Entering into the temple was like falling from the depths of hell into the
middle of the arctic. As soon as both men passed the threshold of the
doorway, their breaths were literally taken away: both collapsed from the
pure shock to their systems. Locke blacked out immediately, while Keye
managed, through some miracle of nature, to keep a tenuous hold on his
consciousness. He gasped loudly, knees hitting the floor harshly, while
Locke simply slumped forward and smacked his face against the cool,
polished marble.
Their surroundings were something out of a dream. The interior of the temple was truly enormous, and decorated with hundreds of brazen images depicting the Phoenix, ranging from ornate statues to mere wall carvings. A pair of colonnades, stretching from one end of the grand hall to the other, seemed to be comprised of pillars bearing long, entwining serpentine creatures.
And there were stairs. Endless stairs. Running in every direction, fleeing down blackened corridors and twisting stone passages. Even the main staircase, running up a central path between the colonnades, didn't seem to lead to any particularly conspicuous regions of the temple.
In other words, proceeding deeper into the temple was like walking blind into a snowstorm. They could end up anywhere.
Well. Keye would, anyway; he had no intention of leaving Locke around any longer. The younger man had served his purpose. It was plainly obvious to Keye that this place bore riches, and he had no intention of sharing even the slightest piece of gold. Pushing hard against the ground, he hoisted himself up drunkenly, still dazed from the temperature change. His fingers fumbled towards his discarded crossbow that had slid some distance away, the entire process causing his disoriented body to give out again. He collapsed and clapped his chin hard against the ground, grunting. Nearby, Locke began to stir, rolling to one side and twitching slightly.
There was no time to waste. Keye, summoning up as much willpower as humanly possible, made a mighty lunge for his bow. With a thud he hit the ground, hands firmly grasping the death-dealing mechanism. His body was getting looser, more malleable; soon, the incessant buzz of pain flowing through his legs would be gone. He would be standing. And then, his old friend would die.
But fortune would not look lightly upon this treachery, and introduced a new element: from one of the side passages, a high, piercing shriek issued forth with concussive intensity. Keye felt as though his eardrums might explode simply listening to it, and buckled; Locke, unconsciously registering the sound as a source of great pain, curled himself up into a ball and struggled to return to the world. A deep, low rumble, one of ominous tone and hidden intent, followed closely behind the sound. Obviously, something was coming.
Keye was no fool. He knew that lingering to kill Locke would potentially see the end of him. So, stumbling onto his legs, he made a staggering dash for a random side passage, praying that lady luck would not abandon him a second time. His heels vanished into the darkness, and were the first sight Locke managed to glimpse as his eyes reopened. Confused by the combination of rumbles, pained ears, and a retreating comrade, Locke sat up quickly, and regretted his action with the same amount of speed: his eyes fuzzed over and went black, stars dancing to and fro behind newly closed eyelids. He fell back again, his system simply too overwhelmed by all the shocks administered to it.
His thoughts became simple. Complex formulations seemed far too exhausting: instead, Locke preferred to run straightforward ideas through his head, such as "I've failed her again" and "this cool floor feels nice". Death quickly became an inevitability, something so mundane as reading the morning paper. He'd accepted it so fast that the prospect of an end to his life, which, he admitted now, was utterly miserable, appeared as a blessing. Not quite suicidal, but, close enough.
Death was not coming. The gods, or fate, or whatever it may be, smiled on Locke that day; for instead of dying, he found himself gliding across the floor, propelled mere centimetres above the marble by some unknown force. It was like some bizarre, invisible river, bearing Locke swiftly around one pillar and down one of the dozens of staircases. It took him a minute or two before his brain, resigned to forever be silenced, clicked in to this new development, and he sat up, far less scattered in thought that before. One final scream filled his head as he unwillingly fled down a hallway.
In fact, he felt entirely refreshed, as though the mystical flow was both carrying and rejuvenating him at once. All pain fled from his worn limbs; his vision cleared; even his clothing, which bore burn marks and numerous tatters, seemed to repair itself under the influence of. . . whatever it was. Locke decided it was in his best interests to find out, lest his saviour turn out to be a hidden enemy.
One thing was clear, however: whatever it was that had been approaching, bearing that insidious scream, was now long gone. Locke sailed through long, glistening corridors, all bearing torches that threw off no heat: indeed, the entire temple seemed to take on the atmosphere of a clear Autumn day, only a little chilly while remaining still comfortable to the active soul. And ever, on all sides, was the Phoenix, declaring loudly and in a highly artistic rendering that this was the domain of the deathless bird.
