He finally managed to find Bard after carving his way through a troop of Orcs. Glamdring retained its shine even despite the black blood staining it, but this old body of his ached in nearly every joint. He'd had little time to recover from his confrontation with Sauron and subsequent imprisonment in Dol Goldur. This extended battle was taxing him both in body and in magic.
But there was no time to rest. The Orcs were slowly gaining more ground in Dale, and Bard needed every bit of help he could get. He reached the young Man with the heart of a good King and was pleasantly surprised at Bilbo suddenly popping up. The son of a Took was either a natural at adventure or carried more lives inside him than a cat.
Once they met and traded situations of their prior areas, he gestured with his sword upwards. "Get some bowmen up into those towers." Long-range support would go a long way into aiding their troops.
"There are no bowmen left," Bard replied in a whisper of rising despair. He turned to Bard, mouth widening in horror and sorrow as the sounds of carnage began to surround them. He'd known the circumstances were dire, but…
He slowly sank against a broken slab of stone beneath him as Bard continued tearfully. "I let myself imagine this city restored…" All around them, what remained of Dale's defenders were being cut down. "That we would take what had been restored and rebuild it…" Hastily assembled defenses were worn down. "That we would wash away this sadness… And the streets would once again be filled with life…" The man sounded on the cusp of tears as he had to bear witness to all of this. "Full of hope…"
He couldn't fault him for that. Not when he had played a large part in instigating this bloodshed. A simple plan… to help a Dwarf prince reclaim his kingdom and armies… to slay a dragon and deprive Sauron of both a potential ally and a strategic foothold…
Now it had all come to this… and he didn't have any way to make amends…
"No…" That little word followed by plenty more of its kind caught both their attention. "Come now," Bilbo Baggins stepped closer to them with a desperate smile; another he had pulled into this mess… "Don't despair," he whispered to Bard. Or… to both of them?
"What would you have us do?!" Bard demanded, spreading his arms wide.
"Huh?" Bilbo had been watching for Orc ambushes, but now he turned back with an odd look in his eyes. "Do?" He repeated, looking first at Bard and then him. "Do?" He seemed to be expecting something, and he himself, the old Istar, found himself curious.
Then the formerly reluctant burglar nodded his head behind him, said, "Here," and walked to a small patch of ground amidst the rubble, caked in snow and blood. "Here. I'll show you." He dropped the blade he'd given him from that Troll hoard (it seemed so long ago) and knelt down to begin digging with his bare hands.
Bard walked over to him, his confusion plain to see. "Bilbo, what are you doing?!"
He himself remained where he sat, his eyes clearly able to see what Bilbo pulled out of his coat: an acorn.
Slightly bigger than most, perhaps found in Beorn's garden, but not carrying any special charm or magic…
And that's when it dawned on him just what Bilbo meant.
Bard had yet to realize its meaning, though, even as Bilbo dropped it into the little hole he'd dug. "What is that?"
The Hobbit didn't answer at first, simply pushing dirt back into that spot. Once done, he retrieved his sword and stood back up. "That's a promise," he gestured towards the freshly planted acorn, "that underneath all that blood and dirt, there is a chance of new life. It may sound hopeless, it may sound foolish," he admitted (No, Bilbo. What you're saying is a wisdom worthy of the Valar themselves, he praised the little fellow silently). "But, uh, really what else can you do when faced," he lifted his sword to indicate the massacre around them, "with death?
"What can anyone do?" He asked Bard who was standing a little straighter now. Less tense. "You go on living."
Man and Hobbit exchanged a nod of solidarity… and the Grey Wizard remembered again just why he strove so hard to protect Middle-Earth. Protect all of these young, ephemeral lives.
She gazed upon the weapon planted upright into the stone. It stood tall like a proud tree, the guard emblazoned with gold, the blade a beautiful silver which made the sun's light shine all the more brightly. There on the hilt lay the words that had drawn so many men to it, the words that would shape destiny itself.
Truly the sword meant for a King. And these lands needed a King now more than ever.
She approached it without incident; all the other men were busy arguing with each other over who had the right to claim it. No one would notice the young boy apprenticed to Sir Kay. They certainly wouldn't notice that the boy was actually a girl, and once her endeavor was complete, it wouldn't matter. She already knew to conceal her gender so perfectly they would have their perfect King now and forever.
But as she came close enough to touch it, she realized then that someone had seen her. The same man who had taught her all these years, guiding her to this one moment.
"You should consider your decision a little more before making it," that melodious voice she had heard in so many of her dreams told her. "The moment you draw that sword, you'll never be human again." His tone carried the playfulness she'd grown accustomed to, but there was something else there as well. Sorrow, perhaps?
She saw no reason for it. "But many would know relief and joy," she replied calmly. Being a King means no longer being human. She'd known that truth since her very birth. A King was someone who sacrificed himself and killed to protect. This truth had haunted her nights until morning came, but today, she would conquer her fears.
"This path is true, I believe nothing else." This she swore as she pulled the sword from the stone without the slightest effort. Light enveloped her even as she could feel the passage of time inside her body slow to a crawl and then cease altogether. An eternally young boy King…
The very embodiment of knightly chivalry.
A sword that would protect the kingdom from all threats.
Even if it meant she could never know the life of a normal human again.
His days were packed. Attending briefings, dodging Gai and his challenges (seriously, where did he find the energy to keep coming up with them?!), visiting Rin and Obito's graves…
Outside the village, he drifted among the trees and shadows, striking down any who would dare threaten it. The Nine-Tails' rampage and the death of the Fourth Hokage… the loss of Minato-sensei… made many believe it to be vulnerable. He was out here to dissuade any enemies of that notion. The white mask with a dog motif, given to him when he'd first joined the Hidden Leaf's Anbu, had helped him gain a certain notoriety among the other villages. The Sharingan that could made out through its left eye hole if looked at carefully, that earned him the epithet, "the Man of One Thousand Techniques." Because he could see through and copy them before his opponents realized they were being taken down by his own jutsu.
