One in the morning crept by, right under Gaelstrom and Jean-Luc's noses. The tantrum-throwing in the guest bedroom had ceased after several minutes, leaving the mystery of what was going through Adel's mind to haunt Gaelstrom as he passed by her room. If her outrage wasn't enough to surprise him, the fact that Polnareff slept soundly in his sister's room during the whole thing definitely did.
How? That's what Gaelstrom wanted to know. Adel throwing objects and screaming could've woke a bear from hibernation. Moonlight seeped through the windows. He stood by the door, watching Jean-Luc sweep a blanket over his children one last time. If what he said about never coming back was true, then Gaelstrom would respectfully keep his distance and let him have one final moment with them.
🔸️ 🔸️
Something as simple as Jean-Luc brushing his daughter's curls away from her face brought about a smile he believed would be a sin to keep suppressed. She'd grow into a beautiful young woman, that much he was sure of. Though he hated to admit it, what Adel told him was true. He'd be absent for her wedding day and her children's lives, if she were to have any. Showering his future grandchildren with affection - a wishful daydream slipping through his fingers, and nothing more.
"My precious alouette..."
Talking in his sleep next to her was her brother. "Help, he's getting on the pony..." he spoke in a groggy voice.
Amused by Polnareff's sleep-talk, Jean-Luc quietly laughed. He stood there for what felt like forever, just looking down on his beloved children as they dreamed peacefully. To break away from such a moment was to shatter his very soul to pieces. The faint blue light of the moon glistened against the outline of his body. And though Gaelstrom could hardly make out the type of face he was making, Jean-Luc's broken heart far out-shined the glow coming from the window.
He gripped his cane tightly in one hand as a tear dripped over it. This was goodbye. This was the end. And yet, he smiled anyway. Potential memories he longed to make with Polnareff and Sherry were overshadowed by the few memories he did remember.
From that moment on, there would be no more rocking Sherry to sleep like he did when she was an infant. Nevermore would he sit and watch her paint a picture of a cat with her fingers. Long gone were the days of making each and every moment count, seeing them grow and play together. Just as their mother would have. If she could only see how close they'd become, she'd be just as proud as he was.
When it came to memories he shared with Polnareff, the bad far out-weighed the good. But the few good ones brought a smile to his face, because they were his to keep for the road ahead. The very thing keeping him going after all those years of wanting to throw in the towel. Something he knew very well he could never do, lest he dishonor them both.
One thing he told himself as he thought about his inevitable death was: although the sun shines elsewhere, the darkness can never last forever. Stigmata's curse will eventually be broken and Polnareff can finally live the life he deserves; and a new dawn - a glorious, unforgettable dawn - will break upon the generations to come.
"Whatever road you take," he said to Polnareff as he slept, "may the sun always light your path."
Taking a knee to Sherry's bedside, he began humming to the tune of Across the Universe by the Beatles. From the doorway, he heard Gaelstrom sniffling. Jean-Luc placed his cane onto the floor and softly took ahold of Polnareff's hand, leaning his cheek gently against it. Despite his life being filled with unrelenting sorrow - despite Polnareff's disdain for him - Jean-Luc's love would remain forever unbending in the face of adversity.
"...nothing's gonna change my world..."
Like a beam bearing an accumulating weight over time, all it took was the perch of a butterfly - his overflowing love - and Jean-Luc was broken. Tears flooded from his eyes, soaking Sherry's blanket. His chest heaved, releasing labored breaths as he wept silently in the light of a full moon.
🔸️ 🔸️
As Gaelstrom took a seat in the living room, the tea kettle whistled from the kitchen. A floral, fruity smell drifted through the air as Jean-Luc returned with two tea cups on a tray. In a small bowl, there were sugar cubes and spoons. Smiling, he handed one of the cups to Gaelstrom, who seemed surprised by the gesture at first, but appreciative of Jean-Luc's thoughtfulness all the same.
"Lavender tea?" he asked.
"Oh, thank you." Gaelstrom took the cup from him and immediately took a sip. His eyes shot open and he spit the tea into the floor, dampening his pants and shirt. His expression soured as if he bit into a lemon. "Ugh, what is this?!"
