Before begining, there are a few things I would like to say in regards to this story I've taken to writing. First, I'd like to apologize for the incredible length of this first chapter. I hope you all bear with me through it, and rest assured that future entries will not be as long. Second, I welcome, and hope for, all critiques and thoughts you might have on this story and how it might be bettered. I have more than a few reservations about my writing style, and wish to improve. Third, it should be noticed that I am taking certain creative liberties within the canon of Dissidia in hopes of creating deeper character and plot arcs. Though the general setting, plot, and characters will be recognized, there will be alterations which, I hope, will be for the better.
Thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy.
~
Chapter 1: Seeds of Chaos
As the last of her power ebbed from her body, her final thoughts of her brave warrior standing alone in a battle they both knew he could not win, she gave a heavy sigh of remorse, and died.
~
…What?
What has…
She is dead?
But, he did not kill her.
Then how did she die?
…Oh.
Oh, my.
I see now…
That changes… everything.
~
He had debriefed the generals and authorities as quickly as he could. The mission had been a success. All the enemy were dead. The city, as they knew it, no longer existed. The curt answers were double-fold in purpose. First, it made sure he had to spend as little time as possible before his captors. Second, if he started talking more, he could not contain his rage and would likely begin to unleash a verbal fury that would hint at only a fraction of the horrible things he wanted to do to them.
But then he would be punished. Or worse, they would punish her. And he would not allow that.
Thankfully, the generals were content, and sent him away. Without wasting a moment, he stormed from the room and descended through the halls and corridors of the military complex. The thoughts he entertained of slaughtering every living thing that he passed only increased his frustration as he reflected on the impossibility of them actually occurring.
He was, he realized, very tired.
His clawed feet clicked and clanged on the steel flooring, the narrow halls claustrophobically hampering a creature of his size. A pair of scientists, passing by in the opposite direction, gave only a brief pause at the monsterous being before them before resuming their conversation, brushing by him without a thought. He scowled as their talking faded down the corridor. The pasty, underweight fools! Didn’t they know that he had the power to kill every living thing in a fifty mile radius in under an hour? Didn’t they know that such a feat had been accomplished earlier this day, wiping an entire city and its inhabitants off the map? Didn’t they know that he was the single greatest war machine ever to walk the face of the earth?
He continued his walk deeper into the depths of the building, where the lights flickered and the temperature dropped substantially. Oh, yes. They knew. Their job was to know. They had studied him, bred him, used him for just that purpose. They had caged him and harnessed him so that his catastrophic power might be controlled.
They knew, he thought as he approached his destination: a door, metal and bland, identical to all the other doors in this unfeeling building, and yet the only one that mattered to him. They knew what it would take to control something like him. Sighing, he opened the door and saw her: the simultaneous cause of his entrapment, and of the greatest joy of his life.
She calmed him, as she always did. Her bright blue eyes radiating assurance, her warm smile lifting his spirits, her golden hair making up for the sunlight he could no longer bear to look at. Marvelling at the sight of her, he became increasingly aware of his own ugliness. The scars of battle present all across his body, blood still red on his claws from his previous mission. Why, he had not even wiped his feet before coming in! Ludicrous as such a thought would have been at any other moment in his day, the prospect of possibly trailing mud inside this hated building was suddenly among the worst sins he could fathom, and it increased his shame even more.
It was all he could do to avoid bursting into tears.
With all the awkwardness of a child being lectured, he could only stare down at his feet, not daring to look up at her. Something as divine, something as inherently good and pure as her should not be subjected to the presence of a monster. Of a mere weapon. If she was as beautiful as the fabric of the world would permit, surely, he knew, he was the ugliest.
Now, more than ever, he hated himself.
No, he hated everything.
He hated the military who used him as a tool, the pasty, fat, greedy pigs who abused him, who would squeal for mercy if he tore out their throats. He hated the scientists who examined him and what he could do, reducing him to numbers and states, with no care for his mind. He hated the people he had just killed for existing as enemies and necessitating his use as a weapon, paradoxically wishing for more of their kind, so that he could kill them all. He hated the people who were at peace, for they knew the one thing he craved and could not have, and they would never know his horror. He hated the cold building, the cramped walls, the feel of steel flooring on his feet!
Fists clenched, his claws cutting into his own palms, tears of frustration began to form in his eyes. Every second, every sensation, every thought that passed through his head only added to his hatred of everything around him. There was nothing in his existence that would good, every waking moment dedicated to the dragging out of his tortuous being.
He even hated…
A cool hand touched his cheek, as effective as a flood of water dousing a forest of flame. Catching himself on his last thought, he now cried openly, so deep was his shame. Gently, she lifted his head up, forcing him to look into her eyes, and in them he saw the only thing on the earth that cared for him, and the only thing he cared for in return.
She smiled tenderly, and wiped a tear from his eye, causing him to smile as well.
No, he could never hate…
And then he awoke.
Gone were the images of the cell and the woman in it, mere figments of his mind. The sterile smell of steel gave way to the dusty smell of ash and fire. Blinking as the last lingering images of her face disappeared from his eyes, reality began to sink in. He sat upon his throne, grand and imposing, with the nightmarish images of skulls and other creatures of darkness imbedded upon it. The throne was atop a mighty tower, and the mighty tower part of a grand fortress. Greater than any monument ever constructed by mortal man, the fortress was gargantuan in size, spreading out for miles, every inch of it strong and foreboding. Defying any linear sense of style and design, it looked as though some godly craftsman had taken parts of dozens of other constructions and stuck them all into one: In some places it was built of mere stone and mortar, in other places of metal sheets and glass, and a myriad of towers reached to the heavens, each one as different from the others as could be. And all around him, a barren wasteland of death and decay: the land burnt and broken, scorched and torn, as if earthquakes and volcanoes competed to see which could do the most harm to it. As it would seem, the volcanoes might have won, for the sky was blackened with ash and cloud, denying the sun any access, but instead providing light via the flames which fell perpetually from the heavens.
The heat, the smell, the light; The hell that he found himself in assaulted all his senses at once, and his mind was unable to recollect the feelings and emotions that had mere seconds ago seemed so real and so near. Inhaling dust and ash with every breath, a sort of anxiousness came upon him. Rising from his chair, he looked around, if there was anyone else present who might have given an answer. Finding none, he had a thought to search his fortress, but then, suddenly unsure of himself, sat back down in his throne.
What did it all mean?
Instinctively he had assumed the dream to have been shadows of his own past, but upon further reflection, he could not remember a single time when this scene might have occurred. All his memories were of this place, this dying earth, and if he had ever been inside a complex such as the one he envisioned, he could not fathom where it might have been. He did not know of any military or scientists, and as for being forced to obey…
He was a god. God’s didn’t obey anyone but themselves.
But so was she…
The face that brought so much pleasure and joy to him in his sleep now brought him nothing but confusion and frustration. He could remember how pleasant was her smile, her touch, but the fact that he had been happy was precisely the problem: to find bliss in the arms of his mortal enemy? To love that which he had sworn to destroy? Always he could feel her presence in the world, working to undo all that he did, combatting him at every turn, refusing him peace. She was a thorn in his side, perpetually causing him pain, unhappiness, everything except the very love he dreamed of.
However, no sooner had he pondered this than he realized, with some surprise and alarm, that he could not feel her presence now.
So startled was he that he leapt out of his chair, as if this would make the fog of confusion more clear. She was not there? His mind and senses could not seem to feel it. But then… she was dead? This seemed scarcely less absurd than his dream! He had not struck her down, but then, how could she possibly be gone?
What did it all mean?
The mental strain sapping the energy from his body, he sank back into his throne. He was tired, perhaps more tired than he had ever been. Worse, if she was gone, then surely the dragon would be here soon, and then his exhaustion would continue, as it always had. How he longed for rest… but the dream plagued his mind, refusing him to return to the realm of sleep.
He wished she would die, and stay dead, so that he might know peace.
He wished she would live, and provide him with the unknown sensation of being loved.
What did it all mean?
~
The Rift gaped vast and deep, hewn in between space and time at the very edge of the world. Here the rules physics and logic seemed almost arbitrary. The land was perfectly level in all directions, though one could scarcely call it land to begin with: the ground one could walk on seemed to be made of air, or at the very least a liquid, and great stones and crystals, doubtlessly heavy beyond belief, floated in the air as if feathers. All around the air floated fluorescent specks of debris, though debris of what, exactly, was anyone’s guess. The sky, if it could be called that, was black, yet seemed to glow with its own kind of eerie luminescence that defied all other rules of how light ought to work. A mysterious place, a dangerous place, it was difficult to get to, and far sager to stay away from.
Yet it was here that one figure, walking with a strange stagger, back slightly hunched, and garbed in harlequin clothing, was in a great hurry to be.