His Lightning Blade, that had helped him pick some more recent names. "I-It's you…" the ninja he loomed over hissed, trying to shuffle away until his back hit the tree's trunk. His wide eyes never left the hand brimming with electricity. "You're Cold-Blooded Kakashi…
"The Comrade-Killer…" Those were his last words before the lightning struck him.
The names meant little to him. They could be useful in scaring off any more enemies, but at the end of the day, he was nothing more than a shadow protecting the Village Hidden in the Leaves. He would protect his home, his Hokage, his comrades until his dying breath.
…His nights always ended with waking up seeing Rin's dying face, rinsing his hands under the faucet. It won't wash off… It won't wash off… Her blood… won't wash off…
Father turned away from those odd blue flames towards him. "Ah, there you are, Kiritsugu." He sounded shocked; not that it was easy to tell with him. Father had never been one to show much emotion. "Are you okay? Thank goodness…"
His gaze wandered about what was left of the workshop. Drawers were open, some things had been packed up in boxes, but most of the shelves were still filled. There probably wasn't enough time to take all of it with them. "I told you not to go down to the village today," Father scolded him. Now he sounded worried; a rare emotion from him.
Looks like he was aware of what was happening on the island.
"Father…" he wondered how his own voice could sound so dull. After everything he had just seen, everything he had just learned… "Why would you want to study Dead Apostles?"
Those things that were being incinerated not far from them…
Father stared at him. "How do you know-"
"I went down… because I was worried about Shirley." Weird… Even now, he sounded like they were talking about the weather. "I think… she tested the magic on herself. Did you know this would happen to her?" He'd thought he would shout that at him, but no. Barely a whisper.
Father's brow loosened up again as he turned to the side. "Oh, I see. A shame." He said those words like he'd just dropped a glass of water. "Well, there's no changing the past. I told Shirley that the mixture was dangerous, but it looks like she disregarded my instructions." Not a hint of shame, only disappointment. He pulled out a notebook and began flipping through the pages while he spoke. "She always was a bit too curious for her own good… At least she helped me determine the results of this venture sooner than anticipated."
As calm and clinical as if he'd swatted a spider. Would Norikata Emiya be this unflappable if he'd seen the state Shirley had been in? If he saw what Arimago's villagers had become?
He shouldn't bother asking such stupid questions. There was a reason they lived this far away from the village. "Father… will you turn me into something like that one day?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Father refuted him immediately while looking up from his notes. "A Dead Apostle incapable of controlling the vampiric cravings is a failure. But the Emiya family's studies require a solution against the passage of time. No body shackled down by a mortal lifespan could hope to discover the Root."
The Root… Akasha… that big ultimate goal for every magus… He never did get why, not even after Father had explained it to him so many times.
Father continued talking, unaware of what was going through his head. Nothing new there. "This experiment expended a heavy amount of time, and it didn't produce the results I had hoped for." He was reading through another page. "I suppose I'll have to modify my theory's base, start from scratch."
Translation: he had every intent of continuing with this stuff. The same stuff that the Magus Association and the Church's Executors were ravaging their home over. All the lives that were cut short, including Shirley's, meant nothing. Just a stumble in his research…
"Kiritsugu, we should save this discussion for later. Right now, our first concern is escaping."
Right… the boxes, the suitcases right next to the door. "…How can we escape now?"
"I suspected this day would come eventually. That's why I hid a motorboat on the southern coast. Never hurts to be prepared." Yeah… Father had always been pretty cautious.
Then again, if he'd been a little more careful, this mightn't have happened…
Father's shoes stepped into his line of vision. "Sorry, Kiritsugu, but there's no time left for you to take anything else." A hand patted his shoulder. "Let's go."
When he had shown Father Simon the wrecked (and empty) chicken coop, the kind old man had collected the knife he'd given to Shirley. The knife he had grabbed in desperation when the Dead Apostles barged into the church.
The knife that now plunged into his father's stomach.
Father stumbled back, blood pouring out from him as the knife fell to the floor planks. He braced himself against the sink, knocking over some boxes. His hands gripped his wound while he groaned wide-eyed at the one who'd stabbed him.
His own son, panting where he stood with bloody hands.
He only felt a little out of breath, though. There had been a lot more panic inside him back when he'd been trying to run away from those monsters. But right now, he felt so… calm.
He felt nothing as his hand reached for the handgun peeking out from a nearby drawer.
Shirley's smile flashed before him. "Kerry…"
He felt nothing as the magazine slid into the handle so smoothly.
"…What kind of man do you want to be when you grow up?"
He felt nothing as he took aim and pulled the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
That… ought to have been enough. Norikata Emiya… his father… wasn't moving anymore. His hand began to shake, like it had just noticed how heavy the gun was. His other hand was reaching for it now, and his breathing just got a lot more ragged. Why did everything look so blurry? Was it raining now or something?
Why was he having a hard time steadying his breath?
The gun grew even heavier. He didn't want to hold it anymore. He snapped his arm to the side, but the gun wouldn't leave his hand. He tried again, same result. His fingers… they wouldn't relax-
A pale hand stopped his next swing. Natalia… she was here. She was looking down at him even while she pried the gun from his grip. Was she angry? "Y'know, the Bounded Field was a lot easier to dismantle than you said it'd be." She sounded angry.
"…Are you mad?" He hadn't been proud about lying to her, but… "It was a stroke of luck you got here just now," he spoke in the same level tone as when he talked to Father just now.
"This man…" He didn't look away from the bullet-ridden, lifeless body before him. "If he'd gotten away, he just would've started this Dead Apostle stuff somewhere else. What happened tonight could've happened again, just in a different place."
Natalia wasn't looking at him anymore, but he could still hear what she said loud and clear. "Hell of a reason for a boy to kill his own father, though." The words felt kinda heavy; was she regretting this?
What was there to regret? "You really are a good person, aren't you?" …Huh. His mouth felt a little different. Like he was smiling.
She pulled out a black body bag from her coat and crouched over his father. "I'll take you off this island. From there on, it's up to you what you do. There anything you want to take with you?"
