Um... It appears as though I freaked a lot of you out with a completely unintentional cliffhanger... Yeah, sorry about that... I didn't think it was a cliffhanger mostly because, in my mind, the battle was over... Granted, I didn't convey that clearly enough because where the chapter ended seemed like the best place to end it... So yeah, sorry about making you wait ten days to find that out...
Just so you know, this chapter is a bit shorter than some of my other ones (considering my longest was 9,000 words O_O), but that's because this author's note is really long... Yeah... sorry; you can skip this if you want.
Anyway, I want to take this time to thank all of my reviewers/readers. I clearly DO NOT DESERVE ANY OF THE SUPPORT YOU GIVE ME. NONE of it. None of it AT ALL. I am so grateful for you guys I can't even begin to express it, so thank you all SO MUCH.
Thanks especially to those of you that reviewed on the last chapter (even though I PMed I think all of you, I want to say it again):
Guest: Yeah... I feel bad about not updating... I'm really, really sorry (especially to the poor souls that were undoubtably suffering from that Butterfly Effect...). Sorry about the unintentional cliffie; I swear, after that three months, I would NOT have willingly tortured you like that. Unfortunately, this chapter is (most likely) going to be depressing... and there's still quite a bit more dark stuff to come... But things will get better! ...you know... eventually...
Vandalia Sakura: Yay! I'm glad you liked it! Thank you for taking the time to review; it means a lot to me! I hope this one is good, too!
EmpressPyrus: First of all, I FREAKING LOVE YOU for PMing me to update. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I didn't even think about Ren and Shun and Spectra being too strong; I probably should have, because you have a very good point. I'm debating revising that... As far as bringing the girls into it, you'll probably be seeing a bit more of them soon. I'm just really annoyed at all of the creators of this show for not showing any character development. That leaves too much and, at the same time, too little to work with -_- Oh well. Gotta blaze my own trail, huh?
spyrodramon: I'm really thankful for your review; I should probably have you beta-read these things. I need to work on grammatical/spelling errors; it's really bad -_- Yeah, the formal rival thing should have been former... You know, when I get a free moment (or ten) I have to go back and look at that... I'm glad that you liked it, thank you so much for reading!
Jia-Lerman-Jonas: Thank you so much for reading this! It really means a lot to me that you think so highly of this story. Sorry to leave it at annoying spots (although I did not intend for that to be annoying... oops...) but thank you so much for reading!
Iwataki: Thank you for your review! I am so happy that you think this is good; it's really a lot of fun to write now that the action is picking up! (in a few chapters you are going to hate me, though... so I'll bask in the love while I can xD) I do hope that I can continue to make you happy with this. I really am so undeserving... Thank you so much!
KathyxDan: Haha, thanks! It's always a treat to get a review in all caps like that ^_^ It's like candy, knowing that someone is so enthusiastic... Thank you so much for reading!
...I think that's everyone... Yeah... If you've reviewed on a previous chapter, please know that I am eternally grateful for your support. I had no idea that I would receive so many followers/reviewers/faves on this (this one has the most out of all of my stories) so I am REALLY happy :). Thank you all so much, and I'm going to shut up now before I go on and on about how happy I am that you're reading this because then I would kinda be eliminating the point...
WOW that was a long author's note. Anyway, *pulls back curtain* here's the chapter!
"Caress the one, the Never Fading, Rain in your heart, the tears of snow white sorrow, Caress the one, the hiding amaranth, In a land of the daybreak," - Amaranth, Nightwish
"If we get them back-"
"When we get them back."
"When we get them back," the girl sniffed, "I don't know what I'll say to her!" She choked, trying to control her sobs. "I was so horrible to her!"
The red haired young woman she was speaking to closed her eyes. A tears fell from where they pooled, crystalline and spherical for just the fraction of a second they were in the air. The red haired woman kept her eyes closed, barely controlling her own sorrow, as she fought to ease that of her friend.
"Alice," the silver haired girl whimpered, her fingers tightening around her friend's pajama's, "do you think she'll ever forgive me?"
"Of course she will," Alice replied automatically, her eyes opening enough for her to squint at the wall. Damp lashes obscured her view of anything more than a dark, shadowy blur.
