LOCATION: Peninsula of Power, World B.
OCCAISION: One Week Prior to Cycle 14.
I am The Liar. I am the last and final member of Obsidian. I am the sixth of six men who set out to change the world around them. Or perhaps I am not? Who can say anymore. The Scholar has changed so much, since first we met. His mind has warped in a way my own never could. I fear his disenchantment with the world will extend far beyond the dream, and we will all pay for having failed to realize this.
The Scholar wanted Final Heaven. At least, that was what he said back then. To tear down the tyrants who ruled over us, and remake the world as one where men would choose for themselves their leaders. A world of freedom, where reason and logic dictated, and madness were pushed out and shunned. A trillion stars a God, and no more Angels. Rather, we were all to be exalted and made equal and free by his plan. That is, that is how it all began.
"Final Heaven," he said.
"That old crack-pot theory?" The Wanderer laughed.
"It's not crack-pot. It is an effective and governing principle of Heaven's social structure. Six persons can change everything, at the cost of one."
"How'd that work out for the Dawn Warriors?" asked The Messenger.
"The less said, the better." The Scholar admitted. "But that doesn't mean it has to fail for us! Final Heaven can work. Think about it. We've been working for the Gods all this time, and has any one of them really seemed worthy of the crown they wear?"
"You're a shrewd man, Scholar," The Chronicler stated, frowning, "to judge The Gods. If you're not careful, you may find yourself condemned."
"And that is exactly what I mean. Why should we live in fear of voicing our minds? Because The Gods are afraid of us. Something about us scares them, and so they do what they can to keep us afraid."
"Okay, ah'll bite. Wha' exactly ahre The Gods' so afrai' of?"
"I don't know," The Scholar told The Engineer. "But I know how we can know."
"Oh, this will end well," The Wanderer jeered.
"Matoya's Eye. With it, we can know the answer to any question we ask. If we get our hands on Matoya's Eye, we can know what frightens the Gods so, find it, and strike them down."
"And where are we supposed to find this eye?"
"Gentlemen, since joining Obsidian, have any of you had reason to doubt me? Have I ever once said something without first thinking it through?"
"Fair enough. Tell us then, wha' be ahr course?"
"How many of you are familiar with the Goddess Etro? She's sort of a Goddess of amnesty, and good old Matoya has found safety with Her."
"Isn't Matoya an enemy of state?" The Chronicler asked.
"Indeed. Speaking with her would be considered treasonous, were it not for one small detail."
"And that is?" I asked, suddenly very wary of the whole situation.
"We have a contract with Divine Etro. Not your usual Dissidia, but something has come up, and She wants us to select a champion for Her to sort the problem out. Pack your bags, boys, we're heading in direction of Pulse."
And with those words our fates were all sealed. Obsidian changed gears from merely cashing in on the hubris of Gods and demons to planning their overthrow. For the sake of the freedom of all, you see. And oh, how fulfilling that work was to be! How much hope, how much promise, how much reason to believe we had in those days!
Indeed, the glorious sensation of those days is now only rivaled by my bitterness and hatred for the five men who I once believed were my brothers. I imagine they're all just as disillusioned and disenchanted as I by now. But as long as they follow The Scholar with their blind loyalty, we ever will be enemies.
Our time with Etro passed without incident. That is, I went on thinking that it did. This must have been something like five years ago now. I knew not at the time how important the encounter was. But since the events at The Palace of Order I have opened my eyes. I wonder if he was planning, even then, on using her? I may never know, but I'll be sure to ask before I kill him.
The dispute Etro wished to settle was a matter so petty that, to be honest, I felt She was overpaying us. As far as I recall, it was a feud between Her and Her sister, Lindzei, over the fate of the soul of one Barthandelus. Lindzei insisted he be permitted to Heaven, and Etro wanted to damn him.
In any case, the woman chosen to settle the dispute was one Jihl Nabaat. The Scholar enjoyed the idea that she had faithfully served this man until one surprise death. He was likely inebriated with his newfound lust for the blood of The Gods. How things would have gone for her I can't say, as I made a choice that day that was . . . ill advised, looking back.
On the way to deliver the name to Divine Etro, I ran into a young woman. She had strawberry hair and a cheerful, perky nature. She was going to meet up with her husband, she said. I asked if I could detain her momentarily, to ask a question or two, and she acquiesced.
