Chapter 7
Konatsu felt his body weave in and out of the crowd as he kept his gaze fixed on that tall, black-haired figure. He threatened to push people away as his weaving turned into squeezing. His calls of "Takeshi! Wait up!" were lost to the wind and the inane chatter and noise that filled the church courtyard with static, buzzing energy. He wasn't even sure if he could catch up.
"Takeshi!"
Konatsu started to push, the gasps of people interspersed with "excuse me" and "sorry" as he rounded a corner. That black head still bobbed above the rest of the crowd. Konatsu pressed himself through like a fish navigating a sea of poisonous jellyfish, not willing to give up.
It's been so long, Takeshi. Too long for me to give up just like this!
Konatsu emerged from the other side of the crowd, panting not from exhaustion, but from the sheer claustrophobic conditions he had just endured. That was the last thing on his mind as he saw the figure float down a hallway, serene and uninterrupted. Konatsu continued to yell, following Takeshi down the corridor.
"Takeshi!"
Are you deaf to my voice?
And as if he had heard those very words, Takeshi stopped. Konatsu's footsteps were the only sounds that reverberated down the corridor as he ran towards that statue. His mind was filled with the memory of Takeshi: the childishly handsome boy, the smart one who knew all about the sciences, the one with the warsfeil magic but looked so sad when he was taught to use it. The Takeshi he knew had pearly laughter and a bright shining face that yearned for life.
Yet, he ran to face the Takeshi he just saw. It was him alright. His jaw was sharp, clenched tight, head dropped low, as if he had committed as sin. Takeshi's body was taller, darker, more muscular and seemingly ready to kill. He held something cold in his presence, something Konatsu didn't recognise. But his eyes were the same pair of golden irises that glowed in the faintest of light, eyes that were windows to a deceivingly beautiful soul, gentle like his mother's while taking on the noblesse of Konatsu's own father.
Konatsu tried to stare into Takeshi's eyes, but the man wouldn't return the gaze. The black hawk chose to embrace him anyway, stiff body and cold silence greeting him.
"I've finally found you after all these years, Takeshi," Konatsu whispered.
"I've found you too."
Konatsu's eyes widened as he threw himself back.
That wasn't Takeshi's voice.
"Who are you?!" Konatsu felt cheated. His swords appeared in a flash of metal and sunlight, but the not-Takeshi leapt forward to his suicide. Konatsu gave one last moment of hesitance, before feeling the slip and dash of the blade against flesh. The clattering of hollow wood made him release a breath he never knew he was holding.
He heard a breath of wind coming from behind.
"Who are you?"
"Who am I?" Came the cool reply. "Let me ask you the question first: what is the member of the notorious Black Hawks doing in a place like District Seven?"
"I asked the question first," Konatsu clenched his mouth tightly, feeling the anger rising within him yet again. "I don't have to tell you anything."
"Manners," came a chuckle, chiding the man.
"Speak for yourself!" Konatsu flew into a rage as he closed the distance between them in a blink of an eye, the shadow coming into full view as he saw the billowing robes of a bishop – which one he didn't know – and the reflection of sunlight in glass. Konatsu stabbed his katana straight for the centre of his enemy's mass, only to hear the resounding shatter of zaiphon that interlaced the room.
"I don't think so."
Konatsu sent a wave of white-hot rage through his sword as it lit up the hallway. He could see that face, that smiling, almost smirking face behind the rimless glasses that he wanted to punch so badly. One of the seven ghosts whose name he didn't know.
"So sorry, but you destroyed one of my puppets already. Can't have you trying to destroy me now, can you?"
Puppet? The bishop wiggled his fingers as Konatsu caught sight of a shimmer of strings that connected to the dismembered puppet, looking so lifelike, yet so horribly dead and unanimated. The luminous white flame grew hotter as he focussed on the face, so close yet so far…
"Let me give you a chance at being civil," the bishop folded his arms across his chest. Konatsu didn't dare let his guard down, keeping his swords tightly gripped. "Answer my question and we're good: what are you doing here, sir?"