“Where exactly are you going?” he said aloud in a mockingly deep voice. “None of your business,” he muttered in reply, this time without mockery, but with sincere bitterness. “Mr. High and Mighty, thinks that because he’s best-friends-forever with a god means that he runs the show.” He bumped slightly into a floating crystal, and, upon regaining his balance, pointing a menacing finger at the offending object. “What a STUPID place for a rock!” he shrieked, and a ball of fire burst from the extended forefinger, striking the stone and demolishing it in a flash.
He tested the remaining gravel with his toe as if to make sure it was dead. “Oh, ho, ho. Not so tough when you’re in a million pieces, are you?” he chuckled, resuming his odd, shuffling gait. “No, you’re not so tough at all. None of you are that tough… you can be destroyed…” This last note was repeated over and over under his breath, as if trying to remind himself of the fact for a later date.
He paused to look about him, hand placed over his eyes to shield them from a sun that wasn’t present. “Now, where could they be?” They had to be here, he was sure of it! “Come on, come on,” he mumbled crossly, “you didn’t just get up and walk away…”
The ground, such as it was, rumbled slightly.
“Oh, shut up!” he replied, and stomped hard on the ground as if he were in an apartment, and the neighbours downstairs were making too much noise. “Nobody asked you! Rotten, dirty, evil… A-HA! There you are!”
Spotting that which he was looking for, he hurried jauntily forward. Another rumble occurred, this time strong enough to cause a slight tremor in the fabric of the universe. “What did I just say?!” he snarled, before turning his attention to his findings. “Ah, yes, lovely, lovely.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Now, who wants to come home with me?” Eagerly did he sort, critically murmuring to himself all the while. “This one’s broken, no. This one’s no good. Ugh! Goodness, no, not you! Wouldn’t be caught dead with you in public. Oh HO!” he exclaimed suddenly, a wide smile creasing his face. “Perfect, that’s what you are! I should know! I’ve been perfect for a while, and this is definitely what it looks like. Ha!”
Yet another rumble shook the ground, stronger than ever before, and this time accompanied by a distant but terrifying roar of some great beast. “Oh, that’s just like him,” he spat, taking the desired object under one arm, as well as hastily choosing another to sling over his shoulder. “He doesn’t like it when someone pinches his snacks, does he?” Having got what he came for, he sped away, eager to put as much distance between himself and the rift as possible, the increasing sounds of the roars hastening him further. “Think you’re tough, do you?” He dared not turn his head as he ran, but his thoughts turned sour. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we? We’ll see how YOU like being the one scrounging for scraps! Ha! With another pair to add to my collection, and my plans just about ripe… I’ll practically OWN you! Hee hee hee!” With a whirl of his finger, a dark portal appeared before him. Cackling as he went, he disappeared through the portal, his laughs vanishing as soon as the portal closed.
No sooner had he left then the dragon burst through the Rift.
~
“Kain is dead.”
He waited for a sign: a slight pause in the reply, a shift in posture, a deep breath. Anything to indicate that the man standing before him was upset by this news.
“And?”
Nothing. A response as cold and emotionless as the iron armor it came from.
“His body is broken beyond repair,” he continued, reveling in the thought of causing the other some discomfort in the details. “I suspect he was hewn at least fifty times.” Then, by way of finality, “He shan’t be coming back this time.”
“It does not seem likely. Being struck down fifty times is fairly damning.”
Anticipation of taking pleasure in another’s disappointment boomeranged upon him, with his rival’s nerves completely unshaken and he himself someone irritated by the lack of expected response. From atop the plateau, the two metal-clad knights stood stoically in the night. Clouds blocked the moon, yet light there was enough to see the desolated forest immediately below them, and beyond it a destroyed and still burning town. What the town’s name was, he could not remember: so many had been destroyed in his memory that they all seemed to blur together. Nor, he thought, did its name particularly matter: the name of a town was a paltry thing, derived to give the inhabitants a sense of identity, to make them feel like they were not just poor lost sheep in the wilderness.
And if all the inhabitants were dead, which he knew they were, then there was no one to give identity to.
His disappointment being lessened by these thoughts, he laughed: an ugly, mocking, mirthless laugh. “You would deny that you were not fond of the man?”
“I do not.” Hands clasped behind his back, the cape fluttering in the gentle breeze was the only sign of disquiet about the black knight. “Kain was a resourceful and clever person, brave in battle and more than capable mentally. I imagine anyone would have thought him a worthy lieutenant.”
Feeling that he at last was on the verge of the evidence he was looking for, he pressed further. “You dare associate yourself with one of the enemy?”
Once more, there was not a change of tone, nor a sign of being flustered by this accusation. “I had hoped that he might be convinced to join our cause. As I have said, Kain was ambitious, and I thought he would be fond of the power we could offer him.”
“Ah, so that is the reason for your constant lending of aid to him? Your meddling in battles? The stream of advice that you so readily poured into the ears of an enemy soldier?” Though the blue tinted helmet could not convey a smile, he could not hide the satisfaction in his voice as he laid his adversary’s secrets bare.
“It is.”
The answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact, so without any attempts at vindication or justification that is was now he who had cause to be flustered. “Well, your little pet project has failed,” he said, spitefully.
“Clearly.” A pause, then, “And since my would-be lieutenant is dead, I imagine any advice I might have given is dead along with him.”
Further conversation was interrupted as the ground began to rumble and shake around them, mild at first, but soon growing in strength to where it seemed the plateau they stood upon was about to collapse. In the air, the clouds grew a dark, fiery red, as sparks of lightning exploded sporadically in the heavens. A gale of wind grew stronger as the clouds began to part around a solitary spot, and from the hole burst a dazzling, radiant light.
As before, the imagery of an oncoming apocalypse was indeed pleasing, and lifted his spirits enough to grant another ugly, heartless laugh. “And, what about the other one?”
A two second pause, as deep as the Void and louder than the world falling apart around them. “If you think me treacherous, then you’d best kill me now.”
Avoiding the question. Clearly shaken by the thought. Oh yes, he now knew that the black knight was still a liability. How he longed to end the traitor, here and now! Yet, though this evidence was more than enough for him, it would be difficult to justify the act to the others, especially given that he would be cutting their own limited numbers down prior to opening shots being fired in the battle yet to come. Reluctantly, he held his sword at bay, but his laugh, while still mocking, now had more personal mirth in it. “Ha, ha! I think we both know that killing you wouldn’t do much good, would it?” Laughing harder as the world around them shook and burned, he turned and walked away, already planning how to go about keeping an eye on the suspect.
Alone at last, the knight stood solidly amidst the chaos, watching the horizon like a sentinel standing guard. From the blazing hole in the clouds emerged an awesome sight: a massive, serpentine creature, its body made of flame, glided effortlessly into the world, the smoothness of its movements at odds with the violent turmoil its presence was causing. Roaring mightily, the creature hovered above the mauled village, and as if in response, a change began to occur. From the desolation rose a plethora of glowing specks, floating up into the sky, where the dragon eagerly consumed them. As he feasted, the broken buildings and houses below him began to shudder and groan, but rather than further fall apart, they began to rebuild themselves, as if their destruction was being played out in reverse. The forest too experienced the same thing, with uprooted trees managing to re-plant themselves, burnt grass once again becoming green. For all the appearance of the end of the world, it seemed that the world was being reborn.
Once the last of the glowing morsels had been consumed, the dragon roared again, and flew off to find other such scenes of wreckage in this war-torn world. Slowly, the tremors began to ebb and finally subside, the clouds returning to their normal nighttime blue. The knight looked down at the repaired valley, the lush forest, the fledging village. In one of the distant houses, previously dark and lifeless, a soft glow suddenly appeared in the window, and an innocent cloud of smoke came from the chimney.
“Oh, yes,” he said aloud, allowing himself a weary sigh, “I know that killing me would not do any good at all.”
~
“Oh, my head…” Groaning as a legion of phantom behemoths played blitzball with his brain, he hoped what felt like the world’s greatest hangover was limited only to a colossal headache, and wouldn’t branch out into nausea territory. Not helping either case was the vague sensation that the world around him was shifting, but this soon passed. Not so the headache, which persisted with gusto. “Man, whatever I was drinking, I hope it was good,” he grumbled. “I’d hate to feel this lousy off of the cheap stuff…”
Whatever bender he might have been on took its toll greater than he immediately thought: he tried to recall where exactly he received this self-inflicted wound, only to find he couldn’t remember a thing. The harder he tried to think, the more blurry everything became. “That’s it, nothing but tonic water from now on. I swear,” he pledged, hoping that whatever gods were listening would take pity on him, and would remove this throbbing pain, deciding he had done penance enough already.
