Blood
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Final Fantasy: Unlimited. Quite obviously. Because I would never have put so much tragedy in CERTAIN PEOPLE's lives. For the record, if I did own it, I would never do this either.
"O great wandering spirit of Wonderland... awaken from your slumber and answer my voice..."
It hurt... so much... it was so painful, so exhausting just to answer the demand... "W-who's there...? Who has disturbed my rest...?"
There was a bright flash of light, and he was able to slowly, slowly uncurl from his fetal position. His hand still tightly gripped the folds of his cloak, he knew, and opening his brilliant carmine eyes, he swept it from around him, gripping the hilt of his sword and holding it before him. "Have I been... resurrected...?"
"Yes... Madoushi-dono." For the first time, he noticed the necromancer before him, a strange creature swathed all in patterned robes and masked by a simple white plate.
Suspicious simply because of the man's appearance, he gripped the Maken's hilt, holding the sword at the ready. "Why?"
"I have a little... task for you," the necromancer replied. "I am one of the Four Lords of Gaudium... my name is Oscha. And you are long years' overdue your reunion with a certain young man..."
His eyes widening, he stepped forward. "What? Kumo... he's alive! He survived what happened to us! Take me to him right now, I demand it!"
"Not quite so fast, my lord," the stranger named Oscha said, holding up one long, dextrous hand. Crying out in sudden pain, he found that he could not move his body at all; he was pinioned against a seal set up behind him long before his captor had awakened him.
Hazarding a guess at the purpose of his revival, he spat a curse, gasping for breath. "Damn... you...!"
A surge of pain coursed through his blood, ripping another agonized cry from his half-paralyzed lungs. "Now, now, my dear Madoushi-dono... don't be so hasty in judgement. After all... I'm giving you your long-awaited chance at revenge... revenge for all the ridicule he's put you through... revenge for your empty life... isn't the thought... soothing in some way...?"
"I hate you," he hissed.
"My oh my, what a proud spirit we have here," Oscha said in simpering, mocking tones. "My beautiful one, we have a way of bending such spirits to our will... as the stubborn ones are the hardest to break..."
The Chaos chamber was empty except for the two of them. Oscha had planned it so, just in case. It was uncertain if even his master would approve of this method.
And so, no one was there to hear the desperate screams of fear and pain that echoed from the depths of the monster's heart, although they were echoed in one soul's tormented dreams.
---
"Don't let go!"
They clung to each other's hands as the winds of the storm buffeted their bodies about the area, trying to tear them apart. So closely fit together were they that an onlooker who caught a glimpse of them might have mistaken them for the ancient symbol of yin and yang. The whole time, two desperate, frantic pairs of eyes--two carmine, two jadeine--remained locked onto each other, speaking what words could not be said, what words they did not know they had to say, just in case this really did prove fatal to one or both.
"Don't let go of me, you hear? Hold on with your life!"
Nevertheless, sweat had made their palms slick, and their intertwined fingers could only take so much abuse.
"No! Don't do this! Kumo, don't do this! Don't!"
"I... I... I can't stop it... I can't... no, please no! No! No! No!"
"DON'T LET GO! FOR GOD'S SAKE, KUMO, DON'T LET GO OF ME!"
"I... I'm s-sorry, I... I c-can't!"
One last terrified, loving look passed between them before the wind did its job, brutally ripping the two of them apart, throwing the figure in white through the clouds even as it tossed the red-clad one high into the sky, a bright patch of color against the gray of the swirling nightmare in the air.
And all dissolved into nothingness.
---
With a gasp, Kumo lurched upright, beads of sweat flying from his face, shaking uncontrollably.
"Kukuriu?"
Still trembling, he turned. The small sprite-doll Crux was standing on her toes beside him, considering him with huge golden eyes that were filled with concern.
Weakly, he shook his head, trying to smile. "It... it was just a dream. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
"Kuu..." From the look on her face, she quite sensibly didn't believe him in the slightest.
