The Devil's Influence
Lagerfeld didn't have to ask when one of his seminary's educators passed by him in the hall in a huff. No, he simply stopped momentarily to shake his head, all too familiar with the routine. He didn't have to wonder when he poked his head into a classroom to find one chair neatly pushed into the desk. He merely sighed when he realized it was that chair and that desk. Again.
He didn't want to know. Really, he didn't. He dealt with it enough times to become keenly aware that dealing with it was only asking for a headache and an existential crisis. Unfortunately for him, it was his solemn duty to maintain order in his school and vanquish all demons before they had the chance to multiply and infect his diocese with their chaos. Let him get away with it once, and he'll think he found something substantial and start talking. Punish him, and he'll still refuse to conform, but at least he'll keep to himself until something else weeds into his mind.
Lagerfeld tried to be patient. He appreciated that children had a healthy curiosity that needed to be nurtured, and his seminary's goal was to teach its students the ways of the world. But was there such a thing as too much curiosity? This one had questions, but he refused to accept the answers. He kept picking at just the right word, going deeper and deeper, until it came full circle with him no more satisfied with his answer than when he first heard it. Surely, this wasn't normal. Other children asked questions, and were instantly satisfied with the answer they heard. But then again, other children had parents (all graduates of the seminary themselves) to reinforce the teachings.
Lagerfeld frowned, banishing that line of thought. That wasn't fair, he decided. For all of the boy's blasphemy, his sister was the paragon of faith. It didn't make sense how one could be a model student when the other was a threat to all stability. Where was he even getting these ideas in the first place? He couldn't have read about them or heard them from someone in the seminary.
Lagerfeld opened his office door, finding the offending student sitting on a wooden chair with his arms folded over drawn knees. A scowl peered through his mop of auburn hair. "Zephyr," Lagerfeld stated, taking a seat on his own chair behind his desk. The boy didn't turn to him. "What brings you here today?" He could already guess. There wasn't a wide selection of topics with him. It was only a matter of which blasphemous words came out of his mouth this time.
"History of Basel," the child muttered, not lifting his head, "Friar Patou thinks that the two prophets predicting Albona's collapse was a miracle of God." Already Zephyr's tone showed defiance, and he wouldn't back down that he was right in thinking…whatever he was thinking.
"And what do you think?"
"They saw the signs."
Lagerfeld paused. Well, that was a vague answer. And one that gave him the ability to play devil's advocate for once. He was used to Zephyr launching into an immediate rant about why everyone around him made no sense and how the scriptures made no sense, and how anyone who believed them needed to get their head checked and so on. Lagerfeld didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.
He settled for worried.
"What signs, Zephyr?"
The boy simply shrugged. "Basel is a machine and machines need maintenance. They had to have seen that the area was too worn out to support a city. The signs were probably obvious but because no one thought it could happen, no one paid attention."
"Basel is maintained by Zenith," Lagerfeld corrected him sharply before continuing; "Albona's collapse was a test. God chose those two as his knights and sent them visions of the city in ruins and they told the people of their fate. Those who listened were saved, but those who ignored them were punished." This was the answer ingrained in the minds of everyone, and the one Lagerfeld personally believed in. He had never met the mysterious prophets himself (his work rarely took him to Chandelier), but this was how Rowen told it.
"But what was the point?" Zephyr finally lifted his head, though he refused to meet Lagerfeld's eyes. However, there was an unmistakable flame kindling in the icy blue orbs. "What did Albona's collapse accomplish?"
"It reminded the people who their leader was. People were getting complacent. They lived their lives slovenly and faithlessly. So God tested them. The results were a reminder to all of the importance of the scriptures."
"By having a city fall on thousands," Zephyr finished quietly. Lagerfeld nodded, leaving out that Albona's slums (for it was all slums now) were still filled with blasphemers who refused to believe in Zenith, for it wasn't his problem, and he was not about to give any ideas to the devil enticing his ward.
"Yes. It was unfortunate, but it is not our place to question Him. We only serve."
Zephyr didn't ask any questions for a long time, which made Lagerfeld wonder if he was actually accepting the answers he was getting. Perhaps he was finally starting to resist the devil's dissenting thoughts and listen to the teachings. Perhaps all of the prayers spoken for him were finally starting to cleanse his soul.
"No." Zephyr suddenly said, as if he were reading Lagerfeld's mind and rebelling against it. "I…I don't want to believe in a God who would let innocent people die." His voice was so quiet that Lagerfeld was certain he misheard.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. I don't want to believe in someone like that." This time he met Lagerfeld's eyes, albeit briefly. The boy didn't look at others when they talked to him. It was one of many off-putting things about him. Even when he did make eye-contact, he always broke it immediately. It gave many the impression that he wasn't listening to them. Half of the time, he wasn't. But he always heard everything anyway, like some sort of telepath.
"Who is innocent, Zephyr?"
"I don't know. No one. Everyone. Does it even matter?"
"If you plan to reject Zenith's existence, I would think it does."
"Fine. Prelate Frieda was a servant of God and He killed her. My parents believed in the scriptures and they're dead. And there so many wrong people alive. Why doesn't your God punish them?" Zephyr buried his face in his knees, trembling slightly. Lagerfeld wasn't amused.
He gave the boy a long look. He didn't fully disagree with him. There were far too many dangerous people allowed to roam Basel. The Cardinals paid hunters to take care of them, but they were always around. People who were wronged in life and lived a life wronging others. People who weren't wronged, but still chose to oppose the order. People like Zephyr, who bore dangerous ideas and spread those bedeviled whispers like a plague. People like him were the most dangerous ones of all.
