Chapter 5

By:Zosocrowe

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Ocean: Till the End of Time

I have merely borrowed a couple characters to create

a silly fan story. I have no money either

1/20/05

Albel was sleeping. He knew he was, but it was that between sleep, the kind where awareness mingled with dreams and he could not wake himself. His body felt heavy, like lead, and in some fuzzy part of his brain, he knew he hurt all over. The cool sheets against his skin made him ache and his heart fluttered in his chest like a frightened bird. His shallow breaths burned and even his scalp hurt.

What had happened to him?

"You were acting the fool," a voice whispered in his head. "Always so childish. Always so rash...So incompetent."

"Shut up," Albel growled.

Laughter flowed around him, soft and caressing. "Shut up, shut up, shut up," it chanted. "Is that all you can say? Silly boy! You can't hide in silence. You can't run from me forever."

"I run from no one!"

"You run from everything. From yourself. From what you are..."

"Oh? And what is that?" Albel snapped.

Laughter again, followed by a cold chill in his bones. "Why, an angel of death, of course! A monster who destroys all it touches. A devil of unhappiness and catastrophe. It is what you were born to be."

"What?" His own voice was but a shudder. The scent of blood and death stalked him like a predator, light and barely noticeable.

"A devil. A minion of Hell in man's flesh...a black crow on the wings of death. All you touch decays and dies." The smell of rotting meat bloomed in the air like a putrid flower. Images of the dead danced in Albel's head. Men he'd killed, blood he'd spilled, carnage he'd caused, all flickered though his memory like a picture book. He gagged, his eyes squeezing painfully tight, trying to close his senses.

"Be silent!" He lashed out with his voice, struggling to drive himself against the blackness, desperate to awaken and be free of the nightmare. A wave of panic washed over him when his consciousness refused to be roused, a dense fog settled itself around his dream, shrouding him from any light. A touch of dark fingers lingered against his temple, caressing him in an almost loving, gentle touch. Albel snarled, rearing up, his body arching against his pallet. "Let me go!" He bared his teeth as the fingers tore away, ripping from his brain like a barbed stinger.

"Albel."

Another voice. A new one. It was shouting at him, calling his name. There was something familiar, something that stimulated a strange sense of reassurance. He knew this voice. He'd known it for so long, ever since he could remember. He didn't entirely trust it, but it didn't frighten him. He reached for it, like a lifeline, trying to drag himself away from the terror that thought to consume him.

"You'll kill them too..." The effeminate voice whispered, giggling slightly in his ear. "You'll see them all dead...every last one of them. It's what you do best...Death Bringer..."

"SHUT....UP! I SAID SHUT UP!" Albel roared to life, his battered body leaving the bed in a mighty push. Light exploded before his eyes as they ripped open and he was momentarily blinded. It didn't matter. He didn't care. His arm was wrenched back in a blow meant to kill, poised to tear flesh and crush bone with steel talons.

But something was wrong.

Albel blinked against the light, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Cool air licked his naked skin, raising the flesh to goosey pimples. He looked down, his dark eyes widening. His gauntlet was missing. From the elbow down there was nothing. No steel claws, no familiar weight pulling at his shoulder. Nothing. He blinked again, then frowned, too befuddled to be frightened.

"Nice to see you're awake and as lively as ever," a voice chuckled from the corner.

Albel's head swung to the sound, his skull unbelievably heavy, and for a moment, he thought he would tip over. His vision was fuzzy and the light was too bright, but he recognized the unmistakable shape of Woltar standing by the door. The frown deepened to a scowl, more so because he couldn't see well, but the cheerful tone of the old man's voice irritated him none the less. He tried to talk, but his mouth felt like it was full of cotton and his tongue was thick and heavy. He worked at it a minute, having to think carefully to form the words. "What...the hell...is going on?"

Woltar shuffled inside, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips. He kept his hands carefully behind his back, trying to be as unobtrusive and nonthreatening as possible. Albel was still sedated, and his weapons were confiscated, but that in no way meant he wasn't dangerous. He'd seen a younger version of the man before him break a soldier's neck with one hand and a fractured skull. Even then, Albel had made it look effortless. He didn't think his friend's son would harm him, but no one had pushed the level of agitation to the extreme that Woltar had just witnessed. He stopped just out of reach, peering down beneath his wrinkled eyes. "You seemed to be quite irritated earlier, so for your safety and our own, we gave you something to relax and took the liberty of removing all your weapons." He smiled innocently as he said it, but he was watchful and cautious.