"But what if she doesn't?" the girl fretted. Her voice was strained, hoarse from her tears. It was discomforting to their ears."It's my fault! It's my fault she was taken!"
"No, it wasn't," Alice soothed, not for the first time. Her hands continued their soothing movements across her friend's back. "None of this was your fault. The Gundalians, they're the ones that took her. They took our friends."
"They took Joe because they took Runo, and they took Runo because I made her leave!" the girl cried shrilly. Hysteria always refused to listen to reason. "She left where it was safe because of what I said!"
"Julie," Alice said quietly, pulling back from their embrace. Her hands, chilled yet warm, like the love she often showed, easily moved to Julie's upper arms. The girl bowed her head, taking quick, tearful breaths and forcing most of those out with little whimpers. Her head jerked back and forth.
"You must hate me!" Hysteria insisted. Evil insisted.
Alice shook her head slowly, resolutely, her eyes closed and her mouth set in a grim line.
"No. I don't hate you. I could never hate you." Julie tried to hold back a sob, but only half succeeded. "Look at me."
It took her a minute, but Julie did manage to lift her gaze, her bloodshot, glistening gaze. Broken, wet blue eyes met sorrowful, chocolate-brown ones, eyes that concealed no tainted darkness and emanated only love. Pure, fiery love, love not tainted by anger or hatred for her friends. There was a darkness there, but that darkness was blended as day was to night in the beautiful world of twilight. The darkness that was there, exposed so openly, so easy to see, that darkness was her love personified; personified toward anger at their enemies. Anger at her other self, her other, forgiven self. Anger at evil, at hatred. At the poisonous darkness.
Anger not directed at Julie, but at what Julie was feeling.
"Julie, this was not your fault. This was not Runo's fault. This was not Dan's fault, or Joe's fault, or Drago's or mine or Fabia's or anyone's fault." Julie sobbed and Alice pulled her close again. "The Twelve Orders. That's where the fault lies. Not in you, not in Runo, not even in them. In their hatred. In their desire for power. They want to hurt. They want to control. They want evil."
"Then why haven't they lost yet?" Julie wailed, wrapping her arms around Alice in a bone crushing, desperate embrace. "Good always wins! Why haven't we won? Why aren't we winning?"
"Because we're still fighting. They look like they have the upper hand. It looked like Naga had the upper hand that time, didn't it?" Julie didn't answer-couldn't answer. Alice continued anyway. "But because we loved, because Dan and Runo and all of us wanted to love and protect, we won. Love is stronger. Love is always stronger. They will lose. We will get them back.
"We will win."
"You're sure?" Ace asked, eyes wide. Mira, not for the first time, made the mistake of attempting to nod vigorously in reply, but ended up grimacing and lifting a hand to her bandaged head. Ace's eyes narrowed in concern and he leaned forward, half expecting her to pass out again. She shot him a look that was something between irritation and sympathy before being replaced by a soft, sad smile.
"Positive," she replied. "It was just this brief thing... I mean, it was all of her memories, just flashing across this... space. It was really, really weird... But the last one, the last one was Dan. He was... he was strapped to a chair..." Her voice took on a scared, sorrowful tone, and she took a deep breath. "He was screaming, just screaming, and you could tell he was fighting with all he had because he just kept trying to get out... Oh, it was just awful, and they were electrocuting him-and then his sunglasses fell off and broke..."
Ace had gone pale, his mouth wide open. Mira's eyes filled with tears when she turned her head to look at him again. "Oh Ace, they... His face-he was so pale! There were cuts all over-and he had these horrible, horrible burns on his arm!" She lifted her own to prove her point, pulling it out from beneath the dark brown blanket Ace had brought her. She held her left arm out in the space between the two of them, then ran her finger along the forearm three times in three parallel lines, each running completely around the circumference of her forearm.
Ace stared at this with wide eyes, jaw unhinged enough to show his shock. Mira found her eyes focused on his, those pale, steely orbs that barely reflected the light. That was just the way the eyes of Vestals worked; they were not coated in the same liquid the eyes of humans were. The liquid that had poured from those terrified, rubicund orbs that reflected blue, flashing light. Light that only promised pain from contact with its source, contact that was neither desired nor welcomed. Such contact had the potential to be lethal, to be torturous, to be traumatizing.
Physically traumatizing, but also so much more.
