The House of Grey- Volume 4 (4 page)

Casey’s arms
came
to
rest at
his side
.
“That’s where you’re wrong
,
Mark. I was doing you a favor by telling you my name. Really
,
you should be thanking me.”

His a
ggressive words
,
delivered
calm
ly,
seemed to
have no
perceivable
e
ffect
on
Mark’s confidence. “What do you mean
,
Cassi
us
?”

A malicious smile crep
t
its way onto Casey’s face. “I mean
,
during
the
dark
night
s
when you’
re
in your hospital beds dreaming of
t
his moment, I want you to be able to
put
a name to the face of the man who beat
you
to a bloody pulp. I want you to scream out that name
in your nightmares
;
th
e name that
will ever be on the tip of your tongue but
will
always elude you
in consciousness
. I want you
to
reflect on the consequences of threatening me
,
forever considering, wondering, pondering the events of a night that you can’t remember
but will always haunt you
. Most of all I want you to remember this final
admonishment:
It
won
’
t be
a dream. Geez, I almost feel sorry for you two
.
”

A creepy speech,
though
one that did not make
an
ounce
of sense in light of
the
current circumstances
.
Monson felt
a
gush of pity for the two men that could not be explained.

Mark and Jim’s patience finally cracked. They charged Casey
,
wildly
swinging their stun batons.

Casey put his hands down to his side
,
palms facing the men.
He
slowly closed his eyes
,
breathing serenely as the MIB neared.  Monson heard a
n audible
crack
as noise emanated from Casey.

Pressure hit
him,
hit everyone, driving all but Casey to the ground. The feeling was strange and foreign. It was as if Casey was controlling the air
—
air that
was not
physical in any sense of
the
word. The pressure felt spiritual in nature
;
it was
energy that
was
not of the physical world. That energy attacked their senses, from touch to smell,
penetrating
every
nook
and cranny in
each of them.

“What the hell is going on?” yelled Monson from his hunched position on the ground
.
“
W
hat’s happening?” 

“Heck if I know
.
”
Artorius
tried to move
next to
Monson
.
“Grey
,
what are you doing
?
”

A
cold
,
saturated voice spoke to Monson
.
“
Off your knees
,
little one. You will not be done in by this level of release.”

Monson got to his feet.

Pressure met
pressure
as Monson’s own power
blossomed inside of him
. The concept was truly insane, unnatural, psychotic
even, impossible…all this was impossible…was he really here? Was he dreaming? None of it
matter
ed
right now a
s
his
power infused him.

Screams filled his ears
,
a blood
curdling
sound that encircle
d
everything.

Monson searched for the source of the screaming only to have his attention completely
captured
by
what he saw in front of
Casey.

The blood
-
red mist was back. Monson stared in
shock
as
his brain
grasped at a memory simmering in the back of his mind.

“Flash fist…
.
”

He thought back to
that
sparring match and
the volatile
ball of blood
-
red energy that
had
struck
him
and tossed him to the ground. He remembered the strange conglomerated mist as he flew and crumbled
into the mat
.
He recalled t
he feeling associated with
it as the same phenomenon was once again flooded the space completely encapsulating Casey
.

Monson stared through the mist.
Stark differences in Casey’s
signature move became readily apparent the more Monson watched him
.
He
noticed the difference in stance, the use of
both
hands
instead of one,
and the dramatic increase
in
energy.
However, t
he changes were minor and unimportant in comparison
with
what really caught Monson off g
uard. He, Monson Grey, was unable
see
Casey’s flash fist with any amount of clarity as he had just moments before
. The image of the mist broke in and out
of his vision
like a television
on the fritz
.  He could see it
,
then
he could not
. He could see it. He could not see it. HE COULD SEE IT. HE COULD NOT SEE IT.
Monson watched as the MIBs finally on their feet ran toward Casey.
The Flash Fist energy
discharge as Casey struck the two MIB in the head.

Supernatural wind, accelerated and energy infused,
deafened him, causing minor but potent vertigo.  All extraneous and mundane appetites dulled as a sudden plateau of
clarity cruised on mental turbo boosters and peaked.
Realization, like light from heaven, formulated and highlighted the understanding that Casey’s power
—
the very power that swarmed their surroundings like locust
s—
was not
unique to Casey
. This power, whatever it was,
was inside Monson,
too.

The realization breech something within him as a second voice tuned in loud and
clear
. This second voice was calming yet stern, and sounded
strikingly like his own
.

Enough of this Keeper it is not your time. Release him. 

