Author's Note: The original concept of Bio Booster Armor Guyver and its characters belong to Yoshiki Takaya. This story and its original concepts belong to me. Any references to the Final Fantasy game series belongs to Squaresoft Entertainment.
Summary: Natural order, threatened by the forsaken Blood Magic. A valiant kingdom falling to a tyrannical general. Two warriors, four mages, theif, and assassin. One supreme destiny.
This next part is very important, so please read before proceeding with the story. I started this fic about three years ago, but it never got any further than the prologue. It was the persistence of Jade Tatsu (author of The Conquered and multiple one-shots) that made me resurrect it. Of course, now I have to try to remember the majority of the plot details that I've forgotten.
Before you continue, bare in mind that this is NOT your typical Guyver fanfiction, in any way or form, nor is it a mere crossover with another series. This is an Alternate Universe (AU) fanfic; for those of you not familiar with the concept, it means I have taken the characters and some of the initial concepts of Takaya's series and put it into a different world entirely. There are references to themes in the manga, but, simply speaking, this is the world of Guyver as it were to happen if you were to happen in a Final Fantasy-like world. Some aspects of the original manga will remain the same, while others will be drastically different. For example, Archanphel is not a bad guy; the only original Zoalord who is a villain in this story is Gyrot. With that said and done, if the previously stated does not sound appeasing to you, then leave now before you bother to flame me for it. If you read the story and still do not approve, fine, but I don't want any flames regarding my choice for Archanphel's role.
With that said and done, I hope that this fanfiction makes it way to completion. The storyline has been carefully planned out, for the most part, and so I know that it will not go to three chapters and stop. Keep in mind, though, I have several other stories that have priority before this, so updates may be few and far between.
OmegaDevin
Voices of a Distant MemoryWritten by OmegaDevin
Prologue MidnightFor reasons unknown, it always seemed be raining when the world was destined for change. It was certainly raining the night that the Armor was stolen from the ancient ruins of Shadain Murai, at the base of forbidden Mount Minakami. It came down in solid, freezing sheets, as cold and as hard as steel, a never ending torrent only broken by the blinding flash of lightning shattering a raging gray sky.
In the cloaking darkness of the thick northern forests, the creature ran, thankful that the sound of the driving rains that hid the sounds of its heavy feet tramping through the forest brush, drowning out its heavy, blood-choked breathing. It was well aware of its injuries, the fatal gaping wounds in its body and the fact that its chasers were stronger and faster than it was, but it was all unimportant. All that mattered was that the creature had to get as far away from the ruins as possible, and as close to its final destination before its pursuers caught up with it and tore it to shreds. Clutching the precious cargo to its bleeding chest with malformed claws, it pressed itself onwards, ignoring the burning pain and the howling of the monsters chasing it.
They tore through the forest at impossible speeds, howling, snarling, the heavy scent of blood driving them into a lustful rage. Their heightened senses pulled them forward even through the blind darkness and the pouring rain. The thrill of the hunt and the promise of the kill urged them forward, as did the fear of returning empty-handed. If they returned without the Armor, then the blood of the escaped Lost Soul was not going to be the only blood spilt tonight.
Pain. There was so much pain burning its way down to the core of the creature's soul, tearing its hope and life apart as if it were a wild animal. Pain that could break the soul, but you could not break what had already been shattered. It was far too much pain and twisted agony for anything mortal to live through, but it was the Blood Magic running through its ruined veins that kept the Lost Soul alive…or the closest thing that could be considered alive. The heart still beat, forcing blood from the wounds in sluggish waves. The brain still commanded the lungs to breath and the legs to move, but this was the only "alive" that the creature knew.
In the crouched position it held near the base of a tree, the creature listened, trying to steady its own wet and ragged breathing against the pounding of the rain. They were out there, still. The mere din of the thunderstorm was hardly enough to stop them from hunting. It might have slowed them down, but sooner or later, they would catch up to it. The Lost Soul just had to hope that it could get as close to its goal before the hunters fell upon it with gleaming claws and gnashing teeth. Their noses were sharp, their hearing true, and their eyes in the darkness were ever bit as keen as it was in the light.
Senses as sharp and deadly as their claws and titanic strength. Even in the cover of the night and the storm, they would inevitably pick up on the scent of the pool of blood accumulating under the dying creature.
Ah, but what wondrous creations the Relic Beasts were! How perfect they were in design!
