The second part of the last chapter. This is another one of those that I've been wanting to write since I first started this project almost two years ago now. Its been a long wait but I think its been worth it. As a side note, the completed chapter will be longer then 'Wolverines!' which makes it the longest chapter in the book. I thought it appropriate to finish with a grand finale
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Chapter 23 – From Cradle to Grave: Part 2
The former general froze solid as ice, his heart suddenly beating so loudly he could hear its echo reverberating around the room. One ear twitched towards the sound and very slowly he turned his head, his brain not willing to accept what his ears had heard.
And yet there he stood.
Keith’s eyes were wide, his mouth moving but no words escaping his lungs despite his best efforts. Opposite him, the little girl Elizabeth was gone; her small form replaced by one much larger and very much more familiar to the man who had once led the destiny of an entire nation.
It was his predecessor.
“Alaric…” it couldn’t be, he had never dreamed of his friend before. Not in a nightmare remembering his demise nor a happy dream remembering the times they had spent together as children. Nothing. But yet here he was, standing within the dead halls of his torment, plain as day.
“This can’t be… it’s not real…”
The Basitin opposite gave a chuckle, “Oh? And why not? Don’t you want this to be real?”
Keith had no response, his voice still lost to him, his mind still in shock. The phantom of his friend was dressed exactly as he had when last they had seen each other: cloth surcoat and leather gloves with his cloak draped around his shoulders and fastened with a silver clasp. He wore his Burrick on his left hip and that familiar cheeky grin on his face that was not quite a smile and not quite a laugh. It was like Keith was being transported back in the past by 75 years, back to a better time before all the talk of Templar and war began.
The grin had grown wider.
“Well old friend, what do you think of this establishment? No quite as cosy as the castle but I suppose it’s better than some of the inns you stayed in on your travels I’d wager.”
Keith was looking hard at his friend, trying to see the blurry lines or lack of detail that normally accompanied dream images. But once again he couldn’t find it.
“Alaric…” Keith chose his next words carefully, “what are you? This is a dream but why would I dream of you here? This all seems so real… what’s going on?”
He watched for any change in Alaric’s expression, but what came was not what he expected. The man laughed.
“Ha-ha! Come on General Keiser! Think about it, you’ve already asked all the right questions, you just need to put it…”
Alaric’s form shimmered for a moment and changed very slightly. With a look of horror, Keith gasped as he recognised this new person. Someone he had hoped to never see again. “…together.” finished Jason Wight.
It was all too much. Keith staggered slightly and had to grasp the wall for support, looking on in disbelief at the Basitin standing in front of him. At first glance it was still his oldest friend positioned before him, yet upon closer inspection there were slight but noticeable differences. The eyes had changed colour from grey to gold and his fur had become a lighter shade while a faint scar had appeared on his right ear. The Basitin still had the scar Alaric had won the day of Keith’s banishment however and many other things about his face were the same; nevertheless what had changed was just as noticeable. Especially to Keith considering he saw them most every day in the mirror.
Jason Wight was an abhorrent, twisted amalgamation of the both of them.
Jason grinned in a mocking taunt of the way Alaric used to smile, “Don’t you get it now you fool? This is no dream, no guilt-induced nightmare. This is reality, as real as it was the last time you were here! Look around you…” he gestured to the black walls, “can’t you smell the soot, the burning? Didn’t you recognise the nurse who came into your cell? And what about poor little Elisabeth,”
His form briefly flickered into hers before the monster was back again, “don’t you remember her too?”
To Keith’s disgust, he realised why the voice emanating from the creature before him seemed so strange, almost like it was two voices speaking in sync. Just like the Basitin’s appearance, his voice was a mocking combination of his two fathers, combing the tones of both of them into a horrific and nightmarish rasp.
Jason walked over to one of the heat-warped metal chairs, dragged it out from the table and sat down in a slouch. He drummed his fingers on its metal surface and one paw on the ground, “Well, Keiser, what do you think now? It’s all too real to be fake so what does that leave us with hmm?”
Keith could not accept it, would not accept it… yet it made sense.
