The End?!
The door to the hotel room slowly creaked open, spilling light from the hallway into the place. Tensing up, Jiazheng's hands inched to his sword. Acutely aware his wounds and bruises, he still didn't intend to simply lie down and die. After all the trouble he'd gone through to get back, Jiazheng had gained a kind of steely determination to go home alive.
Ryan staggered in. He clutched a sawn-off signpost with a white-knuckled grip, barely managing to fit through the doorway. The haft of the pole was matted with blood, grey matter and spinal fluid: Ryan himself looked like he'd been in a war. Most of clothes were wind-blown and covered in several layers of white dust. Holes and rips featured prominently in his suit, now more rag than clothing. His injuries seemed to be mainly minor scrapes and bruises, but there were many, many nasty-looking gashes.
"RYAN?! What happened? You look like…Like…"
"Big trouble," Ryan managed, sinking down into a nearby chair. His hand fell open, releasing the pole. With a loud clang, the signpost-turned-weapon struck the floor, bounced once, and rolled away. Both winced at the unaccustomed noise. "Group of losers cornered me. Borrowed the signpost, here…"
He nodded towards the staff.
"…And dispensed a most righteous smackdown on them. Then, used the Destiny Cyclone. Most of them are probably in Indonesia by now..."
Ryan's eyes twinkled, as if at the recollection of a fond memory. That turned into a pained grimace, as he felt the bleeding contusion on his face.
"Good, I'm thirsty. Got a drink?"
Silently, Jiazheng retrieved a bottle from the side, and pushed both it and a shot glass across the table. Pouring himself a glass, Ryan gulped the clear liquid down thankfully. Face twisting with disgust, he shoved the rest away.
"Water?"
"Try staying sober for a change. You're a year under legal age, remember?"
"First Chan, now you. I'm sure it's unhealthy. By the way…Have you seen anyone else? Last I saw, we were all running in different directions, with hell on our heels."
Jiazheng shook his head. That was worrying him too.
"No. No one at all. I got separated from Andro, and ran down the alley. After I blew up the oil bond stall-"
"That was YOU!?"
Both shuddered, remembering the burning, scalding rain. It hadn't been pleasant.
"-I came right back here, after breaking a window. You're the first one back so far. You?"
Ryan frowned, staring at the pole as if it was all it's fault.
"No. That's weird…They should be back by alr-"
***SLAM***
This time, it was Chan's turn to burst in. The door literally flew off its hinges again, under his violent shove. The mage tottered in, waved weakly at the others, then tripped and fell. Cursing, he climbed to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.
"Well," Chan said simply, a dangerous edge of hysteria in his voice, "I'm back."
Silence. Ryan and Jiazheng stared.
Chan was in a similar state of dishevelment, looking like a tattered scarecrow. The smell of stale gunpowder clung to him like a shroud, with his broken glasses dangling crazily from the sides. Both lenses were broken, the glass barely hanging in the frames.
"Our fearless leader returns!"
Chan waved the Mage Cannon in Ryan's general direction. The safety was already off.
"Shut…Up."
"Ookay. Need help getting to the seat?"
"I would appreciate that, thank you very much. But then again…No thanks."
With an obvious effort of will, Chan shoved off from the wall, and somehow managed to fall into a chair. To his credit, he made it look deliberate.
"Did you see Andro, Chan?"
"No. Then again, I was kinda busy fighting running gun battles…"
He noticed everyone staring at him with a disbelieving air.
"Cut that out. It's true, and I have the bullet holes to prove it. Give me a break, guys. I don't think I saw him at least. Hard to tell in all that noise…Not to mention that weird hail of oil…"
Jiazheng shifted uncomfortably, eager to change the subject.
"You know, I think Andro can take care of himself. Didn't you say he stayed here for one year? There shouldn't be a problem."
"Maybe so, but even then, something about this bothers me…"
***********
Hours Later…
Dawn. Very slowly, the sun crept over the horizon, as if afraid of what the new day might bring. Three-quarters of the DHS Team was fast asleep, variously sprawled over the carpet, the chairs, or in one case, the table. Andro still hadn't turned up. Empty chip bags and sandwich wrappers told of the late-night feast in order to stave off sleep, and the many pots of coffee and empty bottles of alcohol told of an impending hangover.
Shifting in his sleep, Jiazheng yawned, and rolled over. He promptly crashed face-first to the floor, grunted, and went right back to sleep. Perfectly happy to stay where he lay, he didn't make the slightest attempt to get up.
Chan managed to muster the strength to stand, unfolding himself from his awkward sleeping position. His shoulder and leg still hurt terribly: Apparently, his regenerative abilities had left with Requiem. The long night in the chair hadn't done much to improve his mood either, leaving him with a serious resentment with the world.
Hobbling over to the coffee table, he toed Jiazheng aside, and upended the can. Not bothering with water, Chan borrowed a nearby spoon, and began shoveling the brown powder into his mouth.
Somewhere behind him, the bathroom door slammed shut. Loud, retching noises emitted from somewhere inside, as Ryan emptied his stomach of everything he'd ever eaten. The voice eventually died away to a foreboding silence, as Ryan either passed out, or simply puked his guts out. Either way, he sank back into merciful unconsciousness.
Chan envied him.
It was a depressed, pathetic group that greeted the morning. The adrenaline rush of the previous night had worn off, leaving only a dull, throbbing void. Somehow, the fact that this was their last week in Japan wasn't helping. The boys were supposed to start packing, but no one truly had the heart to bring it up.
Most of the day was spent in a pitifully ineffectual, as the group shuffled back and forth like one of Claire's zombies. Three hours into the afternoon, survival instincts reasserted themselves, splitting the group up once again. After pouring anything remotely edible into his mouth, Chan locked himself in his own room, mumbling something about "Finding a curse to send those effeminate Japanese pretty-boys back to the gay hell from whence they came, blahblahblah"
That was the signal for a marked deterioration in the general level of mental activity. Ryan ensconced himself in front of the television, and began flipping through the channels. Jiazheng blundered off into the kitchen, intending on finding something to eat Chan hadn't already gotten to.
Once again, no one wanted to mention that they were soon going home.
***********
In his mind, Chan traveled. Seated cross-legged on the bare wooden floor, his consciousness delved inwards, running through the pathways of his psyche. Around him, the circle of thirteen circles flickered, pulsing in time to the glow of his own pentagram. This was an essential technique, the first step on the path to unlocking inner strength.