With another shake of his head, Kumo ruffled her hair. He couldn't help but have a soft spot for the little creature, for all that Oscha had created her out of part of himself. She was always so helpful, not to mention devoted; she didn't deserve the treatment that she got from the Earl and his lords. You couldn't control the circumstances under which you came into the world, but you could control what you did with yourself afterwards. Though Crux, like anyone, had her duties, she preferred to spend her time at Kumo's side instead of with the callous lords of Gaudium who abused her.
"I stand corrected," he whispered to her, sad humor in his voice if not in his face. "But you're the only one who knows, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell."
"Kuuu..." Crux was just happy to be touched, but Kumo took it as a yes.
"Thank you," he replied, standing up. "I'll be outside in the usual place, just in case you need me. I doubt I can take very much of the Brat and his court today... I'd end up screaming, bashing a few heads, and completely blowing my cover." So saying, he started padding off towards the exterior of the airborne castle, headed for the little precipice where he spent most of his time when he wasn't babysitting the Earl back inside or bailing Kaze and his company out of some impossible fix. Though it was a precarious position so high up, it was really the only place that Kumo could feel even remotely at home in, trapped in this cold lonely place of alien metals and cruelty nurtured in the absence of a heart. Here, perched among the clouds, he could remove himself from the present and bury himself in the past.
---
He'd never slept alone in his life before he was thrown from his world by chance into one he didn't know so well--the realm beneath his, theMystaria of earth instead of sky. Leaning against Kaze or Aura's shoulder was never quite enough. He ached to be held, to be cuddled, to curl up in someone's protective, supporting arms, to reward his benefactor with gentle kisses and caresses. As a young toddler, before he'd been taken from his parents to train, he had slept in their bed between them; after that, there was always... well. Always a certain special pair of arms there to encircle him as he drifted into dreams. Always a certain pair of slightly callused hands to brush away his tears after his nightmares. Always a certain form that curled around his under the heavy covers of their bed, all through the years to their young adulthood.
Neither of them, nor any of their people, found it strange. Family closeness was an aspect of life. Brothers slept with brothers until they found their prospective mates; sisters with each other or with friends. If a child had no other family, he or she would share the bed of an adoptive sibling until a more intimate bed accepted them.
But even through the early years, they knew they'd had something special. Kisses aimed for cheeks always found a way to wander towards lips. Clamoring for physical contact led them to end up tangled in each other's arms even when it wasn't night, just sitting and holding and stroking. When they couldn't be with each other they pined.
In the first few days, Kumo had cried a lot at night, even though he had Kaze's warm solid body beside his. Kaze, though dependable, didn't know the first thing about how to gentle someone, how to soothe away their pain. Aura was shy around him and would only offer a rare pat or friendly touch on the shoulder. Even if he curled between them at night, Kumo always remembered what he was missing, and so he wept. Neither Kaze nor Aura understood, although Aura tried and had certainly made efforts that did not go unappreciated. It was just that... Kumo missed him. And had gone on missing him, especially knowing that he had certainly been killed along with everyone else on Windaria.
It wasn't just the comfort of his presence, either. It was the way his pride made him awkward at times, and his spiky, defensive sense of humor, and his deeply ingrained honor, and his skill and ingenuity in practice combat. It was also the way that tendrils of his hair, just faintly coarser than Kumo's, would curl around him with the slightest gust of wind. And also the outrageous pranks he still could not help but pull at times. And his smug little smile when he'd been proved triumphant after a long battle. And every other little thing about him.
Kaze never understood the constant aching until what happened to Aura, and by then it was too late for much of anything, though Kumo hated to realize he'd been glad not to be alone in his pain. After that they'd only had each other, which in a way made it better and in a way made it worse.
Kumo still could not help but miss the warm sweet nights during which he'd had a constant companion beneath his covers, no matter what anyone said or did. It just wasn't the same without him, and would never be.
