Guilty Gear

stories

• steadfast tin soldier
• the day on fire
• chrysalis

 

The Day on Fire

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General warnings: AU. Minimal knowledge of character history. Lots of impotent faffing about for no real purpose. In short, a fanfic.

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The air was cold enough that even Sol couldn’t scent anything in it, though he knew the Gears were out there, prowling. On the march. He could feel the thrum and the call of the force holding them together, urging them forward to battle – Justice, out there somewhere, manipulating it all for its own ends.

His responsibility, however obliquely, and just because he didn’t have to admit to it, didn’t mean he could just walk away.

Responsibility was nothing but a pain in the ass.

"If we don't move, knight, we'll have to fight them."

Ky’s eyes scrunched slightly in irritation - and Sol smirked – so hilariously easy to poke at him. Just let his voice drop into a lazy drawl, make the hint that he’d rather retreat than meet the enemy head on. It didn’t seem to matter how often he’d made it clear, that he had no intention of running, the slightest semblance of cowardice or disrespect was enough to earn Ky Kiske’s eternal scorn.

“If we move, everyone in the town will die.”

A city already full of those with no city left to call home. Refugees, the old and the weak and the wounded. Children, and when Sol had been there the day before, they all gathered around him to beg for food or coin or just the sight of someone who seemed like an adult, someone who might protect them. He’d gotten better at dealing with people, but a part of him always held his breath, reaching out to pat one on the head, or pry a small pair of arms off his leg. Too much a reminder, of how easy it would be to hurt them, no effort at all to tear them limb from limb.

Sol glanced across the swampy forest, the trunks of trees like the bleached bones of giants, some alive but mostly dead. Shrouded in a thick blanket of mist, they were stalwart soldiers all their own. He caught glimpses of movement here and there – soldiers, all of them save Ky with enough sense to drop their pale uniforms for more concealing shades, even if they were barely white this far in the campaign.

The commander of the Holy Knights lifted his hand, making a small gesture to one of the soldiers standing guard in the trees – nothing sighted yet, but they would be here soon enough. In the very beginning, Sol had all but laughed when the Seikishidan had introduced their finest warrior, their new commander. Short, the kid had seemed damn short and just a little scrawny and he’d certainly said something to that effect, and they’d been fast enemies ever since, sparring with whatever words or weapons happened to be convenient.

At times, though, Ky seemed as old as Sol himself. Blue eyes had turned to steel now, squinting slightly, and Sol knew Ky was going through every possible strategy, all the ways the battle could go wrong, and how best to protect the town. Ridiculously unfair, a kid Ky’s age should have been worried about his first real job, about which bar to hit on a weekend, hell, a pregnancy scare at the worst, some girl calling him up in hysterics – though on second thought, he doubted the kid would ever have that sort of guts. Still, he should have been thinking about what shade of white looked best on his picket fence, not worrying about bleeding himself out any number of battlefields.

"The fog's thick enough. We can take them, if we’re smart."

Ky was obviously surprised, though he didn't say anything at Sol’s words, and really, the Holy Knight was far from the first to mistake skepticism for disinterest. Sol had cared so much once – another time, another life – that if he’d gotten so far as to be mistaken for a bastard, it was really worth celebrating.

“... if you’re smart?”

Bland, no sense from Ky’s tone that he’d meant it as a jab, and Sol manfully suppressed the urge to rub knuckles hard against his hair, or slap him across the ass with the flat of his sword. It would have seemed a childish response, if he hadn’t been zapped several times with the Furaiken ‘on accident’ over various remarks he’d let slip about the Holy Knight.

“You think you can take the east?” Ky slipped instantly from his normal, vaguely polite manner into what Sol could only think of as ‘off,’ expression flat and eyes distant and sharp at the same time – thinking of the battle now, and nothing else. Steadying himself for what – even with the best of chances – was barely going to be a fair fight.

“Yeah. Let me take half a squadron.”

No use teasing the kid now, when he was like this he never heard it, and even Sol could appreciate the need for a bit of serious contemplation – this was not going to be easy.

--------------------------

It was actually the first moments of a four-day siege, though even Sol hadn’t been able to see it coming. He’d taken his squad down to the lowlands, preparing to flank and surprise what – as he’d watched – turned out to be an army three times the size of what he’d thought would be sent. The area wasn’t a strategic target – or at least it hadn’t been, until he and Ky, the Seishkidan’s shining stars, had been pushed back from the last battle they’d been fighting.

Justice was good, brilliant, but even he still had a few flaws. Allowed his emotions to run him - though really, Sol thought he could make just about anyone hate him, given enough time.

//So, you want me that bad, asshole?//

The leader of the Gear army might not have been working from a purely rational perspective, but still had enough troops cast across the swamp to give him the upper hand in this battle. It wouldn’t be enough to catch him – and the Seishkidan could win this, if they were smart enough, but he knew every knight behind him was steadying themselves, preparing for what was always worse than expected. Still as stone, Sol waited, feeling the vibrations of the troops lumbering forward, rippling the water, thrumming along the edge of his sword, still slumbering, though only for a few moments more.

At the top of the hill, he heard one of the Gears scream – a terrible, unnatural sound, somewhere between a pig and a train whistle – and saw a flash of blue electricity, as Ky let loose with his initial attack. Sol launched himself forward, hearing drops of water crackle and pop as they vaporized off the edge of the Fuenken. Watched another flash of lightning strike at the sky, and wondered how the hell Ky kept from electrocuting himself.

Fighting Gears was like trying to crack rocks by glaring at them, a great deal of effort for utterly no result. Fighting them in an icy swamp was almost more fun than Sol could stand. The Holy Knights had long since abandoned the concept of regiments, squadrons, or any sort of actual fighting pattern. Depending on the Gear, entire groups could be wiped out in one hit, and though they’d trained for individual assaults from the start, it had quickly become the only true way to fight. Within moments, Sol had broken out of rank, as each knight behind him split off into a different direction. Many led clusters of Gears with them, off into the trees, though the more intelligent of the creatures knew not to stray, holding in a loose formation. Mostly Justice’s control, Sol knew how close they were to purely animal, could feel that rage and hunger singing in his own blood as he purposely swung his sword into the very center of the pack.

//Can you feel it, you bastard? Do you know when it’s me, killing them?//

Sol grinned, listening to bones break and sinews pop free, screams ringing out over the sizzle of the blade and the smell of burning flesh and hair, fairly certain Justice could sense it all. The whole reason he tried to put on such a good show.

The swamp burned off fog all but constantly, bathing the battlefield in an eerie, diffused glow, the sun no brighter than a shining coin when it was visible at all among the thick layers of cloud cover.

Night was worse – night was always worse, when every Gear had a sense of smell and night vision that left them with no handicap. It was the first time the swamp truly worked to their advantage, washing most scents away. Sol spent much of that first night sitting in a slightly thicker copse of trees, camped among a group of strained, yet still mostly whole Knights, each taking watch in two-hour shifts while the rest of them slept. No one lit a fire, no one moved, most of them didn’t even wake when screams from either side would ring out in the darkness.

At noon on the second day, Sol had word that Gears had slipped past – or annihilated – the knights in their way, and completely destroyed the town. Just easier to assume there were no survivors, and keep fighting. No mention of Ky, or the suggestion that the Holy Knights were winning the battle at all. He certainly couldn’t tell, seeing broken human bodies impaled on the trees, or laying face down in the water – but the other knights were still fighting, fiercely adding to the growing pile of Gear corpses floating dense enough that Sol could nearly fight on top of them. He’d already used more than one as a platform for a high jump, to rain down a wave of fire and fury, no real risk of fire with the trees so waterlogged and the city already destroyed.

The third day and night passed in a blur - he wasn’t entirely sure it was the fourth day, by the time the sun rose and the last of his enemies fell. When the final Gear doubled over and slid off limply the edge of his blade, Sol swung around only to find empty space and trees and silence. He had to stand for a moment, count the number of times the world had gone dark, and the spaces of light in between. Even then, he still wasn’t sure.

Wasn’t sure the battle was over, tensing up each time a body would move from the shadows, but by the time he was breaking free from the densest forest, all he could see were the weary, battered forms of the Knights. Very few remained, staggered here and there among the countless blank spaces between the trees, but even if one had survived – even if /he/ had been the only one to survive, it would have been considered a victory.

So tired, Sol couldn’t figure out whether he should be amused, proud or desperately saddened by that thought.

Slogging his way through the clearing on the far side of the forest, he found a suitably stable log surrounded by the fewest corpses, and slumped down on it. Kept his sword out, the tip of the Fuenken buried in the mud beneath the somewhat shallower waters, in case any of the bodies floating near proved to be less dead than they appeared.

Sol was quite grateful when absolutely nothing happened, just a slightly chilly wind blowing past, making a few nearby cattails sway. The place he’d chosen provided him with a good view of the entire swamp, the other soldiers staggering here and there, calling to each other, just beginning to realize they’d actually survived to bother looking for comrades.

He’d picked such a good spot to perch, that he could watch as Ky dragged himself out of the tree line far to the south, slowly but determinedly wading his way back to where Sol sat.

