Note: I realized I forgot to disclaimer the last chapter. Oops. I don't own NiGHTS, so please don't sue me.
Chapter Two: Agony
Jackle in the Field (known better as Jackle) lay wracked with pain, as his wounds glistened with fresh blood through the bandages that encompassed his body. He lay, agonized with the harsh sting of numerous deep burns. The pain did not seem as bad before, when Harsh Reality--
Reala. He 'as instructed me zeveral times to call 'im Reala. Jackle thought to himself idly. He was desperate for the comfort his friend brought to him. Being alone in this large, overwhelmingly bright room only served to increase his anxiety and suffering.
I want to be out zere! I want to fight alonzide him! Jackle's mind raced at a thousand miles per hour. Thoughts appearing and disappearing, ideas rising and fading, anguish swirling like a tornado of fire. He was counting on me! He said I am 'is best! I must be out zere with him! Jackle struggled and fought against the bandages, but the agony of his burns only increased and he was left a quivering, wildly-thrashing, howling ball of pain.
Meanwhile, on the front, Harsh Reality (known as Reala to those closest) had a call patched through from Master Wizeman himself. Or, to be more precise, one of his six omnipotent hands, as that was all that could fit in front of the camera. And even then, the tops of all the fingers were cut off the screen and the eye in the center took up most of the screen.
"My Lord! What is it I can assist you with?" He asked, dropping to one knee in front of the video screen, bowing respectfully to his lord and liege.
"I have reports of Commander Jackle being removed from the battlefield."
"Er, yes, my lord. A bomb went off far too close to his base, sir, and he was afflicted with burns. Nasty ones too. I did my best to patch him up--"
"Yes, I know. Your first aid did save his life, however, there is a problem."
"A- p-a- p- a problem, sir?"
"Yes. From what I understand, he is desperate to be back on the field."
"Sir, he's in no condition to be fighting! He can barely move!"
"I understand, but he seems desperate and I deem it prudent to remove you from the field of battle to care for him."
"Me, my lord?"
"Do I stutter? Yes, Harsh Reality, you! You and I both know full well that he will only answer to you."
Reala nodded. "Yes, my lord. I shall be in shortly." The screen shut off.
Reala flew back to the Tower, where a soldier relayed to him the information on Jackle's condition.
"Sir, he's screaming in French again, sir. I think he's really in pain--"
"La seule angoisse est mon oisiveté! Permettez-moi de vous protéger!" The call shrieked from Jackle's bedroom.
"Sir, I have no idea what that meant, but it sounded bad and I think you should help him out--"
"I know what to do, impudent brat! Get back on the field and stop standing around!" Reala snapped.
"Yessir!"
Reala ran into Jackle's room and was disgusted and horrified at what he found.
Jackle was thrashing wildly, his bandages having come loose, and coughing up blood. Blood also gushed from his burns, having reopened them with his jerking about. He was howling in pain and kept screaming in rapid French to Permettez-moi de lutter ou me permettre de mourir!
"I'm not letting you do either, Jackle!" Reala snapped. Jackle suddenly became still as his head jerked towards the sound. He was panting, out of breath, and sobbing, and all in all looked quite manic.
"La Réalité Dure ... vous est intacte. Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! Vous êtes vivants!" Jackle began sobbing now, not out of agony, but out of joy.
"Please, Jackle, speak English for a change..." Reala said softly. Although he understood and spoke French fluently, it would still be nice of Jackle to speak English every once and a while.
"You... are alive!"
"Yes, I am. Goddamn, Jackle. Did you do this to yourself?"
"You were... out on ze battlefield. You were alone. I..."
"You wanted to protect me."
"Un homme veut seulement pour un aimé le voir toute la fin." Jackle said softly. He cast his eyes from Reala, tears welling up once more. "Après que les Ténèbres des Nuits étaient parties et Savent que Thyself a été tué, vous êtes tout ce que je suis parti. Je ne comprends pas pourquoi vous ne le verrez pas."
"I know, Jackle, I know..." Reala gave a shuddering exhale of breath, as if he were as well on the verge of tears. He laid his head down at Jackle's side, not caring that his blood-red hair got covered in his comrade's blood. It was the same color, so what did it matter? Jackle fisted his hand in Reala's hair, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that he knew, somewhere in his torrential maelstrom of a mind, that the Reala in front of him was not an illusion or some sick, twisted trick of the light, but his true friend, his brother.
The stench of blood, copper-like and musty, filled Reala's senses like he was drowning in it. It filled his lungs, his nose, his heart, even his very soul stank of blood and death.
"La bagarre finira quand il n'y a rien pour lutter pour." they said together, a unison of two voices in the air.
"Jackle--"
"Do not worry yourself with me. I zhall be fine. I... You must underztand, Reala, zat you truly are all I 'ave left. I fought my bonds because I was not zure if you would be alive come next morning. I wanted to zave you from zat final blow that would snuff out the last flickering embers zat is your 'eart."
"You wouldn't dare outlive me, you bastard." Reala's feeble attempt at a wicked joke got the two participating in feeble, weak laughter.
"You are right. I would 'ang myself in ze corridor before I let 'arm befall you." Jackle admitted, his eyes still cast from the face of his friend. "Because you are my brother."
"As you are mine."
Silence befell the room. It impregnated the air like a thick fog of death. The metallic tang of blood still hung in the air like some wicked perfume.
"Reala..."
"Jackle. Please. Shall we make a pact? If we are to die, we are to die together, or not at all."
