Desolate Gail: Redux

by Zeronova

The walls of Troy have been blasted open by Kiske, and Troy is as vulnerable as the Seikishidan, but personal conflicts still exist. End of Arc II. Updates periodically.

15. Arc 1: Floor F

-X- Introduction -X-
- Desolate Gail Redux
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 8-23-2004 / Checked on: 3-15-2005
- By: Zeronova
- Chapter 15: Floor F

- Text: Third person, Narration
- Text: First person, Thoughts
- Text: Interjection, the Narrator

X- End Introduction -X-

With his first few steps forward, he lifted up the Thunderseal, sparking with life and anticipation, the bolts aching to find the flesh of its destined enemy, sear through what the weapon was built to kill, what the properties of it, manufactured and built for, to be used for. He swung the sword downward and diagonally, his feet sliding to a stop as his forward momentum propelled him past where he dug his worn boots into the ground. The Gears stood entirely still as he ran, even the one who had been cut down. The blade exited its hip, globs of blood boiling off of the sword as it came back up into a fighting stance from Kiske. The body fell in two pieces, slashes across its chest, through the entire body. The eyes kept their lock on Kiske, even when it was lying on the ground next to its lower extremities. His eyes shot back and forth to the other Gears, who stood lifeless, watching him. The Gear whom he had cut down kept its eyes transfixed upon him, then slowly, the red glow faded from them, the eyes rolling back into the skull, and the body falling limp. As soon as the action was complete, the Gears surged to life, like a wave passing over each of them in turn, their heads jumping up with orders and life, growling, and then starting to move.

Kiske took no time to think, and instantly slashed to his left, then to his right, his eyes partly closed, just throwing the sword wherever he could, each slash jiggling the sword in his unsure hands as it tore through Gear flesh. The billowed cries of them, like nails on a chalkboard, he had been accustomed to, despite its rather unapproachable nature. He saw a Gear to his left step forward from the line, life in its eyes, raising up a long curved piece of metal, not much of a sword then a hammered piece of tin, the circular marks of the crude device used to straighten it, to a degree. The edge was rusted and chipped, sharp despite its unskilled and untrained sharpness, as contrary to Kiske's own.

It swung sharply downward after it had missed with the upward rise, Ky side stepping backward with his left foot, pivoting with his right as the edge of the sword smashed into the concrete, a few sparks shooting upward, the ground cracking in a surge, running along the length of the impact. It raised it again, dust and pebbles raised with it, and swung again, which found a lock in Ky's sword. The force of the blow threw him down to his knees, holding up his sword with his right hand on the grip, left holding the top edge of the blade. He was trying to hold it in his palm and push it up from there, but the Gear pressed harder with its lock, turning the sword slightly, the sharp edge falling into his hands. All of its body weight was now on the sword, Ky nearly on his back, holding the sword above him. He saw the other soldiers clash into the wall of Gears, fighting, but they were few in number. Another husky Gear breath was heard, not the one over him, but to his side. It had no weapon, only larger, bruised and knuckled to the bone fists. It stepped closer, the cracks from each step running and meeting Ky who kept the Gear on top of him at bay, as the other approached. Shit Ky, think, come on, think! Do something! No God crap, you gotta act now! Jesus ain't gonna help! Shut up, think! Shut up! His attention snapped back to the Gear on top of him, the sharp side of his own blade in his left hand slowly cutting into the soft flesh of his palm. He could see the Gear's hand emitting a fine smoke, though it seemed not to care, the fluctuating electricity off of his own blade conducting up to the Gear, who didn't care for the pain of his burning flesh, only the objective.

The second Gear was now a step away, its behemoth foot nearly inches from Ky's face, the cracks from it setting down on the ground running along the floor which Ky was nearly lying on, gambled his own balance. It brought its fist up in delight, a small gasp out of its flesh torn throat, pieces of skin hanging off of the trachea, an exposed wind pipe through the soft flesh around the two main jugulars. Small fluids dripped from its mouth in excitement, its eyes flaring with the red glow, Justice's orders and life flowing through the enemy. Think! Do something! Now! Ky suddenly pushed harder with his left hand, the blade cutting down to the bone, feeling the sharp edge getting stuck in his own bone, but it wasn't cutting any further. He gasped in pain, but continued pushing, elevating his left hand, lowering his right. The Gear on top of him suddenly lost its balance, toppling to Ky's right, the sword sliding off of the inclined plane he made with the sacrifice of the flesh of his palm, a slice through the center of it, rolling to his left simultaneously. It turned over on the ground, looking Ky in the face, trying to stand, and suddenly, its face was smashed, the bones splintering outward of the skin, sinew forming a small pool around the gushing cranium. The behemoth Gear that stood to Ky's side was indeed a behemoth, slow and stupid, and had no time to react from a change in its position of attack, killing one of its own kind, though Justice didn't care, a casualty, making a note to increase reaction time for that specific breed of Gear in the next production cycle.

