The Stormfather

"RUSTS!" Mark, who also didn't know how to drive, widened his eyes. "Um.. Just keep driving fast!"

"You know how to drive right?"

Mark shouted something unintelligible, covering his ears at the gunshots and the loud engine. A few shots hit the vehicle, though none doing massive damage. It seemed that the people they had just stolen it from had attached some kind of reinforcements on it. It made sense, given their warlike disposition. Mark was breathing heavily. Please, please, please, please. He was silent, praying that no gunshots would hit anything important.

Mark launched his Shardblade towards one of the people, turning and leaping towards the automobile, throwing himself in. "Go!" He saw one person fall from his shardblade. A few bullets dinged off of parts of the automobile, and he ducked down.

Mark continued to speak with the guards, distracting them for longer. He felt his Spren tugging at his mind, warning him. He spun around, Blade ready, at a few of the guards who had drawn closer. "Back off." He growled. They did, one of them even apologizing. As a few moments went on, Mark feigned like he was pacing around, and made his way towards the automobile.

As she did, Mark yelled, “Adris, now!” Nothing happened. but, the shout did catch several of the people off guard, and they readied weapons in other directions, expecting an ambush. He laughed. “Little paranoid, aren’t you?” A few of them started laughing, and others mocking his desperation. Few of them maintained their guard.

“I’ll try to get them focused on me again.” He said quietly, then stepped towards one of them. “None of you are willing to take the shot.” Mark said, addressing those surrounding him. “Because you know you’ll probably die, or at least end up with a Shardblade through your arm if you do.” Some people looked at him oddly. A few looked guilty that they hadn’t taken the shot yet. Mark shifted his Blade into more of a hook, that wasn’t sharp, to pry off him other aluminum restraint. A few shied away, though others seemed to, oddly, gain confidence. If you fight them, they’ll fight back. Right now, their mentality is in between not sure. If you’re hostile, you’ll drive them to one side, and you’ll die. “You can-“ Mark started. ”Oh, just shut up-“ One of them shouted, to everyone but Mark’s amusement.

“Alright. So we run, grab one of those things, hope it starts fast enough for us to not get shot, pray that they don’t break something important in the auto when they shoot at us, and hope that they aren’t great at running and won’t get too many shots.” Mark grimaced. “Seems unlikely. Although, there ain’t much else we can do.”

"If we both turn and run, they'll shoot us down without a second thought." He said, swinging his Blade intimidatingly towards a few who had drawn closer. "If we could get one of those..." He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the automobiles. "Things, we might be able to just...I don't know. Leave?"

Mark sighed. "It's..." The only way? When is there ever only one way? The circle of enemies grew tighter, though even still, none dared to shoot or attack Mark. They seemed more nervous than before, and several of them were whispering to each other, though Mark couldn't hear the words. "I've tried everything that I can." He murmured.

Mark paused. “It… that might be the only way you can get out of here.” He lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “Back out. Try to get away. I’ll try to distract them. Maybe… maybe you’ll be able to get to help before they… before they kill me.”

“Mare, if you have any kind of idea of how to get out of here,” Mark murmured, “I’m open to suggestions.” One of the Marksmen, with a knife, seemed to be about to throw, and Mark turne sharply towards him and raised his Shardblade. “Bad idea, kid.” the man was probably a decade older than him.

“Mare. We survived the arena. We survived the rebellion.” Mark glared out at the people surrounding him. “We can survive this. We’re practically experts, at this point, at surviving when we logically shouldn’t.”

Mark sighed. “What else can we do? Lay down and die?”

Mark continued backing away, slowly enough, though some of the men’s around them started circling him, trapping him in once more, though, with a much larger circle.

Mark continued slowly backing away, keeping an eye on the gunmen.

"Have we been safe since we were captured?"

Mark held his Shardblade out in front of him, slowly rotating around to lock eyes with each of the people around him. ”If you take the shots right now, some of you are going to die. Some of you will lay on the ground with burned eyes. Is it worth it? Is vengeance so important that you will throw away your life for it?” He began turning himself oddly, with unpredictable movements and quick steps. “If one of you tries to shoot me right now, I won’t get killed by it. Maybe it’ll hit me, but I’ll sure as hell have enough time to plant a Shardblade in someone’s chest before I go.” Mark started backing away, following Marewill. “You let us go now, disband this messed up group, maybe you wont spend the rest of your life in a prison.” They kept their guns pointed at him, but none of them took the shot. They all looked to others to finish him.

Yeah Mark's entire plotline aged my by twelve millenia

You are the only one who was right!

Do people have a good guess at how old I am? I feel like the posting of it in this thread might give it away, but...

