Are they men? Are they dragons? Are they trading cards?
Are they all three?
Who's to say?
.
Three figures stood tall and gleaming in the center of the maelstrom—one wrapped in blue, one in green, one in red—so bright, so vibrant, that the creatures of the void couldn't bear to look at them. They drew blades from scabbards hung across their backs and held them high.
"Rise!" cried the knight in green. "Stand tall! They are but beasts, with no substance save fang and sinew! Let them cow you not!"
Wind whipped about the knights' cloaks, sharp and unyielding. Timaeus held out his free hand; with a flick of his wrist, he cast the Paradius cultists backward, like they'd been thrown by the arm of an invisible giant. They crashed into each other, crying out, shouting, cursing, all tangled in limbs and cloaks and cheap weapons.
The knight in blue held out both arms and was a lightning rod: blazing white-blue fire from the heavens shot down and crashed into his body with enough force to shake the foundations of the earth. It spread like a spiderweb of chaos and carnage. Demons and shadows shrieked as they were torn to pieces in a keening, pealing wail of agony.
Critias watched dispassionately. He did not speak; he had no need for words.
The knight in red stepped up beside his brothers, blade in both hands. He held it up, like a man at prayer, and then he stepped into a wide slash that sent a swathe of flame across the congregation. The cultists all yelped and cried as their weapons glowed red and their flesh started sizzling. They fell to their knees in surprise and fear, fully in the understanding that they were outmatched. They looked at each other, down at their guns and their knives and their batons, all white-hot and steaming in the dark.
The Kaibas' operatives didn't wait for an explanation. They moved in and surrounded Aleister's soldiers. It took them all of two minutes to have the entire group rounded up, under lock and key. Gozaburo stepped out to watch as his people gathered up each and every Paradius lackey.
He looked at the knights. "Dare I ask?" he murmured.
Hermos gave a curt little nod. "Thy children shan't be underestimated, ser," he said.
Timaeus clenched and unclenched his fists. "Let it ne'er be said that the young contribute not to their future."
Critias crossed his arms over his cuirass and didn't speak.
The armor, the blades, the magic, the knights, vanished in a sudden whipcrack of wind.
Left behind were three boys with bright eyes and brighter smiles.
Gozaburo eyed them for a moment, then laughed.
"Your mother is going to ground you for the next decade," he said.
"Yeah," Seto said.
"Probably," Noa agreed.
The grins didn't leave their faces.
.
The boy pouted as he was led into Kaiba Manor, but he tried to look like everything was going according to plan; he tried to look unflappable, intimidating, but it was impossible to do without the prestige of Lord Dartz's threats behind him. Without that, he was just a boy.
A boy whose clothes didn't fit, a boy with a grudge he couldn't weather, a boy with bags under his eyes.
Amaya sat on a sofa in front of Aleister, while he stood before her with Isono and Fuguta standing behind him, each with sidearm drawn and free hand on one of their charge's shoulders.
"I understand," said the lady Kaiba, loftily, imperially, "that I have you to thank for . . . a great many hardships in this household." She raised an eyebrow. "Am I correct in assuming that you pressed Ishmael Faraji into making an attempt on my eldest son's life?"
Something flashed in Aleister's eyes. "Was that his name?" he asked, grinning broadly.
He tried to sound cavalier, nonchalant, but there was no hiding his nerves. His façade had been slipping ever since he'd been caught. Amaya found herself pitying this boy more than anything; his posturing wasn't nearly as successful as he wanted it to be. She sighed. "All right," she said. "Let us try things this way: you have been compromised. This was your Hail Mary play. You were unsuccessful. Your followers are dead or in our custody. What will Lord Dartz think when next you report to him? Will he be proud of your performance? Will he show clemency for your failure? Or . . . ?"
She left the last bit unsaid. Dangling in the air, like a fishhook.
Amaya knew quite well that Lord Dartz, for all she didn't know about him, would never be the breed of man to accept failure. Especially failure that resulted in casualties. If he'd won the day, the losses would be unimportant; since he hadn't, they were the only part that mattered. She knew Dartz would be furious at his chosen child's blundering, and she could see in Aleister's face that he knew it too.
"This isn't over," Aleister snapped, trying to puff out his chest. "You, in your arrogance, might believe us defeated, but—"
"Not us," Amaya cut in. "You." She leaned forward. "You've been defeated. This has nothing to do with your organization, or whatever friends you think are at your back. You lost."
"You know nothing."
"I know that you've been taken by the enemy," Amaya said. "I know you're compromised. Even if you don't tell me anything, even if you maintain your integrity, keep your honor, will he ever trust you again? Will he ever believe in your ability again? How will he know that you haven't caved? I wonder. Even if there is some way to ensure that you've kept quiet . . . assuming you do . . . this is a test for you, is it not? Look how young you are. Look how many men and women, old enough to be your parents, bow to your word. How many chances do you think he's going to give you? How many of your fellows are going to die for you before the rest decide that you can't be trusted to lead them?"
Aleister said nothing; it was clear he was nervous.
Perhaps he didn't fear Amaya, but he feared Lord Dartz.
"I'm going to ask you again, Aleister Dòmhnallach," Amaya Kaiba murmured, and Aleister flinched at the sound of his full name; she wasn't supposed to know that. "Did you blackmail Ishmael Faraji into making an attempt on my son's life?"
Aleister twitched. Fidgeted.
". . . Yes."