Author's Note: Spoilers for the Demon Path.
Disclaimer: Soul Nomad and the World Eaters is the property of Nippon Ichi Software. Rating is for profanity and strong violence.
AN: I'm adding a special note to my SN stories to apologize for the use of some slurs in Gig's dialogue (possibly elsewhere in the stories, but that's where I remember them occurring). I'm going to let the text stand for the record, but I should've avoided them when I originally wrote the stories, and I'm very sorry for using them.
Misbegotten
Silence wasn't golden. It was dark and cool. It was sweeter than hotpods.
"Right - yeah - hotpods. Hear that, Gig? Want some?"
Nothing.
"I hope I didn't inherit your fetish for them. Because...oh no, I don't see any for miles!"
Nothing.
"So rude, Gig. I mean, you were pretty rude when you talked, but not answering when you're spoken to is so much worse."
Nothing.
"Just me and you, alone, together forever. Such a sweet ending. Who knew you had it in you?"
Nothing.
"I'll never be bored. Finally, I'm rid of that pesky as hell voice in my head."
Nothing.
"...Argh, what to do? Hm...I could just go out now, I suppose. No one to stand laughing over my body. But...damn, there's got to be more than this! Could've given me some clues, Gig. You were always so nice, giving me things to do. Like the perfect baby-sitter or something. 'C'mon, kid, let's take over this country. What, you're bored? Okay, let's go slaughter some rebels. Oo, don't touch the icky mummy, kid, it might spoil your appetite' and-
"Shit, I'm picking up your mannerisms, aren't I? Shut up. Yeah. I told you to shut up, Gig! Didn't I say I wanted to be alone? Yeah, alone like I haven't been for a friggin' year?"
Nothing.
"Hmph. I can't believe they said I was supposed to be part of some world-saving plan. Right. Like it would've worked. Were they really just sitting on this for two damn centuries? Could've gotten a move on. Damn-
"Shit, I sound like you again. Stop it, Gig. Shut up. You aren't here anymore!
"I know what to do - how to shut you up for good. Heh. Right, Gig? Time to nip my little buddy in the bud."
When she appeared, the Devourlord found herself in a garden. She shivered - there was something about its high walls and fountains of flowers that rubbed her wrong. She also, quite honestly, hadn't expected to land here. She doubted Gig would've left the flowers standing.
She stretched her fingers, loosening the well-worked muscles, and blinked in the bright summer morning. "You're here of all places?" Had she misjudged? She hadn't attempted a time-merge before, but one of the souls she'd consumed - maybe those two whiny ass bitches she'd taken out last - had the ability. Still, without anyone to walk her through the process, it was entirely possible that she'd landed in the wrong place, even the wrong time.
Still, walled gardens didn't pop up by themselves. There'd be people to eat.
She followed the cobbled pathway that wound through the small plots of flowers, stands of sandalwood and laurel. Beyond she saw the familiar shape of a castle - Orviska castle as it had looked before her BFF's renovations. A flash of movement under a cypress caught her eye - a woman reading a small book. Her gold-threaded red skirts rumpled around her.
Tsk. Had Gig kept courtesans? Naughty boy.
"Who're you?"
The Devourlord jumped and whirled, sword half drawn before she saw who had addressed her. She smiled, the left side of her mouth tight, then resheathed the sword and bent down, hands on knees. "Who're you?"
A young, dark-haired boy picked his nose. He wore a long tunic embroidered with red and gold. "I'm in charge here."
"Yeah," the Devourlord said indulgently. "I get that. In fact, that's great. I have some questions for the boss here." She reached forward and grasped the boy's chin. He tried to jerk away but couldn't, his black bangs falling into his eyes.
"Lemme go!"
"Question one - you can count to one, right? - where's Gig? Are you his little love baby or something?"
The boy squirmed, and Revya compensated by sliding her hand down, grasping just where the neck met the head. But she gave him room to talk.
"Letgoame!"
"I'll let go when you answer. This is called negotiating. I think it's fun. So where's Gig?"
"I dunno anyone named that! Let - GO!"
"No-!" The Devourlord glanced over her shoulder, just in time to see the woman running towards her, face white. "Let go of my son, you-"
The Devourlord smiled. The woman toppled, face-down, into the grass. "Mommy's worn out," the Devourlord said. The boy's eyes were round, less with fear than wonder. "She'll wake up after you answer my questions." She tapped her thumb against his jugular, in counterpoint to the surge of his pulse. "Never heard of Gig? He said he lived in Orviska two hundred years ago, so he should be here. Ever seen a freak with silver hair and two...floaty...things on either side of him? Believe me, if you've seen him before, you'll know who I'm talking about."
The boy blinked at the fallen form of his mother. "Howdja do that? No!" His throat jumped as her fingers tightened. "I haven't seen him! Go away!"
"Tsk." The Devourlord stared down into the child's large eyes, loosening her hold slightly. He had his chubby arms clasped, one hand scratching his wrist. There was something wrong with it...
