"Should've been dead..."
-Creed, 'My Own Prison'
DISCLAIMER:
...Silver
knives on a platter, all arranged neatly around (and in) Lloyd's head... OKAY!
I don't own LOD, or the songs I use for the titles of my chapters (YES I
am doing that again). The plot, any characters that aren't mentioned in-game,
and any places that you've never heard of belong to yours truly, who really
owns nothing but a box of drier lint, a sketchbook, a bunch of pencils and
an imagination that gets her into trouble more often than it does any good.
Like writing these pieces of crap while I'm being shadowed by the brilliance
of various other authors. *humbles to anybody else who's posted in the LOD
section*
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
TADA! Me, again. I know, you're wondering, 'if she can't play LOD anymore, then why the hell is she still writing fanfiction for it?' I'll tell you why; 'CAUSE LOD DAMN WELL ROCKS, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! Not to mention fanfiction. Put the two together, and... perfection. And I have high hopes that we'll get my PS2 cleaned eventually, now that my Mom's got a subbing job and we don't have to pay university fees anymore (she was training to be a teacher). ^_^ Yeah, I know, sweet, eternal bliss. I could FINALLY finish FFVII, and play LOD again! That would equal more inspiration, and that means more frequent updates! Problem; I don't think my parents want to clean the PS2. It took SO much money just to FIX the damned thing when my brother and sister broke it a while back... JUST after the warranty had expired, mind you. x_X;;
Anyhoo, about the story; Don't let the beginning intimidate you. Yes, OC's galore. Just a few will actually be vital to the plot, though. VERY vital. As in; major bad guys are OC's, and new good characters are OC's. ^_^ OC's are nummy. Taste like chicken.
Oh, and VERY Angsty. Lots of death and such. Not to mention pain and suffering. And BLOOD! The holiness of all Action/Adventure. Not to mention fire and swords. ^_^ Sharp pointy things... And the occasional joke. ^_^ Jokes rule.
BUT; a LOT of this story will focus on the Dart/Shana relationship. Why? Because it's IMPORTANT! At least to me. I really didn't mind Shana's character; just didn't use her in battle. At all. ^_^ Ignored her from the moment I got Rose. HUGE Rosers fan. But... I don't think she'll make a re-appearance. *cries* I know, but she's dead. I have long accepted this... bah, and such. But, in all fairness, there will be blood and dark thoughts to compensate. Me likies blood. ^______^ And fire.
This is the first part of a three-part
(that's all I've got planned, so far) series that ends with TLW. Now, how
does this tie up with a Sci-fi thingy over 4000 years in the future? It
just... does. o.O;; Trust me. By the way, I'm going to TRY and do the entire
series like this--with the chapter titles all song quotes. ^_^ I'm showing
my appreciation for my idols.
And if I spell any of the names wrong,
please tell me. It's been FOREVER since I've played LOD. .
So, with no further adieu, I present
to you; Sin's Torment!
Soa's plans of fate had guided Endiness for the longest time...
It seemed that, finally, she would be able to start this war-torn planet anew, make a Utopia.
One woman, however, defied the world's fate.
All for a silly reason. Her friends had died liberating their people. Pathetic. It was a mortal thing to have friends. A weakness.
And this woman, for the longest time, managed to evade death and kill the Moon Child every 108 years, so that the soul of the Virage Embryo would forever be lost in this mortal world.
Her child would never be.
Her sister was to blame. The foolish Goddess had always adored those mortal freaks!
And to think, she had almost achieved the end of Endiness...
But, no. The Dragoons rose once again, with their silly ideas and foolish courage.
Of course; their sins could not go unpunished. Neither could her sister's. Although she could not punish her sister directly...
Yes. With the suffering of the leader of the Dragon Warriors...
...So would her sister's Torment begin.
The Torment brought upon the sinners, but not for means of repentance.
Soa was aiming for revenge.
***
She was dragged into an alley by her own subconciousness, her mind along with the deep gash in her leg. Dark eyes were suprisingly dry, even for her. Dirty hair fell over skin that was in the same condition, leaving thin lines of the blood the crimson strands were draped in. One hand clutched the gaping wound, the other the hilt of a stolen sabre, its twin tied hastily to a cloth belt--and seemed about to fall as it dragged on the ground.
It didn't matter. Death was coming. Death was coming... no, it was upon her; she could feel its cold, clammy grip, squeezing even more of the life fluid from her veins to drip onto the ground.
She shuddered and fell. Feel to the hot, desert sun-warmed gravel. No shadow now--sun in the east, shining down on the walls and ground in this pitiful place. She clutched the tiny rocks littered with sand, trying to divert some of the agony in her leg to the lifeless stones in the cobble stoned earth.
She was suprised that they hadn't found her yet. The trail of blood left behind was so sickening that her stomach turned upside-down when she even considered looking at it for longer than a fleeting glance.
She began to feel weak as she pulled herself up. Leaning against the building that scalded her bare skin--scantly clothed--so much that the pain in her leg subsided just a bit, she tried to relax. Perhaps if she accepted death, then maybe the pain wouldn't linger. Maybe she would be spared the hellish torment that ached her mortal soul, made it scream in agony.
She snorted; Half-laugh, half-disgust. Since when had she been spared any pain? Soa above had no pity for the likes of her; a thief whose sins were numerous. She had lived her life 'missing her mark,' so the priests claimed. What missed mark? Her mark was one more meal at night, one more night with a full stomach. Thieving; what a dirty, yet satisfactifyingly thrilling occupation.
Predictably, it had become the end of her.
She snorted again. What was the word... irony? Yes, that was it. It had been ironic, to die stealing a pair of blades. A pair of blades to use to protect herself, so she could steal more food; survive longer.
