Nightshift 44: The Coliseum
[Warped in from here.]
When Guy's eyes opened, it was almost as if he was waking up, and yet he knew that wasn't the case; he was standing, with a weapon in his hand, and somehow feeling far more comfortable than he had in weeks.
His gaze was on his feet, and it took him a few seconds to let everything sink in. He was wearing boots. His boots. ( Read more... )
When Guy's eyes opened, it was almost as if he was waking up, and yet he knew that wasn't the case; he was standing, with a weapon in his hand, and somehow feeling far more comfortable than he had in weeks.
His gaze was on his feet, and it took him a few seconds to let everything sink in. He was wearing boots. His boots. ( Read more... )
Dias had seen him once before - he might be the only one of his allies who had; Claude hadn't even been at the institute yet, he was fairly certain, and he didn't remember seeing Guy there - but he found himself hating the man every bit as thoroughly as he had last time. However, he had observed, while trying to ignore Scar and Lust's domestic dispute, what had happened to the patients who had tried to attack the man, and those who'd tried to challenge him; the inexplicable collapses, the innocent but insufferably smug dismissals. Though there was no need for pretense in an arena that couldn't possibly be waved away as part of a normal institute(or during the night, although with the sunlight Dias couldn't help wondering whether it was truly night anymore), he doubted challenging the man would result in anything productive, either physically or vocally - indeed, it might be dangerous, because while the man looked more worn down than when Dias had last seen him, it was still all too clear that he was in control of things, and there was no thin veneer of normality here to check his potential retaliation.
Of course, a Claude who didn't openly challenge an enemy wouldn't be Claude. Leaving the strange, invisible wall between them and Guy for the moment - they could only trust that Guy could take care of himself, since they were clearly not intended to be able to help him - he had been about to move after Claude to back him up in whatever eventuality when the sound of faint cries from the stands caught his attention. Turning to look, he spotted the pigtailed girl (who seemed to be in some distress; had Sync injured her at some point? There were bloodstains on her shirt) and the redheaded one from earlier; he'd assumed they had been the blurry figures he'd spotted a minute or two ago, but now that his eyes were fully adjusted he could make out specifics far better. But there was a third...
"Celes?" he murmured in disbelief. And then he saw the hand pressed to her stomach, and the blood seeping through her fingers, the red a stark contrast against pale skin even from a distance.
Why was she even there? And what had hurt her? Not the other girls; even if one of them were so inclined and had managed to get close enough to injure her, Celes would be taking them apart now wound or no wound...
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Even as he tried to master his facial expressions, Claude didn't feel the calm resolve he was so desperate for. Celes and Anise were bleeding, and now Guy was being forced to fulfill the roles of both a battle participant and a hostage. Why, though? Wasn't the girls' safety enough incentive to get them fighting? But the answer lingered in the back of Claude's mind, quiet yet certain, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it.
Claude drew in a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes. Dammit. Just what had happened to make everything spiral out of control like this?!
But he'd have to save sorting through all that for later. Now his attention was focused on Dias. His gaze met his rival's as he silently raised his blade into a battle-ready stance. Hoping that this alone would convey to the man just how serious the situation was, he waited for a clear signal on Dias' part.
Maybe if they approached this like they would some kind of sparring match they could buy enough time to figure out how to get out of this mess without losing any of their friends. Though on some level Claude understood the odds were stacked against them, he wanted to remain hopeful for everyone's sake. And his own.
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Of course, with the leverage Landel held, Dias doubted that they'd be allowed to simply leave it at a simple sparring match.
Still, for the moment they had no choice, if they wanted to spare Celes(and Guy, who was presumably suffering for Claude). Claude, having turned away from the head doctor in frustration, had clearly reached the same conclusion, and Dias gave his rival a nod of acknowledgment as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. And, through his rage at being forced into this confrontation by the machinations of the doctor, and at Celes' and Guy's being hurt to ensure their compliance, and all the unspoken implications as to how the fight might have to conclude...Dias felt a moment of savage satisfaction. It certainly hadn't taken the form he would have chosen, but this was still the opportunity he'd wanted - to see just how much Claude had advanced, and whether his instincts as to the boy's abilities had been correct. And even if Claude hadn't advanced at all from their last fight at the Tournament of Arms, it would still give him the sort of challenge that, prior to meeting Claude, he hadn't even realized he'd been missing.
