Élan: A Youngblood World

9 | A Damsel In Distress |

       THE youngsters whirled their heads about into the desolate open area of wasteland and smoke, pursuing the shriek. The thicket of vehicles entangled onto each other where a retake of a fatal wreck could only be left to the imagination.

       "It's probably coming from the bridge," Hiro, with ears as sharp as daggers, suggested.

       They followed, unhesitant.

       The battering became clear as daylight once it drew them into the middle of the small bridge, like steel clanging pointlessly against steel. A few cars and cycles had been left with no choice but to be abandoned either by the exhaustion of gas or the misfortune of plunging into a collision.

       There was no one to be found. Neither dead nor alive. Yet the noise was no doubt arising from here.

        "Below there!" Ryeld pointed down to a pillar underlying the plane beneath the bridge.

       From a thirty-foot distance, another huddle of cars smashed into each other against the crusty ground with barely a floor of grass. Many of which had been upturned on its roof, wheels jutting out like miserable worn-out rubbers amidst a compact of junk metal and shattered glass. Pulses of shudders wobbled the bodies of steel, inducing shrill creaking hums.

       Then came into view on the far side of the pile, peering beyond the line that obscured their sight were two flittering movements.

       The scream came again. "Someone! Please! Help!" It sounded like a girl's. Her muffled plea was drowned by the shriek of its captors.

       Ghouls.

       "We'll have to divide. Hiro and Ryeld, you take the other one," Zakuro relayed as they ran for the downslope by the bridge. "Incapacitate it. Bound their tentacles and limbs and they'll lose speed. Aim for the eyes."

       "On it," the redhead retorted.

       Despite the shared treatment of sour side-eyes, two proceeded to go about bawling their plans at each other.

       Ryeld was already setting up his Airsoft Static Artillery Gauntlet. With a few latches and buttons to hinge, the black-copper device buzzed to life, humming to signify the flow of highly concentrated energy, and a dazzling white light awakened along the geometric line patterns. The glowing oval at the center beamed an iridescent yellow, white, and blue, along with the small circles on each fingertip. The gardbrace it came along was a flexible sheet of silver that effortlessly wore into Ryeld's shoulders.

       "What about the liquor?" Kayne asked.

       "No need. I'm going to test something out," Zakuro replied.

       The two ghouls tore at the abraded panels of the metal door behind an overturned truck, hammering their heads, claws, and tendrils against the thick object. Whoever was inside had to be more than an ordinary target on the basis that the whole area was deserted, save for the two ghouls who were yet dispatched.

       Longing for the caged soul inside, the ghouls shifted their attention to the presence behind. Kayne charged with a cascading sweep of his sword, the scabbard by his hip swaying emptily with a shield on the other clutch. Soundless ambushes proved to be in vain, for in a blink his target guarded itself with its elongated claws. Its mate went for the alternative offense but before so was obscured of its vision upon the drop of weight pushing down against it from its back; Hiro mounted it, attempting to gouge its golden gazes out. The ghoul began soaring about, taking Hiro on a wild frenzy rodeo far high up.