“B-but…” he stammered, “if this is reality then…”
Jason’s smile turned into a wicked harlequin’s leer, “Then that means that none of this was ever real in the first place.”
Jason dissolved and Elizabeth stood before him once more, “We were never here. You were never here.” In an instant she was gone to be replaced by Alaric, “Didn’t you think it strange that you got out and never heard mention of this place even after the Iron Curtain fell? It never existed Keith. It was all just an illusion.” A shimmer and finally it was himself, stood resplendent in his general’s armour, that took Alaric’s place. “This building, the people in it and what happened to them… it was all a conjuration of your own twisted mind. You spent years in here, locked away from the world; but it was never a physical prison that contained you, Keith. It was your own hate and self-loathing that kept you here, nothing more. After the evacuation you couldn’t take it anymore and so you barred yourself within the Cradle and threw away the key. You only set yourself loose when you gave up who you once were and became him.” General Keiser pointed over across the room and when Keith looked he saw Jason sitting in another warped metal chair, waving and with that same leering smile on his lips.
“And now that you’ve become yourself again and rejected me… you’ve started sliding back again. All it took was a little magical shock from our good friend Alabaster and you sent yourself right back into the Cradle’s loving embrace.”
Jason propped his paws on the table and shrugged, “Face it buddy, you’re crazy!”
General Keiser threw Jason a dirty look, “You be quiet.” He turned his head back to Keith who had collapsed into a corner and was holding his head in his hands with a spaced look on his face, “now pull yourself together! Remember it’s you controlling this and if you don’t get a grip you’re never going to get out again.”
Keith raised his head and turned first to his doppelganger and then to his armoured clone, his eyes unseeing and unfocused.
“How could I?” his voice was totally devoid of emotion, “How can I fight against my own mind?” He knocked an unfeeling paw slowly against the cold stone wall. “How can I be free when it’s me that wants to stay trapped?” He briefly focussed red-rimmed eyes on the cold flint of the General.
“What am I supposed to do?”
For a few moments General Keiser said nothing, all the while silent tears ran down the defeated Basitins face. Then he walked forward and knelt down, cupping Keith’s chin in his armoured fingers and drawing his head up so that they looked at each other eye to eye.
“In your heart you know what needs to be done.” The General let Keith’s chin drop once more and stood in between him and the twisted form of Jason Wight.
“Get up.”
It was an order. Despite his unwillingness, Keith felt his legs unfurl involuntarily and he clambered shakily to his paws. Across the room, two pairs of golden eyes locked together in a deadly dance.
“You hated yourself after coming to Earth,” said the General, “you blamed yourself for everything, every village burnt and every life lost. You thought that if only you had been better, stronger, and wiser you could have saved them all. But there was nothing that could be done. The fate of the Basitins was sealed years before you were even born, in the time when the Templar trained their first novices. Since then it has been a timer, counting down to the moment when the dam burst and everything in the path of the water was swept away.” General Keiser stared intently at him, “It was not your fault. Had it been left to some, not a single one of us would have left the Isles alive. You know this; you fought with them for months over what should be done, Alabaster and the rest. You fought them all and triumphed and in doing so you saved the lives of hundreds of thousands that would otherwise have been lost.”
The General turned away and sighed, “And yet still you hate yourself.”
With a deliberate motion, the clone drew one of the two Burricks that rested across his back, running a claw down its length before pivoting round to face Keith once more.
“So in order to escape your own disgust, you created a new person, someone you admired and aspired to be like ever since you were a child.”
“Me,” said Nickolai Alaric, who came out of nowhere and stood by the General. “You looked up to me as a brother even though we weren’t related. You had other friends but I was the only one you ever felt true friendship towards. For years you idolized me and when we were split apart it created a hole that was never quite filled again. So when, in your despair, you needed to be someone else you chose me as your replacement.”
Nickolai pointed over to where Jason Wight was still sitting with that horrible parody of a grin on his face, “But as you can see, one can never truly eliminate oneself from our own personalities. No matter how much we try, there’s always some of `us` left.”
