A/N: This is my first ever fanfic. It was inspired by a friend of mine who writes amazing FFXIII fanfiction with strong emotional content and deep, character-driven storylines. In contrast, I wanted to make something that relies more heavily on action and atmosphere. Set off to make a skipping, style-over-substance one-shot, but somewhere along the way it turned into a dark pulp fairy-tale about a silver-haired prince and a modern evil, with black-and-white atmosphere along the lines of Frank Miller. *shrugs* These things happen, I guess.
To the friend in question – you know who you are :)
To all other readers who chanced upon the story – hope you enjoy this bizarre figment of my imagination. But beware: it's not one for the faint-hearted. The action is gritty, some images are disturbing, and the hero is seriously bipolar.
Disclaimer: All the named characters and places are the property of Sony. Except dr. Schar. He's mine... my own... my... all right, you know the rest :D
Battle was boiling around the transport ship as it floated closer to dr. Schar's private fortress. Hope stood near the open side door, his slender form clad from chin to toe in Guardian SpecOps armor. Wind ruffled the young l'cie's silver hair as he watched the sleek Guardian Corps gunships on either side exchange fire with guards on the ground. Bullets rattled against the hull, tracer rounds streamed through the night like supersonic fireflies, and Hope had to grab the edge of the door as the transport swerved to dodge a rocket from the ground. Fortunately, it was a dumbfire and sailed right past them without turning back.
"How are we doing?" Hope shouted to the pilot.
"We're holding on, but I can't get any closer with that damned anti-air gun firing at us. We'd be holeyer than hallowed cheese before we make it over the wall."
Hope's teeth flashed as he growled. "Well, tell someone to take it out."
"I already did."
The gunship on Hope's side pitched forward and loosed a cloud of small missiles. They spread out and swarmed downwards, white vapor trails spiralling and swirling through the air before they converged on the AA gun on top of the corner tower. A flower of blue fire bloomed around its armored dome, followed by a hot shockwave that slapped Hope away from the door and rattled the whole transport.
He shook his head and scrambled back to the door to see the gun slowly keel over and slip off the crumbling tower into the courtyard. The guards down there were shouting and panicking.
A wicked smile tugged at Hope's lips. "Excellent," he whispered to himself and turned to the pilot. "Just take me inside the complex. I'll take it from there."
"Ten-four."
Their transport ship edged forward, floating over the outer wall. They were still being shot at, but it was a sparse fire from small weapons, no more than an annoyance for the heavily armored craft. The moment they came to a hover over the courtyard, Hope took a deep breath, snapped his fingers, and jumped out of the door.
Wind whistled in the boy's ears and there was a hollow feeling in his stomach as he rushed through the air, ground rising up to meet him with terrifying speed. He was but a few meters off the stone-paved courtyard when the arrestor field kicked in, and the young l'cie landed in the middle of a bewildered group of dr. Schar's cloned guards, crouching elegantly on one knee. In one fluid motion, he drew his sword and slashed through three of the closest enemies, sending sprays of bright blood into the cold night air. Droplets of it steamed as they spattered on the ground.
As more guards shed their confusion and turned on him, shouldering their weapons, Hope called out for Earth and slammed his fist into the ground. A ring of tremors shot out from the point of impact, gathering strength as it radiated outwards, splintering the cobblestones and throwing guards off their balance. Through the chaos of shouts, screams and gunfire, the young l'cie strode forward, heading for the massive marble staircase that led to the main building of the elusive scientist's hideout – a huge stone structure that looked like a temple of some forgotten fal'Cie.
A fresh wave of guards erupted from the main door and poured down the stairs, firing wildly as they came. With a whispered word, Hope conjured a Shell, the shimmering forcefield around him humming and crackling as bullets bounced off it. The young l'cie smiled again as his heart sped up – a wicked, scary smile that was almost a grin. Magic and adrenaline coursed through his body, making him feel hot and light-headed. Fast and invincible. This... rush was what he lived for, something that he knew and welcomed like an old friend.
It took but a moment to gather the wind and fling it out in an arc in front of him, sweeping the guards off their feet and blinding them with flying dust and debris. The ones closest to the edges of the staircase tumbled over the sides, screaming, but Hope wasn't really bothered about these creatures, not even those who fell under his sword as he rushed forward to cut a bloody swathe through the ones still standing. They were clones, after all, hundreds of them, looking exactly the same down to their dark uniforms, without even an ounce of individuality. Insects, not people. Pests.
And besides, they reminded him of PSICOM.
The gunships had closed in as well, raining down metal and fire from their machine guns at the guards in the courtyard, keeping them busy. Nearly up the stairs, Hope loosed a crushing wave of water behind him to help out his friends, not even looking back. He dismissed his Shell and dived into the passageway that led deeper into the fortress, to Schar's inner sanctum.
Sounds of battle echoed off the walls as he entered, melting into a rattling din, but it quieted down as the young l'cie strode in deeper. The only sound left was the crunching of his boots and the murmur of blood in his ears. His heart had slowed down again, but Hope was still surfing on the after-effects of adrenaline rush. The boy's head was cool, but everything felt so... unreal, and thoughts just ran their own course.
Looking around, he found himself wondering about the origins of this complex. The whole interior was in different shades of stone that looked like marble – the walls dark gray with silver veins, the floor a pattern of different grays, with not even a crack between each tile. It was clear from the size of the structure that dr. Schar's drones had not built it themselves, though their hands had probably restored it back to its former glory and added all the defences.
In all likelyhood, this place had been made by the old Pulsians, Fang and Vanille's people. But what had it's original function been... a council building? A temple?
Fang might have known that, he thought.
Unbidden, Hope's mind called forth an image of the Pulsian woman, complete with the slick smile that rarely left her lips, her body now buried in the foundation that carried his old world. Before he could stop it, pictures of other people flitted out from his memory as well. Pictures that he tried hard to keep behind lock and key, despite their great significance – or because of it.
His mother... Vanille and Fang... and finally Lightning, still lost without a trace... It looked like everyone he ever cared about had ended up dead, or worse. A dull ghost of a pain shot through the boy's chest as he thought about the people he had loved and lost.
That pain was an old friend, too. There had been days when he had let this pain consume him; it would eat him up inside and turn him into a broken, empty husk of a boy, collapsed in a dark corner somewhere, sobbing his heart out. But these days were past. After what seemed like an endless struggle, Hope had finally accepted his pain and refused to give in to it, and he was a different beast now.
No more pain for him. This beast would exact his pain onto others, instead.
A heavy rumble from behind jolted Hope out of his reverie. It told him that the defence line had been breached and the other heavy transports were landing in the courtyard, disgorging Guardian ground troops to secure the complex. He had to hurry up and do what he came to do before they catch up with him.
