Work Text:
His mother leaves the room first.
The door has already slammed shut, the earthshattering boom echoing to nothing, before the whispers rise. The shock from the other Khun Family observers quickly turns to glee. Now there’s one less uppity brat to worry about.
“Poor little Aguero. He could have been one of the greats.”
“Agnis must be mortified. To think she wasted all her time on this one.”
“All that wicked cleverness, wasted without his father’s inheritance.”
The training spear warms in Aguero’s palms. A little too late, a little too slow.
A little not enough.
He’s aware enough to know that the heat comes from his sweat-slicked palms – not because of some inner source, lightning crackling through his veins. If he were truly meant to wield his father’s power, there would have been a much more dramatic reaction.
Not – not nothing. Nothing is the worst thing that could have happened.
Even so, as the test administrator reaches out to take the training spear from Aguero’s hands, he’s still reluctant to give up. What if the fastest shinsu-type in the entire Tower is simply… late?
There’s pity in the test administrator’s gaze as she finally takes it from him. She wipes off the sweat – Aguero’s gut lurches; guess they don’t want a dud contaminating the next test – and passes the spear to the next boy in line. Aguero doesn’t even know his name. A cousin? A brother? Doesn’t matter, because the other boy grabs the spear’s hilt and sparks fly from the tip and it’s better if Aguero doesn’t know his name, ‘cause then he’d have something proper to curse.
Pleased gasps and cheers rise from another faction of Khuns. The boy brandishes the spear over his head with a triumphant howl. Aguero forces his expression to go chillingly blank – a mirror of his mother’s reaction when her favorite son proved to be so dismally lacking.
How ironic. He’s always been more of a reflection of her rather than his father. Now that the both of them are failures, the resemblance is undeniable.
The testing ceremony continues, but Aguero is no longer present. He stares ahead, gaze fixed on the glass cases that line the walls around them. Particularly powerful activations are honored and remembered. The remnants of Maschenny’s training spear, barely more than a coil of twisted steel, is displayed above the door.
Ran’s training spear will end up on the wall, too. Aguero’s sure of it. Their names will go down in Spear Bearer history.
The bitterness of being overlooked rises like bile in the back of Aguero’s throat. He doesn’t even have to wait that long to be forgotten. He’s already been shoved out of the line so someone else can take his place.
Aguero glares at the fragments of Maschenny’s training spear. Glares at how the Khun Family markings were seared off of Arsenio’s training spear from the force of its activation.
Is that all the other Khuns care about? Who has the most power? Who could channel the most of their father into each throw?
Who cares if he can’t control lightning? That’s not a requirement for a Spear Bearer. He can—he can become one of the greats, too. If he’s going to take over the Khun Family, he doesn’t want anything from that arrogant bastard, anyway. He’ll reach the top through his own skills.
Screw the others and their expectations.
.
Aguero quickly realizes the flaw to his plan: he does not like spears.
Since he can’t conjure a spear from electricity like his other siblings, he has to settle on tangible alternatives. No matter which ones he tries, whether they’re classic spears or less traditional shapes, he’s never satisfied with the results.
The reasons to dislike spears continue to build with each practice session. They’re awkward and unsightly and difficult to carry and greatly lacking in subtly. The practicality of relying on such a finicky weapon – a weapon, he might add, exclusively used by throwing it very hard away from oneself – is unwise for combat.
For example, what if he threw his spear at the enemy? And they send it right back, aimed for his head with tenfold greater force? He’d be dead – that’s what he’d be.
Ran doesn’t seem care about the obvious flaws of hurling sharp sticks around. Aguero isn’t desperate enough to talk to anyone else in his family about spears. He only anticipates receiving blunt, meaningless advice or delighted scorn.
However, spite won’t let him give up so easily. He’ll continue to practice, even if spear throwing ends up nothing more than a way to release pent-up stress or an excuse to destroy property.
When the fated day comes and Headon stretches out his hand, Aguero decides he will not choose Spear Bearer as his primary position.
.
Hate.
He doesn’t put a name to the evolving feeling until later, but hate.
He hates the way the spear leaves his grip, and he has to trudge over to the skewered dummy to retrieve it. Like he’s no better than a goddamn dog playing fetch.