There was some distance between them, since Claude had moved toward the head doctor and Dias hadn't, but that wasn't necessarily an obstacle. Knowing it would work - and he wasn't certain how he knew, save instinct - he drew his blade in a blur of speed, scything it through the air and sending a shockwave roaring across the ground at Claude. "Air Slash!"
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Dias was going to take this fight seriously, circumstances be damned, Claude realized as he quickly regained his footing. Was he really surprised, though? Still, that had been a sloppy mistake on his part. He needed to watch his step in the future or else Dias would get the wrong idea. A lot had happened since they'd lost fought during the Tournament of Arms, after all.
The distance between them was fairly large, but that wasn't a problem. After tightening his grip on his sword, Claude darted forward before suddenly kicking off of the ground and leaping high into the air. Propelled by the speed of his own body, he felt his bangs whip against his face as he angled his sword into a deadly position. Within a split moment he'd fully closed the gap between them and was about to descend straight onto Dias.
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He waited until the last moment before twisting out of the way, to the side, already swinging his blade down at Claude from the side as he did so, dark energy crackling off the blade and actually extending the range of the slash. "Chaos Sword!"
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From the corner of his eye he thought he saw a red light emitting from where Anise was, but brief concern was quickly overwhelmed by the wave of dark energy that washed over him.
Giving a choked cry at the pain that sizzled at his skin, Claude gritted his teeth and weathered the brief onslaught. He'd experienced far worse than this, so he wasn't about to lose his nerve now. Within a split second he'd summoned upon his inner strength once more, and he pushed forward, using one hand to hurl a series of high-powered punches toward Dias' face. "Shooting Stars!"
Maybe these were some of his earliest-learned attacks, but that just meant he'd had that much more time to perfect and enhance them.
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But this wasn't the time to pat himself on the back for all the improvements he'd made since that day. For all he knew that last hit could have been more of a lucky shot than anything else. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't going to take advantage of the opening he'd been given.
Once enough distance had been placed between them, Claude swiftly drove the sharp edge of his blade into the ground. Energy sang through his veins and poured into the blade. Suddenly, jagged mountains of earth began to shoot up around -- and beneath -- his rival's feet.
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It was over in seconds, dropping him unceremoniously as the earth subsided; he'd actually been in the air for such a short time, and been driven upwards at such a sharp angle, that he still landed basically upright, although the impact of touching (flat) earth again almost dropped him by itself.
Winded and bloodied now - and feeling it, much more than with the punches - Dias definitely had to concede that Claude had made considerable strides. That attack had been effective, and he'd never seen anything like it from someone just using a sword as opposed to a wand.
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But that was then, and this was now. His gaze focused on Dias, bruised and bleeding from that last round, though certainly ready for more if his defensive posture was anything to go by. Still, even though Claude saw an opportunity to rush at the man, he was suddenly struck by the realization that this was far more than a simple sparring match. This was even more serious than the Tournament of Arms.
Instead, a single thought resonated through him, chilling him into his very core.
This was a battle to the death.
And while such conflicts weren't a new concept to Claude by any means, this was the first time he'd had to face off against someone he genuinely respected like this. Instinctively, Claude's gaze darted across the walls, the hostages, the invisible barrier, the ceiling, and then Martin Landel himself. They were completely boxed in with no way out. Just how the hell were they supposed to find a way out of this without losing one of their own? He certainly didn't give a damn about Sync, but what about Dias, Guy and himself? What about the ladies in the spectators' seats?
If the Head Doctor was expecting him to actually try to end Dias' life, Claude didn't think -- no, he knew he couldn't just force himself to go through with it as if it were as easy as flipping a switch. There were hostages involved, yes, but that didn't make a fight to the death any easier to deal with!
Perspiration rolled down the blond's brow as he held his own sword in a defensive position. Deep down, he was hoping he could mask his hesitation and uncertainty as some sort of tactic that required waiting for Dias to make the first move.