"I've already said it once." Konatsu's face darkened at the bishop's persistence. "It's none of your business." His knuckles turned bleached white and he could hear the crackling of his gritting teeth. "Civility is answering questions that have been posed to you first, before asking your own questions. Perhaps if you answered mine first then I wouldn't appear like such an uncouth barbarian to you, oh great bishop."
"Fine."
Konatsu couldn't believe his luck, but he didn't let it show. He couldn't let it show. He watched as the figure of the bishop relaxed, making the dismembered puppet relax in tandem. The flame around his blade grew a little larger.
"I am Assistant-Archbishop Castor of the Barsburg Church. I'll even be so kind as to tell you that I drew you into this… sacred hallway," Castor gesticulated, trying to punctuate the silence with some form of exasperation that almost failed to humour Konatsu, "for the sole purpose of protecting the public during Holy Week celebrations.
"Now, your turn."
"I'm here looking for someone." Konatsu didn't say who. If the Assistant Archbishop person was as good as he made himself out to be, he'd probably know who Konatsu was talking about anyway.
Three seconds of silence passed.
"But why my apprentice? Who is he to you?" Konatsu didn't know if Castor was trying to stretch him, or pull information out of his ass. He could feel his shoulders tense: he didn't like this and could see where the bishop was going with his line of questioning. On the other hand, this might be the opportunity he needed to find out where the real Takeshi was.
"He's family," he said, curt and simple. He attempted to fold his arms until he realised that he was still grabbing onto his swords. "He's family," came the murmur a second time.
"Family?"
That was the last thing that Konatsu heard before the doors burst open and the wind whipped itself around his cloak, pulling him into a stone like stance that kept him to the ground, but rendering him effectively defenceless.
"Castor!"
That bishop. He didn't have to see him to know who he was. That was the voice of the blonde, the one with Ayanami's scythe, the one who cuts soul ties apart.
"Frau, wait!"
Castor's warning came too late as Konatsu heard the scream of his blades against something more sinister. He opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with the huge, black monstrosity that was merely a legend among the ranks of the Black Hawks.
Now, he was bearing witness to the greatness of Verloren's scythe.
It was a fair parry though, and the bishop seemed to recognise it, pushing off of Konatsu as he struggled to regain his stance, the white fire of rage starting up around his blades again. He could feel his breaths grow heavy and his fingers bleed, but he didn't care. Konatsu had enough of this playing around. The bishops would stop at nothing to manipulate him, play him like a toy, a child. Konatsu felt something surge within him.
Anger.
"So that's how you distract me, buying time to ask me about my legitimate business while planning to play unfair since the start?" His voice was no longer calm and composed, and some of that noblesse had drifted away. "Calling the four ghosts of the church against one innocent man…"
"No, it's not like that."
"Then tell me what it looks like, dammit!" Konatsu scanned Castor's eyes for any signs of remorse, any genuine interest in his business and anything that indicated he didn't want to start a fight, but the bishop was frozen there, face expressionless, fingers at the ready with a thousand spun threads drifting in the wind.
Takeshi, where are you?
Konatsu decided that if he didn't do anything, he would die, either by spending his life on this stare match or at the hands of more dirty play. He did what he thought was the best idea at the time.
Konatsu ran for his life.
It wouldn't take long for them to catch up: Konatsu knew he was fast, but he was human for crying out loud. They were four of the seven ghosts. He could hear the footsteps get uncomfortably close as he turned his head for a moment. That annoying blonde bishop with the scythe was almost right beside him. The man with the scythe… what was he thinking? Konatsu breathed, throwing a wall of zaiphon at the four bishops. He could hear the crunch and cracks of energy against their weapons – scythe, puppets, flowers and baculus – while he continued to run.
Was his goal of finding Takeshi worth risking his own life for?
Konatsu kept running. He didn't know where he was, nor did he hear the continuous patter of feet or feel the gusts of wind from their unnatural speed. He kept turning to look, but it was as though they had given up on him. But he just kept moving: he was afraid that they were setting him up for an ambush, and that fear pushed him to move until he came across the first door he encountered.
