He skids through the rough, scorching sands the very moment the raging waters came into his sight. The air was suddenly filled with the stench of iron, the pungent odor were tiny needles into his nose; he hears the awesome crashing and the water fizzing in the sand. His heels dug deep as he put himself to brake. It failed. He lost his balance and he tumbled down into the shore before being swallowed and spat out by the heavily salted water. It was freezing despite the burning sun, or maybe it was the fear that still grabs hold of his spine and wraps his chest like a lover. Or a ferocious bear. It doesn't matter, either way he was frozen. Broken.

His jaw clenched and the pain rushed up his skull. He unclenched it, but the pain itself was addicting and he clenched it again. Harder, this time, allowing his bruises to scream in agony. It was the mark of his failure as well as the stabbing pain on his side. Despite his toughened body, he was sure that at least a rib was broken. He can still taste the blood in his mouth from the hammering he endured, or it could be the metallic tasting water that he was still sitting on.

Another splash hits him hard on his back that almost pulled him deeper into the cold underbelly of the sea. It was enough to put him out of his trance, though. He forced himself out of the water and totter into the golden sands, which seems to have entered his clothes and scratches against his crotch. His hands found themselves on his face, pressing it tightly to push his failure back into the dark recesses of his mind. But it was too overwhelming. It took over every piece of him and held him against his will. The Mountain. An ominous hulk of a man that will destroy everything on his path because the Stranger fed him a spoonful of bitter lies just so he can test his creations. They were just pawns in his game and it doesn't matter who is sacrificed because either way one will be turned into the queen. A powerful weapon for the grand event.

Ewan bit his lips hard until it bled. Eyes drawn wide and unblinking. Run away, you stupid, bloody idiot! Just run away and never come back! He thought to himself. The temptation was great. It was simple. One step after another at three hundred miles per hour. Round towards north or towards south and wherever he ends up, try to live a normal life and pretend that the Mountain never came into his life. It was that simple. It was that easy. But something held the other foot firmly on the soaking sand as he raised the other to run. He would have sworn that he can hear the screams of the people, the explosion from the tanks, and the roars of the collapsing building from more than six hundred miles away. It must have been in his head.

Run! But he couldn't. He knew that there is no way for him to put the Mountain on the ground, even more to land a decent punch at him. He knew that the moment he comes back the beast will tear him apart, limb from limb until he can be easily placed into a bottle and turned into jam and be eaten by him for breakfast. But he also knew that nothing can stand a chance against that thing. He has seen the bullets and missiles and projectiles bounce off his chest or explode on impact with almost no damaged except for singed hair and a ruined tank top. He knew that he is the only thing that these people got. That he is their only salvation.

He tried to run through the situation carefully. The Stranger said that one will take on the other and one will fall from the other. It was possible that he was not talking about a specific person; that what he means is that it can be him or the Mountain. This gives him hope; a tiny, pathetic spark, but hope nonetheless. It means that despite their huge differences he has a chance to bring him down. But how? He's not strong enough to even make the beast budge or flinch. He needs something harder, something bigger.

Force is equal to mass multiplied by acceleration. That is the only thing he can remember from his high school physics class though he was not sure how it suddenly appeared on his mind, even more that he can remember it. Which means that if I go fast enough... and heavy enough, I can land a descent punch and put his ass on the ground. His thoughts ran faster than he can ever do physically, trying to bring back old memories of his lessons and activities. But how can I... Maybe...

His head started hurting, but his idea might just work.

He climbed the steep slope where the sea ate the desert and put himself on running position. "My God, I hope this works." It was as close a prayer as he could possibly give.

He blinked twice, took a deep breath and exhaled, then he ran.

The desert whiz pass him, all seven hundred miles of it. The shockwave from the sonic boom sends dust flying over the place, though at this point we was deaf because sound couldn't catch up with him. The sands began to crystalize in his wake, forming a thin layer before shattering in his every step.

Faster.

