Longest chapter in a while… and my muse came back! Yay! As usual, thanks to ElTangoDeRoxanne and emeraldonyxdragon. I love you guys so muuuuuch!
Disclamer: I own nothing.
Balthier climbed shakily to his feet, placing a hand against his ribs. There were several large rips in his vest from the oversoul's claws, and his white shirt was filthy, black with his blood and green with slime.
"Three to go. Any idea of where they are?" Kyle asked Marcus. The small cyborg shook his head.
"I think the Mist is screwing with me. I can't sense them at all." He said, lowering his blue-grey eyes.
"Don't worry about it then. Stop bein' a machine and just be human for a while." Blair snuggled closer to his arms, and he smiled, leaning his chin on the top of her head.
"I suggest we leave before indulging in our human sides." Balthier said, turning back to look at them, a smile playing about the edge of his lips. "Unless you'd like to deal with this lot…" Baknamy were streaming into the hall, attracted by the sounds of battle. Kyle froze.
"We can't take down that many!" he gaped, a pipe bomb sliding out of his hands.
"We had best start running then." Fran said while casting Scathe, the spell blooming to life and incinerating anything in its way. In the aftermath, the party charged down the hall, not stopping until they had cleared the Necrohal and the yawning entrance was far behind.
Kyle sprawled on the muddy ground, panting, sweat pouring down his face. John chose the more dignified action of leaning against a tree, though his chest swelled like a bellows as he gulped air. Barnes polished his rocket launcher, hiding the fact that he, too, experienced discomfort. Marcus grinned. "Who's fat now? Looks like y'all need to work out some more."
"Shut it, metal man." Blair puffed. Fran shook out her hair, a feeble attempt at getting the stink of death from her hair.
"Balthier and I once ran from the bottom of the Pharos at Ridorana to the ninety-ninth floor. It was… unpleasant, to say in the least." She grimaced at the memory.
"I still had to breathe back then, remember?" Balthier picked at a string hanging from his shredded vest. "I was still human back then."
"That goes for both of us." Marcus shrugged. It was interesting to watch as they stood next to each other—one was the product of science and the material, the other the child of magic and the immaterial. And it showed; Marcus was there, solid, firm, and reassuring in his firmness. Balthier's form seemed to flicker as mist and Mist washed about him, insubstantial in the light when he had seemed so corporeal in the darkness inside the Necrohal. He blinked when he caught them staring, confused. Apparently, he was not aware of it, though Fran had noticed for some time.
"Is something…?" he began, but Fran shook her head again, taking his hand. The instant she touched him, he seemed there again. In fact, he seemed so there as she dragged him away by his tattered shirt-sleeves, his scrabbling feet leaving deep imprints scouring the soil, that they wondered if they had imagined it.
They could not, however, have imagined what they saw when they returned to the Strahl. Several small Remoras had surrounded the ship, so many that they could not even see it, and in the distance, the Loki was roaring toward them over the wet, marshy steppes of the Nabreus Deadlands.
"Ah, Balthier Bunansa. Bad form to keep us waiting, you know." Judge Magister Freyk turned toward them, his heel grinding into the mud.
"What are you doing here?" Balthier's voice could have made frost form with the chilling level it reached.
"A good question," Freyk cleared his throat, drawing a scroll from where it was tucked in his belt. "Ffamran 'Balthier' Mid Bunansa Archades, you are under arrest for the performance of regicide, on the third day of the first month of His Majesty Hugin Cepherius Solidor's reign, year eight-hundred-three, Old Valendian."
"What happened to Munin?" Fran broke in. Freyk ignored her.
"In the name of the law, you will be tried—" a soldier approached, putting iron shackles about Balthier's wrists, cuffing them together. The sky pirate was so shocked by what he was hearing that he did not even attempt evasion. "—you have now been tried, and found guilty. Your sentence— death. You will be executed formally at the Palace in three days, along with your accomplices. Until then, you will be held in—"
"Did anyone ever tell you that you talked too much?" Blair blurted out. "I thought the military taught your types to be precise." That snapped Balthier out of his reverie.
