Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ I Know What Lies Beneath the Snowfields ❯ Chapter 64 ( Chapter 64 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

"I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields"
Chapter 64

There was no time to waste. Once Vincent had ascended into the vent, he
began a quick crawl forward. The gun felt comfortable in his rigid grip.
Instinct had been whetted to peak sharpness, wary of every movement and
sound around.

Through this voracious void stretched the iron caverns of darkness. It
took Vincent a moment to adjust his sight, and even then he could barely
distinguish the grim surroundings. It was a nightmare of pipes and ducts,
all interconnected like a web into each other. Some were oval, others
square. Every few yards, Vincent chanced upon a peculiar gauge fitted to
the thick wall.

The cold air stung his hot face, more bitter than icy needles prickling
his skin. He had to grimace at the putrid stench here, one of stale rust
mixed with mako fumes. Once upon a time, these life-vessels had pumped
green riches from the Planet's heart straight into the Reactor. Now, all
that remained of that glorious era were the smells and this hollow system.
Such a miserable waste.

Paths led to more paths. Soon, he found himself in the main duct, where
several side-pipes fed into it from both sides. As Vincent crawled deeper,
he became increasingly aware of the silence. It slithered through the
pipework like an evil serpent, spreading its eerie aura all around.

Vincent stopped short when the aura became too strong. His suspicious
eyes, two brillinat rubies, glared around this darkness. His senses
hightened. Inside, pain boiled his torn lungs, yet somehow, he supressed
his breaths to the barest minimum. He listened...listened out for the
dreaded gunman.

The suspense endured forever. He lingered patiently like a hunter awaiting
his prey to appear, or a prey awaiting his hunter to attack. Right now,
even he could not determine which anology described the situation.

He suddenly heard a small clatter sound from behind. Quicker than
lightening, Vincent swung his gun around at the source. But much to his
confusion, he only found an empty bullet cartridge discarded upon the floor.

Very strange. That object hadn't been there before. Then where had...

The sudden realisation flashed danger. Vincent shot his eyes around to the
front again, just as Davoren came rolling out of a side-vent, both guns
bared for action. He blasted hell at Vincent, who miraculously reacted fast
enough to dodge into another duct.

The tactful gunman has almost ambushed him. By distracting him from
behind, he had then snuck up through the network, and attacked from the
front. Indeed, Vincent could only attribute his survival to devil's luck;
he hadn't even discerned Davoren creep here.

He hadn't time to praise his cunning foe; danger pressed upon the moment.
Fierce bombardment battered his shelter, sputtering wild spark against
metal. He could even feel the wall rattle behind him. Vincent waited for a
brief lapse in gunfire, whereby he then thrust his arm around for brutal
retaliation, at least to push Davoren back.

Which proved no easy task. The gunman too had huddled behind a corner
further up, with twin guns hard at work. Both sides exchanged a hearty
barrage of bullets, each man in a race to overpower the other.

In the end, however, they broke off into a mad scramble. Vincent glimpsed
the phantom gunman whisk across the mainline into another side-pipe. He
only took a split-moment to reload before persuing his enemy. He couldn't
afford to lose him in this maze.

The paths jumbled into a webwork of confusion. More
side-vents; roads which slid downwards, others climbed upwards. Darkness
hampered sight. Through such chaos, Vincent relied on his keen hearing for
guidance. He persued Davoren's light scruffles up the complex network.
Vincent crawled quickly after the enemy, gun held back for any
confrontation, eyes narrowed down upon the the void up ahead.

"Keep him occupied for a few minutes", Reno had instructed. Vincent
frowned. He couldn't guess what plan that man had concocted. But he'd just
have to maintain a hard defense to buy him enoguh time.

That is, IF Davoren didn't kill him first. It seemed the longer that
gunman fought, the more demonic he became.

Vincent suddenly felt the tables turn against him. His sight just happened
to stray aside to a black vent perpendicular to this path, where they
glimpsed an evil pair of pink eyes twinkling behind the corner. All at
once, Vincent rolled himself back, narrowly escaping the wild hailstorm.

Another ambush failed. Vincent's anger rose; he couldn't depend on luck
forever! He knew not when or how this shrewd madman had intercepted his
path, but he would get the better of him yet: two could play that game.

