Prologue – A Candle to Light
"...our souls may be consumed by shadows, but that doesn't mean we have to behave as monsters."
― Emm Cole, The Short Life of Sparrows.
-x-x-x-
The first time Freed Selzen met Asia Argento, he was filled with a deep sense of disquiet, and that spurned him to lash out. Not physically, oh no. He had no illusions as to what would happen to him if he damaged the Church's precious Holy Maiden. Excommunication would be the least of his worries if he caused harm to such a precious asset.
The hypocrisy of it all made him want to vomit. At least he was honest with himself. Ever since he'd broken out of the Sigurd Institute alongside the prick and his oh-so-perfect sister, he'd known. He was a monster in the shape of a man, an existence who found meaning in the bloodstains of the slaughtered.
The Church might try and pretty it up, to make it seem like he was just zealous, make it seem like the violence he'd visited upon the Strays was a product of righteous fury, but they knew. They knew that he was nothing more than a beast, and yet they were content to teach him to fight, to kill, so long as he served their purposes.
Oh, he wasn't so blind as to assume all of them were like that; he'd noticed the concerned glances and sad eyes every so often, but that just pissed him off more. If they really felt bad for using him like they did, for housing and honing the claws of a monster, then they'd have long since put him down.
But they were hypocrites too, or they were too soft. He didn't care for their reasons; he just hated that passivity. He'd been pondering the possibilities of turning his weapons and talents on the incumbent generation of Exorcists when he'd run into Asia Argento—quite literally—for the first time.
Those eyes. Those damned innocent eyes. Why did they affect him so?! No matter the vitriol he spewed at her, no matter how he gave vent to the monstrous bile inside him, she did not lash out at him, she did not break.
That little girl had a core of steel, and Freed was, for the first time, caught between wanting to smash it and wanting to learn. That uncertainty, that confusion about what path he should take; that had never happened to him before.
It was only natural, then, that the silver-haired young man found himself seeking out the diminutive blonde. At first, he knew not what he sought, beyond the faint feeling that Asia saw who he was, all of his darkness, wrath, and hate–and yet she still accepted him. As he continued to visit with her, all too aware of the three sets of eyes boring into his back whenever he did so, he found himself baffled.
Freed Selzen, so sure that his only path in life was one carved through the corpses of anyone and everyone, found himself doubting, wondering, hoping. If she, the closest thing to an incarnation of purity that he'd ever known, could look at all his flaws and say what she did, then maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.
"Even though you have so much hate inside you, you can still be a good person. What matters isn't your desires, but what you do with them." She smiled. "I believe in you, Freed. You just need to believe in yourself."
Asia Argento may have been sheltered, and more than a bit naive, but she was far from stupid or delusional. The fact that, even after hearing the dark desires within him, she still believed he capable of good, that he was worth saving...well. For a young man who had only ever received validation for his competence at killing, her willingness to reach her hand out to him meant more than she could have possibly known.
-x-x-x-
As time passed, however, an unpleasant fact was made clear to him. As much as Freed craved her presence, the soothing balm just being around her provided for the pain that his formerly accepted nature caused him, he knew that he could not stay around her. Even if he had believed himself worthy of her kindness, even if he didn't see the hypocrisy of the Church in even starker contrast now that he had encountered Asia's light, he still would have left.
Whatever answers he sought did not lie on the path of an Exorcist. He didn't know where they did, but he was determined to find out. Perhaps it was an acknowledgement that he could not grow the way he believed he needed to while shackled to an organization, perhaps it was mere wanderlust. Hell, it might have been both. Whatever the case, his resignation from the Exorcists came as an utter surprise to his so-called superiors...save for three.
His instructor, Griselda Quarta. An Exorcist a few years senior to him, Dulio Gesualdo. And finally, and most significantly, the mountain of a man who had come to see him off, little Asia seeming even smaller and more fragile beside the titan at her side. Cardinal Vasco Strada, the wielder of Durandal whose compatibility rivaled even Roland, the Paladin for whom the mighty blade was forged.
Frankly, Freed doubted the man even needed the Peerless Sword nine times in ten; he looked to be carved of stone, and fought like it too. Freed had personally witnessed Strada shatter a middling-strength Holy Sword by catching it between his pectoral muscles and flexing.
The man who'd been known as the Violence of Heaven during his prime approached, laying a meaty hand on Freed's shoulder. The soon-to-be former Exorcist felt his knees try to buckle, but somehow, he remained standing.
