Disclaimer:

Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha is the creative property of Seven Arcs, whom created this wonderful anime/manga series. Anything not attributed to Seven Arcs belongs to their respective owners, such as other series, references, and vice-versa. This story is written purely just for fun, guys; please for God's sake, don't sue me! I'm just a college student with too much free time on his hands! On the other hand, any specific author created characters I created for this fic (despite how unoriginal they may be at times) are mine. So without further ado, let's get on with the show!

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk.

Mahou Shounen Enforcer Chrono!

Before Lyrical

Entry 1.25:

Pursing My True Self

A Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha AU fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

However, before we were to part our separate ways, Nagi understandably being most urgent for he much business to attend to, an unexpected subject came up no less from our impeccable Nina Wang:

"By and by, this one would wish to know, when is the first formal occasion?"

"Psshh, who cares?" Ryuune rolled her eyes, "we'll deal with it, when we get there, right?"

I was of the same school of thought as my Corellian colleague, but trust our mutual prince from the north to smell intrigue right on the get go. His composed expression abruptly burst into a grin from ear to ear, "But 'tis a dance, dear Dame Zoldark! A dance!"

"Well, it's not a real ball and gown affair," I added fuel to the fire, unwittingly and unhelpfully, "but there is an event end of this month..."

"And should thou be asked to participate, who shall be thy escort, young lord?"

The curtain of an awkward silence made to fall, as I considered for a moment my options. I could sneak a glance at my partner in crime for her consent, but considering present company that alone might be enough to blow the situation out of proportion into mortifying extremes. Another possibility was to admit that "truthfully" I was still undecided, which was mostly true. Alas, such hopeful machinations were all swept aside when someone else involved made the decision for me. How characteristically reckless of her, too.

"Th-That'd be me, of course!"

Naturally, Nagi smiled brightly, a pleased bloodhound, and a for a moment, I entertained the macabre idea of his whole face turn inside out to only be replaced with that smile, no eyes, just rows of gleaming pearly white teeth. Nina's timely intervention, though, saved from dwelling upon the nightmarish image too long, for we were treated to a pair of glowing red "eyes", courtesy of her harsh gas mask. Sealing with a pressurized hiss that elicted an uncomfortable chill up my spine, I sensed a change in her "air", evident in her body language that suddenly tensed, coiling like a serpent ready to strike, in contrast to her usual polite deference.

"Have you ever danced before, hssss?" crackled her new digitized voice, attuned to a disconcerting clinical frequency. Between that and the intensity of her gaze, the result gave the clean impression as if she were an auditor regarding the worth of breeding stock at a wholesale flea market. It was most unpleasant.

"N-No," Ryuune Zoldark, nevertheless, was admirably unshaken. She somehow had the gall even to look sheepish!

"Do you know, hsss, the precepts of what constitutes, hsss, a lady?" Nina, unruffled, went on just the same.

I did not quite understand the reasons for it yet, but every time she put on the "mask", this sharp change in character always happened, as if a submerged personality layer suddenly came online like a droid.

"....no."

By the way, is it just me, or am I seeing the Maid's questions actually take metaphorical shape in the air akin to giant sign posts, shaped as arrows?!

"I'm holding two pictures. Hsss. Which dress is fashionable for the season?"

"Uhh, that one?"

They are multiplying...

"What kind of housework are you familiar with?"

"Well, any dumbass by now knows how to scrub and brush, right?"

I try rubbing my eyes. Nope, they are not going away.

"Do you know how to polish silver, gold, glass, and leather?"

"No...."

That is a whole lot of "arrows".

"What, hsss, is the best way to iron silk?"

"Can I take a pass on this?"

Maybe I should take cover?

"How would you prepare morning tea?"

"Uhhh, pass."

And why does Nagi look like he is dying from asphyxiation?

"How would you prepare, hsss, a full course dinner at Harvest Festival?"

"Pass..."

Is he trying not to laugh?