"Fran, plyndre!" he shouted. Fran looked at him sharply.
"Egentlige?" she cocked her head.
"I'm quite serious. And take Marcus with you, Blair too if he won't leave her. He won't stand past the prisoner registration process. The nethicite they use to keep enough Mist gathering for spells will stop his heart cold and kill him." Fran nodded, tight lipped, before grabbing Marcus and Blair and bounding into the mist. "I suggest you follow her." Balthier murmured to the others. They vanished after her, but John stayed.
"I'm not leaving you!" he stated. "I'm not kidding! I won't leave a man behind!"
"Then stay." Balthier shrugged as another lesser judge clapped another pair of handcuffs about John's hands. "You should have left me behind. You might have been spared execution."
"Why didn't you run, you idiot?" John was all but yelling as they were led away toward the Loki.
"Someone has accused me of killing Larsa. I will not rest until I clear my name." Balthier answered.
"Stay in the area. The others might come back for that hunk of metal this deranged pirate calls an airship." Freyk said, and Balthier managed to catch a glimpse of the Strahl. What he saw made tears spring to his eyes for the first time in over half a century, glistening and dripping down his face.
The Strahl was nothing more than a twisted metal skeleton, her ribs open to the sky, smoke pouring from a thousand holes in her hull. Her white paint was grey with ash, her smooth underbelly dented by sledgehammers. Flame belched out of the cockpit, and glass shattered under the heat, metal screeching as it caved in. The Strahl was crying.
"You bastard!" Balthier screamed, a howl, a vicious war cry, and he jerked his cuffed hands from the soldier holding the chain, the links separating with a snap. He lunged at Freyk, savagery, pain, and anger pouring off him. There was a crash, and John closed his eyes, expecting to see Freyk's brains pouring out onto the muddy ground as Balthier smashed his head open using the sharp edge on the handcuffs, but was surprised when the pirate was sent sprawling, and Freyk remained standing, serene as a mountain. John blinked. Quick as a cat, the pirate twisted, back on his feet, and launched himself back at the Judge Magister. At the last moment, he vanished in a blur of speed, appearing behind him.
"I'm sorry— did I offend you in some way? Wait… you don't have feelings, you monster." Freyk laughed as he spun, landing a kick solidly in Balthier's gut with his sharply booted foot. The pirate was flung back, and he landed in a crouch, holding a hand to his stomach, where a nasty gash could be seen through his splayed fingers, panting as he glared at the judge. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he vomited onto the ground. Blood, a disgusting mixture of red and black, spattered over his fingers and pooled around his shoes. He had fed— very recently, from the look of things, John decided. "How much of that is yours, I wonder? And how much of it belongs to all the myriad soldiers and humes you've killed over the years? How much of it belongs to your Viera plaything?" Freyk continued to taunt, and Balthier made to get up again, hatred building and spilling from his angry eyes, but sank back to the ground, coughing weakly, his knees unable to support him.
John was at his side in an instant, cautiously putting an arm around his shoulders. He pulled back when Balthier's head whipped around, and the pirate snarled at him, a blood curdling, spine chilling sound, but as he took in John's horror-stricken countenance, his eyes softened.
"Sorry…" he whispered, before falling unconscious.
"Nothing to be sorry about," John said gruffly, lifting the pirate to his feet. The man weighed far less than he looked, and it was easy to half drag, half carry him inside the ship before they were locked in the brig. Meanwhile, he could feel Freyk's eyes on them.
I got you, Bunansa, his invisible eyes seemed to say. Got you, got you, got you.
Inside the brig, it was completely dark, as the only light came from a tiny window slot that remained covered for most of the trip. John had put Balthier down upon a thin metal bench that he supposed was a bed, and hunkered down on the other one, hunched over to avoid brushing against the low ceiling.