"Okay, next question." She put on a gooey Danette-like smile (damn, don't think of Danette). "Which are you more afraid of? Being strangled or having your head ripped off?"
"Revya!" cried a man's voice.
The Devourlord's head jerked up. A tall shape was running towards her, through the garden.
"Daddy!" the boy screamed.
Still holding the boy's throat, the Devourlord unsheathed the onyx blade; even now, it was a bit clumsy held in one hand. She straightened, pulling the boy up with her. He twisted, trying to scratch her fingers; his hands were very soft.
A man broke into the clearing. His voice had sounded familiar - not, sadly, like Gig's - and the sight of his face triggered something in the Devourlord's memory. She had no time to gauge it, because the man didn't skid to a halt in horror at the scene before him. He ran towards her, black sword drawn.
"Watch it, Dad," the Devourlord said, holding the boy higher and, just to make the picture as pretty as possible, angling the sword towards his tender stomach. The father slid to a collected halt, his narrowed dark eyes flashing from the boy to her face. His sword caught the sunlight.
After a long moment, the Devourlord realized they were staring at each other's swords - the gleaming black blades, the six red jewels in each hilt. The only difference was that his was not banded with fire.
She smiled at her own. "So this is where it comes from? No one ever told me it had this sort of history. I thought it was just the Gig Box. Like me."
"Dispense with your mindless ravings." His eyes were now firmly on her left hand, holding the boy's neck. "Drop my son."
"Hm, the boy told me he's in charge. What do you say, little boy?" She squeezed. "Just tell me, and I'll put you down." She squeezed harder. His small fingers were locked around hers. "Comfy?"
"Drop him."
She laughed. "And you'll spare my life? Oh, I can see that happening. No, I think you're going to stand there watching while I cut baby here into ribbons and tie them in bows."
His eyes darted to his son. "Don't worry, Revya. I'm here."
The Devourlord blinked, her grip loosening. The boy plummeted but immediately jumped up, running towards his father, coughing heavily.
Breathing hard - not able to wait to draw a solid breath - the Devourlord spoke. "You said Revya?"
The man didn't wait to answer. The twin swords clashed together. The Devourlord sidestepped her opponent's lunge, drove under his arm, then rammed the sword upwards through his chest.
"What-?" the man gurgled. "...How could-?"
"Yeah, I was a bit tired," the Devourlord admitted. "What with icing two gods and all. A pathetic mortal should've been more than enough to take me." Stepping back, she unsheathed her sword from his body. He slumped forward to the ground.
Which left the small boy goggling at her. She smiled. "Do you want to know how I did that?"
The boy began to scream. The Devourlord raised her sword to shoulder level, preparing for a quick kill, when she heard more running footsteps. Well, that wouldn't delay slaughtering the boy - but then she paused. Why burn out the fun all at once? She'd killed everyone in Prodesto so fast...Why not savor it this time?
She lowered her sword and stepped away from the man's body. Gig had long ago given her powers of temporary invisibility, and with his soul nourishing her, she no longer had to hand over any control to use it. She flickered out of sight just as six mounted knights burst into the garden.
The leader reined so fast that his phynx almost fell. "Lord Median!"
"Is he dead?" cried one of the knights, even as another approached the fallen warrior. "And Lady Hyri-!"
"My prince!" Another knight knelt at the boy's side. His screams had died down, but he was breathing in great gasps, his face red.
"Is Prince Revya all right?" one of the knights snapped, looking up from Lord Median's side.
The Devourlord tensed, but by then someone was shouting, "Find Lord Dio - he may be able to revive them!"
Dio...What, how old was he supposed to be? But hadn't he blathered about some great family mission once? The Dracon that teleported into the garden bore a marked resemblance to his descendent. He knelt reverently at Lord Median's side, touching his throat.
"It's not possible," he whispered. His hands shook, then he swept to his feet. "Who did this?" The garden was silent but for the wind slipping through the trees. "It would take an army! Who killed Median the Conqueror?"
The boy - Revya - she could not think of him that way - let out a fresh wail. Dio turned abstractedly towards him. "My prince, you must calm yourse-" His words cut off as he stared at the child. Then he swooped down, thrusting one knight out of the way, grabbed the child's arm and wrenched back his sleeve.
"Gods above," one of the knights whispered. He backed away from the boy. "Scarlet Ia-"
"Get him inside," Dio snapped, voice shaking. "Now - while Median's line still lives - quickly - I will attend to him after-" With great reluctance, one of the knights picked the prince up in his arms and hurried towards the castle. Dio knelt by the woman's side.
"Does she live?" another knight asked.
Dio hesitated a long moment. "My dear lady... No. Nor the - the last hope of my lord's lineage. The daughter within is also dead." Gathering himself, he stood and teleported.
"Well now," the Devourlord said. After she killed the remaining guards, she flew to the highest towers of the castle.
