Session 27

As Agnar stood over him with his claymore raised over his head, J.J. felt that he was savoring the moment before he finally rid himself of a nuisance. He felt like a cockroach that was about to get stepped on, and he could almost imagine Agnar grinning with glee behind his helmet. Before the knight could swing his sword, however, a flash of white cut across J.J.'s vision, and Gwen had suddenly interposed herself between the two of them, standing with her arms out in an effort to prevent Agnar from attacking.

Agnar hesitated, before drawing himself up a bit more, towering over Gwen in an effort to intimidate her into moving out of the way. "Stand aside, girl," Agnar growled dangerously. "There is no need for you to be cut down with this one."

"No. Lower your sword and leave," Gwen replied firmly. Agnar tilted his head, seeming simultaneously confused, annoyed, and amused.

"And who are you to order me, child?" he sneered, keeping his blade raised. "I shall not warn you again. Stand aside."

"You wouldn't dare harm me," Gwen replied. "Who am I? My name is Gwen Marks."

Agnar stared at her for a moment, before asking slowly, "Might you be the scion of-?"

"Yeah, I'm one of the heirs to the Marks family name, though I try not to flaunt it," Gwen said shortly. "And you've sworn fealty to the Marks family, haven't you? That's what Page told me anyways."

"I… have," Agnar said slowly, his voice dangerously soft.

"Then obey my command," Gwen ordered him. Even though her back was to him, J.J. could envision the steely look in her icy blue eyes. Once she had that stubborn look on her face, there was no force on Earth that could dissuade her, he thought with a wry smile.

"My lady… I have been ordered by my lord, the Black Seraph to-" Agnar began, but Gwen cut him off with a raised hand.

"He ordered you to protect that Diemon, didn't he?" Gwen interrupted.

"He… did…." Agnar said slowly.

"And did he say anywhere in those orders that you were also to kill Page?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest defiantly.

"…No," Agnar admitted, looking away. "But in order to properly protect my charge, I must remove threats-"

"If he didn't give you a direct order to kill him, then I'm commanding you to stand down," Gwen said fiercely. "Your job is to protect that Diemon? Fine, I won't countermand that. But it'd sully your honor or something if you disobeyed a command from a lady of the family you serve, wouldn't it?"

Agnar hesitated, seeming conflicted. It was obvious that he wanted to end J.J.'s life then and there, but it was apparent that Gwen was making too strong of a point for him to ignore. Finally, after several tense moments, he lowered his head and his sword, and put his fist to his breast.

"As you command, my lady," Agnar said finally. As he raised his head again, however, he pointed his sword at J.J.'s fallen form. "She will not be around to protect you forever, peasant," he spat at J.J. "Enjoy your dishonorable truce for now. Should – when – our paths cross again, your life is forfeit."

Agnar turned around and walked away, putting his hand on Oliver's shoulder and roughly guiding him away from the battlefield. J.J. could see the hand gripping his claymore shaking in rage. J.J. grunted and slowly pushed himself up as Gwen knelt beside him, putting her hands on his chest.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you like that," she said softly.

"Embarrass me? You saved my life, Gwen," J.J. replied, waving off her concerns. "I'm not an Almencian knight, you know. I'll happily accept help anywhere I can get it. Thank you for stepping in when you did, because I honestly didn't have a chance at that point," he assured her with a smile. However, that smile slowly faded as his fingers closed around the haft of his broken hammer. He added in a soft voice, "Though I do wish that I could have done a little more. Looks like I'm still way out of my league."

"You didn't die," Gwen pointed out. "In fact, you were holding your own pretty well for a bit. If that Diemon didn't intervene…."

"I still would have lost," J.J. interrupted. "I'm not going to delude myself, Gwen. Agnar was surprised that I had gotten a bit better, but he was still toying with me. He could have finished me at any time, but he didn't. He was playing cat-and-mouse."

"What makes you say that?" Gwen asked, tilting her head. "You landed a few hits on him."

"Even though I hit him a couple times, I didn't do any damage," J.J. replied, sighing softly. "And even if I had… did you notice that he still has yet to use a single Critical?"

Gwen fell silent as she realized that he was right. J.J., however, shook his head and pushed himself up. "No use in dwelling on that now, though," he added, looking down at his broken hammer. "We've got a break, and I don't have time to mope." He pulled his D-former out of the diary, canceling his transformation, since he was sure that there were few, if any, witnesses left. His hammer changed forms again, reverting to its base form as a saber. The damage remained, however – he had to quickly catch the hanging bit of steel to keep it from swinging wildly and breaking in half, and the blade was still completely rusted. Still, there was who could help. Maybe – hopefully – his sword could still be saved if he hurried and it didn't suffer any more damage in the meantime.

"I'm going to take this thing to Susumu," he announced, still delicately holding his sword while glancing over his shoulder at Gwen. "Do you want me to drop you off at your place?"

"Nah… it looks like the press is going to want someone to talk to," Gwen said grimly, as sirens began approaching. "I'll give them a story, since that's my duty. Yours is to get yourself back into fighting form. Get going."

J.J. paused and gave her a tender smile before nodding once and walking over to his bike. He let out a deep sigh and squared his shoulders, while behind him he could hear Gwen doing the same. She was right. They each had their own battles to fight, and by the end of the day, they were both going to be exhausted.


J.J. had taken the time to carefully wrap his sword in his jacket to prevent any further damage as he drove, and he raced as quickly as he could to Susumu's garage, coming to a halt on the gravel before removing his helmet and half-jumping off the back of his bike. Susumu was sitting in front of his workbench, poking something with a screwdriver, when he caught sight of J.J. jogging towards him. His friendly smile faded when he saw the serious look on J.J.'s face.

"What is that? Did you lose an arm or something?" Susumu asked, nodding to the sword that J.J. was cradling in his arms.

"Cute," J.J. said shortly, unwrapping the jacket and showing Susumu the twisted remnants of his blade. Susumu grimaced as J.J. set it on the table in front of him.

"The hell did you do?" Susumu asked incredulously, gingerly poking at the layer of rust encrusting the blade. "It looks like you tossed it in a vat of acid and then broke it over your knee."

"You can thank the Diemon I was fighting," J.J. replied, looking over at the mechanic. "I was hoping that you might have something that can get rid of rust."

"Yeah, I do have a few things, but… I'm not sure if the sword can be saved," Susumu said, gingerly holding up the half of the sword that was dangling by a thread of metal. "We'd need a blacksmith to come in and re-forge it. I don't even know what type of metal this thing is made of, since it's clearly not steel…."

"That reminds me. The sword said that it would repair itself over time," J.J. said, glancing over at Susumu. "What if we treat it like a broken bone? Just remove the rust and hold it together?"

Susumu frowned at the blade before shaking his head. "It pains me to say this, but I'm out of my depth here. Tristan might know more. Would you mind grabbing him for me?"

"Sure. Where is he?" J.J. asked. Susumu stared at him blankly.

"You… seriously didn't see or hear him coming in?" Susumu asked, his voice flat with utter surprise. J.J. blinked, shaking his head. Susumu sighed, jerking his thumb through the back wall, indicating that J.J. should head that way.

J.J. pushed himself up apprehensively as he made his way out of the garage and around the back. When he came around the corner, he realized why Susumu was amazed that J.J. hadn't noticed Tristan when he'd first arrived. The knight was in full armor and chained to two buses, and as J.J. watched, he dragged the buses across the lawn, grunting and straining the entire time, but managing to move the two huge vehicles. J.J. stared, slack-jawed, for thirty seconds, as Tristan slowly did a lap around the grass, before he seemed to realize that he was being watched. He unchained himself from the buses and jogged over to J.J., panting as he approached.

