A/N: Hello! This is a oneshot to celebrate the King of the Seven Seas himself, Sinbad! I wrote this to celebrate Angst Day of Sinbad Week! If you enjoy, reviews, favorites, and follows are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!
Descent
The weight of the obsidian black knife in his hands is heavy.
"I'm sure someone like you can use this to cut through destiny."
That's what the mysterious magician Falan had told him when she'd gifted him this strange object. At the time, he'd dismissed her words. He was already making his dream come true with his own strength. His destiny is to be king, and that's all he's ever asked for, but when he pictures himself on his rightful seat as a king, he is never alone. The faces of the children he had sacrificed gathered around him, leering with their accusing, hollow eyes. They had died during the revolt to overthrow Lady Maader.
So young. They had all been so young. Why were they brought into this world if they were going to die before they even had a chance to live?
But, no... He can't let himself think that way. Even those brief lives had served a purpose; they were born to be pawns— stepping stones to his ascendancy to the throne. Their early demise was tragic, but it would not be in vain.
It still doesn't feel right.
Over the last year, the faces of the people of Tison Village had joined the children. Those who had raised him now glared at him with the same loathing they had directed toward his father— only in Sinbad's case he actually deserved their wrath. He could have saved them, but…
...saving them would have interfered with the course of destiny.
My goal has always been to rid the world of the anomalies that lead to suffering. If some people are fated to misery… if destiny itself is the cause of so much suffering… isn't it one of the things I've set out to eradicate?
Heavy, and heavier still.
His hands tremble under the weight of the weapon that seems to draw the heat from his body, leaving him with nothing but cold numbness. The sensation is a relief compared to the burning guilt that has been weighing down on him for these last two years.
Tucking the knife into his robe, Sinbad steps out of his room. He doesn't have time to weigh the merits of abstract concepts like right and wrong. He's about to be crowned king.
Sinbad is dreaming of their eyes, their livid, unforgiving eyes. Their vengeful screams ring in his ears, shrill and persistent, until he finally stirs, constrained by some kind of fabric— bedsheets.
A dream. It was just a dream, he realizes as the cool dark metal vessel presses reassuringly into his thigh.
But he had never gone to sleep. He shouldn't be dreaming. His eyes snap open. The familiar geometric mosaic inlaid in the ceiling in his bedchambers greets him. That's not right. He had just been in the middle of a speech. The ceremony…
"This is great! Our king is awake!" Mystras's cheerful voice greets him as he sits up, but something doesn't feel right. There's a tint of anxiety in his words, a slight quaver.
Rubbing his head, Sinbad tries to reclaim his lost memories. The last thing he remembers, he was been giving a rousing speech about peace, hope, and cooperation and then… nothing.
Looking around, he finds he is surrounded by his friends— seven of his eight generals, Rurumu and Vittel. Their expressions are grave.
"Why am I in bed?" he asks. "What about the opening ceremony?"
Ja'far is staring at him like he's a madman. "Are you serious?"
Sinbad is very serious. Something about the atmosphere of the room is wrong. The moods of the people surrounding him aren't those of joyful members of a newly founded country. They're more like…
"Do you not remember declaring a revolution? Why did you do that, Sin?" Ja'far is screaming, but Sinbad doesn't understand.
Even so, Ja'far's mouth is pulled into a grim line, his eyes taking on a snake-like quality. The accusation is no joke.
Sinbad is offended. He hasn't done anything of the sort. He wouldn't. He doesn't believe in war, only in preventing it. Declaring it, even to stop the evil deeds he knows Barbarossa is committing, is something he would never do. Even if Sinbad wants to overthrow the monster that serves as his benefactor, Sindria is a fledgling nation. It's too brittle to withstand war. Sinbad wouldn't put his dream at risk like that.
When he waits for one of the other generals to vouch for him, he's met with oppressive silence.
Sinbad suddenly doubts everything he's ever known about himself. If so many people believe what Ja'far says, there must be some truth to it. Perhaps it's possible Sinbad has done the things he's being accused of, but…
"I don't remember doing that."
