I do not own the “Gundam
Wing” characters, nor did I make any money off of this project, so please no
suing. Various pairings, yaoi, AU.
The Completion Of Death
The Glory of Human Relations
The Tower at the Edge of Creation
Three days after the confrontation
in the lost village, the mismatched companions found themselves standing
outside the Tower of the Scythe. It gleamed with dark fire as it stood
commanding and powerful against the dying sun; the black marble that it was
made from catching the scarlet radiance and playing with it. Windows, stained
glass each one, ran periodically up the sides, adding splashes of color like
rare flowers in a desert. The top was pointed and covered in sculpted angels;
each one so detailed and beautiful it seemed as though they would take flight
from their points of vigil. Mountains ran across to the east, their
snow-covered tops looking picturesque and desirable, while the ocean ran along
the opposite side of the horizon, calm and beckoning.
“This is it,” Duo whispered,
stumbling forward. His eyes were wide; he could feel them devouring his face.
“Ten thousands years all for this.”
Quatre grabbed the demon’s elbow,
stopping him for a moment. The braided immortal turned around and stared at his
companion, the fading light washing his face in an inhuman, copper glow. “We
are so close,” he hissed. “Finally.”
Duo nodded, still finding it odd
that those sentiments would pour forth from the king’s soft mouth. He wrapped
his arms around the blonde boy, kissing the top of his head. “Are you ready for
this?” he murmured into the golden locks. They tickled his nose, but he paid no
heed.
“I’ve been ready before it even
began,” Quatre muttered, relishing in the warm feeling of the embrace.
Wufei cleared his throat, drawing
everyone’s attention to his slightly blushing cheeks. Trowa especially looked
pleased for the intervention. “Save this stuff for later,” he said, his voice
faltering. “Let’s get started. And remember, demon, if you do one thing
suspicious, we’ll kill-”
“Has anyone ever told you that
you’re cute when you blush, Wufei?” Duo interrupted, purring. Quatre giggled
from within his arms, nodding. “It’s true! I bet we could get you to turn a
nice shade of purple if we kissed-”
“Hush!” Wufei yelled, turning away.
“I would think you would be more serious considering what’s at stake.”
The demon allowed his arms to slip
from the object of his affection and regarded the general with an even look. “I
am serious, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let that change me. This is my way of
being positive.”
Wufei turned back to him, watching
as the sun dipped under the ocean, extinguished at last. Colors still hung in
the air, seeping reds, wispy goldens, subtle oranges, all bleeding into one
soft copper. The demon’s face beamed with excitement and hope, the light in his
eyes dancing in circles. A small wind blew around them, blowing the chestnut
bangs from his ageless face, making him smile even larger. He took a step forward
and swung his arm around the general’s shoulders.
“You know, you could learn a lot
from me,” Duo said. “Like how to relax.”
Wufei opened his mouth to throw out
a retort, but something inside made him to bite down on it. His eyes flickered
to that damned face, searching it for its drive, its passion. How can you be like this? It’s not real. It can’t be!
Fingers, light and wispy, drifted
across the bronze flesh of his cheek, like dragonfly wings. He felt frozen, his
onyx eyes wide, as Duo leaned in closer, his smooth, full lips within inches of
his own numb ones. Violet oceans of fire filled his vision, swallowing him
whole. His muscles tensed throughout his body, as if about to head off out into
battle rather than kiss someone.
What
the hell is happening?! the
general frantically thought. What the hell
is he thinking?! He’s insane! Why can’t I move? Why am I frozen? Damn! I can
feel his breath on my lips! Kill me now! Someone, kill me and let me die like
an honorable man!
“Wufei,” Duo purred, his lips pushing out slightly. He
blinked his eyes, the long lashes licking his cheeks. All the background
sounds, the wind against the waves, the two companions that stood beside one
another holding hands, the birds that cried out to the setting sun, all faded away
into a dull white noise, merging into one.
