Etro's Edict #9
Author's notes: As always, the business of disclaimers first; there is no intent of profit intended by this story, and all Final Fantasy characters and worlds are owned by Square Enix; no credit to the author exists, except a slight nod for going 'way out of the box in creating the alternate universe scenario.
Speaking of universe, this is definite step or two outside of the normal Final Fantasy universe as it was written. The setting for the story is the world of Gran Pulse, but with a more futuristic city of Academia; think of it as a bustling, crowed, well developed Gotham, with its seedier side across the river, and an upper city inhabited by the upper class citizens. There is an imperial ruling class over the mini-empire; upper classes are divided into houses, usually headed by a dominant family name. The lower class imitates the upper, its crime lords also run by families, headed by a chosen member, nicknamed the kingpin. Many owned the bars, the clubs and gaming halls of the lower city, known as Oldtown. Oldtown is the older part of Academia, built close to the river's edge, and has decayed compared to the suburbia across the river and the heights of the upper city, rising a hundred stories or more above the suburbia substrata. Above all, the Fal'Cie exist, and serve the gods; consider them vessels filled with the will of the god they serve.
Please be warned the characters are in situations far from the normal world of Final Fantasy; some physical and personality characteristics remain, but they have been developed differently than the norm.
Also be aware this is rated as Mature content with good reason: There will be violence, adult situations, adult language, and adult sexual situations of a heterosexual nature.
Any references to lyrics will be properly credited to the sources at the beginning of each chapter. In course of writing this angsty, offbeat look at Academian affection, the muse presented several pieces of music to fuel the storyline. As always, the hidden focus of the story is love; this time between two lone wolves: Noel Kreiss & Lightning Farron.
Prologue:
He was choking, sinking into a dark oily slick of black scales that tightened with every move, every breath; he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, blindly hacking, but the weakening strikes just let the alloy grate harmlessly off the hard scales and the thing squeezed until his arm went numb, leaving the weapon to clatter onto the stone floor. Deep inside, he knew he was in a losing fight; he could not prolong his life a moment longer; eyelids closed over eyes as radiant of the skies of Pulse, and gasping for air he fought to say a single word: Never. Then he gave up the fight, sacrificing himself to the greater good. His life was ending, here, now. His brain tried to hold onto a final prayer: Walker of the Realm Unseen, By grace of Etro, let thunder herald your arrival. Come forth, sunderer of falsehood. You died for me, the divine one born of light, you were crucified and made to walk the realm of the dead, and now let me die for you. A name in blood, a pact of truth. I shall rise your bond eternal and unyielding...then a burgeoning blackness overtook him as the oxygen was driven out of his lungs by the crushing ebony coils.
Hissing, the creature, now enraged at being cheated of its pound of flesh, opened its maw and crashed down on the shoulder, driving fangs deep into the muscle, injecting a froth of venom that burned with a fierceness that awoke the dying man; a burning, bubbling pain washed through his bloodstream, rapidly escalating to a blistering scald that felt like the very flesh was being eaten away, dissolving in the acidic venom, cauterizing anything in its path – tissue, tendons, organs, bone, all, all burning with the deep caustic action of the massive dose of injected poison; he couldn't hold on any longer, it was too much for any living being to bear and he screamed hoarsely, no longer defiant, but begging for release from this everlasting torture of white-hot pain in his crushed body.
The creature withdrew its fangs and watched the tears roll down the handsome face contorted by pain, the scream music to its ears; but unexpectedly, the man threw his head back and found the breath to scream his goddess' name: "ETRO! Goddess, let me live! I can't die! I have to live! Oh sweet mother basting Etro I have to live, oh pleasepleaseplease…" retching, he choked, spewing blood over the ebon scaly hide of his stoic tormentor then with a rasping sob, began his hysterical rant again: "Etro! Hear me, I can't die! I have to live!'"
A hissing chuckle was heard, then it asked him: "SSSShadow hunter, why sso important to cling to life?" He struggled, the clenches and jerks becoming involuntary spasms as he shrieked in his agony, weeping wildly: " I HAVE TO LIVE, OH GODDESSS EEETRROOOO! I have to live for someone! Someone important! Someone important is coming for me!"
The dark servant laughed: "Ohhh- who?"
"LOVE! My – My love is waiting for me! Some- somewhere! I…havetoliveIhave tolive…I Can't die, EEEETTRO! PLEEEEAAASSSE!" His voice broke, hysterically weeping, then subsiding into a choking wheeze as his pain mounted and his inner flame of life grew dim.
The creature was fascinated by the young Pulsian clinging so stubbornly to his life; its kind was also Pulsian in origin, but it was several steps removed from the common homind lifeforms inhabiting the cities and villages. The mysterious holy of holy beings of Pulse, the Fal'Cie, as they called themselves, had chosen it to serve them; even the House Imperate, the ruling class of Pulse bowed and cringed at the will of the Fal'Cie. It was suspected they were artificially enhanced superior genetic material, with faster reflexes, prescience, with seers and seeresses born every generation. Telekinetics, teleportation, and high abilities in magic or conjuring went hand in hand with the gifts. A complex interbreeding system further enhanced the Fal'Cie caste; it was rumored that marriages were arranged three generations into the future.
Fal'Cie serve the temples, deliver and act on the edicts of the Pulsian Gods, judge high court matters, and advise the head of House Imperate. The L'Cie, the underlings that serve them, pursue many tasks, some exotic, some mundane, and at times nonsensical; Fal'Cie are notorious for not directly expressing their will, as their logic is so subtle as to appear very oblique to ordinary Pulsians.