Might as well get even more lost than I am now, Konatsu thought rather grimly. The huge double doors seemed to open too easily, too invitingly to be comfortable. They shut just as easily but surprisingly, they didn't click themselves locked. Konatsu was the one who made sure the doors were locked. His katana clattered to the ground, his body sliding against the solid mahogany. Konatsu buried his face in his hands: this had been nothing but an innocent journey to look for Takeshi, but the only thing that he found was something he had sworn to avoid at all costs: trouble. It came in shitloads, and Konatsu hadn't betted on having to deal with these shitloads of trouble.
He took in his surroundings: he was on one of many bridges that crisscrossed through the air, suspended several feet over nothingness. Konatsu tried to peer over the edge, but it was too dark to see what lurked at the bottom. His body slumped further down, and he could feel the creases in his cloak bunching up against his body.
"Takeshi," he whispered to no one in particular. "Takeshi, I know I saw you singing: I heard you, not that stupid puppet thing." He treated each word like a sacred prayer, each syllable bounding clearly off the bridges and walls to echo off at him.
"Takeshi, where are you?"
Out in the corner of his eye he could see them – one, two, three and four. Perhaps he should just give up and surrender: maybe they'd imprison him and Takeshi would know of it. But what were his chances? They already knew he was a black hawk and would probably rather kill him off than have Ayanami-sama and – good heavens, no – Hyuuga-san come for him.
Konatsu stood on his feet. He had to stop running. Clenching both his katanas he flung himself forward with a suicidal roar.
He had to find Takeshi.
He had to fight.
Teito?
He heard it. The newly-convoked bishop stroked Mikage gently, scratching the soft mound of fur under his chin. It sounded like a crash of wills, something big but not anything that they could physically feel. Mikage whimpered.
"Shh, Mikage," Ouida turned at the sound of Teito's voice. "I heard it, but I don't know what it is."
"Heard what, Teito-san?" Liam piped in. The small, pink-haired boy bounced around with a stick of cotton candy in one hand and a toffee apple in the other. It had been two years, but it was as though the boy had never grown from his dear ten-year old self. Ouida just messed his brother's hair affectionately.
"Nothing, Liam." Teito tried to smile back, and Liam seemed satisfied with the answer. Since when did lying become so hard?
It was his third year in the church, and his third attendance at the Holy Week bazaar. It was the same, and Teito thought he should be getting tired of it, but he still held the same sense of excitement that was tingling down his spine. Some shops were still the same year after year – Frau's winkelhobb, Castor's puppets and Labrador's floral delicacies, but each year the vendors brought in something new, something exciting from beyond the reach of District Seven.
Come to think about it, he never did see Lance sell anything last year during the Holy Week festivities.
Fortunes. Mikage spoke to Teito. Lance sells amulets to protect people and give them good luck.
"Shouldn't they be free? Aren't blessings free?"
Human nature wants everything that benefits them, even if it comes at a price. Money is a small price for protection and convenience.
"True," Teito muttered. Maybe he should patronise Lance's stall to get a small something for Saar: a small thank you gift for contributing to their training. It had been a very tangible act of contribution, and Teito didn't doubt that without help, Ouida and himself would still be wandering the bazaar in their apprentice robes.
"Ouida, what about getting something for Saar?"
"For who?"
Teito's eyes looked at Ouida, but the fellow bishop was as puzzled as he was. "I didn't say anything."
"But I did."
Teito scanned the crowd, turning on his heel as he caught sight of a golden-haired man, his legs almost giving out beneath him in surprise.
"Long time no see, bishop Teito Klein."
Hakuren grinned playfully, but Teito barely caught a glimpse of his blonde hair and pale purple eyes before his vision moved onto the girl that was standing meekly behind him. She was dressed modestly, no older than himself, a black fyulong child perched delicately on her shoulder.
"Hakuren? Ouka?"
"Yes, Teito Klein!" Hakuren yelled as Teito noticed the baculus aimed for his face. His body jerked back into reality, an arm extending to block the staff as his legs moved to steady himself against the blow. He caught it in midair. "Teito Klein! Are you quite awake now? You look like you just rolled out of bed!"
"Stop disturbing him, Hakuren," Ouka chided her tutor. Ouida stood beside her with his greetings for Hakuren, but bowed at the Princess. "And stop bowing, bishop. I'm not here on royal business." An admirable blush came to her cheeks as Ouida apologised.
