Red Rain

What's that they call it? Bitter, unsweet, same old wine?

Once again, Mythra was refusing to listen when Addam called. Once again, she was rebelling because she thought her judgement was better. Once again, maybe she was even right.

But, right or not, she was still up in the skies chasing Malos, both of them run rabid with power and fear and the search for a point to it all, and all best-laid plans had been well and fully shot through, without the muzzle on.

Yes, she was up, up, up, and Addam was still being held down, down, down. While the rest of them were held, penned, safely within the generous circumference of Aegaeon's ether shield, Addam was stranded alone, quite nearly paralyzed and with nothing to think about other than half of my home has just been blasted by an orbital laser and very likely the other half is next and oh, Architect, it is all my fault.

Whether it was or it wasn't, they and we could and can all rather universally agree that he shouldn't die for it in quite this way, at quite this moment, but considering the volatility Torna herself had shown just from being unfurled and unleashed at the level of its wings, being near the corrosive Core did not bode well for...well, anyone.

"Minoth, to me!"

Though Lora was quite clearly the left-hand protagonist of their entire adventure, Hugo became the de facto strategist when Addam was otherwise occupied, in ways both large and small - that is to say, he could be concentrating on coordinating with Mythra, or he could be absent entirely, but the effect was the same: Minoth operated free of him, just as he always did, and Hugo called the shots.

So, just now, the cowboy sidled acquiescently over to Hugo, away from Haze, and set his fire from there. "What's up?" And, goodness knew that was already colloquial enough, so he didn't double up on treasonous behavior under a government in which he had no stake by tagging the question with "your pint-sized majesty" or some such.

The conversation came easily, quickly, a salted and peppered back-and-forth. It had no choice.

"Our overall situation is somewhat compromised by Addam's current position." Mincing words, are we?

"Seems like it to me," Minoth agreed. Wasn't often the most intuitive observation, but it certainly held here. Mythra was hardly even a factor anymore; maybe her fire had stopped being friendly altogether. If Minoth didn't know better, he'd even suggest that they should just beat it wholesale. But...well. He had a habit of hating cowards, clowns, jokers and the like. The type who'd leave their closest friends in the lurch, that is.

Likely, Hugo sensed some or all of this inner turmoil. He was, time and again, nothing short of impeccable at reading people. But here, it didn't quite figure in, so he didn't address it. Instead, to Mythra: "She is still relying on him. He is the one who brought her into this world, and whether she knows it or not, she is still drawing on his strength."

Strength. Tch. If it was bench-presses or pull-ups or swings of a sword far too big for any purpose practical they needed, Addam could do them. But other than that, he could be damned irresolute. "You think that's why she seems so much more volatile than Malos?"

Hugo nodded, considered that, listening for the razing sound of seared metal above as he struck back at the artifice in front of him - did they hope somehow that disarming one of the fleet would dismantle them all?

"Resonation with a Blade is a powerful thing. When they are attuned to your goals, when they share in your spirit, and most importantly when their spirit is alive in service of their own goals...they cannot simply be contained."

Minoth felt those chains all the time - invisible, lax things, a pitiful manifestation of the weakness that dwelt within him. "Not something I'd know much about." And oh, how he wanted to be free.

"In relation to a human, no," Hugo allowed. "When I was first bonded with Brighid, and we trained together, there were times when her power was too much for me. And Aegaeon, much as he loved me, could do nothing to stop it."

The burns had flickered to his collarbones and shoulders, lacking the immediate real estate of his chest, and that was part of the reason he wore such heavy cover to this day.

"So...we can't move Addam."

"No sooner could we move Torna herself. Their link is impenetrable in this moment."

"Shit," said Minoth, and turned back to the Gargoyles nearest him. It didn't bear thinking about.

"Minoth."

It was a command, not a simple address. Minoth stood up straighter in response, though still remaining focused in the opposite direction.

