Sol of Luna: Near and Far

Author: Gakusangi

Author's Notes and Acknowledgements:
RECAP – We open with Linda as a small child wandering the halls of the Guild and coming across a bizarre looking guildsman taking notes in his private study. To help her sleep, he gives her a teddy bear, and then hands her a book to teach her shorthand, telling her that maybe someday she could help him take notes. When Linda wakes, she finds herself in the darkness of the labyrinth. She steps through an opening and enters the Hall of Mirrors, a disorienting place of self-reflection. She's then attacked by reflected doppelganger wearing a white mask, and forced to defend herself. She turns down a victory, though is gravely injured in the process. We then watch Matt as a little boy, attending a funeral with an unmarked grave. When he wakes, he finds himself in an open chamber with a large chasm at its center, and columns leading to the other side. As he leaps from column to column, large, bat-like creatures attack him. He narrowly escapes, and presses on, grinning at the idea of more adventure in the immediate future. Meanwhile, as L gloats over his victories, the Emerald Sage plays his next card…The Shadow…

This is a Death Note fan fiction. Many of the characters presented here are not mine, but the legal property of writer Tsugumi Ohba, and artist Takeshi Obata.

Chapter 21: The Labyrinth, Part III

Misa wondered the far too large halls of the Imperial palace, as she had several times before. On most of those occasions, she had a slight bounce or skip in her step, which came with the energy of innocent youth…but not today. It had been almost four years since the death of her mother, but still it seemed in her young mind that Misa had only seen her smiling happy face only the day before. This new woman, this Hyrua, who had caught her father's eye, was not her mother. She wasn't needed nor wanted within her home. Her mother was dead, there was no one to replace her, Misa had decided upon that a long time ago. She had shrugged off Hyrua's affections, for they were only empty gestures. She may have fooled her father, but she wasn't fooling her. She was only in it for the luxuries of palace life, and nothing more.

Misa had hoped her father would see this woman for what she was, but instead he had married her. Then there was child. Oh, that odd little boy. Misa new from the moment she laid eyes on the little creature bundled in soft white blankets, that he was…different. Furthermore, she new that he was the ultimate trap, her father had been ensnared. Now there was a baby, an heir. Misa's hopes of being rid of the woman, her mother's hollow replacement, shattered with the boy's first, nearly silent, cries. And she hated him for it. She hated him more than the woman who was trying to take her mother's place. They, the two of them, were conspirators against her family. But her father couldn't see that…wouldn't see it.

So Misa paced glumly about the halls, downcast and angry. The heartache of her mother's passing still fresh and festering within her chest. A hole pierced straight through her heart, leaving her feeling empty. Her father had filled his emptiness with a new woman, a selfish and stupid attempt. But Misa had nothing, and wanted nothing. Her mother had been the only thing, and now she was gone. Misa rounded a corner and huffed on, her small steps half stomping – half dragging down the corridor.

It was merely a coincidence that she happened to step into a particular corridor at the same moment a small, white haired boy, just out of infancy, went running by, chasing a small toy ball that was eluding him. Misa watched as the boy tripped over his own awkward feet, and fell down. She just managed to suppress a snort of amusement. The ball rolled to stop not far from where the boy fell. She expected him to burst into tears and begin wailing at any moment, but the cries never came. Instead, he lifted himself into an odd sitting position, one leg hugged to his chest, and looked at the ball across from him. He blinked a few times, as if puzzled, as if saying: "Why doesn't it want to play with me?"

Misa stepped forward. Taking the slightest measure of pity on her accursed half-sibling and she knelt down to retrieve the ball. She held it out to him, barely even looking at him. He blinked again, and then slowly took it from her. He was silent, his large, black eyes falling upon the ball with an odd kind of curiosity. Those eyes were why he didn't want to look at him, so deep, so empty. Plus, she hated him with every fiber of her being, so why would she look at him. Then he looked up. Misa was shocked to see that same expression, only this time it was directed at her.

Why doesn't it want to play with me?

Misa snorted, and turned away, starting down the corridor, and leaving the boy behind. It took a few moments, but she was soon aware of a light patting sound. She stopped, and the sound stopped with her. She turned around, and caught those large, bottomless eyes staring up at her. He had been following her down the passage. That same expression met her again. He held up the ball, as if offering it to her. Now it was her turn to blink in confusion. What did he want? Why was he giving it to her? Did he really expect her to play with him or something? She took the ball from him, and gently rolled it back down the hall.

