Across the Desert
"They've arrived Lord Death."
The Shinigami bobbed in response, turning to face his guests alongside his undead subordinate.
"Hey hey hey kids!" There was a grumbled affirmative response. "How'd the mission go?"
Chris stepped forward, a small tear above the sleeve of his dress shirt the only evidence of his fight with Lila. He held a cloth wrapped bundle out to the Death God, which the deity gingerly accepted.
"I don't know what the big deal was." Claire snorted, arms crossed indignantly over her chest. "That thing sure doesn't look very threatening."
"Unfortunately Claire, most Magic Tools don't." Death sighed, peeling the bundle open with more dexterity than seemed possible for his blocky fingers. Everyone in the room, even Isabelle who was resting against Jackson's shoulder for support, leaned forward ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of the strange artifact as the last folds of plain fabric were pulled away.
Nestled in the palm of Death's hand was a single bracer, and unimposing split tube of metal meant to be fastened around a person's forearm by three leather clasps. The Tool had the color of dull brass, and was all but featureless save for a lonely symbol emblazoned on its face.
"Eight? What the hell is 'eight' supposed to mean?" Jackson asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow.
Death chuckled, an act that sent shivers up the spines of his students. "It's not an eight, silly. It's a lemniscate, the symbolic representation of infinite."
"Lord Death, what exactly does this Magic Tool do?" Isabelle inquired, her voice somewhat strained from the pain of her wound.
"Well, it's rather self-explanatory. The Omni-Resonator allows its wearer to resonate with anything."
There was a moment of silence as those present digested this knowledge.
"Anything...?" Jackson began, a hint of mischief in his voice.
"Yup yup yup. Any inanimate object." Death answered, head bobbing.
"That seems..." Claire paused, searching for the correct words. "Kinda silly."
Jackson face palmed, a drop of sweat rolled down the Death God's forehead. "Not exactly Claire it's-"
"It's genius." All eyes turned to Chris as he spoke, a hand poised at his chin. "Think about the versatility that provides. You could improvise a Weapon in almost any situation." Sid nodded in silent agreement. "A rusty spoon, a dull length of metal, anything that isn't bolted to the floor you could wield."
"As useful as the Tool is, I don't see how it alone could really make whatever Raena is building that much more dangerous than it already is." Isabelle muttered thoughtfully.
Sid grunted. "Wait till you hear what the other one does."
"And on that note-!" Death tossed the Magic Tool to Sid, clapping his hands together and spinning to face the tall mirror behind him just as Sonya's face appeared in its face. "How did the mission go Sonya?"
The Demon Hoop blinked, bewildered by the deity's preemptive question, before clearing her throat and speaking.
"We couldn't get the Tool."
Death seemed to slump, breathing something that fell between a sigh and a pout. "Shucks."
"I'm sorry Lord Death, the Knight beat us to it, and there was a rogue Weapon-Meister pair working with him." Her face fell. "We couldn't beat them."
"Well, hey! Don't let it get you down!" Again, Sonya gave the Death God a bewildered look as his chipper attitude rebounded from the news. "Turn that frown, upside down! At least no one was seriously hurt!" The eye holes on his mask smiled in place of his invisible mouth.
"That's true. But...um..." She swallowed. "They took Alexa."
Silence.
"WHAT?" Claire rushed forward, actually shoving Death aside and getting so close to the mirror's face that Sonya recoiled on the other side. "What the HELL do you mean they took my sister!"
Sonya shrunk under Claire's dagger-like glare, obviously distraught. "W-we were fighting the rogue Meister when the Knight showed up a-and Alexa just...just attacked him! Alone!" Claire's face continued to redden with anger as Sonya struggled to communicate what had transpired. "He knocked her out, and when we tried to help he vanished! It happened so fast..."
"I knew that Meister of her's was useless." The Demon Gun snarled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Where is that asshole anyway?"
Kyla gently pushed her Weapon out of the mirror's frame, meeting Claire's angry flushed face with an icy stare.
"He went after her."
This time it was Sid who shoved his way to the mirror.
"WHAT?" The dead blue veins on his neck bulged. "He went after them alone? And you let him?"
"It was out of our hands." Kyla answered, unflinching. Sid spun on his heel, teeth clenched as he made for the exit. The Death God turned, head tilted to the side inquisitively.
"Where are you going Sid?"
"Cairo. Just need to get Nygus first."
"Sid, you can't go to Egypt. We need you for the upcoming battle with Arachnophobia in Alaska." Death reminded, Sid cursing under his breath as Claire tugged at the sleeve of Death's robe.
"Me and Chris could go! We could-"
Death sighed. "I'm afraid we don't have anyone to spare with the operation at the Lost Island so close. We're going to need every able-bodied Weapon/Meister pair we can muster." He place a blocky white hand on the Demon Gun's head.
