Deathmatch
Christmas Eve. A time of joy, giving and wonder, rapidly fading away in an increasingly commercialized, money-grubbing world. Tokyo was alive with lights, glittering with a brilliant radiance visible even through the blanket of gently-falling snowflakes drifting down from above. Far off in the distance, the multi-faceted dome of the Stadium gleamed like a polished diamond, lit from within by a soft, golden glow.
Two dark figures perched precariously on a crumbling building, watching the ebb and flow of the tide of humanity far below. They ignored the entire spectacle, ignored even the sickeningly cheerful tunes piped into the streets from the nearby concert hall.
It was deathly cold up here. Chill winds buffeted the cracked concrete surface, sending breath puffing out in small white clouds. Silhouetted against the harsh glare of the massive monitor behind them, they stood out against the skyline like specters of death cresting the horizon.
"Refresh my memory, Samuel. Why, exactly, are we here?"
If anything, Allison's voice was colder than the wind. Her companion made no reply, simply content to sit and watch. At length, he spoke, voice distant and distracted.
"Because we have our own role to play in this drama. We just have to wait for the signal."
"Hmmph. You're just too cheap to get tickets."
"True."
And far behind them, the concert played on, as a mahou shoujo sang another vomit-inducing tune of peace and love to the world.
The black limo glided along down the streets, making no more noise than the winter wind. Smoky glass windows hid the precious cargo inside, concealing the DHS Team from the eyes of psychotic fans.
Inside the limousine, Chan chuckled sourly, appreciating the overwhelming irony of it all. They were only famous moments before and after fights: No one even recognized him when he went for a walk. Besides, considering where the group was headed, psychotic fans would soon be the last of their problems.
Even thick glass couldn't block out the onslaught of happiness from the speakers outside. To make matters worse, the small plascreen television welded to the seat directly in front of him was tuned to some sort of live concert…Some band supposedly all the way from 'Teito'.
To Chan's right, Ryan had his earphones on, jammed securely into his ears. Preoccupied with Linkin Park's 'Crawling' and watching a slim, silver-haired girl sing, he was totally distracted.
Chan rapped his shoulder, drawing his attention. Tearing his eyes from the screen, Ryan pulled one headphone off.
"What?"
"Uh…Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this…But I think that she's a he."
Silence.
"What? But she's wearing a skirt…And that angel getup! What straight guy would wear that, for Christsakes?"
" …So? Look for the Adam's apple."
Ryan looked back for a second, then hurriedly looked away, mumbling 'fucked up' under his breath. Somehow feeling much better, Chan grinned once. He leaned back, settling down in his seat to enjoy the rest of the mercifully brief ride.
Later…
The office was overly-opulent, like a decaying fruit dropped into the filth of the gutter. Everything was cheap, made to look like something priceless: Imitation portraits adorned the wall, filled with avant-grade art. The DHS team had been ushered in through the plywood doors, decorated by trails of golden glitter. A simpering manservant had offered chairs to
"What?"
"You heard me. There's been a change of plans…They come right from the sponsors. Sorry, guys."
Ah. That explained a lot. Chan pushed the plush chair a bit further from the tournament executive's table, suddenly disgusted with the man. For a long moment, he debated the merits of gunning the executive down on the spot with staying out of jail, finding the thought of senseless carnage oddly soothing.
He meditated on that pleasant image whilst the explanation continued.
"Now, rather than the usual one-on-one fight, the first battle will be a tag-team match, featuring Foxy and…Someone called 'Angel.' Never heard of her, though."
Small cough, shuffling of papers.
"Right after that, the winning side will choose one surviving tag member to continue with the next fight, which will resume IMMEDIATELY."
The last word sounded like a death knell. Without Andro, it was a losing proposition. Three versus four…Simple mathematics determined the outcome. Even if they won the first match, that left two people, at most, to face off against the other THREE members of the NESTS team.
"However … "
Jiazheng's ears pricked up at that word.
"However?"
"However, in the interests of fair play, you can substitute an 'Another Striker' for Andro, in light of his disappearance." A small, thin smile. "Wouldn't do to disappoint the crowds after all, would it?"
Chan stood up abruptly, sending the chair smashing to the ground. He dusted himself off briskly and started for the exit, ignoring the startled protests aimed his way.
"Ryan, Jiazheng! Let's go. We have just the man for the job…"
***BEEP … BEEP … BEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP***
"Damnit, Alvin. Pick up the phone!!!"
***CHA-Click**
"Hello. If you're an insurance salesman, put the phone down before I …"
"Wait! It's me, Chan!"
Yep. Alvin was just the man to fill the empty space on the team, at least for now. Chan had called him, hoping against hope that the other Stand-wielder was in, or at least in the vicinity of the decommissioned warehouse the Cartel Team called 'home'.
Hey, at least it was cheaper than the school hostel.
At least Alvin was home. Chan, however, was calling at a very bad time.
"Chan? Isn't it too late to be calling?"
"Allllvvviinnnn....Come back to bed." cooed a voice somewhere in the room with Alvin.
Great. Chan slapped his forehead in embarrassment. Claire was there. This was perfect. Just one more complication he didn't need.
"Alvin. Something's come up. Meet us at the arena as soon as you can damn well get there."
"Is it a paying job?"
Chan sighed, feeling somehow irritable. "I don't know, but if you're not at the arena sometime in the next hour, I will personally hunt you down and defenestrate you on the spot when I find you."
" ... What if I'm on the first floor?" he asked.
"Then I will make certain that you are at the right altitude to properly do it. Do I make myself clear?"
There was a sound as if he'd set the receiver down, followed by the faint indications of an argument. Then, after a few minutes of silence, he picked it up.
"Anything I should bring?" he asked in a very sheepish voice.
"I don't care if you bring the entire bloody Black Watch with you. Just. Be. There."
" ... " He hung up.
Alvin set the phone down, and gave Claire the death stare. Fully clothed, she lounged against the sofa, polishing a needle on her sleeve. Claire met the glare with a puppy-eyed look, one that could have possibly been mistaken for an expression of innocence.
"Don't do that. It was funny the first time, Claire."
"Aww…" She pouted. "You're no fun."
"And put the needles away. Please."
Even Later…
In the stadium itself, the DHS team amped themselves up for combat, running through last-minute physical and mental preparations. The happy songs blasting from the speakers lightened the atmosphere somewhat, yet set taut nerves a-twanging.
Every remaining member was armed to the teeth. This was to be the first major confrontation this year, discounting the bloody battle just a mere week ago.
Chan was ready to rock. The Mage Cannon rode in his holster, polished to mirror-bright perfection. The orb rested in a small leather pouch, right next to the Emperor card. Extra clips and a brand-new trenchcoat completed his arsenal, all variously enchanted.
Jiazheng hadn't changed much. He did carry a short wakizashi, more suited to close combat than his katana. A wakizashi, if you didn't know, is a short sword designed to be wielded in your left hand while you have a katana in your right. Jiazheng with two swords looked like a true modern-day samurai…Or at least, a grungy, depressive one.
The swordsman had also looted Andro's collection of blades, concealing whatever he could carry under a nondescript duster. He literally clanked as he walked, a living cutlery collection.