---
A faint trace of familiarity tugged at the corner of Kumo's awareness, pulling him from the half-dream he'd been in the middle of. Even though he knew better, knew it was impossible, he couldn't stop himself from catching his breath and letting his eyes widen in hope and disbelief.
It was a song, a scent, a color, a rune, a flavor in the air, a brilliant brilliant name, the coppery feeling that was both blood and pride. It was a knowledge that set Kumo's heart racing in his chest.
Kiri.
An impossibility, he knew, but one too clear to be a fluke. He was here. After twelve long years he was here. Incredible.
Kiri! Kiri Kiri Kiri Kiri Kiri Kiri Kiri...!
Where...?
But of course. Or why would he have felt it at all?
One of the lords of Gaudium, a shark-man named Pist that Kumo found particularly irritating, had contructed an object that he called the "Ocean Puzzle", which was made up of tiny fragments of all the worlds that collectively made up this nexus of Wonderland, to trap Kaze and his allies. Whenever it shifted, one of the fragments became the focus of intense scrutiny, sometimes battle. The fragment in which Kaze and his company were now trapped must be some part of Windaria--lost worlds often became incorporated into Wonderland, after all--and somehow, Kiri must also be there. Somehow.
Sweeping his cloak about himself, Kumo slipped through the fine lines of dimensional barriers that defined Wonderland, seeking the familiarity he had felt and knowing that he would end up in the right place.
There.
And he was falling through a sky towards a cloudfield wrapped in crimson Mist...
---
Something was wrong. Kumo could sense that the moment he started to fall.
The energy signature, the very life in that Mist was Kiri's. What had happened here? If Kiri had been attacked...
No, Kumo realized as he delicately touched down, turning to look through the heavy screen of Mist that encircled them all.
Kaze and the army helping him were also here, along with the woman and children from another world. All of them, save Kaze, had been paralyzed by the toxins Kiri utilized within his Mist, and Kaze was trapped in one of Kiri's infamous energy prisons. Kiri himself was standing right before him, a hard and decisive look on his face, with the tip of his Maken pointed at Kaze's throat.
Watching as the woman from the new outer world collapsed, Kumo shook his head, turning to Kiri with the only word he could bring himself to speak. "Why...?"
Kiri, turning, lowered his sword to his side with a strange look on his face. "I've been waiting for you," he said almost conversationally as a slight breeze tossed his crimson hair and cloak around his tall thin form.
"Why did you...?" Kumo asked helplessly.
"I was resurrected and brought here for one purpose." Kiri's carmine eyes narrowed. "To finish our fight." Kumo, shaken, watched as Kiri leveled his red Maken at him. "Prepare for battle, little brother..."
"Niisama..." Kumo whispered, rendered unable to move.
There was a long silence, and then Kiri spoke.
"Do you remember that great battle that sealed the fate of our world, little brother?"
Kumo hadn't been there himself, but he certainly did remember. Mystaria's two races, the people of the sky and the people of the earth, had banded together in one last attempt to fend off Chaos and end the siege that had plagued them for so long. Over a period of hours, every last one of the defenders had been wiped out, and the world had been destroyed. Kumo, having been traveling with Kaze and Aura to seek out Chaos' mortal body, had not been there to help, but he had known--especially by the way it felt as though his heart had been wrenched out of his chest--that his brother had fallen.
"At that time, why did I advance towards the enemy, fighting them without holding back? Do you know?"
"Because..." Kumo ventured helplessly. "You were a swordsman of great pride..."
"Wrong!" Kiri snapped, rending the air with an angry slash of his Maken.
"What?" Kumo gasped, his jadeine eyes going wide.
"I was thinking of you the whole time!"
"Me?" Guilt's threads tightened around Kumo's heart, and he hated himself once again for being absent from Mystaria at the siege.
