The Greatest Irony
Chapter 1: Twisted Timeways
Footsteps echoed hauntingly in the dank, still air of the ruins. The black clad figure strode with a calm sense of purpose, stepping over and around the many bodies that littered the various hallways and chambers.
It stopped at one particularly large pile of corpses and surveyed the carnage left behind by what looked like a valiant, if futile, last stand. The defenders, paltry in number compared to the mounds of their foes, were armed and armored in worn and mismatched gear. The sad fact of the matter was it was very likely this was the best that the ragtag survivors of humanity could muster for their desperate gambit.
"Such false hope you feed these fools, Naga," the figure declared in a distinctly male voice. "You were always to soft in your dealings with them."
He grimaced in distaste as his hidden gaze travelled over the piles of their foes. They looked vaguely human in appearance, unsurprising seeing as they once were human, but their skin was rotted and crudely stitched in many places. The Risen, Grima's chief weapon in his crusade of vengeance against humanity, were the corpses of the slain reanimated by the darkest of magics.
The irony of it all was that they weren't even of his own creation. Rather one of his so-called worshippers designed the spell that spawned the horrors out of some mad desire to curry favor with him, at the expense of his own race.
Using that spell was one of the few things Grima would ever admit to regretting in his long life.
It was effective in its purpose, truthfully far to effective. Grima could control the Risen after a fashion, organize them into something other than a shambling mob and direct them where he willed, but as their numbers swelled he could not direct them all the time leaving them to run amok and slaughter any that they found. Even with his considerable power Grima could not stop them, the spell once cast was self perpetuating and drew power from the energy released by the deaths of any mortal not just the ones slain by the Risen or himself.
Each Risen was created and driven by one purpose and one purpose only. To hunt down and kill the living wherever they could be found.
Which meant nothing short of the complete and utter destruction of the human race would stop this nightmare. Even if Grima exercised his nigh god-like powers and somehow managed to wipe the scourge from the face of the world it would only provide a temporary reprieve at best.
He sighed heavily at that train of thought. It was far to late for such an action, to many were already dead and those that weren't were slowly dying. This world was doomed but for a few brave, foolish souls clinging to false hope.
A negligent wave of his hand incinerated the piles of corpses with dark fire allowing Grima to pass unhindered deeper into the ruins. Beyond that point only the Risen remained, streaming onwards to fulfill their purpose. The living had passed through here recently and the undead horrors were single-minded in their pursuit.
There were thousands of Risen making their way toward the ruins even now, it was how Grima knew to come here in the first place, and from the looks of it hundreds if not thousands had already passed through to the innermost sanctum.
An inner sanctum which had already been breached, revealing the massive gate inside glowing with power as the Risen marched through it.
"Foolish mortals," Grima scoffed. "You open a door to escape the evils that plague you and yet you leave that same door wide open for those very evils to follow you through."
Grima stood there simply gazing up at the gate lost in thought as he pondered a course of action. The Outrealm Gate could take one to almost anywhere they desired, from entirely different worlds or even different points in time, as long one knew the correct rituals to open it.
This particular gateway was of the latter variety. This was the mortals last huzzah and Naga's final bit of meddling in their affairs, who else after all could teach the mortals how to use a dragon-made gate? Only he and Naga remained of the old blood and only they still knew how to manipulate the Gate here in this world.
"I wonder," Grima mused aloud. "Did you tell them the dangers of meddling with time, Naga? The sacrifices they would make by taking this course? And the mortals consider me to be cruel."
There were many issues with traveling through time at least if one intended to change past events. Certain events were so likely to happen, like his own release thanks to centuries of careful plotting by the Grimleal, as to seem predestined. The timeline would in fact fight any such attempts to alter events like that through any proxy available and Grima had had thousands of fanatical worshippers to draw from.
Worse still, at least from their weak-willed standpoint, any changes that were made had no effect upon the future one traveled from. Time did not flow in a perfectly straight line, every possible decision was made and explored so while they might save one timeline others would remain completely unaffected. They had, in essence, abandoned those in this timeline to die.
Dark energy began to gather and his vessels signature cloak flapped around Grima as he came to a decision.. A shockwave of black fire burst forth as he ejected his soul from the body of his avatar incinerating it, the Risen in the ruins and disrupting the gateway on this end as he passed through.
It was a rash decision Grima knew. By going through in such a manner he had abandoned his true body, though thankfully kept the majority of his power, and would be forced to seek out his avatar much sooner than before but it was a small price to pay to escape that dead world.
It wasn't all that much of a sacrifice after all, he could simply reclaim his dragon form at a later date. This time without unleashing the Risen upon the world. He'd already had his revenge once, it had rather lost its luster considering the original outcome.
