The Rabbit's Last Stand

The clash of steel drew my attention. With the last guard down, I went looking for Brielle and Lyra. I moved toward the sound, pistol raised and ready. A dagger whipped past my head, embedding itself with a thunk in a nearby tree. Lyra's.

I found them locked in a furious duel, both breathing heavily, their bodies slick with the sweat of exhaustion. Brielle held a classic fencing stance, her rapier poised. Lyra was down to her last dagger. I cautiously leveled my pistol at Lyra's head.

"You're a stubborn one," Lyra snarled, her voice ragged. "I wonder how long you'll protect that cold-blooded killer."

"You're wrong," Brielle panted, her words punctuated by sharp breaths. "Arc is a good, decent man. Unlike your master, he would lay down his life to protect the defenseless."

Her words stunned me. Was it just the heat of battle, or did she truly mean it? No one had ever defended me with such conviction. "Brielle..." I muttered, but my voice was lost in the tension of the moment.

"That's why," Brielle continued, her grip tightening on her rapier until her knuckles were white. The blade erupted in a dazzling blue light. "I will protect him, no matter what!" With a cry, she charged.

Lyra clenched her teeth, her remaining dagger blazing with a menacing red light. "You'll get nothing for protecting a murderer, Jeanne de Verdannia!" she shrieked, rushing to meet the charge.

"Taaah!" "Hyaaah!"

They collided in a blur of red and blue light, the shriek of metal on metal echoing through the trees. They slid past one another, skidding to a halt several meters apart. A deep gash opened on Lyra's cheek, and her dagger shattered.

But Brielle...

"Urgh!" With a sharp grunt, she dropped to one knee, clutching her left wrist. Blood welled from a nasty wound.

"Heh... hahahaha!" Lyra tossed aside the useless hilt of her broken dagger, her laughter ringing with manic triumph. "Impressive strength, for someone so stubborn." She reached into her belt and produced a vintage M1911 pistol, its OSA markings glinting in the dim light.

She gestured with the pistol toward the struggling Brielle. "Say goodbye to your precious killer, Your Highness, Princess Jeanne!" she taunted.

"JEANNE!" I roared, firing three quick shots. The 9mm rounds slammed into her torso, knocking her off her feet. To my astonishment, she rose again, seemingly uninjured.

"Alright, alright." She casually brushed imaginary dust from her breastplate. "Those northerners certainly know how to make good armor." She leveled the pistol at me. "My turn!" Two shots cracked the air. I dove for cover behind a large rock.

If her armor could stop 9mm rounds, I needed a headshot. But how thick was it? As I risked a glance, a bullet splintered the rock inches from my face. Unlike Olen, this woman was a marksman.

This was a firefight I couldn't win up close. I holstered my pistol, unslung my sniper rifle, and broke into a dead run.

"Stop running, you coward!" Lyra's voice chased after me. I ignored her taunts, plunging deeper into the woods. "You can run, but you can't hide!"

Once I'd put enough distance between us, I dropped into a crouch and brought the rifle to my shoulder, peering through the scope. The night vision painted the forest in eerie green, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Looking for me?" a voice snarled from above. I snapped my head up. There she was, perched on a thick branch, her pistol aimed squarely at my head. "Now you die!"

CRACK!

A single shot rang out, and Lyra tumbled from the branch. Brielle was beside me, her own rifle smoking. "Arc, go!" she yelled, keeping her weapon trained on Lyra's position. Her injured left hand trembled from the strain.

"No, I'm not leaving—"

"Please!" she begged, her voice raw with desperation.

As I started to argue, my eyes caught something in the clearing behind her. An idea sparked. "Brielle, listen," I said, quickly whispering my plan. She gave a sharp nod, and I took off, sprinting as fast as my legs could carry me.

Lyra's voice echoed, "Hey, where are you—"

"I'm your opponent!" Brielle's challenge cut her off.

