A long long time ago it was, before people began to dwell in the sky
A terrible war was raged between us humans and the wicked god.
After the horrendous battle, our ancestors entombed the wicked god,
And left the polluted and barren earth, to find a future in the sky.

Timeless Nightmares

Baten Kaitos is copyright to Namco yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda. Done.

Moo. It's Timeless Nightmares. 'Tis the improved edition. Squee! Let's pray the paragraphs don't fuse together this time...

Prologue: Our Nightmare Begins

"There is no pain, you are simply receding..."

So it was, that the wicked god Malpercio lay to rest, banished to another dimension, but not destroyed. Though its body ceased to be, its soul lived on in the dark void, echoing in the halls of it's temple the Cor Hydrae, waiting for the day it would be reborn. Five of it's siblings died at the same time it was sealed away. Though immortal, they were not eternal, victims of the ravages of time and the dwindling faith of the people. A race of wizards, their origins unknown, came to the aid of the world, sealing the last remains of the sibling gods in a Magnus. Fused with the might of the gods, the 'End Magnus' were laid to rest beneath five continents.

The effects of the war and the death of the gods combined, the earth become desolate. Thick clouds of volcanic smoke, laced with poisons and chemicals began to form, threatening life all over. Using their new powers, magic of the End Magnus, the wizards were able to lift the lands of the world up into the skies. Five major islands took their place in the sky, while various other smaller islands took their place scattered around the sky. The wizards hid themselves beneath the poisonous clouds, in order to watch over the barren world. Only one thing remained. The Ocean, pristine and pure was subject to the same devastation as the earth. Not knowing what the future may hold, the wizards joined their forces with the witches of the Ice land Wazn. Together, they sealed the Ocean away, trapping it, until the world was reborn.

The five unique End Magnus allowed five different cultures to develop, the crimes and woes of the past were forgotten and humans took to the skies. Various events came to pass, and the future was set in motion...

"Come on, Fehn! You've done it for me so far? Why not today?"

The jittery teenager looked around nervously, shoving his glasses back onto his nose, staring into the eyes of what was soon his mortal enemy.

"Uh...I don't want to? Everyone doesn't hang out with me ever since I started doing homework for you..."

"So?" the dark haired girl said, aghast. She ran a finger through her raven-black hair, though she didn't really notice. "Nobody hangs out with me, either! You're not going to die of unpopularity."

"You don't understand! Listen, we can still be friends...but I want to find some other friends, too," Fehn said softly. He seemed ready to bolt any minute.

"I have fifty-seven bucks, I'll give you all of it!"

"No, not anymore. I...don't want to."

"Go stuff it," she groaned, rolling her eyes.

"Uhh..."

Seconds later, he was running down the hall. Glaring at where he stood, she flipped off the empty space.

She followed him, down the hall with a groan. Passing under each doorframe, she reached up to touch it. Falling just short of six feet, she managed to tap it slightly before passing on.

"Stupid...some people just deserve a good whack on the head," she muttered quietly to herself, her hands behind her head as she walked along.

"Talking to yourself again, Arista?"

She lazily opened her greyish-blue eyes, looking behind her. Oh yes, the jerky girls. Gossip, gossip. All about who's hot and who's not. Oh my god, did you cut your hair last night? Did you hear what so-and-so did? All crap nobody cared about.

"Why yes, do you care?" she said, glaring at them.

The girls seemed to cackle, pointing at her. "You're such a bore, Arista!" one girl scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Everyone knows you can't do anything on your own."

Clenching fists. Unclench. Ignore them, they might go away...

More of that cackle. Who would care if one of these girls got a good smack to the face? They deserved it.

Eventually, after more harassment, they wandered down the hall, still sneaking looks at Arista.

Arista had no idea what she had learned through the day. She doodled constantly through each of her subjects, until it was lunchtime. And lunchtime it was, as she walked through the halls, glancing at other students still working in their classrooms.

Her mind wandered to the strange dreams she had been having lately. Odd dreams, of old women, demons, wizards, all in unorganized, jumbled chaos. She honestly hoped she wasn't going insane.

She walked down the hall, daydreaming about which one of these beings to draw during lunch.

Deep in the trenches carved into the floors of the oceans, there are creatures of the deep which live and die without ever seeing the sun. These fabulous creatures cruise the depths like ghostly streamers of mist, lit from within by their own radiance. Although they look delicate, they are marvels of biological design, built to withstand pressures that would crush a man into a bloody pulp in the blink of an eye. Their great strength, however, is also their great weakness. Prisoners of their own bodies, they are locked forever in their dark depths. If they are captured and drawn towards the surface, towards the sun, they simply explode. It is not external pressure that destroys them, it is the absence of pressure.