Jean-Luc sat next to Gaelstrom on the loveseat, laughing. "I have sugar if you need it. Helps to drown out the bitterness."
"Ah, so that's why..."
"I apologize for what you heard upstairs," Jean-Luc said, stirring his drink, "my sister wasn't always like this."
Gaelstrom sipped his tea, finding it to be more tasteful with several clumps of sugar. Much better, he thought. "I swear I wasn't trying to eavesdrop," he confessed, "I was just passing by to get Sherry a glass o' water."
"I suppose you heard everything?"
"I heard about a Ore-a-burrows and astigmatism."
Jean-Luc snorted, laughing heartily at his response. "Stigmata." he corrected in a hushed voice.
"Oh, what's a stigmata?"
"Shhh!"
"Sorry." Gaelstrom hissed.
Jean-Luc smiled, sitting his cup onto a round table between them. "Gaelstrom, before I tell you anything, you must promise me something. Can you keep a secret?"
Gaelstrom glanced over at him. "Sure, I'm like a vault. Your secret's safe with me. Heh, get it?"
He found it funny, but Jean-Luc was serious. "I don't suppose there's any point in lying to you after what you heard. I need you to pay close attention to what I'm about to tell you. Alright?"
Gaelstrom nodded, finding himself looking down into his tea.
"Over a thousand years ago, my family was cursed by a relic called Stigmata. It belonged to the body of a god-like being - a devil - called a Fomorian."
Looking up from staring into the dark pool in his cup, Gaelstrom's lips parted. "Fomorian?"
"That's right," Jean-Luc said, "no one knows his true name. His own kind trapped his soul within Stigmata and ever since, it was hidden away beneath Newgrange, Ireland. Until a woman named Morgan le Fay stole it."
"But...isn't Morgan le Fay...?"
"Yes," Jean-Luc answered, "a fictional character. But this Morgan was very real. In fact, she and I are related."
Gaelstrom's eyes widened. He had no words, but listened intently, wanting to hear more of Jean-Luc's story.
"My mentor once told me that it was she that brought the unending sorrow to this family. This perpetual cycle of damnation. You see, each first-born must bear the responsibility to destroy Stigmata once and for all. It is an ever arduous and heartbreaking journey of constant loneliness. King Arthur's son started all this in the year 541 with my mentor as his teacher."
"Just wondering," Gaelstrom said, "but who's your mentor exactly?"
Jean-Luc took a breath and let it out. "His name's Merlin."
"What?! Wait..." Gaelstrom chuckled, disbelieving him, "alright, you're pretty funny, Mr. Polnareff. I admit it, ya got me."
Jean-Luc rose up from the loveseat with a sigh. Their eyes met. Gaelstrom's broad smile faltered as he realized the solemn look on his face. This was a joke, wasn't it?
"Come with me." he said.
Gaelstrom placed his cup down and reluctantly did as he said. Leading him through the darkness of the house, Jean-Luc brought him to a narrow hallway in the foyer. At the very end, stood a lone mahogany door. Jean-Luc raised his candle, reaching into his pocket for something. Gaelstrom arched a brow and peered, trying to make out the little object in his hand. Faint clinking rustled around in the doorknob. A key. Jean-Luc twisted the knob slowly and the door creaked open.
If the hallway wasn't already dark, Gaelstrom would believe he was looking straight into an eerie abyss. And he'd be right. Jean-Luc led him down into the basement, the only source of light being the candle in his hand. Coming into view in the faint glow of candlelight as they passed by was a tall bookshelf. The book covers were discolored, ancient. Dust and cobwebs blanketed their bodies, making Gaelstrom feel like he would sneeze at any given second. He fucking hoped not, that shit was annoying.
A large, black spider darted back into a tiny crack between a book and the shelf. Yuck. Nearby was a wine rack with wine bottles. On them was a label that read: Claret de Léon. Jean-Luc's grandfather once owned his own vineyard in France, earning him a substantial amount of money. The source of Jean-Luc's inheritance as a matter of fact; money that would soon belong to Polnareff and his sister.
Among these findings, Gaelstrom discerned large, dusty trunks with locks, old fencing swords, and furniture. But what really got his attention was a stone wall. A wall Jean-Luc approached warily.