"Have you been in the service of Divine Etro long?" I asked, a scheme hatching within me already.
"Well, yes. I mean, I didn't always know I was, but yeah, I've done some work for Her and Pulse."
"Really? Fascinating. Does your work involve one . . . Barthandelus in any way?"
Her face paled, and she gave me a wary look. Then she asked, half whispering, "Where did you hear that name?"
"So it did have to do with him!" I exclaim, winking at her. "What might your name be?"
She was off balance completely. No idea at all where I was going with anything, and lost to boot. I couldn't help but enjoy that. She looked rather fetching when confused, and I got off on exerting my mental prowess over others in those days. Time was of the essence, so I asked again, "Your name, what is it, if I may ask?"
"S-Serah." She stuttered. "Serah Farron."
"Beautiful," I said, taking her hand and kissing it, "I shall never forget the name of such a charming and helpful young lady," and then, smiling, I walked quickly by her. I turned the corner, then jogged off to the quarters of the Goddess Etro.
Prior to arriving, I made the choice that would change all our futures. One that I felt was half a prank, but one also motivated by a feeling so sudden, but so strong that I could not describe it. While I, like the others, loathed the Gods, I despised our practice of selling men's souls to their slavery. It made us into the very things we hated. So I took the name, Serah Farron, and wrote it in the place of Jihl Nabaat. And that I did to leave fate in the hands of the individual, and not in the reigns of Gods and their pretenders.
Etro was a perplexing individual, and likely one of the reasons we began to hate Gods as much as we did. It was Her absolute egomania that struck me as most repulsive. Oh, certainly, lesser men would be crushed by Her and Her actions and words and ways, but I? I saw right through Her. All the eternal wailing and sobbing and lamenting was simply unbecoming of a Death Goddess. And ultimately, it was just plain vexing.
When at last I managed to get a word in between the shrieking and fainting, I announced myself. Not, obviously, by name, but by the title I had taken since joining Obsidian. "Divine Etro. I'm The Doctor, representative of Obsidian. You requested our services in settling a dispute with one Lindzei, correct?"
More wailing at the mention of Lindzei. Gods, but I can't begin to describe how much that was irritating. It's funny, because, looking back, it really wasn't that important. To be honest, I rather regret how much I let little things distract me in those days. Perhaps if I'd paid more attention to the bigger picture, rather than focus every irrelevant detail, I'd have better foreseen the situation in which we all shall soon stand.
Etro calmed Herself long enough for me to, rather grudgingly, hand her the paper on which I had written the name of this new champion. Etro looked at the page a moment, then back to me. She did not seem to believe Her eyes. I bowed at Her second glance, hoping the woman would just say something already.
"You are certain this is the choice you want to make?"
"Trust me, madam, I'm The Doctor. I believe I speak for all of us in Obsidian when I say we know what we're doing."
"Then this is the champion."
"Indeed, Your Divinity."
She began to tear up again, and I took my leave. At the time I believed that was that, and that the situation was completely resolved. No one would ever know, nor ever needed to. At least, that's what I had believed. Unfortunately, a different fate was dreamt for me than the one I myself imagined. Even know I do not know how my one choice could possibly have had so great an impact on us all.
In fact, it was a long and winding road to that discovery. When the axe fell upon my time with Obsidian, I was more or less oblivious. I won't bore with the details of our acquisition of Matoya's Eye. I'm under the impression someone else will be making a record of that. But that cursed artifact was the root of all our troubles. For when we gazed into Matoya's Eye, we were stripped of our illusions, and while I gained my sanity at that time, The Scholar lost his forever.
The Eye of Matoya was an unimposing rock. A lump of crystal, roughly the size of a hume's eye, it had no spectacular shine, nor mystic aura. In fact, with the whole of crystals floating about the Heavens, I'd never have honestly pegged this particular rock as anything special. But special it was, and indeed, an object more fearsome than any I've ever encountered.
"This is it, then?" The Chronicler asked, sliding a finger across its smooth, blank surface.
"Yes," The Scholar whispered, distracted by the artifact. "This is Matoya's Eye."
"Well then," The Messenger said, somewhat urgently, "Let's have a look, shall we? Gods know when they'll find out we have this."
