Chapter Text
“Summon a weapon.” Her voice ordered, standing tall in front of me. Despite being the youngest, she had to teach me how to fight. I had tried to explain I wasn't made for combat, but her and Maman didn't listen. If you don't fight, you're not useful to our family, Gustave.
“Which one…?” I asked sheepishly, looking up at Emma with my Journal crushed to my chest. She glared at me before sighing, probably annoyed by my stupidity. I barely knew a thing about weapons, though. I was familiar with a flintlock, a dagger, and a sword, little else.
“It doesn't matter.” Emma said sharply, “Summon one.”
Ink swirled around his hands as he dropped the book, the dark liquid materialising into his pistol and sword as he took a few steps back. Okay, Gus. You know how to do this. It's like in the Canvas. Except if you die here, you really die.
That is not what I need to think about right now.
The Chroma continued to choke him, forcing him to cough out the iridescent liquid every few minutes. The Benisseur stepped closer to him, and he took a step back in tandem. He clenched his hands around his weapons as he watched the painted Nevron move. It was quick, but could be clumsy. If he managed to simply get it off-balance…
The Benisseur took another swing at him and this time, Gustave raised his sword to parry. Ink and Chroma spilled from both of their weapons as they clashed. Gustave took this moment to counter, raising his pistol and shooting the Benisseur in the chest before swiping at its ankles. It moved away before his sword could make contact, but he had damaged it. Just… a lot more hits to go.
“Parry!” Emma called out to me, swinging her own sword as I recklessly swung my own sword to stop it. She had form and grace, while I stumbled on my own feet. It was embarrassing. Why can't I fight as naturally as any other Leclair?
Family expectations are rough, he had said to me, -but ultimately, you are your own person. Don't blame yourself for not meeting their extreme expectations.
“Focus, Gustave!” Emma barked out again, her sword swinging at my ankles and knocking me down. Her sword pointed at my throat, and her sharp eyes pierced into mine. I suddenly felt even more embarrassed. How could I get distracted like that? I couldn't keep his warm silver eyes and teasing smile out of my head. No, he's too good for me, and we're supposed to be enemies.
…that's such a stupid cliché.
“Get up.” Emma ordered before I could say anything. I nodded and pushed my palms into the dirt, my torso rising. Soon enough, I was back on my feet and summoned my sword again. I would get this. I had to. If not for my family… at least so I can protect him…
“Fuck!” Gustave cursed as the Benisseur summoned paint bubbles that hit him in the chest and immediately knocked him down. Both weapons spilled from his hands as he scrambled to stand up again. How in the living hell was he supposed to parry that? They shot right at him at a speed impossible for him to time. Retreating backwards as the Benisseur made another swing at him, Gustave coughed harshly again, forcing him to double over and expel the Chroma from his lungs.
This was how he was going to die. His weapons are past the Benisseur, he keeps having to stop to cough up Chroma, and he barely even hurts the damn thing. He was going to die for Clea's stupid experiment. Gustave realised he really shouldn't have trusted her.
“You're not always going to have easy access to your weapon.” Emma instructed, grabbing my sword from me and planting it in the ground behind her. Was she asking me to get past her? Her? The most talented living swordswoman in the Leclair family? Impossible. No, sorry, improbable. If she didn't go easy on me, my chances were near zero.
“How do you expect me to get past you…?” I asked with a soft frown, and I watched as Emma's lips upturned into a smirk.
“You tell me, Gus.” She said, getting into an offensive stance. The room was only so large, and trying to rush around her wouldn't work. She'd just hit me in the back. Em was faster than I was. Though, maybe if I found a way to lure her farther from my sword…
Dodge, get closer to my weapons, dodge, repeat.
Simple. If he could actually dodge the Benisseur's attacks. It really had one close-up attack that shifted, similar to the Canvas Benisseur's attacks. Four hits successively, where the last one had a dramatic flourish. Unnecessary, but could prove helpful.
The Benisseur made another attack at him with its spear. Gustave dodged at the last minute of the first attack, jumping backwards a little early on the second, and taking another step back on the third attack. When the Benisseur paused to hit a fourth time, Gustave made a break for his sword and pistol, grabbing them off of the ground before lifting the pistol and shooting at the Benisseur twice, the gun recoiling after each shot.
The painted Nevron groaned in retaliation, the paint spilling from its offering bowl-esque hat. He didn't kill it, but he sure did piss it off. The Benisseur countered by summoning more of those cursed paint bubbles, throwing the little shitheads right at Gustave.
“What do you do if an enemy has a ranged weapon…?” I asked Emma as she wrapped a bandage around my upper arm. She had managed to beat me—again. It was to be expected, really. At this point, I didn't get upset from it.
“A ranged weapon? Either summon a ranged weapon of your own or die.”
“There's nothing you can do?” I asked, watching as Emma snorted and nodded. She seemed amused by my question… maybe it was a stupid question, then. I knew you couldn't bring a sword to a gunfight, but even if you had a gun, you couldn't out maneuver them and get into close range?
“No. No, you can't do anything. Range beats finesse everytime.” Emma confirmed, cutting off the bandage and taping it up before standing. I watched as she gathered some water into a cup and drank the entire cup in the same motion.
“So… you take cover and you fire back at them.”
“Yes.”
“What if there's no cover?”
“They're vulnerable too, then. It's a matter of who hits first and fastest.”
Gustave screeched as a paint bubbles went flying towards him, rushing out of the way in what he thought was just in tine, but the fucker just followed him! With another screech, Gustave fired his pistol at the colourful blob until it fell to the ground in a puddle. The paint swirled and evaporated, joining the Chroma in the air that was quite literally choking him.
Speaking of.
Gustave doubled over again, coughing up unrelenting Chroma that hit the floor. It shone beautifully for a substance trying to kill him. Feeling more Chroma in his lungs, Gustave hit his chest with his fist a few times. The Benisseur, clearly not passing up this opportunity, summoned another paint bubble and threw it at him again, causing Gustave to screech for the third time, this time getting knocked down again by the attack.
Before the Benisseur swung down and hit his chest with its spear, it stopped just centimeters from him as the door unlocked and Clea stepped in again. Gustave could barely breathe with the spear pointed so close to his chest and the Chroma continuing to choke him out. He watched as Clea shoved the painted monster aside and grabbed his arm, forcing Gustave on his feet far before he was ready. He stumbled and struggled, grabbing Clea's shoulder tightly as he tried to regain his bearings.
“Thank you, Gustave.”
“You almost killed me.”
“But I didn't.”
“I hate you.”
Gustave found himself laying back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he replayed the memories in his head. Occasionally, new little snippets would pop up, but they were so unimportant that he didn't give them a second thought. What really intrigued him was Verso's presence in real-Gustave's memories. Even when the man wasn't even close to him, real-Gustave would always be thinking about him. Though even now, he couldn't say he wasn't acting the same way. Pulling off his glasses, Gustave rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh. How long until he can go back home…?
He'd asked that question to himself almost forty times already, but he couldn't help but ask it again. Gustave missed so much. He didn't feel right in this world. Nothing… felt right. Verso was dead, he could barely remember that he was a Writer, Clea sent him into a death trap, and not to mention, the Inky world he went to in his dreams! Because of that, he was too afraid to sleep, else he have another too-real-panic-attack.
Putting his glasses on the nightstand, Gustave pulled the covers over himself and laid on his side. He watched the sun kiss the horizon from his window, its gilded light spilling into the room, warming it.
Tomorrow, he'll go back.
Tomorrow…