Guilty Gear, its characters and settings are property of Sammy Studios, and are being used in this fanfiction without permission.  This fic is rated R for violence and sexual content, and it contains yaoi material. 

 

Thanks again, everyone, for all your support!  Only a few left to go ^^.

 

 

 

Culmination

Chapter 22

 

 

Testament and Bridget made their way swiftly through the factory halls; Testament stayed in the lead, his magic fending off the attacks of the few armed guards they encountered in continuing up the floors.  They came across the occasional robot as well, which Bridget was proud to have a hand in destroying.  Climbing the stairwell to the fourth floor presented them with the greatest challenge in their advance, as a group of soldiers had collected along the stairs, and were using Zeppian automatic weapons to fire down on them.  The pair took refuge in the second floor doorway.

 

“I got it,” Bridget declared suddenly, and he reached down, fiddling with a latch on his belt so that it released, dropping off his waist with a metallic clang.  He crouched, fastening it back into a circle before hefting it in both hands.

 

“Hey, wait,” Testament started to protest as Bridget moved into the stairwell once more.  “What are you doing?”

 

“This!”  With a childish growl Bridget swung the heavy mass—it all but leapt from his hands, spinning awkwardly through the air and, amazingly, to the fourth floor landing.  It struck the wall with a hollow reverberation, marking a dent, and then another when it dropped.  The guards spun at the sound of the impact, by then the circle of metal careening down the stairs towards them.  They scrambled to dodge, but the stairs were too narrow to allow much movement, and several of the men were sent tumbling to their knees or over the rail.

 

Testament, though stunned that Bridget’s idea was working, didn’t let the opportunity pass him; he charged out of the alcove, long strides taking him swiftly up the stairs to where the guards were struggling to stand and aid their comrades.  With all the confusion he passed easily through them, the blunt end of his scythe’s handle knocking each standing man unconscious.  He could hear Bridget just behind, and when he reached the door to the fourth floor he paused to glance back.

 

Bridget grinned brightly as he tugged his belt back into place.  “How was that?”

 

Testament smirked.  “Good work.”

 

The pair followed the short hall to a single door, and upon opening it found themselves face to face with half a dozen pale-faced and terrified technicians.

 

“All of you who don’t want to end up like the guards outside should leave,” Testament informed them evenly.

 

The technicians exchanged glances, but in looking at Testament their minds were swiftly made up.  With tiny frightened cries they fled, forsaking coats and files in their escape.  Testament cocked an eye at his young companion.  “How was that?”

 

Bridget giggled as he hopped to one of the abandoned workstations and took a seat.  “Not bad,” he complimented dryly.

 

Testament rolled his eyes as he followed.

 

*****

 

Ky threw himself out of the way of the incoming projectile of magic.  He almost wasn’t fast enough, and he could feel the fire’s heat licking at the skin of his bare back as he rolled to the side.  It spurred him swiftly into a counterattack of lightning—he wasn’t about to let an enemy take him from behind again, and felt a thrill of satisfaction as his attacker was forced to retreat.  The shadowed figure disappeared somewhere among the mess of machinery, and as Ky stood he held his sword carefully ready, alert for when the next onslaught came.

 

“Heh.  You’re not like the robots, are you?”

 

Ky turned toward the voice, and his heart rose suddenly into his throat when he came to recognize its owner—who was now bearing down on him.  He didn’t have a chance to speak.  In his shock he managed only to defend from the sword arching towards him, and the heavy punch that followed caught him perfectly in the stomach.  Ky reeled, a thoughtless swipe of his sword driving the man back long enough for him to retreat several steps.  He gasped weakly after his lost breath.  “Sol—”

 

“Damn right, darling.”  Sol charged again, long before Ky was ready to deflect another attack.  A smug grin flashed briefly across his lips.  Ky lifted Thunderseal, and the impact of their blades sent him skidding backwards until his lower back struck the edge of a computer desk.  Following blind instinct the officer rolled over it—the wood was splintered a second later by a heavy, cleaving strike.  And though he was still gasping Ky managed another burst of lightning, giving him the time he needed to fall back.  He jumped onto the conveyer belt and then behind it, hoping the extra machinery there would give him cover.

 

“Running now, eh?”  Though another attack didn’t come Ky was wary, an arm wrapped around his chest to keep it from heaving as he edged, slowly, around the different metal masses.  “Can’t fight without your little robot friends, can you?”

