Chapter Text
Berlintis burning, and all Twilight can do is watch.
WISE has failed in its mission.
The National Unity Party and their far-right allies have gotten exactly what they wanted: war with Westalia, where the goal was Westalia’s complete eradication or Ostania destroying itself trying.
And now, the latter had come to pass, with how badly Ostania’s leaders had underestimated—or perhaps, just ignored—the military might of Westalia and what its allies were willing to provide it.
There was no more Donovan Desmond. He had retreated into his undisclosed bunker when it seemed the tides were turning against him both domestically and abroad. His ultimate attempt to end the tension and his bouts of paranoia had only made him a pariah on all sides, made real enemies where he had only once imagined it.
There was no more National Unity Party or at least, politicians still willing to show their faces or speak to the public. The house of parliament was one of the first things to start burning, set alight by saboteurs or simply the citizens who needed to attack the fools responsible for destroying their lives as they knew it, futile as it was.
And there was not much more time left for Twilight, either.
In a way, he thought it was terribly appropriate he was dying from the shrapnel of an explosion, while he was his civilian get-up and trying to just get through the day while waiting on WISE’s next orders.
He was the legend of the intelligence community, the man who could take on any identity yet who was unknown to anyone outside of his allies, the spy who operated intending to come in unnoticed, do his job perfectly, and leave without a trace.
And now, he was about to die alone, unnoticed, and likely forgotten, as unlike the rest of the dead and dying around him, no one would come looking for his remains, there would be no funeral nor burial, there would only be a termination report before the administration destroyed what files they had for him to protect the rest of the agency.
Twilight was dying full of regrets. But, as his consciousness faded from the blood loss, the searing pain of the wounds in his gut began to fade, and the sounds of agony and misery around him began to blur into indistinct noise, there was one that got the lion’s share of attention:
“I failed to make a world where children would never need to cry.”
And then, he closed his eyes for the last time.
… But then, he found himself unconsciously opening them again.
(Am I dead?) Twilight thought to himself. (Is this the afterlife?)
If so, it was a lot more mundane and underwhelming than any of the educated guesses and scripture had said it would be. For one thing, it looked like the inside of an abandoned wooden shed, where Twilight had been laid down on an old rag on top of a bed of straw in a wooden box.
Almost immediately, instincts and training kicked in, Twilight checked himself and his surroundings.
In short order, he realized: he was probably no longer in Berlint, Ostania, his original three-piece suit had been replaced with something that fit a medieval gentleman more than a modern one, and that it was daytime wherever this place was, thanks to the light streaming in through the cracks in the roof (there weren’t any windows).
And when he got up and bumped his sock-clad toe on a loose board, Twilight figured he wasn’t dead or Hell had some very odd ways of inflicting pain and punishment indeed.
(I seem to be alive, beyond all logic and reason,) Twilight thought as he found some almost new leather boots and put them on. They were just his size and fit him perfectly like the cobbler had made them specifically for him. (That, or I’m having an incredibly lucid dying fantasy where for some reason, I’ve become a medieval European gentleman who found himself waking up in unusual circumstances.)
He thought of exploring the shed a bit more—until a desperate banging on the door stopped him.
“Help Anya…!” a young child’s voice cried. “Someone, please, help Anya…!”
Twilight scowled, irritated. Not even a few minutes into this strange new predicament and already there was trouble quite literally knocking on his door. He had half a mind to think that he had miraculously survived the bombing and been kidnapped by his enemies or that all of the war had been one long, lucid dream while he was in a stress-and-overwork induced coma.
“Please…!” the voice cried—it was a girl, no older than 4 or 5, Twilight guessed. “Anya's know someone’s in there! Please, help Anya, Anya promises she's not going to do anything bad…!”
Again, Twilight considered ignoring it. He had abused the kindness of strangers before and it was likely a truly terrible idea to be putting his safety on the line for a stranger when he didn't even know where he was or what was going on, to begin with.
But then, he remembered: his chief dying regret, the overwhelming emotions, pain, and helplessness that he’d felt in what was supposed to be his last moments, the memories of the first time he’d ever felt that nightmare and the years of hell that followed before it.
And so, with a determined grimace, Twilight rushed to the door, and undid the small latch that kept it closed from the inside.
The door swung open immediately and nearly hit him, a tiny little pink blur rushed in and hid behind Twilight’s legs.
“Thank you…!” she said, blubbering through tears.
He was just about to ask who she was and what manner of trouble she was in, until he realized yet more trouble was already coming out of the woods and the bushes surrounding this little shack.
Despite Twilight finding himself in what he assumed to be a completely different world from Earth, the looks and the auras of people clearly up to no good remained the same, it seemed. He scowled as he looked at the men and women in rough clothes and shoddy leather and cloth armor, all armed with crude, poorly-maintained weapons like clubs, swords, and knives.
“I don’t know who the hell you are,” said one of the thugs, “but give up the girl, all your money, and any other valuables you’ve got on you, and we’ll let you live. We don’t want to screw with no nobleman types.”