The spiritual powers inside of him, converged and conflicted, came crashing into one another driving Monson to the brink of his own sanity. The battle of diverging entities was like nothing
he could have imagined, vast and unearthly. Endlessly images rifled through him until the vision of a single individual standing in a lush valley jumped out so suddenly that Monson took an unsure step back.

The man stood in the distance indistinct but detailed, his savage blood lust and torn raiment readily noticeable—then Monson’s overhead view changed, the camera careening faster and faster until the vision came to rest on a pair of savage silver eyes.

The eyes bore down upon him. 

The cold voice spoke again.

Let Me Out.

Monson pushed it away, tried to run, but he was helpless under the influence of the silver eyes. He was going to fall and there was nothing he could do about it. Another voice spoke.

I told you LET…HIM…GO.

Fiery pain fought against foreign emotion that held
Mons
on captive the intangibles taking on a new meaning and life
as they strove against one another. The pain slithered up his body as his view shifted sharply. A pillar of bright silver light slammed into the ground, sending debris and energy everywhere. Once the light lessened, and the dust settled, a person wrapped in a silver mist drove the man in the open field back. Monson could not see the face of the second figure as the two combatants were engaged with in an all out struggle, but he tried desperately to do so ignoring the steady increase in physical pain. The new comer gestured in a controlled manner, the mists of silver swirling and trailing as fingers flew through the air. The figure spoke though inaudibly. Monson beheld
columns of pure energy falling and trapping the man with the silver eyes. At this Monson fell to his knees, grabbing his head as the supernatural flowed from him leavi
ng a mass of confusion behind.

Chapter
39 - Vision

All was silent. No wind, no energy, no creepy voices in his head; there was nothing—nothing, but the heaviness of night and his own staggering confusion. He grimaced as he grappled with his frustration.  He was growing so tired of unexplainable, unbelievable events.

“Grey? Are you OK?”

Monson opened his eyes as a final burning sensation dissipated and the glare of silver eyes faded, its lingering traces blinding him.  Casey and Artorius were at his side. Casey whispered to him gently.

“Seriously, Grey, are you OK? You’re acting like you
’
ve seen a ghost or something.”

Monson cut right to the point.

“You used flash fist again.” 

Casey’s response sounded unsure. “Yeah, I did a little maneuver I came up with on my own. I call it ‘flash fist psychosis.
’
Pretty cool name, huh?”

Monson chuckled in spite of himself. “Yes Casey, it’s a great name. I’m surprised
those
guys didn’t explode or something. The power you released was outrageous.”

“You bring up an interesting point. And I’ve been meaning to ask you this: How do you always seem to know when I’m using the flash fist?”

Monson glared at him disbelievingly. “What do you mean, Casey? The fact that you expel all that energy from your body, how could I not know?”

“You see
,
that’s what I don’t get. How could you possibly know that I manipulate expelled energy?”

Monson tried his best not to let his frustration boil over. How did he know that Casey was using expelled energy? Was he serious?

“Casey, I’m sorry to say this, but that is an incredibly stupid question.”

“How is that a stupid question?”

Monson rolled his eyes. “Think about it, Case. How do you
think
I’m able to tell when you do the flash fist? What would be the most logical answer?” 

“Grey, are you trying to tell me that you can
see
chakra?”

“Yes, Casey—that is exactly what I’m telling you.”

Casey started to sound angry. “Dude, you can’t see chakra! That’s impossible. Like trying to see air or ultraviolet rays.  Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when we jumped the hedge?”

“Listen to what he has to say, Case.” Artorius placed a hand on Casey’s shoulder. “While it’s true that you shouldn’t be able to see chakra, what just happened isn’t ordinary, either. Something drove me, Grey and those two guys to the ground, and it wasn’t something physical.”

“You too Arthur? Jeez, what is up with you guys?” Casey pulled both Monson and Artorius closer. “Listen to me, you two. With the flash fist, you have to expel a lot of energy from your body and then focus your intent. You were probably just feeling my chakra effect the air around you. Soft fist, or energy-focused martial arts, will use chakra or chi or
bioelectrical
energy or whatever you want to call it to fight. This is not out of the
ordinary peeps in China have been doing for thousands of years, Crazy cool stuff.  The only weird thing about this conversation is Grey claiming to be able to see the energy used to perform the Flash Fist.”

Monson shook his head in frustration. This was not going the way it should, but what could he do? Trying to reason with Casey right now was not a good use of their time. If he still wanted to meet Baroty, he needed to move. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s talk about it after I meet with Baroty, OK?”