Grima could feel them scattered throughout the timeways, Risen and mortal alike lost and bumbling about. While the various pathways were safe for mortals to travel they would experience great difficulty traversing them as their senses struggled to interpret the twisted surroundings correctly.
There was one mortal slightly further ahead of the others, one with the blessing of Naga flowing strongly through them and wielding a weapon radiating an ancient and powerful energy.
That then would be Lucina and the Falchion. Normally Grima would not bother learning about a mortal but this one was different from the rest. There were others of her bloodline that had survived his awakening, there were in fact two others in here with her, but they were pathetically weak in comparison. Lucina alone would have had the strength necessary to defeat him, to seal him away once more were in not for the machinations of the Grimleal in stripping humanity of the tools they would need to see it through.
She would arrive before the others but not before him. Grima wondered, what would Lucina do when she made it through? Would she seek out her father and his fellows and confide in them? Would she succumb to her weak nature and avoid them, shoulder the burden of stopping his release alone and risk failure?
Chrom and the Shepards had hindered the Grimleal's plans to release him for years despite their ultimate failure. With proper forewarning they might even have been able to prevent his awakening at the point in the timeline he was fast approaching, were he not already free and among them.
And he would be among them. Grima may have discarded all of his avatar's memories and experiences, useless trappings once his purpose had been fulfilled, but he'd kept a close eye upon the young man once his bonds had been weakened by the death of the Exalt and as such knew much of his future.
He, alongside Chrom, would become the cornerstone of the Shepards, leading them to victory after victory over their many foes over the years. Later he would serve as a valuable advisor to Chrom and tutor to the Shepard's children so if he were absent Lucina might very well draw the correct conclusions and ruin any peace he might attain should he go his own way.
A burst of energy heralded Grima's emergence from the Gate and it took him several moments to reorient himself once he was through, the sudden abundance of life in this time like a physical blow to his senses. Once the disorientation passed he released a more subtle wave of his power, searching out his avatar carefully so as not to alert the more sensitive beings in this time who might recognize him.
Thankfully Grima did not have to wait long for his search to bear fruit. His avatar was close by, just north of the island that housed the Outrealm Gate somewhere along the southern coast of Ylisse. The trip there was a short one without a physical form to slow him and it wasn't long before Grima was observing the young man that would serve as his vessel.
Grima supposed he would be considered plain by mortal standards what with his unassuming mien and largely unremarkable features even with his shock of white hair. Beneath such a modest exterior though lay a considerable amount of magical power and skill at swordplay and tactics that few could match. Those traits were not readily apparent though and a great many foes would have underestimated him in the years to come.
Grima knew his avatar well though. Knew that while his power right now was nothing to scoff at by mortal standards, it paled in comparison to what it was when Grima had possessed him in the other future and even that was but a shadow of the potential that lay within.
Consequently Grima knew that he would have to exercise tremendous caution in taking the body now. There were no rituals enacted to ease the process and the body was still young and untempered by the hardships and trials the other had seen. Flooding it with his power recklessly could burn it to ash or, more worryingly, cause it to absorb a large portion of his own power and then reject his attempt at control.
In the latter scenario, while salvagable with some work, any further attempts would be greatly complicated. The body would actively fight him and, empowered by his own dark energy, would present a valid threat to his very existence being the only power in the world capable of truly harming him.
That was one outcome Grima wanted to avoid at all costs.
With that in mind he descended upon his avatar like a hawk striking at its prey. Carefully he enveloped the young man in his power, grasping onto his soul and pulling firmly but everso gently as to not damage the vessel.
Grima could feel the man's pain and fear but most of all Grima could feel the horrified shock roiling within as he realized, much to late, what was happening to him. His avatar tried to mount a defense, tried to force Grima out but he simply was not powerful enough in will or body to provide an effective resistance.
With a final surge Grima pulled the soul free from the vessel and held it captive as he supplanted it with his own. Equal care was taken to strip away the essential parts that made the man who he was, the memories and skills and experiences that Grima had discarded before, and take them for his own. For a brief moment Grima considered binding the soul to him, forcing the man to watch as Grima lived his life but then the moment passed and he let it go on to wherever human souls went when their mortal shells expired.
There was little need for such pointless cruelty after he'd served his purpose.
Grima opened his new eyes and drew in a deep breath of fresh air, untainted by the smell of death and decay. Cautiously he sat up from where his vessel had fallen during their brief struggle for dominance. Finding that everything seemed to be in order and working properly he gathered the few scattered possessions his vessel had been carrying, some meager traveling supplies along with a battered iron sword and meticulously maintained magic tome.
