Man in The Dark 24

Disclaimer: LAAAAAAAAY THEE DOWN/ WHATTA HEAVY DAY

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rusted city sprawled out beneath Louise's gaze once more, her mind replaying that incredible scene once more. Towering spires of brass and metal, belching smoke into the sky, the air rich with the burning scents of industry.

Instinctively, she knew this was just a dream, her slumbering mind merely replaying the visions she had seen before.

Metal, precious gems, weaponry, constructs, spices, food, natural resources, even people...it was a feeling not unlike that of one of the bigger cities of Halkeginia, or at least what little she could remember of such places. Except in this case, the city was almost an entire country itself, sprawling from horizon to horizon, hundreds, if not thousands more people living and breathing within its' borders. And then there was the case of the peculiar construction of the buildings in the city, a baroque mixture of stonework, like the typical buildings she was used to, interlaced with scarred, pitted metal, gleaming dully under the heavy red sky overhead.

She had never seen such strange buildings before...but then again, there was a lot about this place that was strange to her, even in the sole glimpse she had taken of it during her familiar's reluctant display of it.

Her familiar...Even in slumber, Louise felt her brow furrow.

Dras Von Talon...A peculiar name for a peculiar man. Though, truth be told, Louise was forced to admit that she had never been quite comfortable referring to Von Talon as anything close to human. There was always a subtle 'wrongness' to him, a feeling as though he was merely 'human shaped', rather than truly human, like that of a stableboy wearing an ill-fitting suit of armor, suddenly forced to act like a royal knight, without ever actually understanding what it meant to BE one.

Or no, perhaps the analogy was backward, she realized grimly, looking down once more at the shadow painted across the cityscape. The massive, mountainous pillar that rose to claw at the heavens, a castle and monolith in one, the colossal edifice that towered in the center of the city, ominous and foreboding.

Rex Tower.

A name she had never heard before, but the moment she had set eyes on it, that was the name she knew it to be called by.

Perhaps it was not like a stableboy and a knight...but rather, that of a king, masquerading as a peasant.

Something impossibly powerful and untouchable, locking away its' grandeur and might behind the guise of something far more mundane, passing unnoticed among the lesser beings around it...Once again, Louise felt a chill at how easy it was for her to unconsciously refer to Von Talon as 'it'.

The dark tower loomed there, the monstrous form of the creature between a dragon and a woman still visible amongst the shifting battlements. Louise heard the roar once more, and saw the four eyes of burning gold...and she remembered that moment following her explosive summoning ritual, and the four sickly yellow eyes that had stared back at her from the whirling darkness.

Could there be a connection between this creature and her familiar...? It was a thought that had troubled her since she had seen it. And more so, that monolithic castle...the sense of familiarity that had radiated from Von Talon at the sight of it, was that...his castle?

Caught up in her own thoughts, too late, Louise realized that this memory was no longer just a memory, something changing in the air.

There was something else in that castle.

Her gaze snapped up, a chill running through her body.

Past the creaking, rumbling battlements.

Past the stirring draconic woman, unease in those four eyes as she awoke.

Past the dark stone, the cold steel, all the way to the top of the death's head crown of the monolithic castle, the rusted sky swirling around it as the air currents lashed and tore futilely at the towering peak.

An empty window, nothing behind that glass.

Not simply darkness, it was as though there was simply nothing behind it, a chamber completely devoid of anything and everything within.

She could feel the dream slipping away, her own body waking up.

...but there was something here now, something that spoke to the deepest, most primal part of her, an instinct from mankind's earliest days, that told her she wouldn't wake up before seeing what lay in that room.

And she knew in that instant that she no longer wanted any part of this dream.

“Wake up...” She screamed inside her mind. “Wake up!”

Behind that glass, the darkness smiled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Louise's eyes snapped open.

She lay there a moment, the morning air cold on her skin, her sheets twisted and strewn in disarray around her.

Heart pounding, her breath was still for a moment, as the reassuring normalcy of reality settled down around her. Drenched in a cold sheen of sweat, Louise realized her fingers had curled into the sheets so tightly that it was actually beginning to hurt, the taut material digging into her skin.

