Archive of Our Own ^beta

After he awoke, Clive did not feel human. He was nothing but grief and fear and rage. He struggled against his restraints, screamed and spat at anyone who dared to come near, and sobbed endlessly against the floor when he was finally left alone.

Father and Joshua were gone. The image of his little brother, lying motionless in a pool of blood, flashing in his mind whether his eyes were open or closed…

Clive jolted as he heard voices in the corridor. He braced himself for another confrontation.

“...impossible to handle… He almost bit my fucking finger off!”

“Come now. I think he just needs a bit of…motivation to get started.”

The door opened, revealing a man Clive hadn’t seen before. He was a thug just like the rest of them, but there was a somewhat different air about him. A leader, for certain.

It made no difference.

“Get him upright. Let’s have a little chat.”

The other man gave Clive a wide berth as he walked around him, grabbing him by the restraints from behind so Clive couldn’t get to him. He was hauled from the floor onto his knees, grunting painfully as his shoulders protested the rough movement. Then, he hardened his expression when he was brought face to face with the new stranger.

“Clive Rosfield,” the man drawled, “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but the truth is…I don’t give a shit.”

“ Murderers,” Clive hissed from between his teeth, voice promising pain and brutality if they made the slightest misstep in keeping him restrained.

“That’s where you’re mistaken.” The man remained wholly unbothered. “It’s true we invited ourselves for a surprise visit at your very nice home…but we didn’t off your old man and the kid.”

Clive frowned.

“You’re lying. I heard the gunshots.”

“Sure, shots were fired. But if that was the game, why not kill you when we had a chance? Our orders were to bring the kid with us…but someone got there first.”

The man squatted in front of Clive and held something right in front of his face.

“This was left on the scene.”

A cufflink, golden with a strange mark engraved, almost resembling a fish, or a wing. One side of it was stained by dried blood, and suddenly a flash of memory came back to Clive—the clink of metal hitting the floor, the sound too clear to be a bullet, and a glint of something golden rolling near Joshua’s lifeless face...

“The mark of the Undying. A whole bunch of crazies, and secretive about it too,” the man continued. “Fuckers jumped in our of nowhere and wiped out our target as soon as we got in.”

The man tossed the cufflink into the air casually and caught it again in his hand.

“So…if you want to talk about revenge, I got a mutually beneficial suggestion for you. Deal?”

He dropped the golden item on the floor. Unable to use his hands, Clive quickly moved his knee to stop its movement and catch it under his shin, pressing down until he could feel it dig into his flesh. The key to the murderers of his brother.

The man grinned at the one holding Clive’s restraints.

“See what I’m talking about? Motivation.”

Thirteen years later, Clive is still no closer to learning the identity of the person who had committed his brother’s cruel murder, nor the motive behind it. The Undying are slippery as eels, always disappearing back into the shadows just as he thinks he has caught sight of them.

Not that he has much time to pursue his quest of vengeance. Day after day, he has work to do—making someone talk, making someone else go quiet, finding people who prefer not to be found and making sure some other people are never seen again. It’s all meaningless noise, a drudgery that provides no satisfaction beyond the adrenaline spike when he emerges from another mission still clinging to his miserable life.

What he feels is far from gratitude, but he does acknowledge that he would not have made it this far without becoming what he is. The skills, the resilience, the equipment, the contacts—all of it necessary to fulfill his ultimate goal. To avenge his family.

He remembers that night like it was yesterday.

The security system coming alive with warnings of intruders, Father taking Joshua to the adjacent room to take him to the garage and escape, Clive running back to the hall to get the car keys. Sounds of gunshots, Joshua’s scream, the sound of the door behind Clive’s back being kicked in as he rushed towards his brother’s voice. He made it close enough to see Joshua lying motionless on the floor, blood all over his small body, when something hit Clive on the head, and his world was flooded by darkness.

He brandishes the memory like a weapon, to temper his soul for when he needs to forget the soft parts of him that are in pain. When he needs only to kill and survive, to lower himself in the deepest pits of hell if that’s what it takes.

He doesn’t care for justice or whether those he takes out deserve their fate. Joshua didn’t get to live, so why should someone else be granted any greater mercy?

Clive still has the cufflink with the Undying’s mark that Tiamat gave him the day he became Wyvern.

“Today’s job is a big one,” Tiamat says.

It’s rare that all four of the Bastards are gathered for the same mission briefing. Usually, it only takes one or two of their group to be sent on each mission.

“The cronies of Lord Shines-Out-Of-His-Arse managed to sniff out some information about the leader of the Undying.”

That has all of Clive’s attention.

“Looks like there’s a new guy who’s only been around for a few years now, but he’s got all the strings in his hands. Codename Phoenix.”

