Chapter 98
Onimusha
An armoured humanoid wandered the X-Zone. From the realm he had come from, he may have been referred to as a samurai, though he stood far higher and broader than the largest Trabian highlander or Son of Almaj. Yet the distantly remembered Servants of Sasune would have called him onimusha – or demon warrior – could they behold him now.
His face was ageless and was neither benevolent nor unkind. His hair was not neatly bound in a topknot but was flowing freely and shone more brilliantly than a hunter's moon, though this radiance paled in comparison to the sword that was ever present in his hand. Not Murasame; it had once been known as Murasame, but now it was something wholly superior. Still slightly curved, though with a bronze handle and double its former length, containing awesome power of the holy element. The blade itself was as black as his armour, but with a gleaming white edge; it had transfigured along with him.
Time moved differently in that void between worlds. Decades had passed for this being. Perhaps a century. Though the human part of his mind could still remember his own name. Mitsuhide of the Akechi clan. The Pearl Osprey. No, he always admonished himself. That was the moniker of his distant descendant, Ujio. One who's birth did not seem so far into the future of his homeworld, now. He may even find a way back in time to meet him.
He who had once been Mitsuhide Akechi had been helplessly dragged into a wormhole, conjured by the Guardian of Trabia. His captive Guardian Force, Alexander, had been taken along with him, the magicite embedded within his gauntlet.
Mitsuhide had rudimentary knowledge of wormholes. The scientists of his adoptive homeland, Esthar, had their theories from the abandoned space program. Those baffling postulations of time dilation and the space-time continuum. That if one were unfortunate enough to encounter a black hole, for every second they spent there, centuries or millennia could pass everywhere else. That if they fell into said wormhole, they would cease to exist. Mitsuhide was a calculating man, but such things were far beyond him, and did not bear thinking about. He had been a samurai, always humble despite being considered one of the greatest to have lived.
Falling into that wormhole, he should have died. Though he had not. The gauntlet had changed first, the magicite spreading to envelope it whole. Alexander would not let him die. Instead, there had followed a fusion of man and Guardian Force. A new being had been born, a new force permanently replacing the two beings. And where Alexander had been a slow and cumbersome fortress, albeit extremely powerful, this new being was both lithe and mighty.
And so, this onimusha travelled the X-Zone, encountering fellow Voidsent from many worlds. Some omnipotent, some evil, and many who were neither, just unfortunate enough to have been banished to the Void. Some joined forces with him immediately, and others did so after challenging him in losing fashion, but most fell before the unrivalled power of Bishamon – as his sword had become known.
For want of a new name, he was unable to give one, though he swiftly gained a reputation among his varied travelling companions and became known by many monikers. Shirigami. Doomslayer. Shadowhunter. Over the decades, one particular name for him had stuck; Datenshi, which seemed fitting for both a venerable samurai and a Guardian Force of the holy element who had fallen from grace. All learned to respect and fear him. And no matter which obscure layer, dark pit or high precipice of the X-Zone malevolent beings fled to, Datenshi always found himself drawn to them, and slaying them became his chief purpose.
Well, almost. His few allies spoke of tears in the fabric of this reality; rifts, from where it was possible to travel to another world. Whenever Datenshi encountered one of these tears, Bishamon made it wide enough for those who yearned to return to their homeworlds, or just to escape the X-Zone entirely. Alas, most of the time, Datenshi could not follow. The Guardian Force half of him could not pass into a world that were not its own; even in his new life Alexander was still bound to the Planet.
There had been two exceptions, however. One had been Eureka, also known as the Forbidden Land. This was a lone island in the middle of a great ocean, home to many subterranean caverns. It was coveted by beings across the Void for its weaponry, all of which no regular mortal could wield. With Bishamon in his hand, Datenshi had not desired a new weapon, though he had been curious to behold them, nonetheless. And with no equivalent to Guardian Forces in that world, he had been able to cross over with his comrades.
This realm also had a connection to Datenshi's homeworld, wherein the Warriors of Light had sought a new arsenal to challenge the Cloud of Darkness. Doga had gifted them the Key, and it had been accessible via the Crystal Tower. However, during his whole time there Datenshi found no sign of the Tower, which would assuredly have been visible from every edge of the island and beyond.
When he and his newly resupplied company of heroes had returned to the X-Zone, the nearest Rift they encountered had been one to the darkest of dark realms. With its proximity to Eureka, Datenshi instinctively knew this was the World of Darkness, home to all the terrible beings his homeworld's population believed came from the Moon. And of all the demons and Weapons that lived there, Datenshi could feel Her. The Cloud of Darkness. Not as powerful as She should be, eons following her defeat to the Warriors of Light. Datenshi knew why. She had suffered another setback within the last generation – one of his companions was a black mage from Etheirys – and it would take many centuries to regain Her august power.