Wufei closed his eyes, and battled against every urge in his
body. He had no idea as to why this was happening, why this monster
made him feel this sudden bought of surrender, and he hated it. He wanted to
rip it out of his soul with his own bare hands, hoping it would leave him
tortured and empty, like the warrior he wanted to prove himself to be. However,
as much as he fought that feeling, he succumbed to it, floating away on that
sea of sudden rush that pounded in his ears, in his chest.
Why…?
The demon smiled and suddenly pushed Wufei to the ground in
a blurred motion, laughing manically. “You should have seen that look of horror
on your face, Wufei! It was great!” Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes as
the peals of laughter refused to cease. Quatre joined in with the giggles, and
they doubled as Wufei got to his feet, dusting himself off.
“This is not a game!” he growled, hands working frantically
over his clothes. He threw his strongest glare at them, melting them on the
spot.
“See what I mean!” Duo replied, smile enveloping his face.
“You need to calm down! Relax! It was all in fun!” His violet eyes flashed to
the Tower, that jester smile on his face turning deadly feral and cold. “Now,
let’s go end this!”
Trowa, Quatre, and Duo rushed to the large dark wooden doors
at the base of the Tower and shoved them open. They bolted inside only to be
swallowed by the black depths, devoured completely.
Wufei stood outside for a moment as the wind rustled through
his shimmering black locks that hung in a tight ponytail at the back of his
head. His sloe eyes blinked with soft wonderment as his fingertips brushed
across his bottom lip.
Damn
demon, his mind whispered
gently. Without another thought, he followed his companions into the darkness
of the Tower, shutting the door behind him.
One would like to say that the
journey to the top of the Tower and the scythe were effortless and easy. One
would also like to say that by the time they reached the object of their utmost
desire, their hands were not covered in the burning blood of the Knights or if
they were, those chosen warriors were easily disposed of. One might also wish
to say that this was the easiest leg of their adventure thus far, and their
prize was finally within their grasp.
If that were the case, then one
would be wrong.
The Knights were the best of the
world and difficult to defeat, especially considering they were fighting on the
spiraling smooth black steps that led an eternity both up and down, and were
soon slick with blood. Only torches lit the way, giving off little light in the
suffocating darkness, and making the footing and the walls seem warped and
twisted with nightmarish shadows.
Trowa led first, confident that he
knew what moves each Knight would make considering his extensive training with
them. However, after several particularly difficult battles on the stairs, he
was thrust against the wall with the edge of a sword driving into his left
shoulder and nearly received a broken arm. Duo had come barreling to the
rescue, a blur in the blackness, and run the opposing Knight through before he
could even lay eyes on the demon. Quatre slipped his arms around his wounded
partner’s waist and held him up the remainder of the way, carefully ignoring
Trowa’s murmured protests.
Two-thirds to their goal, they were
attacked on both sides by four armed soldiers, each one grinning over the glory
of disposing of the traitors. Quatre leaned the wounded Trowa against the
smooth wall and drew his dagger, running down several stairs to battle at
Wufei’s side. Duo went against two soldiers above, parrying what thrusts he
could and ducking the others. Wufei screamed insults as he drove his blade into
the thigh of one Knight, his voice strong and commanding, echoing over and over
again.
One Knight grabbed a hold of the
king by the silk tunic he was wearing and threw him tumbling down the stairs,
groans of pain drifting up the spiraling Tower. He disappeared around the
corner, the noise of his decent still ringing out in the darkness.
Trowa leapt to his feet, a blur in the torchlight, his blood
staining the floor. Pushing past the battling general, he reached the man that
had tossed the king, grabbed him from behind by his long black hair and shoved
him against a marble wall. Baring his teeth, the wounded Knight leaned forward,
his eyes blazing with internal fire and snarled, “Your life is gone!” With
that, he drew his abused sword and slit the man’s throat, the blood washing
over his hands and his face in a warm waterfall of mortality. Above him, he
heard Wufei grunt as he drove his own weapon home, and then rush up the marble
stairs to Duo’s aid.