Twilight scowled. (Typical...) he thought.
He felt the little girl clutching tightly to one of his pants legs, Twilight looked down at her, put a hand on her head, and said, “Get inside, close the door, and make sure to get the latch back on. I’ll handle this.”
The pink-haired girl looked up at him with terrified, trembling green eyes before she quickly, nervously nodded, and let go.
Twilight stepped forward outside of the shack, the door was quickly pushed shut behind him. He heard the little girl struggling to reach up and get the latch but fortunately, it wasn’t that high up for her and he could hear it secure once more.
“Gentlemen, Ladies,” Twilight said coolly as he held up his hands. “I don’t know why exactly you’re after this young lady, but I can tell it’s going to be nothing good, and I just can’t abide by that.”
There were six of the thugs. All seemed poorly trained and used to fighting defenseless foes from their clumsy, open stances, made to look more intimidating than coordinated for effective fighting. And none of them were very amused by what Twilight just said.
One of the bandits spat. “Oh, real valiant hero type, are you? Typical for you rich bastards, talking out your asses about ‘morals’ while you’ve got those silver spoons in your mouths.”
"Why the hell do you care about this little brat? She something to you?” another one of them asked.
“In all honesty? No,” Twilight said, dropping into a low, wide combat stance. “She’s just a random little girl who just happened to run into the shack I found myself in. But regardless, you’re a clear and present danger to her and as she's come to me for help, it behooves me as an adult and a man to protect her from scum like you.”
All at once, the mood soured, and the tense air grew lethal as murderous auras radiated from all the bandits.
“You know what?” one of the larger bandits said. “We were planning to just knock you out and rob you blind, but I guess we’re going to have to kill you, too, for running your mouth.”
“Please,” Twilight said, gesturing them to come closer with one hand. “I welcome you to try.”
And with that, they roared and charged.
They were untrained but they were not completely without tactics. All of them were just as capable of injuring each other thanks to the reach and sharpness of their weapons and the wild abandon they’d likely swing them with, so only two rushed to flank Twilight while the others waited at the ready.
Twilight had already been creating a plan in his head, but as he focused his mind and blocked out all other unnecessary information, something strange happened:
Time seemed to slow down.
Not figuratively, as in he was moving faster than his conscious mind could process, but literally, as in the shouts and jeers of the thugs had slowed down, slurred, and become indistinct, as if he was watching all of this via a camera recording on half-speed or slower.
And as Twilight tried to move his arms to intercept the first of the two, he realized two more things:
One, he was still moving at normal speed, unimpeded, with full awareness and total control over his movements.
And two, he was starting to see glowing lines spreading out from his and the moving thugs’ bodies, like ripples on the surface of a disturbed pond.
(This is… interesting,) Twilight thought to himself.
Thug #1 swung, trying to smash Twilight in the side of the head with his club!
Twilight dropped low to dodge.
And as the club slowly arced towards his head, Twilight could see the same glowing ripples coming off of it.
Twilight’s training taught him now would be the perfect time to strike at his opponent’s unguarded stomach while he recovered. Now, the ripples seemed to be guiding him to do just that, he tried to move along them like a leaf caught floating on the surface of a pond until—
Punch.
His fist slammed into the thug's stomach, on his leather breastplate, and where his solar plexus would be underneath it.
And as the thug gasped and reeled in pain, his eyes went wide, and he lost his grip on his club, time seemed to rapidly be returning to normal.
Twilight grabbed the weapon as it fell and turned his attention to Thug #2, a woman with a knife clearly aiming to stab him in the stomach with it.
She realized Twilight had taken out #1, she hesitated but was moving too fast to stop.
Twilight began to dodge around her, time seemed to slow down again.
Thug #2’s movements were erratic, as were the ripples coming off her body.
Still, Twilight found the right current to move along, he slipped around her and she missed him completely. Then—
Crack.
Twilight smashed the club on Thug #2’s wrist.
From her ugly scream and the way she immediately dropped her knife and began to stumble, Twilight figured he’d broken it.
Time began to speed up again, the ripples were fading away to nothing, Twilight snatched the knife as it fell through the air. He caught it, expertly twisted it with his fingers, and was soon back in a combat stance, knife forward, club behind it to defend.
He looked up, the remaining 4 thugs were horrified, angry, or stunned, all quickly realizing that Twilight was not the helpless, unarmed nobleman they thought he was.
He glanced back, Thug #1 was in the fetal position on the ground clutching his stomach, Thug #2 was trying to crawl away, crying as she nursed her shattered wrist.
He looked at the shed, its door was, it had no windows and no other obvious entrances to sneak into unless the little girl was foolish enough to open the door prematurely.
Twilight found himself smiling despite the dire situation. Perhaps it wasn’t ideal, but at least he only needed to worry about 4 thugs, 2 crippled opponents, and 0 defenseless innocents.
