Blood of my Brother

Darkness Within

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Trigger warnings: panic attacks, flashbacks (sort of), death (sort of), being restrained, strangling, mentions of past violent injuries, self-deprecation

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"Move!"

Hector's voice broke through the haze of confusion and snapped Varian to attention. He tore his gaze away from his doppelganger as his uncle grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. They started to run back down the hall. If they could get to a room, barricade themselves inside, they could take time to figure out what they were up against.

What they were up against was a massive case of irony, apparently, as Varian found his feet fixated to the floor with a strange pink goo.

He looked behind him to see Hector and Adira draw their swords and engage with their clones, as well as his. The princess and her friends had run the other way, Lance hesitating to leave but having no choice as the imposters drew ever closer.

Varian's breathing sped as he tried to pull himself free. Of course he'd find himself not only trapped but trapped with his own chemicals. Twice the reason to panic. And he knew his work too well. He wasn't getting out without that neutralizing particle.

Seeing his struggle, Ruddiger screeched and attacked the double, clawing at his belt and knocking an alchemy bomb loose, rolling it along the ground to come to a stop at Varian's feet. He snatched it up, fighting the urge to scream and throw it as far away as possible. No, this was the neutralizer. It was safe. It wouldn't hurt him. He dropped it on the trap and stepped free.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he drew his knife and spun to face the clones. Hector kicked his in the side, knocking it back, and spun on Varian 2. But his blade wavered, hesitated, and the Adira clone knocked him aside.

He flipped into a handspring and landed near Varian. Adira dropped back to join them, and they faced off against their doubles. Varian shuddered at the malicious smirk the second Varian gave him. Memories flooded his mind, days of rage and hatred and a war he never should have had to fight. A war he never should have chosen to fight.

Blue eyes, a whole two of them, with a cruel light in them—a light that masked a deep pain he was oh so familiar with. A smile, twisted and warped, no trace of happiness in it. A blue long-sleeved shirt, brown pants, boots wrapped with strips of cloth, and a leather apron. No scars, of course, but the lingering trace of a bruise on his collarbone, half-hidden by his shirt. And the crowning glory: a familiar pair of goggles perched in his raven hair.

It was him. Oh, how he wished he could say it was a distorted picture of something he had never experienced, but it was him, a year ago, two inches smaller than he was now, gaunt and pale after a month of wrongful imprisonment. This was him at his breaking point, at his darkest, when all trace of humanity or care for others had been locked away inside a box in his mind for fear that he would lose his resolve to do what he had to. What he thought he had to.

What he didn't have a choice but to do.

Or did he?

"We have to find the others," Adira broke the silence. "What's the plan?"

"End these freaks," Hector offered, lunging forward and clashing his blade against Hector 2's. Kiki followed him.

"That's not a plan!" Adira snapped as she ran forward, meeting her own clone's attack.