L'Cie are the closest beings allowed near Fal'Cie and upon accepting their nomination, are endowed with some of the powers of the Fal'Cie, and are branded with the sigil of the god the Fal'Cie serve at induction; no one knows how or why someone is nominated – anyone from a pauper to the highest bastard of the Imperate house has been offered candidacy and accepted.
The Fal'Cie also create lesser servants, commonly nicknamed ghouls, who are just shells of Pulsian beings; they are emptied of soul inside, just animated bodies. They can be filled with the will of a Fal'Cie or a L'Cie, and do tasks like assassinations, or be ears or eyes in places the secretive beings cannot go easily.
Fal'Cie in themselves are not 'good' or 'evil'; but if they serve a particular god, whom may be evil or good, then their actions will invariably align to the greater will. The L'Cie avidly crushing the life out of the young shadow hunter was definitely aligned to the darker side of the holy family; its master was aligned to Lindzei, the snake of the underworld. It took pleasure in performing the will of the God; it had been instructed to make the man suffer, as he had insulted the Lord. The L'Cie had wriggled in pleasure and twisted itself into a swirling Gordian knot before assuming the disguise of the upright bipedal hominid form it used to be before it disappeared into the cool fragrant evening breeze outside the balcony of the lord's stronghold in the upper city.
It now drew back, sinuously bobbing its flat head to watch the man's death throes, the agony of his soul a delight to behold; then delight turned into fear as a searingly bright light exploded in its face, blinding the night loving eyes for long moments; disoriented, it did not feel the iridium chain wrapped around its own neck until too late; the chain tightened with a masterful hand and a sonorous voice delivered a whiplash of a spell; then it was weakened, powerless, useless; a desert knife hovered dangerously near a golden eye when it regained its sight; cringing, it obeyed the command and loosened its hold, letting the man drop free.
The servant of Etro glared at the writhing, looping coils of the dark servant with an aquamarine eye and deliberately flicked a fang with a gloved hand in mock consternation before speaking: "Now, now, dear servant: I have a message from Etro for you: Lay not thine hand on mine child; If he has done a wrong, then come to me. What is mine shall be lessoned by mine own hand and no other's shall touch him."
The slim elegant blade of a man abruptly dropped the dark creature as if he were a mere worm, squirming into the dirt after being yanked from the hook of a fisherman's line and lightly snorted his disgust; he then bent and hoisted the young man's body, battered and bloodied as it was; he could not hear the deep burred voice speaking, but the servant of Etro said it anyway: "You've got all the time in world now to live and love, shadow hunter. Let's get you out of here." A snap of wings unfurling and beating filled the air then shot them up, up into the dark starred night.
Noel Kreiss knelt at Etro's temple before the empty throne above the abyss, unconsciously feeling the left shoulder where the fangs had pierced him; the memory, now blurred a little with time and the strongest of healing spells still haunted him: He never forgot being laid right here, this very spot on the floor by a stern angel of mercy, pale faced like the moon, icy rose hair cascading over a clean arc of brow that was far too breathtakingly beautiful for a mere man to inhabit; the slim strong hands he also remembered, being stripped of soft grey gloves and laid on him in healing, suffused with the very glow of the goddess Etro, tracing over the bloodied wounds on the shoulder, knitting together the broken ribs, crushed organs and cooling the burning venom inside that was reducing the very core of him to putrescence; he wept as he healed, his soul seeming to fly upwards to the throne through the drifting white feathers of her wings; he thought he heard her speak, a cool light amused voice that sang like a thousand silver bells: "Well, servant mine; thou hast done well by mine command. So…this is the one who bid me for life in the name of love?"
The servant nodded and spoke in the careful vernacular of the high court, overlaid with the soft burr of the mountain clans: "Aye. He's the one who hunted seeress Paddra Nsu Yuel and brought her back through the gates. Clever. I cannae tell you why Barthandeus' servant did this; I heard he was offered candidacy and refused; it must have prinked Lindzei's nose. He wants no part of the darkness. It's not often one refuses a seeress' bed, either. He saw right through the glamoring and the focus; I'm not sure even I could have resisted Yuel. These desert-bred nomads are bone-hard. He's rather handy with a blade, too. He'd make a good champion, or even malakim; he's pretty enough for one, at least."
"An angel of mine own? How droll. I'll have to give him black wings to go with the hair. Did you see any name in his heart when you healed?"
"Nae, Lady Goddess. He's naught but eighteen, almost nineteen. He is not known to woman, even. Virgin. The gates of time have been most unkind: Jumping through 5 centuries searching, yet still almost a child. He's barely a man. "
"Perhaps I will find him a name to love." She rested her eyes affectionately on her servant, Edward Farron and thought: I will protect thy line, my beautiful, loyal Mu'Aquibbat. I will send this one to join with thy heart of your heart. E'Claire, was it not? They are perfect for each other; he's stubborn enough to call on me for his own miracle, she needs her own miracle – and that's what I do...miracles.
Her light laughter chimed as she commented: "After all, any man who calls for love without reading the marriage contract deserves the consequences!"
The deep chuckle of the servant joined hers as they flew away in the soft dark, leaving a soft rain of ash grey and white feathers lazily floating down on the young man now slumbering on the floor of the temple.