The Cloud of Darkness could sense him, too. She knew of his party's arrival, as She was aware of every being in her domain. Datenshi had sensed Her approach as though She could travel faster than the speed of light. His company yearned to test themselves against Her, or one of her Weapons. Yet destroying the Cloud of Darkness was impossible, for She could not die. And it would not earn him his ultimate objective, which was to return home and find the Guardian of Trabia. Reluctantly, Datenshi bade his comrades to leave Her world, and they were all too happy to oblige, disappearing deep back into the X-Zone. Bound to Her own realm, the Cloud of Darkness could not follow.
At long last, more than a century since his arrival in the Void, Datenshi had found a way home. The Alexander part of him knew it to be true. He had found the Planet. After he widened the tear, he would not allow his comrades to follow; they did not belong there, and with their new arsenal from Eureka they could now widen the interdimensional portals themselves. He bid them a heartfelt farewell, knowing he could trust in their honour not to cross into his world at a later date. He knew even those without honour feared him enough not to go against his word.
Datenshi stepped into a twilit forest. By the limitless sequoias, he knew it was either Timber or the Grandidi. The aether tugged at him. An emblem of fire in the middle of the Meridian Ocean lay to the east. The Thunder Plains were to the south. The frozen wastes of Trabia were to the northeast. So, he was in the Roshfall.
It pleased him immensely that in the century or so that had passed during his absence, the western continent had still retained its forests. Thinking of all those he had left behind, he knew his children more than likely would have passed on by now. He may have some grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, but they would not know him – nor would he wish them to, with what he had become.
With her carelessly dangerous magic, the Guardian of Trabia had taken them from him. As a Guardian Force, Datenshi could not die. This meant the shame Hikaru had brought to his clan would now be felt eternally, as would the despair of her death at the hands of the Stormbringer. The Third Sorceress War would have ended decades ago, and Tyris Almasy was likely long dead. However, Descendants of Hyne were eternal, lest they fall in battle. The Guardian of Trabia might yet still live, and if she did, Datenshi would find her.
Damian's motorcycle tore through the outer Roshfall. Mastema glinted dully at the back of his tactical vest, in its axe form, but for now, both of his gloved hands were on the handles. He swerved and revved noisily around the bodies of several ravaged Esthari, no doubt killed by their quarry. Somewhere to the west, Squall and Rinoa rode on chocobos, in frequent contact on his earpiece.
Their objective was to put the Autumn Knight to rest. And Damian knew exactly why he had been chosen to accompany them. Against Nida, or what had once been the Autumn Knight, Squall and Rinoa would likely be unable to land a killing blow. Neither could take the chance of faltering at a crucial moment, whereas Damian did not hold the same reservations. He could do what needed to be done.
Damian had respected Nida, never truly understanding the infamy he had imposed upon himself after Quistis' death. He had been one of the last of Cid's SeeDs, and one of the ones Damian had always revered. Still, Nida was gone. He had sold his soul in a failed attempt to triumph over Leonidas Christophe, forgoing the reclaimed honour he held so dearly in the process. Now, Nida wandered the Forested Plains as a glorified wight, dealing death to both Esthari and Forest fighters with abandon.
Squall and Rinoa had every confidence in him, though they were not privy to a secret he had yet to divulge. Diablos had been growing in power, becoming more exponential still. He had broken free from Jadis' lamp and been able to resist Griever's magic pulling him back to the Jade Passage. Gerra Almasy had alluded to severe aethereal imbalances in the future, due to all the GFs being imprisoned and continually siphoned of power. Alexander had been lost along with Mitsuhide Akechi, which must be the reason why Diablos' power was now running unchecked. Nonetheless, the Dark Messenger was now freely junctioned with the Wraith of Winhill, and they were eager to unleash their newfound strength in unison.
Finally, Damian saw some live Esthari approaching. They were flagging him down, waving their arms and stubby shotgun-blades.
'Help!' one screamed. 'Please!'
'He's right behind us!' another warned, his voice laced with terror.
Damian's eyes scanned the timberline, but he saw no sign of Nida. His eyes, turning blood-red, flashed back to the slowing Esthari. Unbiddenly, Mastema transfigured to a scythe on his back, and he drew it. He swung forehand and backhand as he passed the soldiers, sweeping broadly to eviscerate the third with a sharp turn of his motorcycle. Damian stopped as the Esthari crumpled behind him, paying their dying groans no mind. He stepped from his bike and grabbed Mastema with both hands, his eyes slowly scanning the dimming outer forest for any sign of further moment. He spat some tobacco from his mouth, the globule looking like ink on the grass.