"If it had been you, what would you have been thinking?" Kiri demanded. "What would you have done? Thoughts like those have always brought me to the question of who was the stronger between the two of us. I wanted to lead us to victory in that great battle to show my superior skills!"
"Niisama..." Where was all this coming from? This wasn't like Kiri at all, not one bit! Or... had he been hiding this jealousy all along? If so, what had freed it? What happened to you, big brother?
"I was the greatest swordsman, and you know it," Kiri continued, bitter hatred laced through his words and glaring from his blood-colored eyes. "I was the one left to make the difficult choices. And so... I died.
"But even in death, this was the thought that I could not escape."
"So that is how badly you want to fight me..." Kumo was torn. This was so unlike Kiri that he could almost think it wasn't his brother, except for the fact that the feeling he got was the same. This was the brother he loved, his Kiri, his dear one, who had always been there through all the good and bad times, almost right to the end.
"Our world has been devoured and decimated by the insatiable hunger of Chaos," Kiri stated simply. "Now I am free of all care."
Murmurs ran through the members of the army that was fighting Chaos; whispers of disbelief.
No, Kiri, no, Kumo thought desperately. Stop this, please, I love you, you're my brother, don't say these things.
"Enough!" Kiri shouted, leveling his Maken at his brother once again. "Now fight me!"
"Niisama!" Kumo cried desperately.
"Now I am nothing more than a dead soul trapped within this crystal weapon, and you must answer to my spirit and my sword!"
"But..." The protest died on Kumo's lips, caught in his throat. This could not be happening... a dream of paradise turned into such a nightmare. And here! Here, in this place where they had lived as children... it seemed almost premeditated.
Perhaps it was.
"If you will not come to face me, then I will come to you!" With a sharp cry, Kiri dashed forward, slashing at Kumo, who just barely dodged the blow. Facing this specter of his brother, with a sword drawn and ready to kill, was too much.
He could never do it.
"Niisama, don't you see!" Kumo cried desperately. "There is someone taking advantage of your heart, trying to confuse you with these deceptions!"
"What of it?" Kiri asked coldly, his eyes glowing.
"Niisama...!" All right, there was definitely something wrong. Kiri would... not... do this. And he had all but admitted someone was controlling him!
"Fight me!" Kiri demanded once again, slashing at Kumo, who stepped out of the way just in time.
As he regained his footing, Kumo shook his head, his face settling into pained resolution.
"No. I will never fight you."
Kiri swung his sword at Kumo once more. This time, although Kumo avoided the main sweep of the blow, a thin cut opened on his upper arm.
"You're my brother. I love you."
With a cry of rage and frustration, Kiri lunged. This time, Kumo held his ground, his arms outstretched and his eyes warm, slipping his mask automatically from his face. Although he let out a soft cry of distress as the sword bit into his side, he did not falter.
"What's wrong with you, Niisama? This isn't like you."
Another slash and another hit. This time the cut ran across Kumo's ribs, letting a thin ribbon of blood run down his side.
Staring down the blade pointed at him, Kumo shook his head. "The Kiri I know would never do this, no matter how angry or jealous he was!"
"Shut up and take out that sword," Kiri hissed, madness in his eyes, as he attacked again.
Wincing at the pain of the wound that had been opened along his left hip, Kumo held out his hands to Kiri's furiously shaking form. "Please, try to calm your spirit, my brother!"
"Why don't you try using your sword to do that?" Kiri demanded.
"Because I love you," Kumo repeated. "I could never try to hurt you. I love you."
"Shut up," Kiri snapped, carving a line across Kumo's collarbone.
"Try to fight it," the white-haired swordsman pleaded. "Don't let them do this to you!"
Wordlessly, Kiri put all his strength into one last blow, which knocked Kumo onto his back, opening a bloody crescent on his chest, over his heart.
"Nii..sama..." Kumo whispered weakly, coughing and letting a line of blood trace from the corner of his mouth.
