Chapter 1 - Short Change Hero
[spoili]
This ain't no place for no hero
This ain't no place for no better man
This ain't no place for no hero
To call "home."
"... So here you are."
This world was perhaps one of the least appealing ones the man had ever visited. And that was saying quite a lot in his humble opinion.
Everything was just dead, if not in the process of dying. The structures were all decaying as fast as the people, there was hardly any vegetation to speak of, and it was usually unbearably hot. As he was not from this world, despite the disguise that he put on that would imply to unknowing outsiders otherwise, the man just had to wonder why there was so much activity stemming from here that concerned the Coalition. From the contribution to the formation of the Coalition by the hands of the Brotherhood of Steel, the Lone Wanderer himself, also known as "Riley Peterson," being a notable member of the organizations, to Agent Lucifer Anghelscu's many misadventures here, and most recently, the recent resurgence of activity of the "Templar Order," the whole reason that the man found himself here in the first place.
It was easy for him to assume that it was because of the lust for power and dominance that plagued many members of the Templars that prevented them from truly being something like the next biggest threat to the multiverse similar to say, Elliot, as those sorts of selfish ambitions were able to cause such disarray. Then again, he wasn't in the Templar Order. What would he know about them?
Well, enough to know that Warren Vidic, the so-called "head" of the Multiversal Templars that he had unified and brought about, presumably coming to power sometime after the first Monokuma Incident that had included Desmond Miles, was holed up in this world for whatever goddamned reason. To be perfectly honest, the man cared little for Vidic's ambition, as so far, they had yet to provide any substantial threat to the multiverse. The man didn't exactly have an opinion on the "punishment before the crime is committed" method, but whatever. Direct orders from the higher ups in the Coalition to apprehend a threat were still orders, so he just went with it. That said, with no notable "big" acts of multiversal terrorism or anything like that under the Templars' belt, the biggest thought on the man's mind at the moment was why they had to choose such an annoying to navigate world like this one to operate, though then again, perhaps they deliberately chose this place to be inconvenient for anyone who would come after them.
Just for that, he was going to probably put an extra bullet or two in Vidic's legs, just to let off some steam.
He had asked the locals, maintaining the disguise as a certain well-known native of this world, around for any suspicious activity, and after some trial and error, most of which included being attacked by raiders or whatever they were called here (all of whom he managed to hold off with well-placed bullets), he had managed to track the Templars down to some hideout that was reminiscent of a small fortress, complete with guards that had their own patrol pattern and so on. The Coalition officer usually did prefer subtlety and stealth over going in guns blazing, but with this many people around, he'd just be lucky to get out alive at all, let alone accomplish his task without anyone noticing.
Approaching the small fortress that stuck out like a sore thumb (due mostly in part to the big logo in front), sitting in the middle of the desert, the man clutched his duster tightly and tipped his hat a little, positioning it so that it covered his face a little more than it already did, for whatever it was worth, walking towards the guarded entrance of the fortress. From the intel he had gathered, this place was a stronghold where Warren Vidic could expand on whatever research he was planning for the multiverse. Not exactly a meeting ground for the Templar bigwigs, but once he was decredited, dethroned, and dealt with, the rest of the organization should crumble down, even though the Coalition had spent relatively little effort in dispatching the Templars and their associates before.
Keeping his head down, which only made him look all the more suspicious, it wouldn't really come as any surprise when he would be approached by the two guards standing in front when he would get close enough, the first guard holding out his hand to the man.
"Halt, traveler," he began, before moving his hand back to clutch the rifle in his hand.
The man identified the guns as M4 Carbines, which seemed to be standard issue for the guards, was something that evidently had ceased to exist in this world, another sign that they were not from this world. And another sign that he was in the right spot. On another note, the funny thing was... Those guns hadn't been invented yet in the world that he was born in.
Guess this sort of knowledge came with the "multiverse officer" thing.
"From the looks of you, I'm assuming that you're some sort of messenger... And it's hard to stumble upon this place by accident. I assume you have business with Mr. Vidic then?"
