Hold On

Chapter 8: Weak and Powerless

Author's Note: Once again, sorry for taking so long to update... I was completely drained of all my inspiration. A lot of stuff happened - some ultimate tragic stuff that seemed close to being the worst thing in the universe, and some super ultra happy stuff that made me jump into leaps of joy (literally! no joke!). But, anyway, I'm still here. That's good, right?

Just to tell you, I hate the number eight. I LOATHE IT. Eight is my least favorite number. Yes, I am sad enough to dislike numbers. But, oh well! Besides, all the coolest people in the world are born in the eighth month, so it can't be THAT bad of a number.

By the way, I'm assuming Duran's immense will power and determination was what granted him the ability to cast Saint Saber. Oh, and I'm also assuming Black Rain is a skill, not necessarily a magic spell. Thus, it does not require "summoning" the spirits for help. (Ugh. My image of summoners has been totally ruined, thanks to the evil creature that is Yuna).

Surprisingly, I find the plot in this story actually involves more elements from Hawkeye's scenario than from Angela's. This chapter is not too good in the beginning. I'm absolutely sick of describing armies and soldiers and military conversations, so I just made Angela waltz right out of town as soon as she could. The rest of the chapter, though, is actually quite interesting. Stuff heats up with the invasion of Navarre... and an encounter between Hawkeye and Angela! Oooh! You could never get enough of Hawkeye! Too much HOTTness!

Oh, I've also decided to add in a male mage into this chapter, just because I'm sick of describing the blonde females. Besides, aren't there always male red mages at the tavern/inn in Altena? By the way, the male mage is actually based on a HOTT historical Chinese figure (with a horrible voice) from Dynasty Warriors 4. I'm pathetic, aren't I? Watch - in the next chapter, there'll be a swift Japanese female assassin/ninja called Ayame. And, yes, I got the new A Perfect Circle album.

Anyway, as always, enjoy reading.

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"Where is he?! Just when I need him, he's gone! Abandoning me like this! And he calls himself a Knight of Gold..."

Angela impatiently paced back and forth through her dimly lit bedroom, holding the palm of her hand to her forehead in a futile attempt to ease the pulsing pain of her headache. She bit her lip in worry, partially damaging her delicate crimson lipstick. However, at that moment, her appearance was the least of her worries.

She undoubtedly believed Duran hadn't left because of the quarrel they had, but instead, simply felt like... going for a pleasant stroll through the desert and intentionally leaving her behind. And, of course, she in no way worried for his health and defense as opposed to her own. At that moment, she wished she hadn't left Bob, her other bodyguard, in Forcena. She was feeling uncomfortably insecure now, dreading any upcoming surprises.

The inn's wooden door creaked open, admitting more light into the room. Angela immediately turned to see her visitor, her eyes still getting accustomed to the new light shining in.

In the doorway stood a relatively tall and muscular mage, who was, surprisingly, male. Soft, shiny brown hair flowed just a few inches past his shoulders, and a thin, green bandana was tied across his forehead. In his right hand, he held an elaborately decorated spear, which stood at a slightly greater height than him. His face was sharp and amazingly clean to the point where Angela couldn't stop staring in awe at his innocence and purity.

"My Queen! The troops have arrived, and are ready to leave instantly!!" The boy screeched, with the voice of a teenage boy just beginning to undergo puberty. His repulsive, squealing voice did not match his handsome looks at all.

"Oh... right. Good. That's good. We'll leave immediately, in that case." Angela replied almost hesitantly, momentarily glancing at the mage as she passed by him on her way out the door. Unfortunately, he was not coming into battle with her - mages are absolutely useless without their magic.

Stepping out onto the desert sand, surprisingly, she felt no heat or humidity. The previous rain had washed it all away. For a single brief second, she closed her eyes, and breathed in the cool breeze, feeling the fresh scent of the oasis water. Her eyes blinked open earlier than she expected, and she returned to reality.

Before having the chance to indulge herself in pondering the many ways that the attractive male she had just encountered had an absolutely awful voice, the queen was immediately crowded by many of her advisers. Among them was her former magic teacher, Jose. The old man slowly walked towards her, bushy mustache and thick eyebrows twitching random moments. Before he could speak, Angela lightly placed a long, slender finger to his lips.

"Don't waste your breath, old man. I know where we're going, and why." She paused, staring into his eyes for an unspoken response. "I don't know what kind of power that necklace contains... but... I'll take care of myself. So don't worry too much."

The old man's eyes opened enough for the dark navy color of his irises to actually be visible, and, after bowing respectfully, he headed back to the tavern, followed by the other advisors. For a second, the queen calmly smiled, grateful that her pathetic attempt at optimism had actually succeeded.

She turned around, and strutted out of town, off to meet her new temporary army sent in by King Richard. After a few steps, she saw them - a stinging combination of gray, red, and yellow. As expected, they were all male, and unreasonably loyal to whoever led them (who, in this case, was Angela). All standing up straight and tense, they created three rows of one dozen, making a total of three dozen soldiers. Angela was relieved that she knew how to count correctly.