"Uh, Mr. Polnareff?"
No answer. He reached up and felt around, his hands sliding around on the rocky surface. "They're here somewhere," he said, "ah, here's one."
On each side of the door was a space carved out of the wall in the shape of a sword. Its sculpture was so specific that it gave Gaelstrom the notion that only one particular sword would fit in each of them. Jean-Luc opened two of the large trunks, his candle flickering on the table beside him as he pulled out two identical swords and placed them down one at a time.
"Both of these were custom made after King Arthur's death," he explained, "one represents Sir Galahad while the other represents Arthur. They're quite heavy. Better let me do this."
Gaelstrom gladly stepped out of the way, not wanting to get cut. Jean-Luc strained, lifting the sword over the sculpted space. Carefully, he placed it into the slot, triggering a mechanism to make a clicking sound.
"What was that?" Gaelstrom asked.
"You'll see."
Again, he lifted the other sword and did the same thing. Another click was heard followed by a gradually increasing rumble. Gaelstrom gasped, clinging close to Jean-Luc's side. The stone wall began to descend down into the floor, revealing a passage that would take them deeper into the unknown.
"Don't be afraid." he told him.
Gaelstrom swallowed. His feet felt as if they were glued to the floor. Jean-Luc grabbed the candle and proceeded to go on ahead.
"It's alright," he assured, "I'm well prepared for whatever we may face here tonight."
Taking a deep breath through his nose, Gaelstrom followed behind. Deeper down they went into the chasm of darkness, breathing in cold, damp air. As they made their way, the place reminded Gaelstrom of Balin's Tomb from Lord of the Rings. Unlit torches adorned the stone walls. Stairs that seemed to go on forever were making his knees tired. What the hell was a place like this doing under Polnareff's house? This is unreal, he thought. Absolutely unreal.
"This is an ancient tomb," Jean-Luc said, "it's where all my ancestors, and the knights that served them, have gone to rest."
"What about your parents?"
"My father is buried here, yes. Since this place was built, everyone in my family, including their spouses, have been buried here. You won't find a single one of us in the local cemetery."
"What about your mum?" Gaelstrom asked.
Jean-Luc hesitated to answer. "Buried elsewhere by now, I imagine. She...left when I was very young."
Gaelstrom frowned. Shouldn't have asked. "I'm sorry."
A cold chill made Gaelstrom shiver the further they made their descent. Jean-Luc raised his candle, lighting one of the torches. Red fireglow flickered on the walls, getting brighter and brighter until the shadow that engulfed them was all but chased away. What lied ahead remained lost in a sea of pitch black.
"Mr. Polnareff," Gaelstrom said, "where exactly are you taking me?"
"You'll see."
The tomb went on forever. Every now and again, Gaelstrom would perceive unsettling noises. Rocks moving around as well as obscure, brief clangs in a far off area. Jean-Luc lit each torch as he went deeper. A clever idea, as it would serve as a trail marker in that dreaded place. Gaelstrom didn't think it would be necessary. That the place wasn't all that big. But the further they went, the more clear it became that they weren't just waltzing through catacombs.
It was a maze riddled with puzzles and traps. Traps that had never been activated since their creation. Gaelstrom passed by several, thinking that Jean-Luc would need only solve them in order to proceed, but no. He bypassed them, merely fiddling with hidden mechanisms near the gated passages.
"Wait," Gaelstrom called out to him, anxious, "if that's all you had to do, then why...?"
Jean-Luc smiled faintly, gesturing to the room around them. "These elaborate puzzles are fodder for thieves and traitors. They'll have wasted more time trying to solve riddles. Even if they get them right, no one's advancing to the next room without knowing this little trick. That wasn't added to the tomb until the mid 1500s by Ser Guillaume, one of my great-great grandfathers. It was a fail-safe he invented in case Mordred ever infiltrated this place.
"He sounds smart."
"Ah, yes. It was his intellect that inspired people. His charm and wit a close second."
