The truth is all that there is.
In the end, once you get past people's selfish opinions and views and everything else, you get down to the emotionless, unbiased truth.
Some people can't handle the truth; they kill themselves when they realize it or lose their mind.
Others are even weaker; they can't even see the truth, let alone respond to it.
For still others there is nothing but the truth, and the realization of it enlightens them to the absence of any true meaning in the world.
But, sometimes a person living in the truth delves into another realm, knowing the truth and yet putting value in a relationship with another. For these people, the possibility of truth and happiness are both possible.
But as with everything else, there is also a downside; if your source of happiness were to die, or worse still, turn on you, then the truth might as well not be there at all.
It is then when you are left by everything, abandoned by everything.
It is then when you face true despair.
His eyes narrowed.
"You don't say."
"Come with me, there is something I want to show you." The man spoke, walking to the basement door and opening it, revealing a staircase that seemed to go down quite far into the ground.
Reeve glanced at the dressing room door before deciding to follow him; he wouldn't afford this man finding out about their plans. And if he already had, then for the success of those plans the man would "have" to be killed; better sooner than later.
He followed the man to the door and closed the door behind them as they descended the long staircase down into the basement.
"What do you think of the party?" Amshel asked him as if in passing.
"Nathan certainly has a flare for this sort of thing. It definitely makes sense that he's in charge of setting up these little get-togethers."
"Yes, the arrangement of extravagant parties seem to be part of his nature. And it is hard to go against one's nature, especially when they are so gifted at it."
"That's why even though you're not human anymore, you've continued to remain a scientist?"
"Yes; I find science to be the only constant in my life, regardless of time or place. Aside from Diva of course."
He added the second sentence like he was remembering a favored microscope he used in experiments or something.
"And what of your nature, Reeve?"
His eyes narrowed once more as their footsteps echoed throughout the long stairway.
"What do you mean?"
"In the time that you've spent among us, you have already managed to repel Saya once, gain James' trust, and somehow change Saya's position on the whole war. I find myself wondering if your 'influence' is related only to your intelligence, or if that arm of yours has aided in it."
"Perfect." He thought.
"So essentially you're saying you know everything there is to know about me?"
"Not necessarily. Though I do know a few important details." He spoke as the stairway seemed to suddenly end at a door.
"For instance, did you know that the timeframe in which a deceased human can be turned into a chevalier is much longer than merely an hour or so?" He asked, opening the door and walking into the room on the other side, Reeve close behind him.
"I don't see how that has any bearing on myself."
"But it does." Amshel responded as the room "opened" up in front of Reeve's eyes; it was a huge room, perhaps almost half the size of the grand ballroom, though it was predictably not as elaborately decorated, with only grey walls, ceiling and floor.
There were huge vats running in a row on the left and right sides of the room, their size too great to be able to see what was within them. However, from the smell that permeated the room, and the faint red light that came off of the substance within them upon contact with the harsh ceiling lights, Reeve was willing to wager that it was all-
"Blood." Amshel spoke for him, continuing to walk straight across the large room.
"But not just any blood; Diva's and Saya's blood."
"What? How could you get Saya's blood? Let alone in such great quantities? Unless you-"
"Merely managed to get hold of a sample of her blood and replicated it into plasma on a large scale? Yes, it is not all that difficult of a process, if you think about. The only challenge was making sure that their blood did not lose their unique properties when mass-produced in plasma."
"And you wanted to show me this… why?"
Amshel seemed amused as she turned around, and for the first time Reeve noticed a large capsule on the other end of the room.
"I wanted to unveil our plan to mass produce chevaliers to you; you see, the current mass-produced chiropterans have little-to-no intelligence while in their true forms, and while in human form, they aren't even aware of their existence as chiropterans. True chevaliers, on the other hand, are powerful and able to utilize their abilities and nature to the greatest extent. However, their individual personalities make it difficult to produce an effective fighting force since you can't be sure of their actions or intents.
Reeve stopped walking across the room, but Amshel continued doing so, walking towards the large capsule.
"With the red shield's acquirement of Saya's blood, we cannot afford to take on the humans any longer with those gorilla-esque imitations of true chiropterans."