Albel stared at him, his mouth a harsh slash of unhappiness across his face. Relax? Was the old man daft? Nothing they could give him could make him relax. He wasn't safe anywhere, not even in his sleep. Terror stalked him. It toyed with him. It even managed to frighten him, and for that, he felt ashamed. He was suppose to be fearless, undaunted by anything. Fear was a very real emotion, he'd known it all his life, but had spent all his waking moments killing the things that frightened him instead of running from them. He'd managed to turn his fear into rage and bloodlust. What better way to live unafraid than destroy the things that terrified him? Yet this new fear was more real, more pure, and it chilled him to the very bone. How does one kill something that has no shape or form? The fact that he had no answer scared him.

Albel lobbed his head around to stare through the newly bordered slats on his window. As if that would stop him. He almost smiled, but his mouth didn't quite work yet. For a long while, he watched the shapes of soldiers standing guard beneath his window. He could tell what they were by the bleary colors of their uniforms and the glint of armor. There were six of them that he could see and probably even more that he couldn't. Soldiers, missing weapons, boarded windows, drugs...Woltar had taken the capture very seriously. What the hell had they given him anyway? His head felt like it would bounce off his neck and roll under the desk if he moved to quickly. Knowing Woltar's love for overkill, no doubt the old loon had made sure that the dose and drug they'd given him was enough to knock out a small dragon. Stupid, meddlesome old man, always bothering about other people's business.

As the drug slowly released him, the dull pain he'd felt in his sleep magnified and grew. It hurt to breathe, the skin on his chest and stomach stretched taught and tight against his muscles. A throbbing ache thrummed in his head, liked he'd drank to much mead the night before. He looked down at himself, his chin dipping to his chest in a wobbly, disjointed movement. It took careful concentration to move like a human being and not some weird marionette. Damn drugs. Damn Woltar. His eyes widened as he noticed the bandages taped across his flesh. They were everywhere. On his stomach, his chest, his arm and neck. He lifted the sheet pooled in his lap and gazed at his long, slender legs. Even they were burned, but not as badly as his torso. There were bandages on his back as well. He could feel the tape pinching his skin. His eyes slid sideways to glare at Woltar. The old man smiled sweetly in return.

"How do you feel," Woltar asked.

Albel thought about it a moment, moving his jaw experimentally. When he decided he could speak with near fluidity, his brow creased in a heavy line between his eyes. "How do you think?" he replied. The glaring migraine sparked to life and the young warrior winced. "What...did you give me? What...happened? I want my arm back...now."

Woltar smiled, hiding his relief. The sedative was slowly working it's way out of Albel's system, but it would be several more hours before he could move freely again. It was a powerful drug, used most often for surgical procedures in veterinary situations. Seeing the defiant spark of Albel's personality was all he needed to know that the medication hadn't damaged the brain. It had been a concern, but there were few options at the time. Not that Albel would ever know.

Woltar sat down on the bed. "You don't remember any of it?" he asked carefully. It was an important question. Albel's irrational behavior had always been something he'd driven himself to doing. A product of too much thinking and too much rage. Never before had he denied or forgotten any events that surrounded his madness, but this time, he seemed confused.

Albel started to shake his head no, but he stopped suddenly. His memory was a bit fuzzy, and the images were jumbled, but he did remember. "I was going to Airyglyph, to tear that bastard Romero to pieces..." His thought process shut down, cutting him off. He leaned back against the headboard, hissing when some tape caught on the sheets and peeled away from his skin. He closed his eyes and forced his lips into a tight line. Something was missing. Something important. It was like a hole in his memory. A big, black, gaping hole.

"Is that all?" Woltar asked.

"...you interfered with my plans," Albel continued, his voice bitter, but pained. He was getting tired again, but there was no way in hell he planned on going back to sleep. All he needed was a bit of rest. Just to shut his eyes would be enough. Suddenly, it hit him and his eyes flew open. He sat forward far too quickly and his drugged, battered body retracted in pain. "Where is she?" Albel snapped, ignoring the hurt thrumming through him. "Where the hell is she?"

Woltar leapt up and away, pulling himself just out of Albel's reach. "Who? What are you talking about?" he asked, staring into the hostile, angry gaze.

Albel's scowl deepened until several lines appeared across his forehead and around his eyes. "That Aquarian she-maggot! That wench who used her magic on me! Nel Zelpher!" Oh yes. He remembered now. It wasn't a clear recollection, but her face smiling back at him just before he was hit with a thunderspell loomed in his mind. No doubt about it. It was her...and she'd dropped him like a cooked goose with one measly shot. Unbelievable, unacceptable, and humiliating. Albel gnashed his teeth together until they ached and clenched his fist against the sheets of his bed, simmering in a stew of humility and fury.