"Go, play." Misa said, as if telling a puppy to fetch.

But he didn't fetch, instead he only looked up at her. That same look, only now it said something different.

Why won't you play with me?

Misa turned again and began to walk on. She tried to ignore the little patting sounds of tiny, socked feet, but to no avail. What was his problem? Had she ever hinted at wanting to be anywhere near him? She thought that even little kid like him would have gotten the idea. She whirled around, nearly causing the boy to walk into her, and crossed her arms, frowning down at him.

"Stop following me!" She snapped.

He didn't respond. He simply stared at her. Misa hadn't intended to, but it was a habit of hers to look into the eyes of whomever she was talking to. Gazing into those black pools, the full extend of the message broke through Misa's cold exterior and struck where she thought she could no longer feel.

Why don't you love me?

Misa felt a pull in her chest. Why? Why did she feel this way? She hated him, hated everything about him. The finality of him, he was the last point, the point where everyone was supposed to move on. But she didn't want to move on. She wanted her mother, and he was killing her memory, allowing others to forget about her, as though she never existed. They could move on, but she, Misa, wouldn't. She hated him…didn't she? Looking into those large, black eyes, she wasn't so sure anymore. She'd never, in the years following his birth, spent any real time alone with him. There was one occasion, just afterwards, when her father had set the little bundle in her arms and said: "Now you're a big sister." But that was a long time ago, and she had felt nothing towards the white haired infant then. At least nothing like what she was feeling now.

"Mi." The boy said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"What?" Misa asked, pulled from her thoughts.

"Mi." The boy repeated.

"Me?" Misa repeated.

"Mi." The little boy said again.

Misa realized what was going on.

"Misa." She said slowly, pointing at herself.

"Mi – Sa." The boy said the name carefully, filing it away in his memory.

Misa looked into his eyes, as she had several other people in the past, and knew his name, knew it as though she had always known it. It was always the same. It was as though the name that popped into her mind were perfect for the person, as though there could be no other name for them to go by. It wasn't a bad name either. However, she was puzzled. Hyrua had not used her native language to name him…how odd. The little boy held up his arms, and bounced a little. Misa looked at him for a moment, at first puzzled by his motions. He repeated them, and she understood.

"You want up?" Misa asked.

He bounced again, arms raised above his head of curling, white hair.

"I'm not picking you up." Misa said firmly.

The boy lowered his arms and frowned a little. Misa had to admit it was kind of cute. He raised his arms, still frowning, and hopped on his toes. Misa frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

"No." She said.

She looked to the side, but could still see those large, blank eyes at the edges of her periphery. She was drawn back to them, like a moth drawn to light, or in the case of his eyes, the lack-there-of. He bounced again, arms raised. Misa hesitated a moment. If she carried him, it didn't necessarily mean that she felt for him in any way. She ate dinner with Hyrua, called her mother, and obeyed her commands, but she certainly felt nothing for her. So if she decided to be charitable, and take the little boy up, it didn't mean that they were bonding or anything.

She sighed, and reached under his arms. She nearly tossed him over her head. He was so small, so light…and so warm. Misa wasn't sure why she hadn't expected the warmth. He was a living thing after all. She felt the warmth pass through her, putting feeling where there was numbness, soothing where there was hurt…Filling where it was hollow. But why? Why him, and why now? She hated him, hated everything about him and his greedy mother. But there was something there…something hidden deep down…

He loved her…unconditionally. How, why? I didn't make any sense. He didn't know her. She had shown him no affection, only scorn and cold indifference. But he did. He knew who she was, without having ever really met her. Not like Misa did with people's names, but deep down where you could see who a person really was. He knew his older sister…and he knew he loved her. And somewhere deep inside, Misa knew the same. She knew that he was her little brother…and that she loved him back.

* * * *

Near stepped into a long corridor with walls of rough stone, never before worked by the hands of men. It was a long, narrow passage that went well beyond his range of vision. In the ceiling were holes with golden beams of light falling through them and coning onto the dusty cave floor. It resembled sunlight, but Near knew it couldn't be so. He didn't feel at all tired, so the dawn hours couldn't have arrived yet, certainly not high-sun which was the only way that sunlight could come down in this manner. It was puzzling, but then again nothing really made sense in this place.

