[center]Chapter 12: The Seventh Seal[/center][/b]

[i]Adán's Cell, Cellblock G[/i]

Again and again the cuts came as he lay on the table, one arm hung limply over the side. He was only barely conscious at this point, brought to the edge by blood loss and pain in spite of his rage. His concentration was breaking, his ability to fight beginning to break down. The man felt nothing but pain, and only that at new strikes. Otherwise, his body felt absolutely no sensation at all aside from hearing and a faint light.

Finally, he felt two blades comes down on his limp arm at the same time. He could not hear his own voice, but assumed that a scream was probably coming. They had been for some time. And then he no longer felt the arm. Only pain, nothing more. He could hear the two children arguing, however.

[size=1]"You were supposed to heal next, brother!"

"It was your turn."

"I'm recharging magic! I can't right now!"

"And what about our Ethers?"

"We never mess this up! If mom finds out--!"

"She won't."[/size]

Suddenly, one of the doors nearby was kicked open, and the blades no longer came down. The psychic restraints appeared to fade away instantly, but his fatigue from blood loss did not allow him to try to free himself. Nyx spoke to an intruder.

[size=1]"You're next, rebel!"[/size]

He could suddenly hear the shouting, the gunfire and defense, and finally the sound of a door being torn open, and footsteps pounding quickly away as more than one person ran out. What was going on? Who would save him?

"SH**!" The curse gave his answer.

-----

There was so much blood.

His body seemed to be almost completely crimson and glistening, the many cuts in his skin showing varying degrees of damage along all of him, including damage to his black shirt and his pants in the process of those twins' torture. More blood was pooling on the ground. They were lucky they had left when she opened fire upon them, or she would have killed them both. That was, if she had enough ammunition. This magazine was down to about quarter capacity.

Abigail, her headset returned to her as she was coming here by "generous" guards, ran to the near-corpse, looking it over. For one arm, he had naught but a bloody stump, muscles, nervous, and bone visible behind the red sheen. The arm was on the ground, likely not re-attachable. "Crap, crap, crap!"

She didn't really care for him. Actually, they hated each other. But if he died, she was down a full member of their resistance, and they couldn't afford that. It had taken years to assemble them, and each small victory was hard earned. She wanted to make strikes, sure, but knew how to hold back. Besides, he was more than willing to be a meat-shield for the rest of the team, and she did not want to end up babysitting Simon.

Quickly, she looked around the room for healing supplies. A bandage, disinfectant, something to help, anything to help her wrap this guy up. He probably also needed a blood transfusion, besides. Nothing to speak of in the way of helping, just to cut further. Liquids were poisons.

It was then that she could see the samurai, the same one who had attacked her. She wouldn't shoot him, his armor likely able to deflect her ammunition and her need to proceed to the throne room greater than a need for vengeance on this one man. Instead, she just glared death into him, receiving no response in kind.

In his hand, he held a simple white cloth. The samurai did not move one muscle, simply looking at Adán with that cloth in his hand. Did he even care?

The Runner scowled, aiming the gun at him threateningly. "Get out now, or I'll shoot you dead. Probably can't survive a headshot, I'd imagine."

And so he spoke, not moving still. He sounded to be approximately in his thirties. "And waste bullets? You aim at a dead man. You'll be needing those later, I assume." The man walked to the side of the table, placing the cloth beside the warrior. "Number Sixty-Six. Wrap his worst and ask for its aid."

"That is the stupidest--" But he had already disappeared in a flash of golden light.

The woman looked to the cloth, examining it briefly. It was very old, stained with blood. A face was burned on to its surface, a seemingly tortured man with his arms positioned to his sides and his palms forward. As she held it, she began to feel pain, many images flashing before her eyes. Whether luckily or unluckily was unknown, but she was unable to pick out individual ones as of yet as she wrapped the shroud around the stump, tightly as she could. As she did so, she spoke to her ally, trying to keep her mind off of what she was seeing. "How the hell can you be such an idiot, anyway? Going out on your own when it's too dangerous, getting us both captured, yourself mutilated."

