Lost innocence, trying to get back to where I used to be.
Lost innocence, hoping that there's something waiting there for me.
Lost innocence, have I even learned a single useful thing
Or have I lost, in a sense?
Have I lost innocence?
- Lost Innocence, Eric Stuart
Gourry whirled around with enough force to set his long blonde hair to swinging. His hand was on the hilt of his sword but when he saw exactly who was standing behind him, he froze in disbelief. "No..." he said, unwilling to believe what his eyes were showing him.
"Welcome to the Temple of Light," the apparition said smoothly. He stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, a maroon scarf tied around it near the pommel. His boots clicked on the marble floor as he circled the stunned Gourry, long legs swinging in an easy stride that could eat up the miles, arms shaped by a lifetime of swinging a sword folded across the breastplate of his armor. Hair the color of ripened wheat hung down his back and eyes that were pieces of the summer sky watched Gourry closely.
"But - what are you?" Gourry stammered, feeling off-balance.
"I'm the Guardian of the White Sword. Surely you were expecting me?"
"A Guardian, yes, but not like this!" He stared into the eyes that greeted him every morning in the mirror when he was shaving.
"What were you expecting?"
"I - I'm not sure."
"Then why not yourself?" He stopped and drew his sword. The steel rang in what would have been a sinister way if this had been any other place. Instead it was merely the sound of steel on steel.
"I can't fight myself!"
"Here you can, and you will." The doppelganger brought his sword up in the swordsman's salute. "If you want to leave this place, you have to win Graeswandyr; the doors will not open until Graeswandyr comes free of the stone. The sword will not come free of the stone until you defeat me." The sunny brows drew themselves together in a scowl. "Now draw your sword!"
"No!" Gourry shouted. "Not like this!"
"Then die!" The Guardian lunged at him, swinging his sword in a powerful horizontal arc. Gourry nearly stumbled as he jumped backwards out of the way of that slashing strike. It was his own attack turned on himself! Knowing what the follow-through would be, he quickly ducked under the swing, then jumped clear to give himself room to draw his sword.
Turning, he blocked the next strike with an overhand blow, dropped into a squat as the other tried to use his pommel to stun him, then struck upwards with his own sword. Just as he thought, his opponent expected it and blocked it in the same manner as he would have. He straightened, jumped backwards, gathered himself and returned to the fray with a series of quick jabs and feints. Each was expertly blocked, even those he varied from his normal style. He ended the series with a powerful overhead blow which his opposite blocked neatly. Sparks flew from the steel of their blades as the force was countered and forced downwards. Faces mere inches from each other, swords and strength stalemated, Gourry glared at his double. The Guardian merely looked back with a calm, serene look in his eyes.
They held this for several seconds, then jumped backwards away from each other. Gourry leaned forward, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword. How was he going to defeat this Guardian? Right now, he didn't have a clue. Think, Gourry, he thought to himself. Think!
He moved a step to his right; the Guardian mirrored his moves. "Are you really me?" Gourry asked. "Or do you just look like me?"
"I am a reflection of you," the Guardian answered. "A distillation of all your knowledge and skill."
"A reflection," Gourry mused as he took another step. He kept his sword at the ready while he tried to process this information. How could he use this?
As he watched, the doppelganger rushed forward, thrusting straight forward with the weight of his body behind it. Gourry jumped to the side to avoid it then slashed at the other's exposed right side as he passed. The Guardian twisted out of the way but not so quickly that the tip of Gourry's sword didn't slash through the fabric of the other's tunic.
"So I can touch you," he breathed as the other turned and gathered himself. But he wasn't give a chance to dwell on that as the Guardian quickly spun around. His sword flashed in close and Gourry had to twist away as he blocked it. The Guardian used that block to force Gourry's sword up, leaving him open and exposed. Gourry, however, brought his elbow down on the other's neck, hooked a foot behind the other's leg and between those two moves dropped the Guardian to his knees.
Gourry didn't have time to celebrate his victory as his opponent recovered and the steel of his blade came flashing in close to his leg. He jumped to avoid the blow, flipped in the air and landed several feet away from the reflection. The other scrambled to his feet and rushed Gourry, pressing home his own series of attacks: Slash, dodge, back, forward, slash.
