The rain slapped against the massive window in huge globules, which then proceeded to run down the thick glass, twisting and turning to avoid other droplets with identical intent. Wolfwood half watched this phenomenon, and half gazed emptily at the dark, chaotic clouds outside, interrupted by the occasional flash of lightning.
The stakes would be higher this round, Wolfwood knew. The no killing rule had now been lifted; he was risking more than his health. Now his life would be on the line. From the outset, Wolfwood knew that he had been at a serious disadvantage from most other contestants. In fact, he had come to rely on that fact. Almost every finishing blow he laid on his opponents would have been utterly fatal to any mortal, and had they been so, he would have been disqualified in an instant.
So, really this new rule meant nothing to his overall strategy, except he now knew that he would have to be less reckless as he hit his opponent with everything he had.
Taking a cigarette from his inner jacket pocket, his thoughts turned from overall strategy to this round. The final round. He lit the tiny tube of toxins.
His opponent, Whist, was an elusive character. On the rare occasions he was seen, he walked quickly, head down, and spoke to no one but for his dog, and some girl that he had arrived with. As far as Wolfwood knew, Whist had no particularly special powers. He threw primitive-looking razor disks, with impressive strength and accuracy, and rumour had it he could teleport as well. Apart from that though, he seemed like a fairly ordinary human – just as vulnerable as Wolfwood.
Wolfwood checked his stock of ammo. He had refilled his jacket with an array of small handguns, grenades and knives. He hoped, though, that it would not come to close-quarters combat. It would be best to take him out fast, from far off.
Slung across his back, along with his trusty cross gun, was a weapon nicknamed the "Telescope Guillotine". It was long, shiny and bright metallic-blue in colour. The metre-long barrel ended in a hollow-tipped point, with various fine engravings around the edge. It was, perhaps, a little bit too gimmicky for Wolfwoods liking, but coming from a man with a giant cross for a gun, that wasn't much of a complaint. Besides, it was the only decent quality sniper rifle he could find.
Wolfwood pulled the Guillotine off his back, and checked the magazine. The bullets too were gimmicky. They were shaped like an actual guillotine blade – minus the rope. There were twelve shots in the clip, but it was the only clip Wolfwood had. If all went well this round, he would only need one shot.
Wolfwood looked down the sights, and groaned. Even the crosshair was the shape of a chopping block. What had he done to deserve this? He took aim, and squeezed off a shot, aiming through the glass, at a small tree-branch in the middle of the woods, far down on the ground outside. There was a huge bang, and at first Wolfwood thought it was the crash of thunder. Looking up though, he saw a barrel-sized hole punched through the glass, and a plume of smoke belching from the barrel. He had hardly felt the kick at all.
When the smoke had cleared - a process made all the speedier by the wind now howling through the hole in the window – Wolfwood looked through the sights to check his target. Down in the trees, there was a huge gap cleared in the foliage; a few centimetres above where he had been aiming.
"Quite an impact, and only a little off." At a shorter distance, he reasoned, he could trust the gun to be accurate. Still looking through the barrel, Wolfwood glimpsed something shiny; a golden sheen given off by… nothing. It was gone. The priest lowered the weapon slowly, scratching his head. In a few moments he may have looked for it again, had he not heard the soft, menacing sound of footsteps from behind him.
"Wolfwood. What a pleasant surprise to see you in this place." The slow, drawling voice came from the darkness off to Wolfwood's left. He subtly slipped his hand into his jacket, and grabbed a hold of his pistol, straining his eyes against the blackness, trying to make out the figure.
"Who are you? How do you know me?" He demanded. The voice, he was sure, was familiar, but he failed to place it in his memory. He gripped the gun all the tighter, just in case.
"You mean you don't recognize me? You should be ashamed. You shouldn't turn on an organization, only to forget all about them. That's dangerous, for them just as much as yourself."
"Le-Legato!" Finally Wolfwood remembered, and immediately raised his gun.