Though it sounded suspiciously like a load of bullshit, it allowed the user a greater level of concentration, providing a retreat from the non-stop clamor of the real world.
Directly or indirectly, anyone with even a modicum of energy could do this. Kyo Kusanagi was said to visualize the fires within, a direct manifestation of his own abilities. Jiazheng's trance brought him into a bamboo grove, filled with verdant force and ever-falling leaves. Ryan saw a calm, placid pool, with ominous, lightning-hurling storm clouds drifting down from above. According to Kula, she saw the tranquil snows of Japan, eternally drifting down from above.
As for Andro and Ogion…Who knew what they ever saw within?
For himself, Chan thought of his school, and his home. And, all at once, he was there.
A massive library opened up in front of him, packed neatly with shelf after shelf of books. Every book was a memory, spell or an experience, another fragment of his personality. Most were slightly dusty: Chan didn't come here often. As far as he knew, the bookshelves went on forever. Almost involuntarily, he took a step in a direction of the nearest shelf, intent of taking a look.
With an exertion of will, Chan stopped himself. He was here on a mission, not for fun. Besides, your own mind could be more dangerous than anything in the real world. Jabbing a single finger upwards, Chan's viewpoint spiraled upwards, skimming past the books at the speed of thought. He tore ahead, following a familiar pathway. Past this door, toward that corner, behind that solid metal grate…There! The main hall.
The main hall was an elegant, impossible structure, seemingly hanging completely unsupported in midair. Shoes touched down on the smooth surface, at an angle that defied the laws of physics. Chan willed himself forward, perfectly at ease here. You just had to see things from a different perspective, then everything else made sense.
The place was strewn with treasure, spilling out all over the floor. This fitted the theme of the place perfectly, representing a treasure trove of magic and thoughts. Yet, all the gold, all the gems was merely a front for the main occupant: The Stand, World-Eater Requiem. Normally, the monster drifted in the exact centre of the sacred space, chained to the floor by deceptively-delicate chains of symbols…Or not.
Gold crunched underfoot, as Chan strode forward. Deep in thought, he gazed at the shattered chains, which had once secured Requiem. The Stand was gone, no doubt about that. Darkness now swirled around the hole which had once held it.
But there was something else…
Once again, Chan willed himself, forcing a descent into the dark hole. There had to be something else! To put it honestly, without a Stand, he was pretty much screwed…
Suddenly, the trance shattered. All around, the vision fragmented, decaying and imploding in a flash of blue light. One by one, the candles went out in an unseen wind.
Blink. Blink.
"What?"
Something had stopped him. Something there had prevented him from entering.
Something was going to pay.
***********
Slacking. After all those years, it was still what Ryan did best. Plonked down in front of the television, legs propped up on a convenient footstool, he seemed perfectly at ease. He hadn't moved for an hour, with one hand clamped down on the remote.
"Crap, crap, crap, static…Three hundred channels…And not a thing to watch? Hah. So much for 'Luxury Suite'."
With a groan, he stood up, brushing off stale breadcrumbs. Outside, the snow had slowed to a trickle, sending the classic, anime-perfect gentle flakes descending like a blessing from above. It was an inspiring sight, a sign that hope still lived even in the darkest in the hour…
Ryan sneezed. Feeling perfectly miserable, he decided to head out somewhere. And get drunk. Again.
Snagging his jacket on the way out, Ryan prepared to sneak out. He didn't have any particular location in mind: One of the thousand hole-in-the wall bars would be good enough for him.
Poking his head into the kitchen, he promptly called for Jiazheng, who had his upper torso buried in the cupboard, consuming a half-eaten box of cookies.
"Yo, Jiazheng!"
There was a loud crash. Swearing, Jiazheng withdrew from the cupboard, rubbing his head. He was in a foul mood, aided by the large bump on his head.
"Yeah?"
"Get your coat, man."
"You need a break, and I need to do something useful. Two birds, one stone,
your coat, we go out."
"I've got--" Jiazheng protested.
"If you do not go out into the city with me tonight, I will beat you about
the head and shoulders with my lamppost here," Ryan hefted it in both hands like a golf club, "until you black out, and I will drag you into the city with me."
"So I'm not being given a choice?"
"If I was giving you a choice, I would have made it a question. This is a
demand I am prepared to back with force."
Jiazheng quietly got his coat.
"Good man. C'mon. I know just the place."
***********
Half an hour later, Chan opened his room door and peered out, wondering why it was suddenly so quiet. Realizing that no one else was around, he promptly donned his trenchcoat, shoved the Mage Cannon into a holster, and wandered our. Just like Ryan, Chan intended to find somewhere to unwind: In his case, something hopefully involving lots of caffeine and mindless digital violence.
***********
Several Hours Later…
".and so I said to Faye, 'Hey! You don't do that to anyone under *our* roof!'" Jiazheng finished his second pitcher with a flourish. "'I don't care how much he liked it!'" He broke up laughing at this, thinking it uproariously funny.
Ryan sighed, and poured himself another drink.
"You said that before, Jiazheng. It sounded funnier the first time."
"I did? Hmmm."
Jiazheng reached out for the third pitcher, momentarily confused which one of the three ghostly images was real. After shaking his head to clear the little black spots, he finally managed to grab it.
"Don't you think you've had enough, Jiazheng?"
"Coming from you, Ryan, that's almost funny."
Jiazheng was drunk enough to be rude, but not yet drunk enough to be unconscious. Ryan wished that he would get to that state soon enough. Staying around him was becoming unpleasant.
Glumly, Ryan stared into the depths of his mug. Once again, the knowledge that it was over kinda killed off any festive spirit. Damn Chan for getting his ass kicked. Hell, damn Andro for disappearing and probably getting himself killed. And, while he was on the subject, damn them al-
"Drinking at your age, Ryan? It's not healthy."
Not even bothering to turn around, Ryan shot off a vulgar gesture in the speaker's direction, before taking another gulp. Halfway to his mouth, the mug froze. He knew that voice…
"SAMUEL? SAMUEL CHAO?!"
"In the flesh."
Both Jiazheng and Ryan hurriedly straightened up, and set their drinks down. A tall, stern-faced young man, clad in a pseudo-military uniform, pulled up a chair next to their table. Casting a careful glance around, he sat down, ignoring the astonished stares of the other two.