Going as fast as he could without actually running, Hope rushed forward. He could already see the end of the passageway, blocked by two metal doors. Slowing down to steady his breath, Hope called up a gust of wind to smash open the doors, and walked through them into a shadowy hall.
The doors creaked closed again behind the boy, blocking all the light from outside. Hope slowed down and blinked to adjust his eyes to the low light. After a few seconds he started to see the details.
To say that the hall was cavernous would have been an understatement. It was shaped like an oval, at least sixty meters long, and he was standing in one of the narrower ends. An arched row of light gray columns ran along either side, supporting a similarily oval dome of a ceiling, no lower than thirty meters at its highest point. The only light filtered in through unseen windows at the base of the dome, dithered by the ceiling before it cascaded down in a thin, watery haze that illuminated only the central part of the room, leaving everything behind the columns in shadows. The floor was marble again, polished to a mirrory sheen, and each footstep echoed in the emptiness.
Air was warmer in here than out, warm and humid like inside a greenhouse. The complex must have been built on a site of high pulsothermal activity, to harness the inexhaustable power of the planet's molten depths.
Straight across the hall from Hope, on a semi-circular dais with a few steps leading up to it, stood a big stone chair the color of anthracite. And on the chair sat a man in a long black overcoat, his bald head a solitary blotch of glowing white in all the grayness. Hope could not see his features from this distance, but he had no doubt about who the man was.
The master of the house. Dr. Schar himself, in all his terrible glory.
Even if he'd had any doubts, they would have vanished as the man on the throne spoke up, his cold, empty voice stirring up barely an echo as it carried through the hall.
"And so you're here, so young and full of... hope."
The man snickered, making a sound that had absolutely no mirth in it whatsoever. It was more of a cackle, really, something that would have made Hope's spine crawl, had he been even a bit less raging inside.
"Did you think I'd miss the chance to drop in for a visit, doctor Schar?" the boy's voice rang out, his tone balancing on the edge between cheeriness and something much darker.
With a deep breath, Hope started forward again, making a slow beeline across the hall, his sword hanging beside him in a deceptively loose grip. His boots squeaked on the floor, echoes of his steps turning into whispers in the shadowed recesses of the room.
The man shifted on his chair. "One would think that you'd have the wisdom not to come. But no matter... I am smart enough not to entertain such foolish... hopes." He cackled again, obviously enjoying his own dodgy sense of humor. "Although I must say that I have always hated it when people barge in without an appointment."
"I'm sorry, doctor, but this is an emergency."
Hope could not help himself. The absurdity of the situation, coupled with the underlying feeling of mortal danger was making him feel light-headed. Here he was, quipping bad jokes with the monster that mothers in the new towns around Cocoon frightened their children with if they didn't behave, and not unduly so.
Nearly fifty of them had vanished over the years, and a number of adults as well, before someone figured out that all these disappearances could not be blamed on animals alone – but nobody was too eager to speculate how many had actually ended up in the hands of this draconian monster. Most people were still not willing to accept that he even existed, despite all the whispers and horror stories about the things he did with the victims. About bizarre medical experiments. Stem cell harvesting. Genetic manipulation.
It had taken a while to put a name to the evil behind these atrocities, a name that now struck fear into the heart of nearly everyone who heard it.
Dr. Schar.
Piece by piece, story of the doctor's life had floated to the surface and become urban legend, spreading from mouth to mouth. It was a dramatic tale, almost sad if not for the vile ending.
Years before the Ragnarok Crisis, dr. Epheus Schar had been a well-known geneticist, considered nothing less than brilliant by the medical community for his cutting-edge reasearch of the human genome. As an irony of fate, the great doctor himself was one day diagnosed with a rare degenerative illness, the cause and cure of which were beyond even his own considerable medical prowess. With little hope to make it past the age of fifty – less than half of the life expectancy for an average Cocoon citizen – Epheus became a man with a mission to find a cure, growing more and more desperate as his time ticked by without one presenting itself.
When modern science failed him and his health still declined, the once sociable doctor had become solitary and aloof, spending most of his time in the vaults of the library in Eden until the day he suddenly disappeared, along with a few of his best friends and co-workers. Driven by his fear and desperation, the doctor had gone off to search Grand Pulse for a way to avoid the gruesome fate that awaited him.
Everything after that was just rumors, each more dreary than the other. They all agreed upon one thing, though. Dr. Schar had found what he was looking for – an ancient biofactory, deep in the heart of some old Pulsian ruins. He had used its secrets to dodge a certain death, but as a side effect of that process he had turned into a monster, unable to return to the world of the living.
Nearly everyone feared his name but the Guardians, that is. Being the figurative sword and shield that protected their new colonies, the Corps had taken it upon themselves to find the source of the evil behind these abductions and root it out. It had been a hard campaign, because the insidious scientist had used the bodies of his friends to create a veritable army of mindless drone soldiers, bred to be not too bright, but fiercely loyal to their master. Armed and armored by an elusive nanoforge, dr. Schar's dark horde was a tough bone for the Guardians to crack.
As a result, a new Special Pulsian Operations branch had been formed, a small group of commandoes who could be air-dropped into enemy territory to scout around and wreak havoc from within. Hope was one of them. The boy had joined Guardian Corps in Lightning's memory when he was fifteen, and as a competent swordsman and one of the only l'cies with combat experience, he had quickly become the spearhead of SpecOps assaults. That had turned the tide. One by one, the enemy outposts and bases fell into the hands of the Guardians, until only the last one remained.
So here he was now, facing dr. Schar in his personal stronghold, in the very throneroom where his minions gathered to worship him, their creator. Hope was already a third of the way across the hall, with no enemies in sight beside the doctor himself. After months and months of fighting, he was so close to the end now. Just forty more meters to go before he can reach out and put a blade to the monster's throat.
It looked easy like a piece of cake.
Too easy. The corners of Hope's lips twitched as the realization came, and his body flowed into a ready stance, sword snapping up and a plume of fire erupting in his left palm.
And so it was. Without a sound, eight of Schar's elite personal guards melted out of the shadows between the columns. They looked like shadows themselves, clad from head to toe in steel gray that matched the tone of the columns. The curved, razor-sharp blades of their light swords twinkled in the strange luminance that permeated the throneroom.
Without moving his eyes, Hope watched them glide over the floor to close in on him. His heart picked up pace again. Because the boy had stopped less than halfway down the hall, the guards could not completely surround him, so the six in front closed their ranks to attack – which was a big mistake. Hope launched a fireball at the guards, clenching his fingers into a fist just as it flew into their midst. It flickered and exploded with a percussive boom, blasting the group apart. Orange flames lit up the room, making the shadows writhe and dance. They died down again in a moment, leaving the hall littered with seared bodies.