"It looks like Roland's on his own."
Earlier...
Eyes fixed on the spot where the Knight had stood, Roland sank to his knees, arms limp at his sides. Somewhere to his right Kyla cursed, Sonya fell to her knees beside him.
"Roland..."
He stared ahead blankly, not responding. Why did she do that?
"Roland, we have to go." Sonya gently shook him by his shoulders, teal eyes searching his own for some sign of recognition. "We need to tell the others what happened and get help."
Why did she do that? The act confounded him utterly. It was completely illogical. Didn't she hate him? He had felt the resentment, the accusatory anger pulsing from her soul like some malevolent fount not minutes before. They couldn't resonate, the highest degree of incompatibility, and still she had acted without a moment's hesitation.
His eyes fell to his open and unmoving hands, the bandages that crisscrossed his palms singed from the earlier wavelength rejection. Could I have done the same?
"Roland, please, are you listening?"
Why didn't I? She'd acted so selflessly, throwing herself against an impossible enemy to protect her Meister from harm, regardless of their disagreements, because she was his Weapon. His partner, and he'd called her a brat.
And now she was gone.
"It was my fault..."
Sonya's eyes quivered at the swordsman's whisper, she cupped his cheek in her hand. "You can't blame yourself. It all happened so fast, there was nothing you could've done."
Nothing... I could've done. Would there be a search? A funeral? Would anyone even care? The Kishin had been freed, the world was splitting at the seams, what was one more lost girl? Another nameless body added to the growing heap? What a waste.
She could've picked anyone, she didn't have the handicap of a selective wavelength. But she'd picked him. She'd trusted him to wield her, to make her into a Death Scythe, to protect her. And he'd failed.
His chin fell to his chest, tears threatened. She deserved better.
"We've gotta call this in. Lord Death will know what do to." Kyla said, an edge of finality in her voice as Sonya helped Roland to his feet.
"I..." He began, Kyla turning to face him. His whole body ached, but in his mind it was a poor excuse to avoid the course of action that had to be taken. "I'm going after her."
Kyla's eyebrows furrowed. "Don't be a fool. There's no way we could beat the Knight."
"I know. That's why I'm going alone."
Sonya gaped, eyes wide. Kyla snorted.
"You don't even know where to look."
Roland's eyes hardened as he shrugged off Sonya's helping hands, pulling himself back to his full height.
"The ivory tower in the cradle of the sun. That's where he told me to go if I wanted to get Alexa back."
The Hoop Meister cocked an eyebrow. "And you know where that is?"
"Isn't it obvious?" He snapped, staggering towards the hole in the wall that led back to the hall. "He's referencing a tall white building with the 'ivory tower' bit, and to find it I have to go east, to the 'cradle of the sun'. So I just need to go east until I find a building matching that description."
"Wait!" Sonya caught him by his shoulder, desperation straining her voice. "Last time we fought the Knight, he said he wouldn't hesitate to kill you the next time you met! What if it's a trap?"
She gave a little yelp of surprise when he spun to face her. "You don't understand Sonya!" His eyes had an unfamiliar, almost wild look to them. The Demon Hoop began to recoil, but Roland clamped his hands over her shoulders to prevent her escape. He shook his head, taking a breath before continuing in an even tone. "Without Alexa I can barely fight. I'll just be dead weight, useless. And by the time Shibusen mounts an official search it may already be too late for us to help."
Sonya stared back at him with wide, quivering eyes. With a sigh his voice and grip on her shoulders softened. "I don't have a choice. Alexa's my Weapon, I can't abandon her." The pained look on her face was working serrated daggers into his chest. "You understand... right?"
"I...but..." She stuttered, sniffling for a moment before burying her face in his chest and embracing him fiercely. "Just promise you'll come back."
His expression softened, he wound his arms around her neck and returned the embrace. "I promise."
Kyla rolled her eyes at their tender moment. "You'd better get going. I've got a feeling you've got a lot of desert to cover."
The Knight swept through airy sandstone hallways, his cloak shifting about his armored form like a restless shadow as torches flickered past. His immense sword hung over his back, firelight dancing along the rectangular blade as it shifted with its bearer's steps. The hall found its terminus in ornate oak double doors that the Knight parted without slowing his step, the servants on the other side unmoved by the sudden intrusion.
The room was dominated by a long mahogany table that sat barely a foot above the ground in oriental style. Plush cushions ringed the table, and reclining in an especially ornate one at the far end of the table was a man clad in a simple brown robe.
"Abraham." The Knight rasped, coming to a halt across from the robed figure.
"You've come." Abraham's deep voice filled the large sandstone chamber effortlessly, and he flashed the Knight a friendly smile before gesturing with a creamy brown hand for the armor-clad figure to sit. "Please friend, sit. It has been far too long."