"Can you even cook?"

Well, laugh, dammit! Maybe that will dispel these hallucinations I am seeing!

"Does microwave and instanta-chow count?"

Like the timer on a toaster, I swore I heard an audible ping as a light bulb appeared and went off above Nina's head. The metaphorical stage lights faded, putting myself and the smiling puck into cool darkness, while the two girls nabbed the spotlight. Above, the "arrows" glittered like stars.

"My lords, by observation and inquiry of nine, hsss, key factors, I, Nina Wang, Maid of Honor to His Lordship Nagi Dai Artai, hsss, have come to the conclusion, hsss: this girl is a female pig, Sus scrofa scrofa - nay - a female warthog, Phacochoerus amerius!"

At the word of such a fatal declaration, the first barrage fell, piercing with the laughable chime of golden rings aflutter?!

"GAH?!"

"There's no need, hsss, to look for the possibility, hsss, that you misheard me, Ryuune Zoldark. I'm referring to you, hsss, you common sow."

The second wave!

"GUWAH...!"

"Indeed. A huge sow that's as tall as the Ziggurat that looms over us day and night."

The titanic final blow reduced the Corellian hellcat to a smoking porcupine of humanity, twitching on occasion on the floor as a sign of life; her juvenile vanity defeated utterly so. Truly, the feminine mind is a magnificently cruel creature when it comes to psychological warfare.

"As such, it is in my opinion that she, hsss, is not suitable to be Young Master Harlaown's escort to any function, hsss, until further notice."

Now that declaration broke the spell of drama and brought me back to my senses to utter a stupiefied:

"Until further notice?"

"Yes, I intend to educate her," Nina informed us off-hand, already bending down to "retrieve" her inanely mumbling charge. "Though I still have much to learn, hsss, I have the qualifications of a journeywoman. At the very least, hsss, I can turn her into a proper apprentice, hsss, for as she is, only the most magnanimous of Meisters would ever, hsss, take her in."

Funny, she should say that, and maybe - probably it was just my imagination, but did her artificially attuned voice soften just for a moment? Could Nina Wang, the impeccable Maid of Honor, be speaking from personal experience? My thoughts, however, were scattered to the four winds and put on hold for a later date, for it was right then that Nagi Dai Artai choose to erupt in bowel loosening, raucous laughter. Naturally, I was the closest person to him, so he latched on to me for support.

"Come, warthog, move your hide, hsss, and blow your nose. Our lessons begin post-haste! Now, are you registered for home..."

I did not even get to hear the rest. The girls had quit the scene, steathily (read: Nina just dragged away Ryuune who was still lost in a teary daze of defeat), while I was distracted, leaving me very much alone with him.

"My, bwha-haahaha! My, is it not, tee hee hee, fun?" Nagi egged at me, captivated by some private joke only he seemed to know.

"Wh-What the Devil?" I responded haplessly ignorant. My chief concern at the time was wrestling him into some semblance of posture for the albino boy threatened to take me down onto the floor with him in not-so-wondrous hilarity.

"My adorable Nina, pffffttt! - di-did not even remark on a-a-a-arrange-ments, tee hee hee, for her to accompany yourself! N-Nau~ghty, ah-hahahaha!"

I could only favor him with a stupid expression because I did not have a clue as to what he was talking about.

"Do not fear, kuh! There is no, eh-hee hee hee, lost love on my part, though I am of superb confidence that, hah, your adventures to come will become much more amusing, from now onwards, fu fu fu fu."

That said, sometimes...I wish I was not so blissfully thickheaded.

A month soon passed, and true to Nagi Dai Artai's prophecy, things had become interesting, indeed. There are many things I would like to report, such as Nina sticking true to her word and --- well, she "accompanied" me, chaining Ryuune behind to monitor the event...now, that was an experience I shan't forget, ever. I am personally still in shock, but I digress. For the sake of expedience, I will only touch upon the most noteworthy events. For starters, I appear to actually have a domestic life now, much to my regret, and worse yet, the routine appears to have become the norm with disturbing swiftness.

