6. The Beginning of the End

“He’s gone?”

“He left this morning in his ‘Gummi Ship’.”

Braig loosed a frustrated cry and punched the wall so hard it bloodied his knuckles.

Aeleus remained impassive. “Such outbursts are wasteful and futile. You would be better expending your energy in preparation for the plan.”

The sky had already darkened with oncoming evening, and in the Great Hall the band was tuning up, ready to welcome the glittering array of guests and their entertainers and bodyguards.

Right now, Braig could happily have set fire to the whole shebang, Xehanort’s wrath be damned. His anger felt so much sharper because of the excess energy writhing within him. It writhed like an overturned basket of snakes. He really felt he was going to go crazy or rupture his own guts if he didn’t find some way of getting rid of it. Pushing past Aeleus, he decided to use his privileges as a high-ranking officer and override the shooting range’s security codes.

“Ansem won’t be pleased,” Aeleus cautioned, not referring to Ansem the Wise.

“He can go fuck himself. What’s he up to while we scurry around like rats in wheels, anyhow?”

“He is attending to a matter with Lord Ansem.”

“As if.” Braig left, thinking that if Xehanort, or Ansem, or whatever the hell he wanted to be called now, was allowed some downtime before they committed mass murder, then damn it, so was he. He no longer cared what they were about to do – he was too frustrated and preoccupied with his own discomfort.

On his way through the corridors, however, he spotted Squall standing in an alcove with Cadet Lockheart. Squall’s hand was clamped between the smaller ones of a slender little girl who wore the robes of the healers, though she was too young to be one.

She jerked her head up at Braig’s approach, revealing the insignia of a trainee, and eyes as green as Sephiroth’s. Braig paused, held by them until Squall spoke.

“Commander? Are you all right?”

Braig knew he looked like shit. He hadn’t changed into his dress uniform, as Lord Ansem had decreed he should, and his hair was a mass of knots and dark greasy tangles working their way loose from his ponytail. From the way the two girls cowered slightly, he knew words like ‘deranged’ and ‘unstable’ could be used to describe his appearance, along with ‘hobo’, ‘down-and-out’ and ‘nuttier than a bag of almonds’.

Squall didn’t cower, though. Not his Squall. The boy looked up at him questioningly; genuinely concerned that something was wrong with his mentor.

“I’m fine. What happened to you?”

“Oh, I got in a little fight with one of the Resplendian cadets when he tried to, um …” Squall blushed. Somehow that was even more startling than the news about the mouse-man.

“When he tried to feel my boobs,” Cadet Lockheart provided. “Aerith here is just fixing his knuckles. We knew she wouldn’t tell on us because she’s only a trainee and doesn’t have to fill out so many forms for every little thing, because that’s what her mentor’s for.”

Braig knew he was supposed to reprimand them for even a minor fight with any member of the guests’ parties, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Lockheart continued to chatter, filling up the silence out of nervousness or because she like the sound of her own voice; he didn’t know and he didn’t care. What he did know was that Squall had been playing hero again, protecting others and getting himself hurt in the process, just like he always used to do for Strife.

The thought had insurmountable rage uncurling inside Braig. He’d removed the two other people Squall trusted, and he’d just gone and replaced them with other attachments, despite supposedly being the boy who couldn’t make friends. Lockheart clearly meant something to him. Was this healer a threat, too? Braig had never seen them together before, but that didn’t mean anything. The healers usually kept themselves apart from the rest of Radiant Garden. They even had their own quarters, separate from the castle, but it wasn’t like they stayed in Healer House all the time. For all he knew, this girl could be an even greater threat than Strife or Captain Fair. Something like jealousy stabbed Braig like an icicle through the back. He glared at the two girls until all talking ceased.

“Are you … mad with me?” Squall asked, uncertain. He was sixteen now, much taller than he’d been when Braig first laid eyes on him. He carried his gunblade at his hip, though it had to be uncomfortable there. Usually he had it strapped across his back in a magnetic bracer, but dress uniform was all about appearances.