"So…How're things, guys?"
Silence.
Jiazheng was frozen in place, staring at his twenty-five year old distant cousin…Who also happened to be one of the most powerful Awakened in Singapore.
"Samuel? How…how…"
"Want a drink, Samuel?"
"Anything will do."
"Jiazheng, stop staring like a zombie and pour the man one."
Casting a glance at the still-frozen Jiazheng, Ryan promptly gave him a sharp kick under the table. Unfreezing, Jiazheng emptied roughly half the contents of the pitcher into Samuel's mug. Considering how much he was shaking, it was a wonder he didn't spill anything.
"So…What brings you here?"
"Oh, nothing in particular. I'm on a holiday. And, in a way, you guys are the reason why I'm here."
"Us?"
Downing his drink, Samuel wiped foam from his mouth. Removing a betting slip from the depths of his coat, he dropped it on the table. Ryan scooped it up, eyes widening at the amount displayed.
"A hundred thousand dollars? Bet on the DHS Team at Tokyo Stadium? Where'd you get so much dough?"
"You're here to gamble, Samuel? I expected better from you, you know."
"Hey, don't blame me. I got this cash from small bets on your previous fights. Believe me, this upset really hit where it hurt…The pocket. Of course, the next one will probably make up for it…"
"Wait. Samuel, we LOST that fight. We're out of the tournament."
"Hmmm…That could be a problem. You sure of that?"
"Are you implying something?"
"Don't worry. It doesn't matter. All I wanted to say is, don't give up yet."
Samuel poured himself another drink, once again ignoring the suddenly suspicious stares from the other two. Ryan, in particular, felt a cold chill run down his spine as he wondered how much Samuel actually knew.
"Just to ask, where's Andro and Chan? I saw them on the team, right? Don't they usually hang out with you guys?"
Jiazheng took the chance to speak up, ignoring Ryan's frantic motions for silence.
"Naahh. Andro went missing yesterday, just after that chase. Chan's probably off somewhere with that white-haired girl of his…"
He shut up, as Ryan kicked him again. Samuel looked up, eyes narrowing to slits.
"Girl? By any chance, is her name Kula?"
"Yeah. Don't worry, we know what she is. Chan can take care of himself. He has that Stand, you know, Requiem. I'm more worried about Andro…"
Samuel's face darkened, taking on a pensive expression. Frowning, he stood up, pushing the chair away. He had the look of a man who'd just come to a disturbing conclusion.
"Nice having a chat after so long. We'll have to meet up again someday, Ryan. Take good care, cousin."
Ryan opened a packet of peanuts, and began munching.
"Beats me. Now, feel like another drink?"
***********
Kula walked down the twisting streets, guided by the beeping of the small motion tracker she held. Bugs had been planted on almost every member of the DHS team, giving her their exact locations, at any time, at any place.
Or at least, that had been the general idea.
Considering the amount of noise and radio traffic, the signals only got through half the time, rendering the damn thing almost worthless. She simply couldn't rely on it enough. Of course, it was pretty useful when Kula merely wanted to have a chat, as opposed to any tactical purpose.
Glancing down at the miniature screen, Kula took another look. Andro's black dot had fizzled out long ago, for reasons still unknown. And it'd been so hard to tag him too. The green and red lights representing Jiazheng and Ryan respectively were stationary in a bar on the other side of the city, probably drinking as always. Chan's blue dot was heading down a nearby side-street, flickering on and off amid the electronic chaos of the commercial district.
Shrugging, Kula headed in the direction of the flickering blue dot. It was nearly Christmas after all, wasn't it? The poor guy would probably be happy enough to see her. Besides, it was rare enough to find any of the DHS team alone, for whatever reason. Andro always hung around Chan like a guardian spirit, keeping a careful watch over his errant, painfully 'blur' leader.
It was truly difficult to pretend to be at ease, when you knew that the eyes of a murderous psychopath were on you. It didn't help that Andro didn't like her very much: In fact, he frankly hated her with a vengeance.
The beeping got louder. Chan was heading her way, deciding to a take a rambling path down one of the deserted side-streets. So much the better.
Willing her hair out to its original, full white length, Kula carefully arranged her face into an expression of naïve innocence, that was part genuine happiness and part careful calculation. People tended to be suckers for that…Well, at least till they got hit by the Freezing Execution SDM. A quick glance down the street revealed a familiar, trenchcoated figure walking down the road. It hummed a merry tune, a sickeningly cheerful one that set Kula's teeth on edge.
Switching the device off, Kula stepped out, feeling happier than she had in a long time. It always helped to know that no matter how bad things got, there was always someone more pathetic and naïve than her.
"Hi, Chan! Nice to-"
The rest of the friendly greeting died on her lips.
A far older, far taller man, sporting an evil smile on his face, continued his slow stride. Silver hair, black leather jacket, permanently depressed expression…K'.
"You!"
"Me," K' agreed. He tossed the ridiculous trenchcoat to the side, and flicked a small, silver object at Kula's feet. A homing beacon, already set to a certain frequency. A perfect copy of the tracker's signal. This time, he'd come prepared.
Without a doubt, there was going to be a fight. The two had fought before, of course: Desperate, all-out struggles with no small amount of injury and collateral damage. And always, it'd ended in a frustrating stalemate, with neither quite able to overcome the other. Both burned for a final confrontation.
Kula feinted, and lashed out with a kick. K' ducked, aiming a sweep that fell short. They began pacing, trading feints and jabs, both looking for an opening. It was a familiar dance, one of the first opening patterns burned into memory.
"Who gave you that, anyway? A beacon's an expensive piece of work."
"A man named Samuel Chao."
Bolder now, K' advanced, striking out with a impressive combo of flaming punches. Kula promptly punished him with the Counter Shell, shoving him back.
"Never heard of him, you know." Kula followed up with a One Inch this rime, barely hopped over.
"Good." K' continued his slow, relentless offensive. Now his flaming punches were actually beginning to hurt. Rubbing scorched forearms, Kula tagged him twice in the shins with quick kicks, followed by a dramatic, easily-dodged axe kick.
"I'm still more than a match for you…Alone, that is."
Despite the apparently furious flow of the battle, the two still chatted almost amicably, as though their minds were on different matters. It was almost casual, even through the whirling of fist and feet.
