She felt numb. The operation to stop the Saint's Cradle... well, it had succeeded, but in name only. Nanoha and the other mages had been unable to breach the throne room despite their best efforts, and in the end the TSAB's fleet had been forced to open fire in order to prevent it from reaching orbit. The image of the Cradle bursting into a yellow-orange flower of fire and death in midair was seared in her memory, and her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She'd failed. She'd failed that little girl who had been scared and alone and waiting for her mama to come rescue her.
She couldn't stop shaking.
Hayate, Vita - they all tried to say things to her, words of comfort, but they simply flew past unhearing ears as Nanoha walked through the world in a daze, only dimly aware of the world around her. Fate. She needed her Fate. That was all she could think at the moment - if she had Fate with her, then somehow, it would be okay. It was a wonderful lie, the only thing she could cling to. Fate was still at Jail Scaglietti's sanctum, so that's where she'd go.
She didn't remember flying there - only that one second she was on the TSAB flagship, and the next she was touching down in front of Jail's concealed fortress, staring in numb horror at the collapsed entryway. The scientist had activated a bomb that had caved the complex in, she was told, and they were trying to excavate as quickly as possible to rescue any survivors trapped inside.
Nanoha stood, unmoving, watching every rock as it was lifted, wondering how things could have turned out like this - how everything that mattered to her could be broken in what felt like a heartbeat.
And then she saw a familiar head of blonde hair being carried out of the rubble, white cape stained with blood, and the world shattered around her, eclipsed by a rush of something that made her vision go dark.
"Starlight Breaker: Armageddon Shift."
She wasn't sure what happened next. All Nanoha knew when she came to was that she was surrounded by fire in what she recognized as the TSAB headquarters. She still felt numb, but along with that deadened emptiness came something else - the knowledge that what she'd done (whatever it was) simply wasn't enough.
This world would burn.
(ooc: Nanoha has momentarily lost it, so anyone who wants to knock some sense into her before she starts throwing out Divine Busters at random should probably do it.)
It was late. Very late, or maybe it was very early - it all really depended on how a person looked at it. Jo closed her eyes, leaning against the partly destroyed house with her M-14 hugged close to her body. It was quiet, almost eerily so, but that's what happened sometimes. The quiet never lasted more than a short time and then they'd be dealing with insurgents.
Hearing a soft shuffling next to her, Jo opened an eye and half glanced atone of the guys who'd plopped down next to her. He just grinned at her before leaning his head against the wall and proceeded to close his eyes. She shook her head, re-closing her eye. Now was the time to rest, rest when it was quiet.
It wasn't more than a few seconds later when a loud crack sounded through the night. Automatically, Jo was up, her rifle held at the ready. "Jameson," she hissed and moved to nudge him. Her eyes widened though seeing the hole in the center of his forehead. "Shit. Jameson!" He hadn't even had a chance and she'd done nothing to keep him out of harms way.
She moved slowly toward the rest of her squad, her eyes scanning the shadows - looking for anything out of the ordinary. Several more cracks echoed through the night followed by a series of thumps. Suddenly Jo's stomach felt as though she'd swallowed a ton of rocks and she was running.
She came to a halt, her mouth dropping open as she looked at the carnage which surrounded her. All dead. All eight of them. Her squad was gone. She was alone. Completely alone in the middle of the fucking desert. She dropped to her knees, her head hanging. All dead.
Another crack and then a searing pain in her arm. Cursing loudly, she scrambled for cover and pressed her back against the partly destroyed wall. Still cursing under her breath, she pressed her fingers against the wound on her upper arm as she peeked around the side of the wall. Where the hell were they?! And how had they managed to ambush them so completely?
"It's your fault, Lupo."
Her eyes widened and her head slowly turned in the opposite direction. Adams, her NCO, was slowly pushing to his feet. The right side of his face was missing, and bits and pieces of flesh, bone and gore were dripping onto his uniform and sand as he unsteadily stood before her.
"Your fault. We're dead because of you."
Jo recoiled in horror, shaking her head. It wasn't her fault. She hadn't been on watch. It wasn't.
"You should have done something! It's ALL YOUR FAULT." he screamed at her, raising his gun and aimed it at her.
Fuck! He's not real! He's not real! He's dead! He can't be real! Jo thought over and over to herself as she squeezed her eyes shut.
And realization suddenly flooded in on her. Adams wasn't dead! He'd made it back! And so had Jameson! They'd ALL made it back! This was NOT real.