With the dull clank of metal plates the Knight dropped cross-legged into the nearest cushion. A servant approached, accompanied by the hiss of stone sliding against stone, and offered him a small cup of steaming tea with a carved hand, which he refused with the slightest wave of his hand. The servant bowed its featureless face and retreated as the Knight spoke.
"I'm afraid I have no time for pleasantries Abraham. I've a favor to ask of you."
Abraham turned his open palms to his guest. "Of course. What is it that you need from this old Enchanter?"
"There is a lone Meister, a student from the DWMA, heading east across the desert from the Pyramid of Vengeance." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I want you to intercept him. It is imperative that he reaches the Ivory Tower. Help him do so any way you can."
The Enchanter grunted, raising a hand to his chin. "I suppose the castle could be persuaded to meet your request. It grows restless..." He trailed off, eying the Knight. "How go your efforts?"
There was a moment of silence before the Knight spoke.
"The construct is almost ready. Only a few obstacles remain." His hand suddenly, violently, clenched into a fist. "With the Eye of Vengeance, victory is certain. Our sacrifices will not have been in vain."
Abraham nodded, a hand lifting his cup of tea to his lips. "I hope you are right. You've been drawn down a dark path, friend."
"The end justifies the means Abraham. It is either this or total annihilation! You know this as well as I. And so did the others, but they were weak, bound by their order, their morality." His twisted soul shifted, like some snarling serpent, and his voice grew cold. "I was willing to abandon those inhibitions."
"And what of Death?" The Enchanter asked over his tea cup.
"He is a blind and short-sighted god. Even if he continues to oppose me, he is bound to his city and must act through his Shibusen underlings, and they will pose little threat to the completed construct."
Abraham cocked an eyebrow. "Do you really believe your machine can defeat Shibusen?"
The Knight shrugged his armored shoulders. "The limits of the Eye's power are known by none, not even Eibon himself. As an unrefined and unstable prototype of the Magic Tool B.R.E.W., the Wizard had no choice but to hide the device away to protect the world from his very creation. But I believe that, with the proper vessel, the Eye's potential is limitless." He waved a hand dismissively. "But, a direct conflict with Shibusen is not part of the plan. They are dry leaves that will be crushed under foot on the path to glory."
The Enchanter placed his cup on the table, steepling his fingers and creasing his eyebrows. A golem servitor bent to refill its creator's cup as he spoke. "And what of the witch? Will she be persuaded to abandon her goals?"
The Knight rose from his cushion. "It matters little. The construct will not obey her, and if she tries to commandeer it I will destroy her."
Abraham smiled sadly. "You've grown cold. But you are right, there is little other choice. Sacrifices must be made." He accepted the newly filled tea cup from his servitor. "My only remaining question, is what will you do if the others interfere?"
"What I must, to preserve the cause." The Knight turned, inky cloak billowing about his shoulders.
"I only ask because Madeline contacted me earlier today."
The Knight froze. "What?"
Abraham took a small sip of tea. "Yes, she wants to meet with you. No doubt at the behest of Shinigami, but all the same it would be prudent to oblige her. Perhaps you can secure her support and have her relate our case to Death."
Armored footsteps echoed from the hall leading out of the room.
"We shall see."
The desert was a rippling sea of gold scintillating under an oppressive sun, besieged by the celestial body's furious heat. The Pyramid of Vengeance, the former resting place of the Eye of Vengeance, poked over the western horizon, its angular pinnacle stabbing at the sky over a foreground of gentle rolling dunes.
A trail of shallow footprints wound west from behind a single, lonely silhouette who stood at the crest of a dune. Sand floated listlessly by on a gentle breeze, and Roland stole a glance at the distant pyramid over his shoulder. His hair was even messier than usual, his shirt rumpled, his tired brown eyes accented by the purple bags that had begun to develop beneath them from a day and a half of ceaseless walking.
The swordsman turned his eyes back to the desert before him, raising a hand to shield them from the sun, pausing to take a few ragged breaths. What was I thinking? Boots digging into the loose sand, he descended down the face of the dune, coughing and passing his tongue over his chapped lips upon reaching the bottom.
I can't believe you actually thought this was a good idea. Walking across the desert, without any real idea of where you're going or how long it's going to take to get there. Roland started up the next dune, trying to concentrate on his breathing as his conscious continued to scoff at him. And with no water to boot! You haven't even stopped to rest yet!
He reached the top of the dune with a groan, bending over to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath. Who are you? Superman?
Pulling himself upright, he hissed through clenched teeth. "Shut up. I'm trying to walk here." This earned a guffaw from his conscious. I'm sorry, was I distracting you? My apologies, putting one foot in front of the other must be quite an involved task.
"Don't you have something better to do? Like, helping me make good decisions, or giving sage advice?" His feet were terribly sore, and Roland figured carrying on a conversation with himself might distract him from the ache. His conscious gave a hollow laugh. No, I'll leave the decision making to you Mr. Reason. I will, however, constantly chide you and poke holes in your best laid plans. With great gusto I might add. And speaking of which...