His legs cried in pain. It was a tingling sensation that is both itching in the marrow and chattering from every impact. His muscles start to refuse the commands from his brain, but he pushed it to go further and harder until the pain died down and his very flesh shivers.

Faster

The city soon emerged from the horizon like a wild mushroom in the rainforest. He entered through the main road then he weaved through the streets and alleys. Everything behind him spontaneously caught on fire; cars exploded as their chassis melt, beams and columns burst as air tried to escape, windows melt from their perch, and his steps dig deep into the asphalt pavement, three inches deep.

Faster

Then the Mountain is finally in sight. He was frozen in time as he heaves a tank over his head, aiming for a soldier lying on the ground with his hand raised for mercy. It is obvious on what's about to happen next. Ewan had no time. It was now or never and by heaven's name he hopes it would work. He raised his fist just below his jaw taking his aim carefully.

Faster.

He was mere inches from his target and he launched his fist into his chest. He closed his eyes as he braced himself for impact. He felt a soft and tender touch, and then it was gone. He lost his balance as he swings his arms causing him to fall and tumble across the asphalt. Only one thing registered into his brain, How? How in the bloody hell!? He finally stopped a few yards from where he landed his punched but he quickly got himself back on his feet covered in molten tar. He tried to fix his eyes on the immediate direction of where he thought the Mountain stood but he saw nothing. Nothing but blown up buildings and burning tanks and scorched bodies... and a crater six feet deep.

He closed his eyes once more. There was nothing left in him. He can barely stand. His head was hurting and he was tired. So tired and just wanted to rest. He just wanted to get it over with. He would just wait for the Mountain to pummel him into jelly. At least by then everything will be over. He can be the queen for all I care. He snickered to himself as a consolation. I'm done. Screw it.

He waited but there was nothing, though the sound of a helicopter came from behind. He looked up but couldn't identify to whom it belonged. He just knows that it's not military. Then he realized that he was naked as the wind beats down on him. But he didn't care. Where the hell was the Mountain?

He looked at his soot covered fist, it tingles. He looked closely. It wasn't soot. It was something...else?

Blood. He thought. He looked up to see that everything within the crater was covered with it. The same soot the covers his fist. His mouth gaped at the sudden realization. It was like a slap on the face with a frozen salmon. He stumbled and fell back into the now drying asphalt. The soot. It was all that's left of the Mountain.

The glass window shattered making the tiny pieces dance on the cemented floor of the electronics shop, letting the snow and freezing wind batter the frightened customers and appliances. Yes, even the appliances were scared down to its cheap hardware at the sight of the intruder.

The woman climbed into the entry that she had newly made, a sharp toothy grin plastered on her face that reached both her ears... literally. Her long and slender tongue sticking out, tasting the frozen air. Fear. It was delicious. But she did not come here to feed. Oh no, that is only a part. She came into this lowly, humble, old electronics shop in the farthest pit of downtown Santo Guillermo, a city that would have been better off erased from every map on the world to save ink because three days ago she was assassinated in front of the general public. She didn't like that. Not. One. Bit.

The teller, an old geezer with thick, wide framed glasses, brought out a shot gun from under the counter. It was larger than any normal shotgun and was definitely more powerful. So much so that when he pulled the trigger, it blasted the side torso off of one customer, leaving him flopping on the ground like a fish out of water as his body violently trembled from the shock. The teller didn't miss, though. He hit his mark square on the chest, the three-inch iron balls boring deep into her.

She staggered back but didn't fall. Her eyes still burning and her smile unwavering. Then from her back emerged four large, black tentacles that were as large as her legs. The holes on her chest closed, pushing the iron balls out as she attacked with her unnatural limbs like a spear. It impaled through the customers who are still frozen in shock and utter fear before sucking them into her arms like they were something liquid, though their bones crunched as it twisted violently. But the old geezer was quick on his feet despite his age. He rolled to the side, barely avoiding death before stopping himself behind a concrete beam, cocking his shotgun back.