"If we cannot move Addam from harm's way, we must-" here clank the miniature buckler itself, drawing fire "-shield him."

"Aegaeon's pretty busy right about now." If the Water Blade heard his name mentioned, he made no signal. It seemed, in a way, they were all in their own worlds.

"Aegaeon is. You are not."

Analogy is easy. You substitute the one for the other. You don't even have to ask why.

"You're not even gonna ask me if I trust you?"

Hugo smiled, tightly but genuinely. "I don't often ask questions to which I already know the answer unless I have little to no respect for the other party in question. Shall we?"

Here was where Minoth had to stop and think, faster than he could say: respect or not, if you die, saving Addam, then won't that be worse? Torna is already going to be sunk, but Mor Ardain is thousands of miles away, safe from the hellfire of the Aegises. If you were to fall, helping me...

This wasn't supposed to be self-sacrifice. This was supposed to be the benefit of teamwork - oh, the things we can achieve when we work together! But oh, it was a frightening thing.

Wasn't Addam only just being conquered by his fear anew? So maybe this was a worthwhile occasion to make motive use of repression.

Minoth sheathed the guns. Nodded, pulled Hugo to him, tested his weight near the ground before lifting the emperor bodily up and holding him close to his chest, to his Core. Hugo, like a true professional, made no complaint about being hefted like a sack of potatoes, and accepted the affinity link with ease.

Warmth it wasn't, but grounding it was. Minoth had considered, at points, what it would have been like to have anyone other than Addam as a follow-up to Amalthus, and he'd never lingered on the topic, even privately, for long. Half the time, he didn't even know what he was looking for in a Driver anymore - after all, Blades aren't meant to have the luxury of shopping around.

Regardless, it was serviceable. Neither end felt flinches of apprehension; they just went. Of course, they did what they had to do.

Together they moved, closer and closer to the ever-impending blast, and though the first reaction of every remaining member of the group who looked over was doubt and shock, close approaching horror, soon they saw the point of it.

Like Addam, Hugo was matched to compassion most strongly. It was in everything he did - he kept to the truth but strayed from it if necessary, to help people, and though he loved justice as well, his commitment was again to his people. Bravery he drew from Brighid and Aegaeon; they were, more truly than anything, his sword and shield.

Hugo had felt what Addam was feeling, the futility and the guilt, because royal life did not afford leniency hardly ever, much as it may have seemed like a path of leisure. Minoth, who had never been the recipient of much responsibility to speak of even generally, latched onto that compassion like a lifeline. He hated his connection to Amalthus, the sick self-serving justice that Malos so clearly clung to. Any new Driver, bring what they might, was another chance to get away.

So gold, gold, gold they glowed, and just as the fatal blow struck Torna's deepest violet was just as they reached the stone immediately beyond Addam's force-turned back.

It's simple, isn't it? It's what all Blades were made to do. You protect your Driver. You protect the people you care about. You trust those who care with you. You reach into the strength that flows as fiercely as it can from your heart, from your core, and you project what is purest about yourself into giving, giving, giving, because here and now is better late than never.

The shield fulfilled its purpose: after the reddish-purple haze had shifted and faded itself from the air, Addam was still breathing, as was Hugo. Eyes of royal blue met those of royal gold, and then they flicked up together to meet those of the ether.

"Hope you don't mind, my prince," Minoth offered quasi-apologetically, one hand clamped on a shoulder from each man. "I never said you were my one and only."

Oh, it wasn't the time for jokes, but Addam gave a timid grin anyway. "That's alright, Minoth," he said, voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "I'm just glad you're here to begin with."

To begin with. Not only just to end.

And, then, when all the smoke but not quite all the dust had settled, and Mythra drifted down out of Siren into Addam's waiting, shaking arms, Minoth and Hugo, outsiders both as all their group had been, wept for love, and loss, and truth, and trust, and Torna. Yes, despite it all, that one saddest fact remained the same.