As though in contrast to the man's massive size, Strada's voice was calm, gentle even, as he addressed the silver-haired youth."Freed Selzen. I hope you know that, even if the rest of the Church calls you traitor, heretic, Stray, that I am proud of you. Not everyone can take the same path to finding themselves, and that you are making this choice, to overcome your flaws and find the man you have the potential to be speaks volumes for your character."
The bald man closed his eyes as he continued speaking, the slight furrowing of his brow the only indication of any disquiet. "I won't presume to tell you where your journey should take you, but…" Eyes the color of flint pinned Freed in place more than the man's ham-sized hands ever could. "Something of significance might be found in China, if you maintain an open mind."
Strada gave a gusty sigh. "More than that, I'm afraid that I cannot say. Even this much may put me on his bad side, but if I can shepherd one lost lamb onto the path?" He gave a sad smile. "Then it will have been worth it."
Freed looked up—waaaaay up—to meet the Cardinal's eyes, then nodded wordlessly. He'd already turned over his standard issue armaments, a Light blade and Light gun, so now all he had to his name were the cassock on his back, a weathered Bible, and a small, worn cross attached to a silver chain. These last two were gifts from Asia, dear thoughtful Asia.
Even though Freed was not a man of God, he would treasure the young nun's gifts all the same. The little book and cross had belonged to her, had helped her, had been by her side through thick and thin. It would be as though she was with him, always. He knew that would need that comfort, that reminder of her ideals and hopes, if he was to find a path through this world devoid of hate and malice.
As Freed Selzen turned and walked away from the Vatican for the last time, he could feel Asia's emerald eyes watching him go like a physical weight upon him. He spoke no words to her, for he had already spoken his farewell to her when they'd last been alone. Adding to that would only serve to multiply their pain. He could only hope that she understood, that his departure would not cause her undue pain.
-x-x-x-x-x-
On a grassy hill, a young man 's red eyes flickered open. 'I wonder how little Asia is doing? It's been a year since then...'
Freed sighed, then rose to his feet with the easy grace of a practiced warrior. He peered down the hill towards the plains of rice paddies that stretched before him m. He still didn't know what or who he was supposed to be seeking here in China, but he didn't think that Strada would send him on a wild goose chase.
He stretched, then grabbed his jacket from where he'd been laying his head. His old cassock had long since gone threadbare, and he'd replaced it with practical, modern clothing. He tossed the black leather article on over a dark blue shirt, then brushed the dirt from his jeans. Stifling a yawn with the back of a hand, the thin-faced youth walked down the hill and toward the road that led towards the nearby town.
It'd be a lie to say that he wasn't feeling more than a bit impatient, searching for an unknown something or someone in this massive country. That said, there wasn't much for him to do but wander like he was. Rural China was admittedly beautiful, but sightseeing was a far cry from the purpose he sought, that unknown piece to fill the gnawing empty spot in the jigsaw puzzle that was his existence.
Freed let out a sigh. 'No sense getting worked up. Either I'll find what the old man wanted me to or I won't, and that's that.'
A prickling at the back of his neck caused him to pause mid-stride and look over his shoulder at a nearby cluster of foliage.
Though he could neither see nor hear anything out of the ordinary, he knew he was being watched. For all that the Church's dogma and doctrine had gone in one ear and out the other, the more practical lessons had been beaten into him until he could, among other things, sense even the most miniscule amount of hostile intent directed at him.
Of course, it didn't hurt that whoever seemed to have it out for him was doing nothing to cloak their bloodlust. 'Either they're a complete idiot,' Freed mused, 'Or they're strong enough that they don't care if I know they're coming.'
Chains rattled in the dark.
His tensed muscles relaxing as he exhaled, Freed stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. His left hand closed around the spine of the Bible that Asia had given him. Freed gazed into the woods, and cleared his throat pointedly. A moment passed, the hairs on the back of the young man's neck stiff at attention, then she emerged into the clearing.
Freed's eyes scanned the thin, pale woman–no, girl who now stood before him, clad in fine black silk. Dark crimson eyes stared disdainfully down her thin nose at him. The first thing that came to mind when looking at her was serpent. There was an aura of regality to her, but it was overshadowed by her malice and the cloying not-scent of damp snakeskin.
But above all that, Freed could feel that she was inexperienced and fragile. Her power, though blanketing the hill in an attempt to intimidate him, was cracked and stretched thin. Looking more closely at the girl, he saw a small pearl at her throat that glinted dimly with unearthly light. Her blue-grey hair was done up in a bun, and antlers of black coral curved up from the sides of her brow like an organic tiara.
Metal bars groaned as malice scraped against malice.