Ryan was the only one who'd disdained a weapon, preferring to rely on his fists. His gloves crackled with brief bursts of electricity, barely visible in the dim light. A black-and-gold ensemble hid a cut-down Kevlar vest, just in case the opposing team decided to pack heavy artillery. He had his headphones clamped solidly to his skull, eyes closed as he zoned out the happy music. You could dimly hear the faint strands of 'Crawling' blaring into his brain, if you sat close enough.
The last member of the team sat apart from all the others, preferring to keep his own counsel. Alvin sat stock-still, eyes straight forward, trying to shut off the relentlessly cheerful soundtrack. He was extremely close to losing it, waiting for the faintest excuse to unleash elemental destruction.
Chan cleaned and polished his gun obsessively, trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stop. The black crystal rounds pulsed faintly in their metal casings, betraying the instability inherent in all of them. These were literally miniature black holes contained in a thin mineral layer, kept solid by steady application of magic. When they hit something…
Boom.
Jiazheng let out a sigh, shifting uncomfortably. The long wait was slowly getting to him, undermining his resolve bit by bit. Who knew what monstrosities would be unleashed by the other side? Despite the incredible amount of violence he'd already endured, fighting had never come easy to him-He hoped it never would.
"Yo, Chan."
"Yeah?"
"We're going to have to kill them, right?"
"Yes. Something wrong with that? I killed seventeen people last week. Most of them couldn't hurt me when they tried. Hey…"
Ryan snorted, unsnapping the headphones. He looked almost relaxed, despite the general cloud of fear that hung above all their heads.
"Stop the angst, man. You're just sad that you have to kill your girl."
Silence.
"And so what if I am? Hell, I don't even shave regularly-"
"Deal with it."
Another complete silence, as Alvin cut in.
"Rationalize about it later, Chan. But if the time comes, and you can't do it…"
Small grin. A glimpse of white teeth flashing in the semi-darkness.
"I'll do it for you. After all, I'm here to make sure no one chickens out."
"Geez … It's great to have friends."
"Ah. That explains why you insisted."
After an incredible amount of phone calls, threats, and good, old-fashioned begging, they'd managed to proclaim Alvin Andro's "Another Striker". Despite protests that it wasn't strictly legal, the request had come through in the end.
Ryan shook his head. They couldn't fight like this, all worried and shaken.
***THOOOMMM***
Somewhere above, lightning flashed, an interloper from the coming storm. Black clouds swirled overhead like a miniature cyclone, as if even the elements had come to watch the outcome of this clash.
Completely unnoticed, the speaker burned out. No one cared.
"Look, guys … Let's not think about this just yet, 'kay? Think happy thoughts. It's Christmas … Wonder what our families are up to?"
"My sister's probably digging through the deep-freezer to find her presents."
That got a brief, nervous chuckle from the group.
"Good, that's good. And you, Alvin?"
"Leave me out of this… "
"Okay. The others are probably-"
A roar emanated from the ring outside, an exhalation of excitement mingled with bloodlust. The other team was already out. Like it or not, the fight was about to begin.
Chan took a deep breath of the metallic air, trying to let out the tension he felt. His hands still shook, almost too badly for him to hold the Mage Cannon. With an effort of will, he brought them back under control.
Just barely.
"Right, guys. It's time to go. Ready?"
Nods all around.
"Remember, if any of us don't make it, the wills are in Ryan's briefcase. There's a full explanation, just to be safe. And…Crap. I'm no good at this. I just wanted to say, good luck, guys."
"That was really lame, dude. Think of something better next time."
"Shut up. Can we just go?"
Alvin and Ryan strode into the ring, to an accompaniment of noisy cheers. Ever contemptuous, Alvin shrugged it off as beneath his notice, shrouded in his own personal field of gloom. Ryan evoked a single bolt of crackling lightning, flinging it straight up to impact the ceiling. The resounding crash, followed by a brief spark shower, only served to increase the volume of the cheers.
"Quit playing around, Ryan. Our opponents await."
"All right, all right. Killjoy."
From the other side, Foxy likewise walked in, accompanied by a stunning platinum blonde in an extremely…Well, revealing outfit. They got more than their fair share of catcalls and whistles. Several numbers went up on placards, cutting a white line across the crowd.
"AND NOW … A VERY SPECIAL FIGHT."
"You shouldn't have come, Ryan. I was hoping I wouldn't have to kill you." Fox spoke in the brief lull between the announcer's speech, hand on her rapier. Her companion looked all too happy at the prospect of bloodshed, blue eyes glaring solely at Alvin.
"Heh. For whatever it's worth, I appreciate that."
"ANOTHER ANDRO … "Alvin winced at that name.
"RYAN LIM V.S. FOXY AND ANGEL, IN A TAG-TEAM BATTLE."
"To the death?"
Foxy inclined her head, looking mildly regretful.
"Of course."
Angel began smiling. Alvin created a length of steel vine, drawing it in and out of his sleeve. Just behind him, Macabre materialized, fondling its bloodstained knife with sanguine glee.
"LIVE AND LET DIE. ROUND ONE … FIGHT!"
Then, things began to happen, very, very fast.
Foxy's rapier flickered into her sword arm, the business end aimed straight for Ryan's nose. Ryan twirled aside, dodging… right before Alvin and Macabre ploughed into her, hacking and slashing away. Angel's fist whirled past his face, followed by a dainty crescent kick that almost knocked all his teeth out.
"Sorry big boy," Angel breathed, voice low and sultry. "You'll have to handle me first."
Ryan smiled back. Then, he slugged her with all his might, followed by a powerful Hiryu-No-ken kick that sent Angel skidding away across the floor.
Rolling with the blow, Angel skidded to a hard stop. She flipped back to her feet, bruises already fading. Blinking once, Ryan dropped into combat stance, preparing himself for a slugfest.
To the side, Alvin and Foxy battled, trading vicious blows. Too close-in to use her rapier, Foxy punched at Alvin with the sword's hilt, trying to avoid Macabre madly stabbing knife. Alvin answered with a swing of his wires, slicing a bloody trough in her arm.
Both battered and bruised, the two fell away.
"I know you," Foxy hissed, snapping her weapon up. "You're Alvin. One of the failures."
She feinted low, then drove the sword towards his throat. Alvin caught it on the wires, sending sparks flying through the air. Macabre circled behind her, searching for an opening.
"Is that what they're calling me now? How apt."
Foxy attacked again, moving in a smooth dance of efficiency and grace. Alvin met the assault head-on, vines clawing the headpiece from her hair. Totally furious now, Foxy punched the rapier past Alvin's defenses, impaling his shoulder.
Cursing, Alvin spun, tearing the blade from his shoulder. Smoke hissed from the bloody wound, slowly trickling away to nothing. Macabre let out a high wail of pain, shuddering as an identical wound sprouted from his shoulder.
"Blessed … I hate blessed weapons," Alvin snarled, his face a rictus of agony. He spun around in a single smooth circle, boot exploding into Foxy's face.
Foxy didn't reply. She couldn't, jaw smashed in two from the kick. Slowly, bone re-knitted, erasing away the boot print. Murder in her eyes, Foxy tossed the rapier to her left hand, fingers tracing an intricate pattern through the air.
"She's casting! GET DOWN!!"
Ryan interposed himself between the two, just as a volley of white bolts tore through the air. Where they struck Ryan, nothing happened - In fact, he even seemed slightly revitalized. Where they struck Alvin, flesh and bone disintegrated, boiling away to nothing.
Foxy's sword roared down overhead to slice Ryan in two. White lightning crackled along its steel length, turning the blessed weapon into a divine scourge.