"I do, yes," the man replied, looking up to reveal his face, brushing the hat off his head, exposing his military cut blonde hair, and suddenly drawing his holstered signature SAA revolvers and aiming them right at the heads of the two guards without skipping a beat.
"Please relay this message for me."
BANG BANG!
Bang bang, the witch is dead.
"... Unless, of course, you'd prefer that I go and confront him myself, which I'd be more than happy to oblige to."
As the two guards wordlessly fell down to the ground, blood seeping from their corpses, Major Revolver Ocelot of the Coalition blew on the smoke rising from his guns, before briefly holstering his guns, stylishly twirling them in the process as he'd just about throw the duster off him. The young man resisted letting out a sigh of relief as he did so, feeling a bit less hot now, though then again, when one wore a long-sleeved black outfit, perhaps he shouldn't be talking about what was considered impractical wear in the heat.
In any case...
No time to waste. I have to move quickly, as they're alerted to my presence by now.
It was time to move.
Dashing forward, he would scale the walls, a feat that was surprisingly easier than one would think thanks to the amount of objects sticking out to grab onto like bricks, before dropping onto the ground on the other side afterwards. So much for an impenetrable base of operations.
'Course, the moment he thought that, a number of armed guards appeared, sporting the Templar logo on their uniforms as they'd aim their guns at Ocelot, the one in front taking the chance to speak.
"Stand down immediately! If you refuse to comply, then you leave us no choice!"
The man's eyes bounced from each of the guards, counting all of them and noting their positions. Let's see... he neglected to reload his guns while he had the chance, but... Hmm, eight. Alright. Not bad.
"There's always a choice," Ocelot retorted, his hands up in the face of the many rifles pointed at him, though his expression hardly changed any,
"I'm afraid that you've just made the mistake of believing otherwise. A mistake that will cost you, for you see, I'm quite quick on the draw if I do say so myself. Observe!"
It's said that the fastest quick draw able to be performed by a normal human, that is, without the aid of magic or something to that degree, is about the tenth of a second, and while Ocelot wasn't quite that fast, he was more than capable of downing a mere eight soldiers before any of them would be able to get a shot at him.
BANG!
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
A loud sound rang out, and suddenly, before any of the guards could take note of what had just happened, one of their brethren had fallen down, his body going limp as a bullet lodged into his brain. Before the others could even process what had happened, Ocelot, utilizing his dual revolvers, mowed the rest of them down like a machine, repeatedly cocking his weapons and pulling the triggers on them faster than the blink of an eye.
Child's play.
Every mark hit their target; right between the eyes. He still got it.
Still, he had no time to boast over his accomplishments. He had a man to hunt down. A job to do.
Alarms blared loudly enough that Ocelot could hear it from outside. Any way he looked at this, he needed to reload immediately, unless there just so happened to be exactly two guards that would greet him at the door. Tch. Maybe, just maybe, he could make this work.
Instead of doing something reckless like someone his age would likely have been expected to (21 years old was remarkably young when one considered his positions in the organizations he was a part of), Ocelot instead went ahead and took cover behind a pile of conveniently placed sandbags, probably placed there precisely to serve as cover for the guards in case an intruder or an army would try to storm the place (funny how things turned out, huh?), the soldier took this time to reload his guns while waiting for the guards to come out already and search the perimeter hastily.
Sure enough, in a matter of moments, he heard the shuffling footsteps of a number of guards rush outside to search for him. How charming that they'd go through all the trouble to welcome a guest. Perhaps he should return their courtesy.
When the footsteps would stop at the front, he could hear the squad leader bark out commands.
"Make sure nobody gets past the door! Grandmaster Vidic is not to be disturbed!"
Unfortunately for them, that was something that they'd be unable to go through with.
There was no way to get past them without alerting their presence, given the small perimeter space. Still, if he was gonna pluck them all one by one, he needed a distraction to get their attention while he could get a good look at them. Let's see... Aha.