A door opened off the Great Hall – a servant entrance, which made it unusual to see Lord Ansem being led through by his favourite apprentice. The man formerly known as Xehanort was talking rapidly, hand sweeping in wide arcs. Lord Ansem looked intrigued by whatever he was saying, but his face showed traces of apprehension as well. Behind them came Captain Leonheart, focussed as ever on his job. He didn’t even look over at the kids in the alcove as he followed down the hall and turned left out of sight.

Braig knew in an instant that if he left Squall here he would die when the Heartless were released. All the potential he had nurtured and aggressively guarded would be lost.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Yes, I’m mad as hell. You know you weren’t supposed to engage any of the visitors under any circumstances. Come with me, Cadet Leonheart.”

“But sir, it wasn’t his fault!” Lockheart protested.

Braig silenced her with a look. “Go into the ball. Leonheart won’t be joining you. He’ll be confined to his dorm for the rest of the evening.”

“But sir -”

“Am I not making myself clear?” Braig roared, causing them all to jump back. Even Squall registered surprise. “I’m not interested in your excuses, girl, and I am not interested in you either. Get the fuck out of my sight. And as for you,” he said, rounding on the wide-eyed healer, “get back to your mentor before I report you for not following protocol. You shouldn’t be conducting any healing without a qualified healer present, and you know it.”

Both girls scurried off. Braig couldn’t care less about them – in fact, if they were killed, all the better. That way Squall would be reliant on him. The thought of that made Braig feel instantly better, in spite of the crushing disappointment still thrumming through him at missing his opportunity with the mouse.

Squall fell into step behind him. Neither said a word as they negotiated the corridors away from the Great Hall. All cadets who hadn’t been invited to the ball had been turned into waiters, servers and other such things for the evening. The further they got, the emptier the corridors became, until there was nothing to break the silence but the sound of their own footsteps.

“Inside,” Braig said after unlocking the dorm Squall shared with three other boys. The room was plain and basic in design, but in the way of all teenage boys it had been decorated with pictures of half-naked women and people they admired. Braig noted with interest that Squall’s bunk was devoid of such decoration.

“Commander Braig?” Squall said when he turned to go. “I am sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to let you down.”

“Duly noted, Leonheart.”

“It’s just … you’ve done so much for me over the years. And I am grateful, sir. I just wanted you to know that. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you there to fight in my corner when I needed someone on my side, and I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you tonight, especially on such a special occasion and with me being one of the Royal Guard representatives and … everything.”

Actually he couldn’t give a flying fuck about any ‘special occasion’, but Braig paused and regarded the boy. Squall sat on his bunk, eyes downcast and despondent at being denied this reward for his successes, but resolved to it nevertheless. There was that fierce determination to do well again, which had caused him to rise above the rest despite his age and whatever misfortune befell him. Squall practically glowed with it. Braig almost thought he could see the light radiating outwards from his chest, causing a magnetic reaction in Braig’s own changed heart. The energy that made his skin crawl and his thoughts jump around like a jackrabbit on hot coals surged to the surface, until his feverish mind demanded he burn off the surfeit, right now, or grab Revolver and fall on the blade.

“You haven’t disappointed me, Squall.”

“That’s good to know, sir.”

“Far from it.”

Squall looked up, startled by his mentor’s voice; like Braig was only just holding back his temper with both hands and a cattle prod. “Commander, are you feeling all right?” Coupled with Braig’s appearance and general agitation, Squall was alert. He’d obviously worked out that something was very wrong with him, though Squall’s own adherence to protocol meant asking personal questions of his superior was tricky. However, in that moment the connection he had with Braig came first, and he asked the question he’d obviously wanted to ever since Braig ran into him.

“Not really, no. In fact,” Braig chuckled without humour, “I feel pretty fucking terrible, if you must know.”

Squall rose to his feet. “In that case, you need to go to the healers, sir.”

