Hold On
Chapter 7: Forsaken
Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long to update, but you all know how I am. Actually, maybe you don't. Well, it always takes me awhile to update. Like, six months. sigh Yeah, that's the way I am.
This chapter's alright, IMO. It's definately one of my favorites, next to 4 and 6. Hawkeye's going to lose his pupils again.... ooh! HOTT! It's a bit confusing, though, seeing as it keeps changing between Duran and Angela. I don't really like Duran much, but I just now realized that he has somewhat of an important role in this story. I hope this chapter doesn't make you hate Hawkeye... I didn't intend on making him so evil (he shall be a Ninja forever!!!! Err... Nightblade. Same thing).
Anyway, I think I'm gonna end this fic soon. It's a bit too depressing and dramatic, don't you think? Plus, I really don't like the way it's turning out. Gives me a bad feeling.
(BTW, sorry for the lack of description in the conversation with the maids and Jose. I got a bit tired and annoyed at that part, so I just made it all dialogue.)
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Her glistening emerald eyes blinked open, awakening to the sweet sound of rain beating against the glass window. She swayed her head to the side, but no one slept there beside her.
She was alone, laying naked in satin, sweat-soaked bed sheets.
In a rush, she arose and, covering herself with blankets, examined the room. On the nightstand, there was that same vanilla scented candle. Its wax was cold and hard now, having already solidified hours prior. In another corner, her clothes laid untouched, but none of his belongings were in sight. Furthermore, her necklace wasn't there, leaving her neck to be as bare as the rest of her body.
She paused for a moment, searching for what emotions she felt, or should have felt, at that moment.
With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Angela leaned her back against the wall behind her. Wrapped in bed sheets, she stared through the blurry window across from her, rain beating against the clear glass. The fog and rain combined made everything outside look blurry, with a teal coloring. A few barely noticable tinges of purple and red were spotted, probably from the uniforms of Altenan or Forcenan soldiers.
She couldn't care less about the war. She was sick of it. All of it. Yet, she was the one that started it.
It was all for her mother. Her dear, beloved mother. She was going through this war all for the sake of a woman who never even loved her. Did she even love her mother? Of course she did. Or maybe... maybe she got into this war simply to make it seem as if she did love her mother. Was all this war and catastrophe simply meant to make her develop feelings for her dead mother?! No. That couldn't have been why she signed the document.
Slowly, her eyes began losing their glow, as her skin went pale. She just gazed out that window and thought about everyone and everything. That's all she ever had to do - think. She would concentrate and then a spark of light would appear infront of her - or a fireball would form in the palm of her hand. Yet, now, even her magic couldn't help the situation. She was on her own.
Her thoughts drifted from her mother over to him. Yes, him, the suave traitor, whom she couldn't hate... or love. As her mind focused on him and everything related to him, her face lost all emotion. It had no reason to bear any expression. She had no reason to cry. In the depths of her mind and heart, she still felt no love for him. She felt no love for anyone or anything.
She had only known him for a mere year - the length of their journey. Even through that time, there was really no "magical" connection between the two. Everything that occurred the prior night was just the spur of the moment. They didn't think, or care. But they both got what they needed, and wanted.
The door slammed open, letting in a calm breeze. However, she didn't seem to notice, or, for that matter, care.
The visitor's shining gold armor clanked with every step he took, as his long red hair bounced along to the rhythm. At his side was a sheath and a sword, carried by a belt tied around his waist. On his back, he carried a golden shield, one that had a complex pattern resembling a crown carved into it. And, of course, there was his smile. He was actually smiling. Usually, he spent his time getting angry and frustrated. But, no, not now. He was truly a jolly "family guy" who defended the poor and innocent and, at the same time, he was a deadly warrior filled with the power to kill and destroy. He was the exact definition of a paladin.
He ran into the room, practically shaking the ground with all his armor. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he proudly announced his good news.
"Angela! Troops from Forcena have arrived! We're all ready for battle!" he cheered.
There was no response, just frozen silence.
"Angela?"
Duran approached her with caution. He carefully stepped forward to get a glimpse of her pale, blank, emotionless face. The happiness in his eyes soon disappeared, replaced by worry and confusion.
A single word escaped Angela's mouth, cold and harsh.
"Leave."
"But-"
"Duran. Leave. Now."
"But what about the war?! We've got all the troops outside for NOTHING?! "
Rage was growing inside of her, as images of Hawkeye blinked on and off in her mind. She promised herself she wouldn't cry; she wouldn't show any weakness. However, she couldn't hold back any longer. Clear tears of sorrow and regret escaped her eyes, gracefully sliding down her cheeks. However, she violently wiped them away, attempting not to display any frailty, especially in front of Duran. For once, she wanted to be alone.
'You can't be this weak', her mind commanded, 'You can't get upset over something like this... but...'
She arose to her feet in a wave of rage, still holding the bedsheets over her, yet revealing her bare shoulders.
"Holy Mana Goddess! Duran! Just leave before I fry your ass with fireballs!"