His friends exchange anxious glances until the clacking of high heels rings throughout the bedchamber, drawing all eyes in the direction of the door. Serendine... How he's wished she would come around and see things his way. How he's wished she would come back, but she's the only person as stubborn and willful as he is.
They're just too similar.
"Let's talk about that," she says. Her pretty face is solemn, like the rest of his friends'.
This isn't the way he'd have liked to meet again. Starting a revolution… what had he been thinking? Why couldn't he remember? He pulls at his own hair. Is he going insane?
Then Serendine explains, confessions of the violations she committed against his own mind dripping from her remorseless lips. She had done this to him, used him to settle her grudge against Barbarossa. She hadn't even managed to succeed. Now, his whole country, the population he has promised to protect, is facing the consequences.
She had betrayed him.
Like he'd betrayed so many who were counting on him. They really are so similar.
Trembling, he grips his bedsheets, breaking into a cold sweat. Her actions are going to get all of them killed. He's so furious with her.
With himself.
"You…" He tries to restrain himself confronting her but finds himself unable to hold back. The next words tear from his throat in a barely human roar. "You manipulated me for your selfish desires and threw my country into a revolution!"
The spirits of the children shout his accusation back at him.
No, he tries to tell them. No, it was all for the greater good, for the sake of destiny.
"I don't care about your country," Serendine says flatly. "Not anymore. It means nothing to me."
Those words are too much. He tosses off his sheets and races toward the reckless princess, heart pounding in his ears. When he picks her up by the sleeve of her armor, he snarls.
"You… enough."
He can't even form a coherent sentence. There are no words to express his fury at her for trampling over him without a second thought. So this is what it feels like to be the stepping stone.
Sinbad hates it.
His fist tightens around her armor, his labored breathing growing heavier. Serendine made this mess and now he's the one who has to clean it up. Who knows how many lives will be lost because of her? Had she thought about that for even a second when she was formulating her little rebellion? How could she be willing to live with herself after sacrificing the hopes and lives of thousands of innocent people for her precious country?
"Please, Sinbad… I don't want to die." Auntie's words echo in his mind. "Save us."
I'm sorry, Auntie. I had to leave you. It was the only way.
Beneath Serendine's delicate lashes, her eyes are cold, devoid of fear or regret. The only thing he sees in them is himself, his own reflection.
"What will you do?" she asks emotionlessly.
He sets her down, her words nailing in the reality of his situation. His rage was pointless. What was done couldn't be undone. He needs to prepare for war. It's the only way his kingdom has a chance.
"Barbarossa will be here with his armies in two days. You don't have an army." Serendine raises her head pridefully. "Are you really going to send away a military power like me?" As she unsheathes her rapier, it glints, catching the light of the sun spilling in through the windows. "Or do you intend to kill me to try to make peace with him?"
Sinbad's mouth goes dry. How could she think that? Of course he isn't going to kill her. He tries to tell her that, but before he can say a word, she plunges the sword into her own heart. Blood splatters everywhere— on her armor, on his clothes, on the floor. It's gushing out in spurts, thick and crimson.
"Serendine what are you...?" He looks on in horror, his stomach churning. His shirt is hot, drenched with her precious lifeforce. Why? Why would she… ?This can't be happening. She's his friend. He doesn't want to lose her.
He watches more of the thick red liquid pour from her wound. She's going to die. She's going to die right here in front of him, and there's nothing he can do.
Even as she draws the blood-drenched sword out of her chest, she does not wince. "I should warn you. Killing me is impossible."
The fluid around the wound begins to reverse its course, seeping back into the hole in her chest. Within moments, her skin is clean, white as virgin snow. Even Sinbad's clothing is dry. At its master's beckoning, all of that terrible blood had returned.
Sinbad can't stop staring. His legs are shaking. He's never seen anything like this. She's completely healed. How is this possible?
This kind of power… it's not…
"That's right," Serendine announces. "I'm not human anymore."
He stares her down. Fine. He'll work with her, but this time on his terms. She's already caused enough damage.