Ryan grabbed it: The power grabbed him. White force dived into his flesh, searing away wounds, burning whatever was impure. Veins swelled with magic: Muscles bulged with new life. Realizing her mistake, Foxy wrenched the blade, trying to rip it from Ryan's grasp.
Ryan let go. He kicked her in the gut, sending the woman falling back. A volley of lightning and darkness blasted Foxy into the wall, raising a brief cloud of stone dust. Alvin coughed black blood, hand clamped over his gaping wounds.
"Holy bolts. Of all things, holy bolts."
"I thought that you were almost invulnerable."
"Of course not! I'm a profane abomination… positive energy hurts me. Death energy heals. That means that the happy, trippy stuff she's throwing is burning my ass off."
"Whatever. Fix it. Now."
Ryan kept a wary eye on Angel, who was getting up for what seemed like the thousandth time. Regeneration was a serious pain in the ass…She wasn't even winded! Great. Just great.
"Angel's getting up! What the hell is this, Terminator?"
"So's Foxy."
Foxy stood from the wreckage, to the awed gasps of the audience. She shook her head, hair in total disarray. Somehow, her rapier had survived the impact, gleaming in her hand like a lambent flame.
"That hurt, you bastards. It's time to die."
Oh … shit.
"Why don't we swap?"
Ding! Idea!
"Huh?"
"I'll kill Foxy … you kill Angel. She doesn't seem like a spellcaster. Besides, how much worse can it get?"
Alvin grunted his agreement. Macabre's short knife snapped into hand. The Stand's maniac form flowed over his skin, fusing with the very essence of the man. Alvin's wounds sealed shut, healed by the integration.
"How much worse, eh?"
"Good. Then let's go."
Simultaneously, Ryan and Alvin ducked, rolled forward, spun around and promptly hurled their respective projectiles over the other's shoulder. An entropic blast tore into Angel, just as a Wave Cannon thudded solidly into Foxy's face.
Neither had any real effect. Angel's form blurred for a brief second, before reverting back. Visibly shaken, she flinched, trying to veer away from Alvin. He spun the knife in one hand, letting the other slip behind his back.
"MASSACRE!!!"
A small thicket of metal vines exploded from the ground all around, cutting off her retreat. Razor-sharp leaves bristled from the lashing tendrils, like living barbed wire.
"And now," Alvin murmured, his eyes going black and hollow. "There is truly nowhere left to run." The void spilled from his eyes, obscuring the top half of his face. He began to laugh hollowly, a grim god of war enjoying the chaos and the carnage.
"Bring it on."
The eruption had caught Ryan totally off-guard, slicing a deep gash in his leg. He ducked away from the vines, heading for a clear patch safely past this terror. He didn't know what was going on in the center…He didn't particularly want to know, either.
It was hard going. Blades slashed his jacket, bloodied his clothes, and did their level beast to tear him apart. Evidently, they didn't distinguish friend from foe. Or, more likely, they simply didn't care. Ryan tried to teleport, failed, and began to Electronic Revolution his way out. Bleeding, face and hands lacerated, Ryan staggered from the deathtrap, binding his wounds with the shreds of his outfit.
"Gukk … Alvin, you asshole. You're gonna pay for that."
Right on cue, Foxy lurched out from the tangled mess, similarly disheveled. Oddly enough, HER outfit had remained totally pristine, despite the punishment she'd obviously received.
Someday, Ryan was going to HAVE to learn that trick… right after this fight. If his survived. Then again, considering the sheer amounts of cuts he'd received, maybe some serious surgery would be a better idea.
Energy crackled through the air—it was practically solid, and Ryan had to brace himself against the wall. Somewhere inside the barrier, Ryan saw Angel struggle to her feet, but she wasn't smiling anymore—
No, unimportant. His mind tuned that out. He had his own problems.
"Now it's just you and me."
Ryan began to pace, taking careful, measured steps to the side. Overhead, lightning flashed and thunder boomed, a sign of the coming storm. Water droplets condensed from the cold air, swirling about Ryan in a complicated dance.
"As it should be," Foxy agreed. She presented the blessed rapier, top cutting small circles in the air. Limping slightly, one hand crumpled at her side, Foxy still had just enough strength left to kill him. The regeneration implant was failing: Overtaxed, it flickered on and off, emitting a small beeping noise. Foxy wasn't going to be healing these wounds, not for a long time.
A rumbling noise moved through the air, a harbringer of the storm to come. He could literally taste the electricity discharged and crackling in the atmosphere, feel the mad power in their cold orbit.
Foxy watched, pulse hammering in her throat. She looked towards the figure across the breach of empty space, as a few drops of water, warmed to the temperature of the blood in her veins, spattered against her face. She watched Ryan take a few step back, tensing.
He can't … Impossible. Fragments of thoughts were all that her mind produced. It's too far-
Ryan stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it away. The droplets of water, created from the aura of moisture that always surrounded him, curved along the angles of his jaw and into his throat as he leaned forward, one hand reaching before him, as though untremored fingers could grab the air itself.
Thoughts dissolved to wordless memory in Foxy's skull, as Ryan began to run. Another time, another place. In the city's depths, far above its darkly luminous streets; Another vault of empty space carved out by the rain. The past merged without seam into the present as she watched, own breath lodged fistlike in her throat, as the form, human yet not, sprinted along the concrete ribbon.
Ryan charged, feet blurring. On both sides, floor tiles cracked and disintegrated, as the running adept broke the sound barrier. A last footfall, a hard shove off the crumbling ground, then Ryan launched himself into the air. One hand drew back for the coupe de grace: The other reached out like the nose of a plane.
The past moment and the present, and none at all, time halting with Foxy's heartbeat. Sudden lightning lit up the heavy undersides of the storm clouds above, the blue-white illumination transforming Ryan into an angel of steel and diamond, held aloft from the dull earth's gravity by its own fierce, eternal falling.
Foxy shook herself from the image's spell, standing tall and firm. She snapped the rapier up, first in a final salute, then held it ready to impale the flying warrior.
"SHADOWLESS HA-"
There was a sudden burst of noise, first a crunch, then a splattering noise, as if someone had driven a skewer through a side of meat. Ryan's foot collided solidly with her windpipe. Cartilage crunched and bone cracked, followed by a wet liquid gurgle. Foxy went down, twitched once, and lay still.
"Whoops. I … meant … kick."
Slowly, painfully, Ryan reached down, feeling the sword plunged through his midsection. Like some outsized stinger, the blade quivered, every twitch causing a new, sickening wave of pain. His eyes played up and down the length of sharpened steel, trying to deny its very existence by the sheer weight of his disbelief. The weapon remained stubbornly real, an oversized knitting needle turned skewer,
Ryan's hands closed on the hilt, sliding slightly on the polished metal surface. It felt cold to the touch, oddly so despite the blood dripping all over the blade. The Adept closed his eyes, ignoring the horrified gasps, shutting out the coming onslaught of nausea. Summoning up his internal strength, he swallowed –
And tore the sword out.
It was spectacularly messy. Blood fountained from his body in a red jet, followed by darker fragments of something else. As elegantly as he could, Ryan slumped against the wall, one hand clamped against the puncture wound. He slid down, leaving a dull red trail in his wake, before finally coming to rest in a sitting position.