Needless to say, this divine act was not forthcoming. “Hmph. Yevon be praised, huh?” he grumbled. “Can’t even magic away a dumb headache…”
Wanting nothing but a drink of water, he staggered to his feet (no easy task), leaning on an ornate marble pillar for support… and realized that ornate marble pillars were not usually found in bars, back alleys, or any of the places he assumed his pain had come from. Nor did he expect a red carpet, shining floors, or grand paintings to be hanging on the wall. In fact, being in a throne room was precisely the last place he expected to be in his lifetime, never mind the place he expected to wake up in with a splitting headache. But here he was, and here it was, in all its regality, expense, and splendor, fit for a king.
Speaking of thrones, it suddenly occurred to him that just such a thing was placed at the head of the room, wrought from gold, crafted by a true artisan, with jeweled studs and artistic engravings, cushioned in red velvet. Yet more interesting was the man sitting in said throne: a pale, slender man, who sat comfortably with one leg crossed over the other. Garbed in golden clothe and cape, his throne was flanked by two objects: the first being a suit of golden armor, which, while obviously functional, was placed in reverence on a stand, as if it were a headless knight standing at its king’s side; second, a long staff, which leaned on the throne, ever at the ready. His bearing was stately, with his head tilted slightly back, his lips curled into a bemused grin, and he gave the overall impression of a man patiently waiting for something he not only expected, but knew for certain was going to occur. “Pleasant dreams?”
Rubbing his unbrushed hair, realizing that he didn’t even have a shirt, and completely lost as to what he was doing in a place of splendor like this, he replied, “I’ve had better. Dreamt I got eaten by some great big snake thing. Heh, probably sounds stupid to you.”
He expected to be mocked. That’s what always thought high-society people did. But the pale man did no such thing: the air of expectance and unlimited patience held firm. “Stranger things happen in the realm of dreams. For my part, I’m merely glad to find you awake. I didn’t think I got to you in time.”
This hint of mystery was obviously intended to lead him on, but there was something far more pressing which required asking first. “Yeah, thanks a bunch, you’re a big help, and by the way, who the hell are you and where am I?” His headache was ebbing away now, his senses having returned enough to fully recognize that he was in the house of a stranger with no idea how he got there, and he didn’t like the look of things at all.
At this, the pale man gave some signs of surprise. “Oh, my,” he said softly, brows furrowed in concern, “it’s worse than I thought.” Then, leaning forward, he asked, “Can you remember anything of, say, the last few days or so?”
“Not a thing,” he replied, trying again briefly only to find that he could hardly even remember where he was from, what his favorite food is, and it took more than a great deal of effort to recall his own name. “Unless you feel like enlightening me?”
Instead of doing this, the man leaned back in his throne, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I feared this. Though I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a great surprise. The blow to your head in the last battle would have killed any lesser man.”
There it was again, hints to something lost in the haze of confusion. “What d’you mean? What battle?” He was at war? Geez, he had been in some rough tavern fights before, but nothing he would declare war over…
“In your last encounter with the enemy, you were overwhelmed and beaten within an inch of your life. You’d likely have perished, had I not found you. Oh, don’t worry,” he said, noticing the surprised look on the guest’s face, “you were outnumbered greatly, and you did far more to them than they did to you.”
That last note wasn’t what he was worried about (though it did make the whole idea of being beaten up easier to swallow), but the more he thought about it, the more things seemed to click. Bit by bit, it was as if the curtains of forgetfulness were being drawn away with every word the gold-clad man said. There had been a battle, and there had been an enemy. The exact details were fuzzy, but the harder the thought, the more it all came back to him. He had been in a fight, and a grueling one at that. He had given it his all, and if that were the case, the cause must have been one he believed in, because he wouldn’t have fought that hard for nothing.
Looking up at his benefactor, he still didn’t have the foggiest idea of who he was or what his game might be, but still, anyone who had half a mind to pull his tail out of a trap must be a friend. “Well, thanks, I guess. I suppose I owe you one, huh?”
A wry grin made it very clear that the man on the throne was more than aware of that.
Irritated in spite of himself, the would-be drunk gave a curt nod. “Well, all right. One good turn, and all that. But let’s make one thing clear: there’s only one guy who I answer to.”
The hand lying atop the armrest of the throne tensed up ever so slightly. “And who might that be?”
Out of the haze, as clear as if it had never been forgotten, more important than any other aspect of his past, the answer appeared instantly. “The God of Dischord.”
The hand relaxed. The aristocratic lips curled into their previous knowing smile. “Very good,” he said. “Very good.”
~
In the crimson sky above, the fiery dragon flew in graceful circles, heedless of the trembling earth caused by its mere presence. Below, another settlement, this one being a town built around a castle, sent its offerings to the ethereal diety. In the streets, in houses, in the castle itself, the forms of people could be seen hovering above the ground, appearing to be gripped in a deep sleep, unaware of anything going on about them. A miasmic red aura surrounded them, from which glowing sparks flew towards space, where they were consumed wholly by the dragon. While this was going on, bread baked the day before found itself unmade, grass which had been cut found itself grown to full length, and house which had the misfortune of burning down stood once more with nary a scorch mark.
Any joy that might be found in this newfound lease on life was lost on it.
It stood (or rather, floated) atop a small hillock, just outside the castle-town, unflinching amidst the cataclysm around it. From this vantage point, it could see the rise of the phosphorous-like fragments, a few of the hovering, glowing mortals, and above all, the great creature responsible for it all, flying in elaborate loops as it tried greedily to snag every last morsel. It had not expected the dragon quite so soon: it had hoped to find one or two of the enemy still in a state of disadvantage before being given another chance at life. Thus its presence this close to the disgusting buildings and walls of these mere ants, fortifying their hill so that it might be harder to crush.
It curled its lips into a frown of disgust: it hated being here, even on the outskirts. To see the signs of these… creatures scrabbling to stay atop the pile of drooling, festering vermin that made up every other living thing on the planet. Trying to find some kind of meaning that might vindicate their existence, justify their place, forget the arbitrary nature of their very being. Yet, for all their attempts at grandeur, like all ant hills, they could be crushed, indeed, had been crushed, and left to wither and die.
And here, before its eyes, the hill was rebuilt, the crushing undone.
Who was weaker: the ants who were easily stamped out, or the one who stomped upon them, only to fail every single time at extinguishing their lives?
Watching the rebuilding of a town, rendering anything that had occurred within meaningless, it felt, in spite of its hatred of weakness, unsure. Granted, at first, it had taken something resembling pleasure out of the slaughter of thousands of these impotent worms. So had been the case many times since. Yet here, watching once more that its labors bore nonexistent fruits, its own hands felt as powerless as the dead. There was no finality, no consequence, and although it had long since reconciled the meaningless of life, being forced to live through just that was maddening.
For the first time in its existence, it felt very, very tired.
After a time, the glowing sparks ceased their tribute to the skies, the bodies lost their glow and descended to the earth, once more in a genuine, natural state of rest. Having eaten its fill, the dragon departed, and the night sky was once again still in these parts. A few of the clouds in the sky even saw fit to part slightly, allowing the starts to shine through.
“Not even the unexpected presence of the heavens could bring beauty to such a backwards, barbarous settlement.” From behind, the voice rang clear, words enunciated precisely, delivered with flourish worthy of the stage.
It turned its head to see the newfound companion. “You expected more from these parasites?”
Bearing a winning smile, the man flipped back his long, silvery hair and strode elegantly forward to its side. “On the contrary, I always expect less from the uneducated masses.” Taking a critical glance at the state of the castle, devoid of any sign of artistic trappings or any other signs of culture, he nodded condescendingly. “And as such, I’ve yet to be disappointed.”
Taking advantage of the brief moment of silence that followed, it took the opportunity to examine the man further. His body language indicated he was completely at ease in its presence, and he was busy staring at the village in distaste. He was, it would appear, completely normal.
“Why, I would be surprised if they even knew what side of the plate the forks go on. Hah, no, I do take that back. They don’t use utensils: they eat with their hands,” he declared, choosing to break the silence, and in doing so, further indicating that he was his old self.
It decided to test further. “And should you be forced here to do battle with the enemy…?”
“Why, I would relish the thought,” he said, waving his hand in the air theatrically. “To be given the chance to be rid of the minions of Harmony, with the only collateral damage being the loss of a city of uncultured buffoons would be, I think, the kindest cut of all.” Neither trepidation about being forced to fight, nor hesitation about committing itself against an enemy shone through.
It relaxed, and permitted itself the slightest of smiles.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, pivoting on his heel and sauntering back down the hill. “The mere sight of this place is threatening to kill my brain cells. I’m certain there must be some kind of sanctuary on this god-forsaken planet capable of providing me with mental stimulation. Ta-ta.” Then, with a sudden leap, he flew off, gliding through the night sky with less effort than a bird.
It turned its attention back to the town, the loathsome image at least providing something to occupy the eyes. In spite of the haughty demeanour of its comrade, it didn’t feel any hostility or animosity towards him.
After all, he hadn’t been talking so much when it brought him here as a corpse, right before the dragon came.
