Chapter 3: Calm
He collapsed to his knees, panting heavily, and clutched at his chest. Ragged breaths escaped his lungs as he looked up at his attacker, narrowing his eyes. Though no wind blew through the still forest surrounding them, his beard waved uncontrollably, as if buffeted by a non-existent breeze
"What's wrong? Break a hip?" asked the figure standing before him, black cloak shrouding his body, a hood covering his youthful face, and a scythe balanced across his shoulders. "Seriously, Ramuh. You're getting way too weak if we can take you down this quickly."
"Don't count me out yet, Hades," Ramuh snarled, shakily standing to his feet. The Guardian of Storms clenched his feet and gritted his teeth, and swirling winds cut through the forest around him. "You may have the advantage of numbers, but I've got-"
The winds died down instantly, and Ramuh's channeled power vanished. The Guardian's knees went weak, and he stumbled backward. He managed a choked gasp of pain, and that wheezing sound was accompanied by childish, innocent laughter.
"You . . . ." he hissed, shaking his head. He started to focus his power again, to unleash a hellish storm of destruction, but there was a whisper of movement, and his power dimmed once more. "I . . . how did you . . . ."
"Temporal mechanics are so amusing," responded the little girl as she strode toward Ramuh. She glanced at the jet black fan in her left hand, and giggled again. "I was always stronger than you, Storm. Stronger than any Guardian, save Existence. And now, since I absorbed all the power I gave up in the alternate timeline . . . ."
"Impossible," Ramuh gasped, and, to refute his words, the silvery fan in her other hand waved forward. The trees behind the Guardian shattered, blasted apart as a force of pure destruction and unmaking slammed into him, hurling him backward. The very air exploded, ripped asunder by the power of Hyne, Guardian of The End.
Ramuh fell tot he dirt, and started to push himself up, shaking his head defiantly as he glared at the innocuous girl and her cloaked companion.
"You will not win, Hyne," he declared. "I . . . we cannot be-"
"Stuff it," Hades barked. he glanced at Hyne, who smiled and nodded. Calmly, Hades drew the scythe off his back, and his visage burned away, revealing the fire blackened skull beneath his skin. He strode toward Ramuh, weapon held loosely in his hands, and chuckled quietly.
"I was thinking of a gift for you, something to remember us by up until we unmake existence," Hades stated. He paused over Ramuh, and shrugged. "Unfortunately, they were all out of despair. So, we have another lovely parting gift for the loser." The scythe rose up over Ramuh's prone body.
"It's Death!" Hades shouted with a smile.
It had been four years since the Battle of Good Hope, where Balamb and Galbadia Gardens had slammed headlong into each other, and the brief but bloody Sorceress War between SeeD and Galbadia had met an abrupt ending. At the edge of the Cape of Good Hope, a small set of ruined marble buildings and a solitary stone lighthouse had stood silent witnesses to the two massive airships colliding to the north.
The ruined structures had been the home and orphanage of Edea Kramer, long since abandoned by her and her children, but after the war had ended, the buildings had been repaired, the stone rebuilt, and the structures repopulated. Only a small number of orphans lived in the orphanage now, but their caretaker, Edea Kramer, watched over them as diligently as she had her previous charges nearly two decades before.
And, in a moment of pleasant irony, many of the old generation of Edea's children were present on this day, visiting the orphanage as adults, but only partially to visit their old Matron.
"I'm sorry to see you again under these circumstances, Matron," Quistis apologized as she sat down on the faded chair in the main living room of the orphanage. She looked around the interior of the structure, and was filled with a rush of nostalgia as she saw the old stone she had lived under so long ago. Though it had been reworked and replaced, and the austere interior now featured a little bit more furnishings and a bit more advanced technology than she remembered, the room still felt exactly like it had when she had lived there.
"Its fine, Quistis," Edea replied, smiling as she sat within a chair of her own, the sunlight from outside falling one her form. Despite her age, Edea Kramer still looked barely out of her twenties, and the battles and stress she had encountered in her long life seemed to leave little wear on her body. It was as if she was sustained entirely by the joy of her children, as if the laughter of the playing orphans outside the window boosted her life as it seemed to boost her spirits.
"I know that you have very pressing matters at hand, and your responsibilities come first," Edea added, and Quistis nodded.