 

Ky pressed his hand to his mouth to suppress a cough, wincing a little at the taste of blood on his lips.  Carefully he leaned his back against one of the giant metallic arms along the assembly line; a slight turn of his head allowed him to see the other man as he walked the line of the wall, searching.  And he’d thought his mind might be playing tricks on him, until he clearly saw Fireseal clenched in the man’s fist.  Sol had found his way here—had attacked him.  His injustice swelled, and he would have charged out to demand an explanation if not for the rising of Sol’s voice.

 

“You in charge of this dump, or what?” Sol called, scraping Fireseal’s tip against the floor as he walked.  It made an awful, ear-piecing squeal.  “Or maybe you’re another fucked up experiment.  The outfit’s all wrong, either way.”

 

Ky bit his lip to keep his gasp from being heard—Sol didn’t recognize him.  It was startling, and somehow absurd, but it explained their exchange a moment before; Sol, who should have given Ky the chance to catch his breath as he always did, hadn’t relented in his attack.  The hair, the outfit, even the factory’s dull lighting, had managed to so far hide Ky’s identity.  Moreover, all their enemies resembled him, copied his movements and fighting technique—it wasn’t impossible that Sol would mistake him for one.  Just as the Ninth had mistaken him in Rome.  It made Ky’s mind spin, wondering if he could possibly appear so different that the man hunting for his life and the man he had fought for years could both be fooled.

 

There was a sudden clang to his left, and Ky spun—having had enough of his search on the other side, Sol was climbing over the conveyer belt.  He kicked several moving limbs out of his way in the process.  Ky tensed as he pushed away from his support, preparing for another attack.  It came swiftly, as soon as he was spotted; Sol’s eyes gleamed as he charged, bringing his sword down in a vertical arch.  Ky braced Thunderseal with both hands as he met the slash.  The collision sent a heavy tremor through him, greater than he had anticipated, and Sol’s secondary assault came faster than it normally would have—a kick to Ky’s midsection he narrowly avoided.  They broke apart, but then Sol was barreling down on him again, and again Ky blocked and retreated.

 

This wasn’t right.  It wasn’t how their fights usually went.  Ky was used to starting with an advantage, fueled by his injustice and determination, which would last until Sol wore him down and brought the battle to an abrupt end.  But Sol was fighting harder now than he normally did, was even enjoying it, judging by the careless smirk in his rough features.  He was using greater effort against a nameless enemy than against the officer that had pursued him in a contest of strength for years, and even then, was even now nowhere near fulfilling his complete potential.

 

Ky felt his jaw clench, his hand tremble just slightly around his weapon.  He was being toyed with, again.  And if the condescension present in Sol’s face now was any indication of how little he thought of this fight, it pained Ky to think of how much less Sol must have thought of him, to not even fight at this level.  This Gear was toying with him.  Had always been toying with him.

 

The officer planted his feet suddenly, with a low growl sweeping Thunderseal in front of him in an upward slash.  Lightning flashed from the swords tip as it went, its crack echoing in the chamber as the magic shoots leapt at his adversary.  It made Ky’s fingertips tingle.  Sol leapt back, blocking the attack against his own sword.

 

Following the Gear’s earlier example Ky leapt at him even before his magic had dissipated.  Their blades met, sparking against each other as their masters contended for leverage.  Ky watched, with satisfaction, as the grin fell gradually from Sol’s lips.  “Glad to see you’re finally in the fighting spirit,” Sol grumbled.

 

Ky’s eyes narrowed.  A powerful leap took him into the air, another burst of magic driving his opponent back.  But before they could engage again he crossed the conveyer once more in search of a moment’s peace to think.  This…was wrong.  All he had to do was speak and his identity would be known, ending this foolishness.  Sol was going to figure it out soon anyway, and he had no idea how he would explain himself when that happened.

 

“Running again?”  Sol gave chase, his Fireseal humming so that the metal around them reflected its gleaming excitement.  Ky gulped despite himself; his own Thunderseal was already replying in kind.

 

*****

 

Baiken muttered under her breath as she swept through another group of gun-toting soldiers.  She was doing her best not to kill too many of them—it wasn’t always pleasant for her reputation—but they were starting to get annoying, and she didn’t give a second thought to when her blade finally caught flesh.  At least after that, the rest of the guards were more willing to back off.