"…Nothing at all." Was his answer.
The War raged on, and Cybertron smoldered underneath him.
How long had it been since he had set foot in that arena for his first match? How long since he had first called his fellow miners and warriors to take a stand? How long since he had stood before the High Council and spelled out to them that things needed to change… only to have his hopes crushed?
No matter. The Decepticons held domination over most of the planet. Each campaign brought them even more of the Autobots' territory. His power continued to grow as his scientists developed more devastating weaponry (Resonance Blasters, Tox-En bombs, Combiner technology) and his spies uncovered more of the older and obscure secrets. He marched his troops over broken, useless corpses to terminate the weaklings who'd waste time mourning them. Sentinel Zeta Prime, the bureaucratic relic, fell easily enough to his strength.
And the more he gained, the more he realized that Cybertron was only the stepping stone… the future key piece of a galactic empire under the control of the Decepticons. All of the galaxy, freed from the burdens of choice and freedom. All beings working in unison together to bring about everlasting peace and glory… under his will.
This dream made his Spark burn all the brighter, more so because he could see it realized… were it not for one single obstruction: Optimus.
The librarian should've been scrap metal a long time ago. Crushed by the weight of the War and his precious followers' deaths battering down on his sentiments. Instead, he had grown into a fierce combatant, a shrewd strategist, and an inspiring leader.
He loathed his onetime pupil and… friend, but even he couldn't deny that the Autobots would've been crushed long ago if it weren't for this new "Prime."
He hated Optimus with every servo in his body. He hated him for impeding him when he sought the title of Prime or attempted to place Cybertron itself under his direct control with Dark Energon or found a new planet to conquer (a moist little rock teeming with barely sapient fleshbags)…
He hated him… and he knew no greater joy when they battled.
They fought as only mortal enemies could. They fought with their armies, with cannon and blasters, with mace and axe, with swords and fists. Time and again, the two would face one another, and time and again, a certain vow would reverberate in both of their processors:
One shall stand.
One shall fall.
Damn, Yachiru could slap hard when she wanted to. Or maybe it was just the beating that Ichigo kid had given him. He couldn't move much anymore… must've lost more blood than he'd thought…
With less blood racing through his skull, though, he could think a little more. He remembered what the kid had said before they'd clashed at maximum power. "Fighting side by side with your zanpakutō, huh?" He'd laughed it off at the time, called such thinking the way of weaklings who couldn't fend for themselves, but in hindsight… He'd lost, after all…
"Yachiru…" Her pink little head popped into view. "Do you still remember… when I gave your name?" The words flowed out of him before he could stop.
Then she flashed him that smile that always made something tingle in his heart. "Sure I do! I even remember how many clouds were up in the sky!"
"Yeah…" He, too, was smiling now. "Me, too." His hand was already reaching for his sword, the blade still broken off close to the guard. Fresh blood splashed out from the last cut Ichigo had given him, but he didn't let it stop him.
Yachiru blinked in confusion as he held up what was left of his zanpakutō. "Ke-Kenny?"
"Quiet," he told her before focusing on what was left of that worn blade he'd cut down so many with. "It's been so long…" his arm was shaking from the effort. "I'd forgotten what it was like… the pain of not having a name…" His thoughts flashed back to those crowds, all those people who chatted with each other and walked past him, not even noticing he was there. "Everybody else had a name others would call them… but not me. That feeling, it just…"
That's right… back then, when he'd spelled out Yachiru's name, her name in the dirt and taken the name "Kenpachi" for himself… He'd made a vow back then…
…When did he forget all this? "I've made you wait for a hell of a long time…" he confessed to his zanpakutō. "Yeah, I bet you're thinkin', 'Aren't you a bit fuckin' late?' But…" Shit, he'd never done this before. He never did like asking favors…
"Will you now… tell me… your name?"
But all he heard was the wind rustling over him.
He laughed at himself. "No such luck, huh?" His arm finally gave out, and he held his sword close to his face. No name, course not, he'd screwed it up a long time ago, and his body was aching like crazy… "Damnit…
"I want to get stronger…" He'd cut down so many over the years, even after he'd gotten that eyepatch custom made and took to wearin' all these stupid bells… after everything he did to hold back… It'd gotten so boring until Ichigo showed up… "I've finally found someone I can fight again…" How long had it been since he'd lost a fight? Not since… "I know I can get stronger!"
There it was… that old elation again. Just when he felt his life ebbing away. "I want to fight! I want to get stronger… It's been too damn long since I've had this feelin'…"
With the last of his energy, he slammed his zanpakutō's hilt against the ground and roared, "I WANT TO GET STRONGER!"
In her millennia-long life, there were only three times her spirit had been so wholly crushed.
The first was during Outworld's invasion of Edenia, when her mother had hidden her inside a little cave by the shore. She kissed her brow, cast some enchantment over her hiding spot, gave her one last tearful smile, then ran even while she wailed, "Mother!" But she never saw her again.
The second was when she learned Kotal had perished. Apparently, his legion had been investigating potentially rebellious forces when they were assailed from all sides. Not a single survivor. She had spent the better part of a year hunting down the rebels responsible until Kitana finally convinced her to stop and mourn Kotal… her love.
The third… she was witnessing in this very moment.
Kitana had dragged Shang Tsung before the throne, accusing that parasitic sycophant of most heinous experiments. "This conjurer has created horrid replicas of me, crossbred with Tarkatan blood! One was alive and attacked me!"
She remained among the room's shadows, her jaw still aching from when her friend had knocked her unconscious in the Living Forest. Her reward for trying to keep her from getting into more trouble with the Emperor. As though there wasn't enough violence in Outworld because of this special tournament Shang Tsung had organized.
But Kitana wasn't lying, she'd known her too long to mistake a fabrication of hers from the truth. And she could tell traces of bruises and cuts, now mostly healed, but definitely not ones that had come from their own fight. She hadn't wished to harm Kitana, after all.