And so it went: Gourry or the Guardian attacking, the other countering, then switching off. Neither gaining the upper hand so evenly were they matched. The sound of steel ringing on steel echoed through the chamber, sparks flying whenever the blades slid along one another. Gourry was drenched in sweat and his arms ached with both the strain and the multiple impacts. Not since the days he'd trained with his father had he fought like this.
They leapt apart and both crouched while sizing up the other. Gourry pushed his hair out of his face and mopped the sweat from his forehead while watching his reflection. He seemed to be suffering from the same afflictions as he was, but his face was as serene as ever. That damned reflection!!
Wait - reflection...Something wormed its way into Gourry's awareness but he couldn't quite put the pieces together. There was something there, something important that he should be seeing and wasn't. He ground his teeth. No! Don't think! Feel! That's how a swordsman wins his battles. By feeling, not by thinking.
Then it came to him, what he'd been missing: The doppelganger had not been using any of his less "honorable" moves, as Archand had called them. The few times he'd managed to touch the other had been when he'd resorted to the swordplay he'd picked up working as a mercenary. Moves designed to keep you alive, to take out your opponent quickly.
He took a deep breath and shifted his grip on his sword, holding the blade at arm's length and at an upwards angle, ready to shift to either side at a moment's notice. Taking a step forward, he watched the other carefully, letting his mind slip into that state where his body did his thinking for him. Looking into those mirrored eyes, he was determined to win this. The Guardian dropped into the same stance and waited. Gourry took a deep breath and lunged forward, bringing his arms up like he was going to deliver a powerful over hand blow.
The Guardian whipped his sword up to block it, but Gourry's sword wasn't there. Gourry wasn't there. He dropped to a crouch, reached around the other man and grabbed a handful of golden hair and yanked. The Guardian, pulled off balance, dropped his sword and fell backwards onto Gourry's sword. The tip, razor sharp even from the beating it'd received during the fight, cut cleanly through cloth, flesh and bone.
They broke apart, the Guardian stumbling backwards with his hand pressed to his side. He was pale with shock and dropped to one knee. He hung his head, golden hair hiding the pain-twisted features. Gourry stood there looking down at him, breathing hard, his sword glistening red in the dim light.
"Finish it," the reflection said. "You have to finish it. You'll never get the sword any other way."
Gourry's lips tightened into a thin line as he lifted his blood-smeared sword and set it at his opponent's throat. His hand shook as he pressed the steel into the soft flesh there; just a little harder and flesh and bone would part and a life would be taken. The thought sickened him. He dropped the blade.
"I can't. Not like this." His palms were slick with sweat.
"To get the sword you have to kill me."
"I can't kill in cold blood!" He hated killing and avoided it when possible. And yet, this was for Lina -
"Come now," the other Gourry said, lifting his head and meeting his eyes. Blood leaked from between his fingers. He smiled up at Gourry. "I'm not real, you know. Just a reflection given shape when you touched the sword."
"I know," Gourry said. How did he describe what he was feeling? Grimly, he walked over to the other's sword and picked it up. He returned to the Guardian and held it out, hilt first. "Take it," he said. "Take it!" he snapped when the Guardian hesitated.
"You don't have time for this," the Guardian said, taking the hilt and climbing unsteadily to his feet. "The moon is going to set soon."
"I can't kill in cold blood," Gourry repeated. Even if this was just a reflection. Even if the sword did represent everything he needed to win back the woman he loved, he could not kill in cold blood.
"Suit yourself," the other said, taking his sword in both hands, his bloodied left hand leaving dark smears on the hilt. He dropped into a guard position and faced his opponent. Pain lined his features but his face was determined. "Let's get on with this."
Gourry raised his sword and this time he saluted his reflection. The Guardian acknowledged then raised his sword and attacked. Gourry raised his sword and blocked it easily, and charged forward, feinting to the right then left, driving his opponent back against the glass wall of the Temple. As the other crashed back into the wall, his sword was jarred out of nerveless fingers. Gourry set his blade and it slipped through the other man entirely too easily.