Roland crested another dune, peering at the horizon for a moment before beginning his descent. What's the deal with Sonya and Alexa? I'm sensing some conflict. The swordsman groaned, earning another chuckle from his invisible companion. Oh come on, what better time to hash it out then during an aimless trek across the desert which will most likely result in a slow, painful death, making it impossible to implement any conclusions we come to?
His brows furrowed, and his consciousness's voice blurred into static, a meaningless bubbling of incoherent background noise. Alexa's recent disposition was a result of his relationship with Sonya, that much was certain, but from then on the waters grew muddy. Was she jealous? It was true that he spent progressively less time with his Weapon as he became more involved with Sonya, and being prohibited from training due to his injuries had whittled their time together to a single morning meal.
A chapped frown formed on his face. Perhaps she felt as if he cared nothing for her beyond her use as his Weapon. In fact, now that he thought about it, they rarely did anything together outside of missions. I treat her like a Weapon, but not a friend. No wonder she's so jealous of Sonya. He would have palmed his forehead at the realization, but he was forced to catch himself with it as he stumbled doggedly up another dune.
A cool breeze greeted him as he reached the dune's peak. A sigh of relief escaped his lips before another frown found its way to his face. The wind carried with it a few, pricking grains of sand, and by the time Roland saw the murky horizon the sandstorm was already upon him. The first stinging buffet almost threw him back the way he had come, but he dug his hands and feet into the loose sand and clung desperately to the shifting mound.
Hunkered down against the side of a dune, shoulders heaving with exhaustion, he noted that the anti-scratch coating on the lenses of his glasses were holding up well against the sand storm's punishment.
But the condition of his glasses had little effect on the reality that was quickly making itself apparent, he was going to die in this desert if he didn't find help soon. If not from sheer exhaustion then from dehydration. He had stopped sweating a half hour before the sandstorm started, and his chapped lips had begun to bleed under the sandstorm's merciless punishment.
Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the sandstorm soon passed. But his weariness did not. His pace did not quicken as the sandstorm moved on, and soon each step was a battle. He raged against his weakness as he fell again to his hands and knees, crawling towards the top of yet another sand dune. Tears threatened, but little water could be spared to express his frustration, leaving his eyes damp but devoid of tears.
He reached the crest of the dune, and for the first time on his journey allowed himself a moment to sit. A bitter laugh tumbled from his dry mouth. Before him stood the hazy silhouette of a castle, with three great towers that reminded him of the rooks from the chess set he had stowed in his closet back in Death City. The faintest wisp of smoke rose from its interior, and two human silhouettes separated themselves from the castle's gate, seeming to glide over the sand towards him. With a grunt he stood, stumbling down the sand dune to reach his rescuers. The last thing he saw before falling into their outstretched arms and into unconsciousness were their flat, featureless clay faces.
The desert sun was sinking, nodding off as it raged halfheartedly at the scorched landscape. Gently rolling dunes and a brilliant violet sky belied the violence the desert had seen. Countless conflicts, the fates of entire empires had been decided on that baked golden sand. But here, all it took was a gusty day to wipe away the scars of even the grandest battles. It buried the evidence of its bloody history under shifting sands, sweeping the canvas clear for a bloody new masterpiece to be scrawled.
And so, the desert was an ageless and unchanging thing, the timeless narrative of combat played out again and again, without end. Here, in a depression among the endless dunes, history was deigned to repeat itself.
A blot of ink against the golden sand, the Knight stood with his great sword held at his side, cape billowing about his shoulders as the blade glimmered in the light of the setting sun. His ebony armor seemed an unearthly shade of utter dark, less black than a space that devoured all color which was at once empty and full, an ominous contradiction that gave his figure an even more terrifying ambiance.
Before him stood his lone adversary. Sandy brown hair tumbled down around her shoulders, framing a lean face with a generous spattering of freckles across her soft nose and beneath two gentle hazel eyes. A white tank-top clung to her slim torso, tan khaki's accented her long legs which ended in nondescript brown suede shoes. The olive green scarf wound around her neck trailed a few feet behind her as it fluttered in the wind, shifting as she shrugged her Weapon from her shoulder and took hold of it with both hands.
"So... I take it you won't be accepting my offer?" The Knight commented casually.
"At first I didn't believe Death. I couldn't bring myself to think that you would betray us. But now..." His opponent shook her head sadly, the pity in her eyes making the Knight's blood run hot. "Now I see. The Madness has taken you."
Hidden by his plate helm, the Knight's face twisted into a fierce snarl. "No Madeline, this is not Madness! My actions are the result of undiluted reason. Undiluted by petty emotional trivialities!"
