Title: Pentacle
Author: Happiness's Deceit or crescenttwins
Fandom: Rust Blaster
Disclaimer: I do not own Rust Blaster. I do, however, own the story below.
Word Count: 972
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: spoilers, un-beta'd, major creative licensing, dark themes, vampires
Summary: Five part Six and Seven story. The Pentacles represent manifestation of desires into reality.

Five of Pentacles

Representing Suffering, Loss, and Self-Doubt

The sound of creaking taunts them all.

It seems intensified in the blood-soaked air, echoing into their ears like the last screams of the dying. Beneath their skin, eagerness bubbles and despair seems that much bleaker; simultaneously, fear expands and hope resurfaces for the first time.

It has been a millennium since they have been trapped here. Generations have been destroyed, fed upon, devoured by their elders and juniors; age has never played a role in the survivors. Perhaps there are none left of those who remember what it was like to be in the other world. Perhaps, those who do remember keep it locked (that little piece of sanity) inside their heads. All that seems left is the legacy that they were once in the human world, and it was glorious.

There is also the quiet, broken thought that they were betrayed. Decades of anger funnel into that single thought, leaking it out into even those who had never known their betrayers. Frustration becomes hate, and the hope that shines so brightly before them amplifies it.

They will have their revenge, they swear. They will be released, and they will escape from the Hollow of Despair; the dhampirs who dared to lock them away will fed upon and the strength they gain from it will be the beginning of their new reign. They will recover what was lost by force.

All their thoughts reach the pinnacle at possibility and all know that it will never come to fruition if something doesn't give. And if the dhampirs do what they like, they will never be free.

The remaining, the sane, are gathered.

It is a meeting of cannibals, and they all know it.

Those there are those who were expected. The eldest are not present, having lost their minds long before; nor are the youngest, those overcome with bloodlust. Those present are those who were the children of the eldest, those who were the results of attempts of freedom.

The majority are older, are weak. There are a few who are strong, who have been given strength through feeding and an unending belief that they will be free.

Decisions must be made, and cracked hopes shatter at the abysmal chasm they will have to overcome. But a choice is made.

The creaking continues, and they force two through the barrier.


The highest point in the city is the clock tower. They settle on the enormous ledge as the sun begins to set, lovely streaks the color of fresh blood smearing against the sky.

Seven wraps his arms around Six's neck and speaks into the back of his neck.

"Can you hear it?" He whispers, teeth scraping the delicate skin. "The aching of the moons?"

Six stares into the city, watches the people and lights. He closes his eyes, feeling out for the lance they have been warned of. Its presence doesn't echo back to his body, and he frowns.


"I can't find the lance." He murmurs in reply. "I should be able to, but it isn't resonating with me." Six opens his eyes, scanning the bright lights of the city again. "What's going on?"

Seven slips his arms away from Six. "Maybe it hasn't activated yet. It is a human, right?"

"Yeah," Six confirmed. "It should be."

"Then he probably hasn't come in contact with his wielder." Seven says offhandedly. "If it was me, I would have found you already. The betrayers really are very slow." He grins, sitting down on the ledge.

Six joins him a beat later. His black bird comes down from the clock hand, settling on his shoulder. "As I recall, you took quite a while." He strokes his bird gently.

"But I still found you," Seven whispers. "Even through all the blood, I found you."

"You did." Six agrees.

Seven shrugs the white slip of a cloak from his shoulders. Six catches it without much of a thought, folding it neatly over his arm. They sit there in silence, and Six closes his eyes again, feeling for the lance. Blackness seems to muffle everything, and there is no counterpart to his wings.

"Hey," Seven says abruptly. "You won't feel bad for the lance, right?" He looks very purposefully to the city below. "I mean, you won't sympathize with it."

Six cracks his right eye open. "Why would I do that?"

"You're the same."

There was no accusation behind the statement, but there was no tremor in Seven's tones either. Six's eyes snap open. He turns towards his friend, eyes tracing the forcefully casual posture, and he sighs. Six gently pushes his bird off his shoulder, and then reaches out to trace Seven's cheek.

His hand is seized and Seven forcefully turns to Six, eyes hard. "Would you sympathize with the lance?"

"I might." Six considers. "I don't know yet."

"Six," Seven says, and then falls silent. He hates the way this will go, inevitably, but he needs to know. They will fight against the lance, they will. And Six can't go feeling bad for the lance in the middle of it. It would be dangerous for them, for Six.

Six adjusts Seven's grip on his hand, turning them and lacing their fingers together. "Seven." He says in reply, and brings their linked fingers outward, towards the city. "You want to fly?" His eyes never leave Seven's, and they tell Seven everything he is afraid to ask.

And they soar.

They connect in a way that is theirs alone, and with Six's blood on his lips, Seven has never felt stronger.


Later, Six will stiffen and say the words that will begin it all.

"I found the lance."

But that is later, and this is now.

Two Weeks Until the Twin Moons Split