Meh, almost done, little puffballs. The next chapter will probably be fairly short.

I had actually thought about a whole other storyline that would have been interesting (and would have ended with Beyond giving his life to save L, Lawliet, man is it annoying to remember to call him Lawliet and not L, so if I did somewhere forgive me) but would have taken at least 3 more parts, not including the sub-parts. I might make an alternate ending later. Also had a crack alternate ending in mind too, having to do with the grappling scene and possible incest (is it incest if the person is your adopted son or daughter? Apparently not if you've read Frankenstein…)…. But it's only suggestive if you *want* it to be so… anyway. *whistling*

Review? Since I'm pretty sure this fic was just a slight fail and want to know if I'm right.

Semi - Finale

They stared into each other's eyes.

Lawliet swallowed, the cold steel barely brushing his neck, his son straddling him, in an impossible situation. If he struggled, he'd die. If he didn't, he'd die. If he tried to negotiate, he'd plausibly die.

I suppose plausibly dying is better than definitely dying… the thought trailed off. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it when the steel bit deeper into his neck, a drop of blood running down his neck.

"This is where you belong, father. Lying in the dirt, whether you live or die a decision in my hands. An ironic justice, wouldn't you agree?"

The king didn't move, merely gazed into his son's eyes, noting the odd emotion in his eyes; rather, the odd void of emotion. He didn't seem angry, happy, or even content with the prospect of finally exacting his revenge. He looked like he was merely taking out the trash. I mean nothing to him… his honor is what matters, and he considers me an obstruction to that honor. I'm nothing more than a pothole to be filled in his proverbial road.

Beyond was breathing heavily, the sword shaking in his hand against his enemy's pale neck. Weakling, imbecile, kill him… get it over with, and you can retreat to your precious solitude and leave this pompous reality, kill him, slice him, run him through, you idiot!

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to make the simple cut across his neck.

I… I always looked up to him, I always respected him, and… hell, I always loved him. I never blamed him for what happened to me, but when my handler died and I escaped, I wanted to blame someone. I always knew this, yet only now when the deed is at hand do I acknowledge it. Conscience is a damnation, curses! If I kill him I won't be in peace, I'll merely be in neutrality.

Then what was Mello's death for?

Because he was an idiotic waste of breath.

What will Lawliet's… what will my father's death be for?

A foolish fulfilling of a hate long extinguished.

I can't kill him like this.

But I will defeat him.

And I will defeat him on equal ground, not slaughtering him like a chicken in the yard.

He no longer wanted to kill his father out of hate; he wanted to kill him out of respect.

As he always had.

With that, he moved his sword and ran the blade along Lawliet's cheek, causing the man to wince, then stood up off of him, walking back a few steps, giving his father room to stand.

The monarch was shocked, but he took the opportunity to get his arm and sword out from under him and stand, ignoring the cut on his face, which, like all face cuts, was bleeding profusely. At least it doesn't obstruct my vision.

They were circling each other again, confusion almost a taste in the heavy air. What they were wondering was obvious. Light, for one, was furious, while Iblis, while puzzled, trusted his lord's judgment.

"Why did you do that?" Lawliet asked, voicing the thought on everyone's mind.

"I did that because I don't hate you. I've been trying to put my hate on you, but I never hated you. I always knew this, I just decided not to act on that until now." Beyond's feet stirred the bloodied dust.

"Then why are we still fighting?"

"Because I want to kill you out of respect." The illicit king leapt forward and locked his swords with Lawliet's, grabbing him by his leather vest with his free hand, slowly pushing him toward the edge of the circle. Lawliet grunted and braced himself, both hands on his sword to keep Beyond's larger scimitar from suddenly disengaging and cutting his head off. "I didn't want to kill you like a dog." Beyond disengaged then and kicked at Lawliet, hoping he would swing at his foot with the sword, in which case he would twist and kick the weapon out of his hand.

He didn't.

Instead, he dropped his sword, grabbed and held Beyond's leg in an armbar, his arm hooking him above his knee so he couldn't draw him in. Lawliet's adversary was too off balance to even try and swing, so he fell on purpose, tossing his scimitar out of the way. Lawliet let go so he wouldn't go down with Beyond, but the man on the ground was quick enough to sweep his legs around and trip Lawliet. He fell on his back in the dust.

Beyond rolled forward and leapt on top of the king, the idea of choking Lawliet to death in a completely even grappling match much more appealing than running him through with a cold piece of steel. Lawliet thrust his hips up in an attempt to buck Beyond off, but to no avail; the man was too grounded. One hand wrapped itself around Lawliet's throat, the other bracing him on the ground. The man underneath him used that fact to his advantage, twisted and hooked Beyond's arm by wrapping one arm under his and grabbing his own wrist. Beyond, realizing he was in danger of having his arm broken if Lawliet sat up and twisted, rolled with Lawliet when he twisted again and wrapped his legs around Lawliet, lying on his side behind him, both of Lawliet's arms occupied with only one of Beyond's. Lawliet abruptly let go and tried to wiggle out of Beyond's legs. He felt Beyond's arms wrap tightly around his neck and he gasped, suddenly unable to breathe and unable to move. Beyond had him in the grip of a python.