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His astonishment was complete when the expected attack never came, the clear opening unexploited. It wasn't courtesy in allowing Dias to collect himself; there was no courtesy between them. It was an unspoken understanding between them (or so Dias had thought) that when facing each other, neither of them would hold anything back. Initially, this had led to Dias obliterating Claude in the Tournament of Arms...and, for his own part, Dias had known he would. Claude had shown promise, but he hadn't come nearly far enough, and Dias had known it - but he'd gone all out nonetheless. Anything less would have been an insult, and Claude could hardly have advanced properly without an accurate measure of how far he still had to go.
But now, fighting evenly with Dias(as the swordsman had always believed the boy would be able to, one day), actually having drawn blood and thrown Dias on the defensive...Claude was hesitating. He was holding back, even knowing it could potentially cost Guy to do so. And, doing as well as he was now, Claude had no reason to fear for his own safety, not yet, even if he'd been the type to consider himself for his friends.
Was Claude actually afraid for him?
The idea that Claude might be holding back out of concern, that he might think Dias actually couldn't hold up to anything he could dish out - and, in the back of his mind, the treacherous and damnably logical possibility that judging by their performances so far, he could be right - was infuriating, banishing all traces of pain in a fresh wave of adrenaline. "Stop holding back!" he snarled, closing the distance between them in seconds and launching himself upwards slightly, letting his sword lead the way down in a series of perpendicular slashes. "Cross Wave!"
Unlike his opponent, Dias did have full confidence that Claude could weather his strongest techniques. Though, even as he launched the attack, the realization hit him that, while they might not be at the point of killing each other yet - and neither of them were likely anxious to reach such a point - no alternatives had arisen to the fight's coming to an inevitable conclusion, one way or the other. And, if it did, either he would have to kill Claude, or Claude would have to kill him.
If it did come to that, and indeed there seemed to be nothing they could do to prevent its coming to that...what would he do? What could he do? Whatever choice he made, he would either have to live with it or die by it.
[OOC: If we were going to have Claude get hit again, Jansen, this is an excellent opportunity? :D ]
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But did they have a choice in the matter? Even if he didn't, he'd have to pick between killing Dias, Guy, or even himself. It wasn't something he could decide on so casually!
A swift attack from Dias brutally interrupted his thoughts, and he was greeted by several slashes that were similar to his own Twin Slash technique. Claude hadn't had the presence of mind to block all of them, and before he knew it his rival's blade has slashed through his jacket, drawing blood. The force of the attack caused the blond to stumble back with a sharp grunt.
Obviously, if he didn't take the initiative then Dias would have no problems picking up the slack for him.
"It's not like that!" he snapped as he forced himself to straighten back up. As if to prove his point, he leaped toward Dias and swiftly brought his sword down. The motion was simple and lacking the same energy that had fueled his more specialized techniques. But it was arched through the air smoothly, shooting out a wave of star-like sparks in the blade's wake.
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To allow Claude to do damage, however minimal, even if his opponent blocked the blade itself...whoever had made Claude's sword had possessed, Dias was forced to admit, a wickedly strategic mind.
Their blades locked together, Dias used his greater strength - no matter how much progress Claude had made as a fighter, he was still smaller and lighter - to shove the blond backwards, giving himself a few feet of space and a few moments to think. He'd hoped that some alternative to fighting to the finish might occur to him during combat, or that perhaps the night would end, but it had been some time now(including the time they'd spent chasing Sync before arriving in the arena); if dawn had been able to spare them an inevitable conclusion, he suspected, it already would have. And no alternatives had made themselves known, either...and, even if there were some, he couldn't help wondering if they could possibly get away with any of them with the head doctor personally overseeing the action.
Claude was an optimist, almost frustratingly so; that meant he would never accept that one of them had to kill the other, no matter what evidence he was given. That, rather appropriately, left Dias - the realist - to confront the harsh reality, and make the choice that Claude could never make.
Celes, Claude, or himself?
