Perhaps because there was now a plan in place to begin excavating Deepground for survivors, Nero returned to work. Tseng welcomed him back without comment, letting Reno deliver the lecture and the hug- metaphorically at least. Rather than return to Veld and Vincent's little house, Nero took up formal residence in the Turk barracks. He'd left the back bedroom spotlessly neat, as if he had never been there. Nero was not discourteous when he ran into Veld and Vincent at work, continued to treat them as officers, but his point had been made. He was not a child, and while he would still report to them as his sponsors, he would no longer live under their roof.
It would take time to get everything in place. Although Nero wanted to begin the exploration immediately, he would have to be patient a bit longer. If he and his siblings were all to live on the Surface once they found each other, it would be best to work on the parts he could actually manage. As such, he continued his training with the Turks.
Nero had assembled quite a fan club. A not insignificant crowd of spectators gathered to cheer him on whenever he entered the training simulator. The only problem was that they were completely out of people who were willing to face off with him. The SOLDIER he'd accidentally stabbed had been the first and last casualty. There were no hard feelings, indeed he was now a good friend. However, even the SOLDIER veterans weren't willing to take him on. The Turks just laughed at the suggestion. Mere mortals were no match for a Tsviet. There were discussions about imposing a handicap of some sort on Nero to make it a fair fight when Vincent stepped forward.
"You sure about this?" Veld asked as Vincent made ruthlessly sure that there were no live rounds left in Cerberus before reloading it with paint balls.
"It'll be fine," VIncent assured him, holstering the weapon. "We already know Chaos can't hurt him."
"It'll be a good chance to practice shadowing," Nero put in by way of assent. However, Veld watched uncertainly as Nero selected a dummy weapon for the first time: a high-calibre pistol similar to Vincent's. Veld raised an eyebrow at this, but Nero just shrugged.
"What? He's immune to shadows. I gotta have something."
It was sound logic and Veld nodded approvingly as Nero stepped into the arena.
"Body shots only!" Veld called after him, the same nagging sense of impending disaster beginning to gurgle in the pit of his stomach. Nero smiled behind his mask and gave a casual salute before sinking into a ready stance.
The buzzer sounded. Normally there was a good few seconds of sizing up and circling before the combatants engaged. A cheer went up as Nero opened fire, much to the surprise of pretty well everyone, Vincent included. Then again, Vincent had some affinity for shadows himself. It was a smart move, and enough to throw him for perhaps half a second.
Vincent returned fire, but the paint pellets splattered against the far wall. Nero had vanished, reappearing just behind Vincent. Only a fool tried to jump a Turk from behind. Vincent whipped around, weapon leveled at Nero's head- or where his head should have been. The boy had disappeared again.
Valentine seemed to be watching, listening, every sense stretching for a cue. He opened fire just as Nero appeared. Dropping to one knee, Nero held out both hands like a catcher fielding a baseball. A small hole opened, swallowing the shots and then snapped closed. Spinning, he tossed the shots back at Vincent through a second hole. Vincent dove to one side, a grim smile stretching his face.
Taking aim at his shadow, he fired, the shells disappearing into the floor. Nero jumped and twisted like an acrobat, narrowly dodging the pellets shooting out of his own shadow. Not waiting for Nero to recover, Vincent fired again. Nero flipped out of the way, but his landing was less graceful than his takeoff. Stumbling, he staggered to one side, a bright splotch of neon pink spattered across his thigh.
Veld leaned forward. Vincent hadn't hit Nero directly. How the hell had he managed to connect? Nero, however, seemed to have figured it out. Rushing forward, he slid beneath Vincent's counter-attack and fired into Vincent's shadow. It was Vincent's turn to dance out of the way of a scatter shot of paint pellets.
Cerberus was a custom piece, but still only held an average shot clip. Unless Veld missed his guess, both of them were out of ammo. As if to confirm this, Nero's weapon vanished from his hand in a swirl of shadow. Vincent likewise holstered Cerberus and spread the talons of his claw.
The tension stretched as they stared each other down. Veld leaned against the barrier, fists clenched, hardly daring to breathe. One heartbeat. Two. Three… As if someone had fired a racing blank, they rushed toward each other and collided in an explosion of darkness.
Veld stood out of reflex, watching, heart in his throat, trying to track a battle that kept winking in and out of visibility. They tumbled from one shadow to another, long bodies writhing as they clawed at one another like a pair of angry cats. Valentine had his claw, but Nero had conjured a blade of his own from deep darkness. Blackness swirled like storm clouds in the arena, making it hard to watch as Vincent and Nero continued to swipe at each other.