“Fuck the healers. Fuck this entire stinking city. Fuck everything. I’ll be all right if … if I just … ” Braig rubbed reflexively at his chest, leaning back against the door for support as his heart skipped enough beats that his pulse went a capella. The door clicked shut against his weight, but Braig hardly noticed. “Nggh … sweet Shiva …”

“Commander!” Squall was instantly at his side, trying to support him like he thought Braig was about to fall over. “Can you feel your arms, sir?”

“What?”

“Is that pain in your chest like really bad indigestion?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sir, I think you may be having a heart attack.”

Braig stared at him. Then he threw back his head and laughed. That was simultaneously the funniest and least funny thing he’d ever heard in his life. Squall was still Squall, his stoicism unable to conceal concern for those he cared about. That characteristic had allowed him to hit the nail on the head but also get completely the wrong end of the stick.

“A heart attack,” Braig wheezed. “A heart attack! You think I’m having a coronary?”

Squall frowned. “I don’t see what’s so funny, sir. It could be serious. Commander, you could die if you don’t go to the healers right now.”

“I’ll probably die anyway, whether I go or not.”

“Sir, that’s crazy talk. I’m not going to let you die.” Squall’s frown deepened in resolve.

Braig’s fist shot out so fast even he wasn’t fully aware of it moving. It crashed into the side of Squall’s skull, sending him reeling.

“C’mon, kid. I know you can fight better than that! What’s with that reaction time?”

Squall staggered sideways, caught completely off his guard. In that instant Braig was upon him again. He buried the knuckles of his other fist deep into Squall’s stomach, driving the air from his lungs, followed by a swift uppercut that laid him out cold on the floor. Squall hadn’t even had chance to fight back against Braig’s increased strength and speed, which was a disappointment.

Braig’s chest had eased the moment he sprang into action, though it still provided a background ache. Like Captain Fair before him, Squall hadn’t put up enough of a fight for that blasted restlessness to fully dispel. He stared at the crumpled boy, whom he’d worked so hard to protect and safeguard, and wondered why he didn’t feel worse about attacking him when he’d removed him from the Great Hall specifically to prevent him from being attacked.

Perhaps because he hadn’t protected Squall out of any real affection, but out of possessiveness, as one might grab an expensive antique and hide under the table with it during an earthquake. He had discovered this wonderboy; he had expended the time and effort to take that raw talent and mould Squall into what he was today, therefore what motivated Braig was a sense of ownership rather than actual fondness. Braig wasn’t fond of anyone, not even himself or his ‘brothers’ from the Blood Trio.

Even was right, damn him; everything was about power, who was strongest, and where you stood in relation to other people’s strength. That was a code of etiquette Braig understood far better than how to bow to royalty and which fork to use at dinner. Squall was stronger than all his classmates, and even a few of his instructors, but Braig was stronger still.

Squall had been stamped as his and his alone from the day he shot ten rounds through a bulls-eye and said he was going to be Captain of the Royal Guard. Squall had said that with the same decisiveness the golden warrior used just before he humiliated Braig. That warrior had pushed Braig off the top rung on the ladder of power, to where Lord Ansem pushed him down even further, until he was in a position where he could only watch the power of others’ grow in his care, never again allowed to show his fangs.

Frustration welled within Braig once more. His mind raced and popped along with his hammering chest. He hauled Squall up by his armpits, then paused, undid the sword belt holding Revolver and attached it around his own waist. The kid was toned, his arms developed by learning to swing a gunblade one-handed and trying to master Renzokuken. When Braig gathered him into his arms he felt the muscles in the curve of the kid’s back, though Squall wasn’t exactly tipping the scales. Or maybe that was just Braig’s enhanced strength sending him wacky signals that didn’t match what his brain thought his limits were. He was readjusting his stance to compensate for the lack of effort when the door burst open.

“What the fucking fuck?”

Braig narrowed his good eye at Highwind, automatically calculating how fast he’d have to be to cut the man’s throat before Squall could hit the floor.

“Those girls said you’d come down here. What the hell happened to him?” Highwind pointed at Squall, limp in Braig’s arms.