"Good… day… Page," he greeted J.J. "Have you… need of me?"

"Yeah, uh… first… what… what's going on with that?" he asked, nodding over Tristan's shoulder at the buses.

"I told you… I was training… did I not?" Tristan asked, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. J.J. stared at Tristan in disbelief.

"You said you were working on your endurance! I thought that meant running for miles in your armor or something, not acting like some kind of superhuman parking attendant!" J.J. cried.

"Page, you know how much power our armor imparts," Tristan said, waving off his concerns. "It is combat that strains my abilities, and to achieve a similar level of stress, I must replicate such situations by subjecting my body to equally harsh conditions. Surely, you've realized that in your own armor, even moving an automobile is a relatively simple task?"

J.J. quirked his mouth, realizing Tristan did have a point. "Still, I'm surprised that you went all out all at once," he commented. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I shall endeavor not to," Tristan chuckled. "But you looked as though you had something you wished to speak with me about?"

"Susumu called for you," he said, motioning for Tristan to follow him. "He wanted to know if you knew anything about my sword repairing itself."

"Ah, yes, Lord Quintus did make our suits so that they will slowly restore themselves over time, though it is a gradual process," Tristan replied. "It is quite the relief not needing to maintain my armor, actually. The metal itself almost seems as though it is alive at times." He shot J.J. a sideways look from behind his helmet and added, "Though, I must ask, which enemy was powerful enough to do enough damage to your blade as to break it?"

"There's a new Diemon that can corrode metal," J.J. explained. "It weakened my sword and made it brittle enough to break."

"Ah… forgive me if I am still skeptical, page," Tristan said as they rounded the corner and stepped into Susumu's garage. "A mere Diemon should not typically have had that much power, unless it achieved Apotheosis."

"Well… it wasn't the Diemon that actually broke the sword," J.J. admitted slowly. "Agnar was there too."

Tristan froze in place, before slowly turning around. J.J. could almost taste the rage radiating off of the knight. "Sir Agnar… reappeared?" he asked in a dangerously soft voice.

"Yeah," J.J. said quietly. "It looks like the Black Seraph's got a major interest in this particular Diemon, so he has Agnar running security for him right now. I didn't want to fight him, but he didn't give me a choice."

"No… I suppose he would not," Tristan said softly, looking down at the ground. "You did well, then, page, to engage him and survive. You have grown stronger."

"I was lucky that Gwen was there and chased him off," J.J. said. He frowned, however, when Tristan didn't reply. "You doing okay there? You're not planning on doing something stupid, are you?" he asked, his features settling into a scowl.

"…No," Tristan said softly. "There is still the matter of my blood feud with him for killing my kin, however…."

"Yeah, that's the definition of 'doing something stupid,' Tristan," J.J. said shortly. "You're not in any shape to duel him."

Tristan turned to look at J.J., and when he spoke, there was a slight edge to his voice. "Do not speak to me of my condition," he growled. "A novice warrior has no right-!"

"Do you think you can beat him right now?" J.J. asked simply, folding his arms over his chest. "You were training to build your endurance, right? Do you think you could outlast him in a fight, or would he overwhelm you? Hell, you said that I could outlast you if I kept pushing you long enough. So do you stand a chance against him?"

Tristan hesitated, then slowly looked away, tacitly answering the question. J.J. pressed, "Furthermore, he doesn't seem to be on a deadline to fight you either. Right now, you should keep training, and let me worry about him. Besides, we don't know what metals this Diemon can affect. It's possible he could turn your entire suit of armor into a heap of rust, and then you'd really be screwed if you fought it. I, at least, would just lose my sword."

Tristan was slowly closing and opening his hand – a sign of irritation – but then he finally said in that same soft voice, "Allow me to inspect your blade."

Susumu motioned Tristan over to take a look at the sword, and the knight quietly examined it for several long moments before nodding. "Only the surface has suffered damage; the core is unharmed. Simply place the two halves together, ensuring that the un-rusted metal is touching, and the blade will fuse once more. Once they are bound together, remove the rust and your sword will be repaired. I must emphasize, however, it will take some time."

"How long would you say?" J.J. asked, as Susumu gingerly pressed the two halves of the blade together, holding them in place.

"Perhaps a few hours," Tristan replied. J.J. and Susumu traded looks of surprised delight at how quickly the sword could fix itself.

"Thanks for your help, Tristan," Susumu said. "I'll go out and buy some chemicals and steel wool, then I'll get to work removing the rust."

"Right. In the meantime… there's something I want to look into. I'm going to head back to that apartment from the other day and check a few things out," J.J. said. "I think Oliver – the Diemon – lives there."

Tristan gave J.J. a wary look from behind his helmet. "I do not believe that is a wise course of action, page," he warned him. "If Sir Agnar is still accompanying him…."

"This kid said that he didn't want to fight," J.J. pointed out. "And as long as I'm not threatening him, Agnar has no reason to attack me, right? His oath was to protect Oliver, not to kill me. Gwen proved that."

"You are playing a dangerous game, assuming that Agnar will uphold his oath to that degree," Tristan said.

"Have you known him to do anything else?" J.J. asked.

Tristan looked away with a soft sigh. "I am not sure I know him at all anymore," he replied softly, before looking back up at J.J. "Do what you must, page, but I implore you to exercise caution. Even if you had a weapon, you would still pose little threat to Agnar. If you see him-"

"I'll retreat, without hesitation," J.J. assured Tristan. "Besides, I'm not going there to pick a fight. I'm just trying to find some answers."

"Very well. I shall… continue to prepare," Tristan said slowly.

J.J. had turned to walk towards his motorcycle, but he paused at the way Tristan had phrased that sentence. There was something about the way he said it that sent a slight chill through J.J.'s body. Tristan had disappeared around the back of the garage before he could be pressed further, though, and J.J. decided to let it go. Tristan wasn't the type to do anything stupid after all… right?


Even a day or so after J.J. had fought off the squad of Shards, the apartment that he had damaged was still in a state of moderate disrepair. The front door was broken, with pieces of glass littering the porch, and the interior still seemed to be in ruins. To his relief, however, he saw that there was already a crew of about four men working to help fix the place.

J.J. pulled up to a curb and dismounted from his bike, taking off his helmet before he began walking over to the apartment building. The workers were being directed by a middle-aged man with thinning red hair shot with streaks of grey, who was motioning for the men to move a couch aside so that he could get under it with a broom. As he saw J.J. walking towards them, he frowned and cautiously approached the writer as he stepped onto the front porch.

"Can I help you?" he asked warily, looking J.J. up and down. J.J. responded by flashing a smile and holding up his hands.

"Sorry, just… I was driving by, and I noticed that your apartment looked like it'd just been hit by a tornado. I've got some time to kill, and I was wondering if you wanted some help cleaning it up," J.J. replied.

The man gave him a skeptical look, and J.J. couldn't blame him for being wary – random acts of kindness were rare these days, and often had a hidden motivation. Not that J.J. didn't have a hidden motive for wanting to help but, he admitted, but at least his intent was more benign than most. "We've already got plenty of help," the man said curtly.

"I see that," J.J. replied cheerfully. "But one more pair of hands couldn't hurt, right? If it makes you feel any better, if I were to try to steal something, those guys behind you could easily run me down and beat me into the pavement," he pointed out with a slight grin. He knew that his thin frame was rather nonthreatening, and he intended to use that to his advantage.

The man continued to stare at J.J. for a few more moments, before shrugging and saying, "Grab a pair of gloves, then. You can help sweep up the glass."

"Sure thing," J.J. chirruped, stepping into the house as one of the workers tossed him a spare pair of gloves.