A rock would do nicely. Like the one right next to him. And so, Ocelot would manage to get his hands on a nearby solid rock and toss it above him, the object hitting the tower behind the guards, specifically the end of the wall where he would gamble that no guards were looking in that way. Sure enough, when Ocelot would dare to poke his head from behind the sandbags, the guards diverted their attention over to the point of impact, rather than trying to ascertain the arc of which the rock was thrown.
Depending on where you were, being the smarter man was surprisingly easy. Maybe these guys were hired help. This world didn't look very civilized, as reflected by the people, after all.
"Hu--What was that?! There--Gaaaugh!"
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
In the span of just less than even one second, Ocelot managed to identify the four targets standing out in front, where they were standing, calculating the trajectory, wind, pressure, and other factors in order to make his clean shots, before making his move. While his expertise in the Coalition was more comparable to that of... junior administration, having taken it upon himself to visit the Torch that one time and see how it was going, his skills in the field were nothing to scoff at either.
Still, he clicked his tongue, having wished he would have been able to find a way past them, as it would have attracted less attention that way, but he could try again next time.
With that, he would dash through the front door that the guards had foolishly decided to leave open, simultaneously reloading his revolvers while he had the chance. The small fort was crudely constructed; it was almost like some dastardly castle that you would see in a production for a fairy tale story, with torches on the walls to illuminate the path, the walls themselves being made up of dank bricks, and the whole place seeming inexplicably wet in certain spots. He didn't want to know what that was about.
With keen hearing, Ocelot was able to detect the sounds of more guards rushing in his direction. While he was more than capable of taking anyone down who would get in his way, to be perfectly honest, this was getting rather boring. Now, it would be more exciting and easier on himself if he'd simply slip past them undetected, right? After all, that was what the man who called himself David, or rather "Snake" for most of their encounters, would do. He was a man, not an animal.
The same went for Ocelot. Or rather, Adamska.
The man continued to run forward, right in the direction of the approaching footsteps that would make themselves known to him once they'd come around the corner, and then...
Whoosh!
At likely the last possible second, Ocelot would manage to slip into the next corridor on the side, hugging the wall, his body obscured by the shadows in the absence of torches on the wall he leaned against, while a number of armed guards breezed past him, none the wiser. For a supposedly heavily guarded place, perhaps this world really wasn't the best place to recruit protection.
Then again, he was reluctant to reason that maybe he was just that good. Pride was a deadly sin, after all. One that generally lead to a man's downfall, especially when coupled with wrath and greed.
Shuffleshuffleshuffle.
"Shots heard from the front! He must not be allowed to disturb Grandmaster Vidic! Protect him at all costs!"
This was just too easy.
...
It really was too easy. It made him a bit suspicious, but it couldn't be helped.
"This is Warren Vidic of Abstergo, also known more widely as the Templar Order, and my research has been compromised. Need to relocate immediately. If any of my colleagues manage to find this, be sure to seek out Daniel Cross in the possibility that I am no longer among the living, as with his unstable personality, he may end up destroying himself without... the proper guidance. As for Shay Patrick Cormac, his services to the Multiversal Templar Order will never be forgotten, but should I cease to be, it appears that he will have to find sole employment in Revan now. I--"
CRASH!
"!"
Bursting through the door of the office in which he would find Vidic, Ocelot wasted no time in pointing his revolver straight at the old man, smirking lightly in self-satisfaction as he'd managed to successfully infiltrate the facility without raising too much suspicion. It'd be quite a while until the guards would think to check the office, and by then, their intruder will have already fled.
With his keen eyesight, the first thing Ocelot noticed about the place was how radically different the office was from the rest of the place that he had traversed. This room, in stark contrast to the dank halls, was more... civilized, to put it simply. Looked like he wasn't the only one who thought poorly of the simpletons with guns running around.
Ocelot himself not included of course.
"Ah... So the intel wasn't wrong. You really do just have a poor choice of worlds to hole up in, don't you, Mr. Vidic?" Ocelot inquired, holding the man at gunpoint. He was more useful alive than he was dead, so he didn't shoot just yet. Besides, the orders stated that he had to be caught alive if it could be helped. And right now, it was able to be helped.
