Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
AN: The story takes place in a parallel universe; approximately around the Ten Years Later (TYL) timeline.
Incessant Storm:
To be at the heart of every battle, the driving force behind every attack; he is the turbulent Storm that yields to none.
Blasts rang out across the grounds, followed by surprised yells and the sound of running feet as people hurried toward the flames that clung to the outer walls. Gokudera ran with them, Yamamoto keeping pace at his side, until they reached the inner courtyard.
"You remember where you're supposed to go?" Gokudera asked.
"Yeah," Yamamoto replied. Gokudera nodded and began heading toward the stairs, but stopped at Yamamoto's next words. "Don't die, yeah?"
He glanced back at the baseball idiot, who appeared grim. It was a look that had become all too common on the once carefree face. Unsure of how else to respond, he summoned up a scowl and said, "You should worry more about yourself."
"I guess you're right." Yamamoto let out his characteristic laugh.
Gokudera couldn't muster up the energy to be annoyed, because there was no humor in those eyes, and the tone sounded forced. So he turned away, pretending he hadn't noticed; at any rate, pointing it out wouldn't achieve anything.
"Get going," he muttered, and then began bounding up the steps two at a time to carry out his own duties.
At each station along the way, he discovered that their mounted floodlights had been destroyed in the attack. Cursing loudly, he kept climbing until he had reached the tower that overlooked the stronghold, where he could assess the damage using the illumination from the fires—an aftereffect of the attack.
The wall had held; there were some pits caused by the explosions, but the structure did not fall—probably because their floodlights had been the primary targets of the assault. The sigh of relief caught in his throat as, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the eerie scarlet tint of the blaze. As he watched, they spread across the wall's surface, climbing over the edge and spilling down the side. The tendrils appeared to prod and jab the cracks, as if seeking entrance to the more vulnerable wooden supports that lay behind the stone. He realized with a silent dread that these were not natural flames; they had a will, and it was to destroy the stronghold from within.
Gokudera shouted for the rain attribute users to put out the flames, and for the rest of the men to focus on guarding the perimeter. Even as he called out these orders, he scowled at the terrain below. Somehow, enemy forces had managed to penetrate the outer defenses and launch an assault on their headquarters. In the darkness of the night, they had been caught unawares. Even now, shadows danced at the edges of the land, slowly pushing back the light cast by the flames. But were they merely shadows, or were they enemy soldiers lying in wait? What was worse, they had no source of light since their equipment had been demolished in the initial assault, and the glow from the storm flames wasn't worth the potential damage to the interior structure.
As the blaze was quelled, darkness descended upon them once more. Barely a second passed before a rainbow of colors streaked through the air, heading straight for the defenders. Shouts from below reached him as a wave of attackers rushed the walls.
From his vantage point, Gokudera could see their enemies' true image in the brief illumination from their assaults. Their uniform confirmed what he had already known—the compound was under attack from Byakuran's forces.
Mouth set in a grim line, the Storm Guardian joined his men and commenced the counterattack. Blasts from box weapons continuously shot at the building's base, interspersed with bullets, felling more than one Millefiore soldier.
Gokudera defended his sector and fought alongside his subordinates with precision and skill. No longer was he the rash teenage boy who haphazardly threw explosives every which way, caring for no one's safety, including his own. Now, he was the Vongola's right hand; he had a responsibility to the men who put their trust in him and placed their lives in his hands.
Another explosion shook the battlements, throwing defenders off the stone tower and into the fray below. Gokudera felt himself go over and immediately curled his arms over his head. A moment later, there was a jarring impact that nearly caused him to black out. He didn't know how long he lay in the wreckage, enduring the sharp pains of stone pummeling flesh as debris rained over his head, but he couldn't stay down. Without sparing his injuries a second thought, he forced his beaten and bloodied body back up. Pain shot through him with each action, but he only gritted his teeth and put another foot forward. There was no time to rest.
He shoved the pain to the back of his mind, to be experienced in all its glory later, assuming he survived. For now, all of his attention was focused on the battle as he leapt into the melee with all he had.
The battle raged all around, and in the dark, the distinction between ally and foe was difficult to make. He could only shoot, hope, pray that after the discharge from his weapon, it wasn't the face of a friend on the other side of that momentary ray of light.
The relief he felt as each white-clad individual fell was always short-lived; for each enemy he defeated, two would immediately surge forward to take the person's place, guided by the light of his attack. The Millefiore was a resourceful group with endless warriors at its disposal. Outnumbered, even the Vongola found itself hard-pressed in battle, but that didn't stop Gokudera from carrying out his duties. Consecutive bursts from his box weapon set the soldiers alight, their agonized voices drawing others like moths to a flame before they too were consumed by the fire.
He weaved across the battlefield, never in one place long. He took out groups of twos and threes, leaving explosions and screams in his wake. A taut smile spread across his features as he set his traps. Dynamite may not have held much weight against the rings and box weapons of the new era, but he had fought with them since adolescence, and he knew their uses. In the dark, amidst the noise of battle, on the ground strewn with rubble—that was their advantage.
By the time friendly reinforcements arrived, Gokudera had long ago moved on down the field, his consecutive attacks helping to clear a path for Vongola's fighters to gain the upper hand. Breathing ragged, body sore, blood flowing from various parts on his person—still he forged ahead, never slowing down, filling craters with bodies as he crossed paths with the opposition.
Gokudera Hayato was the Storm. It was an undeniable part of his very being—his relentless devotion to the Vongola Tenth, his incessant attacks in the heart of battle, his flaring temper that could be ignited with the smallest spark, his tumultuous past that haunted him still. He was the Storm, and nothing short of dropping dead would stop the tempest.
After what felt like the span of several years rather than only a few hours, the first hint of day peeked over the horizon. With it, the Millefiore forces were finally pushed into retreat, their numbers diminished by half.
With the threat neutralized for the time being, the medical team rushed out to collect the injured. Gokudera refused the medics who approached him. They attempted to get him on a stretcher, but no one tried to actually touch him. He was the Vongola's second-in-command, and he wasn't exactly known for his warm and gentle personality. Not to mention, a box weapon was still strapped to his arm, and he wasn't averse to using it for defending his personal space.
He made several fervent denials that he had received anything more than a couple of scratches, and with a scowl, ordered the dubious medics to help the truly injured. The command was accompanied with much yelling and baring of teeth until the flinching men finally left him alone. He saw them cast uncertain glances over their shoulders every other step, but ignored it.
Uttering a grunt, he heaved himself up and headed for the closest sector. The baseball idiot hadn't responded with a situation report; neither had Hibari, but that arrogant jerk hadn't taken an earpiece at all, refusing to have the rest of them invading his head with their annoying voices. Yamamoto had probably just had his knocked off and broken amidst all the fighting.
Gokudera resolved to give the careless idiot a long scolding when he found him.