When it comes to aligning himself with a monster, Sinbad has no qualms. No matter what she's done, no matter how many deaths her recklessness will cause, he doesn't have a choice. He has to protect his people. He has to protect his country. It's the only way to eradicate the injustices of the world. He will overcome this the same way he's overcome every obstacle— by riding the waves of destiny.
Screaming. The children of Ria Venus Island, the people of Tison Village, and now his own citizens— all of them are screaming.
The enemy is inhuman. No matter how Serendine's soldiers fight, they just won't die. As Sinbad watches the two armies clash from above, his hands curl into fists, his lungs pushing out labored huffs of air. Rage sends white hot blood coursing through his veins, but he can't move. He's stuck, pinned in place by the haunting screams that fill his ears.
Stop this. Someone has to stop this. It's wholesale slaughter. Why won't somebody stop—!
As the island begins to tremor, he suddenly snaps out of his helpless state. He has to act. Something terrible is about to happen.
"Where are you going?" Serendine calls after him. In her short, bloated form, she sounds more perturbed than angry.
"Can't you see?" he cries. "The extreme magic is causing the island to sink! The mages at the bridges won't be able to withstand it!" He's sweating profusely, his heart pounding dangerously against his ribs. The kids, the villagers— so many deaths. He could have stopped them if he had just intervened. He wouldn't make the same mistake now! "I have to go in there. I can't ignore them! They'll die!"
Judar, who has been clinging to his tail quietly, tugs roughly on it. "You can't. We don't have time for that."
Sinbad pauses in mid air. No time. There's no time to save them. They have to become stepping stones too because it's destiny, and no one can go against destiny. Destiny is the thing that guides the world forward, the driver of all progress.
Even though the knife doesn't manifest in this form, he can feel it weighing down his thigh. It's so heavy, it feels like it's going to drag him out of the skies. For a moment, he thinks he'll crash into the island and go down with it, with all those screaming, innocent people.
"What we need to be doing is defeating the enemy leader." Serendine's distorted voice breaks through his panic. "He's hurt and just used up a vast amount of energy. He's weak."
He knows she's right. This is their chance. He turns his back on his people and takes off in Barbarossa's direction with Judar climbing onto his shoulder and Serendine at his side.
Forgive me, everyone. Please… hang in there.
Underneath him, the broad Parthevian coast speeds past. Wild winds rip around him, stinging his face in their briny assault. Soon, he has left the shore behind, and in its place rises a dense forest scarred by a small rift in the landscape— a road. Sinbad lets out a sound of satisfaction. This is where Barbarossa will be. He can't have gotten far, especially not while injured.
While Sinbad is still scanning the dirt path for the fleeing enemy general, Judar's voice cuts through the air.
"That's him," the magi says. "That's Barbarossa."
Sinbad sees what the boy is pointing at. Just ahead, a carriage is moving at a frantic pace. Through it's unblocked window, he makes out the gleam of the golden armor one of Barbarossa's closest lieutenants wears.
Sinbad remembers the deceitfully pacifist words Barbarossa had spoken to him:
"I'm no longer a soldier."
What a load of shit.
"I don't have any reason to confront you."
More lies.
"Why don't we become friends, you and I?"
Like hell.
"Our countries are leading the world together," he'd said.
Our differences are irreconcilable.
Sinbad scowls, the rage building in him once again as he points his metal vessel toward the fleeing carriage. This is his atonement for all the lives he's sacrificed— ridding the world of Barbarossa. Once that man is dead, the screams will stop haunting Sinbad, the eyes will stop glaring at him. He'll be forgiven.
The two words he utters are quiet, remorseless. "Bararaq saiqa."
Hot and blinding lightning flashes out of the tip of his sword, obliterating the carriage with its destructive force. Sinbad drops to the ground, unequipping his djinn. As Judar lets go of his neck, landing beside him with a soft thud, Serendine joins them.
The crater in the ground is still hot, smoke trailing upwards from the point of impact. Sinbad hops down into it, observing the damage his attack has done. Nothing could have survived this.
