Ngoc Chau does not own D9
Yes, I have written another D9 fanfic. Please read it.

He remembers the friend and comrade who left him behind with hope in his heart.....

28 years ago on the Mother Planet

'There is nothing you can do. First, red sores appear on your body, it feels like nothing, yet slowly a weight builds upon them that you cannot move anymore. After that, your limbs stop moving and the most you can do is crawl to some hole where you can plan to die. Your stomach roars against you, throwing back up everything that you ingest until the only time you feel good about eating is when you don't eat anything. The red sores by then will have gotten bigger and have started to fester up, exploding into little canyons upon your body. Your lungs... oh, it is practically indescribable. The closest thing that could be close to it is having your chest compacted by sinking sand; slowly choking you and killing you as you helplessly breathe each last breath. Your fingers and toes twitch uncontrollably until you are aching and even then you cannot stop it. Crick Crick Crick. It calls out each time you move.

Now this is what happens to your mind.
The fears, the insecurites, the menace; it all starts to float up like secrets that you have buried long ago. It throbs at your forebrow, threatening to almost split your skull in 2. Everything turns hazy, you're not even sure that what you're thinking of are your own thoughts or memories anymore. You wonder if that ever happened or if you ever knew him. Then something strikes at every point of your body. You imagine lightening bolts or perhaps the ray of an arc gun. You dodge out of the way. You miss it and feel your body burning up, incinerating around you. Your brain collapses and it's as though something is sucking it out bit by bit. It hurts so much but you cannot escape it, asleep or awake, it haunts you. You feel that there's no choice left and you grow afraid of what will happen.
You find some way to look at yourself and you go mad with what you see. The sores have reached your face as well and bubbles up like hot magma. It is beyond recognition and you hate yourself. You are disturbed by the monster you see before you and bow your head to the ground.

Only in mid-thought, your body jolts and your head smashes onto the floor. Crack! Electricty flies through you and you curse with a wasting breath. However... the pain momentarily cools... before it scorches you once again. You start to laugh. You have found a new way to get rid of the burning fire. You continue onward, smashing your head onto the ground.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Each blow feels like a rod has been shot into your spine, but the fire has stopped and you are practically floating in water. The sharp sickening blows soon turns into muffled thuds. Your thick blood must have surely been leaking out like ooze by the tenth blow or so. You pay no attention to the blood or the now hissing gash between the ridges of your face; a little blood is barely anything compared to the moments of pain-free euphoria.
The masochistic act goes on until you know when to stop or if you can stop yourself. You laugh at how you realize that you are stronger than this.

Unfortunately, it is too late. You're dead. dead and gone. But you have beaten the Red Sickness, it has not killed you.

However, if you avoid the insanity, there is something else. You are left almost paralyzed in some isolated spot to precent further infection. Your bones and hide plates ache and beat against your sore skin. Itchy rashes break out between your plates. You cannot leave it alone and with hesitating stiff sore limbs, you find the itch and scratch. It gets itchier. You scratch harder. Scrapings is all you hear echooing in your ears as you start to pick at your flesh, tearing it out ligament by ligament until all that you can think about it the itch. You scratch harder until you feel a hollowness in what you are touching. You then realize that you have gone inside your own body, touching what you were not meant to touch. You move yuor fingers around and every sensation is invoked and wrapping itself around your bony claws.
You pull your sharp fingers out with a long loud squiisshh.

Now there is only this left to do between the itching, the suffering, the burning, and the soreness.
Suffer.
All there is left to do is suffer and wallow in it like it is the very dirt of your grave, the crimson fires of your pyre.
You suffer and wait -wait for death to finally hack away your body from you hearts. Your hearts will explode -having been tormented with boils and strains that were much too hard for it to endure. You will die. You will die alone for the Sickness will have probably already claimed everybody you love or they have abandonned you to save themselves.

Will you be cured?
Will you live much longer?
Will you die this way?
Who knows?

You suffer ugly -covered with red boils and sores- and in excruciating pain. You die the same way. You die with memories that torment you well into your afterlife. In your last fading moments, when the world turns to black and everything goes silent, you will feel as though you fly. You fly upon the sharp flames sending you off to heaven, your sense awaken and taking in everything. In your last moments, you hear your murderer and death jeering at you, "You are mine and I will do with you what I wish.... You are mine and I will do with you what I wish....You are mine and I will do with you what I wish.... You are mine and I will do with you what I wish...."