There was a royal, commanding tone in her voice; one that wasn't there before. Although her words were not exactly of the sophisticated nature, she sounded just like her mother. In a way, the similiarity frightened her. Her own transformation into maturity seemed a bit unreal.
Still, at that moment, Duran didn't realize exactly what was wrong with this situation. He, too, had a look of anger upon his face.
The two remained standing, staring at the rage in each other's eyes, both breathing hard. Silence returned to the room for a few moments, until Angela's voice finally cut through it.
"That's it! FIREBALL!"
She drew her hand forward, attempting to release all the mana energy stored inside and transform it into three small balls of fire.
Of course, she had planned for it to be a weak fireball meant only to scare Duran, not to actually injure him. Her true intention was merely to possibly put a jolt of shock into his body, nothing more.
However... the air remained the same, free of fire or smoke. Not even one single puff appeared from her palm. Nothing.
Noticing Angela's failure and unstable emotions, Duran gave in to her commands. He bowed his head, as he carried out the orders given to him. After all, he was sent to Navarre merely to be a bodyguard, nothing more. He wasn't there as a companion, but as a servant. And, servants are meant to blindlessly serve, not to question the authority. That was what he was taught; It was what he believed.
In a few seconds, the wooden door slammed shut, a gust of wind shooting up from the force.
Angela was left alone once again.
The sky was still gray, and the rain was still pouring down, but no one seemed to mind (certainly not Duran, of all people). He was perched up against the front wall of the Inn, tilting his head down, causing his head piece to overshadow his eyes. As the queen's royal bodyguard, it remained his duty to guard her majesty at all times, whether or not their so-called friendship had ended.
Maids scurried into the Inn, holding various cosmetics and beauty utensils. The gentle breeze they created seemed to soothe his soul, and lower his rage just a tiny bit.
As the door drifted shut, and the maids began their work, Duran couldn't help but eavesdrop on their conversation and peek into the room. After all, he was directly next to the window.
"Your Highness! ... Are those tears streaming from your eyes?"
An extremely young maid, possibly only fourteen years of age, took a close look at Angela's face. Her short teal colored hair seemed to remind the queen of the rain outside.
"No, my eyes are just leaking out streams of liquid."
It was quite a rude reply, but she was in no mood for politeness.
The little girl remained silent, lightly clasping her hand over her mouth, as if in sympathy... or even pity. Obviously, she didn't understand what the queen meant.
"Well, what do you think they are?!"
"Oh, oh, of course. I'll get you cleaned up right away!"
The young, inexperienced girl ran to the other side of the room, grabbing bunches of soft cotton tissues to wipe the queen's face clean. Behind her, a much older woman, folding clothes of some sort, let out a laugh.
"It might be a good idea to get dressed, too, my queen" she commented, noticing the bare shoulders Angela was just barely revealing. "Who was it, my dear?"
"Who was who?"
"Oh, you know what I'm talking about. I've known you all your life. Now, who was it?"
She let out a sigh, directly before she said her reply.
" ... the thief... "
Immediately, Duran turned away from the window, and let out a growl. A fire was burning inside of him, growing every single time those words echoed in his mind.
That was all the proof he needed in order to kill Hawkeye.
He made his way through the empty town, searching for an exit, passing by the ordinary beach houses and palm trees. His boots had already become disgustingly ugly in the brown color of wet sand, but he didn't even seem to notice. All he seemed to care about was revenge.
His eyes shined with fortitude, jus as his armor shined with gold. He was determined to hunt down the escapee, no matter what it took.
As he took his first step outside of the town, into the wilderness, he could feel his rage growing. He dashed forward, passing by the puny, weakling monsters. He had the power to destroy them with one strike of his sword, but he avoided the temptation. Instead, using his instincts (he had a great sense of direction), he directed himself to the Navarre Kingdom Fortress. The path was just beginning. It would take a long time until he reached the castle, and he lacked that kind of patience.
As he thought more and more of the traitor, he couldn't help but be reminded of a certain Crimson Wizard from his past...
Angela rested on her bed, sitting up straight while idly swinging her feet back and forth. She was already dressed in a casual, black leather leotard, accompanied by a long black cape, tinted with gold.
The door swung open, catching her attention, as a short, slightly chubby man walked through. He looked identical to the elder of the village, despite the fact that they weren't relate in any way, shape, or form.
"You called for me, your highness?"
"Jose, you old geezer! You came! It's time I listen to you, for once." Angela smiled as she looked up to see her former teacher.
"That's right. You're not a princess anymore! Hohohohohoho!!! " he replied, laughing like a madman, although there was really no joke told, nor was anything particularly funny enough to laugh about. However, two minutes later, his laughing transformed into coughing. The smile disappeared from Angela's face.
"... Yeah."
"So, what seems to be the problem, my dear child?"
"... I... I've lost all my magic. I couldn't even cast a fireball..."
"That is quite unfortunate. My dear... you haven't lost your mother's necklace, have you?"
Her eyes turned to the old man, as a slight feeling of shock ran through her body.
"Yeah, actually, I have... a thief ran away with it this morning... How'd you know?"