Legato Bluesummers stepped out into the moonlight, shining through the window. His blue hair shone all the bluer in the dark light, reflecting onto his face. His eyes shone brightly through the strands of hair, covering over half his face. He wore a long white cape, with brown trim, and a series of long spikes, protruding from his right shoulder. His other shoulder bore a skull shaped emblem over it. His black-gloved arms were raised into a sign of surrender, but Wolfwood knew better than to trust him. His brain ordered his finger to pull the trigger.
But his finger didn't respond. In fact, much as Wolfwood tried, he could no longer move any part of his body. Slowly, his resistance making very little difference, Wolfwoods arm began to bend, until the gun was pointed at his own head. Legato stood and smiled, arms dropping to his waist.
"All that firepower, and yet it only takes one little bullet." Wolfwood felt his trigger finger tightening, and he began to sweat. "Would you like to talk it over first, then we can see if you really want me dead?" With a huge burst of strength, Wolfwood pushed out against Legato's control, breaking it, and thrusting him forwards towards Legato. Wolfwood grabbed the wide-eyed Legato, and bodily flipped him over onto the ground. He quickly unslung his cross gun, and jammed the machine gun end into Legato's chest. His former master just stared, a neutral expression across his face.
"Do you think, after all that time with the Gung-Ho Guns, I wouldn't have learnt how to break through your influence?" Wolfwood muttered.
"If you find this more comfortable, than fine. I still just want to talk." Legato struggled to breath through the pressure on his chest.
"Ten seconds, spill it."
"Very well. I want to get us back home. But I can't do it without you, and nor can you do it without me."
"What do you know about this place?"
"Not much more than you, I would imagine, but while you are getting all caught up in this pathetic competition, you're missing the bigger picture."
"You've given me your big picture crap for years, and I've been happy just as long as you keep the money flowing. Now, I don't need your money anymore. When I win this tournament, I'll have as much money as I need, and the demon will grant me my wish to return home. As far as I'm concerned though, you can stay here. You can die here. Our world will only be better for it."
"Ah, but you have a problem there, don't you Wolfwood?"
"Of course I don't where would the problem be?"
"You can't win this tournament!"
"Yes I can." Wolfwood clenched his jaw. He may have accidentally pushed slightly harder on Legatos chest as well.
"You've already lost, haven't you?"
"I haven't!"
"And even if you hadn't, you know, deep down, that you couldn't take on a demon – or the forces of nature…"
"Shut up!"
"This tournament has nothing for you. You're only going to get yourself killed by staying involved."
"SHUT UP!" Wolfwood pulled the trigger, holding it down firmly, and shutting his eyes.
There was a slight click. The clip was empty. Wolfwood opened his eyes, and thought it through. Legato was right. Of course he was, Legato was always right. But sometimes it was only because he had manipulated things that way.
"I have to finish. I've come so far, it would be worthless if I didn't see it through to the end."
"You shouldn't. It's suicidal."
"You're in no position to tell me about that!"
"I will help you. This round will be over in seconds, if the two of us work together."
"No!"
"You prefer to die?"
"I prefer to win, in a fair fight."
"How do you know your opponent will be doing the same?"
"Look, if you want my help, heres the deal: You have to let me finish the final round, and you must not interfere in the final round."
"Very well, I will not interfere with you in the final round." Legato smiled. He was twisting the truth; Wolfwood could see it in his eyes.
"Or my opponent." Wolfwood ordered. Legato closed his eyes, and nodded.
"Now, would you please let me up? I need to breath, if you want us both to get out of here…" Wolfwood relinquished his grip on the gun, and Legato stood up.
"Now tell me, how did you get here anyway?"
____
Axel's feet rested comfortably on his massive wooden desk, as he pondered silently what he should do. He had managed to gain Marluxia's trust, no doubt about it. An alliance he'd had to fight for would be more solid than any cheap verbal promise, when push came to shove. At least, it would in the plant man's mind. In Axels mind, any alliance could crumble like… chocolate. Should any rebellion arise, he would be best served on neither side.
