Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Under the Five Moons ❯ Souless Monster ( Chapter 3 )

I don't own Trigun or any of its characters; I only own my characters. And my characters are mine; you can't have them! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

SMACK!

Thanks, I'm fine now.

Just for the record, the port means left and starboard means right. I use words like port and starboard because it makes it seem like I did more research than I really did.

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Deep in the bowels of the sand steamer, Evans and Jeremiah looked in vain for Jeremiah's luggage. Evans ran a hand through his green hair. "Are you sure you didn't miss it or something?"

Jeremiah turned on him. "It's a six foot high metal cross, they're pretty Goddamn hard to miss!" he yelled. He clenched and opened his fists reflexively.

Evans, seeing that Jeremiah was a second away from tearing up someone's luggage in anger, decided that diplomacy was called for. "Look, are you sure it's in the starboard hold? Maybe they moved it to the port side?"

His comment to seemed to defuse Jeremiah somewhat. He nodded, threw down the bag he was holding, and strode out the door. Evans followed him down the corridor. He stopped at the intersection as a smell wafted past his nose. "You think you can handle getting there on your own?"

Jeremiah stopped. "Yeah, no problem, but why?" he asked.

Evans started walking down the other corridor. "I'm gonna get something to eat."

Jeremiah grabbed him by the arm. Evans turned around into Jeremiah's incredulous stare. "You're eating… at a time like this?" he asked.

Evans shrugged. "I've been out in the desert for the five days with nothing to eat except lizards and small rodents. I'm getting me a hot dog or two. Grab your cross or whatever and meet me at the food counter." He put his hands in his pockets and walked away.

Jeremiah shook his head. "Hey! Save me a burger or something!"

Evans saluted. "Will do."

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On the bridge, Martinez looked over passengers and crew as a gourmet looks over a buffet. He dismissed one as too thin, another as too sickly, and yet another as too sweet. Kaite noticed that every time he looked over a child, he stopped and debated with himself. He seemed to almost lose control at one little girl. She was a pretty thing, barely five. When the black cat had run from Martinez, she had caught it and comforted it. "I could, but they say too many sweets are bad for you. It's so tempting though. No, I can wait for dessert."

Kaite couldn't take it. This guy made B.D.N. look like a saint. Not here, not now, not on his father's ship. He threw himself at Martinez. "You want a meal? Take me! I bet I taste way better than them! Look at them, they're almost rancid!"

Martinez looked over at the henchman driving the steamer. "Are you going to need any help driving that thing?" The henchman shook his head. "Good," Martinez said, "because I just found my appetizer." He picked up Kaite and threw him against the wall. He grinned, showing his fangs. He advanced slowly towards Kaite. "You know, I really like this. The blood of a `hero', nothing better for an appetizer. I wasn't expecting anyone on this steamer to be this brave."

The situation would have made Kaite laugh in another time. The only difference between now and then was that there was no Vash the Stampede to save him. Then Kaite looked past Martinez and to the window. A blonde haired girl in a red jacket was hanging upside down in front of the window. In her hands she clutched a long green six-shooter, just like the one Vash had so many years ago. She took aim above Martinez's shoulder, but just as she fired, the steamer hit a bump. The girl managed to keep from failing, but her shot flew wild and smacked right into Martinez's head. His body flew forward into Katie.

The girl swung herself into the bridge. Her face had gone white and her hands were shaking. "I… I didn't mean to kill him. Look at him, his head's like gone."

Suddenly, Martinez's hands twitched. They placed themselves on the floor and pushed his body up. Martinez turned around and cracked his neck. Kaite watched with disgust as Martinez reached around and pulled out the bullet. "You know, that really hurt."

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Evans had found the food area to be a little crowded. He knocked out one guard and was just about to look for food when the guard's friends came back. Evans dived behind the counter and pulled out his service revolver. He glanced to the left and saw that the soft pretzel machine was still working. He reached in and grabbed one. The guards started spraying the found counter. Evans waited for a pause sprang up and took a couple of shoots. He ducked back down and took a couple bites of the pretzel. Damn, that tasted good. He rose again and squeezed off another couple of shots. He got lucky and caught one in the arm. "One down, four to go. Damn it! This revolver's still off! Why can't they just fight me like men?"