I didn't see the ensuing fight. I was too focused on finding the perfect spot—a position where I had a clear line of sight to Lyra, but she couldn't see me. I found it behind a massive boulder. I slammed a fresh magazine into the rifle, deployed the bipod, and settled in. Just as I acquired my target, I felt a presence behind me.

"Taaah!" A man screamed, lunging with a saber.

I rolled aside as his blade scraped against the rock. It was one of the guards, somehow still alive despite the bullets in his gut. He abandoned the saber and came at me with a knife. I caught his wrist, using his momentum to throw him to the ground. My pistol was out of reach. I grabbed the nearest fist-sized rock and brought it down on his head, again and again, until he went limp.

I scrambled back to my rifle and looked through the scope. Brielle was on the defensive, her injury clearly taking its toll. Lyra was pressing her advantage. I took aim, not at Lyra, but at the tree just behind her.

CRACK!

The round intentionally missed, splintering bark. As I'd hoped, Brielle used the distraction to leap back, creating distance. I shifted my aim to the object I'd spotted earlier: one of my own unexploded claymore mines.

I held my breath and squeezed the trigger.

CRACK!

The bullet found its mark.

BOOM!

A thunderous explosion tore through the clearing. When the smoke cleared, Lyra was still standing, her arms crossed before her in a protective stance. She slowly lowered them, revealing a body riddled with shrapnel.

But the assault wasn't over.

"Taaah!" With a final, desperate cry, Brielle lunged forward. She pinned the stunned Lyra against a tree and drove her rapier through her chest. The plan had worked.

I slung my rifle over my shoulder and walked toward them. Brielle let go of her rapier, leaving Lyra impaled against the tree. The rabbit-eared girl was still breathing, but only just.

"Is it over?" I asked.

A wet, gurgling sound escaped her lips—a laugh. "Yes... I'm done..." she rasped, coughing up a spray of blood. "You both... won. For defeating me... I'll give you a reward..."

"Where did you get the weapon and armor?" I asked.

"Wandering north... a town in Albia," she sputtered between breaths. "Met men... in strange grey clothes. They offered a deal for a night's work. I was broke... took it. Instead of coin, they gave me this armor... and two of these 'pistols'."

I nodded grimly. This information was critical.

"One more question," Brielle said, her eyes intense. "How... how did you know my name?"

"I said... one reward..." Lyra wheezed, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "...not two." Brielle looked away, her disappointment palpable. Lyra's gaze found mine. "I'll be joining my lord in the afterlife. See you in hell, killer." With a final, shuddering breath, she was gone.

I reached out and gently closed her eyes. "Rest in peace," I murmured. I knelt, carefully withdrew the rapier from her body, and offered it back to Brielle.

She sheathed the weapon. "Arc, what are you doing?"

"You'll see," I replied, unbuckling the breastplate. Underneath, she wore a small ballistic vest, just enough to stop small-caliber rounds. On its side, I found three small, almost imperceptible words: Manufactured in Yamato.

"Hey! Who's over there?!" a voice shouted from the darkness.

"Time to go," I said to Brielle. She nodded, and we retreated into the shadows.

Our escape led us to the edge of a cliff overlooking a deep, fast-flowing river.

"It's a dead end! What do we do?" Brielle cried, her voice laced with panic. Behind us, the shouts grew closer. "See anything yet?"

"Jump!" I yelled, slinging my rifle across my back. Without another word, we leaped from the cliff's edge into the abyss.

"Kyaaa!" Brielle screamed as we plummeted. She'd clearly never done a HALO jump before. I angled my body for landing, spotting a thick branch below. I tried to position myself for a feet-first impact, but my trajectory was off. "Oh, shit!" My head connected with the branch with a sickening crack. The wood splintered, and I tumbled bonelessly into the icy water below.

SPLASH!

The shock of the cold water jolted me. Dizzy and disoriented, my training took over. I pushed off the riverbed, my lungs burning, and clawed my way to the surface. Gasping for air, I clung to a slick boulder at the river's edge. A moment later, Brielle surfaced beside me.