A grunt of anger was a response...but then the bleeding stopped, and she let go as the shroud remained upon the wound, pulling it over as much of his body as she could, but keeping the worse wound covered. The grunt only stopped for a scream, however. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop his bloodcurdling yell of anguish. What was wrong? What was going on with those hallucinations? She almost tore it off of him...but then she had reason not to.

That voice she heard seemed almost kind, but entirely otherworldly, echoing and seeming to cause a slight ache of its own words alone. The source...was unusual, to say the least.

[img]http://i640.photobucket.com/albums/uu121/UMIYURI/shroudtext1.png[/img]

In all honesty, Abigail was inclined to agree. In most cases, anyway. Right now, she was a bit weirded out that a piece of cloth was talking, but put her hands back on it, forcing Adán to remain still as he began to thrash.

[img]http://i640.photobucket.com/albums/uu121/UMIYURI/shroudtext2.png[/img]

"Just fix the idiot!" She then realized what had happened. She was actually conversing with a piece of cloth. "...Now [i]I'm[/i] crazy..."

[img]http://i640.photobucket.com/albums/uu121/UMIYURI/shroudtext3.png[/img]

"Do it already!" The screams were getting louder, the images clearer, more painful for her, even. Faces, numbers, archaic symbols. Schematics and more, everything in golden lights. Her eyes screwed shut tightly, but the lights did not leave. Ignore it, ignore it!

[img]http://i640.photobucket.com/albums/uu121/UMIYURI/shroudtext4.png[/img]

Her eyes opened quickly at the order. It was weird. Was that face on the cloth talking? No, it wasn't moving.

A scream bellowed forth from Adán. "[i]JUST KILL ME![/i]"

And it began. Wounds sealed, as if becoming un-cut open. Blood did not go back in, but the damage done was gone. There was no arm growing back, but blood no longer seeped from the stub. Finally, after some time, he went silent, still, only barely breathing.

[img]http://i640.photobucket.com/albums/uu121/UMIYURI/shroudtext5.png[/img]

And the shroud fell silent at last, the deed done.

The door from which she had come burst open, and she turned quickly to face it as she tore off the shroud. The stub was now covered with skin. There was no arm, and it likely would not return to them, but the healing was as complete as could be. Incomplete, as it had told her, but it would have to do.

'Fal looked around the room, at the wounded Strongarm and his apparent savior Abigail. He sized up what had happened as best as he could. "I have a way out, Headshot. Simon is here with Kira, and--"

"Good. Hold on." She pulled the one-armed man off of the table, grunting as she shifted his weight to accommodate for it. "Did you talk?"

[size=1]"Not.... a word....."[/size] he gasped weakly.

"Good. You're a damned moron, and I'll be more angry if you lost will here." Though he glared, she pushed him over to Doc, who caught him. "Get his sword?"

"Found on my way, yes," he noted, making sure to keep Adán up. "In Kira's pouch, too difficult to reach for combat. I have also found schematics for Fixer's--"

"All right. Bring this lunatic to his bird."

"And of you?"

She turned, walking to the next door, the way ahead.

"No. No, you can't!"

But she wasn't having any of it. Without another word, no reaction but a quick glare at him, she was off running.

=====

[i]Sessrumnir Throne Room[/i]

Wordlessly, Abigail walked through the hall between the throne room and the apparent trophy room near it. Those prizes disgusted her further, but she did not expect any better from this empire. If anything, she was surprised by a lack of corpses other than those she herself had caused at its entrance from broken necks. She entered the room past the lavish hall, with its grand ceiling and many decorations. Some would have welcomed the opportunity to have an audience with the empress herself, whether to give news or to be rewarded for fulfilling a duty. But that was not on her mind in the slightest.

The eventually-empty assault rifle had been dropped on the ground a while back, replaced by a longsword. She was not very good at one's use, trained almost exclusively with daggers and knives as far as bladed weapons go, but it had to be enough for now.