"So, they already have it?"
"No doubt; if we, here enemies, could manage to get a sample of it, it's mere child's play to realize the accessibility of her blood to an organization which she was a part of for several years."
"So 'fight fire with fire'; the humans are trying to produce weapons utilizing Saya's blood to kill us, so we mass-produce chevaliers to combat them and their improved weaponry."
"Exactly, I thought that you would catch on."
"But you said it yourself, both kinds of chiropterans have pros and cons; neither is really fit for building an army or anything like that."
The bubbling of the blood in the vats reminded him of the sounds of a mad scientist's laboratory, with tubes running every which way, carrying neon-green fluids throughout a maniacal path to reach their destination in some manner of scientific cauldron.
"Yes, but that is individually. Tell me, if you want to produce a tall child, what do you do?"
Reeve sighed at the elementary question.
"You get two people of tall stature to mate, to have sex, and the child, through the process of combined genetics, will naturally tend to be taller in stature."
"And that is not the only time that such methods can be used. With the evolution of science in recent years, it is becoming entirely possible to produce whatever manner of person you would prefer, if you only know how to do so."
"Altering the mass-production chiropterans and chevaliers to take advantage of the perks of both?" Reeve surmised.
"Not exactly, you see, that process involves a much greater involvement of time and effort and, as is most important in the human world, money. It is much more cost-effective- much more efficient to merely find a way to control a chevalier's actions."
"So you intend to find out how to brainwash a chevalier and control them somehow?"
Amshel made the closest thing to a scoff Reeve suspected the man ever had or would.
"'intend' to? We already have." He stated as the man reached the capsule and turned around.
The capsule, a tall cylindrical construct about the size of a grown human male, had a mirror-sheen and monitoring equipment on either side of it, apparently monitoring the heart rate and such of whatever subject was in there. There was a small, perhaps Plexiglas viewing window about head-height, but even with his improved chevalier senses, he still couldn't tell what was inside.
"You see, it is much easier, and much more desirable, to merely sedate a chevalier to the point where its mental level is regressed, but not that of its body. And then, using a method of control, at the moment merely a remote, one can control all of the focused, destructive power of a chevalier."
At the close of his sentence, the doors, before invisible due to a seamless seal between them, opened up and dropped a small wave of what appeared to be milky water down on to the floor, a tiny drop of it reaching Amshel's shoe.
Within stood a human, or at least a humanoid figure, clad in a black cloak and some kind of face-covering helmet. All Reeve could tell of it was that the thing, most likely a chevalier, was about his height. Then again, that wasn't saying much, he wasn't exactly a short person.
"With the ability to turn anyone into a chevalier and then control their actions, a homeless person could become an effective, nearly-invincible soldier who would never deny his or her orders.
Reeve wasn't intimidated, if that's what he was supposed to be.
"So why bring me down here and tell me all of this? What's the point?"
The room seemed colder than it actually was. It only made sense, however; the two men's gazes were cold enough to freeze a glass of water.
"You and James seem to be very busy, recently." Amshel stated, speaking true of his suspicions that the man had known. He had just been biding his time.
"Yeah, what can I say? Variety is the spice of life, and you've been using the exact same spices for… what? Over a hundred and fifty years now? Your little mixture is too bland."
"Well, then. If you wanted something to 'spice' up your life, you need only ask."
Amshel put a hand in his pocket and then pulled something out, three guesses as to what.
"Engage." He spoke, the sedated chevaliers head suddenly looking forward.
There was a blue flash, and the "soldier" disappeared amongst one of the rows of vats.
The monitoring equipment beside the capsule made all manner of electrical wailing and beeping, which only served to vie for his senses' attention. But it wasn't enough to keep him from concentrating. The soldier was quiet, but it wasn't armed, from what he could tell, and as long as he could keep his head from getting cut off he knew he wouldn't be killed.
A blue flash darted at him from the left row of vats, and he side-stepped, dipping his body down and supporting himself on an arm as he twisted diagonally and swung a leg up towards the masked helmet that the thing wore.