"Crap," Chan observed, clambering over the railings. Jiazheng caught him by the trench coat and hauled him back, receiving a glare for his efforts.
"The fight's not over yet. You CAN'T interfere."
"**Sigh** You're right. Again."
Alvin fought his foe to a bloody standstill, amid a storm of whirring steel. He fell back slowly, hemmed in by his own barrier. Exhausted, burning spell after spell from his dwindling stock, he was getting nowhere.
Fast.
It wasn't that he couldn't hurt his opponent: Indeed, the sheer magnitude of the forces used had almost fried her to a grease spot, time after time. No, the problem was making the damage last.
Angel seemed to have both regeneration and an uncanny resistance to magic of all sorts. Viruses had fizzled out, deathbolts had been ignored and acid had simply been shrugged off. Black gas had bubbled from each garish wound, gumming up holes and reknitting into flesh and bone. It was just like Yiming's unnatural tolerance, except far more immediate and effective.
Angel darted in, angry and white, a lightning bolt unfolding towards Alvin. For his part, Alvin leapt in, intent on catching that lightning bolt and grounding it.
They clenched. Black and white battled for dominance, searing at the bodies of their avatars. On contact, decay spread across Angel's body, a rotting contagion of plague. Sterile welts arose on Alvin's face, eating away at his features.
Where hands locked on arms, skin peeled back. Where eyes locked on eyes, the very air crackled with antipathy. Alvin broke away first, sundering the clinch he couldn't win. Angel gladly shoved him away, rolling past in a quick kickflip off his chest.
The Awakened recoiled in horror, flesh oozing away. His face twisted in agony, the first reaction Angel had gotten from him.
He was losing. And Angel knew it too.
"You can't kill me." Unafraid, Angel stalked towards him, hammering away him with a crazed combo of punches and kicks. Alvin blocked the long strike chain, stoically accepting each blow. His flesh sloughed away under the onslaught, dissolving into the cold air.
"No one can. As long as you tap into the power WE taught you, as long as use the Stand WE modified, it will be impossible to slay me."
Silently, Alvin cursed himself. Of course they'd have found a way to insulate themselves from their own magic… only an idiot wouldn't have thought of that. His entire arsenal had just been neutralized –
No. there was one thing left. Something they didn't – couldn't possibly know.
"So I really can't kill you," Alvin stated, playing for time.
"Exactly."
"I can try, though."
A sharp wire punched through Angel's forehead, tearing out the other side in a spray of gray matter and bone. With as much poise as possible, she dispelled it with a thought, shuddering from the sudden shock.
Alvin dug into his shirt, producing a curious-looking compass-like ring, spiked on all sides. A single staring eye decorated the rich gold face, right at the center of a triangular plaque.
A few years back, Alvin had purchased this on a field tri to Egypt. Well, not exactly PURCHASED it… okay, he had had it shoved right into his hands by a loser who'd only been too glad to get rid of it.
Clutching the ring like a lifeline, Alvin held it out like a talisman. Blue light welled out from between his fingers, followed by a tangible thrumming as the metal began to vibrate.
Angel was blasted into the wall, simply picked up and hurled by… Something. It kept her pinned there, stuck like an oversized moth to a flat, gray background. Alvin opened fire, hurling a hellstorm of magic at his erstwhile opponent.
"Die," he whispered, and even the rubble melted, Alvin kept up his assault, pouring everything from himself, through the amulet and into the other figure. The ground disintegrated, then the air turned to white-hot heat –
The rapier hurtled through the air, tumbling like a flightless bird. It soared straight and true, metal ornaments serving as guiding vanes.
***thunk***
Silence. Alvin froze where he stood. The blinding, brilliant haze faded; The murderous intent in his eyes had be replaced by uncomprehending wonder. Red seeped through Alvin's clothes, spidering out through the concave ruin of his shattered chest, like a broken glass mirror. From a black hole, a finger of blood dripped down, travelling down his leg to touch the floor.
Just behind him, Foxy stood. Her throat was a crushed, torn open by Ryan's spiked-soled boots. Air sucked in and out of an opened windpipe, turning her cultured voice watery.
"No winners," she gurgled, watching the success of her hurled weapon.
Alvin slumped to his knees. Very slowly, he turned his head to behold his killer, face now contorted in an expression of unutterable rage. The man's body began to fade away, as a wave of deletion rolled across his cursed form. It began at his exit wound, slowly but surely spreading. A cleansing contagion consumed Alvin, a counterpoint to the bubbling, vital plague his very touch spread.
"You win this round. But remember - "
Great holes appeared in the fabric of his person, expanding at an inordinate rate. His own internal darkness began to consume him, the power feeding back on itself, like a serpent feeding on its own tail. Alvin's voice became hollowed out, echoing tones sounding as if from the bottom of a well. The man's face began to go; Half his mouth had been wiped clean, a badly-erased picture.
"Thought I can be murdered, I can never, truly - "
He was gone. The rapier clattered to the ground, followed an instant later by the amulet, lying on his side. The last fragments of his physical form withered and blew away on the breeze, dispersing as if they had never been.
Just Outside…
Samuel saw everything. He could feel the distortion, the minute trembling of the fabric of reality as Alvin was destroyed. Fragments of magical energy swirled into the air, forming a miniature, invisible tornado of power. The world greedily sucked it back in, eager to reclaim at least a portion of Alvin's form.
The moment was crystal clear to Samuel, painted like a picture in the spread of cards before him. Quietly, Alvin's card caught fire, immolating itself in a burst of spontaneous flame.
"Alvin's dead … The bastards killed him."
Allison winced, feeling a slight twinge. Alvin had been-was a friend. No matter what he'd done, dying like that wasn't a good way to go. Samuel's voice held cold, detached fury as he shuffled his cards, fingers trembling from a combination of frostbite and hate.
The situation didn't look very good, particularly on the surface: On one side, the Chariot, discarded to one side like a broken toy. On the other, the Fool and the Hermit … Oh, wait. That card just went blank.
So it was down to Ryan and Foxy.
Samuel focused his will, reaching out with all his might to grasp the flow of events. Images streamed into his mind, all fragmented, possible futures dreamed up by ruined minds. The sky cracked, the earth heaved, the seas ran with blood, the dead walked-
-There. That was the one, fluttering like a trap butterfly. Samuel caught it, trapping it in his metaphorical hand. The future was always in motion: If you didn't like what you saw, you simply let the world run something else.
And where you look, things change.
Ryan was hurting. He felt the pain of his stab wound acutely, like a red-hot needle boring through the lining of his stomach. Distorted by the red fog of pain, the world swam in his eyes; He was dying, coming to pieces bit by bit.
Above him, Foxy loomed, a crippled, guttered wreck. Every cell in his body rebelled at the sheer wrongness of it all: It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
It wasn't …
The thought hung in his mind, struggling like a fly trapped in honey.
… Supposed to happen…
Synapses fired, the last-ditch effort of a dying mind. Several objects had spilled from Ryan's coat when he had fallen. A small, single-shot revolver began to roll across the floor, sliding of its own accord towards him. It was like that movie, except that it wasn't his Force making it go.
The weapon slid into Ryan's hand, as though it had been made for him. Ryan had the briefest of moments to realize that he didn't carry a revolver, right before fingers closed on cool steel. His arm rose with deadly intent.
Foxy was wilting freely as he took aim at her. She had the dazed, disorientated look of the walking dead, as if her throw had used up the little motive force still in her gutted form.