Oh, there had been a terrible quarrel the first day, but after Nina dispatched Ryuune with ease, in one fluid takedown. I only saw the aftermath of it mind you, but the Maid's face spoke everything for her: no emotion, no hesitation, just pure certainty of purpose; her disciple did not protest anymore. When I inquired of the latter why she was agreeing to go along with the eccentricities of the former, she only mumbled:

"She shut me down. The one thing I had pride in for sure. There was no possibility at all. Zero. zero. ZERO. Zero. Aaaaaaaaaaa! Phwoar, that pisses me off! I gotta figure her out. How can she...!"

So it became apparent that Miss Cool and Spicy was only going along to "get stronger", per say. It was long after I turned my line of inquiry towards the Maid of Honor herself, who had assumed swiftly the stewardship of my kitchen. ...I had to admit she looked fantastically at home in an apron, though I am pretty certain I did not own anything so white and frilly. There even appeared to be a touch of lace here and there. Strangely, I felt the room temperature increase uncomfortably so every time I locked gazes with the ever serious girl, and in fact, I forced myself to go check the thermostat for irregularities when it was both her and Ryuune in the same outfit.

I swore things got downright sweltering hot. Could it be a sign of some manner of paranormal activity? But I digress, more importantly, I ask Nina of she had any prior martial experience to which she replied in all seriousness, while frying up green eggs and ham:

"In truth, She is at least proficient of a rank higher than the belt She wears. This one was a passable second-degree black belt in Hapkido: quick to learn that 'goblins' do not play nice."

What was with me and meeting women, who could dismantle me, faster than I could say a greeting? Still, I was gratified to experience first hand that Nina Wang was a fabulous gourmet, easily surpassing myself. She professed she wished to cook more often, but as it was an expensive indulgence, she rationed out her ventures to only three times a week, which was deplorable, according to her. It would be a grave embarrassment if her still "juvenile" skills were to fall into disuse, not to mention it was her duty to turn "That Warthog" into a right and proper "apprentice".

Suffice to say, it appeared evidently so that I was coming around to see the charming quality of Nina Wang, ever so bound and determined. Nagi Dai Artai, her master, likely has a much more illuminated perspective of her, but I was content enough to take things one step at time. Though I admit I am a little taken aback by Nina's own forthright attempts to learn my habits and quirks inside out, which has lead to many a compromising circumstance and will likely produce many more instances.

Who knew that little devil was a creature of habit himself? In comparison, I could be called positively lackadaisical, much to the aquamarine-haired girl's mild concern ("She fears for thy subjects, Young Lord").

Still, even with all these "pleasant" developments, I would be a fool to neglect business altogether. The conspiracy was still about, tying together both the security situation and my own paranoid worries over the "unexplainable". For the good, the AZOTH "bared fruit" at last, on a curious Sunday morning, well before dawn.

I awoke in a feverish sweat, the agony unspeakable as always, without a crutch to lean on. Truth be told, sleep was a treasure rare to come by, but today was different. The intensity was not the same. Usually, it would be through supreme effort that I would move at all to start my morning routine, yet I could now move as if I had downed my first "fix" of the day. I was functional, though a trained eye that had been studying me prior ought to notice the weakness of my gait.

Hanging from the cord of my dog tags was an addition that had not been there the night before. The object gave off an urgent heat as if demanding my attention and did not abate until I had grasped it: a small, thin rod as you might expect to be on a wind chime, made of pure white stone (perhaps, marble). At a glance, the rod seemed unremarkable, but upon touch, a new set of revelations became self-evident. It was warm to the touch and the texture, contrary to the appearance of stone, was a match for human skin; a pulse could even be felt, disturbingly enough, as the "flesh" responded true to the genuine article.