Kiri shuddered, shaking his head and letting his Maken fall from nerveless hands, pressing them both to his temples and letting out a low moan. "Kumo... I... ugh..." Trembling, he dropped to his knees, awareness coming into his eyes.
Kumo smiled painfully. "I knew... you could... do it..."
"Kumo..." Kiri looked into his eyes, slow realization coming over him. "Oh, hell. I did this... to you... Kumo-chan, I... I..."
Gently, Kumo reached up to touch his brother's face, the tips of his fingers brushing against the tears that had welled up in those loving crimson eyes. "Niisama, why are... you crying?"
"You're..." Kiri shook his head. "You're in so much pain... I hurt you... this is all my... all my fault...!"
"No," Kumo whispered dreamily, weaving his fingers into Kiri's long red hair. "You were being... being manipulated against your will... it's alright... it doesn't even hurt that much, really..."
Shaking his head seriously, Kiri carefully levered Kumo into his arms. "How much blood have you lost, to be talking like this...? These wounds are really bad... don't go to sleep on me, you hear? Stay awake, keep your eyes open! If you don't... you... you'll..."
"I'm... so tired..." Kumo's voice was faint, barely even a whisper. "Niisama... if you hold me... I know I'll be alright... so... don't worry... about... me..." Despite Kiri's warning, his eyes slowly fluttered closed as his weak smile evaporated.
"Kumo!" The loving fearful cry echoed in the still air, sending reverbations around the swirling ruins. With that, the last of the red mist dissipated, allowing those Kiri had held captive to move again.
It was to them that he now had to turn for aid.
"Please..." Voice and body both shaking, eyes wide and imploring, he dropped to his knees a few feet from where they stood. "Help him... help my brother...!"
The stranger standing nearest to him was a woman who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, wearing a skintight orange dress, sensible boots, and a set of orange armwarmers that matched her dress. She had large, warm brown eyes and black hair pulled back into a double ponytail, as well as a look of deep concern on her face.
Nodding slightly, she walked up to him and knelt as well, putting one hand on the unconscious Kumo's head and the other on Kiri's shoulder. "I'll do what I can, but you have to tell me... what happened here? Why did you do those things? Try to explain while I help him..."
As the woman eased Kumo out of his arms, Kiri nodded, his face white and drawn. "It was all a trap set by Chaos," he whispered bitterly. There were collective gasps from the members of the army that fought against the Earl. "As I'm sure you heard, our world fell, although we fell fighting. I gave my life trying to protect my people, trying to protect my brother. We'd... been separated a while ago, but..." Kiri shook his head. "All the same... I couldn't let anything happen... I was fighting for him for once instead of for myself. I'd been jealous of his skill when we were children... I thought I'd left that all behind, but..." He shook his head again and fell silent.
"What happened?" the woman asked gently, in the middle of winding a length of bandage around the wound in Kumo's arm.
"One of the servants of Chaos is a necromancer," Kiri whispered, shuddering and crossing his arms as though suddenly cold. "He brought me back to life, and... he tricked me into wanting to fight Kumo... I was only free of his curse when I... when I... oh, Kumo... I'm so sorry..."
The black-haired woman, listening to Kumo's labored breathing with one ear and Kiri's tale with the other, shook her head in sympathy. "That's terrible... but I think you should know... your brother, I believe he's going to be alright. He's stronger than you might expect."
Kiri sighed, relief loosening the worry on his face. "Thank God..."
As if confirming the woman's words, Kumo let out a soft moan and shuddered, half-opening his eyes. "K-kiri-niisama...?"
"I'm so glad you're okay," Kiri nearly cried, stroking Kumo's hair with shaking hands. "I'm so glad...!"
"Wha... what happened?" the white swordsman asked weakly.
"You passed out. But you're going to be just fine, Kumo... just fine...!"
The sound of a click behind them made Kiri whirl.
Kaze had also been freed with the others. And it seemed that he had been waiting for this.
He was pointing his loaded shotgun straight at Kumo.