“He tripped and hit his head off the bedside cabinet. I’m taking him to see the healers. Get outta the way.”

“Yeah, right. Like you could find any healers with all them damn monsters. We’re under attack.”

Braig froze. So it had started already.

“We need all available fighters pronto, and I hate your guts, Braig, but I know you’re a damn sight better at taking out multiple enemies from a distance than anyone -” Highwind stopped, looking at the bit of Braig’s hand visible under Squall’s arm. “Funny,” he said. “How’d the blood from the kid’s head wound get on your knuckles and not on the cabinet?” He squinted at Braig. “Those monsters came from somewhere inside the castle, I reckon. And you’re here instead of at the ball, where you should be. And you’re in regular uniform. Where exactly were you planning on running off to with that boy, Braig?”

Braig might have laughed. Or maybe he might have scoffed. Or maybe he might have just blown a hole through Highwind’s head at what he was obviously implying. The idiot thought he was running away!

Braig let Squall’s feet touch the floor, keeping the rest of him upright with his right arm. He was right-handed with a pen, but ambidextrous with weapons, so it was easy to pull the pistol from the holster on his leg and nail Highwind between the eyes.

Or at least it would’ve been if the fucker hadn’t thrown himself sideways, taking the bullet in the shoulder instead. Blood sprayed upward, splattering against the wall and doorjamb, but Braig knew in an instant that he hadn’t hit a major artery.

“Shit,” Highwind hissed, clutching his wound and rushing into the corridor.

Braig considered the merits of following just to make sure he died. It rated as high on his personal priority list as getting his ass back to the Great Hall so Xehanort-Ansem couldn’t accuse him of skimping out. Returning to the Great Hall appealed to his sense of self-preservation, while killing Highwind was more a case of making himself feel better. Then again, both options would mean leaving Squall here, and on the off-chance Highwind made it out alive, he could come back for the boy, or alert someone else to come and take him away.

Unacceptable.

Braig slung Squall over his shoulder, pinning the kid’s legs against his own chest with one arm. It was like carrying a rag doll. He checked the pistol before running after Highwind to finish the job before the fucker could reach anyone.

Except that apparently Highwind was familiar with the secret passageways that littered the castle. Braig managed to catch him in the heel as he disappeared around the panel in the wall, blowing it into shards and pulp, but it was too late. To follow him was to risk Xehanort-Ansem’s wrath. He’d just have to hope the two injuries were enough to down Highwind with shock or blood loss.

Braig cursed and turned the other direction. He entered another secret passageway, which linked directly to the deserted upper hall near the top of the laboratory’s staircase. He’d used it several times before when meeting surreptitiously with the other apprentices.

There was nobody there when he emerged at the other end, since all the Heartless had headed straight for the plethora of pulsing hot ‘living samples’ in the Great Hall. Braig could hear distant screaming. He paid it no mind.

He descended to the first level, which led to the dungeon corridor. Anybody who didn’t know of the lab would think the staircase ended there, which had made it the perfect place to hide unsavoury activities; amidst the unsavoury characters that inhabited even a paradise like Radiant Garden.

The cell doors were all open. Apparently the prisoners had been allowed to escape, not knowing that the Heartless would be released minutes later, and that there was nowhere they could run fast enough to escape them.

Braig unhooked the catch to the hidden entrance and descended the rest of the way to the lab. He bypassed the main room to begin with, instead going to the now-empty Heartless enclosure. Containers of various sizes lined the walls, all their lids, hatches and doors open. Braig placed Squall into one of the largest and closed the lid, knowing the enchanted glass wouldn’t let him suffocate. This was the safest place to be with Heartless running loose. These containers had kept the Heartless locked away for months, and would keep them out just as easily. Perfect.

It looked like a glass coffin, he reflected dispassionately as he left, intending to return to the Great Hall to shoot anyone the Heartless missed, and who tried to leave. By the end of the night the only things alive in Radiant Garden would be himself, the other apprentices, and Squall. What kind of future they’d then face was another matter, but Braig had ceased to think that far ahead. He felt much better after spilling some blood. His senses felt heightened, so when he passed the main lab he heard the distinctive sound of a death rattle even though the door was closed.

