***LUCA***

Because today's a day when all the rules are flying the hell out the window, I get my phone out and check it in mid-flight. Looking to my left, I see Russell doing the same thing. He looks back over his shoulder, catches my eye, and tells me to look up Speedy's Twitter.

"You know her?" I ask. Although at this point, should I really be surprised?

"I've got friends in all the Prime 'Verse dimensions," he says matter-of-factly. "Who do you think placed the order for B-Dubs? Not Mr. Mayor - his mind is elsewhere, as it should be in a time of crisis."

Once he gives me Speedy's handle, I check her front page and see it wall-to-wall with warnings sent to her friends. For example: "@Rai_Nova GTFO! The #ReversePacRim is happening! This is NOT a drill!" Taking my cues from her, I navigate to my own Twitter (my brothers and I each have one, which we keep secret from our parents because they don't approve of social-networking) and send similar messages to all my friends who aren't here or in the Second. Which means mostly my basketball teammates who happen to live in the Bay Area, as well as Marco and Gio.

Marco responds by texting me: "Dude, what the hell is going on?"

"No time to explain," I say. I'm moving my thumb across the screen to the tune of The Neighbourhood's "Afraid," for some reason. Guess I picked up some of the twins' always-having-the-music-in-them syndrome. "Just get out of town, ASAP!"

"Is this that stupid saving-the-world thing you've been talking about since yesterday?"

"YES! GET OUT! EVERYONE OUT!!!"

I really hope the caps-lock and extra exclamation points do the trick.

Turning my phone to the CNN site (I must be using boatloads of data right now - there's no Wi-Fi at this altitude, except on planes, and there seem to be surprisingly few of them in the skies today), I see that they've already got the progress of the Second 'Verse forces mapped on a touch screen, along with projections of where they'll be headed next. Said projections being, naturally, the Bay Area by way of Sacramento. The reporter is convinced that the scrivs will follow the major highways as they rain elemental destruction on the towns below them. It sounds like as logical a conclusion as any, especially coming from a guy who's clearly only a few seconds away from a complete mental breakdown. It's not every day everything you knew about the universe changes, after all.

I look down to figure out where we are. We're about three thousand feet above Berkeley, and according to the CNN guy's map, the scrivs are currently halfway to Placerville. That puts us...let me think...about a hundred miles apart, give or take twenty. Assuming we (that is, us and the scriv attackers) can all fly at roughly the same speed, we might find ourselves meeting in midair over Sacramento. Or maybe Davis. Somewhere in that general area.

My phone rings. As much as I'd hate to risk answering it, I don't feel I have a choice when I see the name on the screen. So answer it I do. "Mom, I'm sorry, but I really can't talk r-"

"Luca, where are you?" Mom asks, her voice high with tension. "Please, you need to come back! They're saying these...these things are gonna come here and...and you're gonna go after them, aren't you?"

"Mom, I-"

"It's that guy who came to our house yesterday, isn't it?" Mom asks. "He's roped you into this, hasn't he?"

"He hasn't 'roped me in,'" I say, fighting to keep myself from sounding pissed off. "Alex and Gabe are in this too. And Gideon. And..." I choke up for a moment, then I decide Mom doesn't need to know about the death I've witnessed. Not just yet. "And Paul. Let me help them out."

"Luca-"

"If you were like Alex and Gabe's mom, you wouldn't be begging me to come home," I tell her. "You'd probably join us in the fight, even. Ms. Snow's a hell of a lot more take-charge."

Rather than call me on my language, Mom sighs heavily. "I can't stop you, can I?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"You're gonna spend the rest of the summer in the house. You know that, right?"

I cover the mike and mutter, "Good luck with that."

"I heard you!"

"You're not gonna ground me for saving the world, are you?" I roll my eyes at the sky above me. "Either I help stop these guys, or there won't be a world to save. Or we'll be out on our own, surviving the bloody apocalypse."

"You don't-"

I use the calmest, most deadly voice I can manage. "Mom, pardon my French, but stop climbing up my ass."