He heard a smack sound as his foot connected, but not with the mask; the chevalier had blocked with its hands, and positioned them, one on his foot, the other near his ankle.
"Joint-lock." He thought, twisting his body again and repeating the same motion he'd done before with the other foot.
Reeve felt the hold on his first leg release and the chevalier retreat as he stamped a foot onto the floor one after the other so that he would end up standing back on his feet.
He glared at Amshel, who was now accompanied by the unnamed chevalier soldier; apparently he'd given it an order to retreat.
"Impressive little toy you've got there. But it isn't worth much if it can't even manage to give me a bruise." He mocked.
"A bruise, perhaps, but you hopefully won't have to sneeze anytime soon."
Reeve was confused for a moment before he drew his gaze towards the handkerchief that was typically worn with the suit, seeing the top half of it lying on the floor before even having to look at the tattered fabric that remained in his pocket.
"Heh, well there you go." He commented, looking at them again.
"So what's your motivation? Cut my head off and then take my arm so you can use your fisher price doctor set to experiment on it?"
"Not quite. While your arm does exhibit interesting properties, for interfering in our world I have something much worse planned."
"Heh, I knew you were gay."
"Enough jokes. It's time you learned actions have consequences."
"You're one to talk; considering you've had no consequences for your actions for a hundred years or so now."
"Engage and destroy."
From behind the mask Reeve knew two red eyes flashed and the soldier rushed him, moving in a bee-line towards the chevalier. Reeve did likewise, and then at the last possible second leapt to the side.
It should have caught the enemy off-guard, but as if it had been programmed with the same strategy, his enemy had done likewise, and he ended up retreating to avoid a strike to the neck.
"How the hell did it know that move?" Reeve thought as he landed on the floor and glanced at the vat to his side.
"Better to get it over quickly than drag it out." He thought, jumping up over the vat and landing on the lip of the thing, his enemy mirroring his movement shortly thereafter.
"I wonder which sister's blood was used to make this thing?" He thought, unable to tell whose blood bubbled beneath them.
"I guess it doesn't really matter, but still-"
The enemy leapt across the vat towards him, and grabbed the man's dress jacket in mid-air, twisting them both around before kicking him down towards the vat of blood.
A fifty-fifty chance was fair, but he didn't like to gamble; Reeve stuck his hands out and grabbed the edge of the vat, holding himself from falling into the blood below. It would have been impossible for a human, but then again, he wasn't human anymore.
He pulled his body up until he could rear his legs close to his body and kick up at the still-descending enemy.
Reeve very nearly got the thing's helmet again, but like before it flashed away before he could make contact.
The chevalier used his momentum to flip off of the vat and land on the floor once again.
Amshel remained standing in the exact same place, watching over the exhibition with a smirk.
"So tell me, which bum did you scrape off the streets to kill me? I hope at the very least it used to brush its teeth."
The man gave no response, and he sensed something behind him. He ducked just as a pipe swung through where his head used to be.
Reeve put his hands on the floor and kicked out, finally catching the enemy with a kick to the shin.
It showed no pain, but then again, he didn't expect it to.
He moved his other leg towards it and used them as levers to pivot his enemy's legs and draw to the floor.
The soldier dropped the pipe and freed its legs from Reeve's feet, turning the face-first collision into a flip that brought it away from him without a scratch.
"Okay, you little gymnast." He thought while rising up and grabbing the dropped pipe at the same time.
"You've been around long enough you nameless hunk of flesh." He told it before throwing the pipe at it.
Predictably, the enemy dodged, opting to flip over it and land behind his path. But Reeve was ready for it, and when it reached its landing point he was waiting.
Reeve slammed an elbow into its throw, stunning the thing no matter what it was, before grabbing the pipe in mid air and spinning around, swinging the pipe at his enemy's helmet-clad face.
It back away again, but he caught the edge of the helmet and a piece was sent flying off into one of the vats of blood.
His enemy didn't so much as put a hand where the hole had been made, but he could see a human face in there. He couldn't see details, but if he'd hit it once, it meant he could do it again.