He worked quietly for about half an hour, and as he did, he felt a sense of satisfaction in helping to clean. He had, after all, been partially responsible for the mess, so fixing the damage he did was only fair. It was also a mark of how much better shape he was in, as he was easily able to keep pace with the workers, helping to move furniture around and sweep up the rubble that was scattered across the poor man's living room without even winding up short of breath.

He passed by the broken picture a couple times, and when he felt that the man – who had introduced himself as Harry Frederick – had relaxed with J.J. around, he tapped the picture to draw Harry's attention to it.

"Your wife and kid?" J.J. asked conversationally.

"Mm? Oh, yeah," Harry replied, glancing at the picture. "That's Oliver and Brittany."

"You know… I think I saw your son at the charity function the other day," J.J. commented as he knelt down to pick up pieces of a broken vase. "He… didn't seem too pleased with the way the monster crisis is being handled in the city. Made a bit of a scene. Not that I'm chastising him, mind you," he added quickly as Harry turned to glance at him. "I admire someone who's willing to stand up for what they believe in like that."

"That… sounds like him, yeah," Harry sighed. "He's been like that for the last couple years."

"Did something happen?" J.J. asked slowly.

"Well… I suppose that it could be traced back to his mother," Harry said. "Especially her service in the military. She's been gone for a while…."

J.J. felt the blood rush out of his face as he realized Harry's implication, and he stammered quickly, "I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up a painful memory…."

Harry blinked in confusion at J.J.'s reaction, and then his eyes widened, and he laughed, putting his hand on his forehead in embarrassment. "Oh, she's still alive, don't worry! No, she's still serving overseas. She's in engineering, and she's spent a lot of her time helping to rebuild towns in the aftermath of battles and skirmishes. She likes to think of it as helping to heal lives rather than take them."

"Ah," J.J. said, breathing a sigh of relief at having dodged a faux pas. "But Oliver seems to have rather pacifistic views for someone whose mother is in the military. Do they not get along or something?"

"Quite the opposite. He's always been something of a mama's boy," Harry chuckled, winking conspiratorially. "Though he'd kill me for saying as such. He's adored her ever since he was young, and for years he wanted to join the military and be just like her."

"I see. So… what changed, then, if you don't mind me asking? Does he resent the service for keeping his mother from him?" J.J. suggested.

"No, he's proud of her service, and he supports the military," Harry replied easily, pausing to dump a dustpan full of glass into a trashcan. "I think what really struck him, though, was when he became aware of how much of a toll her service was taking on her. She's… had nights where she's woken up screaming, covered in sweat, and at other times she'll just break down crying. She's gotten treatment for it, and she always takes her medication, so it's gotten better, but there are some days that are worse than others. Brittany's done her best to shield Oliver from the worst of it, but she can't protect him from everything, especially since he's gotten older."

"That's… unfortunate," J.J. said softly, unsure what else he could say.

"To say the least," Harry agreed, sighing as he leaned on his broom. "I think that's why Oliver is so opposed to violence. Even though his mother isn't technically in a combat role, she's still suffering from the same trauma as those that have. War can damage anyone who has to experience it, even those that aren't in pure combat roles. In Oliver's mind, the only perfect world is one where no one has to fight."

J.J. couldn't help but smile sadly. "I can see where he's coming from, then," he sighed, pushing himself up and dusting himself off. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up something painful."

"No worries. I've come to terms with it myself, so you're not bothering me. And it helped to pass the time," Harry chuckled. "I just didn't want you to think that my son was some loud-mouthed hooligan who was stirring up trouble for its own sake."

"Trust me, I never thought that," J.J. assured him. After all, the Black Seraph had given him a D-former, he thought to himself. He had to have genuine conviction in his beliefs, or else he wouldn't have been able to become a Diemon in the first place. And if he'd been assigned Agnar as protection to nurture his rise to Apotheosis, his beliefs must run to his core. It just made J.J. even more determined to keep him from reaching Apotheosis, since it was obvious that Oliver's heart was in the right place.

J.J. decided not to pursue the subject further, and he spent another ten minutes quietly picking up debris until his phone buzzed with a text message from Susumu. He looked it over before looking up at Harry with an sheepish grin while the man gazed at him curiously.

"I hate to do this, but something came up, and I need to head out," J.J. said apologetically.

"Oh, yeah, no worries," Harry replied, waving off his concerns. "You volunteered to help, so I can't keep you if you need to go somewhere else. Thanks for stopping by, though. I wish we had more people like you in this city."

"There's more than you might think," J.J. replied with a slight smile. "One good thing to come out of wars and crises is that they can also bring out the best in people, letting them show sides of themselves that might have otherwise remained hidden. I've seen that more than you might expect."

"Well… I'll grant you that," Harry said with a reluctant grin of his own. "Take care… sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"J.J.," he replied, hopping on his bike. "I'd also keep an eye on your son. He's a good kid. Just don't let him get drawn too deep into his own ideology."

"I'll bear that in mind," Harry replied slowly, giving J.J. a confused look. "You're kind of a weird one."

"So I've been told," J.J. chuckled, tossing him a wave as he drove off, heading back to the garage.


As J.J. pulled up to the garage, he saw that Tristan had already shed his armor and was wiping his face off with a towel while Susumu was setting up a stack of newspapers. He laid J.J.'s mangled sword on them, and as J.J. walked towards them, Susumu managed a slight smile.

"Well, the good news is that your sword does seem to have fused itself back together, like Tristan said it would," he said, gently holding up J.J.'s blade. "The bad news is that it's still completely rusted. We're going to have to take care of that."

"You mean I'm going to have to take care of that," J.J. said firmly. Tristan and Susumu both gave him looks of surprise, to which J.J. scowled in reply. "What? It's my weapon, and it's my fault that it's in this state. I should be the one to fix it. Just show me how to remove the rust and make sure that I'm not making things worse," he told Susumu.

J.J. walked past the pair towards the workbench, and he could feel Susumu and Tristan trading proud grins, which he ignored. Susumu limped over to his side, shaking up a can of chemicals as he did before spraying them up and down the length of the rusted blade.

"Alright, what you're going to do is take this steel wool and start scrubbing," Susumu explained, handing it to him. "This is some of the best wool that I can buy, so this'll be as easy as I can make it. Periodically, you're going to want to use more of the rust remover. Other than that, it's just a matter of effort and strength."

"Gotcha," J.J. said, taking the wool and pushing down hard on the blade. For the next fifteen minutes, he sloughed away the layers of rust and grime that were coating the blade, only pausing to add more rust remover to the mix. In less than five minutes, he was sweating, and his hands and arms were aching, but he continued to work with a deep frown on his face, ignoring the strain that he was putting on his body.

His efforts were slowly rewarded as the layers of rust began to chip off the blade, landing on the table in large flakes that Susumu periodically swept into a trashcan. After about fifteen minutes, J.J. was finally able to see the first glimmers of steel behind the layers of rust again.

"J.J.!" Susumu cried suddenly, grabbing his hand and pulling it back. J.J. blinked in surprise, then suddenly winced as he flexed his hand. He realized that he'd rubbed the steel wool through and had been scraping his palm raw on the rust without realizing it.

"Ah… well, good thing I'm up to date on my tetanus shots," J.J. commented drily, flexing his fingers as he grinned sheepishly.

"Maybe you should slow down," Susumu suggested. "Want me to take over?"

"No, I want to keep going," J.J. said, grabbing another piece of wool and resuming his furious scrubbing. "I've wondered for a while how much consciousness my sword has, and the fact that it's basically made of living steel confirms to me that I shouldn't treat it as a tool, but as something that's alive. I don't see it as broken right now – I see it as sick. That's why I'm working so hard, because I feel like I'm restoring a life rather than just fixing a hunk of metal."

