Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #75 – Unlimited Blade Dance

Lily roared like a wounded lion, cursed, waved her sword in front of her.

“You bastard!”

Lacrima avoided it, landed shortly outside her range, her cracked blade still in hand. That vicious strike from behind, while Lily was too worried about the monster, had been a masterpiece of timing and coordination. Yet, not enough to close the match. Now, Lily was livid, her whole body burning in grief. Lacrima exhaled. That had to be the finishing strike. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned. Her weapon was too frail and broken to leave any lasting damage to her target’s bones. So, all what was left was a deep gash on her right thigh, one that was immediately flooded with lymph. Lily limped, raised her gargantuan sword, spat on the floor. Jolts of pain travelled up and down her spine, pulsating in her brain, in her nerves. She had lowered her guard for a second. Just for a second. In that moment, only the biomechanical creature was in her sight. Lacrima took advantage of her distraction and stabbed her leg, breaking her blade in the process. Lily redirected her lymph flux to her thigh, to the wound traversing it. She had at least to repair the muscles, if she wanted to have a chance.

Lacrima, though, didn’t wait for it.

She threw the hilt of her broken weapon onto a pile of debris, started running on her right, away from Lily, away from the center of the room. Lily followed her with her gaze, tried to understand what she was going to do. Till she saw a familiar shape lying on the ground. A plasma knife. Still intact. Lacrima rolled forward, grabbed it, switched it on. Its edge glowed up almost immediately, in a flaming aura that vanquished the darkness. Lily limped one step at a time, raising her sword.

“How…”

Lacrima’s lymph production levels were absurd. There wasn’t even a competition. With that much lymph, she had to release at least once or twice per day, to avoid turning into a plant. That condition of hers was nothing but a nuisance, a drawback with no positive returns… until she was involved in an actual fight, that is. The plasma blade aimed at Lily’s neck, a trail of blazing light in its wake. Lily ducked, elbowed Lacrima in her belly, shoved her away. That was close, too close for comfort. Even her sword couldn’t take a plasma blade head on without breaking. A frontal assault would have been suicidal.

That’s when it dawned on her.

In their fight against the creatures, Lacrima almost never used her own natural weapons. Most of the time, she wielded a standard-issue plasma knife – contrary to what happened in their first encounter. Almost as if… almost as if she decided to store all of her lymph for regeneration. She knew her blades were weak. She knew she couldn’t defeat Lily in a one-on-one scenario. So, she cheated her way out. Conventional weapons. Human-made ones. No plant-made appendage, no special rhizome-born tool. Plain, stupid, basic human tech. But that allowed her to spare energies and nutrients. Lily pushed even more lymph onto her wounded leg, closing the gash as fast as she could. She unleashed her arm vines, grabbed a broken pipe from the ceiling, pulled herself up, used her momentum to swing like a pendulum, throwing herself in the air. She spread her tendrils from her back, punctured the walls, slowed down her fall. Then, whipped her arm vines at Lacrima, cracking the air. Lacrima swung her vines in response, from down up, meeting those of her sister half way. Only for one of Lily’s tentacles to grab her ankle, pull her up. Lacrima kept her hand steady on the plasma knife, cut through the vine, burned it, fell down to the ground. Lily’s wound was almost closed, almost to the point she could walk again. Just a minute longer. Just a minute longer.

A minute Lacrima didn’t want to give to her, waving her plasma knife down. Lily gauged her lymph reserves, her residual mobility. Then, made the only decision that somehow made sense to her and raised her sword one more time. Her blade impacted with the burning edge, stopping its course. The plasma burned through the sword, cut through the black surface, charred it, slashed through it. Until finally coming out on the other side, breaking Lily’s weapon in half. And missing the target due to the even slight deviation that impact allowed for.

Lacrima gritted her teeth, switched off the plasma knife, stared at Lily. Her leg was almost healed. Almost. She wasn’t able to move quickly, her sword was broken. It was time. It was time to finish it. She shoved her knife into her belt, pulled out one of her vines, shaping it in crude, frail, imperfect sword. Then, she threw it with all her strength, as if it were a javelin.

Piercing Lily’s shoulder.

The blade broke down on impact, unbalancing Lily.

Only for another blade to hit her in the belly.

In the other thigh.

In the hips.

Lily screamed, kneeled.

Lacrima.

Lacrima was using the same tactics Lily suggested to Dandelion.

A death by one thousand cuts.

Weapons that cost little lymph but were hard to counter.

Unlimited fake blades that shattered after hitting.

While still dealing enough damage to be worth the lymph expenditure.