On the ground, she saw the hide of a white wolf splayed out as a kind of carpet in the center of the room. On a far wall, a similar head was mounted. It seemed as though it were once majestic, somehow awe-inspiring. However, now it was naught but pathetic, its dark eyes glassy and its mournfulness in death plain.

She could see a large fan, a kind of barrier likely of some kind of Asian make. It was gold primarily, with two symbols painted upon it in green and red respectively. The kanji symbols "兔" and "蛇". She saw a few other symbols, but they were likely similarly unimportant in relation to the one behind them, the probable throne itself.

She could hear a sound of skittering insects, but did not ask what the sound came from. Probably not--[i]okay, then.[/i]

It was a corpse, appearing sunken and covered in bites of some kind of bug. From the clothing on it, she assumed it was a soldier, possibly a female. How could the woman even call this a throne room for such an expansive empire if she couldn't even have those kinds of things dragged out? It might have been a trap, yes. But she wasn't in much of a position to argue one way or the other. Maybe she could get her sidearm if she had one? Better than a sword for her, by far.

Carefully, she walked toward the woman, seeing that she did, in fact, still have a pistol on her. She knelt before the body, reaching for it.

Suddenly, it tore itself apart. Black spiders exploded out of every orifice, tearing through clothing and armor and lunging straight at Abigail before she could move a muscle. She screamed as they dug into her, biting and gnawing at her skin, fell to the ground as she tried to throw them off or slash them with the sword, writhing until she finally managed it, all of them scurrying away.

"Well, well, well..." When Abigail looked up, she saw her. The "goddess-empress" herself. Her outfit wasn't as it was shown in paintings and statues at the various temples. Instead, she wore a
 rather risqué black dress with diamond shape holes out lined in red down the front, two small white bunny ears on top of her head and a few cards in her right hand, fanned out. Her left held a golden staff, one that usually was kept with her. Her flesh along her arms was inhuman. Honeycomb-like pods of reddened flesh coupled with some webbing marked both arms from forearm to a concentration at the palm, spiders crawling in and out of various holes before the weblike, hive-like nature ceased to be.
On her face, she wore a smirk.

Had she been someone else, Abigail may have admitted that she did in fact look the part. Powerful, possibly what a man would see as good looking. But she wasn't another woman, and neither was the woman who had trapped her. So she stood, a bit weaker, feeling a poison of some sort slowly tap into her stamina. Hopefully this effect would not last long, but would not be too much of a hinderance.

Unluckily, the Runner was not standing for long. Suddenly, all she could see was a starry expanse, naught but herself and the empress within. She could hear the woman say something before her, but did not catch what it was, shocked by her surroundings and terrified by the fact that she could not think of a single way to run out of this scenario.

Three punches were thrown in the air, and she stood still. Before Abigail could react, three waves of silver energy hit her. The first collided with her knee, forcing her to double over. The second she took to the head, staggering her back and blurring her vision, and the third went straight into her abdomen, launching her against a wall before she collapsed in a heap on the returned floor, having fallen over the corpse. Slowly, she tried to stand. "I'll... kill.... you..."

The woman shook her head, clicking her tongue. "Now that just won't do. You are required to give me respect." Ignoring the scoff, she held out her hand of cards, looking through them, and waved a hand. "I see you met Aranea. She served her use after all, it seems. I have many more." A trio of a slot machine's gambling reels appeared before her. "Random Reels," she said calmly as they began to spin. "Live or die by a trio of spins. Exciting, truly." That face told a different story, one that came out in her words. "Don't be fooled, though. This is no game. Not for you, in any case."

She wouldn't die, not like this. Wouldn't lose in a damned gamble. So, staggering, Abigail grabbed up her sword awkwardly and charged, screaming as she did. She was halfway to Diana when the reels stopped.

Each and every one of the three held a pair of swords. What could it mean?

Suddenly, she knew. She didn't see the spell, too focused on Diana to care to look, but felt many of its effects. Physical damage caused extreme pain, causing her to collapse once more. Her ability to shrug off the pain she had endured decreased, as well as whatever mental defenses she had gathered. She felt her strength to hold up the sword dissipate, leaving her unable to do much of anything with it and leading to her decision to simply drop the weapon. The only effect she did not endure was a loss of her EVE reserves, how ever much of it was left. This thing likely influenced magic reserves, but magic was not science.