A brief perusal of his stolen memories showed that his avatar had recently managed to slip past the Plegia-Ylisse border with the intent of making his way to Ylisstol. Apparently he'd managed to uncover the Grimleal's plot to incite the coming war between the two countries, though he was unaware of the true reason for it, and intended to warn the rulers of Ylisse if possible.
This was most likely how he and Chrom had met in the previous timeline so warn them Grima would. Alongside his own intimate knowledge of the Grimleal and their plans it would serve masterfully towards insinuating himself in the Shepards confidence.
The journey to Ylisstol would take many days on foot and this body would need more to sustain it than the little food he carried. It was an annoyance but one Grima had little choice but to endure until the body grew accustomed to his presence and he could once again sustain it on his power alone.
Conveniently enough there was a village only a few minutes walk north of him. Grima's avatar had had enough coin on him to barter for the supplies he would need for the journey even if it galled him to depend upon mortals for anything. This too he would endure without complaint as it would serve his purposes even if indirectly.
Something however gave him pause at the outskirts of the village. There was something else approaching the village, a pack of mortals positively radiating murderous intent, greed and a plethora of the other negative emotions that Grima shared a connection with.
His newly acquired memories allowed Grima to come to the conclusion that they were likely a band of brigands, ones probably in the employ of Plegia considering how close to the border they were. Along with those same memories however came the unexpected urge to stop them, to aid these pathetic mortals rather than simply ignore the issue and continue onward as was his first inclination.
This was the reason why he had kept nothing of his previous avatar. Grima had originally assumed, correctly it seemed, that if he'd kept any of the memories or personality there would be a bleed over effect of sorts. By keeping so much of his avatar he was being influenced by the man's weaker nature and any bonds he might have had.
While the latter was not an issue at this point in time, a lifetime of hiding had left him rather bereft of close companions after his mother's death, the former could become an annoyance if Grima did not maintain strict control over himself even if it would aid him in blending in.
Setting aside the issue for now, it wouldn't hurt to get a little practice in acting appropriately Grima reasoned, he made his way into the village proper to warn them of the impending danger.
Grima had to work hard to hold back a sigh of disgust. It hadn't taken him long to give his warning, even now the villagers were rushing about gathering up valuables and their families and barricading themselves in their homes. The thing that caused his disgust though was the complete lack of anything even resembling an armed response. These people lived only two days travel from a hostile nation and lacked either the means or the will to even defend what was theirs.
It was little wonder humanity had succumb so easily in the future.
"You should find somewhere safe to hide," Grima said, interrupting the village elder who had spent the last two minutes profusely thanking him. "I shall do what I can to deter them."
"But, sir," the man protested. "You are but one man, surely you will be outnumbered!"
"Undoubtedly so," Grima agreed as he turned to make his way out of the village. "I highly doubt they will turn away however simply because the streets are empty and the doors locked. If they can't pillage they will likely settle for burning your village to the ground around your ears if left unchecked."
"Your kindness is matched only by your courage, stranger," the elder said solemnly, his entire demeanor saying quite clearly that he believed Grima was about to die in their defense. "Might I have your name?"
"My name?" Grima paused, looking back over his shoulder at the man with a confident smirk. "My name is Azazel, and I have not come so far to be brought down by such scum as this."
A/N: Well hello again! I'm sure many of my old readers are looking at this and thinking: "Oh great, he's gone and started another story. FINISH YOUR OTHERS DAMNIT!" Believe me I feel for you, I really do, but I have so many different ideas buzzing around in my head right now I have great difficulty focusing on the ones I have already established like Edge of Madness and Fate and Fantasy which are still fairly popular even now after year(s) of inactivity. This is, in fact, only one of almost 48 different ideas that have been on my brain since the last time I updated Madness ranging from anime to books to games to movies and TV shows.
I decided on this because to be frank there isn't a single fic anything like it in the Fire Emblem section. When I looked at the story for Awakening I saw so many blanks both intentional, because of the Avatar/Robin's amnesia, and unintentional because let's be honest you don't really need a long ass backstory for most JRPGs, just a villain out to destroy the world or some such nonsense and Grima fulfills that role perfectly what with the whole "Rawr! Destroy all humans!" vibe I got from him. But when I see blanks like that in a given history or motivation (aka WHY is he so determined to destroy everyone and WHY was he sealed away in the first place?) the writer in me sees a blank check with which to run wild with.
And as you can plainly see above I have done so. I will continue to do so to, as long as my interest in the idea holds true and perhaps now that I actually seem to have my writing groove back I shall be revisiting my previous works and seeing what I can do about continuing them as well.