He placed a pale hand into one of the beams. It was warm, but not painfully so. Near frowned a little, but shrugged. It didn't matter. What mattered was finding the others, and fast. This place was supposed to be some kind of maze, but there were no winding corridors or dead ends. Near was beginning to suspect that it wasn't that kind of maze. It was a labyrinth to be sure, only in a very different way. This place was disorienting to the senses, a labyrinth for your mind.

Near walked a little ways until he came to an area where the passage widened into an open chamber. He was compelled to move on, but something managed to catch his attention. The shadows in this place seemed…denser, deeper somehow, than they should have been. And there was something else. As Near stepped out of the path of the light beams and squinted into the darkness. He could see glittering specs in the cave wall, as though some kind of precious stones were embedded in the rock. He came closer, but the air around him had become dry, and cold. He exhaled into his hand, and saw the faint sign of steam brush against his palm. He frowned in confusion.

Near took a few steps forward, and the cold seemed to intensify with each step. Soon his breath was making large, thick plumes of ghostly steam with every painful breath. His chest felt tight, constricted, and his face and eyes were burning with the cold, and dried out. He held his arms to his body to try and hold in some heat, shuddering horribly, his teeth chattering in his head. What was going on? The closer he came to the shadows, the more the temperature dropped, and he was still a few feet away. He peered into the darkness again, squinting with the effort. Then he realized it. The glittering was not precious stones, but frost. The entire wall that shadowed had been frosted over.

Near's foot bumped something, and he glanced down. It was a rock. He took it in one trembling, numbed hand and through it into the shadow. It was amazing, and Near witnessed the whole transition. As soon as it passed into the shade, while still drifting through midair, the rock froze over, its rough surface taking on the glassy quality of ice. When it struck the opposite wall, it shattered into hundreds of tiny, glittering fragments. Near had seen enough, he turned and started for the passage again. Better to find the others soon.

A strange noise, like a whispered hiss, caught Near's attention, and he looked over his shoulder. He watched in horror as the shadow began to expand – no – not expand, but move. It crept along the sidewall, frosting over the stone as it passed. It was moving towards him, he realized with gripping terror that threatened to paralyze him. But he managed to break its hold and made a mad dash for the corridor. Behind him, the patch of shadow coiled through the air, reaching out for him. Near could feel the cold against the back of his neck, feel the moisture being leeched from the exposed flesh there. It was close, and gaining. He had to try and outrun it, but the closer it got, the more the cold began to stiffen his legs, slowing his retreat.

Near legs finally failed him, and he stumbled, falling into a beam of warm, golden light. He curled up into a little ball, and waited to be consumed by the patch of darkness…but nothing happened. Near opened his eyes and looked up. There it was, suspended in the air, floating balefully near where he lay, circling like a predator to its prey. But it didn't come any closer. Near unrolled, and stood up slowly, his body tense and ready for flight. Here, in the beam, he was immune to its cold, and the feeling in his limbs had returned, along with the moisture of his skin.

The beam…It could come into the beam. The light repelled it. Once this realization set in, Near glanced to the side. The next beam was only a short distance away. If it really couldn't come into the light, then he could dash from beam to beam and make his way down the corridor…but what if he reached an area without any light? He shook the thought aside, it would only serve to slow him, freeze him with the terrible thought of being stuck with nowhere to go. Instead, he set himself, his emotionless gaze locked on his target, colder than even the shadow that hounded him.

He burst forward, his slender legs, still a little weak from his last run, pushing his small body towards the light ahead. He was out of the protective cone of golden ray, and the shadow was descending upon him once again, its cold drying out his skin, and chilling him to his very bones. But he didn't think about any of this. His mind was locked on the light. He needed to reach it. He had to reach it. He was fighter, a survivor, a wolf…he couldn't lose. He wouldn't lose.