She gritted her teeth, diverted the lymph flow to take care of her belly, to avoid that wound becoming fatal. Her leg. Her leg was almost healed. A question of seconds. A question of seconds. So, she went for her vine arms, twisted it all together, turned her plant hand into a hilt. With an inhuman scream, she pulled out a new sword. One as shiny and as beautiful as the previous, still dripping in green fluid. Her last weapon. The last one she could use to stop Lacrima. To kill her for good. Lily roared, jumped on her healthy leg, started to run as soon as the last fibers regenerated, almost, not quite – but still enough to charge, to lunge forward. Lacrima threw away her last blade, switched on her knife again, ran towards Lily too.

Two trails in the dark.

Two swords going to meet.

In one last clash.

Their last dance.

Lily swung her claymore in a wide diagonal arc, covering all of Lacrima’s possible angles of attack. Or she would have, if she didn’t stumble. If her wounded leg didn’t give up at the last moment. Causing her to lose her balance. Causing her perfect slash to fall with the wrong angle. Giving Lacrima an opening.

The opening she needed

to cut Lily’s right leg off cleanly.

Right above her knee.

Lily screamed, fell on the floor, wailing in pain.

The plasma seared the skin, burned the flesh, cauterized the stump.

Her leg landed close, bounced on the metal, rolled down.

All while she delved her fingers in the rubble. All while tears started flowing on her cheeks. She glanced at her missing limb, she tried to crawl, to somehow stand up. But she couldn’t. She was paralyzed by the pain, paralyzed by the fear. All she could do was staring up.

At that dark silhouette.

At that red rose.

At that foreign finger wiping the tears from her cheek.

“You’re leaking water, little sis. This isn’t right.”

Lily cursed, cried, wailed, agonized. Her lymph, all of her little residual lymph, churned all around her body to treat her wounds to let her survive, not allowing her to die. Not yet.

Lacrima pulled her sister’s head up by the hair, whispered in her ear.

“Not even lymph can regrow a leg… and you know it. You’re done, sis. Even with a prosthetic, you won’t fight anymore.”

Lily braced. Braced for the pain. Braced for her last moment. Lacrima was going to kill her. There was no doubt. The coldness in her words. The chill down her spine. Lily was at her mercy. A mercy she knew her sister never had. Lily closed her eye, muttered something under her breath. Two names.

“Lea… Cattleya…”

Two people she fought for. Two people she wasn’t going to see again.

Yet, her time had come. She held her breath, ready for the final strike, ready for her end.

One second passed.

Another second.

Nothing.

She was

still alive.

Lily reopened her eye, slowly. Lacrima was still there, glancing at her, without saying a word, covering her face with her human hand. Sobbing softly, wiping her own leaked water.

“…I can’t. I… I can’t. I’m not… I’m not a…”

A growl escaped her lips, as she finally snapped back.

“Mimi. Promise me… promise me you won’t touch Mimi! Promise it and I… and I…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence.

A shockwave ran through the ship, as the hull was breached again. Another rod, another strike from Nemo. The control room was overrun by a shower of debris, of falling displays, of broken machinery. Lily was blasted away by the explosion, thrown like a rag doll among the frames of destroyed crew members.

She landed against the wall, slid down, leaving a green trail on the bare metal, as her body started to lose control on her lymph circulation.

Her head started spinning, her eye started to close.

In the distance, she noticed a silhouette emerging from the pile of debris, a silhouette protected by a net of tendrils. A silhouette caked in green fluid, with gashes, wounds, a broken arm even. That silhouette stood up, without waiting a second longer.

Ignoring her. As if Lily never existed in the first place.

Then, everything went dark.

Right after seeing Lacrima limping away in the corridor, forcing her body to run.

Run as if the life of someone she loved depended on it.

**

The rods were coming down. Sooner or later, another one would have hit Lagash. Sooner or later, it would have destroyed everything. She couldn’t wait for it. She couldn’t let waste that little time she was left with. Lily was neutralized. That was enough. She didn’t need to kill her. She didn’t need to decapitate her. She didn’t need to become Lily. She could remain Lacrima and still win. Still save what she held dear. So, when the rod struck, she remembered. Robin. Mimi. They were away. They were somewhere else. She ignored the pain, pushed through the corridors, leaving everyone, everything behind. The seedship shook once more, almost causing her to stumble. Another rod had to have impacted close by, sending ripples all over the structure. Mankind was destroying Lagash, as Yarramundi said. With all of them on board, as the last sacrifice for a new future. A sacrifice everyone accepted, except them, except the people still on the ship. Lacrima found herself in front of a flooded corridor, water mixed with blood, one human corpse, one biomechanical frame. She pushed out her tendrils, dove into the flesh of the fallen Pangean soldier. She sucked the nutrients out of it, refilled herself, trying to at least fix her legs, make them work better. She sucked and sucked, until it was enough, until it was enough to make her walk again. The gashes, the rips on all of her skin weren’t as important. She could take care of them later.

