Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun was rising now.

Despite following behind uncountable tanks, despite the sky above him blotting out with the silhouettes of his helicopter fleet, there was only one thing on the bright horizon Leon Bronev could focus on.

The Infinite Vault of Akbadain. The last of the three legacies. The final puzzle piece that would lead him to what he'd so desperately been chasing for the past sixty years.

From the back seat of his rumbling car, all he could see of that glorious structure was a long wall, wavering in the heat. But after peering at those diagrams Bloom had managed to lift, at least temporarily, from the Reunion Inn, Leon knew that this was the mere tip of the iceberg.

God...ice. How he missed the coolness of it after spending so long in this wretched desert.

Forget that blasted town. Forget its sand-filled streets, forget that obtrusive Masked Gentleman, forget that...extremely lucky professor. All that mattered now was this towering marvel of technology. Once they secured the Vault, all this sweltering toil would be at an end.

But alas. There was one last annoyance to take care of.

As they drew closer to the Vault, two figures came into view atop it. Leon was expecting them, of course--why else would he have brought an army?--but he was still not prepared to see a familiar form.

He knew Descole, for that man had already been a thorn in his side for many years. That was not what shocked him.

No, what shocked him, so much as to even blink twice, was the shorter figure beside him. The unmistakable stature of his old mentor.

Crane.

Though Leon supposed he'd be going by a different name now. How peculiar.

They maneuvered around a row of tanks and footmen standing guard. By now, their ruckus had been noticed--Descole and Crane had turned to face them, though without the slightest indication that they were going to leave.

That was fine. Whatever resistance they would give would be entertaining, to say the least.

"Want me to assist, sir?" Swift asked, bringing the car to a halt.

"No," Leon said. "This will not take long."

He ducked out of the car, sinking slightly in the sand as he emerged. God, he was so ready to never see this desert again.

"Trespassers. This site is now controlled by Targent." He straightened, tucking his hands into his pockets. "And we can't have you two blabbing about what you've seen."

Descole and Crane stayed rooted in their spots. They appeared to mutter to each other for a moment before Descole finally stepped forward.

"You are not recognised as any type of authority," he called back. His body tensed as he spoke words swallowed up by the wind. And then, louder, "I will not let you steal that which I have earned!"

With a growl, the man jumped from the Vault, landing deftly in a roll. 

Did he really intend to take down Leon's forces alone? This would be a special form of entertainment, in that case.

Leon nodded to the soldiers in front of him. Without hesitation, they began firing their guns at Descole.

Perhaps now he would recognise their authority.

Bracing his arms behind his back, Leon tracked the man's movement as he dodged every bullet, flitting between their paths like a moth. He was impressively quick, Leon had to admit; one moment, he was shedding his cape, and the next, he was using Warbler's face as a springboard.

In the blink of an eye, Descole was right in front of him. And he was winding up for a punch.

Descole was quick. But Leon was quicker.

He juked out of the punch's rather predictable trajectory and, with calculated precision, brought his knee up right between Descole's ribs.

Like a piece of cardboard, the man folded in half; now, where was that steely resolve from earlier? Leon caught him by the ruff of his boa--such a ridiculous thing to be wearing, anyway--and hurled him to the ground, where Parakeet and Shrike were ready to detain him.

Leon tossed the boa aside. "Descole...oh, Descole..." How long had he been contending with this masked menace? It was time to put this nonsense to an end.

"You cannot do this," Descole snarled, squirming under the weight of the two agents. "You have no right!"

"Au contraire, my boy. Actually, I have every right." It was pathetic, really, how this man seemed to simply not know when to give up. Even now, one man against a thousand, he was still fighting.

It reminded Leon of someone. Someone whom he knew very well.

He knelt down beside him. Time to put these familiar clues to the test. "Now, let's just have a look..."

Delicately, he began to lift Descole's mask.

And then there was smoke.

Of course. They'd taken their eyes off of Crane. These new agents knew nothing of what that man was capable of, even all these years later. He may have looked old and frail to anyone none the wiser, but Leon saw it in the way he carried himself. The meekness was a farce. That was still the same man who headed Targent's military when it was half the size but twice as fatal.

And just like the day the Vulture died, Crane disappeared into thin air.

And he'd taken Descole with him.

Leon stared down at his hand, where only the mask remained. It was no matter. He'd seen all he'd needed to see.

Before the smoke consumed his vision and his lungs, he caught a glimpse of Descole's eyes. Deep mahogany, the colour of the wooden furniture in his study. Full of fire. Full of fear.

Nearly identical to his own.

That was his son. That was Hershel Bronev.

Leon sighed. Well, this was disappointing. Here he was, thinking this nuisance might have actually been a foe worth fighting, but...no. It was nothing more than another one of his failed projects.

His soldiers were still gawking at where Descole had once been. He lowered the mask. "He's of no concern. Forget him." There were much more pressing matters to attend to, now. "Secure the last of the Azran ruins."

Years of work...well worth it. Well worth it.

As his agents wasted no time in covering the perimeter of the structure, Leon allowed himself a moment to realise just how close they were to finishing the job.

Misthallery's Garden of Healing. Ambrosia, the City of Harmony. And now...the Infinite Vault of Akbadain.

They finally had all three of the great legacies.

And it was only a matter of time before the power of the Azran civilisation would be theirs.

"Are you watching, Rachel?" he said quietly. The wind kicked up, swirls of sand dancing before him as if in response. He chuckled.

 "Soon, our dream will be fulfilled."