Trailing shadow images, K' slid back, stopping a respectful distance away. Kula started, wondering whether he actually intended to withdraw. She took a step in his direction, preparing to exhale an ice blast…
"Ah. But I didn't come alone. Maxima? Whip?"
The Canadian cyborg lumbered out from the side, Vapour Cannon primed and ready. Huge in his blue-and-white vest, the man took up position to Kula's right, blocking off the exit.
"You called, K-dude?"
To her left, Whip stepped into the street. She snapped her trademark weapon taut, grinning in a disturbing manner. With a resounding crack, she snapped it in Kula's direction, a practice strike.
"Hello, Kula-chan…" Whip purred. Her smile showed teeth.
Kula began to feel very afraid.
***********
"This is stupid."
Snow crunched underfoot, as Chan trod through the dingy, run-down streets of the slums. What was he doing here, anyway? Just like an idiot to return to the scene of a crime, barely a day after it was committed. In the freezing cold. And to look for an assassin who wasn't even there.
Whatever it was, Chan was busy retracing his steps of the previous night. The trail of destruction the DHS 'Awakened' had left in their wake hadn't been fixed yet: It was much too early for that. But the bodies…Surely they couldn't have been that fast?
Something told him to stopped. Chan crouched down, his breath puffing out in a white cloud before his face. The snow at his feet was slightly brown and discolored, flecked with dull streaks of crimson…
Memory clicked. Here, he'd fought against the mages. And won.
Chan was standing right where their leader had been…Or at least, before Requiem tore him limb from limb. The grisly images were still fresh in his mind, as well as the hole inside his soul where the Stand had been. Shuddering, Chan rose to stand, shaking off the ghastly memories…Then froze.
The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle, as the falling snow redoubled.
"Kula?"
"No. Not Kula."
There was a crunch, as booted feet touched snow. Clad entirely in black, Samuel Chao stepped out from nowhere, eyes gleaming with amusement. He toyed with a card, idly flipping it back and forth between nimble fingers.
"Samuel?"
"In the flesh."
The man held the card up, revealing the form of a slavering beast, form intricately worked in silver. It held a cracked green orb between its jaws, the only thing keeping them apart…
Chan gave a start. The tarot card, the World. No, the World-Eater.
"Like it? I made it after I heard of your team. The 'DHS' team, was it not? Nice touch, that. No one here knows it stands for 'Dunman High School', do they?"
Samuel made the card vanish, as Chan gaped.
"You're asking yourself, what I'm doing here. No reason, actually."
"Then…Why?"
"Because I've decided to help you. I've never really liked evil, money-grubbing corporations who try to take over the world, and I especially don't like Japanese cartels who try to do that. Besides…Your group interests me. I'll just see how this'll work out."
Chan stood. He was on his guard, wary.
"How much do you know?"
"Enough."
Not particularly liking where this was going, Chan considered running like hell. Sometimes, having Samuel on your side was as dangerous as having him against you. Sometimes even more so. He simply couldn't be trusted enough.
"Uh-uh. Don't go yet, Chan. I'm just here to give you a choice."
Two cards snapped into Samuel's hands, face down. Once again, he held them up with twin flourishes, faces still hidden. Still wary, Chan's eyes flickered back and forth, as he quietly wondered what was going on. Some part of his mind was busy thinking whether flight was still an option.
"The first one…"
Flip. The first card depicted a figure clad in an odd combination of flowing robes and armor. Spidery runes, traced in gold and inlaid with gems, simply served to highlight the outfit further. The face was hidden behind a blank white mask, though a cool blue light beamed out of the single crystal eye set in the centre. It clasped a bladed polearm in one hand, holding the shaft across its chest in a defensive position.
The Magician.
"…Is for power."
"Whoah. Samuel, do you actually draw them yourself?"
"No. Every one is merely a reflection of the soul. The other card, though…"
Flip. In a sharp contrast to the ethereal, almost otherworldly drawing of the first, the card was rendered in a classic, almost cartoonish style. Wearing a purple kimono, Kula's face peered from the flat surface. Snow swirled about her hands, giving the impression of motion.
The High Priestess.
"…Is to help her."
"Is this another of your sick games? The hell did you do?!"
"Nothing. Nothing with my own hands, anyway. Choose the Magician, and power will be yours again. Choose the High Priestess, and I'll tell you where Kula is. Your choice."
Dead silence. Slowly, Chan took a step forward, face working frantically. His hand hovered between the cards for a moment, then drifted towards the Magician. Samuel proffered the card, smile widening. He'd always known Chan had it in him…
The grin froze. Chan's hand closed on the High Priestess instead, gently, almost reverently. Inwardly, Samuel groaned.
"I've disappointed you, haven't I? Sorry."
"No. Not really. But, just maybe, I think I've overestimated you."
"Maybe it's just the stinking country getting to me. Or, more likely, I'm just an immature loser with a crush. Whatever it is…"
Samuel sighed. He'd thought Chan had more sense. And for a Japanese girl, of all things! God, would the sick irony of it all ever cease?
"Alright. Down the third street, then head to the right. Hurry, and you'll get there in time."
Chan promptly spun in the direction, preparing to sprint off.
"Wait! Here, take this-"
Samuel skimmed a card to Chan, the placard rectangle snapping easily into his hand. The illustration on this one depicted a sleek metallic robot, constructed entirely out of black steel. The arms ended in a many-socketed, razor-edged blade and a plain metal shield, with only a basic circuit pattern breaking up the monotony.
"The Machine Emperor. Wasn't what I intended to give, but it should help."
"Thanks, Samuel. Anything else I should know?"
"Yep. Remember…You're a Chinese, and a Singaporean to boot. Not one of them Japs."
"So?"
"So start behaving the way you should! Play by your own rules, kid. Good luck…"
Chan was already gone, duster flapping in the wind.
"…You stupid, stupid, boy."
***********
Jiazheng was bored. After nearly drinking himself into a coma, he'd staggered outside and sobered up, through the simple process of emptying his stomach of ALL its contents. Now, vaguely light-headed and extremely ill, the swordsman watched a still bleary-eyed Ryan stared blankly into space. Judging from the way his eyes weren't blinking, the boy was either unconscious or dead.
Either way, Jiazheng envied him.
***RING RING***
He almost jumped out of his chair as Ryan's handphone sounded, a sickeningly cheerful noise in the general atmosphere of doom and gloom. Slowly, nursing a splitting headache, Ryan dragged the phone to his ear, whimpering a little at the noise.