Locke was carried for hours. Or so it seemed, anyway; the halls continued onwards forever, stretching out under the earth like the roots of a tree. Locke had no idea whether he'd ever be leaving again, and despite several shouted inquiries, never received an answer to his question. His fate was simply to wait until the end of his bizarre journey.
One thing, however, remained perfectly clear to him: Keye would never be leaving. He still had the screaming horror on his tail. Bereft of magic as he was, Locke suspected that his so-called 'comrade' would stand no chance against the thing that was giving chase. And even if he did manage to get away, Locke decided that the puzzling nature of these stone tunnels would leave him at a loss as to how he might escape.
It seemed an eternity before Locke became aware of a change in his situation. The walls, full and strong as they were, steadily began to lose their cohesion. They turned from utterly opaque to somewhat translucent, and through the vanishing pillars Locke could see a field of stars on all sides. The walls seemed to waver, as though unstable, and all that was uniform and real slowly ebbed out of existence.
Locke was surrounded by the universe. Engulfed by it. He was lost amongst it, floating aimlessly – or so it seemed to him. For he continued to move, even though he had no way to tell he really was moving, as the stars all seemed to wheel around him in a cosmic dance. Everything but him was in motion, and he sat amongst it, utterly dumbfounded by the sight. He felt incredibly small.
Soon, however, his sense of locomotion returned, and it brought with it a profound sense of dread in his mind. He was indeed moving towards something. One of the stars, originally just another pinpoint in the epic display, had begun to hurtle towards him. It grew steadily, evolving from a tiny speck to a flaming ball of ill portent. Locke seemed to be aimed towards the very centre of it, to be swallowed by the twisting, roiling, superheated gasses that made the magma of the cavern he'd recently departed from pale in comparison.
He tried to stop, to slow down, to do anything. His fingers frantically dragged against nothingness, seeking purchase and finding nothing. Death did not come as easily this time, for Locke was fully conscious; he wanted no part of dying, as he still had things to do. But his fate seemed already sealed. The sun loomed, ever greater, ever brighter, soon blinding the luckless thief. He covered his eyes and prayed for mercy.
It came. As the sun flashed, engulfing Locke, piercing even through his eyelids, he suddenly found himself falling, thrown from his invisible ride and back into the real world. He tumbled down, down onto the cold marble floor of the temple once more, head more than a little dazzled. All around him rose huge, spiralling columns, perhaps a little too decadent for his own tastes. The walls were covered in more Phoenix figures than he would have deemed possible, as they managed also to extend up to the ceiling. And amidst it all, looming in the centre of the room, was an emerald pedestal. Atop the pedestal lay what seemed, from a distance, to be a cracked orb of sorts. Pieces of it lay strewn about both on and below the pedestal.
Rising slowly, almost tentatively, Locke checked his surroundings for any immediate threats. There seemed to be nothing of worry; so, ever so cautiously, he began to tip-toe his way across the floor, displaying his keen thieving instincts distinctly. He was determined not to be caught off guard.
Nothing stopped his progress, however, and within a minute of silent movement Locke found himself beside the pedestal, his fingers softly caressing the outside of the orb. Or, to be more precise, the egg: for Locke had already deemed it as such. This had evidently been the birthplace of the Phoenix, or at least it had in this world, for the Phoenix was an eternal being. There was no way of knowing where it had come from before choosing its current form.
Locke felt a brief moment of intense excitement well up in his heart. Was this it? Could Rachel's malady be cured with his discovery? But no, it was not so: for this was simply the egg, not the creature itself. An empty shell would heal nobody. There wasn't even any of the bird's down littering the insides of the dull orange vessel.
Looking around, however, Locke quickly came to the conclusion that there was nowhere else to go, except back the way he came. And would that even be a viable course of action any longer? He had no idea if whatever had swept him down here would take him back up. For all he knew, this room of birth may just have become his tomb.
But no. This seemed ridiculous to him. Why go to such lengths to show him this? There was no point to it: he simply could have been killed by whatever beast it was that had been pursuing Keye. Was there any reason? Why did it matter?
"Because you are the one to avenge us, young one."