Ryan pulled the trigger.
There was a sharp crack of a noise-- a small red hole appeared neatly through Foxy's lungs, and she leaned backwards and flopped loosely to the floor. Ryan's arm
dropped along with her. Her limbs jerked aimlessly a few times, and then nothing more.
He still couldn't move. He didn't care.
"Correct … no … Winners … " Ryan's voice came out as an agonized whisper. He struggled to remain conscious, pushing himself up from the ground, to his knees. The world went blurry, fading to strips of dull black and white…
That was his last effort. Ryan sprawled forward, seeing nothing. Feeling only the slight warmth of the blood staining his hands, and the razor-edged stones pressing against his face.
Up In The Stands…
The announcer scratched his head, wondering how best to judge the scene that lay before him. He scanned the arena carefully, hoping against hope for some definite end to the conflict, praying that someone/anyone would stir, rendering his job far easier.
No such luck.
Beneath the box, the audience began to mumble, audibly discontent. What was point in watching a fight where everyone lost? There had to be a winner.
Despite the chill of the day, the first few beads of sweat began dribbling down the side of the announcer's face. He decided to play for time, stalling till he thought of something.
"Uh, well … LOOKS LIKE AN AMA-ZING END TO AN AMA-ZING MATCH, FOLKS! HOLD THOSE BETTING TICKETS…WINNERS WILL BE DETERMINED IN A MINUTE-"
"So get on with, jerkwad!!"
Okay, that was not good. The crowd was getting angry.
"HOLD ON A MINUTE…TESTING, TESTING…"
"HURRY UP, DAMNIT!!!"
He cringed back from the outburst of wrath aimed his way, aware that his next words were only going to make it worst.
"Ah, hell. DRAW!!! HEARD ME? A DRAW!!!"
More angry roars. ANTICHRIST signs went up. The audience cheerfully lobbed rocks, food, knives and Molotov cocktails at the announcer's booth, smashing the plastic screens in several places.
The announcer crawled under his desk, taking the microphone with him. Sometimes, it paid to be cautious. No point in remaining a target, was there?
"AND NOW…" ***CRASH***
"LET'S WELCOME THE NEXT FIGHTERS TO THE RING!!!"
Another chorus of resounding boos. Covering the mike, the announcer thumbed the communicator attached to his collar, linking directly to security.
"Get them in. NOW."
Jiazheng was shoved into the ring, forcibly extracted from his seat by two burly security guards. Ignoring his startled protests, the swordsman was launched face-first into the shattered battlefield by a friendly kick of encouragement, his swords tossed in right after him.
With as much dignity as he could salvage, Jiazheng dusted himself off, scooping his katana from the ground. Sighing, he hefted its familiar weight in one hand, wondering what horror awaited him.
Just overhead, Chan gave him the 'thumbs-up' hefting a camera over his shoulder.
"Don't worry, Jiazheng," Chan noted almost cheerfully, flicking the device on.
"I'll record every moment on this…We'll be able to watch you get punched into oblivion again and again and-"
"Shut up."
From the other side, a cloaked figure drifted from the NESTS stands, taking brief, graceful flight into the air. The hooded cape billowed in the wind, exposing a fused wreck of metal and warped flesh where the figure's right arm should have been. Wires ran along that limb, pumping questionable fluids to keep it functional.
Shrugging, Jiazheng leaned the katana on his shoulder, tapping the blade idly. Might as well get the fight over with…Nothing new so far, at least.
There was a tense moment, as both fighters simply stared at each other. The blank hood shifted slightly, tilting first up, then down. Jiazheng felt a discomfiting sensation as the thing's gaze traveled over him… The cloaked one radiated a tangible aura of malice, unnatural vibes that sent Jiazheng's mystical senses a-tingling.
With a sudden movement, that warped arm came up, shoving the hood back in a smooth movement. A familiar head, bones and veins visible under deceptively delicate features, peered out. Streaks of white now adorned the black mop of hair, and crude stitches held the face together, like a repaired doll. Yet, despite the crude implants and surgical scars, it was unquestionably--
"Is that the new one?" Ogion's thin voice sounded distorted, as if he had trouble articulating the very words. His words were overlaid by the suck and drool of his fluid pipes, punctuating the sentence with a liquid exhalation.
Chan let a shocked gasp at his new appearance: He'd expected a foul, hunched thing. In fact, Ogion actually looked…Well, better than he had before. Healthier, at least, despite the various discreet stitches and tubes connected to his neck.
There was a trace of a smile on Ogion's new face as he looked up, colorless eyes piercing through the crowd to stare right at Chan. He ignored Jiazheng completely, dismissing the swordsman as less than important.
"Is that the new one?" Ogion repeated, an edge in his voice. A small muscle in his cheek twitched, as the tubes connected to his bloodstream began pumping something to keep him on the edge.
Chan inclined his head, feeling shaken to his very core. If even Ogion had joined them, then there truly was no hope.
"No, I didn't join them." Ogion plucked the words from Chan's mind like letters from an open book. His right hand clenched and unclenched of it's own accord, sharp metal digits digging into his own flesh.
No one ever would, he added psychically, planting the words in his former friend's mind. They did something to me. There's someone else here, a sick mind that-
The transmission cut off with a brutal snap, like a television switched off in mid-sentence. Ogion's face warped, now all harsh lines and angles. He sneered at Jiazheng, pointing his normal arm in the warrior's direction.
"You." The words were pronounced like a profanity, spat out like rancid filth. All swaggering confidence now, the not-Ogion threw back his cape, revealing both his scarred form, and the heavy machinegun strapped to his side. Jiazheng couldn't be sure, but the sky seemed to darken a hell lot when he did that.
"Time to die, asshole. First you-"
Another glance up. White-faced, Chan slumped back in his seat, going absolutely quiet. He didn't look down, seemingly not daring to meet the other's eyes.
"Then the other fucker. Bring it on, retard."
"Wait! He's Ogion, right? You showed me the pictures before!" Jiazheng directed his words at the stands, trying to elicit a response from their erstwhile leader. The world seemed to be spinning totally out of control: He wasn't sure what was going on anymore.
"What's he doing-"
"Your witless ally is gone…For now. He won't be coming back anytime soon." Cold, harsh white light glinted of Ogion's enamel, canines filed to razor-sharp points. Tendons creaked, as the psychic raised his hands.
"I am K'9999. Or Prime, whichever you might prefer."
Now, there were two ways that this could be handled. The first way was to talk, and still be talking when K'9999 tossed Jiazheng's bullet-ridden body onto a smoking heap of rubble.
Chan chose the other way
"KILL HIM!! NOW!!!"
Jiazheng charged, sword cutting blazing arcs through the air. K'9999 simply stood, transparent eyes rolling back in his head. Shuddering, he thrust one arm out in Jiazheng's direction, as if trying to physically push him back.
Then, he screamed.
Air warped; the ground cracked. A huge shockwave of dust, stones and debris hurtled towards the charging swordsman across the floor, gathering speed and momentum. Digging in his heels, Jiazheng skidded to a frantic stop, swinging the blade down…
"CONCUSSION!!"
***THOOOOMMMMMM***
The ground detonated again, blasting even more holes in the sorely-abused concrete. The wave broke around Jiazheng, pelting him with small scraps of debris. Dusty but unharmed, he sneezed once, then promptly raised the katana again.