The Frenchman looked more dead than alive, with four days of near-constant fighting and perhaps only a few hours of very light sleep. Pale enough to match the dead trees, eyes so blank they weren’t really tracking anything. Sol felt his tired muscles protest as he tensed, watching Ky struggle through a patch of slightly deeper water, quite certain that if the boy lost his footing his body would give up and drown.

He’d heard of the fate of the city, Sol was certain of that, a darkness beyond simple exhaustion in his expression. Sol had gotten used to being the only one to walk out of a battle, having any number of desired outcomes fall out of his hands, shatter across the floor. Ky hadn’t – or perhaps he just couldn’t find a way not to care. It was probably what made him a good commander, the reason Sol knew he was only a glorified foot soldier – and thankful for it. Unlike him, Ky was tallying up casualties in his mind, making mental notes for the speeches and reports to come.

Or maybe not, as he slipped down next to Sol without a sound or a glance or any hint that he’d seen the other fighter at all. Not that Sol could think of anything to say, still content to just sit where he was, aware after only a short time that his muscles didn’t hurt quite as badly, the exhaustion not so much a drain as it had been an hour before. All the benefit of his unique composition, the ability to heal himself without much in the way of time or energy. He wondered, however, how Ky was going to pull himself off the log without help.

The Seikishidan commander said something, his words so slurred with exhaustion that it took Sol a few moments to realize he’d asked a question.

“What?”

Ky glanced at him from the corner of his eye, though he’d seemed to try his best to move his head as well. “Two hundred and eighteen. You?”

The knight’s four-day body count. A running joke between them, as much as anything could be with the Prince of Propriety refusing to admit he could smile – but Sol was rather amazed by it. Ky must really have been on his last leg, to forget he wasn’t supposed to tell jokes.

“Not sure. At least twice that, I suppose.”

The barest flicker of amusement in eyes that seemed damn near dead, barely even blue and terribly hollow. Sol felt the edge of a surprising concern, taking a more careful look at what he’d assumed was only mud and scratches, Ky nearly seeming to fall apart in front of his eyes, as Sol took in the scope of his injuries. Claw marks across one shoulder, dragging down to the middle of his back, his uniform shredded but held together by liberal amounts of drying mud, one eye blackened, a few cuts on his cheek, blood seeping down from somewhere in his hair, trailing along the side of his neck. Sol inhaled gently, not wanting to give any hint of what he was doing, grateful to smell only blood and nothing worse - not light wounds, but no truly grave injuries.

“You still alive, then?”

Ky smiled, a bitter little misery. He was always so courteous, even to the most idiotic officials, that even Sol could forget that he was by no means optimistic about the war. He knew exactly what they were fighting for, and the price it would take to see it wrought

“We didn’t save anything after all, did we?”

He seemed to expect Sol to smirk, take the chance for a ‘told-you-so.’ The knight still didn’t understand, that a disdain for authority didn’t directly translate into a disinterest in human life. Sol had lived through so many battles, had seen so much suffering even he thought he would have become inured to it by now, but it was simply not that easy, the sheer number of losses did not make any single death easier to cast aside.

“The cities beyond here won’t see it that way.”

It was a simple statement, and so he was quite surprised to see Ky look at him for a moment, even more surprised to see him smile. A pure, brilliant smile, and for a moment Sol wanted nothing more than to beat the internal organs out of whomever had decided that the boy belonged in the middle of this hell.

“I suppose you’re right.” Ky sighed, leaning forward a little, elbows on his knees. Eyes closed, so there was no excuse for the way Sol kept cutting little glimpses at him, from the corner of his eye.

//Careful, now. You know better.//

Yes, yes he certainly did, but since Sol didn’t think Ky had a chance in hell of surviving the whole of the Crusades, there didn’t seem to be a point in being too guarded. As if anything less than, than – hell, Sol didn’t know /what/ it would take, to get through that thick skull, to make Ky consider the world wasn’t how he’d already assumed it to be. How could the boy have such a flawless grip of strategy, live the way he did, and still keep every relationship, every action so carefully divided, marked among neat and respectable lines. Enemies and friends, those he admired and those he disdained. No grays at all.

//Maybe it’s the only thing he has, to keep the war from driving him mad.//

Quite likely, but it was a madness all its own, which was why Sol felt justified in giving the boy a firm kick, verbal or otherwise, as often as he could.

“Hey Sol...” Ky said thickly, a near unintelligible murmur, with his eyes still closed. “Don’t let me fall asleep, okay?”

“Yeah.” Sol agreed, and shifted imperceptibly over to the left, so that when Ky slumped against him moments later, he wouldn’t hit the ground. Four days of near constant battle had been rough even for his advanced physique, and it was damn near a miracle Ky had even survived.

//Is it really so surprising?//

Maybe not. As much as he teased and tormented, there was no denying Ky’s strength. No denying how much of his interest in the boy came from seeing so many similarities – a short distance between the Seikishidan soldier and a man he’d been so long ago Sol barely recognized him much of the time. The reason Ky was one of the only people who could make him so furious, because he knew that idealism – he’d held it, and it was no weapon and no shield. Good for nothing except wounding the one who wielded it, too stubborn or too young to see the real danger.

Sol sighed, standing up and throwing the Fuenken into its sheath, stretching a few more aches from his body. He kept a hold on Ky’s shoulder until he could reach down and take the boy up into his arms. Quite light, lithe and compact and a few other words that meant Ky didn’t get nearly enough steady meals. The knight shifted a little, murmuring something, but was far from waking.

“It’s over. Just sleep while you can.” Sol said softly, “I’ll keep myself from throwing you off a cliff, somehow.”

No answer, and he doubted an army twice the size of the one they’d just fought would be enough to rouse Ky now. Sol glanced up, at a rustle from the brush, wary that he shouldn’t even think such things, under any conditions. Thankfully, it was only a pair of Knights, looking weary and battle-scarred, if not quite as bad off as Ky was. Just as pale, though, especially when they saw who was lying limply in Sol’s arms, and their eyes went wide

“Is the commander-?”

 

Sol shook his head, the hand looped under Ky’s knees free enough that he could bring a warning finger to his lips, which silenced the soldiers immediately. It didn’t take their reverent gazes, nor the same concerned looks from every soldier he passed, for Sol to know that he carried the hope of the world in his arms.

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It was a sunny day, breathtaking really, when the Postwar Administration Bureau finally came for him. Just before noon, when Ky was on another mundane mission. Ostensibly, he’d been sent out to handle a trivial, barely criminal matter, but had instead spent his time wandering rather aimlessly through unnamed alleys. Silently walking through the vast shantytowns that had come to surround most of the major cities of the world.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been looking for, or who, a few vague ideas and hopes but nothing more than that. Well aware he was acting like a fool not to prepare, not to try and find allies, to shore himself up for the inevitable. Still, Ky could not even say the words aloud, or even /think/ them, not knowing how to keep them from becoming knives, how to stop from cutting himself on his own past.

If he’d spent all this time working for those who would betray him, it meant nothing – and, by extension, /he/ meant nothing.

Of course, Ky hadn’t been sleeping well, which meant he’d been in little position to try and think himself out of his problems. His unflinching skill in strategy had fallen to pieces now that he was only trying to save himself.

//Do they think like me? Metal brains and metal souls? How can they think like me? How can they think at all?//

Very difficult, not to be preoccupied, all his thoughts filling up with madness, with every slander against him, every time he’d been chastised for being rigid, unyielding, refusing to consider any other point of view. Denying everything but his own dictates of honor and piety and righteousness. Was this what they’d meant?

Ky had never believed them, had always thought his actions based on faith, full of cautious, nuanced thought. The last of his possible sins was false pride - he was but a candle against the darkness.

Or perhaps he was only metal at the core, unyielding and hollow. A sword that happened to be adept at striking, carrying the symbol of whatever fist sought to clench itself around the world. It was what they had wanted, what they had always wanted. As long as he had been so skilled, winning their battles, they would not have cared if he had been a mercenary, or even a simple cutthroat.

//Commander Undersn cared. Sol... he cared.//

Amazing that it would ever matter, that he would look back on all those times Sol had argued with him, mocked him, mocked /everything/ - Sol had seen him as nothing but another person. Had made it quite clear that he’d rarely been impressed with what he’d seen.

The thought was strangely steadying – that though this had shaken him to the core, Sol would have only laughed. Thumbed his nose at the lot of them and continued on his way.

Of course, perhaps this devastation and soul searching was only his own personal, fatal flaw – Ky doubted very much if Anji Mito would have any less of a problem with simply walking away from his betrayers. He’d had word the man had been in the area, had not expected to find him – but there he sat, thumbing through a small book at the edge of a low courtyard. The cherry trees that ringed the small pavilion were flowering, petals drifting down each time the wind blew.

“If we’re going to fight, I’d appreciate it if you let me get to the end of the chapter.” The Japanese man said, as Ky moved toward him. Dark eyes flicked up just for a moment as he turned the page. “Ah, I remember you. I’ve been practicing much more, since last we met. You’ll be the one hurting, by the end of this one.”