Forcing her grip to loosen, the diminutive mage sucked in a breath of air, trying to reassert some control over herself. Vallieres did not scare easily...at least, that was something Louise had always told herself in the face of adversity, but right here and now, even with the terrors of the night dimming in the light of dawn outside, she found that she couldn't quite stop trembling.

There was a faint prickling in her eyes, the edges of her vision slightly blurred as she stared blankly up at the ceiling. Blinking, she brought one of her hands up to wipe at her eyes, and was surprised to find it coming away damp.

“Tears...” She said, startled. To be that terrified, even of a nightmare...this was something she hadn't felt in years, not since she was just a child. And even then, when she did have nightmares, they were nothing special, just the typical fears of a young girl, sniffling as her older sister soothed her back to sleep.

Shivering again, Louise sat up, wrapping her arms around herself as she felt the cool morning air. Normally, she appreciated the feeling of the crisp, clean air of the Academy on a morning...but just this once, she wished that it was warmer.

And that was when it dawned on her that Dras Von Talon was nowhere to be found.

“What...? V-Von?” Louise called, looking around in confusion. Pulling the hangings of her bed back, she leaned over, looking at the pile of gold where he usually slept on nights, only to find it uncharacteristically unoccupied.

Puzzled now, she disentangled herself from the blankets, wincing as her sore fingers protested at the motion, and swung her feet off the bed, only to stop as she stepped on something soft.

“This is...my uniform?”

Reaching down, she picked up the slightly ruffled pieces of clothing. Despite their slight disheveled nature, she could tell they had been carefully folded when Von Talon had left them there. Looking around guiltily, the pink-haired noble girl realized that it was likely that he had simply left them on the bottom corner of her bed, as he was wont to do on the days she slept in, but in her unconscious thrashing, she'd probably thrown them off.

Heaving a sigh at the way this morning was turning out, she simply shook her head, doing her best to forget about the nightmare, and set about getting dressed for the day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a room high above the Academy, however, another most peculiar morning was unfolding.

Seated behind his desk, Old Osmond's eyes narrowed, giving a faint grumbling sound as he read through the particulars of the scroll in front of him. After several long seconds, he finally sighed and raised his staff. A quick flourish of magic later, and his signature filled itself out in the blank space at the bottom of it. Another wave, and the paperweight holding the scroll in place slid off, allowing it to roll back up and levitate up wards into the waiting grasp of the man standing on the other side of the desk. Clad in a rich red cloak, he wore a nobleman's ruffled collar and an ensemble of navy blue edged in gold, a cane topped with a gnarled knob resting on the desk next to him.

Unrolling the scroll, he scanned briefly through the contents, as if to make sure everything was in order, before giving a decisive nod, his carefully curled mustache curving up in a smirk.

“I am grateful for the Academy's understanding and co-operation in this matter.”

Old Osmond fixed him with a piercing stare.

“Understanding and co-operation have little to do with matters when an order is handed down directly from the Palace.” He grumbled.

“Well then...” The man turned to walk away, picking up his cane. At the door, however, he was met by the politely bowing figure of Miss Longueville.

“Ah, Miss Longueville...how about dinner sometime?”

Rising from her bow, the shapely secretary took a moment to realize where the messenger's eyes were focused, and hastily tugged the collar of her cloak down to cover her chest more.

“Ah...i-it would be an honor, Count Mott.”

“I see...”The Count smiled. “Very well then, I'll look forward to it.”

Miss Longueville watched him go until he was out of sight, then spun on her heel with a grimace, glad to be rid of him as she swept back into the office.

“What impossibility did the Palace ask for this time?”

Looking up from his papers, Osmond gave a dismissive wave.

“Nothing important, they simply wished to warn us about the danger of thieves.”

Picking up a stack of books for filing, she looked back over her shoulder.

“Thieves?”

“Yes...apparently this fellow Fouquet has been causing quite a stir lately, using magic to specifically target the treasures and wealth of the nobility.”

“Ah, I've heard of him.” Longueville nodded, opening the cabinet, and starting to shelve the books in her hands. “They call him Fouquet the Sculptor, correct?”

“Indeed.” Osmond nodded. “And considering that our Academy vault is currently the resting place of the sacred treasure, the 'Staff of Destruction', a relic of the Palace, it seems they wish us to take added precautions.”