Arista had been raised in her own dark trench, had lived in her own atmosphere of high pressure. Her father had been an executive of a famous international corporation, away from home for long stretches of time, a caricature type-A overachiever, but he was also an alcoholic. He drove his only child as furiously and unforgivingly as he drove himself.

A report card which did not contain all A's was an unacceptable report card. An A-minus was the subject of a lecture fraught with dire warnings of what life would be like emptying garage cans or working at a fastfood restaurant, and a B resulted in punishment—most commonly confinement to her room for a week. During that week, Arista was only allowed out for school and meals. There was no time off for good behavior. On the other hand, extraordinary achievement warranted no corresponding praise. When Arista showed her father the academic achievement medal which had been awarded to her in front of the entire student body, her father glanced at it, grunted, and went back to his newspaper. She despised school ever since then. After all, if your only father didn't even care about what you did in school, why even go?

On the day Arista turned ten, he placed a wooden kitchen match between two of her toes, lit it, and sang "Happy Birthday to You" while it burned slowly down towards her flesh. He told her that if she tried to shake or kick it loose, he would take her to the orphanage at once. The threat of orphanage was a frequent one when he was pumped with alcohol.

"I ought to, anyway," he told Arista as he lit the match which stuck up between his daughter's toes like a skinny birthday candle. "You're just like my mother. She was too lazy. She was no good at anyhting. Just like you. You're lazy, Ari-ari."

He finished the song and blew out the match before the skin of Arista's second and third toes were more than singed, but Arista never forgot the yellow flame, the curling, blackening stick of wood, and the growing heat as her father hissed "Happy birthday, dear Ari-ari, happy birthday to yooooooou" in his droning, off-key drunk's voice.

Arista was eleven when her father died under mysterious circumstances, most likely associated with the corporation for which her father had devoted his life to. She was actually sort of relieved when her father's coffin had finally been lowered into the ground.

Her mother was always in control by her husband. Once he was safely in the ground, she began her life's work in earnest. She was finally able to smother her daughter with affection, finally relieved. She no longer needed to search out her husband's bottles and break them, or slap him and tell him to get a hold of himself, for God's sake, and pressure was relieved from her shoulders. But the pain never quite left Arista.

Ever since then, Arista's behavior was random and bizarre.

Pressure.

Pressure in the trenches.

Arista's schoolwork continued to decline, and she spent most of the time cooped in her room, drawing or on the computer. She was teased by the general school population for her bizarre behavior, and vented her rage in drawings. She was taken to the Psych Ward every day that she was caught with one of her violent drawings of someone getting murdered by some kind of demon, and the narky staff panicked whenever she drew even a spot of blood.

"Psych Ward...again," groaned Arista, spinning in the padded chair. Her drab earthy clothes seemed to match with the drab interior of the room, preferring a dark brown, short sleeved shirt and grey, loose, canvas-like pants. She finally faced the desk, hands dangling. What would Miss Dingle talk about today? A freaking biography of her life since day one? All she wanted to do was go home.

Miss Dingle, school psychiatrist, walked into the room, a tall, brisk lady in a slate blue dress. As she sat at her desk, she pulled out a folder, in the corner labeled 'H., Arista' She opened it, looking up at Arista. "What are you doing here?" she said, disapproval in her voice.

There was a stony silence as Arista stared at the woman in front of her, obviously bored.

"It's the third time this week," Miss Dingle continued, pulling out a pencil drawing from the folder. Arista glanced at it, before looking back up. "What's this?"

"I drew it at lunch," Arista said, smirking inside. It was a drawing of a demon, chewing up the body of a cartoon Fehn suffering a horrible death.

"It depicts extreme violence," Miss Dingle said, pulling back the drawing. "Have you been under stress lately?"

"No."

"Then why—"

"Because I wanted to," Arista said, her voice rising.

Miss Dingle shook her head. "Violence is never necessary. I'm concerned about you. You're so talented, yet you insist upon this negative behavior..."

Arista sat there, staring at the psychiatrist's desk, letting her voice slide around her body. She overheard words about anger management, depression and according to her other appointments, she knew self-esteem was next. Miss Dingle said her self-esteem was low, but on days like these, she said it was "Very low." What did she know that Arista didn't?

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yeeees..."