The pirate was clearly uneasy, shifting often in his forced slumber. His breath was irregular, occasionally coming in quick, shaky bursts, other times, long and drawn out, what seemed like hours (though in reality, it was only minutes) in between. When those times struck, John found it eerie as he listened to the steady sound of his own breath going on and on in the darkness. It was almost as if he was alone. For a moment, he wondered what the room looked like to Balthier. Was it like the monster movies with vampires that he'd seen on Earth? John glanced toward the bunk where he hoped the pirate still was. A shuddering breath— he was still there.
In the movies, the vampires saw their victim as a burning red figure in a bright room with no light, full of hot, fresh blood, and heard their heartbeat, loud, loud, loud in their ears. John's own heart tripped briefly in terror— he might be that red victim in the movies.
Balthier reared back into consciousness with a strangled cry followed by a loud bang as he slammed his head into the low ceiling. For a moment, John wondered if the pirate had knocked himself out again, but the thought was dispelled as he heard Balthier let out a thin moan. There was a thump and a huff as he overestimated the width of the bunk and rolled off it, but John could soon pick out the glint of his eyes in the dim light shining under the door.
"Where are we?" Balthier asked hoarsely. John knocked on the metal bench.
"Take a good, hard guess," the commander said sarcastically. "You ain't in Kansas anymore, that's for sure."
"Kansas?"
"Forget it— it's from an old movie. We're in the Loki's brig, getting transported back to Archades. Fran and the others fled, remember? I don't think they've been caught yet."
"The Loki… Freyk's ship… that scummy piece of Couerl guts!" Balthier growled, shaking his head savagely. His earrings clinked, and John took a moment to admire the six sets of earrings on the pirate's lobes. Seven on one ear, it seemed. It was amazing that his ears didn't fall off with the amount of silver twists, steel cuffs, gold, and diamonds piercing them. There even seemed to be a burned metal clover of some sort dangling next to a rakish silver half-twist. There was a tinkle as Balthier shifted on his bench, his bangles and bracelets clanking against the handcuffs. "I'll kill him for destroying the Strahl, and ask Fran to make a new violin for me— using his guts for the strings."
"You won't be using anyone's guts for strings if you get executed." John pointed out blandly.
"I told you, you should have run. I can't get executed if you chop my head off or burn me to cinders— though I think it might take a long time to regenerate from the ashes if you scattered them over Ivalice, but you canget killed. You are the Resistance's savior— if you don't mind me saying, you are the Queen Ashe of Earth. Your death means the doom of your people." Balthier sounded serious.
"That's not true." John said. "They aren't helpless. The most important thing about humans is that you can beat them down and they'll get back up. Or had you forgotten? They'll keep going, even if I'm dead." Silence on his companion's end. John realized he must have hit a nerve. "Er… I'm sorry…"
"Don't be. It's been a long time since someone's given me lip like that. Vaan was the last person besides Freyk who actually pointed stuff like that out to me." Balthier lie back down, lacing his hands over his stomach.
Hours later, soldiers entered the brig to transport them to the actual prison. "The Judiciary Dungeon…" Balthier muttered under his breath. "Gods, I never wanted to go back here." The Judges pushed them through the door, slamming it and locking it behind them. The prison was much like Nalbina- just the lower basement levels of the palace sealed off. It was so dark, it resembled the Barheim Passage more, and also carried the array of ghouls and amphibious creatures native to these surroundings.
"Well now, looky here. It's the 'King Slayer.'" A gormless, wizened face like a ghostly prune leered at them. "Fancy seein' you here. I'm surprised they didn't put ye in solitary like they did Basch back in the day." Balthier leered back.
"Hello, Jules. You're looking just as good as ever," he purred, eyes glittering maliciously. "Freyk clearly holds me low esteem. Obviously, I'm just a 'deranged pirate.'" John blinked.
"You know this guy? He looks ancient."