Besides, there was no depravity Shang Tsung wouldn't stoop to for his schemes. Creating twisted parodies of Kitana was easily within his power and madness. Regardless of their prior strife, she agreed wholeheartedly that this injustice be punished.
…And what judgment came from Shao Kahn, the Emperor she and Kitana had served for so long?
He praised the sorcerer. He allowed him to stand, and when Kitana rightfully questioned how her own father could've condoned such a travesty, he denounced her without a second thought! "Your father was a weakling Edenian king. I annihilated him while merging his realm with Outworld and took his queen as my wife."
Those words, uttered with a casual sort of harshness rang through her skull, something loosening amidst her memories. Jerrod… King Jerrod… the man who had always greeted her with a welcoming smile… the man who used to hoist over his head Kitana… his daughter… not Shao Kahn's…
"If only I had not allowed Sindel to convince me of your worth..." …He had cast a charm on her. On Kitana, as well. And with Queen Sindel taking her own life, there was no one who could've corrected this… this… How else would they have believed that he could've sired a daughter like Kitana…
Elder Gods… How much was Kitana suffering now at being beaten with this harrowing truth?! How could she have left her alone like this?!
"But now, I have a true daughter!"
Her fists clenched tight enough to crush stone. A true daughter?! As though Kitana hadn't faced countless foes and endured the harshest of trials again and again to prove herself worthy?! You don't deserve a daughter like her! She screamed in her head as she made to lunge, drawing her staff-
"Raiden was right…" Those words… "You have lied to me my entire life…" Kitana didn't shout them out in anger as was her right. No, she whispered them with a pain, a despair that doused the fire inside her. Never before had she heard her best friend sound so broken.
She glared at that monster looming over her sister, that snake slithering about… but put away her staff. Shang Tsung and the Tarkatan dogs out there would be little trouble for her, but much as she would've torn through all of them for the injustice wrought upon Kitana, she was no match for Shao Kahn. Charging in alone would be suicide.
Worse, she could get Kitana killed in her impulsiveness. "Escort her to the Tower," Shao Kahn ordered the Tarkatans. "I will make an example of her." Those thugs pulled her away with little difficulty; weren't she still reeling from the revelations, the princess could've made short work of her.
Shao Kahn didn't even spare her a second glance. He was speaking with the worm Shang Tsung. "Return to the Flesh Pits. Bring me my daughter. Mileena." Kitana wasn't even dead yet, and he had already replaced her… no further proof was needed. He had never been her father.
But… she had defended this bastard… she had opposed Kitana in his name… Her head felt like its weight had tripled. "…I failed you, Kitana."
But this was no time to weep over her mistakes. She had already lost her mother, her love… But not her friend. Not this time.
She squared her shoulders and vowed, "Now I will make amends." Then she slipped into the shadows that led to the Tower.
The kingdom burned around him, and he could do nothing but watch. Nothing but regret…
It shouldn't have come to this. What had begun as a simple hope he could ease his King's burden had blossomed into love. Something to revel in for an ordinary man and woman… but he was to be the perfect knight. She was to be the ideal Queen for the King of Knights. And in their love, they had let passion take hold of them where responsibility should have given them pause.
He should have fled Camelot with her when they'd had the chance, but duty and honor, both of which he'd stained, compelled him to stay. Too long he dallied, and then their affair was revealed to all.
He'd betrayed the King… and yet, the King forgave him.
"From what I see, you are the perfect knight." Those were her words to him. "If you truly love Guinevere, then I have no objections. I know you to be an honorable man."
Those words, righteous and noble as ever, were no doubt meant to comfort him. But they increased the weight upon his soul. The guilt he had felt every time he visited Guinevere in secret, every time either confessed doubts over this infidelity to the other, every time they continued their love despite the risks…
Then she was imprisoned, and he failed to save her even after cutting down his fellow knights. The ones who had sat beside him at the Round Table, fought beside him, drank with him… and he'd fled his deeds like a cowardly brigand.
Now, Camlann was staining itself in blood, death was drawing closer to his King, and he could do nothing to stop it! Gawain had forced him away with sword in hand and the heat of the sun in his eyes. He couldn't begrudge him that, though. Gareth and Gaheris were among the knights he'd slain.
Why couldn't he have controlled himself, been the perfect knight everyone knew him as?
Why didn't the King punish him for his crimes?
Why could he do nothing else… but grow mad?
He sat before the three stone archways, pondering the time away. Not one looked familiar to him no matter how hard he tried to recall; perhaps they had been carved in the time since his last visit to Moria. If that were the case, then they were in trouble, because he couldn't see any markings or indications which one led to Khazad-dûm. He could sense the Fellowship's anxiety for sitting around so long, but picking one at random could leave them stranded in another part of this kingdom carved inside the mountain.
He heard a familiar rustling down below, then Frodo sprang into view. "There's something down there."
He nodded once. "It's Gollum."
"…Gollum?" The young Hobbit repeated, most certainly recalling the tales of his uncle's adventures.
"He's been following us for three days." Fairly stealthily, too, but he suspected Aragorn and Legolas knew of his presence as well. The sad little being down there had yet to impede them, though, which is why none of them had said or done anything.
Then Frodo remembered, it seemed, more of their conversation at the Shire. "He escaped the dungeons of Barad-dur?!"
"Escaped…" He finally turned to the leader of their party. "…Or set loose." He nodded down toward the rocks where two blue eyes glared out into the darkness. "And now the Ring has brought him here. He will never be rid of his need for it. He hates and loves the Ring… as he hates and loves himself."
Bilbo had held onto the Ring for sixty years, far shorter a period than Gollum, yet… "It's mine… My own… My precioussss…" Twice, he had heard such words before. From both of them. And when he spotted Bilbo in Rivendell, he could've sworn his eyes lingered on Frodo…
He sighed in regret as he heard that gulping sound of the poor fellow he and Aragorn had caught. "Sméagol's life is a sad story." He then nodded pointedly at Frodo who turned to him in shock. "Yes, Sméagol was his name. Before the Ring found him…" He returned to what may be the way onward. "Before it drove him mad."