Five. He counted the shells remaining inside his gun. Damn it, Madam. Wake up! His jaw clenched tight. He has no idea what that thing was or what it wants. All he knows is that the news are true.

He moved to the side of the beam as the arms retreated to its owner only to launch off again, destroying more appliances and stupid people who couldn't drop out of the way. The old man pulled the trigger once more, hitting his target in the face destroying it completely but quickly reformed back to shape like a child's play dough. But this time she didn't stagger back. She took it with ease as she fixed her head towards the man's direction. Her smile still firm on her face. She pulled back her tentacles before using them as her legs, lifting her off the ground. Her arms formed into something metallic and sharp, like an Afrikan curved sword which have been shown multiple times on TV.

Bloody hell. He thought. His years of training doesn't prepare him from this. Armed gun men? Yes. But psychotic shape shifting murderers? Not so much.

The woman lunged towards his direction some five meters away. She hacked and slashed with her arms as her black limbs moved her at superhuman speed. The old man barely missing her blades again as he got out of the way. He moved swiftly, turning on a pivot before bracing himself to pull the trigger. It clicked. Nothing happened. He forgot. A deadly mistake.

"Damn it!" he cried as his eyes widened. He pulled on the shotgun's pump but it was too late. The woman bit onto his head, razor sharp teeth boring deep in his face, blood and brain trickling down. His hands dropped and hanged and then the woman began swallowing him whole as a snake would to its prey.

"Not... Sssssatisssfied." She hissed as she made her final gulp. Then her head exploded before she even knew what was coming.

"Spit him out you Japanese fetish bit- " He grenade launcher finishing her sentence for her as it propelled another round, this time aimed to her gut spilling its contents as the woman screamed in pain.

The girl who was carrying the launcher looked like she barely reached eighteen. She had straight black hair that reached just above her shoulder, her bangs hanging at brow-level. Her face was covered with make-up that would have looked good if she was going for the gothic rock star theme, which, by the way she dresses, was in fact what she was going for. She was wearing a plain black long sleeved shirt and a black and purple mini skirt. She wore a knee high spiked leather boots over a black leggings that wraps perfectly on her slim legs.

She waited for the woman to stop patting the flames out with her limbs while she screeches in pain. It echoed through the alleys which would have made everyone's spine tremble. But not for the petit girl with a grenade launcher.

When the woman had finished, she quickly turned to the girl. Her smile was erased from her and was replaced by an eerie stare, her teeth still bearing. Then she dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a stone decorated with pink and purple and blue paint with a word written in the middle. 'Jinx.' She tossed it towards the girl, the rock sliding across the frozen pavement. She caught it with her boot.

The girl recognized it immediately, her eyes widening at the sight of it. "Heeey!" She whined, her voice reaching a very high pitch like a sassy teenager. "This is mine! You're the one who I was supposed to kill!"

The woman gave no answer. Her breath fogging in the air.

"Why the hell aren't you dead!? I blew your freakin' head off!" Her free hand moved from forehead, wiggling her fingers as she did. It was supposed to be 'mind-blown' but it didn't look quite the same without the other hand.

"Jinx." The woman hissed through gritted teeth. "You had a different face then."

"I do my best!" She seemed pleased, raising her gun on her shoulder and her other hand on her hip.

The woman snarled then she rushed towards her using her black limbs. She galloped like some horse from one of the circles of hell, her tongue sticking out in the frigid air but Jinx saw it coming. She rolled to her side with a cheery smile and the woman missed her completely. She skids to through the icy road, turning the tips of her limbs into sharp claws to help her stick more closely. She pulled herself to a stop, braced then launched again.

This time Jinx knew what to do. She dropped her gun then pulled a grenade that was hanging on her belt. She looked at what she got; making sure that she didn't pull the wrong one again. 'Incendiary.' It wasn't exactly what she wanted but this will have to do. The woman was coming at her. She pulled the pin then she rushed at the woman, raising the grenade above her head. At the moment of impact, the two almost simultaneously jumped both going for the kill but Jinx was quicker. She dunked the grenade at the woman's open mouth imagining that she was the ever famous Michael Jordan and then she rolled from the woman's underside.