He hates the way his shoulders ache with each throw, how his elbow jitters when he holds the pose for a second too long.
He hates the imprecision: the tip always strikes the target a few centimeters to the left. And he hates that it’s his fault for not being good enough to adjust for it.
But most of all? He hates the arrogance that blossoms around those more skilled than him. As if being able to hurl a glorified stick is anything to boast about.
His sister laughs and twirls her practice spear around in her palm as if it’s a pencil or baton rather than a deadly weapon.
“It’s almost impressive how consistently bad your aim is. If you’re ever in battle, you have to remember to step twice to the left before throwing.”
She laughs again and aims her spear for Aguero’s practice dummy. It immediately disintegrates upon impact, erasing all evidence of Aguero’s own failure.
Aguero frowns warily. Her skill is indisputable. Some have claimed that she’s a prodigy following in Maschenny’s footsteps. Becoming the next Khun Family Princess is all she’s ever wanted and all she’s ever dreamed about. She’d die without it.
It’s such a singular, simple-minded goal that’s rather befitting of a Spear Bearer.
Kiseia squeals with delight and runs to fetch their sister’s spear. After a couple of hearty tugs, she finally pries it from the wall. Aguero’s spear had been knocked to the floor, lying discarded and ignored on the tile. Kiseia doesn’t bother to bring his spear back.
“Can you hit the one over there next?” she asks, eyes wide with adoration.
“Of course. I can hit anything.” Their sister flicks her long, silvery hair over her shoulder. “A Princess has to be the best, after all.”
Aguero keeps his expression blank. He’ll be visiting Maria later that evening to go over their latest plans. There’s no point in wasting time here. He goes to retrieve his spear like a dutiful Khun, barking halfheartedly under his breath.
Woof, woof. He truly hates feeling like a dog. Maybe that’s part of the reason he’s helping Maria – to tear at his own collar.
Kiseia continues to gush about their sister’s skills while the latter soaks in the praise. The haughty arrogance is almost suffocating. According to her, no other Khun daughter as the potential to become the next Khun Princess.
His lip curls ever so slightly as he dumps his training spear back in the bin. How carelessly confident these Spear Bearers can be.
.
The Twenty-Fifth Bam strikes him like a spear thrown with wicked spin.
Unexpected, overwhelming, wholly course changing.
It isn’t a fatal blow, by any means. Even so, Aguero realizes pretty quickly that he would give his life for Bam. With every moment they share, Aguero thinks less of surpassing his father and more of climbing the Tower with Bam and his new friends. He’s dedicated years of his life – got exiled for his ambitions – for the goal of taking over the Khun Family.
But now… Now it doesn’t seem to matter as much. Other than spite, what was the point of it?
If he were truly dedicated to being a proper Spear Bearer, he ought to be ashamed by this lapse in motivation. Spear Bearers have so few redeeming qualities, but their devotion and dedication to follow through on their targets is a crucial one. Yet, here he is, sitting in a cafeteria and dreaming of a new goal.
He thinks back to the practice dummies, how his attempts to strike the center of the chest always veered a little closer to the heart.
Maybe his sister was right – maybe he’s never had the straightest aim.
Maybe he isn’t meant to be a true Spear Bearer.
.
Aguero also meets the pinnacle of Spear Bearers on the Floor of Tests.
He’s brash and blunt and far too stupid to come up with anything better than throwing sticks at the enemy. He’s everything Aguero hates about the position.
And worst of all? He’s now on Aguero’s team.
Aguero would have found a way to get rid of the gator by their first night if Bam hadn’t already formed a strange pseudo-adoption relationship with him. Considering how Aguero’s gone ahead and pseudo-adopted Bam in his own way – well, he doesn’t have much room to talk, does he?
Room to talk.
Such an ironic turn of phrase now that there’s a three-meter crocodile constantly breathing down his neck. He’s constantly surrounded by scales and muscles, roars and baffling nicknames revolving around fucking turtles. There’s literally no room for him to talk – or do much of anything – with their third team member always looming close.
Still… if he has to be honest, it isn’t completely insufferable. After all the time he’s spent alone, Aguero’s almost forgotten the usefulness of a competent long-distance fighter. Their team is well-balanced and surprisingly synergetic, especially when that gator actually listens to Aguero’s commands during their mock battles.