It was truly breathtaking to witness. Both of them were lightning fast, long arms and legs moving almost too quickly to follow. Despite their gangliness, every movement was decisive and graceful. The light-hearted sensibility that had begun the match had vanished entirely, replaced by a desperate sort of determination. It was as if they had forgotten who they were fighting.
Veld squinted through the clouds of darkness as Vincent slashed at the boy with his claw. Nero dodged back, bringing up his knife of shadow. Vincent met it with a midnight blade of his own, and how he'd managed to conjure that, Veld could not begin to guess. To compensate, Nero's own blade extended just in time to block a blow from Vincent. Although the swords were made of an absence of light, they still rang as if forged of steel. Vincent hacked, stabbed, thrust at Nero, who danced nimbly out of the way. Vincent made as if to swing at him, but instead brought up the hand with the claw, tearing off Nero's mask.
At once the boy doubled over, a terrible rasping sound escaping his throat. The dry wheeze broke off abruptly in a wet gurgle as Vincent shoved his shadow sword forward.
Nero lurched, gasped, staggered where he stood. The darkness flooding the simulator faded as he looked down at the spike of shadow shoved through his middle. Slowly he lifted his head to meet Vincent's eyes.
A collective gasp, deep and horrified, went up. Veld was over the barrier before the buzzer sounded and the lights came on. Nero had collapsed to his knees, only Vincent's arms around him keeping him upright. Despite his injury, Nero sat calm and quiet, the only sign of distress a horrible rasp as he struggled to breathe. Vincent, on the other hand, had gone sheet white, his expression a complicated mix of disbelief and horror. Shaking himself, he scrabbled on the floor for Nero's mask and clapped it over the boy's face. Black blood oozed through the vents in his respirator as he coughed.
"What…" Nero gagged, vomiting more blood, "...did I do?"
Veld felt like puking himself. The kid thought this was punishment.
"Nothing," Vincent whispered fiercely, trying to hug the boy without actually touching him. It wasn't working very well. "Nothing, nothing! It was my fault. I got carried away this time. I'm sorry, Nero, oh gods I'm so sorry!"
Gently, Veld pulled Vincent away from Nero as the medical staff swarmed. The look of hurt, of innocent betrayal on Nero's face made Veld's heart twist. Knowing he would not be of any help to Nero, he hauled his partner to his feet by the collar and dragged him to his office.
Mask had been silent for days. He hadn't so much as grumbled or hissed, let alone sent the ugly, disturbing dreams of violence that he sometimes used to get Vincent's attention. Since VIncent had threatened to put him on lockdown, he'd stayed behind his wall, brooding.
Until today. It had happened between one breath and the next: Vincent had formed a shadow blade of his own, and Mask had reared up and seized control of his host. Vincent's consciousness had been flung aside, and he could only watch, stunned and terrified, as Mask reached out and tore Nero's mask from his face.
Vincent's silent screaming had little effect on Mask. If anything, it amused him; Mask laughed as he thrust his shadow blade into Nero's body, and his mouth watered at the sight of Nero's blood.
"All yours, Valentine!" he crowed, sliding back, leaving Vincent once more in the driver's seat. "Enjoy!"
Vincent gasped, grabbing Nero as he slid to the floor. Veld had reached him at the same moment the medical team did, and Vincent could do nothing but babble apologies until Veld pulled him away.
Now he sat in Veld's office, shaking so hard the chair rattled under him. Veld had his PHS to his ear, listening intently to someone, presumably one of the medical team - or perhaps he was calling security to come and take Vincent away. At this point, Vincent would welcome the distraction. He kept seeing the blade going into Nero's torso, blood bubbling from the wound, from Nero's mouth, kept hearing that horrible rasp as Nero tried to breathe, ohgodsohgods…
A resounding slap nearly knocked his head off, bringing tears to his eyes and, thank the gods, some clarity to his thoughts.
"Valentine, I'm only going to ask you once," said Veld, his voice as grim as Vincent had ever heard it. "What. The hell. Happened?"
"M-Mask," he said. "He-he took over, it wasn't me, wasn't me!" The tears spilled over as he looked up at Veld. "Veld, you know I would never hurt Nero!"
For a moment, Veld wore a stranger's face, cold as death, the face of the Turk chief who'd faced down killers and won. What was left of Vincent's heart shuddered in his chest. They were done. Veld thought he'd tried to kill his own son. Not even a lifelong assassin would stoop that low.
Veld blinked, and pulled him into a hug. "I know," he said, his voice muffled by Vincent's shoulder.