Though how much it could be helped would depend on how much Vidic would cooperate.
Still, he expected Vidic to do what all sniveling cowards of "evil" men did; get on their knees, beg for their lives, grovel, that sort of thing. But the old man simply laughed. Like something was funny. Very funny. Something that Ocelot wasn't in on the joke with.
"... Care to enlighten me on what you're laughing at, you geezer?" He asked, his smirk disappearing when he felt doubt in the notion that he had the upper hand here.
"You... You are just an interesting specimen, aren't you, young man?" Warren Vidic inquired, remaining calm despite the gun in his face,
"Fascinating how the Coalition could interfere with my plans more than the Multiversal Assassins ever could. I guess Mr. Miles ended up in a ditch somewhere. After all, that was all he could ever amount to in the end," he said spitefully.
"Are you stalling for someone, Mr. Vidic?"
"I wouldn't dream of it, son. I have no one to stall here, you'll find that to be apparent," he replied, extending his arms toward the room, showing off how they were the only people around,
"I just... find it amusing. You think that cutting off what you think to be the head of this Order will bring it down, but let me tell you something, we are like a Hydra! Cut one head off, another will grow in its place. That is how we operate, boy. While you and the other kids attempt to fit in your big boy boots, my cohorts and I split our power evenly, maintaining a steady order while you can hardly even keep your relations with the United Universes well and good."
"Careful. If I were you, I wouldn't run my mouth so confidently. You're coming with me, old man. On the charges of conspiracy against the multiverse, attempts to orchestrate a Murder Game, and God knows how many counts of indirect murder."
"Oh, you think you've really got me, don't you? You think you're my undoing, but really, boy, you're nothing more than an inconvenience to our grand plan. For you see, the research that I have gathered will prove useless to you, and--"
BANG!
A warning shot rang out, a bullet flying right past Vidic and lodging right into the wall, stopping him in his tracks and interrupting whatever maniacal train of thought he had in his senile head.
"I have no interest in listening to your rambling, old man. That's a job my superiors are better equipped to handle. Now, keep quiet, or I'll shut that insufferable mouth of yours myself."
"Oh, I think you'll find that difficult. After all, it's nigh-impossible to capture a man when his bodyguard is still around, you know."
"What are you--?!"
"Russian. If you please."
"Da. I thought you would never give ze signal."
Behind Ocelot stood a hulking man of around 7'2, the one whom Vidic referred to as the "Russian." And appropriately enough, he spoke in a thick Russian accent to boot. Before the smaller man would turn around and act, not bothering to ask himself how such a big man could get behind him unawares, the burly henchman would deliver a mighty front kick into Ocelot's back, knocking him forward and causing him to drop the gun that he was holding in his hand, though thankfully, he just happened to have his other firearm holstered, and so it stayed on his form for the time being.
It was a miracle that his spine wasn't broken on the spot. A side kick might have done the trick if he did that instead, but hopefully, the brute was too dumb to know what a side kick even was.
Then again, he should never hope in a place like this.
"Guh!" Ocelot grunted, recovering quickly and rolling onto his knees, having turned himself around to face the Russian, but with his back now against Vidic.
"Go now, sir! I take care of little man myself!" The Russian exclaimed with a cocky smile, to which the old man nodded.
"I leave this in your hands then, Russian! Do not disappoint me."
With that, Vidic turned around and pull on a random book on the bookcase behind him, and suddenly, like in some cheap spy film, the bookcase would open up, revealing what seemed to be a secret passageway that he would go into.
Shit, he was going to get away. First things first!
Ocelot would quickly spin around and draw his remaining revolver, but before he would be able to get a shot in, his hand would be grabbed by the Russian, his arm locked as the gun was pointed at the ceiling. Ocelot resisted as best as he could, but he was clearly outmatched in terms of sheer strength.
Alright then. Let's see how fast and durable he was.