And surprisingly, that was that. Liam and Ouka were magnetic to each other, she amused by his childish demeanour and he impressed by her presence, pulling her along the rows of shops in a manner which she couldn't refuse. Teito stood next to Hakuren, listening in on the conversation he was having with Ouida. Something in the back of his mind kept him from speaking with Hakuren, as if he were afraid something wrong might slip from his tongue that would spoil the moment, so he kept quiet.
They glanced through and stopped at each stall in their small party of five. Teito felt a sense of discovery and inquisitiveness at every new skill, every new article he saw. There were iridescent fish in the most saturated of hues, swimming in tanks of sparkling clear water. Ouka bought some rice dumplings that were browned until they were shatteringly crispy on the outside and delicately soft and chewy inside, filled with a sweet and salty bean paste.
It was so good, she made every one of them try one. The chef was a very happy man.
There was hot, savoury vegetable broth and hair-thin glass noodles that slid off their chopsticks. In another stall, the five of them stood mesmerised, watching an old lady hunch over her deathly contraption of a loom as she moved her hands deftly, shuttling threads with an audible click-clack rhythm. It hypnotised them into quiet observance, Liam included. Teito felt she was the human incarnation of Castor in terms of skill, watching as the unidentifiable strings wove themselves into a square silk shawl of Zehel and his scythe.
"How much is that?"
The words just tumbled out of his mouth. All of a sudden it seemed a much better gift than Lance's stupid amulets, though when he came to the said bishop's store he couldn't help but gravitate towards a dark, black gem that refused to sparkle even in the midday sun.
Keeps misfortune at bay.
And though the shop was bustling with customers, Teito could not hear or see Lance at all.
"So, Teito," Hakuren suddenly piped up, making the change in Teito's hand jump from him to the stall attendant. "Tell me about Castor's new apprentice. Is he as good-looking as me?"
"Don't make me laugh Hakuren," Teito deadpanned as he turned around. "He's way out of your league." But the grin was already half formed as the both of them walked out. Teito told him how Castor had been promoted to Assistant Archbishop, and how he had taken on the warsfeil as his new apprentice, the first since Hakuren's departure.
"He came here of his own free will?" Ouka sounded surprised, a tinge of disbelief clouding her voice.
"I'd like to meet him, see what kind of person he is. For a warsfeil to want to serve in the church…"
"What I don't get," Teito continued to move through the rows of shops, "is that he came here with so much conviction, but it's as if he lost it all in a matter of days, like as though he never knew what it was that brought him here.
"I don't even know why he stays."
They had walked halfway around the fair, passing by Labrador's shop of candied flowers. The bishop wasn't in. Frau's winkelhobb store was empty, and even Castor's stall was left unattended, his beloved dolls accompanied only by an animated sister doll.
"Where is everybody?" Hakuren pouted. "I was looking forward to seeing Castor…"
"Teito, who is that?" Ouka pointed to a tall, black-haired figure amongst the crowd. People walked past him in droves, obscuring Teito's vision. Finally, a window of space opened and Teito could see who Ouka was pointing to. "Teito, he's dangerous."
Teito knew what she meant. Saar looked so lonely, so isolated, like when he had first arrived in the church. Even with Saar's own powers of restraint, Teito could never really shake off the dense, black mist that emanated from his being. Even as the bishop had learnt how to disregard it, he knew that it was a shadow of Verloren, nothing less, something that came along with bring born under the curse of the warsfeil. Teito tried his best to think of a way of explaining this to Ouka, but Hakuren beat him to it.
"That's the warsfeil, isn't it?"
"He's a warsfeil Hakuren," Teito felt some sense of resentment towards Hakuren's condescending tone welling up within his chest, forcing it out in his words as he intoned a little sharper than usual. "He has a name." Teito took a step forward.
A scream pierced through the muggy midday air. It did not hurt their souls like the sound of someone getting hurt, nor did it crush their skulls from its sheer density. The sound just floated above their heads as the crowds looked up to the sun above, wondering where the voice came from, before starting to move again, the sea of people melting back into motion like nothing had ever happened.
"Saar!"
Teito dashed to the warsfeil as he dropped to his knees, clutching his head in pain.
"Saar!"
"Cry for the calling of angels."