"This will take some time getting used to..." she sighed "Let's get moving. Head straight for Desert Storm."

The march began, creating a river of soldiers flowing in the same direction. After making sure all necessary items - most of them having been purchased at the Black Market - were securely packed into her gold-colored leather bag (which, of course, perfectly matched the outfit she was wearing), Angela swung it over her shoulder and blended into the stream of soldiers. Safely protected by the dozens of experienced knights surrounding her, she felt her headache fade away.

Although the clouds remained dark, the rain had completely stopped. Most of the sand had dried, becoming silky and smooth again, but drops of rain were still slowly sliding down the long leaves of palm trees.

Due to their fast pace, the army reached their destination in an incredibly brief amount of time. However, no one had a chance to celebrate this record time, as every single individual noticed a seemingly lifeless body laying in their path to Desert Storm.

"Duran?!" A random soldier screamed out, verbally expressing everyone's thoughts.

Indeed, it was Duran.

Immediately after the Forcenan soldiers noticed their fellow paladin, a few men ran to his aid - slapping his cheeks to wake him up, calling his name to gain his attention, and removing broken pieces of armor to decrease the weight of his body.

Duran's eyes were peacefully shut; his armor and skin were tainted with blood and dirt. The injuries all over his body looked excruciatingly painful - particularly the stab wound directly below his left lung, forcing him to take very small breaths in order to lessen the stinging. The holes and dents in his formerly white armor were very evident - Judging from the number of wounds, he must have been attacked by a large number of men.

His red hair, wet with either rain or sweat, spread in waves around his head.

Angela stood motionless, her eyes filled with both shock and fear.

Too many questions and emotions shot through her mind.

She felt the sudden urge to fall to her knees and cry again. This is not a time to be wishing for something that can't come back, her mind scolded her. However, her desire for the past didn't fade.

She wanted to lie in bed, in her former bedroom, with the doves freely flying outside her window. She wanted to soar through the clouds, holding onto Flammie's soft fur and screaming in joy, while her two comrades attempted to convince the white dragon to slow down. She wanted the past to return. She wanted the war to be over. She wanted to be anywhere but here - anytime but now.

"... Your Highness, are you alright?" A guard captain inquired, bravely, his voice snapping the queen back to her regular self.

"Yes... yes, of course." She answered, her determined attitude returning, "Leave a dozen soldiers here to carry Duran back to Deen safely and quickly. The rest of the army will stay with me."

Without waiting for the captain's response, she strided past him, and gracefully fell to her knees on the sandy ground near Duran. Holding his sweaty cheeks with her gloved hands, she guided his face towards her. His eyes twitched slightly, desperately attempting to open, and a faint smile formed on his face.

After taking a deep breath, she spoke to him.

"Duran..." She whispered softly, sympathetically smiling with her eyes. She remained gazing at him, searching for the reflective cerulean color in his pupils. "Duran... stay alive..."

There was no obvious answer from him - it probably would've hurt too much. He thought it was the Goddess speaking to him, welcoming him to the afterlife.

Angela's eyes drifted away from Duran for a moment, noticing his blood-stained sword laying within her reach. The seal of Forcena, carved into the golden handle of the sword, enticed her. The blade yearned for more blood. However, she did not give in to the temptation. Instead, she looked back to the paladin resting his face in her hands.

Assuming her friend was ready to go, she willingly released hold of him. A few of her men lifted the paladin from the ground, and began their hopefully short journey back to Deen. The beating of their jogging feet against the desert floor was very audible, even as their distance grew farther away. It was only after they completely faded from her sight, that Angela raised herself from the ground, wiping grains of wet sand from her legs.

In silence, she headed towards the elaborately decorated entrance door of the fortress. With much struggle, two of the idle Forcenan troops respectfully pulled it open for her. She took a step forward, seeing nothing but black within, even with the outside light shining through.

Well-aware that she was illegally breaking into another Kingdom's capital building, Angela entered the darkness with much caution, allowing a few guards to come ahead of her for protection. As she took another step, hearing the small stones and dark sand crack and crumble underneath her feet, the doors behind her closed shut, leaving her and her small squad isolated from the remainder of the army.

Fearing an enemy ambush or a surprise attack, she dared not move or speak. Instead, her eyes frantically scanned the room for anything at all identifiable. Suddenly, two doors ahead of her, identical in appearance to the entrance doors, burst open. Still suspicious, she walked through the doorway carefully, watching her surroundings. The sound of footsteps behind her indicated that her guards were, thankfully, following her. She hoped that by the time she encountered Hawkeye, the remainder of her army would have found a way into the fortress. She doubted that her and her two guards could defeat a nightblade.

There was nothing ahead. The golden sand held no footsteps. The houses, shielded with jagged rock walls, appeared to be empty. There were no signs of life.

