Alright, contiunity should be corrected. Once again, I am so sorry for posting chapters out of order, and requiring readers to have to go back to chapter freggin 29 and 30 to get the correct flow of time in the story. I get the documents mixed up when i have to upload them as i am extremely dyslexic, ADHD and some other issues. I get the chapter numbers mixed with the numbering system in the file uploads and then upload file 34 for chapter 34 when its file 32 that has chapter 34. I get so confused. again, I am so sorry, its no excuse, and I hope and pray some of all yall understand and somehow can still enjoy the story. Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here is the the next chapter of Arena for the Dead!
Pitch black darkness occupied Diarmuid's inner sanctum. Endless walls of vast emptiness. It was eerily quiet. He searched for Haley's consciousness within the realm of his own, but only encountered more silence.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Far off in the expanse of his infinite mind, echoed the facsimiles of droplets as they plummeted moments apart into a puddle of liquid. Attentiveness was drawn to the only notes thrumming in his hollow space.
Wine spilled like a waterfall into a river and flowed downstream in thin streaks. No... it was not a fine beverage, it was—
Him.
Iron clogged his throat, choking his words and pleas for release. Fingers clawed at air, not even able to grasp his own form. Scarlet tears spilled from Diarmuid's eye sockets, as he released an inhuman cry.
A pierced heart followed. A beloved spear's blade skewered the sole wish of a broken Knight- by his own hands.
Betrayed. Hated. Honor lost. Evil monsters! Suffer in hell! Remember the rage—of DIARMUID!
A harsh, suffering bellow pleaded for the anger to recede. "Stop! P-Please, I—!"
Anger bubbled in the pot of fury towards all who crossed the fallen Knight. The Knight whose own blood stained the darkness. Diarmuid: trapped in the endless repetition of loyalty lost and honor forgotten.
A man with gelled-back short blond hair and cyanic eyes blanked to the world, rolled across the lot. The wheelchair's tires spun, revealing the broken man for the nasty vermin he truly was. He laughed as he degraded and soiled his former Servant.
Guffawing was stifled by a choking croak. Warrior hands painted in blood, with crushing demonic power unhinged the friends facial joints. The corners of Kayneth's mouth ripped, hooked by the claws of the savage Knight.
A hoof splashed in a puddle of blood, like a severed chin with a dangling tongue. In a blink, the ruptured face stared feverishly at the missing lower half of his features.
"That is—! I would never !". A perplexed Diarmuid wept his bedeviled thoughts.
Calm down, Diarmuid. Just breathe and try to relax. You've got this.
"But... Lady Haley… what am I supposed to—" in a snap, the atmosphere in his mind liquified, running like lava into the next depiction of the evil perpetrators.
Small puffs of vapor coalesced to form a cloud, exposing a man with hardened, onyx eyes, clothed in a black trench coat. As he inhaled the bud of his cigarette, his attention shifted slightly to Kayneth's deformed body, then moved to the crimson-eyed Irish Knight. The bubbling pot that was Diarmuid's emotions intensified from a small simmer to a full boil.
This man managed to provoke Kayneth to utter the command for Diarmuid's suicide. The vile, disgusting filth trampled on the honor of a Knight, and specifically targeted him, even in the hells of the world. He would pay heavily for his transgressions against him.
In an instant, the trail of steam leaking from the butt at the man's emotionless mouth swirled around the black-haired man's body. The deranged image of Diarmuid sniped the butt from his mouth, jabbing the smoking end into the large lump in the man's throat.
Flames spread like a brush fire, engrossing the Magus Slayer. The Japanese man's flesh burned and slid off bone like lava slowly flowing down a mountain. A human skeleton was all that remained, and the cursed man's bones collapsed in on themselves from one powerful punch.
Maniacal laughter erupted from the clicking and clacking of scattering bones. Shells of the body were snapped in half by the bestial man that was once a Knight… but had now fallen into the pits of anger and darkness—
You thought I have forgiven you for stealing Grainne away?