Trowa let go of the Knight, watching without interest as he
slid down the wall and into a puddle of his own scarlet life. As his discarded
sword clanged against the stairs, he ran to Quatre, who lay in a ball several
feet down the way. With steady hands, the Knight rolled his lord over, wiping
away the blood that dripped from a short, but deep, wound along his golden
hairline. Once on his back, the ocean eyes fluttered open and a small smile
crossed his lips as he struggled to sit up.
“Thank you, Trowa,” Quatre whispered
as he slowly rose to his feet with help from the wall. Wufei and Duo came down
the stairs in a rush of blood and panic; the latter quickly fleeing as they saw
both companions standing and facing them.
Releasing a sigh he never knew he
was holding, Wufei said, “We need to hurry up. With that last batch we fought,
we have defeated eighteen Knights. How many more are there, Trowa?”
“Including me and the several we
fought at that village, only three,” he answered, reclaiming his sword.
“However, if I am correct, those three were away on diplomatic retreats for
several months, something we do periodically.”
“So, we can take our time?” Duo
asked, letting out a sigh of relief.
Quatre shook his head, wiping away
the persistent blood from his forehead with the back of his hand. “If I were
you, I wouldn’t relax until you had the scythe in your hands.”
“I agree with Lord Quatre,” Wufei
said.
“You would,” Duo muttered. A smile
soon crossed his lips as he began bounding up the stairs, two at a time. His
braid trailed him like a shadow, begging to be pulled. “Well then, let’s hurry!
I’m hungry and I want to eat once we get there! You know, a demon can starve to
death!”
Rolling his black eyes, the general
mumbled under his breath while following him, “Hn. Well, then I’m in no hurry.”
After an eternity of climbing
endless stairs, the companions arrived at double wooden doors, the only thing
not black in the Tower so far. The left door was delicately carved with
painstakingly perfect angels, each feather detailed and ruffled, each mouth
open and crying in elation. The handle was wrought iron, a pure black as dark
as the marble that surrounded them, but in the shape of a dove’s wing. The
other door bore the tormented, winged figures of screaming demons, each one
inflicting torture and agony on poor human souls. You could even see the
frightened suffering in the carved mortals’ eyes. That knocker was a cold,
wrought iron scythe, plain but still eerie.
Duo wasted not a single moment; he
pushed in both doors and bounded in, smiling largely. The others cast
apprehensive looks at one another and slowly followed him.
As in the remainder of the Tower,
this round room was purely black marble. Candles were lit all over, white wax
dripping with small splats onto the floor, and forming a circle that went
around the walls. One window existed, a large single portal devoid of glass and
in perfect alignment to a full, pregnant moon that floated outside in the
obsidian darkness. At each direction of the Tower stood a carved statue; a
demon with long hair and bat-like wings stood at the north and south, fanged
teeth bared, while an angel was positioned at the east and west, face gentle
and soft, bird wings fanned. The shadows caressed the angels, though, and gave
them the same haunting glare as the demon, creating monsters in all corners.
However, it was not the small,
trivial displays Duo was interested in; his amethyst eyes were attached to the
black altar that sat in the center of the room. Atop the fiery marble was a
long scarlet silk tapestry, embroidered with jewels and gold, and ran across
the smooth floor at the front and back of the altar. On top of the silk was a
large golden rack that only consisted of two gleaming bars, forked at separate
ends. They glimmered in the firelight, seeming out of place in the darkness of
the surroundings. At first glance, one might think that the demon was staring
in awe at the gold, but it was the object it held that grabbed his attention
and held him entranced with a want that seemed unnatural.
The five-and-a-half foot long
Deathscythe was aptly named, as one could tell if they stared at. The handle
was deeper than black; it seemed to absorb all colors that surrounded it and
devoured the soul. Silver, gleaming and polished to perfection, was at the
bottom and top of the weapon in thick bands, small spikes encircling it. The
blade bore no substantial shape; it was a glowing and vibrant emerald color,
pulsating with a life of its own. The mortal companions that remained in the
doorway could feel the heat produced by the weapon from where they stood,
causing them cast apprehensive glances at one another, their eyes speaking more
words that their lips ever could.