"That's what makes us human! You can't just discard morality and have solutions without ethics! " Madeline pleaded.
"No! It is reason that elevates humans above the status of mere beasts! Morality is an imaginary construct built to suit the ruling order, it is a disease that keeps us from reaching our full potential! Morality is the product of fear, and so in truth morality is Madness!" Burying the blade of his sword in the sand, he threw his arms wide, laughing in frustration as if he was explaining something very simple to a child who refused to understand. "Can't you see Madeline? By throwing morality aside, I found the solution no one else would acknowledge! My actions will insure the continuity of the human race!"
Madeline's brows furrowed with anger, she shook her Weapon for emphasis. "How? By putting an object of such power in the hands of witches? By attacking DWMA students?" She was desperate now, desperate to reach her oldest friend through his Madness. "By killing innocent people?"
The Knight froze, his laughter ceased."Innocent?" His voice grew cold, taking the chilling quality of intense muted anger. "There is no such thing as innocence." An ebon plated hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, drawing the immense blade from its resting place. "Only degrees of guilt."
"You've left me no choice." Madeline sunk into a low stance, Weapon poised. She wielded a large hammer with an ornate silver shaft, exactly four feet long, with a length of plain purple fabric wound about its midsection to serve as a grip. At its head was a sizable chunk of lavender colored crystal, jagged and elliptical, held in place by dulled band of metal.
"I, Madeline Frey, Three-Star Death Scythe Meister of Western Europe Branch, will claim your soul for Death."
"Then come and take it!" The Knight was a shadowy blur as he charged, whipping sand in all directions as he tore across the golden powder that separated them. "My soul is my own! Not yours, and not Shinigami's!" His blade arced skyward, catching the sun before screaming down towards his enemy. With a crash and a dull boom both fighters disappeared in the resulting cloud of upset sand.
A few moments of strained silence passed as the dust settled.
Madeline had caught the Knight's sword under the head of her hammer, her own head bowed and her hair shrouding her face. The force of the blow had driven her ankle deep in the sand and left a small crater in the ground where the two Weapons had collided, but her simple block held fast nonetheless.
She met his invisible gaze with a furious glare. "Not as easy as fighting children, is it?" With a cry she pulled her hammer out from under the immense blade and whipped its pommel across the Knight's armored face, using the motion of the quick blow to slip past him. Now behind her adversary she swung at his exposed side, the Knight catching her hammer's violet head on the flat of his blade just in time to stop the attack short but being sent skidding across the sand nonetheless.
"You're right." He noted casually, smirk hidden by his helmet. "You're putting up a much better fight than Roland did."
She froze. "What?"
"I assumed that you and David would have a child, and that inevitably they'd find their way to Shibusen, but that I'd have the honor of crossing blades with the son of my two oldest friends?" The Knight shrugged. "As Abraham would say, fate moves in strange ways."
"You... you hurt Roland?"
He nodded. "That was implied, wasn't it?"
The Hammer Meister charged, springing at her enemy with hammer held high and gentle eyes suddenly fierce. The lavender crystal that tipped her Weapon dove at the Knight with murderous intent, kicking up a geyser of displaced sand as he deftly deflected the blow with a flourish of his blade. Moving far faster than seemed possible for such a heavily armored combatant he slammed a gloved palm into her stomach, the force of his wavelength attack enough send another cloud of sand into the already dusty air. With a choked cry she grimaced, grabbing onto one of his inky pauldrons for support as she trembled in quiet agony.
"I see time has not sapped your strength." The Knight observed. "But you forget that I too was a Three-Star Death Scythe Meister. And my power has only grown since." Madeline's grip on his armored shoulder tightened, her knuckles turning white as she shook under the punishment of another wavelength attack.
The Knight sighed, suddenly bored. "Well Madeline, if you insist on standing against me, I have no choice but to kill you." In a blur he spun, whipping his heel across her jaw and sending her sprawling. He hefted his sword to his shoulder as Madeline struggled to her feet, swaying and leaning on her hammer for support. "Any last words, old friend?"
The Knight felt an unfamiliar chill crawl up his spine as Madeline's features hardened. She rose, taking a firm grip on her hammer, the faintest hum filling the air.
"You've become a monster Victor." The humming grew louder, the lavender crystal on her hammer began to glow faintly. She spoke softly to her hammer as she saturated it with her wavelength. "Come on Sasha, one for old times sake."
The Knight sunk into a low stance, sword held at the ready. "Your a fool Madeline! You can't resonate with a soul that isn't there!" Madeline smiled fiercely at the thinly veiled fear in his voice.
"I don't need to!" An almost deafening hum now filled the air, her hammer's crystal glowed with the blinding inner light of Madeline's furious wavelength. "You forgot Sasha's ability to act as a capacitor for her Meister's wavelength, an ability she's retained despite her current state!" Now a blur herself, Madeline rushed the Knight head on, covering the small distance that separated them in a few livid strides and burying her hammer in his gut before he could react.