An extreme amount of tension disappeared from her, and she began walking with complete confidence. After taking a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure her bodyguards still existed, Angela gloriously pushed open the two doors closest to her. A navy blue carpet, embroidered with gold silk, lead the path to yet another pair of thick doors. There were no windows or openings for wind to pass through; the air felt dense and humid. The torches, hanging parallel to each other on the golden brick walls, simultaneously ignited into strong fires, illuminating the otherwise dark room.

However, Angela was not frightened or threatened by this magic. After all, a nightblade needed skill and experience to control the elements, not mana.

She preceded forward with self-assurance, tainted with only a slight feeling of worry. Tightly gripping her staff, she allowed her two guards to silently pull open the doors for her.

No one. No one was there.

She found herself in an empty room. Judging from the bar and the numerous staircases leading to places unknown, she assumed it was formerly the center of life at the fortress. She saw a doorway directly in her path. With light from the many torches burning around the room, she saw that the room ahead of her held a long table, most likely used for massive feasts.

Frustrated, Angela ran through the dining room, knocking down random chairs as she brushed against them in her frantic rush.

She came to another hallway, and hurried through the nearest pair of doors.

She stopped.

There he was, waiting for her, his body languidly sprawled across a bed in the room.

He stood, a sinister smirk on his face.

As he walked forward, his shining black cape trailing behind him, two shurikens appeared from both of his dark sleeves. Apathetically staring into Angela's emerald eyes, he carelessly launched his weapons forward. Creating an almost unreal breeze as they swept through the air, the shurikens just barely dodged the queen's ears, forcing adrenaline to shoot through her body. She gulped quietly as she heard the painful cries of the two guards behind her, dying from the sudden blades violently shot into their throats.

His smirk transformed into a smile, displaying admirable white teeth.

The doors behind the queen firmly shut. She didn't react to the noise, keeping her eyes focused on her enemy.

Hawkeye's eyes were no longer pools of beautiful amber; they were red as blood, red as cherries, red as a delicate feather of the ancient scarlet phoenix. They no longer shined as they previously did in the moonlight. Instead, they were blemished with malice, tainted with mortal sin.

Angela saw him, then, for who he really was.

Red eyes. Pale skin. White fangs. And yet, he still had that seductive voice.

"Jagan?!" she gasped. She slammed her back against the shut doors behind her, her eyes widening in shock and revelation.

"I'm glad you remembered me, Princess." he crept forth; the pleasure in his voice was very discomforting.

"When, in the Goddess' name, did you come back to life?!"

"When did I acquire this body? Oh, this morning. It seems your dear friend Hawkeye finally gave in to the illusions of Eagle I've been using to lure him. Yes, this morning, he finally stole your beloved diamond, finally allowing me to possess him. I've been waiting here for you, waiting to meet you again and dispose of you once and for all, so that I may finish my business in peace. Wouldn't that be lovely? To finally rest in peace? Ah, I sometimes yearn for such pleasure."

Her eyes squinted in anger, now. Her heart was beating in regular intervals once again. She was no longer in shock, no longer afraid. Although her concern for her necklace was strong, it was overpowered by her worry of forever losing a companion. The diamond no longer mattered.

"... Give Hawkeye back to me."

"I'm afraid I can't quite do that, Princess. I need his body for... certain reasons. Ah, not like it matters to you anyway. I'll kill you soon. And, after I complete my mission, I'll rid myself of this body, too. So you'll both die in the end! Wouldn't that be lovely? Restless souls eternally wandering the world, seeking revenge and justice? Ha! I'd love to see dear old Hawkeye doing that!"

Angela gave no response. She was aggravated at his conceit, bothered by the superiority he assumed he had.

In a swift and sudden motion, she flipped her staff vertically. With confidence and a desire for revenge, she stabbed it into Jagan's stomach, piercing through pale flesh. As she felt the vampire's body go limp, she removed her weapon and quickly stepped aside.

He fell onto the stone ground, blood pouring from his wound. Licking blood from his lips, he turned around to face Angela. Her staff's sharp end was pointed towards his throat, foolishly threatening to kill him.

"Don't you understand?! If you kill me, you kill him. You can't do anything to avoid this!"

Angela stared at the vampire's red eyes, seeking a trace of the amber that formerly existed there. The torches' light reflected in the red, and, in a quick flash, she saw it. She saw the amber, holding conflict and turmoil.

But she believed in Hawkeye.

So, she dropped her weapon and closed her eyes, losing sight of the red eyes.

"I won't let Jagan kill you, but I can't stop him from hurting you." His voice gently spoke in her mind, reassuring her to trust in him.

In a moment, she felt his lips join with hers. Poison breath began entering her body, the smoke mixing into her lungs, into her bloodstream. She was losing consciousness, and began falling limp.

"I'm sorry." He whispered in her mind.

But she smiled. She would free him, even if it meant forever sacrificing magic. She promised.