The demon remained transfixed for
several minutes, eyes wide, hands shaking. “Centuries have led me here,” he
whispered, throat dry as he took shuddering steps forward. “All I have ever
wanted, all that was ever taken from me, is here now!”
Trembling, the demon laid one palm
onto the smooth handle of the Deathscythe, then the other, feeling the sudden
rush of power seeping through his body to his core, warming him completely. He
lifted it from its resting place and slowly turned to the others, head bowed,
face obscured by hanging chestnut bangs that appeared on fire in the light. A
small choking resounded from the back of his throat as his metal armor fell
onto the floor of its own volition; the clanging bouncing off the walls and
echoing down the spiral stairs. The thin black tunic that remained tore and
soon lay in tattered shreds against his smooth, sweating torso as large,
leathery, dragon-like wings ripped through the flesh of his back and fanned
out, five feet on each side.
He laughed as he clasped the scythe
to his chest, lifting his head slowly to peer at the mortals. “I have won,” he
hissed, eyes dancing. “Won!” He flapped his wings once, causing the candlelight
to do pirouettes on their wicks, then settled them against his bloody back.
“Duo,” Quatre whispered, his voice
slightly shaking. “Are you all right?”
The corners of the demon’s lips
turned up while he raised an eyebrow. “Well, of course I am!” he purred. “I am
absolutely perfect!” Holding the scythe in one hand, he waved the king over,
his eyes full of a longing that existed for all time. “Come to me, Heero! This
is our time, finally!”
The king shed a hesitant look over
his shoulder, directly into the warning eye of Trowa. They stared at one
another solemnly for a moment, the silence between them thick with an
understanding that surpassed sound and thought. Behind them, Duo looked
suddenly deflated as the smile he was wearing became hollow and haunted.
“You’re not Heero,” the demon
whispered. His words held no malice, no anger, just soft reassurance of the
obvious.
Quatre didn’t hear the statement
though, and turned to the demon with warm, familiar eyes. “Duo, we’re home.”
Two days later found the companions
sitting in a loose circle in the center of the scythe’s room, dining on some
beef jerky they had scavenged from the cellars of the Tower. The first night,
they had banded together and gave the deceased Knights a proper cremation,
scattering their ashes into the hungry ocean whitecaps. Silent, they ventured
back to the circular, dark room, left alone to their all-consuming thoughts and
fears of what the next day may bring. Each mortal sat beneath a statue, leaning
against the robes of an angel or devil, while the demon quietly lounged against
the base of the altar, scythe forever in hand.
Finally, after two long days,
footsteps echoed throughout the Tower, each one a soft reality of what was to
come. Each person rose to their feet in stiff slowness, Wufei, then Trowa,
Quatre, and lastly Duo; no one drawing their weapons. Each set of eyes turned
to the open doors, each breath ringing in time with the approaching footfalls.
Duo fanned his wings, eyes hard and
unreadable as his knuckles turned white around the scythe. His lips mouthed
words that had played for an infinity in his head while he had walked the
earth, words of pleading and passion and devotion. Wufei cast him a veiled
look, unsure as to what to think, or what to expect.
Trowa
looked to the demon, then to Quatre, wondering if perhaps he had made the
correct choice after all. The king spared him a delicate smile, in hopes to
lift his love’s spirits even though his needed someone to lift his as well. The
nightmare from days ago, with angels and bleeding wings, struck him in full
force, recalling the urgency of what was at hand.
“You
could be giving up a part of yourself.”
“You
may be putting the entire world in danger. You may be killing yourself. Are you
ready for that, Your Highness?”
“This
blood, it is yours to carry for the rest of your life, young Quatre. This may
be your future. Accept it or deny it now!”
The noises stopped outside the
doorway, and then began once more as a figure shrouded in shadows appeared in
the doorway.
“Duo…”
“Heero,” the demon whispered. “It’s
finally over. We can be together! We can-”
“Duo,” the angel said, stepping into
the light. “I’ve come to kill you.”