Therefore, Vincent returned a few shots just to occupy his enemy's
attention. Shifting to a quick, noisless crawl, he then retraced his path
back to some side-tunnel. Through darkness and more vents, until at last,
he snuck around the final corner, thereby catching Davoren from behind.

But not good enough to catch him unawares. The alarmed gunman reacted the
same instant Vincent blasted full fire. He somehow tumbled through the
madness for cover, protected all the way by his own devillish luck. This
ambush had failed too. Vincent growled a soft curse.

Again, they bartered a heavy bout of gunshots. Again, they broke off.
Despite all attempts, neither man could win the upper hand.

The situation escalated to a frenzy. Two demons in a mad scrimmage to
destroy the other, darkness their sacred
battle-grounds. Their energy sprung from black devils and unholy spirits
cheering them onwards. Their bitter hostility flared sparks through the air.

Time was obliterated amidst the insane cross-fire. Loud skirmishes and
rough scruffles echoed throughout. The insane rat-tat-tat of those
semi-automatics battled a deadly handgun. The two adversaries moved through
the labyrinth at mind-boggling speeds. They chased each other around. They
blasted at each other non-stop.

Reason be damned. In this war, they fought based on one animal instinct:
kill or be killed.

Vincent heard his own loud heartbeats pound above this blitz. The fit
swelled further inside its prison chest, howling for freedom against these
tight muscles. Many long hair strands swayed across his sweaty face.
Vincent knew there trailed blood behind him. Yet he never throught of
counting his wounds and aches; nor would he be bothered now about his
wretched pain or ruined appearance. That all would come later. Instead, he
rivetted his rigid concenration upon this moment.

His success depended on it. Aeris, the sole thing that kept his fury
alive..she depended on it.

He wished Reno would hurry up.

************************************************

"Dam mit!" swore Reno for the fifth time.

He flew through the madhouse of corridors, pressed hard for speed. Quite
fast, even though harsh pain still gnawed his shoulder, and his stomach
felt gutted clean. In the network overhead, there resounded the faint
gunshots of war, sometimes so fierce, Reno would steal a quick glance up,
and marvel how Vincent kept it up.

Nevertheless, he rushed onwards. His angry eyes searched desperately for
something in particular. Here nothing. There nothing. He had to swear a
sixth time.

At last came deliverance: a metal box fitted into the brick wall, with
several impressive cablelines snaking up to the ceiling. Reno squatted down
upon one knee. He tore open the cover to inspect the interior. It appeared
to be some control console. There was one screen, numerous switches and
control panels, with a complex assortment of wires.

Reno tried a switch. Nothing stirred. There was no power.

He frowned gravely, then hunched over further, at the same time flicking
out a wicked jack-knife from his pocket. Without hesitation, the man delved
into his task.

His stern eyes proved he fully understood his actions. Reno flicked on a
few more switches before tackling the array of wires. There, he tinkered
through the connections, all the while using his nimble fingers and sharp
knife. Reno worked with incredible dexterity through this jumbled mess.

He owed much thanks to all those hard training sessions back in the old
bomb-squad days. And of course, the long, gruelling hours endured to become
an electro-technician specialist (though he still hated that grouchy
instructor...may his miserable soul rot in Hell, amen).

When the initial set-up was complete, Reno grabbed his nightstaff next.
There was a small slit alongside this fine weapon, concealed behind a metal
piece. Reno slid up the cover to reveal the wired interior. Using the very
tip of his knife, he pulled out one end of some red wire, careful not to
touch its flat prong.

Through mumbled encouragements like "C'mon baby...c'mon..", Reno inserted
the red wire into the socket of one panel. That done, he cranked the staff
to maximum output. Immediately, the whole console lit to life with a sharp
bleep of gratitude; just what Reno prayed for: he had used his own
electrical weapon to revive the console.

A self-assured nod was definately in order, "Reno, my boy... you are just
TOO good!"

The man punched in a quick series of buttons until a password was demanded
for entry. He typed in the not-so-original response "MAKO", whereby a long
scroll of texts and digits danced down his keen scrutiny.

Not at all confused, he chose "activate" on the option screen, then
pressed a special button encased in glass. His choice was confirmed twice.
Finally, the screen obediently displayed a bar-graph loading different
commands. At the bottom, there read a gradual count-up to
100%:..6.66%...10.07%..12.32%..

Reno looked up towards the ceiling again. Just a bit longer.. if only
Vincent could keep it up a bit longer...

