Chapter 12: Vor to the rescue… Hopefully
Red. Everything was red. Walter… Stephen… Mordred… Virgil… all red. The chickens. The sword. Claymore. It glowed the red of fire, yet with the undertone of gold. Golden hell. The blade would glow, and serve its purpose.
Roland looked around, scanning the surrounding forces with bombardier's eyes. His fully loaded guns were holstered, and he didn't reach for them, because for one he didn't want to alert the machines into an early attack, let alone the fact that should he need to, Roland could pull leather and fire off twelve shots before the Machines could get a damned lock on him. And Jool Noret, brilliant with all weapons, especially so with a sword designed to disable such machines, was a definite asset. Victor and his father were alright swordsmen, although Roland didn't trust the blade that Tidus chose to wield. There was just something… Red about it. And he hated it.
Jool cried out and chucked a pulse grenade. About seventeen of the overwhelming force fell, yet they were easily replaced. Noret grunted and jumped forward to slash out with his pulse sword. He dug into the crowd, and the humans thought that they were on their own. Roland yelled, "HILE! GUNSLINGERS, TO ME!" The rest cried and lashed out whilst Yuna summoned Ifrit to plunge the machines into the abyss. Rikku calmly breathed and closed her eyes. Seconds later her hair began to rise, static electricity rushed between strands. Her eyes opened and for a brief second her eyes glinted an electric blue. Rikku sneered as she release the sub-atomic psychic blast at a random column of cymeks.
Vorian, hauling the two repeating maula pistols, the grenades, the warhead, and the lasgun, took the mobile suspensor lift and rode down the steep cliff, undetected until he was within fifty feet of the spire, and the anti-air turrets turned toward him. Missiles would have come next, had Vorian not blasted them with the lasgun. Now he cascaded to the ground undisturbed. He stopped the suspensor and ran out towards the spire. The familiar voice of Omnius called out, "Vor-Vorian! Wait, stop! I COMMAND YOU!"
Vorian was already setting the warhead. Then h ran like hall to help the other humans.
Roland fired round after round, his fingers doing that old reloading trick, and then a bullet of a huge caliber slammed into his arm, tearing through his bicep. It would have been alright then, had it stopped there. Yet the bullet continued, breaking two ribs and then exiting his system. He froze, stunned. His guns fell to the ground, as did the shells in his hand. Then he fell facedown onto the ground.
Dante saw this and screamed, swinging rebellion around like a bludgeon, not a sword, and forgetting all sense of anything except: attack. There was no friend to watch out for, only foe. Then Dante turned just quickly enough to see Tidus use stinger on a cymek, and quite literally saved Dante. Dante single jumped into the air, and was enveloped in a flash of light. When the light subsided, Dante's true form, Ultimate Devil Trigger, flew up, and looked down upon the battlefield. The fire burned in his eyes, and then he threw fireballs, hundreds of them, across the arena. Ifrit and Dante exterminated the force, yet not without consequence. Roland, lay on the ground, muttering to himself like Eddie. All those years ago, when they had saved the beam, Roland had lost a man dear to his heart, and the man had called him father. And he had lost a boy twice, named Jake, and he had called him father. How many would Roland's quest forsake? How many?
Dante came to Roland's side after the transformation was complete. "Roland!" Dante cried out, as the Gunslinger rolled over onto his back. The gunslinger surveyed the arena and choked out, "It is over, then. I never saw it before I reached the … clear-clearing." The gunslinger gripped Dante's hand.
"No, Roland. Your soul and mind remain. I will carry you in my body, I will take you to your damned tower." He choked out, staring into the man's eyes, tears welling up within his own. Roland nodded and closed his eyes. The two began to shimmer, and the same white light enveloped them both. When the light subsided, Roland was gone, yet Dante sat crouched, holding his hand out to nothing. He stood and pulled out his pistols, skocked at the difference. Instead of the names of each, the sigul carved into the tomb of the Eld was carved into each barrel. The grips were replaced with revolver grips, and revolver cylinders, yet knew that the same magical enchantment was still in play. No reloading. The guns were revamped.
A man came running to Dante. The man was very out of breath, and Dante surveyed him with the clarity of a gunslinger. "I-" The man said, cut off by an atomic explosion.