Mark stepped up to the shaking man, slowly easing his gun arm to point away from him. "You don't have to do this," He murmured. "Your life is not yet consigned to crime and murder. You can leave, forget this, and live an actual life." He shoved Mark back away from him. "Get off of me, murdurer!" Mark fell back, twisting one hand below him to clank against the ground once more. He felt pain jolt through his arm, and winced. But he also felt the aluminum casing weaken, dented and battered. He lifted that hand up and slammed it on the ground, feigning rage. His hand was aching from the repeated bashing, but he wasn't about to lay down and die. The aluminum case popped off on the next hit. Guns were raised towards him immediately. A Shardblade appeared in his hands, a large, four-foot broadsword in his one hand. "Like I said, you don't have to do this." He turned back to Marewill and mouthed 'run'

A minute went by, and then shouts went up around the guards, readying themselves as another car/carriage drove up and stopped beside the other. Three people climbed out, two guarding one between them, who was... "Oh, rusts." He recognized that man. He had been there, when Mark had... KILL. HIM. NOW. When Mark had killed Sereine. When he had ended the first part of his life. He had charged in, quickly killing, or so he thought, her two guards. That face... A scar was still there from his dagger, where he had slashed him across the cheek with one knife and stabbed his gut with his other. He had never stopped to make sure he was dead. And... He wasn't. He was here, with the Marksmen, or whatever these people called themselves. Mark dropped to his knees, memories of that horrible night flashing through his head. Some of the guards laughed, though many readied themselves, knowing what might be coming next. DO IT! Mark was barely able to oppose the Killer's words. He was going to die. Of that he was nearly certain. He may as well... May as well what? Was punching one of them in the teeth as he died worth it? Would it change anything? Would going out in a blaze of not-so-glorious glory do anything other than get Marewill killed as well? This was his problem. He wasn't about to get the others killed because of him. He needed to listen, to remember, to follow the holy ideals he had sworn in the worst moments of his life. Was killing them worth anything? Mark! Let me through! "NO!" He screamed, a feral scream from deep in his throat. "No! I will not do it! I am not a blood-hungry demon like you!" Those around him backed away, shocked. A few had the intelligence to take aim on him, though most were simply intrigued by the troubled man. Listen. Remember. How does listening and remembering get him out of this? The only way out was to fight, surely. There wasn't anything he could do but fight. He didn't have a choice! I'm sorry. This is the only thing that can be done! Why do I always get into the positions where the only way out is to- A thought flitted through his mind, one drawn from someone far back in his family history. Arc had never fought, not really. He had always found another way out. He had always schemed, talked, or persuaded his way out of everything. He had rarely had a weapon, but had always found a way through, until his bitter end. You're thinking madness. How is talking going to get you- Shut up. Mark lifted one foot up, slowly rising back up to his feet. The people around him stepped forwards, guns and knives at the ready. He turned a circle, locking eyes with every one of them. "Is this really what you want to do?" He said. "Is this really what you want to have on your conscience?" He raised his voice. "My conscience hasn't been clean since the rebellion." One of them spat. "I killed three men, just to get food for my child. It was you and yours who forced this. You and that stupid gang!" Mark looked to the scarred man who had just arrived, and smirked. "The Steeles? They caused this? You might just be right about that." He lifted one hand and pointed. "He was one of them! Before our joining, and before the whole world went wrong. He was part of a gang of spies, criminals and assassins. If you truly think that all of us deserve to die, he is as much responsible as me." "I left that group long before the rebellion." He said. "After you murdered our leader. After you murdered my friend." Mark bit his lip, furious. He wanted to protest. He wanted to scream for Sereine and the life he could have had. He wanted to shout and fight for the life he did have, with Astra. He wanted to let the Killer in to finish what he should have done nearly a decade ago. He could tell that he was getting nowhere. He knew that all he was doing was making them mad. So he stopped talking. He let them point guns and knives and anything heavy or pointed. He stopped. And listened. "You..." The scarred man started. "Do you.." He spent a moment thinking. "Do you really think that telling them that I was one of the Steeles would change anything? These people know me. I'm not one for hiding who I truly am to everyone around. Unlike yourself." He spat. "Do you think I don't remember what you become when you fight? Do you think I don't remember who you are when you show your true colors? What do you think I am, an idiot?" Mark didn't say word, though he was clearly waiting for a response. "Fine. Not going to talk? Well I think we've got plenty of things to say to you, right?" There were agreements and affirmations from the others around him. "Well tell him. Tell him what he did-" "Has there ever been a more self-centered group in all of history? Yes, okay, the rebellion changed your lives for the worse. But