"Well, slap my salami!" Phelan's hand met the steering wheel with a resounding thwack, as if he could beat some sense into the situation. In a twist that Shakespeare himself would've called tragically comedic, he jumped out of the car like a spooked kangaroo to face the barricade of beefy men ahead.
I had all the dizziness of a merry-go-round ride, but this was definitely no funfair. I started shaking my head like a dog drying off from a swim, hoping to shake off the grogginess. And let's get one thing straight – those outcross fellas weren't after the handsome lad Phelan. Oh no, they had their sights set on us, especially yours truly. It's like they could sniff me out, the time I held back the light within me earlier. But here's the kicker – I ain't no all-powerful urion, so how did these fellas figure out there's an uncrowned urion roaming the scenic Diamond Hills?
Picture this: the crowned brigade were like the grand marshals of a parade, while the uncrowned urions, well, we were just the side acts that sometimes stole the show. Lately, though, we were becoming the main event of this wacky circus. There was a human outcross trend, a real pest infestation. I wasn't sure why, probably 'cause they thought we uncrowneds were easy prey. Why, you ask? Well, for one, we weren't bench-pressing mountains like the crowned ones.
Would you believe it? This mess was my doing! Again, Ara and I were roped into this situation, with Phelan tagging along as the cherry on top. Okay, maybe Phelan wasn't completely innocent, what with that stealthy stolen kiss, but he was utterly oblivious when it came to the world of light and shadows.
There stood Phelan, at the bottom of the supernatural food chain, the lowly bottom-feeder. And guess what? We needed to shield this poor guy from danger, because if anyone got caught in the crossfire, the LOU (League of Uncrowned) would surely summon us, and they might even snatch back the crown mission that was like a golden ticket waiting for me. I already aced the test, and I wasn't signing up for another round of Friedan's never-ending lectures, or another eternity under his thumb.
So there I was, clinging to Ara like a koala to a eucalyptus tree, giving her a good shake. "Ara, sh-shake me."
"What?" she screeched back, her eyes wide as dinner plates. "You think I can just pummel my partner in crime? I can't do that!"
"Cut the drama, Ara Tala. Just sock me one to snap me out of it. My inner urion is on vacation otherwise."
Ara stared at me as if I'd sprouted an extra head. "How'd you manage to fall into a nap like that, huh? First time ever, I bet. Must be Phelan Vargas' overpowering garlic breath that knocked you out!"
Man, I wished I could explain to her that Phelan's breath was fresher than a dewy morning, like he chugged a gallon of minty mouthwash, but time was of the essence. I couldn't afford Ara's third degree on Phelan Vargas' smooch. "Just slap me silly, okay? Make it count!"
Ara, the ultimate warrior, raised her fist and sent it crashing into my face like she was challenging a wall. Holy guacamole, it felt like a runaway train hit my cheek. My whole body jiggled and wiggled as though I was a human-shaped jelly dessert. Then, cue the warm liquid dribbling down my face, joined by a pinch of pain for that perfect sauce.
I woke up briefly, only for a drowsy encore. "Once more, Ara!"
"Seriously? You sure?" she questioned, then decided she was taking the 'hit them till they wake up' advice too seriously. She clocked me right in the jaw, and I thought for a second that I'd auditioned for the role of a human bobblehead. Yet, sleep still clung to me like a sloth on a tree. I wrestled against it, but nap's got game, folks.
"Oh boy," I mumbled as I duked it out with the snooze. I squinted and noticed Phelan's showdown with the Fab Five ahead was reaching its climax. "K-knife! Fetch my trusty dagger, Ara!"
While I contemplated my half-asleep state, Ara rolled her eyes like she was about to win a medal for it. "You're out cold, and you want to brawl? What dagger? Did you forget your superhero belt at home? Hold tight. I'll be your knight in shiny armor, Kiera!" With that, she unbuckled herself, practically turned into a wind gust as she opened the car door, and vanished.
I bonked my head on the car's headrest as she left me like yesterday's news. With my world swaying like a tipsy panda, I tried sitting up, but it was like my body had suddenly transformed into a pool floatie. And then, the heavens parted – or rather, the car door did – and a shining idea hit me. I reached for Ara's manicure kit.
As I dug through the kit, it was like a magical treasure hunt, but without the maps or unicorns. I fumbled around like a raccoon in a candy store, and what do you know, I found the holy grail – a nail pusher! It felt unused, like it was still on its first day of nail-pushing school. I gripped it like it was my lifeline and pointed it at my half-asleep leg. I aimed to pierce through the fabric like a ninja through paper, but my attempt was as futile as teaching a cat to do calculus.
"Ouchie!" Ara's voice broke through, sounding like a soprano choir in my head, holding onto the hair of a tall, mountainous fellow. I could practically feel the nail pusher's tip brushing against my skin. "Ouchie!" she repeated for emphasis, so loudly it might've set a new record.