Near stumbled into the second beam, panting a little with the effort he had just exerted. Behind him, the shadow stopped and began to circle again, slowly. Near caught his breath quickly and stood back up. The next light was in sight, but there was a problem. It was further away. Near's heart sank a little. He hadn't expected this. If each light were the same distance apart, he was confident that he could make it to each one before the shadow fell over him, but if they stretched out too far…

He shook this thought aside as well. He crouched, readying himself for another break. Then he was off again. The shadow seemed quicker to react this time, and Near was left to wonder if it could actually think well enough to understand what he was doing. The idea that his supernatural pursuer was capable of such thought somehow made it more chilling than it had been. But still he pressed on. Near fell into the third light, but only half in. He quickly curled up, pulling in his legs before the shadow could fall over them. It was close, but he had made it.

Near lay in the light, his legs throbbing with pain, his chest burning, and his throat sore. Every heaving breath he took came with effort. He lifted his head and looked to the next light. His hopes vanished. There was no way he could make the distance without being caught. Near rose slowly to his feet, his legs trembling, threatening to buckle beneath him. He swayed a little, and his shoulder came out of the beam. The shadow came diving down, eager to get at the exposed region. Near only just caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned sideways just in the nick of time, but the shadow, in its sudden rush, came partially into the light. There was a loud hissing sound, like serpent, and shadow recoiled suddenly.

Near saw all this, and his mind went to work. The light didn't only repel it, but harmed it. Near knelt down and removed the small travel pack from his slender shoulders. He ripped open the mouth and reached blindly inside, his fingers seeking desperately. They touched something smooth, and glassy. He removed the small mirror and looked upon his own calm face, glistening with sweat. He stood up again and held the mirror above his head. The beam was caught in the mirror, and as Near tilted it, the ray was shot out at an angle. It touched the shadow, which hissed in surprise and retreated to the side. Near quickly corrected the mirror's angle and beam struck the shadow again.

They went around like this. The hissing sound, like meat sizzling on a skillet, filled the corridor, deafening in its intensity. As the beam bit into the shadow, bits of darkness bled off, evaporating into the air, and its bulk began to shrink. It whipped around and made for Near, apparently casting aside thoughts of self-preservation and trying desperately to get at him before he could harm it any further. Near hit the cave floor letting the hissing cloud of blackness pass harmlessly over him. But in the process, the mirror slipped from his hands, and shattered on the floor. Seizing the moment, Near began to scramble. He stuck his palm into one of the shards, and it drove deep beneath the tender, pale flesh. Near gritted his teeth and started to run, ignoring the sharp pain in his hand, and the warm dripping sensation as blood ran down his wrist and stained the sleeve of his shirt.

Near ran with everything he had left, drawing down in whatever reserves he could find. Behind him the shadow snaked through the air, freezing the walls with its serpentine movements, and hissing angrily. The cold settled in on Near, threatening to frost him over. He ducked his head the reduce friction, and pushed his legs to their absolute limits. Muscles screamed in protest, but Near only pushed them harder. He knew that at any moment, they would shut down from the strain and he would be unable to continue, but while he still had what little strength he could muster, he pressed on relentlessly.

Finally he was at the beam. He reached out with his injured hand, and caught a glimpse of the mirror fragment embedded in the flesh. He turned and looked back. The shadow was only seconds from being upon him. Near reached into the beam and tilted his palm. The light caught the mirror shard and reflected outward. It struck the shadow cloud, causing it to halt and hiss in agony. It immediately began to bleed away again, little bits of it disappearing like smoke into the air. Soon there was only a spec of darkness left, but Near wasn't taking any chances, he continued to redirect the light until there was no trace of the thing left. The hissing sound soon died away, and an odd stillness fell over the passage.

Near was panting hard, every inch of his body was exhausted and horribly sore. He dropped to the ground, lying on his back and his chest heaving with every burning breath he took. He brought his injured hand before his face, small droplets of blood falling warmly upon his pale cheeks. He quickly removed the shard and tossed it aside. In a moment, he would be up and again, and his search would resume. But for the time being, he could rest…

* * * *

L leaned back in his seat, and allowed a sigh of relief to escape him.

"No boasts?" The old man asked.

"That had nothing to do with me." L replied without looking at the man. "That was luck. Not even my luck."

"He is a remarkable boy, isn't he?" The old sage remarked with a little smile.

"You have no idea." L responded.

The old man looked up from his cards.

"On the contrary," The old man replied, looking upon the guildsman thoughtfully, "I believe I do."

L smiled, nodding his head.