Alas, I was made of sterner stuff, having grown up in a house where a misstep potentially could be fatal. A normal person would have been wise to not have any part in it all, for at the least they would have been spared the cost of such power. The examination of the AZOTH's exterior revealed nothing of note, though I would come to discover with the passage of time that its shape would change.

Of course, I was not going to stop there for my curiosity sought to understand even more of the mystery at hand, so I did the stupidest thing possible, when it comes to magical artefacts: I injected a dose of mana into it. Do not do try this for yourself, for such docile artefacts have a tendency to remind us how powerful they are truly when everything goes ploin-shaped.

I was fortune enough not to taste disaster, though my eyes were still blinking out the spots of glare from the sudden brightness, as if a new sun had been born. The AZOTH had transformed: gone was the white stone finish, and its place I held tangible "space" that thrummed with vibrancy, as ancient script, numbers and symbols, and a whole slew of shapes revolved in a glowing prismatic nexus. Arranged a double helix married to an atom, with the genes serving as the nucleus, curiosity brought it closer to my eye, and the wonder of the mystery grew.

Synesthesia: I could "see" the vibrations of sound, "hear" the loud colors, "touch" the graininess of letters, and "taste" the prickly laugh of the sun on my face. Common sense raised the alarm in a flash, but I was already enthralled in both pleasure and intrigue. The construct I beheld, was it not like "The Record" that resided in my home? Here were memories without a doubt but in a form that escaped any method I knew of quantifying it. From the output I received...I could recall anything - everything in perfect clarity, even the most mundane of details long since forgotten came back to me.

Impossible: memories are finite and fickle. Constructs designed to store "memories" in turn are also limited for only what is recorded can be recalled. Yet, with the AZOTH, I could possibly even uncover the truth hidden in veils of black-!

At that critical moment, the flow of mana ceased, banishing the Mystic Code back to its docile state. I had not even realized my own condition: sweat pouring down my flushed face, breaths coming in sharp gasps, and my whole body shivering, electric and numb all at once, dreadfully cold. A jittery hand, sickly pale, reached up and came away splattered with blood; there were not hot tears in my eyes but slick crimson.

Now and forever, it was certain that what I carried in the palm of my hand was dangerous, inherently, as it was powerful. To delve into and understand its secrets would come at a price, running the gamut from addiction to death. Yes, even now, I still recall the ecstasy of "sensation", a reality of "madness" more perfect than what I can perceive in my insignificant coil of existence.

Thankfully, by some superhuman token of will, I managed to pull away from deadly temptation and drag myself into the shower. I sat there, huddled in a ball under hot running water well into the wee hours, ignorant, frightened, and still longing for answers. A new pain had birthed itself in my mind to replace the decreased intensity of the bitter biting agony I experienced day in and day out: lust. Not for carnal pleasures of the body mind you but knowledge; anything and everything there was to know... How do I use this power? When were the memories installed? What could I achieve? Where had the Mystic Code originated from, by what means, what medium...

I buried it deep but even still the vivid memory haunts me at the farthest reaches of consciousness, a mirage beckoning to power untold. So ends my positive report that I can confirm the power of the Code exists, and begins another horrid trip into the unknown. You already should be aware as to the dual nature of Atlas - The Giant's Pit. At first glance, the institution is a school built near an important relic of lost ages, but scraping away the veneer of false epithelia revealed something far more sinister and purposeful.

I believe this place to be a grand social experiment, a laboratory where nearly all factors involved can be controlled, so as to condition and shape the young, impressionable minds and bodies here. I can vouch for a fact that I have been transformed irreversibly. What I cannot understand is why the adults, my direct superiors and caretakers, would allow such an abominable thing to transpire right before them. Did they approve of the artificial macrocosm they had created that could be likened to a top-down cross section of modern society itself?

Yes, I acknowledge and understand fully that injustice and inequity were facts of life. If not for these realities, the Bureau itself would not exist, an institution designed to restore order in a system that inherently becomes more chaotic. Nevertheless, I loathe to think that my own organization is infected with the same neurosis of conscience.

