Here I am! (Song and dance ensue)
Anyway. Felt like I should perhaps continue this, and further support the far-too-small Nicolai fandom.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I probably own Karin's lovesick ramblings, but you never know.
Dark lonely hallways and cold stone underfoot brought Karin's nights spent as a captive at the hands of Sapientes Gladio to the glaring forefront of her memories, and she had to fight the shivers down her spine as her heavy steps brought her up the spiraling staircase to the core of the Saint Marguerete Island prison.
Each thing was exactly as she remembered it – each deep echoing noise emanated from her heels in just the same way, and when she gathered the strength to reach up with a match and set blazing fire to the abandoned torch tinder, she remembered with haunting accuracy the soft red glows and shadows they cast on the brown-stone walls.
What also hadn't changed was the unsettling feeling of panic that shook her whenever the flames danced through metal brackets in just the right way, making her absolutely certain for a split-second that something large and vicious had come up behind her with drooling fangs and a voracious appetite for underdressed redheads. The lantern that dangled loosely from her right hand clad in a light traveler's cloak had gone largely unused, as she hated being the only source of light as far as the eye could see, looking ahead and backwards into pure darkness and always unsure if the constant silence was calming or terrifying.
At least the crackling of fire gave her something else to think about other than what she might do if a large creature leapt out at her with bloody intentions.
She cursed herself once again as the light metal of Galahad's Sword winked at her from her belt, and wondered if she could ever again go a single day without its reassuring-but-unnerving weight by her side, reminding her that in a way she carried the torch of a man whose strength she had greatly admired, but also taking her back to the moment she had first set hands on the weapon, a moment of rage and clarity where she had salvaged the weapon whilst cursing herself for standing like a fool by Yuri's side while he threatened to kill that certain part of her that she couldn't let go…
Even the demon god Astaroth, with whom Nicolai shared a soul and a body, had fallen to the combined efforts of Yuri and the others, although Karin herself had found herself lingering towards the back of the explosive fight, legs simply resisting her commands to take her forward to attack. And when Yuri demanded to know why she was not helping them, her reply that she was afraid had been a feeble and superficial excuse.
Yuri hadn't picked up, but Lucia had known what was happening. The dancer may not have been bright, but she was the sharpest of them all when it came to understanding the conflicting feelings of a woman in love.
No, not in love. Not in love; simply infatuated because those eyes of his reminded her of finely polished emeralds, and the memory of his godlike smile made her warm inside as the feeling of his fingers over her cheek and the sound of his voice filled her with soothing calm…
Not once had the devil targeted her. When she had finally been coerced by her desperate friends to join the fracas because of her seeming immunity, something which had baffled all of them at the time, she had noticed with half-shock and half-sadness that Astaroth had allowed her to come as close as she liked, swiping with its claws but always hesitating; always missing as something invisible pulled its muscular arms away, leaving her free to wound and slice at its sinewy body until its black blood spilled in floods.
With strength and shameful ease, she'd struck the finishing blow against her will, thinking with a foolish growing dread that perhaps Astaroth had not completely taken over the Vatican exorcist's mind; that perhaps emerald-eyed Nicolai was still sentient inside the demon's shell… even perhaps that by hurting Astaroth, she was hurting him as well. Could he feel pain even when a demon occupied his spirit?
Her grandfather's sword Durandal had struck the demon's black heart with inhuman accuracy, damaging it enough to make it flee cravenly back into the weakened psyche of its human vessel and leaving Nicolai with the aftermath of its crushing defeat: an incensed Yuri and a German army lieutenant who couldn't seem to sort out her warring emotions long enough to decide whose side she was on.
She had wanted to go to him, as seeing him in pain by her own sword was foreign and horrifying to her. Not only was he injured, but she herself had committed the deed. During their short months together, she had always been the one to be by his side whenever he was hurt, tending wounds while he worked his own curative magic, but now she was on the other side, and like an unfeeling beast, she had consciously tried to kill him.
Yuri by her side made her afraid to do it… and what would her friends think? It was a harder decision than it seemed so many months later, but while she felt the burning need to help Nicolai, she also had no desire to be branded a traitor and a defector by people she had grown to love.