"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance."
The venom in that statement stunned him enough to look away from those three paths (Confound it, why couldn't he discern the right one?) and at the little Hobbit glaring out into the darkness. "Pity?" he repeated, making Frodo glance up to him. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life." He fixed his gaze on those young, passionate, conflicted eyes. "Can you give it to them, Frodo?"
The young fellow gave no answer with words, but the way he briefly glanced down made clear he was starting to understand. "Do not be too eager to deal out death and judgment," he continued before releasing a self-deprecating sigh. "Even the very wise cannot see all ends." If they could, perhaps I could've kept Saruman from being swayed by the darkness, he added to himself. "My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill… before this is over." the poor, misshapen fellow slipped back into the shadows of the stone below, taking his maddened glare with him. Frodo tried to keep track of him for another second before he returned his full attention to him. "The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."
Frodo absorbed these words carefully, but they seemed to have done little to ease the weight on his heart. "…I wish the Ring had never come to me," he finally muttered. "I wish none of this had happened."
His heart ached from those words. Such a young, innocent soul, forced to bear the heaviest of burdens imaginable. For a moment, he wished Frodo could return to the peace of the Shire with Sam, Merry and Pippin. He wished he could bear the Ring, carry it all the way through whatever horrors Sauron would unleash, cast it to a molten demise within Mount Doom…
But he knew he, too, would fall prey to its temptations. He would become no better than the Dark Lord who had forged it. Worse, even; he would seek to use the Ring for good, righteous reasons and would thereby enforce his will without restraint on all of Middle-Earth. He would make good seem detestable and evil.
And despite knowing all of this, he could hear its seductive whispers even now…
Thus, he fixed his mind and heart on the nephew of his dear friend who had in turn grown dear to him. "So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide." Frodo looked up at him, a hopeful question in those blue eyes.
He smiled back softly. "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
"There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring. In which case, you also were meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought."
Worrying over how to defeat the great darkness on Middle-Earth could wait for now. What mattered in quiet moments like this was keeping the light alive in hearts like the one sitting next to him. Seeing the fresh spark of thought in Frodo's eyes made him draw in a breath of fresh air-
Fresh…
An alive "Ah!" escaped him as he turned to the paths. When Frodo shot him a confused look, he nodded happily to the one he knew to be correct. "It's that way."
He'd spoken loud enough that the rest of the Fellowship could hear him, and they hastily collected their things. "He's remembered," Merry sighed in relief.
"No," he confessed as he led them by the light of his staff towards their way onward, "but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc," he gave the Hobbit a quick wink, "always follow your nose."
He had traveled long and far.
He had ascended to the throne of his father Philip at the age of twenty, his earliest experiences of war met by quelling the uprising Thessalians and Thracians; some would have relied on diplomacy, but his heart had beat with a desire for adventure and a drive to make his own mark upon history. This wonderful rhythm had carried him onward to face the Balkans, claiming one victory after another at Mount Haemus, the Lyginus river, and the Danube. When the Illyrians and the Taulantii revolted, followed swiftly by the Thebans, he dealt with all of them in turn, even sundering Thebes and divvying up the remains.
Then he had ridden across fields of grass, water, snow, stone and sand, all of which soon fell away as he continued ever to the east. He had solved King Gordius' Knot in the simplest and yet most impressive of ways. He had faced the fiercest of warriors among the many Persian tribes, including Darius III himself; what a massive man! What a fearsome King!
What a worthy foe. The clash at Issus always set his heart ablaze when he'd think back on it!
…And the memory of his campaign against Tyre never failed to dim that fire. He was proud to claim he'd lived his life happy, but to claim he'd lived free of regrets would've been false.
Either way, once he had conquered Persia, he had pressed on into India. The Battle of the Hydaspes may have come at the cost of his beloved Bucephalus, but he'd nevertheless claimed victory over King Porus. Oh, the many, many campaigns he'd planned in its wake.
Sadly, most of them would never come to pass. His followers had been growing weary, even after all the adventures they'd shared together, after all the incredible victories against overwhelming odds he had conjured up with their aid, after organizing a mass marriage for his officers- well, that idea had been a bit of a spur of moment, but such was his way.
But the longest and most arduous of travels can wear down even the strongest of wills. And bodies. His own had begun to fail him more often in recent days. Barely reaching his thirties, but now here he lay, on soft sheets, feeling the last of his strength leave him. And all around him, his most loyal of comrades stood by his side. No doubt wondering who would inherit his armies, his territory, his very title. The title of the King of Conquerors.
"Leave everything to the strongest."
Such was his final decree. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that the matter would be resolved peacefully, but anyone who would follow his life now or later knew that he preferred doing things the dramatic way. Why should it be any different on his deathbed?
And as he closed his eyes for what may be the final time, he could hear the birds calling, smell the salt in the air, feel the waves crashing as the sun rose across Oceanus…
Blasting that little bug Bumblebee into oblivion removed the threat of the Star Saber… but the true prize was witnessing the anguish in Optimus' optics. "NOOOOOO!"
The first blow rattled him, though, and Optimus was too good a fighter not to press the advantage. Three more punches followed that shook his processor, then a kick to his midsection that left him wide open for a fourth. He staggered backwards and tried to regain his defense, but an uppercut sent him flying until his back struck a wall.
He collapsed onto the Omega Lock's metal, still shaken by Optimus' fury. Heh, his old nemesis would've been a legend in Kaon's arena. And with his new body and the rage inside him, he had a tangible chance of tearing out his tainted Spark.
But as he pushed himself up, he realized that his former friend had made a crucial mistake.
Optimus walked over to behind him, his blaster ready, and he wrenched the Dark Star Saber free from where it had embedded itself and slashed. The resulting energy wave catapulted him across their battlefield and over the edge.
But he doubted Optimus Prime would fall so easily. His flight pack may've been damaged, but he'd escaped death long before he had acquired that accessory. He rose to his feet and lumbered over, savoring every step he took.
