably be counterproductive.

“It?” The Dupe gasps it at me, though the purpleness of its face reduces as the snakes evidently allow it a hint of breathing room. “It? You’re the ‘it.’ ”

“Touché, and let’s just agree to disagree on that, for now.” I hold up my hands. “Do they call you Azure, too, or…?”

It glares at me, and continues to struggle.

I watch it for a moment, then sigh. “Alright, snakes. Have at it.”

“Wait!” The Dupe groans it, and I wave a hand to the serpents, indicating they should hold off on the whole crushing thing again. It catches its breath. “Crimson,” it eventually spits. “My name is Crimson.”

Crimson. Cute. “Nice to meet you, Crimson. The Keres sent you?”

It rolls its eyes in disgust, and manages an awkward, constrained nod.

“Do they know Jasa’s dead?”

“De Alwes? Yes.”

“So you’re here to kill me.”

“Obviously.”

“Ah.” I’d guessed as much, but it still isn’t the nicest thing to have confirmed. “Did they tell you to do this, or was it your decision?”