Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > [ Fatality Is Like Ghosts In The Snow ]

[ Fatality Is Like Ghosts In The Snow ] Chapter Eight

by nine 2 reviews

Eight

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Fantasy, Horror - Characters: Bob Bryar, Frank Iero, Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Ray Toro - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2006-09-28 - Updated: 2006-09-28 - 1067 words

0Unrated
Eight
October 6th, 2006
5:14 AM

They were all in the tour bus. Gerard and Ray had decided, the night before, that they were leaving Santa Rose and everything they'd encountered there behind. They had told all of the rebels to go to the Helada and Piedra branches. The only ones left in Santa Rose were Krishna's people.
Frank didn't believe them. He wasn't leaving without some things to take care of first.
He pulled the hood over his head, casting his face into shadow. They were barely on the outskirts of the town, easily within walking distance.
He reached Krishna's stronghold in almost no time. The place was almost a wooden castle-everything in Santa Rose seemed to be wooden. It was a mistake for country as dry as this.
He had no trouble getting past the guards. There were no rebels, they had undoubtedly been told, since Trent's death, so this could only be one of Krishna's men.
Frank had three knifes concealed on various locations in his body. He made his way to Krishna's room, knowing it by the symbol Trent had told him about what seemed like a long time ago.
He opened the door. The room was empty.
There was a gun on the long, dark-wood desk. Frank started to work on that, removing the cartridges and proceeding to sabotage it, almost completely breaking off the nose of the gun by stepping on it.
Shame, really. It was a nice handgun.
"So, you were Jared's lapdog," a low, almost purring voice came from behind him. Frank turned around slowly, knowing exactly who it was.
Krishna strode into the room. "I suppose it makes sense... come to replace him for me. Shame I had to kill him. The foolish boy was getting a little out of hand with his rebels."
Frank drew his knife and Krishna did the same. The older vampire lunged suddenly and Frank sidestepped him smoothly.
"Ah, I see what Jared's done to you," Krishna said silkily. "He's opened a vein for you. Good, I always like a little challenge."
"You must need some after you murdered Trent," Frank snarled, lunging at him, marking his arm with the blade. Krishna caught his left arm and tossed him against the far wall like Frank was a rag doll. Frank landed on the arm and his vision went black for a moment.
Something was broken. Damn. Damn.
He got up again, though, and went back to the attack. Block, parry, block. Attack. Parry. He blocked with the broken arm and black stars danced in his vision.
No, we won't be trying that again.
"First it was Jared, now you," Krishna said and laughed. "The rebels lose leaders too often."
Frank started fighting again, this time a series of lightning thrusts and dodges that left Krishna off guard. The knife sliced along his arm and he fumbled a block. Frank barely managed to dodge his blade by stepping in closer. His knife cut the back of the other vampire's hand and he dropped his knife with a hiss of pain.
Frank struck Krishna in the shoulder and the tide began to turn.
"I might never have come back here," he stated. Block. Parry. Attack. Block. "But you did something very stupid. You threatened-" He moved closer, then dodged back as Krishna tried to retaliate. "-my family." Funny, he thought, but he wasn't talking about the people he'd left in Newark. He was talking about the strangely beautiful, black-haired man with the haunting voice, the tall, rangy man who could do things with a guitar that Frank had never dreamed of doing, the lanky man with the widest range of intelligence of anyone he'd ever known, and the shy blonde man with a small voice and big heart-
And the white skinned, maroon-eyed eighteen year old that did things to Frank's mind and body that had never been attempted by anyone.
"You killed-" A cut to cut his weapon arm. Frank was growing fiercer, encouraged by thinking of him, "-Trent. And you tried to destroy the life I worked to create again." Frank sliced Krishna's stomach and the other vampire pushed him away with a sound of pain. He was expecting Frank to fall, or at least be delayed. Instead, Frank instantly swung his weapon arm up, at the same time throwing his weight forward to add power to the blow. Finally the knife found it's mark and the creature in front of him fell, like a marionette would when the puppeteer cuts the strings.
Frank almost fell with him but instead leaned against the wall, fighting off a wave of dizziness. He walked out of Krishna's room, taking the front door again. There were no guards now.
Good.
He removed the pack of matches that he'd carried into Santa Rose with him, lighting one and tossing it into the fence that surrounded the compound. There hadn't been rain in a week and the wood was dry and hungry; it went up in flames almost immediately. Frank struck another and tossed it at the house itself-it, too, burst into flames. The houses were almost all interconnected and the fence was slowly setting them, one by one, on fire.
He was on one of the hills when the whole town was ablaze. He watched it silhouetted against the blackish blue sky, flames leaping and dancing, devouring the dry wood of the houses, the fire reflected in his eyes.
Santa Rose would maybe make the papers. Maybe make as a freak accident. Frank didn't know or care.
He got up slowly, walked towards the east, where the bus was only a black shape against the streaks of red and purple in the early dawn.
"You'll do something amazing with your future," his father had once told him with surety. "You've got so much passion, so much talent... you'll be something incredible, I'm sure."
His father hadn't been talking about anything to do with vampires. But that wasn't what Frank was thinking, either.
He had two worlds to choose from: human and vampiric. Or both.
He had choices, and, even if he didn't have all of eternity, he had some time.
And he had freedom, he thought, remembering the almost-broken boy with the sad smile and amazing touch who didn't know who he was, Jared the dreamer or Trent the rebel. Some combination of the two.
And that was enough.
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