The remaining two closing in from the sides did not even falter in their step, but Hope was ready for them as well. He parried a downward strike from the guard on his right, deflected the blade aside and stepped in to slash off the creature's head with a flick of his sword. The body swayed a little, as if too surprised to fall over, and started leaning slowly backwards. Even before it hit the ground, Hope whipped around and shot a thunder spell at the last remaining guard. A blinding bolt of electricity zinged from his hand to the creature's sword, flowed down the blade and electrocuted it in mid-step. In a blink, the guard was thrown backwards into a heap, the fabric of his uniform still smoking.
His sword clattered to the ground between them with a shrill sound that was almost a scream, like a voice of the dead. None of the elites had uttered so much as a groan as they were slaughtered.
Hope flicked the blood off his blade and rested it casually on a shoulder as he resumed his walk across the hall. When the boy got closer, dr. Schar stood up from his throne and clapped his gloved hands in a slow, sarcastic mockery of an applause.
"Outstanding, my young l'cie, outstanding indeed. You exceed my expectations."
His tone irked Hope enough to retaliate in kind. "Maybe your expectations are just too low, doctor. And I was just getting warmed up. Is this..." he made a wide gesture that encompassed the whole room and the bodies strewn all around it, "really the best you can do? Not very impressive, is it?"
Hope's sparkling emerald eyes narrowed as he tilted his head to look at the pale demon up close. Rumors said that in the desperate attempt to save his life, the doctor had washed nearly all DNA out of his body, leaving just the bare necessities for survival – and his appearance seemed to confirm that rumor. All the visible parts of him were covered with skin that looked like molten wax, so white that it was almost glowing in the light from above. By far the most appalling aspect of the man was his face, with features so lax they were almost nonexistent. The only discernible elements of it were his eyes, all black and twinkling with malice.
Hope knew full well what this monster could do. He had been among the first on the scene when dr. Schar's med lab was breached; he had seen the horrors that were waiting inside. The clinically clean remains of children, filleted to get the precious stem cells. Dissected bodies of women that had provided fuel for his cloning factory.
And in the middle of it all, floating in a translucent cylinder full of light brown liquid, the perfect body of a teenage boy with wide hazel eyes – all alive and well, except for the fact that his skull had been cut open and most of his brain surgically removed. A living empty vessel, ready to accept the doctor's own mind as soon as he'd have the details of doing such a transplant worked out. A spare shell for dr. Schar.
The young l'cie had just stood and stared, drinking it all in. And after that, he had thrown up with all the other non-medical people who had been in that room. They had all seen blood and gore before, but it was the cleanliness that got to them.
It seemed that in the process of gaining an extension to his life, the doctor had lost something as well. Some said it had been his sanity; others believed it had cost him his very soul. Hope did not care much for those things. As long as his body and mind were in one piece and he had a weapon in his hand, he was a happy kid – be it soul or no soul. Nor did the boy really give a damn if the demonic doctor still had one left. He was not here to offer the man salvation, he had just come to kick his ass.
After the loss of his lab, Dr. Schar had made the ultimate mistake. He had sent his minions to steal something from Hope, something that was more precious to the boy than anything else in the world – even more than his own life. In his fury, Hope had pleaded, threatened, and twisted all the arms he could to be the one who gets to meet the evil doctor in private.
And kick the man's ass he would, as slowly as possible.
Dr. Schar's deathly white face split into a truly evil grin, so masterful that it put all of Hope's smirks to shame.
"Now that's a very good question, boy." His infliction turned the word for a young male into nothing less than an insult. "And no, I'm not done yet. In fact, I have just the best little surprise in store for you. I'm sure you'll like it... very much."
For some reason, Hope had the most distinct feeling that he wouldn't. He didn't even like the situation as it was now. In all tactical terms he had the upper hand, being the one with a sword and an array of deadly magic at his call. And yet the frenetic scientist was acting much too smug for a villain whose base has been breached and his army of guards obliterated. He was acting more like a man with an ace up his sleeve, something that he thinks will be a game-breaker.
So the smart thing for Hope to do was not to play that game. In fact, the smartest choice would be to just kill the man, but unfortunately the boy couldn't do that – at least not before he got what he came for.
Hope's voice turned icy. "All right, old man, cut the crap. You know what I want. Now where is it?"
"Oh, you mean this." Dr. Schar pulled a small object from the pocket of his coat and turned it around in his hands, as if he'd never seen it before. Hope's eyes were drawn to it as well, and his breath caught for a moment.
There it was, almost within his grasp. Such a plain, insignificant little object on the surface, yet immensely valuable to Hope. It was the boy's only memento of the person whose true importance he had not understood before her sudden disappearance had left such an aching void in his chest.
A simple plastic hairbrush. Lightning's hairbrush.
Without even thinking, the boy reached out his hand. "Give it to me," he said, the words hoarse and heavy as something constricted his throat.
The doctor's chilling black eyes seemed to light up as they hung on the boy's face, obviously taking great pleasure in his discomfort. "Patience, my dear l'cie, patience. All in good time. First, I want you to meet my new ally." He snickered again, turning to wave at the back of the dais where a small door slid open to let in a thin shadowy figure.
As the figure walked across the platform and emerged into the light, Hope's heart stopped for a second and the blood in his veins turned to ice. The boy's outstretched arm fell to his side as a strange weakness gripped his limbs. For a moment he could just stare, wide-eyed, at the figure whose very shape and features were burned deep into his memory.
Finally, Hope got his breath back again. "L-Light..." he whispered, his lips barely moving. "But-but how... why..." The boy had to swallow as a painful lump rose into his throat.
Lightning, her slim body covered up to her neck with a strange tight-fitting armor of glossy black scales, stopped on the edge of the dais and looked down at him, through him, her face blank and impassive like she didn't recognize the boy at all. That look cut deep into Hope's heart, making his eyes tingle.
To his left, Dr. Schar gave a chuckle, getting merrier by the minute. "Ah, the wonders of genetics."
Hope turned his head to look at the man-creature as the doctor plucked something from the brush and held it up to his eyes. The boy could not see it, but he could imagine what it was. A strand of hair. Long and strawberry blonde.
"Did you know that if a hair gets pulled out with its root still attached, it contains the entire DNA blueprint of a person?" Dr. Schar opened his hand and blew the invisible strand out of his fingers before continuing. "So all I needed was a single hair to recreate the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. And a fast cloning facility, of course, but I already had that."
Hope swallowed again, muscles in his cheeks tightening as he pressed his jaws together. He refused to believe that. It couldn't be real. His eyes flicked back to Lightning, taking in every detail as he searched for something that would prove the doctor was lying. The familiar outlines of her figure, her beautiful features, the hard look on her face, the silky strawberry hair... This young woman in black armor was most definitely Lightning... his lovely Light...
...and yet in some scary way, she wasn't.
