Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction / Devil May Cry - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Knights of the Realms ❯ Ch 12 - Deathzone ( Chapter 12 )

KNIGHTS OF THE REALMS

 

 

Deathzone

 

 

 

 

“Where are we, My King?”

 

The Prince of Persia looked around. Everywhere was grey, with a heavy fog covering…nothing. There was nothing. Just the grey and the fog. Mordecai and his crew were gathered around him, looking for answers that he didn't have. They all remembered the demon. They all remembered…

 

“I…don't know where we are…” began the Prince.

 

“It is not so much a question of `where' as it is of `what,' and what you are is, quite unfortunately…dead.”

 

The Prince whirled around and gasped along with the others at the figure that had not been there just a moment ago. The words were spoken, and masculine sounding, but he didn't hear them so much as feel them.

 

“What are you?” the Prince asked threateningly, looking the figure over. It wore a black cloak that extended from its hood to whatever was passing for ground at the moment. But it didn't quite end there; it roiled along with the mist, seeming to merge seamlessly with its surroundings. Its face, though, was what gave them all pause. Unidentifiable as either a mask or bone, it was just a circle of white, with two large holes where eyes should have been, black holes that seemed to cancel out light.

 

The Prince reached for his swords, only to find that they weren't there.

 

“I am sorry, but your swords are still in the…ah…real world, shall we say. Technically, I'm not supposed to let you bring anything from there with you, including clothes, but I find that people have a hard enough time adjusting to the shock without finding themselves naked as well,” explained the figure. He was met with a wall of uncomprehending faces. “What? Do you not believe me?”

 

A girl—young woman, rather, with a pale face and wearing an ankh around her neck—stepped out from behind the hooded figure and coughed politely.

 

“Yes? What is it, Clarice?” the hooded figure asked, turning to regard her.

 

“Sorry sir, but they're Babylonians, sir,” she said quietly.

 

“Yes? And?”

 

Clarice gave the assembled and confused crew a sidelong glance. “You're not quite what they were expecting, sir.”

 

“Oh?” asked the figure. He looked down at himself then. “Oh, I see. Quite right. One moment please,” he said to the Prince, and vanished.

 

Everyone's gaze fell upon Clarice.

 

“Sorry,” she said, “but the Master's getting on in years. His memory isn't what it used to be.”

 

“And just what is your Master…” ventured the Prince, but that's when the “Master” decided to return.

 

This time, though, there was no hooded figure with a haunting face. This time there was a demon, man-sized, but looking for all the world like the one that had killed them all.

 

“It is I, Nergal! Your time on the earthly plane has ended!”

 

Chaos reigned. The men, though dead, were still capable of being afraid, and afraid they were. As one, Mordecai and his crew turned tail and ran from their god of death. The Prince, for his part, immediately threw himself into combat.

 

“You even follow me into death, cur!? I may not have a blade, but I cannot die twice!”

 

“Actually, you'd be surprised—“ Nergal was cut off as the Prince punched him solidly in the face. The god of death raised its hand and the Prince found himself suspended in the air, unable to move. “That will be quite enough of that, thank you.” Nergal looked over the Prince's shoulder to the retreating backs of the former crew of the Tiamat. “I don't quite know where they expect to get,” he said, turning around, and looking at the astonished faces of the crew as they approached. “They're pretty much stuck here until I say otherwise.”

 

More confused than they have been yet, a feat in and of itself, the crew stopped in their tracks. They saw that their King was merely restrained, and not in any discomfort. They also noticed differences between this demonic visage and the one that had attacked them. Cautiously they approached.

 

“I apologize for the confusion,” Nergal said as he lost his demonic features and became the same black figure they had first encountered. “I shall retain this form for the duration of our meeting, as it seemed to startle you a bit less.”

 

“Master?”

 

“Yes, Clarice?”

 

The girl was puzzled. “Why didn't you disappear before changing this time?”

“Ah, good question. I wanted to make a proper appearance as Nergal. Remember, girl, appearances are everything in this business.” He patted her on the head with an arm that seemed to emerge from his body. “Now then, I hope most of the unpleasantness is behind us, and now we can get down to business. Right. I am Amadeus Thines, the anthropomorphic personification of death.” He bowed.

 

The Prince, always a man of action, found himself at a loss of what to do.

“I am Death. Nergal, god of death and disease!” The blank faces stole some of his momentum. “Ankou? Mictlantecuhtli? Mors? Mot?” Nothing. He sighed. “Look, here's the deal. You are dead. I am here to usher you into death.”