 

A bit of coaxing convinced one of the men to tell her where the laboratory was; by the time she got there she was just starting to breathe heavily from the long exercise, the right sleeve of her new jacket already shredded from the use of her remaining anki.  She couldn’t hide a tiny smile as she kicked the door in and heard people scattering with frightened yelps.  But when she at last took in the scene before her that humor quickly faded.  She took a few steps inside, gaze narrowed but alert.  “Get away from him.”

 

Leona Mariot straightened, and though her face was stern she took a single step back from the metal slab that served as her operating table.  Her five assistants did the same with shared looks of fright.  Their retreat allowed Baiken to see the full figure of the men they had been leaning over: Anji, laid bare save for a sheet covering him from the waist down, shackled to the table and covered in any number of tiny needles and apparatuses.  His eyes were gaping wide but they were empty; when Leona turned, Baiken could see the traces of blood on her fingers.

 

“Get away from him!” Baiken hollered as she stalked quickly forward.  The assistants obediently backed further away, but Leona was unwavering.  As soon as Baiken was in range she grabbed the woman by her collar, hauling her forward.  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded coarsely, giving her a shake.  “What have you done to him?”

 

“He’s undergone hypnosis,” the doctor replied simply, infuriating Baiken more with her careless demeanor.  “In preparation for a procedure.”

 

“I know all about your fucking procedure,” Baiken growled, and with a snort she flung Leona to the ground.  Though she must have struck hard she didn’t cry out.  Baiken, meanwhile, was already pulling herself up onto the table with Anji, tearing at the equipment covering him.  “Damn scientists,” she continued to mutter as she removed a particularly large needle from Anji’s forearm.  She pressed her hand against it for a moment to keep it from bleeding.  “How many times do you have to fuck with the world before you’re satisfied?”

 

“This is about restoring order,” Leona retorted, slowly dragging herself to her feet.  “I won’t expect a Japanese to understand.”

 

Baiken whirled on her.  “Shut up!” she snarled.  “As soon as I get Anji out of here I’m coming back to cut your goddamn head off, got that?”  She turned back to her work.  “Keep it up and I’ll think of something less efficient for you.”

 

“You have no idea, do you?” the woman continued anyway, bracing her weight against one of the liquid filled tanks behind her.  “About the war, the Japanese—about your own powers.”

 

“I know how to use them—that’s enough for me.”

 

Unseen to Baiken, Leona gestured to her workers; they began to slip, one by one, into an adjoining room.  “You think you do.  And maybe that is good enough for you.  But if that’s so, you’ll never come to understand why your people were destroyed.”

 

Baiken turned again, slowly this time, gaze sharp as she clicked her sword an inch out of its sheath.  “Maybe I’ll be killing you now after all.”

 

“Maybe.”  Leona lifted her chin.  “Chipp Zanuff!”

 

A flash of shadow caught in the corner of Baiken’s eye, and she cursed as she twisted to face the incoming assault.  But she had always underestimated Chipp’s speed—he sped from a darkened corner of the room, seeming to vanish before her eyes until a moment before he jumped, both feet catching her in the chest.  With a startled cry Baiken was thrown from the table and landed hard on her back.  “Damnit—”  She flipped swiftly to her feet once more, just in time to catch Chipp’s arm blade against the hilt of her sword.  His eyes were just as dulled, as oblivious as Anji’s, and it made her cringe.  “You…damn bitch…!”

 

“You two know each other, don’t you?” Leona said as she moved back towards Anji, reaching for the needle Baiken had discarded.  “Keep each other busy for a while, so I can finish this for the Doctor.”

 

Baiken snarled; a jerk of her shoulder sent her claw aiming for Chipp’s throat, but he feinted back, returning swiftly with a kick to her gut.  She gasped as she was thrown back, and their blades gave off tiny sparks as they clashed in another meeting.  “Damn you!”

 

“My apologies,” Lorena went on as she continued with her preparations.  “But he hates to be kept waiting.”

 

*****

 

The pair of combatants ducked as sparks showered down on them; a blast of Ky’s lightning had caught the overhead lights, striking down the line of fluorescents and exploding bits of glass in all directions.  It caught Ky off guard, as he wasn’t used to dealing with delicate electric lighting, and he was startled when the factory was plunged into darkness.  The only illumination now offered was the glow of still functioning computer screens, and the sparse green and red lights covering the length of the conveyer belt.  Sol’s form was a blur ahead of him. 

 

“Smooth, asshole,” Sol grumbled.