Locke whirled with ferocious speed, his daggers out and poised to attack, within an instant. A piece of egg he'd been cupping in one hand was sent flying into a pillar, where it shattered. His steely grey eyes narrowed in concentration, searching out his potential attacker. But the sight he beheld instantly stole away his urge to battle.
Behind him stood the Phoenix. This he knew for a fact, even though the creature his eyes gazed upon was not its form: for the figure he saw that day was none other than his beloved Rachel. But it was not her, this he knew, for this creature was practically brimming with fiery light. It – or she – or whatever one may call such things – smiled lightly, and only then did Locke notice that the intensity of that light was faded. Unearthly. Is essence, of the spiritual realm.
Locke swore that he was seeing a ghost. He wasn't far off, either.
"I apologize for using this form, but I decided it would be the most prudent way of communicating. Appearing to you as a gigantic bird would not have instilled any trust in the situation, I think, in your case." The Phoenix closed its eyes, smiling sadly, and approached Locke. He saw its figure waver slightly as it moved, creating the odd effect of a double image.
"Moreover, you'll have to forgive me for another transgression. . . I took the liberty of reading your mind as I guided you down here. . . you may consider it a violation of your privacy, but, I had to verify whether or not I was correct in my assumptions."
Locke, his throat suddenly very dry, managed at last to utter words in reply. "A... assumptions? Assumptions about what?"
The Phoenix seated herself upon the floor, alighting against the marble with grace beyond that of any ordinary woman. Locke could barely restrain his tears at witnessing Rachel move and speak again, and had to constantly remind himself that this was not Rachel at all. Her very voice mannerisms, being soft and gentile, contrasted deeply with the powerful confidence Rachel had always managed to display.
"About your character. Your motives. I peered into your heart as you entered my temple, and it seemed sufficient for my purposes; however, I required a deeper look into your psyche to accurately trust you." She brushed her hair aside. "Fortuitously enough, you surpassed my expectations."
Locke slowly lowered his daggers. "Oh. Great." Their sharpened edges slowly dipped back into their sheathes. "Well. I'm guessing you have something planed for me to do, then."
"I do indeed." The Phoenix, spreading her gown across the floor – it was the same gown Rachel had worn on one of their more extravagant dates – stretched her legs. It struck Locke as oddly lacking in femininity, considering her personality thus far. "You see, I'm not really the Phoenix. Not the current one, anyway. Rather, I am the cast of personality of an older Phoenix, one that has already fallen into dust. For that is the nature of the Phoenix, to replace the old with the newly born."
Locke, listening closely, seated himself cross-legged on the floor, facing her. "Wait. You mean it isn't the same Phoenix being reborn every time?"
She shook her head. "Not exactly. The body is, indeed, the same, in form and power – however, the soul of each Phoenix is inherently different. Essentially, we are a race of creatures contained in one body, each given a chance at life in turn."
"So you're not technically immortal?"
"No. Technically not. But there are so many Phoenixes, and we are so long- lived, that our race will probably exist until the end of existence." She gazed at the floor, eyes mirroring an internal sadness. "But such was not meant for me."
Locke studied her closely. Her face was so different from Rachel, who had always worn her emotions on her sleeve. The Phoenix struggled to keep such emotions inside, hidden. But it didn't work, not completely. Locke could see the pain. "What happened?"
She pulled in a deep breath, collecting herself. "What you see before you here is my egg. This place is where I was born. It is the traditional temple of the Phoenix, where each one in turn is born. There are thousands upon thousands of these eggs down here, hidden amongst the endless hallways we've constructed."
"Wait, wait. Aren't you Espers?"
"Well, yes, in a sense. Our race has existed for a very, very long time, from far before the time that Espers came into being. We are no doubt older than the Goddesses themselves. However, when incorporating ourselves into a new plane of being, we must take on a form suitable for ourselves. As such, we acquired the shape of Espers, as their magical abilities accommodated us far more readily than any other here."
"Gotcha."
The Phoenix grimaced in preparation for the rest of her story. "I encountered a slight difficulty when being born, however. Upon emerging from my egg, I realized that I was not alone. The Temple had, since the last Phoenix left, been occupied by something else."
It was Locke's turn to grimace. "That thing, right? What the hell is it?" The Phoenix could not help but sigh deeply at his inquiry.