"My turn."
He feinted, rolled left, and dashed straight ahead, wood hissing fast enough to cleave atoms. K'9999 drifted back from the blow, leaving it to slash a small corner of his flapping cloak. The man made an idle gesture in Jiazheng's direction with his real hand, something like a limp-wristed push …
***WHAM***
He didn't even see it-- but whatever it was hit Jiazheng like someone had thrown a
brick wall at him-- a brick wall studded with tasers. Jiazheng bounced off the wall and sprawled sideways on the shattered floor.
That did it.
Very calmly, Jiazheng got up, each movement deliberate and stylized.
"Right. You asked for it, and now you're going to get it."
With a vicious tug, he tore the odd gauntlet off his hand, tossing it casually to the floor beside him. The limb caught fire instantly, flaring up into an inferno of unhealthy-looking, nuclear-green fire.
K'9999's face was a mask of bitter disappointment and hate.
"Damn you, asshole," he snarled. The psychic knew what was coming. He began to rummage through his defenses, trying to think of some kind of counter-
Jiazheng let out an unholy scream and reeled back, a column of emerald flame blasting in all directions. Arms outstretched, body almost doubled over backwards, he lashed out with a BIG blast of flame all around him, sweeping the arena with cleansing destruction. The audience shied back, scrambling over one another in their haste to get away-
Then the fire stopped. Jiazheng abruptly froze, hands still infernos. A spastic trembling began at his hands, slowly but surely working its way up to his head. K'9999 went perfectly still, odd eyes now taking on an opaque quality. No more games- It was time to burn out his opponent's mind before Jiazheng became a real threat.
The psychic attack was simply devastating. Most people would've simply died or gone insane on the spot. However, an Awakened's mind was different enough for the matter to take some time…
Green light, streaked with storm-fires. A sound that mingled seismic rumbling and the eternal plainsong of long-decayed temples. A smell of woodsmoke, incense, saltwater, blood…
Another blink. Flares of red. Colliding galaxies, catching fire. Souls like comets, furrowing the abyss. Voices of god-monsters, calling from behind the flimsy backdrop of space.
Blink. Oceanic blackness.
Blink. Cold light, eons old.
Blink.
Suddenly, Jiazheng was no longer in the arena. The snow had stopped, and his small wounds had vanished. Darkness surrounded him, muffling all thought and noise.
Briefly, he wondered if he was dead. It could have happened: An explosion so instant and devastating that he'd never even felt it hit. With a kind of morbid fascination, Jiazheng ran through a catalogue of the ways he could've been dispatched.
"Where the hell am I?"
His answer was a sheet of stabbing pain, one that seemed to flare out from his very mind. Staggering back, Jiazheng clutched his searing head, thoughts momentarily disrupted. Both hands came away bloody, crimson liquid dribbling from his nose, mouth and ears.
"Die," whispered a disembodied voice from behind. He turned, going for a sword that wasn't there.
K'9999 was there. Or maybe he wasn't.
A column of blood exploded out from the ground like a geyser, half a kilometer wide and a dozen high. It rose like a gigantic tree, swirling with pustular flesh, sinew, muscle, ragged tissue, and a million staring eyes that coated it like glistening foam. Long, attenuated claws of jointed bone, like scythes with human teeth growing from the edges, lashed out, chopping at Jiazheng like some insane butcher.
He fumbled for a weapon, any damn weapon, backing away the best he could. Of all times, Jiazheng's stomach chose that time to growl …Great. He was about to die, and all he could think about was food!!
"This really sucks."
Just to make things worse, he was headed right for the…Thing. Actually, Jiazheng's legs were scrambling in the opposite direction as FAST as they could, though he was being pulled closer and closer like a spoon down the sink.
That was when he realized it wasn't-couldn't be- real. It was a belated, dim-witted epiphany … Not like the brilliant light shining down from heaven: More like the brown glimmer of a half-dead flashlight from the top of the flashlight. Of course this couldn't be real … It simply wasn't possible.
This isn't to say that he wasn't scared.
He was terrified.
K'9999 could shape this place to suit his needs. Jiazheng didn't know what would happen if he died here, but his gut feeling told him it wasn't going to be pleasant. And hopefully, it worked both ways. Or least, it did in all those movies…
Jiazheng pressed both hands together, and concentrated like never before. With an effort of will, he shut out the noise, shut down each sense one by one. He forced himself to feel the sword he held in his hands, down to each and every chip in the battered hilt-
Then the weapon was in his hands. It was at least five feet long and pure silver, a rapidly-shifting shaft of quicksilver, more like a lance than anything else. Jiazheng hefted the comforting weight, getting a feel for it.
The screaming monstrosity racing towards him began to shift shape. It wasn't a construct, it was K'9999 himself in disguise, sheer terror painted upon his face. The bastard knew.
Too late for him, though.
Jiazheng shifted his grip and charged, footsteps thundering across the landscape. He leapt, bringing the sword overhead-
K'9999 tried to veer aside. He'd exerted too much power, though, and couldn't arrest his flight.
-And slashed. The heaven-to-earth cut struck K'9999 on the crown of his head, slicing down to cleave through his body.
An explosion of blood engulfed Jiazheng's senses, and he was suddenly back in the arena, moving in midstride. Just in front, K'9999 eyes glazed over in shock, chest mangled. He no idea whether a real sword could've harmed him- K'9999 would likely have laughed it off- but this wound was different. Even the psychic couldn't argue with what his mind told him.
"Go to hell," Jiazheng said. He drove forward, ramming the wooden blade through his opponent's stomach. It hit K'9999 with such cold force that the tall man's back arched, arms flung away from him.
"Read my mind now, dirtbag." He struck Ogion's/K'9999's belly, crosswise. Eyes bulging with surprise, he buckled forward, arms reflexively trying to seal the gaping wound.
"No … " Blood poured from K'9999's mouth.
Jiazheng dashed past him in a blur of motion, slamming the bloody blade back into the sheath. Just behind him, K'9999 gushed more blood and toppled, a puppet with strings cut. His metal arm thumped to the floor beside him, cleanly removed.
Thank you.
Outside…
"Heh. Never knew he had it in him."
Samuel shook his head, surprise and disbelief warring on his face. The Death card simply ceased to exist, ashes blowing away on the chill wind.
"Did something happen?"
"Yeah. Jiazheng won."
"He did? Well, looks like you learn something new every day."
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN … WE HAVE A WINNER!!!"
Cheers from those who bet on the underdog, boos from half the crowd as they threw losing tickets to the winds.
"NEXT UP … THE FINAL MATCH. PRESENTING…KULA DIAMOND!!!"
Chan leaned over the railings, making frantic 'get away' signs.
"Jiazheng! Get out of there, man! You can't beat her- I'm not even sure I can!"
Jiazheng shook his head, flicking Ogion's blood from his sword. Battered and bruised, he looked weak and nauseous from the psychic mauling, yet still ready on his feet. The swordsman wiped the blade with a scrap of clothing, tossing the cloth to the floor.
"No."
"What?"
"I told you before: I never walk away from any fight."
That was true, at least. Jiazheng usually had to be carried away from most fights, feet-first. But still…
"Look, that isn't heroic. It's suicide. Don't try to be cool-"
A moment in time.
The finals, one year ago. Andro, painted in his own blood, blades dangling loosely from limp hands. Ogion, standing tall and proud at the mouth of the tunnel, watching as certain death approached on black boots.