So she stayed, hating the hint of sadness in his gaze as he looked through quivering eyelashes at her, demanding Yuri to kill him and be done with it. And although many would think that a defeated man had no pride left to cosset (and even Karin had prepared to hear him beg for his life), each one of them had been caught off guard when he'd remained silent, waiting quietly for death like a man going to the guillotine.
Karin wasn't sure whether she should have thanked or hated Masaji Kato for appearing and whisking the wounded priest away, for while he had brought him safely away from the warmongering Yuri, he had also taken him away from Karin.
Of course, she had acted far too late to properly interfere, and by the time all three of them faded into thin air, she was left crouching where Nicolai had lay only moments ago, fingers clutched white-knuckled around the sheath of the magnificent golden longsword he'd left behind. She was sure that the involuntary shout of anger had startled her friends, and she also knew that they hadn't taken it lightly when she refused to surrender the sword to an adamant Yuri, who refused to have anything to do with something that had belonged to Nicolai.
Of course, he had quickly silenced himself the first time she'd saved his neck from an attacking monster by wielding the sword with a fiery dexterity that she herself hadn't known she possessed.
It became her favorite weapon, even though it was by no means easy to handle. It had the unbalanced, bottom-heavy feel of a lightweight warrior's blade, and the added mass of the decorative gold and precious stones made it much heavier than the rapiers she normally used. Her balance was thrown off more often than not by the weight of the hilt, meant to be handled both by someone with experience in mid-range swordplay and much more upper body strength…
But she loved it; she was somehow intoxicated by its substantiality and comforting familiarity when everything else seemed to be falling apart around her.
As she came to a flat landing in the long corridor, she decided that once and for all, she would tell Yuri everything when she returned. Hell, she would tell everyone, even if there were nothing to tell after all. She didn't even know why she'd revisited this dismal prison, where she'd spent the night sleeping on a cold floor, where she'd heard Yuri's cries through the night as the blonde sorceress tart did unspeakable things to him only a few rooms away… but her only incentive was that once, Nicolai had been here for days, maybe months, at a time.
She immediately recognized the smell of old, dried-up whiskey when she pushed open a weathered door at the end of the hallway, and waved the dust away from her face as she entered a small, pitch-black room, where in their rush to escape the island, prison guards had left maps, drinks, and keys sitting in a stagnant pool over the cluttered table. And while she would think twice before going near the tepid half-empty bottles on the grimy surface, she did take one of four identical key rings from the table, reasoning that although they appeared to be clustered with the same key duplicated over and over with only a single unique silver version at the end, when the time came she would somehow decipher which ones fit where.
She left the room by the opposite door and was faced suddenly with what she thought must be the gloomiest and darkest of Saint Marguerete's hallways, devoid of torch brackets and forcing her to light her lantern at last. As she passed by countless rows of cells dimly lit by her lamp, she extended her fingers and ran them along the dusty bars, recalling perfectly the way each murky hallway looked the same as the last, and how it often seemed as though the labyrinthine network would never end.
"Ich spreche unsinn," she muttered to herself, "what the hell am I doing here?"
She had no good answer. Why did she think that there was something she needed to do here? Some cock and bull about resolution? The realization that Nicolai had never loved her as much as she loved him?
There was that goddamned word again… love; how trite and contrived… but still, there was no denying that she remembered every moment she'd ever spent with him, from the time they'd first met at headquarters to the last moment she ever saw him alive. She remembered everything he'd ever said, from the quiet and genial greeting so long ago to the desperate sound of him calling her name that day in the heart of the Immortal Mountain where Astaroth had taken him over once again.
She had been under exclusive attack that day as well, forced to dodge and weave around each swing of its limbs as it hunted her down like a greyhound. It had been Astaroth alone, with Nicolai's thoughts and emotions, but in the end, only a corrupted soul with every intention of spiting its former vessel. And when the beast had finally been brought down, it had nowhere to retreat. Astaroth was gone, and it was Nicolai, battered and weak, left to face Yuri once again.