"It is a demon of terrible power. It thrives off of the souls of other beings, absorbing them into itself, and thereby nourishing its body. I believe, in your tongue, you would consider it a 'Banshee', owing largely to its scream. It uses that scream to. . . weaken, the outer body, giving the soul free passage to be removed. Quite forcibly, I might add."
Locke nodded grimly. He'd heard of such things before, though they were the stuff of legends, not fact.
She continued. "So you can imagine, then, how a demon such as this would consider acquiring a Phoenix to devour very attractive." Her head drooped. "Each new Phoenix contains within itself a doorway to the place in which our entire race, unborn, is contained. Were it to gain access to that, we would be ruined, and the demon given incredible power."
Locke understood the ramifications quite well. Such a demon would probably wind up being more powerful than all three goddesses combined. "So. . . I'm guessing it ambushed you while you were being born?"
The Phoenix lowered her eyes, perhaps in shame. "Yes. Just as I was emerging from my egg, it 'jumped me', as you might put it. I was yet too young to fend it off entirely; however, I knew that it had to be destroyed. So I expended all of my power, drawing in the strength of this temple to aid me."
"It didn't work?"
"No. Not completely, anyway. The Banshee was tossed out of the chamber, and became lost amongst the mazes of the temple. But my strength was insufficient to destroy it. Moreover, the energy I expended in the fight sapped me of my vitality. I. . . died, just as I was born." She traced a glowing finger across the marble floor, as though doing so would stem the outpour of emotions that threatened to engulf her. "My attempt to use the temple condemned me to walk its halls forever, as you see me now. I am, essentially, one with this temple." She sighed.
Locke stared mutely at her. So was that it, then? Was the Phoenix dead? For good, this time? Would they be denied entrance into the world? Was Rachel not to be saved after all?
"My tale is not yet complete, young one. Please listen until the end." The Phoenix's voice cut through his thoughts sharply, and yet they were not without their warmth. He looked up and apologized clumsily.
She favoured him with a smile. "It does not matter. In any event, my attempts were not a complete failure, as I managed to use a small portion of my power to allow the next Phoenix in line to come to life, far from the demon. Our line does, indeed, continue. However," – and at this, Locke stilled his previously exhaled breath of relief – "it was what you would consider a stillborn. The newly created Phoenix was weak, far weaker than any of our kind should be. It could not cope with the insufficient amount of energy I expended to grant upon it my former body, and thus, was born as flawed. It did, however, manage to escape the temple; but where it lies now, I know not. There have been no new Phoenixes born upon this temple since that last one, so I must assume that it is either alive, or changed into Magicite."
Locke started at this. "Magicite? Wouldn't that mean it's dead?"
The Phoenix shook her head at this. "No, for Magicite does not truly mean death for any Esper, let alone a Phoenix. It is simply a transformation, of sorts, into a form that no Esper is able to escape. The distillation of their power made useable by others. If the Phoenix has become Magicite, however, I have little doubt that the crystal is deeply marred, and possibly useless."
Despair and hope vied for control inside Locke. "Is there any way to restore such Magicite to normal?"
The Phoenix nodded. "Yes. However, it can only been done through a transferral of power upon the Magicite. Something else would have to grant it a boost, if you will, for the Phoenix to become a proper member of its kind."
Locke nodded. So, there was hope, no matter how small. "But you have no idea where I might find it?"
The Phoenix simply shook her head.
Locke pondered the entire situation in silence awhile. So, he could save Rachel after all. It was possible. But he'd have to find this weak Phoenix, and then. . . re-energize it? How to do that? Was it possible, in such a twisted world as this?
Eventually, he decided to shunt the whole thing over to the side. His current predicament lay in aiding the ghostly Phoenix before him. This thought elicited a tiny smile of gratitude from her, though she said nothing. Turning back to her, he spoke.
"Okay, so, I'm guessing you need my help to kill this thing. Right?"
She nodded sagely. "Yes. No Phoenix will be born safely so long as it dwells here. And we don't have the power to remove it. I know this is a selfish request, as I can offer nothing in return, but. . ."
Locke waved a hand in dismissal. He was already on his feet. "Far be it from me to turn down a woman in need. I'll do it."
Her smile was brighter than the sun at that moment as she rose. Locke felt his heart warm from seeing it, even though he knew it wasn't Rachel. Moments like these made life worth living.
"I knew I'd found the right man. I knew I read you correctly, Locke Cole. Thank you."
