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Javert paced his camp. In the two weeks since Ghost’s death and resurrection, Onari had visited him less frequently. If he came at all it was in the morning, and he never stayed long. He still always left food when he didn’t come out personally, and continued to leave notes for Javert explaining why he was staying in; Always something to do with Ghost or one of the others. Javert had stopped leaving responses.
Smoke rose from the low burning fire and Javert stopped to watch it disappear into the leaves. Would he be forgotten out here? Javert had no plan for survival if Onari abandoned him, which he was beginning to believe was inevitable. Even if it had been what he’d wanted from the start, something within Javert’s chest ached when he thought about it. He turned back to his tent, climbing inside to dig out the small plastic container he’d kept on one of Onari’s visits with all of the notes piled inside. He read through them all in order, and even to the most recent, Onari invited him to join everyone inside. It always felt sincere, but Javert continued to doubt that everyone else would be as supportive.
At the sound of a low rumbling overhead, Javert quickly put the notes back into the container and stepped outside. Through the trees, he could see dark clouds in the sky. Another storm. Javert hardly had time to even consider his options before the sky opened up and rain began to fall. Javert remained still for a few moments before he was compelled to get out from under the trees. He was sure this was the opposite of what he should have done, but he wanted to feel the rain. He made his way to the street, carefully avoiding the temple, and stood out in the open as the rain beat down against him. He watched lightning flash through the sky, flinching as thunder followed. Even if the air was warm, the rain was cold, and Javert could feel himself becoming more uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he couldn’t bring himself to move from the spot where he’d planted himself.
The lightning and thunder got closer together the longer that Javert watched, transfixed by the storm. He remembered Onari saying that the lightning was dangerous, though it was hard to understand why without really knowing what it was. Were he one of them, Javert was sure that he would probably be passed off to that woman for an explanation. Javert tried to recall the name Onari had used when speaking of her. ...Akari. Javert wasn’t sure if the way it was written gave it a different meaning, as he couldn’t recall how Onari had written her name in his notes, but it seemed apt that her name evoked the fierce light that split the sky.
Javert closed his eyes tightly, his shoulders going tense, as the sky lit up and sound crashed around him all at once. It sounded as if it were right on top of him. When he turned and looked back up the hill, there was smoke. …Why was there smoke? The rain should have put his fire out. Javert made his way back toward his campsite, moving quicker as he drew closer until he was at a full run, unable to explain the dread pooling in his stomach. As he came upon the camp, Javert felt numb.
His tent was in shreds, crushed under a charred fallen branch. Many of the possessions he had accumulated were in a similar state. Thunder rolled overhead, the flashes of lightning filtering through the trees the only thing illuminating his destroyed shelter. But over that, Javert could hear another ominous sound. Creaking… Cracking… Instinct compelled Javert to move, backing away just as the tree his tent had sat under fell completely. Javert felt his blood run cold. What hadn’t been fully shredded before was now crushed. He shuddered before taking his Superior form, throwing himself against the fallen tree to try and push it away. Javert dug in his heels, but gained no ground. Instead he lost his footing entirely and collapsed into the mud and remains of his camp.
Javert was weak. Had he always been weak? He couldn’t have been. If he’d been so worthless, why had the royal family kept him? Javert didn’t feel like he’d become weaker, so why was it that every time he went up against any of those children, he couldn’t stand up to them at all? Javert pushed himself up out of the mud and threw himself against the fallen tree again, refusing to stop until it moved. He wouldn’t use Superior. He had to move it with his bare hands or he’d never be convinced. Javert put all of his weight into one final push, and ended up face down in the mud and leaves again.
Rain was still falling as Javert lay in the mud. He shivered, curling around himself, trying to hold in the rage and, worse, the fear. He was stuck in this world with nowhere to go, no ways to survive. Even if Onari’s “family” could accept him, which Javert was still convinced they never would, he could never be like them. Even if the Prince had somehow changed, he couldn’t. He was a soldier, and all he knew was war -- War that he was no longer strong enough to fight in. Javert knew what they were up against, and if he wasn’t strong enough to stand against Ghost or Specter, how could he possibly be of use against the Ganmiser? Javert had made a vow to Onari, but couldn’t see how it was possible to keep that vow under these circumstances.
It was muscle memory that caused Javert to reach for the plastic container. In all of the times that he felt lost, Onari’s words had managed to reach him. Even if he didn’t believe them, they helped him feel calm. But all that Javert was able to grasp were sticks and dead leaves. He stared at the empty space under his hand and his mind was completely blank. The box had been in the tent, and now the tent was gone. He continued trying to grasp for an object that simply wasn’t there. Javert clawed at the dirt helplessly until the loss sank in. The wail came from deep inside him, letting out the rage and fear he’d barely managed to contain.
Javert had nothing left. His farce of a home was destroyed, he was a soldier too weak to win a war, and the useless scraps of paper he’d clung to for guidance were gone. He wanted to go to the temple, but when he thought about it for more than an instant it seemed pointless. Javert would be kept hidden, which only made it more clear to him that no one in the temple would accept him. And if they couldn’t accept him then Onari would be forced to choose, and the choice was obvious. Javert would be alone, and left to die.
No. Javert refused to die like a wounded animal. He’d die on his terms. He would die the way he lived -- Fighting. Javert pushed himself up from the mud, stalking into the woods. Sooner or later he’d be able to corner the Prince or Specter or Ghost alone. If he could do that, he was sure that whichever one he found would engage and would finish him off. He wondered if Onari would be upset… It didn’t matter. He would move on. It was better this way.