"We figured that since we'd be landing and staging from this rough region while waiting to move, we might as well visit you here," Quistis continued. She had chosen to bring the small strike team she had assembled, consisting entirely of herself, Seifer, Irvine, Rinoa, Nash, Zell and (much to Seifer's grudging approval) Serra to Edea's orphanage while waiting to attack Crell's base. Weather reports indicated that a large, powerful storm would be striking the facility they were to attack tomorrow, which would provide the assault team with all the cover they would need to land a small strike force to go in and neutralize the target. In the meantime, they would drop by the orphanage to visit Edea and prepare for combat.
"This place is just like I remembered it," Quistis added with a nostalgic smile.
"While a lot of the buildings were damaged over the years, I used my old memories to help guide me in rebuilding this place," Edea replied. "Though you may have seen that I let much of the damaged stonework lay where it had fallen." Quistis nodded as she remembered many of the fallen pillars and debris. It was part of Edea's philosophy to let what had collapsed lay, as a reminder of what had already passed, and to let new work stand where the old had fallen, as a sign of the future.
Matron sat forward slightly, and her features seemed to become more serious.
"How have you been since you were last here?" she asked Quistis, and the Headmaster settled back in her chair, taking a quiet breath and slowly releasing it.
"It has been difficult," she replied. "We suffered so much pain since the war ended. We lost Balamb Garden, so many thousands of men and women died, and Squall . . . ." she shook her head. "And now Selphie's missing too. With all the violence that's been occurring over the last year, we're still catching up, each in our own way. We're all hoping that once we complete this mission, we may come close to finding Selphie and finally bringing the war to an end." Quistis shook her head. "I still think that Squall won't rest peacefully until we put an end to this whole thing and bring Crell to justice."
"I believe Squall will rest just fine," Edea answered. "He knows that his closest friends are leading the quest to stop the ones who killed him, and I believe that he knows that you can prevail." Quistis considered her words, and nodded to herself.
"But we still don't have any idea what's happening in regards to the real enemy," Quistis added. "I think that this whole New Way insurgency is just to keep us busy while Hyne finishes her plot, whatever that is."
Edea didn't immediately answer, instead mulling over what Quistis was speaking of. truth be told, Edea had known the realities revolving around Hyne for some time, but had rarely spoken of them with other people. She fully understood the implications of what would happen if Hyne won, however.
"I have been feeling . . . disturbances," Edea admitted after a moment.
"Disturbances?"
"I can sense it," Edea explained. "I'm not sure how. Perhaps it is that we Sorceresses posses a fragment of Hyne's power ourselves, but I have felt her. She is moving, acting, and her actions are causing echoes. You . . . you said that magic was failing?"
"Yes," Quistis replied. "SeeD and regular para-magic are failing. Selphie and Irvine first noticed it in Trabia, and now, its spreading. Any unjunctioned magic seems to fade away, and when cast, the power of the spell is reduced. Its been getting worse lately; even powerful magic and Forbidden-class spells are weakened to almost nothing. The only magic that seems safe is Guardian Force summons and whatever we've got junctioned to our bodies and minds." Quistis paused, thinking. "We first encountered this in Trabia. You think this is Hyne's doing?"
"It may very well be, Quistis," Edea replied, shaking her head, uncertain. "I do not know. Perhaps if my power was stronger, I could see more clearly. But there is no Sorceress left with the power to truly see as we once could. Hyne has taken all that strength back into herself."
"If that's the case," Quistis muttered, closing her eyes. "If Hyne has that much power . . . then who can stop her?"
"I am not certain," Edea replied, shaking her head with uncertainty. "That man who joined you earlier, Nash, is powerful, but I do not think even one such as he can stand up against Hyne. At her current level of power, she seems to be even stronger than the mightiest of Guardians." Edea paused, and then looked at Quistis again. "But . . . ."
"But?" Quistis said, opening her eyes and staring at Edea intently.
"There is one who might be able to stop her," Edea explained. "I haven't heard much in regards to him, but I know he has returned."
"The Chimera," Quistis whispered, and Edea nodded.
"Yes. Him. If there is anyone who could stand against Hyne, it is the one who goes by that name. The ultimate warrior."
Seifer trailed behind Serra as she stood along one of the paths leading through Edea's small villa, looking out over the vast flower garden that the Sorceress had sown so long ago. He watched her as she cast her gaze over the field, a smile coming to her lips.