“Fuck!” yelled another female thug, #3 by Twilight’s count. “Everyone, overrun him!”
Immediately they rushed in, uncoordinated and without a strategy.
If they hadn’t been scum who were clearly trying to hurt a defenseless child who was all alone, Twilight may have felt sorry about what he was going to do.
Having done it happened now, Twilight focused again, and just as he’d thought, he slowed time for himself again, the ripples were visible once more.
Thug #4 tried to come at him with a sword for an overhead slash, roaring to try and intimidate Twilight.
His voice seemed to cause its own set of ripples, angry and red, but they simply bounced off Twilight when they hit him. Undaunted, Twilight studied Thug #4’s movements and prepared his club hand.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the weapon, and a moment later (or perhaps, from their perception), it struck Thug #4 right in the head and temporarily blinded him.
Thug #4 stumbled and staggered, Twilight watched as he tripped right in the path of Thug #3, and they both tripped and tangled up with each other. Their both having bladed weapons meant they’d injure themselves in the struggle or have to be very careful while trying to get up.
Four threats taken out of the picture, for now, Twilight focused his attention on the last two:
Two men with clubs, #5 had nails and shrapnel hammered into it, and #6 had a nasty-looking hook crudely strapped with a metal band.
They seemed not to have noticed the others tripping over themselves or were already planning on flanking him, too.
Thug #6 swung his hook swung and tried to catch Twilight’s arm or his clothes.
Twilight saw the ripples coming from it, then swung his knife so it would catch in the hook.
Clang…!
The sound was quiet, muted, and drawn-out, to Twilight’s ears. He watched the two -sets of ripples exploding from the impact, he put more power into his knife, and watched as his knife's ripples canceled out #6's hook.
Surprised and caught-off guard, Twilight Thug #6's arm, spun the two of them around, then let go of him.
The thug went flying off and away from Twilight, flailing his arms to try and keep his balance.
Meanwhile, Twilight nearly finished his spin. He finally saw Thug #5 swinging his spiked club, sideways from the opposite direction.
It was almost guaranteed to hit Twilight if he were still a normal man with normal reflexes and reaction time.
But now, Twilight dropped his head and body low, the tip of the spikes and the edges of the sharp metal shards didn’t even graze or cut the strands of his blonde hair.
Once more, he saw the ripples coming from both their bodies. Twilight calmly studied their flow, the angles of their bodies, and when everything aligned—
Another punch.
“Oh…!” Thug #5 gasped, eyes growing wide before they started shaking and tearing up from agony.
Twilight pulled his fist back from the man’s crotch and tried not to think too hard about the series of visceral sensations he’d felt on his knuckles just now.
Thug #5 dropped his club, threw his hands over his crotch, and fell backward where he stood.
Twilight smoothly got back up, prepared to assess the battlefield once more—and got shot in the shoulder.
It was not from a gun with bullets, he realized, but from a crossbow with bolts.
And as Twilight felt the rapid onset of a painful tingling, burning sensation before total numbness rapidly spread from the wound, he realized the bolt was poisoned, too.
Twilight wavered. Even with the intense conditioning of his body, all his training and prior experience, and this mysterious new power could not save him from a weapon that was attacking him from the inside out.
He clutched the bolt to stabilize it as the numbness spread down his chest, his legs bent and his feet felt heavy, and finally, he lost balance.
Thud.
Twilight fell on his back, his free arm able to push him off his side before it lost strength completely. The iron grip his other had on the bolt’s shaft rapidly weakened as his whole body started losing sensation and strength.
“Fucking hell! Who even was this guy?!” yelled Thug #2.
“Who cares?!” Thug #6 snapped. “Just get the girl and let’s get out of here before he pulls up any more tricks from up his sleeves!”
“Relax, that bolt was loaded with Numbing Death,” said Thug #3. “I’d love to see him try and survive that.”
Once more, the sharp pain began to fade, the heat from the wound and Twilight’s blood rapidly cooled, and his vision and consciousness began to blur as the poison continued to spread into his lungs and heart.
“Open up the goddamn door, you little brat!” one of the thugs yelled—he could no longer tell who.
“Don’t bother—just bust it down, like this!”
Bang! Bang! Crack. Crash.
Again, the little girl screamed and cried.
“Nowhere to run, you little brat! We’ve got you now and no one’s left to help you anymore!”
“No! Go away! Help! Someone, save us…!” the girl cried.
Was this how it was going to end the second time around? Barely even into this new world, this new chance at life, and Twilight was going to die helpless, alone, and forgotten once more?
“Stop squirming or I’ll break your limbs, you fucking brat!”
“Don’t damage the goddamn merchandise before we get paid! She’s still a magia and the slavers want them undamaged physically, dumbass!”
As a strange power and renewed strength began to course through Twilight’s body, as he seemed to recover from the Numbing Death by sheer force of will, as he ripped out the poisoned bolt and the torn wound and damaged bone rapidly began to knit on its own…
… Twilight got back up on his feet and decided the answer was, “No.”