Suddenly there were eight louder shots, followed by four groans. Then a strange absence of gunfire. Evans slowly peeked over the counter, the pretzel stuffed in his mouth. The four other guards lay on the floor nursing shoulder wounds. Jeremiah stood among them, holding a gigantic metal cross by a skull grip in its center. The short and long ends opened up to reveal muzzles; the short end's was particularly large. On the right arm a series of switches ran up to the end. Evans stood up and inspected the cross and Jeremiah's skinny frame. He took the pretzel out of his mouth. "You're stronger than you look."

Jeremiah smiled. "Good genes," he responded. Evans nodded.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the guard he knocked out had come to. The guard raised his pistol and fired.

Quick as a hurricane gale, Evans pulled out his saber and threw between Jeremiah and the guard. There was a loud clang as Evans caught the bullet on his saber. He hit the ground rolling, stood up and rushed the guard, clouting him over the head with his saber. All this occurred before Jeremiah could turn around and draw a bead on the guard.

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. "You're pretty good with that amigo," he said.

Evans spun the saber and slid it into its sheath. "Good genes."

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Martinez tossed the bullet up into the air and caught it as it came back down. "Hmmm, another hero. This steamer seems full of them. Let me guess, you one of those clingers from earlier?"

Now that she was sure that she hadn't killed him, Nikki had regained her composure. The fact that he had survived a bullet to the brain seemed somewhat irrelevant to her. Grimacing, she pulled back the hammer on her revolver. She aimed it at Martinez. "Now that I know I can't kill you with bullets, it all becomes a lot easier," she said.

Martinez advanced a little. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do, little missie?" he said.

"Shoot you until you stop moving, what else?"

Martinez showed his teeth and dashed forward faster than most of the people on the bridge could see. His nails elongated into talons in mid-dash. Nikki threw herself to the side and fired the full clip at Martinez. When she landed, she felt a mild pain in her side. She found that hadn't moved quite fast enough, three short cuts lined her side.

Martinez ignored the holes and stared at Nikki. "You're good, you're very good. I've only met two people fast enough to dodge me. You're the third." He looked at the red stains on his claws. "Let's see what kind of blood runs through your veins."

He licked his ring finger. "Hmmm…" He licked his middle finger. "That's very interesting." He licked his index finger. "Tell me, little girl, what's your name."

Nikki slotted a cartridge into the gun and snapped it shut. "Call me `little girl' again and I'll reconsider my no kill policy. And for what it's worth, my name's Nikki Stryfe." She could hear automatic gunfire faintly echoing down the corridor, but Martinez was too lost in licking every last drop of blood off his claws to notice anything.

Martinez giggled. "I wonder how master will react? This is certainly an unexpected development." He turned towards Nikki. "In fact, I'd better take you with me just in case." He motioned to his henchmen. "Take her."

But his men were nowhere to be found. Martinez looked around and his gaze fell upon Evans, who had appeared while Martinez was lost in the blood. Evans was wiping some blood off of his saber with the shirt of an unconscious man. "I warned him, but noooo. . . He had to charge me." He leaned down and patted one of the men. "Don't worry fella. You'll live."

Martinez looked at Evans quizzically, then charged. Evans turned and held his saber, ready to fight. Before Martinez could make to him, Jeremiah stepped out of the corridor with his cross. Martinez looked at it and stopped dead in his tracks. He hissed, averted his eyes, and backed away towards a window.

He screamed, "You've won this time!" and threw himself out the window and into the night. Evans ran to the window and looked back and Martinez's retreating form. "What the Hell was that?" he asked.

Kaite struggled to his feet and limped towards the wheel, still controlled by a very frightened henchman. He stopped when he reached Jeremiah, noticing the revolver Jeremiah had in his belt. "Can I borrow that?" Jeremiah took out the gun and handed it to Kaite. Kaite finished his journey to the well and slammed the butt of the revolver over the man's head. "That's my seat, bitch!" He pushed the man's body off the seat and took his accustomed place.

The captain walked over to Kaite's side. "Get us back on course, helmsman." Kaite nodded and spun the wheel to the right, setting the sand steamer back on course to Septombre city. The captain pointed to the henchmen. "Security, fix these hooligans up and take them somewhere where they can't cause too much trouble. Everyone else, back to your posts. Well? Why are you standing here looking at me? Go! Go!" He turned back and placed his hand on the back of Kaite's chair. "Feeling better, helmsman?" he asked.