Karin's insides squirmed as she lowered her head to seek out the matching key for the door before her, trying not to think about the fact that her submission to Yuri was what had cost Nicolai his life.
He'd been so still and motionless collapsed on the ground that she'd feared that he was dead already, but nothing could have made her happier than hearing that voice uttering a single thing, her name, showing her that he was still alive; that she still had time to intervene…
She'd broken from her companions without regard for danger, run to his side like a blind imbecile, never thinking that he could have other motives in mind; that perhaps he still had the capacity to scheme and connive even when his body was weak and his mind had been assaulted both by research and by a powerful demon god. And if she had been bolder, she would have crouched by his side, placed an arm around him and lifted his head from the ground, his brilliant green eyes on her the entire time as if simply at the sight of her all intention of violent had passed out of him in a heartbeat…
But she had done none of that, and because she'd hovered over him a moment too long, Yuri had exploded out of nowhere to push her away.
Out of nowhere! Thinking nothing of what she wanted, slamming a shoulder into hers and throwing her aside like a goddamned rag doll, all to nurture some petty notion of vengeance, just so Nicolai could come back for more, and they'd keep going at it like schoolchildren, never satisfied until both of them were dead –
And she'd almost regretted that thought, for as she lay on her aching back after hitting the ground with a crack, Yuri had wound back his arm for a terrific strike through the exorcist's heart, ready to exact his revenge and kill the man who had killed him. But no, it hadn't been over then, for with an inexplicable burst of agility Nicolai had gotten there first, defying the laws of biology to plunge a hand into Yuri's chest with nary a flesh wound to show for it.
Either of them could have died at any moment. But still, Karin sat where she had fallen, watching with wide eyes, her emotions wrestling with her and making jelly out of her legs.
Then had come the massive blow from Kato to break their neverending stranglehold, the agent's fearsome advance upon the prostrate Nicolai… the fleshy sound of Astaroth's stasis-crystal shard burying not into Kato's flesh but that of his loved one; the expression of shock on the priest's face, the moment Karin had realized with numb shock that he was going to die.
Kicking and gasping out of fear, the smaller man had been lifted high into the air, and his voice had driven daggers into her heart… for not only was he calling out for aid, but he was screaming her name, beseeching her with panic and dread to help him.
And although every desire in her body drove her to leap forth and cleave Kato's head from his shoulders, Yuri's weak hand on her wrist had pulled her back, and with a peculiar mixture of anger and confused love, she'd stayed with him just second more. And when she finally looked back, all the while hearing the terrible honeyed voice contorted into screams and gasps, Nicolai's body slumped to the ground, blood painting his face from ruined eyes.
She stopped in the center of the hallway, marveling as even after such a long time to grieve silently and properly, tears began to sting her eyes as her face contorted in a spasmodic grimace, trying with all her might not to cry.
But who would care? There was no one here to see her; no one but the ghosts and the spirits long gone to sit by and watch her weep out her misery.
So she cried; she slumped to the frigid stone, body jarred as her legs gave out from under her, lantern clattering noisily where she set it down with clumsy disregard. She allowed her shoulders to shake and her voice to escape in tiny gasps, listening as the wretched sounds bounced back at her, twining through the halls and filling the maze of brick and stone with the proof of her grief.
He was dead; truly dead, but that wasn't nearly enough to make her break into sobs and convulsions. Real despair only suffocated her when she realized that those beautiful green eyes, glimmering like precious stones when the light struck them in the right way and filled with warmth and candor, had been destroyed, and not only would she never see them again, but no one would ever see them again. The purity and respect with which he had always regarded her were gone forever, and she would never again lay eyes on the only person she'd ever known to see her, really see her, and not dismiss her as a worthless, physically well-endowed damsel with and a penchant for small skirts and nothing better to do than sit tight and be protected.
The seventh key turned in the lock, and Karin pushed onward, through with any hope that the prison would be deserted. By now she wouldn't mind having to draw her weapon against anything that breathed; anything that might distract her from her own self-pitying… anything that might kill the unbearable musty silence.
...
I suppose I was feeling somewhat angsty at the time...
I shall get cracking on the next (and probably final) chapter, if people seem to like it enough!