Teito knelt down beside Saar, laying his hands on Saar as the other five surrounded him, trying to hear what it was that he was saying.
"What's wrong with him, Teito?"
"Is he alright?"
"Saar-sama!"
"Saar, are you okay?"
Teito didn't hear their concerns. He reached into his soul, watching as the bright red jewel of the eye rose on the back of his palm.
"Cry for the deaths of the fallen."
It was the language of Raggs. He knew it. Teito could feel the inflections and lilts of pain and torment in Saar's words, spoken and sung like a native.
Master?
I need to see into his soul, Mikhail.
I cannot allow you to do that, Master. You will run the risk of becoming tainted.
This warsfeil will not allow it.
It is not his choice to allow you to be tainted or not if you touch his soul, master.
I am begging you, Mikhail. Let me help my friend.
If he is my master's friend, I will oblige.
Teito felt himself thrown into somewhere dark, someplace that stank of tar and sulphur. He landed in the midst of blackness, on a small island of white.
Master, this is his soul.
"But where is he, Mikhail?"
Teito caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. He felt his hands buzz with energy, but instead of lines of zaiphon he could feel the warmth of light emanating from his palms. The desolate landscape was no longer silent.
"I said to stop it!"
Saar's voice was monotonous, but Teito could see him struggling against someone, standing at the edge of the island as he struggled against the pull of one person mired deep in the pitch black of his world.
"You've got to respond to the call, Saar."
"Let me respond in my own way!"
Teito stepped closer, his feet sending shockwaves even as he treaded lightly, making the figures pause their fighting. Saar turned around, his eyes wide with panic as he ran toward the bishop.
"Teito, get out of here, now!"
He could just see the dark figure emerge from the shadows, stepping one blackened foot onto the island as it looked up at Teito. The red eyes pierced through him, fanged mouth hissing. But beneath the aggression he could see the sharp jaw, the same beautiful eyes and the same built figure that stood under the shroud.
It was Saar.
Suddenly he opened his eyes.
Master, he threw us back out.
I know, Mikhail.
But now the light was coming out of his physical hands, enveloping Saar as the man continued to whimper from the screech in the air. He was healing Saar from something he couldn't understand, something that was happening within his psyche. But there was something that shook him at the realisation that he had been rejected from Saar's soul.
Saar still didn't trust him.
"He's here!"
Teito fell backwards as Saar suddenly stood and ran, busting through the crowd with not a shred of consideration. So odd, so unlike the gentle giant. Teito sat on the ground, stunned, not even calling out to the warsfeil as he watched the silhouette disappear behind the crowd, not knowing whether to get up and run or sit there and continue watching.
"Teito, let him be."
Ouida stretched out a hand.
"I hope you're right, Ouida," Teito said. "I don't want anything to happen to him." Not now, not ever.
Not until you show him the light, Teito, Mikage whispered to him all of a sudden. Until then, he will never change.
But why didn't I instinctively do it like how I did for Ouka? Teito sighed, drawing Ouida's attention. And it's not just about change though, I just don't want him to get hurt. Teito continued to walk beside a silent Ouida back to where Hakuren, Ouka and Liam stood, shell-shocked by the sequence of events that happened with split second occurrence.
Everyone gets hurt sooner or later, Teito. It's inevitable.
Teito sighed and patted Mikage, stroking the fyulong as he felt his forehead tense with worry.
I just don't want to lose another friend.
Castor stood there, silent, unmoving.
"Frau, you stupid, insolent noodleneck."
His eyes watched the black figure of Frau chase after the black hawk. Frau was the only one attacking. Castor had asked Labrador and Lance to stand down, to watch and observe the outcome. There was no way a lone black hawk could defeat one of the seven ghosts, not with the lack of experience that this man had.
If it was Hyuuga, on the other hand…
Castor breathed in the mild scent of flowers that Labrador carried around with him, trying to get his body to relax. The conversation with the intruder had been going on smoothly. Castor had even been genuinely surprised at his answer – that Saar was family.
And now, so many questions were bouncing off inside his head. Was Saar the son of a noble? Which family did he belong to? Did they force him to be a warsfeil? Who is Saar to this man, a black hawk, that he would rather die finding him than save his own life and flee?