"Don't try to be cool alone, Ogion! There's no way you can survive, and you know it. This isn't a movie, damnit!"
Labored breathing from Ryan's dying form, barely supported by the other two boys.
"No. It is not. But it is true that I'm still rather healthy, and have the highest chance of survival. Besides … "
A faint smile spread across Ogion's face.
" … I'm always cool."
Chan tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He understood, all too well.
"Alright. Go get 'em!"
Jiazheng gave him the thumbs-up, nodding. Just ahead, snow began to swirl into the arena, a chill breeze of driving sleet and snow that momentarily obscured all vision. The audience watched religiously, wondering exactly what was coming.
Two forms materialized from the depths of the sudden blizzard, warping in behind the cover of the snow. Diana supported her 'little sister', who seemed to be floating in a drug-induced haze. Kula was none too steady on her feet, swaying slightly back and forth. Diana kept Kula upright with a firm grip n her arm, whispering last-minute instructions into the girl's ears.
Jiazheng caught a " … Just do as what you did last time," before the brief conversation came to an end. Diana looked at him, shaking her head regretfully. Then, she teleported, vanishing in a vaguely butterfly-shaped shadow.
The start bell tolled mournfully, signaling the start of the round.
With a flourish, Jiazheng crossed his blades, assuming a ready stance. For her part, Kula stood still, one foot slightly ahead of the other. Her eyes were fixed on the ground: Her hands lay open and empty at her sides.
Jiazheng came in at a run, arrowing towards his opponent. He raised the katana overhead, intending to chop right through the blue jacket that draped Kula's purple bodysuit.
Still Kula stood, no weapons drawn, no spells forming. She didn't even seem to see Jiazheng's charge, didn't watch him leap, spin, cut-
***clang***
Wood connected solidly with a thin, clear plane of frost. Jiazheng stumbled back, sword from the force of the blow. So that was why she hadn't dodged…She didn't need to.
Then Kula moved.
Jiazheng got one fleeting glimpse of her, mouth curled in a feral grin, twin blades of ice slicing the air. One headed for his jugular, the other his-
***shinnngg-CLANG***
Wakizashi and katana blocked, whirling in a tight arc. Ice came to a dead stop, held back by all the strength in Jiazheng's arms.
Time seem to stand still for a heartbeat. The two faced each other, blades locked. Kula had been a speed-distorted phantom till she'd stuck: Now, she stood frozen, glaring through the crossed blades at him. In sharp contrast to her face, Kula's eyes were black, as if something of the night had leaked into them. There was no expression, none whatsoever, as if she was merely a detached spectator.
Ever seen a real swordfight before? No, it's not like swashbuckling, with witty repartee traded with each clash. And no, it's not like the slow-mo flying so often seen in movies.
Instead, imagine windmills. Windmills with sharp edges. Everything goes to hell in the first minute, when people realize that the point is to cut the other person very badly, not to look impressive.
Jiazheng waded in, punching out with his sword's hilt. The hard pommel cracked against Kula's skull, ornate gold foil chipping off at the impact. He followed up, a powerful lunging kick that punted his opponent away. She flew forward and slammed against the far wall, dropping to the ground with a loud crack.
Okay, he was on top of the situation! Just had to get a knife out and ...
Kula rolled with the blow, turned her uncontrolled tumble into a slight skid. She flowed to her feet, seemingly completely unfazed.
A thin trickle of blood dribbled down the side of the girl's forehead, dying her white hair red. Kula looked Jiazheng directly in the eye, smiled, and wiped the blood away. Never blinking, she licked her hand clean.
Oh … Shit.
She was one of the nasty ones. No distorted sense of justice here. No hippy-dippy-trippy ideals of love and compassion. This girl liked the part where she got to hurt things. No wonder Chan had been so edgy ...
"Looks like I've been too nice to you so far." Ever word was filled with a sick intensity, alternating rapidly between cuteness and evil.
"But now … I bid you adieu. DIAMOND EDGE!!!"
Huge spikes of ice tore from the floor, like some massive frozen plant. Light glinting along jagged edges, they rippled towards Jiazheng in a titanic wave, all sharp edges and cold.
Jiazheng spun both swords in tight, whirring arcs, praying that this would work. Time slowed, the advancing ice seeming to slow down to an agonizing crawl. Jiazheng flurried his arms faster and faster, never more desperate to summon the power within. The light dimmed, as he went into a flurry of hacking, slashing blades, arms blurred into silver and black flashes.
"MUSASHI NO SHUUGEKI!!!!"
He hurtled forward, legs pumping. A gray fog shimmered just ahead of the swordsman, all that could be seen of his assault. Jiazheng smashed into the ice head-first, swords blazing-
-And kept going. There was a sensation of extreme cold, followed by sharp, searing pain. Shrapnel peppered Jiazheng, flaying exposed skin. One slashed a jagged line down his cheek, another fiery burst of agony.
Still slashing, Jiazheng didn't stop. There was a brief scream as he slammed into Kula, a blending machine gone berserk. He couldn't see, couldn't hear-
The kick crashed into the back of his head, jarring him unmercifully. Screeching with hate, Jiazheng tried to whir around, slicing behind him with the wakizashi. Impossibly, he struck only empty air, even as Kula's return stroke tore into him again.
Jiazheng went down this time, as a hammerblow blasted into the small of his back. Lacerated with hundreds of small cuts, Kula clamped a hand over her bleeding face, clutching Jiazheng's head in a deathgrip with the other.
There was no quarter asked, and none given. The girl smashed the dazed swordsman's head into the floor, face-first. When he twitched, she did it again, kicking him solidly in the ribs for good measure. There was a solid pop that told of something breaking, followed by a brief groan from her opponent. Crimson smeared across the surface of the hard concrete, Jiazheng's nose and teeth shattering from the first impact.
Kula reached down, snaring Jiazheng's neck in a grip like iron. With unnatural strength, she hauled the feebly struggling swordsman up to eye level, ignoring his frankly pathetic attempts to break away.
At a mere thought, she willed talons of ice into existence, digging slowly into Jiazheng's skull. His remaining defenses gave a last splutter, flickering out in a brief shower of emerald sparks. The claws drew blood, sending thin streamers dribbling down his face
"It's no fun playing with you now," Kula sulked, pouting like an evil schoolgirl. Her starry eyes lit with a manic gleam as she glanced at the stands, watched Chan get to his feet. Jiazheng quit moving as sharp ice pierced his braincase, passing out from a combination of pain, stress and blood loss.
"Come down NOW, Chan. I can think of so many, many games we can play tog-"
The ground detonated just in from of her, shockwaves spreading from the epicenter in concentric rings. Smiling, Kula simply stood, ignoring the shrieks of the panicked audience. One hand still held Jiazheng: the other maintained the ice shield around her.
Chan strode from the midst of the newly formed crater, face grim. Both hands clasped the mage cannon; he sighted down the long barrel. The glowing circle at his feet followed Chan as he moved, arcane symbols distorting the air around him.
"Drop him. Or I'll drop you"
Once again, Chan marveled at the sick coincides of the world: only a deliberately malicious mind could have written the script that had led his team inexorably to this moment.
Somehow, a combination of luck, design and vagaries of fate, both sides had survived more than their fair share of disasters, simply to slaughter one another on this very day.