The grenade puffed and the woman's skin sizzled. She screamed as she tried to get it out but it was stuck between her teeth. The white phosphorus content burning through the roof of her mouth and out the sockets off her eyes and down her throat. She shivered in pain, before she collapsed.

When she saw that it was now safe, Jinx approached the dead body of her teller. He was covered with black bile and phlegm-like goop. She toed the body, her hand precariously perched on her slim hip. "Damn it." She moaned. "Where the hell am I gonna get a new geezer?"

But the woman twitched. Jinx jumped, startled. Then the woman got back up her limbs, her burnt head desperately trying to reform its self. "Mussst... Feeed." It was almost a whisper and almost indistinguishable then she jumped onto the nearest building with limbs acting like tentacles before disappearing into hell-knows where

Jinx just stared, jaws dropped. Then she laughed her ass off.

Bitter bile came up to her mouth the moment she woke up. She remembers the distinct taste of alcohol and lemon ice tea and... something else.

The world started swirling before her eyes and she couldn’t keep her focus on any one specific thing. It was like trying to build a sand castle too close to the water, it was easily washed away within seconds no matter how hard you fight to keep it standing. She couldn’t use her mind to see where she was and who she’s with. Apparently, alcohol and telepathy doesn’t work well together.

Though she hasn’t recovered completely, she was aware enough to hear someone walk up to her. By the sound of it, it was a man with serious breathing problems. She lay motionless, pretending that she was still asleep, hoping that the man will pass her by.

She felt his fingers crawl across her thighs, lingering for a while before it moved on. It felt thick and sticky with sweat and it made her skin crawl from underneath. Then she felt it jump to another pair who was lying just beside her. It started squirming, though it was subtle, obviously weak.

“This is a good one, right here.” The man said. His breathing became harder and heavier. “You’ll make a good show, lass.”

The body beside her squirmed even more. “Where am I?” her voice was slightly audible, but the man caught it perfectly.

“You’re home, lass.” He pulled the body up from where they were lying. “What’s your name?”

The girl grumbled a word. “Catherine.”

Saoirse’s heart jumped. Catty! She thought, all of a sudden she was aware. The three of us are here. What the hell happened? She searched her mind for any clues, but the last thing she could remember was the taste of something bitter from their cocktail, something that was not supposed to be there. We’ve been drugged! She realized, though she can still barely move. She needed to get them out, but her mind is still too weak. Her telepathic arms couldn’t get out of her head. It was numb, for some reason. But she can still see though. If she could only focus enough to meditate, maybe it will help her arms. She closed her eyes more tightly, then let her breathing run on automatic, in a rhythm that she has perfected over the years. It was deep, but wasn’t long, and it made her relaxed. The world now turned into her perspective: A world filled with a much more different color that emanates from every living thing. Colors that depict their current status and emotion. She was a spectator with limp arms, but she could feel her strength coming back. For the mean time, she can only watch, but she hopes to recover soon, because all the men in this room - all three of them, are loud with lust.

The man had walked out the room carrying Catty on his arms before resting her in a brightly lit room. She moaned as he did, which made the man snort in satisfaction. The man then turned on the camera which was sitting on a tripod from the foot of the bed.

“Ready when you are, mate!” The man boomed to the other room.

“Bloody hell, Jon! They’re minors!” Another man came rushing in, carrying a purse in one hand and a school ID on another, waving it above his head. “We can’t do this! They’re freakin children!” The lust was slightly muted, but it was still too loud.

“Doesn’t look like minors to me.” He looked over his shoulder. “What kind of kids dress up like sluts?” He shrugged.

“Let’s just drop ‘em off somewhere, Jon! We’re going to jail for this.”

Jon laughed with a huge voice which was a perfect match to his body. “What we’re doing, Kreg? We go to jail either way!”