"Magnitude: 4!"
The blow lifted him off his feet and split his inky cuirass with a resounding crack, and he remained held aloft for a moment before Madeline smashed her stored wavelength into his body through the hole in his armor and sent him hurtling in the other direction, crashing through the crest of a dune and tumbling to a painful halt just beyond it.
The Knight struggled to his feet, fingers tracing the hole in his armor as Madeline jogged into view, eyes still hard set. "Impressive, you've managed to crack my enchanted armor."
"No armor will protect you from my fury, Victor. Your Madness ends here."
"Not yet, I'm afraid there's still work to do." He scattered a handful of purple powder at his feet. "As nostalgic as it's been exchanging blows with you Madeline, I have more pressing business to attend to."
"Warp Powder!"
In a flash of wispy purple smoke he disappeared, leaving Madeline to glare angrily at the spot where he had stood. She spat.
"Coward."
Roland opened his eyes as cool water was poured over his shoulders. He shuddered with pleasure as it enveloped his parched body, and then looked around. He was in a round tub of water in a brightly lit bathroom, with sandy colored walls that reminded him of adobe.
Then he became aware of his nakedness, and of the equally nude person filling a bucket with the cold water from his bath. Face reddening, he splashed about as he tried to cover himself, apologizing profusely. But when the person looked up at him, he saw that its face was utterly featureless. It set down its bucket and stood, gesturing to a neat stack of folded clothes, which Roland recognized as his own.
It looked much like a mannequin, but made of clay, and before Roland could examine it any further it opened the bathroom door and stepped out.
He blinked. What? Cautiously he left the comfort of the cold bath, standing naked for a moment to air dry in the heat. With a shrug he pulled on his clothes, finding that they had not only been washed but that the countless small cuts from the battle with Rafael had disappeared, with no signs of stitching to be found. Confused, he stepped out of the bathroom and into a well lit adobe corridor, finding the mannequin that had attended him standing at attention in the hall.
It turned its eyeless face towards him and bowed, gesturing with a sweep of its arm down the hall way. Roland was about to thank it when it straightened itself and walked briskly away. Roland followed close behind, and it led him through a maze of corridors before they suddenly emerged through a pair of rich mahogany doors into an impressive chamber. Under a large window was a large table of some dark wood, set low to the ground and surrounded by plush cushions.
At the far end of the table, clad in a simple earth colored robe, sat a man. He was attended by a mannequin identical to the one that had led Roland to the chamber. The man nodded to the mannequins, who both promptly left, and then gestured to the cushions opposite him. Roland took a few unsure steps towards the table before hesitantly sitting cross legged on a cushion, still somewhat dazed by the sudden turn of events. They eyed each other in silence. The man had rich mocha brown skin, and piercing brown eyes. He flashed Roland a warm smile full of brilliant white teeth before speaking, his English heavily accented.
"Welcome to my humble abode, traveler. It is fortunate that you arrived when you did, when my servants brought you here from the desert outside you were teetering on the cusp of death. But you may rest easy now, for you have stumbled upon an oasis in this unforgiving desert."
Roland nodded absentmindedly, still trying to absorb his new surroundings.
"Where am I?"
His host gave a deep, good natured laugh. "Castle Prometheus, approximately forty miles east from the Pyramid of Vengeance."
"Forty miles..." Roland trailed off, leaning forward suddenly. "How long was I unconscious?"
His host nodded to a nearby mannequin, who approached with a cup of steaming tea. "A little longer then a day. You were exhausted, and terribly dehydrated. You're lucky to have recovered so quickly."
The swordsman seemed to deflate. Despite his miraculous rescue, the situation remained bleak. He'd lost an entire day recovering from his rash excursion into the desert, and he was no closer to finding out where Alexa was being kept. Unless...
"Thank you for saving me stranger, but there's one last favor I need."
The man reclined slightly in his cushion. "Please, do not hesitate to ask."
Roland hesitated for a moment, carefully phrasing his question. "I'm trying to reach an ivory tower further to the east. Do you know of any buildings matching that description?"
His mysterious host pondered the question, raising a hand to his chin. "Well, I don't know about any towers made of actual ivory, but..." Roland caught the slightest smile tug at the man's mouth. "There is the old Ivory Tower Hotel. But I can't imagine why you'd want to go there, it's been abandoned for years."
That must be it! Roland leaned forward, eager now. "Really? How far away is it from here?"
"Sixty miles to the east, as the crow flies." He took a sip from his tea cup, steam from the hot liquid curling up around his bald head. Roland's heart sank, but he stood with a look of determination nonetheless.
"Well, I'd better get going then."
The man across from him held up a hand for him to wait, taking another tentative sip from his tea cup before speaking.