Most people would have tried to pry the arms away from their neck, but Lawliet knew his son was much too strong. Instead, he grabbed the dagger at his side and drew it, since his arms were free.

Curses, he has a dagger! With that thought, Beyond withdrew his arms, brought one leg back and kneed his enemy hard in the back, then braced his foot against the same spot and pushed Lawliet away. He quickly stood, watching as Lawliet spit and stood, armed with a dagger, himself armed with nothing. He growled and slid away from the edge of the ring, closer to Lawliet, but not so close that he could utilize the dagger. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" And he almost meant the sentiment.

"Quite," was the man's clipped response. He brought his hand up and rubbed his bruised neck, the memory of Beyond's arms around him quite unpleasant. He was still having trouble breathing.

Beyond licked his lips, nervous. He knew how to easily disarm someone with a dagger; it was the fact that his father was inching toward the longsword and the scimitar that worried him. Disarming a longsword with your bare hands, or for that matter, a scimitar, was almost impossible.

I will have to take the chance with the dagger. He leapt to the side, his feet barely touching the ground, then darted forward, head turned toward his adversary, waiting for the perfect moment… there!

When their paths were almost on collision course, Lawliet stepped back away from the abandoned weapons, holding the dagger out in front of him in an expert grip; not tightly, not loosely. Most people and even swordsmen would be holding on to the dagger for dear life, but Lawliet knew that would do nothing but weaken his grip for when it counted.

When he stepped back, Beyond bent his knees mid-dash and jumped, spinning his leg at the hip, banking on that Lawliet wouldn't try and cut him; he'd retreat.

He did.

With an almost silent landing, he threw himself to the side and rolled just as a dagger sliced the air where his side had been. When he completed the maneuver he was almost on top of his precious scimitar. He snatched it up out of the dust and stepped back, motioning a glove-clad hand toward the longsword. "Pick it up. This ends here."

He was utterly exhausted.

Not only because of the physical strain, but because of the emotional strain.

He couldn't kill his son. He couldn't not kill his son. He was being squeezed on three sides, and there was no escape. He was dead or dying, and the only thing keeping him breathing was the involuntary systems in his body that he desperately wished he could stop.

So why didn't he just lay down and let B kill him?

Because he wanted to live.

Yet die.

Anguish was ripping him apart from the inside and he didn't know what to do.

Not only because he was going to kill or be killed by his son, his love, but because he wasn't sure which he would rather.

How can I even consider killing him…? Why should I care that he betrayed me? In his betrayal he helped countless lives, and his treachery was only because of my own doings, because I allowed the physical and emotional torture to persist. If he dies it's no one's fault but my own. Dear God, what have I done…?

They were fighting, their blades were clashing, entwined in a deadly dance, but the distressed monarch was conscious of none of it. His blade moved of its own accord, protecting him, not out of any conscious will he had to live but out of an involuntary, primal reaction to survive. Raw, dogged determination was all that was driving him. His conscious mind was being torn apart, and he couldn't stand to raise his blade offensively against his son.

He was going to die.

Meanwhile, Beyond was attacking him with ease, realizing that Lawliet had lost all will to fight, increasingly enraged by that fact. That had been his original intention, but now that he wanted to kill him out of respect, he wanted his father to fight with all his strength. Without thinking, Beyond snarled, "Lawliet! Get your head out of the clouds and fight! Self-pitying cretin, quintessence of cowardice, don't give up on me now!" The final outburst was one that Beyond hadn't even meant to say… he wanted him to live…?

Lawliet crouched and leapt backwards, away from Beyond, trying to clear his head. Beyond realized that he needed time, inclined his head and eyed him critically, hoping that Lawliet would fight.

Lawliet was panting, emotionally spent, but his physical strength hadn't left him yet. He knew he had to finish this. He wouldn't kill his son. He would have to wound him critically enough to where he wouldn't be able to fight, but where he would be…

"Listen to me, father. This is the last stand, the final charge. Get over any pathetic notions you are entertaining of sparing me and attack with everything you have or I will kill you. If you wish to die, do it on your own time, don't have me do it for you." Beyond realized he was practically begging his father to kill him. …what are you doing?!

Lawliet stilled, took a deep, calming breath. He… he wants to die… he wants to die at my hand, or kill me at my best. …I… I want to live…. I'll try my best to wound him but… I might… just have to kill him… "Very well, Beyond." His voice carried strong across the circle.

Beyond let out a laugh. A maniacal ecstasy laced laugh. Incarnation of sadomasochism. "Then let's finish this, Father."

The next few seconds passed as a blur, neither combatant knowing exactly what happened. But at the end of it, Lawliet was on his knees, a scimitar shoved through his abdomen, his longsword dropped somewhere. He gasped as Beyond withdrew the weapon, pressed his hand to his side, and collapsed.

Right after he lost consciousness, Beyond fell next to him.