Until you are blind to everything, there is silence, and you cannot feel anymore.
You are dead. And the Red Sickness has taken you away.'

.....Silence....

Asaedayu breathed heavily in his cramped little room. He turned to the walls all around him; smeared with black blood of those who had gone mad from the Red Sickness before him and beat themselves to death. Now it was his turn.
All over his black body, red sores and patches of open flesh from exposed plate hides decorated and paraded themselves. His stomach churned and he turned over his side to throw up. The vomit came in a horrible retching sound and it scorched his throat. He wheezed out as he turned back to lie on his bed. 'How many more hours? How much longer? If it's going to kill me, why doesn't it make it quick?' Asaedauy thought bitterly to himself. He hadn't done anything bad or wrong that was punishable by death. What's more; when the outbreak first started, he was the first to extend his hand out in kindness and care for.

The open wounds on his body stung wth the heavy cold air pinching at it like little snarfs. He had already been lying in the dirty bed for since the first turning of the Golden Moon. He supposed that he was the longest living infected so far. Rising up, he looked upon his crusty body that had been eaten away by sickness. He was sure he had given up the will to live some time ago, slowly shutting down his body to let the bacteria and disease just overtake him. Yet, it seemed to have prolonged it. He looked up to the top of the room; yes, even stains of blood and vomit managed to find its way up to the ceiling. His door was closed, but he could still hear all the chaos from behind.
The loud crashing strummed the base of the floor, the sharp blasts from what was possibly an arc gun sounded like clear tinkling and the screams of hundreds of thousands... were like the buzzing of cosmos.
He wondered how many more had been killed to prevent further infection.
He wondered if the Whole-Beings O had survived and were to board that day for another planet -just until the disease wiped out every bit of life on this planet and was gone.

Most of all, he wondered if he would die alone.

It was a customary death to die alone, but only if one already had children or if the mate had died. He had neither and yet he was to die alone. Suddenly, the door opened up and in stepped Trist 8-3. "Trist?" he mumbled.
It was amazing, he truly envied the being in front of him. In the heat of the entire sickness, his friend still looked so healthy as though it had never happened; albeit the sunken in look from his golden eyes and the torn up robes.

He stepped in and the retreated back, clutching his hands to his mandibles, "You're infected." It sounded more of an expected statement than one of shock.

He laughed, though he wanted to curse and swear and ask why was it that he was healthy while he wasn't. "Yes. Where do you think I've been for the past few moments? In Ogdalon?"

Trist shook his head and explained, "I never thought that you were infected. You were the last person I would've.... thought to have...."

He interrupted -his anger getting ahead of him, "And what? Just because I was young and helpful I would've been spared from this? It doesn't always work that way, Borg!"
Trist shook his head with his hands still over his mouth, though he took another step in.
Asaedayu could see something in those sunken eyes; pity? He didn't need or want pity. He wanted to be cured. "Stop looking at me like that! Leave me to die and get out of here before you get infected as well!"

Trist, almost as though he didn't listen to his warning, came even closer, "I came to bring you to the ship."

Was he mocking him now? Outrage seized at him and if he had the strength, he would've ripped his head off. "Are you blind? Look at me! Look at my body! I'm dying!" He sat up on the small bed but the feeling of someone socking him in the gut came again and he turned to the side to upchuck what might've been left in his stomachs. Black bile poured over the floor like running water. He looked closer at it and saw that he himself had painted the grounds black.
He breathed heavily as he fixed his eyes onto the nauseating scene. Not daring to look up for he was embarrassed at his outburst, he begged, "Tell me when they're leaving."

Not even removing his hands to answer, he responded, "They're leaving when the Orange Sun hits the Pedastel."

He looked up but didn't dare look straight into the face of the revered Trist, "Please.... I have no one..... no one to remember me and no one to wait with me. Please.... just stay with me until I die." he pleaded to the scientist standing in front of him. His friends were dead. He already assumed that his parents were dead. He hoped that Trist had understood his yelling and anger was only because he was so afraid to die in such a hell.