When she found him, the boy prince - now king - lay in a bed far too big for him. His skin was red, as though dozens of wounds bled just under the surface. Dio was already there, staff raised, chanting wards over the boy.
The Devourlord watched the boy, almost lost in his costly sheets and blankets, growing weaker by the moment. She could feel her lips in their tight smile, and after a moment, she realized she was humming a lullaby...
A lullaby she used to sing to Danette, that had been sung to her once...
She cut off abruptly, her smile gone.
Within minutes, the red spots had risen to hard pustules, and before a half hour was gone, they oozed blood and a thick white mucus. The boy had not spoken nor opened his eyes for ten minutes. His breathing was barely drowned out by Dio's chanting. There had been healers in the room, but they'd withdrawn from the bed, talking amongst themselves.
Within the next quarter hour, the boy had stopped breathing. Dio did not linger over the body. With a short gasp, as though suppressing a sob, he gestured everyone out of the room, then left himself, slamming the door behind him. The Devourlord could hear people running throughout the castle's many hallways.
She let herself in through the wide window. The wind had picked up, ruffling the boy's bed hangings and his linen underclothes. Sweat had plastered his hair to his forehead.
The Devourlord poked his jugular, annoyed that his pulse didn't jump in response. "So, they call you Revya?"
"Who are you?"
Something like ice water seemed to wash down her back, between her muscles and her bones, and she pivoted, searching the room for an intruder. The air at the far end of the room shivered, then scintillated.
"I don't know why you can sense me, but you must leave." The voice wasn't angry, simply implacable. "He is no longer the concern of the living." A man's outline appeared through the shimmer, then walked forward - and Gig stepped into the room.
She'd been looking forward to a...reunion, but the Devourlord couldn't move.
Gig glanced down the length of her outstretched arm, still touching the boy's face, and when he spoke, the Devourlord registered that his voice was much, much too gentle. "There is no sin in mourning the dead, but you must let the child go."
The Devourlord blinked once, twice, then, without even looking, tightened her fingers and snapped the boy's neck. Gig's eyes narrowed and lifted sharply to her own.
"Great to see you again," the Devourlord said. "But I guess, if this is two hundred years ago, we haven't even met. So, Gig, how're things going for you?"
Without taking his eyes from her, Gig extended his arm. His shoulder armor swiftly wrapped up it, covering his hand, forming a red scythe. His voice had lost its kindness, though - and she couldn't ignore it, much as she wanted to - he didn't really sound like Gig. "Who are you?"
"Don't worry, you'll have that all figured out when we do meet. I'll be your little soulmate, your little walking meat package. You'll be right at home, Gig."
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why do you call me that? My name is Vigilance."
The Devourlord stalled by rubbing her palm along the onyx blade's hilt. "That's a new one. All right. Vigilance. But you sure look like a scab I used to know."
"Who are you?" Vigilance repeated. Wind from the open window swept across the room, the bed curtains swinging. "I sense too much power - you're not a normal human."
"Damn right." She raised her sword to shoulder level. "But shit like you doesn't deserve to know who killed it." She lunged towards him.
With one sweep of his scythe, he knocked her back into the wall, the ornate edge of a picture frame digging into her shoulder. Ignoring the pain - if there even was pain - the Devourlord rebounded off the wall, pivoting to face Vigilance from the side. He hadn't changed position, watching her evenly with his scythe raised across his chest.
The Devourlord took a deep breath, not to calm herself. For a moment, the taste of Gig's soul burned through her tongue. Then she thrust herself into the air, swinging her sword over her head. Ribbons of black fire spiraled from the blade, igniting the air. She only had time to see Vigilance raise his scythe before she dove at him.
So she didn't see Vigilance's scythe cut across her, flaming with its own dark energy.
She fell back, hardly noticing the slash up her stomach. She'd struck his chest - she'd felt the blade pierce - but she could see no wound on him.
"Your power," Vigilance said, not even breathing hard. After a moment, the scythe broke in two pieces from his arm, flying to his shoulders in the form of wings. Another scythe, taller than himself, appeared in his left hand.
The Devourlord wrenched her mind away from the fact that she hadn't harmed him, filling her chest with a ragged breath. "Felt a little too familiar, didn't it? I'm beginning to wonder."
"How can you use my own power against me?" He put his head slightly to the side, considering. "It's identical, though you're so weak."
Not even planning it, the Devourlord blasted black energy from her sword. He deflected it with his scythe.
"Weak?" The Devourlord laughed. "How do you think I got this sort of power? By asking for it?"
Vigilance cocked his eyebrow. "You took it from someone weak, obviously. Your power feels incomplete, tainted. Broken."
"Gig wasn't weak-" What was she saying? "He - he couldn't have been! Those gods I killed weren't weak!"
Sighing, Vigilance braced one leg, rolled his shoulder, then shot towards her.
She didn't live to see her own blood splash across the floor.
Vigilance decapitated the creature for good measure - then started as he felt thousands of souls swirl around him.
Including the child's soul he had come to reap.
Including his own.