Bastards. She thought. She can feel her arms moving now, but it still can’t reach them. Wake up! I need you! She pushed herself.

“Now shut up and let me do this. I’m starting the recording now!” No more answer came, which was a clear sign for him to proceed.

He crawled up on top of Catty and then pressing his bearded mouth on her neck. Catty tried to fight, but she could barely move. Her voice didn’t do much either, it only made the man more aggressive.

The air was now screaming of his thoughts and desires. It was plainly disgusting. But then the other man pulled Jon off the girl.

“What the hell?!” Jon boomed and the other man shrinked. “I was working!”

“They’re... kids.” He didn’t sound like he was entirely sure of himself.

Lust was replaced with fear and rage. At least it was much more pleasant.

Jon pushed Kreg in the chest with his massive arms as he bellowed with his enormous voice, then another man came into the scene and tried to stop the fight, but Jon was too enraged that he couldn’t be stopped. He slapped the smaller man with the back of his hand until he fell to the carpet floor.

“Get off me, Tom!” Jon pushed the other man off him. “Before I pull your head off too!”

Tom stood back, raising his arms in surrender as he watched the bigger man beat the smaller man.

I can do this. Saoirse thought as she extended her arms. Jon’s was too strong. Anger has always been a strong emotion and it prevented her from getting into his head. Tom was indifferent, he can do, but Kreg was afraid, fear is like foam in soapy water. He’s the best target of the three. Her arms entered his head, controlling him completely. She depended on the man’s strength because she has nothing to give. She couldn’t feel the pain, so it was easier to make the man stand on his own feet before catching the punches that was thrown at him. But there was a problem, Kreg is conscious and he can feel the foreign touch in his mind. Saoirse tried to shut the windows on him to block him out. I’m busy. She said inside him.

She made him push on Jon’s chest. It was futile against the man. She needed help. She entered her other arm into Tom’s head, pushing against his confused thoughts then she made him push at the man too. Their combined strength was enough to put Jon on his back. He squirmed and screamed at them but Saoirse kept her minion’s at him

Now the hard part. One of her friends, Tess was still deeply unconscious. She was lying beside Catty before she was moved. She took another set of arms and placed them inside both her friend’s head forcing them to wake up. It was a huge struggle and she can now feel her brain throb. She pushed herself up with the strength of her body before she did the same with their friends.

“What the f—!?” Jon pushed his mates off as he saw the girls get up, his strength overwhelming the minions but they both quickly got back to their feet and ready to pounce at the command.

Saoirse pushed her arms with all her strength to make her thralls jump on the towering man, at the same time trying to make her friends move between the swelling commotions.  She screamed through gritted teeth as blood poured out of her nose like a water fall. In turn, the other girls too started screaming as they staggered to the door way, bouncing off of the walls and twisting on their high-heel shoes like lunatics. The men, too, shared their master’s pain, though a lot more differently than the girls. They became more aggressive as they howl in agony, biting onto the cheek and ear of Jon as tears swell and trickle from their eyes. See, that’s another difference between them and the girls. They were completely conscious. They can see what they are doing but they have no control over what they do. A surreal and frightening experience.

But the girl’s struggle finally came to an end as the wooden front door slams closed. Saoirse dropped on the pavement, hearing the screams of pain and agony from both outside and in. Her arms are still inside her thralls and friends, but she extended another to Jon. Then all at once, she gave her final command. Sleep. And everything went quiet. The sound of the frogs and crickets suddenly filled the air and a nearby brook babbling away. The cool night air soothes her throbbing head as the scent of pine and maple calms her down, and the bleeding had finally stopped.

She sat on the grass, her dressing soaking up the dew. She crossed her legs and dropping her shoulders. She went into the world that only she could see; the place where her arms are truly free. She recognized the place and it’s not too far from her home. It was still in range of her arms. She made them fly through the night, heading south and into a small wooden house in a subdivision. Her arms pressed gently on a sleeping man’s head until she was in. She was tired and there’s only one thing she know that will get them home safe.

Dad, I need your help.