A copper-colored mustache smiled viciously, revealing white teeth. Matching eyes shone over a young, dying man. His usually-backswept hair was chaotically furrowed in a field of his own blood. His healing water spilled from unforgiving hands, leaving the Knight to succumb to fatal wounds.
Deathly eyes suffused with scarlet red and demonic slits striped the dead pupils. Fionn's open palms twisted outward from the clutches of the fallen comrade. A loud snap of bones and a deathly howl from the grizzly man rolled like thunder in clouds.
Hair like a flame snagged downward, bringing Fionn to his knees. Strands of locks shredded from the man's head, after two fingers carved holes into the Lord's eyes.
Now it is you who shall have tears of blood pooling from your very eyes! A diabolical Diarmuid guffawed in a voice not quite his own. It rasped and hissed like a snake.
Angry hands lacerated intestines free from their bony cage and shoved them down the gaping mouth. Hacking sounds were heard, but the broken warrior did not cease his torture. Clicks and splotching were drowned out by agonized cries that stretched across the void. The once Lord of the Fianna was now unrecognizable.
Then I will do my best to save you . A pitched voice carried in the whispers.
"Lady Haley…" Diarmuid's voice solemnly flowed through the memory.
A blaring crack like a whip of lightning snapped across the forlorn space. Images fuzzy to the eye shimmered reflections of a broken-down image of a woman's face. Like static in a television screen, the image cleared itself.
Please—Please don't kill me— Scratchy vocals whimpered to be released from a stronghold.
Rage. Mistrust. End her before she denounces you. Pupils blew and crimson curtains blocked any rationality or the light of the man's soul.
She earned it. She lied. She deceived him. There was a reward for herself that she conveniently left out.
His inner realm turned black as a cat in the night, leaving only the sound of a click.
The woman's fragile neck suffered in his deathly grip, before he snapped it like a twig. Her body slackened in his hold, the light gone in the foggy, cerulean eyes that were once adored. No, she needed to suffer more; to feel the pain she would have inflicted if given a chance.
She is right next to you… you have not finished her….
Crimson hands hovered over a sleeping beauty and skewered—
"NO!!" Diarmuid's body jerked forward like a slingshot as he panted like a dog in a desert. "Lady Haley! Are you—?"
"Hey, hey! It's okay! I am okay!" Haley said, as she brought herself onto her knees and patted the horrified warrior's back with her left hand, while the right caressed his heaving chest. "I'm right here..."
"I— but did I—Did I hurt you? I was going to.. I saw it… I—"
"Shh…" The concerned woman gently took the right hand that furled around bed sheets in a desperate grip and placed it on the left side of her chest. "I'm fine...see?"
It was as if the pulsating heart underneath his hand anchored his disorganized thoughts into reality.
"Lady Haley... I… I would never do such cruel things... and yet..." The final memory, the wicked attack, where he laid his hands on the woman- it was indeed him. If he were capable of such evil acts in that state against her… the insane wickedness he just witnessed… was just as possible.
"I could… couldn't I? If... If I let the curse—you would—"
Haley held his flustered cheeks in between her palms and turned his aghast face to mirror hers. "I would be just fine. Diarmuid, I know you won't hurt me." She could not stand to look at his crestfallen face, and brought his profile to her chest. "Just breathe and relax."
Steadily, his arms slipped around the silky robes that covered the Lady's waist. He must look so glum and shameful, but those horrors…
"But Lady Haley.. I… am capable. I could do those very things… I have done those things."
Diarmuid was not wrong. In his fitful rage, the last imagery that occurred in the blindness powered by the curse, the Lady's own throat was caught in the crossfire. In the round with the ship, she had been certain he would have torn Kiritsugu to shreds, if not for her intervention. However, he was much better now. The curse was so close to being nonexistent.
"I... know. But Diarmuid, time and time again you broke free of the curse's bindings." Haley said in an attempt to reassure him, but he only clutched her tighter.
"Why... Why would you suffer? I... I don't understand, you play no part in my history... So why do you appear as an enemy?"