Gaelstrom crossed over one of the traps, regarding a hole large enough for the circumference of a spear pole to fit. "Mr. Polnareff," he said, "why are there-"
"Holes in the floor?" he finished. "Long after Léon d' Archambeau founded this tomb, as well as the town, he'd taken matters of protecting Stigmata into his own hands. If anyone tried to steal it, they would face a cruel, cruel death. He was Guillaume's father, so thought to give his son's contraptions a bit of an edge."
Gaelstrom gulped. "That's some edge."
The smile on Jean-Luc's face in the firelight seemed reassuring enough, though. "Don't worry," he said, "my father shared the secrets of this place with me many times. I know it like the back of my hand. I may not be able to share those same secrets with Jean the way my father did, but that's why I'm bringing you down here tonight."
"I'm not sure I understand what all this means." Gaelstrom said.
"You will. This knowledge is yours now. You must never share it with anyone. No one but Jean if and when the time comes."
Gaelstrom arched a brow. "The time?"
"I'll explain more on that later."
Staring at the sights around him in awe, Gaelstrom's mouth hung open. The architecture was surprisingly still structurally sound despite being a thousand years old. There were various rooms with mysteries long abandoned by the knights that once guarded the tomb. The columns, the crypts, and the ornamented doors - it was like stepping into a fantasy world.
They pushed open a heavy, stone door and traversed a wide hall. Ancient, medieval carvings of knights adorned the walls, trailing all the way to an opening. Roots hung over the carvings and sprawled out across the floor until they reached the end.
At long last, they'd arrived in the most unforgettable area of the tomb. The prelude to what awaited at the very end. Jean-Luc ignited the torches along the walls. Before them, in a circular room, erectly stood an enormous, stone door with ornate carvings. At its center was the image of a triquetra.
Aligned in a crescent formation near the door were stone epitaphs bearing Welsh inscriptions. On each stone read the names of Arthur's knights in a particular order: Bedivere, Gawain, Bors, Lancelot, Percival, Galahad, Agravain, Gareth, Morien, Kay, Geraint, and Lamorak.
"Is this real?" Gaelstrom asked.
Jean-Luc chuckled. "Oh, yeah. It's real."
"Is this one of the pointless puzzles, too?"
"No. This is the only one that truly matters. You needn't worry about triggering any death traps here."
"That's a relief."
On the towering door below the triquetra, in Welsh, read this:
Pearl all-pleasing, prince's treasure,
too chastely set in gold so pure!
From out the orient, I aver,
ne'er proved I pearl its precious peer. So round, so royal wherever ranged,
so sweetly small, so wondrous smooth ; where'er I judged of joyous gems,
I placed my pearl apart, supreme.
I lost it—in a garden—alas ! Through grass to ground 'twas gone from me.
I pine, by severing love despoil'd of pearl mine own, without a spot.
"What's all this supposed to mean?" Gaelstrom asked.
"A poem from the 14th century. You're familiar with poetry, aren't you Gaelstrom?"
His eyes lit up. "Oh, yes sir! I love reading. But what does that have to do with the door?"
Jean-Luc led him over to the stone epitaphs. Revealed by torchlight were slider mechanisms under each stone. "We'll just have to complete the poem." he said.
"How?"
"First, you read the inscriptions -"
"But they're all in Welsh," Gaelstrom rebutted, "I don't know what they're saying."
Jean-Luc laughed. "For you then, you need only memorize one key component. The names on the stones are a clue. Ser Guillaume was an avid reader. Like you. He admired poetry. The Pearl, as you can see, was clearly his go-to for the final sanctum. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is for the ones you saw before. Answer me this question: who were Arthur's most loyal knights?"
Gaelstrom hummed, wracking his mind for an answer. "Galahad?"
Jean-Luc nodded. "Yes, he's one of them. And the other two?"
"Uhhh...I honestly don't know."
There was a pause between them. "Bors," Jean-Luc answered, "and Percival."
"Oh, yeah, I- wow. Yeah. I'm glad you know, because I never would've figured that out."
"Remember their names in this order for if you ever have to come back: Bors, Percival, and Galahad."
Gaelstrom repeated their names to himself. "Got it." he said.
Jean-Luc handed his torch to Gaelstrom and pressed his hands against Bors's epitaph. He strained, laboriously pushing the stone to the end of the mechanism.