 

“And I am the Prince of Persia. I've escaped you before, and by my life I will free myself and my men from you again!”

 

“Ah, but that's the thing,” Amadeus said sadly. “You don't have a life anymore. You—yes, what is it Clarice?”

 

“That's him, Master, the one we're supposed to look out for. The Prince of Persia.”

 

“Oh?” asked Amadeus. “Why are we…Oh, yes! That's right.” He turned back to regard the Prince. “Indeed, Prince, it looks as though you will escape my hand.”

 

The Prince, a bit surprised, said “Oh. Yes, well…that was easy.”

 

“But I'm afraid your men are still coming with me.”

 

The crew, finally coming to grips with the situation, began to worry again.

 

“I would suggest against running,” Amadeus said when he saw the panicked expressions. “There really isn't anywhere to go. This is a sort of…holding place. A death zone, if you will. ”

 

“Why can't I take my men back with me?” the Prince demanded.

 

“Because I can only bend the rules so much, Prince,” said Amadeus. “Truth be told, I shouldn't even be sending you back. Even I answer to a higher power. But…a friend called in a favor. He told me to keep an eye out for you, and others, should you meet an unfortunate end before he found you. Thankfully Clarice here recognized you before I made a mistake.” He placed a hand affectionately on her head.

 

The crew looked imploringly at the Prince, and he found himself without an answer.

 

“And there is nothing I can do to bring them with me?”

 

“No,” said Amadeus, his voice tinged with regret.

 

“Ah,” said the Prince. Then, for the second time, the Prince of Persia punched Death himself in the face. “They are coming with me,” he said in a voice that left no room for argument. “They did not deserve to die. If I go back, then they go back.” The faces of the crew were full of pride. This was their King, fighting for them even in death.

 

But then he was again suspended in the air, unable to move.

 

“You are in no position to argue, debate, or force your will, Prince,” said Amadeus, his voice hard. “No, they did not deserve to die when and how they did, but they died nonetheless. If they had not then, it would have just been some other time. Everyone dies. The good, the bad; the innocent, the guilty; the young, the old; the godly, and the corrupt. Everyone dies, Prince. Even you. You were once told that you could not change your fate, and it was true. You will still die, Prince. Nobody can change that.”

 

He stopped then, and seemed to shrink a little. “I do so hate having to get all authoritative.” He looked back at the Prince. “I am sorry, Prince. But these men are staying dead. You are going back, for better or worse, that is up to you.” He turned back to the crew. “Very well then. I believe we've spent long enough dawdling here. Clarice, would you do the honors?”

 

“M-me, Master?”

 

“Yes, I believe you to be more than capable.”

 

Clarice, a look of determined uncertainty on her face, stepped forward. “All right.” She stepped up to Mordecai. “If I may, Shipmaster, I would like to congratulate you on a life well lived,” she said, extending her hand.

 

Mordecai looked at her quizzically, and regarded her hand warily. Cautiously, he reached out and took her hand. The moment he did, all worry was erased from his face; his eyes didn't glaze so much as they cleared. He smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.” He turned and regarded his crew fondly one last time, then walked off, slowly fading away into the mist.

 

“W-where'd he go?” asked one of the crew.

 

“He is dead,” Clarice said simply.

 

The crew, realizing that was as much answer as they were going to get, grudgingly accepted it.

 

“So…who'd like to be next?” asked Clarice.

 

One by one, the crew took her hand, they came to peace, and the faded into the mist. When they were gone, Amadeus let the Prince down again.

 

“What comes next?” the Prince had to ask. “Where exactly did they go?”

 

If an unchanging mask-like face could smile warmly, then Amadeus' did. “There are some things that you must find out for yourself.”

 

“Unless there is something else you have left to tell me,” said the Prince, less than happy with how things had turned out, “I believe you were going to send me back.”

 

“Yes. Clarice? Would you like to take this, one, too?”

 

“Sure,” said the young woman, notably more confident than before. The silver ankh around her neck glinted. She extended her hand. “Prince, I would like to congratulate you on a life unfinished.”

 

 

He awoke to the surf washing over him. The sand stuck to his wet clothing as he pulled himself up. The Prince, suddenly remembering why he was here, felt his neck. No scars. His still had his arm, too. He let out the breath he had been holding before taking in his surroundings.

 

For the second time in his life, he had washed up amid the wreckage of a ship, driftwood and bodies decorating the cove beach of the Island of Time.

 

“Wonderful,” he said, his voice dripping with cynicism. “Now I'm reliving experiences without the Sands.”