She didn't want to be here, and this would make her miss the bus home.

She was saying something about trusting your feelings when she just tuned her out completely and fiddled with her hair, her mind wandering. She just wanted to get the whole meeting over with.

Suddenly, the psychiatrist was standing up, gathering her papers. Arista stood up, put on a fake smile and thanked her. "Our talk today talk has really made a difference," she said with almost too much sarcasm in his voice.

Miss Dingle didn't seem to notice, and smiled back. "I'm glad you're improving. I just want to see you happy."

She was still rolling her eyes when she hoisted her backpack onto one shoulder and walked down the empty hall to the high school parking lot. She stepped into the cold winter sunlight and scanned the end of the lot for buses, but there were none in sight.

"Well, damn," she said, before trudging off.

What was with them? It was only a picture. All right, a picture of a person getting brutally killed. But who cared about him? He was just a lying, thieving little...and she wanted to keep that one, too.

She chuckled to herself, an image of the psych nurse murdered that way popping into her mind. She felt tempted to draw it, but they'd really freak. School psych's were bad enough, but going to a professional shrink was...

For a moment, all was silent. The smell of woodsmoke filled the air. Walking home was nice this time of year, with browned leaves still scattered on the ground. It was only midwinter where the bus home was necessary.

She paused, looking into the grey skies. "I'll kill them someday."

The dusty house was silent. Arista dropped her backpack and called out "Mom, I'm home!"

Replied with silence, Arista suddenly hoped her mother wasn't home. Kicking off her shoes, she walked into the kitchen and found a note on the counter, and glanced over it.

'Arista— I have to work late tonight. I bought one of those turkey dinners you like. Love you, Mom."

She opened the freezer and looked at the frozen dinner waiting for him. All of a sudden she wished her mother were home. She closed the door, swiped a bag of cookies, and walked outside.

Arista's room was pathetically miniscule. Every inch of the of the walls were covered with her own drawings. They featured characters holding large guns and swords, monsters fighting humans, and the like. The gory ones were hidden under her drawings, safely kept hidden from her mother, or she'd wind up at a professional shrink more often.

She flipped on her computer, as it slowly began booting up. It was old, but it had a scanner and internet access, and that was good enough for her.

She shoved a cookie in her mouth with one hand, and checked the weather for anything interesting ("Thunderstorm tonight," she noted), then whisked off to her favorite sites. She posted a complaint on a messageboard about one of her best drawings being deleted, and received replies from online friends with loads of sympathy.

It was dark outside by the time she was finished surfing. She left his computer downloading a video and entered the dark kitchen to warm up her TV dinner. She stood at the microwave and watched the plastic-wrapped dish slowly fill with steam, the microwave casting the only light in the kitchen.

She ate her dinner, alone in his dark room, illuminated by the blue glow of his monitor. It was so quiet she could hear the wind beginning to roar in the trees outside. The power could go out, as the neighbors never trimmed the trees, and they always caught power lines in the middle of storms.

She got up, went to the bathroom and removed two pills from a bottle in the medicine cabinet. She had forgotten to take her antidepressants when she got home, and should have taken them before eating. She shrugged and gulped the pills with a can of soda and returned to her room.

The wind was picking up outside, and thunder rattled her window. Somewhere in the neighborhood, someone's windchimes jangled a frantic tune. For a moment lightning lit his room like a floodlight. Unperturbed, she finished her meal and watched the progress bar on the download. 45. Almost halfway there.

The progress bar hadn't moved for several minutes now, she noticed. She leaned forward and looked at the indicator on the bottom of his browser. Contacting Host. Maybe a line blew down somewhere

A crack split the silence, so loud that the house shook. Arista jumped and nearly fell out of her chair, and her computer screen went blank. As thunder rolled away into the distance, she bolted for the front door. It sounded like lightning had struck right outside...

Thunder rumbled ominously across the sky, while a sudden, chilling rain pelted the earth below, mixing with the soggy dirt and coarse winter grass. The wind was a violentstormof activity, swirling and buffeting all the unfortunates that had chosen to stay outside during the storm, outside and unprotected. The sky above was clouded, blackened in the darkness of night. The stars and moon were all but gone, swallowed entirely by the dark, malicious clouds that now blanketed the sky above the city. They were greedy, swallowing everything that came into their path, blanketing the world below in a coat of darkness.

Lightning raced across the sky, illuminating the ground below for a few brief moments, before whisking away back up into the clouds that sent them, only to dart down to tease the ground again. The pattern continued as if in some malicious jest upon the inhabitants helpless inhabitants, trapped in their pitiful dwellings. The thunder's voice seemed to echo that statement, voice laced with unprecedented malice. It was mocking the people below.