Freed's jaw clenched tightly as he regarded the young yaoguai, for what could she be but one of China's numerous "strange ghosts?" His fingernails bit into the leather cover of Asia's Bible as he regarded the spirit with narrowed eyes.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the young spirit bared her teeth in a fanged grin far too vicious to have any friendliness in it. "Bai! Kai! Kill him."
The next instant, Freed leapt back, as a cluster of roots exploded from the ground, questing for him. 'So that's how it's gonna be.'
Metal shrieked as claws tore their way out.
As Freed's feet hit the ground, he'd already torn Asia's Bible from his jacket pocket and snapped it open to a particular passage, his other hand darting up to his throat to clasp the cross she'd given him.
Freed did not have faith in God, not like the other Exorcists did. What he did have faith in was Asia and her endless kindness, her ideals that led her to reach out to even one such as him. And apparently that belief, that hope that people could be better, was enough to satisfy God's System and allow him to wield Scriptures. Or at least, that's what Strada believed.
So it was that Freed's lips formed the words of a God he did not worship, knowing that he would receive an answer in spite of his heresy.
"No weapon forged against you will prevail."
A blade of wind whistled past his head as he juked to the left, then flicked a kick into the cluster of roots that was rapidly forming into a man. White energy crackled across his body like static as God's System powered the Scripture.
"And you will refute every tongue that accuses you."
A sharpened stake of spirit-fortified cypress hurtled towards Freed's gut. The former Exorcist brought his left leg up with a snap, trapping the branch between his knee and elbow. From beneath the hand curled around Asia's cross, a faint emerald glow pulsed. It was faint, so faint that none of the combatants even registered it.
"This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord."
A near-invisible hand made of wind snatched at his face, but the slight melodic hum that preceded it gave Freed enough warning to shift backwards, turning away an attack that would've taken an eye to leave him with nothing but a small scratch on his nose. White energy pulsed across his body at a manic tempo, so swift that the tiny green sparks of another person's faith weaving themselves into the Scripture went unnoticed.
"And this is their vindication from me, declares the Lord."
Even as his lips formed the penultimate verse of the Scripture, Freed was already snapping Asia's Bible shut and sliding it into his pocket, his other hand snaking out to grasp at the wind. White-tinged fingers wrapped around a transparent throat, brought the wind yaoguai around and shoved him into the man made of cypress.
Pure hate bubbled forth, undaunted by the hollow invocation of the Book.
With a tone of finality, Freed spoke the words that would fully enforce the Scripture. "Invictus Scripture–Isaiah 54:17." The man brought his hands up, then dashed forward, chunks of grass and dirt thrown upwards by the force of his movement. Freed folded the wind spirit in half on his fist, sending it and the tree spirit it lay on flying backwards with the force of his blow.
It screamed with joy, surging through its vessel and demanding release.
Blood pounded in his head as his lips twisted into a macabre grin. His hands curled and uncurled as a malicious cackle escaped him. He stalked over to where the two spirits had landed, and snatched one up. He slammed the man made of wood against a tree by his foot, Freed's malicious grin widening further at the sharp crack that came of the collision.
It revelled in the suffering, but it was not sated.
He let the tree yaoguai fall to the ground unmoving as he spun towards the other one. Both hands lashed out, one capturing the wind-formed man's throat for the second time while the other glowed ever-brighter with God's light. Freed's breathing became swift and shallow as he slammed his fist into the spirit's transparent face once, twice, thrice. Blood burned in his veins as he viciously pummeled the man, utterly ignoring the scratches and cuts he received as the spirit scrabbled at his arms and hands frantically.
It would never be sated.
After the thirtieth punch, the wind spirit slipped into unconsciousness and Freed let him fall to the floor as he turned towards the young yaoguai who had ordered his death without a second thought. Well, it was clear that she was having second thoughts now, some small part of Freed that yet retained its rationality mused as he advanced on the shaking girl.
Not until the world itself bled and suffered at its pleasure.
The coral-horned spirit slashed her hand at Freed with a panicked shriek, a shaky jet of water snapping out and slapping against his chest, but to no avail. The reinforcement of the Invictus Scripture was easily able to nullify such a unfocused, desperate attack.
Such were the twisted desires that Freed attempted to bury deep inside himself.
Freed's fingers curled into claws as he loomed over the little spirit, the weight of malice pouring from him and choking the area. He reared a fist back, white energy flaring as he shifted all of the Scripture's reinforcement into that same fist. The yaoguai's eyes widened in terror as his fist flew for her face.
Emerald light glinted against the tide of darkness.
Freed froze, the blazing energy blowing away from his fist and disappearing into the wind. In the eyes of that little spirit he saw reflected his face, contorted into a monstrous rictus. But that was not the only thing that had frozen him. For a moment, he thought he saw her standing beside him, her small fingers curled around his arm.