"Look! There's no trace left in this whole place!" the little Magi echoes his sentiments.
"You understand what that means, don't you?" Serendine's voice is back to its normal pitch, but its tone is dark. She struts past, giving him a meaningful look. "We can't let our guard down until we identify his body."
"Isn't that it over there?" Judar points to a charred black figure among the wreckage.
Sinbad approaches to get a closer look. The thing has no eyes or lips— they've been charred off. It's hideous, unrecognizable, but Sinbad is satisfied that this had been their target. Serendine seems to agree.
"The metal vessel's aren't reacting," she says. "He's totally dead."
Good riddance. Sinbad should feel relieved, but the dark metal vessel is still tugging on his leg, and the screaming is still ringing in his ears. This isn't right. He thought the spirits would be appeased now. His guilt is supposed to be absolved.
"A fog is rolling in," Serendine states, pulling his attention from the corpse."We should go back before it thickens."
At first, her words seem mundane, but Sinbad knows this area. He knows the Parthevian climate well. This isn't the kind of place where fog forms. He looks up and sees the mist she's talking about. It's dark and ominous, like no fog he's ever seen. It's more like smoke, but even smoke is harmless. There's no reason to panic.
As tendrils begin to curl around him, he turns to Serendine to speak. Before he can even open his mouth, he hears a strange crackling. It's coming from the sword at his side— his father's sword. The metal vessel containing Baal is creaking and groaning, and when Sinbad pulls it out of its sheath, it shatters— the last thing his parents gave him shatters. It's broken beyond repair. Around his neck, Valefor is crumbling too. The clasp breaks, and it drops down into his shirt, settling in the spot where his waist is tucked in.
Looking toward Serendine, he sees her holding up the stub of the sword that contains Zepar. Her breathing is loud, her expression contorted with rage and horror. They're powerless, he thinks. They're completely powerless.
The fog clears, revealing familiar figure wielding an oversized axe. He's towering over them, standing at the edge of the crater with the help of his Heliohaptian general.
"With this, you've lost your fighting resources," Barbarossa's smugly announces. "I win."
"He's alive?" Serendine stumbles backward.
Sinbad is struggling to stay upright as well. "But his corpse, it was definitely…"
"That thing was merely a scapegoat," The man mocks them. The sigil on his metal vessel gleams ominously. "It was an elaborate doll created by my magicians."
"Glasya-Labolas can break down any metal," Memphis elaborates in the place of his superior. "With this, Sindria has no metal vessels. Our victory is assured."
No, Sinbad can't lose. He has too many people to protect. His friends are all back in Sindria fighting for his dream, for the vision he has for this world. At least he still has a magi on his side. At least he has…
"Judar…" The way the child's name rolls of Barbarossa's tongue is unsettlingly familiar. "I'm still not sure I trust this organization of yours, but you've done well. Without your help, this plan might have failed. I owe you my gratitude."
Sinbad glances down at the little magi, sickened by the wicked grin spreading across the child's face, sickened by what it means. With a few agile steps, Judar bounds out of the crater, joining Barbarossa at his side.
Sinbad comes to the realization that he's been betrayed again.
Barbarossa, Serendine, Judar… he's been a pawn in their little game for over a year.
How could he have been so stupid? Isn't there anyone he can trust? This whole time, he's been striving to do his best, to live his life well, to do right by others. He's been young and naive, not knowing anything of the world. He can't eradicate misery with his own strength. He can't even eradicate one man.
Is this how things are supposed to be? Is this the lot he's been cast? To be trodden on, betrayed, played for a fool?
Fuck that.
Sinbad notices something burning hot against his thigh— the knife Falan had given him. It seems to hum with comforting energy. Sinbad isn't powerless. When everything else has abandoned him, the knife is still here.
Memphis is ordering Judar to take Barbarossa to safety, but Sinbad won't allow that. Ignoring the screams ringing in his ears, he draws the dark metal vessel from its sheath with ease. For something so heavy, it's surprisingly light. He gazes at the obsidian black metal, noting how it seems to absorb the brightness of everything around it, making the world dimmer. The screams are growing louder, but for the first time, they don't sound angry with him.