There’s a special sort of genuine honesty attached to the gator’s mannerisms. A lot of it stems from arrogance – oh, there’s a hell of a lot of arrogance there, too, which says something if that assessment is coming from a Khun. Even so, Aguero can appreciate the straightforwardness. It makes communicating easier when he doesn’t have to dissect each phrase and verbal tick the way he needed to when surrounded by a sea of blue.
Likewise, Bam gets along well with the gator’s directness. When Rak boldly declares something will happen, it usually does; Bam always finds reassurance by the certainty. If Aguero had to hazard a guess, this fear probably stems from Rachel. However, Aguero doesn’t like thinking much about her, so he keeps the guessing to a minimum. For some unexplained reason, the gator isn’t keen on the Freckled Turtle, either.
Another trait that Aguero can respect.
So, all in all, it could be worse. Maybe not every Spear Bearer is an irredeemable bastard.
He still doesn’t like them though.
.
He’s found another Spear Bearer to add to his unfortunate collection.
Technically, she’s not even a true Spear Bearer. However, with his blood glinting against the gold plating on her staff and his chest hollow as if his heart had been torn from his body, all he can think about are spears.
He has a little more sympathy for those poor training dummies. Now he knows what it feels like to be ruthlessly pierced. Her words keep ringing through his head, long after the pain in his knuckles has faded.
The FUG Elders wished for him to separated from you. My God could not have grown without this opportunity.
Hwaryun tilts her head, that infuriating smile curling across her lips. She considers the splash of his blood against her staff and hums thoughtfully.
“How interesting that this staff has caused both of you to bleed. You could almost call it a reunion.”
Aguero goes rigid. He doesn’t want to imagine the countless bouts of spars and thinly veiled beatings that Bam’s had to endure for the sake of FUG’s ideals.
Hwaryun twirls her staff under the incandescent light. A new memory floods his mind: gleaming crowns, Bam leaping from a throne, and that ever-growing pool of blood.
There was nothing you could have done to stop it. Her last words hit the hardest.
She’s right and he hates it. He couldn’t save Bam. He couldn’t stop Rachel. He couldn’t keep his best friend from being dragged into this war.
He couldn’t even win a fucking game.
If they had gotten through that final round of the Crown Game, they would have jumped to the next floor. No tag, no injuries, no time for Rachel to sink her claws into Bam. He’d miss Isu and the others – hell, they wouldn’t have even had the chance to grow close anyway, so how could he even mourn something he never gained in the first place? It would have just been him and Bam and the gator. The three of them, against the world, and—
No.
Aguero’s glare jumps back to Hwaryun. She had been the one to knock Bam unconscious. She was the reason they never moved forward. She’s only offered him a glimpse of the plan – likely more to torture him than as any semblance of kindness – and he knows there’s so much more to come. He feels a bit like the spear itself, devoid of his own agency, and Hwaryun is about to hurl him -- and Bam -- wherever she desires.
Aguero swallows thickly. Then, he looks at the blood trickling from his knuckles and old calluses from where he used to hold a spear.
Maybe not all Spear Bearers are straightforward brutes. The realization makes him… uneasy.
.
Khun Aguero Agnis is a Light Bearer. He’s a damn good one, too. One of best, he might argue, to be working so closely beside an incredible Irregular.
So, where does this bastard get off, telling him he’d make a formidable Spear Bearer?
Aguero squints at the data version of his father and tries pass off the prickle along the back of his neck as residual electricity. This man – this construct of memories and willpower – bears a striking resemblance to his father in the real world, yet there’s something off. It would be easy to dismiss the discrepancy as a glitch or some flaw of the Hidden Floor.
But that’s a lie. The problem lies with the man who seems to be taking quite an interest in him and his capabilities.
The real Khun Eduan couldn’t care less about his kids. He probably doesn’t even know who Aguero is. They’ve only shared words a few times. And even then, his father was looking away, as if searching for something more interesting to keep his attention.
They’ve never had this direct of a conversation before. Would this even count as a real conversation, considering half of the participants are made of pixels? The voice, the face, the overwhelming crackle of his presence – they’re all undeniable traits of his father.
As those familiar blue eyes watch him with a piercing intensity, Aguero finds it hard to respond. He remains silent, his scowl a mask for his uncertainty, and Data Eduan repeats himself.
