Chapter Text
The battle had been hard on Kipo, both physically and mentally. She knew she had to keep fighting, for the future they all wanted, but her body wouldn’t let her. Even the strong, unrelenting Mega Jaguar was no match for Dr Emilia. The two-headed giant was coming in for the final blow, Kipo knew that, but she was slowly losing consciousness.
She was losing the war for peace.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar flamingo-car approaching the beast. It swooped and circled the twin heads, and the voice that came from inside it drew her back to reality.
‘Remember me?’ Scarlemagne cried. His laugh rang out, more menacing now than it had ever been in his 13 years as a manic tyrant, for now the feeling, the anger, was real. Even from the distance, she could see the furious determination in his eyes, which shone a dark amber in the night. He swung the flamingo-car round – he was going to collide with her!
‘LEAVE MY SISTER ALONE!’ he screeched, and rammed into Emilia.
The force of the collision flung him back toward the beach – right into Skyscraper Ridge…
And there, after dealing with Emilia, she found her brother – for it was then that she truly realised she saw him as her brother – with his eyes closed, her parents huddled around him.
‘NO!’ she cried out.
Scarlemagne’s eyes fluttered open. ‘Did we win the day?’
Kipo nodded. This put him at ease, and for a moment he was his old sarcastic self. ‘Not to brag but… I totally saved you.’
She smiled through her tears. The words made her feel that, despite everything that had and woild happen, in that moment they were simply brother and sister. ‘You did… but you shouldn’t have.’
‘You shouldn’t have helped me…’ he pointed out, wiping her tears away gently, ‘but you did. And, because of that, I got to have a family. I couldn’t think of a better way to die than for you, baby sister.’
‘Stop it. You’re not going to die!’ She hugged him tight, and he winced in pain. Quickly, she let go. ‘Scarlemagne?’
He shook his head. ‘Call me Hugo.’ His eyes closed, and his hand went limp in hers.
‘G- goodbye, Hugo…’ she whispered softly between sobs, and rested her head against her brother’s chest.
It was senseless, that she’d only had him for a few short weeks. It was senseless, that he’d sacrificed himself to save her. It was senseless he was gone, gone, gone.
All the vivid colours in the world turned to greys.
Everything was silent and she was aware of nothing but her tears and shuddering breath, and his still-warm, broken body against her cheek. Why? Why did he save me? She would do the same for him, but it still hurt so bad. She knew that every day she would be living for two people, and that burden crushed her almost as much as the building would have.
Kipo vaguely felt her own injuries throbbing, but they seemed so insignificant. She was bleeding somewhere, and she’d probably broken a rib. Fine. The pain felt good. It was something she could make sense of, something she could heal, not this senseless emptiness in her heart, that she was already losing herself too after only minutes. How can I live a lifetime like this?
The physical pain felt like a drug. It distracted from the grief. She wanted to scream, to hit someone or something, but she just lay there, clinging to her brother’s fading warmth like a childhood memory. There was so much blood. Some of it was hers, but most was his. It was not, as she’s once imagined and he’d insisted, blue. It was deep red like everyone else’s and that made him seem more vulnerable. But really, all the colours were grey; reds and blues and pinks were distant memories.
She could feel that his ribs were broken, a crumbling cage around his heart. Not cracked like one of hers was, but properly shattered. She pressed her ear against the fractured chest, wishing that she could hear a heartbeat, a breath, no matter how faint. It was a false hope, one that gave her temporary comfort followed by cold, dull, aching disappointment each time she heard only silence.
A couple of times, Kipo fancied she heard something. But no, there was nothing. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her lungs screaming as her broken rib shifted, but she did not whimper. For crying over a chest pain seemed insignificant when her brother lay there dead.
Dead. Dead! Until now she had not dared to think of it. But he was dead. Once she thought it she could not forget. He was gone and he was never coming back. Her lips formed his name - ‘Hugo…’ - but no sound escaped; her throat was all closed up and dry. A horrible cry rose up her throat but was blown away in the wind. The grey sun rose and warmed them. How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? Days? Time was as insignificant as pain.
Thud. She thought nothing of it at first; the wind was clattering through the skyscrapers, and her family were shifting behind her. She stayed still and did not let herself hope.
Thud. No, she would not give in. Each time she let herself dream high, she came crashing down again like he had, into the unforgiving Skyscraper Ridge. He was dead. She was hearing things.
Thud. It was faint, slow, irregular. But it sounded like a heartbeat. It must be her own, for he was dead.
Thud. Kipo tried to swallow down the hope, but her throat was too dry. It rose and she listened harder, begging that miracles existed.
Thud. She scrabbled for his arm, found his wrist which she had clutched and cried upon; it was still damp. She was shaking so hard that it took a moment to find where his pulse should be, and-
Thud. Yes, there it was! She must be dreaming, hallucinating, imagining, because he was dead, but now he was alive and his heart was beating!
‘Mom,’ her lips formed. Thud. She swallowed hard and tried again. ‘Mom!’ This time is came out as a desperate rasp that did not sound like her own voice, but Song looked up. Thud.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’ her mother asked wearily, her pale skin plastered with dried tears. Thud.
‘I found his pulse,’ Kipo croaked. ‘I…he’s…’
Thud. Song could not believe it. Her daughter was making it up, surely, lying in the face of grief. But still, was there a chance…? She sat down beside her son, who was dead, he had died, and felt his wrist. Thud. ‘Lio.’
Lio, knowing it was impossible because Hugo was dead, came and felt the pulse. Thud. Hugo was dead but he was alive. ‘It’s not possible. But he’s alive.’
Kipo began to cry again. The colour flooded back to the world, like running inks, and her voice was her own again. ‘So much drama!’ she giggled suddenly. It was funny. It was okay. ‘Typical. He made a heartbreaking dying speech, and then he’s not dead after all!’
‘He’s not dead,’ Song said. ‘But he’s very close to it. We need to get him somewhere where we can treat him before it’s too late.’
There was a danger that he would not make it, then. But he might. There was hope, and it was not false. He had died, but now he was alive again. Anything could happen, and the lack of grim certainty warmed Kipo’s heart.