Keith wiped his eyes on a sleeve, “So in order to be free… I need to forgive myself. To understand that I was not to blame and did all I could?”
Jason snorted, “Ha! It’s too late for that my friend. Maybe if you’d tried that decades ago it might have been enough… but you’ve spent too long believing it now to change. No matter how hard you try, they’ll always be that little thought at the back of your mind, just niggling away, slowly eating you through guilt. No. It’s far too late for that, I’m afraid.”
General Keiser nodded, “He’s right, for too long you haven’t been yourself at all, but him. Most of your life in fact. No matter how much you tell yourself you were not to blame you’ll never truly believe it because you’ll still think like him and not like you. So…” he drew the second Burrick and held them both loosely in his hands, “in order to be rid of him once and for all and to finally forgive yourself… you’ll have to kill him.”
With a clanking sound of steel on stone, he threw the Burricks down on to the floor, one at Keith’s feet and one at Jason’s.
"Remember that this is your mind we're in, not the real world. We are, all of us, creatures of the physical and so our minds are attuned to the physical too. There is no magic here, Keith, no power but your own right arm. And it with that arm that you must end him if you ever want to be free."
“Times ticking Keith,” said Alaric. “Every second you spend here, your friend Hawk gets closer to death. If you don’t do it now, it’ll be too late for the both of you. You must kill him!”
Jason hoped down from his chair and grasped the handle of the sword at his feet. With a graceful motion, we swung it up in front of his face and then down again in salute, the tip pointing straight at Keith’s heart.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment Keith Keiser. Ever since you threw me out a few weeks ago I knew I’d have to do something drastic or that body would be lost to me. Seems that now I’ll have my chance to be rid of you forever!”
Keith was slower to pick up his own blade. Instead he looked over to his armoured former self who had stepped back and was now staring at him, arms crossed over his plate cuirass.
“Is there no other way?” he asked.
General Keiser shook his helmeted head, “No. You’ve left it too long to talk him down now. He’s become too powerful; his hold on you is far too strong. If you don’t finish it now he will take control again, and this time you will never come back.”
The General looked around the dark and haunted halls, his expression unreadable behind the visored half-helm that Keith had once worn with such pride.
“And this place will become your prison. Forever.”
Keith nodded, his head heavy with the weight of the task before him. Was this really what he wanted? As Jason Wight he had been able to forget; to escape from the memories and the faces that plagued him in the night. As his projection, he had outrun all the demons that clawed at his flesh, gnawing away at his very soul every time he closed his eyes. Did he really want to become Keith Keiser again? Forever? It would be so much simpler to embrace his creation and be free…
He shook his head violently, expelling those traitorous thoughts from his head. No, he had a duty, not only to himself but to all those he had once tried and failed to save. He looked across to Alaric; that one rock that had kept him going through all his years in exile. Alaric’s face was one of desperation; he was willing him to fight, to kill the horrific amalgamation that his friend’s twisted mind had turned him into. This was as much about setting him free as it was about Keith himself.
Seeing that look and understanding what it meant put new resolve in the former general’s heart and with a low growl he bent and picked up his blade. Like his opponent, he too saluted but not to his adversary. Instead, it was for Alaric that he showed his honours, swinging the cold steel up and around in a smooth arc before pointing the tip across at his creation.
He was ready.
Jason Wight let out a soft laugh, “I’m taking that body back Keiser! I’ve had you too long to give up now.”
Keith had no fighting words; he had no need of them. His resolve was painted as clear upon his face as any words could convey. It was time to waltz the dance of steel.
The attack that came at him was as fast as it was furious; a whirling storm of metal that flashed in the gritty light as it scythed down in a brutal overhead slash. Keith was ready for it though and his own blade sliced up to parry the tempest, causing sparks to fly and his opponents sword to slide down his own until it met the short cross-guard above the handle with a clang. Their eyes locked briefly, the creator and the created before Jason whipped his blade free and instantly was on the offensive once more, delivering a series of vicious slashes to Keith’s head and upper body. A broken man he may be now but in his time Keith had been quite the swordsman and age did not seem to have dampened his skill at arms. He blocked each slice and thrust and riposted with his own, a flurry of blows that were traded so quickly it looked to the observer as if the two blades had become a thousand. But this was no random hacking and butchery, no flailing of two inept novices: this was a dance performed by masters and each strike, parry and riposte was a coordinated game of cat and mouse. Whoever lost the beat and fell out of step first would be the defeated with his opponent as the victor.
