The Shield Warden

Instead of trying to avoid this tackle, John took a step into it at the last moment and put his weight behind an elbow aimed at Frank’s face. A satisfying crunching sound immediately preceded the two falling into a pile with the meathead on top.

While Frank cursed up a storm, John put his elbows against the floor and headbutted the jock in the face. The string of expletives died in an unarticulated groan of pain, while the blood that had begun to emerge from the bully’s nose sprinkled both their faces in dots of red.

Frank recoiling from the **** on his abused nose gave John enough room to shove the bully off him and get back on his feet. The meathead wasn’t far behind, launching into an immediate punch almost before he was fully on his feet.

It was a crappy punch. One John sidestepped with relative ease, moments before driving his knee into Frank’s stomach, causing the jerk to double over. Following up with a quick elbow to the back of the head, John put his foe back on the ground.

Instead of continuing the physical onslaught, John opted for a kick to the pride, took a step away, and sneered. “Get up, Frank, I’m not done with you.”

A wiser man might have decided to do the exact opposite, and forfeit the fight then and there. Wise was not a description that fit Frank, even on his best days. So Frank got back on his feet, but he did so with a hint of sluggishness to his movements and the near-blind aggression replaced wariness.

A wariness that availed him nothing. As John feinted a jab at the bully’s face, Frank’s defensive overreaction left him wide open to a mirror of his own signature gut punch. Driving his fist into the jock’s solar plexus, John knocked the wind out of his tormentor for the second time in half as many minutes.

A big part of him wanted to just keep piling on the pain, but there was something else that’d hurt Frank’s ego and reputation more than any amount of bruises. “Ready to surrender yet?”

“Fuck you!” Frank growled nasally as soon as he had recovered enough breath to do so.

Beatdown it was then. John started with an actual jab at Frank’s face this time instead of just a feint. Frank did block that, reacting as strongly to defend his nose as ever, but in his mildly tenderized state, the Jock still wasn’t fast enough to recover his guard against a follow up fist to the torso.

He used that to segue directly into a string of rapid punches, pummeling the meathead’s torso over and over. Each hit landed before Frank had recovered his balance from the impact of the previous one, driving the jock back bit by bit until he lost his balance and fell on his back.

John continued the onslaught without delay, grabbing Frank’s right leg, lifting it and putting his heel on the knee. Then he pushed down, until he felt the joint start to gi-

’NO!’ Wielding the specter of future guilt like a weapon, John’s reason clawed its way through the haze of fury and hate. This was too far. As much as Frank had hurt John and people he cared about, the douchebag didn’t deserve permanent injury for it.

But John still needed to make absolutely sure to drive home that times had changed, and that he was no longer the football team’s punching bag. So he held the position, and the current pressure, and layered his voice with as much disdain and contempt as he could muster. “Just a tiny bit more pressure, and your knee is ruined in a way that never heals right. You won’t be benched for a few weeks then, you’ll be off the team for good. So while you wait for your doctor to let you play, and every time you go to practice or play for the rest of your life, remember. The reason football, or any sport, still exists for you is because at this moment, I decided to allow it. And because since then, you haven’t given me a reason to change. My. Mind.”

He let go and walked away, noting for the first time and with no small amount of satisfaction the number of people recording the ‘show’ with their phones. He also noticed several new noti-

You have been pulled into a trap barrier. Seize control of the barrier or receive permission in order to leave.

“What the fu-” John just barely had time to note the empty, slightly crooked version of the school hallway around him before a blur of platinum, gold and red knocked the air out of him and slammed him against the wall.

“What in the Lady’s name do you think you’re doing, John Newman?!?” Given a moment to get his bearings, John found himself pinned to the wall with an ornate pavise shield by an armor-clad Moira holding a comparatively plain looking warhammer, ready to strike, in her other hand.

“Self defense, so he doesn’t fucking kill me.” Moira’s armor looked like it was made from platinum with gold accents, like the shield but not quite with the same luster. Over it, she wore a red and white surcoat emblazoned with a golden rose. Though it hid more of her than the school uniform or gym clothes he had seen previously, she somehow looked sexier like this. Enough so that it required a bit of effort to keep his focus on her face, despite the situation and John not being the ‘plz step on me, dommy mommy’ type.

“Kill you? That is preposterous. Frank may be a bully bu-”

“It’s not just about him, it’s my ability.” Cutting her off might not be the best idea, but basically getting told he was an idiot by someone who didn’t have full information about the situation pissed him off. “I regenerate fast, but it can be overwhelmed by repeat injury, and if it is, it kills me instead. Frank’s been on my ass for years, he wouldn’t have stopped until I was bruised or bleeding, and I would’ve had one foot in the fucking grave by then!”
“Hmph.” While she still glared daggers at him, the redheaded paladin at least lowered her hammer. “And the part where you threatened to ruin his leg?”

“I was trying to make sure I only have to do this shit once.”

“... I see.” After a moment of consideration, she released him from being pinned against the wall and went from full on scowling to ‘merely’ a stern expression.