As if the teen had felt Mira's gaze, as he so often did, he lifted his own, bringing it to rest on her own cerulean stare. More passed between the two in that moment, that moment that barely took up any time, than words could ever have hoped to convey. Fear, despair, courage, desire; memories of fun times, memories of victories, promises of hope; all of it was there. All of it passed through such a tiny distance with such astonishing speed and understanding, understanding that only two who knew each other as well as Ace and Mira did could possibly posses.
Her eyes and his own, after flashing through those many, many conflicting thoughts and emotions, finally came to rest on the exact same fleeting but ever present fearful expression, the one that they all had been concealing to the very best of their ability for the past eleven days; the one that accurately and perfectly expressed the worry that clouded their hearts, the fear that had come to descend on the souls of all those who knew Dan in the way that the Brawlers had. It was an expression that the two were able to reflect in the same way a mirror bounces the image of the observer back into its eyes, but a look that was so alike that of their comrades that it was unmistakeable.
And then there were tears falling down Mira's face and sparkling in Ace's, threatening the walls that they had both put in place to safeguard their sanity. The same emotion had pierced their separate yet unified hearts with the precision of a seasoned marksman, a blow neither had been suspecting. From their single heart poured hot, scalding sadness, snow white sorrow that blanketed their insides with its scorching chill. The emotion had pressed at their makeshift barriers several times in the past week, at first only prodding, knocking with a steady cadence that was easy to ignore and, if they put forth a little effort, to forget; but that was before it began to pound on the doors, sending echoes that resounded with dangerous vibrations from the edge of the haven to its core, forcing the walls to give little by little. Fear and sadness had started to trickle in, at first only a small, seemingly harmless stream before suddenly surging into a cascade. Now the dams against which the water pushed had broken; a crack had split the foundations of such an architectural marvel, and the only way for it to possibly be repaired again was to let the water flow free, to pour out strongly and violently until the water level fell low enough for them to begin rebuilding it from scratch.
Soon, the two were intertwined, one pulled close to the other so that her face was pressed against his chest. She drank in his husky, familiar, calming scent, asking, begging him to pull her back to a time when everything was peaceful; a time when it was just them, just peace, just joy. She desperately yearned for him to bring her to a place where no fear could reach them and all that filtered through the air was sunshine and all that would touch her were him and the wind itself.
Oh how she longed for a perfect world. A world on which everyone could live in peace, in eternal bliss without the expense of another individual, an individual who could never be thanked for its sacrifice. No, she recalled distantly, a memory surfacing from a time that had become a different life, not just a perfect world. That fantasy had ended just as soon as she learned of a world called New Vestroia, and that a place very similar to that on which she herself lived existed, too; a place called Earth. Earth, the planet on which, she would one day discover, one of the best friends she'd ever have lived a life of leisure seen only by the luckier humans, occasionally interrupted only by the inconveniences of adolescence confined to a limitless city. That is, he was only troubled by those little things until her people would force him to come to the aid of those for which he and his partner had already risked nearly everything; to aid those nonhuman, discriminated beings, of which several had already sacrificed everything for the sake of their brethren.
No, she decided, balling her hands into fists around the gray fabric of Ace's night shirt (for he had fallen asleep by her bedside after the battles in Bakugan Interspace the night before). Merely a perfect world was no longer an option. Trying to create only a perfect world would surely end only in the despair of invasion from a foreign people. Nethia, a world of which Mira had only ever heard, certainly seemed to be a perfect place. From the descriptions Fabia had given during the times they spent together trying to relax before bed, it was a beautiful place to behold not only with the eye, but also with the heart. The people there were kind, generous, always willing to extend a helping hand to one who might be in need of its silent, selfless gesture. From Fabia's tales, the scenery was breathtaking; sunsets were striking, filled with colors that were only seen on Earth in the Aurora Borealis; oceans were dazzling, giving off the unique scent of the sea coupled with its gentle, soothing mist, and the air sweeter and more soothing than honeysuckle. She had even mentioned, wistfully and with a twinkle in her eyes that only manifested when she spoke of her home, that despite the amazing technological prowess of her people, the stars in the night sky were never faded from light pollution. This was a feat even the Vestal people had yet to accomplish. Nethia was, in many respects, the perfect world. It already existed.