"Language!"

There's the in-character moment I was looking for. "I'll call you back," I say, hanging up before Mom can protest any further.

"I see independent thought is still a felony at Casa di Scagliotti," Mattia says, snickering as she flies up to me.

I shove my phone into my pocket, coming close to dropping it in the process. "It can't just be a religious thing. Ms. Snow's almost as devout as our 'rents. She doesn't force her beliefs and standards on Alex and Gabe, and they turned out just fine."

"Well, so did you," Mattia says.

"I don't think so. I'm so vanilla compared to the twins. They have more...je ne sais quoi than I ever will."

"More balls? Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah, they've definitely got more balls than I do."

"That's a given," Mattia chuckles. "They've got four between them, and you only have two. Unless Mom and Dad have had you castrated by now?"

I scoff at her. "Do I sound like I should be in the Vienna Boys' Choir?"

"No, but I'm sure you haven't lost the ability to scream like a little girl when you watch a horror movie," Mattia says.

"Thanks to Alex, I've survived Cabin in the Woods and Pan's Labyrinth," I say. "Without screaming, girly or otherwise."

Richmond and Pinole pass below us, and then we fly into the North Bay. I fly up to Russell and ask, "Any ideas for how to stop these guys?"

"Not really," Russell says. "Nothing new, anyway."

"Balls-to-the-wall assault, huh? Are you sure we've had enough time to recover from the last one?"

"I dunno about you," Gideon says, raising his still-bloody knuckles, "but I'd rather keep on fighting."

"Is that the future Marine in you talking?" I ask. Oh God...and Paul's never going to achieve that dream of his now. Well, maybe in the Second 'Verse, he can still go out for some kind of military thing...but will they even need a military after we deal with Holly?

"Probably." He grins rakishly. "Not to mention Captain America's increasingly warlike nature."

"I'm just gonna put it all on you, then," I say, laughing so I can hide my pain as much as possible.

I'd love to keep talking until we reach the point where we finally meet the scriv army, but nobody else is in the mood to carry on a conversation. So, along with everyone else, I lapse into awkward silence over Vallejo, where the screams of happy roller-coaster riders at Discovery Kingdom echo up to us from the ground. Clearly, they haven't gotten the memo down there - so we need to work hard to stop the scrivs and reduce the number of casualties.

As we leave Vallejo behind and angle northeast towards the next town, Fairfield, I check my watch. It's six o'clock now, and the sun is at our eight, roughly. Good - that means we won't have to face the scrivs with the light in our eyes. Advantage, Primers.

After Fairfield, we pass three more towns - the last one of which is Davis, as in UC Davis - before we finally catch the scrivs. They've already passed by Sacramento, and I expect to see the city burning to our east - but it's not. Then again, it's not like any of these scrivs have fire elementals. Light probably comes closer to replicating fire's destructive effects, but it doesn't burn anything that quickly and efficiently. Does it?

One of the lead scrivs blasts us with bolts of light, which prompts Russell and Jasmine to fly in front of us and block them. She only has to absorb the light and then blast it back at the scrivs, while he takes more of a beating - the light doesn't agree with his system the way it does with hers. It leaves a few minor burns on his arms, but he just flies it off, and makes sure to protect himself with a dark shield from this point forward.

As for the rest of us? We may still be pretty inexperienced fighters, but since this is our second time taking on a large number of scrivs, we think we know what we're doing. No, not "we think" - more like "we hope." We really freaking hope.

"If we hold out long enough," Russell tells me as I fly past him on my way to take out a scriv with flaming red hair, "we might have reinforcements join us!"

"Reinforcements?" I repeat, serving a blast of flame to the redhead scriv. No, seriously, I serve it - I create the flame in my left hand, then swing my right hand forward to propel it towards its target. Somehow, I don't think basketball is the right sport to emulate in my attacks right now, so I have to change tactics. I might even incorporate other sports into said tactics if I get the chance.