Ky remembered him as a fairly formidable opponent before, and quickly put both hands up, though it was too much effort to try for a smile. “I’m only here to talk.”

“I remember that, too.” A wry smile, and Anji set his book down, spine up on the table. “Maybe this time, I’ll believe you.”

“Thank you.” Ky stepped forward, but could not force himself to relax enough to sit, kneeling on the bench instead. Not quite proper, and Anji noticed, but said nothing. The Japanese man’s records had been brief and incomplete, what he’d seen of them, but he was supposedly quite adept at gaining classified information of all sorts, and had connections in many circles Ky could not access.

“I need to know... if you’ve heard anything about the Bureau. Anything to do with changes in the system.”

Anji’s smile broadened. “A member of the Bureau, asking for information about himself. Why, this /must/ be an interesting story.”

Ky tried very hard not to frown, or clench his fists in frustration. He didn’t know how to do this, how to exchange witty pleasantries for information or even perhaps threatening the man into revealing what he knew. Any number of other Knights were not so foolish, not so unequipped to deal with the world. Sol would –

//Sol would never have gotten himself into this situation. The Bureau knew your weaknesses – all they had to do was change the scenery, and you would fold. How could you take them on, once you were forced out of your sacred halls?//

“Please, you must tell me. I need to know if you know anything at all.”

He didn’t mean it to come out in any certain way, but the words sounded strangled, even to his own ears, and a surprising note of concern replaced the amusement in Anji’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t get so upset, it’s bad for your health. I haven’t heard anything about that – it’s not exactly my area of study.” His voice dropped half an octave. “You’re in trouble?”

Ky never got the chance to answer, to discover if Anji was actually interested in helping him or just curious – or perhaps even interested to see how he might use the information for his own gain.

Funny, in a sickening, terrible way, that Ky knew the crackle and snap of an electric current as familiar as his own heartbeat, and yet the sound could still make his blood run cold, when the Furaiken still lay sleeping at his side.

Anji’s eyes widened behind his small spectacles, and glanced up at his face, the question clear. Ky could not have answered, even if his throat hadn’t been burning dry. He could hear each pop and crackle distinctly, knew where it stood in line – more than one, more than one of them here, and alive, and waiting for him.

“Ky Kiske!” A human voice barked, and he very nearly jumped at the unexpected sound. “You have been charged with high treason and collaboration with the enemy in actions against the state. By order of the Postwar Administration Bureau, you are to relinquish your rank and privileges immediately, and surrender yourself over into custody. Put down your sword, and place your hands behind your head!”

Ky had planned on dying with the Furaiken in his hand, whatever shape his final battle would take. It had been gifted to him without any expectation that he would ever relinquish it – that he would ever have the chance. If they had not asked for it now, had not pressed in the last spot most likely to break him, he might still have given himself over.

//No.//

The Bureau had studied him, had watched him and read his files and talked to those he’d commanded - they knew what to expect. The reason they would come for him here. Ky Kiske could be honorable in the middle of hell, and would never start a fight in such a crowded square, would never turn and attack without warning.

//No.//

He gripped the hilt of the Furaiken as tightly as he ever had, if only to keep his hand from shaking, pivoted just enough that they could not see the subtle move. Years of training had left him more adept with the sword than anyone could have imagined - a weapon that few had ever understood in the first place. Ky could build a charge slowly, without ever letting it show. No sign of a threat as he slowly, so slowly drew the blade, extending it to the ground.

“Drop your weapon, commander.”

It took no more than a quick glance, for Anji to read his intent, and he saw the fan dancer tense, ready to duck and run – not that Ky could find it in himself to care, the first time that he could remember that his own fate took preeminence over everything else.

 

It had to, because when he turned to see the row of unholy gleaming faces, flat slot-mouths still able to grin at him. A cheerful row of death-masks watching him with blazing eyes, all that he could think of was survival, and freedom.

Ky did not stop to think about the officer among them, that he was likely just doing his job, following orders, did not deserve to die. He could think about nothing else than launching the most powerful attack he could manage, watching the whole world disappear in a blaze of white.

-------------------------

Sol wasn’t exactly sure why he was hitting Venom in the face, but really, whatever the reason, it probably wasn’t a bad idea. The assassin had nearly sent him to the ground, rounding a corner just before Sol could turn down it himself. The fact that they were in line-of-sight was certainly more reason than either of them needed to draw their weapons.

A sense of deep foreboding had been trailing Sol for months. The feeling of eyes watching him, always, even when he knew he was miles from any living thing. Sol had gotten used to trusting that intuition, much more than he ever would have when he’d been a man, but this time the danger seemed strangely elusive. Vague whisperings and suggestions from his senses – something was coming, but he had little idea what, or when.

It was all frustrating enough that when he’d had the chance to pick a fight with the head of the Assassin’s Guild, there wasn’t the slightest good reason to decline.

//If only because of those pants. Where the hell do you get pants that stupid?// Which led, rationally, to the next question. //Do you have to make your own pants, when they’re that stupid?//

Perhaps he bought them the same place he got the rest of his clown suit, Sol thought, as Venom was finally able to get his face out of the path of the fighter’s fist. Twisting away, lithe and smooth as a snake, Sol blocking his strikes with simple twists of his sword, or dodging entirely. The end of the assassin’s apparently indestructible cue clanged against loose I-beams and piles of rubble that – amazingly enough – hadn’t been buildings when they’d started. Sol wondered if most warriors of this age ended up fighting in construction sites so often, or if he just happened to catch the odd coincidence.

He’d never had much interest in the Guild, remembering the world well before they’d ever thought to exist. If anything, he was amused by all their pomp and circumstance, trying to feign a few more centuries of legacy. Venom knew of his dismissal, simply by the pose and posture that Sol had been happy to cultivate for centuries – and somehow his simple disinterest in the assassin was worse than any amount of hatred could have been.

Venom was in a truly impressive rage now, holding nothing back – not that Sol found it a particularly tough fight, though he didn’t hesitate to counter every blow. Weapons clashing up close, he realized he could smell something different, from the usual, cloying scent of too much effort that Venom wore – blood. The assassin was wounded, when Sol had come nowhere close to marking him, and as he looked closer he could see a few cuts and tears on his usually meticulous – though still stupid looking - outfit.

 

No imagining how much pain had been brought down on the fool who had managed that, and Sol frowned again, at a second scent, as surprising as the first though much more faint. He nearly took a blow to the skull for his preoccupation, to finally determine what it was.

//Oil. Machine oil.//

Kinkier than he’d imagine from an albino pool shark wearing origami pants.

“Just what were you up to, before I came along?”

It was barely a tease, and yet he watched every line in Venom’s body go rigid with anger, the assassin changing tactics in mid-movement, pulling cue ball after cue ball from thin air, launching them one after the other in an explosive volley. Sol darted away, diving just ahead of the main cluster of explosions, sweeping around at the final moment, a burst of inspiration and utter foolishness inspiring him to ignite the Furaiken. He swung it broadsided, like a baseball bat, sending the last of the projectiles back at his opponent, though trying to ignite what was already a fireball came out looking disappointingly unimpressive for Sol’s taste.

Venom caught the brunt of it with the force of his spinning cue, sweeping it to the side, though even the stone-faced assassin couldn’t hide the whole of the impact, his slight panting, the edge of weariness in his stance. He had chosen this fight to burn off memories of whatever his last had been, and had greatly overestimated his own strength.

//You could kill him, if you wanted.//

He’d had worse ideas, but as a rule Sol rarely let that particular impulse have its way. Dark and brutal, hungrier the more it fed – if he let it, if he embraced that insatiable power he could very well kill Venom here and now. The rest of the Assassin’s Guild would shortly follow, and then the Gears he’d heard about here or there, hiding in the shadows. Justice, Sol held very little hope the bastard was honestly gone for good, no matter what the evidence – but by then, he would be a creature far more fierce and terrible than any other Gear could wish to be, and there would be little left alive to even tremble in terror.

Such a small step, really, and there had been a few times during the Crusades he’d considered it. Desperate, dark hours, when Sol had thought that if the world was doomed then he would make damn sure all those who deserved to be punished went along for the ride.

Compared to what had been, Venom didn’t matter – barely existed, and the demon in him was sated, for the moment, by the thought of bigger and better prey. He grinned a little, watching the barest flash of a narrowed eye, suggesting a slight scowl beneath the veil of hair.

“I'm surprised you can take so much time to fight me,” he finally said, voice a liquid purr, “and that you're not more worried about your little friend"

Sol snorted, surprised at the usually reserved man’s sudden lack of tact.

"You haven't even gotten close to hitting me, let alone that."

Venom laughed back at him, for a moment honestly amused.

"You really are some kind of stupid. It’s a shame, really, for such an admirable opponent, that he’s got no better than you to rely on. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day, when the Holy Knights lost to themselves."

Before Sol could ask what the hell Venom was talking about, the assassin had stepped back into the shadows, vanishing without so much as a whisper.

-------------------------

Ky was quite bad at being a fugitive, the only point in his favor the fact he hadn’t been caught yet. He simply had no connections and no prior skills, the only names and faces he knew from the criminal element all people who would have happily turned him in for no reward at all.