All the battles on Cybertron…
The explosion of his Spacebridge…
The battle against Unicron…
The hunt for the Iacon Relics…
The destruction of the original Omega Lock…
The razing of his fortress, Darkmount…
He had endured setbacks, even temporary defeat… but now, as he glimpsed over the edge to find Optimus dangling by one hand from his freshly reconstructed Omega Lock, a pained groan escaping his old enemy…
He couldn't possibly be more pleased. The Autobots aboard his ship were routed and demoralized by the loss of their precious comrade. Their leader's termination would break them completely. The Omega Lock would cyberform Earth within minutes, then Cybertron would be next. From there, the Decepticon Empire would expand across the cosmos, crushing any remaining Autobots or other resistance like a tank's treads over pebbles.
Only one final step needed taking for victory… And the wrong he had suffered in the High Council Chamber all those millennia ago would finally be avenged.
He prepared to swing his blade with both hands down. Down on Optimus Prime. "Prepare to join your scout... in the Allspark!" One shall stand. One shall-
"Megatron!"
He paused; who was that? Who dared to interrupt his moment of triumph? That voice was vaguely familiar, he noted as he spun around to punish the-
He heard metal scraping, and then his whole body froze up.
He gasped and wheezed, his servos feeling like they'd been encased in the heaviest ores. Only his optics, opened as wide as possible, could move, and they trailed down to find the Star Saber's blade thrust into his chest…
Held in place by the scout he'd just scrapped.
H-how?!
That frail little body, drenched in the energy of the Omega Lock. The fatal wound he'd inflicted, the scorched armor over the Spark… it was sealing up even as he watched. "You took my voice," he said-said? How could he speak, he'd torn out his voice box long ago- "You will never rob anyone, of anything, ever again."
What was this little insect saying…?
He was Megatron, supreme leader of the Decepticons! Conqueror of Cybertron! How was this miserable whelp of an Autobot to decide what he could no longer do?! Groaning, he rose the Dark Star Saber high to cut down the scout for his insolence…
His fingers trembled… and his Saber slipped from his grasp. It fell behind him, he heard it ringing once against the metal of the Omega Lock, then nothing.
His left knee buckled, and he fell upon it. No… what was this weakness washing over him? He grabbed at the Star Saber's blade, trying to push it free, but his grip was so feeble. His vision kept flickering, he couldn't focus on anything… Was that Starscream just now?
He could feel his Spark fading away…
No… NO! What was this absurdity?!This cannot be how it ends! I refuse to accept defeat when I am but one step from victory! I CANNOT perish by the likes of HIM! I STILL FUNCTION, I-I…
He was… falling…
"D-don't worry about me, guys! I-I-I'm n-not hungry at all!"
A loud rumble reached him even from behind the tree he was leaning against. Should've known tying him to that stump would only make him louder. Too bad we're not permitted to gag the losers. He shook his head, making sure the twin bells by his pocket didn't accidentally jingle.
…Okay, so Naruto isn't even a tenth the genius his father was, but they do have that same crazy optimism, the former disciple of the Yellow Flash conceded. But optimism could only take a shinobi so far. Kicking around and yelling was only going to burn up what energy he had left. Sakura kept glancing towards him even as she nibbled her rice, then her eyes would inevitably drift towards Sasuke, who for his part was taking turns between scanning the area (Trying to find me, huh?) and just shaking his head at Naruto's bluster.
A hopeless knucklehead, a passionate lass, and an aloof prodigy… So, this is how Minato-sensei felt.
Let no one say that the Lord Third Hokage didn't know what he was doing. Or what a sense of humor was.
These three brats still made him worry, though. Not a whiff of teamwork between them during the entire test: Naruto had tried to rush him without any strategy or second thoughts; Sakura had fixated on Sasuke like a bee with pollen, completing disregarding the other boy who was supposed to be his teammate; Sasuke outright dismissed them both as obstacles. From the moment he stepped into the classroom yesterday and let that eraser drop on his head, he'd doubted these three could ever function as a team.
Even now, after he'd spelled out to them the purpose behind this exercise and why there were only two bells for three kids, they kept to themselves. He was giving them one last chance this afternoon to change his mind, and so far, even Naruto was following his instructions.
Well, as the Lord Third had advised him, having faith in your students is just as crucial as being strict with them when you're a teacher.
…So, maybe the problem wasn't that they weren't the right students, but that he wasn't the right teacher.
Like Obito had said, "All you ever go on about is rules, rules, rules!" And here he was, subjecting these budding genin to his own incredibly high standards. Was he really any different from the shallow bastard that had gotten both of his teammates and his teacher killed, or had he just been deluding himself? Guy managed to get along just fine with his first team while he'd sent every prospective student assigned to him back to the academy. Now he was one step away from doing the same to these three.
Should he ease up? Or should he seek out another jōninthat would be better suited for them? He didn't think there were any available; Guy, Asuma and Kurenai were all busy with their own squads. Besides…
Sakura was young and largely unmotivated for becoming a kunoichi. She didn't seem so willing to quit (even if the only reason right now was to be closer to Sasuke) but letting her go out on missions inadequately prepared would put her life at risk. He'd seen her grades, she certainly had potential. She just needed a little drive.
Sasuke was the last of the Uchiha clan, the only one spared by his elder brother Itachi. My former junior, he recalled with some melancholy. Another of his failures… he refocused. Sasuke could awaken the Sharingan, it was in his blood, after all. With his own Sharingan, he was logically the most suitable teacher for the kid. But he could smell the kid's desire for revenge. Sasuke had openly stated his intentions yesterday, and rushing off to kill Itachi now would do no one good. Least of all, him.
Naruto was the jinchuriki for the Nine-Tailed Fox, an extremely important asset for the Hidden Leaf. Even after it had caused such destruction twelve years ago. Someone had to watch over this knucklehead, make sure he didn't get himself killed in his crazy attempts to become Hokage. Heh… hearing that dream sure brought back memories. Naruto's father would've approved. And Obito… an Uchiha… oh, the irony.