~
A faint, distant sound of a beast, a vague sensation of a small earthquake, were enough to penetrate the deep, dark sleep and bring him back to the world of the living. No sooner had he awoken then he placed his hand over his heart. Finding that there was no stab wound, no sign of impalement, no sign of any injury whatsoever, his hand fell to his side.
It was as he thought.
He rose, expecting at the very least his body to be sore, but found instead that he was as well rested as he had ever been. As his senses slowly overcame the grogginess of slumber, he realized that this was not where he had fallen. Far from being the underground cavern where he had intentionally laid himself to rest, he now found himself inside a tower of some kind: the wide cylinder walls shot up for at least four stories, the ceiling practically a small dot from his vantage point, and a spiral staircase, fixed to the side of the wall, whirled upwards to the top like a corkscrew. The walls were crafted and designed with artistic care, giving the place a regal look, though they were penetrated in places by gears and cogs, turning through some unseen clockwork design. The stairwell was protected by a mahogany guardrail, and all through the rising tower were portraits and paintings. All around, there were sounds of ticking clocks, whirring machines, and other mechanical noises that seemed at odds with the gothic structure.
“Ah, you rise at last.”
Still somewhat dizzy from his sleep, it took a few moments to recognize the voice, not to mention the figure it belonged to. Striding gracefully down the winding staircase was a tall, majestic woman in a red dress, the elegance of which was offset slightly by her lack of shoes. From her back sprouted a pair of ebony wings, and her silver hair was styled into two horns jutting out to the sides. Looking down upon him, she smiled. “For a moment, I’d thought we’d lost you.”
The extravagance of her appearance and the gaudiness surroundings made him proud of his own modest, functional attire. Ignoring her, he wiped the dust from his black coat, heedless of the fine carpet he was dispensing the dirt on.
“Regardless, I’m pleased to have my loyal solider back again.”
He froze instantly, the shock of the woman’s words driving all other thoughts from his head. What did she just say?
“You’ve suffered some head trauma, of course,” she continued, descending the staircase further, her own movements and speech not missing a beat. “You shall feel a tad confused for a while, I imagine. But fear not: you shall be well enough to return to my services in no time.”
There was not a thing that came out of her mouth that did not make him want to kill her unmercifully, but the perplexing nature of this gall was altogether maddening. What was she…
A smirk on his face and a wry raise of the eyebrow signalled realization. Of course: so that was her game.
“Now come,” she said, now at the foot of the stairs, her arm held out in greeting to the risen warrior. “We have much to…”
“Save it.” There were no words to describe how much pleasure he took at the utterly aghast look of shock on her face to this reaction. “I remember everything.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, clearly trying to find a way to continue her charade, only to sullenly cross her arms, glaring at the smug, silver haired man before her. “How?”
“Never mind.” He had his own theories on the subject, stemming from the scar which ought to have been over his heart, but the fact remained that he could remember everything... no, more than everything. “Suffice to say, Shinryu doesn’t have my memory to feast on.” Then, with a grin, “Nice try, though.”
She sniffed in disdain, her would-be pleasant attitude replaced by passive aggressiveness. “You ought to run yourself through more often,” she said, coldly. “The least you could do is thank me for dragging you ought of that miserable hole and bringing you to a place of class.”
“And how can I ever repay you?” he taunted. “By being your ‘trusted soldier?’”
She returned the joyless smile. “Strange, I thought a ‘hero’ of your calibre was used to being a lapdog to others.”
The taunting smirk died, though her quip reminded him of something rather serious. His eyes darted to the around him, searching calmly. Where could it be? “Does that ever work?”
“You’d be surprised.” The sight of her would-be slave searching ineffectually for the lost item helped recover her spirits. “What line did they use to recruit you, back in the day?”
“Quiet.” Where the devil was it? Surely it couldn’t have been left behind. It was sticking out his chest!
“Looking for this?” He whirled to look at her, leaning on the stairwell, toying with the handle of the missing seven foot long katana, which she now held in her gloved hands.
“Give it back.” The coy look on her face did nothing to improve his mood. “Don’t make me take it from you.”
“Oh?” Completely immune to the threat, she beckoned him forward with a finger. “By all means, do try.”
The ticking of clocks marked the time of the standoff to be a full thirty seconds before, grudgingly, he averted his eyes, glaring at the floor in disgust.
“Good boy.” Lifting the sword upright, she dropped all pretence of friendliness, using an imperious voice that expected to be obeyed. “Once all the others have been readied, there will be a debriefing in the Great Hall. Be there.” Waiting until he painfully forced himself to nod in acquiescence, she tossed the sword to him. Without so much as blinking at the razor sharp weapon falling towards him, he caught it by the handle effortlessly. She waited cautiously, lest he try to do anything foolish, but, like a puppy being trained, he settled for a hateful glare at her and strode out the door of the tower.
Pleased with having the last word, she glided back up her tower, not flinching at all as the deafening sound of bells suddenly sounded in the tower, marking the time to be ten minutes before six o’clock in the morning.
~
Completing a tour of the world in time only capable of a being of immense power, the dragon’s time on this plane of existence was nearing its end, loitering only to devour a few remaining morsels of memory before taking its leave. The rest of this planet’s inhabitants, mankind or otherwise, had already been subjected to this visit, and now, from a vantage point of the ancient walls of a crumbling fortress, the knight was the last to witness the phenomenon. Heedless of the crumbling masonry of his perch, knowing full well that even as it fell apart it was being in the process of being rebuilt, he always enjoyed this time. Though the sky was aflame, the ground threatening to rip itself to pieces, it was the one moment of his schedule where he felt the greatest calm. The toil and agony he experienced was over and done with, and further exertions were yet to be. In this one moment in time, hovering in the air from the diving board, but yet to hit the water, he felt at peace.
That, at least, was usually the case. This time, however, he was not permitted his traditional moment of silence.
You understand, then, what has happened?
The voice was booming, god-like, impossible to ignore, and yet, as always, limited to his ears alone. “Indeed.” He watched the fields before him replenish themselves, and thought, oddly, what a pleasant shade of green they were.
I thought you had things under control?
“I did,” he grumbled back, gauntlets tightening their grip on the sword he was leaning his weight against. “Everything was in place, and when I parted the scene, her warriors were to fall, and she would be prone once more for Chaos to kill her.” It wasn’t, he knew, his fault.
But her warriors didn’t fall. She saved them.
He wondered, for the first time, if the dragon ate the memories of dumb beasts as well, such as deer or squirrel, or just of people? Deceased animals were regenerated as well, but surely they never experienced anything worth…
She saved them!
The knight closed his eyes, trying to keep his patience. “You want me to be the caretaker of two gods, now? It is hard enough taking care of one.”
She is beyond our control now. That is what is so serious. She’s already acted out of line once. Who knows what else she might do? You must act quickly this time, lest she do anything else unexpected.
The final glowing drops of light found their way into the dragon’s mouth. Content that its work here was now done, it heaved its head back and roared, a shockwave of radiant energy bursting from its body and sweeping across the land as if to give it one final cleansing. The wall of light swept over the knight, and though a light headed sensation came over him at the contact, he found himself almost disappointed that it hadn’t incinerated him altogether. “You expect much of me. It is a hard thing, offering advice to a god that is unwilling to act on it.”
He listens to you. You can convince him.
“I wonder. If she has had an irreversible change of heart, who is to say he might not behave in such a fashion?”
Which is why you need to do your task well.
From where the dragon floated effortlessly, a blinding light flashed, illuminating the world in a burning white shine. Then, slowly, the light began to fade, from the edges of it radiance inwards to the source. For his part, the knight could barely see, regretting his decision to avert his eyes from the blast, and spent several seconds blinking out the multicolored haze. He had missed his one chance at peace, and a bitter fury overcame him. “Yes,” he spat, his helmet’s reverberations giving his voice a grander sense of forcefulness, “it would be too bad if I should choose not to, and you would have to live with your lifetime of poor decisions and failures.”
The light ebbed further and further, contracting upon itself until only a hint of it remained, and then it was gone. There was no sign of the dragon in the sky.
Do you want to be cast back into the Abyss?
Somewhere in the distance, a songbird of some variety began to chirp, its song offering the illusion of peace and harmony, unaware of the universe altering events that had already occurred, and were yet to be carried out. The chirps of the bird were lively enough to make up for the moment of silence he had missed, helping to lift his heavy heart and ease his weary bones. “No,” he finally conceded.
Then do not fail.
The voice vanished from his mind. The knight was alone at last.
Though the dragon had vanished, and the world rebuilt as though it had never been there at all, it seemed that there was at least one lasting legacy. No sooner had it departed back to whence it came than a fragment of its fiery light still hovered, just over the horizon, dim at first, but slowly growing until it began to flood over the ground. The sky’s black tone began to relent into lighter colors, and, encouraged by the sight, more birds began to take heart and sing. The blanket of light crept over the land, and soon the knight was bathed in the warmth of its gentle glow.