"These flowers . . . they're beautiful!" Serra took a step out into the field, taking off her shoes and letting her bare feet touch the warm, rich brown dirt and green stalks of the colorful ocean before her.
"Yeah," Seifer replied, closing his eyes. He thought back to the flower field decades ago, but couldn't immediately remember what they looked like. The damn Guardian Forces were still screwing with his ancient memories. "Edea . . . Matron planted these a long time ago." He paused, thinking back over the madness he had instigated four years ago. It was amazing at how far he ha come in these last few years; going from a rogue cadet to a lunatic knight to the leader of a hopeless band of prisoners to heading up an anti-terrorism task force.
"Ah, I'm sorry," Seifer muttered behind her, and Serra looked away from the flower field and back at him.
"Why?" she asked, surprised at the sudden apology.
"You were attacked yesterday," he explained quietly. "I . . . should have been there to protect you." Serra went silent for a moment, and then smiled. she walked back across the field and punched Seifer in the shoulder playfully.
"That wasn't your fault," she responded with a smile. "Besides, Quistis and the General were there to keep me safe. We handled them without any trouble."
"But I should have been there," Seifer said, shaking his head. "I'm your bodyguard. I shouldn't be in charge of this operation if I can't keep you-"
"Seifer," Serra said suddenly, sharply. She put her hands on her hips, and the commander looked up at her. She reached forward and grabbed the sides of his jaw, ensuring she was looking headlong into the eyes. "Zell taught me a phrase. Shut. The. Fuck. Up." She pushed him back a step, and the shocked Seifer nearly tripped over a fallen marble column before he caught himself.
"Wh . . . what?" he managed to say. "I'm going to have to talk to Chicken-Wuss about what he's been teaching you." Serra let out a light chuckle, and Seifer sat down on the marble column as she turned and walked back out onto the field. After a moment of looking around, she started moving out into the sea of colors.
"Hey, where are you going?" Seifer called after her, about to stand up and follow.
"I can't see the whole thing sitting back here," she replied. She looked back and smiled at Seifer. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. The flowers don't bite!"
Seifer opted to take Serra's advice, and shut up. He added sitting down to the list of things to do, and plopped back down onto the marble column, frowning in slight annoyance.
She is way too much like her mother.
And as if summoned by that thought, Seifer heard the quiet clipping of boots behind him, and knew immediately who it was from the sound and their light steps. He glanced back over his shoulder anyway, to see Rinoa standing behind him. Like everyone else, she looked like someone who'd been prepping for combat and then got stopped in the middle of gearing up.
"Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on her?" Rinoa asked quietly, watching Serra move out into the flower field, and Seifer grunted. She looked down at the commander, and caught his annoyed expression.
"Just watching her, you'd think that she didn't just barely fend off a squad of Estharian cyborg assassins trying to kidnap her just yesterday," he explained. "And considering how little combat experience . . . well, relatively speaking, she has, I'm amazed she's able to cope so well." He leaned forward, propping himself up with his elbows against his thighs. "She's made of some seriously stern stuff."
"Wonder where she got it from?" Rinoa remarked, and Seifer shrugged.
"Well, she basically told me to sit down and shut up after I told her she should be more careful and complained about me not being around to protect her . . . ." At that, Rinoa managed a slight laugh.
"I can't imagine anyone telling you that and walking away," she remarked, and Seifer snorted and sat back.
"Well, don't expect many people to get away with it," he responded quickly. "Serra's a special exception."
"Because you're sweet on her," Rinoa replied.
Seifer sat forward, flubbing something in absolute shock at what Rinoa had just stated. She had delivered it as matter-of-factly as if she had been reporting the weather conditions, and was now looking down at him with an amused smile as he tried to twist his mouth around to properly speak a denial. Of course, if it had been a few years ago and just some random SeeD or cadet who had spoken, Seifer would have instantly burst out laughing and told whoever it was to politely fuck off, because he was Seifer Almasy, and Seifer Almasy didn't bog himself down with girls.
But in this case, he couldn't do such a thing, mainly because it was Rinoa who was speaking to him about it, and more importantly, she was right.