"Well, there are some things I just know, my dear. You see, that necklace that your mother gave you was the source of her power, and the power of Altena."
"So now none of the mages can use magic, either?!"
"I'm afraid so, child. The Spectral Diamond holds the last bit of mana stone within it..."
"Well, then, what are you doing just sitting there, old man?! We've got to get it back! It's got to be at Desert Storm... I just know it!"
The rain was pouring down now, its rage slowly growing through the passing of every second. At that moment, the desert felt empty; with only the company of two beings.
Duran wasn't at all surprised. Throughout the entire mana journey, he had never once trusted the theif. And, now, he was glad he never did.
"So... it was you...", he whispered "You... You were the one!!!!!"
At the sound of the voice, Hawkeye turned around, refraining from picking the lock. The paladin charged toward him, screaming in rage, pointing his sword directly at his target.
The first drops of blood were shed. The dark, crimson fluid dripped onto the sand, as the victim held his stomach, clenching his teeth in pain. In a mere two seconds, his eyes opened once again, now filled with the determination to fight back. He drew forth two daggers, and, hiding them behind him, ran forward. He slashed twice, and then flipped backwards to dodge a counter-attack. While still in the air, he threw a few sharp, metal, stars forward. Two of the shurikens hit his opponent directly in the right arm.
That wasn't near enough to stop a paladin.
Duran, ignoring his wounds, charged forward once again. Again, he screamed in all his anger and rage. However, within the blink of an eye, Hawkeye was gone, and the paladin ended up crashing into the rocky wall, as a dagger swiftly slashed his armored back. He turned around, but was still too slow to catch even a glimpse of the nightblade.
'I won't lose!' he assured himself.
After just a few more hits, he couldn't take anymore. No, it wasn't the pain that bothered him; it was the humiliation! He was a Knight of Gold, and possibly the strongest warrior in all of Forcena. It would be a disgrace for him to lose to a petty thief. Then again, he was forgetting the fact that the "petty thief" was the strongest warrior in all of Navarre.
He remained standing, hardly breathing at all. He drew forth his sword and plunged it into the ground. A light cut through the black clouds and engulfed him, as his sword began glowing a pale white color. He felt its warmth and strength, and smiled in reply. Now, he held the power of light in his hand, the force that could surely destroy a nightblade such as Hawkeye.
"Saint Saber..." he whispered, as he held his sword above him. The light appeared and shined behind him for a moment, but soon vanished, planting all its power into his sword. The weapon held an eerie glow, shooting sparks from its tip with every slash made.
"Now, I'm ANGRY!!!" he dashed ahead, sword in hand. Uncontrollably, he slashed, letting the sparks fly from his weapon.
Hawkeye held his arms infront of him, attempting to shield himself. However, it was no use. The light was destroying him, endlessly cutting through him.
"Flashing Sword!"
The paladin held his sword in the air, as a blast of light escaped it and spread across the area. Soon, that red light disappeared, as fire and explosions replaced it. The immense force blew Hawkeye against the jagged, rocky wall, its flames only slightly burning him. However, that seemingly invincible wave of light had injured him enough. His chances of surviving were very low now.
It was no surprise. He fell to the ground, blood dripping from his mouth. His eyes barely remained open; now only a bit of the amber color was visible.
Duran silently cheered in triumph. He held his sword firmly, ready to deliver the final blow. Suddenly, a thundering noise was heard from the black clouds above. It was then that he felt sudden pain, as if millions of needles were ripping through his skin and swimming in his body.
It was the rain - Black Rain. Little drops of pain poured down from the sky, embedded with the power of darkness. Smoke and fumes rose from the ground, creating a mixture of water and gas.
Acid. It felt like acid, plunging from the sky. Now, sweat and rain alike were falling onto the ground, sinking into the sand.
He cringed his teeth and closed his eyes in an attempt to ease the pain. He swore to himself that he wouldn't fall. He wouldn't give up. He would stay loyal to his queen.
Falling down onto the ground, landing on his palms and knees, he prevented the rain from scarring his face. Although this left him off-guard, his opponent, who had vanished out-of-sight, didn't seem to have the intention of attacking anytime soon.
Slowly, his eyes blinked open, as he realized the rain returned to its former, pure state. Relieved, he stood up, and returned to his fighter stance. However, as he glanced at his surroundings, his face was all at once shot with fear, shock, and terror. Standing motionless, he dropped his sword, his mouth still hanging open.
There, surrounding him, were maybe five or six nightblades, each equipped with a pair of thin, razor-sharp daggers. Their faces held no emotion; Their amber eyes just focused on him, as if analyzing his every weakness.
Hawkeye was staring at his helpless prey from afar. His eyes curved, slanting to create an evil, dirty scowl. There was a flash of light, and, suddenly, all the amber disappeared, leaving bare, white eyes. The darkness was growing from within him, and he couldn't help but watch as his replicas lunged forward, their pure black capes flowing in the wind they created. Daggers slashed and sliced the defenseless soldier of Forcena.
The paladin collapsed, his previously pure golden and white armor now stained with his own crimson blood and the wet dirt of the desert.