Brilliance and Bitterness
Chapter 6: Premonition


Jean-Paul's eyes were closed. That changed little... he knew what was surrounding him, could feel the warmth, could smell the smoke, could hear the flickering of the flames.

He had improved. A circle of some dozen candles now surrounded him, all of which he'd lit himself without once dropping the lighter. He was starting to think that even if he opened his eyes, he could remain within this circle of fire indefinitely. It felt like a serpent was writhing inside him, trying to bite its way out, every time he laid eyes on one of the flames, but he could do it. No longer did he face the immobilizing panic.

There was, however, a problem. The candles had ceased to bother him as much because he knew he controlled them. He owned these flames, and they were his to douse if need be. He still could not make the aura of the flames flow harmlessly through him, as he ought to... he still fought against the fire and tried to conquer it. Here, he could conquer it.

It wasn't going to be so easy in the arena.

"Why isn't this working?" he asked of the empty room. Misty didn't know he had continued this, what she clearly thought to be a mad, masochistic ritual. That was probably just as well. She was off working on his HAR... installing the nitrogen core. Of course, that meant he had to stay out of it for at least a week, but it seemed a small price to pay.

He moved around the circle, extinguishing each candle with deliberate movements that brought him frightfully close to the flames. He was becoming impatient, restless, frustrated. "There's an answer. I should be able to figure it out." Voicing that truth made him feel better. Perhaps...

He slipped from the room and scrounged up an ice cube, holding it tightly in his hand. The cold did not matter. It barely registered to him... spreading throughout his body and soul, the biting chill was nullified. This was understanding.

Slowly but surely, the ice melted away. It was gone, but... he had allowed it to touch him... yes. He had not come to an understanding of the ice by merely watching it. His 'predisposition', as Misty called it, was from being in the cold, not observing it. Which meant...

One candle.

He lit it slowly, carefully, and flicked the lighter off. The flame mocked him and his projected confidence. It mocked all that he was. He lifted his hand and saw with irritation that it was shaking. But no. He forced himself to move. Fire, like ice, was an element. It was not enough to stand in its presence. One could only understand it by allowing it to touch...

"ARGH!"

Then he was on the other side of the room with his hand in his mouth. That was stupid. You knew that was going to be stupid before you did it, and you know what? It was stupider than you thought!

Jean-Paul stood, staggered into the bathroom. Medication. Disinfectant. Bandages. Yes. Much better. He took a moment to study himself in the mirror... the experience had left him paler than usual, but that would clear up. He ran a hand through his hair—the exact shade and wildness of fire—and shook his head. Sometimes, he could not help feeling a great many of his traits were a part of some cosmic joke.

Dark disgust stole over his features as he contemplated what he'd just done. You are an idiot. Maybe you're the smartest man in the world, but come on, look at who that's judged against. You can be the smartest man ever born and still be an idiot... and you know what? You are.

"That's a little harsh," he mumbled, making a great effort to control his temper. One of the few things that annoyed him more than messing up in the first place was realizing he'd let himself lapse into self-hatred after messing up. It was so easy to let anger become hatred. Both were emotions he preferred to suppress.

It was time to get out of here for a bit, it really was... gods, he was exhausted. Perhaps he'd been working too hard. Yes. That would be it. He'd stop worrying about fire until the Shadow's new weapon was installed, and perhaps after a break he would not be so desperate.

So completely, utterly, painfully desperate.

He left his quarters. Most of the training courses were intended for the armada, and had common areas for the pilots to spend their off-time in, and at least that room had windows. All they gave was a view of the barren—and dark, he mused, glancing at his watch—surface of Luna... but it was better than nothing. Perhaps he would see stars. Perhaps he would make out constellations visible from Earth. Perhaps, he would see Earth itself... maybe even catch a glimpse of home.

What he actually saw when he entered the room was Cossette seated in front of the holoscreen. Though he'd been aware she was still here, the two hadn't seen each other since their 'pleasant' meeting on the course a week and a half ago.

She looked up at him. "Happy New Year."

"Eh?" He looked at his watch again. Dammit, she was right. He hadn't even realized the date... perhaps there were merits to the idea he was pushing himself too hard.

She sneered at his confusion, and adopted a long-suffering tone. "I will try again. Felix sit annus novus."

Jean-Paul felt the entire world slowly but surely turning upside-down around him. Yes, definitely overwork. He registered and understood the underlying nastiness in her words, but found he did not care. Her hostility flowed through him and was gone, much like the fire refused to do. "I don't speak Latin. Neither does anyone else. Except the Pope. So you must be the Pope."