"Eh? Wot's that?" Jules peered at him through eyes almost lost in the folds of his face. Balthier sighed.
"John, I'm ninety-seven. I've known this guy since I was ten." His lip twitched. "Had you forgotten?" he teased. Jules cackled.
"Ar, weel now, yer as lively as e'er, Ffarmarn!" the old street ear grinned ear to ear, all gums and no teeth.
"Ugh… Jules, I realize you're… old… but…" Balthier made a face. "If you're going to call me by my old name, get it right, please?"
"Hee hee hee! Ol' Jules can tell you wants something a mile away, he can!" the old man cackled even louder, and John glanced around uneasily.
"Make him be quiet, he'll attract the guards and anyone else in the area."
"I need something, Jules. I need a way out. I'll pay you handsomely, eh? What say you?" Balthier asked quickly, making a hundred-gil coin appear between his fingers as if by magic. Jules sucked his gums.
"A hundred gil ain't enough to get yer outta prison, Ffamran. Wot can I buy for a hundred gil in prison?"
Balthier sneered. "What if I increased the price?" nine more coins appeared in his hand. "A thousand gil. That's a lot to pass up, even for you."
"You strike a hard bargain, but I accept." Jules cackled again, palming the coins and making them vanish in the same manner Balthier had made them appear. "There is a water passage, filled with foul creatures and one fouler than all of 'em put toge'er. They guard the entrance to the Southfall Tunnel. No one's survived past there, not that I know of, and no one can survive the Tunnel after that. No one but you, 'cuz yer special 'n all that. N' even you might get mangled beyond belief. Good thing you got a guy to drag yer corpse out!"
John shivered, glancing down at the pirate, who had squatted down to Jules's level.
"Are you sure you want to try that passage?" John asked. "If you haven't noticed, we haven't been doing so hot in all the fights we've been having."
"Nonsense." Balthier snorted. "That's just because we have been fighting crazy, Mist-mutated machines. I'm not afraid of a couple zombies and rats." He stood. "Let's be off. Thanks, Jules."
"Any day, Master Ffamran. Oh, an' one more t'ing. I've got a bit of news you'd be dyin' to hear, but you're gonna have to pay a little more…" the street ear grinned, running a gnarled hand through his wispy white hair.
"What am I dead for to hear?" Balthier said flatly, playing along with the joke and presenting another few coins to the old man, but he shook his head.
"More. I told yer, ye'd be dyin' to hear it. I want the most valuable t'ing you gots on you."
"I suppose I don't want to hear it, then." Balthier began to walk away, but Jules shrugged.
"I guess it's yer funeral." He said. The sky pirate stopped, and with a growl, dumped a small, shining rock in Jules's lap. "Einherjarium. Not bad, ol' blackguard, where'd you scrounge up this?"
"Nabudis, now tell me!" Balthier all but screamed in frustration.
"Bahamut." Jules replied simply. "Bahamut rises again."
"Tell me more."
"Can't. That's all I know. That, and shinin' people were seen goin' inside."
"Terminators." John said. "How many of them?"
"Three."
"The last batch." He nodded. "Then, let's get going, Balthier."
Balthier gave Jules a grudging pat on the head before moving to follow John, but stopped dead and began laughing when the man's stomach gave a cavernous growl that sounded not unlike a roaring Behemoth.
"There stands a hungry man." Jules sniggered. John blushed, placing a hand over his stomach. "I suppose ye'd like to stay another hour? Dinner's comin' shortly."
"Dinner?" John raised an eyebrow.
"Aye, dinner." Jules replied, just as several prison wardens entered the room.
Dinner, as it turned out, was a messy affair- some kind of soup with dried strips of meat. Balthier yielded his portion of soup to the commander but kept the meat in case they needed it later.
"You sure?" John asked, his spoon hovering over the soup bowl. "You sure you don't want to eat it?" Balthier shook his head.
"I don't need to eat any more. Not Hume food, at least," he answered.