 

Ky braced himself, accepting Sol’s attack against his sword, but this time he didn’t back down.  He knew that Sol had the advantage in the dark, with his Gear’s sight, and that he couldn’t afford to surrender any leverage.  His Thunderseal was the lighter of their weapons—he managed to twist it about, turning Sol’s blade aside so he could lash at his chest.  They broke apart, and met again in the dark.

 

Their fight was slowly getting out of Ky’s hands.  Every clash of metal hardened Ky’s expression, swelled heated instinct behind his ribs.  Though his rage was tightly controlled he was aware that now, even with his limited visibility, he was fighting harder and more effectively against Sol than any time in his memory.  The bizarre circumstances behind this duel were straining the reality of their situation from him.  Clad now in unfamiliar attire and surroundings, facing Sol’s unbridled aggression, it wasn’t hard to imagine that he had become far removed from himself.  This was surreal.  And despite all his earlier anguishes, in this moment he ceased to remember or care that Sol’s origins as a Gear had caused him so much pain.  This was Sol—the one man who he had yet to prove himself to.  And this was his opportunity.

 

Sol’s fire careened toward him, lighting their metal battleground in gleaming orange and crimson.  Ky countered with magic of his own, and together the combined heat seared long gashes into the steel of their environment.  To Ky’s left a workstation was set aflame, and suddenly exploded not unlike the lights a moment ago.  It was small but just enough to separate the fighters again so they could gather their bearings.

 

Their battle was only going to grow more fierce.  Ky launched another round of lightning, chasing Sol across the conveyer belt and in the process sending a collection of robotic parts spinning off madly.  The officer was pleased; his task had been to destroy the factory and all its effectiveness, and if they kept up this competition of theirs that would soon be the result.  Still, his conscience was protesting.  He shouldn’t have had time to indulge himself here, when his comrades were battling for their lives elsewhere throughout the facility.

 

Sol came at him faster than he’d expected; he’d pushed against the wall, and was heading for the officer with the intention of a powerful kick.  Ky surprised himself with the swiftness of his own response.  He crouched down, already turning so that by the time Sol had sailed over him he was ready to attack.  Staying low to the ground he charged, a sweep of his blade coming dangerously close to connecting with Sol’s ankles.  The Gear leapt back but Ky was again upon him, a leveled thrust aiming for his midsection.

 

Sol twisted, but it wasn’t fast enough.  Ky’s eyes widened as he felt his sword catch—it was only a glancing blow, a shallow incision along the bottom of Sol’s ribs, but it drew blood. 

 

Ky’s brief victory was short-lived; Sol’s fist came down heavily against the side of his head, spilling him onto his face at the base of the conveyer belt.  It sent an ache all through his already worn body but he struggled back to his feet swiftly in case Sol attacked again.  He didn’t at first; he was drawing his fingers over his wound, smearing dark blood across his stomach.  Sol’s eyes gleamed in the dark.  “Now you’re pissing me off.”

 

Ky licked his lips as he stumbled back a step.  His mind was spinning—he’d wounded Sol.  And he had drawn blood from Sol before, it was usually nothing more than skating blow against an arm or shoulder, never something as vital as his torso.  It raised in him a shudder of accomplishment.  Whatever had happened, he was fighting with greater skill than he usually did.  For that tiny instant between them he had been the better man.

 

When Sol attacked again Ky could tell that he had heightened his game; his smirk was gone, his eyes focused sharply in the dark.  But Ky’s confidence had been spurred as well, and he met every sweep of the sword thrown at him.  He couldn’t remember having felt this way, so unlike himself and…maybe even free.  This was his chance to fight Sol outside the bounds of all the history they shared, without morality and justice barring his vision.  Testament had been right—he wanted to trust his own instincts, trust himself, and at the moment his heart was telling him that he would never have this opportunity again.

 

Baiken would be all right on her own.  She could handle Chipp, as she had said.  Bridget was with Testament, and would be able to look after himself.  And Testament…he trusted.  Wanted to trust him so deeply that it made his insides ache when he remembered all the brief moments they had shared, the words of comfort and advice passed between them.  If Testament said he could defeat the Ninth unaided, then Ky would believe him with all confidence.

 

Which left this battle to him.  Already as they circled he could see the factory’s many devices blinking in distress, burned and scarred with the force of too much magic.  If this battle continued any longer, his objective of ruining the reproductive equipment would be completed twice over, as he had assured.  There was no other need for him here, save…this.