“Since you’ve inherited my shinsu, you ought to use it properly. Don’t let it go to waste. Become a Spear Bearer instead.”
It’s almost comically simple: Aguero has his father’s blood and his father’s shinsu; the next step is to take up his father’s trademark weapon. Because doesn’t every little Khun child want to be just like their father?
A lifetime ago, Aguero would have killed for that sort of validation and interest from his father.
But Data Eduan isn’t his real father and Aguero doesn’t care about becoming Khun Eduan. He’s aiming to surpass him.
“I can’t throw a spear for shit,” Aguero argues. A bit of an exaggeration. His skills are probably still above the average Regular, but that’s akin to poor for Khun standards.
“Who said anything about throwing it?” Data Eduan remarks. Then his father ditches his son as a servant carries a bowl of grapes out the door.
Aguero blinks once, twice, in the now empty dining hall. How ironic – he actually wishes for the blunt straightforwardness of a Spear Bearer. Because that cryptic comment? Not it. Spears exist to be thrown.
He hums as he recalls the stranger techniques of his various comrades. Hwaryun treats her spear more as a staff in close combat. Ran isn’t so much a Spear Bearer as an electrified human missile. Rak occasionally uses Mad Shocker as a back scratcher or to fetch things from high shelves when he’s too lazy to decompress.
Aguero’s eye twitches, his patience dwindling. Perhaps not the best example of unorthodox spear handling. Regardless, the point still stands: there’s more to being a Spear Bearer than hurling a spear. It’s only been that obsessive focus on throwing that’s made him so resentful.
He paces slow circles through the dining hall, lost in thought. Becoming a Spear Bearer, huh? Maybe he will follow in his father’s footsteps, after all. That would make surpassing him – beating his old man at his most prized skill – only sweeter.
Still, if he’s going to be a Spear Bearer, then he’s going to do it in his own way. No mind-numbingly obvious attack patterns or a reliance on brutish strength. There needs to be some flare. Or, at the very least, something that would illicit some bitter curses from his victims.
Aguero’s fingers twitch, his knuckles curling as if longing for a spear to hold. Perhaps Bam or someone else would be willing to watch his form or spar with him. At the very least, maybe there’s an old training spear, one better suited for ice shinsu, lying around Data Eduan’s domain.
He sets off for the training room. It takes a moment to recognize the emotion swelling in his chest as eagerness. It’s been some time since he’s looked forward to practicing with a spear. He might even ask Rak for some advice, knowing full well how dangerous that request might be.
A secondary reason pops in his mind, prompting an outright cackle. Oh, that gator would hate it if Aguero outclassed him in his own position.
.
If he stops to think about it for too long, he’s going to go insane. Spending too much time mulling over the what ifs and the close calls will drag him down a road he isn’t keen on taking. They don’t have time for him to be wallowing in his self-pity and frustrations. He needs to get stronger, so this sort of problem doesn’t happen again – or, at the very least, not right in front of Bam’s fucking eyes.
This is the way he’s always gotten through before. After all, he’s plenty of experience with nearly dying. He might even call himself a pro.
Aguero finds the nearest training room onboard their vessel. Everyone else is too busy resting after their daring escape from Traumerei’s clutches. Exhaustion weighs heavy and he knows he ought to be sleeping, too, but those tangling thoughts are tricky bastards and will eventually seep into his nightmares.
He mills through the training room. He isn’t sure what he wants yet, so he just takes a slow loop around the outer edge. Only half of the incandescent lights are on. The dimness is gentle on his eyes, which still haven’t fully recovered from the blinding pulsing from his Lighthouse cracking.
Aguero wrinkles his nose, the memory coming back in waves. If he isn’t careful, he might end up being dragged under. He tries to strip himself from the memories and bone-deep sensations, turning what happened on that bridge into an objective event to analyze, as if it were no different than a recording from a past floor test.
What can he learn from those branch heads? How can he use their weaknesses against them in the future? The wolf one always seemed to watch—
Bam was watching.
There were dozens of different scenarios and calculations running through Aguero’s head when the spear crashed into his Lighthouse – how much time did he have before the tip buried itself into his back, how long would it take for the blood to drain from his body, how much time could he buy for the others to escape – but they all vanished when he met Bam’s terrified, wide-eyed stare.