Guy was technically an option, but only in theory; his fate was Claude's to decide through his actions, and Dias couldn't force Claude to fight or stand down, one way or the other. But if he himself stopped fighting, he'd kill Celes(and, come to that, probably Guy as well; he couldn't believe Claude would be able to bring himself to continue attacking if Dias stopped fighting back, even for Guy's sake). He could also try to kill Claude...although, if he was entirely honest with himself - and it stung - he was currently losing. If they continued fighting exactly the way they were at the moment, it looked as though Claude would win fair and square. Dias could try to play it off as his not having had much practice recently fighting a fellow swordsman, but he knew that would simply be an excuse; the fact was, Claude really had come so far that the younger man had surpassed him.
His pride hated to acknowledge it, but there was something deeper than that which burned with what might have been satisfaction, even excitement; as a challenge and a rival, Claude had gone beyond everything Dias had believed, and hoped, he could achieve, and he wanted nothing more than to push himself harder in response to match Claude's new strength.
But, he realized, he wasn't going to get that chance. The choice of who lived and who died (if it could really be called a choice) was his, and there was only one life out of the three of them whom he could possibly make that choice for. And if he was to be the one to die...Claude would never forgive himself, not if he killed Dias in the course of a fight. And Dias knew too much about living with guilt to sentence Claude to that too readily.
Well, he'd forced decisions on Claude and Guy before; let them blame him for this one, too.
Gripping his sword, Dias charged forward again in silence, the next few seconds playing themselves out in his head already as he worked out how he'd play it.
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But he didn't have time to dwell on that -- Dias quickly used his brute strength to shove Claude back, something that was easy enough to do given their difference in weight and height. As Claude regained his footing, he fought the urge to glance over toward the Head Doctor or at the fight between Guy and Sync. Right now he needed to keep his focus on what was in front of him.
How long would this last, though? Some part of Claude was still banking on the idea that night would end before anyone he cared about got killed, but Landel hadn't mentioned anything about a time limit, right? Did that mean he intended to sit and watch them for however long it took?
He wouldn't have been surprised. Sick bastard.
When Dias charged toward him again, Claude was ready to meet him head on. Not wanting to be accused of holding back again (or to risk Guy anymore than he already had, for that matter), he rushed forward and raised his sword to deliver a blow that he was certain Dias would be able to block almost as easily as the last.
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It was a sharp sword, and a strong blow(and, in what Dias distantly thought was overkill, one that spewed sparks as it went, burning him as it cut). He'd been hoping for something immediately fatal, but a wound this large and deep, particularly on top of the other wounds he'd taken, would be more than enough...he'd nearly died to the one the bandits had given him, and that was comparatively small.
He kept his feet momentarily, but shock and lightheadedness hit him soon enough, and he dropped to the floor as his knees buckled.
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A chill ran down his spine, and Claude's body grew unnaturally still and cold once he saw a glimpse of the crimson blood seeping from fresh the wound. At first he wanted to tell himself that the injury wasn't as fatal as it looked -- wanted to believe it with all his heart, despite the fact that the experienced fighter in him knew better. But his heart leaped into his throat once Dias collapsed to floor, almost like a doll that had been abruptly knocked off its stand. Before he even realized it, Claude's hands had let go of his sword, allowing it to clatter to the ground. He felt his body dart forward, though he may as well have been drifting through some sort of dream due to the sheer unbelievability of the sight before him.
"Dias!" The gasp tore from his throat as he dropped to his knees. Fingers grasping onto the front of the man's cloak, he tried to haul him up to where he was at least sitting, to where he wouldn't bear a horrifyingly close resemblance to so many of the enemies he'd vanquished on the battlefield before. As he did so, one of his hands pressed against Dias' broad back in order to give him a little more support.
Claude took a moment to gaze over the wounds, and his stomach turned at the sight of the red stain that seemed to gush more blood with every beat of the man's heart. "What the hell were you thinking?!" As if to punctuate his words, he gave Dias a rough shake. "Why'd you ditch your sword like that?! You could have blocked me!" He was probably screaming, Claude dimly realized as he stared hard into his rival's face, but he didn't give a damn.
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