Phelan was still living in Dreamland, completely oblivious to the chaotic shenanigans.
I tightened my grip on the pusher, like I was holding onto the last slice of pizza at a party, and thrust it at my left leg with all the grace of a bear trying ballet. The pain shot up my leg like fireworks on New Year's Eve, but did it wake me up? Not quite. I squeezed my eyes shut, absorbing the agony like it was the ticket to my awakening.
But nope, still not enough to shake off Mr. Sandman's grip. I let go of the pusher, swiped for Ara's hand sanitizer, and drenched my wound with it, the fiery sting making me want to do the cha-cha on hot coals. I shook like a leaf in a storm, releasing the pusher and the sanitizer like I'd just discovered they were both on fire. I twisted the car door handle, welcoming the fiery sensation as warm liquid cascaded down my wounded leg. Hey, I had a mission to accomplish, and I wasn't about to let sleep rob me of my glory.
"Fuckety-heck!" Phelan's attempt at cursing got cut off as he was ambushed by a smack to the face from another outcross. These two muscle-bound charmers weren't about to let him off the hook.
Ara and I might've been thrown into the fray, but this was no ordinary outcross lineup. They weren't rookies; they were like the grandmasters of outcrossery. You needed the fury of a thousand vengeful deities to take these brutes down. And let's be real, that wasn't a secret I could reveal to Phelan – "Hey, mate, they're tougher than a meat grinder, but you'll figure it out, right?"
"Oh, sweet sassy molassy," I muttered to myself, grappling with the snooze button in my brain. I twirled the car door handle, feeling the hot stream on my leg, and then, like a disco ball dropping at a party, I had an idea.
I fumbled around, locating Ara's manicure kit like a detective searching for the missing piece of the puzzle. I found what I was hunting for – the prized possession, the savior of the moment – a nail pusher. Clutching it like a knight's sword, I aimed it at my sleepy leg, ready to wage war on slumber itself. But reality played its prank – the pusher wouldn't pierce the fabric of my jeans, and I felt like a warrior thwarted by a stubborn curtain.
"Aiee!" Ara's voice reached my ears as she performed some aerial ballet, holding onto a beefy outcross by his hair. It felt like the nail pusher was inches from my skin. "Aiee!" she screeched again, making sure the universe heard her.
Meanwhile, Phelan was getting a face-full of haymakers from the big-league outcrosses, who seemed more entertained than a cat with a laser pointer.
With my eyes barely open, I gripped the pusher like a student's last hope for passing the exam, thrusting it at my leg like it was a sword. Pain surged through my leg like a lightning bolt, but did it chase away the sleep? Not in a million years. I closed my eyes tighter, embracing the sensation as if pain was my personal alarm clock.
Still, it felt like a lullaby from hell was pulling me back into unconsciousness. I dropped the pusher, fumbled for Ara's sanitizer, and splashed it on my wound, feeling like I'd dipped my leg in a vat of hot sauce. I shivered, dropping both the pusher and the sanitizer, the door handle turning under my touch. The warm liquid flowed down my leg, yet I couldn't let it lull me into complacency. I had a mission, and I was determined to carry it out, even if it meant turning myself into a pin cushion.
And so, the nail pusher, a superhero in its own right, refused to cut through my jeans like a grumpy toddler resisting veggies. Ara's battle in mid-air continued, like an action movie scene directed by a caffeine-overdosed director. Phelan was engaged in his own chaotic waltz with the outcross posse, though he seemed to be learning that they weren't handing out cookies – only punches.
With Phelan in the throes of his personal boxing match, Ara's dynamic hair-grip maneuvers, and the epic nail pusher saga, I found myself muttering the prayers of the sleep-deprived warrior: "Oh, for the love of caffeine! Can someone please wake me up from this crazy dream?"
"Kiera!" Ara's cry sliced through the chaos, as if she was auditioning for a dramatic role in a fantasy movie. She was clutching that gem like it was the last piece of chocolate on Earth. And just like that, her feet were boycotting the ground. Seriously, they hadn't touched dirt since... whenever.
I could barely hear anything after that. The only symphony in my ears was my heartbeat, pounding like a drum possessed by a caffeine-addicted demon. I watched Ara's mouth move, and the outcross chime in like a bizarre synchronized dance, but their words were just fluff against the thumping soundtrack of my chest. It felt like there was a strobe light party going on in my veins, some kind of rave led by my rebellious blood cells. The fire that I had been trying to suppress was having a full-blown party in my veins. Whatever was coming next, I was ready to rock and roll. My priority: save Ara and Phelan. Bring it on, universe. I got this.
I closed my eyes for a millisecond and let the other version of me hijack my body. My eyes reopened, and they were glowing. No kidding, actually glowing. And yeah, it was kind of spectacular.