A squelch near the doorway indicated what he had been expecting sometime that afternoon; a visit from his host – Death By Chocolate. Axel had grown accustomed to Death's sneaking into rooms by squeezing himself under the doorway, and his ears had tuned in to the sound he made as he reformed himself.
"That was quite a performance back there." Axel said, just glancing up. He took another small chocolate from the now-full bowl on his desk. "I thought you weren't allowed to let him die?"
"That was then, and this is now. All the paperwork is done, and the tournament's nearly over. I just needed something to stir the crowd up a little more…"
"So you murdered your assistant on-stage?"
"Yes, precisely."
"Very spontaneous, aren't we?"
"You're one to talk." Death sat in the chair opposite Axel, kicking up his feet and leaning backwards, to mirror him. "So, what side of the rebellion are you on?" Axel looked away quickly.
"What rebellion? Who's rebelling? I don't know anything!"
""Yes you do. Zexion was here before, asking you to infiltrate a rebellious group in your organization."
"… Maybe…"
"So you attacked Marluxia, then turned on Wolfwood, and then vanished."
"Well, I might have…"
"So I just want to know what side you're really on."
"Wait a minute, how did you hear about this anyway?" Death by Chocolate threw his head back, belting out laughter from his fudge-filled throat.
"Did you think those chocolates are just there for you to eat?" he gestured at the confectionary Axel was now holding. "They are my eyes and ears. Almost everyone in the mall has eaten one now – mostly stolen from the manager's office."
"What, you mean you were spying on me through that chocolate on my desk?"
"I'm still spying on you now. The view isn't pretty, but from the inside of your stomach, that little chocolate can still hear everything you and anyone within 5 metres of you says."
"That's absurd!"
"No, it's improvisation in a tricky situation. I need a way to keep track of all my contestants and sub-ordinates; something more subtle than those primitive security cams. I don't think even Kyuubi has picked up on it yet. Although, he still hasn't eaten any. I can only hope…"
"Isn't that… illegal, or something?" The demon scoffed.
"The only one who knew – or cared – about stuff like that was the pointy haired fellow. And he's a little…"
"Right, yeah. In a sticky spot."
"Back to my original question; whose side are you on, really? I want to know." Axel ran his hand through his bright orange hair.
"Well, it's like this: I only care about me, and my crew. My crew blows right now, ever since Roxas left, so I'm down to only caring about myself. If there's an uprising in the organization, I'll keep switching sides until I know who wins."
"Spontaneous indeed."
"But, surely you don't really care about my personal battles. Why else are you here?"
"Of course I care. I need to be hiring the best help I can get. Sad though it is we've had to resort to people like you, we'll manage." A twitch of a smile crept across Death by Chocolate's face. Axel grinned broadly, despite being unsure whether he was being insulted or complimented. "But the main reason I'm here is to inform you: The Core is glitching." The Nobody raised an eyebrow.
"Glitching?"
"Yes."
"The Core… the all-powerful piece of infallible super-natural technology that this entire operation runs on… is glitching?" Death shuffled uncomfortably. It took quite a lot to make a demon uncomfortable.
"Well… it's just, uh, the engineers tell me… something's wrong. I don't understand all the details, that's why I hire inferiors."
"…Who you knock off at whim, just to stir up a crowd. Perhaps you should learn something from this."
"No. Because that's a morality lesson, and I don't give a damn about morals."
"What exactly do you mean glitching? Does that mean anything important?"
"Important! Try Disastrous! The guys working on it told me that they were having power fluctuations… and something about that… and there was inconsistency in the paradoxical temporal shift… anyway, the point is that people are popping into the mall at random, from potentially any time or place. During cleanup, I encountered a gang of Vikings, and a lawyer, who were just as confused as me."
"That's ridiculous! Why the hell do we have a machine like that anyway?"
"Well, apparently we originally used it to bring all the contestants together like this. But now it's glitching, we've lost full control. Or something like that. As far as I know, there are less than 20 random's walking around our mall, with no idea how they got here. But they all seem to have some sort of connection to contestants already here."