Standing up swiftly, Kiske slashed horizontally with the Fuuraiken in his right hand, the massive hand that was just rising from the broken Gear below, cut off at the elbow. The Gear jumped back in agony, its gigantic arm and now removed, left with only one more arm. It stepped forward, on top of the torso of the fallen Gear, another splash of the goopy blood, and brought its other fist up, trying to smash him. He was met with a slight twinge of pain in its massive chest, then, a sudden jerk. Kiske jumped back, the massive Gear falling backward, the hole he left with his stab slowly smoking with the smell of charred flesh, crushing the rest of the fallen Gear with its body as it died.

"They're slow! Use it to your advantage!" Ky yelled, running up to embrace another Gear in combat. Darton looked out of the side of his eye while listening to Kiske's words, nodding affirmatively, resuming his attack. One of the Gears he was facing was a bit more lean than the standard humanoid Gear, which had more of a muscle bound stature, due to the genetic enhancements off of the original base, but there are always errors in such a careless job that Justice does. It was frailer, smaller, yet faster, which equaled out in its deadliness. It could have easily been a hunter type Gear, the ones that scaled the walls in the warehouse, except for the absence of the bone juts and razor like nails, but it made that up with a speedy fierceness with its own blade.

Switching gears, no pun intended, to Quint.

Its face growled with a bit of unbridled anger, bits of spit flying out with the husky breaths between jagged teeth, stabbing forward with the awkwardly shape of rusted aluminum. Gears had no personalities, but they had feral instincts. Anger, joy, the elation of the kill and scent of blood was slightly allowed. It could be revoked to pure zombie-status by Justice, but he found that keeping them somewhat sentient, to their animalistic roots, helped in their battle performance. Quint deflected it with his mistake sword, stabbing with his knife in his left hand. The blade stuck into the Gear's ribcage, impervious to the pain, where it punched Quint with its left hand, squarely using its bony hand to knock Darton off balance, his jaw numb. He released his grip of the knife, hanging in its ribcage, small bits of blood dribbling from the edges of the wound. It struck again, Quint blocking, and again, its speed unmatched by any of the other Gears in the current fight. He says they're slow, and I get the fast bitch... It brought up its sword above its head with its right hand, left consecutively jabbing Quint when it had the chanced, and brought it down in a fierce vertical slash. Quint blocked it with a diagonal turned blade, the enemy's own attack glinting off, losing balance temporarily. with the second of vulnerability, Quint kicked it in the chest as it hunched over its own blade, trying to stand up. It jumped slightly, hunched over still, regaining its stature, then trying to stand again, Darton's boot finding soft flesh in its ribcage, feeling the splintering bone underneath. A third kick, and it looked up at him, raising the sword from its hunched position, not able to stand because of the fractured ribcage. His knife stuck out from its left side, which faced Quint. The sword, in its right hand and furthest from Quint, wasn't going to hit him, though it was still a danger. Using one fluid motion, he ripped the knife from the ribcage, a fluctuating pain shooting through the Gear for only a moment, then brought it down upon the back of its neck. The body fell flat on the ground, sword clanging lifelessly from its hand, face flat. Quint took a deep breath, finding a new target, then rushing upon it, armed in both hands.

Darton's attack found him attacking a Gear next to Jaygus, who had his back turned while engaging another. Feeling the slight swish of the wind behind him, he looked over his shoulder, Darton looking back at him, a slight affirming nod between the two of them. "You got my back, I got yours" was the unsaid sentiment, like a law they all knew, but failed to grace their lips. Returning to the Gear in front of Jaygus, he continued a slight volley of attacks, each sword slash of his own finding a soft patch of skin as the Gear slowly attacked itself, unable to dodge or react to Jaygus old styled fencing swordsmanship.

The real art of fighting had been lost, such as fencing, or martial arts. What was left in the world were only a select few, if any, who knew them. What did survive were a few things, maybe one attack, a stance, a feeling of the original. New fighting styles were learned and taught, more relying on the actual person's twitch responses than style or skill. In a deadpan battle against another Gear, there's no styles, no moves and stances, its just survival. Gears attack basically, but do so in a very primitive, yet effective way, power as their ally rather than fencing or martial arts. Thus, humans also, over the years, lost their defining qualities in combat, returning to the basis of what they fought like thousands of years past, brutally and on reaction. A Gear attacks from top, block horizontal or side step. A Gear attacks horizontal, jump back, or block vertical. Though, the Seikishidan, while not teaching specific things, encouraged learning swordplay heavily, since it was their main method of combat. Using basic methods that survived time, such as few fencing methods of continuous stabs and parrying, they knew some things. As well as a few martial arts, such as disarming a Gear (which was usually useless, considering they only worked on those who felt pain and were weak).