He rushed forward again and used the pipe like a staff, using the increase in speed as a preference over possibly doing more damage while barely hitting his enemy, swinging it like a baseball bat.
The soldier flashed around him trying to avoid his attacks, but he could hit forward one second and anywhere else the next, at which time the other end of the pipe was already free to use.
He became a whirlwind of attacks, trying to overcome the whirlwind of blue that his enemy flashed around him, and eventually managed to catch his enemy in the stomach with one end of the pipe.
"Too easy." He thought.
Sure enough, he'd been right; his enemy grabbed the end of the pipe and brought a hand up to grab his throat with. However, just because Reeve couldn't pull the pipe away didn't mean he couldn't still use it; the chevalier head-butted the metal-and-Plexiglas helmet, forcing his enemy away, before driving the other end of the pipe up into its helmet again, knocking a good chunk from the thing.
The soldier fell backwards and once again went into another one of its back-flips, but this time, instead of attacking him, it continued to retreat.
"What's the matter? You only want to fight when you have the upper hand?" He asked the silent soldier.
Though he had succeed in getting three attacks on the helmet by now, most of it was still just full of cracks; very little had actually come from it. But if there was any indication, it was like those "corpse corps" ones he'd heard about.
"Do you have a difficulty button on that little remote you're using?! Because you might want to turn it up!" He spoke loudly to the scientist that watched over the scene.
"If that is what you truly want. Return."
The soldier obliged and was back at the man's side in only a few seconds.
"You just don't get it, do you? You could send a whole squad of these things after me, and it wouldn't make a difference; akin-abilities or not, it won't be able to beat a thinking individual of the same kind."
"Perhaps. But it is that same individual thought that weakens you."
"Oh, and what makes you say that?"
"Individualism means individuality. Individuality means an individual. An individual means a person. A person means a life, and a life…"
He pulled the helmet back from the soldier's head and dropped the thing on the floor. The cracked substance of it shattering upon impact.
There was a loud clanging sound as the pipe clattered to the floor, and Reeve took a step forward, staring in disbelief.
Amshel smirked again as the soldier stepped forward once more, its blue eyes gazing at him with a look as cold as his wet blonde hair.
"You couldn't have… I burnt the house down."
"But that which lays below the dirt can't be burnt." Amshel stated as his best friend continued to peer out at him from behind cold, emotionless eyes. His hair was weighed down with water, and his skin looked pale. But it was definitely Nathan. It was definitely his friend.
"Nathan…"
"Engage."
He flinched as the soldier's eyes narrowed and the young man catapulted across the room towards him like the spear of reality into a delusional person's rusted old shield.
"No-"
A booted foot hit him in the nose and sent the chevalier reeling back as blood splattered onto the ground.
Reeve held out a hand, a gesture for his "enemy" to stop, but Nathan's arms snapped forward to grab his wrist and threw him to the hard floor.
He shook his head just in time to see the lights fade out for a moment and looked up, seeing booted feet coming straight down towards his face.
The teenager rolled out of the way at the last second, but upon the attacker's landing a leg struck out and hit him in the side of the face and sent him rolling over into one of the vats, denting it and forcing some blood from the vat to splatter down around him as he pushed himself back up.
"Come on, what the hell's wrong with you?!" He yelled as his friend walked towards him, his eyes still blank.
"You don't understand; it doesn't matter who you are, or your feelings towards another. Sedation is sedation; your friend's body is all that remains, his mind drowned beneath a wave of medication that has turned him into a mindless storage box which only possesses the ability to obey orders and strategize its enemy's death."
"Nathan…agh!"
A hand grabbed his throat and then they were in the air, his neck in a vice-grip as they head upwards.
The assailant landed on the outer rim of the vat, holding him suspended over the bubbling blood. His bloodshot eyes looking at the emotionless observational spheres within "Nathan's".
"Eliminate."
The hand thrust him into the blood and held him beneath the surface as the blood seeped in through his mouth and nose, within him in a matter of milliseconds.
He choked as his lungs took in the blood, making it impossible to cough it out.
The hand held him beneath the pool of blood, sacrificing him in the name of thoughtless massacre.