It took the boy a moment to figure out what the uncanny part of her was. The eyes. Light's bright blue eyes had always had a glint of warmth in them when she looked at Hope – unless she was doing her wilting stare attack – but this woman's eyes were cold like blue ice.
Hope closed his own eyes and shook his head, as if not accepting this truth would somehow make it not so. The person he had cherished so much... twisted into an abomination.
"She serves me willingly, I might add, even without any behavioral adjustments. Just tweaked the neurokinetics for more effectiveness." The doctor's voice was brimming with glee. "Always willing to protect, that one. So now she has a chance to protect me... her father."
The boy's free hand clenched into a fist as pain bubbled inside him, the demon's words rubbing salt into the wound. Pain and anger. As his eyes flew open again to look at dr. Schar, they were blazing with green fire.
"You... monster," Hope pressed through his clenched teeth, his tone cold as steel in spite of the fire raging inside him, words dripping with hate. "I will destroy you for what you have done. Rend you limb from limb. Burn your remains and dance in the ashes."
"Ah, such delightful threats! A music to my ears." The doctor was positively beaming now, his pallid complexion almost giving off light as he grinned from ear to ear, his voice ringing as he turned to address the copy of Lightning. "Can you hear that, my minion? This insolent whelp dares to threaten me in my own sanctum. Teach him some manners."
The woman smiled a cold smile and reached behind her back to pull out a gunblade. She unfolded it into a sword, nearly five feet long and black as night. Hope's own blade was darkened as well to keep it from reflecting telltale patches of light when stealth was needed, but the edge was still shiny steel. This woman's sword was made of the same glossy black material as her armor, with no shiny elements at all. Despite its size, it seemed to be strangely light as she a raised it effortlessly in front of her, holding the hilt with both hands, and edged one foot forward to take fighting stance.
For all the danger, all the wrongness, Hope could not believe how beautiful she looked, even this false, dark Light, her supple body poised to attack.
Graceful. Lithe. Deadly.
Dr. Schar laughed out loud and spread his arms, his unnatural voice reaching a new, deep timbre as he bellowed, "Behold my very own Lightning, l'cie whelp, before she strikes down you and the rest of my enemies with the furious anger only she can possess." His hand flew forward to point at the boy. "Onward, my valkyrie! Erase this pitiful excuse for a human from my presense!"
Like a crouching feline, the woman pounced. Adrenaline and mortal fear forced Hope's brain into overdrive, and time itself seemed to slow down as she soared through the air, her back arched and the black sword raised high over her head. A split second later, the blade struck down at the boy with unstoppable power.
Only to whistle through thin air. Hope came out of his sideways roll and jumped to his feet a few meters away as the woman's sword cracked into the floor, sending shards of stone flying in all directions. She growled from frustration and launched herself at Hope. The young l'cie had barely enough time to raise his own blade to a protective position when a heavy swing nearly knocked it from his hand, giving the boy's wrist a painful twist.
Hope snapped the sword back up and grabbed the hilt with both hands, doing the best he could to ward off the woman's onslaught. He kept his gaze on the false Lightning's face, not her weapon, like he'd been taught, but it did not reveal much. Her eyes burned with cold blue fire and the delicate features were drawn into a constant snarl as she raged to get to him, strawberry hair flying in a fan around her head. She was amazingly strong and incredibly fast, and a ferocious hail of heavy strikes rained upon the boy from left, right and above, in all possible combinations. The clangs and their echoes zoomed back and forth across the throne room, until the air itself seemed to be ringing with the sounds of steel.
Her swings were so powerful that Hope had to use the forte, the lowest and best controllable part of his sword to block them, putting his hands dangerously close to the black blade. Speed of the attacks left him no time to parry or feint, or do any other of the more finicky tricks of swordplay that are used to foil the opponent's attacks and take initiative. No chance to edge in a spell, either. With such relentless pressure and disadvantage of reach, all Hope could do was to protect himself to the best of his ability, and try not to make any serious mistakes as the woman slowly forced him backwards across the room. The constant bouts of manic laughter from Dr. Schar did not make it any easier for him.
In less than a minute, the boy had retreated more than fifteen meters, and his arms were getting numb from the constant jarring. Things were getting critical. Pretty soon he would make a mistake, move too slowly, or run out of room, and any of those could prove fatal. He cursed under his breath and danced a little bit sideways to back up at a new angle. And then it happened.
With the extra space to swing on one side, the woman's sword wobbled in mid-air and came in lower than Hope had expected, soaring right under his arm. He had barely enough time to angle back and away when the blade whacked into his side, knocking the boy out of balance. His armor crunched as it flexed to distribute the force and it felt like a hammer blow to the left side of his chest, more crushing than cutting.
Ribs cracked and air was knocked out of his lungs with an 'oof', followed by a stab of blinding agony. Hope lost his footing and fell over, trying to land on his hands, but his left arm was too weak from pain to take his weight and he smacked into the floor with a shoulder and cheek. Sparks flashed in the boy's eyes and a groan escaped his lips as he tried to draw breath. More pain, sweet pain... oh, how he loved it... not.
Dr. Schar howled triumphantly.
False Light let out a battle cry from behind him and Hope instinctively twisted himself out of the way. Another crack, and fragments of stone bit at his face. Hope rolled onto his back, frantically searching for wind. Touched it... lost it... found it again. Thrusted his right hand forward as the woman bore down on him again, the very move itself making his chest clench once more in agony. "Fus..."
Battle cry turned into a yell as the woman was blasted backwards, raised into the air by the wind and thrown down on her back in a clatter of metal, five meters away. She hissed from pain, but sprung to her feet again in less than a second, sword still in her hand. Hope was just clambering up as well, right hand pressed to his cracked ribs, healing magic glowing green through his fingers. His weapon was hanging loosely in his left, but he had no strength yet to raise it.
The warrior woman stalked closer, but kept her distance for some reason. Hope narrowed his eyes, scanning her intently, and a bitter smile started to tug at his lips as he noticed something interesting. Despite her furious looks, false Lightning was panting. After less than two minutes of swinging her sword, the replicant was getting tired.
Hope broke into a grin as some of the subtle things he had unconsciously noticed about her fighting style started to fall into place. Compared to Lightning – the true, original one – she was much inferior when it came to swordplay. For all the power and speed, her attacks had been relatively straightforward and predictable. No real change of pace, not even a thrust thrown in every now and then to break the flow. Well, true enough, the blade of her sword was a lot wider and more curved than Hope's, meant more for hacking than thrusting, but still... He knew he was on to something. All the instilled knowledge and flashy 'neurokinetics' aside, it seemed that the replicant had not had any real training. She had no true skill, no experience of going toe to toe with death.
The boy's grin widened, reflecting the burst of manic happiness he felt inside. There was hope for him yet to see this day through. Some hope for Hope. He just had to take initiative before the woman gathered herself again.