*********************************************

B rutality had long posessed the body, bitter hatred the mind, but still
this inferno raged on hot as ever. The insane bullets spared nothing. They
riddled darkness to pieces. They battered the metalwork. Crazed shuffles
filled the black tunnels, in constant motion to surpass the other.

Here waged a war between two devils hellbent on sheer survival, Death the
ultimate arbitrator. Around them swirled Satan's army, some cheering the
ruby-eyed demon, others the white-haired phantom. It didn't really matter.
Soon, one man would join their ranks.

Vincent found it increasingly difficult to keep up this wild pace. He had
sustained new injuries and escaped many fatal near-misses (too near to his
liking). The fever felt like a furnace, buring his very core out to the skin.

His grip was tight around the gun. His sharp hearing, probably his most
important sense now, discerned every movement and sound around. He crawled
quickly, sometimes even sped to a half-dash. Anything to stay alive in this
madness.

"Madness" described the battle perfectly. The labyrinth seemed to grow
more convoluted, neither opponent pausing for a minute. Vincent persued
Davoren through the network. He swept around the corner, where he spotted a
black figure scuffling away down the tunnel. His gun went into automatic
action. However, the fast figure had already dodged into a side-vent. Nor
was it intimidated one bit. Much to Vincent's alarm, the enemy thrust out
both guns, one above the other, for a deadly double blast.

One blink later, and Vincent rolled for cover into another vent. He hid
his face away as the crazed shots lashed this shelter apart. Their loud
zings deafened his ears. Davoren gave no room to breathe, let alone return
fire.

Danger suddenly flashed clear across Vincent's mind:
a suspicious movement rapidly approaching the corner. Indeed, on looking
aside, Vincent was stunned blank to witness an arm swing out towards him,
with one semi-automatic pointed ahead of bright pink eyes. They shone
bloody murder.

It happened in a second. During this chaos, the clever gunman had snuck
straight up to Vincent's shelter.

The fast reaction astounded one's comprehension, even Davoren's. With his
hard claw, Vincent snagged the gunman's arm to divert the aim far up, just
before several bullets rang loud. Now pinning the arm to the wall, Vincent
then returned the surprise-attack tenfold. Every bullet hit Davoren
point-blank. A brutal lead shower from head down to chest.

He didn't stop until the angry gunman managed to bare out his other
semi-automatic. But Vincent reacted faster. He released the arm as he
shoved it hard against Davoren, thus pushing him back for a split-moment;
enough time to beat a hasty retreat.

A fresh halistorm of bullets screamed vengence after him. Their wild
sparks flew all around. Yet Vincent somehow escaped into a side-vent, where
the black path led him upwards. He scruffled up like a madman. Around more
corners and through ducts..the nightmare simply had no end!

When he finally realized the gunshots had ceased, Vincent gasped to an
unsteady halt. He slumped against the thick iron wall. After tearing open
his collar, the ruined man thrust back his head to gulp precious air,
squeezing each breath past his parched throat. His inflamed lungs wailed in
pain. A dull headache pounded his brains.

That had been such a narrow escape, Vincent shuddered to remember it. His
whole body ached from strain and injury. His long overcoat, alas, lay in
miserable tatters, especially the hole-ridden hem.

Vincent was surprised to discover one entire shoulder soaked in hot blood.
He gaped a moment at it, yet still could not feel any pain. No doubt, a
stray bullet had grazed deep during that retreat. In his desperation, he
never noticed.

Silence echoed through these hollow tunnels. Nothing stirred. He sat alone
in darkness, listening to this unnatural tranquility while his senses
gathered again.

"Comical little fellow...that punk-friend of yours, Vincent," suddenly
came a cool, dry voice from nowhere.

Vincent tensed. He hadn't discerned the gunman sneak up here. Even now, he
could not pin-point Davoren's location amdist this wretched maze. He seemed
to surround him from every direction. Nevertheless, Vincent gripped his gun
tight.

"A bit cocky, but he's quite good with that magic wand of his. Huh! Though
Heaven help me if he'd been under my command."

Every sense was strained on high alert. Vincent anticipated an attack any
second.

Nor did Davoren disappoint his expectations. Danger came from the left
side, at the junction of two tunnels. Vincent caught a quick shadow flinch
there, in which he immediately scurried away. A torrent of savage bullets
pelted metal and pierced air after him.