"No."

No. No? His mind was in anguish. He didn't mean to snap like that, not if he had known that Trist would've returned the favour after. Panic grew from the back of his mind and sperad like wildfire to his mandibles, "No! No! Please! I.... I-"

He was only silenced when Trist removed his own hand from his mandibles and mouth to reach out towards the stained sheets of the matted bed. He wondered what Trist could be doing. It was practically suicide and a death wish to touch something that was even touched by an infected one. He was in the last stages of infection; ready to be welcomed by death and was highly contagious. Yet, Trist had touched the sheets he had lain in. If it was possible for him, he would've let go of everything and shouted and screamed to the heavens for mercy from the whirlwind of sadness and kindness. He looked at Trist's hand which was clenching the sheets as though it was something precious that shouldn't be let go of instead of something that shouldn't even be touched. He imagined that Trist realized what he was doing only a few instants ago and was merely trying to hold onto his nerve and grasp the diseased sheets as a way to calm him down.

Trist spoke with soft gentle words that carried a wisedom to them, "You don't want to die." He was silent; not wanting to speak and say the wrong things and too exhausted to scream and yell anymore. "I'm not going to stay with you because you're not going to die; you're not going to be killed by this.... this thing. I know you and I know that you can beat it."
He wanted to say and counter, "What about the Whole-Beings O? Most of them are dead." He stayed silent. "I... I'm going to bring you with me on the evacuatoin ship. Once on the ship, I'm going to cure you."

What was he saying exactly? Cure? How could a cure exist? If such a thing did, wouldn't they have founded it already? Endless questions throbbed at his skull and tempted his tongue to let loose and have them all spill out.
Trist continued on, "I need you to stay strong. I need you to keep the virus dormant. That is the only way to prolong life. Don't.... don't give up hope."

The silence was awkward as Trist let his hand drag along the sheets and come back to his side, kneelling down next to the bed. Asaedayu could hear the small squish of his vomit touch the thick robes. Everything was completely muted and somehow.... felt more peaceful. He let out a big breath, the only breath that felt the most dearest to him in a long time, like it may as well been his last.
His lazy tongue finally met with his will to speak and he laughed again. Though this laugh was one more of a joke and of humble understanding. "You're such a romantic; speaking of saving me at this time. You may as well tell me of the story of the Piliopkwa and the Pawn."

He could hear the smile in Trist's voice, "In a time like this; perhaps drivel thoughts of romance and hopes are the only things to keep one sane."

A tch clicked out from his mandibles, considering if he should say what he wanted to say. Another tch passed. "This.... this is the end, isn't it?"

Trist cocked his head to one side and asked, "Have you been listening to what I've been saying at all?" He raised himself up and turned to to the door way.

"Where are you going?"

The rustling of heavy flowing fabrics being whipped off echoed and sounded too strong to ignore or pass off. Clinks of metal jumping off another sounded like glass blowing on sands. In almost an instant, Trist slipped the robes off his bony shoulders, his back ridges shining underneathe and curving in beautfiul patterns upwards his spine. His eyes followed the smooth contours moving up and down and all around when his eyes fell upon something that he did not expect. He could see that there was already a small hint of a blushing red on one of his plate hides.... Asaedayu gasped out. On the back of Trist 8-3 was a sign... of infection.
He shot up from the bed, his back aching and fighting against him, "You! You're infected!!! You... You must stay here!"

Trist turned back around, the robe twirling around like a fine dress. "I am not infected!" he roared out loud.

With eyes wide open, he remarked again, "The Red Sickness.... it's reached you. You're fated to die."

With a furrowed face, he stepped menacingly towards him, Asaedayu feared for what would happen next. Would Trist kill him -a dying being- to protect his secret and be spared the fate that he was facing? He screamed out loud when he saw Trist pull out a dagger from his belt. No, instead Trist brought the blade upon himself. He arched his back that he was sure he heard a cracking sound. A fountain of black blood sprayed out from his back and decorated the back of his white robes like something from a prized kill. He could hear the blade twisting and cracking the hide plate. Finally, the blade fell to the ground with a sharp distinct clatter, the small square of hide plate with it. The Red spot that had found it's way on to his back had not yet reached his dark flesh. Trist stated so calmly it was almost scary.
"That is how I've been keeping the Sickness from reaching me. Any sign, I get rid of it and I'm safe for only a little longer. If I.... I can do it, you certainly can."