Woltar released a breath and moved back to the bedside. "Now, now," he soothed, "Lady Nel isn't at fault. I asked her to aide me, so it's not her you should be angry with."

"Like hell," Albel growled. "She tried to kill me." Angry didn't quite cover what he was feeling at the moment. He expected trickery and meddling from the likes of Woltar. The deviousness of the old man's planning never really surprised him. Nel, on the other hand, was always a rather predictable adversary, bound tight by her moral conscious and self righteousness. Oh, she could be cunning and sneaky, just like any other woman, but in battle, she faced her enemies as a warrior should, unflinching and without fear. Now she was jumping from behind rocks and practicing dirty...no cowardly, espionage tricks. She'd changed the rules. She'd caught him off guard. She cheated.

That pissed him off.

What the hell was she doing in Kirlsa anyway? He hadn't seen her in years, not since the ordeal with Luther. Everyone had gone off to travel their own paths, to live their own lives. He hadn't given much thought to his former comrades whereabouts or well being. There were no ties between himself and them. They'd never been friends, just people who banded together to fight a common enemy. Comrades of convenience. The journey they'd traveled was epic, but it was in the past, just a memory in the back of his mind and there was no need to keep those allies close to him.

Woltar sat down next to Albel, the bed creaking with the extra weight. He watched a glimmer of the old Albel peer through the mask of grief and bitterness. The younger warrior's face was tight with anger, but it was a pure and true anger, not some twisted dementia that held no form or function. The sienna eyes danced with ire, the dullness chased away for a moment, and life breathed itself back into the youthful face. Woltar didn't want to hope, but seeing Albel's attention diverted from his quest of self destruction, even if it was only a fleeting thing, gave his plan meaning. It wouldn't be easy. It might even be an impossible task that ended in failure, but for Glou's sake, as well as Albel's, he had to try. That spark was enough to justify his actions.

Albel was still fuming and Woltar forced himself not to smile at the other man's bruised ego. Defeat didn't suit Albel. If he only knew how defeated he was, how truly defeated, his pride might be enough to stop his crusade of vengeance. Then again, pride was part of the problem, and only a large dose of humbleness would defeat it. Fixing Albel wouldn't be easy. He was a knot of endless conundrums, everything intertwined and twisted together in one mindless, formless mass. It would be like trying to unravel a rat's nest, but Woltar was willing to try.

"I'm sure Lady Nel wasn't trying to kill you," Woltar replied. "She was acting under my request, so blame me if you must be angry about it."

The spark in Albel's face began to fade, the old hardness filling the lines of his face like mortar. "You should mind your own business, old man. What I do has nothing to do with you. My patience isn't limitless."

"Nor is mine," Woltar countered, "and you've just about used up all the good graciousness I can spare."

"Then give it up."

Woltar's eyes grew hard and he fixed Albel in a cold gaze. "Unfortunately for you, boy, your father made you my business. And I take my business very seriously."

Albel sat very still, watching his father's oldest friend with a careful regard. Woltar was old, but he was a dangerous man, not someone to be trifled with. He was a master tactician and ambitious enough to get what he wanted by any means necessary. His rules were few and far between, and his allies were numerous. Woltar walked a very fine line along the code of honor.

He didn't fear the old man like so many others did, but he was cautious about him. He'd known Woltar all his life, played in his manor as a boy, ate supper at his table, got paddled with his scabbard, yet even with that familial closeness, even Albel wasn't certain of his limits. There was a look in the Storm Brigade captain's eye, something cold and deadly. It wasn't the look of a warrior, but a shadow behind it, as if a piece of his soul was missing. That shadow said he would, and could, do horrible, unthinkable things if pressed.

Albel looked away, huffing a snort through his nose. Trading threats with Woltar was a bad idea, and Albel was no fool. "What are you up to now?" he grumbled, submitting for the moment. "Why was Nel Zelpher here in Kirlsa?" He'd be angry if Woltar brought his former enemy/comrade into one of his devious devices. Glyphian issues should stay within the Glyphian circle, especially when it came to those of noble blood.

"Is, in Kirlsa, you mean," Woltar corrected. "Miss Zelpher is resting in one of the guest rooms for the moment." He made a sweeping gesture in the general direction of the guest quarters with a wrinkled hand.

