Double Strike

*I'm alive! Yes, alive, but hell, behind a little on the chapters cuz I got cooked by life (extra shift at work, and doing the night shift kills me, I lost today by sleeping) so yeah.... here we are tho, and I got a chapter ready. Enjoy. Peace out and Deus vult.*

Mark's fists kept flying after Aventurine, being met by chips that floated around like crazy, spinning in a dizzying storm like a barrage of shields. 

"Son of a fuck, stop hiding!" growled Mark, punching through the chips with sparks and fragments of ice. 

"Heh, how about a little game, friend? Let's see how good your luck is in the middle of the battle," laughed Aventurine, preparing his fist. 

"Rock, paper, scissors. Simple yet effective. What do you say?" 

Mark stared at the outstretched fist, meeting the hint of a gaze he thought could be made out through the mask. Without much hesitation, he brought his fist up in turn, ready to play along. From the sides, Stelle and the others tried to jump in, but the giant poker chips that Aventurine threw around were doing their job all too well. The battle differed from what Mark knew, and it probably tied to him being there. 

"Come on, Mark. Miss Stellaron is the star here, but you're the one who keeps the show going in the shadows, that much I'm willing to bet on." 

His fist moved as the game started, the symbols going. Mark tried thinking it logically, so he went with paper, but Aventurine showed the scissors. 

"You lose this one," grinned Aventurine, flicking his wrist. A swarm of chips, green and red, came down on Mark from above. He gritted his teeth, sending out ice spikes from the ground, keeping them going even as they broke, sustaining the cycle of blocking and breaking. 

"Next one, bastard!" shouted Mark, shielding himself as he lunched closer, striking the next move. Rock. Of course, Aventurine parried with paper, causing Mark to be swarmed again by the twirling chips, which would normally be a gambler's dream—until they're used as weapons. 

"One more time?" asked Aventurine, mocking Mark, who kept striking back with all he had. With a crazy smirk on his face, Mark prepared his hand, stretching it out. 

"One last time, gambler boy," he grinned, and both prepared. One time. Two times. Third time, and bam. Aventurine went with scissors, while Mark simply pulled out a weird hand positioning. It looked like a mix between rock, paper, and, of course, scissors. 

"The Ultimate Weapon, you fool!" 

Mark's laughter filled the air as he powered up once more, preparing some energy in his fist as he swung, cracking the air itself as Aventurine braced for the impact, shielding himself with all the chips on hand. They went up into bits and pieces, falling to the ground like shattered dreams and hopes. 

Aventurine took a leap back, staring at the group that was gathered together in the back. Mark knew what was coming, so he dashed back to prepare for it. 

"Always hide your ace with a straight face. I'm starting to get a bit impatient with you all," he said menacingly, taking to the skies as a golden aura surrounded his body. 

"Shit, March, toss me a sword! Make it at least like my own!" he barked, looking over to March, who quickly began focusing on her ice to make what he had asked. Her training must have gone well, since she managed to do so in a few seconds, offering a copy of his usual sword, the one made by himself at the start of his journey. 

The sky darkened, lightning strikes flashing from all sides, thunders booming both far and close, filling the night with grim, eerie tension. Mark could spot something—a tiny difference, just one detail that wasn't in the game. It was a cloud, darker than the rest, too dark to be something normal, but it moved through the sky nonetheless. 

"Friends, to fully relish this," he thundered, moving up like a spark ready to burst into a million fragments. "I'm betting every last chip!" 

Mark from below summoned his Sword of Will, bracing himself as the others stared up at the sky, watching the large golden stain that spread out like a galaxy taking birth, with countless shimmers breathing life. 

"Only by casting aside reason does one truly gamble..." 

Mark shouted from below, unsure if his words would reach him. 

"Then let's see who's crazier, you son of a fuck!" 

Countless chips began appearing across the sky, stacked together in pillars with various sizes, be it cars, houses, or even larger buildings. They kept growing out of the golden stain that Aventurine opened, spreading out like a dome over the city. 

"Emanator, I know you'll match my wager. As for my friend Mark... I hope to see what he truly is." 