He had been expecting that, prepared for it, but the lack of support from his own side had taken him completely by surprise. Ky hadn’t dared to contact anyone still working at the Bureau – hadn’t even dared go home, wondering if they’d bother trying to glean any clues from his spartan accommodations. Still, with the sudden attack pushing him into action, there was nothing to do but try to seek out old comrades, try to gain some footing, think of something to do other than simply run.

It was staggering, how many of the former Seishkidan had died – and how many by their own hand. Men he’d fought with, men he’d considered to be friends. Soldiers who had survived the hell of the Crusades, who he’d thought would fall to their knees in thanks – but they’d chosen to fall on their swords instead.

//How many did you look for, though? You look for them now, only because you need their help.// Why didn’t they come to him, though? Not a single one of them had sought him out. He might not have been able to help, not as much as they needed, but he could have at listened – he would have /tried/.

//Do you think they would have ever wanted your help? Why bother, when they knew you so well? Knew they would only get a moral judgment, some pithy observation – Ky Kiske, who keeps himself so pure only because he refuses to touch anything real.//

The whole of the world seemed to see him as an automaton, sermons and high ideals fed in, and tactics and strategy out the other side – maybe he’d been the deluded one all along.

//How can you take your life back, when no one believes you ever had one?//

He didn’t dare seek out Commander Undersn, partly to make sure none of this would end up on his door – and partly out of shame, the certainty that, in the end, this was all his own fault. He hadn’t noticed, had not seen when the lion turned into the serpent, when all he thought was right and good had simply vanished, right in front of his eyes.

Ky paused at the end of the alley, rocking back on his heels, no longer blessed with ignorance. He’d come out to this distant building, at the end of what had once been the refugee camps for a great deal of the Netherlands. One of his officers had taken up a small business, trading the mantle of the Holy Knights for a more peaceful life. Ky did not expect him to be able to help, but hoped perhaps the man could give him a room and a hot meal, the sudden storm raining down around him showing no signs of letting up.

Even here, though, he could see a figure leaning against a lamppost, near the far end of the street. Could see the soft yellow glow of its eyes, even with the hood it had put up to hide its inhuman face. He knew exactly what uniform it wore, beneath the shapeless cloak. Ky’s eyes darted quickly, to every other doorway, to every corner – nothing, but there were more. More waiting for him, wherever he might go, whatever places he might dare to think might be safe.

The damn things were /everywhere/ - and after a moment of standing very still, remembering how to move and how to breathe, Ky turned back the way he had come, shivering as the wind seemed to blow right through him.

-------------------------

One of the downsides to his current existence, Sol thought, was that while his enemies rarely gave him any warning, no one else ever treated him like he let his guard down, either. Admittedly, his reflexes were generally keen enough to justify it, but Axl had no idea how close he’d come to scoring a heavy hit right off the back of Sol’s head with the blunt of his kusarigama. It was only coincidence that Sol turned at just the right moment, saw the blur from the corner of his eye, jerking back as the chained blade lashed out, right in front of his nose.

He never really had the time for these fights, but it would take much longer to explain that to Axl than it would to just kick his ass, even if the English bastard wasn’t nearly as flammable as he looked. Axl darted out of the way of Sol’s follow-up blast, chuckling slightly, relaxed and contented and if Sol hadn’t wanted to do so before, pounding him to eye-level with the cobblestones was starting to look better and better.

A horn blared from somewhere behind him, an impatient driver unimpressed with their roadblock. Sol didn’t even look, just fired a blast off the edge of the Furaiken, listened to Axl let out a much more amused bark of laughter, though the lack of an explosion meant he’d likely missed his target.

“So, those Knights going to let you have the other blade? A matched set would look pretty cool.”

“... the hell are you talking about?” Sol growled, blocking another three fast blows. The second oblique reference to the Seikishidan in so many days. Rather pathetic, what passed for news after the Crusades, when he learned most of what was worth knowing from murderers and bounty hunters first.

“Saaah, old man, and here I thought you knew everything.” Axl swung the chain back and forth in his hands, nonchalant. “Everyone’s talking, there are posters all over. The policeman, the one from the Crusades, with that funny lightning sword.”

“Ky Kiske.” He refused to let himself feel anything, at least for the first moment. So the kid had finally gotten himself killed. Amazing that it had taken him this long.

“He was brought in on corruption charges – well, they tried to arrest him. Killed the officers who fought him, and some civilians too, so they say.”

So insensible, that for a moment Sol thought Axl had just strung together a line of sounds that bore a chance resemblance to actual words. It was easily the most outrageous line of bullshit he’d heard since they’d told him he wasn’t considered a ‘test subject’, and the time he’d spend in ‘observation’ would be ‘brief’. Ky Kiske made saints and martyrs look as if they weren’t really trying. Corruption? Utterly fucking impossible. A sad testament to how far the Holy Knights had drifted into the background of the restoration, that anyone would consider such a charge possible.

//Who still knows him, though? Who survived, that could say they saw him fight in the Crusades? Everyone wanted to forget – and so no one’s left to speak.//

It was very wrong, for Axl to look at him with nothing more than mild curiosity, when he might as well have said that the earth and sky had reversed themselves. Wrong that Ky’s arrogant, excruciatingly exact pursuit of justice and virtue could mean nothing, in such a short time. The dust barely settled in all the corners of the world, and here the leader of the Seikishidan, one of the only humans Sol had ever seen stand up against the Gears and actually accomplish anything – here he was. Brought low, sent running like a game fox, all he’d done rendered meaningless in moments.

//Damn it. Damn.//

Too close to old memories, and try as he might, Sol couldn’t help from feeling it, from hoping that – just once – realize when it had been given someone beyond the pale. Ky had given everything to the world and Sol had known it would break him in the end. No one so unbending could do otherwise.

//Damn. Damn damn damn.//

“You think it’s a lie?” Axl may not have been the sharpest of tacks, but at least he knew when a battle had ended, the kusarigama only in his hands now out of habit. Sol had certainly never seen him bare-handed.

“Ky would have surrendered to any lie, before he’d put anyone else in harm’s way. Especially lawmen and innocents.” Sol’s eyes narrowed, and he was no longer paying attention to much of anything, his mind already cities ahead, plotting a course. “He ran, then?”

“Yeah, so they say. Lots of rumors, nothing concrete. I did hear...” Axl paused, and then cut himself off entirely, very odd for such a talkative man.

“Yeah?” Sol hated being baited, but he was even more curious with how uncomfortable the Englishman suddenly was, obviously wishing he didn’t have to speak quite so loud, but loathe to lose his cool by crossing it.

“The bounty’s a big one, because they want him alive, because of who he is... but I heard a few people say they’ve seen – robots, you know? Walking around, dressed up like officers. Like people... and they’ve got electric swords of their own.

“Robots?”

For fuck’s sake, no. No. As if mankind hadn’t learned it’s lesson well enough from the damned /Gears/.

Axl smirked. “At least they’re not after you, eh, old man?”

Sol grinned back wolfishly, but not at Axl, already turned away, starting what he knew would likely be a long journey.

“Not yet.”

------------------------

“Ne, Johnny! April got the oven working again!”

He winced a little, the adolescent excitement just slightly more than he could handle before noon. Still, Johnny had to admit, he was glad to hear the good news, and at the moment, there was nothing but good news. All the engines running smooth, no sign of storms on the horizon, and a happy princess. The Jellyfish Pirates were in the red. At least this week.

“Johnny, don’t look! I have a surprise for you!”

The understatement of the year, he thought, obediently keeping his back turned as he listened to her feet tapping slowly along the catwalk. She was balancing carefully, holding something in both hands, he could tell by the change in her pace. No doubt she was biting her lip, she always did when she was concentrating, and perhaps one of her shoulder straps had slipped free, though she wouldn’t have had the chance to tighten it in place, not with her hands otherwise occupied. If he did disobey, and turn, he’d probably have a good view of –

//You really are a good-for-nothing pervert.//

Johnny sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. It was more difficult by the day, to pretend that nothing was going on. Hard to tell exactly when things had changed - //May’s sixteenth birthday party?// - but every time he talked to her now, the part of his brain that could focus on curves and soft bits while the rest of him was conversing with a lady was focusing on /May’s/ curves and soft bits, and that just couldn’t stand. The age difference, the fact that he could remember her standing half as high as the anchor she now carried – for all those reasons and a thousand more he shouldn’t have ever had to consider – no.

“Here you go, Johnny – oh!”

He heard her trip, saw something out of the corner of his eye as he turned to catch her – she’d kept her arm outstretched, sacrificing balance in order to keep from dropping whatever had been in her hands.

May plowed into his chest, such a slight weight he barely felt it – and all the things he’d been trying to avoid hit him all at once, the feel of her hair, the light floral scent from the shampoo all the girls used wafting up as his hand passed through it. She wasn’t wearing her hat – it made her look older and younger at the same time, almost painfully vulnerable. Wide, bright eyes stared up at him with utter adoration and trust – the best part about all this, in a way that made his teeth grind until they creaked - she had absolutely no idea anything had changed. He was still just Johnny, the boss. Her knight in shining armor, the big brother who would always make everything okay, ensure that she would be able to keep smiling. He was her protector.