Okay. He had just mentally admitted it. Rinoa was right. And the fact that he accepted and understood the fact slammed the commander like a tidal wave. After all, he was Seifer Almasy. The cool, calm, confident, prodigal SeeD cadet with his own little clique, that everyone admired but no one could get close to because he was too good for them, and they knew it. The talented one, who was going places, who wasn't going to be bogged down by rules or women or common sense. A man who forged his own path, who wasn't hampered by everyone else's mores. A rebel, a renegade, a lone swordsman who shot for the top and let nothing stop him.
And there he was, Seifer Almasy, Commander of CITU, hunting down terrorists for the sake of the world and getting all fluttery-hearted for, of all people, Squall Leonhart's daughter. And over to his left, getting poked about it by, of all people, her mother, who was a year younger than him.
What the fuck?
Those three words defined precisely what was going through his head at that moment, and after a second, he stood up. Huffing in pestered annoyance, he started across the flower field, following Serra as she ambled through the colorful sea.
"So, now what?" Rinoa asked as he moved away.
"I'm following her to make sure she doesn't get into trouble, okay?" he snapped in anger. But like a dragon that had been de-clawed and with its teeth cut out, he was just growling in harmless frustration. He didn't hear Rinoa's quiet laughter as he walked away across the field.
Of course, he wasn't going to admit it outright to Rinoa that she was right. Seifer was attracted to Serra, and he didn't know why. Dammit, the girl was how old? Four years? But she sure as hell didn't act like she was that young. Her mind and mental ability was as developed as any matured adult's, and the only thing separating her from everyone else - and him - was her short lifetime, limited experiences, and insular upbringing in the heart of the Trabian wilderness. Aside from that, she was a lot like any other young woman.
Well, aside from apparently being the center-piece to whatever Hyne is planning. And having been stillborn and then revived as a test subject by Crell's scientists. And being an Elemental who burned down ten thousand Estharians with laser precision. Aside from that she's a perfectly ordinary, stable twenty-year-old woman.
And of course, she was Squall and Rinoa's kid. Who the fuck would have thought that Seifer Almasy would be attracted to their daughter? Hell, he half-expected the lovechild of his annoying silence and discipline and her openness and cheery nature to result in a massive detonation that would destroy the universe. But instead, he got . . . this girl. As happy and carefree - and, he privately admitted, beautiful - as her mother, and as lethal, calm, and controlled as her father, all mixed with a wide-eyed innocence and curiosity that Seifer just found himself drawn towards.
Seifer, you're a fucking mess. Pull yourself together, you've got a job to do.
Rinoa watched Seifer as he cut across the field, and continued to quietly laugh to herself. he was acting ridiculous; the Seifer she had known a few years ago would never act as he had. he was clearly growing out of that old arrogant phase; his time as a leader and general had clearly helped him mature a lot.
In fact, over the last year they had all had to mature a lot. In the four years since the war against Ultimecia, the small company and family that Rinoa and her friends had aged and matured. They had fought through conflict and peace, and had been tempered and experienced by the ravages of war; they were not the same idealistic children they had been before Ultimecia had begun her war. And here they were, four years later, hardened by tragedy and loss and their extended conflict with evil. Everyone had loved and lost in the last war; Squall's death left terrible echoes in their group, and Selphie's disappearance had further broken their band. Irvine was a mess, even though he tried to cover it up; Quistis was still dealing with her position of power and trying to fill in the void left when Squall died and Balamb Garden sank; Seifer was torn between his duty as a commander and his attraction to Serra, and Zell was quietly combating both his own anger at Squall's death and the overwhelming surge of responsibility that he had to be feeling now that he knew he was going to be a father.
And Rinoa . . . she had hardened. Squall's death had nearly killed her as well, and while everyone assumed the rumors about her considering suicide were just rumors, she had honestly considered it. The thought of those ideas in her mind made the woman shudder; she still remembered clutching a pistol in the shadows of midnight, sobbing and asking the empty night why Squall had been taken from her. But now . . . she had toughened. She had hardened her heart and her body and her mind, instilling herself with the same discipline Squall had known for so many years; the discipline that had let him survive those years after he had seen terrible grief as well.
"I forgot how beautiful they were," remarked a voice behind her, and Rinoa stiffened slightly. The familiar tone of the speaker's voice, and his shocking features were not something she wanted to hear or see. They reminded her too much of Squall.
"Nash," she breathed quietly, closing her eyes. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."