Tristan and Susumu traded looks behind him as J.J. turned the blade over and began rubbing the other side, ignoring the burning in his arms as he whittled the rust away. By the time he finally took a break, he was panting and sore, but only a thin layer of rust remained on either side of his sword. He reached down and clicked it down into its quill form, so he could speak with it, and he opened his diary to a blank page. "Are you alright, partner?" he asked the quill.

The pen hesitantly pushed itself up and began to jerkily skate across the page, its movements stiff and ragged, and the words it left on the page were badly written and slightly misspelled: Tha-nk ou.

"You don't have to thank me," J.J. said, reaching out to gently grasp the pen and still its movements. "Settle down. Don't try to move too fast. We still have work to do. I don't need you breaking a second time."

Despite him trying to hold it still, the quill wriggled out of his grasp and resumed writing on the page beneath it. Noo tme fr that. Wriite th-e Dimons name.

J.J. hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Tristan, who shrugged. "Your quill is correct," he said. "If Sir Agnar believes that Oliver may soon reach Apotheosis, we must seek them out quickly. Do as it says."

J.J. chewed on the inside of his cheek, but then he remembered the numerous times that he'd pushed himself to keep fighting despite being at less than perfect health. He could hardly admonish others for doing the same. Reluctantly, he picked up the quill and wrote across the top of another blank page, "Rust Monster."

The quill seized up and began to scribble rapidly across the rest of the page, filling in the gaps detailing the Diemon's stats. Though the words were barely legible, he was able to make out that while it had high defense, it wasn't very strong – it was only annoying because of its corrosion abilities. In fact, it seemed able to wear through any metal, even those normally resistant to rust or tarnish.

"I suppose that means you should stay out of the fight," J.J. commented to Tristan as he read the description of that ability while his quill continued writing. Tristan, however, scowled at him before shaking his head.

"Refrain from jesting, page. It is in poor taste," Tristan growled. "You would have enough of a struggle combating this foe even without Sir Agnar's presence. You shall require my assistance in this battle."

J.J. glanced over at Tristan warily, scowling as he slowly asked, "You're not going to try and duel him to the death now, are you?"

Tristan looked away, his eyes flickering as he considered while J.J.'s heart began to pound. Finally, however, he said slowly, "…No. As he is guarding a charge, I cannot rightfully challenge him to a duel, as he has other duties to attend to. Thus, any conflict between us would be towards the fulfillment or opposition of his present duty, namely the protection of his ward."

"I thought blood feuds took precedence over that sort of thing," J.J. said, tilting his head curiously.

"Normally, yes, but… if I choose not to invoke it, Sir Agnar will simply continue to follow his oath to protect Oliver, and no honor would be lost on either side. No, I shall merely engage him for the sake of distracting him while you save Oliver," Tristan said. Despite that, J.J. could practically hear him grinding his teeth in frustration. J.J. wasn't sure how much longer he could keep convincing Tristan to put off his duel.

His quill suddenly stopped writing, and as soon as it did, the diary began vibrating on the table. J.J. put his hand on the book to keep it from falling off the workbench, and he grimaced as he looked up at Tristan and Susumu.

"I suppose you have a battle to get to, then," Susumu remarked. "If he's supposedly that close to Apotheosis, you don't have time to keep cleaning your sword.

"Yeah… but I'm not sure how I'm going to fight this one," J.J. admitted, frowning down at the half-rusted quill. "I'm not comfortable bringing a dull sword to a fight, particularly one that could break at any moment. Plus, even if it was completely rust-free and repaired, the rust monster's abilities can just ruin my weapons again."

"Perhaps I should engage the Diemon myself," Tristan suggested. "Azuron is far stronger than the alchemical steel of your own weapon."

"Yeah, but the diary said that Oliver can chew through just about any metal, which suggests to me that your armor would be resistant to him, but not impervious. Besides, do you really think you can fight Agnar and a Diemon at the same time?" J.J. pointed out. "I barely lasted a few seconds when we did that, and while you're a better fighter than I am, I still wouldn't press my luck."

"Then what do you propose?" Tristan replied.

J.J. bit his lower lip before saying softly, "I suppose I'll just have to try fighting barehanded." Of course, he was fully aware of how well that was likely to go. While he was now a decent swordsman, he barely knew anything about unarmed combat. He struggled against a squad of Shards, and he'd never tried fighting a Diemon without a weapon before. Worse, the rust monster had good defense, so he doubted that he was likely to do much damage.

"That… is not a wise solution, page," Tristan chided him, confirming J.J.'s own worries.

"Yeah, but maybe I can keep Oliver off of you long enough for you to beat Agnar, and then while he's distracted…." J.J. suggested slowly.

"But we do not know when our quarry will achieve Apotheosis," Tristan countered. "And I am unsure if I can best Sir Agnar before that occurs."

J.J. looked down at the diary, the wheels in his mind spinning rapidly but going nowhere. As he struggled to find a solution, his quill perked up again and weakly nudged itself to a blank page, where it scrawled a new message on the blank paper.

Thers anotherrr wvay.

J.J. looked down at the quill as it slowly outlined a plan, its tip leaving a line of rust in every blot of ink, but as it explained its idea, J.J. slowly began to grin.

"That… might be perfect, actually," J.J. said. "Thanks for pointing that out."

Its oly bcase you diid enugh to alow it, the quill replied.

"Alright. In the meantime, no more wearing yourself out. Get some rest," J.J. said. The quill fell flat on the table, as if exhausted, and he smiled to himself as he picked up his pen and gently tucked it under the bindings of his dairy. He then looked up at Tristan with a nod. "Ready to head out?"

"Quite," Tristan said, reaching into his jeans for his shield, while J.J. flipped his diary open to his stats page and held it up to his left cheek. Tristan briefly held his badge to his chest before holding it out in front of him. Susumu, seeing this, took a few steps back.

"Henshin!" the two men shouted at the same time, and their Drivers appeared around their waists almost simultaneously. J.J. snapped his book shut and slotted it into his Driver while Tristan did the same with his shield, and both spun their respective D-formers.

"Adventure: Begin!"

"Steel yourself! Class: Cavalier!"

As the Drivers cried into the air, J.J.'s Driver began sounding off with a blare of trumpets while Tristan's emitted a raucous clashing of cymbals. An amber die surrounded J.J. while a steel-blue crystal enveloped Tristan, and they began spinning at the same time, encasing J.J. in his brown leather armor and Tristan in his blue full-plate. When the spinning stopped, the two men traded nods with each other and headed for their bikes.

"Looks like there's something going on around Old Marville. You might want to start there," Susumu suggested, looking up from the TV he'd had on.

"Makes sense, since that's his home," J.J. said, nodding to Susumu in thanks. Tristan had already started up his bike, and J.J. followed suit, the two warriors heading off while Susumu waved behind them.

As they followed the winding roads towards the poorer district of Marville, J.J. shouted over the roar of the engines, "Did you have an idea about how you wanted to do this?"

Tristan didn't say anything for a few moments, before yelling back, "I shall attempt something that I have yet to try. It should provide enough of a spectacle that Sir Agnar should be sufficiently distracted as to not turn his attention upon you. When we near our destination, inform me and allow me to… spearhead our assault."

J.J. gave Tristan a curious look, but the knight turned mysteriously quiet. J.J. shook his head, deciding not to press it. Tristan had been in an odd mood for the past several days. From the sudden insistence on training both himself and J.J. to the somewhat short attitude, J.J. couldn't help but start to grow worried. He was beginning to suspect that the feud he had declared with Agnar was starting to affect his judgment.