Arista looked down at a downed power line, blue electricity dancing around it. She groaned once again, and prepared to turn back into the house.

Crrracck!

Lightning flashed again, followed by an ominous roar. Arista braced herself against the buffeting wind as it slammed into her body with all the might of a deadly tidal wave. Thrown back a few paces, she closed her eyes, and attempted to find a grip in the ground. It was supposedly a thunderstorm. It felt more like a hurricane.

A vision assaulted her then, far more powerful than whatever disaster could beset her. The vision came so fierce and sudden, she cried out, terrified, another crack plummeting down with a spear of lightning.

To think the things that occurred in the realm of imaginary could be so much more terrible than the things that existed realm of reality. She felt pain, pain all over, but it was nothing compared to what she had seen. The world around him faded. The screaming of the wind lessened, and the chilling drops of water evaporated, until all that was left to her life was that of what the vision willed.

She was in almost completely enveloped in darkness, the ancient smell of wet and stale air assaulting her nose; but even more overwhelming was the smell of death; the smell of rot and blood. Her vision began to come into focus, pupils dilating to take in all of the available light.

Even the dark could not protect her from the vision. Arista saw the blood, the twisted bodies, and most of all, the shadowed faces in all their hellish glory. She had seen this all before, but that did not take away the sting – the sting the pain, fear, and revulsion that she had been left to deal with from the first encounter. Dizzy and nauseous, Arista noticed the million shards of rock littering the ground around her, points as sharp as swords, stained with the blood and flesh of those who had met their unfortunate demise. The bodies were broken and cut, twisted at every hideous and unimaginable angle, and the blood that mingled with the rocky earth had almost a life of its own.

Arista found her eyes unwillingly lingering on the faces of the dead. Their smiles were haunting, deepening the dark ambience that permeated the cave. Arista wanted to close her eyes, reluctant to look upon the faces of the dead, but they would not let her go that easily. Their eyes were staring at her, beckoning her with their magnetic gazes, not releasing her from their gaze even as she closed her eyes.

Join us! they seemed to say. Join us in this dance of death, and find out who you really are.

Arista flinched, trying to tear herself away from the unpleasant scene.
She threw herself spirit aside, tearing herself away from the fibers that bound her to this world. Her vision danced, twisting into another world...

It was a place of beginnings where everything was rumored to have begun.

But was it really? Or was it merely disguised to take on a more fortunate light?

But either way, it seemed to be the beginning of the end.

Entering the odd cavern was like breaking into an alternate world that was beyond reality's jurisdiction. The darkness that pervaded the cave was like a voluminous ebony cloak, chasing away any light that dared to try to shine through.

With every step, the shade of darkness seemed to cover the cavern louder and louder. A deep sense of reluctance flooded her body and she found herself gazing back to the entrance of the cave, looking longingly out into the storm. Arista's pace slackened as she forced herself to continue on.

The pathway was beginning to spiral downwards, a chill wind blowing from some unseen crack in the cavern's walls. She continued her descent, curious to see the bottom.

Arista didn't notice the approaching body, until it was almost upon her. Forced to think upon her feet, Arista turned abruptly. The sudden twisting movement on her right leg had proved too fast, too harsh, for her leg, and within the first sharp wrenching movement, she fell down.

The creature's face looked down at her, with pure, untainted innocent, like a starving child. Arista and the being made sudden eye contact. It's eyes brightened up considerably at the connection.

"Spirit, spirit, are you lost, little spirit?" It was a feminine voice, as sweet and pure as honey. A sweet fragrance reminiscent of wildflowers seemed to fill the air at her words as she twirled around. Arista shook her head, trying to ward off the feelings of unwariness and relaxation that were suddenly coming upon her.

"A lost spirit must learn to be patient!" she laughed, her body quaking with unsuppressed mirth. She took a step forwards, hands clasped behind her back. "Poor Spirit, all lost and all alone."

Despite the newfound feeling of security, Arista rose and slowly began backing up, hobbling towards the other end of the cave. She mimicked her moments, taking one leisurely step at a time. Her gaze was sympathetic, accepting.

Like an angel, something in Arista's mind seemed to say, the flowery scent filling her mouth and nostrils. Her muscles were fast becoming liquid; his mind relaxed; and her fears and worries were gushing out from her body in great waves. She stumbled in her backwards progress, leaning against the wall for support.