"Then you should go… do whatever it is you do when you get hungry." John urged.
"I'm fine. You'll know when I'm not."
"You'll find yerself on yer back with 'is teeth buried in yer neck, that's when you'll know." Jules said as he sucked on a bit of meat, unable to chew it.
"No you won't." Balthier argued, stretching his long legs contentedly. "And how would you know?"
John could sense another argument was about to break, and finished his food hurriedly. "Let's go."
"Past the grate is the tunnel, past the tunnel is the Sochen Cave Palace. Right where we started." John remarked as they stared through the bars of a heavy gate lowered over the exit. Balthier examined the mechanism.
"The gate is too heavy to be lifted or moved, even for me. We'll have to find another way, unless we find the key." He said after a while.
"Couldn't you blast the gate down with magick?" John asked. The sky pirate shook his head, pointing to a glowing crystal the commander had thought was a light.
"That crystal is nethicite. It sucks the Mist out of the air, and without Mist, there's no magick." Seeing John's confused face, he quickly explained. "I know you can't see it or feel it, but you can only see Mist when it is in high enough concentrations, like at the Deadlands and in the Necrohal, but there are always tiny particles no matter where you are. Except here. There is no Mist here."
"So what are we going to do?" John asked. Balthier scanned the room, spotting a vent set just above the grate, high in the darkness.
"There. That is our way out."
"You're going to climb?"
"I've done worse." The pirate shrugged nonchalantly and began to climb, scaling the wall with practiced ease. "Up you come, commander."
John also began the ascent. "You would think that a supposed king slayer would be kept under close guard." He remarked. "We're getting out of this awfully easily."
Balthier stopped glanced down at him, already almost halfway up the gate. John immediately began to climb faster. "No, they are watching. Or they know where I am, at least."
"How? A tracking device?"
"Freyk implanted it when he kicked me," Balthier said, nodding toward his stomach. The flesh was still slightly torn. "I suspect it contains some kind of Holy infused serum that prevents me from using any of my ill-gained power."
"So you're saying you have a tracking device screwed into your guts right now?"
"Yes. And I'm going to ask you to cut it out of me, soon."
"What?" John almost let go of the bars, and Balthier grabbed his arm before he fell back toward the ground.
"We should get moving again."
"What am I going to use? How am I going to—"
"You're a military man— for the love of the gods, just follow orders. Have you ever been to prison?" Balthier snapped, dragging himself over the ledge and into the vent. For a man of his size, it was a tight squeeze. For a moment, he wished he still looked sixteen. Then he would have fit through there with ease.
"Yes. Once, to save my mother." John answered defensively.
"Have you ever gone to prison for a crime?" Balthier sounded exasperated by then.
"No."
"Then shut up. I'm trying to get out of here, and I don't want the army on my tail as soon as I get my first breath of freedom. Therefore, you are going to cut that tracking device out of my guts."
"… Ready?" John asked, watching as Balthier clenched his teeth on a piece of cloth. The sky pirate closed his eyes and nodded.
John plunged the rusted dagger filched from a Zombie Warrior into Balthier's stomach, carving a large, jagged crescent in the flesh. He almost gagged as he slid his fingers into the wound, searching blindly for the little metal transmitter. Balthier gave a little whine, muted by the cloth between his teeth. When John withdrew his hand, prize clutched tight, his fingers were coated in a glove of black blood. He closed his eyes as Balthier's skin began to regenerate, sealing cuts, skin bubbling slightly as it reformed. At this moment, he was greatly admiring his wife, Kate, for having the courage to become a doctor.
"I have an idea," he said, as Balthier spat the cloth out onto the ground.
"What?"
"Let's stick this on a monster. It won't be us they find when they come searching, and it will slow them up if they have to fight their way out."
"I wouldn't have thought of that." Balthier grinned as he stood. "Remember that nasty beastie Jules said was down here? Let's put it there."
Yays!