They took the turn on the road for Old Marville, and J.J. pushed his concerns out of his mind. One thing at a time, he told himself sternly. His diary began to vibrate more rapidly on his dashboard, and as he looked up, he saw Agnar and Oliver in his Diemon form standing together at the end of a long, narrow street. In front of them were a trio of thugs cowering in fear of Oliver, who was advancing on them. At their feet lay rusted handgun and knives that they had clearly tried to use on Oliver, with the expected results. Oliver, however, seemed to be standing over them without attacking them, and from this angle, he almost seemed to be scolding them, though J.J. couldn't be sure.

The pair turned, apparently hearing the roaring of the engines, and Oliver held his hands up in apparent surrender. Despite this, shapes began to emerge from near the buildings lining the streets. Shards began milling about in the street, their claws open and ready to tear the two Riders apart in defense of the nearest source of an active D-former – namely, Oliver.

J.J. looked over at Tristan, who caught J.J.'s gaze and nodded. He revved his engine loudly as he pressed the stallion icon on his belt. His shield emitted a loud neighing, and from Tristan's shield emerged a long lance made of Azuron, which hovered in front of Tristan for a moment before he grabbed it. He couched the lanced under his armpit, gripping the handlebars with his other hand, and held his shield in a punch-grip over his knuckles, protecting him while still allowing him to control the bike. He rested the lance over the edge of his bike, aiming it directly at the Shards now filling the streets.

With the road clear of traffic, he was able to steer his bike with one hand without issue, weaving it back and forth while he subtly adjusted his lance to strike the Shards one at a time. The heavy lance impaled the Shards almost effortlessly, each one being reduced to dust as soon as the point of the spear was thrust through them. Tristan's arm shuddered slightly with each hit, but he was able to keep control of his bike despite the repeated attacks and the vibrations running through his body, which amazed J.J., and he pulled up short to watch. In moments, Tristan had easily destroyed a half dozen Shards before straightening his bike out and changing targets.

"Sir Agnar!" Tristan bellowed furiously, and both Agnar and Oliver stared at Tristan as he sped towards them. J.J. likewise watched in awe as Tristan rode down the red-armored knight, revving his engine to gain even more speed. Agnar moved to step out of the way at the last second, but Tristan had clearly anticipated this. He pulled his lance from his bike and instead stabbed it towards Agnar. The attack struck the draconic knight dead in the chest, and Agnar screamed in pain as he was sent flying a good forty yards before crashing unceremoniously to the pavement, groaning out from the impact of the strike. He slowly began to push himself up, and J.J. was astounded that initial attack hadn't skewered him completely.

"Please, don't!" Oliver cried, rushing towards Tristan, but Agnar threw a hand up to stop the Diemon as he drew near. He coughed as he pushed himself up slowly, grunting as he held his chest, while Tristan brought his bike to a halt and dismounted, resting the butt of his lance on the pavement as he stared at Agnar. J.J. could practically feel the fury radiating from the blue knight.

"I suppose I must consider myself fortunate," Agnar grunted, brushing off his armor. "Had your lance been couched, you may well have slain me."

"Would that you were less fortunate, then," Tristan growled, pressing the stallion on his shield again, and his lance disappeared in a flash of blue light. "Though that would not have satisfied me."

"I suppose it would not, no. Duels to settle blood feuds are matters of honor, not simple killing. Pray, then, have you come to exact vengeance?" Agnar asked, holding out his hand. There was a flash of brilliant red fire, and his greatsword appeared in his palm. He slowly lowered the sword, adding, "Or have you come to parley?"

"I have come to ensure that the Black Seraph's machinations do not come to pass," Tristan replied coldly. "Nor would I duel you under these circumstances, as I find myself at a disadvantage, given the abilities of your ward."

"You dare accuse me of dishonor?" Agnar growled, his voice turning dangerously soft. "Were we to duel, do you truly believe I would rely upon interference merely to gain an advantage?"

"No, it is not your honor that I question. However, your charge has already proven his willingness to interfere in a duel," Tristan replied. "Page's damaged weapon is testament enough to that."

"A peasant is not afforded the same honor as a knight, Sir Tristan," Agnar replied simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "But I must concede, I cannot give my assurances that he would not act of his own volition and attempt to interfere. What do you propose, then? Given that you do not wish to invoke a duel, I cannot simply allow you to engage my charge until he has achieved Apotheosis."

"No, nor would I expect you do," Tristan replied, putting his hand on the bull icon on his shield, which let out a bellow as his mace emerged from his shield while his lance disappeared. "Thus… let us instead see if our companions can resolve their dispute before we can interfere, shall we?"

Agnar chuckled darkly, resting his claymore on one of his shoulders. "I see. Not a duel, but a battle, then? Very well. Have at you!" he shouted, bringing his claymore up above his head and cleaving downward. Tristan brought his shield up, blocking the attack, before he stepped in to bash Agnar with the rim of his shield. Agnar, however, stepped back before he could do so, and the two squared off and began to circle each other.

"No… no, dammit, stop!" Oliver cried, trying to run towards them. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt!"

"Oliver!" J.J. shouted, having dismounted and run over. He reached out and put his hand on the Diemon's chitinous shoulder, drawing his attention from the fight. Oliver looked at him in fright, but J.J. held up his other hand, showing that he was unarmed and just wanted to talk.

"Please! Stop them!" Oliver pleaded, his large compound eyes wide with desperation. "If they fight here, they're just going to do more damage! I don't… I don't want this city to suffer any more than it already has!"

J.J. sighed, taking his hand off the Diemon's shoulder, before saying softly, "You really don't get it, do you? Look… to be perfectly honest, I agree with you." Oliver turned towards him, his eyes widening as J.J. folded his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving Oliver's. "I'd love nothing more than to put my sword down and never have to pick it up again. I hate fighting. I hate the fact that I hurt people who just want to make their own lives better. Even when they have completely selfish motives, I very rarely relish the thought of having to fight them. I've had more than a few nights where I've woken up sweating and panting from the nightmares."

"Exactly! So just stop!" Oliver insisted.

J.J. shook his head as he smiled sadly behind his helmet. "Unfortunately, I can't do that. In a perfect world, yes, there'd be no need for weapons or violence because everyone would get along. But we don't live in a perfect world." J.J. looked over Oliver's shoulder, watching Agnar, who was slashing viciously at his opponent while Tristan backpedaled, blocking every attack with subtle shifts of his left arm, conserving as much energy as he could.

"I fight because there are monsters in this city, Oliver," J.J. explained, turning his attention back to the Diemon. "And I don't mean you, despite your appearance. You're one of the people I believe is worth saving. But to save you, I have no choice but to fight. I've tried reasoning with the monsters, but they don't listen. And when they don't listen, the only other thing I can do to make them stand down is to force them."

"I don't buy that!" Oliver snapped. "There's always another option!"

"You're right," J.J. agreed softly. "The alternative is far worse. If I don't, the monsters will take over this city, and everyone will suffer. There are times when inaction and pacifism can cause far more damage than warfare." His thoughts turned briefly to how he had hesitated with Kelsie, and he quickly swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He took a moment to compose himself, then back to Oliver. "Bottom line is this, Oliver: I agree with your ideal, but not your methods. And if you keep using that power the Black Seraph gave you, you're going to hurt more people than you realize. If you really don't believe in violence, then please listen to me. Hand over your D-former, and I promise I'll do everything I can to protect this city."

"…But you'll keep fighting? And the city will keep suffering as you do?" Oliver asked slowly.

"I'm going to do my best to avoid it. But it might, yes," J.J. admitted honestly.