Looking at Trist, his legs and waist draped by the darkened robes, he saw that on Trist's abdomens and inner arms were festering scars barely healing. He was right; as long as he could keep up the safe-slaughter at the very early signs of it, he would be safe for just a little longer. Trist took the robes and brought it to Asaedayu, wrapping it around him like he would to a baby.

"What are you doing?" he asked as Trist lifted him up, his arms holding him so securely; his head just peeking out from underneathe the robes and his long legs dangling with the long strips of fabric.

"I'm carrying you. Sorry that it's this way, I can't risk any more of a chance of infection."

Running and carrying him to the last port for the evacuation ship, few of the pilots and soldiers yelled, "You're lucky, you know that? We would've left even if you hadn't come." Trist scoffed and didn't even reply.

He kept quiet, trying to hide his reddened face and hope that all would be alright. the thought that he could be the downfall of their entire race -the leader of the genocide- popped up repeatedly in his head. But wasn't he alive? And if he was alive, didn't he have the desire to stay alive? He stayed quiet until he heard one of the soldiers shout, "Holy Splinctar! He's infected! he's carrying an infected one on-board!"

Everything was almost a blur to what he could remember. All the shouting, all the moving, he was getting dizzy. The only thing that stood out so clear was the feeling of falling and the ache upon his bottom and seeing Trist fall to the ground after being struck with a heavily armored arm, the bristles of it piercing out. he could see the sharp little holes upon the ridges of Trist's face and the slow bleeding.
They grabbed Trist up and shouted to one another, "Throw him off first! Then the sick one!"
Trist had risked his life; both in even attempting to bring him along in evacuation and stepping close to him when both knew that the Red Sickness was highly contagious. They held him by the arms and opened the door to the port, not caring that the port ship had already started to fly off the ground. Asaedayu yelled for them to stop, but they didn't listen. They pushed against Trist's thin form, he resisted them and begged them not to leave the both of them behind, to let him take along his friend for him to find a cure.

He cared. Even about to die he cared.
Asaedayu didn't want to say it out loud but he knew; he had to die. He had to stay behind. It was for the good of the colony and the race. He rose up, his legs barely supporting him. He staggered to an opposite port door. "I'm the infected one! Not him! Take him with you!" Asaedayu shouted as he stumbled backwards to the open door of the port ship. He could feel the cold brisk air on his back, almost coaxing for him to fall back and paint the grounds with what was left of him.

The soldiers stepped forward with their arc guns, "You're both going overboard! You're risking the rest of the colony here! You're both going to stay here and die as your rightful duty!"

Asaedayu grasped onto the side door and leaned back ever so slightly. "I'm going to die, but just take him with you!"

Trist stepped forward, "No! I am not going to let you die here!''

"No!" he shouted back. He opened his mouth wide, his mandibles and tentacles widening and spreading in a twisted fury and he bit into his arm; black blood with the red pus spilled out and drop of it echoed on the native-metal floor. "If you don't take him with you, I'll infect all of us and we will all die together! Is that what you want? Is that what you want?"

They let go of Trist and he fell in a heap of robes and bones onto the floor. One of the soldiers spoke quietly and slowly, "We're going to take him with us. Now what do you think you have to do?"

He nodded and bravely leaned back more.
Trist insisted, "Don't do it! It's not worth it!"

He took a choking breath and responded, "If you live, it's worth it."

"No." was what he heard Trist mutter.

He spoke outloud, ignoring the soldiers watching, "Trist... you better come back soon. Because I'm not very patient."

With that last line, he let go and fell back. Before he could try and grab back onto the metal sides of the doorway, his hands were already too far away and he was falling..... falling.... fallling. The ship had apperently raised itself higher than the grand pedastel. The look on Trist 8-3 Vartickes' shocked face, the small doorway, the logo of their people's proud air force; all were getting smaller and smaller.

Then a loud bam and that was it.