Mark braced himself, Sword of Will held at his waist, like he was ready to draw it out of the sheath that wasn't there, prepared to strike with all that was available for him. He braced himself, bending his knees, focusing his weight on the left foot, the one he held forward. 

Memories of Acheron's discussion during the rain flashed in his mind. 

"A strand of color... that's all I need to try and paint the pretty picture that she was before the shadows enveloped her..." 

Thus, it began pouring for him too, but it wasn't water that fell like unshed tears from ages past—it was a gambler's cry, one of chips and wealth that crushed into the buildings, breaking the dream bit by bit. Welt and Himeko, being the older ones, braced themselves to take care of the newbies, but Mark was faster. He powered his body with all he could, bracing for it. 

"50% output in the body... 51% in the sword..." he whispered, the words leaving like a woven promise as his feet slid on the ground, moving in tandem, his stance unbroken. He touched it again, staring up as the chips fell. Time around seemed to slow down as he picked up more speed, the energy gathered in his sword threatening to break the ice that March had shaped. It was a one-time use weapon, even as he tried to enhance it further with his own ice. 

By his side, Acheron took a step, setting in motion with him as time stopped around them both. She reached for her sword, and he smiled as he noticed her transformation. She moved faster than him, even with his body at 50% output. Emanators are a thing to be reckoned with. 

"I wish to mourn the departed, weeping like rain, to swell the crossing stream..." 

Her hair turned white, eyes of a beautiful red like roses, with dark red marks that went along her skin. She brought her sword over her head, ready to pull it out the sheath. Mark smirked by her side, her voice sounding like watching something at double speed. 

"...as the tide arrives, leading you back home." 

The world turned gray around as nothing but the stark red of her blade was visible. Mark moved to her side, preparing his weapon too. 

"You're not alone this time, alright? This time... I'll make sure that you won't fall into the river yourself, for the shadows try to drag you down." 

Up in the sky, by Aventurine's side, Mark could see the very beast that had left his mind try to meddle with the situation. Nihility would feed it, but his sword was there as well, added to the mix as an unknown. It was time to fire the one thing he wished for a long time, ever since he saw the scene unfold for the first time. 

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the tear that ran down her cheek seemed like one of joy. Her lips moved, speaking softly with gentle care. The scene was like a demon trying to comfort a child. 

"Don't ruin yourself for others, Mark..." 

He smirked, moving his sword in unison with hers. Perhaps his words were lost, or maybe they've reached her, but he had no way of knowing as the phrase 'That's my selfish wish' left as one with his breath. 

Thus, they both struck at once, aiming for Aventurine, and the thing behind that was Mark's personal issue. Turquoise and red, just half of the formula, but Mark's will wasn't going to leave the chance die. Thus, the strike came out a beautiful blue of pure energy, mixing in with the single strand of color that was left of her. 

"Hallow Purple, bitch!" 

The strikes mingled together, flowing through the air as one, cutting down all that lay in their path. Chips, buildings, the very sky, down to the dark cloud of malice and the one gambler who took his shot. The magnitude of the strike was twice that of the original, sending ripples that shook the ground, rattling the buildings like twigs in the wind. 

The very dome that Aventurine's efforts had created went up in shards that turned to dust before getting a chance to touch the ground as the energy poured in by both fired without hesitation. 

Mark's hand slowly let go of the ice as the fragmented blade fell from his fingers, his body feeling sore all over. It was just a few moments of having used 50% output, his strongest current reach and the most his body could handle, while the energy stored in the sword, gathered there separately, was enough to backfire and explode in his hands. It was a gamble, one that worked out well since he followed the rule laid out by the very best. 

His eyes closed, only to open to him and Acheron being in a realm all too familiar to him, with the large blackhole looming over there from behind. 

................................................................. 

Welt braced himself, his cane, the old friend that had been by his side through different worlds, resting comfortably in his palm even in the dire situation. Aventurine's attack was on a wider scale than expected—as if he wished to destroy part of the city too, leaving behind his mark on the dream. 

"To think it would come down to this, to putting everyone in danger. It seems that his final goal was Acheron all along, but why?" 

His thoughts took a sudden shift as, from behind, Mark's figure emerged, taking to the front. 

"He's back at it, isn't he? Does he not know when it's time to take a step back and let others handle it? Why does he stubbornly take it all upon himself?" 

