Nausitalia crossover
A crossover between Nausicaa of the Valley of Wind and Hetalia Axis Powers
Note: Proof-read, but not very well. Looking for a beta, any and all help appreciated.
Reviews are nice, but Critiques are jewels. If you have any, please mention them, since I'm very unsure about the pacing, description and flow of my story.
This fanfiction is based off of the Nausicaa Manga and Hetalia Webcomics, but takes place in the Nausicaa world. If you have not read the entirety of the Nausicaa series, please be aware that are major spoilers of the ending, especially in this prologue. I recommend that you read the Nausicaa manga first, however if you have no intention of doing so ever then you can continue if you want. But still, read it, because it was written by Hayao Miyazaki and it's considered a masterpiece of literature.
There is a light, in the middle of which it stands, beckoning us forward. We do not ask it what it wants, for God probes through the light-mind and gives the answer before the question; we are it's prophets, and we come forth to speak the thousand-year tale of life after death, of purity that arises from corruption.
We are gathered here once more, to educate a group of four, A king, A fool, A soldier, and her.
We emerge from the beating Heart in a dazzling illumination, the spectators apart from the main audience turn away but she merely lowers her cloth mouthpiece and returns to our entrance a fiery glare.
We seem to take no notice and begin our speech, we ask for an apology to our rashness of a sudden entry, then we speak of purification, of the great cleansing- we died for our own faults, and you, the offspring of those who lived through that period of dread and woe are being put up to pay the price of our folly, and we shall continue with the sacrifice till the day comes when a new Eden rises and new Adam's and Eve's are sent forth by God to repopulate, It will give into their arms and minds the ancient wisdom of times long past and they will construct from those ideals and knowledge a new world, a new civilization, and then, it will be paradise at last.
But now, it is but a dream, so we ask you, children, Daughter, help us, help us to see through to that end, help us so that the light is not put out, so that paradise is found and Man once more stands as it once did...
Yet you say No, Daughter. You defy us, label our existence as "shadows", as mere dangling specters, intangible and bound and incapable of any self-willed action.
Too an extent, you speak the truth.
We have no hands with which to stop you as you charge forth through our luminous beings to prove the validity of your words, no mouths to protest as you place your palm against the surface of the Heart, no legs on which we can run so as to escape God's grasp as it pulls us back into itself, as we dissipate and hear the servants cry out in horror and awe at your ability and achievement.
We arrive once more within our adobe, as the Master pushes us aside and prepares to travel out by itself to confront the Girl.
Lies! Her words rebound through the flesh walls, Lies! They seem to scream, and though she does not directly say so that aching word is what describes this all to a T. All you speak are lies, Mechanical Monstrosity! Speak the Truth! There is no such need for a being such as yourself!
God is angry, and changes rapidly from a supposed Divinity into an arched cobra who spits light venom onto it's surroundings, who collapses down and slithers outward amongst it's own poison and catches an unknowing victim in it's lock-jaw grasp.
The Fool is the unsuspecting catch, and God conceals his face with it's own, as a conscious mask.
We are left behind, God in it's anger forgetting to send us back into slumber. So we press ourselves against the walls of our encasement, listening and watching through the character-pores of the Heart-machine, bearing witness to the heated argument between the Angel and God, A verbal battle in which opposing ideals and philosophies are clashed one against the other in an attempt to prove it's superiority.
God spoke of the horrors of the past, of old days filled with fear and anguish, where man was pitted against man, technology and nature in order to have even a faint glimmer of hope in clutching onto the slipping hand of life. And so came God, to aid Man in breaking apart the great cloud of despair, by bringing forth Arbiters of Death and a Forest of Corruption thereafter, with promises of pure lands yet to come.
The Angel seems to agree, but claims that when it comes down to the understanding of life we are wrong. We believe that from the end of the Corrupted Sea will purity emerge, but she says such thinking is flawed and that the sins and woes of humanity will not vanish in Paradise. Because there are sorrows, there can also be joy. But God, she argues, will never know such joy, because as a machine built upon the ideal of purity vs. corruption it will only follow such an ideal and never be able to process the other.
We press evermore closer to the walls as the Master begins to grow evermore enraged. It claims such thinking was accounted and prepared for, that without itself man will not be able to walk onto the Pure Lands, and they will collapse spewing blood from their lungs. There will be no further future from that point. The Angel counters, stating that such things is not for a being like it to decide. God is taken back and spews out it's own reasoning, that it is Light, the Shining light, the Angel stills finds it's way around, claims that without darkness, there is no light, and for that the incomplete Light will have to return into the darkness. We catch glances at each other, worried expressions, before returning to the spectacle.
A few more comments and God returns, indifferent towards us, powerful, concentrated light pouring out of it and the Heart. We begin to feel the faintest glimmers of fright, a feeling so long unseen it seemed almost new. God sends out vicious beams, attempts to destroy the minds of it's enemies, the Angel, but is stopped by a new-come spirit. Our worried expressions grow into gaps and shocks, God tenses, yet an explosion interrupts us all and the Master screams in pain, a black streak cuts upon it.
Such a quick unfolding of events leaves us dumbfounded as the pain extends to us well, a small black streak making it's way horizontally across our backs. We begin to panic- is this the end? It seems so.
To make the chances ever smaller we hear the Angel cry out to her Child, the God-Warrior, once, twice, again. We feel it squirm, responding, and wait in wide-eyed anticipation for Death to come pounding upon the walls of the Crypt.
Blam.
We sense something rip open, God screams and cries in pain, and as four more black streaks appear upon our torsos it begs the Girl, the Child of Darkness, to stop, to not go down in history as an destroyer. She turns away from it's pleadings, she does not need it, for it is not truly God, as the real God inhabits even the tiniest particle of Nature.
On the command of the Angel, or the Devil, whichever now seems more fit, the Warrior sends another, far more powerful blast and the Artificial God screams. The streaks become prominent, dark, skeletal fingers without any solid form, ones that drag us into a dark abyss, we find ourselves fighting it.
A long, long time ago we had sealed ourselves into the Master, in order to evade Death, for a being that does not live cannot know what it is to die. And yet here it appears, a skeletal face staring from behind our shoulders, dragging us away.
We see other forms taken away, small, curled, incomplete forms in the bony arms of miniscule skeletons, and we panic even more- the eggs of the Crypt; those Adam's and Eve's that we spoke of, they were dying by the dozens. But what of ourselves? We were also one of those; have we been taken away as well? We do not see them, so is there perhaps a chance? Perhaps, but it is unbeknown to us.
But please, we beg, please do not take them, they had not crushed underfoot the Earth, they had not taken her depleted form and cut her upon, then lazily, later desperately tried to reconstruct her. It was not their fault that man was forced to undergo the change to adapt to a new world, it was not the cause of their workings that puts forth the lives of innocent and good men and women to pay the price of compensation for our wrongs. It is us, we understand for we stop fighting, we allow to be taken away and consumed whole by darkness, but please, as a final boon, give them the chance to live again.
I am one of the last to leave this life as the Warrior extends it's hand, grabs the Heart and crushes it. And as I am led away, as my limbs and body disappears, I cannot help but think of old days of happiness and discovery, where I stayed with my two great friends and often cowered behind them. It lifts the last of my feelings, and I hope that wherever I am going I may just as well find some Pasta.