A/N: Good day, Chasers. I'm from GCPH; if you can find out my IGN, kudos to you. That being said, certain places and terms may be different from other servers, so please bear with those minor discrepancies for this fic.
Before reading any further, if you don't like yaoi -or don't know what it is, for that matter-, kindly step out of this page. This might not be your cup of tea.
This fanfic is also going to be serious; it's my first attempt at any GC fanfic. It doesn't take place in the canon-verse but I've borrowed the characters and some places for this story. This was also partially inspired by a certain TV series; if you can guess what that is, I think I will love you~
By the way, I've been roleplaying for several months and have stopped writing prose during that time, so my style may be somewhat still reminiscent of that. I'd appreciate any review whatsoever.
Disclaimer: Grand Chase belongs to KOG, not to me. If I owned it, certain…interesting things would happen.
When he heard that the Diablo had been captured, he couldn't believe his ears. Not because he had deemed it incredible, but because he thought that the whole notion of capturing him was downright impossible. After all, the Diablo was considered a myth of sorts; a superstition made by some of the old women in the village, perhaps to explain the centuries of misfortune that seemed to have plagued the kingdom. In the past years, the kingdom had had its share of diseases and droughts, famine and pestilence, and had even had the misfortune of having a basilisk attack one of the towns, as rare as those would be. As a result, Kanavan, once a prosperous kingdom, had been reduced to one ravaged by poverty and unrest. Many had left, and those who remained only did so because there was nowhere else to live.
No one knew why Kanavan had been hit so bad. The other kingdoms had largely been unaffected; if anything, they seemed more prosperous than they had ever been. Some blamed Kanavan's queen and its ever-incompetent crown prince, but there were others who preferred to attribute such misfortune to supernatural means. And that was when the legend of the Diablo came out.
The raven-haired man stretched his legs to rest on the windowsill. The window was in view, but from what he could see from his chair, the party had yet to reach the inner courtyard. He had heard the news of the capture from one of the maidservants; apparently, everyone was excited to see who this Diablo really was. After all, no one knew exactly what he looked like. Some spoke of fangs and fire-red eyes, others of horns and claws, but all who had seen him would agree that he always wore a dark hooded cloak. The Diablo would often be spotted wandering the streets of Kanavan; here in one street, gone in the next. Most notably, whenever something bad or strange happened, he would be around, tucked in a shadowy corner, always watching. Or so they said. He had become something of an urban legend; a tale to scare the children into obeying their parents, and a silent warning to adults not to stay out of their houses late into the night.
This mysterious person aroused Sieghart's interest, but certainly not enough to make him follow the others into the courtyard. Instead, he had opted to remain in his room, simply making sure that he had a clear view of the castle entrance below. Already, he could see a small crowd of servants huddled together, whispering.
Sieghart rolled his eyes, averting them momentarily before fixing his gaze onto the window again. "What's the big deal, anyway?" he murmured to no one in particular, closing one eye. Sure, he was the crown prince of Kanavan, but people didn't seem to respect him enough to mind that he sometimes wasn't there. He knew it was his fault, since he'd often opt to sit important events out -he doubted that everyone in Kanavan even knew how he looked like- but it was just that things around the kingdom were dull enough that he'd prefer to sleep instead. Probably the closest thing to interesting was this Diablo phenomenon that had the whole kingdom in an uproar.
From the corner of his vision, Sieghart spotted a group of riders entering the gate. The knights of Kanavan had just returned from their mission, and as if to highlight that fact, in between two white horses, a hooded figure trudged along, his hands chained together by a pair of manacles. From his vantage, Sieghart couldn't see anything besides his cloak. His figure was bent, and it seemed like he was keen to not allow his face to be seen by anyone. Was it really that...shocking? He straightened from his seat, attempting to peer down into the courtyard below in order to get a better view. Still nothing.
' How pointless.' Sieghart snorted, resting his chin on a hand. All this waiting had evidently amounted to absolutely nothing in the end. That was why most of the time, he wouldn't even bother trying to do anything in the first place. Hence, that earned him a notorious reputation for being a lazy prince. Sieghart knew, however, that if push came to shove, he'd step up and show his subjects that he was a leader fit to rule Kanavan one day. Probably.
But inspite of his general attitude towards everything else, there was just something about this Diablo that piqued his interest. He didn't know what it was exactly; maybe it was the fact that he was such a big deal in Kanavan -even a bigger deal than he himself was, though Sieghart would be the last person to admit that-, or maybe because he was just a walking mystery. Whatever it was, he had to find out who this person really was.
Sieghart let one gray eye drift towards the hooded figure again. The party had reached the main entrance now, allowing the servants who had gathered there to momentary flock towards the figure, eager to take a look. Now that the Diablo had been chained, there was nothing else to fear. But his escorts had quickly nudged their horses to block their captive, barking orders to steer clear from him as the party made their entrance to the castle.
At this rate, if he simply remained in his room, he knew wasn't going to solve this little mystery. The knights had already disappeared from view as they entered the castle, the prisoner in tow. If he didn't hurry, the Diablo would probably be dead by the time he got there.
After all Sieghart did take his time, even when he said he'd hurry.
Having formed a decision, the prince tore his eyes away from the window and stood, clipping his claymore onto his belt as he made for the door.