 

Sol came at him again from above, flames licking the length of his blade as it struck towards him.  Ky’s reaction was again all but instantaneous; he leapt straight into the air, sword flashing in a smooth arch that parried Sol’s blade and, for an instant, drew them into close quarters in mid air.  Both attacked with limbs.  Ky’s knee caught Sol firmly in the midsection, drawing more blood, and again Sol’s heavy knuckles caught Ky in the chest.  Winded, the pair broke apart and was sent tumbling to the ground.  They struggled desperately to regain their balance.

 

Sol hissed a curse as he stood, one hand pressed over his stomach.  “What the fuck are you, anyway?” he growled, his eyes glowing brief fire in the darkened factory.

 

Ky licked his lips and tasted blood as he, too, pushed to his feet.  Sol would figure it out, soon.  But until then he would fight with all his strength.

 

*****

 

Bridget hummed idly as he jumped from one console to the next, checking the screens that had been carelessly left open when their owners fled.  He hadn’t discovered anything remarkable just yet, and trying to delve deeper confronted him with password screens and red warnings.  “Looks like it’s all locked up,” he said with dismay, moving to check another computer.  “I can’t get in.”

 

Testament frowned, though he had been expecting as much—the Ninth may have been confident enough in his robots that their security system wasn’t terribly advanced, but he would never be careless with something as important as his full database.  “Keep trying,” he said anyway, moving to the line of tall, thick glass windows that overlooked the entrance of the factory.  “There might be something—a piece of paper, even, that might show if they’ve been contacting another factory.”

 

“Right.”  Bridget nodded, and continued his search.

 

Testament turned his gaze back to the window, lifting his palm to press against it.  He scanned the courtyard below, but as he had assumed there was no sign of Ky.  A few robots were attempting to stagger to their feet, but as they were severely damaged he gave them little notice.  His mind was already wandering, and in his reprieve was startled by the sound of a distant explosion shaking the floor beneath his feet.  He smirked.  “Sounds like everyone’s working hard, at least,” he murmured.

 

“Ah!  Here’s something,” Bridget suddenly announced.

 

Testament glanced back at him over his shoulder.  “What is it?”

 

“Looks like someone might have been looking stuff up about another factory,” Bridget reported, leaning close to the screen.  “There’s a list of…supplies and stuff, I think—something about a ship heading out of Rome to A-Country.”

 

“Does it say where?”

 

“I’m still looking.”

 

Testament nodded and turned his attention back to the window.  A brief seal sheered a circular hole in the glass, letting in a breath of dusty mountain air.  A moment later a familiar black raven was gliding toward him, and he held his hand out for her to land upon.  Rael rustled her feathers in irritation.  “I’m sorry,” Testament assured with a smile as he pulled her inside.  “I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”  He lifted her to his shoulder.

 

No sooner had she perched, however, she suddenly bristled, screeching in warning.  Testament felt the swell of magic a moment later; he reeled, but by then the energy was already surging into the room, nearly blinding him.  His heart skipped.  “Bridget—!”

 

Rael’s talons drew blood from his shoulder as she launched from it.  He felt rather than saw her own burst of magic.  But it was nothing compared to the force she was defending from, and when the light cleared Testament could only watch helplessly and Bridget and Rael were both thrown bodily across the workroom.  The boy gave only a short cry as he struck the wall and slumped unconsciously to the ground, the motionless raven just beside.

 

Testament ran to them, and was only just in time to defend from another blast of ki magic intended to finish off the pair; his seal kept the attack at bay long enough for its power to burn out, darkening the room once more.  In that lull he turned his attention to the fallen pair.  “Bridget?” 

 

But the boy didn’t respond, even when shaken; he was out cold.  With eyes narrowed Testament lifted his head, crouched protectively in front of the wounded as he watched the room’s entrance for their enemy.  “Show yourself!”

 

The Ninth came in slowly, clad again in the red and white uniform of the Holy Order he had adorned in the Rome.  His expression was eerily calm, and the soft resonation of his boots against the metal floor sent through the Gear a familiar tremor.

 

“I thought you’d end up here eventually,” the Ninth said evenly, taking a few steps forward, “but not this soon.”

 

Testament’s jaw clenched as he stood, his scythe materializing obediently in his closed palm.  “I’m going to kill you,” he retorted lowly.  “Like I took care of the eight before you.”

 

“You can try.”

 

The pair brandished weapons, and charged at each other just as a pale moon began to rise behind plated glass.

 

 

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