"She's still here?" Albel asked, glancing down at a burned arm and feeling his blood pressure rise.

"Yes, she is. She was quite adamant about waiting for you to wake up, so I offered her a place to say for the time being." Woltar smiled, showing a hint of his yellowing teeth.

"Is that so?" Albel remarked, arching a brow in suspicion. He didn't like the look of that toothy grin. Either the old loon was lying or he was about to do something Albel would really hate. "Just spit it out already," he finally snapped, laying back against the headboard. He was tired. He was hurt. He was angry in more ways than he could possibly begin to count. Nothing seemed to be going his way today, and it would suit him just fine if it all came to an end.

"So you're willing to listen?" Woltar asked.

Albel glared at him, his lips pressed thin.

Woltar chuckled and held up both hands as if he could ward off the dark glower. "Well, now that I have your full attention, young Nox, I'll tell you that Miss Zelpher came here at the request of her Queen. Her majesty seems to believe that you might be of some usefulness in an urgent matter."

Albel frowned, not out of anger, but curiosity. Bound by a treaty and living in peace, there was little love between the two countries. War had torn a rift between the people and mending it would be a slow and tedious process. Occasionally, and emissary of goodwill would appear at court, but it was more out of formality than friendliness. "She seeks assistance? Why for? I have no interest in matters that concern those Aquarian swine."

Woltar shook his head and frowned at Albel. "Curb your tongue, Albel. This isn't a matter important to just Aquarians. Miss Zelpher has been ordered to Greeton to..."

"Greeton?"

Woltar gave the young solider a stern look and Albel's mouth closed with a snap. "Yes, Greeton. As I was saying, it appears Master Fayt has been taken hostage. Apparently the off-worlder's transport device malfunctioned and he was beamed into Greeton territory. The Queen sent a party to retrieve him, but they ran into hostilities and were forced to retreat. Miss Zelpher was charged with the duty to rescue Master Fayt, and the Queen felt you would be of much use on this mission."

Albel stared at Woltar for a long while, his face revealing nothing but a passive curiosity. Inside his head, however, his mind was working to grasp the startling information. Fayt captured? By Greeton none the less? No doubt they'd caught wind of his knowledge of technology, or worse, his deadly secret. Woltar was right. This matter wasn't just a concern for the Aquarians. It was a concern for all of Elicoor. If the Greetonites managed to gain advances in their already impressive arsenal of technological skills, the balance of the world would shift dramatically, and it was possible a new war would ensue. A war that neither Airyglyph or Aquios could win.

Not that he cared though. His own personal war was about to come to a climactic end, and he doubted he would live through it. He wouldn't die alone, however. No, Romero was going to pay for the years of taunting and foul play. The foul demon would learn what it meant to play cat and mouse with a lion. He would oust the lord of monsters as the coward he was, even if meant his life. His honor and pride cried out for vengeance, and it wouldn't be sated until his sword was slick with demon blood. Only then could they...no, he, rest in peace.

"Bah," Albel barked, catching Woltar off guard. "How ridiculous. That fool could get himself uncaught if he wasn't such a worm. Why should I waste my time saving a fool who refuses to save himself?" Fayt was not physically weak. He could use a sword as well as any seasoned warrior. He was a living entity of destruction, capable of blowing up planets if he wished it so. He could easily escape, if he'd only loosen the strings on his high and mighty ethics. Yet he valued the lives of others over his own well being. Albel never understood that. Self preservation was something all creatures were born with, including humans. There was no shame in keeping yourself alive at the cost of those who wished to harm you. Fayt's principles had always irritated him. How could someone be so strong in battle, yet so weak in the head? It was about time the younger man learned that war wasn't fought with niceties and goodness. Morality and humanity had no place on the battle field. Not if a warrior wanted to survive.

Albel closed his eyes and shifted uncomfortably under the sheets. "I'm not interested. Tell Zelpher to go grovel somewhere else."

Woltar regarded the other captain and sighed. "I thought you'd say as much."

"Then why waste my time? You know I have other things that need doing."

Woltar's face crumpled into deep fissures. He slammed a fist down on the small night table next to the bed. A candle clattered to the floor and rolled across the worn wood. Albel jumped, his eyes opening wide. Woltar's glare burned into him and the old man grimaced, almost a baring of teeth. "You listen well, boy," Woltar growled. "We're going to make a deal and this madness of yours is going to stop...One way or the other."

