"But how?" she answered.
"I don't know," he declared. "Perhaps they won't turn up for a while. But do whatever you have to. They mustn't enter the building at all costs... It's important!"
"I'll try," she yelled, before turning round and running back outside.
'Things could be going... oh, so much better,' he thought. 'I truly hope Tank is having more luck.'
* * *
"See... what did I tell you? Nothing to worry about."
Smiling, he gave her a small, knowing nod as they huddled together. She thought he looked magnificent, framed against the stark, white walls of the chilly cellar. With the noise having stopped, the kissing very much resumed.
* * *
Tank felt under more pressure than he had in his entire life... and rightly so. The lives of thousands, if not tens of thousands of innocent people were effectively in his hands. Trying not to think about it as he stood in the southernmost corner of the clubhouse on the ground floor, he knew what to do and, in theory at least, it should work and produce a giant invisible cylinder that would contain the blast by channelling it up and down instead of outwards. If only he had more time to check his work and make sure each of the mantra points in the corners of the building were set correctly, and that the points above and below matched. But time was the one thing he didn't have. As he finished uttering the last few words of this particular mantra, he glanced longingly out of the window at the torn up, muddy rugby pitch that he considered his friend. It called to him, sang to him even, the giant white goalposts seeming to smile in his direction. Brushing away all thoughts of the sport he loved from his mind, a little synchronised timer remained, counting off the minutes and seconds until the bomb went off. Drained of magical energy, he sprinted off towards the next corner, knowing the cost of any mistake on his part could prove tragic.
* * *
Weaving her way through the array of vehicles that littered the car park, Janice ran straight up to the manager of the sports club who'd been marching sternly across towards her.
"Is it safe to return?" he questioned, rather crossly.
"Uhhhh... I'm not entirely sure it is," she answered, a little out of breath.
"Why on earth not? The alarms have stopped, and I'm sure the fire brigade will be here any moment."
Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, and she didn't have the faintest idea of what the hell was going on, but she knew that she trusted Peter implicitly, loved him deeply, and knew that whatever he and Tank were doing was in everyone's best interests. But she hated lying, and had never been any good at it.
'Still, here goes,' she thought, bracing herself.
"I think there might be some kind of gas leak. I'm sure that's what I could smell," she fibbed, mustering up some genuine feeling in her words.
"GAS!" repeated the manager.
"I'm sure," reiterated the diminutive bar worker.
"Ahh... well, in that case, perhaps it's best if we all stay here a while longer and wait for the fire brigade to turn up," stuttered the manager, a little feebly.
"I think that's very wise," replied the bubbly blonde, walking back towards the large crowd of men, women and children gathered as far away from the clubhouse as possible, hoping desperately that she'd bought her friends enough time.
* * *
Thousands of miles away across the Atlantic, time had just run out. The hot, sunny, cloudless day had been rudely interrupted by the mother of all explosions halfway up the oldest skyscraper in the city. Pounding through every floor, the blast incinerated almost everything in its path. Concrete, metal and glass tore off every which way, forming lethal projectiles searching for something to pierce.
The main mass of the building crumpled to the ground, huge chunks of its superstructure impacting the area all around it, spewing lethal clouds of dust and rubble in all directions.
Power and kinetic energy from the mighty blast assaulted the surrounding skyscrapers, making them all shake. Two toppled and fell, with the same devastating destruction as the first. Thousands died. If it had been a week day, it would have been more.
As the waves of dust and debris continued moving out in a concentric circle, raging fires sprang up as if from nowhere, as in the distance, noisy sirens of the first responders heading towards the emergency, echoed across the rooftops.
Dragons had died too, the psychic wave encompassing the huge underground community, as well as one of the busiest monorail stations on the continent. First responders arrived there as well, but it was far too late to do anything. Perfectly formed dragon corpses littered the pristine underground world for miles and miles around. Immediately the council were informed. Again, there was nothing they could do.
Both above and below ground, the stunning city of Seattle would never be the same again.
* * *
Holding each other tight in this most unlikely of meeting places, the dipping temperature had started to bite. She'd never liked the cold, understandable really, but here and now it was a small price to pay to be with HIM! Just being in his arms felt somehow magical, almost as if she didn't have a care in the world. Despite all the reasons that she should, she never wanted to give that up.
* * *
Moving quickly now, Tank had completed all the mantras on the ground floor. For the final one, he'd had little choice but to borrow some of Peter's magical energy, as his reserves were running quite low and the mantra required to contain the blast from the imminent explosion was mana intensive, so much so that the rugby playing dragon wasn't entirely sure that they'd have sufficient reserves between them. Focusing intently, he soldiered on, bounding up the stairs two at a time, ready for the top floor.
Hearing his friend approaching, Peter readied himself for more magical spell casting, feeling a little like a spare part, with his friend doing all the running and casting. Deep down he knew it couldn't be helped... after all, Tank knew the mantra and he didn't, but still, that didn't stop him from feeling utterly redundant, just sitting there, letting his friend draw on his reserves when needed. Briefly he wished he had the dagger... Aviva's laminium dagger. With that, there would be no need to worry about having enough mana. But stupidly, or sensibly, depending on your perspective, it was safely tucked away deep inside his home, under very stringent safeguards, but it too would be caught in the explosion if his friend's shielding plan didn't work. Sitting nervously at one of the tables in the expansive function room, keeping his mind open to his friend, ready to give everything he had, he tried dreadfully hard not to think about Janice and everyone else from the sports club standing outside, as well as the thousands of innocent people in the surrounding area who were blissfully unaware of the very real danger that right at this very moment was counting down, mere feet away from him.
* * *
North America took the brunt of yet another cataclysmic explosion. As the numerals lit up the confined space behind the brick wall deep within the sewer system, on reaching six minutes and three seconds, yet another randomly discharged signal instructed another motherboard that it was time, carrying out its job to perfection.
Below ground, just west of the Fulton River District was the epicentre that the deadly wave rippled out from, reaching as far north as River West, stopping just short of River North on its eastern edge, failing to topple any of the substantial skyscrapers of downtown Chicago. The wreckage stopped some two blocks short of reaching Greektown on its southern edge. Homes, small businesses, shops and car parks were all destroyed, along with a Chicago police department building, numerous police cars and motorbikes. The Kennedy Expressway and the Chicago Edens Expressway were eradicated, along with all the cars that had the misfortune to be travelling along them at the time. Next came the Chicago Transit Authority's Green Line which was reduced to practically nothing. Metal support girders were wiped out, along with all the track. Silver carriages of trains travelling along the line lay scattered about the area, most cut open along their entire length, their occupants given absolutely no chance whatsoever. A war zone was the best way to describe the carnage that remained. Producing a tidal wave along the length of the Chicago river which damaged the sluice gates on the waterfront, the explosive blast was heard over one hundred miles away.