Jaygus, being a structured and old-fashioned man by nature, learned a bit of fencing. Not so much as would be taught in the styles of books from the past I read, which they were heavily dictated by skill and points, but just how to stab quickly, effectively, and lethally. No expert of swordplay, as those were very hard to find, swordplay being varied person to person in these times, but he knew a fair share. And, while dealing with Gears, most everyone found the old methods to be very adequate, seeing as how they worked. But, to someone who didn't know the old methods and thought they did, they were more disastrous than even the normal twitch type of fighting, which led to more death and more loss of the tradition. Morale of the story? Don't try fighting in some way you don't know, you'll just be killed.

A quick stab into the flesh of the inside elbow, immobilizing its sword arm, and the Gear brought up its free hand to smash Jaygus to a pulp, which he expertly dodged, followed with three quick stabs into its chest. It gasped in pain, and lurched forward for another attack, finding a sword buried into its neck. It took another step, slowly, its fist raising further, Jaygus readying to stab again with his right hand, left out for balance, then suddenly turned around and jumped backward. It slowly gurgled, blood dripping from its throat, right leg giving out on its next step, cratering the ground, then toppling on top of itself. The Gear fell flat on its face, its hand smashing into the concrete as its face did, a small pool of globulous blood forming around the stabs he had consecutively placed on the Gear. Darton was surprised by the sudden falling of the monstrosity, his attention knocked from the Gear in front of him, seeing Jaygus then victorious. He turned back to his current enemy, the Gear ready to attack.

"Shit!" he spat out. His second lapse of attention left him open, and the Gear was going to use it, and it did. He tried ducking under the horizontal blow that was already coming from his right side. The blade was going to cut through his hip, but ducking, it found the flesh in his upper arm, cutting above his bicep, straight across. He screamed in a short winded pain, striking the sword with his own knife in his left hand, the blade cutting through the rotten steel of the Gear blade, leaving a small fragment in his arm, protruding out slightly. It was the same arm as the initial incident on Floor C, and a similar cut. Cutting into the side of his shoulder, the meat, down to the bone. Two same cuts, same arm, next to each other. The Gear's sword, now looking like a shattered piece of glass on the end, tried to stab, impaling Darton, but didn't have the chance. It was raised up from under itself, a vertical slash by Darton elevating it, the gust knocking two Gears behind it down, but no real damage. The Gear who took the brunt of the attack had its protruding chin sliced in two from the tip of the blade, followed by the gust that ascended it, like a puppet being raised by its puppeteer for malfunction. The few seconds he had while the other Gears stood up, Darton dropped his sword on the ground, kneeling down. Reaching up, he slowly removed the piece of metal left in his arm, bits of blood left on the side that cut through his muscle. A gasp of pain emitted him as he ferociously removed it in one motion, gasping with water filling eyes, looking at the rusted jagged scrap that had just been lodged in his arm. Tossing it aside, he picked up his sword, rubbing his eyes, the two Gears now finding footing and approaching. Shake off the pain, it's nothing, it's bullshit. You're still alive, keep going.

The pain filled gasp found itself upon the ears of Ky Kiske, not knowing whom it emitted from, but not going to take his eyes off of his target, but not wanting to lose any men. He couldn't afford it, they couldn't, one less soldier, and they were all dead, as if to say they weren't already. During battle, there were the cries of Gears, clangs of swords, splats of blood, all sorts of sights ant sounds, but the things that mattered seemed like thunder over the whisper of all the other unimportant things, such as the cries of Gears, clangs of swords, and what not. While you may say that a gasp of pain would be inaudible amongst such a battle, have you ever been in a life or death situation? The adrenaline pumping, the pure rush, sometimes that's the only reason someone fights in a war, for that rush. There's nothing in the world that compares. Everything moves faster than light, yet slower than a snail at the same time. You are more powerful than you've ever been, faster, even if you're tired, you see more than you ever have, you hear everything, you think on a dime, and you act on one too. It's, quite honestly, the single most unifying experience possible. A true testament to what it means to be a human, to get that adrenaline flowing, to, if even for a short while, be a feral animal. You'll say it's ironic, but before you say I am wrong, you should not judge without knowing. The heat of battle, the pumping adrenaline, the thrill of life and death, knowing you control the fate of this enemy in front of you, whether it lives or dies, as well as the fear that another creature has that power over you...it's amazing, in both the best and worst ways, but that is humanity itself, no?