Okay, so maybe he did want to take these three twerps under his wing… but was it really for the best? He couldn't bear to see the tragedy of his own team repeat itself, but they clicked together even less than he had with-
"Here."
He snapped out of his thoughts to see one of the two free holding their lunchbox over to the still-bound Naruto. And he couldn't believe his eye or his ears, but the one doing it was- "S-Sasuke?!" Sakura stuttered in surprise. "B-but Sensei told us not to-"
"Relax, I'm positive he's not here right now," the young Uchiha was calm. Almost as calm as he usually pretended to be. "After lunch, all three of us will go after the bells. He'll slow me even more down if he fights without having eaten anything, so…" He picked up some rice with his chopsticks and (still a little grudgingly) held it towards Naruto's mouth.
Sakura dithered for a moment, making him wonder if she'd rat Sasuke out to him, but then she followed suit with some of her own meat. That blonde looked a lot happier by his stump now.
…Alright then. He'd double-checked this scene with his Sharingan to make sure he wasn't just imagining the whole thing, but the image didn't change. Obito… are you seeing this, too? He wondered before nodding to himself. Thank you. I'll never forget you or Rin.
He knew what to do now. And as he stepped out from the trees, he could almost feel three sets of hands nudge him onward into the sun.
A massive cloud of smoke erupted before the stumps, and he leaned out of it to glare down upon the startled brats. "You dare…!" Naruto scrambled inside his bonds, Sakura yelped in fright, even Sasuke was visibly worried. "You disobeyed me. I can't just let that slide…" His hands blurred through a series of handsigns that summoned clouds dark as night over the skies. "Any last words?"
Each young ninja gave the same answer in their own ways:
"We're a squad of three, aren't we?" "R-right, all three of us are one!" "Yeah, yeah, that's the truth!"
"All three of you are one, huh?" He leaned menacingly over them. "Then in that case…
You pass!"
The looks on their faces as he beamed down on them… Priceless.
"W-we pass?!" Sakura was the first to find her voice. "Why?"
He let the clouds overhead disperse (a fun little jutsu the Lord Third had taught him a long time ago) as he explained. "Because you're the first who got it. All the others that came before you, they were idiots who just did what I told them." He straightened over his new genin. "A ninja needs to see the hidden truth…
"In this world, those who abandon the rules and the mission are trash." He could almost feel Obito watching him. Probably bawling his eyes out behind his goggles, the crybaby… "But those who abandon their comrades are lower than trash.
"Thus, today's test is complete," he declared, proudly giving the three shinobi before him one big thumbs up, "you've all passed! Team Seven will officially begin its first mission tomorrow!"
Looks like I've found me some new comrades. A little rough around the edges… but he swore then in his heart to Minato-sensei, Obito, Rin… he would train them, care for them, place his faith in them and protect them with all his strength.
He brought the boat to a smooth stop on the water. Morning mist still obscured much of his surroundings, but his calculations told this ought to be the right spot. And the mist would clear itself soon enough.
He could almost picture Natalia now, inside the A300's cockpit while the ghouls shambled about. Secure for the moment, but no escape.
If only they had been more careful… They should've known that this Borzak would have a trick up his sleeve if attacked… He should've taken better precautions, he should've gone with her-
He got up from the steering wheel. No use wasting time and energy on what could've been or should've been. "You work with what you've got, not what you hoped for." Natalia had taught him that, too.
Speak of the devil, he heard Natalia's voice over his earpiece. "You know, when you first told me you wanted to help me with my job, I had this weird feeling for the longest time. But you just wouldn't change your mind matter what I said."
"Was I really that inadequate of a student?" He couldn't help but ask.
"Not at all… You had too much potential. You still do."
"What do you mean?"
"That ability to pull the trigger and shut off your emotions in the process… That's a talent most killers only pick up after years of trial and error. But you had it from the get-go. That's one hell of a trait." Huh… She'd never told him that. She wasn't usually this talkative.
"But you know, it's not always a good thing to choose your course in life just by what you have a talent for. Thinking only what has to be done and disregarding your own thoughts… your own happiness… doing that means you're throwing away what makes you a person. You become nothing more than a machine. An inhuman thing that only does. That's no way for someone to live."
Neither did she ever show such emotion. Such melancholy. Not in all the time he'd been with her. "Weird… I always thought you were a lot colder."
"What are you talking about?" That sardonic tone just now, that he knew well. "That's exactly what I am. Did I ever coddle you?"
"No, you were strict and didn't pull your punches even once." Some seagulls had woken up, their caws not far from him. "You taught me everything I needed to know." He crouched down to the heavy case next to him and flicked open its latches. It was almost time.
"Usually, it's the father's role to discipline a boy." A heavy sigh rippled into his ears. "But, well…" Natalia sighed again. "…It's kind of my fault you never got the chance for that. And I guess… I couldn't just ignore that. All I could do was teach you this kind of life."
He did some last-minute checks. "So, you're trying to say you're my dad?"
"Don't go mixing up my gender, you little twerp. You should at least call me 'Mother.'"
Mother… he had barely any memories of her… and Father hadn't been one to reminisce about her. "Fair enough, sorry." He'd never really known the feeling of having a mother before…
He adjusted the sight. "I've been wading through the blood and gore of this job for a long time," Natalia went on, her irritation thankfully gone. "Too long, I guess. I'd forgotten I was alone." The sun was coming up, and the mist was fading away. A lot of seagulls, too. Maybe there was a big nest nearby or something. She chuckled. "This has been kind of fun, you know… I feel like we're family."
His hand stilled; what was the point of all this? "Me, too," slipped out before he could catch himself. Next thing he knew, he was saying, "I really did consider you a mother. It felt good to not be alone."
"Whoa, Kiritsugu," she usually referred to him as "boy," he could count on one hand how many times she'd sued his name. "We should really quit talking about stuff that'll embarrass us the next time we meet up." Sounds like she didn't know where all this was coming from either. "Oh brother, this situation's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. I ought to land in about twenty minutes. If I crack up in the middle of landing this thing because of something we just said, I might end up dead, you know?"