Before begining, there are a few things I would like to say in regards to this story I've taken to writing. First, I'd like to apologize for the incredible length of this first chapter. I hope you all bear with me through it, and rest assured that future entries will not be as long. Second, I welcome, and hope for, all critiques and thoughts you might have on this story and how it might be bettered. I have more than a few reservations about my writing style, and wish to improve. Third, it should be noticed that I am taking certain creative liberties within the canon of Dissidia in hopes of creating deeper character and plot arcs. Though the general setting, plot, and characters will be recognized, there will be alterations which, I hope, will be for the better.
Thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy.
~
Chapter 1: Seeds of Chaos
As the last of her power ebbed from her body, her final thoughts of her brave warrior standing alone in a battle they both knew he could not win, she gave a heavy sigh of remorse, and died.
~
…What?
What has…
She is dead?
But, he did not kill her.
Then how did she die?
…Oh.
Oh, my.
I see now…
That changes… everything.
~
He had debriefed the generals and authorities as quickly as he could. The mission had been a success. All the enemy were dead. The city, as they knew it, no longer existed. The curt answers were double-fold in purpose. First, it made sure he had to spend as little time as possible before his captors. Second, if he started talking more, he could not contain his rage and would likely begin to unleash a verbal fury that would hint at only a fraction of the horrible things he wanted to do to them.
But then he would be punished. Or worse, they would punish her. And he would not allow that.
Thankfully, the generals were content, and sent him away. Without wasting a moment, he stormed from the room and descended through the halls and corridors of the military complex. The thoughts he entertained of slaughtering every living thing that he passed only increased his frustration as he reflected on the impossibility of them actually occurring.
He was, he realized, very tired.
His clawed feet clicked and clanged on the steel flooring, the narrow halls claustrophobically hampering a creature of his size. A pair of scientists, passing by in the opposite direction, gave only a brief pause at the monsterous being before them before resuming their conversation, brushing by him without a thought. He scowled as their talking faded down the corridor. The pasty, underweight fools! Didn’t they know that he had the power to kill every living thing in a fifty mile radius in under an hour? Didn’t they know that such a feat had been accomplished earlier this day, wiping an entire city and its inhabitants off the map? Didn’t they know that he was the single greatest war machine ever to walk the face of the earth?
He continued his walk deeper into the depths of the building, where the lights flickered and the temperature dropped substantially. Oh, yes. They knew. Their job was to know. They had studied him, bred him, used him for just that purpose. They had caged him and harnessed him so that his catastrophic power might be controlled.
They knew, he thought as he approached his destination: a door, metal and bland, identical to all the other doors in this unfeeling building, and yet the only one that mattered to him. They knew what it would take to control something like him. Sighing, he opened the door and saw her: the simultaneous cause of his entrapment, and of the greatest joy of his life.
She calmed him, as she always did. Her bright blue eyes radiating assurance, her warm smile lifting his spirits, her golden hair making up for the sunlight he could no longer bear to look at. Marvelling at the sight of her, he became increasingly aware of his own ugliness. The scars of battle present all across his body, blood still red on his claws from his previous mission. Why, he had not even wiped his feet before coming in! Ludicrous as such a thought would have been at any other moment in his day, the prospect of possibly trailing mud inside this hated building was suddenly among the worst sins he could fathom, and it increased his shame even more.
It was all he could do to avoid bursting into tears.
With all the awkwardness of a child being lectured, he could only stare down at his feet, not daring to look up at her. Something as divine, something as inherently good and pure as her should not be subjected to the presence of a monster. Of a mere weapon. If she was as beautiful as the fabric of the world would permit, surely, he knew, he was the ugliest.
Now, more than ever, he hated himself.
No, he hated everything.
He hated the military who used him as a tool, the pasty, fat, greedy pigs who abused him, who would squeal for mercy if he tore out their throats. He hated the scientists who examined him and what he could do, reducing him to numbers and states, with no care for his mind. He hated the people he had just killed for existing as enemies and necessitating his use as a weapon, paradoxically wishing for more of their kind, so that he could kill them all. He hated the people who were at peace, for they knew the one thing he craved and could not have, and they would never know his horror. He hated the cold building, the cramped walls, the feel of steel flooring on his feet!
Fists clenched, his claws cutting into his own palms, tears of frustration began to form in his eyes. Every second, every sensation, every thought that passed through his head only added to his hatred of everything around him. There was nothing in his existence that would good, every waking moment dedicated to the dragging out of his tortuous being.
He even hated…
A cool hand touched his cheek, as effective as a flood of water dousing a forest of flame. Catching himself on his last thought, he now cried openly, so deep was his shame. Gently, she lifted his head up, forcing him to look into her eyes, and in them he saw the only thing on the earth that cared for him, and the only thing he cared for in return.
She smiled tenderly, and wiped a tear from his eye, causing him to smile as well.
No, he could never hate…
And then he awoke.
Gone were the images of the cell and the woman in it, mere figments of his mind. The sterile smell of steel gave way to the dusty smell of ash and fire. Blinking as the last lingering images of her face disappeared from his eyes, reality began to sink in. He sat upon his throne, grand and imposing, with the nightmarish images of skulls and other creatures of darkness imbedded upon it. The throne was atop a mighty tower, and the mighty tower part of a grand fortress. Greater than any monument ever constructed by mortal man, the fortress was gargantuan in size, spreading out for miles, every inch of it strong and foreboding. Defying any linear sense of style and design, it looked as though some godly craftsman had taken parts of dozens of other constructions and stuck them all into one: In some places it was built of mere stone and mortar, in other places of metal sheets and glass, and a myriad of towers reached to the heavens, each one as different from the others as could be. And all around him, a barren wasteland of death and decay: the land burnt and broken, scorched and torn, as if earthquakes and volcanoes competed to see which could do the most harm to it. As it would seem, the volcanoes might have won, for the sky was blackened with ash and cloud, denying the sun any access, but instead providing light via the flames which fell perpetually from the heavens.
The heat, the smell, the light; The hell that he found himself in assaulted all his senses at once, and his mind was unable to recollect the feelings and emotions that had mere seconds ago seemed so real and so near. Inhaling dust and ash with every breath, a sort of anxiousness came upon him. Rising from his chair, he looked around, if there was anyone else present who might have given an answer. Finding none, he had a thought to search his fortress, but then, suddenly unsure of himself, sat back down in his throne.
What did it all mean?
Instinctively he had assumed the dream to have been shadows of his own past, but upon further reflection, he could not remember a single time when this scene might have occurred. All his memories were of this place, this dying earth, and if he had ever been inside a complex such as the one he envisioned, he could not fathom where it might have been. He did not know of any military or scientists, and as for being forced to obey…
He was a god. God’s didn’t obey anyone but themselves.
But so was she…
The face that brought so much pleasure and joy to him in his sleep now brought him nothing but confusion and frustration. He could remember how pleasant was her smile, her touch, but the fact that he had been happy was precisely the problem: to find bliss in the arms of his mortal enemy? To love that which he had sworn to destroy? Always he could feel her presence in the world, working to undo all that he did, combatting him at every turn, refusing him peace. She was a thorn in his side, perpetually causing him pain, unhappiness, everything except the very love he dreamed of.
However, no sooner had he pondered this than he realized, with some surprise and alarm, that he could not feel her presence now.
So startled was he that he leapt out of his chair, as if this would make the fog of confusion more clear. She was not there? His mind and senses could not seem to feel it. But then… she was dead? This seemed scarcely less absurd than his dream! He had not struck her down, but then, how could she possibly be gone?
What did it all mean?
The mental strain sapping the energy from his body, he sank back into his throne. He was tired, perhaps more tired than he had ever been. Worse, if she was gone, then surely the dragon would be here soon, and then his exhaustion would continue, as it always had. How he longed for rest… but the dream plagued his mind, refusing him to return to the realm of sleep.
He wished she would die, and stay dead, so that he might know peace.
He wished she would live, and provide him with the unknown sensation of being loved.
What did it all mean?
~
The Rift gaped vast and deep, hewn in between space and time at the very edge of the world. Here the rules physics and logic seemed almost arbitrary. The land was perfectly level in all directions, though one could scarcely call it land to begin with: the ground one could walk on seemed to be made of air, or at the very least a liquid, and great stones and crystals, doubtlessly heavy beyond belief, floated in the air as if feathers. All around the air floated fluorescent specks of debris, though debris of what, exactly, was anyone’s guess. The sky, if it could be called that, was black, yet seemed to glow with its own kind of eerie luminescence that defied all other rules of how light ought to work. A mysterious place, a dangerous place, it was difficult to get to, and far sager to stay away from.
Yet it was here that one figure, walking with a strange stagger, back slightly hunched, and garbed in harlequin clothing, was in a great hurry to be.