Mark, the enigmatic man—maybe calling him a man was a little much. Many definitions for that word existed. Biologically, he was a man, but mentally he might have been far from it. Still, Welt did notice the maturity that grounded him in the world, despite what his current situation was. The issue with Himeko was just a misunderstanding –one that might hold deeper ties. 

He couldn't understand her either. It was unlike her to act based on feelings to that point, to hold a bit of a grudge on none other than the boy she wished to take care of. He was lost in the world—that much he knew. A brief discussion over some coffee, and Welt was able to understand Mark a little better. Too many questions remained, some of which were emerging slowly as time went on. He'd have to talk with Mark about it since he was the only one to have a form of clue about his home world. 

"My memories are slowly duplicating, with some events I'm unaware of staring to fog my mind. In some of them I see... someone, a foreign figure, yet I can never see the face. My gut is telling me that it has to do with him. Just who are you, Mark?" 

Himeko by his side looked over to Mark, watching as Acheron stood by his side. Brief as it was, he could make out a hint of emotion that Himeko had rarely shown—a flicker of vulnerability, a silent longing that he couldn't understand. 

With that, he could only watch as the attacks intertwined, the color changing to a beautiful purple. He smiled a little despite himself, recalling past friends, both in the memories he knew and the new ones that began settling in with the unknown person. 

"He sure grew a lot." 

................................................................. 

Himeko was prepared, putting aside any internal turmoil to simply focus on protecting the others. It was a duty she chose for herself—the duty of saving the others as their supposed elder. Little was her surprise when she saw Mark step ahead, moving through her and Welt, an ice sword in hand. 

"Of course he wants to play the hero again. Is he stupid? Does he have a death wish? Why won't he let us care for him?" 

Her mind was a mess, feelings fleeting, returning, crashing harder into her the more she focused. Emotions that she understood but denied kept gathering as she saw him. The scene was fresh in her mind of how a poor boy finally mustered the courage to open up to her and let out the emotions that weighed down on his heart. He was a human, like any other, who simply got wound up in a situation that went far above the usual. Still, he prevailed and managed to keep growing steadily. 

One mission after another, he fought and did the impossible, standing against foes that were more powerful than expected. He risked his life, but he stood there for the others. She admired that part of him, the part that he tried to cling to no matter what. 

Why did she even treat him so harshly? Sure, at first, she didn't think about Mark having done any of those things that she accused him of. Spending time with the opposite gender doesn't mean things happen, even if Black Swan loves stoking the fire. It began as a simple feeling of doubt that she allowed to spiral out of control only because of her own issues, of the things she didn't wish to admit. 

Her eyes followed as Acheron was by his side, and she finally left out those things that were locked up inside her heart—she was jealous, even if just a bit, and she finally admitted it. How wrong was it? It all depended on one's outlook. She did feel guilty, being older than him and feeling... something. Back at Herta's Space Station, he kissed her cheek so lovingly that she could recall the feeling no matter how much time had passed. 

"Why do I even... feel this way?" 

She didn't want to trust it, didn't want to give in to that foreign feeling. It was something strange to her, perhaps elusive in her life. Seeing Acheron by his side, she couldn't help but feel a little envy and perhaps hopelessness. She was by his side at first, when he broke down and needed comfort. It was something she's done without much thought, just offering Mark a touch of kindness that he needed most. It should have ended there, and yet her heart stirred at his sudden peck on the cheek on the Space Station. 

"It's just one peck, so why...?" 

Why? She held the answer. It was the tenderness, the innocence, the way in which he simply offered affection in turn, mirroring her care. In short, all she did was out of fear—the fear of losing him and that innocence to desires, the fear of accepting her own feelings, flickering as they are. She tried to push him away when she actually wanted him closer. 

Yet, seeing Acheron next to him, both of them standing up to Aventurine like that, as if ready to brace the world together, she felt... empty. 

"This feeling... Mark, you... lovely idiot..." 

In the end, she accepted that spark in her heart, accepted that she was developing something for him, some form of affection—now it was about finding out exactly what those emotions were. 

"Please forgive me for what I did, Mark..." she whispered, letting the words get lost in the aftershock of the attack.