"Sorry," the scientist offered, and walked up beside her. He pointedly avoided looking at Rinoa, and she kept her eyes closed; just hearing his voice was almost enough to overwhelm her with emotions. He stared out over the flower field in silence for a moment.
"This field was planted by Edea so long ago," he mused quietly. "I haven't visited it in a long time."
"You know Edea?" Rinoa asked, surprised.
"In a manner of speaking," he explained. "I know of her, and I've been to this orphanage before. Not as an orphan, exactly, but close enough."
Rinoa was silent for several moments, confused at Nash's cryptic statements, and how little she, or anyone, really knew about him.
"Who are you?" she asked, slowly opening her eyes and managing to look on Nash's profile as he stared across the sea of colors before him. "Really? What are you?"
"Someone who shouldn't even be here," he replied, shaking his head. He clenched his fists, and a small wick of flame wreathed his hands as they trembled in anger. "I'm a man who should have died a long time ago. But here I am, almost single-handedly responsible for everything that's happened. I followed a path of blind vengeance, and look at what its cost this world." He shook his head after a second. "That entire project has nearly damned this planet."
Rinoa listened to him speak, and then mulled over his words in the silence that followed. Somewhere beyond the pair, children's laughter could be heard, and the whisper of the wind cut through the orphanage, setting the sea of flowers flowing and undulating.
"You told Squall that you knew details about the Chimera's blood," Rinoa asked, and Nash's fists loosened, and his jaw unclenched. The man let out a deep sigh, his anger transforming into what looked like absolute exhaustion.
"Yes, he was right," Nash stated after a second. "I know more about the Chimera than I'd care to admit."
"Then you know the man who has been fighting Crell's terrorists?" she asked, and Nash nodded again.
"All too well, Rinoa."
"Why is he doing this?" she asked. "Why did he take so long to show himself?"
Nash remained quiet for a while, the wind buffeting his brown hair as he considered her question and the weighty answer he was pondering.
"The Chimera is a mistake. Everything revolving around him is a mistake. And he's here to fix it."
"How?" Rinoa asked. "Are you saying that Squall was a mistake?"
"No," Nash replied, shaking his head. "Squall was far from the Chimera's mistake. The Squall you knew . . . he was the Chimera's greatest achievement. But his death . . . that was the catalyst. Squall's death brought about that man's appearance, and now he's here to rectify a mistake that has existed for far too long."
"And that mistake is?" Rinoa said, staring intently at Nash. He replied her stare.
"His children have been corrupted," Nash explained. "The Elemental Project . . . it was partially built on the same knowledge and developments that were made during the project in Centra that created the Chimera in the first place. Hyne used that information and that project to complete the creation of the Elementals in order to further her goal of destroying existence. He's here to stop her and end his legacy."
"So, he's on our side?" Rinoa mused, and Nash shrugged.
"The Chimera stands on his own side," he explained. "And no one else's. He walks his own path, one which we cannot interfere with."
Rinoa looked back out over the flower field for a long while, considering Nash's words, before asking him one final question.
"How do you know so much about him?"
Nash's words echoed in her ears, and it took several moments for her to truly understand what he said in response.
"Because I created him."
Zell Dincht managed a shocked roar as sand poured down his head and shoulders, and turned toward the kid who had tossed it at him. He struck a mock fighting pose, and put a ridiculously silly expression of rage on his face as he glared at the laughing orphan and his friends.
"My name is Zell Dincht!" he proclaimed in his best imitation of a bad kung-fu movie dub. "You have thrown sand in my hair! Prepare to die!" letting out an inarticulate ad patently absurd war cry, Zell tore across the beach toward the laughing kids, who scattered in all directions.
Ellone, seated on a marble block further down the beach, watched the brawler's antics with Edea's children with a smile, Irvine standing behind her and observing their play with a grin of his own, though his seemed more tempered. he let out a quiet sigh as he watched Zell enjoy himself, noting with no real surprise that of every SeeD present, he was the only one to be really enjoying himself.
Of course, if Selphie was here, she'd be right in there with him.
Irvine shook his head. He couldn't be focusing on such thoughts right now; they would get him depressed and moody and dwelling on his mission to locate where Selphie had disappeared to, which he didn't want to do right now. yet, he found it difficult to not focus on thoughts of her - he'd been trying to find her for months now, and here they were, poised and ready to strike at a facility where she could very well be held. To say Irvine was nervous and antsy was an understatement.