And yet, this people, this peaceful, selfless, caring people, had been the targets of a fierce and brutal invasion. This invasion was one that would devastate not only one world, had it been successful, but also all of the others known, however vaguely, to exist in the minds of all sentient beings. This invasion would, even after it failed, continue to deal blow after blow after heart crushing blow against those who resisted, for the one that was beloved by all those he had aided was taken by these heartless villains.
This invasion, one that started as an impersonal search for power, would turn into a personal vendetta; a personal quest for revenge, for violence, for pain. And this rift between hearts would cause more pain than scars ever would.
Elsewhere, the same thoughts were running through the head of a certain young princess; through the temples of an innocent, blue-haired Vestal and her big brother as they cuddled on the couch; through the head of a brooding queen-to-be. A silent ninja contemplated this every night since Dan's disappearance, sharing his thoughts with No-One. Three Castle Knights, one of the very race of those he despised, longed for the same answers to the same questions their comrades were asking. Former rivals were thinking, questioning, seeking out what could have possibly driven one they had once faithfully followed to such lengths.
And closer still to the heart of it all, three human mothers and fathers ached for their children. Each sat apart from each other; none were eating very much at all. One mother had lost her ever present smile; another had retreated deeply into her thoughts during her morning yoga. The last had taken to sitting by the window, gazing up at the sky while holding close to her heart a picture of her son and the noble white Bakugan who sacrificed everything for him.
Fathers brooded during car rides; one was even more teary-eyed than his wife. Another couldn't stand the sight of pudding. The last could hardly fathom why he had turned down the visit from his son-perhaps the last time he would have ever gotten to see him.
And at the very center, a Pyrus dragon slept, recovering spent energy that had been released in the form of a creature revealed by a Nethian and Gundalian pair to be a Mechtagon. Although Drago had not been awake to hear their explanation, the word now resided in his memory bank, bouncing around his head just as it did in the head of his other half. It was a word foreign to both of them, yet it felt right on the tips of their tongues. At the same time, though, it had a foul taste. It was bitter, the term, as if it knew it shouldn't belong to them.
But words were impartial, meaningless, and emotionless until spoken. Mere fragments of thought, of meaning, of understanding that had no value unless strung together with words. So words were merely a conduit, just a form of communication. Communication that Bakugan and Brawler were capable of but didn't really need. Who needs words to convey thought when that thought filters just as cleanly, just as clearly, through a separate mind without them?
They were both in and out of sync, hovering just on the borderline, not quite close enough to touch but, at the same time, close enough to be the same. From a point on the edge, thoughts floated through unimpeded, but not as they should. Thoughts were shared through a two-way current, exchanging memories, fears, and sensations. Both halves were immobile, frozen, unconscious, suspended in the limbo between space and time. Each could see the other, but neither could process the sight.
Perhaps that was for the best. If the dragon knew what happened to the child, surely the connection would be lost. Gone. Fragmented into oblivion.
The memories of the experience would remain to be sorted out separately, to be made sense of consciously, without danger to the other. Hope would be dangled before ones face, despair would rip through the other. Shock and relief through one for ones he rarely thought of, and terror and questions would pulse through the other for the one he loved.
And for them all, the answer sought was the same.
Why?
Silence...
In the lack of light, a single shadowed figure stands by his lonesome, save for the tiny, reddish ball on the surface a length away him. He is just as quiet as his surroundings; motionless for the moment. He is a statue, a breathing, unnatural statue, still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Such is an uncontrollable movement, as breathing is necessary to sustain life.
What little light there is filters into the area as diluted and faint as it is in the twilight zone, barely defining his somewhat unnatural yet distinctly humanoid features. He has spiked dark hair, almost as dark as his coat, but that might just be the light that showers him. Large green gemstones embedded within his huge shoulder plates glint with the ever-so-slight shifting of his arms, accompanied by the sound of clinking metal. Such vibrations are nearly imperceptible, but if any are listening, they have no reason to be concerned.
It is true he isn't welcome here. He knows he will be challenged if he is caught. That's fine, he tells himself, for he is their adversary, though he really is doing no harm. He knows more than the witch does, anyway. What she plans will never work; such experiments are doomed to fail. After all, the boy only holds the Switchcode for one.