Vincent shook in his arms, words tangling into nonsense every time he tried to speak. Veld held on, stroking his hair until Vincent had calmed a bit.
"I thought I'd killed him," Vincent said, still clinging to Veld. "We hardly know each other, but he's my son, I'm sure of it. I already lost one son, I can't lose Nero, too…"
"You won't. Trust me."
Veld let go, and Vincent grabbed his arm to hold him there. "Is he all right? Veld, please tell me he's all right!"
"He's alive," said Veld. "The stab wound wasn't the worst of it. They're more worried about the respirator."
"Is it damaged? Veld, we have to do something! We've got to-!"
"Calm down. They took him to the mako tanks. He can breathe dark mako while they check out the respirator, repair it if need be. He's okay."
Vincent nodded. "Okay. He's okay. He's…ohh-ohhhhh, Bronze, I did a good job, didn't I?"
Mask pulled away, mouth twisting into a warped grin. "Baby Valentine is gonna be fine? Isn't that divine!"
He rose, reaching for Bronze with both hands. Oh, this would be so good, this would be delicious, first the son and then the lover...
Bronze swung, his fist connecting with Valentine's jaw. Mask went down, one foot lashing out, catching Bronze's ankle. Bronze tumbled to the floor, already rolling clear of Mask's reach, but Mask knew that move as well. He caught the metal arm in his own, talons like a cage pinning it to the floor. He could use a knee, except he didn't want to hurt that, because Bronze was his, yes he was!
"Gods dammit, Mask!" Bronze struggled under his weight, but Valentine had longer legs, so Mask straddled him, holding him down.
"He can't have you!" he hissed into Bronze's furious face. "I saw you first! Mine mine mine!"
"He doesn't want me, you idiot! I'm old enough to be his grandfather!" Bronze rolled his eyes. "For the love of all that's holy, why am I arguing with a lunatic?"
He bucked and twisted, throwing Mask off. Mask went down hard, his head striking something behind him with a metallic clang that made his ears ring and stars flash and ohmygodswhat…
"Why am I on the floor?" Vincent shook his head. The room rocked back and forth, his jaw ached, and Veld...Veld crouched across from him in a combat stance, once more wearing that deadly-serious expression that chilled Vincent to the bone.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.
Rage filled him, rivaling anything Mask could produce. If he could breathe fire, Mask would be a cinder. Vincent looked inward, and there was Mask, backing away as if he sensed he'd gone too far.
"You!" Vincent grabbed Mask by the throat, talons cutting through the skin. Mask clawed at him, spitting curses. Vincent squeezed, cutting off breath and voice.
"You son of a bitch, you nearly killed my son!" He let go, and Mask fell at his feet, scrambling backwards.
"He took Bronze!" Mask whined, one hand at his throat. "Took him into shadow! He was gone!"
"He didn't hurt him," said Vincent, advancing on his doppelganger. "He brought him back! And it's none of your business, Veld is not yours, get that through your head!"
Mask snarled and leapt, knives in both fists, slashing. Vincent dodged and kicked him full in the face. The knives disappeared as Mask hit the ground. Vincent grabbed him by the hair, dragging him back toward the wall looming in the shadows of his mind.
It was his mind, and gods dammit, it was going to be ordered according to what he wanted, not Hellmasker or anyone else. He forged a heavy iron link with a thought, set it deep in the wall, and attached a chain thick enough to hold an ocean liner. The other end linked to a collar around Mask's throat.
Mask shouted vulgarities at him, words that could curl paint off the wall. Vincent ignored him. He found Galian prowling around the edges of his mental landscape, and set him to guard Mask. Last, he woke Gigas, and bargained with him. Gigas agreed to patrol the wall in exchange for an occasional day out.
"I can arrange that," said Vincent. "There are always monsters somewhere that need killing." He and Gigas shook hands on the deal, and then, belatedly remembering he wasn't alone, Vincent turned his attention back to the outside world.
Surfacing, he found Veld sitting next to him, one arm around his shoulders.
"You okay, spook?"
"Oh gods." Vincent sagged against him. "Yeah. I am now. How long was I out of it?"
"Just a few minutes. Vince-" Veld looked him straight in the eyes. "I need to know. Is Mask under control now?"
"He really is this time. I was stupid, Veld. The last time, I threatened to lock him up, but I wasn't sure I could actually do it. So I didn't try. And I almost killed Nero because I lost control. It was my fault as much as Mask's."
Veld rubbed his shoulders gently. "Well, the kid's pretty hard to kill. He's gonna be okay."
"Do you think he'll forgive me?"
"Come on," said Veld, as Vincent gave him a hand up. "Let's go find out."