CLANK
Next was Percival's stone.
CLANK
Finally, Galahad's.
CLANK
Another loud rumble in Gaelstrom's ears. The poem was completed, each verse in its proper place. The gigantic door opened gradually, allowing visual into the enigmatic vault up ahead. There, in the center of the room, was a pedestal bearing a large geode. At least to Gaelstrom, that's what it appeared to be. He ran into the room, eager to see what Jean-Luc had been wanting to show him.
"Gaelstrom, wait!" he reached out a hand to him as he left his side.
Gaelstrom stood mere feet away from the pedestal and wrinkled his nose. That's it? That's what they came all the way down there for? That was Stigmata? He didn't want to deny Jean-Luc's story, it's just that he pictured something more...menacing. The outer shell was likened to obsidian. Its inner body a green gem that emitted a disturbing aura. On second thought, whether it looked menacing or not, that was enough to trigger his senses to tell him to get the hell out of there.
"Mr. Polnareff, I think we should..." his voice trailed off, the thoughts in his mind locking up as his gaze found the relic.
"Aww, have you come to play with me?" a child-like voice reverberated in his mind, and also what felt like his ears.
"Play...?"
"Gaelstrom!" Jean-Luc cried as he rushed into the room, covering his eyes with his hand. "You mustn't pay it any mind. It's trying to tempt you!"
The glow of the eye burned of green fire, its light pulsing. Jean-Luc shut his eyes. Indescribable ringing, both high and low, rang from the relic as a guttural tone begat a fear that clung to Gaelstrom's throat. A fear he'd never forget so long as he lived.
You again. it said to Jean-Luc. Come to vanquish sin once more with your damnable sunlight?
"I will find a way!" Jean-Luc roared, his eyes still tightly shut.
The frightening voice laughed at him. Peons. Your father said that, too. And his father before that. Aren't you exhausted? Don't you want to live a happy life being loved by your son? Don't you want to atone for being a horrible father? I can make this possible for you, Jean-Luc. Your family's suffering can finally end.
"You'll not tempt me, demon!" he shouted.
Come now, is destroying me really going to make your son love you? He despises you. He'll always despise you no matter what you do. Hurts, doesn't it? But it doesn't have to be that way. For all you know, there is no way to destroy me. Your family's 1500 year cycle of torment will have been for nothing. It is for naught that you throw your happiness away.
"I sacrifice the things I want most, so the ones I love don't have to. Every step I've taken into this god forsaken sanctum is because I love my family. The influence you wrought upon them will be no more if I have anything to say about it!
Don't tell me you truly believe that a mere human can attain hamon that burns with the heat of the sun? Such a thing has never happened - will never happen. As I've told you and your ancestors: I am eternal. To wield the sun in all its glory is to destroy one's self. Face it. You've lived a wasted life. You all have. And now that boy of yours will be no different, no matter what path he chooses. Alone he comes, and alone he goes.
Fire churned in Gaelstrom's gut. He pried Jean-Luc's hand away from his eyes. "You're wrong!" he shouted. "Jean's never going to be alone, because I'll be there with him every step of the way!"
Are you so certain, descendant of Galahad?
Gaelstrom's blood stilled like ice. "What?"
You think this dark road you take entails triumph?
"It will," Gaelstrom said, his resolve unrelenting, "whether I'm there with him in the end or not,I believe in him. He is my best friend - my only friend. And a talking rock in a catacomb isn't going to change that."
Jean-Luc looked at him proudly. "Unbending will. Jean, you've a very loyal friend."
Is that so?
"You'll see!" Gaelstrom cried, feeling ever so sure of himself, "Mr. Polnareff will slay Mordred. And if he can't destroy you, then I'll see to it Jean damn sure will. And that's a promise. I may not know exactly what's going on, but I swear on God almighty himself: I'll gladly die if it means the human race gets to witness an evil bastard like you burn!"
Stupid boy. I created Mordred. I am the reason Morgan LeFay begat an inhuman child. Like me, he is a Fomorian. And because he is chaos incarnate, you stand little chance at slaying him. So, Jean-Luc, by all means...continue to throw your life away. For, if you take this path, it will be your last.