That was a good question, and the answer was simpler than expected; and maybe it would help him to relax.
"It's a defense mechanism. The curse is centered around your emotions and mistrust." Haley groomed her fingers through his soft, brushed-back locks. "But the curse is healing, isn't it? Think of why."
Diarmuid pulled back from the Lady's compassionate hold to meet her stare. "Because of you."
The curse healer nodded, and placed her right hand on the solemn warrior's cheek. She thumbed the tepid skin.
"Yes, so naturally it will twist me in any way it can to enable it to still reside within you."
"And the... other imagery, my Lady?" The woman shook her head and long chestnut hair fell over her shoulder.
"I can't say. You'll... understand later… but for now just know that this will pass."
Diarmuid relaxed into her touch, and contoured his left hand on hers while it still rested upon his face.
"In good light, half of the red in your eye is gone…" she said after she examined his brilliance. She let her hand fall back to the mattress. "I feel this to be the last stand against your curse."
Diarmuid could only lower his head in understanding. Those vile acts performed by his own hands as they yanked at the barriers he put in his mind... He could never kill so heinously, no matter how much distaste he had for his enemies. He was once stoic in nature, and was now the opposite. Why did things have to be such a way?
The Knight attempted to get a grip on himself. It was all too real. Whatever magic created such illustrations utterly unnerved him. He studied the woman before him as she adjusted the folds of her nightgown, and sank into the bed.
"Are you tired...?" he asked, even though the answer was evident in the drooping of her eyelids and the way she dragged herself down, as though she were moving iron.
"Yeah, being kicked out of your mind like that carries a heavy burden…"
Haley waved her hand dismissively, knowing—even with her eyes firmly shut—that Diarmuid was heavy with guilt. "It happens, you are not the only one to be rattled like that."
Diarmuid cradled the back of his neck, unsure of what to think. What exactly did his rude ejection do to their process; and worse, what of the Lady? Removing her from his mind was pure reflex. He had not wanted to see any harm come to her, metaphorically or literally. Yet still, pushing her away inadvertently had afflicted her.
In his own way, he was also drained. The Knight collapsed next to the crashing woman in the velvety sheets. Diarmuid rolled on his side to glide his hand down her shoulder, to the hand he wished to hold. She stirred from his stroke, and half-lidded eyes gazed up at him.
"I… I don't know how to ask this without it… sounding weird, okay?" she asked. Diarmuid's sullen features gave away little as he nodded for her to continue.
In response, she took the caressing hand lightly to pull him closer to her. "Want... to… cuddle…?"
In retrospect, Haley had not a clue what any of that actually entailed. At no point in time did she feel her friend would consider it. The idea only struck her because in their shared past, something similar did once occur.
Just as it was at this moment, she had been beaten down from a magic drain, and had suffered a nightmare. She'd then awoken in the arms of her Knight, who had offered her solace from the dreams. Thinking further, that was not the only time.
In a moment of uncertainty before the third round began, Diarmuid's lap had doubled as her pillow. Under mental duress from the loss of new companions, she'd found herself across his thighs. When tuckered out from aiding the fallen warrior, yet again his chest had provided a place of comfort.
When did he and she become so familiar? And at what point had this… sputtering of her heart become so pronounced?
"I…" Diarmuid wavered for just a second, unsure of what he wanted to do.
The proposition in these circumstances was discordant with past occurrences. However, he had declared to himself earlier that he would be honest with his sentiments. Having a beating heart only amplified those delicate feelings.
Oh, how that was such a crazed thought! To venture down the path of the emotions he scurried like a mouse away from. A dead, cold man such as himself…
"I would be glad to, Lady Haley." The words spilled like water from a cup, and it was too late to retract them. The glimmer in those crystalline eyes was too much to deny or revoke, anyhow.
A weak smile formed on Haley's features. Unexpected warmth burst through her chest and she… liked it.
Dare she think: I... like being with him. A second wave of exhaustion hit, as the drowsy woman wrapped her arms around her Knight like a little girl would enfold her favorite stuffed animal.