Eyes snapping open, Jo pushed to her feet, anger evident with every move she made. "Fuck you," she snapped, raising her own gun and fired at whatever the hell it was that looked like Adam. With a sort of smile on her lips, she watched as the thing slumped to the ground.
Slowly the scene began to waver before her. Here and there she could see green flickering ever so lightly behind the taupe color of the sand. Stacy. She remembered then. She wasn't even on Earth. She was on a ship.
"Fuck you!" she yelled again, and the scene wavered even more. Jo strode forward, kicking the corpse that looked like Adams, and the scene wavered once again and then it vanished completely, leaving her standing in one of the Stacy's corridors.
"Holy shit," she whispered hoarsely, and leaned back against the spongy wall.
Gunshots. An actual gun, not a magical one. Someone was nearby - she'd missed somebody, evidently. Nanoha turned slowly to see the figure down the hall... it was fuzzy and hard to make out, but it was clearly a person.
The girl was very dimly aware that she was moving, leveling her staff down the hall at whoever--whatever--it was.
No, wait... why am I...?
It felt like she wasn't in control of her own actions; the power and white-hot rage surging through her moved her arms of their own accord. Nanoha felt like she was viewing the scene through a tank of water, the sound muted and the vision blurry.
Stop. Please, stop. I wouldn't want to...!
Magic energy flared up around her as light slowly gathered at the crown of her staff, casting a dark red hue down the corridor instead of its usual magenta. She couldn't reclaim control of her own body, no matter how much she willed it so.
When Arha turned, she could already see this was not a good thing, this energy. She didn't think. She moved, using The Weirding Way along with Jed-Eye reflexes to slam the staff down and away. It was obvious the girl wasn't in control.
"I will make this better...later," she hissed, and promptly launched a punch towards Nanoha's jaw. "You will regain control of yourself."
Through the fog, Nanoha was aware of the punch as it connected with her jaw, throwing her backwards - though the wings on her heels kept her upright - and knew it should have hurt. But it didn't; it felt muted. Everything felt quiet, as though the her that was experiencing things was not the her in the flesh of her body. Was this how she dissociated herself from the grief of losing her world? Was the energy surging through her, the desire to fight - was it now in control instead of the other way around?
She righted herself as she hit the ground, and a dark red shield interposed itself between her and the newcomer. And then, Nanoha squeezed her fist shut.
"Barrier Burst."
The shield exploded outward in a blast of energy directed toward her attacker.
Arha was flung backward and skidded hard into the wall with a breathless grunt. She wasted no time getting back up again, using the Force to steady her. They didn't need to be fighting each other, not now. But that was what the King of Nightmares wished. Confusion. Disarray.
"You must reassert control," she snapped and moved forward once again, her hand on Nanoha's staff and her feet planted. She was dimly aware that she ached, but it didn't matter. "You have the strength in you to do so." Arha was sure of that, as sure as she could be and she leaned forward, locking her eyes with Nanoha's.
"Find it," she said, her blue-within-blue eyes intense.
This wasn't right. None of this was right. Who was this person? Why were they talking to her like this? This - it wasn't the TSAB building, was it? Was any of this real, or just a vivid, horrible nightmare?
Her body still moved.
"Flash Move."
In the blink of an eye, Nanoha had closed the gap between the two of them, swinging Raising Heart around in a sideways blow - and a gout of violet flame burst from its side.
"Reassert yourself," Arha hissed as the flame bit into her upraised arm and promptly slammed her sideways. She gritted her teeth as pain exploded through the right side of her body and kept talking even as black spots danced in front of her eyes. "Whatever you saw. It was not real, but I am. You must focus. Focus on my voice. Wherever you were, such was not a real thing. You know this."
She didn't look away from Nanoha's eyes, but kept her own locked on hers. Arha pushed herself up stubbornly. She would not stay down.
"Look around you! Look at this place. Do you not see what is happening? You are not stupid. See such with your own eyes, see the truth before the lies, the nightmares, destroy you."
That rang a bell in Nanoha's mind. Nightmares.... nightmares... this - this is a nightmare. It can't be real!
Even as her body moved, leveling the staff at Arha and gathering more blood-red magic at its tip, Nanoha's mind raced. This wasn't real. Fate, Vivio - they weren't dead. Nightmare King. The name rang out clear in her head like a church bell, striking her deep to the core.
None of this is real. I need to stop! Everyone is counting on me!