Oliver shook his head defiantly. "Then I can't stop. Besides, you can't fight without a sword, can you?" he realized. "That's why you're trying to talk me down! Your sword is still damaged, isn't it? That just means this power is working! So all I have to do is keep making weapons unusable, and peace will eventually be restored to this city!"

J.J. smiled sadly as he pulled his diary from his belt. "I was afraid you might say that," he said softly, pulling his quill from his book. He clicked it out into its sword form as he replaced his diary, and the metal groaned loudly as it twisted and extended to assume its elegant saber form. Though it was in much better shape, there were still obvious patches of rust staining the blade, and the edge seemed dull. It was clear that the sword hadn't been fully restored, and Oliver realized that immediately.

"A rusted blade isn't going to do anything to me," Oliver commented, almost seeming a touch cocky as J.J. brandished the weapon. "And it looks like if it takes any more damage, it's going to fall apart. I'd hate to destroy such a nice sword."

"You're not wrong, but there're two flaws in your assumption that I can't beat you with this. One – my weapon doesn't necessarily have to be a sword. And two – it doesn't have to be metal. At least… not anymore."

J.J. put his fingers on his red and blue die, and he gave them a quick spin as his Driver cried, "Reroll! Multiclass: Ranger!" This was followed by the long peal of a hunting horn as a red and blue die appeared around him, before coalescing into a single emerald-green die that began to spin around him quickly. He felt his armor changing, though not as drastically as some of his other Classes. When the spinning stopped, J.J. was wearing an all-new suit of armor.

The main component of his armor, like his base class, was a leather-like material, but the brown jerkin-like garment had been abandoned for a closed forest green vest with stylized brown stitching down his sternum. His upper arms and shoulders were "bare," protected only by his black bodysuit, but long green leather gloves protected his hands and forearms. The green leather extended below his belt to end in a short kilt-like leather skirt that protected his thighs, under which his black undersuit could be seen. His shins, calves, and feet were also encased by deep green boots that extended almost to his kneecaps. Around his shoulders and neck, he wore a short cloak that extended to the backs of his thighs, though it didn't get in the way of his arms and he could still freely move. Most of his helmet was also green, save for the shield-shaped black faceplate, and the trapezoids that made up his "eyeholes" had become an emerald crystalline material, with feathers embossed next to his ears.

J.J. looked down and smiled faintly to himself as he saw his sword. The transformation had turned it into a four-foot long shortbow. More importantly, though, was the fact that there was no sign of rust on it. The bow was constructed from dark wood wrapped in thin tendrils of green ivy, and the string was a living vine. Obviously, since it was no longer metal, rust was no longer an issue. In fact, he could see flakes of rust on the ground where they had slid off the wood like scabs, littering the pavement near his feet.

He looked up at Oliver, who was staring at him, stunned. "That… how?!" he cried, motioning to his undamaged bow.

J.J. sighed sadly. "There's one other thing you need to understand about the nature of warfare – people will always find new ways to fight. If one weapon isn't working, they'll choose another one. If there's no weapon available, they'll use their fists. Remove their limbs, and they'll try to bite your ankles."

"Why?! Why can't we just have peace?!" Oliver shouted.

"Peace doesn't come without a struggle, Oliver," J.J. said, unable to keep the regret from his voice. "So long as it's a worthy cause, like protecting others, then there's nothing wrong with fighting. And that's why I'm going to have to fight you now, unless you're willing to just give up your D-former," J.J. suggested. "If you're really that opposed to fighting, then please, give it up without us having to resort to violence."

Behind him, he heard a particularly loud bang of steel, and Agnar pushed Tristan back, pointing his finger at Oliver. "Oliver, while I despise agreeing with this peasant, what he says has some merit." Tristan brought his mace back to slam it down on Agnar's blade again, but J.J. held up a hand to stop him. "He shall not yield, and there are times when one must fight for their ideals. Thankfully, in your case, your goal is simple: You simply must dispatch him, and then your path to peace will be open."

Oliver hesitated, glancing over at Tristan, before asking, "What about him?"

"I shall ensure that Sir Tristan does not interfere, and when you prevail, I am certain we can convince him to stand down as well. Do not waver in your conviction," Agnar added. He returned his attention to Tristan and swung his sword again. Tristan barely managed to raise his shield in time to deflect it away as the two engaged each other again.

Oliver looked down, clenching his insectoid hands, before reluctantly looking up. "If… if what you're saying is true, then I don't have any choice, do I? In that case, I can't back down either." He hesitantly raised his fists, and even though his face was completely alien, J.J. swore he saw a look of resolve in his eyes. "I can't let you stop me here. I'm going to end the fighting in this city my own way, even if I have to fight you to do it."

J.J. shook his head as he held out his left hand. A seed appeared in his palm, and a second later it split open, rapidly growing into an arrow with a sharpened wooden point and fletched with leaves instead of feathers. He nocked the arrow in the vine and slowly pulled it back to his shoulder as he said reluctantly, "I'm sorry it's come to this. Alea iacta est."

As soon as he finished speaking, he loosed the arrow, which flew towards Oliver faster than the human eye could follow. Oliver just barely managed to duck out of the way, but the arrow still scraped his chitinous shell, leaving along scratch mark along his arm, before dissolving harmlessly into leaves before hitting the building behind the Diemon. Oliver winced and inspected the wound, only relaxing when he saw that it wasn't bleeding. He looked up with J.J., clearly terrified.

"How?" he asked softly. "That's a wooden weapon! It shouldn't be able to harm me!"

J.J. smiled grimly as he held out his hand and another seed popped into his hand. He was truly grateful that his quill had taken the time to explain his newest form while it had the chance.


Yu hve emugh sttat ponts for a new frm, the quill had explained, and as J.J., Tristan, and Susumu watched, it slowly scratched out the specifications of the Ranger Class on a blank page of his diary. Drawing from Irene's dryad as its base, it was a blend of Warrior and Thief Classes, lacking the power of the former and the speed of the latter, but making up for it by giving him a specialized ranged form. And more importantly, thanks to its source, its powers were completely organic, meaning it was totally unaffected by Oliver's rusting abilities. Even if Oliver damaged his weapon in this form, the bow would simply repair itself, far more rapidly than it could in its metallic state.

"Glad to know that we never have to worry about you getting seriously damaged again," J.J. grinned, picking up his diary. "If that's all it takes, let me transform and fix you really quick."

No! his quill protested quickly. If Im fxed and he ses tat, he wil jst rust me agin. I dontt want tht. It hurts, his quill pleaded. Surprse him.

"I… suppose we can, sure," J.J. said curiously. He still thought it would be easier to just heal his quill, but he figured that in its damaged state, it might also be slightly delirious, since he didn't see why he couldn't just keep his quill hidden until he needed it. He shrugged, figuring he would just treat the quill like a sick patient and humor it.

"While this is fortuitous, I also must express my concern about this combat style," Tristan piped up. "You have become a fair duelist, page, but how much experience do you have with archery?"

"None whatsoever. Never held a bow in my life," J.J. replied.

"Then this style may well prove ineffective for you," Tristan replied grimly. "Archers require years of training before they are considered proficient. We do not have the time required to train you to use a bow."

"Maybe I have a hidden talent for it?" J.J. suggested weakly.

"You do not, page, if your other combat abilities are any indication," Tristan replied bluntly. "While you do learn quickly, you do not have a natural aptitude for weaponry, I am afraid."

"Then what's the alternative?" J.J. countered. "If I use any other weapon, Oliver will just destroy it."

His quill twitched again, and J.J. gently helped it up, until it was scratching its way across the page again. I cn hlp you, it explained. Let me gide you. Wen you ar shootng, let me tke contrl. Do you trst me?