Sinbad looks up to see a vision of Auntie standing between him and Barbarossa.
"Please, Sinbad. I don't want to die."
You didn't need to, he tells her. I see that now. I'm going to set you free. I'm going to set everyone free.
Sinbad decides to do it. He decides to cut his bonds.
One swift plunge, straight into his own heart. The knife scrapes against a rib, tearing through muscle and sinew. It hurts. His lungs are on fire and his breaths come out in gasping spurts. As his chest constricts, his limbs grow increasingly weak until he collapses to the forest floor.
"Sinbad!" Serendine is shouting and Judar is cackling, but for the first time in days, the screaming goes quiet. The spirits are at peace. He is forgiven. Slowly, his eyelids grow heavy until he can't keep them open, and he fades from consciousness.
Sinbad's eyes snap open. Magoi is is coursing through his veins like nothing he's ever experienced. It's dark and oppressive, but powerful. More powerful than Valefor, more powerful than Baal. He inspects his hands. They're covered with obsidian black armor.
He moves his attention away from himself, taking in the rest of the scene. Serendine is cowering on the ground against a tree, and Barbarossa's mangled body is lying limp on the ground. Is this his doing? Did he finally kill Barbarossa?
"Wh- what?" Serendine is stammering. "You turned into a monster…"
"Congratulations," Judar smirks. "You're the first person to successfully integrate with a dark metal vessel. This is your dark djinn equip. How do you like it?"
Sinbad approaches the child, pulling him up by the collar. This magi is his enemy. Thanks to his actions, Sinbad's country is burning. People are dying.
"You." His grip around the fabric tightens.
The smug grin falls right off the magi's face. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I was just following orders. Shouldn't you be saving your precious country?"
With a sneer, Sinbad drops the boy to the ground with a thud. Judar is right. He doesn't have time for this.
"Both of you are coming with me," he orders. "You're going to fix the mess you've made."
"My objective is—" Serendine starts to protest, but Sinbad cuts her a swift glare to silence her, and she shrinks against the tree trunk. Ah. Finally, she's starting to get it. She may have given up her humanity, but so has he. They're on even turf again.
"I don't have a problem with it," Judar waves a hand in the air dismissively. "It looks like the organization's plans for you are cancelled. The way you are now, they won't be able to handle you. You've become too powerful." His eyes gleam with that last word.
"Enough chatter." Sinbad motions for Serendine and Judar to hang on to him. "We're going back to Sindria."
This time, his head is clear as he flies toward his destination. He has one goal: prevent the fall of his country. Destiny must be eradicated, and the first step is destroying his own.
He places Serendine and Judar safely on the ground, looting a sword from a dead body and shoving it in Serendine's hands. When she stares at it blankly, he snaps.
"Fight."
"But I—"
"Fight!" he commands her again. She thinks that this isn't her war, but it is. She started it. She's going to help finish it.
Next her turns to Judar. "You too. Put your powers toward something useful for once."
Judar gives him a shit eating grin. "I guess I can help you out this time, but you'll owe me."
Sinbad turns away. He's not in the mood for the child's retorts. Instead, he takes back to the skies, observing the destruction. Mystras, Pipirika, and Hinahoho are fending off the inhuman soldiers. Ja'far, Mahad, and Vittel are defending the citizens evacuating by sea. Rurumu is protecting the orphaned children. Drakon is probably somewhere within the palace barking orders.
It's not too late. Sinbad can end this. He raises his knife and chants the words that will stop this war in its tracks:
"Extreme Magic: Flaming Locust Swarm."
Thousands of fireballs appear in the air around him, swallowing him in a fiery inferno. Flames lick at his skin, but their heat doesn't bother him. Why would it? It's going to save his friends' lives.
He glances toward an approaching group of Sham Lash assassins, commanding an attack with a nod of his head. They don't even see it coming. They're running toward the water, seeking its cool relief. It's a futile endeavor. The heat incinerates them before they can reach.