The Guardian let out something that sounded like a sigh and looked into Gourry's eyes. It was then that the blonde swordsman realized he was shaking; this was altogether too similar to the way events had played out when he'd been wounded by Xellos' mercs. He thought he was going to be sick at the memory.
He found himself unable to look away from the immense sadness in those sapphire blue eyes. "It seems you've won," he said, reaching up and laying his hand on Gourry's shoulder. "You are strong, Gourry Gabriev. More Light than Shadow, and that made me strong. It's been an honor to have been a part of you." He slumped forward into the swordsman's arms.
Gourry caught him and lowered him to the floor, pulling the sword out of the other man's body and flinging it away from him. He gently laid his doppelganger out, brushing back the other's hair, knowing full well that it wasn't going to stay put. "What do you mean?"
"I was created from everything that was good inside you." He coughed and spat up a little blood. "But I fear that that makes the price you pay for Graeswandyr more than you bargained for: By killing me, you've destroyed a part of that Light inside yourself." His voice was growing weaker and weaker.
"Destroyed a part of myself?" he asked, shocked. "How?"
"I am sorry..." The light went out of his eyes, and the sound of death rattled in his throat. The hand on Gourry's shoulder slipped lifelessly to the floor.
Shuddering with shock and revulsion at what he'd done, Gourry sat there for several long minutes. When he finally felt able to move without fear of being violently ill, he folded the Guardian's hands over his chest. Reaching over and picking up the fallen sword, he set it on the other man's body such that the dead Guardian was gripping the hilt, just as a swordsman should - even in death. Then, biting his lip, he closed the doppelganger's eyes.
He remained kneeling there a moment longer, head bowed and spiritually, emotionally and physically exhausted. He was too tired to move; it was only when he realized that he'd won the sword, the very thing he'd been working towards so hard this past month, that he found the will to push himself to his feet. And yet, he felt an inexplicable sense of loss as he took one last look at the fallen Guardian.
With dragging feet, he crossed the chamber to face the stone that hung over the moon-symbol. Looking up at it, he thought about all it represented: Lina, defeating Xellos...Steeling himself, he stepped forward and reached up to take the sword. It came free in his hand, nearly leaping from the stone and into his grasp.
Stepping back, Gourry drew the sword from its scabbard. The blade was white; the book had said it was a mixture of mithril, Orihalcon and steel, a combination that was very hard to smith. He could see the silvery runes that ran down the center of the blade; runes and markings that he could not read. It felt light in his hand, perfectly balanced, too; as he did an experimental swing, it seemed to sense his wishes and leap through the air to its destination instead of just traveling there in his hand. He could sense some power in it, too; he hoped Zelgadis would be able to help him identify it.
The Temple began to rumble under his feet. Looking up in surprise, he could see the moon overhead had traveled across the sky and was about to slip behind another mountain. Damn! He was almost out of time! Slipping Graeswandyr back into its scabbard, he looked around for his own sword. He found it wedged up against the wall where it had come to rest after he'd cast it from him. Hurrying over, he grabbed it up, wiped it on his pant leg before sheathing it. Turning he ran for the doors, which opened of their own accord as he approached. The steps were dimmer, and he could see through them, straight down to the jagged rocks below. Of course, going downward was harder than going up because now he could see that sheer drop. He fought against acrophobia and wished he could fly like the others, although he'd probably be too terrified to do it often. It would come in handy now, though!
He was only a few steps short of the rock landing when the moon slipped behind the mountain. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Temple of Light unravel into the darkness. The stairs unraveled down towards him, and he threw caution to the wind and ran down the steps. The last two disappeared under his feet and he jumped for the rock landing outside the Temple. By dint of sheer willpower, he managed to propel himself onto the landing and come up hard against the doors. He felt them trying to open and edged away to let them and then there were strong hands helping to drag him into the Temple itself.
"Gourry!"
"Gourry-san!"
He looked up at the sound of his name and found Zelgadis and Amelia kneeling next to him. He smiled grimly and held up the sword. "I did it. I got Graeswandyr," he said.