And then, suddenly, the muted world snapped back into reality with all the shock of a cold flood of water, the energy gathered at the tip of Raising Heart vanished, and Nanoha's knees buckled beneath her.
Arha caught her awkwardly, and braced them both up against wall with a soft sigh as she gathered her strength and wits. That was better. For the moment.
"Much better," she murmured, as the rush of adrenaline began to ebb and various injures made themselves known. She hurt, but it was nothing vital and anything bloodied had begun to heal. "Knew you could do it."
Nanoha immediately started to push away once she'd regained some strength in her legs - not because she found the contact repelling, but because she had somewhere she needed to be.
"I... t-thank you," she mumbled, still trying to push to her feet. "Where are we? I need to get to the cathedral."
"Glad to see you're still alive." Given the size of the pack strapped to Gauron's back, the fact that the pockets on the field jacket and cargo pants he's thrown over his plantsuit are all bulging, and he has an AK-47 and an M32 grenade launcher hanging from his shoulder, the phrase "the cavalry has arrived" might well apply.
It looks like he tried to bring half of Weapons and Possessions with him, though in actuality, most of the stuff is from his personal caches - he moved a fair amount of it up from the city, in case the Nightmare King's spreading magic made it impossible to get to. Both of his visible weapons are modified with thaumaturgical batteries, courtesy of Isaac - whom he definitely owes a favor, if they both survive this. "I've got a couple extra weapons if you need any help staying that way."
If you had asked him before, Sam would have said that he'd already lived his worst nightmare. Those four months when Dean had been dead were easily his own private hell on Earth.
What he never considered was that there was worse.
There was no Castiel in this place, drawn from his own mind. Nobody to bring Dean back from Hell. At least, not the Dean that he knew. He'd seen his brother a few times since then. Or, at least, the demon that wore his brother's name and wore others to taunt him.
And then there'd been the ever so spectacular fuck up with Lucifer. He'd believed Ruby every step of the way. Had never even tried to turn away from her help because nobody had been there to talk him out of it. It had even happened sooner.
And there had been nobody left to rescue him when Lucifer arose.
The first few days, Lucifer had cajoled Sam. Sam was, after all, his perfect vessel. He'd promised Sam anything he could want, only name it and it would be his.
Sam spat in the devil's face on the third day. His ears had rung for an hour afterward from the force of the punch to his jaw, but it gave him something else to focus on.
He woke up knowing all of this. He also woke up chained in the middle of a cold, stark room with his hands above his head. Trying to move them only brought the sound of chain links clattering together.
"I wouldn't suggest moving very much." Lucifer stepped around in front of him, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't want to do irreparable harm to your skin, considering I'm going to be wearing it pretty soon."
"Go to Hell." Not original, but certainly meant.
The devil laughed, shaking his head. "Oh no, Sammy. See, I figured out where I was going wrong with you. See, you Winchesters. You just don't understand people trying to be nice to you." Sam snorted, but Lucifer just kept talking. "It's not in your nature to accept that. So I'm through, trying to play Mister Nice Guy."
He reached out, grabbing Sam's arm and using it to turn him. The chains creaked ominously, but held. Across the room, Sam saw a slumped figure in much the same predicament that he was. Then the figure raised his head and, even though the man's eyes were black as pitch, Sam drew in a sharp, disbelieving breath and whispered, "Dean."
"You see, Sammy," the devil went on, as though he hadn't said anything. "I realized that offering you riches and power are useless. You've never had them and you know very well you can live without them. But your brother?" He crossed the room, pinching one of Dean's cheeks. "You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you, Sammy?"
He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "No. No, it..." It was a demon wearing his brother's face. He knew it. It HAD to be.
Lucifer tsked and shook his head, nodding toward another demon. Alistair, Sam had heard him called. "Let's make a game of this, shall we?" he asked, taking the whip that the demon brought. "For every stripe that Alistair here places across your back, your brother will get two." The devil smiled, the eyes of his host going pure white. "Let's see which makes you crack faster, hmm?"
Gauron's nightmares had always been more physical than a lot of his crewmates', from the persistent, spreading numbness to the chunks of skin sloughing off to the perpetual sensation of things moving under his skin - recently, there had even been holes in the muscle beneath the skin that had fallen away, which was creepy as hell, because he couldn't feel it - but it had to be an illusion because he wasn't dead yet and his mind was still clear, for the most part. Yet, even that had been fading, too - the little details of his environment had been shifting on him. There was a creeping blackness around the edges of not just his sight, but his memories - little chunks of time that he couldn't remember as the dreams bled further and further into reality. And, worse than that, it was tainting what he could remember of the ship from before the Nightmare King had begun its attack.