His earpiece crackled to life.
'Damian!' Rinoa cried. 'We've found him!'
'Where?' he answered instantly, his pulse quickening.
Damian heard nothing back for several seconds, using the time to get back on his motorcycle and sheath his weapon. He knew Rinoa would have the sense to keep the transmission open. On his dashboard were two blinking lights that signified the location of Sorceress and Knight.
'Nida, wait! Please! Don't you recognise us?'
'He can't hear you, Rinoa. It's no use.'
Damian revved and shot straight for their location, the distance between them rapidly counting down, displayed at the bottom of the motion tracker. Then he heard exactly what he had been dreading.
'Squall!' Rinoa cried shrilly. 'Nooo!'
'Shit,' Damian muttered, as he tore through the trees like a bullet, narrowly avoiding sequoia trunks all the while.
'Nida, please!' Rinoa was shouting uselessly. 'Stay back!'
What sounded like multiple explosions followed, and Damian had no alternative to switch off the transmission as they pounded his eardrum.
Let us send Lady Amaterasu back to the Seventh Hell, Diablos sounded gruffly in his mind.
Damian's heart raced, and he was unable to suppress a demonic grin. He could hardly wait.
It had been the cacophony of death cries that ultimately drew Squall and Rinoa to Nida, along with the repeated flashes of Mikazuki they remembered all too well from their last great battle at the stone circle.
Nida was lit up like a beacon in the semi-darkness, body parts of an unfortunate contingent of Forest Fox fighters all around him. He cut a young man in half just as they dismounted their chocobos a safe distance away, Rinoa magically instilling fear into the trusty yellow birds to get them to run rapidly in the opposite direction, then she adjusted her earpiece to keep a line open to Damian.
'Damian! We've found him!'
Impaling the man on the ground, Nida's vacant eyes fell over them at the sound of her voice. There was not a hint of recognition or remorse within those brown pools. There was no emotion written on his face. And as he swivelled towards them, Rinoa beheld the injuries that he had suffered at the end of his life, two horrendous gashes across his abdomen. Though it looked like his entrails had been cut away, because there was nothing inside those tears, broad bloodstains now black upon his once brilliant tawny clan armour.
In that moment, Rinoa knew that the Autumn Knight – their dear friend – was truly gone, with a fallen and vengeful deity wearing his flesh. Still, she and Squall would have been the first he encountered who had any meaning for him in life. As Nida – as Amaterasu – begun walking towards them, Rinoa knew she had to try.
'Nida, wait!' Rinoa was saying, watching his eyes. 'Please! Don't you recognise us?'
They focused on her, those maroon eyes usually full of warmth and kindness, but there was no flicker or indication that her words meant a thing. Instead, Nida just raised Mikazuki and adopted a half-squat, the blade coming across to obscure his form.
'He can't hear you, Rinoa,' Squall said sadly, with resignation. 'It's no use.'
Then Squall shot forward, Lionheart's blade trailing just above the ground as he charged Nida, enshrouded in Bahamut's blue fire. Nida brought Mikazuki around in a broad arc, despite being well out of range, and a white crescent beam rocketed towards Squall. Squall braced Lionheart in front of him in anticipation, his sapphire aura intensifying in concentrated fire wall where the blade beam would strike. Rinoa gasped as the white wedge passed straight through it and broke Lionheart at the hilt, sending Squall violently back in her direction. Her Knight landed in a heap, blood spreading from his torso and swiftly reddening his white undershirt.
'Squall!' Rinoa cried shrilly. 'Nooo!'
Nida straightened from his crab-like stance and started walking towards her, devoid of emotion. Rinoa's first instinct was to close Squall's wound, but as her hand opened towards him and the aethereal currents caressed her, she could not reach the serenity of mind needed to delicately work healing magic. And Squall had a big wound, possibly internal damage. Worse, Nida was rapidly closing the distance. Instead, she spread both hands towards him.
'Nida, please!' Rinoa pleaded. 'Stay back!'
She had no choice. While healing was out of the question, destruction was not, especially during crisis. She did not even realise Griever had erected a protective dome around her and her Knight as a fold of air twisted above her head. From it came a barrage of shooting stars, each striking the Autumn Knight with a series of small explosions. Though even these could not stop him; they could only slow him. The undead samurai braced Mikazuki in front of him again, erecting his own protective sphere, the meteors now bouncing uselessly away and shattering to space dust. Adequately protected, Nida swung at Griever's barrier.
If that dome had been constructed by any other than an Elder GF, it would have shattered. Mercifully, it held.