NOTE: Good god, I write too much. I really went on a tangent with this one, and coming up with the whole Phoenix thing was quite fun. Just hope I managed to avoid any holes in the explanation.
In other words, prepare for yet a third chapter – and I do hope it's the last. I don't wanna dwell on each character too much.
Their surroundings were something out of a dream. The interior of the temple was truly enormous, and decorated with hundreds of brazen images depicting the Phoenix, ranging from ornate statues to mere wall carvings. A pair of colonnades, stretching from one end of the grand hall to the other, seemed to be comprised of pillars bearing long, entwining serpentine creatures.
And there were stairs. Endless stairs. Running in every direction, fleeing down blackened corridors and twisting stone passages. Even the main staircase, running up a central path between the colonnades, didn't seem to lead to any particularly conspicuous regions of the temple.
In other words, proceeding deeper into the temple was like walking blind into a snowstorm. They could end up anywhere.
Well. Keye would, anyway; he had no intention of leaving Locke around any longer. The younger man had served his purpose. It was plainly obvious to Keye that this place bore riches, and he had no intention of sharing even the slightest piece of gold. Pushing hard against the ground, he hoisted himself up drunkenly, still dazed from the temperature change. His fingers fumbled towards his discarded crossbow that had slid some distance away, the entire process causing his disoriented body to give out again. He collapsed and clapped his chin hard against the ground, grunting. Nearby, Locke began to stir, rolling to one side and twitching slightly.
There was no time to waste. Keye, summoning up as much willpower as humanly possible, made a mighty lunge for his bow. With a thud he hit the ground, hands firmly grasping the death-dealing mechanism. His body was getting looser, more malleable; soon, the incessant buzz of pain flowing through his legs would be gone. He would be standing. And then, his old friend would die.
But fortune would not look lightly upon this treachery, and introduced a new element: from one of the side passages, a high, piercing shriek issued forth with concussive intensity. Keye felt as though his eardrums might explode simply listening to it, and buckled; Locke, unconsciously registering the sound as a source of great pain, curled himself up into a ball and struggled to return to the world. A deep, low rumble, one of ominous tone and hidden intent, followed closely behind the sound. Obviously, something was coming.
Keye was no fool. He knew that lingering to kill Locke would potentially see the end of him. So, stumbling onto his legs, he made a staggering dash for a random side passage, praying that lady luck would not abandon him a second time. His heels vanished into the darkness, and were the first sight Locke managed to glimpse as his eyes reopened. Confused by the combination of rumbles, pained ears, and a retreating comrade, Locke sat up quickly, and regretted his action with the same amount of speed: his eyes fuzzed over and went black, stars dancing to and fro behind newly closed eyelids. He fell back again, his system simply too overwhelmed by all the shocks administered to it.
His thoughts became simple. Complex formulations seemed far too exhausting: instead, Locke preferred to run straightforward ideas through his head, such as "I've failed her again" and "this cool floor feels nice". Death quickly became an inevitability, something so mundane as reading the morning paper. He'd accepted it so fast that the prospect of an end to his life, which, he admitted now, was utterly miserable, appeared as a blessing. Not quite suicidal, but, close enough.
Death was not coming. The gods, or fate, or whatever it may be, smiled on Locke that day; for instead of dying, he found himself gliding across the floor, propelled mere centimetres above the marble by some unknown force. It was like some bizarre, invisible river, bearing Locke swiftly around one pillar and down one of the dozens of staircases. It took him a minute or two before his brain, resigned to forever be silenced, clicked in to this new development, and he sat up, far less scattered in thought that before. One final scream filled his head as he unwillingly fled down a hallway.
In fact, he felt entirely refreshed, as though the mystical flow was both carrying and rejuvenating him at once. All pain fled from his worn limbs; his vision cleared; even his clothing, which bore burn marks and numerous tatters, seemed to repair itself under the influence of. . . whatever it was. Locke decided it was in his best interests to find out, lest his saviour turn out to be a hidden enemy.
One thing was clear, however: whatever it was that had been approaching, bearing that insidious scream, was now long gone. Locke sailed through long, glistening corridors, all bearing torches that threw off no heat: indeed, the entire temple seemed to take on the atmosphere of a clear Autumn day, only a little chilly while remaining still comfortable to the active soul. And ever, on all sides, was the Phoenix, declaring loudly and in a highly artistic rendering that this was the domain of the deathless bird.