He clicks his tongue in irritation. He’s more pissed at himself for putting Bam in a situation like that than he is at the Ranker who actually threw the spear. He knows Bam – knows how Bam would jeopardize their mission for the sake of a comrade. Aguero’s weakness could have ruined everything.
Goddamn. He needs to throw something right now. His feet carry him towards the bin of spears in the far corner. As much as he complains about spears and their bearers, there’s something immensely satisfying about hurling a pointy stick as hard as he can.
Besides, that branch head had an interesting technique. His Lighthouse managed to catch a clip before being destroyed. Maybe if he practices harder, then he can copy the throw and—
He’s trying to break down the looming trauma into manageable, clinical chunks again. For a moment, it almost works. He feels some of that pent up frustration fly from his body as the spear slips through his fingertips. His shoulder aches – he put way too much force into it – but it’s a bracing pain. He’s still alive to feel it.
After two or three more throws, Aguero almost thinks he might have figured out the spin the branch head used. Nothing particularly impressive, but who really needs technique when you have that much sheer power.
He attempts to mimic the throw, but his spear ends up a couple centimeters to the left of the target dummy’s chest. He sighs, shakes his head, and goes to fetch his spear.
“What are you doing?”
Safe, with his back turned towards the voice, Aguero squeezes his eyes shut to drown out the sudden pounding in his temples. He could never hate Bam’s presence, but… well… if he were to make a list of people he’d rather not see right now, Bam’s name would be hovering near the top.
Aguero yanks the spear from the wall, molds his expression to one of casual nonchalance, and turns back to Bam.
“Training.”
Bam’s brows drop low over his half-lidded eyes. Aguero finds it hard to interpret his expression. Bam almost looks… angry? At him? Was Aguero really that much of a hinderance to their mission?
“Training?” Bam asks, voice tight. He isn’t alone, either. Rak hovers in the doorway, watching their conversation with narrowed eyes.
“I thought I could incorporate some of that branch head’s technique into my own approach.”
A simple answer is best. He even adds a shrug, the heel of the spear clanging against the tile.
Bam lurches forward at the sound, his steps jagged as he strides across the room. Aguero doesn’t like the thunderclouds building across Bam’s expression. He turns and pretends to busy himself with getting into a proper throwing stance. Maybe he can try to rope that gator into the conversation. That usually derails things fast and then—
Iron-like fingers wrap around his wrist that’s holding the spear. Bam yanks his arm closer to him. Aguero pulls back, more out of startled shock than maliciousness.
“What are you doing?” Bam repeats in that same tense, low tone.
Aguero blinks, shakes his head. Obviously the first answer wasn’t clear enough.
No matter. The question, apparently, is meant to be rhetorical. Bam keeps seething.
“He almost kill—” Bam stops, inhales sharply. “You almost died and now you’re overexerting yourself by training? Just to copy the guy who—who—” His fingers curl tighter around Aguero’s wrists. “You almost—" His gaze jumps to the practice dummy over Aguero’s shoulder, lingering on the gouge marks in the wall.
Aguero’s own fingers curl tighter around the spear. His heart starts pounding faster and he’s keenly aware of each bead of sweat caught along the edges of his temples. He didn’t feel like he had been overexerting himself with a few throws, but there’s a sourness in the back of his throat that always rises when he’s run a little harder than he ought to.
Or maybe that bitter taste comes from something else. This is exactly why he didn’t want to think too hard about the what ifs. He can rationalize what happened – turn it into something that can help Bam later – but it’s damn hard to figure that out when Bam’s eyes are burning like embers.
“But I didn’t. See? Look, I’m fine.” Aguero tries to gesture at his not-punctured chest, but Bam’s grip still hasn’t slackened from his wrist. If he tries any dramatic movements, he’ll end up poking someone’s eye out. And, surely, that won’t improve the situation.
The sharp silence from Bam leaves room for the gator to speak. “Blue Turtle should be resting. And staying away from spears,” he adds with a huffy exhale.
Aguero’s scowl jumps to Rak, desperate for a fight or maybe a change in the topic. “Oh yeah? Then maybe you and your spear should get lost—"
Rak waddles closer, dragging Mad Shocker behind him. However, the tip doesn’t clang against the tile. Instead, it bounces harmlessly against the floor, safely wrapped in dense, protective shinsu.