The gash on my leg? Vanished like it had a hot date with oblivion. All I felt was this warm, pulsating light that did the cha-cha through my veins. If there was a snoozing superhero within me, I had just jolted it awake. With a vengeance.
The outcross didn't know what hit them. They were still stuck in 2021 while I was dancing in 3021. Clueless didn't even begin to describe their expressions as they saw me transform from that girl-next-door who trips over air to a fantastical force to be reckoned with. I could practically hear the "aha!" moment dawning on them like the sunrise, if the sunrise came with its own booming soundtrack.
My senses were back in business, better than ever. Smells? Like an olfactory superhero. Sounds? I could probably hear a pin drop a mile away. Sights? Let's just say I could see the future in those outcross' eyes. Every twitch of their eyebrow, every twitch of their finger – I saw it like it was already written in a comic book somewhere.
Ara screamed again, and I swear she could wake the dead with that kind of lung power. The tall outcross dude seemed to develop a sudden urge to polish his grip on Ara's head, and then, whoosh, she was airborne. I darted forward like a ninja on caffeine, my reflexes on Red Bull mode, catching her in mid-air because, hey, that's just how we roll now.
"My scalp hurts!" Ara announced as I gently released her. She stood like a warrior princess ready to conquer. I mean, she did have a jewel that could make any tiara jealous, but this was different.
Meanwhile, Phelan had decided to join the "I'm awake" party. He looked at us like he'd stumbled upon a fantasy film set while hunting for snacks at 2 AM. "Wait, what? Swords? Flying pianists? Was I binge-watching a weird show in my sleep?"
The minute he said "flying pianist," I knew this would make an epic story to tell the grandkids. If I survived this, that is.
We faced off against the remaining outcross, locking eyes and raising swords like we were auditioning for a medieval flash mob. As they charged, I had a momentary flashback to those over-the-top Bollywood fight scenes. You know, where heroes fly through the air defying gravity? Yeah, I did that. A somersault, a mid-air sword throw – who said action movies weren't instructional?
And the pièce de résistance: mud. A mud grenade to their faces. They spluttered, flailed, and generally looked like they'd been caught in a mudslide. Score one for the girl with the killer aim!
Ara, not to be outdone, showed off her sword skills with a theatrical flourish, reducing one outcross to a decapitated masterpiece. I mean, it was gore-tastically artistic. Blood splatter and all.
The other two, well, they had taken a vacation from reality, just like the rest of us. I picked up another sword and hurled it towards Ara like a romantic in a movie proposing with a bouquet. She caught it with a wink, reminding me that even in the middle of a supernatural battlefield, she could still be effortlessly cool.
A swift thrust and the second outcross was history, sans the gory details. I spared a second to glance at Ara. Her sword, his neck, a fountain of blood – yep, it was like a date gone terribly wrong.
The spotlight shifted to Phelan, who had officially joined the "Staring at Gory Scenes" club. He shook his head as if hoping the gruesome sight would disappear like a bad dream. "Uh, hello? Reality check? I'm awake now. But seriously, you guys could've waited for me."
"Ah, young love," Ara quipped with a grin, elbowing me as we exchanged a knowing look. The guy's brains might be scrambled, but we knew how to give him a good story to tell.
"And you're swooning over a mystery guy, Ara? Really?" I raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed, but secretly amused by her giggly schoolgirl act.
"Hey, romance needs a dash of mystery, you know?" She winked at me, a playful spark in her eyes. "Anyway, that's Zilla, right? The oh-so-mysterious eleventh urion?"
I couldn't help but chuckle at her swooning. "You're smitten with a guy whose face you haven't even seen?"
She shrugged, unabashed. "Mystery has its own charm."
And then, boom – Zilla was gone, leaving us with a mountain of mangled outcross bodies.
I wiped the mud off my jeans, anticipating Friedan's scrutinizing gaze when I got home. I could already hear him comment on my appearance or, heaven forbid, the speck of dirt on my shirt. That guy had the surveillance skills of a hawk, only more persistent. There was no evading his scrutiny. Except one thing he couldn't decode – the jumbled mess inside my heart.
A groan interrupted our post-battle banter. Phelan, looking like he'd gone through a blender, was attempting a dramatic resurrection. "Uh, help?"
Ara and I exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. The guy looked like a zombie who hadn't quite nailed the zombie walk. But hey, it was a zombie with a story – our story.
"Alright, Romeo, chill. You're alive," Ara teased, her laughter contagious.
"What in the world happened? Swords, flying, blood – was I hallucinating?" Phelan rubbed his eyes, his face a messy canvas of confusion and blood.
"Let's just say reality decided to throw a party, and we got invited," I grinned, suddenly feeling the weight of my ridiculous, extraordinary life, and realizing that somehow, it was the most exhilarating thing ever.