Locke was carried for hours. Or so it seemed, anyway; the halls continued onwards forever, stretching out under the earth like the roots of a tree. Locke had no idea whether he'd ever be leaving again, and despite several shouted inquiries, never received an answer to his question. His fate was simply to wait until the end of his bizarre journey.
One thing, however, remained perfectly clear to him: Keye would never be leaving. He still had the screaming horror on his tail. Bereft of magic as he was, Locke suspected that his so-called 'comrade' would stand no chance against the thing that was giving chase. And even if he did manage to get away, Locke decided that the puzzling nature of these stone tunnels would leave him at a loss as to how he might escape.
It seemed an eternity before Locke became aware of a change in his situation. The walls, full and strong as they were, steadily began to lose their cohesion. They turned from utterly opaque to somewhat translucent, and through the vanishing pillars Locke could see a field of stars on all sides. The walls seemed to waver, as though unstable, and all that was uniform and real slowly ebbed out of existence.
Locke was surrounded by the universe. Engulfed by it. He was lost amongst it, floating aimlessly – or so it seemed to him. For he continued to move, even though he had no way to tell he really was moving, as the stars all seemed to wheel around him in a cosmic dance. Everything but him was in motion, and he sat amongst it, utterly dumbfounded by the sight. He felt incredibly small.
Soon, however, his sense of locomotion returned, and it brought with it a profound sense of dread in his mind. He was indeed moving towards something. One of the stars, originally just another pinpoint in the epic display, had begun to hurtle towards him. It grew steadily, evolving from a tiny speck to a flaming ball of ill portent. Locke seemed to be aimed towards the very centre of it, to be swallowed by the twisting, roiling, superheated gasses that made the magma of the cavern he'd recently departed from pale in comparison.
He tried to stop, to slow down, to do anything. His fingers frantically dragged against nothingness, seeking purchase and finding nothing. Death did not come as easily this time, for Locke was fully conscious; he wanted no part of dying, as he still had things to do. But his fate seemed already sealed. The sun loomed, ever greater, ever brighter, soon blinding the luckless thief. He covered his eyes and prayed for mercy.
It came. As the sun flashed, engulfing Locke, piercing even through his eyelids, he suddenly found himself falling, thrown from his invisible ride and back into the real world. He tumbled down, down onto the cold marble floor of the temple once more, head more than a little dazzled. All around him rose huge, spiralling columns, perhaps a little too decadent for his own tastes. The walls were covered in more Phoenix figures than he would have deemed possible, as they managed also to extend up to the ceiling. And amidst it all, looming in the centre of the room, was an emerald pedestal. Atop the pedestal lay what seemed, from a distance, to be a cracked orb of sorts. Pieces of it lay strewn about both on and below the pedestal.
Rising slowly, almost tentatively, Locke checked his surroundings for any immediate threats. There seemed to be nothing of worry; so, ever so cautiously, he began to tip-toe his way across the floor, displaying his keen thieving instincts distinctly. He was determined not to be caught off guard.
Nothing stopped his progress, however, and within a minute of silent movement Locke found himself beside the pedestal, his fingers softly caressing the outside of the orb. Or, to be more precise, the egg: for Locke had already deemed it as such. This had evidently been the birthplace of the Phoenix, or at least it had in this world, for the Phoenix was an eternal being. There was no way of knowing where it had come from before choosing its current form.
Locke felt a brief moment of intense excitement well up in his heart. Was this it? Could Rachel's malady be cured with his discovery? But no, it was not so: for this was simply the egg, not the creature itself. An empty shell would heal nobody. There wasn't even any of the bird's down littering the insides of the dull orange vessel.
Looking around, however, Locke quickly came to the conclusion that there was nowhere else to go, except back the way he came. And would that even be a viable course of action any longer? He had no idea if whatever had swept him down here would take him back up. For all he knew, this room of birth may just have become his tomb.
But no. This seemed ridiculous to him. Why go to such lengths to show him this? There was no point to it: he simply could have been killed by whatever beast it was that had been pursuing Keye. Was there any reason? Why did it matter?
"Because you are the one to avenge us, young one."
Locke whirled with ferocious speed, his daggers out and poised to attack, within an instant. A piece of egg he'd been cupping in one hand was sent flying into a pillar, where it shattered. His steely grey eyes narrowed in concentration, searching out his potential attacker. But the sight he beheld instantly stole away his urge to battle.