The pain in his ribs had subsided to a tingle, so he could breathe normally once more. That would do for now. Hope rolled his left shoulder to see if it works again, and it was fine. Right, then, he though to himself, taking a deep breath. How about some magic to kick it off? She didn't seem to like magic too much.
Still smiling, Hope reached for the fire within. He formed a small, white hot ball of it in his hand and flicked it at the replicant. She dodged, shifting her weight faster than his eye could follow, and the ball popped into a gout of flames against a wall in the distance. She avoided the next two as well, until Hope fired a bigger one, just to see what happens. Instead of dodging, she whacked it out of the air with the flat of her sword, making it explode into harmless flames. The strange material of the blade glowed dark red for a moment before turning black again.
She did the same to the jagged spear of ice that the boy aimed at her next, smashing it to bits in mid-air that melted again as they rained on the floor around her. Thunder was equally ineffective. A radiant arc of electricity jumped to her sword allright, but grounded itself harmlessly through her armor. The deadly energy only made her hair stand up and spark, surrounding her head with a perfect halo of blonde hair and lightning.
Hope cursed to himself, a row of colorful obscenities flying through his head. The woman's fast reflexes and amazing kit made long-range spells useless against her. Wind and water would probably just slow her down, if even that. With a sigh, he shifted his weapon from left hand to right and started walking towards her.
Swords it is, then. Let's see how good you really are, bitch.
The replicant's eyes were glued to the boy's sword as he approached. He could see them moving as he twirled the blade around to loosen his wrist. One more weakness, Hope noted with reserved pleasure. That was good to know. He was not dumb enough to think it would be an easier fight this time, so he needed every edge he could get.
Still a few paces away, Hope whipped his sword up and turned his body sideways, sacrificing strength and control for reach. It was all he could do to even the score before he'd had a chance to suppress her ability to strike back.
For a moment they stood motionless, facing each other, swords poised for attack. Then another moment, and a third. For all his skill and confidence, Hope did not dare to make his first move. Luckily the time was on his side, each moment that ticked by making the woman visibly more nervous. Gone was the cold haughtiness that had been on her face before the fight, replaced by look of tension.
He feinted. The woman twitched, but didn't commit to the move. Her eyes flickered from the sword to Hope's face. The boy looked off to his left, and her eyes followed. And he struck.
Ding!
She had snapped back at the last moment to block his blow. Hope knew it wouldn't be that easy to fool her, but he did like the momentary flicker of concern on her face. Without much pause, the boy flipped his blade around and struck again, and again and again, covering every angle of approach, his blade meeting the black one each time. There were no blind spots, no weaknesses in her defence, which was to be expected. Her blocking was very fast and solid, though she never even attempted to parry.
After covering the basics, Hope sidestepped and started fiddling with timings and strength, alternating fast strikes with slower ones, making odd pauses between attacks to mess up the rhythm. Sometimes he even hit the same place twice to see if that breaks her stride. She adjusted well enough, her eyes following his sword through the motions, her weapon reaching the right place always at the right time to block it.
Fair enough. It was starting to get fun.
Hope pulled back for a blink, but not long enough for the woman to change her mind and come in herself. Then he sidestepped again, and went in to turn up the heat.
With a cool but pointless flourish, he gathered momentum and launched into a series of ultra-fast attacks, his sword melting into a blur of grey and silver as strikes rained on the false Light from all sides like wildfire. Instead of a one- or two-handed grip, Hope went for a hand-and-a-halfer, his left just guiding the weapon from the pommel for added control. And speed. Blinding speed. The change of approach put him back in reach of the woman's much longer sword. With a proper parry, she could have landed a solid hit on him before he could pull away, but she was too busy dealing with his attacks to notice it. As it was meant to be.
The replicant was devilishly fast though, still able to read the blur and move quickly enough to react, but her longer, ends-heavy sword was actually starting to cramp her down now. The gunblade was a formidable weapon, but it wasn't made for fencing. At this close range, it was much harder to maneuver, despite the light material. She was on the physical limit of her reaction speed and she knew that.
Dark satisfaction streamed through Hope as he watched her. Strain was evident on her face and her strawberry hair was starting to get matted down with sweat. Her blue eyes were now down to slits, darting around like crazy, trying to follow the boy's sword.
But you know what, darling? Blades can lie.
He smiled. And he feinted.
The woman nearly missed it, her eyes going wide as she repositioned her sword at the last possible sliver of time. But the move was sloppy and it messed up her pace. Her eyes snapped wide open as she scrambled to regain it, and Hope finally saw something in them that he'd been looking for. A moment of pure fear.
Like hell you will.
Before the woman could readjust, Hope threw his weight into three consecutive heavy swings, each stronger than the last. Wham. Wham! WHAM! The last one tore from right to left, and hit the black gunblade on the side of its tip, the part that is hardest to handle. The end-heavy weapon careened out of control, twisting her wrists as it spun to hit the ground with its tip.
Somewhere in the distance, dr. Schar gasped. The woman cried out in pain and raised her arms and gunblade to protect her unarmored head as Hope reared for his next attack, holding his sword parallel to the ground.
"Die," he whispered, launching forward into a thrust instead of a slash, going down on one knee. His left palm hit the pommel and right arm flew forward, guiding the sword straight like a lance, all the strength and momentum of his body concentrated onto the smallest possible point on the tip of his blade for true armor-piercing power. It slid through the false Lightning's defences in a flash and hit her straight between the breasts.
There was a keening crack like breaking crystal, and the woman in black armor stumbled backwards, all color drained from her face.
For a moment, all was still. Even the distant rumbling of airships could be heard from far outside.
Her arms dropped to her sides, suddenly weak. She raised a hand to her chest, took it away again, and stared incredulously at her fingers.
They were clean. There was no blood, not even a drop.
A second later, a tiny sliver of metal from the tip of Hope's sword broke off and fell to the ground with a barely audible cling. The silence popped like a balloon and dr. Schar, utterly forgotten until now, burst into deep, rumbling laughter.
"MWAHAHAHAAAA! Score one more point for science!" By the sound of it, the demon made a skipping victory dance on his dais. "Carbonium nanostructures! Now that's one fine material."
None of the other two paid him any heed. The woman was still staring at her hand and Hope was staring at her, crouched on the mirrory floor like a scorpion frozen in mid-sting. Sweat trickled down the boy's back and sides, even the high-tech lining of his armor unable to wick it away because of all the moisture in the air. His breath was hot and his arms throbbed from exertion, but he was far from tired. Very slowly, he got up on his feet and whipped the sword to his side, broken tip pointing at the ground. Dr. Schar noticed that, too.
"What are you waiting for, girl? He's right there! Kill him now and be done with it, so we can get to more important matters." All the mirth was gone and the creature's voice now brisk and demanding.