"I... I zhall live a thouzand years or more before I decide to die without you, my brother." Jackle said softly, finally looking Reala in the eye. Jackle's emerald eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, and they brimmed with emotion he'd never thought he'd allow himself to feel.
"Thank you... my brother." With that sentiment, Reala lifted his head and moved forward, attempting to estimate (from the position of his eyes and the bandage across his nose) where Jackle's lips were, and placed a chaste kiss upon them. He was only slightly off, and with a few more tries and a heated embrace, managed to find the other's lips and kiss them fervently. It seemed as though time itself would freeze, and the battle outside was nothing but light rain. Blood-soaked sheets and bodies meant nothing. All of Jackle's agony, the pain with which he was afflicted, and the burning sensation of flames upon his skin, all seemed to wither to nothing in Reala's arms, as if his arms were made of magic, a magic that could heal wounds of the flesh and of the heart.
Tongues danced in an epic, romantic waltz; Jackle's eyes slid shut and to the outside world it would have looked as if Reala were kissing a pile of blood-soaked laundry. But, invisible as they were, Jackle's lips were real, as was his heart. Tears slid through Jackle's closed eyes as they parted for breath.
"Mon frère, mon ami, mon protecteur, mon amant." Jackle whispered lovingly.
"Oh, God, Jackle, I swear, I'll never let you feel pain again..." Reala whispered back, laying his head on the unseen bloody chest. "For years I hid myself behind a mask of stone... After Shadows of the Nights left us, and Know Thyself was killed..." Reala's body wracked and spasmed with silent wrenching sobs.
"You and I are ze only ones left, Reala. You and I are what remains of ze bond of four brothers. For years you 'id yourself behind a facade of ice and 'atred but iz it truly only I zat can get you to weep?"
"Only you ever stuck around long enough to try." Reala confessed. The warmth of Jackle's unseen arms was sickly, but sweet. Those arms, soaked in hot blood, gave Reala a sick, twisted kind of warmth that he felt disgusted in himself for enjoying.
"You an' I, brother, I know zis to be true. We... somezing put us in Nightmare to find a new purpose. I can feel it. We were not meant to be mere zoldiers in a fool's war."
"Jackle, people are dying, men are dying, women, children, Nightopians, Nightmarens, everything is perishing around us and you call this a fool's war?!"
"Only a fool would fight anoz-er living creature! Aren't we all in life? Aren't all lives worth zaving?" Jackle snapped back, his voice rising to desperate, maniacal levels. His fingers clawed into Reala's scalp angrily, leaving red welts in their wake, hidden by his blood red elbow-length hair.
"You don't think I understand that?!" Reala retorted hotly, whipping himself off of Jackle's bed with a heated slap of hand against bloody sheets. "You don't think for a second that I know that this whole war is a mistake?! That all this death and bloodshed could be ended if Master Wizeman got his head out of his arse and saw the other side for once?! But think for once, Jackle, think! All around us people are dying, no, I take that back, people are being goddamn massacred right in front of our very eyes and nothing we do can end it! Nothing short of publicly committing suicide would get these thickheaded idiots to see the light!" Reala's mouth snapped shut as what he just said hit him.
"Reala! Don't zpeak like zat!" Jackle nearly shrieked, his eyes wide with fear. "I said I would die with you but never will I let you take your own life!"
"I know, I'm sorry." Reala said. "But it's only true! Only when they see that someone has died rather than fight a battle so unrewarding as this..." Reala motioned to the window, where a large splatter of unmistakable blood obscured their vision for a moment before it was washed away by the rain. "See that, Jackle? Even the blood of the innocents dragged into this foolhardy war, the only proof that those innocent people ever even existed is washed away by the passage of time! Soon there will be nothing left and we'll be left to shoulder the guilt."
"Before, Brother... you zaid zat it was our duty to zee zis war through to ze end."
"I've changed my mind, alright?! Duty can kiss my powder-blue arse, I'm not getting involved in this... this... fool's war any longer!" Reala shrieked, throwing his arms to his sides forcefully. Twinkle Dust flew from his hands and exploded like tiny smoke bombs on the floor in his rage. He stood in place, panting for breath, as his expression rapidly transformed to one of grotesque anger to one of sorrow, and he collapsed to his knees and gasped in breath before burying his head in his hands and letting his entire body tear itself apart in silent sobs. Jackle struggled and fought, and eventually managed to land painfully on the floor, where he crawled on his hands and knees to Reala. He reared himself up as high as he could go, and fell forwards, draping his arms around Reala in a heavy embrace.
"My brother... do not weep for it. Please, if you should weep, weep for yourself, as your heart is finally becoming whole once again."
Reala was still. "My... heart?"
"I knew. I acted as if I did not, but I knew. When Nights left, when Selph was killed, it destroyed your heart. It ripped it in two and now, you are finally becoming whole."
"Oh, God, Jackle, I just want it all to end...!" Reala choked.
"I know, brother, and it will. Zomeday. Zomeday when all iz peazful, you will no longer weep."
Reala searched Jackle's eyes desperately with his own before plunging forward and capturing his lips in a desperate, heated, bruising kiss. His eyes screwed shut and his hands reaching for whatever skin or clothes or flesh they could reach, Reala conveyed every emotion he'd ever felt in his life through that kiss. Anger at his brother for betraying the cause... Sorrow over his oldest brother's murder... Pity for himself and those soldiers being killed... Remorse for the things he'd said and actions he'd taken...
Slowly, and as if by magic, both brothers began to rise into the air. A flash of bright light alerted their attention, and they broke apart.
Reala gasped at the sight before him.
"Mon Dieu..." he breathed.