The security situation had worsened since I took power. None of it was being reported to the military police, of course. Elements in the putrid underbelly of Atlas had become more aggressive in the new power vacuum, and they were not long from waging a secret war of their own for dominance. Thanks to Nagi Dai Artai, we had a perfect forecast of their movements and could even plant remote surveillance at will, much like we do now for official school events above ground.

Delegates of the Student Council had been badly incensed at the near voyeuristic evidence I had brought forth as testimony of our competence, and I do not believe they will forget the humiliation anytime soon either.

We, ourselves, had yet to make any move to curb the blistering sores for we were tied with some serious issues of accountability, namely there was equipment belonging to the Student Disciplinary Committee missing. Gear had sprouted arms and legs, was running around out there where it should not be, and it was our responsibility to get it back because if anything happened, we would be held accountable for it. As such we were not in any condition to begin our crackdown, not to mention I was concerned about our paltry numbers.

Best-case scenario: could three people convince two-thousand odd "delinquents", the nastiest of the hardcore, to stop acts of extortion, drugs, blackmail, and yes, "gun running"? Oh, we are not talking about blasters, bombs, and heavy weapons when I mean gun running because that level generally applies to ordinary peoples. In the case of the magi, we are a more sophisticated bunch of snobs: high value raw and finished components, Tech Licenses, devices of all makes completed or otherwise and / or their associated armaments, "spell" schematics, access rights to spells, proprietary algorithms, etc.

I had no delusions that we could stop them, but at the at least, we would make life miserable for them, for they had already fired the first shots across our bow. By now, I am used to "mind games" and have resigned myself to be friendless, outside my small circle of close associates. What I did not expect was to be the first casualty of the war: one set of utility uniforms gone. It happened in one of my electives, an entry-level class, which I did not share with anyone else, for essentially earning licenses with various repulsorlift craft that would open to more advanced course work. Today we were working on tanks, namely the TX-130 Saber-class fighter tank, a workhorse of the GAR.

Situation: vehicle down, co-pilot / navigator is KIA, pilot (that's me) unknown, and you're the lucky one that got ejected out from the gunner's seat, miraculously, in one piece. Assess the situation and act accordingly. Simply put, I was the corpse, clad in a mock-up Phase II clone trooper armor, and splashed over in fake blood plus some artistic touches of make-up to show "battle trauma". Suffice to say, I died a lot, either from cadets improperly gauging the situation or failure to provide adequate first aid. The snide jokes that followed were not a hallucination for I saw genuine malice in those grins, wishing for my demise.

I knew better than to let the ill-will get to me, but I was not about to take any chances by hanging around any longer than I must. Leaving the showers expediently, I made to dress when I discovered the surprise waiting for me in my locker. They even left a note, too; how cute. At least they left my boots and coat alone, not to mention I had my critical valuables on me, leaving none for them to "pick up". Sitting at the foot of the locker was my uniform, "downsized", and mixed into a pail of partially dried cement and kerosene. Everyone present saw it or heard about it second hand, of course. Most had a good laugh and away they went with their sycophant cohorts; strength by mob rule. Others, the weak, pretended to look the other way and that was the end of it. The Instructors had already gone home.

There was nothing better to do but to climb back into the soiled "corpse" and haul the pail over to the nearby incinerator. Had this sort of intimidation been normal for Ryuune Zoldark before our paths crossed? I suppose, the experience brought me a little closer to her, for right now... I felt no emotion, save for a deepening sense of isolation. Granted, I was not alone anymore that I could be certain of, and Miss Cool and Spicy would raise hell the moment I walked in the door looking like so. I could see the flames of carnage, now...

So who should I...

Vmmm-Vmmm!

Oh lucky, I kept my PDA on me. Wait, an incoming call from Nina?!

I heaved a self-suffering sigh, most of it real and the tiny fraction of it frustration, for such a convenient event could only be divine irony. Nevertheless, I accepted it. We exchanged contact information for good reasons, and something curious must have developed, if she felt compelled to call me.