Following his orders, the replicant assumed a fighting stance once more. She might have looked scary from afar, but from his point of view, Hope could see the truth. The woman was falling apart. Her body might be fine, but her spirit was broken. Her face and eyes were riddled with fear, and the tip of her sword quivered despite her efforts to hold it steady. Never mind the nanostructures – her greatest armor had been self-confidence and the feeling of invulnerability, and that armor was now broken. It would take a long time for her to fix it again, possibly years – and you can't fight without believing in yourself. Hope knew that all too well from his own personal experience.
The dark mail might have held, but the boy's sword had pierced her heart beneath it nonetheless.
It was exactly what he had wanted a minute ago, to take away her confidence so he could crush her, and yet watching the young woman break down in front of him filled the young l'cie with inexplicable rage. Well, not entirely inexplicable, for there was an explanation – but one that only added to his anger.
It was her face. The emotions were all well and good. The emotions were hers, but the face wasn't, and the combination was as deeply wrong as it was heart-rending. The real Lightning would never show her fear like that. Fear and Lightning just weren't compatible. She would not give in, she would not give up, she would pick up her sword and make them pay for it. Make him pay for it, in this case.
So he should be happy as it is. This Lightning's despair was working in his favor. But... but watching that lovely, familiar face get so desolate and full of fear made the boy's heart clench painfully in his chest. It made him want to protect her from the world, like Lightning had done for him, not murder her in cold blood. How could he kill a frightened Lightning?
That infuriated Hope even more, of course. The woman had a power over him, unfair power that came from the face that was not hers. That was a weakness, and he was angry at himself for it... angry at her for making him weak... extremely angry at dr. Schar for putting him in this situation with no good way out. Either kill someone who looks like one of the closest persons in your life, or be killed by her. Some choice.
I wish that Lightning was here... then she could kill her evil twin herself and spare me all this trouble.
Splendid. Trying to drop his own responsibility into somebody else's lap. Another childish weakness. And a responsibility he had actually insisted to take upon himself, no less. Hope was willing to admit that his pride and wish for revenge had driven him to this. He seemed to be gravitating from one weakness to the other. Soon enough, one of them would be his downfall.
Hope's eyes locked on the young woman again and the boy's jaw clenched as he steeled his heart for what was to come. There was no doubt about it any more – she just had to go. She was a danger to everyone, the source of all his weakness, and a liability to the mission. It wasn't Lightning; it was an abomination that wore her face and spoke with her tongue, if it could even speak at all. For all he knew, she could be just like the creatures of the elite guard, a silent sentinel who watches over its master as he commits his evil deeds.
For the half a minute that Hope had been lost in thought, his face had been impassive. But now as he started to walk towards the woman, murderous intent must have been showing in his dark green eyes because she shrunk back from him, looking even more frightened. In a weird, twisted way this made it even easier for the boy. The real Lightning would never cower in fear before an enemy. This one was just a pitiful carbonium copy, a disgrace that should be eradicated before it mars the original as well.
The young l'cie held his weapon loosely at his side as he walked, in that deceptively harmless grip that fools profane people to thinking all is safe. This replicant was not entirely fooled, but that was unimportant. Black fire burned in Hope's eyes. It was about time to teach her about the true dark heart of swordmanship – using any means necessary to go for the kill.
"What the hell are you doing, girl! Take him down, now!" Dr. Schar was evidently getting impatient, but his overview of the situation was going a bit awry. The woman wasn't delaying; she was too afraid to move.
False Light twitched and let out a sob, sealing her fate. With a curse so vile that it would burn paper and darken computer screens, Hope lunged at her, slashing from left to right. She caught it with her blade, but there was no conviction in her move. In a flash, Hope skipped past the woman's sword and smacked her in the face with his pommel. Her head cracked back and she stumbled away, sword loose in her hands. The boy let out a vicious snarl and whirled around to hit the center of it with crushing force, and the weapon went flying off to the left, clattering and skidding across the floor.
The replicant yelped and jumped backwards, stumbling over the charred body of one of the elite guards and falling down on her butt. Hope stalked after her as she scrambled backwards, her armored hands and feet slipping on the polished floor. With a wry smile, Hope remembered that less than ten minutes ago, he had been the one who was retreating. Luck... see how it changes...
She looked so small and scared now that she was down, and the boy realized something he had not noticed before. She wasn't an exact copy. Dr. Schar had been hard pressed for time to hatch his secret weapon, and the clone was much younger than Lightning had been when she disappeared. Maybe even younger than Hope himself. A girl, not a woman. An unlucky teen who'd just happened to be born and raised on the wrong side of the line from where he stood.
Not that it mattered.
In her blind panic, false Light did not see the column behind her until her back bumped into it. She could go no further. Hope jumped over the guard's body and charged forward in order to cut her off if she decides to go sideways, but she didn't. Instead of jumping up and running, the girl looked at him with tears streaming from her eyes.
"Please... don't..." she pleaded, her body wracked by sobs. "Don't kill me... I'm sorry, father..."
This was the very moment that Hope had feared. The moment where he had to be strong. He drew back his sword for a horizontal swing, anger raging inside him. The girl covered her face with her hands as she saw that, leaving only the top of her head uncovered by armor. Just four inches above her eyes. That was his target.
Hope's eyes narrowed, and he swung the blade. The girl screamed. The pure, unbridled, mortal fear in her voice made his arms twitch in the middle of the swing, and the scream was cut short.
Sparks had flown as Hope's blade bit into the column... a hair's breadth above her head. She started sobbing again, falling over on her side.
"Aarrgh!" Hope ground his teeth and took a deep breath, gulping down the warm, wet air of the throneroom. He was still raging, but the rage was... aimless. Hope could not decide who or what to direct it at – until the answer presented itself.
"No, no, no, no, no..." Dr. Schar mumbled as he took the steps down from his dais. "What are you doing? Up, my minion! Get up, get your sword, and kill that boy!" His voice was nervous for some reason. "Did you hear what I said?" he finally bellowed. "KILL HIM!"
Hope pulled his sword from the stone, weighing it in his hand as the wrath in him boiled over.
"Shut... the fuck... UP!" he screamed, spinning around and hurling his sword at the demonic doctor with all the skilfulness aquired from years of throwing boomerangs.
It zoomed across the room, end over end, until the blade buried itself halfway into Dr. Schar's chest.
"Insolent... little..." the doctor mumbled, sinking slowly onto his knees. Unnaturally dark blood dripped out of his mouth as he added, "...whelp..." before falling down on his back, folded like a jackknife.