"Aye," The Engineer called, "Les' 'ave it done with an' now be wastin' time, ey?"
"What do we ask it?" I inquired, suddenly giving voice to the thought we had all avoided before this. We honestly had no real clue what to ask this magic crystal ball.
"Isn't it obvious? How could you be so blind?" The Scholar said, his face lighting up like a child's as he lifted The Eye. "Show us . . . the truth."
A flash of light filled the room, and then all went dark. For a moment I wondered if I had died again, only to find my stomach spinning, as the room slowly lit up, revealing an endless expanse, as though one long, eternal puddle. And in this shallow water lay bodies innumerable. As we looked about, we began to recognize the bodies, here a loved one, there an enemy, each one as still as the grave.
The vision shifted slightly, and showed the expanse of Heaven beneath the bodies in the water, and a lush, vivid world far above them. And though no words were spoken, we could not deny the feeling that one world was far more real than the other. Suddenly, the water gave way beneath us, and we sank down into Heaven. When we landed on the golden streets and clouded plains, figures of great and terrible light began to tower above us, their hands extending through the watery sky, beyond the sleepy figures, and to a place we could not at first see.
Then the vision followed those golden hands to a woman, burning with a dark fire, battling a beast atop a throne. Which of the two was the more horrifying, I cannot say, for quickly the vision turned back to us, as the luminous giants turned their fury on us, trying to push us further and further downward.
As we succumbed to their force, the vision shifted to people waking up and falling asleep. Trillions of people in beds, waking and sleeping, one after another. And in the middle of this room of persons sleeping and waking, the vision showed my hand erasing the name written on the paper for Etro, and the new name I put in its place.
And at that, the vision promptly ended, with The Scholar slamming Matoya's Eye on the table. Though all of us were breathing heavily, a silence filled the room for several minutes thereafter. The Scholar's knuckles whitened around the crystal in his hand. Were it not some eldritch artifact, I'd worry he'd crush it between his hands.
"Deceiver," he snarled, suddenly, his voice freezing my stomach.
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't you GIVE ME THAT!" he roared, backhanding me.
"You're mad!" I whined, nursing my jaw.
"Am I? Then explain to me what I saw! You betrayed us. You changed the name of our choice to one of your choosing. WHY!"
"Why indeed?" I ask, daring to challenge him. "Have you proof I did this thing?"
"You did it! We all have just now seen it!"
"In a vision, Scholar. One riddled with symbols and hidden meanings. You claim this is the one thing we should take at face? Why?"
"Etro Herself informed me of your acts. She commended our choice of Serah Farron. A name I have never heard, yet by the look on your face, I say you have!"
"Look at you," I say, glaring at him, "look at the rage in your eyes. What angers you, Scholar? That I acted alone? That I betrayed our group in so doing? Or that I challenged your authority? You are not God. You are an angel, just as I. Yet here you are, furious that I chose my own destiny, and gave the same chance to others, fighting the nebulous counsel of those who would control fate.
"You are mad because I did exactly what you claim you want to do. The only difference is you were the victim, and not The Gods. If we don't change this, here and now, you will twist and warp beyond all recognition. You will fight The Gods until you become one. Then, then we shall see what you are truly made of."
"Leave. Now." The Scholar hissed.
"What? You're expelling me? You have this authority? And what do you say?" I shouted at the others, all of whom were averting their gaze. Seeing their lack of courage, I turned again to The Scholar, to meet his eyes.
"GET. OUT. OF. MY. SIGHT." He growled, advancing on me.
"I have shown you the errors of your way, and this is how you repay me? I am your friend, Scholar."
"You are a Liar, and I will tolerate your presence no further!"
And the rest, as they say, is history. From that day forward I became The Liar, cast out for deceiving my brothers. Ironic, isn't it? What should've been the greatest revelation to The Scholar was accused of being deceit, and I, who should have been there to usher in a glorious age of freedom, became his greatest enemy.
Indeed, from that day forward I was consumed with hatred for The Scholar, and I suppose it began to twist me and change my way. But because of this falling out, I found my way to the presence of one Cid Lufaine, and ultimately, into the employ of Chaos. And so began my journey to this place, where I would act as an agent of the Old Man and the Dragon, in their final scheme.