"God has His plan," was all Lagerfeld said though, forcing his own dissenting thoughts away. No matter how troublesome and dangerous he was, Zephyr was still young, and could still be saved. "It is not up to you to decide who should and should not be punished. You cannot control Zenith."
Zephyr muttered something else, something that sounded like an insult about deciding punishments and hiring hunters (how did he even know about that?), before sliding off the chair and moving towards the door.
"I didn't say you could go," Lagerfeld scolded him. "And don't think that way of thinking is acceptable around here." Zephyr shut the door behind him, ignoring the Cardinal's words. Lagerfeld considered getting up and dragging him back into the chair, but he knew it was pointless. The boy would get his humbling one day, a day he would learn once and for all that there was a God watching over them all and rewarding the faithful…
This was all a cruel joke. A dream—a bad one—a nightmare! Lagerfeld wasn't seeing this. He wasn't living this. Not something this cruel.
He stood in the ruined seminary trembling (with rage or fear, he didn't know). Blood, glass, and metal littered the floor; only the altar was unharmed. It was a scene out of battlefield except it was his seminary in ruins, and his students dead.
The hunter was trembling too. He wasn't even trying to maintain his constant aloofness anymore, too shaken himself. And it, the creature responsible for it all was on the floor, before them, curled in a ball. Alive.
He didn't die. He was shot in the head twice but he didn't die. His pulse wasn't just there, it was absolutely livid with no signs of stopping. There was no hole in his head or blood either. No, there was plenty of blood on him but none of it was his own.
"He has been judged for his sins! And so, he is without sin! Such is the will of God in His glory." Lagerfeld recited, in response to the hunter's question, loudly, emotionally, but not believingly. Was that what it was? Did Zenith judge him, and decide him worthy of living? Was he supposed to be forgiven for what he had just done? Lagerfeld only had to glance at the one small body lying in front of the altar, her arms held out like the statue's, to know the answer to that.
"Well there you have it then," the hunter retorted kneeling over the living bedeviled boy. Lagerfeld could only look on in horror as he cradled the living body in his arms, taking the time to carefully position its head on his shoulder, as if that living monster was entitled to any comfort.
"What do you think you're doing?" Lagerfeld spat out.
"Subduing him," was the reply. The trembling was gone, replaced by a serious, hollow tone. "You said it yourself; we can't leave him, so I'll get him out of here. Tell the people he's dead, they'll never know." The hunter began to walk away, into the darkness of the ruined halls. Lagerfeld couldn't trust himself to even speak. Was that it then? He would just disappear? Unpunished? Alive?
He fell to his knees and crawled towards the little girl by the altar…the only identifiable body left. Her white clothes were a deep red; her bright blue eyes were wide open. Lagerfeld carefully closed them. Cochet…a model student, a paragon of faith, an unyielding servant. Lagerfeld couldn't bear to think about her last moments. Did she stay loyal to God until the end, even as her (alive) brother mercilessly gunned her down?
I…I don't want to believe in a God who would let innocent people die.
Why was he remembering those words, said by him, now? He choked out a forced broken laugh. Thirty innocent children, all students of the scriptures: dead. Their killer: alive, and by an act of God, Himself, no less! Was this God's will? Where was the justice? Where was the purpose of this? What was supposed to come from letting thirty children die, and letting their killer live?
His laughter grew louder, reverberating off of the seminary's walls.
No, there was no God. Not one who would allow something like this! He looked at little Cochet again. She should have been the one spared, not him. The little priestess with a bright future ahead of her. She had been so good, especially to that living bedeviled monster. She never gave up her faith in him and she even parted with her beloved scriptures for him.
Her scriptures…that book was still with him, wasn't it? It had been the symbol of his hatred and he had attached it to his belt? Lagerfeld should have grabbed it. His filthy hands were unworthy of the sacred text. Instead he let the hunter take it away. With the bedeviled boy. The living bedeviled boy.
There so many wrong people alive. Why doesn't your God punish them?
There is no God. There is only the Devil, Lagerfeld decided, standing up shakily.
It is not up to you to decide who should and should not be punished.
Or is it? If the bedeviled boy could fire a gun at unarmed children, why shouldn't he be punished? Why should he continue to live? Lagerfeld traced his hand along the gun—the murder weapon.
You cannot control Zenith.
But you can defy it.
Disclaimer: Resonance of Fate is not mine and the views towards religion shown in this story do not reflect the views of the author.
AN: It's so good to finally be back at my beloved laptop that has all of my stories (now I can finally finish certain other fics too!). But first a new RoF story (because I rediscovered this game and am falling in love all over again ^^) To be honest, even though I wrote this story a long time ago, I initially didn't want to post it, because I felt it was too dark and a bit too hostile towards religion. Then I reread it while going through my RoF folder and actually liked it a lot (I will admit to toning it down though). It's still dark but I think it describes Lagerfeld's character pretty well. The fact that all of the characters in RoF are so deep if you take the time to piece together everything you learn about them from their actions and NPCs is really amazing, in my opinion. (Though it is forever a shame that so many plot elements (like the mining feud and the ongoing rebellion in Basel) are told entirely through NPC dialogue)
In all honesty, I don't really like Lagerfeld much (I have bad memories of his boss fight in the game) but I think he is a really interesting character and I would imagine that he was a pretty important figure for Zephyr (just as Zephyr is an important influence for him...in a very negative way). It's especially interesting how the man who kept Cranktown as a kind of religious dictatorship was the one who ended up losing his faith in the end...
Thank you for reading :D