The Lady buried herself under his chin as the fragrance of vanilla graced his senses. Effortless it was, to cradle the back of her head and to lace his fingers into the flexile threads of her satin strands. His other hand was adventurous, gliding along her back like a kite, stopping just above her bum.
She is scenic, like a sunset above a valley of flowers… he thought, enchanted by how inimitably she was tailored to his snuggle.
"Thank you… for all that you do." Diarmuid whispered, knowing full well she was out cold and could not hear him. Swallowing any dithers, he then planted a feathery kiss to her forehead. "You are extraordinary."
Arms still locked around the slumbering woman, a glum Diarmuid shook Haley to wake her. A little rumble left her lips, while she tugged at his tank.
"Five more minutes…"
A warm smile heated Diarmuid's heavy heart, but it was time they did not have. "I am sorry, but we only have two hours before we have to report to the Arena." He said, easing out of her grip. "And you must eat and prepare yourself."
Haley turned over on the mattress, to stare up at the walls overhead. Two hours? she said to herself. I was that tired?
Dismayed by the reality that she'd slept for an entire day, the astounded woman slipped off the bed and stretched her thin arms above her head. Haley felt like her body was deep in snow, trying to maneuver forward. The curse healing magic shouldn't have put that much strain on her.
Well, it is a strong curse, s he reasoned with herself, sluggishly crossing the room to the closet to retrieve some attire. The cream-colored doors squeaked open, and she pulled another simple green t-shirt and pair of blue jeans from the red hangers.
She shot a glance to Diarmuid as he dialed for room service. In previous conversations, she had expressed a desire to taste more of Ireland's signature foods, so she allowed him to order cuisines he fancied. After retrieving the socks, she peered at the boots that were given to her.
Those gorgeous, steel grey, calf-high boots made her stomach do backflips. She wanted to never sully their beauty, and was desperate to wear them again. Hopefully, Haley and her Knight would be granted time outside the hotel again.
Well... maybe not with the damn bounty hunter here. She practically growled at the thought, and almost slammed the doors together.
Diarmuid watched the woman stomp off to the bathroom, the door lazily cast closed. He wanted to question what that little snit was about, but shrugged it off. He slumped into the sofa, already missing the snugness from their… cuddling. A pitiful sigh escaped, and he wondered just how long he was to put this off.
Should he tell her? What would he even say?
My Lady Haley, I rather enjoy your company in some ways… that I myself find it hard to explain or understand. Do you harbor the same fondness?
"That sounds utterly ridiculous," he grumbled, as he leaned over the sofa's armrest for the hilt of Moralltach. If only I were not… well, cursed, passed on… and on a ferry to the Underworld. Just a few things to list as to why this is mere foolishness.
Another heavy breath exhaled, as Diarmuid revered his lovely sword. Still such a beautiful cherry-red and dark combination, with striking power added. A present bestowed upon him (ironically) from Manannan, a God of the otherworld. Such great battles had this deadly sword brought. If only it had accompanied him on his final hunting trip…
A door locked shut, and the sulking Knight removed his scrutiny from his old weapon, and realigned his eyes with the woman plopping on her rear at his boots.
"I'm sorry I slept so long," Haley said, dragging her index finger down the cool blade, "I'm not usually this sleepy."
"Could it be that the dealings of this tournament are taking their toll, my lady?" Diarmuid probed curiously, angling the sword with its counterpart, Gae Dearg, against the wall at the corner of the couch.
The lanky woman shrugged. "Maybe. I have been through a lot," she chuckled, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blue jeans. "Speaking of which… How do you suppose the next round will go?"
The Irishman shrugged his powerful shoulders. Every time he thought he understood the rounds, they baffled him in impossible ways. "Not quite sure, but my weapons shall not lose their luster. We will prevail, as always."
Diarmuid leaned forward on his braced elbows, the fragmented light from the terrace bestowing their dabs of light on the corner of his features. That simple motion made Haley's heart miss a tick.
