When the Suns Collide (M/M - Mature) Part 11, 3/04/09 [WIP]
Posted: Mon Dec 08, 2008 6:29 pm

Author: art_junkie
Pairing: strictly Michael/Maria with others on the way (I don’t want to give away anything)
Rating: Mature
Type: completely AU with aliens (well, everyone is an alien, so...)
Disclaimer: Actually (it’s awesome to be able to write this) most of it is totally mine. All the names of places and people (please do not steal) are mine. The characters are the only things based on Roswell. And that of course is not owned by me! XD
Summary: This is a story of the Journey a warrior makes to save the man she loves.
Since I use different names for the characters in the story, I thought I’d write down the main ones –
Michael – Mikaryx
Max – Marcex
Kyle – Kynel
Liz - Elyzia
The rest (Alex, Isabel, Valenti) Will be named as they come! The story is told through Maria and her name will be revealed in the first few chapters.
Hope you guys like.. *grins*
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Part 1
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The atmosphere was sinister.
Their blades were sharp and their hands were ready, the balls of power shining in their palms being the only things lighting up the night, as the suns had yet to raise and swallow up the darkness. The air was thick with tension; crackling with the energy radiating from their bodies.
Chaos had broken out on the battlefield, yet she was in high spirits. She moved with ease, hearing nothing but the beat of her own heart sound loudly in her ear drums. The sword felt like a part of her, as if she had been born with it. Maybe she had been. Each blast of energy that surged out of her hand hit the enemy exactly where she meant it to. Each swipe of the sword was made without sympathy or remorse; instead it drove her forward, motivating her to kill more, to cause more pain, to make more of the Zempharians bleed. Make them suffer. Even her injuries felt good to her. Her newly burnt hands and cut thighs caused her to hit back harder and reminded her to be better. The pain was like a drug; it only made her wilder.
She lived for moments like this.
But tonight her hands had been glowing softly all day; an array of beautiful colours, each as fleeting as the last, buzzing with energy, telling her that something was amiss. Unbalanced. Something was not right. Most warriors’ hands would vibrate if they were especially nervous about something calamitous, usually the battle ahead. But that never happened to her. She was the picture of serenity in the sight of a war. Nothing pleased her more; nothing made her feel more at home.
No, all was definitely not well. But was she thinking about it? No. Her hands hadn’t felt like this for the first time in years, nevertheless it didn’t even enter her consciousness that she should watch out. She didn’t think to be cautious or fight with care. No, once she was in the battle that was all she knew. The swishing of the blades. The blasting of her hands. The splattering of blood. Nothing else mattered, and no matter how many casualties they were, she never let her feelings for anyone, not even her fellow warriors, hinder her performance.
That’s why the first time she felt the stab she could not believe it. She had just looked a Zempharian in the face and smiled, such a wide smile, that he knew, in a few moments hence he would not be alive. His face was masked with nervousness, the symbol of his betrayal still slightly visible through the burn scars. Her hand was fired-up, the intensely bright ball of energy ready to escape her palm and scorch the body of the enemy, when she felt it. Instantly her concentration broke and her power disappeared. She fell to the floor gasping.
At first she thought she was dying. And later on, when she recalled this moment, she would wish she had been, but alas a worse fate was in store for her.
She felt like she had been stabbed by a searing knife, such was the pain that gripped her insides. For several moments she could not breathe, and if the enemy had been smart enough they would have used this time to their advantage and killed her. But her reputation exceeded her, and as much as they wanted to have the honour of bringing her down, their level of fear for what she could do was higher.
A moment later the feeling was gone. But she knew. She knew what had happened, she had felt the tiny, barely noticeable tremor in the Consei and she refused to think of it. She couldn’t. She couldn’t think of it, because if she did she would breakdown, she would collapse onto herself, just like the victims of her anger did. The battle was almost over; she could see the suns ascending into the sky, the tops of their red globes barely visible over the horizons. She had to keep going.
When the last vermin was dead, and their silvery-blue blood covered the hard desert ground, that was when she stopped. Shaking slightly, she looked back, hoping against hope that she was wrong. Over a hundred of the Vantreyne were still standing on the battle-field, tired and ready to go home. No one was cheering, no one was happy to have won. They had won one too many battles; the thrill of victory had now worn off.
Closing her eyes she let herself be guided; be pulled by his body, by his essence. She walked; eyes closed, following an invisible path, and ignoring everyone who spoke to her. It first she couldn’t feel him; so light was the energy he was giving out. Where was the fiery red she could always sense? Her forehead creased, and distraught, she tried to grasp any pulses of the energy his body should have been giving out.
When she felt his energy buzzing haphazardly in front of her she opened her eyes. There he was.
“Ryx..” she whispered, her voice so light that the smallest breeze carried it away as soon as it passed her lips.
A sob broke out from deep inside her and she fell to the ground beside him. His body was cold, and his eyes were bleak; unresponsive. His shiny blood had already begun to turn black in the hot, dense, desert air. He was gone.
She extended her hand and touched his face, brushing his brown hair off his forehead, willing him to wake up. She knew she was being stupid. She had seen enough deaths in her time to know when there was no hope. She immediately pulled back her hand as she felt the cold of his body. Even his light was diminishing; when she closed her eyes she could no longer see the colours of his soul, the colours that had pulled her to him. The fiery red and deep burgundy with spots of black and gold had now mellowed into a single red colour, which was vanishing quickly. She longed to feel him inside her mind as she used to, feel those shiny red droplets merge with the sparkly emerald tendrils of smoke that were inside her own head.
But there was nothing to feel. He was gone, his consciousness.. his soul.. they were all gone. All that was left were a few wisps of evanescent light, a cruel reminder of his once incandescent power and passion. Suddenly she started to panic. Her bright green eyes diluted and her hands started to shake, power crackling between her fingers in a frenzied manner.
A single tear escaped her closed eyes before she felt the world spiral around her and fade into darkness.