No time to think, no time to lose. Back to action. Ky consorted himself to keep fighting, even if the others died, and he couldn't tell, he'd fight until he last breath, his last drop of sweat, until God himself lifted Ky's soul from his body. He'd fight God Himself just to keep going, kill more Gears, he'd fight anyone who got in his way at this point. If God tried getting in his way from killing Gears, Kiske would go through God. If he had been stabbed a hundred times, no blood left in his body, his last breath gone, God would have to struggle Atlas himself for his soul, for the body to go limp and die before Ky would stop killing Gears. That kind of ideal burned his flame, kept him going, despite the exhaustion, and an ample dose of adrenaline racing through his veins.

He took a quick slash to his right, feeling the blade cut through the exposed flesh of a Gear's chest, quickly following with a slash to his left, bouncing off as it was blocked, then returning right to make a quick stab to the stunned Gear, electricity still brimming across the gash on its chest, then falling backwards as its gut was seared. Pulling the sword out, Ky punched to his left with his left hand in a quick jab, the approaching Gear knocked back a step, then continuing forward. The one-second wait was all he needed, his sword back in hand and ready. He brought it up above his head with both hands, and struck down in a powerful vertical slash. The Gear blocked with its forearm, the blade cutting through the flesh and getting itself caught in a wedge of dense bone. Then, it rushed forward, sword still attached, and Ky holding on feebly as it swung side to side. The constant swinging back and forth, his hands not letting go, seemed like he was a playtoy. Though, the motion was more than just derogatory toward's Ky stature as a leader, being shaken about, looking like a fool, but it ripped open the wound on his back, stitches ripping through his flesh, the bits of blood spilling out and down his back, the wire holding it shut ripping through the sides of the flesh.

Don't...let...it hurts, so much...go...don't... It brought its left hand up in the air, holding it above, Ky now off of his feet, holding onto the sword still, the massive Gear looking at him oddly. This must have been something unaccounted for in the programming, but it was quickly amended, holding his left arm in the air for Ky to be defenseless. A quick slash with its right hand, the small sword, compared to its massive nine-foot body, missed Ky, as he pulled himself up onto the forearm, where his sword was lodged. It tried slashing again, this time bringing its left hand down, looking upon Ky who was holding on with one hand, other on the grip of his sword, edging it back and forth, trying to pry it free. It slashed at its own arm, Ky jumping to the side, its own blade removing its hand, oblivious. It tried slashing again, cutting off a chunk of its own wrist. Its third attempt, Ky fell backward, Fuuraiken in hand, smashing against the ground with an oomph, his air in his lungs lost. He stood up, gasping, especially since he landed square on the gash, a thick line of red smudged on the ground from where he hit. He slashed the sword in front of him three times, not hitting the Gear, who stood about six feet away, slowly approaching. The electricity gathered in the air with each slash, slowly concentrating itself into a center point, each slash blowing through the gathering center; whisps flowing out like a sun flare, falling back into the sphere of jumping electricity. After the three, the Gear took another step forward, its left arm dripping small splotches of blood, right stained with its own blood.

"Here you go…" he said mockingly, stabbing into the ball of electricity, hanging in mid-air like a lingering lullaby from child hood, then blasting forward, the point of the sword reflected in the surging electricity, like an arrow, the electricity from the back running to the front on the inside, then falling out to the sides until it reached the back of the arrow, then running up to the front again, casting an eerie blue light among the morning sun and dismal headquarters. The arrow of lightning blew into the chest of the gargantuan Gear, searing a hole as it pounded through its bone, turning black with each wave of current coming through, flesh bending back, bits removing itself, leaving a few strings, then those burning from the center, hanging smoking until the entire chest was vacant. It toppled onto its knees after a violent fit of convulsing, then fell to its side, one last gasp of breath escaping it in a muffled whine. Ky fell down on one knee, gasping, sweat dripping from his face and matted hair. His chest felt like it was about to explode, his burning throat and sand paper mouth lost of all moisture. He was exhausted beyond what he had ever been, that attack taking out of him what he had left. Everything in the world shrank, the Gears, Darton, Jaygus, the private, Justice, God, and he felt only himself, alone and small, the pain seething from his back, his exhausted state, his legs like irons, arms ready to fall off, breathing deeply and quickly, every heartbeat surging a pain through his body, feeling it down to his toes.