He was completely screwed.

“Ah, May.” He said, extracting himself carefully, pushing her away under the guise of steadying her. “What’s got you so excited?”

“I made you a pie.” May said, thumbing the strap that – yes – had managed to drop off her shoulder during the trip, nearly shoving the plate into his face, of course never noticing where his eyes had been wandering. “It’s a little burnt on the edges, but Febe and June helped me, so it should still be all right.”

It smelled delicious – apple, if he had to guess, and then he didn’t have to guess, as May produced a fork, jabbing at the very center, blowing on the piece with those small and perfect lips - //Stop, dammit, or buy a lock for your damn pants// - before lifting it up to feed him. It would have been an intimate gesture from anyone – again, only amplified by the completely innocent smile on May’s face.

“Uh, May...” She took the comment as a chance to slip the fork into his mouth, and Johnny stopped trying to talk, the maneuver a little awkward given the difference in height, and he didn’t want to risk taking a tine through the tongue. It was quite good, a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg – god only knew what it had taken her to get it, so many things not so readily available, even this late in the rebuilding world.

“Oh, Johnny!” May’s nose wrinkled in slight dismay, and she stepped forward again, fork in her other hand, rising up on her tiptoes. “You’ve got a bit on your mouth, still.”

So close, for a second, he stupidly thought she was going to lick it off – and then she moved even closer.

“Er, May...”

He reached up, unsure himself whether he would push her away again or bridge that last little distance between them. Luckily, he didn’t have to make the decision.

“Kyaaaaaaa!”

May jumped back, her eyes locked on a point behind where he stood, one hand reaching behind her for the anchor she wasn’t currently carrying, and Johnny had the heel of his palm on his own sword as he turned to see Sol Badguy walking toward him. No suggestion of how he’d managed to appear a quarter-mile in the air, on a moving plane, or that it had been much of an effort at all. In regard to physics and Sol, though, Johnny had stopped asking questions long ago.

“Yo.” He lifted one hand to the man, part lazy greeting and part stand-down order to the girls still scrambling to lock on with their weapons.

Sol made his way slowly across the wing, the strange walk of his that seemed to carry ten times the gravity of any normal person. Johnny casually thumbed the sword out of the hilt – it wasn’t that all that unlikely, that he’d come all this way to pick a fight, but Sol shook his head slightly, both hands loose at his sides and his sword secure on his back. He barely seemed to touch the rail, vaulting himself easily over onto the catwalk.

“Mou,” May frowned, embarrassed by her overreaction – only to bristle like a cat as Sol snagged the edge of the pie plate with a finger, catching a fair portion of it in his hand before she could jerk it away, shouting insults. The only intelligible word in all of it was a demanding “Johnnnnny!,” though he wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to thump Sol, or get out of the way so she could do it herself.

“It’s all right, princess.” He reached out, ruffling her hair until she smiled. “If I don’t like what he’s got to say, I’ll make sure he knows it.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, not nearly drastic enough for the rogue who’d damaged her perfect dessert, but May conceded to Johnny on most things, pausing only long enough to make a very rude gesture to Sol, before walking back up the catwalk. He heard a deep chuckle behind him, barely audible over the buzz of the engines.

“You teach her that?”

Johnny watched Sol lick a few errant pastry crumbs from his fingers, lazily – for such a dangerous man, at times there was little sign of it.

“May? She’s a spitfire. I like that, not enough of it in this world.”

“Aa.” Sol agreed, but did not continue the conversation right away, giving Johnny a chance to look back across the deck at his ship, his still-wary crew. A damn shame if he had to let it go.

“Is this about the Gear?”

“What?” Sol seemed confused, that he’d even asked the question, and Johnny didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.

“No, this has nothing to do with – I need to pull a favor. You’ve got connections, more than anyone. More than me.”

“Well, now I’m listening.” Johnny smirked, highly amused at the possibilities, what someone like Sol could need from him.

“I need to find someone – he’s fallen a bit off the radar.”

“Owes you money?”

He’d expected a bit more banter, but Sol seemed distracted, all his attention obviously focused elsewhere.

“Old war buddy. Name is Ky. Ky Kiske. I think he could be in trouble.”

“I’ve heard the name.” Johnny thumbed the brim of his hat, leaning back against the railing. “What sort of trouble?”

“You need to know?”

He grinned, lifting both hands, palms out – he’d wondered how many questions he’d get to ask, even if he was the one doing the favor. Funny, he knew Sol had ties to the Holy Knights, but this was the first time he knew of that the fighter had showed an active interest in... anyone, really. Interesting.

“Just a little common curiosity, God knows I don’t want to know your business. So, is there a place I should drop him, once he’s been collected?”

Sol shook his head. “Don’t go after him. Just get me a location, that’s all I need.”

“Heh, well that’s just boring, Sol. How is that supposed to be worth my time?”

He expected a grin, at the very least a retort, but Sol’s gaze had gone distant and dark, looking far over the clouds, to something only he had ever been able to see. Johnny thought about his ship again, his girls.

“Is it another war, then?”

//Is it worse than the Gears?//

As if anything could be, and even so he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Sol looked up at him, and finally smiled, and there was just as much brash reassurance in that grin as there was something else in his eyes – not meant for him, and he was damn grateful for it.

“It’s personal. Nothing to concern yourself with – just find him for me, and I’ll owe you one.”

Sol took a step back, a leap onto the railing that seemed to cost him no effort, and in another second he was gone, falling, vanished in the clouds before Johnny could even lean forward to see where he’d gone.

“Ne, Johnny?” April, standing behind him. May was probably still pouting below deck. “What was that all about?”

Johnny flashed her his usual smile, his confidence only slightly shaken by Sol’s somber expression, and he was back to normal in moments.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, but I need you to link up with the nearest port you can find, all right? I have to make a few calls.”

-----------------------------

It didn’t take much time, only a week or so after his visit with Johnny, before the pictures started appearing. Most of the wanted posters he’d seen of himself over the years had been shoddy things, blurry images or lacking photos entirely. Ky had been one of their own, though, and the Bureau probably had pictures of him from every week since he’d joined up with the Seikishidan.

The picture they’d used seemed the most recent, whatever adorned the badges and ID cards Ky may still have carried with him. It was damn near insulting, how good he dared look even in those cheap, ill-posed picture. Blue eyes always offering up a challenge, always, and Sol knew they hadn’t had to ask him not to smile, mouth set in that same grim line, as if it would break his face to do otherwise.

//What a wanker.// He thought, reaching up with one hand to rip the poster down, a sudden flash of fury making him want to bash in the wall of the building for good measure. It wasn’t often, that he felt his other nature rise up so suddenly, a pure expression of the contempt for humanity that had been at the core of the Crusades, the reason Justice had been so hell bent on genocide.

Still, there were moments.

//A bounty. They put a fucking /bounty/ on the man responsible for saving at least half the fucking lives of everyone on the fucking planet.//

A handsome sum, but he doubted that would make Ky feel much better. No word yet from Johnny, of any possible leads, and so far Sol hadn’t been able to catch more than a few faint clues of the kid’s trail on his own. Mostly it was just a string of overeager bounty hunters he’d been happy to punch into a different perspective.

//Might be better if they did catch him.//

The government would be far worse at keeping it a secret, word spreading even further the more they tried to rein it in, and he could just pick Ky up from them, catch him mid-transport to wherever – whatever – lay behind all of this.

//If they’re all such incompetent shills, then why didn’t you see this coming?//

His own agenda, his general state of wanderlust, and Ky’s grudging – at best – tolerance of his company, all of them seemed weak excuses for how far he’d let things slip. How he hadn’t made any effort to keep track of the man, even to occasionally punt him in the head by surprise, fight until their surroundings were nothing but a border of ash to mark the edge of their battleground.

It had been fun enough, when he’d done it during the war.

Just the thought of Ky could still make him frustrated, make him remember a time when he’d stood at the most important of crossroads, make him question the decisions he’d made. One of the only people who could actually make him judge his own words, and his actions in the now - that everything he said and did wasn’t just the repeat of things he’d done ten, twenty, fifty years ago.

If nothing else, Ky was a brother-in-arms, and as much as Sol enjoyed flaunting convention, there was a rather obvious line between keeping his life simple and his connections fluid and just being a complete and total asshole. The same as the line between a strong government, capable of rebuilding what had been lost, and one that felt it answered to no one.

Sol had become accustomed to playing some form of "don't flinch, don't flinch, ha ha you flinched" with the universe – and part of him had been hoping to catch a glance of the things they’d made, robots with Ky’s shape and skills and likely his complete fucking lack of personality – though admittedly, computers still had their limits.

It was still a surprise, popping out of a corner convenience store with the beer that would serve as breakfast and likely lunch, to hear the slight crackle of electricity. To recognize it for what it was, and unsheathe his sword with his free hand, bringing it up just in time to watch a wave of lightning break like water across the flat of his blade.