"Where do you think you are going, big boy? The fun is just about to get started, da," he said with a small chuckle. He was clearly strong enough to crush Ocelot's hand, and maybe even the gun, with the sheer force of his hand, but the fact that he didn't only made Ocelot assume that he was toying with him.
This would surely prove to be a fateful mistake.
"You have similar eyes to mine, comrade," the Russian continued,
"Are you also Russian by any chance? I see American in you as well... A mix? Very interesting! I have always wondered what true American culture is like! But... you see, I have been confined to this barbaric world for ages, Mister Vidic does not show me American way of life!"
The man wasn't entirely wrong, but to be clear, Ocelot was born in France to American and Russian parents. Not that he knew that. His world was so full of conspiracy and secrets that no matter how much he tried to look into it from the databases on what they had of his universe, the data was difficult to come across, whether it be because the details were lost in time, nobody knew, etc., depending on the world.
Not everything was known to a person who could traverse through the multiverse.
"Well, Mister Russian... The first thing you should know about Americans... is that they get irrationally angry when you try to take their guns away!" He exclaimed, bashing the elbow on his free arm right into the Russian's face, particularly the nose. It was then that he would be able to hear something shatter, followed by a loud groaning as the grip on his other wrist would loosen up a bit. Great! Now this was his chance to--
WHAM!
Ocelot's train of thought would suddenly be interrupted when the Russian, in blind rage, would deliver a powerful hook into his face, like instant payback, but like with before, he would be able to roll with the attack, absorbing most of the impact and pain and creating some distance between the two of them, Ocelot standing up in a position indicating that he was about to partake in CQC.
... Hmph, still, perhaps direct CQC would not be the best course of action, given the man's stature and strength. Unfortunately, he had lost his other gun from the punch, as it had fallen out of his grasp and onto the ground, before being kicked away by the angry Russian.
"Interesting... So that is what an American-Russian is like! I don't think I like it very much! I'll have to play with you some more before I can make judgment though!" He said, his grimace morphing into a grin as he would speak upon recovering.
Wordlessly, not even deciding to dignify the man with a response, Ocelot would draw a combat knife. He personally didn't like the weapon very much, and as such, made sure to either use his guns when he could, or his hands when CQC was needed. Knives were too dirty and slow. Fists were fast and clean when you made the right moves, as were bullets if you made the right shots. And Ocelot knew how to do both, but this was a "desperate times call for desperate measures" scenario.
"Fair warning, then. I don't play very nice!"
"Hehe, I love a boy who likes to play rough! Makes it more interesting for me!"
Accepting the challenge, Ocelot didn't hesitate to move, dashing forward towards his enemy and making his move, feinting a left, and then going for a right slash, cutting at his chest, the biggest and most obvious target. His skin was surprisingly hard to cut through; it was comparable to cutting through a damned bear or a gorilla! Still, he couldn't let up. Tough as he might be, no human could survive a direct attack to the heart!
With that in mind, Ocelot would evade a right hook thrown his way by the Russian, before countering with a thrust of his blade forward, right into the Russian's heart, and...!
...
Well, this was awkward.
"Hehehehe, tell me it is longer than that, big boy!"
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"You are going to have to try again if you want to penetrate my body and hit the core!"
"Shut up and--!"
BLAM!
Without missing a beat, the Russian sent a powerful straight right into Ocelot's chest, the force enough to send him sprawled onto the floor after hitting the ground hard. The air was knocked out of him rather easily, if not because of the punch (thank God it didn't hit the solar plexus with that kind of strength), then because of the manner in which he hit the floor. It didn't help when he would also end up coughing, more air escaping his lungs as the Russian, still relaxed as ever, casually took the knife out of his chest like it was nothing.
Still, this was no time to let the other party recover. Thankfully, the Russian didn't to seem to have much concept for that, if only because he viewed this as just a game. And perhaps life was but a game to him. But Ocelot was done playing around.
Coming back around, Ocelot grabbed the nearest object, one of the office chairs, and slammed it right into the Russian's body, letting out a loud
KRASH!
...