"Sir, no!" A voice broke through his slight black out, jumping up onto his feet, turning to the sound. It was the private, running behind him. Then, Ky saw it. He saw what the soldier had been yelling about. He wanted to yell something to the soldier, he wanted to be in his place, but he couldn't, the private did it exactly for the reason of what happened. A Gear was advancing on Kiske from behind while he was kneeling in his slight black out. It was readying to stab him, its hand already up with the point of the sword looking down at Ky. Then, a szing of a sword, then a splatter of blood. Ky was dazed and confused for a moment, specks of light filtering across his vision from blood rush, then looking to his bosom and toying with the blood that just blossomed across his chest, looking up to see the sword protruding from the back of the private, who was facing the Gear, back to Ky. He gurgled slowly, the blood dripping down the back of his neck as he was picked up by the impaled sword, held above its head, then tossed off of it, like a grape from a toothpick in a martini. The body was flung over the Gears, off of the railing, down to Floor A, where its impact wasn't heard, but what happened, Ky felt.

Slowly, his anger rose. The death of the soldier that was just in front of him, died for him, there again, another died for him, right there. Not this time, not will the death go unavenged, for nothing. He fiercely stabbed into the Gear, bringing his sword out in a millisecond, and then slashing off its arm from its shoulder, spinning around with another slash, removing both of its ankles, then stabbing it again in the chest, as it toppled over onto its back. It was still alive, breathing heavily; Ky jumped forward standing over it. He took one look at it, the red eyes looking at him sadly, almost beggingly. Is it asking me something? No, it's a Gear, it has no life, no emotion! Is it...no! He slashed at its chest, then again, and again, flashes of blue with each touch of Gear flesh, the lightning surging off of his sword into the body, slashing over and over. His slashes become slower, weaker, then lifting up his leg, kicking the now dead body in its ribcage, until his foot went through into the organs inside. Looking down at his own boot, covered in sinew, his sword, globs of blood boiling off of the light blue surface, he had realized what he had done.

No! Don't lose control, don't make me do that sort of things. You know you wanted to, you know you're sick on the inside, I just bring it out. Shut up! Another Gear on his side approached, turning to face it and continue attacking, his head taking a break to make way for ferallity.

Jaygus took one quick look above the crowd of Gear heads, as best he could, after his current Gear lie in a dying fetal position in front of him, blood flowing from its protrusion on its belly. Two...five...eight...

"Sir!" he yelled, as best he could from his hoarse throat and aging body. "It's almost over!" he said with a smile, happiness in his rugged voice from exhaustion and no water left in his body. He turned back to see a Gear in front of him, one he hadn't seen before. They each had qualities he could quickly remember and call them up for, but not in the long run. One with a longer jaw, he's smaller, he's bigger, jagged sword, uses fists, hunched, no leg, whatever it was. This Gear seemed to pop out of nowhere, and his short break previously didn't make the situation easier. He brought his sword up to defend, but the Gear had no sword. Its massive fist rose from its lulling side, and punched him in the chest, all of its brute force behind the blow. His sword dangled from his hands, clanging against the ground as it fell, in place of where his body was seconds before. He went flying through the air, smashing into the wall about seven feet from him, next to a small dorm, the nameplate on it splattered with blood, but the engraved brass reading F-890. He gasped out once, trying to stand, trying to move, which was followed by blackness, dulling and covering his eyes, body falling into a vacuous void.

"Jaygus!" Ky yelled, the body smashing into the wall next to him, then slowly sliding down, falling limp, his head hanging over a shoulder. His head swiveled back to the Gear in front of him, quickly kicking its kneecap, the Gear falling forward and catching itself with one hand, a small crater from where it landed with its massive weight and strength. The Fuuraiken took no mercy for it, though, quickly slicing through its head as it sprawled itself across the floor. It fell flat now face first, the hand used as a crutch to hold it up breaking inward upon the weight, the half of the head removed toppling off and sitting next to the body. Don't think about Jaygus, don't think about the dead, don't think! Keep fighting, keep living!

-X- Author's Notes –X-
- Zeronova's Notes:
- This was a chapter all about fighting, all about it. I try to make the action more approachable, readable, and enjoyable then a drawn out 5k word fight. I want to make it feel a lot shorter, quicker, more alive, the fight being human, instead of just "Ky slashed, a Gear blocked" nonsense. I hope I did this, but I can't tell, you are my critics, but to my best I hope I did. Useless action isn't important, but showing the actuallity of what it stands for, and making it not boring and redundant is a key point to it I hope I nailed. Please tell me if you think I did, because that was one of the goals of the remake from the original.
-X- End Author's Notes –X-