Five doll-jointed figures, all in a row. Five identical Seishkidan uniforms, five copies of the Furaiken – and no, he wasn’t so shocked, that a small corner of his brain couldn’t wonder what they’d all look like in a chorus line. Sol surveyed them, and they watched him silently, flat, reflective yellow eyes revealing nothing – if there was anything at all to reveal.

No, he knew the feel of pure malevolence, and these things had buckets of it to spare.

//Just like the Gears... I /knew/ it.//

Sol took three slow steps, just enough to put his beer on the edge of the table of the small café next door. The damn thing was going to be lukewarm, at best, by the time he was done, he just knew it.

“I don’t know what he’s so worried about. You bastards don’t look a thing like him.”

Sol studied them close while he had the chance, well aware they were unfazed by a glower that – one time out of every fifteen or so – could his opponents scattering like field mice.

The metal and rivets may have seemed imposing, but Sol had done a bit of a turn with robotics in his day, knew the inherent flaws in the forms, the weaknesses in trying to get even advanced piles of metal and wire to respond correctly. Biology was so much hardier, when it came to creating strength and flexibility. His own hands, for example, which could easily find all the seams and joins of these pathetic replicas, rip them apart with no real effort. Sol could guess how thick the metallic skins were, knew they would tear like paper.

“I bet you guys explode real pretty, if I hit you right.”

One of them finally stepped forward, snapping his sword to the side – it wasn’t particularly Ky’s gesture, a slight, mechanical stiffness to the motion. Still, they’d done just enough to make the soulless figures look like him, from the outfit to the bad toupee, that Sol felt insulted on Ky’s behalf. His amusement slowly faded, feeling the heat at his thigh as the Fuenken slowly heated up – melting them, he hadn’t even considered the fun in that.

“*Kzzzzt*... detain prisoner for transport to secure facility.”

Sol felt his blood catch fire at the threat behind those words, one of the rare times when every fragmented part of him was in agreement, not complaining about who he was now, or what he could do.

“You know, I really wouldn’t have said that.”

-------------------------

The first thought that came to Ky, as something cracked solidly against the back of his head, was that he hadn’t remembered pain hurting quite as much during the Crusades. Vision blazing white, holding fast to the very edge of consciousness, he felt a little ashamed – somehow, despite his best intentions, he’d never seen this attack coming. He’d lost his edge.

//If you’d stayed the way you were during the Crusades, you would have killed yourself and saved them the trouble.//

Whether death was at all avoidable still remained to be seen. Ky staggered forward, but even half-blind and off-balance, he found he was already holding the hilt of his sword. Bringing the Furaiken to blazing life, he ignored the shriek of pain that flared and burst behind his eyes, rounding on his enemy. Steeling himself for what he would see, the same steady, selfless focus he’d used in countless battles – no body, no self. He was nothing but the power behind his sword, and the need to win. The strength he would need to face –

//... a nun with a yo-yo.//

Bracing himself for a robotic legion of doppelgangers, it seemed impossible that anything could throw him worse, but Ky could actually feel his thoughts dribbling out from the place she’d hit him, everything coming into a strange, sharp focus now that nothing made sense. She must have hit him with the huge yo-yo she was rolling lightly in one hand, bobbing back and forth a little bit, bright eyes never leaving his face.

“So, do you surrender?”

Ky felt a drop of water splash against the back of his neck, the storm clouds that had been rolling overhead finally letting loose – was it ever going to stop raining? She frowned up at the sky – that ridiculous parody of a habit offering her even less protection than he had from the storm. If he hadn’t still been shaking off the effects of her opening blow, he never would have considered her a threat.

A bounty hunter, without a doubt. Ky had seen the posters, the size of the bounty – anyone with even a passing interest in being rich would be after him, which, of course, was their strategy. Throw fools at him until one got lucky, or just wait until he’d worn himself out before moving in for the kill. If this was any measure of his current skill and ability, Ky doubted he would last the week.

The girl was growing impatient – he’d taken too much time with his answer, and Ky saw the red blur of the yo-yo screaming toward him – this throw meant to crack him across the temple, to finish the job she’d started. Ky lunged backward, feeling the air from the blow rush past, hand at the hilt of his sword, that snap of electricity the only thing he could really trust anymore.

“I don’t want to hurt you, little girl.”

“Girl?” Her face soured, as Ky shifted his footing, trying to determine just how slick the stone-paved streets would be from the rain. “I’m not a girl!”

Ky thought it might have been easier, if he’d just taken that second blow to the head. He wanted to stare, possibly argue the point, a bad idea with the girl - /boy... I guess/ - rushing him, lashing out with his strange but effective weapon. Even the cords were augmented, so that the Furaiken could not sever them.

Ky could hear the shouts and rushing steps of people on the street behind him – would not risk an electric volley that could miss his opponent, not in such close quarters, though it was clear the boy felt no similar concern. Smashing glass and heaven knew what else breaking behind him, each time he managed to dodge the heavy projectile. At first Ky thought it was only the element of surprise, the boy’s sheer luck that had left him so unguarded, but even now he was dangerously off his stride. Panting for breath, unbalanced, when this battle should have already been over. Ky tried to focus, not to think about what sort of a clamor they were raising, the sort of attention it was bound to attract.

It was a distracting enough thought, combined with the boy’s impressive speed, that Ky didn’t see the shot that came straight at him, a blow to the chest that probably cracked a rib, a second to the thigh that missed taking out his kneecap with no room to spare. Ky reeled, barely blocking the third attack, another attempt to knock him out – they wanted him alive, alive, all the posters had made sure to include that detail – and the threat of that and all it implied sang out sickeningly as his thought swam and sheer panic threatened to overtake him. His own face, captured behind that inhuman metal mask, twisted and broken until he couldn’t even remember who he had been.

No. He could not let them take him. Death would come first.

The boy was good, but no seasoned warrior – the success of his first attacks had made him cocky, never expecting that Ky had learned to take quite a few more hits and come back without even stumbling, that he might still easily be able to retaliate in kind. That yo-yo was a brutal weapon at a distance, but the closer he was the less effective it became, and without it he didn’t seem to have much else to offer.

Ky’s blood burned, as he caught the slightest flicker of surprise on the boy’s face, as what was meant to be his final blow was blocked with nothing more than a snap of the Holy Knight’s wrist. After weeks of being hunted, with no end in sight, he could take a great deal of satisfaction in dispatching at least one of the hounds that dared to snap at him, perhaps in a way that might discourage others from the attempt.

Ky pushed forward, and kept pushing, the boy dodging the point of his sword by less and less distance each time. He let his steps slow just slightly, bringing his blade up as the boy lashed out – the panicked, ill-timed strike he’d tried to force from him – and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face to see the horror there, blue eyes widening as he easily deflected the blow, twisting the sword around the cord and tearing the boy’s weapon out of his hands.

If he had a second weapon, Ky was never going to give him the chance to use it. He lashed out without hesitation, a bolt of electricity just powerful enough to stun his opponent, keep him reeling for the few seconds it took to close the distance. Ky threw his arm back, putting everything he had, all that fury into the strike – and realized, at the last possible moment, the boy staring at him with dazed eyes – he was about to murder a child.

//Oh God.//

No time to pull the strike, to do more than twist his arm, and flip the blade to its flat, listening to the sickening crack and the boy’s scream as it slammed into his upper arm, shattering the bone. He fell immediately, but for Ky it all seemed in terrible slow-motion, the world refusing to speed up, blood on white and curves of blue cloth suspended, frozen in the air.

Ky listened to the boy’s body hit the ground, soft, choked cries of pain rising up – and yet he could not look down, could not move. Knew he should do something, even if the boy had started all of this and he could still feel the places where he’d been struck.

//Turn the other cheek?// A voice of conscience, of rebuke that he hadn’t had for years. Not for the whole of the war had he faced such a judgment, to struggle against his own demons. Ky thought he’d fought his way through that, many, many years ago, only to realize he hadn’t even started.

A hand clutched weakly at his shoe. Was the boy calling for his mother?

//Killing children, Kiske? My, how the mighty will fall.//

He stumbled back, revolted by his own power, by the sword he hadn’t dropped simply because his body no longer knew how. A door opened somewhere behind him, a few wary onlookers moving closer, with the sudden lull of the battle. Ky took another step back, nearly tripping over the yo-yo, one sharp kick sending it rattling across the street, whisper dry like dead leaves, and he was running, running, trying to escape the sound that seemed to echo endlessly in his ears.

-------------------------

It still took another two weeks of solid searching, before Sol finally gained an actual lead. Sheer luck from one of Johnny’s contacts - he’d figured it would be, though more than once Sol thought the quality of the information he’d been gathering seemed suspiciously well put together, more than simple rumor. Not the government, none of them were smart enough to think of using him to do their dirty work – and not through these sources. He would have smelled the fear on them, would have known who was behind it, if it were so transparently evil.

//How many lives has the boy saved? Surely, at least a few of them remember, and still care.//

Sol wasn’t sure how much of that he believed, but by grace and luck and a few well-placed bribes, he finally got the answer he was looking for.