How can he be considered harmful? After all, it was he that acted mercifully to an adversary, the one he should hate above all others. Amidst those who obtained pleasure from the pain and screams of an older child, but a child no less. He was the giver of sleep, the giver of dreams, which, as he now contemplated it, could also be considered a type of torture themselves. To dangle a bauble such as a good dream, a dream of love, of friendship, of safety, before one starved of those very necessities...perhaps that was the greatest torture of them all.
How could he hate someone who he helped torture without conceivable reason? Why should he not grant him sleep when that was the one thing in his power to give? Freedom is out of reach, far out of reach, impossible to attain for the boy. The figure regrets this, though he knows it is not due to morality. Morality is not something he was created with, that much he knows. The spawn of hatred can never know true morality. Shadows, fragments, perhaps they will caress his mind, whisper the Truth to his truths. Perhaps, if enough time passes, he will be able to adopt the way of thinking, but it will never truly be his own. That much he knows.
He regrets that he and the one to whom he grants sleep will never meet as equals on the battle field. Soon they will meet (for such confrontations are inevitable) but they will never be on a level playing field. One will always be too broken, to unstable, too despairing. He will not drive the same force through the stake to impale the heart of victory again; that has already been taken from him. Just as the emperor, the Master, the one he served, had intended.
Now the figure moves forward, his feet making tiny tapping noises against the smooth, dark surface of the floor. As he moves toward the center of the room, however, the circle of light that exists only in the center extends, illuminating the contours of his figure with each step closer. Slowly, ever so slowly, shadows on his face separate and flee, revealing his distinctly alien appearance. No, he is not human. He never has been, not truly, although should he find the desire within his heart, he can masquerade as one of them. Deceptive creatures humans are, he thinks as he stops before the frozen ball on the table. They deceive their own kind, trade one for another, harm their own young in cold blood. He knows the ones he is modeled after are not the same, for they are worse.
Himself, he knows, is just as bad. But his Fate is not his to control.
He gazes down at the Bakugan before him, wondering if doing this will hurt the boy more than it will help him. After a moment of contemplating, however, he is sure of the answer. He is just as sure as he is that the sun rises after it sets, even though time must pass in between these events for them to happen.
This may have been an assignment; the crafty witch might have thought she was getting something useful, but the figure knows better. He is smarter, stronger, more cunning, more perceptive, more useful; he is better than she is. He knows this will fail her, but to him and to his charge, this will be something good. He doesn't care that he is breaking rules. The boy needs this.
He wants this.
He extends a hand over the Bakugan, the sealed, stationary orb. The bottom of his hand is where the shadows now gather, eager for something that blocks out the dreaded light shining down from above, but they are forced to flee again less than a moment later. Faint but colorful rays of light shimmer in the air between the Bakugan and the hand, rays of light that tell more in data than they show in their dull luminosity. This data flies through the figure's nerves, stored in a memory bank that humans will never possess. And once he feels the process is complete, he turns and departs, leaving the Gate, the prey, there in plain sight for another hunt, for another quest, for another hunter, one with senses far more acute than his own.
And as he makes his way back to those that bring pain and destruction, there is a small twitch in his chest that he knows is not morality, for there can't be morality in the nonexistent soul of an artificial being.
But still, the question is there, kept carefully from his core but striking very close its target.
Why?
Yeah... this was mostly filler... Just a heads-up, I have midterms next week, but after Thursday I should have nothing to worry about until Tuesday (I hope; life has a tendency of screwing things up whenever I think things will be great... Oh well) because we have a 4 day weekend! Yay! During that time I will probably be writing, drawing, and listening to music (and trying not to be too happy about the fact that this school year from Hell is half over).
Anyway, thank you all so much for sticking with this story even though I didn't update for so long. EmpressPyrus has taken on the task of getting me to update within the intended time limit (THANK YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH EMPRESSPYRUS!), so hopefully that means that things will be much more... regular... as far as updates are concerned from now on... I should probably set a date (like Monday, Breezy -_-) for getting these chapters up... Let's see if I can actually update consistently for 2 weeks and then I'll set a definitive date...
Oh, by the way, I'm 15 now... I think in the beginning I said I was 13 (and I was; I just left this on hold for so long it's ridiculous)
So, on that note, I'm going to go cry because I am so unworthy of the support this fic gets. Thank you all so much :)
Review?