Next, he orders fire to rain down on the soldiers storming the bridges. He'd like to see them regenerate when they'd been burnt to nothing. As a spear wielding soldier charges toward Rurumu from behind, Sinbad stops him in his tracks, bombarding him with flaming bullets. The Parthevian naval ships blocking the escaping refugees? Set aflame and sent to a watery grave.
All around him, he sends his enemies to the the rukh. They drop to the ground and writhe as the flames eat away at their bodies. All that remains of Barbarossa's subordinates are their charred corpses and the wretched stench of burnt flesh that reaches him even from his lofty position in the air. In a matter of minutes, the enemy forces have been wiped out.
The screaming dies down as his people become aware of his presence, and in its place swells victorious cheers. The number of casualties is small. Sinbad beams down at his people, issuing a cry of triumph. He has won.
Now that the danger has passed, relief floods over him. His limbs grow heavy until his dark djinn equip slips and he free falls out of the sky. He has been running on pure adrenaline. His body needs rest, and it finally can. He knows his friends can handle things from here. All that's left is evacuating the island.
When Sinbad opens his eyes, it will be time to rebuild. He'll need to obtain more land, but he knows exactly how to do that. He held up his end of Serendine's bargain, however against his will it was. She toyed with him. She took away the country he rightfully acquired. People are dead because of her, her own people and his.
She owes him, and he's going to make her spend the rest of her life repaying her debt.
Ten years later
Sinbad sits on the throne of the Parthevian Royal Palace surrounded by his friends. He looks down fondly at each of their faces, his gaze lingering on Mystras and Rurumu. Ever since the war, he occasionally has dreams of a world where he hadn't used the dark metal vessel and he had lost them. In these nightmares, he sees Mystras impaled on a bridge and Rurumu slumped over a pile of bodies, corpse riddled with spears. On those nights, he wakes up panting and drenched in sweat. On those nights, the screams of the vengeful spirits return. Right now, though, everything is quiet. He studies friends' gentle faces, thinking about how he never wants to take them for granted.
Next, he turns his eyes to the woman on the throne next to him. Serendine returns his glance, but not his smile. Sinbad knows she loathes him. She's still bitter about him usurping her title early into the marriage. She had given him all her power, but she refused to give up the title Empress Regnant because of her pride in her noble bloodline. The people of Parthevia hadn't wanted a figurehead, though. They wanted a true ruler. Over time, protests mounted for her to cede her last vestige of authority, and she finally had to admit the title of king required more than blood. Sinbad bites back a vindicated laugh at the recollection.
"Come on!" Sinbad's magi is hovering over his shoulder. The emperor scowls, familiar with the speech he's about to receive. For nearly ten years, Judar has requested the same thing. "You used to be so cool. You have all this power and you just sit on it! It's so boring." The volatile magi leans over and whispers in Sinbad's ear. "Let's start a war."
"Patience, Judar," Sinbad scolds him. "It's not time to act yet."
"Aw, you're so—"
The door to the chamber opens, cutting Judar's complaint off mid-sentence.
"Your Imperial Highness," Vittel announces. "Falan is here to see you."
Is that so?
The magician no longer works for the Parthevian royal family. Sinbad had refused to forgive her for her betrayal, even if her weapon had been the thing that had allowed him to save the citizens of his previous country. No matter their past disagreements, he regards her as an ally. They share the same goal, after all.
Sinbad lets out a satisfied huff. "Good. Let her in."
Falan slinks in, her eyes lowered respectfully to the floor. She still hasn't aged a day in these ten years. Sinbad leans back in his throne, crossing one leg over the other casually. What could be the reason for her visit this time?
"Your Imperial Highness," Falan bows politely. "I'd like to remind you that you once promised you would help our organization in its mission."
"Ho?" Sinbad raises an eyebrow. He did indeed make that promise on the day she had given him the dark metal vessel. But if she was bringing it up now, that meant…
"The time has come."
Sinbad smiles wickedly. The day he has long awaited has finally arrived.
"I'm in. What would you have me do?"
It's time for him to sever this world's bonds completely.