Jean-Luc clenched his fist. "I will take this path before my son ever does."
Rocks crumbled in the large hall. From out of the walls came shattered caskets and guttural growls with them. A metal sword scraped across the stone floor. Jean-Luc and Gaelstrom's heads snapped behind them, mouths parted as they beheld the horror drawing near.
Hordes of clanging armor staggered towards the vault, the wearers mindlessly groaning. All throughout the catacombs Gaelstrom had heard eerie movements from the shadows ensnare his senses. Were these sentinels lurking in the dark the entire time?
How many times must you put yourself through this, Jean-Luc? How many times will you enter my vault only to drown in sin on the way out?
"Bastard..." Jean-Luc muttered.
"Mr. Polnareff...!"
"I know. He's toying with us. Get behind me."
"What-"
"Just do as I say and trust me."
Gaelstrom nodded, keeping close to his side. But wasn't he going to do something? The horde of undead knights were getting closer, their swords ready to strike. Grotesque corpses snarled. Sabatons rattled with each step.
Gaelstrom shut his eyes tightly anticipating the worst. "Mr. Polnareff!"
Determination burned in Jean-Luc's eyes as he inhaled a deep, steady breath. Ghosting into plain sight came a spirit with glowing wings for hair. A winged helmet covered its head and eyes. Onyxes adorned the rim crossing the center of its face. Its golden gauntlets manifested a lance of white-gold from an orb of light. Awaiting its user's command, Armored Saint descended in front of them.
He's got a stand, too...?!
Within mere moments of being rended asunder, Jean-Luc let out a soft whisper. "Onyx Euphoria Overdrive."
Black-green thorns appeared around Jean-Luc's body, as well as Armored Saint. It swiftly countered, a yellow spark flickering as the tip touched the knight's armor. Energy burned its body like fire eating paper. Like pinball, hamon ricocheted off their armor, consuming their bodies into a smokey pile of ash.
Cinders crumbled one by one to the ground. A scattered mess of metal and ashes layed before them, not a single sentinel left standing. Jean-Luc pressed his balled fist to his chest and bowed his head to the now slain knights that once guarded the vault with honor in their hearts. That once had families of their own, assuming they never returned home.
"These men bore great resolve. I thank you all from the depths of my heart for serving my family. May your spirits rest in peace."
Jean-Luc pushed a pressure plate with his cane. The mechanism released the epitaphs and Gaelstrom went to work, pushing them back in alignment. He struggled, baring his teeth as he pressed his shoulder into it. His body weight made it budge, but only slightly. Jean-Luc came over and the two of them worked together as a team, returning each stone in its proper place.
Jean-Luc's eyes glared into the vault as it began closing. Stigmata's words finalized their little encounter.
You can't protect your boy forever. Soon, he will lose everything dear to him. Just as you will.
BOOM
Jean-Luc stared at the door, saying nothing. It was a lot to take in. Between the sentinels roaming the halls, and Stigmata with its cursed speech, Gaelstrom realized that great evil posed a serious threat on Polnareff and Sherry's lives all along. To which they were unaware. He couldn't let harm befall them. Not while he's around.
He knew unusual things existed, what with always overhearing Dr. Callaghan discuss the bizarre with Gaelstrom's mother, but to this degree? Enormous geodes reanimating dead bodies for the sake of sadistic pleasure was definitely up there.
Jean-Luc grabbed his torch. "I've my doubts that was all of them." he said with urgency in his voice. "Come on, Gaelstrom, we have to hurry."
Sure enough, he was right. Gaelstrom's heart beat rapidly as they hastened through the crypt. The slightest sound of metal triggered his mind into full alert. Each encounter involved the dreaded noise of sabatons and clanking of armor on thin, dessicated bodies.
Jean-Luc was fending them off as best he could, but a fair few managed to slip under the radar. As his Amored Saint battled with the horde, an elusive few burst from the walls behind him. Pulling their iron swords from their sheathes, the blades sang. Three sentinels staggered towards him, a low raspy growl making that lump in his throat tighter.
He pressed his back against the crypt, cornered. Breaking through a wooden casket came skeletal, discolored fingers reaching for him. Gaelstrom's eyes found it and he screamed, jolting away from the wall.