Behind him stood the Phoenix. This he knew for a fact, even though the creature his eyes gazed upon was not its form: for the figure he saw that day was none other than his beloved Rachel. But it was not her, this he knew, for this creature was practically brimming with fiery light. It – or she – or whatever one may call such things – smiled lightly, and only then did Locke notice that the intensity of that light was faded. Unearthly. Is essence, of the spiritual realm.
Locke swore that he was seeing a ghost. He wasn't far off, either.
"I apologize for using this form, but I decided it would be the most prudent way of communicating. Appearing to you as a gigantic bird would not have instilled any trust in the situation, I think, in your case." The Phoenix closed its eyes, smiling sadly, and approached Locke. He saw its figure waver slightly as it moved, creating the odd effect of a double image.
"Moreover, you'll have to forgive me for another transgression. . . I took the liberty of reading your mind as I guided you down here. . . you may consider it a violation of your privacy, but, I had to verify whether or not I was correct in my assumptions."
Locke, his throat suddenly very dry, managed at last to utter words in reply. "A... assumptions? Assumptions about what?"
The Phoenix seated herself upon the floor, alighting against the marble with grace beyond that of any ordinary woman. Locke could barely restrain his tears at witnessing Rachel move and speak again, and had to constantly remind himself that this was not Rachel at all. Her very voice mannerisms, being soft and gentile, contrasted deeply with the powerful confidence Rachel had always managed to display.
"About your character. Your motives. I peered into your heart as you entered my temple, and it seemed sufficient for my purposes; however, I required a deeper look into your psyche to accurately trust you." She brushed her hair aside. "Fortuitously enough, you surpassed my expectations."
Locke slowly lowered his daggers. "Oh. Great." Their sharpened edges slowly dipped back into their sheathes. "Well. I'm guessing you have something planed for me to do, then."
"I do indeed." The Phoenix, spreading her gown across the floor – it was the same gown Rachel had worn on one of their more extravagant dates – stretched her legs. It struck Locke as oddly lacking in femininity, considering her personality thus far. "You see, I'm not really the Phoenix. Not the current one, anyway. Rather, I am the cast of personality of an older Phoenix, one that has already fallen into dust. For that is the nature of the Phoenix, to replace the old with the newly born."
Locke, listening closely, seated himself cross-legged on the floor, facing her. "Wait. You mean it isn't the same Phoenix being reborn every time?"
She shook her head. "Not exactly. The body is, indeed, the same, in form and power – however, the soul of each Phoenix is inherently different. Essentially, we are a race of creatures contained in one body, each given a chance at life in turn."
"So you're not technically immortal?"
"No. Technically not. But there are so many Phoenixes, and we are so long- lived, that our race will probably exist until the end of existence." She gazed at the floor, eyes mirroring an internal sadness. "But such was not meant for me."
Locke studied her closely. Her face was so different from Rachel, who had always worn her emotions on her sleeve. The Phoenix struggled to keep such emotions inside, hidden. But it didn't work, not completely. Locke could see the pain. "What happened?"
She pulled in a deep breath, collecting herself. "What you see before you here is my egg. This place is where I was born. It is the traditional temple of the Phoenix, where each one in turn is born. There are thousands upon thousands of these eggs down here, hidden amongst the endless hallways we've constructed."
"Wait, wait. Aren't you Espers?"
"Well, yes, in a sense. Our race has existed for a very, very long time, from far before the time that Espers came into being. We are no doubt older than the Goddesses themselves. However, when incorporating ourselves into a new plane of being, we must take on a form suitable for ourselves. As such, we acquired the shape of Espers, as their magical abilities accommodated us far more readily than any other here."
"Gotcha."
The Phoenix grimaced in preparation for the rest of her story. "I encountered a slight difficulty when being born, however. Upon emerging from my egg, I realized that I was not alone. The Temple had, since the last Phoenix left, been occupied by something else."
It was Locke's turn to grimace. "That thing, right? What the hell is it?" The Phoenix could not help but sigh deeply at his inquiry.
"It is a demon of terrible power. It thrives off of the souls of other beings, absorbing them into itself, and thereby nourishing its body. I believe, in your tongue, you would consider it a 'Banshee', owing largely to its scream. It uses that scream to. . . weaken, the outer body, giving the soul free passage to be removed. Quite forcibly, I might add."