That was all that life on the streets was. Survival. She had long ago given up on stealing for the thrill; she stole to survive. And, in surviving, she stole more to survive a day longer. Live day by day, moment by moment. She made up plans that way; on a moment's whim.
Her lonely thoughts were broken by footsteps coming down the alleyway. She heaved a sigh. Could she not even die in peace?
Two people stopped before her. With her gaze turned down, she could see the fine tailorship on the boots. Both worn to perfection, both bearing gems that glittered in the sun. She wanted to spit on the ground. Moneybags. Greedy people who flaunted their fortunes, screaming like little girls when one of their billions of precious gems disappeared. She had a thirst for lovely stones, but had never stolen any, merely finding out names and, sometimes, origins of the beautiful rarities.
One snorted and kicked her. She fell the rest of the way to the burning ground, a tiny groan of pain escaping her lips.
"This one's probly dead."
The one with thinner, fancier boots dropped something and rubbed it into the ground with his foot. "She's still breathing."
"But she won't be, soon." The one who kicked her grumbled dryly. "Nothing lasts long on the streets in her condition, let alone the trial."
She felt woozy. To people were discussing her fate before her. Two moneybags, who could help her, standing there, making her pain worse. Suffering alone was much preferable than suffering in front of moneybags, let alone strangers.
One knelt down before her, and she could see the bottom half of a well-groomed face, a thin cotton shirt left open to reveal average-to-strong muscles and a pair of dusty cotton breeches.
"Try the Spirit anyway. You never know."
A sigh from the standing man. "All right..." she could see a gloved hand reach for a belt pouch and pull out a smooth, round stone--and drop it.
"Whoops," he mumbled sarcastically as her eye fixed on the gem that was rolling towards her. What was it? A ruby? No, too dark, and she couldn't see through it enough... sort of cloudy. Not to mention that it wasn't faceted--more like a pearl. A garnet, maybe? No, still too dark... and the cloudy part confused her.
She wandered no further through her extensive knowledge of precious stones when the gem suddenly began to glow. A black radiance, a black aura of something far worse than death that sent shivers up her spine and caressed her face, welcoming her, taunting her... all those and more in the same breath.
The deep crimson gem was snatched up by the gloved hand and thrust into the pouch like it hurt to touch it, and she let out a silent sigh of relief. She made a silent prayer to Soa that she would never see that rock again.
The kneeling man smirked. "I knew it. Bandage her up, and keep her away from that stone until it's time." As he turned to leave, he commanded, "Make sure she doesn't interfere. Soa's revenge will arise soon, and she is the final key to the glory this world has yet to face."
That's when the blood loss finally
got to her head, and she fell into sweet, pain-free darkness.
***
Shana gently caressed her daughter's cheek and turned away from the bed, smiling fondly as she closed the door, watching as the girl's chest rose and fell; a few strands of her blonde hair fell in front of her face, tossed by the gentle breeze that wafted through the window. Eyelids flickered a moment, but the girl just turned over in her sleep, amused for the time being by some dream or other.
She walked over to her own bedroom, sighing as she realized it would be another night alone--Dart had been at Indels Castle for the past month, training the pages and squires in swordplay while the regular swordsmaster was ill.
When she opened the door, Dart stood, smiling, and she stopped and stared for a moment.
"...Miss me?"
She flung her arms around him and laughed, softly, so as not to disturb the sleeping child. He smiled and gently kissed her forehead.
"Guess so," he smirked, gently caressing her cheek. She smiled up at him and asked, trying to sound stern, "Now, how come it took you so long to get back?"
He played guilty for a moment, gently brushing hair away from her face. "I'm so sorry, I got caught up with a pack of Trolls along the way, then there were rabid bears, and then there were some damsels in distress-"
"I thought you were done saving damsels in distress."
He grinned. "So did I." He leaned over and kissed her deeply, almost seductively.
When they broke it, Shana smiled up at him. "And I thought one child pestering you to teach her swordplay was enough for you."
Dart leaned over and whispered something in her ear that she prayed he wouldn't repeat in front of their daughter, let alone decent company.
"Been spending too much time around Miranda lately?"
Dart made a face at her. "You're awfully mean to that hard-working Sacred Sister, who never stops fighting for Mille Seseau."
"Swearing all the while."
Dart grinned. "I never said that she didn't."
***
The six-year-old girl couldn't understand why her parents were so tired the following morning--they'd always told her to go to bed early so that she didn't wake up at high noon tired and cranky.
That's when her parents woke up that morning, except they weren't cranky. She had been upset with her father for not talking to her the following night when he had arrived home, but that had evaporated into thin air once her father had shown her a small wooden practice sword--just her size.
Shana watched her swing it at the lazy hounds, constantly switching her grip on the ebony from inside the building, a smile on her face. Unlike Dart, who had wanted to learn swordplay because of the need for revenge, she wanted to learn so she could be more like her father. Be more like a boy.
She sighed. The poor child was growing up in a society that was still getting used to the fact that women could fight, too. Serdio especially was a bad place for a tomboy to live in.
But, looking at the child again, she saw Dart's determination in the face that was so much like her own, although the eyes and hair were definitely her father's. That little girl was going to change the way the world worked if anyone did once given the chance, one day or another.
She closed her eyes. Dreams... it had been a while since they'd had any prophetic meaning, but she knew that the little girl was bound for something far greater than even her father had been...
A hand on her shoulder. Dart's. She looked up at him, and he asked, "What are you thinking about?"
She shrugged. "The weather."
I've written RP POSTS longer than THIS CRAP!
-_-;; Quoth Striker; "Ignore me, I'm used to it."