He wished he had denied the black hawk's allegations of calling for reinforcements, for tricking him into buying time. He wished he had sat the man down and said "no, I didn't ask those questions to buy time. I did it because I genuinely wanted to know how you are related to Saar, and why you even bothered to come all the way to District Seven on your own to meet him." But he didn't. Castor didn't know how to summon the determination – the blind courage that Frau had so much of – to shake this black hawk into realising that there was such a thing as genuine kindness in this world.
He watched as a slice of fury swept towards the three of them, burning protective vines that Labrador put up at the last second to soot and ashes.
"He wants us to fight, Castor," Labrador whispered.
"I know," he pushed his glasses, whipping his zaiphon into action.
"He can't win against four of us. He knows that," Lance said, layering his words thick with scepticism.
"A fight he wants, a fight he shall get." Castor shook his head.
Foolish boy, turn back. Turn back for your sake, for your worthless life in servitude to Verloren.
Turn back.
Konatsu found himself panting. He was sweeping his katana back and forth, trying for the life of him to land a blow on any one of them, to somehow incapacitate them one by one so that the odds will slowly turn in his favour. No such thing for him. He winced as a string of zaiphon lashed out, narrowly missing his ear and screaming past onto the ceiling above.
"I'm still giving you a chance to surrender," Castor called from above, standing still as a rock.
"Surrendering stopped being an option when he tried to chop my head off," Konatsu yelled as Frau slammed into him, blade against scythe. He could hear the growling, snapping of the spirit within the offending weapon, sending a shiver down his spine as he pushed off with a grunt of effort, only to face a lavender-haired bishop, the one who nearly killed Haruse.
"I know what you're trying to do," Labrador whispered, vines creeping around his feet. "And I know the future can be prevented. I will not allow you to do what you set out to carry out."
"That's a bit obvious, isn't it?" Konatsu chuckled to himself, slicing through the foliage, but still feeling something wrap around his legs. He jumped, smashing into the bridge with as much force as he could to send the plants pummelling into the water beneath. He got a foothold on the wall, before a stream of zaiphon screamed towards him, threatening to slice him apart. Konatsu jumped and the zaiphon screeched to a halt, changing course and homing onto him while netting the area, ensuring that if he landed on those paths of energy, he would become nothing but a pile of minced meat.
Takeshi, help me, he wanted to cry out as the zaiphon skimmed his cheek. He could feel the searing pain and see the red that smothered his hand when he pressed it to the wound. Takeshi, by my blood I swore to find you. I'm asking you to come, Takeshi.
And suddenly, the room was filled with the piercing noise of a thousand chimes. Frau stopped dead in his tracks from where he was approaching Konatsu.
"What's that?"
"I don't know, but it doesn't sound good," Lance muttered, focussing his attention back to Konatsu. "Castor, can you just stop holding back? It's getting tiring and it doesn't help my hair."
Konatsu tried to read the Assistant Archbishop's face. His dressing was much more severe, much more formal with the blue collar and golden cross draped around his neck, like a choker of responsibility. That responsibility now played across his face, to lead his fellow bishops into the fight, or to pull them away. His face was a blank slate, but the swordsman could see his eyes shifting left and right, thinking thoughts that could only be heard by a god.
"Castor!" Frau groaned in exasperation at the bishop's slowness, gritting his teeth as he threw himself towards Konatsu. The screech of metal dulling metals coursed through his veins, but this time there was a tinge of desperation and a bit of his will to live that pumped into his blood. "Castor, bloody make up your mind! Stop standing there like a doll!"
Konatsu saw a web of shining threads interlace between the golden-haired bishop and himself, throwing him off Frau's momentum. Konatsu landed on the bridge with a dull thud as his breath was forced out of him, katana clanging on the bridge in protest of his inelegant landing. He could hear Frau cuss from a stone's throw away, but not before he saw Castor loom over him. He tried to lift his arms and roll away from the vice-archbishop, but his body was frozen, stuck to the ground, tied to taut strings that imprisoned him.