She cast her gaze at the weapons her Knight mentioned, trying to stifle her goggling. More and more was she becoming captivated by his charm, and he wasn't even doing anything. Was that what it felt like, to be swooned by his lovespot? Man, she truly felt bad for the women who were properly entranced by it. It was… a weird feeling, for sure.
"Are we supposed to bring them with us?" she asked, trying to stay on topic.
"Yes, we retrieved a notification before you awoke. It stated to bring the weapons, and the time to report."
Haley fell onto her back, sprawled across the carpet. No mention of the rewarded torture keys this time around. They still have two left.. and wondered what their next call of use might be.
Those keys.. Each had a purpose given to them in the Arena. Helpful, those little trinkets that they tortured themselves for. Before she could muse on them further, a few knocks registered in the room.
Well, guess we will find out how useful it'll be in the Arena, she thought, and ventured to the door to retrieve whichever new delight awaited her from Diarmuid's culinary history.
It was strange, sitting in a room surrounded by competitors who had dwindled to such smaller pairings. Just how many were lost in the previous trials? How many were living people, like Haley, who died either by another combatant or from the Arena's tools themselves?
It was unnerving. The few she had met all had goals of saving someone in mind. Even the worst of the competition (in her eyes) wanted to be free from the chains that bound their souls to the Underworld. They were all fighting for dreams of freedom she was not certain would come true.
Surveying the lot, she spotted Kiritsugu in the signature orange jumper, next to his son in a sports-like outfit, while Kayneth was at the opposite side with... some man she instinctively felt was out of place. There was a mystic piece of sorcery engulfing his average build. His ashy brown hair was in a messy man bun, and the buttoned vest over a long sleeved collared shirt with khakis hollered his Britishness.
What is so strange about that guy? Haley pondered, averting her gaze when Kayneth's scorn met her nosiness.
The dual wielder seated next to her on the benches was fully occupied by his weapons, cleaning the shaft of the spear with his tangerine colored sleeve. A spear that pierced through magical defenses, and a sword that brought about certain death and victory when called. Formidable attire for sure. Haley prayed the 'certain death' bit wasn't going to be necessary.
As if . She would be a damned idiot to think her warrior wouldn't have to utilize its perks. If she learned anything, death was a must, even if she were conflicted about it.
As time ticked on, Diarmuid conversed with the Lady to calm her nerves. There was no instruction given on this next round, just that they would understand once they were brought to the surface. The mystery that surrounded the possibilities served to rattle his nerves.
During their little chatter, pairs of contenders were called forward by Ozzard, the Observer who had whipped his ass. Every so often, Diarmuid peeked at the confident man. A warrior of the Archangels... to think he was blessed with the opportunity to spar with one, and that he had lasted as long as he had... truly, it was a spectacle he would not forget.
"Detainer Haley and Forsaken Diarmuid, come forth."
Diarmuid shifted Moralltach to accompany Gae Dearg in his left hand, offering the Lady his right. He twined his hand with hers and drew her up to stand. Haley breathed deeply, giving him the sweetest smile. It was adorable, how she prepared herself.
Haley released her Knight's hand and strolled with him over to the Observer. She remembered this time to forgo their familiarity, keeping her eyes trained on the green cleats she bought.
When a gloved hand gripped her wrist, she leveled her azure orbs with the teal ones.
"Good luck," was all the man murmured, before Diarmuid and Haley were both greeted by an effusive crowd.
Haley stared intently at her left wrist as it was frozen outward, the Arena hidden in the abyss of her confusion. What was that about?
Diarmuid's left hand linked with her right, giving it a firm squeeze. His anxious eyes strained against what was across from him.
The intense grip Haley's Knight had on her hand brought her inquisitive trance across to Diarmuid, who was fixated on something before them. Following his line of sight, Haley stilled, clutching that hand back just as hard.
"Ey Fersaken, time to end ya," their opponent stated, leaning against air, weapons at the ready.
Diarmuid's mouth barely formed the words, before Haley blew them out:
"... No ..."