"Good evening, Nina Wang."

"And to thee, young lord," she replied in lockstep. There was a bark of noise for a moment, sounding like porcelain or some such had just crashed spectacularly onto floor, accompanied by a bark of laughter and a howling feminine shriek. Looks like someone was having a ball in my kitchen, then again, my living quarters appeared to transform spontaneously in a "fun" madhouse every time I had guests over. Can you imagine the mayhem the "right" house guest can achieve on his or her own? Madness. Absolutely. "Hnn, are thou arriving, now?"

"Uhh, actually, I am still at class," I admitted, with a heavy self-suffering sigh. It might have been overkill as far as signals went, but as we had never arranged any system prior, the clumsy way was the only option.

"Her ears art yours."

As expected of the Maid of Honor, but considering her master, I should not be surprised much. Well, here goes nothing.

"Nina, listen, I need a favor..."

The wind chill was picking up, heavy clouds on the horizon; I would not be surprised if there would be snow tonight. Half an hour later, I looked up to see bobbing red dots approaching through the gloomy haze of sunset. Sure enough, it was Nina, trucking along at a jog, with a duffel bag fastened securely crosswise to her body so as to not hinder her gait. She would have liked, I imagine, to arrive early with time to spare, but arriving right on time had its merits, too. Any friendly greeting I had, though, was put on hold by a sharp spike of pain in my chest, a signal that it was time for my "fix" yet again.

Nina stood by impassively, her expression unknown thanks to the concealing nature of her gas mask, and her childhood training restrained her from dropping the duffel at my feet in any sign of displeasure. Simply, she spoke, the frequency set to deceptive neutrality.

"Young lord, hsss, may I speak frankly?"

"Please, do," I owed her at least the right to an interrogation.

"Hsss, you realize that, hsss,is an unbecoming habit."

"Hence, why I picked flavored gummies. People ask less questions when a cadet looks to be just snacking, and even then, considering my daily regimen, a little pain relief is warranted, especially when the Sergeant Major comes around to knock me about."

"I believe, hsss, he favors you."

"Methinks that is no doubt an unreasonably bizarre way of demonstrating one's affection."

"Men and palmtop hellcats, young lord."

"Er..." Palmtop hellcats, what?

"How much have you had today?"

"Huh?"

"The gummies."

"I-I am --- within tolerable limits."

"Hsss, how much."

"Twenty-four gummibears?"

"The total dosage," it was not a clarification but a demand.

"Two-thousand four-hundred milligrams," I sweated with a sheepish grin.

A heavy moment passed; the Maid of Honor considered my revelation in a thoughtful, while regarding me with the inane scrutiny an entomologist would favor a snapping hellgrammite. Of course, I did not have a clue as to what she was thinking, but to my surprise, she joined me in the shadow of the building, parking herself beside me on the rickety bench.

"Hsss, I understand you have your reasons," Nina began, her comlink outputting a new voice. This one seemed to have been attuned to nurture a feeling of solidarity. "But you should be aware of the, hsss, complications that could result. Likely, you will kill yourself, hsss, either by overdose or a wound, hsss, that won't stop bleeding. May I suggest..."

What a strange girl! Anyone else with common "common sense" would have told me to stop taking the pain killers, but here she was willing to go along with the madness all the same, even while lecturing me on the risks. Indeed, even her lord, Nagi Dai Artai, was the same: he did not lecture me often on the risks but was happy always to provide a means to an end. Was this a facet of the character of "The Devil"?

"Hsss, adding reserves of bacta to your private stocks. It would be wise to have bactade and-or bacta salves on your person at all times. Are you planning to pursue a Medical License?"

Wh-what? How did she-

"Y-Yes, at least up to Class-IVor Class-V, maybe Class-VI, before I am commissioned."

"Engineering?"