Perfect soldiers, obedient to their master and maker, the one who wielded the Blade of Chronos. Perfect warriors, able to understand any command and carry it out to their fullest extent and perfect precision. Perfect killers, able to drown anything in its own blood once the chase was over. Perfect mutineers, able to take down the most powerful kingdom in the world without the citizens of Llewelyn ever knowing until it was too late.
It was supposed to be a Relic Beast. It was supposed to succumb to the seduction of the Blood Magic, giving into the promise of power and treasure by giving into its own sinful lusts and desires, transforming it into a creature of sheer strength and unmatched power. Instead, the Blood Magic had been driven from its system by the very emotions that it despised, that made it recoil in disgust like a demon exposed to sunlight.
Guilt. Loyalty. Honesty. Love. Those very same damned emotions that caused the Blood Magic flow out of his body, leaving its vile taint behind. In its wake it left a deformed creature, its body burning with internal fire that began to break the soul apart at the seams, casting it into a downward spiral of pain and slow death and insanity.
The loss of the Blood Magic in mid-transformation…and a Lost Soul was born.
And then the Chronos Lord had found the Armor, the very relics that had enough untapped power to make the Relic Beasts and his own Blood Magic obsolete. Armor that would give him power to take on the Sleeping Lion single-handedly…and win.
But, at the same time, he had found the Armor that would be Llewelyn's last chance for survival, the kingdom's last hope to fight the Lord of Chronos and cast him back to the Hell where he belonged. That was why the Lost Soul stole the Armor away from the ruins of Shadain Murai, why it agreed with the shadow-cloaked man to take the Armor in the first place. Why it was doing this last risky, and very foolish attempt, to inadvertently seek revenge on the Chronos Lord for turning it into the pathetic mass of twisted flesh that it now was.
Broken promises. Broken dreams. Broken lives. The Lord of Chronos would not be allowed to claim the great kingdom of Llewelyn so easily.
A howl filtering through the driving rain. Inhuman growls against the thunder. The snap of a twig. Time to keep moving.
Perfect hunters. Prefect in every way. Damn them.
With a grunt of pain, the Lost Soul pushed itself up with burning muscles and pressed onward.
Even in the pouring rain and the roar of the thunder overhead, the Lost Soul heard the sound of the river, coming up fast before it. The river. Salvation. Beyond the river was where his employer would be waiting for the Armor, to take it further away from the Lord of the Chronos Blade. Then maybe, just maybe, the kingdom would have a chance to overthrow the Chronos Lord, and the king might awake so the Lion could take back his throne.
The Orvon River flowed before it; a massive waterway, bloated past it shores from the freak rainstorm, churned white and foaming from its violent and deadly rapids, standing out starkly from the blackness of its waters.
Just south of the river…south of the Ruins…that is where I will waiting for the Armor. And you will be at last be rewarded with the release of your pain.
Then they were suddenly upon it, like wolves descending upon a wounded deer. Huge, monstrous forms that could dwarf even a giant of a man, all bearing claws and fangs from underneath thick mats of dark, rain-soaked fur, of from glistening hides of scales that gleamed wetly even in the darkness of the night. They circled the Lost Soul, snarling and growling louder than the thunder, blocking off any possible means of escape. But they did not attack. It was almost as if they were waiting for it to make the first move, waiting to see if it was really stupid enough to risk everything on one thoughtless move.
"You poor, pathetic fool." A voice rose slickly from amidst the growling creatures, sounding as if it were dripping in oil. Two of the Relic Beasts stepped aside, and from out of the shadows, a man appeared. A regular, unaltered man, wearing armor that gleamed a dull gold in the flashes of lightning. A hard, smirking face and pale, emotionless eyes were just visible from behind the sheets of rain. "Did you really think you had a chance at escape, Malmott, especially when taking something so valuable from underneath our Lord's nose? I actually should give you credit for making it this far without dropping dead the moment you set foot beyond the Ruins. Now, if you cooperate now and hand the Armor back, then your death with be quick and nearly painless, although I cannot guarantee it. You just know how dreadful it is having to chase after something in such ghastly weather conditions, and so I'm sure that your fellow Relic Beasts are in a particularly bad mood because of it. They might enjoy seeing you suffer for the trouble you put them through tonight."
"Go to Hell, Lisker." The Lost Soul snarled, its words and voice horribly mangled by a malformed throat choked with blood. "I would much rather die than to see the power of the Armor in the hands of a madman. Besides, Gyrot is no match for the Lion of Llewelyn. He will be crushed before he even has a chance to strike back."