Did that gator bubble wrap his spear tip before coming to see him? Aguero’s confusion melts to irritation. Is that what they think of him? Bam is trying to pry a practice spear from Aguero’s grip like he’s a naughty toddler. And now that gator has the gall to treat Aguero like a fucking infant that needs to be constantly monitored?
Aguero’s irritation builds to an icy frustration. If he were stronger, they wouldn’t be treating him like this. They wouldn’t have to be concerned.
His grip tightens around the spear. Ice jumps from his knuckles and coats the smooth metal. The sound of the spreading ice, jarringly similar to the crackle of his Lighthouse disintegrating, feels like its radiating through his bones, his flesh, his teeth.
“Khun.”
One word – his goddamn name – and it’s enough to push Aguero over the edge. He tries to wrench his arm and the spear from Bam’s grip. There’s no way he could ever beat an Irregular at a game of tug-o-war, but he’s going to give it his best shot.
“I told you already. I’m fine. Now, can I get back to training, because—”
“You almost died!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Aguero counters, his own volume building. “This isn’t even the first time that—”
He cuts himself off sharp at the sudden shift in Bam’s expression. His grip momentarily relaxes around Aguero’s wrist. Seems like Aguero finally found the trick for winning tug-o-war. He feels far from victorious.
“What?” Bam blinks, the horror mingled with confusion. “What were you saying? First time that what happened?”
First time that I almost died.
Aguero’s panicked glare jumps to Rak. If he mentions anything about Aguero almost dying, Aguero will ram Mad Shocker through the gator’s chest, bubble wrap and all. However, Rak remains silent. He seems to have a better sense of self-preservation and collectedness than Aguero right now – an observation that irks Aguero’s pride about as much as the bubble wrap did.
Bam’s still staring at him. Aguero uses the lapse in focus to pull his grip from Bam’s slackened fingers. He makes a dramatic gesture towards his practice spear before walking it to the storage bin.
“This isn’t the first time that I’ve had some issues with spears.” He tries to smile at the weak joke; Bam’s expression does not thaw. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I ought to take a break from them for a little while.”
Some of the unease drains from Bam’s tense posture when Aguero discards the practice spear. “I think… I think that’s a good idea.”
His voice sounds so small and shaky compared to the earlier frustration. The meekness almost cuts deeper than the fury. Aguero’s suddenly desperate to get Bam sounding like Bam again.
Aguero forces a more convincing grin. “Besides, you really didn’t have to worry, Bam. Give me some credit – you know, as the smartest Spear Bearer on our team.”
Blessedly, the gator grumbles under his breath. Aguero continues, encouraged by the return to normalcy.
“According to my calculations, the spear wouldn’t have been able to get through. At least, not before Endorsi got us out of there.”
Bam hesitates and Aguero’s gut twists at the mottled blend of hope and concern in his expression. Even if there’s doubt lingering in the back of his mind, Bam so desperately wants to trust Aguero. The unconditional trust stings sharper than Aguero last remembers.
“Are you sure?” Bam shifts from foot to foot, his gaze jumping back to the impact marks in the practice dummy. “It looked really close to you and—”
“Trust me, Bam. There was nothing to worry about,” Aguero interrupts.
Bam nods slowly, his brow still furrowed. “If you say so…”
Aguero half-suspects they wouldn’t have left the training room if he hadn’t piled on another round of cheerful platitudes. Finally, the two disappear through the door. Bam throws a reluctant frown over his shoulder but still allows Rak to pull him away.
He waits for their footsteps to fade before letting the exhaustion wash through him. His shoulders slump, the tendons still throbbing from his latest round of spear throws.
That was close. In more ways than one.
His gaze drifts to the craters in the practice dummy’s chest. A part of him regrets not being honest, but what would he even say? That he was fucking terrified when the spear broke through his Lighthouse? That he knew he was about to die, his last sight being Bam’s horror-stricken scream and his outstretched hand? That he was powerless to do anything except pray that the fire fish might be feeling merciful?
That sort of straightforwardness would only cause more problems.
In that regard, he’ll never be a true Spear Bearer.