He smiled even though she couldn't see it. "Yeah, sorry." There wouldn't be a next time for them. Natalia wasn't going to land the plane. He was about to see to that.
He'd turned the situation around in every possible direction, and there was no scenario where both Natalia could survive and all of the ghouls would be destroyed, thereby preventing an outbreak. She wasn't the kind of woman who'd selflessly sacrifice her own life to stop 300 ghouls from devastating New York. "Do whatever you must to survive, no matter what." That was Natalia's personal creed. She'd find a way to escape, even if it meant damning thousands if not millions of innocent lives.
Which is why he'd procured something from the city's black market (pretty easily, to his discomfort) that would solve the dilemma.
He could hear a high-pitched whine over the seagulls' caws now; the A300 must be getting close. Preparations were just about complete.
"Maybe I'm losing my touch," Natalia noted wearily. "It could be the reason I slipped up and why I'm saying all this mushy stuff is because playing family made me drop my guard." She hadn't realized what he was planning; that was the only reason she could sound so calm in spite of what was about to happen. "Maybe it's time for me to walk away, then. I could retire…"
"Retire, huh? What would you do then?" He had no idea how he could keep his voice even right now. Looks like Natalia had been right about his "talent."
"If I quit the life…" she laughed. "All that would leave me with is being your mother for real." A heavy weight came down upon him… and he knew it wasn't the surface-to-air missile launcher he'd just fixed onto his shoulder.
The plane was slowly descending overhead, probably 1500 meters away from him at most. Still within feasible range. He adjusted his aim and locked the targeting system on it. The seagulls all began circling him, as if they knew what was about to happen next.
"You really are… my family."
He pulled the trigger, and the missile streaked across the morning sky.
And with it, all of his memories with Natalia; learning how to track people, reading up on targets, assembling guns and practicing his aim with them while she grudgingly gave him a few pointers…
Its heat sensors guided the missile to the gas tank underneath the wing, and the entire section erupted in fire. The explosion spread to the entire midsection of the plane and ravaged the front and back before it blew apart almost in slow motion. The burning pieces tumbled down into the water. No one could've survived any one of these events, let alone all of them.
The missile launcher slipped from his fingers and clanged against the boat's floor. "Did you see… Shirley?" he whispered. He fell to his knees, all strength leaving him. Why? "I killed again. Just like when I killed Father. I didn't fail as I did with you back then." He smiled, and his eyes flickered downwards. "I-I just saved so many lives…"
Why did he feel so weak? "If Natalia had landed that plane safely, who knows how many would've died…" Simple logic… so why did his breathing keep hitching? Why did his stomach feel so tied up? "I-I sacrificed h-her so i-it wou-wouldn't h-h-happen…" He'd just saved an entire city full of nameless faces, and all it had cost was one single mercenary. "So…That's… Shirley…I-I- "
The scream that escaped him nearly tore out his heart. Tears streamed down his face. "Damn you!" He cursed himself. "Damn you to hell, bastard!" He'd just killed his mother! Another cry tore through his throat as he lay on the boat's prow, maybe hoping a big wave would knock him over. Maybe he'd sink and drown in the ocean's depths.
He deserved it.
He'd done the math, he'd made the correct decision… and he still wanted to have Natalia Kaminsky in all her coldness by his side. He wanted to hear her scold him for getting so sentimental, he wanted her to give him a good smack on the head, he wanted… to see her again. Was this pain… Was this loss "justice?!"
"Kerry," Shirley's voice echoed inside his heart again, "what kind of man do you want to be when you grow up?" The answer to that question, he hadn't told her. He'd been too embarrassed, even if it had seemed so fitting for him back then.
"I… I want to be a Hero of Justice!"
Now, though, he felt further in distance from that boy, that silly little dream, than ever before.
He understood; this was the price of justice. It had cost him first his father and now his mother. He had forsaken them, their lives, even their memories… For one cannot save a life without sacrificing another.
So be it. He forced himself back to his feet and stared out, tears still in his eyes, towards the rising sun. He wouldn't let these sacrifices go to waste. If justice wasn't enough to save the world, then he would cast it aside and find another way. He would accept the darkness inside his heart and strive to turn this world, this broken, battlefield-ridden world where too many such injustices occurred, into one of peace and safety for all. This was the path he'd chosen.
As the sun rose, the boy died… and the Mage Killer was born.
Darkness surrounded her. No matter where she turned, she couldn't see so much as a hint of another color. In fact, the dark was so thick she almost thought she could touch it. Like a dense liquid…
She wrapped her arms around herself. It felt so cold here. She began to walk about, but she may as well have been trying to push through meters of snow as sometimes back home, when Kiritsugu led her out for a stroll. Then again,she corrected herself, this reminds me more of mud than snow.
Every… Last…Evil…
She spun about in surprise; she could've sworn she heard something just-
All… The World's… Evil…
There it was again. A voice… rippling around her through the black. But no matter where she looked, she couldn't find a speaker.
Yes… He Called…to Me… He…could be…Worthy…
She'd headed straight ahead, but neither volume nor… feeling changed. Was anyone "speaking," really? It didn't quite feel like when another person would talk to her or she talk to someone. Even so, she still "heard" the words, though she barely comprehended them.
But… There are Others… Even Two… Not of… The World…
One…Spoke…to Me… Knows Me…
Another…brings Something…New…
She shivered but not from the cold. In fact, it was starting to feel warmer.
No, what made her skin crawl was the excitement inside those words.
Which One…? Who…can Bear…?
The temperature spiked around her, and a heavy sensation washed over her whole body. A heatwave…? Or something else? Either way, she felt herself slipping away from the dark…
Not Yet… The Time is Not Right… But soon…
It…Will…Come…
-72:01:45
The first rays of dawn heralded a new day for Fuyuki City. But they were barely registered by one special homunculus, five humans chosen by the Holy Grail and one Heroic Spirit. Said individuals were all to varying levels still recuperating mentally from the events of the prior night.
As well as from the dreams that had visited them.