He went in. Xehanort-Ansem was at the foot of the stairs. At his feet Captain Leonheart’s dead eyes stared into the puddle of blood leaking from his own mouth, the rest of his body sprawled like a rag doll tossed down by an angry child. Braig recognised what would’ve been his own fate if he’d been crushed by Xehanort-Ansem’s telekinesis. There was no sign of the real Lord Ansem anywhere.

“Xeha …” Braig registered the look in the man’s eyes and the flexing of his fingers, as if looking for a throat to squeeze. “Ansem?”

“Only one now. Only the true ruler. Only the true Ansem remains in this world. I sent the other one to the Realm of Nothingness, since he’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

Braig stared into eyes made wild with madness. Nuttier than squirrel shit. Oh yeah, he’s drowning in the deep end now. “The Heartless are in the Great Hall. So are Aeleus and the others.”

“I need them back here. The heart of this world … when it opens again I want you all to witness it.” Xehanort-Ansem made a gesture with his hand, like drawing a blade across an invisible man’s throat. Immediately portals of dark, swirling energy erupted around the room. He reached into one, fumbled around a bit, and then yanked Ienzo out by his collar. The boy looked around, surprised.

“Superior?”

Xehanort-Ansem barked that they should do the same in the other portals. It was like sticking his fist into a barrel of writhing eels, Braig thought as he found the shape of an arm. It tugged out of his grip. Conscious of Xehanort-Ansem’s presence at his back, he thrust his hand back in, along with his head and shoulders so he could see what he was doing. They emerged into the Great Hall.

Chaos reigned. The Heartless crawled over everything like cockroaches. People were screaming and running in all directions. Heartless pounced on them, yanking out hearts with the feral abandon of hunters too long denied their prey. Braig knew the feeling. Some people were fighting back, or trying to marshal the crowd to prevent further casualties. He caught sight of the Air Force representative cadets standing back to back, vaguely remembering their names as Vaan and Penelo even as they were swamped and it ceased to matter anymore. A head of much more familiar red hair leapt towards the doomed pair, as his own Captain Reno attempted to play hero. Braig felt nothing except frustration that the noise was distracting him.

He didn’t even shudder at the other corpses, which had nothing to do with the Heartless. The thing about panicking mobs is that you get swept up in them whether you want to or not. Fall down and they’ll crush you. Blood painted the floor and walls where people had been too slow or stumbled. The sound of someone with a firearm rang out, but Braig wasn’t sure whether they were fighting the Heartless or just clearing a path to the exit for themselves.

Braig spotted Even and dragged him backwards. Ienzo had a little trouble getting a grip on Aeleus, but Xehanort-Ansem all but scalped Dilan when he pulled him through by his hair.

When they were all present the portals vanished and Xehanort-Ansem regarded his followers. “Our moment of glory is upon us,” he said dramatically. “The false Lord Ansem is finished. Radiant Garden is but the tip of the iceberg. After tonight, nothing will ever be the same again.”

“How are we going to recapture all the Heartless?” Aeleus asked. “They’ve reproduced from all the hearts they’ve consumed. There are many more now than we have the facilities to contain.”

“Recapture them? Contain them?” Xehanort-Ansem laughed. “Why would we do that? They are the soldiers in the new world order. They are the means by which my rule will spread to all corners of this world and beyond – an order of purity, where darkness can’t be hidden in people’s hearts anymore. No more crime. No more sickness. No more poverty or unhappiness.”

Uh, yeah, because everybody will be dead, apart from us. Braig thought of the Heartless enclosure. And Squall. Now his daddy dearest is gone as well, and his little friends are Heartless chow, he only has me. I’m all he’s got left.

Mind fragmenting more by the second, Braig reckoned he could deal with any new world order that promised that.

To Be Continued …