"I think he's enjoying himself too much," Ellone remarked, and Irvine was shaken out of his musings. he inwardly cursed at himself; here he was, acting all introverted like Squall had years before.
"Zell's not much older than they are," Irvine replied with a chuckle of his own. "I think he's the only one here who hasn't gotten all sullen and pouty lately."
"Isn't that part of why Quistis brought you guys here?" Ellone replied, looking up at the sharpshooter. "I'm not too much of an expert on military tactics, but there's plenty of better places you guys can stage from while waiting for the storm to hit the target. But she brought everyone here to the orphanage."
Irvine mulled over her words for a moment, and absently watched Zell tackle one of the children, and a dozen more dogpile atop him. Seeing the orphanage, and Matron again, had raised their spirits, but the gravity of the situation they were in had weighed everyone's hearts back down once more. But even so, Quistis had the right idea to bring them to this place.
"After everything that's happened, I don't blame her for trying to boost our spirits," he replied. "Without Squall or Selphie, we've been kind of lost and uncertain. Quistis and Seifer have been doing their best to hold things together, but Rinoa's almost on the verge of breaking down, no matter how well she hides it. And me . . . ." Irvine shook his head. No need to self-pity. Selphie's disappearance had screwed him up, badly.
"We'll see this through," Ellone told him. "We've worked past the worst parts so far. Once you guys complete this mission, you'll be on your way to putting an end to all of this trouble."
Irvine nodded at her words, and looked out over the sea beyond the beach, and past the solitary stone lighthouse, and hoped that Ellone was right.
Daytime had given way to night, with the sun descending and replaced by the massive, sky-dominating specter of the moon stretching overhead. The SeeD strike team had bedded down, knowing that in the morning they would board their Salamander transport and launch the most important strike of the war in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. The orphanage was quiet, the children asleep and the SeeDs resting, with only one figure stirring.
Edea Kramer walked out onto the beach, the distant roar of the ocean's ebb and flow becoming more intense as she walked across the silvery-white sands. She cast her eyes up toward the moon towering above her head, and pondered the future.
The quiet whisper of breathing behind her alerted the Sorceress to someone's presence, and through her innate magic, she knew instantly who it was.
"He is already there, isn't he?" she asked, and there was a slight rustle of fabric behind her, the barely audible report of a shrug.
"No idea," answered Nash. The scientist managed an ironic chuckle. "Can never predict what he's going to do next."
"Indeed. One such as that man is impossible to understand," she responded. The voice of the sea filled their ears for a short time.
"How long has it been since he died?" Edea asked quietly. "Time passes differently out here with so few means to track the date. When did Squall die?"
"Thirteen months and six days ago," Nash replied quietly. "I could have saved him, but I was so caught up in the battle with Hyne that I wasn't there to protect him from Griever. If I had been there, maybe he wouldn't have fallen and he wouldn't have to resort to dying like that . . . ."
"Did he know what - who - you really are?" she asked, and Nash shrugged.
"Instinctively, I think he did," he explained. "I mean, I knew exactly what he was to me when I saw him, and I think he had the same reaction when he saw me. I'm not certain what Zanshin gives to a person, never having studied it personally, but I think he knew the moment he saw me what I could be." Nash pondered for a moment, and then shrugged again. "I remember when I took down Ultimecia. There was another presence there, something within me, a raging force of hatred that felt so like myself, yet subtly different. I imagine he felt the same thing; we are the same person, after all, just he didn't have to watch Rinoa . . . ." Nash clenched his teeth, and shook his head.
" . . . have to watch Rinoa be corrupted by Hyne," Edea whispered, and Nash quietly nodded. She didn't see the motion, but she didn't have to.
"I saw what was happening to her too late to save her," Nash stated in a subdued voice, his tone tinged by regret. "By the time I knew what had happened, she had corrupted half of Garden and started her war of conquest. I couldn't stop her, but I was able to trap her and force her into one of Esthar's sealing rings . . . though i got trapped with her."
Nash stopped speaking, and hook his head again.
"I don't want to remember this," he muttered. "Squall Leonhart is dead, both in this world and the other." He clenched his teeth, and waves of heat rolled off his hands as they trembled in the night. "And Hyne killed both of them in her own evil ways. I'm going to pay her back."
"Do not get caught up seeking the altar of revenge," Edea cautioned Nash. "That was what blinded you to Squall's plight when he fell."