'That's it. I have to see for myself.'
Even back home, he had never known this kind of darkness.
He lifted his arm. The jingle of chain links bumping against one another echoed throughout the empty space around him, bouncing off the dank walls of his cell. The ceiling dripped with cold water from yesterday's rain shower. It was too dark to see anything else, but he was at least certain that the cell hadn't been kept tidy for some now. He had accidentally brushed his fingertips against the stone floor when they had thrown him inside; now, rubbing his thumb and index finger together thoughtfully, he probably knew why. There was no need to clean up a cell whose occupant was to die the next day.
The hooded figure sighed, leaning back against the wall. Honestly, he had no idea why he was here in the first place. This morning, he had heard that some kind of monster had appeared on the frontiers of the Forsaken Barrows, and he had thought to investigate. He was almost certain that it was his ticket back home, and even if he was a wanted man, he was willing to take that risk if it meant getting back to where he needed to be. But for some reason, he had been caught; caught just when he had been about to make his escape, because someone had apparently seen him when he had arrived there and had made it a point to report it to one of the Kanavan knights.
The prisoner shook his head. Well, he knew it was bound to happen, anyway. He'd been around for about 200 years, and he had made it a point to visit places where mysterious things occurred. Over the years, he had formed a hypothesis that the way back home involved some kind of magical mean. Because of that, he had taken it upon himself to investigate those happenings to see if they had anything to do with him. So far, he had had no luck. Worse, it had even led the locals to think that he was behind all this –if what he had surmised from the hearings earlier were correct.
A stray droplet landed on his cheek. Reaching up with his chained arm, he wiped it away with the back of his hand. How had all this happened, anyway? One day he had been cleaning up the mess some renegades had made, and the next thing he knew, he was here in some unknown dimension with no way back home. Sometimes he wondered that if he simply died, he'd just go back to that other dimension where he belonged. That was why the thought of death didn't terrify him as much as it would other people.
He scratched his cheek absently. Although, now that he had had the chance to mull over the thought, it didn't seem fair to have him die for something he didn't even do. He simply happened to be in certain places at the wrong time.
And who the hell was the Diablo, anyway? For heaven's sake, he had a name, and apparently, no one had bothered to ask even when he had been presented before Kanavan's queen.
"Humans and their justice," a soft tenor voice spoke up, slightly irritated by the whole affair. If he could just see something, he'd probably have broken out of here a long time ago.
The sound of footsteps and voices echoing on the corridor shifted his attention suddenly, his keen ears picking up the sounds even before he had seen the faintest glimmer of a torchlight.
"I didn't expect to see you here, Your Highness." He immediately recognized that voice. It belonged to one of the guards who had thrown him in after his hearing before the queen.
A short laugh followed. "Thought I had to swing by before the big day tomorrow. He's here, isn't he?"
"Yes, milord. We're guarding him under lock and key."
"A little too much, don't you think? Has he been proven guilty?"
By this time, the light had flooded into the cell, allowing him to see his surroundings clearly. White spots dotted his vision, momentarily blinding him. He blinked several times to adjust to the , a thousand possibilities raced through his head. Should he break the manacles and force open the lock? Hide in the dark and assault whoever was going to open the cell's door? Or just—
"Ah, here we are, Your Highness. Be careful; they say he's dangerous."
It was probably too late to try anything.
"I'll be fine. Give me the torch and go back to your post. I'll speak with him for a bit."
"Very well, sir. Please call me if something happens."
The hooded figure bowed his head, keenly aware of the sound of the door's heavy locks being undone. His ears twitched, he clenched his hands –was he going to try it after all? He had originally thought that he'd be up against two (possibly armed) people, but judging from the conversation earlier, there was only one person out there who was undoing the locks.
After what seemed like eternity, there was silence. He was afraid to move, aware that the slightest shake would cause his chains to make a noise that would immediately alert his visitor, and he would probably call the guard's attention. He took a deep breath.
"Relax, I won't do anything,"
He didn't reply. What was he supposed to say to that? At the corner of his eye, he could see the glint of metal from the person's hip, presumably a sword. In fact, this person seemed very capable of doing absolutely anything.
"So you're the Diablo?"
This time, he snorted and narrowed his eyes beneath his hood. "I don't know what you're talking about."
His visitor paused for a moment, as if to recollect his thoughts. He, on the other hand, had refused to look at the man's face, preferring instead to focus his attention on the sword. At this moment, one hand was rested on the hilt. He was waiting for an opportunity for it to stray from there, so that he could spring some kind of surprise attack. How long was this person going to stay here, anyway?
"Well then, what's your name?"
The question sent a jolt through his train of thought. His name. Someone had asked his name. It had been so long since he had introduced himself to anyone –200 years in fact-, that somehow, his name sounded foreign even to his mind, let alone his lips. And now, on the eve of his execution, someone had bothered to ask who he was.
Who was this person?
Slowly, amethyst eyes rose to meet gray.
"Dio."
A/N: This chapter kind of sets the backdrop, so I'm afraid it's really uneventful. Hopefully, we can get on with the plot in the next chapter. I've yet to write it.
Thank you for reading~ Reviews would be appreciated and would actually inspire me to write.