"The game is up, Black Hawk," Castor spoke, but Konatsu couldn't sense any conviction in Castor's voice. He didn't know if the Assistant Archbishop was trying to play with him all this while or whether he was pressured into ending this by the other three. It was the kind of thing that was said just for the sake of saying it. He tried to flick his Katana over the lines of zaiphon, to move his wrist and summon a string of energy that would break the chains.
Nothing. His fingers could not even twitch. His eyes could barely move. He thought he heard a door open and the screech of footsteps, but he could not be sure.
"Bishop Castor!"
That voice... Konatsu's eyes widened and the air suddenly seemed to freeze.
"Saar? Were you looking for me?"
"Takeshi!" Konatsu cried out from the ground. "Takeshi, it's me, Konatsu!"
His eyes darted around the room, trying to see if there was any response.
"Konatsu, why are you on the ground? Are you okay?"
"Don't go near him, Saar," he heard Castor say quietly. "He's dangerous."
"He's family."
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Konatsu's head was in a whirl as the net of zaiphon pressed against his throat, like a cold hard hand choking him slowly. He could barely keep up as he heard frantic dialogue between Saar and Castor swimming in the darkness that slowly set in. Frau joined in the fray, but he wasn't sure when. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of threats, and once he could even hear the sound of zaiphon smashing against zaiphon.
"Calm down, Saar," he could hear a calm voice speaking. Konatsu clung onto his consciousness, refusing to let himself black out as he took in all the breath he could muster.
It was then a roar and a searing blast of heat that made Konatsu's eyes water. It came from nowhere, heat flying past him and slowly crackling with a vengeance that threatened to kill. He could hear the shouts of the four bishops, but other than the heat, the only thing he could feel was the numbness in his arms as he lifted them to wipe the sweat off his face.
He could move.
Konatsu stumbled on his feet as he forced his eyes open. The chamber was a mess of anarchy and chaos. The bridge he stood upon was on fire, burning bright and... black? He made sure to blink twice, still feeling the heat radiate towards him in waves that threatened to sweep him off his feet and sear his skin to a crisp. The shouting came from below in the water. Two of the bishops were on fire, and the water sizzled at the heat of the flames that would not extinguish. This wasn't an ordinary fire. Looking back up, he could see Takeshi.
"Takeshi!"
Konatsu ran up to the man, shaking him. He felt the weight of the body slam into him as the kneeling Saar collapsed onto Konatsu.
"Takeshi! We've got to get out of here!"
"Yes you do, Konatsu."
Konatsu looked up to see Hyuuga staring from a hawkzile, smiling at him.
"Hyuuga -"
"Looks like you need a little help, don't you?" Hyuuga grinned as a second hawkzile flew in from the doorway. Konatsu didn't question. He pulled the unconscious Takeshi – Saar, whatever those bishops called him – onto the hawkzile and pulled off before he could sit down. His eyes wandered to the burning figures as the vehicle flew out the hole in the window that Hyuuga had made, not taking his eyes off the four bishops that seemed like ants, destined for death. It could have been him there, burning with them in those unearthly flames. He felt himself shiver.
"Hyuuga-san…"
"You can tell me about it later on, Konatsu." Hyuuga flew up next to his Begleiter, giving a reassuring pat on the shoulder. The scenes of the bazaar and the smoke that began pouring out of the church slowly disappeared behind the clouds that flew past them. "I'm quite sure a lot of things happened while you were on leave that you want to inform me about." He was all smiles, not a hint of anger showing in that jovial voice of his. Konatsu could only sigh as District Seven slowly disappeared behind him.
I've finally found you, Takeshi.
A/N: First up, holy shit! It took me a good two months to write and edit this chapter (though editing took all of a week. It's 3am now and the only reason why I'm awake is because I told myself I must not disappoint my loyal readers). There were two main contributing factors: one being my writing of this chapter on paper in coded English (thus taking some time to decode and transcribe), another being my perpetual fear of substandard writing. I still feel that this chapter is a bit too forced, but the plot is beginning to turn. I'm not sure if it's too early though… maybe this fic will end by 20 chapters, looking at it, or even less. Again, I didn't send it for beta-ing, so please forgive me and point out any mistakes by leaving a review! Even if there are no mistakes, I'd love to receive mail saying someone's reviewed my fic, so please do! Thank you for reading, and hopefully chapter 8 won't take 2 months.