None of it seems real anymore.
He's past the point where anything they could do in the Medbay would help him - all of them are, even if this hasn't all been one long hallucination. Instead, he's limping toward Weapons and Possessions - the left side of his body is numb, and the right side isn't faring much better; he'd traded in the plantsuit for a long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants... sometime, the last time he could feel his fingers he supposes, and they're soaked in blood - though he has no idea whose it and no memory of where it came from. There are gaps in the walls - not breaches, just holes in reality. What he can see through them is fuzzy at best, but most of it is white, with glimpses of stainless steel, but that's of no concern. He has to get to his mech. If he can activate the Lambda Driver, maybe he has a chance of using it to shove back the Nightmare King's influence for just long enough to gather his wits, assess his injuries, and make a plan. So long as he's still alive, all isn't lost.
It takes a while to get to the hangar - Weapons and Possessions is a blur, and trying to shake himself out of the dream does nothing to clear it. He can barely remember the prayers Roxie taught him, and even those don't help. Somehow, though, he finds his way at last to the mecha hangar, to where his Codarl's docked. His hands are slick with blood, and some of the wounds on his forearms are deep enough that his thumbs aren't working all that well, but he manages to climb into the cockpit. For a moment, there's the irrational urge to activate the machine's self-destruct sequence instead - take as much of this goddamn place out with him as he could - but the damage would be comparatively easy to contain out here, and besides, there wouldn't be nearly enough casualties. Just the fact that taking out Weapons and Possessions would practically be the dick move to end all dick moves isn't enough.
Instead, he activates the Lambda Driver - at least, he thinks he does. Instead of its usual noise, there's a strange, low thrum, backed distantly by what sounds like voices, speaking a language he doesn't understand - the Nightmare King, still looking to work its fangs further into him, he assumes; however, it's too late. He kicks the Lambda Driver into full gear, and forms a shield around his machine.
It almost seems like it's working, before he realizes he can't feel anything below his neck. The last vestiges of sensation are utterly gone, and he can't breathe. He still has a pulse, but somehow, even that feels utterly unnatural.
And suddenly, he is awake.
The haziness of the dream is gone, replaced by bright light; when he closes his eyes against it, there's a flurry of voices and movement around him, but he's not paying attention to them. Even as horribly, undeniably wide awake as he is, he still can't feel anything below his neck. He can't breathe because you have no lungs, the phrase drifts to mind unbidden and unwelcome. His head is resting at an impossible angle, one his broad shoulders shouldn't allow, and the unnatural thrum of blood through his head isn't driven by a heartbeat - with a sinking feeling, he recognizes the sound a cardiopulmonary bypass pump makes.
One of the voices is still talking. It's a Middle Eastern dialect Gauron doesn't recognize, but he thinks he can pick up a bit of Farsi in it. At last, his eyes have adjusted enough for him to open one of them; it won't focus properly, but he can at least distinguish light and shadow, and judging by the pattern of them, one of the dark shapes in front of him is a video camera. Someone places their hands on the sides of his head, and he catches a phrase similar to the Farsi for explosive decapitation. The significance of those words set in with a terrifying jolt when his head is tilted upward with an impossible lack of resistance.
This can't be happening this can't be happening this can't be happening-- the words echo over and over in his head, but to no avail - there is no doubting the fact that he is awake, and this is real. As his head - he'd shudder if there was anything left to do it with - is turned to display the cannulae entering the ragged remains of his neck to the camera, he realizes what that has to mean. None of it ever existed - not the ship, not the people on it; it was all just a bizarre death dream, as his brain shut down before the bypass was set up, or maybe some especially detailed delusion he had created because even his mind couldn't handle this.
For the first time in twenty-five years, he remembers what fear feels like, though it's already subsiding into numbness as he opens his other eye. Death has never frightened him, but a horrific and unnatural fate like this is something else entirely - and even worse than both is the feeling of reality twisting away and unraveling beneath his tenuous grasp. He's died once and he's going to be dead again soon, and he hadn't even been able to prepare himself. All that crap with the Nightmare King seems pretty silly and distant now.
No, that's bullshit.
And somehow, the inevitable brings every last scrap of rage and righteous indignation that Gauron's capable of summoning to the surface. If this is really his fate, then why the fuck should he care? Why should it matters if he's prepared, or if he's only hiding from reality? If this is real, he deserves the fucking illusion. He does not accept this.