***CLICK***
"Hello? This better be good."
Brief silence on the other end. Then a voice. A familiar voice, one that chilled him to the very core.
"You are not alone."
"OGION? Hello? Hello?!"
The line went dead, leaving only the flat beeping of the dial tone.
***********
The fight was a typical KOF-level brawl: In other words, completely out of control. Fire, ice and bullets were traded back and forth, reducing most of the alleyway to smoking slag. Flying bodies smashed bricks to powder, and misaimed blasts blew out windows for miles around.
Eyes glazed over, Maxima crunched into the floor for what seemed like the thousandth time, circuits visible through the massive hole in his stomach. The cannon on his arm clicked emptily, sending a torrent of empty shells cascading to the floor.
Whip was already a gone case. Only a battered Magnum and a limp hand protruded from a pile of solid rubble, thankfully hiding the broken mass of bone beneath. The pile occasionally twitched, as if something was busily trying to climb out, but Whip wasn't going anywhere for a while.
K' still stood, just barely. A lacerated arm hung limp at his side, bone showing through the ugly-looking red blood that dribbled down into the snow. His face and body sported several nasty new scars where a Freezing Execution had hit him head-on: If not for the Blackout escape, it would've killed him. But, if anything, his functional arm glowed even brighter now, white-hot with heat. Snow literally boiled away as it struck him, wrapping the man in an invisible bubble of hit.
He spat. Shattered tooth fragments and dark blood spattered on the pavement.
"That hurt, bitch."
Well, Samuel had told him it wasn't going to be easy. Maybe it was a bad idea to try attacking Kula in the middle of winter. Then again…
Kula managed a tight smile. She didn't look much better, either, considering the new bruises and third-degree burns. Her vision was blurred: Well, a Vapour Cannon to the face tended to do that, at the very least. Her arms ached, where Whip's strikes had sliced welts into her flesh.
But all things considered…
"Enough with the execution, then. On with the burial."
…She was still ahead.
"FREEZING…"
Hands cut through the air, solidifying it into a small cube. Perfectly on cue, snow swirled some more, filling the air with more white fog. Defiant to the very end, K' simply stood, reaching into his outfit for his final trick.
"…EXCECUTION! DIE!!"
His hand snapped forward, hurling a small, black blur through the air. It was a clumsy one-handed toss, but well-aimed and timed. A cheap pair of sunglasses caught Kula in the face, knocking her back a full pace. She caught it purely on reflex, blinking in surprise.
"That didn't hurt."
"No. But this will."
A fist that would've killed anyone else ploughed into her face. K' waded in, kicking and punching. The first rule about fighting Kula was not to let her catch her breath. Last time he'd done that, she pulled off something that almost froze his ass.
K' changed his attack, and planted a foot into her solar plexus, hard. Kula flew back and crashed into the door of an abandoned office- Glass shards rained down all around her, eliciting another cry of pain. Running the short distance between them, K' jumped, twisting in midair to aim both feet right in front of him-
-Again, Kula looked up just in time to see oncoming pain. The door splintered off its hinges, sending K' rolling off to one side as they crashed through. Breathing heavily, he prepared to deal the coup de grace, raising a heavy fist…
***KA-BLAM***
K' froze. A warning shot whistled past his head, burning a sizable hole in the wall right next to his head. There was the audible click of another round being chambered, as the unknown gunman took aim.
"Don't move. I don't know how to use this well enough to only injure you."
The speaker's Japanese was abominable, delivered in an exaggerated tone to facilitate greater understanding. Only one person spoke like that…
K' groaned. Of all people, it had to be Chan, always turning up at exactly the wrong moment. Resignedly, he raised both hands over his head, abandoning all pretence of offence. The man cast a regretful look down at the unconscious and barely breathing Kula, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He'd come so close to killing her this time-
"I said, DON'T MOVE!!"
Normally, K' would've spun, charged, and reduced the mage to ashes. But today…With his entire team lying around half-dead, and with most of his powers exhausted, he simply wasn't in the right state to attack. Besides…Even he couldn't dodge a bullet from that gun at this range.
"Do you actually have any idea what you're doing?"
"Yeah. Or at least…Kind of. Leave Kula alone, take your team, and leave."
***CLICK-whirrclickkk***
Somewhere behind him, Maxima rose to his feet. Bloody slush packed his wounds: The massive rents and dents in his metal frame was clearly visible. Like some nightmare monster, his face flapped loose from his steel skull, held on by a few threads and a prayer. But very much alive, his arm cannon still tracked Chan, moving stiffly like the turret of a juggernaut tank
"I have a better idea, kid. Why don't…You leave? Before we do something…Permanent."
***Whirrrclicckkk***
Another standoff. For a long moment, they stood frozen in a perfect tableau, three shadows silhouetted against a white background. Then everyone moved at once.
"THE WORLD!!!"
"VAPOUR CANNON!"
"CHAIN DRIVE!!!"
Nothing hit. A metal fist pulverized rock, kicking up another wild spray of snow. Flaming fists whistled through empty air, and a pair of cheap sunglasses shattered against the wall.
"The hell? Where'd he go?"
"Forget that. Kula's still…"
Maxima's voice died away. Kula's body was gone, with only an imprint of her form in the snow to mark her presence. Smudged footsteps lead down the street, as a white trenchcoat slowly fluttered down from above.
"Damn."
K' ground the garment into the dirt.
"We lost her this time. Guess I forgot that stupid kid could stop time…He's still the same pathetic moron he always was."
"Should we go after him, Dash-man? I think I still can catch him."
"In your condition? No. We'll retreat…For now. Besides…"
He looked down the street, eyes glowing. All around him, snow boiled and sizzled away. The trenchcoat burst into brief flame, quickly collapsing in a pile of ashes. An unpleasant stench filled the air, followed by thick, choking smoke.
"There'll always be another time. Let him run."
***********
"Ryan, who was that?"
No answer. Jiazheng waved a hand in front of Ryan's suddenly blank face, not really expecting a reaction. His hands still held the phone in a white-knuckled grip, crushing the metal with little, crunching noises.
Then Ryan laughed. A slow, high-pitched chuckle that sent shivers down Jiazheng's spine. His face seemed to unfreeze, fixing itself in a mask of terrifying madness. Very slowly, he replaced his handphone at his belt, now just barely recognizable.
"So he's alive."