“The Staff of Destruction?” The secretary replied, a puzzled look on her face. “That certainly seems like a troublesome item, especially with a name like that...”

“Pah!” The headmaster snorted dismissively. “I don't know how good of a mage this Fouquet is rumored to be, but the Academy vault here is a special one, layered with dozens of defensive spells by the very best Square mages in the land. They're being overly anxious about it.”

With that said, a gleam entered the elder's eye. With a wave of his staff, the paperweight lifted into the air again. Shaped like a hand with one index finger extended, he sent it across the room, using the finger to stroke up along Longueville's spine, eliciting a panicked yelp from the secretary as she stiffened up, dropping the books to the floor.

The conversation at an end, Osmond closed his eyes with a satisfied smirk.

Unfortunately, the time to celebrate his personal accomplishment was quickly cut short by the same paperweight smashing into his face hard enough to knock him out of his chair, Miss Longueville executing a flawless fastball pitch with it.

Shoulders heaving, the secretary took a moment of her own to enjoy the cathartic sensation of pummeling her employer once again, before she looked up at the window and froze.

:_:

Standing on the other side of it, Dras Von Talon's cold steel mask tilted curiously, the yellow visors gleaming as he looked in on them, arms clasped behind his back.

He looked down at the senseless Headmaster, the still paralyzed secretary, and then to the door that the Count had exited by. After a few moments of silence, his gaze slowly turned back to Miss Longueville, fixing her in place with a piercing, searching stare.

And then he was gone, the unmistakable Familiar of Zero blurring out of sight like a mirage, leaving only the empty air on the other side once more.

“Wh-what the...” Shaking off her surprise, Longueville ran forward, ignoring the grunt from the headmaster as her heels dug in, and looked out, trying to find Von Talon once more.

“How...he was right here a minute ago! Where did he...?!” Longueville cut herself off, a far more worrying question presenting itself.

“There's nothing but empty air out there...and he wasn't holding on to the wall either. Can...can that familiar fly?!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hahahaha! Oh, the look on her face...I tell you, you don't talk much, but man do you have a sense of timing!”

Shaking his head in wonder at the  voice coming from his hip, the draconic CEO of the West darted and dove through the cold dawn sky, his newly acquired weapon rattling at his hip.

Naming itself Derflinger, it hadn't taken long for the tyrant to figure out the real reason behind the shopkeep's eagerness to sell the aged blade. Despite being little more than a sentient piece of metal, Derflinger had a mouth to rival that of the infamous Sonic Specter of Eternity's End, cracking wise with a wit dulled in no way by the condition of his actual blade.

After the fiasco last night, in which he'd revealed himself to Von Talon, Kirche and Louise, he'd turned out to be all to happy to keep talking, long after the other two had called it a night. It was a state of affairs Von Talon himself had encouraged, as he had questions of his own to ask the ancient sword, and answers which he preferred to listen to in privacy.

As such, he had spent a good portion of the night aloft, where he was certain that privacy was assured, and had continued their conversation.

Not through any vocal means of course, at least not on his part. Derflinger, fortunately, was happy to speak for both of them, a lifetime's worth of battle giving the sentient weapon all the practice it could ever need in reading non-verbal cues.

His memory was, unfortunately, a bit hazy in some parts, Derflinger had said, before further prompting had led him to grudgingly admit that might have been a slight understatement. He suspected it was likely due to his long time spent away from the field, drifting in and out of slumber just long enough to ruin any attempts to be sold off. Von Talon, on the other hand, suspected that was also likely due to the overwhelming age of Derflinger, as his practiced eye estimated the weapon to be almost six THOUSAND years of age.

It was a staggering figure by any margin...well, almost, any margin, Von Talon admitted, his visors gleaming with an alien sense of amusement.

But by the standards of magical weaponry...and particularly that of enchanted swords...a six thousand year old blade was a treasure literally beyond compare. The scarred, rusted blade sheathed at his hip right now had seen the rise and fall of entire CIVILIZATIONS, passing from hand to hand along a chronological assembly line of HUNDREDS of wielders, and had literally outlived nearly every other such example of artifact by...a factor of very nearly THREE HUNDRED PERCENT.