She kept walking through the dirty water, every step a nightmare. Till she reached it. Something that once was a gate, completely sealed by rubble. She unleashed her vine arms, grabbed the metal, pulled it out, one slice at a time. The ship shook again, the water splashed all over her body.

That wasn’t right.

That wasn’t fair.

With one last effort, she carved a path large enough for her to slip through. Her dress was in tatters, getting more and more torn as she slid through the opening, before landing inside another vast room. Filled to the brim with corpses. Mechanical corpses, all around her. All without a head. Debris. Pipes. Displays. Everything was smashed to bits. Everything was scattered all over the place. Lacrima scanned the room from left to right and back, looked for any signs of life, of anything resembling…

Under the rubble on her left. Close to the remains of a computer terminal.

A human hand.

She ran to it, started pulling away metal, the scaffolding that fell onto it.

And there lay Mimi. completely naked. Covered in bruises, wounds, gashes. Blood was caking her forehead, dripping over her right eye. One of her braids was completely undone. The other was spread close to her. Splinters of glass punctured her skin.

“M… Mimi? Mimi?”

Her chest. Her chest was still moving. Air was flowing in and out of her nostrils. She was alive. She was still alive. Lacrima felt her cheeks burn, as water flowed down on them, as she cried like she never did before. She kneeled on Mimi, pushed her forehead against hers, rubbed it in silence, sobbing like a little kid.

“…M… Mimi… oh, Mimi… I…”

Her fingers followed the profile of her arm, till they reached for something solid, hard. Mimi’s hand was clinging to a green gem. An emerald Lacrima had already seen. One that belonged to…

A gasp escaped her lips.

She saw it.

The body of Robin.

Still wrapped in that red cape of hers, in that post-apocalyptic body armor. Her forehead was hollowed, a hole were her jewel had to be.

Motionless.

Breathless.

Lifeless.

She grabbed her wrist, checked the pulse.

Nothing.

She listened to the heartbeat on her chest.

Nothing.

Her breath. She still had to breathe, she couldn’t be…

Nothing.

Robin was

dead.

She couldn’t be brought back.

She was gone.

Forever.

But Mimi…

Lacrima turned around, turned towards Mimi, pushed her ear on her chest. Yes. Yes, her heart was still beating strong. She was wounded, she had lost everything that made her Kryzalid, but she was still there. The seedship shook once again, causing her to almost fall on Mimi’s body. There was no time. She gauged her lymph reserves. Low. Very low. All used to restart her body after the second rod crushed the room. All used to clean her way to the weapon control center. Still, it was enough. It had to be enough.

She pulled Mimi up, grabbed her nape.

And locked lips with her.

Pouring all of her residual lymph through her mouth.

Shoving it down her throat.

All the lymph Lacrima could spare.

All the lymph she was born to generate.

Pouring, pouring, pouring it.

Till Mimi’s tongue started moving.

Till her lips, her teeth started moving.

Pushing, shoving Lacrima away.

“N… no! Stop! Not again! N… not again! I…”

“Mimi…?”

Mimi’s heart pounded. In front of her, patches of color, white and red. She couldn’t understand who. She couldn’t understand what. But that voice. That scent. The sweetness of that lymph…

“L… Laccy?”

The warmth of that hug.

The softness of that skin.

Of the tendrils wrapping her body.

Closing it in a gentle caress.

Lacrima’s voice broke down, as their hug tightened up.

“…you’re alive… even if Robin…”

“L… Laccy… R… Robbie… went out… like a champ. N… now we should…”

Mimi’s body was sore. Not a single muscle was spared. Yet, the lymph started working its magic, sealing her wounds, restoring her tissue. All while Lacrima was holding her tight, all while her vines wrapped her freezing, shivering body. Mimi sobbed, let her words seep through her lips.

“…I didn’t think you’d come back for me.”

“A house plant needs… her watering can.”

Mimi reciprocated her hug, rubbed her forehead against hers.

“And… this stupid junkie here… needs her house plant’s lymph.”

Lacrima managed to smile. Mimi too. A bitter smile, soured by the impending doom. Another shockwave rippled through the seedship. The ceiling cracked. The walls cracked. Sunlight started to seep through the holes. The external world was reclaiming its space, reclaiming its property, slowly destroying what had been there for five millennia. Still, they hugged tighter and tighter, sharing one last kiss.

And, as the next rod crushed through the seedship, breaking down the hull, breaching it completely, their kiss reached its apex.

One, long instant before the end.