how many of you are there, fifty? A hundred? It wouldn't matter if there were a thousand of you. The rebellion did more good than harm. What would you rather? Your family, friends, whoever it was, still be alive, or have ninety-nine percent of all people on the brink of starvation and death every single day? Have you spent a single moment thinking that maybe you were the outliers, the odd ones out whom the cosmic scale tipped against? Have you ever thought for one second abou- Scratch that, have you ever thought? Because I'm genuinely curious. If any of you had half a wit you'd be able to realize that the rebellion was needed. The world was never going to advance if we had never rebelled against our bonds, pushed against what was in place to bring goodness back into the general populace." Mark took a breath. "You should have the basic logical thinking to see that our lives are better than before. Was there any technological advancement being made before? No, it was just people watching others kill each other on a TV. Now, though, those weapons you have can be obtained much easier. Allomancers can find metals, which I know personally was a problem before. Stormlight is available to those who can use it, not like before. We live in a changed world, one that could not have changed if it wasn't for the workings of the rebellion and the Steeles." Not a single person even contemplated his words. One of them chuckled. I would be slow-clapping right now if I had hands. The scarred man looked at Mark oddly. "Do you really think that a speech is going to suddenly change anything? Do you think that a few words can blot out years of pain? Do you know what it feels like to have everyone who you ever cared about die because of you? Can you begin to imagin-" "I cared about one person. And I killed her. The same day I thought I killed you. Then most of the Rusted died. And then we had to kill Quelkin. If you had to kill one of the only people who'd ever shown you sympathy and their only request was that you stopped the capitol in the end, that you brought about a rebellion, would you not do it? Do you not believe that honoring the wishes of the dead is important?" "Is it worth it, if one dead person wishes for the death of dozens? Hundreds? What if each of them wish for the same? Are we supposed to honor those wishes until there's no one left?" Mark glared at him, but didn't respond. He could tell that most of the people around him were transfixed by the debate, though not a one looked contemplative in the least on what he had said. A few moments passed between them, both glaring at each other. Eventually, Mark spoke. "Was it worth it? Was killing me worth the lives that were needed to do it? I killed eleven men back there, who could've been alive if you hadn't developed this grudge." "They wouldn't have had to die if you just did what all tributes are supposed to have done and simply die." "It's basic human nature to rebel against any cage put around us." "And common human patterns when they develop irrational grudges and act on them. So can you really blame me?" "So you admit it's irrational?" "No, I-" "So you admit that you don't actually blame me, you just needed to feel some form of fulfillment or vengeance for the death of your close ones?" "You assume a lot, Mark," "I assume nothing. I say that which I am certain of. Did you not earlier say that fulfilling the wishes of every dead person for the death of another would lead to the world dying? Can the same not be said for vengeance? If you kill the person who killed your friend, and one of my friends kills you for it, will the cycle not continue endlessly?" the scarred man paused. Now! Now's your chance! No. He felt supreme confusion from the Killer. The enemy took a moment to take a measure of Mark's body, which had unconsciously moved into a stance fit for a sword-fighter or fencer, side facing the man with hands up. "You want this to end, then, don't you? Tired of all the deaths and the rage, the vengeance that, as you reason, will never end?" "Yes. Would any reasonable person not want an end to this?" "That's where you've erred. I am far from reasonable, not after what I've been through." He lifted a pistol towards Mark. "Let's end this." Mark dove to the side as a single gunshot rang out across the city. The bullet struck the ground in a puff of dust. The scarred man looked at Mark, shocked at his prediction of the gunshot. "Wh-" Mark dropped to his knees, feigning a vulnerable pose in front of the man, and his already dented aluminum 'glove' clanked against the ground once again. He sighed as it stayed together. He stared down the barrel of the gun. He could see the man's finger twitching, wanting to pull the trigger. Words flitted through his head, holy words that he had once spoken. And ones that he had yet to speak, not yet formulated in his mind. The man in front of him was sweating. "Never killed anyone, have you?" "Shut up!" "It stays with you. Haunts you wherever you end up." Mark dove to the side, anticipating a shot. It didn't come. The man was trembling.

Eventually, the carriages/cars/whatever pulled to a stop, and the guards slowly ushered Marewill and Mark out of the carriage/car/whatever. They were at the construction site again, on the far side of it from their houses. The guards were much more wary now, and the site was mostly empty except for those who were armed and ready to fight. There would have been around fifty or so of them. "So many.." The group was didn't make any other moves towards Mark or Marewill, though they did recheck the aluminum on Mark's hands. "Waiting for something." Mark whispered to Mare.