"Well, I suppose you do." L agreed.

Flick

With a quick motion of his wrist, the old man's next card hit the center of the table, and L glanced down at it.

The Illusion

* * * *

It was another dead end.

"Damn!" Mello cursed aloud.

It seemed that he had finally managed to stumble upon the fabled labyrinth of which L had spoken. The walls and floor here were of brick, beige in color, perfectly cut and laid. Mello turned around and backtracked for maybe the twentieth time since he discovered the maze. All the while his thoughts whirled around worriedly inside his head. Images of his companions in all manners of peril flashed rapidly before his mind's eye. He hoped, he prayed that they were all safe. He rounded another corner, the tapping of his boots echoing off the high, narrow walls. For the life of him, he couldn't remember why he had decided to try and brave the maze, rather than looking around for another route. But here he was, and he very much doubted that he could find his way back at this point.

Mello came around the corner and nearly fell into a darkened pit set in the middle of the floor. He pin-wheeled his arms for a moment, trying to balance on the heels of his boots, and then stumbled back, his rear colliding hard with the stony floor. He cursed under his breath and rose to his feet, dusting himself off, and rubbing a little bit of the pain out of his behind. There was a small walkway running down the center of the pit to the other side, narrow and without any railing. Mello thought for a moment, but soon decided that one way was as good as any other at this point. Besides, if they were bothering to put in the pit, then they must have something up ahead, right?

Mello started across, his progress slow as he placed one foot carefully in front of the other, and made his way to the other side. He could hear wind rushing up from out of the opening in the ground. The pit was deep, very deep. Mello glanced down, and was almost overtaken by a sense of vertigo at the sight of its bottomless darkness. He remembered that it was always best not to look down in these types of situations, for that very reason. He tilted his head upward towards the ceiling instead. Mello looked into blue eyes, set above a narrow nose, and framed by golden-blonde hair that he was intimately familiar with.

"What the hell?" Mello said in surprise.

Judging from the expression painted across the face of the other Mello walking on the ceiling, the same thought was going through his mind as well. Then the other Mello turned and took off. Mello tried to look over his shoulder and see where "he" was running off to, but only managed to tangle his legs and lose his balance. He spilled over the side of the bridge, just managing to catch its edge and keep himself from plummeting into the darkness below. As he pulled himself back up, his thoughts were speeding through his mind, barely coherent in their rapid pace.

What was that? Was that him? What's going on here? The questions flashed through without answers. Mello was both horrified, and frustrated by this new turn of events. Nothing in this place made sense. He couldn't make heads or tails of anything that happened here, and it was starting to get to him. He crawled the rest of the way across the bridge and stood up on the other side, looking back in the direction that "he" had run. The other Mello was long gone now. Mello decided that going back would only be a waste of time, so instead he turned on his heel and started off again.

It was long corridor, with various passages leading off to the sides, but Mello only continued forward, wanting to see where it led. He turned the corner and came face to face with a narrow staircase leading up. He ran up them and found himself standing atop one of the walls, overlooking the entirety of the maze. It was expansive, but not endless, and Mello was confident that with enough time, he could chart a course through to the other side…but was that where he needed to be. He was already more-or-less lost as it was. He might just end up back at the beginning. But then again that was better than being lost, wasn't it?

Mello began to walk along the tops of the walls. They, like the bridge, were very narrow and he had to be careful not to fall over the side. They were high enough to cause serious injury, or even death should he fall. Mello was walking slowly, and his pace reduced the sound that his boot heels made against the stone. For this reason, he knew that the rapid, and familiar tapping of boots that echoed in his ears were not his. He looked over the side, and spotted a blonde boy, in a crimson colored jacket, with a hood. Mello glanced up and spotted himself walking along the walls. He pointed and shouted something that Mello couldn't make out, and then ran off. Mello quickly made his way back. The staircase wasn't far, and if he had it figured correctly, they should bump right into each other in the corridor below.

Mello reached the stairs in no time, and descended them. He turned when he hit the bottom step, and nearly collided with a wall. He blinked a few times in confusion. He had been so certain that he was turning the right direction. He shrugged it off though, and ran the other way. He immediately noticed that the corridor he was running down was not the same as it had been. There were no other passages leading off to the sides now, just a long, straight shot. He stopped for a moment. This place was so frustratingly confusing. As he tried to clear his head, and catch his breath, his gaze tilted upward. For the second time, Mello looked into blue eyes that were his own.

