Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ The Bloodcross Key: Arc 1: Shattered Knight ❯ Chapter 9 ( Chapter 9 )

Part 9:
 

...Thump.

        ; The beast let out a piercing growl, which shook the ancient temple almost as much as his fists. Slimy drool slavered from its large mouth and jagged, discolored teeth. Strings of the saliva dripped down its torso and to the floor, darkening the stone. And it stank. Like week old vomit and dead things. Squall grimaced in disgust.

        Thump-thump.

        Not letting the creature attack again, Squall dashed forward. He dodged its arms and swung at its gut with his gunblade. A flash of silver and a red spray of blood, and the blade sliced into flesh.

        Thump-thump.

        However, the beast's hide was tough, and the wound superficial. It howled, an irritated more than a wounded sound, rumbling and shrill-edged, the reverberations alone shaking the stones of the temple, raining more dust and dirt onto their heads.

        Thump-thump.

        Shit! How the fuck could he kill the thing? Fucking whittle away at it? Not likely! Before Squall could leap back to reassess the battle, and his strategy, the creature flailed at him with all of its large meaty fists. Squall ducked. Swerved. A swipe of one huge arm whooshed over his head, rustling Squall's dark, dusty hair.

        Thump-thump.

        Shit! He dodged to his right. Another fist narrowly missed him. Squall gasped, the dust-laden air and rotted-stench of the beast nearly choking him. The beast was very large, very strong, but very slow. Not that he was complaining. Not at all. But it wasn't enough. Four slow massive arms trying to pummel him into the ground were still four arms trying to pummel him into the ground.

        Thump-thump.

        He dodged, ducked, weaved, scrambling, searching for a weakness, a soft spot in the creature's armor-skin. A blur of leathery red breezed past his face as he leapt backwards in reflex, and none too soon.

        Thump-thump.

        Panting, chest tight and eyes stinging with sweat, he held his gunblade poised ready to strike; He may not be able to critically damage the beast, but something was better than nothing. The creature lumbered towards him, shaking the walls as it moved.

        Thump-thump.

        It passed Seifer, it's gnarled feet shambling furrows in the carpet. But something about the blond, huddled tightly in his own arms, attracted the beast's attention. For the barest of breaths it paused, staring at Seifer who visibly shuddered, even enveloped under the gray of his trenchcoat.

        Thump-thump.

        Seifer feared nothing. Yet he feared that beast. Was terrified of it. And the filthy thing seemed drawn to Seifer's fear. Fed on it.

        No! "No!" Squall growled.

        The creature snorted, an ominous and wet sound, and tilted its head in Squall's direction. Its large dark eyes, bloodshot and glazed with filth, lazily fell upon him.

        Not wasting a moment of the beast's distraction, Squall immersed himself in the intense energy and heat of Firaga, orange and molten, prickling his veins and flushing hot-cold under his skin. The creature slowly lumbered towards him.

        Thump-thump.

        Shivering with the power building within himself, Squall took careful backward steps. His breath was short and quick, gusting over his lips. Sweat tickled down the side of his face.

        Thump-thump.

        A deep, rumbling sneer whispered in the back of his mind. 'Ah, but we can do better than this! Release me. I will destroy! All!'

        The 'all' was what he feared. But in its time, he would revel in it. He risked a darted glance to Seifer. Through the gap in the beast's arms, and a good distance behind, he barely caught a flash of gold and pale gray.

        Thump-thump.

        Squall's foot slid forward. Boot scuffed against the carpet. Gunblade flashing silver in the swaying overhead light, his glove tightened its grip. He thrust his other hand outward. Red-orange light swirled and shot forth. Streaking. A sizzling hiss. A booming flash. Red. Yellow. Flames. Black smoke.

        Squall squinted his eyes against the sudden glare and wash of heat. The thermal gust brushed his skin to a flush and ruffled his hair. As he blinked away reflexive tears, he gazed through the wavering haze, intense as the flame engulfing the hulk before him. Searching.

        Thump-thump.

        He knew the blast would unlikely be enough to kill the creature, but maybe it could reveal a weakness. Or create one. Or at the very least, be that much closer to bringing its end.

        The beast was stunned, roaring in pain. And for Squall, that was enough. He leapt forward, knees bent to an almost crouch. Rising up, his gunblade rising with him, he attacked. Silver reflected the red-orange licks of flame as it arched through the sphere of fire toward the beast.

        Thump-thump.

        The blade struck the creature's blackened belly with suddenness which jarred through Squall's arms and to his bones. He gasped, but his own fire of adrenaline running in his blood held him and Lionheart as it sliced along the creature's charred red skin with a strength he didn't know he possessed.