From the fall, he was still sore and he considered it a miracle that he didn't get knocked out from the impact. With Trist's robes still over his sickened form, he stumbled through the ruins of the planet. Everything was surprisingly intact. There was nothing damaged, though the blood all around and the fact that it was so completely devoid of healthy life made it seem more ruined. Smell of ashes and fire filled the air and almost strangled him. He would stay alive..... he would overcome the Red Sickness. He would live. He dropped the robes from his bony form and shouted to the skies,
"Trist! Vartickes! Do you hear me out there? I'm going to live! I'm not going to be killed by this stupid thing! I'm going to live! And I'm going to waiting for you.... to come back...."

From behind him, he heard a hushed voice click, "What the Mana are you talking about? You sound crazy. Just get back to your room and die."

Asaedayu turned around and stumbled over to the crouching figure. It was hard to really distinguish the being for his body was covered so much in red sores and blisters that his hide plates may as well have been crimson red. The thing looked so pathetic and ill that he should've felt sorry for it and left it, but he didn't. He came close to the being and struck him, a loud craackk ringing out in the distance.
The being shouted back, lunging for revenge, "What's wrong with you?!" The being had ferocity, but he was weak from the disease.

Asaedayu shoved him off of his form and explained with a proud voice, "I'm going to live."

"Live? How can you do that? You're just as infected as I am, close to it. You're going to die just like I am from the Sickness."

"No, I'm not."

"What makes you so much better than us that you're going to live while we die?"

"Nothing. I... we... no one else is going to die. We're all going to overcome this. We're all going to live through it to tell our off-spring and their off-spring all about it. We're going to live just so when the others come back, we will be here to welcome them!"

The red being scoffed, "You're a moron."

"Sometimes losing your mind can keep you sane in a mad world."
He picked up the robes just a few feet away from him and walked away. But he looked over his shoulder and asked, "You, do you want to come with me?"

"Where are you going?" he asked with a hoarsenss.

"I'm going to find others." he answered confidently. "Do you want to come or just stay there and give up hope?"

The being was silent for a few seconds, then struggled to his feet. Everytime he got up, he would fall back down again. Finally, Asaedayu came and supproted him up, acting like a crutch. The red being was just as tall as he was, the sores felt soft and supple, so unlike what he had expected. The red being explained, "I had my whole life in front of me. I just entered maturity not too long ago. And this is what accepted me into adulthood. I can't even recognize myself anymore. I'm not even fit to take my family's rank. I'm so ugly and hideous."
That explained it.

"You're beautiful." Asaedayu complimented. Of course he was lying, but it was better to be nice than mean, especially to one as ugly as he was.

"You say that, but I know you're lying."

"Don't worry, we'll get through this...." he paused for a second. He felt that at the end of such a phrase, he should've said something endearing, but the thought was slow to him.

"Tedia."

"What?" he asked. What was it the being had said? Did he just call him Tedia?

"My name is Tedia."

Tedia. The name was in the same sort of custom of alias given to Whole-being figures who were born and bred to be one. There were 2 distinct whole-beings. The first were of the Elite, practically counting as nobility and royal blood. They were the ones who kept ultimate order and control, with an inheritence of leadership and perfected genes that were pure and undamaged. They were the ideal for continuing the race. The second distinction were the whole-beings who kept within themselves, not mixing their genes and blood with others; practically self-breeding to preserve themselves. Something like monks and holy people. Though their purposes were almost opposite; it didn't change the fact that Whole-Beings -born and bred- were the cream of the crop. Beautiful, sleek, faster, smarter, better.

He felt horribly embarrassed. It was a young one he was taking care of; an ugly one at that. He didn't think the ugliness was due to his genes, he blamed it on the sickness of course and knowing the androgynous nature of his new companion, he felt all the more sorry for him and ashamed. He was sure that the young Whole-Being would've looked beautiful as the stars in mid-blue if it hadn't been for the name just rolled off his tongue and he clicked it over and over again, to get accustomed to the classical name.
"Who are you?" he asked; his grip getting tighter around Asaedayu's shoulders.

"Asaedayu." he answered.

"Nice name."

The small talk continued on and on, and they walked together, from then to onward.

And that's it. Please check out my other D9 fanfics.

Please review.

If you have any other questions about the personas and anything else, please leave it in your review and I will get back to you asap. Also, I am taking requests for D9 fanfiction.