"Down, down, down. All-l-l-l the way down. Deep down in Dantanu's belly, all alone. You went back to the beginning." The being noticed her perplexed expression. Her grin became wider. Her angelic appearance was beginning to look far more sinister. "Dead."

Arista's eyes shown with a sudden understanding. Rage filled her, one single thought overpowering all: she had to be wrong. "Liar!"

The being giggled, shaking her head. "Poor Spirit." Her glance became thoughtful, as if recalling some fond memory.

With that, visions of the dead bodies began to surface once more, sounds fading, not even an echo heard. An odd numbness was coming over her body, and she suddenly felt cold. Terribly cold, but she could do nothing. Her thoughts were jumbled, and she felt weak. She couldn't tell if she was collapsing, or unconscious, or dying, but she felt...strangely pleasant. One thought seemed to echo through her mind...

Seek the truth

Behold the truth

Live the truth

Make your decisions accordingly...

The world seemed distant, faint. It was a darkened forest, with long char-black branches stretching out, flickering red orbs at the ends of each, bloated like over-ripened fruits. She felt like she was looking down at the world, and attempted to move down, instead of being up where she was.

"That Spirit seems to like you..." a voice whispered coolly.

'Good for me,' Arista thought. 'I'm not talking with any spirits.'

It took her a while to realize she wasn't moving at all.

"If you bond with it...something wonderful may happen."

She found she didn't have a voice. If she did, she'd say "I ain't bonding with a spirit!"

But who was speaking? She looked down to her side. A man stood there, dressed in torn, beaten armor, singed clothes. She couldn't imagine a girly voice coming from him.

Suddenly, he held out his hands, like he was ready to accept a gift. Blisters and scrapes scarred his hands and arms, wounds from past battles. Suddenly, pink petals began flowing around his body, as her vision began to magnify.

Bonding?

A flash of light emitted from her vision, and she felt like she was finally in a body. Thank goodness. She prepared to stretch, before her head suddenly moved.

"This is what you call a spirit? It feels weird..." he said, looking around.

"Why don't you tell it your name?"

He paused, looking down. How would he say it? Could he just say it aloud or could he think it?

'H-hello,'he thought. 'I'm Kalas. What's your name?' He felt embarrassed.

'My name?' Arista said, confused. She paused. 'I'm not telling my name to some stranger I'll never meet again. Now if you'll just get me out of this place...'

'It'd be nice if you said your name to someone you're going to spend a while with,' Kalas chuckled, grinning.

'A while? How long is a while? Anyway, call me Bob. And if you do, you get your throat slit by yours truly.'

'What do I call you without getting my throat slitted?'

'Quit being psychic on me! Start moving your mouth and stop doing...doing...whatever you're doing!'

"You are a spirit," the feminine voice said casually. "You are to protect him and guide him."

'Combat?' Arista said after a long pause. 'Let me out. I can't do a pull up, I can't sit and reach, I can't lift weights, and I'm scrawny. How I am supposed to help you fight? I can't, so let me out!'

'Just tell me your name,' Kalas pressed.

'Arista, and I'm not helping you fight.'

'Relax...you don't have to use a sword. You just have to...'

'What? What?'

Suddenly, more images began swirling into her mind, against their will. They were fragmented, only small sections of events...

"Kalas, help me!"

Her vision was washed with crackling and howling of gluttonous flames, heat filling the entire space. There was a small figure in the smoke and fire...

"Hey, One Wing," a sarcastic voice chuckled as the flames suddenly died away. A person, walking up to a blue-haired child, kicked him in the side...

Suddenly, darkness consumed her thoughts, a pleasant silence reigning in the world. It seemed to finally enfold her, like a cocoon, safe, warm, comfortable. She felt secure at last...

"Come, free us...from a thousand years of darkness..."

A voice echoed into the silence, all around her, penetrating the darkness like a slow, inexorable trickle of water, seeping into her mind.

"Beautiful white wings for you..."

She was incapable of blocking out the voice. It was like a leash, her guide, the hand that fed her. The voice went on.

"For the world...death...and destruction..."

The voice fell silent, and she felt content, the voice embedded in the subconscious of her mind. She opened her eyes, and saw the wavering, rippling image of an endless void of dark, morbid water. It surely seemed colder than her roost, but...this voice...

A change. Pulse quickened, breathing came faster. A deep voice rumbled, garbled, like they were speaking underwater. Kalas stirred, stretching out slightly, and he yawned.

"Ugh..."