        Thump-thump.

        A bellow echoed through the temple, muffled to Squall's ears like he was underwater. All that he saw, heard, smelled, breathed was his own consuming rage and battle-lust, and the tugs at the tip of his blade where skin and bone resisted its sharp edge.

        Thump-thump.

        Something red, wet, and foul sprayed into his face, battering like rain. He didn't care. All the mattered was defeating the beast, protecting Seifer. Simple. And strangely easy.

        Thumpthump.

        His muscles twitched with strain as he brought Lionheart down in a return strike. Again, and again, and again. Until he barely felt his arms, a numbness seeping through him.

        Thumpthump.

        Then, suddenly a sparkle of dark lights and the red-black bulk was gone. Vanished. Only blood soaking the red velvet carpet to black, in a splatter along the walls, and himself, as well as several chunks and lumps of flesh and gore, were evidence that the beast had even existed.

        Thump-thump.

        Squall blinked, like coming out of a daze. His blade dropped to the ground with a muted clang as pierced to the stone underneath the carpet at his feet. Arms tingling with weariness, breath short, panting, he blinked again, lids sticky with blood.

        Across the hallway, the palace's owner stood about as dazed as Squall had been. Squall strode forward, dragging Lionheart beside him, a soft, ripping-scraping sound trailing behind it. Gore and blood squished under his boots.

        Thump. Thump.

        "How... how did you...?" the owner stammered, his grating voice a startled croak. "I... I paid good money for him!"

        Squall's shoulders rose and fell heavily. The power and battle-lust drained from him, but the rage simmered. Staring at the full, pinched face of the bastard who caused all of Seifer's pain made maintaining any anger more than effortless.

        Seifer.

        "Whatever.." Squall hissed. "I don't care."

        The air was hazy brown with dust, stirred to swirls with occasional trickles of pebbles from above. It was smothering, and itchy. Squall blinked the sting and grit from his eyes. But his lashes were spiked and sticky with blood, irritating his vision and him more. Squall swiped his sleeve across his face, only to smear red in a fierce paint and add the blood on his jacket.

        Seifer.

        His gaze fell by instinct to the trembling form huddled against the wall: dusted with fallen dirt; hair a filthy gray-yellow; coat grayer, and brown with a thick layer of dust and tiny fragments of stone; and blood.

        Thumpthump.

        Blood. Splatters of red, and darker brown, where soaked into the dirt coating Seifer.

        No!

        Thumpthump.

        Their eyes met: Squall's panicked; Seifer's pained. But a broken, desolate pain. Not physical. Seifer was enveloped tightly into himself, shaking, breathing heavily through an open mouth, muted pink lips quivering.

        Thump-Thump.

        Squall's eyes narrowed, stinging, blurring, the stickiness loosing with a brimming wet. Clenching his jaw, teeth grinding, he turned away. Even if Seifer was wounded, physically, the only way Squall could help him was to get him out. Get him safe.

        And the only way to get him to safety was removing one final obstacle. Slowly his gaze lifted to the large man mere meters away. One final obstacle. One for whom death was too good an end, and anything else was unacceptable.

        Squall stalked forward, swishing his bloodied gunblade back and forth in rhythm to his steps. The living dead-man fumbled through the layers of his robes, as if searching for something. Squall knew magic was too much of a risk. The bastard had already repelled a Sleep spell. Who knew what else he had resistance to?

        No, fortunately, just the steel in his hand and the skill to use it was all he needed. And all he wanted to need.

        Thump. Thump.
 

****
 

       ;  Seifer watched as Squall strode towards his tormentor, his owner. The SeeD Commander was fierce: eyes a steel blue, pretty face masked in blood and as stern as stone. Blood. Blood, so much blood. He shivered. In fear. A common companion in his new life.

        His vision blurred, red, gray, black, red melting together, becoming a nothingness blanking his stare. Blanking his ears. But it didn't blank his mind. Hands. So many hands. Grabbing him, touching him, crawling over his skin like fleshy spiders. Violating him, hurting him, punishing him.

        Large hands. Oily hands. Filthy and vile. Strong. Huge. Too many. Hitting. Clawing. Pulling. Grabbing. Spoiling. Destroying him. Outside and in. Ravaging his pride, his dreams, his soul.

        Rough skin, thick. Scratching. Pain. So much pain. So many hands. Fetid breath hot on his skin. Stench. Like smoke. Stale. Like death. Sickness. Slithering on his face, his throat, his chest, his thighs, his...