“Where exactly are you going?” he said aloud in a mockingly deep voice. “None of your business,” he muttered in reply, this time without mockery, but with sincere bitterness. “Mr. High and Mighty, thinks that because he’s best-friends-forever with a god means that he runs the show.” He bumped slightly into a floating crystal, and, upon regaining his balance, pointing a menacing finger at the offending object. “What a STUPID place for a rock!” he shrieked, and a ball of fire burst from the extended forefinger, striking the stone and demolishing it in a flash.
He tested the remaining gravel with his toe as if to make sure it was dead. “Oh, ho, ho. Not so tough when you’re in a million pieces, are you?” he chuckled, resuming his odd, shuffling gait. “No, you’re not so tough at all. None of you are that tough… you can be destroyed…” This last note was repeated over and over under his breath, as if trying to remind himself of the fact for a later date.
He paused to look about him, hand placed over his eyes to shield them from a sun that wasn’t present. “Now, where could they be?” They had to be here, he was sure of it! “Come on, come on,” he mumbled crossly, “you didn’t just get up and walk away…”
The ground, such as it was, rumbled slightly.
“Oh, shut up!” he replied, and stomped hard on the ground as if he were in an apartment, and the neighbours downstairs were making too much noise. “Nobody asked you! Rotten, dirty, evil… A-HA! There you are!”
Spotting that which he was looking for, he hurried jauntily forward. Another rumble occurred, this time strong enough to cause a slight tremor in the fabric of the universe. “What did I just say?!” he snarled, before turning his attention to his findings. “Ah, yes, lovely, lovely.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Now, who wants to come home with me?” Eagerly did he sort, critically murmuring to himself all the while. “This one’s broken, no. This one’s no good. Ugh! Goodness, no, not you! Wouldn’t be caught dead with you in public. Oh HO!” he exclaimed suddenly, a wide smile creasing his face. “Perfect, that’s what you are! I should know! I’ve been perfect for a while, and this is definitely what it looks like. Ha!”
Yet another rumble shook the ground, stronger than ever before, and this time accompanied by a distant but terrifying roar of some great beast. “Oh, that’s just like him,” he spat, taking the desired object under one arm, as well as hastily choosing another to sling over his shoulder. “He doesn’t like it when someone pinches his snacks, does he?” Having got what he came for, he sped away, eager to put as much distance between himself and the rift as possible, the increasing sounds of the roars hastening him further. “Think you’re tough, do you?” He dared not turn his head as he ran, but his thoughts turned sour. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we? We’ll see how YOU like being the one scrounging for scraps! Ha! With another pair to add to my collection, and my plans just about ripe… I’ll practically OWN you! Hee hee hee!” With a whirl of his finger, a dark portal appeared before him. Cackling as he went, he disappeared through the portal, his laughs vanishing as soon as the portal closed.
No sooner had he left then the dragon burst through the Rift.
~
“Kain is dead.”
He waited for a sign: a slight pause in the reply, a shift in posture, a deep breath. Anything to indicate that the man standing before him was upset by this news.
“And?”
Nothing. A response as cold and emotionless as the iron armor it came from.
“His body is broken beyond repair,” he continued, reveling in the thought of causing the other some discomfort in the details. “I suspect he was hewn at least fifty times.” Then, by way of finality, “He shan’t be coming back this time.”
“It does not seem likely. Being struck down fifty times is fairly damning.”
Anticipation of taking pleasure in another’s disappointment boomeranged upon him, with his rival’s nerves completely unshaken and he himself someone irritated by the lack of expected response. From atop the plateau, the two metal-clad knights stood stoically in the night. Clouds blocked the moon, yet light there was enough to see the desolated forest immediately below them, and beyond it a destroyed and still burning town. What the town’s name was, he could not remember: so many had been destroyed in his memory that they all seemed to blur together. Nor, he thought, did its name particularly matter: the name of a town was a paltry thing, derived to give the inhabitants a sense of identity, to make them feel like they were not just poor lost sheep in the wilderness.
And if all the inhabitants were dead, which he knew they were, then there was no one to give identity to.
His disappointment being lessened by these thoughts, he laughed: an ugly, mocking, mirthless laugh. “You would deny that you were not fond of the man?”
“I do not.” Hands clasped behind his back, the cape fluttering in the gentle breeze was the only sign of disquiet about the black knight. “Kain was a resourceful and clever person, brave in battle and more than capable mentally. I imagine anyone would have thought him a worthy lieutenant.”
Feeling that he at last was on the verge of the evidence he was looking for, he pressed further. “You dare associate yourself with one of the enemy?”
Once more, there was not a change of tone, nor a sign of being flustered by this accusation. “I had hoped that he might be convinced to join our cause. As I have said, Kain was ambitious, and I thought he would be fond of the power we could offer him.”
“Ah, so that is the reason for your constant lending of aid to him? Your meddling in battles? The stream of advice that you so readily poured into the ears of an enemy soldier?” Though the blue tinted helmet could not convey a smile, he could not hide the satisfaction in his voice as he laid his adversary’s secrets bare.
“It is.”
The answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact, so without any attempts at vindication or justification that is was now he who had cause to be flustered. “Well, your little pet project has failed,” he said, spitefully.
“Clearly.” A pause, then, “And since my would-be lieutenant is dead, I imagine any advice I might have given is dead along with him.”
Further conversation was interrupted as the ground began to rumble and shake around them, mild at first, but soon growing in strength to where it seemed the plateau they stood upon was about to collapse. In the air, the clouds grew a dark, fiery red, as sparks of lightning exploded sporadically in the heavens. A gale of wind grew stronger as the clouds began to part around a solitary spot, and from the hole burst a dazzling, radiant light.
As before, the imagery of an oncoming apocalypse was indeed pleasing, and lifted his spirits enough to grant another ugly, heartless laugh. “And, what about the other one?”
A two second pause, as deep as the Void and louder than the world falling apart around them. “If you think me treacherous, then you’d best kill me now.”
Avoiding the question. Clearly shaken by the thought. Oh yes, he now knew that the black knight was still a liability. How he longed to end the traitor, here and now! Yet, though this evidence was more than enough for him, it would be difficult to justify the act to the others, especially given that he would be cutting their own limited numbers down prior to opening shots being fired in the battle yet to come. Reluctantly, he held his sword at bay, but his laugh, while still mocking, now had more personal mirth in it. “Ha, ha! I think we both know that killing you wouldn’t do much good, would it?” Laughing harder as the world around them shook and burned, he turned and walked away, already planning how to go about keeping an eye on the suspect.
Alone at last, the knight stood solidly amidst the chaos, watching the horizon like a sentinel standing guard. From the blazing hole in the clouds emerged an awesome sight: a massive, serpentine creature, its body made of flame, glided effortlessly into the world, the smoothness of its movements at odds with the violent turmoil its presence was causing. Roaring mightily, the creature hovered above the mauled village, and as if in response, a change began to occur. From the desolation rose a plethora of glowing specks, floating up into the sky, where the dragon eagerly consumed them. As he feasted, the broken buildings and houses below him began to shudder and groan, but rather than further fall apart, they began to rebuild themselves, as if their destruction was being played out in reverse. The forest too experienced the same thing, with uprooted trees managing to re-plant themselves, burnt grass once again becoming green. For all the appearance of the end of the world, it seemed that the world was being reborn.
Once the last of the glowing morsels had been consumed, the dragon roared again, and flew off to find other such scenes of wreckage in this war-torn world. Slowly, the tremors began to ebb and finally subside, the clouds returning to their normal nighttime blue. The knight looked down at the repaired valley, the lush forest, the fledging village. In one of the distant houses, previously dark and lifeless, a soft glow suddenly appeared in the window, and an innocent cloud of smoke came from the chimney.
“Oh, yes,” he said aloud, allowing himself a weary sigh, “I know that killing me would not do any good at all.”
~
“Oh, my head…” Groaning as a legion of phantom behemoths played blitzball with his brain, he hoped what felt like the world’s greatest hangover was limited only to a colossal headache, and wouldn’t branch out into nausea territory. Not helping either case was the vague sensation that the world around him was shifting, but this soon passed. Not so the headache, which persisted with gusto. “Man, whatever I was drinking, I hope it was good,” he grumbled. “I’d hate to feel this lousy off of the cheap stuff…”
Whatever bender he might have been on took its toll greater than he immediately thought: he tried to recall where exactly he received this self-inflicted wound, only to find he couldn’t remember a thing. The harder he tried to think, the more blurry everything became. “That’s it, nothing but tonic water from now on. I swear,” he pledged, hoping that whatever gods were listening would take pity on him, and would remove this throbbing pain, deciding he had done penance enough already.
Needless to say, this divine act was not forthcoming. “Hmph. Yevon be praised, huh?” he grumbled. “Can’t even magic away a dumb headache…”
Wanting nothing but a drink of water, he staggered to his feet (no easy task), leaning on an ornate marble pillar for support… and realized that ornate marble pillars were not usually found in bars, back alleys, or any of the places he assumed his pain had come from. Nor did he expect a red carpet, shining floors, or grand paintings to be hanging on the wall. In fact, being in a throne room was precisely the last place he expected to be in his lifetime, never mind the place he expected to wake up in with a splitting headache. But here he was, and here it was, in all its regality, expense, and splendor, fit for a king.