For several more seconds the whirlwind continued before the two suddenly broke apart, each man leaping backwards and panting hard, surveying his opponent for a sign of weakness or injury. But there was none to be seen. Despite each landing a dozen blows that would have slain a lesser swordsman, neither of the two combatants and so much as a scratch on them. It was Keith’s turn to attack now and so he did, launching himself forwards before quick-stepping to the right at the last moment, angling his blade in a wicked curving slash that was aimed to take advantage of Jason’s undefended left side. However with a grunt and a quick move of his own, Jason’s blade came singing up to meet the fresh attack, catching it just time and turning it away so that for the briefest of moments the former general’s midriff was exposed. Despite this opportunity, the doppelganger found to his annoyance that his sword had no clear route past Keith’s guard, entangled as it was with the other weapon and so he had to content himself with a hasty shove with his elbow. It wasn’t a forceful blow but it was enough to send Keith staggering back a pace, his until-now-impenetrable defence lapsing as he tried to regain his breath and balance. It was a slim chance but Jason decided it was worth the risk and so he whirled in, delivering a lightning fast thrust-slash combo that forced Keith back another pace and opened up the first wound of the battle.
The former general beat a hasty retreat, parrying another slice as he hoped back, giving himself enough time for a brief respite before the onslaught began anew. The cut Jason had inflicted was light, a superficial laceration across his chest that bled little and hurt less but it was the emotional effect that such a wound had that was the biggest problem. Now that he had scored first blood, Jason would have the psychological advantage and it would sharpen his senses even more towards the fight. Keith had to score a similar hit soon or his resolve would melt away and he would become so much dead meat waiting to be skewered.
In the few seconds he had, Keith mentally composed himself. Strategies and combat styles whirled through his head before he finally decided on a course of action: Jason was a more aggressive version of himself, well versed it both attack and defence but favouring the former more. If he could use that against his adversary, he might just have a shot at beating him. With this thought in mind, Keith crouched low as the next attack came crashing in: a low cut from right to left that no doubt was meant to gut him from hip to hip.
Instead of merely parrying the advance, he turned slightly so that his body was side on to his onrushing assailant, sword arm outstretched and left hand poised and ready to strike. As the slash came in he struck the blade with an Attaque au Fer, smashing his own sword into Jason’s and knocking the incoming strike completely off course. The heavy impact jarred his shoulder but he was prepared for it while Jason was not. Through the sudden movement, Keith managed to keep his composure and his guard up while his enemy’s was briefly shattered as the shock waves travelled up the metal and into his arm. Giving Jason no time to retreat, Keith lunged forward with his offhand, slamming his fist into the abomination’s face with a satisfying crunching sound.
The blow knocked Jason from his paws and onto the flagstone floor but a lucky swipe at Keith’s legs that sent him leaping back kept him from finishing it there and then. With an agile role, Jason managed to gain his footing again and once more the two circled each other, probing at each other’s defences with invisible blades.
It wasn’t blood like Keith had hoped for but the fact that he had gotten through Jason’s guard was all the result he needed. From now on the man would be much more wary now that he knew Keith could hurt him. They were back on even ground again.
For what seemed like an eternity they circled each other, neither paying any attention to the onlookers who watched on with rapt attention. The only thing the both of them cared about was each other and how they were going to kill them.
With a guttural growl they clashed again and then again, each slicing and cutting at the other with almost identical styles, each managing to score more cuts and bruises but neither managing to find a finishing strike. For several minutes they danced around the room, trading blows and speckling the ground with drops of blood until it seemed to the General and Alaric like they weren’t even really seeing the other’s blade anymore. More like they were seeing movements and matching them thrust for stab and cleave for slash, so hypnotised they seemed by the dance of death that they were partaking in.