J.J. smiled faintly at his pen, nodding down to it. "Yeah, I trust you. I'll leave it in your hands then… partner."

The quill responded with a little wiggle that J.J. interpreted as it being pleased with his response.


As J.J. pulled the arrow back, he relaxed his hands and shoulders, relying only on the muscles needed to draw the bowstring. His bow, meanwhile, self-corrected his stance so that even in his amateurish hands, the arrow would fly wherever pointing. Apparently, his sword had always had some ability to move on its own even in its weapon form. While it couldn't hover freely in the air the way his quill did – which was why he also wouldn't be able to throw his sword and expect it to come back to him – it did retain some motion control. Until now, it had remained still when he was fighting because it didn't want to interfere. However, he was now placing his trust entirely in his weapon, and to his delight, it was answering his expectations beautifully.

J.J. relaxed his fingers and released the arrow, and the bolt sang through the air before striking Oliver square in the chest, releasing a shower of sparks. The Diemon let out a cry of pain as he stumbled backwards, clutching his chest in pain.

"Why does this hurt?!" he shouted in frustration. "If those arrows are just wood, they shouldn't even do any damage!"

J.J. would have been inclined to agree, but there were a few reasons why the arrows were effective. For one, his bow was only usable thanks to his suit's enhanced strength. The string was so taut and the wood of his bow so hard that it would have been impossible for a normal human to even draw it. As a result, his arrows hit with the force of a ballista bolt.

The second reason why he could do so much damage to Oliver was due to the unique properties of the arrows he was using. Although they were completely organic and had wooden tips, the wood was so dense that it was more than adequate as a substitute for metal. Thanks to the dryad's powers over vegetation, he could shape his bow and arrows to be as hard or soft as he wished, though unlike the powers Irene's Diemon form had, he couldn't control all plant life. That was fine with J.J., though, as this was all he needed anyways.

Oliver slowly recovered as he raised his head and let out a frustrated growl before charging at J.J., intending to close the distance before he could shoot again. J.J. quickly backpedaled away from Oliver, trying to maintain the gap. While Ranger Class wasn't nearly as fast as Thief Class, it was still quick enough that he could easily keep pace with Oliver, and that gave him time to draw another arrow. This time, he fired it at the Diemon's leg. The arrow pierced his shin, and Oliver let out a scream of pain, stumbling to the ground. J.J. stopped retreating, drawing another arrow back to continue his attack.

"Can we stop?" J.J. asked softly, aiming at Oliver's head. "I'd really rather not have to keep fighting you."

Oliver raised his head and opened his mouth. J.J. was caught off-guard as a stream of acid sprayed from his throat with the force of a fire hose. In response, J.J. leaped backwards, floating through the air away from the attack. He noticed that while he didn't have as much speed as when he was in Thief Class, the added strength from Warrior Class meant that his jumping abilities had improved drastically.

From his spot in the air, he saw that Oliver's attack was corroding everything metal in the area, swiftly reducing a bike rack to a slab of melted steel. Moments later, J.J.'s feet hit the ground and he jumped again before Oliver could target him. His leap this time was almost vertical, and he landed lightly on the roof of a nearby apartment building. From this vantage point, he drew another arrow and loosed it at Oliver's head. Oliver closed his mouth and dodged out of the way. While the arrow had missed, it also stopped Oliver's attack.

J.J. took a moment to look past Oliver and observe Tristan and Agnar's fight. Tristan had his back to Oliver and J.J., deflecting each of Agnar's powerful blows while the red knight tried to force his way past him. They'd been fighting for some time now, and J.J. was glad to see that Tristan's endurance training seemed to be paying off, as he was still holding his ground. He knocked two slashes to the side before stepping into Agnar's range and swinging his mace. The short weapon arced towards Agnar's face, but the draconic knight stepped back and brought his sword up to counter a follow-up. Agnar reacted in kind, bringing his shield up. The two knights paused, seeing their opposite taking a defensive stance, and then they mutually seemed to agree to reset and try a different tactic with each other. The exchange only lasted a few seconds, but there were so many moves in that short span that J.J. could barely follow it. Once again, he wondered how he would ever reach the level that those two were on.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to Oliver in time to see the Diemon scurry over to a sewer grate. He swore to himself as Oliver's antenna brushed the grate, rusting the iron, and a few seconds later, he kicked it in, disappearing into the sewers. J.J. swore under his breath, trying to figure out how he could track Oliver, when he realized that he was still able to see him somewhat. He appeared as a shadowy grey shape moving under the pavement of the city, and while his form was indistinct, J.J. could still see him. J.J. remained still, watching Oliver intently to see if he was going to retreat or try something else.

Oliver likewise seemed to be hesitating and planning out his next move. He finally decided to travel closer to J.J., heading towards a manhole cover that was nearby, before his form began to ascend as he climbed the ladder. J.J. immediately figured out what he was trying to do, and he decided to counter the ambush that Oliver was planning.

J.J. put his fingers on the red and blue D-formers again and gave them a quick spin. "Critical!" his Driver shouted, and J.J. was briefly surrounded by a deep green crystal that coalesced around him, focusing itself into his palm. Four dark green seeds appeared in his hand, quickly growing into thorny, verdant arrows with an unearthly green glow to them. J.J. nocked them all at the same time and pulled them back slowly, aiming at the manhole cover that Oliver was going to emerge from. Since J.J. was expecting it, he wasn't surprised in the slightest when the cover exploded upwards and Oliver leaped into the air.

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. J.J. clearly saw Oliver's mouth opening as he ascended to eye level, but his sneer of triumph devolved into a look of horror as he realized J.J. was waiting for him. J.J. stared at him grimly from behind his bow as his grip loosened on the arrows and the quartet of bolts flew towards the Diemon. All four arrows struck him dead in the chest, cracking his carapace, and Oliver let out a scream of pain as he fell to the pavement.

J.J. jumped off the building, landing lightly on the ground moments after Oliver slammed into it. He could hear the young man groaning, and J.J. pulled his diary off his belt, flipping it open to the rust monster's stat page as he reverted to his Adventurer Class. He watched the Diemon's health bar drop to zero, and he snapped his book shut as he watched glowing reddish-orange lines spread across Oliver's body. His Diemon form was soon consumed by the cracks spiderwebbing across his body, and moments later it exploded into a shower of fractals, leaving Oliver lying on the pavement, dazed and disoriented. His D-former and stat sheet were a few feet away from him, just out of reach.

J.J. moved to help him, but he paused as a loud metal clanging caught his attention. He looked up in time to see Agnar body-check Tristan out of the way. The blue knight made no attempt to stop Agnar, and J.J. was relieved to see that while he was panting heavily, he didn't seem on the verge of collapse for a change. J.J. gripped his sword, charging forward to meet Agnar head-on, but to his surprise, Agnar simply jumped over him. Caught off-guard he was unable to turn in time as Agnar grabbed the glowing D-former. He gazed at it with his shoulders slumped in disappointment as he realized Oliver hadn't reached Apotheosis. He slowly looked down at Oliver with burning contempt.

"Pathetic. You had such promise," Agnar spat at him. "Did you really not possess the conviction to see your ideals come to fruition? You should have easily achieved Apotheosis."

"Yeah… you can blame yourself for that, Agnar," J.J. piped up. The red knight slowly turned to glare at him as J.J. shrugged. "The D-formers develop as people follow the role they want, right? If Oliver wanted to end the fighting in this city, you shouldn't have encouraged him to fight."

Agnar slowly raised his head, and J.J. could practically feel his anger radiating off of him. "Then your speech about needing to fight for peace was just a falsehood…?"