It occurred to him, when he finished speaking, thathe may have slightly overdosed on the pain meds, but the expression on her face made it all worth it. "WHAT?"

"That was logic. The Pope speaks Latin. You spoke Latin. Therefore, you must be the Pope." He frowned. "Perhaps not good logic. But logic."

He hadn't thought it possible for Cossette's expression to become funnier. He'd been wrong. "Excuse me. Who are you, and what have you done with the arrogant prick who's been hanging around here?"

...So much for that. "You know, I was in a good mood, and you're ruining it."

"Your mood is not really something that concerns me."

"Well it ought to, unless you're planning to leave, because I'm planning to stay."

"Goodbye, then." She flipped off the holoscreen and wheeled out.

Well. That worked. Oh well, at least he had the place to himself now. Tomorrow while he was busy being excruciatingly embarrassed by hisprevious comments, he could at least salve his ego by remembering he'd made her storm out of his presence in annoyance.

He sprawled across the nearest couch and positioned himself so he could look out the window. It was a clear night—it was always clear on Luna. Yes, he could see the stars from here, many of them. They glittered cold and distant... no... they looked so cold, yet they were not cold. Quite the opposite. They were fire.

His eyes widened in understanding. But before he could fully grasp the revelation which had just presented itself to him, he drifted away into sleep.


The dream had changed again, Cossette mused as she lay in bed. There was still the rain of fire, still the exploding sun. Still the laughing demon bearing Ratchet's corpse in one massive hand. But this time someone stood behind the monster. For a moment she thought it was an ally of the creature, but no. The lanky form's vivid green eyes burned with fury as it watched the demon laugh.

She wondered... surely, the dreams had to mean something. They came every night now, and she was close to ignoring them, but that was terribly dangerous. But what else could she do?

She could find the green-eyed man, the one who watched from afar. But, perhaps not. What good would it do? They could watch the world end together, rather than separately. No thanks. Much better to prevent the demon from being spawned.

Being a cripple in the ultra-competitive world of WAR was not easy... politics dictated that one must always attack the weaker, and so many people still insisted on seeing her as weak. She had learned. She had adapted, and she had many contacts. Some for convenience, some for necessity. It was time to start poking around... and find out what this Nova Project really was.


He dreamed.

He was home again. That could not be possible, could it? But no... he could never forget this place. Even without his perfect mind, he carried it within his very soul. The ice whispered around him, the chill wind's gentle caress welcoming him back to where he belonged...

Something was not right. He smelled smoke. Fire. No. There could be no fire here! Not on this sacred ground! Jean-Paul whirled, looking for the source of the smoke, but he could not see it.

The wind became darker, more sinister, and he looked to the sky. There. The flames poured from the sky, and as he saw them they began to strike the earth. But where was it coming from? How could...

Amidst the rain he suddenly realized the greatest fire of all was gone from the heavens. From where the sun ought to have been came a dark figure, wreathed in flame, gazing down at him with hideous, glowing eyes. Its laughter filled Jean-Paul's ears and the fire fell to its rhythm.

"Kreissack." It was instinctive. He knew. He could make out nothing of the fire creature but its eyes, but he knew. Kreissack had caused this. The corruption of WAR had caused this. The flames were WAR's ultimate end, the goal, the final subjugation of humanity...

Somewhere behind the monster, he saw another form. A woman in a wheelchair. She watched it with the same hatred he felt, perhaps even greater, yet it was as if she were watching from a very long way away.

He awoke to the deserted common room, light just beginning to creep in the windows. A word burned inside him, a word that seemed to embody all of his fear and anger and hatred. All that he worked against. All that was evil.

Nova.


The call went out to all of the competitors. It was 2097. They were to return to WAR's main headquarters at Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado. There would be a celebration, in anticipation of the tournament later this year. Be there by January 12th. There would be only a small media presence, but the whole WAR power structure would be present. It was to be a celebration of the future.

For the two at Artemis Canyon, the orders were received with almost identical disdain. Kreissack was really milking this thing for all it was worth—the leader of WAR just enjoyed throwing lavish parties, to demonstrate his company's wealth. Shouldn't they be working and training, rather than taking time off for this ridiculous ego boost? No matter. Kreissack said pack up and go, so they packed up and went.

They had not spoken since the night that they both had the dream.