"For one who has danced so close to the precipice of death, it seems that plunging back into the desert from whence I pulled your living corpse would be an illogical ambition. What is it that drives you so?"
Roland's glasses caught the light streaming through the great window at the far end of the room, hiding his eyes.
"Something-" He hesitated, correcting himself. "Someone important to me was taken."
His host nodded, frowning. "Ah yes, the bond between a Meister and his Weapon is a powerful thing."
The young Meister paused, giving the man a curious look.
"How did you know I was a Meister?" Roland asked, eyes narrowing.
His host laughed deeply, casually waving off the swordsman's suspicious gaze. "I know a great many things."
Roland eyed his host curiously.
"Who are you exactly?"
His host laughed again. "I am Abraham, Master Enchanter."
The swordsman's eyes brightened with sudden realization as he gave one of the strange mannequin servants an appraising look. "Then all of these servants are-"
"Golems, crafted by my own two hands." Abraham nodded, smiling with pride. "They maintenance the castle and work the garden. No matter the climate, the castle remains completely self sufficient."
"Interesting..." Roland nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts returning to the journey ahead. "Thanks again for your hospitality Abraham, but I really need to go. Time is of the essence."
Again the Enchanter held up a hand for him to wait. "Then you would be wise to accept my help." With a grunt he rose from his cushion, smoothing out his robes. "Come."
Roland cautiously followed Abraham from the room, back down the hall he had come. The swordsman did not believe in coincidences, and this recent turn of events appeared to be a little more than suspicious. It was all too perfect, that rescue should appear just as he grew too tired to continue, and that his rescuer would not only know the exact location of his obscure destination, but also that he was a Meister searching for his Weapon, and that he was apparently going to help him find her.
"Golems have a myriad of purposes young Meister." Abraham began, Roland only half-listening. "I have golems that garden, golems that cook, I even have golems that make more golems."
And the fact that his relief should come in the form of an impressive desert castle was the cherry on top of this increasingly suspicious figurative sundae. What were the chances that this castle would be exactly in the direction that the Knight had instructed him to travel? And why was the castle there in the first place? The location didn't seem to hold any importance whatsoever, other than its proximity to the Pyramid of Vengeance. Perhaps God was smiling on him, perhaps this was some twist of fate ushering him towards his destiny.
The only problem was that Roland believed in neither.
Abraham led Roland out into the castle's courtyard, past the orchard of fruit trees and up to a large adobe hut with double doors. "But of all the golems I've created, these are among the most useful."
The Enchanter nodded to two nearby golems, who pulled open the heavy doors. Abraham ushered Roland inside, and made a sweeping gesture to the contents of the structure.
"I call them, Striders."
Roland gaped at the constructs that stood before him. Abraham smiled upon seeing Roland's reaction, and continued.
"Golems have long been valued for a single quality, their inexhaustible stamina. A golem will never tire, must never be fed or watered, and requires little maintenance." He shrugged with a smug smile. "I thought these would be good traits to have in a mode of transport."
Before them stood three golems resembling large flightless birds, each swaying quietly on two nimble avian legs of sandy stone. One of the golems swung its featureless face in their direction, its long articulated neck hissing slightly as it tilted its head inquisitively. Roland felt a chill crawl up his spine, despite their bird-like appearance they had very human looking heads.
Abraham clapped a hand to his shoulder, guiding him towards one of the constructs. "I will let you borrow one of my Striders for your quest. It will know the way to your destination." The Strider knelt and Abraham urged a dazed Roland onto its back, which was carved into the shape of an ornate saddle. "And don't worry about returning it, it'll find its way back once you're done." The Enchanter handed Roland a sizable canteen of water as the golem stood. "Any questions?"
Straddled across the Strider's narrow back, Roland looked to the golem beneath him to the water canteen in his hand, then down at Abraham.
"Quite a coincidence, that while stumbling through the desert I found this castle and in it a man who knew why I was here and was ready to help."
Abraham raised an eyebrow incredulously.
"Fate moves in strange ways. Who knows, perhaps I placed my castle here for the sole reason that one day you would be passing through."
Roland laughed hesitantly, giving the Enchanter one last curious look before the Strider started out of the hut. Abraham leaned against the garage door as the golem carried Roland past his fruit orchard and out the castle's gate, chuckling to himself. One of his servant golems turned its featureless face towards him inquisitively, but he waved it off laughing.
"He thought I was joking."
Alexa's eyes darted between her Meister and the Knight, pulse beginning to quicken. The Knight was approaching now, shrugging his sword from his shoulder. Her mouth went dry. She couldn't let the Knight fight him again, the sight of his bandage wrapped chest still simmered fresh in her mind. She hadn't forgotten the terrible few seconds it'd taken the Knight to tear through them in Ireland. And she feared that if she didn't act, the Knight would make good on his promise.