Locke nodded grimly. He'd heard of such things before, though they were the stuff of legends, not fact.
She continued. "So you can imagine, then, how a demon such as this would consider acquiring a Phoenix to devour very attractive." Her head drooped. "Each new Phoenix contains within itself a doorway to the place in which our entire race, unborn, is contained. Were it to gain access to that, we would be ruined, and the demon given incredible power."
Locke understood the ramifications quite well. Such a demon would probably wind up being more powerful than all three goddesses combined. "So. . . I'm guessing it ambushed you while you were being born?"
The Phoenix lowered her eyes, perhaps in shame. "Yes. Just as I was emerging from my egg, it 'jumped me', as you might put it. I was yet too young to fend it off entirely; however, I knew that it had to be destroyed. So I expended all of my power, drawing in the strength of this temple to aid me."
"It didn't work?"
"No. Not completely, anyway. The Banshee was tossed out of the chamber, and became lost amongst the mazes of the temple. But my strength was insufficient to destroy it. Moreover, the energy I expended in the fight sapped me of my vitality. I. . . died, just as I was born." She traced a glowing finger across the marble floor, as though doing so would stem the outpour of emotions that threatened to engulf her. "My attempt to use the temple condemned me to walk its halls forever, as you see me now. I am, essentially, one with this temple." She sighed.
Locke stared mutely at her. So was that it, then? Was the Phoenix dead? For good, this time? Would they be denied entrance into the world? Was Rachel not to be saved after all?
"My tale is not yet complete, young one. Please listen until the end." The Phoenix's voice cut through his thoughts sharply, and yet they were not without their warmth. He looked up and apologized clumsily.
She favoured him with a smile. "It does not matter. In any event, my attempts were not a complete failure, as I managed to use a small portion of my power to allow the next Phoenix in line to come to life, far from the demon. Our line does, indeed, continue. However," – and at this, Locke stilled his previously exhaled breath of relief – "it was what you would consider a stillborn. The newly created Phoenix was weak, far weaker than any of our kind should be. It could not cope with the insufficient amount of energy I expended to grant upon it my former body, and thus, was born as flawed. It did, however, manage to escape the temple; but where it lies now, I know not. There have been no new Phoenixes born upon this temple since that last one, so I must assume that it is either alive, or changed into Magicite."
Locke started at this. "Magicite? Wouldn't that mean it's dead?"
The Phoenix shook her head at this. "No, for Magicite does not truly mean death for any Esper, let alone a Phoenix. It is simply a transformation, of sorts, into a form that no Esper is able to escape. The distillation of their power made useable by others. If the Phoenix has become Magicite, however, I have little doubt that the crystal is deeply marred, and possibly useless."
Despair and hope vied for control inside Locke. "Is there any way to restore such Magicite to normal?"
The Phoenix nodded. "Yes. However, it can only been done through a transferral of power upon the Magicite. Something else would have to grant it a boost, if you will, for the Phoenix to become a proper member of its kind."
Locke nodded. So, there was hope, no matter how small. "But you have no idea where I might find it?"
The Phoenix simply shook her head.
Locke pondered the entire situation in silence awhile. So, he could save Rachel after all. It was possible. But he'd have to find this weak Phoenix, and then. . . re-energize it? How to do that? Was it possible, in such a twisted world as this?
Eventually, he decided to shunt the whole thing over to the side. His current predicament lay in aiding the ghostly Phoenix before him. This thought elicited a tiny smile of gratitude from her, though she said nothing. Turning back to her, he spoke.
"Okay, so, I'm guessing you need my help to kill this thing. Right?"
She nodded sagely. "Yes. No Phoenix will be born safely so long as it dwells here. And we don't have the power to remove it. I know this is a selfish request, as I can offer nothing in return, but. . ."
Locke waved a hand in dismissal. He was already on his feet. "Far be it from me to turn down a woman in need. I'll do it."
Her smile was brighter than the sun at that moment as she rose. Locke felt his heart warm from seeing it, even though he knew it wasn't Rachel. Moments like these made life worth living.
"I knew I'd found the right man. I knew I read you correctly, Locke Cole. Thank you."
NOTE: Good god, I write too much. I really went on a tangent with this one, and coming up with the whole Phoenix thing was quite fun. Just hope I managed to avoid any holes in the explanation.
In other words, prepare for yet a third chapter – and I do hope it's the last. I don't wanna dwell on each character too much.