"Of course, only a wishful idiot trusts his life completely to the armorer and the whims of supply and demand; no offense to the grunts. When you are autonomous and self-sufficient, there is no crisis that cannot be overcome. Aye, I would fight a one-man crusade all by myself, if it came to that cruel reality. Water: I could condense feasibly. Transportation: what I can not pilot, appropriate, repair, errata --- well, I will just have to build it then, won't I? Food, though, will be an issue should it prove impossible to survive off the land, as I do not fancy the concept particularly of conjuring Brahmin steak from mana, much less an edible one."

"Self-sufficiency. Autonomy. Beautiful words, hsss, and the kindest of lies, as expected of The Judgment."

As you know, I do not anger easily, but a trend I noted over the cycles that one of the quickest ways to raise my wrath was to accuse me of being mad for power.

"I do not gain power for the sake of power," turn away I did from her gaze, my voice slicing the breath of space in deathly cold steel.

"That is what they all say, hsss, at first," ever stern Nina Wang, though, was not ruffled in the slightest. I dare say she seemed to be accustomed to such scathing treatment. "Will you be a hero, or a villain?"

"Are you on the same bandwagon as Nagi?! Lunacy. I am not-"

"Why contradict yourself, now? Have your actions and words not spoken so gloriously of your aspiration? No matter. There is no escape. Inevitably, some day, you will speak the truth that lies here."

"No escape? What do you know about me? We only just met!"

"Would you like to know how old I am?"

"Huh?" the girl's line of thought surprised me with its abruptness. Where was she going with this?

"As old as your palmtop hellcat. Hsss, nay. Mayhap older," Nina mused vaguely.

"What, mine? Wait, why-?"

"At least, someone thinks someone belongs to someone."

Exasperated, I gave a snort and made myself cross, hoping it would end the meandering conversation altogether. The Maid of Honor, though, was a devil, and she would not be deterred so easily. There was one more underhanded card to be played, yet.

"Coy, is that a trait of a Le Fay, hsss, or does it hail from the audacious blood of The Hero, as well?"

Power. Heroes. Villains. Right and Wrong. It always comes back to That Man, does it not?

"You hate him do you, your patriarch?"

Click.

I still do not understand the exact the mechanism behind these occult phenomenon, but sure enough, Nina had triggered one. Like a lock opening, the transition was seamless as "my side" slipped into a region of the unknown. Perhaps, it only existed in my mind, a delusion daydream that I was privy to: colors inverted, bleeding, draining into black, an infinite void, save for me, bleached white in full, suspended in limbo. There was no sound aside from the perfect meter of clockwork ticking by the microns.

Tick. Tock.

It went on for a long, long time. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Cycles. Decades. Centuries. Millennia. Aeons. Madness: I screamed, muscles and chords bulging to the extremes of strain, but there was nothing. I could breathe, yet there was no matter to conduct my cries. All reason told me that I should be dead.

Hey, hey, is that anyway to talk inside someone's stomach? Even a spiralless hog-face wouldn't eat a deadbeat yam of a shavit, like you-you, at World's End. But, it's fun to see Love turn to Hate. C'mon, why don't ya give it a try? The face of the man you can't even remember.

"...no. NO. Of course, I don't-"

Liar.

"...wh-why? It's. Th-that, he...he had to-"

Tsk, tsk, you're not very honest, are you?

The emptiness shuddered with each word spoken and I with it, as if I were in the shadow of a trembling volcano of impossible magnitude, and there: the voice, too. So...

But, guess that's just expected of you: the Will to affirm, to accept, to receive...everything.

Familiar.

Eh? Don't remember me, either? Well, that's fine. I am still tryin' to find my own voice, see. It wasn't until a little while ago that the synch started to...

Whose voice is this?

Still, ever wonder where your less than nice feelin's for That Man comes from? Your little sparks of heroics? Talkin' tough? Walkin' tough? That ain't natural, man, 'cos we both know you like him, even after everythin'. That's just like you, too, and you'd never do those kind of crazy things. Bein' straight with ya, these things you did the past coupla months? That ain't really you-you; that much we oughta say.