Only for the chair to break on contact as though it were made of wood. The hulking man only laughed gleefully in response, as though the attack hardly tickled.
"That's the spirit! I enjoy having fun with a desperate man!"
While most of the chair was destroyed, Ocelot still held onto the shattered legs, the legs possessing spiky ends due to the nature of them breaking. Using this opportunity to go on, Ocelot would proceed to then stab the spiked ends of the chair legs into the Russian's chest. Of course, he knew that if a knife could barely even get to him, then this would do no good, but even so, he was hoping that this would pain his enemy enough to buy him some time to form a more solid plan of attack, but alas, the man's skin was so tough that Ocelot was lucky that he could get one chair leg to stick inside his chest, while the other just fell out after being stuck in for a second.
"Uh, uh, uh! You'll really have to push it in harder if you want to get a reaction from me, big boy!" The Russian only continued to laugh, the younger man unable to escape when he would be grabbed by the head by the Russian's giant hands and lifted him right off his feet.
... Oh shi--!
KRAAASSSSHHH!
As though the wall were made of plaster, Ocelot was easily thrown through the wall behind the Russian, his body being stopped when it would collide into railing above a flight of stairs, the air once again knocked out of him upon impact into the railing, letting out a choked sound when he would do so. His head felt like splitting apart, but he couldn't let that happen. Not now! Of all things, right now, what his head needed to do was be in the game! Just for a little while longer!
"Mmm... You cannot fulfill me as you are. Ze Punisher was far more feisty than you. You just do not possess the same flame, boy," the Russian mused, seeming to get bored, approaching Ocelot from the front, the soldier still trying to regain his footing and breath, holding onto the railing to prevent himself from accidentally falling down. However, it seemed that his body's burning desire to rest cost him a bit, as before Ocelot would be able to think to move again, the Russian's outstretched arm would grab the soldier by the neck, choking him out.
"Kh...Khhggh!"
Whatever air was still left in him was fleeting quickly, and if not from his throat crushing from the mere force of the man's meaty fingers, then he was going to die of asphyxiation in a matter of seconds. Come on, come on!!
With one hand on the Russian's in an attempt to pull it off his neck, Ocelot made two simultaneous movements in order to get him off; one, raise his booted foot into the Russian's groin for a critical attack, and two, punch his adversary right in the left eye, hoping to have jammed his knuckle into the socket. While it didn't get that far, he was able to draw just a little bit of blood, and a pained groan from the Russian. With that, in anger, he turned around and threw Ocelot back into the office, his body slamming into the table like a rag doll, the impact eliciting a
"Augh!" groan from him.
"I think the roughhousing has gone for long enough. It is time to die now, little man! RAAAAUGH!" The Russian exclaimed, a small stream of blood trickling from his eye, before letting out a loud yell as he would charge forward, going in for possibly his ultimate attack. With quick thinking, Ocelot grabbed the nearest thing available to him; the spindle of a the chair from earlier, though the rest of his body struggled to stand up once again. This was all or nothing now.
The thing about close-quarters combat was that if you had distance on your enemy and they were closing in on you, then they failed a basic of CQC: being close. If you had too much range, then that meant your opponent was given time to predict your movement and counter accordingly. And so, that was precisely what Ocelot did.
WHOOSH!
In blind rage, Russian raised his oversized arm and threw it straight in Ocelot's direction, hoping to smash him with his sheer strength. However, with the last of his strength, Ocelot moved. He moved faster than he ought to be in his wounded condition, evading the overly wide punch that would end up smashing into the ground instead, possibly causing a sizable dent in it, and that was when he reacted.
With a sickening
KSSSSH sound, Ocelot stabbed the spindle right into the most sensitive spot of the Russian's body; his eye. With blood gushing out, the Russian let out a blood-curdling scream as he clumsily staggered back, closer and closer to the hole he had created in the wall, attempting to pull out the spindle. However, he wouldn't be given that chance.
"AAAAUGHH! YOU'RE DEAD!"
"No... I don't think so, "big boy!" You are!"