Ryan shook his head ruefully, seemingly talking to himself. Who'd known that Ogion had it in him? To live through the apocalyptic finale of the previous year, Ogion would've had to single-handedly defeat Zero, make his way past Diana and Foxy, AND escape the Zero Cannon's blast radius before everything went boom.
Yet somehow, he had done it. Then again…it was just as likely he was a rotting, decomposing corpse, and someone had simply faked the call. But what would be the point? After all…
"Yo! Snap outta it, pod! Who was it?"
"Ogion."
"But he's dead!"
"Apparently not. Of course, it's probably a trick." Ryan shoved his chair back, teetering dangerously on two legs. He assumed a mock-pensive pose, chin in hand, a parody of a detective pondering a problem.
"Then what do we do?"
"Well, first we-"
Then a bottle smashed on his head. Glass splinters and alcohol flew in all directions, followed by no small amount of pain. Jiazheng rolled from his chair in a single smooth motion, blade already in hand. Through a series of rapid mental calculations he couldn't possibly articulate, Jiazheng traced the trajectory of the bottle…To the group of smirking bikers over there?
Very deliberately, Ryan wiped gummy splinters from his skull. He turned, fixing the thrower with a stare that promised death. A huge, buff individual, clad in a black leather jacket with spikes, met his glare with a smirk. Similar faces grinned from three other tables, now the temporary domain of the local biker gang.
Knowing what was about to come next, the bar patrons began to scatter. Some of the more enterprising began to place bets.
"Whut? You looking at me, asshole?"
A sphere of lightning screamed across the room, crackling and spitting sparks. It hit the biker with all the force of a sledgehammer, blasting a ragged hole right through him. He spasmed, eyes wide with horror, as electrical discharge forced his limbs into grotesque motion.
That priceless look was still on his face when he finally quit breathing.
Terrified silence. More shocked than outraged, the other bikers considered the smoking body of their comrade. Uncertainly, they began to move, drawing chains, razors and other spiked/barbed implements of pain.
"Good moves, kid!"
"Yeah! Bruce Lee stuff!"
"But Bruce Lee's a dead kike-"
"As you soon will be!"
Ryan inhaled a deep breath, drawing on the fires of his rage for the horrible, gratuitous violence that would soon follow. Jiazheng began the first moves of the practice kata, his sword swinging easily from side to side.
"NO ONE-"
The words came out in an incredible roar. Several people covered their ears.
"INSULTS BRUCE LEE-"
An unnatural wind blew up, sending dust, garbage and debris spiraling away.
"IN FRONT OF ME!!!"
"Huh?"
Jiazheng leapt forward, and knocked out the nearest biker's teeth with a blow from his sword hilt. He felled the next with an elbow to the skull, and kneed the next in the groin, before spinning round in a dramatic whirlwind attack to slice fingers off the next.
"That means we can start now."
***********
General Hospital…
Chan slumped on a cheap plastic bench outside the ER ward, totally exhausted. Gummy blood, none of it his own, was splattered on his clothes: In accordance with the classic laws of any fight, Kula had bled an incredible amount of blood, even despite his frantic attempts to staunch the major wounds.
Arms aching, Chan had somehow managed to lug her semiconscious form to the nearest hospital: Carrying a damsel in distress looked great on paper, but it kinda lost its charm after the first five hundred meters. Thank God she wasn't all that heavy.
But now what?
Yep, that was the question, all right. He'd been aimlessly wandering around the entire day, and he still hadn't found the answer. The mad flight, looking over his shoulder all the way, hadn't helped his mood at all.
So now, Kula slumbered safely in one of the ER wards, while an unsmiling nurse forced a cup of lukewarm coffee into Chan's hands. He'd been manhandled into an uncomfortable seat, and told to stay there, in no uncertain terms.
"I knew I would find you here."
He looked up. Somehow, Claire sat on the bench directly opposite, still clad in her usual odd assortment of clothing. Looking none the worse for wear, she idly pared her fingernails with one of those nasty little knives, not even casting a glance in his direction.
"I assume that this means everyone got out, right?"
"Yeah. The entire gang's already here."
There was a brief flickering of motion, and then Alvin was slouching against the wall, looking every bit a teenage delinquent. He'd pulled a pair of dark glasses over his eyes and kept well away from the light, scratching at the brownish bandages that totally encased his arms.
Karmen was suddenly there too, sporting obvious stitches and bandages. She still seemed perfectly functional, though there was a slight unsteadiness in her step, and an overly pale, seemingly bloodless face.
"Where's Yiming?"
"Recovering. He got hit by an autocannon round, can you believe it? Then he used his own arm as a club, and finally stuck it back on. I think we found back most of the pieces, though it'll be a while before he grows everything back."
"You really tell it as it is, don't you? No, don't answer that. How did the raid go?"
Reprising her role as de facto leader of the group, Karmen spoke up this time, as always. "Good. It'll be months before the place functions again. Of course, if not for that intervention, things might have gone differently…"
"Wait. What intervention?"
"We don't know, either. It was at exactly the right time, though."
"Yeah. If not for that distraction, we'll be dead." Alvin shifted, scratching at his bandaged arms. He looked more than slightly uncomfortable recounting the battle, as if the unpleasant memory of excessive carnage alone pained him.
"See, right after your dramatic escape, things got worse. Imagine the scene: Completely surrounded, rapidly running out of ammunition, and taking more and more wounds each time we tried to run. The place had been thoroughly trashed, but the last row of soldiers was forming up for a final, suicide charge."
His voice went flat.
"And then the shadows started to move. It was like a wave-As if the night itself had come alive to envelope them. Darkness simply swept forward over the entire row, and engulfed everything. There was complete silence: I'll never forget that for as long as I live. Then- God, I can't take this. Claire, you tell it."
" 'kay! Everything went a bit weird for a while…Even the explosions sounded like whispers. Then the bad guys started to scream and scream and scream. We couldn't see what happened to them…Too bad…"
Claire giggled, but there was a forced note to it this time.
"Hmmm…"
Another freak coincidence. Someone was definitely going out of his way to keep them all alive…Something big was afoot. What the hell was going on?
"Are you waiting for someone, Chan? Did everyone get away?"
"I think they got Andro."
The words almost stuck in his throat, a chilling reminder that maybe they weren't invulnerable, after all.
"Andro?" Karmen shook her head once. "No way. He's probably still on the run, but I don't think they caught him. It simply staggers belief."