Kaite glanced down at the unconscious body of Martinez's pilot. "Much," he answered.

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Out in a small town in the desert, there is a church. It's not much of a church, it's kind of small and ugly looking and there are bloodstains on the floor. There's a small graveyard in the back of the church. Also pretty unassuming, the graveyard smells of wet earth after a days rain. The only feature worth noting is a giant metal cross with a grip in the centerpiece. The cross stands over a simple grave marked "Nicholas D. Wolfwood".

It was in this unimpressive cemetery, over this grave on a dark night that two men and one Plant stood. One of the men was hunched over and indistinguishable under his hooded robe. From the right sleeve of his robe a claw emerged, clutching a walking stick. The other man stood straight and tall, with long blue hair covering half his face. Only one eye was visible, but this eye was enough to send chills down even Martinez's spine. It was golden yellow, and unmistakably belonged to killer. The owner of this eye would kill you in the middle of dessert and go back to eating his cheesecake without dropping his fork.

The old man turned to the Plant. When he spoke, his gravely voice cut through the night like a dull machete through bread. "So you don't want me to give this guy the same treatment I gave Legato here, right Master?"

The Plant nodded. The man identified as Legato turned to the old man. His calm voice smoothed over all the wrinkles the old man's voice had made in the air. "Master Knives wants you to bring him to life and restore his strength, but do not restore his age or his free will."

The old man shook his head. "That's a tall order. You know how hard it is to keep the free will from entering the body? Especially once you've restored it's strength."

Knives wheeled on the old man. He grabbed the old man's cowl and lifted him into the air "Listen to me Julius, you accursed spider. I don't care how hard it is, I don't care what it takes, just do it! This man betrayed me, he betrayed me to my brother. Death is too good for him. Besides, making my brother kill him will cause Vash more pain than he's ever experienced. Just the punishment for my brother. He betrayed me too you know."

Julius bowed his head. "Of course Master Knives."

Knives dropped him and motioned to Legato. "Come Legato, we're leaving." They pair retreated into the darkness.

Julius shook his head and turned to the grave. He raised the walking stick and started moving it in slow circles around the grave. A low chanting emerged from the man's hood. He started to hop and dance around the grave as the chanting grew louder and louder. As his dancing grew more frenzied, other voices joined in. Bizarre voices from somewhere else, somewhere not entirely holy.

As the chanting reached a crescendo, the grave started to rumble. The dirt under the cross moved, and a hand burst through the soil. It clawed for purchase on the dirt and found it. The hand was followed by its twin, and together they pulled a body out of the grave. The man stood in the shadow of the cross, but his eyes were blank.

Julius raised an eyebrow. "Well well well, this is a strong soul if I ever saw one. I'm sorry my friend, but all you can do is watch."

A tall shadow emerged from the church. It turned to the graveyard. After pausing, it ran towards the graveyard. "Hey what are you doing! Get away from that grave!"

Julius looked at the shadow. "Oh shit," he said. The shadow looked suspiciously like the master, and Julius knew what that meant. He looked at was once a corpse. Goddamnit. While he was distracted with the Master's brother, the corpse's free will had asserted itself. Now there was no way to get rid of it. The Master was going to kill him. "Damn you, Vash the Stampede!" he yelled. He turned and ran from the graveyard into the desert. "Damn you to Hell!"

Vash ran through the graveyard and was about to chase after him when he heard a faint whisper from the corpse. "Hey. . . Tongari. . . got any cigs? I'm dying for a smoke."

Vash turned to the corpse, now a walking man. When he saw the man's face, he jumped back in surprise. He leaned on the cross, doubting his legs ability to support him. When he finally found his voice he said, "Holy shit! It's you!"

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Evans: Orders, orders, life is full of orders. Some make sense to the one who carries them out. Others must be followed without question. Sometimes we are given orders we know we must ignore. Either the orders are themselves morally wrong, or there is a more appropriate path open. But whichever type the order that must be ignored is, you must always be read to deal with the consequences of disobeying that order.

Next Chapter: Defying Rules.