Tiamat lays out the papers on the table. There’s barely anything on the identity of Phoenix, but some covert shots give away his general build and appearance despite his habit to wear inconspicuous all black clothing as well as hats and masks to conceal his face. Next are files about his entourage, the elusive inner circle of the Undying.

“Remember, these people are indoctrinated,” Tiamat taps a finger on the papers. “They will die for their guy without a second thought.”

Clive grinds his teeth together, years-old desire for vengeance and justice a physical ache in his gums, not so very different from barbaric bloodlust that he may once have thought to be beneath him, a long time ago.

Let them die, then.

The plan involves a stakeout in an abandoned part of town. The district became uninhabitable long ago due to a poisonous gas escaping a research facility and spreading throughout the area. While the ‘aetherflood’ faded years ago, the city’s economical interests moved elsewhere before it, no one willing to put up with the cost of renovating or rebuilding. Now the buildings are only used by those who can’t go anywhere else or whose business is better conducted away from the eyes of the public.

The four of them take their positions in two buildings divided by a narrow alley. No one speaks, as they are all aware of the mission details and far too practiced to engage in unnecessary small talk. Clive’s jaw clenches at the sight of the sniper rifle at Biast’s back, but he quiets the urge to demand satisfaction by his own hand. Out of the two of them, Biast is the better shot—all that matters is that the mission is fulfilled.

The upper floor offers a good view over the alley, the elevation granting further advantage. After confirming Tiamat and Aevis’ position on the opposite side, Biast and Clive settle on the floor to wait for their target. Underneath his trained impassivity, anticipation roils around within Clive. He has chased many a promising lead only for them to go up in smoke, the sting of disappointment never quite becoming easier. But this—this could be real. Will today be the day when his family may finally rest in peace?

Biast eyes him knowingly, the slight angle of his brows suggesting he has thought of something amusing to say, but wisely chooses to leave it.

After about two hours and ten minutes, the car does indeed roll into view. A man—not Phoenix—gets off first, followed by a young woman, both recognised as part of the Undying. They observe the street and speak words that can’t be heard from Clive’s location. He keeps watching with bated breath as one more figure emerges from the car.

It’s him.

Biast’s weapon shifts ever so slightly as he takes aim, but the shot that fills the air comes from below. Clive sees the woman’s hand outstretched, and the crumpled sound next to him alerts him to the fact that Biast has a bullet-sized hole on his forehead, the smell of blood filling his nostrils and making his hair stand on end. Shit , how did she–

The woman yells something at Phoenix, who starts getting back inside the car. Tiamat throws a grenade from his hiding place and Phoenix notices it, ducking into the ground next to the rear tire just before the blast destroys the windows and knocks out the driver. The woman and the other man exchange several shots with Tiamat and Aevis, neither quite getting the hit they need to get the upper hand. Phoenix, meanwhile, escapes into the alley on Clive’s side of the street.

Clive is on his feet before Tiamat even looks at him. For him, this is the best possible scenario, the chance he thought he would not get—a moment alone with their target.

Phoenix manages to get a head start during the time it takes Clive to get down the fire escape, but not enough to lose him completely. Dashing down the alley, they lead a mad chase dodging ventilation units and abandoned pieces of trash. Clive tries to shoot at Phoenix’s legs to stop him, but taking proper aim is impossible while in a full dash and the bullet ricochets off the walls. He won’t be able to reload without losing sight of his target and knows he wants to keep some for when it really counts, or in case he encounters more of the Undying.

He emerges from the alley into a dingy little square a few blocks down from where they left off, but Phoenix is nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he fears he’s lost him, but a dull sound draws his attention to the large wooden door of an old church, the building visibly abandoned like the rest of the district.

Clive weighs his options quickly. His chances of catching Phoenix are lower now that the man has time to hide, and he can’t discount the possibility that the church is a trap filled with guns pointed at anyone who enters. Instead of following through the main door, Clive circles back to the alley to check the smaller side door. Luck is on his side: the lock has already been destroyed by some less than devout visitors, and the door thankfully opens with nary a sound.

Inside the dilapidated building, it doesn’t take Clive long to spot his target. Phoenix has stumbled his way across the main hall, hand tracing the wall for support. He’s wheezing and coughing, obviously exhausted from the chase as he keeps glancing towards the door he expects Clive to come through, which means that he is distracted from the real threat at the opposite end of the room.

Clive denies his lungs the instinct to heave after the sprint, holding his breath as he moves closer, weapon in hand. He could shoot right now, and Phoenix would never even know it. The mission would be complete with a single press of a finger—but Clive has other business with the leader of the Undying first.

He tackles Phoenix on the floor in front of the altar, subduing him easily by using his superior weight, before finally pointing the gun straight at his opponent’s face.

He will find some answers before he executes the man.

“What do you know about the death of Joshua Rosfield?!” he barks. “Depending on the answer, I can make this very painful for you.”