It will not hold for long! Griever warned. You must take your Knight and flee! Lady Amaterasu is a foe beyond any other than myself or Diablos!
The Elder's words did not register as Nida pivoted and struck again, the brilliance of the purple barrier fading a little. Rinoa embraced the power of holy for offensive purposes now, and not needing to apply it intricately, several orbs blinked into existence on the material plane. They surrounded Nida in perfect synchrony, circling him so fast they resembled a white ribbon and converging at his abdomen with a searing flash. Though when the light faded, Nida was no worse for wear. He swung at them again with a rend that could have toppled a redwood.
But he's undead! Rinoa thought.
This is no common spectre! Griever answered, as Nida swung again and again. Amaterasu was once a benign deity. This is still reflected in spite of her corruption in the foulest of hells. You must take your Knight and regroup, now! Squall is nearing death!
Rinoa thought she could hear a low hum, a crescendo of low noise gradually pervading the outer forest. That it was a motorcycle engine did not register in her mind initially. She was currently clutching tendrils of fire, intending to have it explode in a consuming pillar at Nida's feet. If holy had no effect, then she would take the next best option of fighting the undead.
The reaper approaches, Griever said.
'Damian!' Rinoa realised, just as he thundered from a nearby thicket, slowing to a halt behind Nida. Nida had noticed him too, crab-walking away from Griever's barrier. Rinoa launched her encompassing pillar of fire regardless, veiling Nida from view.
She looked to Damian, who had already leapt from his bike with his scythe in hand. Though he now barely resembled the Neo-SeeD they knew. Although she had seen the transformations Diablos had bestowed on him before, this was something else. More a merger of the two beings. His skin was wine-red, but with an outer black protective shell that also plated his bald head. He wore Diablos' horns and unfurled the bat-like wings, too. The tribal tattoos gleamed silver. Mastema shone black and red.
'Damian, watch his sword!' Rinoa warned. 'It cut through Lionheart like it was nothing!'
'Don't worry about me!' Damian called, watching Nida's movements as he merely sidestepped outside the column of flame, his armour blackened further. Damian's voice was now that of Diablos, low and beastly. 'You need to get the Commander away from here!'
Rinoa looked down at her bloodied Knight. Squall was unmoving, and his breathing was laboured. His leather jacket was tattered, and his bloodied undershirt was now completely red. Sudden movement from Nida caught her eye, and she held her breath as a crescent wedge of force was sent in Damian's direction. As it struck the scythe it broke in two and passed him by, one tearing through a tree and the other obliterating the motorcycle.
'I'll be damned,' Damian said. 'There's gonna be hell to pay for that!'
Though finally, Rinoa was able to untense, as it meant Mastema could repel Mikazuki. Damian stood a chance of prevailing.
'Don't die on us, Damian!' she called. Unfurling her own wings, she wrapped her arms around Squall and downbeat to clear the barrier. Clutching her Knight like a sleeping child, she left them behind, on a course for the docked Battleship Island.
The Wraith of Winhill circled his prey. As he did, Nida abruptly shifted his weight in his half squat, the shimmering Mikazuki held steadily across his armoured form. The armour that was mangled and blackened and seemed to have melted into his ghastly skin in places from Rinoa's fire.
'You're just a bag of bones!' Damian jeered, eyeing his gaping, empty abdomen.
Nida did not attempt any more ranged attacks. Instead, he went for an undercut as Damian ran towards him. Damian leapt to the side as the blade threatened to split him at the fork of his legs, meeting the edge of his scythe as Nida followed through with a sweeping stroke. Damian then boldly pressed his offense, the blood-glistening Mastema back in axe form, a myriad of strikes searching high and low. Wherever he met his mark did not matter, for Mastema's edge would part the ruined plating of the Aki clan armour like blown autumn leaves.
Diablos' unchecked power flooded every fibre of his being. Damian moved with every confidence, believing himself to be as powerful as a god. And he must be, to be going toe to toe with the Ghost of Amaterasu. Damian Godslayer, they would call him, after he had triumphed here. And as he matched the fallen deity blow for blow, he was confident that he would.
Damian guffawed uncontrollably now. This would finally put all those naysayers to rest, those still remaining from Cid's generation who always said he did not have the temperament to be a SeeD – Instructor Aki most of all. That he was the arrogant and conceited son of the deserter, Jacques, who had disloyally moved to Winhill months after being badged as a SeeD. Oh, the thought of the look on Instructor Aki's face when Damian returned the ravaged body of his only son!