"Rightttt. As for you guys?"
"Fine, fine. By the way, we want you to have this…"
Karmen drew a small, red orb from somewhere within her coat, and tossed it to Chan. Chan caught it handily, fingers running over the Chinese character for 'Stone' carved into the exterior.
"Yiming's stone device? Thanks, but I don't really need…"
"Don't worry. It has exactly one shot left. Just activate it when you need a shield, okay? I have a hunch that it'll come in useful…Or at least, we won't be needing it much longer."
With a shrug, Chan shoved the orb into a pocket and strode off, giving a brief nod of thanks. Yet another odd encounter…Hell, maybe it was time to get his Paradox level checked.
***********
Midnight…
Tired, hung-over and bone-weary, Ryan and Jiazheng opened the door to the rented room, not even bothering with caution. Both sported a few new bruises and assorted lumps: Ryan had managed to get a good, satisfying bar brawl started. After a long battle involving chandeliers and lots of broken furniture, they'd slipped back off into the night, victorious.
But now…
"Was there a point to that, Ryan?"
Jiazheng felt his aching head, and winced. An overeager drunk had broken a bottle over it, right before Jiazheng had kicked him through the wall. Blood ran freely from his leg where a needle-pointed stiletto had caught him, and he nursed several bruised ribs.
Ryan was weaving unsteadily, mildly concussed. He hadn't said much since falling from the second storey in a phenomenally successful turnbuckle strike. His bad landing hadn't helped much, considering the solidity of the broken table and chairs. Rubbing a bloody nose, he grinned ruefully, revealing a gap where a tooth had been.
"No, not really. But guess what? I feel better now. Yo, Chan? You in?!"
The noise of muffled thumps and thuds resounded throughout the room, as Chan dragged his suitcases out from his room. He was missing another trenchcoat and looked slightly the worse for wear. Dull brown streaks of blood, not his own, stained his black shirt.
"Yeah. I'm packing."
"Packing? What's up, man?"
"My flight leaves tomorrow, 6 a.m. I've already called my parents…They'll be waiting at Changi airport. It's a six hour flight, and I intend to get a bit of sleep, okay?"
Ryan blinked, stunned.
"Why? We can still stay for another week. Did something happen?"
"No, nothing. It's just…There's no longer any point, is there? Something big is coming down, another of those end-of-the-world plots, but I'm getting the hell outta here while I can. No point waiting for the other shoe to drop, eh?"
"I see. So this is where we part ways, dude. Jiazheng and I are staying. We're gonna look for Andro. Care to help, man?"
"Sorry. Maybe next year, man. No hard feelings."
Somehow, Chan managed to plaster a big, fake smile onto his face. He tapped fists with Jiazheng, and shook Ryan's hand, before vanishing back into the comfort of his dark, unlit room.
"Now what, Ryan?"
"God, don't ask me! I don't know! Whatever it is…I'll begin with a few hours of wholesome television, hopefully of something loud and meaningless."
***********
Once again, Chan strode through the great library of his mind, a wandering spirit locked in his own psyche. He was walking the razor's edge, he knew: The books he'd read on the subject told of mages who'd sunk into comas, never to return. It simply wasn't a good idea…Wait, scratch that. It was a fucking bad idea.
He knew the risks, of course. They were burned into you the day you started slinging spells. However, Chan simply wanted a break from reality, and there was nowhere else to go. Besides, he was curious about the odd chain of connected events: Perhaps a period of reflection would give him a better perspective on them when he awoke.
Like a wayward spirit, Chan's mental projection drifted in the treasure room, gazing into the endless darkness. Roiling, barely defined shapes coiled in that false night, twisting and turning like restless serpents. Every 'dark' enchantment he knew, every bad memory had made that spot a home, a wellspring of corruption in an otherwise pristine world.
Something was inside, growing, mutating. Fed by need and nameless emotions, it was developing on its own, changing to fit the imagery of the landscape. All he needed to do was to get a look at it.
Yet, for a long time, Chan hesitated, not daring to take the plunge. It'd stopped him last time: It could probably stop him now. So he floated outside, chin in palm, watching and waiting for an opening.
***********
The abandoned shack was well-lit and cheery on the inside, a sharp contrast to the abject poverty and filth all around it. Inside the single room, a massive wooden table had been set up, once again out of place. An expensive lava lamp sat on a corner of the desk, filling the place with a soft red light.
Samuel sat at that table, his eyes intent on the elaborate spread of cards in front of him. Nimble fingers flickered back and forth, adding to the carefully-arranged stacks already present.
"Samuel, would you stop that? You know I don't believe in that mumbo-jumbo. Neither should you."
Allison stood in a corner of the room, keeping to the shadows as was her wont. She toyed with a heavy golden lighter, rubbing her thumb across the emblazoned skull. A non-stop clicking noise emitted from it, as Allison flipped the cap open again and again.
"This is my unique brand of magic, Allison. Enhancing the odds, changing the probabilities…It's already bailed our sacrificial lambs out of trouble. Coincidental magic is very real."
Four cards dominated the center of the spread: The Chariot, the Star, the Devil and the World. Each bore Ryan's, Jiazheng's, Andro's, or Chan's face respective, depicting them in a somewhat idealized light. All around, face-down cards encircled them, spreading out like a six-pointed sunburst.
Samuel slid the Emperor card under the World, and removed the Devil from the center of the circle. He added the tarot card to the outer ring of the circle, creating a new point.
"One has already fallen into the hands of the enemy. There's nothing I can do to help him now. As for the other…"
Flip. The Death, a leering skull-faced reaper, hovered just outside the borders of the circle, away from outside influence.
"…He is worse than lost. So I have three pieces left."
Allison sighed ruefully.
"Look, all the intervention came from me, not anyone else. So you have limited omniscience. But you're not all-powerful, and you can't influence the world with a deck of cards."
"Bet? Then what if I do this…"
Samuel drew a card from the pile: The Hanged Man. He incinerated it between his fingers with a brief burst of emerald flame, letting the ashes slip between his fingers. Allison let out a yelp, as her lighter flared to life of its own accord, searing her hand. Cursing, she dropped it, shaking her singed appendage.
"That was a freak coincidence. Not magic."
"Want me to try it again?"
"On second thoughts…No. No thank you."
"Good."