Speaking of thrones, it suddenly occurred to him that just such a thing was placed at the head of the room, wrought from gold, crafted by a true artisan, with jeweled studs and artistic engravings, cushioned in red velvet. Yet more interesting was the man sitting in said throne: a pale, slender man, who sat comfortably with one leg crossed over the other. Garbed in golden clothe and cape, his throne was flanked by two objects: the first being a suit of golden armor, which, while obviously functional, was placed in reverence on a stand, as if it were a headless knight standing at its king’s side; second, a long staff, which leaned on the throne, ever at the ready. His bearing was stately, with his head tilted slightly back, his lips curled into a bemused grin, and he gave the overall impression of a man patiently waiting for something he not only expected, but knew for certain was going to occur. “Pleasant dreams?”
Rubbing his unbrushed hair, realizing that he didn’t even have a shirt, and completely lost as to what he was doing in a place of splendor like this, he replied, “I’ve had better. Dreamt I got eaten by some great big snake thing. Heh, probably sounds stupid to you.”
He expected to be mocked. That’s what always thought high-society people did. But the pale man did no such thing: the air of expectance and unlimited patience held firm. “Stranger things happen in the realm of dreams. For my part, I’m merely glad to find you awake. I didn’t think I got to you in time.”
This hint of mystery was obviously intended to lead him on, but there was something far more pressing which required asking first. “Yeah, thanks a bunch, you’re a big help, and by the way, who the hell are you and where am I?” His headache was ebbing away now, his senses having returned enough to fully recognize that he was in the house of a stranger with no idea how he got there, and he didn’t like the look of things at all.
At this, the pale man gave some signs of surprise. “Oh, my,” he said softly, brows furrowed in concern, “it’s worse than I thought.” Then, leaning forward, he asked, “Can you remember anything of, say, the last few days or so?”
“Not a thing,” he replied, trying again briefly only to find that he could hardly even remember where he was from, what his favorite food is, and it took more than a great deal of effort to recall his own name. “Unless you feel like enlightening me?”
Instead of doing this, the man leaned back in his throne, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I feared this. Though I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a great surprise. The blow to your head in the last battle would have killed any lesser man.”
There it was again, hints to something lost in the haze of confusion. “What d’you mean? What battle?” He was at war? Geez, he had been in some rough tavern fights before, but nothing he would declare war over…
“In your last encounter with the enemy, you were overwhelmed and beaten within an inch of your life. You’d likely have perished, had I not found you. Oh, don’t worry,” he said, noticing the surprised look on the guest’s face, “you were outnumbered greatly, and you did far more to them than they did to you.”
That last note wasn’t what he was worried about (though it did make the whole idea of being beaten up easier to swallow), but the more he thought about it, the more things seemed to click. Bit by bit, it was as if the curtains of forgetfulness were being drawn away with every word the gold-clad man said. There had been a battle, and there had been an enemy. The exact details were fuzzy, but the harder the thought, the more it all came back to him. He had been in a fight, and a grueling one at that. He had given it his all, and if that were the case, the cause must have been one he believed in, because he wouldn’t have fought that hard for nothing.
Looking up at his benefactor, he still didn’t have the foggiest idea of who he was or what his game might be, but still, anyone who had half a mind to pull his tail out of a trap must be a friend. “Well, thanks, I guess. I suppose I owe you one, huh?”
A wry grin made it very clear that the man on the throne was more than aware of that.
Irritated in spite of himself, the would-be drunk gave a curt nod. “Well, all right. One good turn, and all that. But let’s make one thing clear: there’s only one guy who I answer to.”
The hand lying atop the armrest of the throne tensed up ever so slightly. “And who might that be?”
Out of the haze, as clear as if it had never been forgotten, more important than any other aspect of his past, the answer appeared instantly. “The God of Dischord.”
The hand relaxed. The aristocratic lips curled into their previous knowing smile. “Very good,” he said. “Very good.”
~
In the crimson sky above, the fiery dragon flew in graceful circles, heedless of the trembling earth caused by its mere presence. Below, another settlement, this one being a town built around a castle, sent its offerings to the ethereal diety. In the streets, in houses, in the castle itself, the forms of people could be seen hovering above the ground, appearing to be gripped in a deep sleep, unaware of anything going on about them. A miasmic red aura surrounded them, from which glowing sparks flew towards space, where they were consumed wholly by the dragon. While this was going on, bread baked the day before found itself unmade, grass which had been cut found itself grown to full length, and house which had the misfortune of burning down stood once more with nary a scorch mark.
Any joy that might be found in this newfound lease on life was lost on it.
It stood (or rather, floated) atop a small hillock, just outside the castle-town, unflinching amidst the cataclysm around it. From this vantage point, it could see the rise of the phosphorous-like fragments, a few of the hovering, glowing mortals, and above all, the great creature responsible for it all, flying in elaborate loops as it tried greedily to snag every last morsel. It had not expected the dragon quite so soon: it had hoped to find one or two of the enemy still in a state of disadvantage before being given another chance at life. Thus its presence this close to the disgusting buildings and walls of these mere ants, fortifying their hill so that it might be harder to crush.
It curled its lips into a frown of disgust: it hated being here, even on the outskirts. To see the signs of these… creatures scrabbling to stay atop the pile of drooling, festering vermin that made up every other living thing on the planet. Trying to find some kind of meaning that might vindicate their existence, justify their place, forget the arbitrary nature of their very being. Yet, for all their attempts at grandeur, like all ant hills, they could be crushed, indeed, had been crushed, and left to wither and die.
And here, before its eyes, the hill was rebuilt, the crushing undone.
Who was weaker: the ants who were easily stamped out, or the one who stomped upon them, only to fail every single time at extinguishing their lives?
Watching the rebuilding of a town, rendering anything that had occurred within meaningless, it felt, in spite of its hatred of weakness, unsure. Granted, at first, it had taken something resembling pleasure out of the slaughter of thousands of these impotent worms. So had been the case many times since. Yet here, watching once more that its labors bore nonexistent fruits, its own hands felt as powerless as the dead. There was no finality, no consequence, and although it had long since reconciled the meaningless of life, being forced to live through just that was maddening.
For the first time in its existence, it felt very, very tired.
After a time, the glowing sparks ceased their tribute to the skies, the bodies lost their glow and descended to the earth, once more in a genuine, natural state of rest. Having eaten its fill, the dragon departed, and the night sky was once again still in these parts. A few of the clouds in the sky even saw fit to part slightly, allowing the starts to shine through.
“Not even the unexpected presence of the heavens could bring beauty to such a backwards, barbarous settlement.” From behind, the voice rang clear, words enunciated precisely, delivered with flourish worthy of the stage.
It turned its head to see the newfound companion. “You expected more from these parasites?”
Bearing a winning smile, the man flipped back his long, silvery hair and strode elegantly forward to its side. “On the contrary, I always expect less from the uneducated masses.” Taking a critical glance at the state of the castle, devoid of any sign of artistic trappings or any other signs of culture, he nodded condescendingly. “And as such, I’ve yet to be disappointed.”
Taking advantage of the brief moment of silence that followed, it took the opportunity to examine the man further. His body language indicated he was completely at ease in its presence, and he was busy staring at the village in distaste. He was, it would appear, completely normal.
“Why, I would be surprised if they even knew what side of the plate the forks go on. Hah, no, I do take that back. They don’t use utensils: they eat with their hands,” he declared, choosing to break the silence, and in doing so, further indicating that he was his old self.
It decided to test further. “And should you be forced here to do battle with the enemy…?”
“Why, I would relish the thought,” he said, waving his hand in the air theatrically. “To be given the chance to be rid of the minions of Harmony, with the only collateral damage being the loss of a city of uncultured buffoons would be, I think, the kindest cut of all.” Neither trepidation about being forced to fight, nor hesitation about committing itself against an enemy shone through.
It relaxed, and permitted itself the slightest of smiles.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, pivoting on his heel and sauntering back down the hill. “The mere sight of this place is threatening to kill my brain cells. I’m certain there must be some kind of sanctuary on this god-forsaken planet capable of providing me with mental stimulation. Ta-ta.” Then, with a sudden leap, he flew off, gliding through the night sky with less effort than a bird.
It turned its attention back to the town, the loathsome image at least providing something to occupy the eyes. In spite of the haughty demeanour of its comrade, it didn’t feel any hostility or animosity towards him.
After all, he hadn’t been talking so much when it brought him here as a corpse, right before the dragon came.