Automatically, Kiri launched himself up, standing in front of his brother with outstretched arms, as Kaze's finger tightened on the trigger. "What the hell do you think you're doing! Put that down right--"
There was a sharp report from the shotgun, and Kumo, who was struggling into a sitting position, cried out involuntarily as a thin line of blood traced a short pattern of deep red spots against the clouds.
With a soft gasp, Kiri fell straight into his brother's waiting arms, their reversal nearly stopping Kumo's heart in shock.
"Kiri! Kiri! No, oh, God, no!" Kaze's aim was deadly; the bullet had hit Kiri full in the chest. Kumo could feel his brother's hot blood beginning to spill over his arms even as he spoke.
"Kumo... where... are you...?" The broken whisper drew Kumo's attention back to Kiri's face. Although his crimson eyes were open, he didn't seem to see anything. "It's... so dark, I..."
"Here," Kumo said softly. "I'm right here... next to you..."
"I," Kiri tried to tell him through weakness and gasps for air. "I, I..." His hand, which had gripped Kumo's shoulder, traced up to his face, taking hold and pulling his brother down to him. Unable to speak, he had done the only thing he could to explain, bringing their lips to meet for the last time.
"I love you too," Kumo whispered back, his voice breaking into a sob. Kiri, too weak for words, caressed his face with gentle hands, catching tears about to fall.
With a sigh and deep love in his unseeing carmine eyes, Kiri let his hands drop. His eyes half-closed and glazed; his chest stilled and the rapid flow of blood from his wound ceased. The expression of tenderness on his face would be preserved for eternity. He was gone.
Kumo trembled with the effort of keeping his tears silent. With unsteady movements, he closed his brother's eyes, folding the gentle callused hands against the red breast. Finally, he could keep hold of himself no longer, and all he had suppressed came out in a rush: "Oh Kiri my brother my love my world I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry this is all because of my weakness forgive me forgive me forgive me I'm so sorry please don't go, don't leave me, I need you I need you I love you, stay, stay, stay, please... please... no..."
In an instant the tide changed, and whipping out his sword, he glared wrathfully at Kaze, who was still standing with his hand on the little gun that had caused all of this. "You BASTARD!"
With a wail of grief and rage, Kumo lunged at Kaze, who backed a step out of the way just in time. "Damn you! Why! Tell me why, you bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Damn you! You killed him! You murdered my Kiri! I protected you! I trusted you! I fought right alongside you, you bastard, and I was prepared to do so again! You killed him! You killed the only one in all the worlds I'll ever love! Why? Why? WHY!" By then Kumo's voice was a twisted shriek. "Damn you! DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU!"
There was a sudden hiss, and a distortion in the air, as Kaze, the kindly woman, the army, and their craft flickered into nothingness. The Ocean Puzzle had shifted them into some other world, and Kumo had nothing on which to vent his anguish.
Dropping his sword, he staggered back to Kiri's body, collapsed over his brother's still form, and gave in to tears. He sobbed long and hard, ignoring the rest of the world, his back to the space that was so empty it was painful. He would have given anything then to fade into nothingness, to follow Kiri into whatever realm of the dead to which he'd gone, to be back with his brother again. But duty, the hand that drew short his leash whenever he considered himself, dictated that he could not.
Levering himself up a little, he clumsily kissed his brother's face, cradling the warm body in his loose embrace. It was almost too easy to believe that this was just another of the many times they'd ended up curled together in a friendly cuddle in the middle of the day. Aching, Kumo gave Kiri one last long, passionate kiss on the lips, and wept.
Silent in his tears, he laid the body back down, then knelt beside it. Duty could call all it wanted, but he simply could not abandon Kiri to this empty place just yet. He would hold the vigils that custom dictated for as long as he had to. Only then would he be able to go back to that place, back to those who had beyond doubt orchestrated this murder.
"Chaos," he whispered bitterly.
That was the last word he spoke for the next seven days.