All that being said however, as the fight continued on it seemed like Jason Wight had the upper hand. The two Basitins were exceptionally quick and matched each other in their knowledge of their art and the skill to use a blade… but Jason just seemed to be the more aggressive of the two and it was starting to show. Both he and Keith sported cuts but those Keith had received were deeper and more numerous and he was visibly slower than when the contest had started. While before he could have easily matched any attack coming at him with time to spare, now his blade barely made it up and each attack of his own was becoming weaker and weaker.
It all ended very suddenly.
The two had locked blades and both were pushing against the other, trying to force their opponent onto the back paw and so gain the upper hand. Keith’s strength was visibly failing by this point: his arms were shaking with the effort and there was a bitter look in his eyes whereas those opposite him were full of malice. With a surge of raw power, Jason broke the hold, slamming a double-fisted punch into Keith’s chest and then following up with a titanic over-head smash with both hands gripping his sword like a vice. If Keith had been fresh he could easily have slid underneath Jason’s defence as he raised his sword for the cut and impaled him through and through. Unfortunately for him he was anything but invigorated and so all he could manage was a feeble block that barely deflected the giant swing. So great was the force behind the impact that Jason’s blade bounced right off of Keith’s own steel and gouged a bloody chunk out of his left shoulder, spraying blood and bits of flesh across the room.
Keith fell to his knees but the anathema did not relent and delivered a sickening backhand with his fist that sent the once proud Master General reeling backwards into the tables and chairs behind him, laying him flat on his back with a dazed and pained look flashing across his muzzle. In an instant, Jason had leapt on top of him, pinning his arms beneath his knees and almost casually resting the bevelled edge of his Burrick against Keith’s neck. In the commotion, Keith’s own Burrick had clattered off out of reach. He was trapped at the mercy of his enemy.
“Well my creator, any last words before I end your miserable life once and for all?” Jason raised his head and sniffed the air, savouring it with one long drag before bringing his gaze back down to rest again on Keith’s golden stare. Keith himself was surprisingly calm, or at least he thought he was for someone so close to death. He looked behind him to see the faces of the two spectators leering out at him from above. General Keiser seemed neutral but Alaric wore an expression of absolute shock and desperate terror. He knew what would happen to him if Keith lost. A calm serenity descended over Keith’s mind. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was at peace. He felt no anger, no loneliness, no hate, just the sweet embrace of death and the harmony that brought. So this is what normal people felt like, he thought, a shame he could only experience it now. At the end of all things.
He brought his gaze from Alaric’s face to his tormentor’s and looked deep into his eyes. They were the same as his, a bright gold that was so rare amongst Basitins and yet they showed flecks of grey amongst the golden sea. Part of Alaric that Keith had granted him. Now he beheld him so close, the more of his old friend he started to see. There were the obvious things of course: the scar running down his eye, the smile and so on but now that they were face to face he saw Alaric in the shape of the jaw, the forehead, the way his eyebrows rose when he spoke. They were little things, just ghosts of the Basitin he had known and who had died in the gorge; just remnants that his own sick mind had imprinted onto this blank canvas when he had made him but they were there all the same.
When he died in the gorge…
Keith let the faintest phantom of a smile touch his lips, creasing them upwards ever so slightly as a glimmer of an idea entered his mind. With a resigned sigh, he lay back his head onto the flagstones and relaxed his neck.
“Do it you [censored],” he said in a voice that conveyed no emotion, “Be done with it all; I’ll not have you play with me like some piece of meat. Do it if you think it you will truly gain anything you twisted makurda. Hurry up!”
With a smile of triumph, Jason pressed the razor sharp edge more firmly to Keith’s pulsing jugular, savouring the vibrations as he felt each beat.
“Not what I expected,” he said, his voice dripping with malice, “though I suppose you always were the unpredictable one.”
He leaned forward.
“Yes,” rasped Keith, “I always was.”
) and happened to come across your story, there isn't really much going on around the forums but your story caught my attention and it is a good story, although it is hard to picture certain things and you can easily get lost but who am i to say, i couldn't make anything even a third as decent 