The heat vanished, and Nash went still and silent for several long moments.
"Yes, you're right," he whispered. He opened his mouth, and then closed it, before finally speaking again, speaking a word that he hadn't uttered in centuries. "You've always been right . . . Matron."
He stood in the concrete chamber, arms crossed pensively over his chest as the single glowing lightbulb cast its light across the small chamber. The room was featureless, beyond the solid concrete and reinforced walls beyond, the lightbulb, the man in the room, and the creature . . . the thing that was suspended on the wall before him, held off the floor by gravity tethers by its wrists and ankles, body slumped in drug-induced unconsciousness.
Steel-blue, chitinous armor wreathed its body from neck to clawed, booted feet. It didn't look human, but rather like an armored, alien insect encased within a metallic exoskeleton. A slender mask, painted black and red, sat upon the creature's face, but the mask did nothing to hide the brown hair that dropped past where the creature's would be. slender, delicate gauntlets and thin plates of armor encased the creature's body beneath its chitinous outer shell, and two heavy plates had been attached to its forearm, hiding two-foot long claws that could slide out in an instant.
Crell Varines stared at the creature encased within that armor, the monster he had named Requiem, and shivered. This thing was the most dangerous creation he had ever developed, and it was the key to winning this war.
The door behind him creaked open, squealing on rusty hinges, and Crell turned around, looking at the diminutive doctor behind him. Odine cast a quick glance at the creature suspended against the far wall as he entered the chamber.
"The aerosol?" he asked calmly, and Odine nodded.
"It iz ready," he explained. "Ve have only enough for one bomb, but zat should be enough for a mid-zized zity."
"We already have our target picked out," Crell replied, and turned. He walked out of the room, with Odine following behind him, and shut the heavy metal door behind him.
"What's the status on Requiem's memories and cognitive ability?"
"Ze creature iz almozt back to full capacity," Odine explained. "Ze depprezzants ve are injecting it with are keeping it under control for now. But ve need ztronger dozez every day. Odine does not know how much longer we can control it."
"And with the failure of the strike team to capture the prototype . . . " Crell shook his head. "This is bad. If Requiem recovers too much of its memories, we may have to sterilize it."
"Bah!" Odine complained. "All zat verk for nothing?"
"We can refit the armor on another Elemental," Crell explained. "We have a second one on hand that we can use in case the first doesn't work out." He shrugged as they entered the control room for the labs. "In the meantime, I need you to send out an alert to the entire complex. We'll need to relocate."
"Again?" Odine whined, shaking his head and scrunching up his eyebrows. "Bah! You cannot keep zees lab zecret? Odine doezn't know why he keeps verking vith you!"
Crell spun, grabbing the diminutive scientist by the throat and lifting him up into the air with one hand. He glared into the doctor's face, narrowing his eyes as he let clear fury work its way into his features and voice.
"You work for me because you know that Laguna Loire was almost on the verge of shutting you down for war crimes and unethical laboratory procedures. You also work for me because I'm giving you the chance of a lifetime with these Elementals. And finally, you work for me because I can easily enough rip you limb from limb if I decide that your prattling is becoming too annoying." Crell released Odine, letting him fall to the floor. The scientist fell backward, onto his rear, and stared up at the dictator with obvious terror.
"Relocate your people and your equipment," he snarled. "Now."
Without waiting for a response, Crell turned around and started walking away. He moved out of the control room and up the length of corridor beyond, and pulled out a communicator. With a flick of a button, he called up the holographic image of Eric Malachi.
"Malachi," he began. "Are you getting this?"
"Yes sir," answered the holographic image, the soldier nodding in response.
"What is the status of your unit?" Crell asked, Malachi paused, and checked with someone outside of view, and nodded again.
"All of our cells in the Dollet area are assembling, sir," he explained. "I've sent our further orders to the rest of our troops to begin moving on the target area."
"Have you received the aerosol?" Crell asked, and Malachi shook his head.
"No, sir. It seems it got misplaced in transit. Its stuck in a train cargo transfer station just outside of Timber. I'm assembling a strike team to personally recover it right now."
"See that you do, Eric," Crell responded. "I've got Odine prepping to relocate the labs in Centra following the security breach at Steele's base." As he was speaking, two soldiers moved up to either side of Crell, flanking him as he moved up the passage, toward the exit to the labs.