Anger subsided and a weird numbness gripped the boy as he walked across the hall to look at the body sprawled in front of the dais, a dark puddle slowly growing around it. Dr. Schar's face, slack even in life, had melted into an undistinguishable blob of vague organic matter. His body was just an empty husk now, all individuality drained from it, like nearly all of his creations. Even the throneroom itself felt strangely empty – like a strong dark presence had been lifted from it, leaving only a bleak void in its wake.
Hope grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it free from the corpse, wiping the blade clean before he sheathed it. A wry smile marred the boy's handsome features as he stood over the remains of the evil monster slain by his hand. The job was done; his vengeance had been exacted.
Revenge should be sweet, he thought to himself... So why on pulse was he feeling so bitter? Clearly, the one who had come up with that saying had never revenged himself, only brooded about it. Dreaming of punishing someone for what they did is one thing, but when the time comes to actually do it... Hope had just struck out in anger, with no time to savor the moment. But even if he'd had, could he ever really enjoy killing someone, without wrath to drive his hand and block out all thought?
He didn't think so, and that was all good. It meant he wasn't completely messed up yet.
Lightning's hairbrush was lying on the floor next to his boot, and he bent down to pick it up, knuckles under his fingerless fencing gloves turning white as he squeezed it in his hand. It was all he had left of her, besides his memories. Dr. Schar must have known that. Hope could not help but marvel at the pure dark brilliance of his scheme. Gain a great warrior and sow confusion in the ranks of your enemies by luring one of their elites into a cunning trap, all in one hit. He knew that Hope would come alone, and that he'd have trouble fighting even a copy of Lightning. He might have even had an eye on getting the boy's DNA as well, to replace the spare body he had lost.
That was a disturbing image... a replicant of himself, floating in a jar without a brain, pale green eyes staring into emptiness.
But for all his ingenuity, the doctor had been betrayed by his own narrow-mindedness, because he had failed to understand one simple factpeople were more than just genetics. You can't clone the spirit of a true fighter. It takes a life full of pain, hardship, and self-transcendence for one to be born.
Of all people, he should know that.
Out of nowhere, an old saying came to Hope's mind and he spoke it out loud, even though the man could not hear him any more.
"You can rumble all you want and think it's thunder—but try as you might, you cannot make lightning."
With those words the boy turned away, stuffing the brush into his pocket. The emptiness of this place was starting to get to him now, and he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. Hope made a detour on his way back to the girl to pick up the black gunblade, folding it back into its firearm form, a gun the size of an assault rifle. He checked that it was loaded, flicked off the safety and pointed the gun at her.
"Get up. Let's go."
The girl stopped sobbing and looked up, staring into the barrel of the weapon aimed at her head. Her eyes were wide and frightened as she slowly picked herself up from the floor. Hope motioned her to start walking, following at a distance of a few paces behind.
She shuddered as her eyes fell on the lonely body of dr. Schar, as if fighting with the urge to run over and hug it, but in the end the girl only sniffled and let out a sigh.
"I'm sorry, father... I'm sorry I couldn't protect you..." she whispered, sniffling again.
Hope couldn't help smiling bitterly at that comment. It was such a Lightningish thing to say. As they continued their walk across the hall and out the door, the young l'cie pondered.
He knew what the girl must be feeling right now, the cutting anguish and guilt of watching your loved one die because you couldn't help them. Smoldering hatred for the monster who had caused that would come later. And for her, that monster was wearing Hope's face, just like she was wearing a face of longing for him. They were connected, him and her, bound by a twisted fetter of hurtful emotions. Hope had a strong feeling that if an opportunity presented itself, the girl would one day try to avenge him for killing the doctor, just as Hope had once turned on Snow whom he had blamed for his mother's death. It was funny how the perception of truth depends on where one stands, and even more ironic how people always look for someone to blame for their loss, even when the lost had brought on their demise by their own actions.
Looking at the back of girl as she walked, her head hung low in sadness, Hope wondered what the most cruel thing that had been done to her was. The detestable way of her creation? That she had almost been killed for being what she was? Or the fact that he'd let her live to face the consequences... But if she was meant to work it all through, the girl needed a nudge in the right direction as soon as possible, before she's had too much time to mull things over and build up her bitterness.
So he added another cruelty. "If its any consolation, he wasn't really your father."
The girl missed a step and turned her head to send Hope an acidic glance as he pulled up beside her. The gun was still pointed at her head, but she barely noticed it.
Hope carried on twisting the knife, not even looking at the girl as he talked. "Dr. Schar just created you to be his personal protector, using the genetic blueprint of someone who was very special to me." His voice was flat and emotionless, but he swallowed before adding, "You were nothing but a tool to him, a weapon to be used against me and my friends. And its not your fault that you didn't succeed. He wanted too much from you."
The girl did not say anything, but one of her eyes twitched as she kept staring at the boy's profile. They were getting close to the exit now, and Hope tapped on his communicator.
"Command, this is Whirlwind. I'm coming out with a prisoner."
"Roger that, Whirlwind," Rygdea's gruff voice spoke into his ear a second later, tinged with amusement. "Is she pretty?"
Hope didn't grace him with an answer but turned to the girl instead. She flinched when the boy reached out to grab her arm, but not strong enough to pull free.
"Keep close and don't make any sudden moves, or the Guardians will shoot you as soon as they see you," he warned, and they walked slowly forward to emerge from the passageway.
The courtyard was now deluged in a glare of provisional floodlights, and filled with people standing or milling about. A file of Guardians in heavy armor kept a perimeter around the airships, firing an occasional burst at straggling guards that appeared from the darkness. Some of the creatures had been captured and bound, and were being loaded onto a transport ship. Most of them would eventually have to be put down of course, because their single-minded ferocity left them with little more than scientific value. There was some hope that they could be retrained to guard the towns against animals, though.
Small snowflakes were slowly falling upon the scene, sparkling like diamond dust in the hard light.
The big staircase that led down was also flanked by soldiers, their firearms trained at the couple as they descended the stairs. A few of Guardians were waiting for them at the bottom and Hope let go of the replicant Lightning's arm to turn her over to them. The men were visibly fidgeting under her stare as they stepped closer.
"What should we do with the girl, sarge?" one of them asked tentatively.
"Cuff her, shoot her, or whatever we do with prisoners. Ask Command, cuz I really don't care. But keep an eye on her or she'll bite your heads off."
Guardians closed in gingerly to take the replicant's arms and lead her away. Hope started to leave, but then turned back as he remebered something.
"Wait."
The two soldiers and their ward stopped and the boy caught up with them, standing in front of the replicant girl to look at her.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Name?" She looked puzzled, like she wasn't catching the meaning of that word.
"What did dr. Schar call you?"
The girl shrugged. "He just called me girl. Or minion... just like you said," she added in a whisper.
"Well, I guess we'll have to think of a name to call you, then." Hope looked her up and down, then turned his green eyes at her blues. "How about... Thunder?"