It screamed as it was hurled back into the depths of Freed's psyche, ravening and hateful.
Freed staggered back, pressing a hand to his mouth as tears filled his eyes. "Why?" he whispered to noone, to anyone. "Why can't I break free of this?!" Freed collapsed to his knees, insensate. 'I almost killed a child. She can't be older than ten, older than Asia. I thought I had control! What the fuck is wrong with me?!'
So focused on self-flagellation was Freed that he missed the way the terror adorning the girl's face shifted almost instantly to rage. So too did he miss the dart of water that shot towards his neck, infinitely more focused than her last strike and perfectly angled to carve a thumb-sized hole through Freed's carotid artery.
A light breeze blew across the hill as an aged man dressed in all grey materialized in front of the attack, dissipating it with ease.
No, "materialized" was wrong; he'd been on the hill the whole time. It was simply that nobody had registered his presence, any more than they would have registered a single blade of grass from the whole. The man was simply that at one with nature, that he blended in with it completely.
"Enough, little Heilong," the man said, peering down at her over the tops of a pair of amber-tinted spectacles. "Your grudge is not with this boy, as you well know. What was done to your 'mother' has nothing to do with him; indeed, he couldn't have been more than half your age when it happened."
The spirit of the Heilong river rubbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "H-he's one of them. Part of the Church. I won't ever forgive them!" The girl glared up at the man in grey, small hands balled into fists at her side. Neither the spirit nor the old man noticed, but upon hearing her words Freed had clenched his fists so hard that his nails bit into his flesh.
The old man closed his eyes and exhaled audibly through his nose, then replied, "I cannot make you let go of your grudge, nor is it my place to do so." His hand came up to his face and adjusted his glasses, then his eyes snapped open, onyx orbs that stared directly into her soul. "However," he continued, voice quiet but as hard as steel, "this boy is under my protection. Attack him again, and Lord Yinglong will hear of this. Am I understood?"
Heilong quailed under his gaze, and nodded wordlessly. The old man's gaze softened, and he approached the river yaoguai and went to one knee, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Remember, little Heilong. You are not alone. You have Bai and Kai, and if you find it needful, I am also here for you. We will support you, if you let us."
She sniffed, then nodded, scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve again. "Thank you, Master Li," Heilong replied quietly.
Li ruffled her hair, then stood. "Run along, now. Bai and Kai look as though they could use some rest and recovery, and I am sure you could as well. I have a promise to keep."
Heilong blinked, then spun and ran to her downed bodyguards. Surprisingly, other than being unconscious, they seemed relatively unharmed. The unmistakable feel of Master Li's Qi flowing through them quickly told her the reason why. With a flick of her wrist, two thin sheets of water scooped her bodyguards up. With a bow to the old master, Heilong departed for her riverbank, Master Li's words echoing in her mind.
Meanwhile, the old man turned to regard Freed. "Boy. You're coming with me. I owed that uppity brat Vasco a favor, and he used it on you." Upon seeing that Freed was still lost inside himself, Li grabbed the back of the youth's collar and slung him over his shoulder. "I hope he didn't waste that favor, for your sake."
There was a rush of wind, and then they'd left the hill far behind.
Had he been in a more stable state, Freed might have had the wherewithal to struggle with the old man. As it was, he simply hung there limply, resigned to whatever fate was in store for a monster like him.
-x-x-x-
Elsewhere, a brown-haired boy cajoled his mother into buying him a particular video game. Neither of them could have known the repercussions of this seemingly innocuous act.
AN: Well, this is certainly a thing. My third foray into the world of DxD fanfiction, and hopefully the one that will stick and succeed. Much like the now-defunct "Fuis Ton Destin" was in some ways a spiritual successor to parts of "Not Playing With A Full Deck" and in other ways completely different, so too will "When Autumn Darkness Falls" appropriate various things (primarily worldbuilding and characterizations) from "Fuis Ton Destin" and completely discard others. I have numerous goals in writing this story, but one of the focuses of this story is going to be Freed wrestling with his numerous inner demons. That said, this is still DxD, and I would be remiss if I failed to include goofy, over-the-top shenanigans, or neglected explore the vast potential of a world full of mythological wonders and horrors alike.
…
And yes, fanservice, though I will do my level best to keep it both in-character and tasteful (what the devil that means for fanservice I have only the barest of ideas).
Anyways, I hope you all enjoy, and as always, I have to offer my sincere thanks to Magery and Teninshigen for their advice and criticisms.