“And if the next question is something to the effect of implying that I picked the fight, today started with Frank sucker punching me from behind. In the broader scope of our feud, I suppose I technically did. In the second week of middle school. By trying to stop him from stomping on Timothy’s glasses.”

“That was not…” She sighed. “Nevermind. The matter is settled. You acted within reason provided that your explanation is truthful, though I recommend avoiding altercations with mundanes entirely in the future rather than making an example of one, as it were.”

John was less than pleased with getting the ‘innocent’ verdict delivered with a side order of lecturing and no apology for Moira’s erroneous assumptions in sight. Before he got further with continuing the argument than opening his mouth, however, he managed to stop himself. Irked or not, he had spent the morning looking for Moira for a reason, and his family’s safety was more important than his pride.

“Since y-”
“While I-”

John and Moira had started speaking simultaneously, then stopped awkwardly. Deciding to just power through the awkwardness, and maybe score some goodwill to cash for that security situation, John almost immediately followed up with, “Ladies first.”

Moira cleared her throat and stuck her hammer in her belt, switching to a formal tone. “I am to summon you to Brighton Manor to meet with my father, the Lord Protector, this afternoon. I will meet you in the parking lot after the 6th period and bring you there.”

After a few moments of John thinking instead of answering, she added, “The meeting is mandatory, as it concerns your status as an Abyssal citizen of lands under the protection of the Order of the Golden Rose.”

“Right,” John nodded, “I wasn’t considering whether to go, I was thinking about practical details. I need to be somewhere else at 6 at the latest, though 5 and a bit of time to spare would be ideal, so I would like to know if the meeting is likely to take long enough to make that a problem. Also, would it be okay if I met you at the manor instead of the parking lot?”

“I believe my father has another engagement at 4 o’clock. But why meet at the manor, do you not have afternoon classes?” Some of the strict student council president that he was passingly familiar with bled through at the end there, both in her tone and in a not-quite-frown crease between her brows that looked oddly cute.

“Yeah, PE class with Conroy. And given his love for the Dickinsons’ athletic legacy, he’s gonna make that as close to ‘**** John’ class as he’ll think he can without getting in legal trouble. Quite frankly, I have better things to do than be a part of that. Like working on my ability to survive in the Abyss…”

“...” She didn’t look like she agreed with that. Or maybe she just didn’t want to agree with skipping class on principle. “I will meet you at the gate then, but I expect you will be there no later than forty past two.”

’To get there from school that fast, she must be using the alleys.’ With that settled, it was time for the topic that John actually cared about at the moment. “Excellent. Since we’re talking, I wanted to ask you something else. My grandparents were burgled last night, and I suspect it might have been by an Abyssal. How should I report this to the Order, what kind of response should I expect, and does the Order have any guidelines or resources for what I can do myself to protect them from the Abyss?”

“One moment.” Moira reached into the back of her shield as if there was an opening there into a space deeper than the shield was thick. She took out a flier with a picture of a middle aged man in an outfit similar to Moira’s armor and surcoat, and handed it to John. “This has phone numbers and emails for reports, as well as addresses of the police stations in Springfield with an Order station in an overlapping barrier. It also has the Order website, which has an online form if you’d prefer that, as well as general home security guidelines. But why do you think there was Abyssal involvement?”

“My grandpa saw the burglar, and he wore ‘a green mask’ or ‘facepaint’, moved like Gollum and spilt ‘green jell-o’ instead of bleeding when grandpa shot him. He had also been in the shed first, but ignored several woodworking tools that are expensive by mundane standards.”

“That does sound suspicious…” And thus, she managed to make a thoughtful frown look cute as well. Not messing things up by openly checking her out was getting harder and harder. “I will pass it on to the Inquisitors.”

John must have been making a face because Moira hurriedly added, “That’s what Order investigators are called. The Catholic Church actually adopted the term from us. Anyway, you should file a report through the proper channels as well.”

“I will, thank you.” John nodded as well, then something else occurred to him. “Actually, since my French class has basically started already, I don’t suppose I could get a note excusing the tardiness from the student council president?”

Moira raised a brow and remarked dryly, “Weren’t you going to skip class anyway?”

John shrugged. “I don’t think Mrs. Beaumont is going to make me try to beat the jumping jacks world record while being used as target practice.” ’Besides, I’m having lunch with Christie before leaving.’

“... Very well then.” Her expression switched from grudging resignation to a moment of solemnity, then her armor and weapon turned into a dense mass of light motes that rushed into the back of the shield. The shield itself then shrunk down into a pendant that she clipped onto a simple necklace. In the armament’s place, she now wore her regular school uniform and bag.

As if that was all everyday business, which it might be to her given how quickly John got used to his Inventory, she proceeded to take out a notepad, scribble a note and hand it to him.

John Newman was prevented from attending class in a timely fashion, as I detained him for questioning regarding an incident in the hallway.
-Moira Brighton, Student Council President

… That was probably about what could be expected, really, even though John would have preferred it if she had put it in a way that put him in a better light. No use complaining, though, so he just made to leave. Though there was one thing he couldn’t help himself but make a remark about on his way out, “By the way, you look even better in armor than you do in the school uniform.”