Washed away
A/N:
An old story of mine, that I should probably not have deleted so eagerly when cleaning up my old account.
I re-read it a few times and concluded it could do with some proper polishing. Rewrote most of it, though the order of things is still exactly the same. Yay for side by side editing!
Anyway, it's Botta's last moments; sad but true. I still remember quite clearly how it suddenly occurred to me as I listened to the song at hand.
To me, Botta is a rather underrated character. Some people merely recall him solely for the troll he was in the two battles in which you fight him in-game. The manga put him on the side, as did the OVA. Still, he's a vital part of the plot, especially if you consider that without his sacrifice the Chosen's group would never have made it out alive...
As for his sexuality; I'll leave that up to the reader to imagine. I personally don't think Yuan ever cared for the man that way, or vice versa, but think whatever you want. I reckon I left it open enough for your imagination to kick in.
Enjoy!
Don't want to reach for me, do you?
I mean nothing to you
The little things give you away
But now there will be mistaking
The levees are breaking
All you've ever wanted (The little things give you away – Linkin Park)
Was someone to truly look up to you
And six feet under water, I do
. . .
The contact had been broken, thick steel and a glass wall separated the Renegade soldiers from the Chosen's group. No longer did their voices reach him, nor the sound of Lloyd's swords crashing down on the glass in a last futile attempt to prevent their deaths. Botta had watched the young man's face twist into rage and despair as he shouted words no longer comprehendible. He'd tried to smash the glass until the very end, when the steel walls had risen to engulf the glass and prevent those trapped from escaping.
Rage and despair. Feelings Botta no longer felt, as the realization slowly came to him. He was going to die. Water rose at his feet, soaking them and the feet of his companions. He took a deep breath and nodded at himself. It had saved Lloyd.
If Lloyd Irving was Yuan's last hope, then it'd be Botta's too. He smiled at his own stupidity.
A few silent minutes went by. The soldiers that had come to die by Botta's side had taken their helms off. One of them just sat in the water, staring wryly at how it slowly rose up to his chest. The other had kicked his boots off and leaned against the far wall, arms folded, eyes closed. If either of them feared what was going to happen, they hid it well.
Soldiers, Botta thought to himself. Nobody knows their actual motives, the depths behind their choices. Only their mutual goal was fact and that was all that mattered. And I am no different, Botta's bitter thoughts caused a weak smile to toy with his lips. The only thing he knew of these two guys was that they, like himself, had seen something in Yuan's vision.
A vision of reuniting the torn worlds.
A vision of peace.
A vision of destroying the Desians that wreaked havoc upon both worlds.
A shiver ran down Botta's spine unwillingly when the water reached well above his knees. Slowly, he looked up. The ceiling was quite high; it'd take some time for the room to fill up with the water flowing in at so slow a pace. The soldier that had been seated slowly drifted past Botta on his back, staring at the ceiling with a vacant expression. The other still stood by silently, though Botta could well see how he had clenched his jaw to the cold water touching upon his privates.
It took a long time for the water to reach Botta's chin. Or maybe it hadn't taken all that long after all. The man had lost track of time, despite the fact that he had not been occupied by anything at all anymore. His head seemed oddly empty, and for all he knew he were dead already. His eyes lingered on the barricaded exit for some reason, almost as if he expected the steel doors to burst to pieces in a rain of electric sparkles, followed by a very frustrated Yuan. It was impossible though. Two reasons why.
The first reason was simply that they'd be long dead before the news of their action could ever have reached their superior. Even if the Chosen's group had somehow made it to Yuan, it would still take ages for him to reach the ranch.
The second reason, however, was far more simple: Yuan did not care. To the least, he'd never seemed to. While Yuan had always trusted Botta more than any of his other men, bestowing him the right of leading others, it was still just another soldier to him. A good one worth remembering, Botta hoped fierily, but nevertheless he was but a mere soldier.
It reminded him of the many games of chess he'd played with his superior. In both game and reality, Yuan had been the reckless commander. He'd sacrifice piece after piece to strike back masterfully in the end. It was no different from what was happening to Botta now.
Yuan would throw Botta, the knight, away for the pawn labeled Lloyd Irving. Said pawn was about to reach the other end of the game's board, ready to take on the guise of a much stronger piece with which the opponent's king would be struck down. Said king was Yggdrasill. It was a harsh game with not just a bottle of Botta's favorite brandy, but the future of the whole world at stake.
Altogether, Botta did not regret what he'd done, and how it was about to end. It had been his own choice after all. If that was the way in which he could help Yuan, so be it. It wasn't until the last minute that he suddenly realized how much he'd envied Yuan, if only for the fact that the man could keep a perfect straight face, acting like he did not care.
Botta could not.
Even as his head was pressed tightly against the ceiling, the water touching his lips, Botta felt the heart wrenching need to say good-bye to his nameless fellow soldiers. His throat tightened as he hoarsely let out a final thank you for their outstanding performance and their willpower. Salty tears mixed with the water that was about to engulf him.
"Renegades… for Yuan Ka-Fai and Martel," Botta managed to say the names once more.
"For the New World!" the soldiers vowed in unison.
"And the next…" Botta added in one last whisper, just as the water reached over his lips.
. . .
. . .
. . .
"Checkmate…" Yuan mumbled to himself and he swooped the white king off the board with the queen he'd so carefully crafted from a pawn. The piece rolled over the floor with some sound, until the edge of the carpet stopped it in its tracks. The sound left an eerie echo, broken by only the sigh of the lone man. He glanced at the Exsphere on his hand and then smiled a twisted smile, his green eyes sparkling vilely.
The news hadn't sunk in. The words meant nothing. Just another soldier gone, he told himself but he walked over to his desk nevertheless. He'd told himself to just pass it off, to keep his face straight and carry on. It was what they'd have wanted anyway; lingering over a death was not an option, as Mithos had very well proven what it would turn to.
That, and the horrified expression on Lloyd's face had been too funny to pass on. Yuan's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he'd merely nodded and replied in a soft confirmation that Botta had died. Like father, like son; Lloyd really had Kratos' signature mad glint in his eyes whenever furious.
Still, there was an emptiness unlike any other that Yuan's silent right hand helper had left behind. His hand trembled slightly as he pulled the bottle of cheap brandy from his drawer. He turned it around in his hands and glanced at the chess board. He'd won, fair and square.
Botta used to try so hard to beat him, to get back his beloved shot of booze. It was, or so the man had silently confined to him some time ago, one of the few things he found enjoyable in the misery that was his life. What the others things were, Botta had never let him in on.
Once more, Yuan turned the bottle around in his hands and then he yanked the cork off. Despite the fact that he could not taste it… Even though it would not drown his sorrows, like it had occasionally done for Botta… Even though it would not help anyone with anything whatsoever, Yuan drained the bottle in one go. He leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on his desk comfortably, turning the empty bottle around once more, staring at it before he closed his eyes to stop the non-existent flow of tears that he'd never cry.
"Idiot…"