"Quartet Knife," mused the woman. "Interesting. Useful, too." She held up one arm as a flash overtook her, and she again wore her clothing that was more famous, including the deep red skirt, short at the front and longer toward the back, and her black combat boots. In her right hand, she held a scythe. It had a
silver, curved blade like a crescent moon near the top, a sliver spear head at the very tip, and a long black pole and handle. "Moon Magnet."

Though unable to fight back, Abigail felt a magnetic pull drag her toward the goddess-empress, bringing her to her feet before she was grabbed by the shirt to keep her up, the pull ending. With that, she was dropped at the woman's feet, unable to bring up the strength to pick herself up at the moment.

The scythe was thrown to the throne nearby, landing there upright. It was not that which she wished to use. Instead, she held up the staff in her hand, and stabbed the blade straight into the ground, leaving the ornate back pointing skyward. A golden light surrounded Abigail, picking her up as she regained focus, strength, but keeping her still. "I know of you," she said, pacing back and forth as the staff's power kept her prisoner steady. "You are one of those who were captured, correct? By my assassin, I assume."

"Your assa--?" She cut herself off, more or less getting it. Then why did he help? Possibly for personal gain. "Shut up and stab yourself, save me the trouble."

A laugh. "I commend you. None have reached the throne room before. Granted, we have not had much in the way of rebellion, now have we?" The cold metal touched against her cheek, made her shiver. "Unfortunately for you, I am far out of your league." She planted it in the ground again, and the process began.

The Runner could feel her mind being torn away, feel the power grasping at her, pulling her will to fight away from her. It seemed similar to that shroud. How? Rather than think on that, she concentrated on herself, making sure she was able to keep her focus. As she did, she just continued to swear, again and again at the captor, spitting insult after insult. Still, she was losing... losing... she would do as asked she would--

The explosion in the nearby window shook away Diana's concentration, and the hold shattered. Abigail fell to the ground on hands and knees, gasping for breath as her mind returned.

"Come on!" That was Simon's voice, from the window. "Come on, we gotta go!" Was that...it was the Hornet!

Quickly, Abigail stood up, though shaky, and looked to the shattered window. She did not have enough strength to fight yet, but she could still run. And run she did, away from a shouting Diana as she was switching back to her scythe, toward the Hornet as 'Fal reached his hand out over the side...

Jump.

Arms reached forward, legs pinwheeled through the air, trying to grab for the alien. So close...

"[i]Moon Wave![/i]" She could not see the silver wave that shot through the air, trying to kill her, until it was past her. All she felt was agony at her left hip, letting loose a scream of agony. She didn't even feel 'Fal grab her hand, nor when he dragged her into the back. She could barely hear the call for Simon to fly them away, register their movement away from Sessrumnir.

All was pain, and her life had been changed forever.

-----

Everything moved very quickly as they began to fly away from the broken window. Fixer stood up from the controls, shouting to his artificial intelligence helper. "Indra, take the autopilot!" With that under control, he sprinted to the commotion, skidding along on his knees as he estimated the distance from sound and floor vibrations. He knew the moaning of agony from their Runner, felt the slick blood that began to drench his pants. "Doc, situation, stat."

As the partner gave his report, they turned her over on to her back, gently but quickly, not paying any mind to personal space. "Left leg sliced open near the hip. Skin gone, ligaments and tendons severed but for a select few to hold it on. Bone badly damaged, cracked. Nerves mostly intact, though fractures have caused some slices."

The boy winced. With that much damage, she would be lucky if she could walk with a crutch, let alone run ever again. It seemed that her days as a traceuse were over. But that was only if he could fix this immediately. What to do...what to do....

[i]"Fixer, what world are you from?"[/i]

Kira's question went unanswered. Was this really the time to talk about--

Wait a second. That was it! He knew how to...he had to do it, it had to work.  "But how?"