"What the hell?" The other Mello said exactly what was going through his mind at that very moment.

Mello noticed that this Mello was tight roping across the same narrow bridge he had been earlier. Mello turned and ran, thinking that he could backtrack to the bridge and meet his reflected counterpart. He didn't notice that as he ran, the other Mello tried to see where he was going and stumbled off the bridge, just managing to catch himself on the side. No, he didn't notice this, because he was too busy running, his boots clicking loudly on the stony floor, and echoing off the walls. As he ran his eyes darted desperately about. Nothing here was familiar. It was like the maze had changed its layout somehow.

Mello's eyes traveled upward to the tops of the walls. There he spotted himself again, looking down at him in the distance atop one of the walls. Mello stopped running for moment, and pointed at his double.

"Stay there!" He shouted up at the identical blonde boy.

Mello ran towards the wall, not seeing the other Mello turn and run back towards the staircase he had ascended to get to the top of the wall. The Mello on the lower level began moving along the side of the wall he had spotted himself on, looking for another staircase that could take him to the top of it. Mello came around the corner at the same moment "he" came around the corner at the opposite end of the passage. They both froze and looked at each other for a moment. Then they slowly began to walk cautiously towards one another. Their motions were mirrored, both hands falling to the grips of their swords, and their eyes moving rapidly up and down, sizing each other up, and seeking any signs of sudden danger. They stopped only arms length from themselves, and silently eyed each other. They wetted their lips nervously, there eyes narrowed, but with puzzlement, not aggression.

"How's that way?" They both asked each other, pointing over their shoulders.

And then in unison, they answered.

"Fine, I guess."

They began to circle each other, both waiting for the other to make any sudden moves. They reached out slowly, and poked one another in the chest to test how tangible they seemed. They felt the quilted vest beneath their leather clad fingertips and felt the push against their chests. They were both real enough in that regard. They thought for a moment, and then reached a final decision. Both put their hands at their sides, and looked upon the one across from them. They stepped forward, towards one another. The two came together, with a sensation that was akin to stepping through calm, still water…and then Mello was falling in darkness. A darkness so deep that it seemed without bottom.

He landed on his feet, and his knees buckled, forcing him into a crouched position. He looked up into the darkness. The heat that washed over him was sudden, and startling. Fire engulfed the blackness above his head, and coiled around him, nearly boxing him in. He could feel the hardwood floor beneath his palms and bare feet. He could feel the oppressive heat, pressing down heavily upon him. He could smell the walls blistering, and hear the wood popping loudly. He was back. He was in the fire all over again. A tall man with a handsome face framed with blonde hair came rushing into the room. It was the first time Mello had seen his father since that fateful night…the night of the fire.

His father crossed the room in an instant, and took him up in his arms. They were dashing down the stairs and into a small sitting room, which was already half eaten away by the flames. Mello's father kicked open the front door, and they came out into the open air, no longer choked by the heat and smoke. Mello's father set him down in the cobble stone street, his blue eyes, filled with deep concern, washing over him.

"Are you alright?" Mello's father asked frantically.

Mello nodded. Just then, a blood-chilling scream filled the air, and both of them looked back at the house.

"Alethea!" Mello's father cried suddenly.

He rushed back into the house, leaving Mello standing alone in the street. The fires burned high, setting a red glow over everything, their heat pressing intensely against his skin, and columns of smoke blotting out the sky. It was mid-afternoon, but the smoke had plunged them into twilight. Mello watched as his home burned beneath the fires of war. Then he heard a sound that would haunt his nightmares for years to come. It was the agonizing screams of his parents piercing through the air and echoing in his ears. Then the building collapsed, crumbling into fiery ruin, the embers licking his cheeks.

"No!" Mello cried.

He made to run towards the ruin, but thin, unusually strong arms took hold of him and pulled him away. The image began to fade. He left his parents behind for the second time…

Now Mello was standing in cobblestone streets, the night air was crisp, and the fog was almost unnaturally thick. Mello ears rang with the sounds of battle and…gunfire? He ran forward. If someone was fighting, odds were it was one of his companions. He couldn't place it, but there was something oddly familiar about this place. Mello came out into an area where the fog was not so dense, and beheld a chilling sight, one that he would never forget, though he hadn't actually been present to witness it at the time.