“...Clive…?”

The voice that came from below is unfamiliar, a soft tenor he does not expect, and yet there’s something about it that’s…comforting. He yanks Phoenix’s hood aside and the copper gold curls coming free are like a knife struck at his heart. Those blue eyes…but it cannot be!

“Clive…brother, is it you?”

Tears pool in the corner of the man’s eyes, and Clive can’t tear his gaze away.

“Joshua…?”

He can’t bring himself to hope. The man lets out a small sob before he angles his head so Clive can see the earring on his left ear. The missing pair to the one Clive has carried all these years.

“It’s me, brother,” the man says between sobs. “I’ve finally found you.”

Clive suddenly becomes aware of the gun in his hand, still trained right at Joshua’s face. With a shaky gasp, he quickly lowers it, placing it on the floor as gently as he can and pushing it away. He reaches for his brother’s face with trembling hands, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Joshua…Joshua!”

He can’t stop his entire body from shaking. The mere thought of what almost happened…what he almost did…!

He’s not entirely aware of the apologies tumbling from his lips until he hears Joshua whisper to him.

“Shh, it’s alright. Please, let me see you…”

Realising he is still effectively pinning Joshua down, Clive slides over so his brother can sit up and they can both look at each other. Joshua’s face is wet with sweat and both of their tears and his hair is a mess, but he’s more beautiful than anything Clive has seen before.

Suddenly a thought occurs to him and his heart lurches. Tiamat and Aevis are still in hot pursuit, and if they find Phoenix, they won’t give a shit whether he’s Clive’s long lost relative or not. They will shoot first, ask questions never.

“Joshua,” he grabs his brother’s hand, urging him to stand. “It’s not safe here. The rest of my team are still out there.”

“There’s a hiding spot here.”

Joshua takes him behind the altar and pulls the carpet aside to reveal a hatch and under it, a staircase leading to a basement below the church. It’s not a glamorous place by any stretch, but Joshua seems to know it well enough, quickly finding a lamp and gesturing for Clive to sit on an empty crate.

Clive obeys, unable to take his eyes off Joshua for fear that he would vanish and this would all turn out to be a dream. His head is reeling with questions.

“Why…why are you the leader of the Undying? They tried to kill you.”

“It wasn’t them,” Joshua shakes his head, taking a seat on another crate. “That night…Father was shot through the window. There was blood everywhere...I panicked and stumbled, blacking out when I hit my head on the big cabinet. Before the attacker could finish what they started, the Undying dealt with them and spirited me away.”

Pieces click into place as the events of that night rearrange themselves in Clive’s mind. The gunshot, Joshua’s scream, the loud thunk and the second shot ringing out…all of it with a new meaning.

Joshua’s forlorn expression is achingly beautiful in the low light.

“They wanted to save you too…but there simply weren’t enough of them to overpower the group that took you. I’m sorry.”

“No…no, don’t be,” Clive grasps onto Joshua’s shoulder. “We’re both alive. That’s all that matters. I just don’t understand…why were the Undying there in the first place?”

“It’s…a strange story,” Joshua suddenly appears sheepish . “They seem to believe I’m a…reincarnation of a god their order worshipped in a distant past. They have their strange ways, but they do follow my orders for the most part. When I learned that there might be the slightest chance that you were alive, I poured our meagre resources into finding you, but it took years until we started hearing whispers of a mercenary asking about the Undying and Rosfields. I couldn’t tell if it was you or the killer who was still looking to complete his mission, so we couldn’t reveal ourselves before finding out more about you.”

Clive blinks, his world shifting around itself so quickly it’s almost enough to give him vertigo. All this time, they have both been going in circles, trying to find each other while simultaneously trying not to be found.

His thoughts are interrupted as Joshua clasps his hands.

“Brother…let’s leave all of this behind.”

“Joshua?” Clive frowns, uncomprehending.

“During the time we’ve been apart, I’ve unfortunately ended up poking enough hornet’s nests that I’ve been thinking it might be better for me to disappear. To become someone else, somewhere far away… But I couldn’t do it, not while there was even the slightest chance that you might be out there, and that I might be able to find you. Now I have no reason to stay in this wretched city any longer.”

Joshua grips Clive’s hands tighter, his eyes gleaming in the fluorescent glow of the lone lamp.

“Will you do it, Clive? Will you run away with me, just me?”

“Yes…yes, of course,” Clive nods without hesitation, breathless at the possibility, “but how will we–”

“Trust me, brother.”

Joshua fishes a small radio communicator from his breast pocket, bringing it to his mouth.

“Jote. Do you hear me?”

The communicator crackles to life.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

So the woman lives, Clive thinks. Joshua meets his eyes in a triumphant grin as he speaks into the phone:

“Operation Flames of Rebirth is on.”