        Seifer gagged. His eyes squeezed shut, pushing his tears in dirty streaks down his cheeks. Fingers digging in the cracks in the stone wall, teeth digging into his bottom lip, he choked on his own breath. On the brink of freedom, although a freedom he didn't deserve, and all his mind brought him was torment.

        The beast was dead. Ogre. He saw Squall destroy it with his own two eyes. But it would live on in his nightmares. Forever. Forever... Never free. Never. Never...

        Oh! Seifer's head snapped back to reality and Squall. It wasn't... it wasn't dead. It'll just come back. Come back. And hurt... Guardian Force's don't die. Not unless...

        His gaze darted to his owner. The large man drew something from his robes. Something shiny, silver. The bracelets on the man's fat wrists jangled as he aimed at Squall.

        No! Seifer leapt up, springing at Squall before he had even fully risen. Although unsure if his cry breached his lips, it didn't matter. Only saving Squall mattered. A loud bang broke the strange muteness of sound in his ears, like bursting from underwater to crisp air and explosions of fireworks.

        He tackled Squall to the ground. His breath stopped. His heart thrummed so fast it felt like it stopped as well. Everything... stopped.

        Nothing. Silence.

        Hands shoved at him. Hands Seifer was too numb to fear. Yet somewhere distant he sensed he wouldn't fear them anyway. He dropped his head to the floor, carpet soft and warm and wet under his cheek. And it smelled of earth and iron. Stone and blood.

        He lay still. Drifting. Another gunshot broke his silence. And another. And a scream. He couldn't tell which came first. But it didn't matter. The scream wasn't Squall. He would know. And the last gunshot was.

        Squall. Squall was safe. Seifer wasn't sure if he himself was, and he didn't really care.
 

******

        "Seifer!"

        Squall spun from the Palace owner's mound of a body, the charred black hole at the center of the man's forehead, and his unseeing beady eyes proof enough he was dead.

        "Seifer!"

        Falling to his knees beside the blond, Squall grabbed Seifer's shoulder. He drew him, carefully, onto his back, half resting on Squall's thigh. Desperate and running frantic fingers along Seifer's chest, he searched for a wound, not daring to release his breath until he found none.

        His search found nothing. At least, nothing that hadn't marred Seifer's skin previously. Skin so smooth. Soft. Underlying with hard muscle. Squall gasped, realizing his hands wandered on warm flesh. Seifer's flesh. Seifer's mostly bare flesh.

        Blushing, he snapped his hands away, and quickly folded his arms across his chest. Concern overriding embarrassment, Squall looked into Seifer's dulled aqua eyes, hoping they confirmed Seifer was unhurt. Well, as unhurt as he was when Squall found him.

        Tears streamed down Seifer's handsome face, muddying the dust and dirt.

        "You injured?" Squall asked softly.

        Seifer blinked. Breath hitching, like he suddenly remembered he needed air, he struggled to sit upright. Squall extended a hand, clasping Seifer's tightly, and with his other on Seifer's shoulder, eased him up.

        "You okay?" Squall swept a stray fall of hair from Seifer's eyes.

        Slowly, maybe a little dazed, Seifer nodded.

        Nodding in acknowledgement, Squall sighed, relieved. Not much further and the mission would be complete. It's most important objective would be accomplished. His most important objective: Seifer safe.

        He unclipped the radio at his belt. Raising it to his lips, Squall spoke.

        "Lion's-Claw One to Lion's-Claw Three."

        The snap of static, and Raijin's deep voice crackled through the speaker, "Lion's-Claw Three. I hear ya, man."

        "Objective 3 completed. Withdraw. Proceed to Exit Point B and wait. Inform Lion's-Claw Two of the withdrawal orders. She has five minutes, starting..." Squall glanced down at his watch and paused, waiting as several seconds ticked by, digital numerals shifting to the next. "... now to finish acquiring any information. Clear?"

        "Gotcha." The low hiss of static filled a pause. "Is he still...?"

        Squall glanced at Seifer's downcast face. His gloved hand lifted to cup Seifer's cheek, rubbing his thumb along dirty skin.

        "Yeah."

        Seifer's sad eyes met his. Mesmerizing eyes. Eyes he wanted to see full of life and light and passion, like they once were. And freedom. Freedom from pain, and nightmares, the torture Seifer must have suffered to so break him. Free. Safe... Loved...

        With a quick shake, Squall startled himself to awareness and from the wanderings of his mind.

        "Lion's-Claw One out," he snapped.