By the time Roland had a chance to call her name in warning, it was already too late.
Blade arm poised she sprinted across the dozen feet that separated her from the Knight, blue eyes fierce and face a snarl, a cold metal hand wrapped around her throat before she could strike. She didn't even bother to struggle as he lifted her off her feet, glaring at him with unhidden and unflinching loathing as he silently appraised her.
"I am unmoved by your foolish act of courage." Without so much as a grunt he threw her to the ground, the sandstone loosing its consistency and crumbling at her touch. When she tried to rise the loose sand wound around her arms and legs, binding her to the ground in a vice grip as the Knight glided past. She tried to cry out a warning as he approached her unarmed Meister, but her throat seemed to constrict around her words and strangle them before they could escape her lips. The ground convulsed and she began to sink into the floor, sand rushing past her elbows as the Knight drew back his immense sword. Terror consumed the Demon Sword in sync with the creeping sand, tears stung at her eyes as the Knight's blade flashed through the air. It was only when her Meister's hot blood spattered across her face that her voice returned.
"ROLAND!"
Alexa shot upright, clutching the thin cotton sheet to her heaving chest. A few beads of sweat clung to her forehead, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand before burying her face in her palms and trying to level her breathing. It was just a nightmare. Just a bad dream.
With a whimper she raised her face from her hands and looked around. She was in what appeared to be a luxurious, dimly lit hotel suite, sitting in the middle of a posh queen-sized bed with soft creamy sheets rumpled from her violent awakening. An ornate lotus shaped ceiling fan spun slowly over the bed and on the far side of the room was a sliding glass door, cracked open to let in a slight breeze, that led out to a balcony overlooking the desert. And sitting in a plush armchair next to the balcony door was Rafael, a bemused look on his face.
Alexa gave a little cry, pulling the sheet up to her chest despite the fact that she was still fully clothed. "What the hell! How long have you been sitting there?"
"Long enough to observe that you don't thrash about as much as most people when you have nightmares." He flicked a piece of lint from the cuff of his white blazer. "Instead, you curl into the fetal position and remain quite still, murmuring under your breath and occasionally whimpering." He flashed her a disarming smile. "It's rather endearing."
The Demon Sword shot him an angry look. "Do you really think it's a good idea to piss me off without your Chainsword nearby? I have half a mind to drop kick your chauvinistic, peeping-tom ass off that balcony."
He raised his hands defensively "Now now, no need to get confrontational. That's no way to treat your ticket out of here."
Alexa's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Contrary to what you may believe, I'm not an unreasonable person. My allegiances are... flexible." He made air quotes with his fingers. "While I value the independence being a rogue Meister entails, I have no intention of becoming a pre-Kishin and earning myself a place on Shinigami's list. Marcus, however, has strayed from this path."
"And where does you being my ticket to freedom play into this?"
Rafael sighed. "Quite frankly, Marcus is irrevocably insane, and if I'm to maintain my mercenary life style I'll need a less... mentally compromised partner. That my dear, is where you come in."
She eyed the Chainswordsman incredulously. "You want me to be your Weapon Partner? What about Marcus?"
"Marcus will simply take your place as Raena's guinea pig. The Raven Lady has already agreed to respect the arrangement, all she needs is a Weapon, irregardless of their sanity or lack thereof. You will ride out the remainder of this conflict by my side, the winning side, and then when all is said and done you will be free to go you own way."
"I thought you said Marcus was the insane one. I'd never be your Weapon Partner, much less let you touch me." She spat indignantly, nose crinkling as if the thought of being his Weapon was physically sickening. "I'll take being a witch's guinea pig over being your play thing any day."
"Fool! There's no guaranteeing you'll survive what Raena has in store for you! No one is coming to save you Demon Sword, not Shibusen, and not your Meister." He rose indignantly. "He treats you like an object. I would treat you like a goddess."
"I'd rather be a rock in the desert than your idol." She huffed, turning her nose up at him. "Now get out of here before I give you the two black eyes you deserve."
His face reddened with anger, but he took a breath and leveled his tone. "Very well, you've made your choice."
Alexa was feeling fairly proud of herself for showing such integrity in the face of temptation. At least they could say she wasn't a traitor, and didn't die a coward. That's it girl, strength of will.
Her resolve crumbled as a robed figure swept into the room as Rafael stepped out, tipping her beaked hat as she entered.
"What a coincidence." Raena grinned wickedly at the Demon Sword. "This should be more fun than I originally anticipated. Lila!" The leather clad Mongoose witch hobbled past her elder, wheezing heavily.
"Yes Lady Raena?"
The Raven witch clapped her hands together, giving Alexa one last evil look. "Let's begin."
A/N- Yay, I got this chapter out before I leave for vacation : ' D
Next chapter: The Construct is revealed?
Review and stuff, for the path is long, and many trolls await.