"Is SeeD en route?" Malachi asked, and Crell shook his head.
"No, not from what we know, though I suspect that they won't wait long to launch a strike. We haven't gotten any updates from Alucard in a while either."
"Are you sure we can trust him?" Malachi asked, and Crell shrugged.
"Not now, and I never really did. It seems that he may have befriended us just to turn on us later. Such is to be expected." Crell looked away for a moment, toward one of his bodyguards. "Is my Corsair ready?"
"Yes sir," answered the soldier, and Crell nodded again.
"Malachi, I'll be airborne shortly. I expect you to have the aerosol by the time I arrive."
"Consider it done," Malachi replied and the hologram disappeared. Crell put the device away, and saw that, during their conversation, he and his bodyguards had arrived at the front entrance to the laboratory, a pair of heavy magnetically sealed doors cleverly hidden into the side of the mountain the labs were built into.
They neared the doors when sudden alarms sounded throughout the complex behind them. Crell whirled, snatching his plasma pistol from its holster at his side, and looked to his men as they brandished weapons.
"What's happening?" One of the guards pressed a hand to his ear, listening to something, and looked up at Crell.
"Containment breach in the labs," he hissed. "Something's gone wrong down there!" Without any further ado, the two bodyguards grabbed Crell and started pulling him toward the door, putting his safety ahead of anything else. They neared the door, and it started to slide upon, with the flash of tremendous lightning and the slash of rain outside heralding the storm that was striking the facility.
The three men expected to see the pair of door guards hiding within the door's alcove, avoiding the downpour, but instead, perched in the middle of the passageway, was a solitary figure, coat whipping wildly in the wind from the waist down. Above this, the black coat was fastened all the way up to his high collar, and his left hand was holding down the wide-brimmed hat that rested atop his head. His right hand reached up over his shoulder, clenching the handle of the long, slender sword sheathed on his back, as long as he was tall.
Red eyes bored into Crell beneath the hat, and the dictator froze up in terror as he knew what stood before him.
The bodyguards whipped around, raising their rifles at the threat, but then here was there, sword flashing out and slicing one man in half before he could blink, and whirling on the second, sword cutting across in a two-handed stroke that bisected the second bodyguard. The man fell away, plasma rifle firing wildly into the ceiling. Crell raised his pistol, and fired a single shot at the man attacking him, but the figure sent his left arm across, the plasma splashing against his forearm harmlessly. The afterglow of the burning light showed a thick, solid gauntlet covering that arm, acting as a shield.
The sword flicked down, and Crell's forearm went cold, like a breeze was flowing through it, and it took him a moment to realize that the pistol hand had been cut cleanly off. Even as he gaped in shock, the Chimera shot forward, the cold metal encasing his fingers wrapping around Crell's throat and lifting him into the air.
Crell Varines stared into those blood red eyes, and into the face of the man beneath the brim of the hat, and his tight breathing became even more ragged as his eyes widened and shock burst through his body.
"You . . . ." he gagged. "Chimera . . . but . . . how . . . .?"
"I'm not here to answer your questions, murderer," the Chimera snarled. His eyes narrowed, and in the shining red light from his eyes, Crell caught a glimpse of something resting upon his forehead, silver metal gleaming a bloody chrome in the crimson light, wrapping around his forehead. He drew Crell closer, letting him see into the blazing, hellish pits of his eyes, and spoke the last five words that Crell would ever hear.
"I'm here to kill you."
Crell Varines never had a chance to plead. he never even felt any pain. All he knew was that the entire lower half of his body went suddenly dark and cold, and he was laying face up on the floor, staring at the ceiling as his clothes began to feel very wet, and his arms went weak. He tried to breathe, to move, but his body wouldn't respond. he managed to look down, and then realized to his horror that he had been bisected across the waist without any warning or sensation, and then the rest of his body went very cold, and he went very still.
The last thing he saw as the darkness claimed him was the Chimera's eyes, the gates of hell punching through the darkness and the demons gleefully welcoming him into their depths.
-
OH TEH NOES! The Chimera's attacking!
Yay, I finally got this chapter finished. It was alot of trouble to write, considering it exists primariy as a chapter to slow everything down and get everyone ready...because yes. After this chapter, expect to see nonstop action. And by nonstop I mean almost nonstop.
Until next chapter . . . .