"Yeah, you didn't think California was full of nothing but peacenik hippies who wouldn't raise a hand to defend their home state, did you?" Russell whistles as my fiery volleyball impacts on the redhead scriv, making him fly down to try and shed the flames. "You saw Speedy get the message out! I'd be surprised if she weren't among the rein-WHOA!" He ducks to avoid a wild swipe from a scriv with a long, deadly light blade - which I end up having to avoid as well. These people and their malevolent intent...don't they realize they could kill someone with those lightsaber-hands?

The obvious answer is, "Yeah, dumbass, that's kind of the point." I'm the dumbass in this scenario, of course, not you. I'm sure anyone who's continued reading up to this point must either have a few graduate degrees in quantum and elemental physics, or are so entertained that you don't care about the science anyway.

The light blade swings around again for a second pass - and this time, someone's unlucky enough to be in its path, and doesn't see it in time to either fly up or duck down. When the blade gets caught in his side (probably because he didn't see it coming - otherwise, as a light elemental, he could have absorbed it), Lincoln splutters in surprise, then looks down and yells, "Shit!"

Before anyone can stop him, he takes hold of the blade - I see blood slide down the light from his hands - and twists it in his grip. The blade's owner flips head over heels, losing several hundred feet of altitude before righting himself again halfway to the ground.

At the same time, Lincoln wrenches the blade from his side.

"No!" I shout, flying up to him with my hand on fire, ready to give him the same treatment Paul was supposed to get before he died. Lincoln, however, waves me off before I can get within four feet of him.

"Save it for someone who cares, huh?" he growls. Then he flies off, finally getting into the fight in earnest. He blasts several scrivs in five seconds with a machine-gun volley of light shots from his hands - and, even better, he targets their wings, which, in most cases, brightly reflect the sunset in front of them.

But he overestimates his own stamina, especially given his gaping side wound. He can only keep up his attack for so long before he begins to crash and burn.

In hindsight, I really should've helped him out. I shouldn't have listened to him. I'm not a paramedic who's obliged to follow a patient's refusal of treatment, am I?

Jasmine, seeing her brother in trouble, flies up to him, fending off scrivs who try to come in for the kill. There are too many of them, though, so Russell and I lend her a hand. We don't do her much good, though. These scrivs, while not collectively grouped together in a monstrous form, are still quite the beast of a different color. Take one down, and two crop up in his or her place, hydra-style.

"Where the fuck are all these guys coming from?" I ask nobody in particular.

"There are over a thousand!" Jasmine cries in response. "We can't possibly stop them all by ourselves!" She does the lightsaber thing with her hand, but projects the light in two directions. Then she spins her dual blades over her head so she looks like the product of a helicopter having sex with a scriv. So many black-uniformed enemies fall to pieces - literally.

As for Lincoln, he struggles to remain airborne. I mean, he really struggles - his face has lost all color, and his hand is all red from working to staunch the bleeding. Then the air around the right-hand side of his chest glows - is he trying to cauterize himself?

"It's possible," Jasmine says, hearing my unspoken question. "Light isn't as hot as fire, but it can come close. And if you apply it long enough-"

Turns out, he can't.

Russell and I immediately take hold of Lincoln's arms as his wings fold closed. Jasmine flies up in front of him, prodding his face to try and keep him awake.

Behind me, I hear Gideon swear loudly. I turn around and see another familiar face in the crowd - none other than Elijah Emery. Is he seriously fighting on the side of - oh wait, he's taking the scrivs out hand-to-hand. Well, that answers that. But...how did he get here? Why is he here?

Elijah catches me staring, then sees what's going on and flies up to us. "How may I be of service?" he asks, dialing up his Southern accent to ooze saccharine manners.

Jasmine gasps. "Aren't you the-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Elijah says, dropping all semblance of politeness. I've never met the guy - I've only seen pictures - but I remember from Alex and Gabe's account of him how poisonous and spiteful he was. When he'd been the Aqua Killer, all he'd had on his mind was revenge. Again, it makes me wonder what exactly his motivation is. "You know who I - watch out!"