Albel held his body stiff and quiet. His heart pounded in his chest. Woltar's outburst had startled him, even scared him a little. He kept his face impassive, narrowing his eyes cautiously. He'd seen Woltar angry before, but nothing like this. Woltar was a quiet storm. His wrath came down like a tornado, manifesting out of sheer nothingness and disappearing before anyone could ask what had happened. He never shouted. He never reacted with outward violence. He enjoyed watching those who'd anger him squirm with anticipation.

"A deal?" Albel asked in a low voice.

"Yes. A deal." Woltar replied, pleased to see he had Albel's undivided attention. "You're going to accompany Miss Zelpher and retrieve Fayt. If you succeed and are still insistent on trudging to your doom, I'll deliver you to the gates of Hell myself. Do you understand me?"

Albel arched a thin brow and searched the old man's face. He found it hard to believe that Woltar would give up years of meddling so easily. He sensed a catch, or a trap. Which, he wasn't sure. "I don't need your permission to pursue personal affairs, old man," he replied.

Woltar stood swiftly and stepped to the end of the pallet. He gazed down at Albel, a small, unfriendly smile curling his lips. "Of course you don't," he stated, "but know this...No one would question my motives if I had you locked and shackled in the dungeon for the rest of your life. No one would speak on your behalf. No one would come to save you. You could rot alive and not even the King would bat an eye at my decision. But that would be too easy. I'm bound by oath to watch over you. How I do that is up to me. I'd keep you alive, stripped of your title, your weapons, your lands, with nothing but peasant food to fill your scrawny body. You would waste away your years a common prisoner, bound by chains, clothed in rags, honorless and without worth. Your life would become the nothing you're working so hard to create of it. You would die an old man in chains, your coffin bound with bars...then again, you could catch a disease and die early...if you were so lucky."

Albel looked at Woltar carefully, weighing his words. He had no doubt that the old coot would do it. No doubt in his mind at all. Threat of death would be too easy, a fact many people keen to torture didn't realize. Death was a way to be free, a way out. Stripping a man of his humanity, shredding his worth to less than the rats he slept with, with holding the essential necessities needed to remain human and sane. Those were things that broke even the strongest will. Albel had spent time in the dungeon. His stay there had been short, but he knew it wasn't a place he'd like to call home. Chained to a wall, barely able to move, unable to tend to the basic necessities in a discreet and unhumiliating manner, always hungry and cold, barely able to sleep. He'd learned a new respect for the prisoners that managed to live a couple of years in those conditions. It took guts to look another man in the eye after months of piss and worse running down your legs.

"I could just kill you," Albel grumbled, his gaze wandering to the boarded window.

Woltar smiled. "Then you better do it now. You won't get another chance."

They both knew the threat was empty. Only an amateur would announce their plans to the enemy while unable to execute them immediately.

"Only a warped old nut like you would call something like that a deal," Albel remarked.

Woltar shrugged. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, my boy," he chuckled.

"I'm not your boy and there would be nothing to be desperate about if you'd stop putting that dried prune you call a nose into by business."

Woltar grinned and moved to the door. "You might as well be...and I was talking about Master Fayt's situation, not yours."

Albel was still looking out the window, his back to the elderly solider. "Get out."

Woltar gave a small bow. The heavy door opened with a groan. "Fine. I'll go tell Miss Zelpher the news. Perhaps she'll even heal you. She was quite eager to leave." After a moment of heavy silence, Woltar stepped out and shut the door behind him, clicking the locks back into place.

Albel released the breath he'd been holding in an aggravated sigh. He couldn't kill the old man, but he could certainly wish him dead. Maybe he'd fall down the stairs on his way out? Regardless, he was now honor bound to uphold his end of the bargain. He'd be going to Greeton, with a woman he didn't even like, to rescue a man who was too stupid to save himself, and all the while, Romero would be planning his next act of trickery from his lair beneath Airyglyph.

Hello and thanks for reading! Finally, a chapter with Albel. Yay! Betcha didn't think I'd ever get to it! laughs Well, I warned you. I do things slow. That includes updates. Several people have asked about anonymous reviews. I normally don't allow them, but since I've gotten so many requests (via e-mail and on the FF site), I've decided to reinstate them for the time being. However, I do not appreciate flamers, nor do I take their opinions seriously. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but be polite and tactful. If you lack the class to be polite, don't bother reviewing my story. So far, people have been very kind in pointing out mistakes and I appreciate that. Thank you. On another note, I've started chapter 6, but it's only in the first draft and not even finished yet. I'll rewrite it twice before I'm happy with it (that's the plan anyway), so expect it in a couple weeks. Take care everyone! :-)