Vincent swerved into a pipeline, slamming his bloody shoulder against the
wall in the process. Down he scuffled, persued close behind by fire and fury.

At last, he shoved himself aside into a vent. Safe there, Vincent thrust
his gun around for hard retaliation. Both enemies exchanged a few bouts
before breaking off again, neither side the victor.

"But it doesn't matter, my firend," he heard Davoren's gentle voice float
by, softer than a ghost's "We'll still shed more blood..."

It errupted again. Vincent made an incredible dash out of his shelter for
the vent across the tunnel, returning enemy gunfire all the way. He tumbled
through, where he then crawled forward like a crazed maniac, well aware
that Davoren had given persuit.

The skirmish travelled further up the network until Vincent took a firm
stand behind a side-vent. Only with
full-scale fire frenzy did he shake Davoren off his tail. The gunman didn't
retaliate, but instead took shelter inside a delivery pipe. Finally, when
his gun clicked empty, Vincent pulled back.

Another battle he survived, would he be so lucky next time? Gasping
against the sweat, Vincent reloaded his gun, then drew it up to his hot
face. He tried hard to ignore the savage pain mauling his chest inside.

"..more blood...it's the only way to end this," whispered Davoren from his
own shelter, now aroused to quiet insanity, "Can you hear them, Vincent?
Can you hear Hell and all its fallen angels howl our names?"

Vincent's grip tightened on his gun as he listened to this derrangement.
The air reeked of mailce, its source a sisnter, murderous lunatic.

"I don't know why...heheh," raved the amused madman to no one, "..it's
just a crazy passion I have..to shed more blood. The more people I
hurt..and anger I cause, the stronger the desire.."

No reply; only a disgusted silence.

"Blood...smear it in my hands until they drip red...
let the rotten smell fill my nostrils...and the sight burn me blind.."

His tone dropped to a gentle hush, so mysterious even Vincent was
perplexed, "I only know I'm alive when I shed blood..it's the sight of it,
Vincent...that's the only way..."

Insane. Davoren was a demon crazed by brutality. He lived to torture and
destroy..fuel hatred...just throw himself whole into blood shed. Death
around him meant life for himself.

This man...the very same who thirty-one years ago, had called human life
"the most sacred gift from God".

Why, Davoren? Where does this sadistic passion stem from? It's a fountain
that spouts cruelty all around, but what is the source?

Davoren...what happened to you?

Something new suddenly occured to Vincent: never *once* had he asked
himself that question before.

And when he recalled the gunman's rave just now, Vincent discovered
something strange. Past the insanity and evil, there huddled an emotion,
crushed and abandonned.

Vincent reached out to touch it. It almost felt like...utter
despair...horrible, lonely pain...

Behind those empty pink eyes, what did the gunman hide?

Vincent violently shook off the reverie: time demanded another battle.

As if reading each other's moves, both enemies skid out of their shelters
for a brutal confrontaion, perhaps the last. The moment held them face to
face. Their stern eyes locked hard upon each other, between them a bitter
spark of hatred. All around, the invisible demonic crowd went wild.

And then, the moment released them. Each man took aim of the other to fire.

Yet God pounded down his divine fist of intervention: a furious rumble
suddenly drowned the whole network. The frightened crowd dispersed. The
battle stumbled to an instant halt, both enemies looking around in
suspicious confusion. What meant that sound?

Long ago, Vincent had been assigned to storm a Reactor. As he recalled,
they had strictly instructed him to sneak in via the ventilation system,
not the delivery system; the latter contained a deadly program. It
effectively eliminated any intruder or security breach within the pipeworks.

Vincent realized Reno had somehow activated the security program. Then
himself and Davoren would be targetted as "intruders".

The advice "Get yourself outta there AS FAST AS POSSIBLE" rang clear
through his mind.

He obeyed immediately. Vincent withdrew into a mad scurry, forgetting
Davoren behind in desperate search for an exit. He scruffled upon all fours
like a wild animal. All strength and concentration were exerted into escape.

The thunderous rumble shook the delivery system end to end. Soon, every
ominous gauge along the wall blared the alarm. Iron doors systemically
sealed off every vent and pipe, with the rumble still growing louder.

Vincent's speed reached frenzic proportions until he finally discovered a
grate. From peril to safety, he slipped through at once, just as the
program triggered its final stage.