[i]"I have enough materials at home."[/i] Without any segue, her attention shifted, still concentrating on flying them out. [i]"Doc, give him your sword."[/i]

"No." Was this really the time to argue? Now? "I won't let him try that. If he does this wrong--"

"Give it to me," the mechanic spat, holding out one hand in the general direction of his nonhuman partner. "We don't have time to argue, man. Really, just [i]give me the Energy Sword![/i]"

Doc tried to argue, really. He knew just how much of a bad idea this could be if he meant one thing, and that murder was the only other possibility. However, Fixer could tell he saw something in the distance, as he shoved the hilt into his hand. "Ignite. You have the correct position to hold it." As if he didn't know what that was, after so long blind. "Complete it and bring fasten her in for safety directly afterward."

The mechanic didn't even bother to ask why, feeling the target briefly with dextrous fingers. "You're gonna feel a little pinch." And down it came.

-----

This group was irritating, to say the least. Empress Diana had had quite enough of their interferences in her affairs, pun only partly intended. If they would leave in a ship, she would do her part to hinder them, if nothing else.

Wordlessly, the goddess-empress closed her eyes, red, magical energy twisting up and down her left arm as she pointed it up toward the clouds above. The power coalesced at a point before her palm...and fired straight out in a beam, leaving behind a ring of the energy at the point from which it was fired in a kind of shockwave.

The blast shot straight up into the sky, and pierced a cloud. Within seconds, the gray condensation had begun to morph, a being beginning to form from its bottom. A massive beast, a silvery-blue dragon, began to form from it, until it had finally been completed, emerging. Its eyes were sunken, red and buglike, its skull featuring a series of ram-like horns. Its own, massive gray wings were supported by a series of insectoid ones, and its mouth held a single row of yellow teeth. Those fools would not know it, but this was the Dragon King, Bahamut, twisted by dark magic.

And off it flew with a mighty roar. Bahamut TREMOR, also known as Bahamut SIN, flying after the plane. A blue flame gathered in its mouth, a blast of purest blue, non-elemental magic crashing into the side of the Hornet, the Tremor Flare causing massive damage and inducing a descent into the distance. The beast rent its foe with mighty claws, causing it to lose a part of its back before spinning out into a descent.

Before it could land a finishing blow, the summons was complete, the Dragon King disappearing in a swirl of blue flames for until the next call.

A crash was probable, but did not mean any necessity for the so-called "heroes" to have died. Diana knew this, expected a return eventually. The lack of closure just made her so [i]angry![/i]

Scowling, she swung her Moon Scythe across her body before raising it to the sky. In a crackle of violet light, it had changed form entirely. In the place of the Nippon-forged scythe was a massive sword, its purple blade shaped like a lightning bolt and the raw, violet energies crackling along its length. With a mighty scream, she stabbed hard into the ground, shearing straight through it before she yanked it out, taking a deep breath. [i]Calm down, Diana, calm down...[/i] But it paid to have the occasional outburst. Kept her from going too hard on others. In another crackle, the former broadsword returned to the form of her scythe.

A call came in from one of her subordinates, one of the priests, on the intercom system on a wall. [i]"My goddess, the situation has been brought under control once more. Several casualties and escapees nonwithstanding, we are in relatively beneficial standing. A War Chieftain of the Jiralhanae has been wounded, but nothing serious."[/i] A pause. [i]"Your court mage, Elori Shadowflash, is dead, but we found no sign of her murderer. Stab wounds, it seems. But there is more."[/i] A pause. [i]"The project you called 'the Mother'....she is dead. Suicide is what is presumed from her position, though it seems some rebel helped her."[/i]

"I will handle it. Leave this channel." The first piece of bad news elicited a frown. She would need to figure out how to do without that sadist, a way to keep her altered world's weather stable without that magical power. However, she now did not have to deal with Mireu's pet. Always a bright side. Now about that second piece of bad news. She waited for the intercom to turn off knowing she would not be questioned, and grinned slightly after she was alone.

"On to Phase Three."

[center][b]End of Part III[/center]