Thanks to his warning, Jasmine dodges left just when a scriv - a dark one this time - launches a spear of his own elemental energy at her from behind. How unsporting of him. I annihilate that spear before it can hit anyone else - Russell would have been next in its path.

The scriv responsible for that dark spear sneaks up behind Jasmine again, poised to use a dark dagger instead. Elijah, however, is not to be outdone in the close-quarters combat department. He flies under me and Lincoln, then snags the dark scriv's ankle and tugs on his leg. The guy falls backwards, winding upside down with Elijah right in his face. "Hi, honey, I'm home!" he sings before headbutting the scriv right in the kisser.

Light fills my peripheral vision, and when I turn to my right, I see a light blade plunged straight into Lincoln's back. I'd been so distracted by Elijah's wild and crazy moves that I'd failed to catch this new attacker - and, from the looks of it, so were Russell and Jasmine.

Russell, also sensing the new scriv's presence an infinity too late, grabs the light blade and allows dark energy to swirl over it, nullifying it. The scriv pulls back before the energy can reach his hands, then flies off.

It really is too late - Lincoln now has another open wound gushing out arterial blood. Judging from the angle at which the blade was thrust in, I think his heart might have been pierced. Failing that, the scriv probably punctured his lungs, or pierced his aorta, or...there's no denying that this was a killing blow.

It's like Paul all over again.

Jasmine is the next to figure out what's happened. She gasps as she realizes her brother's no longer breathing, then howls to the sky.

Russell and I can barely hold Lincoln anymore - his dead arms sag in our grip. I look down and see a small sphere glinting in his hand. I pluck the object he's holding - it's the ultralight bomb. "How'd he get this back?" I ask Russell. "I thought you had it!"

"Crafty little sneak," Russell whispers.

Elijah rejoins us and sees what I'm holding. "An ultralight bomb?" he asks. "Give it to me!"

"No!" Russell yells, holding out his free hand to keep him back. "We're not using this!"

"I came here 'cause I thought I could actually do some good for once and save the goddamn multiverse!" Elijah yells. "That bomb will do the trick! Unless any of you know how to arm it?"

The lack of responses all around is exactly what he wants to hear. I can't keep hold of Lincoln and the bomb at the same time, not with Elijah lunging forward and grabbing the little sphere from my hand. "Hey!" I yell. "Didn't you hear him? We're not-"

Elijah clicks a button on the side of the little ball, and light (off-white, not the pure white of elemental light) pours out from the top. Jasmine shields her eyes, and several scrivs, catching sight of the light, come this way, swooping in from all angles.

"I'll lead them away!" Elijah yells, soaring off to the west on his mechanical wings. "All y'all get to safety!"

"'Safety?'" I repeat, seeing him drop down - and the vast majority of the scrivs following him as he angles down, heading directly for a railroad track to the south of us.

"The light attracts light scrivs," Russell says. "They see a slightly different visible spectrum, and that color - to them, it's like photon catnip. But if he leaves the light on long enough, the bomb goes off!"

"What? H-How long do we have?"

"Thirty seconds, maybe!" Russell looks down and scans the ground. "There!" he cries. "That warehouse! We gotta get in there!"

We all streak off in that direction. Russell also whips out his phone once again, no doubt to tweet warnings about an imminent mini-nuke explosion just west of Sacramento. Elijah had better not let that ultralight bomb go off where it can kill any innocent civilians.

The dark scrivs who were in this squadron, and those lights who weren't tricked into following Elijah, instead follow us. Gideon takes the lead, sinking the earth under the warehouse entrance so the door gets swallowed. Mattia and I flank the door's sides while the others fly through it, repelling the straggling scrivs with the biggest flames we can muster.

Once everyone else is inside, we stop this attack and jump behind the walls.

Light and heat floods through the open door behind us, and windows shatter all over the warehouse as the shock wave from the ultralight bomb passes through.