He closes his eyes, and disconcertingly, he hears the whirr of the bypass pump grind to a halt - but there's no point in being afraid. Even if there's nothing but oblivion waiting to meet him, he doesn't care. Suddenly, he can remember the prayers Roxie taught him in perfect detail, and inside his mind, he screams them into the deepening blackness. It's not even that he believes in them - if it was all a hallucination, what would be the point? - but he believes in the defiance behind them, and the thought that he can snap himself back into the dream as his brain begins its death spasms.
When his eyes snap open, he's still staring hazily at the same bright lights. However, when he gasps for breath this time, it actually works.
He rolls onto his side, coughing up the spittle he accidentally inhaled with that gasp; there's the sound of something metallic shifting on the ground behind him as he does, and an all too familiar weight on his shoulder. When he sits up, he discovers he'd somehow come to pass out on the floor of Weapons and Possessions, and slung over his shoulder is an AK-47 with some kind of strange device attached; he stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before the memory trickles back in of the instructions Isaac had given him. The device is a pack of thaumaturgical batteries, and there's a similar one on the P226 still holstered at his side.
Gauron's not wearing the clothes he was in his last hazy memories of the ship, but is still in his plantsuit - evidently, the Nightmare King had gained a little finesse in screwing with people since this all started, but he isn't going to let it throw him. Remembering the extent of his injuries in the half-waking portion of the nightmare, though, he strips out of it to check himself over. There are an abundance of scrapes and bruises, but fortunately, no sign of the deeper wounds or missing patches of skin from the earlier dreams. Even better, the numbness seems to be completely gone from his limbs - but to make sure, to test whether there's any of the nightmare's hold left on him, he dislocates his pinkie. Never has the familiar, throbbing pain been more welcome: it drives home the fact that he is still alive. Somehow, despite everything, he's still alive. He's not out of the woods yet, though.
As he pulls the plantsuit back on, his rattled sense of purpose slips back into place. With the ship still in the bleed, there's no escaping, and that suits him just fine; he'd rather stand and fight anyway. Grinning, he picks up his weapons and sets out to see if he's the only one here whose brain hasn't completely melted.
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She couldn't stop shaking.
Hayate, Vita - they all tried to say things to her, words of comfort, but they simply flew past unhearing ears as Nanoha walked through the world in a daze, only dimly aware of the world around her. Fate. She needed her Fate. That was all she could think at the moment - if she had Fate with her, then somehow, it would be okay. It was a wonderful lie, the only thing she could cling to. Fate was still at Jail Scaglietti's sanctum, so that's where she'd go.
She didn't remember flying there - only that one second she was on the TSAB flagship, and the next she was touching down in front of Jail's concealed fortress, staring in numb horror at the collapsed entryway. The scientist had activated a bomb that had caved the complex in, she was told, and they were trying to excavate as quickly as possible to rescue any survivors trapped inside.
Nanoha stood, unmoving, watching every rock as it was lifted, wondering how things could have turned out like this - how everything that mattered to her could be broken in what felt like a heartbeat.
And then she saw a familiar head of blonde hair being carried out of the rubble, white cape stained with blood, and the world shattered around her, eclipsed by a rush of something that made her vision go dark.
"Starlight Breaker: Armageddon Shift."
She wasn't sure what happened next. All Nanoha knew when she came to was that she was surrounded by fire in what she recognized as the TSAB headquarters. She still felt numb, but along with that deadened emptiness came something else - the knowledge that what she'd done (whatever it was) simply wasn't enough.
This world would burn.
(ooc: Nanoha has momentarily lost it, so anyone who wants to knock some sense into her before she starts throwing out Divine Busters at random should probably do it.)
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Hearing a soft shuffling next to her, Jo opened an eye and half glanced atone of the guys who'd plopped down next to her. He just grinned at her before leaning his head against the wall and proceeded to close his eyes. She shook her head, re-closing her eye. Now was the time to rest, rest when it was quiet.
It wasn't more than a few seconds later when a loud crack sounded through the night. Automatically, Jo was up, her rifle held at the ready. "Jameson," she hissed and moved to nudge him. Her eyes widened though seeing the hole in the center of his forehead. "Shit. Jameson!" He hadn't even had a chance and she'd done nothing to keep him out of harms way.