With that thing trying to grab him and the three corpse knights closing in, it was clear there were no other methods of escape. There was one solution. Only one. And though he hated to reveal his secret, he summoned Cu Chulainn to fight back. Gaelstrom sank into a crouch, wincing. Cu Chulainn's spiked, red shield absorbed the blows of their iron swords. The shape of the stand's arm warped, taking the form of a heavy, two-handed blade.
One fell swing sliced them clean in two, guttural snarls echoing off the corner of the chamber where Gaelstrom cowered. This isn't happening right now, he thought. This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real.
Yellow-orange sparks surged around Jean-Luc's body. Gaelstrom's eye peeked open, getting a glimpse of the hamon building up around him. A sentinel over his shoulder drew its blade back at the ready to plunge it through his heart.
It was helpless how Gaelstrom extended his hand out to him. There was nothing he could do to save him in time. Jean-Luc was a goner.
"Jean's daaaad!"
Armored Saint emitted a radiant, yellow glow, same as Jean-Luc. His eyes narrowed to a spot on the wall in front of him.
The wall.
Gaelstrom shouting for him, as tears were beading from his ducts.
The blade about to pierce Jean-Luc's heart.
Perfect.
"Know what it feels to be lonely. Onyx Isolation Overdrive!"
Gaelstrom's hand faltered. Fear dropped into his chest and expanded. Shock. He wouldn't have believed it if he didn't see it with his own eyes. Hamon animated his metal leg. Joints bent with ease. Incredible. So, his stand was giving him the ability to run? No, that couldn't be it, Gaelstrom thought. With great speed, and his hamon surging brilliantly, Jean-Luc evaded the fatal blow and catapulted himself from the wall in front of him, rupturing it. Rubble collapsed to the stone floor on impact. In a horizontal motion, he whirled through the air.
Each enemy in Armored Saint's path of trajectory burned to ash. Gaelstrom froze, watching how its Spear of Destiny would barely touch them. He'd encountered stand users before, though none of them had the capability that Jean-Luc's seemed to have. Just being there and witnessing it all first hand was exciting. Almost scary. If Gaelstrom didn't know any better, Jean-Luc lived up to the reputation of being a man you didn't want to piss off.
Armored Saint's wake of destruction proved that. At the moment, the fight was over. Gaelstrom's eyes trailed up the mounds of dust to the far end of the crypt where he saw Jean-Luc sitting by a wall. His hand pressed against it as he panted heavily. For the time being, the sentinels were gone. But for how long? The catacombs fell silent, all but the reverb of Jean-Luc's voice as he fought to catch his breath.
"Mon dieu, it's been ages since I've used that attack. I'm a little rustier than I thought. You alright, Gaelstrom?"
"Yes, sir," he called out as he hurried over with their torch, "I'm okay."
He wanted to praise Jean-Luc for his incredible feat, ask him about it, even gush over how powerful he was. Never in his life did he suspect him capable of pulling off something so extreme. To him, Jean-Luc was just an ordinary dad that went away on business. Apparently not. A funny thought came to mind then. Polnareff's dad wasn't a dedicated business man going away for months on end, he was Van-Helsing: slayer of the undead.
Jean-Luc let out a grunt, using his cane to stand. The metal leg that moved so naturally before was back to its original state of limited mobility. Which prompted Gaelstrom to ask him something.
"How did you do that?"
"Do what, boy?"
"I mean, how did you move so fast? You were amazing! That thing was about to skewer you like a shishkabob, but then you were like: Isolation something...your body was all whoosh, and those skeleton things were like aghhh!" He wrapped his fingers around his neck and sank to the floor dramatically.
Jean-Luc's eyes followed him down, a brow quirking. He let out a laugh, both amused and flattered by Gaelstrom's re-enactment. "So, you liked that, huh?"
Gaelstrom hopped up, startling him. "You bet your arse I did! Oops. Sorry, didn't mean to cuss."
"Well, if you think my side-ways Isolation attack is great, wait until you see it done vertically."
"Ooh! Will I get to see it tonight?"
"Not likely," he said, "the ceiling's too low for that."
Gaelstrom slumped forward. "Awww... "