"Oh, no, I completely believe that," J.J. shrugged. "But not everyone does. I imagine it was making Oliver here sick, having to compromise his beliefs by fighting. There are true pacifists in this world. The second you encouraged to go for me and not my weapon was when he betrayed the intentions of his D-former. He was never going to achieve Apotheosis, even if he beat me." He smirked behind his mask as he saw Agnar's hand shaking with anger.

"You… made it impossible… to fulfill my oath to my master… to bring him completed jewels," Agnar growled furiously. J.J. couldn't help but feel a bit smug as the knight advanced on him.

"There's more than one way to win a fight, Agnar," J.J. pointed out, gripping his sword as he prepared for Agnar to unload on him. Behind Agnar, he could see Tristan rushing over to help.

Agnar let out a scream of rage as he raised his claymore above his head, about to swing it down on J.J., while J.J. prepared to dodge out of the way. Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Oliver picked himself up and threw himself at Agnar. The knight was caught off-guard by the sudden rush, and he changed his target instinctively, slashing at Oliver before J.J. or Tristan had time to react. The heavy blade slashed the young man across the chest, sending him sprawling with a long gash across his torso.

The three warriors were all left momentarily stunned. J.J. was the first to move, darting over to Oliver's prone form as the young man coughed and wheezed. He immediately put his hands over the bleeding gash while Agnar looked down at his sword in shock. It was clear to all three fighters that his slash had been pure reflex, that he hadn't meant to attack Oliver. Tristan hurried over as well, helping to put his hands over Oliver's chest to stem the flow of blood. The knight turned and shouted at Agnar, "Damn you, sir! Help us!"

"No," Agnar said, his voice was shaking slightly. He looked down at the jewel in his hand, taking a deep breath as he continued, "I swore an oath to our people. The lives of these peasants are irrelevant in the face of restoring Almencia." From his tone of voice, however, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He turned towards Tristan and added, "I am disappointed in you, Sir Tristan. I have shown a great deal of leniency towards your blood feud. No longer. Should you continue to postpone the duel you set, I must question your honor. Do not swear oaths you cannot fulfill."

"Bastard!" Tristan shouted at him, but Agnar simply picked up the fallen stats sheet and tore it in half before walking off. J.J., for his part, was only dimly aware of all of this. He was more focused on keeping his hands on Oliver's chest to stem the flow of blood. He could hear sirens in the distance, coming closer with each passing second, though each second felt like an hour.

"Stay with me, Oliver," J.J. said, his voice hoarse and his throat dry. He didn't want to have to explain another death to someone else's parents. Thankfully, the gash seemed to have been a glancing blow. Agnar must have instinctively held back despite his muscle memory.

Oliver coughed and opened his eyes, grinning up at J.J. "See?" he gasped out. "I told you… I could stop… the fighting… myself…."

"Yeah… you did," J.J. nodded briefly, smiling despite himself. "Now stop talking or you're gonna open this wound up even more."

To his relief, moments later an ambulance pulled up, and two paramedics jumped out of the back, rushing over to the wounded boy. The woman who got there first gently pushed J.J. aside and grimly inspected the wound.

"It doesn't look too deep, and I don't think any vital organs were hit. We need to get him into surgery quickly, though," she said to her partner, who was already hurrying over with a stretcher. She paused to nod to J.J. and Tristan, adding, "Good job staunching the wound. He should be alright as long as we hurry."

"Good," J.J. sighed with relief. "I'd like to come if-"

"Page," Tristan said quietly. "We have completed our mission here. Allow the healers to do theirs."

"…Right," J.J. agreed reluctantly. "I'll be by later to check up on him," he added to the paramedic, who nodded. As they hauled Oliver off in a stretcher, J.J. slowly walked away, looking down at the blood on his gloves in disgust.

"Oliver's right about one thing. We need to end this crisis before things get worse," he growled.

"Agreed," Tristan said coldly, looking up at the sky with his arms folded. "Questioning my honor, dare he…?"

Something about Tristan's tone made J.J.'s ears perk up, and he glanced over at his partner warily. "Tristan…?" he asked slowly.

"Merely contemplating, page," Tristan replied shortly. "Let us depart. We deserve some rest."

J.J. quirked his mouth, but didn't argue. Still, something in Tristan's tone had him worried, he mused, as he watched the knight walk away. Once again, he wondered how much longer Tristan was going to be able to endure Agnar's insults… and what would happen if he finally lost his cool.


The next day, J.J. walked into the hospital and asked the receptionist where he could find Oliver. Once he got the room number, he quietly slipped into an empty room and transformed, then hurried to the specific room before he was swarmed by people who recognized him. He saw that the door was cracked, and he lightly rapped on it before peeking inside. Oliver was laying in bed, hooked up to a few machines, with his father sitting by his side. Both looked up, and Harry smiled and beckoned him inside. J.J. quietly shut the door behind him as Oliver struggled to sit up, only to be stopped by his father putting a hand on his shoulder. J.J. noticed that the boy's torso was completely wrapped in bandages and his skin was slightly pale, but otherwise he didn't seem too bad.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, standing with his hands behind his back.

"Everything hurts, I needed several stitches, and I'm going to have a scar for the rest of my life, but… they say I should be out of here in a couple weeks," Oliver explained.

"Good," J.J. said, trying to keep himself from sagging in relief. "I've gotta say, that was very brave of you… and also incredibly stupid," he added, chastising Oliver. "Seriously, I can take a couple hits from that guy. There was no reason for you to get in the way."

"I know… but my body moved on its own," Oliver said meekly. J.J. sighed, folding his arms and looking away.

"Well… I can't say that I haven't done the same thing once or twice. And I'm glad to see that you'll recover at least. I know people who… haven't," he said, swallowing hard for a moment before looking back at Oliver, who seemed lost in thought. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to thank you," Oliver said. "And to apologize. I've always had this belief that there's no 'right' side in a war, that nothing is black and white and that there are only conquerors and victims caught in the crossfire. But you went out of your way to save my life, even after I'd attacked you, and it reminded me that there are also people who take up arms to help others. It's why my mother joined the service, even though she dislikes holding a rifle unless she has to. I… think I'd forgotten that."

"There's a saying – hate the war, love the soldier," J.J. said. "I agree, some wars are fought for terrible reasons – greed and bloodlust especially come to mind. But there are also those that fight to protect, and that's the kind of warrior I try to be. I don't always succeed, but it's what I aspire to."

"Yeah, and I see that now. But again, I'm sorry I didn't realize that sooner," Oliver said. "I hope I can make it up to you somehow."

"You want to make it up to me? Get better," J.J. said, smiling faintly.

"I'll do that," Oliver grinned up at him. "Thanks again."

J.J. nodded, glancing up at Harry and adding, "You've got a good son. Keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't do anything else stupid."

"I tried to raise him right," Harry shrugged. "I can't help it if he's an idiot sometimes. Thank you for stopping by, though. It means a lot."

"It was good for my peace of mind, too," J.J. chuckled, tossing him a wave. "But in the meantime, I have to get back."

"Right, we understand," Harry said. "Oh, and one more thing before you go?"

"What is it?" J.J. asked easily, his hand on the door.

"Thanks again for helping clean up the apartment the other day," Harry said casually.

J.J. froze and slowly turned to look at Harry, who was grinning at him. "You might want to disguise your voice if you're trying to hide your identity," Harry said smugly. "It's a bit distorted, but I thought I recognized it."

"Bit late for that now, isn't it?" J.J. said, grinning sheepishly from behind his helmet. Harry burst out laughing as J.J. walked out the door, leaving Oliver to look back and forth between the two, utterly confused.