She moved slowly toward the rest of her squad, her eyes scanning the shadows - looking for anything out of the ordinary. Several more cracks echoed through the night followed by a series of thumps. Suddenly Jo's stomach felt as though she'd swallowed a ton of rocks and she was running.
She came to a halt, her mouth dropping open as she looked at the carnage which surrounded her. All dead. All eight of them. Her squad was gone. She was alone. Completely alone in the middle of the fucking desert. She dropped to her knees, her head hanging. All dead.
Another crack and then a searing pain in her arm. Cursing loudly, she scrambled for cover and pressed her back against the partly destroyed wall. Still cursing under her breath, she pressed her fingers against the wound on her upper arm as she peeked around the side of the wall. Where the hell were they?! And how had they managed to ambush them so completely?
"It's your fault, Lupo."
Her eyes widened and her head slowly turned in the opposite direction. Adams, her NCO, was slowly pushing to his feet. The right side of his face was missing, and bits and pieces of flesh, bone and gore were dripping onto his uniform and sand as he unsteadily stood before her.
"Your fault. We're dead because of you."
Jo recoiled in horror, shaking her head. It wasn't her fault. She hadn't been on watch. It wasn't.
"You should have done something! It's ALL YOUR FAULT." he screamed at her, raising his gun and aimed it at her.
Fuck! He's not real! He's not real! He's dead! He can't be real! Jo thought over and over to herself as she squeezed her eyes shut.
And realization suddenly flooded in on her. Adams wasn't dead! He'd made it back! And so had Jameson! They'd ALL made it back! This was NOT real.
Eyes snapping open, Jo pushed to her feet, anger evident with every move she made. "Fuck you," she snapped, raising her own gun and fired at whatever the hell it was that looked like Adam. With a sort of smile on her lips, she watched as the thing slumped to the ground.
Slowly the scene began to waver before her. Here and there she could see green flickering ever so lightly behind the taupe color of the sand. Stacy. She remembered then. She wasn't even on Earth. She was on a ship.
"Fuck you!" she yelled again, and the scene wavered even more. Jo strode forward, kicking the corpse that looked like Adams, and the scene wavered once again and then it vanished completely, leaving her standing in one of the Stacy's corridors.
"Holy shit," she whispered hoarsely, and leaned back against the spongy wall.
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The girl was very dimly aware that she was moving, leveling her staff down the hall at whoever--whatever--it was.
No, wait... why am I...?
It felt like she wasn't in control of her own actions; the power and white-hot rage surging through her moved her arms of their own accord. Nanoha felt like she was viewing the scene through a tank of water, the sound muted and the vision blurry.
Stop. Please, stop. I wouldn't want to...!
Magic energy flared up around her as light slowly gathered at the crown of her staff, casting a dark red hue down the corridor instead of its usual magenta. She couldn't reclaim control of her own body, no matter how much she willed it so.
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"I will make this better...later," she hissed, and promptly launched a punch towards Nanoha's jaw. "You will regain control of yourself."
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She righted herself as she hit the ground, and a dark red shield interposed itself between her and the newcomer. And then, Nanoha squeezed her fist shut.
"Barrier Burst."
The shield exploded outward in a blast of energy directed toward her attacker.
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"You must reassert control," she snapped and moved forward once again, her hand on Nanoha's staff and her feet planted. She was dimly aware that she ached, but it didn't matter. "You have the strength in you to do so." Arha was sure of that, as sure as she could be and she leaned forward, locking her eyes with Nanoha's.
"Find it," she said, her blue-within-blue eyes intense.
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This wasn't right. None of this was right. Who was this person? Why were they talking to her like this? This - it wasn't the TSAB building, was it? Was any of this real, or just a vivid, horrible nightmare?
Her body still moved.
"Flash Move."
In the blink of an eye, Nanoha had closed the gap between the two of them, swinging Raising Heart around in a sideways blow - and a gout of violet flame burst from its side.
"Strike Flame: Armageddon Shift."
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She didn't look away from Nanoha's eyes, but kept her own locked on hers. Arha pushed herself up stubbornly. She would not stay down.
"Look around you! Look at this place. Do you not see what is happening? You are not stupid. See such with your own eyes, see the truth before the lies, the nightmares, destroy you."
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That rang a bell in Nanoha's mind. Nightmares.... nightmares... this - this is a nightmare. It can't be real!
Even as her body moved, leveling the staff at Arha and gathering more blood-red magic at its tip, Nanoha's mind raced. This wasn't real. Fate, Vivio - they weren't dead. Nightmare King. The name rang out clear in her head like a church bell, striking her deep to the core.