With that, he would slide over to one of his revolvers that had been kicked away by the Russian, and without a second thought, he would fire three shots into the Russian's chest, the impact of each bullet penetrating his skin and causing him to stagger back, their effect more like giant hammers knocking him back with an
"Oough!" sound, until he would lose his balance and end up fatally falling off the railing and down the stairs, landing right on his neck where a loud
KRAK sound could be heard, even from Ocelot's position.
"... Tch," Ocelot grunted, too tired to be in a celebratory mood over surviving the battle. Instead, he simply spat out blood onto the ground, and limped back to the desk. It was useless to pursue Vidic now, he had likely already made his escape, but if there was research he had found that he could take a look into, then maybe... Just maybe this wouldn't have all been for nothing.
It didn't take very long for him to find a small chest, which seemed to be unlocked fortunately. Unlocking it, using the small desk it was sitting on as support, Ocelot would find a strange object inside. Something that appeared to be a spearhead:
"What... is this?"
"That would be the head of Gungnir. An object that is beyond your reach."
"?!"
Turning around with his gun pointed at the source of the direction, Ocelot would find himself faced by two men, one blonde and one with a red color motif. They seemed hardly threatened by his gun, and that could only mean they were more powerful than they looked.
Damn. He could only hope that they were friendly, at least.
"Who are you?" He asked warily.
"Ah, right. My name is Ollerus," the man politely said with a bow, before facing Ocelot again and gesturing towards the young man standing next to him,
"And this is my associate. You might know him by the name of... Fiamma of the Right?"
"Fiamma of the...?!"
That name needed no introduction. Though he ultimately turned out to not be the ultimate mastermind behind it, he was the namesake of the Fiamma Incident, and for good reason. Driven mad by the influence of what he called the "Right Hand of the Crimson Moon," in actuality the Arch Demon's right hand cut off and shrunken down to size, he was provided with the power to orchestrate his own Murder Game by Kirei Kotomine. But... this was really him? He was still alive?!
"Indeed," the man nodded, a deceivingly benign smile on his face,
"I've returned. I've returned with the intent to make amends for my sins in the past. Starting with taking the head of Gungnir. Hand it here now."
"You'll do no such thing," Ocelot refused, shaking his head,
"This is now property of the Coalition. You are welcome to accompany me back to my headquarters so that we can examine it together, but I'm afraid that until my associates and I find out more about it, this--"
BOOM!
With a snap of his fingers, the man who called himself Ollerus generated a random explosion in the air right in front of Ocelot, the sheer force of the explosion sending his body slamming into the bookcase behind, battered and bloodied from the damage, though miraculously, he wasn't dead just yet. With a sigh, Ollerus ran a hand through his hair, before glaring at Ocelot with a narrowed eye.
"I know not of who the Coalition is, but let me tell you something... If you would claim that they are a force of good, then in that case, I will just say... Lying vermin like you should just disappear already."
"Kugh... Who... are...?!"
"I am the one who should have become a Magic God. Don't test me. Your face betrays more than you might think. In any case... Come now, Fiamma. Dispose of him, and then we'll get out of here."
Fiamma of the Right nodded, and with that, he would approach Ocelot's battered form, extending his right arm out towards him.
"By the residual power of the Right Hand of the Crimson Moon that continues to dwell within me, I command you... to disappear!"
With that, his hand began to glow a blinding shade of red, but before anything would happen, Ocelot's pained grimace would contort into what seemed to be a grin tugging at the edge of his lips as he let out a chuckle, and then one whisper.
"Heh... You're pretty good."
FSSSSH!
And then, in a blinding flash that was over in an instant, Ocelot's body had disappeared. Without another thought, the two of them would take off with the head of the spear they called Gungnir.
No one would ever know of this incident. No one would know of this encounter for some time. Not until the time was right. But that was for another time.
For now, Ocelot's primary worry was to survive. For he had quite the journey ahead of him.
Because when he would wake up, he would wake up in the face of Rapture.
This ain't no place for no hero
This ain't no place for no better man
This ain't no place for no hero
To call "home."[/spoili]