~
A faint, distant sound of a beast, a vague sensation of a small earthquake, were enough to penetrate the deep, dark sleep and bring him back to the world of the living. No sooner had he awoken then he placed his hand over his heart. Finding that there was no stab wound, no sign of impalement, no sign of any injury whatsoever, his hand fell to his side.
It was as he thought.
He rose, expecting at the very least his body to be sore, but found instead that he was as well rested as he had ever been. As his senses slowly overcame the grogginess of slumber, he realized that this was not where he had fallen. Far from being the underground cavern where he had intentionally laid himself to rest, he now found himself inside a tower of some kind: the wide cylinder walls shot up for at least four stories, the ceiling practically a small dot from his vantage point, and a spiral staircase, fixed to the side of the wall, whirled upwards to the top like a corkscrew. The walls were crafted and designed with artistic care, giving the place a regal look, though they were penetrated in places by gears and cogs, turning through some unseen clockwork design. The stairwell was protected by a mahogany guardrail, and all through the rising tower were portraits and paintings. All around, there were sounds of ticking clocks, whirring machines, and other mechanical noises that seemed at odds with the gothic structure.
“Ah, you rise at last.”
Still somewhat dizzy from his sleep, it took a few moments to recognize the voice, not to mention the figure it belonged to. Striding gracefully down the winding staircase was a tall, majestic woman in a red dress, the elegance of which was offset slightly by her lack of shoes. From her back sprouted a pair of ebony wings, and her silver hair was styled into two horns jutting out to the sides. Looking down upon him, she smiled. “For a moment, I’d thought we’d lost you.”
The extravagance of her appearance and the gaudiness surroundings made him proud of his own modest, functional attire. Ignoring her, he wiped the dust from his black coat, heedless of the fine carpet he was dispensing the dirt on.
“Regardless, I’m pleased to have my loyal solider back again.”
He froze instantly, the shock of the woman’s words driving all other thoughts from his head. What did she just say?
“You’ve suffered some head trauma, of course,” she continued, descending the staircase further, her own movements and speech not missing a beat. “You shall feel a tad confused for a while, I imagine. But fear not: you shall be well enough to return to my services in no time.”
There was not a thing that came out of her mouth that did not make him want to kill her unmercifully, but the perplexing nature of this gall was altogether maddening. What was she…
A smirk on his face and a wry raise of the eyebrow signalled realization. Of course: so that was her game.
“Now come,” she said, now at the foot of the stairs, her arm held out in greeting to the risen warrior. “We have much to…”
“Save it.” There were no words to describe how much pleasure he took at the utterly aghast look of shock on her face to this reaction. “I remember everything.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, clearly trying to find a way to continue her charade, only to sullenly cross her arms, glaring at the smug, silver haired man before her. “How?”
“Never mind.” He had his own theories on the subject, stemming from the scar which ought to have been over his heart, but the fact remained that he could remember everything... no, more than everything. “Suffice to say, Shinryu doesn’t have my memory to feast on.” Then, with a grin, “Nice try, though.”
She sniffed in disdain, her would-be pleasant attitude replaced by passive aggressiveness. “You ought to run yourself through more often,” she said, coldly. “The least you could do is thank me for dragging you ought of that miserable hole and bringing you to a place of class.”
“And how can I ever repay you?” he taunted. “By being your ‘trusted soldier?’”
She returned the joyless smile. “Strange, I thought a ‘hero’ of your calibre was used to being a lapdog to others.”
The taunting smirk died, though her quip reminded him of something rather serious. His eyes darted to the around him, searching calmly. Where could it be? “Does that ever work?”
“You’d be surprised.” The sight of her would-be slave searching ineffectually for the lost item helped recover her spirits. “What line did they use to recruit you, back in the day?”
“Quiet.” Where the devil was it? Surely it couldn’t have been left behind. It was sticking out his chest!
“Looking for this?” He whirled to look at her, leaning on the stairwell, toying with the handle of the missing seven foot long katana, which she now held in her gloved hands.
“Give it back.” The coy look on her face did nothing to improve his mood. “Don’t make me take it from you.”
“Oh?” Completely immune to the threat, she beckoned him forward with a finger. “By all means, do try.”
The ticking of clocks marked the time of the standoff to be a full thirty seconds before, grudgingly, he averted his eyes, glaring at the floor in disgust.
“Good boy.” Lifting the sword upright, she dropped all pretence of friendliness, using an imperious voice that expected to be obeyed. “Once all the others have been readied, there will be a debriefing in the Great Hall. Be there.” Waiting until he painfully forced himself to nod in acquiescence, she tossed the sword to him. Without so much as blinking at the razor sharp weapon falling towards him, he caught it by the handle effortlessly. She waited cautiously, lest he try to do anything foolish, but, like a puppy being trained, he settled for a hateful glare at her and strode out the door of the tower.
Pleased with having the last word, she glided back up her tower, not flinching at all as the deafening sound of bells suddenly sounded in the tower, marking the time to be ten minutes before six o’clock in the morning.
~
Completing a tour of the world in time only capable of a being of immense power, the dragon’s time on this plane of existence was nearing its end, loitering only to devour a few remaining morsels of memory before taking its leave. The rest of this planet’s inhabitants, mankind or otherwise, had already been subjected to this visit, and now, from a vantage point of the ancient walls of a crumbling fortress, the knight was the last to witness the phenomenon. Heedless of the crumbling masonry of his perch, knowing full well that even as it fell apart it was being in the process of being rebuilt, he always enjoyed this time. Though the sky was aflame, the ground threatening to rip itself to pieces, it was the one moment of his schedule where he felt the greatest calm. The toil and agony he experienced was over and done with, and further exertions were yet to be. In this one moment in time, hovering in the air from the diving board, but yet to hit the water, he felt at peace.
That, at least, was usually the case. This time, however, he was not permitted his traditional moment of silence.
You understand, then, what has happened?
The voice was booming, god-like, impossible to ignore, and yet, as always, limited to his ears alone. “Indeed.” He watched the fields before him replenish themselves, and thought, oddly, what a pleasant shade of green they were.
I thought you had things under control?
“I did,” he grumbled back, gauntlets tightening their grip on the sword he was leaning his weight against. “Everything was in place, and when I parted the scene, her warriors were to fall, and she would be prone once more for Chaos to kill her.” It wasn’t, he knew, his fault.
But her warriors didn’t fall. She saved them.
He wondered, for the first time, if the dragon ate the memories of dumb beasts as well, such as deer or squirrel, or just of people? Deceased animals were regenerated as well, but surely they never experienced anything worth…
She saved them!
The knight closed his eyes, trying to keep his patience. “You want me to be the caretaker of two gods, now? It is hard enough taking care of one.”
She is beyond our control now. That is what is so serious. She’s already acted out of line once. Who knows what else she might do? You must act quickly this time, lest she do anything else unexpected.
The final glowing drops of light found their way into the dragon’s mouth. Content that its work here was now done, it heaved its head back and roared, a shockwave of radiant energy bursting from its body and sweeping across the land as if to give it one final cleansing. The wall of light swept over the knight, and though a light headed sensation came over him at the contact, he found himself almost disappointed that it hadn’t incinerated him altogether. “You expect much of me. It is a hard thing, offering advice to a god that is unwilling to act on it.”
He listens to you. You can convince him.
“I wonder. If she has had an irreversible change of heart, who is to say he might not behave in such a fashion?”
Which is why you need to do your task well.
From where the dragon floated effortlessly, a blinding light flashed, illuminating the world in a burning white shine. Then, slowly, the light began to fade, from the edges of it radiance inwards to the source. For his part, the knight could barely see, regretting his decision to avert his eyes from the blast, and spent several seconds blinking out the multicolored haze. He had missed his one chance at peace, and a bitter fury overcame him. “Yes,” he spat, his helmet’s reverberations giving his voice a grander sense of forcefulness, “it would be too bad if I should choose not to, and you would have to live with your lifetime of poor decisions and failures.”
The light ebbed further and further, contracting upon itself until only a hint of it remained, and then it was gone. There was no sign of the dragon in the sky.
Do you want to be cast back into the Abyss?
Somewhere in the distance, a songbird of some variety began to chirp, its song offering the illusion of peace and harmony, unaware of the universe altering events that had already occurred, and were yet to be carried out. The chirps of the bird were lively enough to make up for the moment of silence he had missed, helping to lift his heavy heart and ease his weary bones. “No,” he finally conceded.
Then do not fail.
The voice vanished from his mind. The knight was alone at last.
Though the dragon had vanished, and the world rebuilt as though it had never been there at all, it seemed that there was at least one lasting legacy. No sooner had it departed back to whence it came than a fragment of its fiery light still hovered, just over the horizon, dim at first, but slowly growing until it began to flood over the ground. The sky’s black tone began to relent into lighter colors, and, encouraged by the sight, more birds began to take heart and sing. The blanket of light crept over the land, and soon the knight was bathed in the warmth of its gentle glow.
The sun had risen. A new day had begun.