"Well then, what are you doing about it?"
"For the duration of this tournament at least, we can't let them run rampant. I suspect that both Kirei and Gilgamesh arrive here through it – and that bloody spirit almost cost me everything in this damned tournament, and nearly got my assistant killed!"
"Which you did yourself, later." Axel helpfully pointed out. The host was not impressed.
"We don't need him any more – stop bringing it up! As I was saying, for now what I need you and Mewtwo to do is look around the mall; I'll have some others help you to locate them, but it's up to the two of you to confront them, capture them, and drag them down back into the depths of the mall, where they can be sent home. Or to hell, whichever you like – as long as they don't interfere with the final round!"
"That's it? Just clean up the mess? Ignore the heart of the problem?"
"Axel, you're not the sort of person I'd be asking about the heart of anything. I just need to delay the worst until the tournament ends, and my part is done. After that, I don't give a chocolate bunny's arse about what happens to that blasted machine, or this mall, or this city. Now, since I trust you about as much as your organization does, I've put Mewtwo in charge of you. Do whatever he says, when he says it, or else your fired." Death paused for breath. "If you'll pardon the pun."
Axel groaned, and dropped the little spy chocolate in the bowl. He got up to leave.
"Very punny." He remarked, brushing past the smirking chocolate man. Outside the office, Mewtwo was already waiting. They acknowledged each other with a slight nod.
"You didn't know about the chocolate thing?" Mewtwo queried.
"Shut up. Let's go kick some ass." Axel pulled his hood over his head, as they headed off down the hallway.
____
Kirei Kotomine sprinted through the dark nighttime lighting, along the tracks of the immense monster truck. The path carved by the Plantstripper 9000 was wide, long and winding. Apparently that stupid plastic auto-pilot hadn't been able steer the thing properly. As the priest neared the end of the trail, the fallen trees and diced-up plants littering the ground gave way to construction tools, cement bags, shattered blocks of stone, and other necessities of a reconstruction site. Here was where the truck had smashed through the wall, out into the open. Here too, to Kotomines relief, was where none of the more able-powered repairmen had gotten round to fixing. Death by Chocolate had had to set a conventional construction team to work rebuilding this wall. More time and money wasted; needless to say, the host was not happy.
Kirei, on the other hand, was thrilled to find the gaping hole still open, and the building crew gone home. It meant he would have all night to find what he was looking for, not that he even needed it. In fact, so long as no one had tampered with the crash site, it would stand out like a ping-pong ball in a vat of coke.
And so it did. Laying just a few metres away from the explosion site, the bloodstained sword was exactly where Marluxia had thrown it after his defeat. Kotomine chuckled at the thought of that stupid, idiotic Nobody, casually tossing such a valuable and powerful artefact on the ground. At the same time though, Kotomine had groaned painfully when he had first realized. Out here, out of the boundaries of the mall, the sword had been lying within easy reach of a far more threatening being. If he had gotten hold of it, Kirei's entire plan would be forfeit. In the trees, not far off, Kotomine glimpsed a golden light.
"Speak of the devil…" Gilgamesh strode proudly out from the cluster of trees. Not that Kotomine had ever seen him acting anything but proud. In the time they had worked together, Kirei had come to know Gilgamesh as the most frustrating, and dangerous Servant to be Master of. Despite his immense power, Gilgamesh had a few… personality flaws, which made him both a formidable opponent, and an unstable ally.
As soon as Kotomine saw the gleaming golden figure appearing over the hill, he bolted back to the mall. Gilgamesh just stood there, making no effort to catch the wayward priest. Once he was through the hole, Kirei turned around, and looked back at the Servant.
"Remember Gilgamesh, one foot across this boundary, and Death will banish you permanently." Gilgamesh glared at him from afar.
"You have this one chance only. Give me back my sword, or soon I shall make your entire competition business suffer."
In response, Kotomine walked away, carrying the sword with him. He knew they were empty threats; Gilgamesh could do nothing, so long as Death By Chocolate was in power.