When melee attacks failed, Nida rose from the ground and resorted back to his blade beams. As he swung wildly, Damian answered with implosions of gravity and bursts of dark matter, and as the intensity of the battle increased several notches, the sequoias around them toppled. Great fissures were wrought in the emerald plains around them as deep as trenches, bespeaking Amaterasu's growing frustration that a mere mortal could match Her. Damian soon lost all semblance of time. Diablos' reserves had proven nigh on unlimited, and Damian never missed a beat as he moved between the redwoods, eyeing a critical opening.
At last, as he spiralled between two razor-edged crescent wedges of energy, his axe held tight to his winged form, he uncoiled to punch one of Mastema's half-moon blades through what remained of Nida's blackened chestplate. There was a blood-curdling, genderless wail from Nida's mouth as he spread his arms, floating backwards with the axe in him. White light seeped from Nida's body, until the last of it was expelled in a brilliant flash. Exorcised, the Autumn Knight's broken body dropped to the plain like the corpse he was, landing in a heap. Unnoticed to Damian, Mikazuki – reverted to Masamune – had spun wildly to fall upright in the grass some distance away.
Lady Amaterasu has been sent on her way, Diablos remarked contemptuously. And may she never dream of being resurrected again!
The long-lasting berserker laugh did not resurface. Damian landed slowly, turning Nida's body to face the sky with his boot and prying Mastema free. Uncharacteristic of him, he said nothing as he stared down at Nida's corpse. No gloating. No one-liners. The greatest victory he would ever have was to be forever marred by the undeniable fact that the Nida was gone, and this would overshadow Squall and Rinoa's appraisals of him when he returned Nida's body. However, he tried to find some solace in the thought of the Autumn Knight finally being at rest, soon to be reunited with his Azure Sorceress. He thought about saying something about Nida finding some measure of peace.
Sadly, that was just not him.
Irresistibly drawn to the malevolent forces raging some miles away, Datenshi darted through the Forested Plains. The great battle he could sense threatened to endanger the Roshfall, and so, he picked up his pace to a superhuman sprint. Even without his instinctual radar, his destination was marked by explosions of searing white light and throbs of darkness that compounded the shadows of the dying light. The pulses of darkness were the doing of Diablos, he knew with absolute certainty – his counterpart in this world. Yet the conjurer of light, he did not know.
As fast as Datenshi moved, he was too late. The battle drew to a close before he could reach them, with Diablos the victor. As he reached the devastation of the battle theatre, he glimpsed a downed samurai; the Aki clan armour was unmistakeable. There was a humanoid figure standing over him, a resonating axe in his hands; Mastema, a weapon in equal power to his Bishamon, and its purpose of exacting divine judgement the same. Though Datenshi's eyes were drawn to another weapon, a visually mundane katana sticking out of the grass nearby, and he could feel the unfathomable power it harboured.
Masamune!
As Murasame's counterpart, it had been prone to misuse across the generations, and it needed a new safekeeper. He would be that safekeeper, the immortality of a Guardian Force ensuring he could keep that role for eternity. Datenshi took it in his other hand.
'Alexander!' a familiar voice called.
As Datenshi turned back to Mastema's wielder, he could see the humanoid was but a small man now. Bald and stocky – likely with dwarven ancestry. Damian of the Reno clan would have passed to the Netherworld decades ago, but it was likely Jadis' lamp had been passed down through the generations. So, this must mean that Sorceress Ultimecia had lost her war. Further evidence was the unspoilt Roshfall that swallowed the darkness beyond them; in Leo's timeline it had died long before his and Ujio's birth.
The Dark Messenger himself now appeared before him, landing on taloned feet with a thud. Diablos straightened to his full height, his muscles corded and rippling, his wings folded cautiously.
'I am no longer Alexander,' Datenshi answered him politely.
'Then who are you?' Diablos demanded.
He hesitated. Reno was also approaching him, the Mastema unchanged in his hands, speaking of the strong bond between man and GF.
'They call me Datenshi,' he answered after a moment. 'I am a new being entirely, having changed the moment I was pulled into the X-Zone. I have wandered the Void Between Worlds for over a century, searching for a means to return.' His eyes now fixed on the vertical slits of Diablos'. 'Now tell me, cousin, does Sorceress Selphie still yet live?'
Diablos shook his head. 'You have been gone for days!' he answered, then said. 'Her Successor has yet to awaken!'
The cool reserve Mitsuhide Akechi had always known in life was tenfold as a Guardian Force. Gone for merely days? So, his children were still alive! For the first time in a hundred years, Datenshi felt something akin to happiness.
Though it did not last. He met the Dark Messenger's eyes again.
'And Tyris Almasy?'
Diablos grunted. 'She is the Sixteenth Descendant of Hyne.'