"Never again!" she sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of river water. "I am never, ever doing that again!"

"Agreed," I managed to say through chattering teeth.

Later, by the warmth of a small, crackling fire, we hung our clothes on a low branch to dry. I was down to my cargo trousers, remnants of camo paint still streaking my face. Brielle sat opposite me, clad only in her simple white underthings. An awkward blush warmed both our cheeks in the firelight.

I gently began to bandage her injured wrist. "Ouch! That stings," she hissed. A pang of guilt shot through me. This was my fault. She'd been hurt protecting me.

I finished wrapping the bandage. "Done," I said softly. My head throbbed. I picked up my sniper rifle and worked the bolt, clearing water from the action. The world felt hazy from the impact with the branch, but somewhere in the fog, a memory was trying to surface.

"Brielle?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?" I murmured, my gaze fixed on my rifle's exposed bolt.

"Of course."

"Back there... Lyra called me a heartless, cold-blooded killer." My voice was somber. "And... she was right." I worked the bolt with a groan. "I've killed hundreds of people. I tell myself it's necessary—that failing a mission could cost thousands, even millions of lives. But they were still people. With families, and reasons to live. And I took that from them." I finally looked up to meet her eyes.

"If I become a monster one day... will you still stand by me? Will you still be my friend?" The question came out as barely a whisper.

The silence stretched for a long moment, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Then, she gave a single, firm nod. "Yes," she said, her voice clear and without a trace of hesitation. "I will always protect you, Arc. And I will always be by your side. That's a promise I'll keep until the day I die."

She placed a hand over her heart. "I have faith in you, Arc. I know you're doing what's right. You saved that entire village by stopping Alaric. I would have done the same. You could never become a monster... you're too good. In fact, I believe you and your friends are the ones who will save this continent." A gentle smile touched her lips. "But if you ever did start to lose your way... I would do everything in my power to bring back the good, decent Arc I know."

A strange ache bloomed in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I'd never felt anything like it. Was it the head injury? I tried to stand, to move toward her, but a wave of vertigo sent me staggering.

My head fell against her shoulder, my body suddenly feeling as heavy as lead. I couldn't move. The situation, with both of us half-clothed in the intimate firelight, became intensely awkward.

"A-Arc!" she stammered, caught off balance.

I was too weak to pull away, but mortification burned through me. "Sorry... just... give me a second," I muttered. "My head is killing me."

I felt her gentle touch on the back of my head. "Ouch!" I cried out in pain.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she whispered, quickly and deftly bandaging the cut I hadn't realized was there. "There."

I stayed where I was, leaning against her. Hesitantly, she wrapped an arm around me. "Brielle..." I started.

"It's alright," she said softly, patting my back. "Don't be embarrassed."

I let out a long sigh, fighting the strange impulse to hug her back. "Thank you, Brielle," I said, my voice low. "Thank you for everything."

She didn't answer. The silence of the night returned, but my mind was anything but calm. A single question echoed in my thoughts: Jeanne de Verdannia. Your Highness, Princess Jeanne. Why had Lyra called her that?

"Hey, Brielle..." I began.

"Yes?"

"Nothing," I lied. It wasn't the right time to ask about her past. I would find out on my own terms.

"You did well today... my hero," she whispered.

I was already drifting off, too exhausted to register her final words as sleep claimed me.

I woke to the gentle chirping of morning birds. The first thing I saw was Brielle's face, inches from my own. She was still asleep, one hand resting lightly on my cheek. I held my breath, not wanting to disturb her, and slowly sat up. Against a nearby tree, our rifles leaned together—her Springbright and my Romulus M25A3—their barrels crossed.

That strange feeling was back in my chest, an unfamiliar warmth I couldn't name. But of one thing I was certain: this mission had become about much more than 'one shot, one kill'.