She frowned for a moment, unkown thoughts moving through her head, but then something flashed in her eyes; a familiar glint of... warmth.
"It's fine... I like it," the girl finally said. "Thanks, ..." She paused, sending him a questioning look.
"Hope."
Thunder smiled, and the boy could have sworn that some of that was from amusement.
"Well... thanks for giving me a name then, Hope."
Hope just nodded. She was still mouthing the word 'thunder' as the soldiers led her away, as if trying to find out how it tastes like. The boy shook his head and turned to leave. Offering that name had been a spur of the moment descision, and it was the first thing that had come to his head. But it could be worse... at least he had not called her Unclaire.
Yes, spur of the moment. That's how people got weird names – like his.
Halfway to the ships, Hope's path crossed with a squad of Guardians who were headed for the stairs to sweep the building. He held up a hand to get their attention.
"What up, sir?" the squad leader asked, gesturing his men to stop.
"The body in the throneroom, corporal... bring it outside, let the medics do the autopsy and take their samples, and then burn it. Its the only way to make sure he doesn't come back to haunt us again."
"Will do, sir."
"Oh, and take the ashes with you when you come back to base. I want to dance in it."
"Sir...?"
The young l'cie flashed another one of his wicked smiles. "I made a promise."
"Sir." The corporal motioned to his team and they trudged off again.
Rygdea was already waiting for the boy at his transport, leaning lightly against the side of the ship. It looked like the commander had just arrived. His personal flyer, a big black airbike with SpecOps insignia on its sides, was parked just off to the right. The man looked as elegant as usual, in his characteristically careless way—down to the eternally immutable five-o-clock shadow. He was wearing a sleek black overcoat with a high collar and double silver tags on one shoulder, his hands thrust deep into its pockets for warmth. A chilly breeze was ruffling his long black kite hair.
Hope stopped in front of him. "Hello, captain. Thanks for holding back the cavalry and giving me room to breathe."
"My pleasure, kid. I knew you'd appreciate that." Despite the gruff tone, Rygdea gave the boy a warm smile. "Now I'll have to debrief you. So how'd it go?"
The captain was a man of purpose, not bothered about official code of conduct. He favored brevity and openness when communicating with his men, and that suited Hope just fine.
"Ah... like a usual day in the Corps," the boy offered.
"Eye for eye, steel against steel, fighting 'till the bitter end?"
"Yeah, something like that... but I got the job done." Hope grinned. "Although technically speaking, this," he held the black gunblade out to Rygdea, "isn't steel. Supposed to be made of carbonium, like the girl's suit."
The man took the weapon and weighed it in his hand, admiring the strange material. "A blade of coal. Who would have thought." He handed it to one of the techs who just happened to walk by. "You! Get it to R&D and see what they can make of it." After that, Rygdea looked back at the boy and returned his smile.
"Very good, soldier. And I'm glad you got back in one piece." He turned his head to study the replicant girl who was just being cuffed and ushered into another transport ship, then frowned and turned back to Hope, pointing at her with his thumb.
"Is that...?"
"Yes."
The captain's sky blue eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yep, she really is." Hope let out a sigh. "Schar was geneticist, remember? Made himself a personal watchdog from Light's DNA. Quite fresh out of the vat, too. Maybe I should have offed her, but I just... couldn't."
"You did well, kid." Rygdea whistled. "Un-frickin'-believable. Was she any good?"
"Not as good as the original." Hope thought how to describe the girl's ability in tactical terms. "She's got hell of a bite, but fortunately she was untrained and didn't have enough spirit. Still gave me a run for my money, though. With some proper grooming, that girl would kick ass."
"Nearly beat the mighty Whirlwind, eh?" The captain's attention was definitely piqued. With the whole of Grand Pulse their area of operations, SpecOps was severely understaffed at the moment. "Can she be housetrained?"
"I dunno." The boy shrugged. "We'd have to find out. I think made I some headway, though. Schar didn't even bother to give her a name. So I—we... named her Thunder."
Rygdea grinned at that. "A fitting name, I'd say. Thunder and Lightning, two warrior princesses." He laughed. "Would you be willing to give it a try? No one knows more about developing a fighting spirit than you."
"If that's what you want, cap."
Hope's teeth were starting to chatter slightly, and he repressed a shudder. After the misty warmth of the throneroom, air outside felt especially frigid. The boy's fingers were getting numb from the cold and his lips were slowly turning blue. The sheen of sweat under his armor was becoming icy as well, and the bruised ribs hurt and itched, all at the same time. Right now he dreamed of nothing more than a hot shower and a soft bed. Standing around in the cutting wind was not nice at all.
The man must have noticed Hope's discomfort and his eyes softened as he put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We'll talk more about that tomorrow, kid. In my office at twelve hundred. Now go back to base and get some rest. That's an order."
"Yessir." Hope nearly saluted him, but realized that it would look stupid. "I won't fail you on this one either, sir."
"I hope you don't, Hope." Rygdea looked extremely grave as he said that. The boy returned his look.
They both snickered and the captain waved him off. "Allright, get going. Shoo."
Hope did not have to be told twice. He gave Rygdea a curt but respectful salute and boarded the transport ship. Its engines were already firing up as he hit the button to close the door behind him, signalling to the pilot that they were good to go.
The ship dusted off while the door was still closing, edging forwards and banking left to aim for the base. Hope collapsed onto a seat next to a small window in the ship's hull, rubbing his face with his fingers. The boy was most incredibly exhausted, and it was hard to believe that the whole mission had lasted less than an hour. One hour. Sixty minutes of adrenalin and magic, and that had drained him almost like a full day. His head was getting sluggish and sleepy.
It was just breaking dawn outside and the ship's interior was lit by the soft glow of light strips, turning the window into a black mirror pane. But as Hope stared at it with fuzzy eyes, he didn't see the reflection of his own face but an image of Lightning, as if she was standing on the outside looking in, with the first pale haze of sunrise behind her. The woman's face was calm and beautiful, her eyes shining with that elusive inner light that defined her essence, at least for Hope.
It was such a perfect likeness that it took the boy's breath away and made his eyes sting. Hope raised a hand to touch her cheek, but his fingers just ran into the cold surface of glass and slid across it.
"Where are you, Light?" he whispered, his quavering voice drowned by the rumble of the engines.
Will I ever see you again... or will this be all that is left to me? These glimpses... and memories...
Hope's vision was clouded by tears now, and as the boy closed his eyes, two hot trails ran down his cheeks. But when he opened them again, the image had changed—ever so slightly, but it had. It still looked familiar, but it wasn't Light, and after another blink he understood. It was the face of Thunder, looking at Hope as she thanked him for giving her the name.
And the glint in her eyes was the same strange light... the Light light.
For the first time in his life, Hope wondered about the existence of souls. And if they can be cloned.