In that frozen moment, Chan's eyes caught sign of the digital display barely visible through the huge glass dome that capped the stadium.
11:59:59. One second before midnight, and the start of a new day.
12:00:00. The clock struck, triggering an old-fashion bell.
The ponderous monument sounded, sending a sonorous wave of booming noise sweeping across the city. The lights in every building flared, bathing everyone in a soft, angelic glow.
In a concert hall, just across the road, all was bright and warm. Happy, slightly inebriated people weaved their merry way to their seats, waiting for the performance to begin.
A golden speaker crackled to life, a cheerful voice broadcasting a very special message to the audience. The communication network patched it into every working monitor and speaker in the city, turning more than a few heads.
"And now...This song is for all you couples out there. Presenting a live performance of 'Kiseki No Kane' (Miracle Bells) ... Sung by the one and only Hanagumi!!!"
A brief pause, synthesized voice drowned out by a thunderous roar of approval.
"T.K. broadcasting would like to wish you all an early, very merry Christmas, and a happy new year!!!"
Artificial snowflakes spiraled down on the assorted dancers and singers. White light beamed across the stage in gentle, sweeping waves, like a blessing from the essence of winter itself. Cheers rose from the audience, almost as loud as the cries for carnage just across the street
"Music!"
The band swung into the pop hit "Kiseki no Kane", a heartwarming, sappy Christmas tune that brought a tear to more than one eye. The androgynous lead singer hummed along to catch the beat, then promptly joined in.
Dare mo inai kousaten ni
tatsu
Anata to watashi no aida ni konayuki
ga mau
Negaigoto ga hitotsu dake aru
no
Kyou wa tokubetsu
na hi dakara sukoshi yume o kudasa
(We
stand at the empty crossroads
Between you and I, fine snowflakes dance
I have a wish, this one wish only:
"Today is a special day, so will you grant me my dreams, but a
little?")
Back in the stadium, Chan flinched. Just a momentary, involuntary shudder. It wouldn't have meant anything, except that Kula saw it too.
"Drop him? Why not?"
Kula looked at Jiazheng, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. With a shrug, she flung him though the Plexiglas shielding of the announcer booth, sending a hail of glass fragments raining down on the spectators.
The music played on.
Dare mo inai
machikado o yuku
Anata wa
watashi no te o tori nani mo iwanai
Negaigoto wa atatakai kotoba
Kyou wa tokubetsu
na hi dakara kitto kiseki ga
okoru
(We walk the empty street corner
Wordlessly, you take my hands in yours
My wishes are for heartwarming words:
"Today is a special day, so surely miracles will happen!")
This was the part where hero and villain were supposed to trade insults, threatening another with punishment both cruel and imaginative. No such sentimental rubbish here…Both sides were seething with the urge to kill, to shatter the opponent beyond all hope of repair.
Yet the moment of peace dragged on.
Kula turned her head to one side, soaking in the lyrics. Still frozen, Chan held his pose, his hands trembling ever-so-slightly. For the first time in his life, he didn't have the willpower to pull the trigger…He couldn't even quell the shakes.
Dare mo ga
honno sukoshi dare ka o omou toki
Kiseki no kane ga naru no darou
Dare mo ga honno sukoshi dare ka o omou toki
Ai no tomoshibi tomoru darou
(If only
a little, there're times we think of someone else
Are not the bells of miracles a-chiming?
If only a little, there're times we think of someone else
Is not the light of love enkindled?)
"That could've been us, you know." Kula spoke the words softly, almost to herself. She paid absolutely no attention to the live WMD (Weapon of Mass Destruction) aimed her way.
Silence. The audience held its collective breath, watching the strange spectacle. Some checked watches, wondering exactly how long this was going to take before the violence started.
"The hell're you waiting for? SHOOT!!! SHOOT, YOU ASSHOLE!!!"
The loudmouth's voice cut through the expectant hush, like a hot knife through butter. The entire sentence was distorted, warped both by distance and the application alcohol.
The sheer meaning reached Chan, though.
It jarred him into the here and now, to force him to act, not merely to think. The trembling stopped, bludgeoned into stillness by an iron will. Chan spoke the three words on his mind, the only words left to be said.
"We'll never know."
He opened fire.
Just outside, Diana began the long walk around the stadium, searching for the stairway to the huge glass roof. Though she didn't like it, her orders were clear: The DHS Team was not to proceed further, at any cost.
There was a .50 caliber sniper rifle on the dome, already loaded with a special kind of ammunition, created from the remains of Chan's Mage Cannon shells. One bullet from something that heavy would put paid to anyone or anything, Awakened or not. Distance wasn't even a factor…It would be easy to annihilate Chan from her sniper's position.
Personally, Diana was glad to see the end of this sordid business. It was becoming a major pain, with way too much risk, for way too little gain. Not to mention the unpredictable working hours, AND the questionable sanity of the guy at the top. She'd heard he spent most of his days gibbering now … Supposedly, Ignis sometimes even demanded worship. How screwed up was that?
Giving herself a sharp mental slap, Diana shook her gloomy thoughts away. Introspection usually didn't tend to be one of her strong points… Perhaps today was just a particularly bad day.
She turned the corner absently, still slightly distracted. It took her a moment to realize the writhing coiling shadows barely visible at the edge of her vision, seemingly obscuring the entire world. The cold night was alive with sibilant voices, with barely audible hisses and murmurs speaking of dreadful, forbidden things…
***Click***
A small point of sudden light. The shroud retreated, like an obscuring curtain pulled away from a window. The back of a rusting McDonald's franchulate drew Diana's eyes, the stadium barely visible at this distance. Music still drifted to her, still barely audible.
Kyou wa tokubetsu
na hi Ai ga afure sou na
hi
Kitto watashi ni kiseki ga
okorimasu
Kyou wa tokubetsu
na hi Ai no kane ga naru hi
Anata to futari no love
story
(For today
is a special day - A day that seems to overflow with love
Surely, a miracle will take place for me
Today is a special day - A day the bells of love are chiming
The day of a love story, with you)
Blink. Wait…She'd been heading the wrong way. But how'd she get so far?
Again that rhythmic clicking noise, followed by the same on-and-off flickering. Just barely visible, a bench loomed out from the shadow of the franchulate, the darkness seemingly sliding right off the surface.
Allison sat on that small island in an ocean of black, absorbed completely in the contemplation of her lighter's flame. The gold skull grinned hollowly at Diana, a mocking smirk in its carved eyes.
"We've been waiting for you."
Her voice was chill and smooth, yet as empty as the infinite darkness of space. Allison's features seemed oddly pallid and lifeless, yet somehow lit sinisterly from within.
Know all those people who say hell is warm?
They lie.
la la la la la
la la la
la
la la la la la la
la la la
Kyou wa
tokubetsu na hi Ai ga afure sou
na hi
Kitto watashi ni kiseki ga
okorimasu
Kyou wa tokubetsu
na hi Ai no kane ga naru hi
Anata to futari no love
story
(For
today is a special day - A day that seems to overflow with love
Surely, a miracle will take place for me
Today is a special day - A day the bells of love are chiming
The day of a love story, with you)
Applause.
(Well, that was one marathon chapter. Sorry to take so long, folks…Things have been hectic, ever since school opened. I'll be updating soon enough, so keep watching!!! Kudos to you if you happen to know where that song comes from…It's obscure enough…)
(This is the third time this chapter has been posted,)