None of this is real. I need to stop! Everyone is counting on me!
And then, suddenly, the muted world snapped back into reality with all the shock of a cold flood of water, the energy gathered at the tip of Raising Heart vanished, and Nanoha's knees buckled beneath her.
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"Much better," she murmured, as the rush of adrenaline began to ebb and various injures made themselves known. She hurt, but it was nothing vital and anything bloodied had begun to heal. "Knew you could do it."
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"I... t-thank you," she mumbled, still trying to push to her feet. "Where are we? I need to get to the cathedral."
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It looks like he tried to bring half of Weapons and Possessions with him, though in actuality, most of the stuff is from his personal caches - he moved a fair amount of it up from the city, in case the Nightmare King's spreading magic made it impossible to get to. Both of his visible weapons are modified with thaumaturgical batteries, courtesy of Isaac - whom he definitely owes a favor, if they both survive this. "I've got a couple extra weapons if you need any help staying that way."
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What he never considered was that there was worse.
There was no Castiel in this place, drawn from his own mind. Nobody to bring Dean back from Hell. At least, not the Dean that he knew. He'd seen his brother a few times since then. Or, at least, the demon that wore his brother's name and wore others to taunt him.
And then there'd been the ever so spectacular fuck up with Lucifer. He'd believed Ruby every step of the way. Had never even tried to turn away from her help because nobody had been there to talk him out of it. It had even happened sooner.
And there had been nobody left to rescue him when Lucifer arose.
The first few days, Lucifer had cajoled Sam. Sam was, after all, his perfect vessel. He'd promised Sam anything he could want, only name it and it would be his.
Sam spat in the devil's face on the third day. His ears had rung for an hour afterward from the force of the punch to his jaw, but it gave him something else to focus on.
He woke up knowing all of this. He also woke up chained in the middle of a cold, stark room with his hands above his head. Trying to move them only brought the sound of chain links clattering together.
"I wouldn't suggest moving very much." Lucifer stepped around in front of him, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't want to do irreparable harm to your skin, considering I'm going to be wearing it pretty soon."
"Go to Hell." Not original, but certainly meant.
The devil laughed, shaking his head. "Oh no, Sammy. See, I figured out where I was going wrong with you. See, you Winchesters. You just don't understand people trying to be nice to you." Sam snorted, but Lucifer just kept talking. "It's not in your nature to accept that. So I'm through, trying to play Mister Nice Guy."
He reached out, grabbing Sam's arm and using it to turn him. The chains creaked ominously, but held. Across the room, Sam saw a slumped figure in much the same predicament that he was. Then the figure raised his head and, even though the man's eyes were black as pitch, Sam drew in a sharp, disbelieving breath and whispered, "Dean."
"You see, Sammy," the devil went on, as though he hadn't said anything. "I realized that offering you riches and power are useless. You've never had them and you know very well you can live without them. But your brother?" He crossed the room, pinching one of Dean's cheeks. "You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you, Sammy?"
He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "No. No, it..." It was a demon wearing his brother's face. He knew it. It HAD to be.
Lucifer tsked and shook his head, nodding toward another demon. Alistair, Sam had heard him called. "Let's make a game of this, shall we?" he asked, taking the whip that the demon brought. "For every stripe that Alistair here places across your back, your brother will get two." The devil smiled, the eyes of his host going pure white. "Let's see which makes you crack faster, hmm?"
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None of it seems real anymore.
He's past the point where anything they could do in the Medbay would help him - all of them are, even if this hasn't all been one long hallucination. Instead, he's limping toward Weapons and Possessions - the left side of his body is numb, and the right side isn't faring much better; he'd traded in the plantsuit for a long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants... sometime, the last time he could feel his fingers he supposes, and they're soaked in blood - though he has no idea whose it and no memory of where it came from. There are gaps in the walls - not breaches, just holes in reality. What he can see through them is fuzzy at best, but most of it is white, with glimpses of stainless steel, but that's of no concern. He has to get to his mech. If he can activate the Lambda Driver, maybe he has a chance of using it to shove back the Nightmare King's influence for just long enough to gather his wits, assess his injuries, and make a plan. So long as he's still alive, all isn't lost.