Lisker laughed, a sound far more cruel and chilling than the howl of a Relic Beast on the hunt. "The Lion, huh? Had you not heard the rumors? The Lion is powerless against the Chronos Blade, reduced to nothing more than a mere vegetable by the Blade's power. He is no threat to our great Lord. Now…" Lisker's voice turned dark and dangerous. "The chase ends here. Hand over the Armor." He extended his hand, as if expecting the Lost Soul to placidly return that which he stole so easily. The Relic Beasts on either side of the human man growled threateningly, mixing and blending with the thunder.
The Lost Soul hesitated, but not with consideration for Lisker's words. It well knew that it had only two options left open to it. One was to refuse Lisker's "generous" offer and be torn to shreds on the spot. The Armor would be returned to the hands of the Master of the Blood Magic. The other option was the river behind it, which it knew would soon spill over into a monstrous waterfall further downstream that ended on jagged rocks below the tumbling torrents of water. Un-crossable. Nothing would survive that plunge to the frothy, black waters below.
The latter was better than handing the Armor over so easily to General Reichmann Gyrot.
Looking Lisker straight in the eye, the Lost Soul took a step back. Then another. A slight sense of self-satisfaction shone through the pain as panic bled into Lisker's expression as he realized what the deformed creature was planning to do.
"Stop it!"
But it was too late.
The Lost Soul leapt into the black abyss of the rain-swollen river, its body and the Armor alike swallowed into the churning depths. On the banks of the Orvon River, Lisker glared down to the spot where the creature disappeared, his mind in turmoil. He should have just killed the abomination where he had the chance. He had half-expected it to have fought back. Dead now as it might be, Lisker knew he was now in an even worse situation when he was in when he learned that the Armor had been stolen in the first place. At least when they were in the possession of the Lost Soul, he knew where the units were. Now only the river knew, and it was not going to reveal such information so easily.
"Well?" He snapped at the Relic Beasts still standing behind him. "What are you waiting for, fools? Find them or I will have you heads!"
The search went well into the night as the Relic Beasts scoured the banks at the base of the waterfall through the darkness and rain, searching for the units that had been lost for the second time in the same nightfall. After what must have been hours in the cold and rain, they had still found nothing, not even the mangled body of the head Lost Soul, and dawn was fast coming.
Standing on a stone from which he could observe the search, Lisker shivered and not from the cold. Gyrot was not stupid. He would have known that tracking down a malformed Lost Soul should not have taken so long. Something must have gone wrong if they had not yet returned with the Armor in hand. Gyrot would be disappointed with him.
And when Gyrot was disappointed, it would be made up for in blood.
There was a sudden grunt of surprise from one of the Relic Beasts, then a cry of something that could have been joy. One clawed hand rose triumphantly into the air. Clutched in the talons against the morning's gray dawn was a still dormant unit of the G-Soul Armor. Relief as Lisker had never known flooded his body as he leapt from the rock, snatching the armor away from the Beast when it held it out to him.
It might have only been one of the units, but it was better than returning empty-handed. Still…he knew how Gyrot thought. One was better than none, yes, but having all three would result in the best mood and the most promising reward.
"Round up the troops." Lisker barked sharply at the Relic Beasts. "The other units must be further down stream, but couldn't have gone very far. We're going after them."
"Into civilian territory?" One of the Relic Beasts growled, its voice and words distorted by a heavy muzzle full of sharp teeth. "We are at risk being seen."
"We are at even greater risk from facing Gyrot's wrath." Lisker took note in the fear that flashed through the animalistic eyes of the Beast. "They could not have gotten very far downstream, if we act now. Ten of you should be enough. Besides, if anyone should happen to see, then they won't be around long enough to tell anyone else now, would they?"
Muzzles and snouts pulled back into fanged smiles that could have given demons nightmares before retreating back into the forest. For a moment, Lisker considered returning with them, to return the one unit recovered, but then thought better of it. Chances are the Lost Soul had not stolen the Units on his own accord. Someone must have known about the treasures of Shadain Muri, and had wanted them before Gyrot had a chance to use the Armor for himself.
But who…and for what purpose…was still unknown to him. If they were to one who enticed the Lost Soul to retrieve the Armor, then it meant that they too would be looking for it had the package not been delivered.
If he was to find the remaining units, Gyrot would not need all three, right? Maybe it was not a bad idea to keep this one around…just in case.
Because he knew that in the wind, in the stars, in the very center of the world itself, the time of change was upon them all.