It was on a rather cold, drizzly afternoon in a town so small that even naming it seemed presumptuous, that Sol climbed the stairs of a rickety inn, little more than a converted garage with a small room above, and easily picked the lock, to find Ky waiting for him on the other side.

The Knight was asleep, propped up against the far wall next to the window, facing the door. A perfect statue, skin like alabaster, completely washed out in the weak light. He’d always had looked like a damn angel, Sol reflected, and martyrdom suited him much too well. He had both arms wrapped loosely around the Furaiken, clutching it close, a weapon even to fend against his nightmares.

"You make for a better foxhunt than I thought you would, kid.”

Ky was on his feet well before he could have been awake, and Sol hadn’t yet taken a step before the electric sword blazed in the air between them. Quickly dying to a steady hum, though Ky didn't move, the panic and fear still clear on his face, the sword burning his eyes almost to white. He was shaking slightly, even with his jaw set in determination, trying hard to keep his breathing even, not to pant from the adrenaline rush. Sol very well might have woken him from the first sleep he’d had in days. Ky was in no shape to fight, and they both knew it.

"You gonna turn me in now, Sol?"

"How much are you worth?"

Sol said it without thinking, and it was certainly the right answer, the tension in the Knight’s body fading just a little, or perhaps Ky had strained himself past his resources, the tip of the sword trembling just a little before Ky slowly lowered it to the ground, though his glare made it clear he would raise it again without any hesitation.

“You all right?”

Not the right thing to follow up with, something deep in Ky’s face crumpling for a moment before it was replaced by suspicion and anger. He wanted to leave, made half of a motion of stepping back before he realized he was already at the wall, that Sol was standing between him and the door, and there was really nowhere else to go. It hadn’t been his intent, but Sol knew he didn’t dare step out, give the kid some breathing room. If he did, even for a moment, Ky wouldn’t be there when he returned.

//Doubt he’d get far...//

He’d seen Ky drag himself through far too much hell on faith and determination to risk it, though, and stood his ground. After a moment of stillness, and silence, Ky seemed to surrender to the fact that Sol wasn’t leaving, and he didn’t have the strength to force him out.

“Rather impressive quarters.” Sol was somewhat amazed that nothing seemed to be actively leaking, the rest of the room – peeling paint, warped windows, threadbare bedding - hinting the structure was at the verge of collapse. “This is pretty four-star for a Holy Knight.”

Maybe half a breath of annoyed laughter from Ky, and he turned toward the window as he sat back on the bed, words not meant for Sol but he heard them anyway.

“... never going to stop raining.”

//So...//

Well, that was the big question, wasn’t it? He’d come all this way, full of grandiose and lofty visions of camaraderie and honor and esprit de corps – and now he couldn’t think of a thing to say, a suggestion, even decent questions. Nothing but broken bits of banter that hadn’t been all that clever the last time he’d used them to ruffle the Holy Knight’s feathers.

The only thing to smell of Ky was the cold, anonymous gray of the street – cement and asphalt and hours in back alleys, ducking and hiding. He looked so... worn, something missing in him that had been there before, in the Crusades, even in the worst of times. Sol had thought it would be so – that the betrayal would cut him deepest, and the robots would simply be a bizarre twist on the whole ordeal.

//At least they didn’t want to turn him into a Gear.//

Well, there was a thought he’d never wanted to have. Ever.

Sol was about a foot too tall for comfort in the small room, the ceiling still above his head but well within arm’s reach. A wicker chair in the corner seemed of dubious stability, and Ky had just claimed the bed – and really, he should have come up with a plan, before he came here. Any plan.

“I think I killed a man. When I was trying to escape, when they... came for me. I killed an officer of the law.”

“Of their law.” Sol rolled his eyes, as Ky stared at him bleakly. “Only you, Kiske. Only you.”

He snorted, when the Holy Knight continued to look confused. “You think they’re even mentioning that, when they talk about you? Do you know how many people they say you killed there? Officers and civilians – a few more battles like that, and you’ll outdo the whole of the war.”

“Really.” Ky murmured, dropping his head down into his hands, his hair just a little bit too long, lacking the usual edge of tidy precision. “So that’s what they’re saying, then.”

 

Sol barely held back whatever sharp command he wanted so desperately to throw out, or to simply lift Ky up and shake him out of this stupor. Remind him that he damn well had a duty and a cause worth protecting – and weren’t martyrs supposed to be /happier/ when the path was full of stones?

//Angry at the knight for trying, just because you’re too bitter to try anymore?//

It was true, truer than he wanted it to be. He’d spent so much of his life believing in the ideals of those who had betrayed him, again and again, that by the time Ky had come along, he’d refused to believe in what was actually true. Piety without judgment, charity without secret greed – a part of him had built Ky up into the saint he’d needed the boy to be, a fantasy well past what anyone could possibly attain, so he would eventually have to fall.

//So that you could prove you were right, all along. Isn’t it satisfying?// It sickened him, and Sol looked for an out, any out, saying the first thing that popped into his head.

“I saw them. The robots they’re making.”

At least it got Ky back on his feet, though he leapt up with more sudden panic than anything like determination. Moving to the window, hand curled against the sill, obviously trying to maintain some semblance of calm, trying not to just curl in on himself and let the whole world vanish for a while.

“Kicked the shit out a whole group of them. I thought you might appreciate it”

Finally, a real smile, what could have been a laugh with a few more hours’ sleep behind it, but Ky’s eyes were bitter and dark.

“Thank you.”

Unspoken words bled themselves out in the silence, and Sol, always, /always/ ready to leap forward, to make the initial move, had nothing to do or say. What words of wisdom could he offer, when he’d spent the better part of his hunted, unnatural existence with barely an identity? A piecemeal life, made up of whatever battle he was fighting at the time, whatever phantoms he sought out, shadows that disappeared right from under his footsteps. It wasn’t the kind of life for Ky, even if he could outlast his pursuers.

He should have asked what the kid planned on doing, but it was blindingly obvious, from the glassy-eyed edge to his gaze, the way he swayed ever so slightly, that Ky had no answers. Hell, he wouldn’t have been hiding like this, running like he had if there had been a plan – certainly wouldn’t have let him stay so long.

In the end, Ky forced the decision Sol realized he had been preparing to make all along. Taking a step back from the window, and another, but his foot caught against the uneven boards, or perhaps his legs no longer felt like keeping up the charade, and he started to fall. It took barely two steps to reach his side, and Sol wrapped his arms around the Holy Knight, steadying him, holding on. Turning the gesture into much more than a simple courtesy, as the moments passed and he did not let go.

It was a Gear response, one he knew full well his human side would never have had the guts for. A pack reaction, he'd fought alongside the kid and seen him hurt and bleed, but this was an entirely different war, the sort of threat that demanded he act, that he do whatever it took to save one of his own. No question if Ky had ever wanted to have his help, but hell, even he had to admit it was better than facing this alone.

Ky tensed, hissed slightly as his touch pressed against barely healed cuts and bruises - but did not pull away, and after a moment Sol realized he'd been expecting an attack, expecting his former team-mate to double cross him as everyone else had. Sol knew that game, couldn't blame the kid when he'd been double-crossed more times than he could count by all the people he'd trusted the most. Most of them hadn't even done it out of profit, or spite - fear, just fear of the Gears or fear of him. Just fear.

"I had a thousand chances to cut you in half during the Crusades." Sol murmured, surprised himself by how gentle his voice was. “I would have at least taken one of them, if I hated you so much."

"So, you did keep track."

A smile there, but bitter and sharp, and Ky's voice trembled with sheer exhaustion. God, but they'd known exactly how to work on him. What he needed to survive, and which supports to kick out and watch him fall. Slowly, Sol brought his hand up to the back of Ky's neck, a test, just to see if he'd allow it.

If he could have given back anything, given up any part of his new form, it would be how painfully fragile human bodies felt beneath his touch. Or perhaps Ky had always seemed stronger with the invisible shield of his faith and his belief – shattered now, by those he had fought far. No one fell as far or as hard as the righteous, and nothing hurt worse than wanting desperately to believe in the good in man.

“You don’t have to give up.” He murmured, and kneaded a little with his fingertips, his strength easily working the corded muscles. Ky winced, hissing a little at the pain, but allowed it, knowing it would fade. Always willing to wait through whatever agony might come, for the belief that it would lead to better things. “No reason to stop believing in good, just because they’re bastards. You should be happy – it’s rare that you get to choose, whether they kill your soul or not. Whether you let this become a lethal blow.”

Sol smelled blood, let his fingers work a little into Ky’s hair, watching dark red flakes crumble and fall away. He raised an eyebrow, though Ky didn’t seem to have any answers.

“I got caught. Bounty hunter. Strangest damn girl... boy... whatever.” The knight was fighting for control, his voice wavered even as he tried to rein it in. “... I’m tired. God in heaven, Sol, I've never been this tired.”

The words so soft, even standing next to him Sol nearly missed them.

“I know. I know you are.”

He slipped Ky’s coat off, let it crumple to the floor without a second thought. Caught the strange look in Ky’s dazed eyes, confusion and recognition and maybe even acceptance – Sol didn’t have to stop here, with such a small portion of pale, perfect skin exposed. The knight may have not actively been offering, exactly but he was too weary to say no.