It takes a while to get to the hangar - Weapons and Possessions is a blur, and trying to shake himself out of the dream does nothing to clear it. He can barely remember the prayers Roxie taught him, and even those don't help. Somehow, though, he finds his way at last to the mecha hangar, to where his Codarl's docked. His hands are slick with blood, and some of the wounds on his forearms are deep enough that his thumbs aren't working all that well, but he manages to climb into the cockpit. For a moment, there's the irrational urge to activate the machine's self-destruct sequence instead - take as much of this goddamn place out with him as he could - but the damage would be comparatively easy to contain out here, and besides, there wouldn't be nearly enough casualties. Just the fact that taking out Weapons and Possessions would practically be the dick move to end all dick moves isn't enough.
Instead, he activates the Lambda Driver - at least, he thinks he does. Instead of its usual noise, there's a strange, low thrum, backed distantly by what sounds like voices, speaking a language he doesn't understand - the Nightmare King, still looking to work its fangs further into him, he assumes; however, it's too late. He kicks the Lambda Driver into full gear, and forms a shield around his machine.
It almost seems like it's working, before he realizes he can't feel anything below his neck. The last vestiges of sensation are utterly gone, and he can't breathe. He still has a pulse, but somehow, even that feels utterly unnatural.
And suddenly, he is awake.
The haziness of the dream is gone, replaced by bright light; when he closes his eyes against it, there's a flurry of voices and movement around him, but he's not paying attention to them. Even as horribly, undeniably wide awake as he is, he still can't feel anything below his neck. He can't breathe because you have no lungs, the phrase drifts to mind unbidden and unwelcome. His head is resting at an impossible angle, one his broad shoulders shouldn't allow, and the unnatural thrum of blood through his head isn't driven by a heartbeat - with a sinking feeling, he recognizes the sound a cardiopulmonary bypass pump makes.
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This can't be happening this can't be happening this can't be happening-- the words echo over and over in his head, but to no avail - there is no doubting the fact that he is awake, and this is real. As his head - he'd shudder if there was anything left to do it with - is turned to display the cannulae entering the ragged remains of his neck to the camera, he realizes what that has to mean. None of it ever existed - not the ship, not the people on it; it was all just a bizarre death dream, as his brain shut down before the bypass was set up, or maybe some especially detailed delusion he had created because even his mind couldn't handle this.
For the first time in twenty-five years, he remembers what fear feels like, though it's already subsiding into numbness as he opens his other eye. Death has never frightened him, but a horrific and unnatural fate like this is something else entirely - and even worse than both is the feeling of reality twisting away and unraveling beneath his tenuous grasp. He's died once and he's going to be dead again soon, and he hadn't even been able to prepare himself. All that crap with the Nightmare King seems pretty silly and distant now.
No, that's bullshit.
And somehow, the inevitable brings every last scrap of rage and righteous indignation that Gauron's capable of summoning to the surface. If this is really his fate, then why the fuck should he care? Why should it matters if he's prepared, or if he's only hiding from reality? If this is real, he deserves the fucking illusion. He does not accept this.
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When his eyes snap open, he's still staring hazily at the same bright lights. However, when he gasps for breath this time, it actually works.
He rolls onto his side, coughing up the spittle he accidentally inhaled with that gasp; there's the sound of something metallic shifting on the ground behind him as he does, and an all too familiar weight on his shoulder. When he sits up, he discovers he'd somehow come to pass out on the floor of Weapons and Possessions, and slung over his shoulder is an AK-47 with some kind of strange device attached; he stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before the memory trickles back in of the instructions Isaac had given him. The device is a pack of thaumaturgical batteries, and there's a similar one on the P226 still holstered at his side.
Gauron's not wearing the clothes he was in his last hazy memories of the ship, but is still in his plantsuit - evidently, the Nightmare King had gained a little finesse in screwing with people since this all started, but he isn't going to let it throw him. Remembering the extent of his injuries in the half-waking portion of the nightmare, though, he strips out of it to check himself over. There are an abundance of scrapes and bruises, but fortunately, no sign of the deeper wounds or missing patches of skin from the earlier dreams. Even better, the numbness seems to be completely gone from his limbs - but to make sure, to test whether there's any of the nightmare's hold left on him, he dislocates his pinkie. Never has the familiar, throbbing pain been more welcome: it drives home the fact that he is still alive. Somehow, despite everything, he's still alive. He's not out of the woods yet, though.
As he pulls the plantsuit back on, his rattled sense of purpose slips back into place. With the ship still in the bleed, there's no escaping, and that suits him just fine; he'd rather stand and fight anyway. Grinning, he picks up his weapons and sets out to see if he's the only one here whose brain hasn't completely melted.