Even in his ageless life, the number of arcane weapons Von Talon had encountered that had lasted longer than twenty years could be counted on the fingers of one hand...a degree of rarity that he himself had regrettably played a role in, as magical weapons and artifacts were, above all else, designed to be used, and used with MAXIMUM prejudice.

Which, sadly, led to many such weapons being brought to bear against him, where his path intersected with that of those who would see him stopped.

He did the best he could to avoid the destruction of such priceless treasures, he really did, but sometimes...

>>(

Well, sometimes, accidents happened.

Considering the fact that Derflinger's lifespan was almost three hundred times that of anything else like him, long enough that even the natural preserving magic of an enchanted weapon had corroded away...

Frankly, Von Talon would have bought an entire CONTINENT just to get at this sword, and sold two more just to make certain it fell into his hands.

“So, you're interested in what the jerk with the two-bit mustache was up to in there, eh?” Seeing his wielder's nod, Derflinger rattled in his sheath. “I'm impressed you figured out he was that important...but then again, every fop looks the same to me, so what do I know? Didn't expect him to be working for the palace, though...that's a damned high rank in this day and age, least if I remember right.”

>>D

“Oho, I get it...you didn't know either, but considering he was heading for that old perv's office, you just took a wild guess!”

>>)

“...y'know, you're not half bad at this. And that's despite not being from this world, either.”

The ease with which Derflinger casually confirmed the truth of Von Talon's existence here would have floored anyone else...but the tyrant CEO had long since resigned himself to the fact that there was no way any cover story would have fooled someone like Derflinger, who had been almost everywhere, and fought pretty much anything.

“So it's true then.” Derflinger said guardedly, the draconian CEO's silence answering more clearly than any words. “You really are a wanderer, huh?”

Von Talon turned, a graceful arc carving through the skies as he turned his mask towards the sun. Steadying himself, he hovered there, the great green and violet wings of his coat stilling as he gave a shrug.

“...so how long?” The sword's voice was subdued.

8_8?

“How long've you been going?” Derflinger asked, rustling in his sheath. “I've been around for a while, and if there's one thing I know...it's that no one who wanders from world to world has any time to waste on a normal lifespan.”

Ah.

Von Talon's yellow visors dimmed slightly, images and memories flickering unbidden through his mind. Had he possessed a mouth, that metal mask might have smiled ruefully. How long indeed...

So many centuries of carnage...so many thousands of years wandering the multiverse, killing and harvesting and hunting the materials for his supreme 'Project'...how long had it really been?

Derflinger had been alive for six thousand years. He'd watched friends come and go, watched the world change, civilizations rise, and empires crumble. To him, probably the only beings from his past that likely remained alive were the few other dimensional travellers he had seen, and even then, they had left to continue their travels, as all wanderers must, so not even that was certain.

Right then, Von Talon felt a certain kinship with that sentiment.

So from one long-lived individual to another...he told Derflinger the answer.

There was silence among the clouds as the sentient weapon digested that.

“...I'll be damned.” He whistled finally. “It ain't that often I get to be the junior...and it's definitely the first time I'm getting swung by somebody from another world...”

The rusted blade chuckled.

“This is certainly an interesting age I've woken up to.” He slid out of his sheath slightly. “Well then, looking forward to working with you...partner.”

Dras Von Talon nodded, and lightly clanked his knuckles against the extended hilt.

“Soooo...we gonna go tell your boss she's stuck with me now?” If a sword could grin, Derflinger would have.

The tyrant CEO gave a rueful shrug. If Louise le Blanc de la Valliere didn't already know that he was going to be holding on to this prize of a sword...well, she clearly hadn't been paying attention!

“HAH!” Derflinger laughed aloud, settling back into his sheath. “Oh, you do have a way with women, partner...Speaking of which, what's this I'm hearing about a cute maid with a soft spot for tall, dark familiars with a complete lack of basic housekeeping skills?”

=_=;

The sword's laughter muffled as Von Talon whacked it back into the sheath with one hand, the Western ruler's visors gleamed with amusement, before his wings beat once, hurling him upwards...before looping into an effortless corkscrew that plunged back into the sea of clouds, leaving the skies quiet and empty in the sunlight once more.