Roger was knelt in the center of the street. He was surrounded on all sides by white-garbed assailants, moving almost invisible in the dense fog, three arrows buried into his chest, and one in his back. A tall man with broad shoulders and smooth, graceful features stood before the veteran guildsman. He had jet-black hair, pulled back tightly into a long, braided ponytail, and wore an ivory breastplate, with the image of a serpent forming an S pattern in the center of it. Mello recognized the man from before, when he and Near were hiding at the healers abode. He fixed the old man with a cold, menacing stare. Mello began to run forward. He had to save Roger.

"Roger!" Mello called out desperately.

But no one seemed to hear him. Roger spat angrily at the man, freckling the white of his armor with red droplets of blood. Then Roger lifted his pistol, placing the barrel under his chin…and pulled the trigger.

BANG

Mello stopped abruptly with the sound of the gunshot.

"No!" Mello cried, falling to his knees, his eyes brimming with hot tears.

He couldn't save the old man, just as he hadn't the first time. Mello pushed his face into his hands and began to sob uncontrollably. That is until stillness fell over him, and he glanced up from his dampened palms. He was in anther passage, this one much narrower, and with a ceiling that was low. Torches dimly lit the scene. Mello stood up and started down the passage. Was he back in the labyrinth? He came to large, iron door, which was slightly ajar. When he approached, he noticed that the lock looked as though it had been damaged somehow. Mello pushed open the door and stepped in.

There was a body lying in the center of the room, amid a pool of its own blood. Mello's blood went cold, the room lost its color, and any sounds that were present seemed to deafen in his ears. He recognized the person lying on the floor. Red hair of coppery quality that he could never forget, tattered jeans with knee-high, buckle boots, and a tan vest with fur trim. Matt lay motionless on the floor, his front stained red. Mello ran forward, placing his hand on his best friend's chest wound, and felt no heartbeat beneath. Matt's goggles were missing. His eyes were closed, and wet with tears that had just been shed. The front of his vest was drenched in his blood, still warm beneath Mello's palm. Lying beside the redhead was a small, straw doll. But Mello paid it no mind.

"Matt!" Mello cried, shaking the boy roughly. "Matt, wake up! Come on!"

He shook a few more times, harder each time, but still the red haired boy did not stir.

"Matt!" Mello called louder. "Matt! Wake up! Damn it, Matt! Open your eyes!"

Nothing…he was gone. Mello closed his eyes tightly, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. No, not Matt, it couldn't be. There was no way. Matt had always been there – would always be there. That was the promise. Damn it. That was what they had promised each other all those years ago. He couldn't be gone. He wasn't gone. This couldn't be real.

"It's not real." Mello said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He opened his eyes again. Matt lay before him still.

"It's not real." Mello said, a little louder this time, as he rose to his feet.

The scene before him did not waver in the slightest.

"It's not real!" Mello screamed.

Reality seemed to shatter around him, the shards clattering to the ground, echoing loudly in the dense blackness. Mello was in darkness again, alone, but mercifully relieved of the horrible scene that had just been presented to him. There was a light in the distance. Mello squinted. His still dampened eyes made it difficult to make it out. It was some kind of doorway. Mello made for it. Anything that the Emerald Sage had in store for him now, would pale in comparison to what he had just overcome…or at least he hoped that was the case…

* * * *

"It appears that I've been forced to play my best hand." The old sage remarked, catching L's attention. "I guess I'll just have to use my trump card."

Flick

The old man flicked a card into the center of the table, his mustache curling into a smile.

"The Sphinx!" The old man announced triumphantly.

"Aia." L breathed.

He set the old man with a glare, an emotionless glare, but a glare nonetheless. The old man held out his hands.

"If it isn't difficult," The old sage explained, "Then it isn't worth fighting for."

To Be Continued…

Author's Comments

I hope that this chapter wasn't too confusing at the end, I was in a sureal kind of mood at the time. I had wanted to submit this one yesterday, but I would have been playing "beat the clock" again, and that doesn't make for good writing, so I waited.

Next time: The final stage of the Labyrinth. See you there...