He turned his attention back to the table, watching as events unfolded. Normally, things would follow the natural order, in which the predictable happened. Coincidental magic actually wasn't all that much: It allowed you to add freak 'coincidences' to the fabric of time, but something like turning the Statue of Liberty into Swiss Cheese was definitely out. Still, Samuel didn't intend to do that today.
All he needed to do was to make something happen a mere minute faster…
***********
"It always comes down to this, doesn't it? Watching really bad shows in a language I don't even understand while waiting for time to pass."
Ryan mused over this fact of life in front of the television, fingers glued to the remote. Thinking these deep and profound thoughts didn't come easily, especially when your head felt like it was about to split entirely in two.
"Ah, hell. This sucks. Stupid language, anyway."
He drew his arm back, wondering whether he could muster sufficient force to send the remote right through the screen. Aiming high, Ryan prepared to throw…
***BZZT-BZZT***
"KOF NEWFLASH: DISAPPEARANCE OF THE ESAKA TEAM!!!"
"What the hell?"
Ryan slowly lowered the remote, wondering where this was supposed to lead. The screen flickered, switching from some weird animation about a schizophrenic teenager to the inside of a busy studio. A frazzled-looking reporter clutched a three-ring binder, big hair sticking out in all directions.
"Uh…Well…We can't really explain it. The Esaka Team, fan favorites and three-time winner of the KOF Tournament, has apparently gone missing."
He winced and shuddered, as if anticipating the furious outburst from the audience. Furtively, he flipped to another page, and continued reading, this time at machine-gun speed.
"According to a letter left in their hotel suite, they are withdrawing from the tourney, citing 'personal matters' as a reason…"
Wince, nervous twitch.
"…As well as a desire to make 'Those lying bastards trying to conquer the world eat some fist.' However, startling new evidence has come to light that this could be the result of the three thousand death threats the team has received since the very beginning, most by underworld elements of disgruntled supporters of other pugilists. Police are currently looking into the matter..."
Silence. The newcaster pulled off his headphones and tossed them to the floor, face going pale. The three-ring binder quickly followed.
"…Forget it. I'm not putting my ass on the line for this bullshit. Remember, I'm just the messenger! Please don't kill me! I have three kids to feed! I…"
***BZZT-BZZT***
The signal cut off, suddenly flipping to an empty studio. A dry voiceover provided the rest of the information, devoid of human life or expression.
"***Ahem*** Due to the inexplicable loss of the Esaka Team, their previous opponents will take their places instead. Thus, the DHS Team will battle the NESTS Team next week, usual time. Remember, wherever else you think you heard it, you heard it at CCTV first. It looks to be an exciting match folks. Don't forget to place your bets. Thankyouverymuchandhaveaniceday."
***click***
The television screen went dark, seemingly of its own accord. Ryan stood there for a few moments, letting the information sink in.
Then he smiled.
"Oh, yeah. CHAN! JIAZHENG! GET YOUR ASSES HERE! NOW!!!"
***********
A Few Minutes Later…
"So we're back in the game, huh?"
"Seems that way."
The group clustered around their new coffee table, recently replaced after Jiazheng sliced right through it. Untouched biscuits and mugs of coffee sat by the side, with no one even bothering to glance in their direction. There was a palpable feeling of tension and excitement, slowly boiling into overload. Right now, it was still the calm before the storm, with everyone pretending to take the breaking noise as calmly as possible.
"Well, then. You guys know what to do?"
"Yep. Just give the word, Chan."
"All right…GET MOVING!!! Ryan, call the airport, tell them to cancel the flights back. Jiazheng, get on the line and notify Karmen's group. We'll need a Striker for next week. I'll extend the hotel reservations and e-mail our families: Looks like we won't be coming home for some time. But before all that administrative bullshit…"
"Yeah?"
"Scrounge up whatever weaponry you can. Jiazheng, you're a swordsman, check Andro's room to see if he left anything. Ryan, see if there's something left in the junk pile, anything else we can use. If not, siphon off all the energy. Every last drop. If Ignis wants a message, we'll give one to him. Something to show that no one screws with us and lives."
"I don't get it, Chan. What're we gonna do?"
The words stuck in his throat. Oddly enough, considering the circumstances. Ryan quickly answered in his place.
"We're going to fight the NESTS team. And we're going to kill them. We're going to kill every last one of the bastards."
***********
The meeting soon broke up, as the entire group scampered off to their respective rooms, digging through suitcases full of luggage and assorted junk to find the few gems hidden there. Jiazheng made a beeline for Andro's room, and promptly began to plunder every blade he could get his hands on, somehow managing to conceal them all in his outfit.
An unearthly glow shone from Ryan's room, followed by choking smoke and a string of virulent curses as several objects exploded under his less-than-careful examination. The cursing only intensified as the light increased, now shot through with a distinctly dangerous-looking radioactive glow.
Chan barely noticed it. Silently, he walked back to his own room, and carefully drew a small box from the innermost pocket of his luggage. He stood there for a long time, rubbing his fingers over the smooth, carved ivory. There was a definite thrum of power, a vibration of energy emanating right from the container. The force rolled through the room in waves, one after another, a gentle tugging on one's mystical senses.
Chan exhaled a breath he didn't remember holding, and slowly began to open the box. One year ago, upon returning home, he'd made this. Still burning with shame, defeat and a deep, deep hatred of his new enemies, Chan had poured all the power he could summon into six small artifacts.
It was a bad thing he'd done, he knew. That was the first time he'd actually made anything simply to kill. Requiem…Well, that was a little hard to explain, but he hadn't really asked for it. The Mage Cannon? It's all for the gunslinger look, friend.
But this…
This was very different.
Carefully, Chan removed six bullets from the box, one after another. Each felt deathly cold to their touch, as if mere presence drained light and life from the room. Capped with reinforced steel, they would've gone through bulletproof armor like tissue paper, even if not for the special enchantments placed on them, spells made specially to kill the Awakened.
Chan snapped open the gun, and loaded the entire clip in. The bastards they were meant for probably deserved this fate, anyway. If not…Hey, who cared? God judges. Man just sent people to him to be judged.
"Let the Reckoning begin."
(Sorry to take so long with this chapter. It may be a bit anticlimactic, but this is part where it wires down a bit after the gratuitous fight scene of the previous chapter. There's still something wrong with my computer, but my exams are over, so I'll be able to update more frequently now. Until next time…Bye!)