No one should have come out of the Crusades still standing, let alone in the sort of condition Ky was in. Sol wondered absently how many lovers he’d had, just when and who Ky had sought out, during those long and lonely nights. Holy Knight or no Holy Knight, /no one/ could have made it through the Crusades on prayer and belief alone.

Sol had seen the young prodigy cut a swath of bloody destruction that had made even Justice take notice, had seen Ky covered in gore and blood until he barely looked human. Still something so innocent about him, wavering on his feet in the dim light. So pure, untouched by all that Sol had thought no one could fight and succeed against. Sol wanted to gather him up close, where nothing could hurt him, to tell him a wonderful story about when the world hadn’t been like this, when there’d been no fear of Gears or endless wars or inevitable destruction.

//War holds no real fear for him, though. He'd fight forever and never give up hope, if he believed the cause was just.//

It was the defeat in those blue eyes that cut him to the quick. He’d seen Ky all but broken in two, had seen him lose in battle and in meetings with the other commanders of the army, but he had never seen the look in Ky’s eyes he saw now – giving up. Accepting defeat as the way of the world. A look that shifted, faded, as he noticed Sol was looking down at him.

“... you protecting me now, Sol?”

Yes. Yes he was, and for the life of him he wasn’t sure if it was disturbing as hell or the best idea he’d had in years.

“I’m the better fighter, by half. I can’t imagine why the hell they chose you for their template.”

“Robots can only smell so bad.”

Ky muttered, but shifted closer as Sol put his feet up, leaning back against the narrow headboard. His feet just hung off the edge of the bed, not uncomfortable, not even with Ky taking up most of the room, curled against his side, obviously fighting to stay awake. Half-asleep already, murmuring something – a stilted prayer, in French - and Sol could feel him jerk, startling back awake, some nightmare seizing him before he’d even had the chance to relax. Sol could hear his heartbeat, so fast, like a bird.

“Sol?” The soft, bewildered whisper sounded so young. So damned young.

“I’m right here. It’s okay.”

He wasn’t even sure Ky was listening, the knight had burrowed against him, craving the heat much more than he cared to hold on to his dignity, and Sol kept his own arms tight around him, feeling the shudder of what had to be held-back tears, Ky’s breathing slowing along with the beat of his heart. Eyes finally fluttering shut, finally allowing himself some measure of peace.

----------------------------------

Warmth. Ky hadn’t been warm in so long, it took him a long time before he felt like remembering where his arms and legs were, or how moving them could do him the slightest bit of good. Memories of the most recent past were hard in coming, but he knew he never would have relaxed like this if he wasn’t safe to do so.

//I was... wait, Sol was... here?//

Reality descended in a rush, waking him up immediately, when the thought finally processed that he’d fallen asleep, with no idea where he was or what had happened. The world didn’t change, still quiet and peaceful around him, though with just a slight shift he realized he was the only one in the bed – certain it had been otherwise before he’d fallen asleep. Had it been years ago, Ky would never have been able to live it down, but even that paled in comparison to the rest of the life he’d been living.

It had been... nice, for a little while, to give over to a greater strength. Sol would look out for him, and he could trust in that, knowing damn well that nothing was going to get past that sword, not if Sol had set his mind to the task.

//Stubborn jackass...// Ky frowned, pulling the blankets below his nose, enough to sniff at the air, and realize he hadn’t been dreaming. Was something cooking?

He rolled over, knew Sol was likely still in the room, but still startled to find him sitting on the floor, facing him, the Fuenken stretched out in front of him. He’d ignited the blade to what had to be less than half of its full power – and two cups of instant ramen were bubbling away on the flat of the sword. Sol was watching him – perhaps he expected a thank-you.

“You had no right ever being in the Seikishidan.”

It made Sol laugh – had actually surprised him - and Ky was startled to find himself smiling back.

“Sometimes they need style and form, poster boy, and sometimes they need to get the job done.”

Ky sat up, as Sol went back to poking at the bubbling noodles, and stretched carefully, noting how many places across his body no longer hurt, now that they’d had a chance to relax properly. He had been running right on the edge, the day before, and had he gotten into another fight in that condition...

//The last man you want to owe a favor to, he probably just saved your life.//

Best not to think about why he was so warm, that Sol had probably been cradling him like a child for most of the night. The other man was now fishing packets of seasoning out of tiny plastic bags, his hands much too big for the task – the whole business utterly ridiculous to behold, someone like Sol doing anything so mundane.

“What flavor do you want?” He grunted, finally shaking them free. “We have... salt. Also... more salt.” Obviously, a rhetorical question, and Sol shook a bit of each into the cups, stirring a bit before handing one to Ky. “I think you have a vegetable in yours.”

One sliver of desiccated carrot swirled around his chopsticks, but Ky’s hands ached too much to want to use them, preferring to just sip at the mostly flavorless meal instead. It reminded him of the old days, feeling the warmth all the way down his throat, pooling in his stomach. Days when simple heat had been a nearly unimaginable luxury.

It looked a bit like the old days, as well. Ky had always thought Sol looked disheveled, but now he realized even he had a distinctly rumpled, disheveled look, different from when he’d simply been beaten to hell and back across a battlefield.

//How long was he looking for me?//

Sol seemed uninjured, a little quieter than usual, perhaps – and then Ky stopped, eyes fixed on the barest edge of light, the tiniest glimmer from where the edge of Sol’s headband had slipped. He must have loosened it, during the night, and forgotten – amazing, really, for all the time he’d thought – all that conjecture and all those fights and this was the first time –

Sol looked up, and it was immediately clear they both knew what he’d seen, even as he shifted the band back into place, pulling the straps tighter.

“What’s it like?”

Again, the surprise, though this time it was a bit more meaningful. Sol should have realized he had to know, that there was no way Ky could see him fight like he did, winning battles all but single-handedly and walking out with only a few scratches for the trouble, without being suspicious.

"It's not bad." Sol said, with a strange little grin, a complicated smile. He was still a cocky, arrogant asshole – definitely – but now, here and now, a thousand little pieces of information he’d abandoned as unimportant all came fitting back together. Sol was a Gear, and at least as old as Justice. How else to explain that he wasn’t another mindless drone?

Ky didn’t have to ask why Sol chose to be on their side – couldn’t imagine the man taking many orders, even if he’d agreed with them – and he hadn’t agreed. Siding with humanity, even after he’d become... more? Different? Lost? Certainly, lost was the first word he would have thought of, the Gears thought of as warped and twisted beasts, animated by evil or at least by ill-bent science – no spirits, no souls.

Justice had... something more. Ky had seen it, at the end, twisted and brutal and dark – but Sol certainly had a spirit, untainted and whole. Bright burning, unstoppable – and beautiful.

"You should have told me, before."

Dark eyes looked away, toward the window he was sitting too low to see out of.

"You're not the only one who's afraid of running.” After a long moment, he glanced back. “You really thought I’d turn you in for the money? Fifty pieces of silver, and all that?”

“Thirty.”

“Whatever.”

Ky shook his head. “No. It was a stupid thought. You certainly hate them more than you hate me.”

Sol snorted, and Ky studied his own words in quiet amazement. God, to think such a man was now his only friend.

“So... what are you going to do?”

Sol’s voice seemed much kinder than his own internal critic, though he still didn’t have anything like an answer.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do. It’s a war. No different than the Crusades. You’re still fighting against evil, against injustice – and these people, they’ll take the whole world, if no one fights back against them. I’ve seen it happen.”

“I can’t do that.” Ky hated to admit weakness, admit fear, but there was nothing else to call the icy clutch of claws that had closed around his chest. “Not alone. I can’t fight them alone.”

“Who said you’d be alone?”

Ky stared, wondering if Sol had just punched him, and he’d been so out of it he hadn’t noticed. It certainly sounded like he’d said...

“You’re insane.”

Sol tipped his head back, let out a soft, musing sound – and Ky knew without even having to look, that there was a very particular gleam in his eyes. “Hard for them to keep chasing you, if they all have broken legs.”

“You’re /insane/.”

He said it slightly louder, as if it would carry more weight, trying to ignore the part of his mind that had sprung up, intrigued by the thought of forward action, of /plans/. Remarkably stupid plans... and Sol grinned, and Ky sighed, buried his head in his hands with an exasperated groan, what had been the knife’s edge of hysteria now dulled, falling into a wonderfully familiar disbelief, and vague embarrassment for every spare molecule of Sol Badguy.

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought the man had planned it that way.

“You’re going to get me /killed/. You’re going to get us both killed. I’m going to die next to /you/, and they’re going to think we were /together/. People will think I actually listened to /your stupid plan/.”

“Unfair, kid.” Sol said, almost managing to sound put out, if not for that damned sparkle of vicious mirth at the corner of his gaze. “I haven’t even gotten to my /stupid/ plan yet.”

Ky looked for a pillow to throw, but there was none – only his sword, and Sol’s sword, resting where the man had set it to cool. The Fuenken had slipped a little, resting against the Furaiken, crossed at the hilt.

As if they’d known all along.

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