Who is talking to me?

You just accepted right on the fly it was-is you, you-you. That's why it didn't seem funny when it happened. That's why it still isn't funny. It's a nice part about been able only to accept, right? Nothin' ever seems wrong, just like a lie repeated enough times becomes part o' the truth.

I'm...I-I...drowning!?

Tsk, looks like that's the limit for today. Don't worry, we got time to settle things right, you-you. All the time in the world; ours.

Bleagh-bluhk!

I was vomiting, right onto the white blanketed sidewalk.

"That's the way, hsss!" a harsh, crackling voice called out to me.

The disgusting yet no doubt urgent bodily act erased any higher thoughts I might have had, being so suddenly ripped from the perspective of madness back to the semblance of normalcy. Snow had begun to fall in the short intervening time, so I noticed out of the corner of my eye.

"Let it out. Hsss, all of it!"

I am not sure if rubbing one's lower back is meant to help the process along, but the nauseous steam rising from the fresh reeking pile seemed to be doing wonders to encourage me. Half of me wanted to gag while the other half was happy to deposit more of my shame. The evidence was two-fold for I imagined I would not forget the grimy, bitter metallic aftertaste any time...

"Get up."

Oh, you must be...

"Fine; got you."

I was seeing double. Lights blared brightly, and every noise seemed to hammer at my ears into a dizzying plethora of loudness and softness; worse it was flaring out into a headache. Motion and picture seemed to have a kind of surreal underwater feel to it. Oh Mysteries, methinks, I am starting to feel sick, again-!

"Into the head damn you!"

Oh, thank you, whoever you are for pointing me face first into the Porcelain God.

Embarrassingly, it took another fifteen minutes of heaving and spluttering, before I came staggering out of the stall. Thankfully, some seemed to take notice of my present extreme sensitivity to sensory input at the moment and had dimmed all the lights, save for one right in my path. The light lead to a wash basin with a mirror. A guiding presence of swaying aglow red circles made sure I made it there in one piece, even as the venomously burning weight hanging upon my throat like a iron collar threatened to pull me down.

"I don't know whether to dub you foolish, hsss, or junshin, as the Zipang say," something roughly feminine barked in a crackle near my ear. "Hsss, you're a mess."

It was difficult to say what made me wince, the voice or my face: bloodshot eyes, streaked red, visible tear lines staining ghoulishly pale cheeks and a froth mouth and nose. I looked worse than an addict, beaten to a pulp for his troubles, just recently escaped from a deathstick den. The sound of running water from the opened tap, drumming like a thunderous waterfall, drowned out any gratitude I might have had for I was soon forcibly run underneath it.

A shiver of goosebumps seemed to break out like hives wherever the water touched, boiling to my out of control flesh, though no doubt only cold in reality. Adult-like protest and childish mewling did nothing to assuage the iron vice that held me in place. All I could do was accept my miserable fate for there was not an ounce of fight in me. Indeed, I acknowledged that it was a necessary cleansing, and only then, was I declared absolved, the running waters chained, and I, to look upon myself.

They say, "there is nothing good or bad; only thinking makes it so." I looked like a ghoul, half-dead, so unsightly a pallor that I in the reflection --- laughed, a raucous cacophony that splintered and snapped.

"You endanger yourself, hsss," Nina's glow-in-the-dark-eyes pulsed red, looming over my shoulder like a devil, "in the jaws of doom in being indebted to others."

Oh, the folly of me!

"How long to clean the mess outside, by your reckoning?" I answered her drolly. She, ignorant of what transpired in the pane of still water, a delusion only I saw, felt; the hairline fracture in the mask of Chrono Harlaown, invisible to the naked eye.

What a fool.

"You will shower and change, hsss, while I attend to that matter."

What a moron.

"I owe you. Promise, I will have a delightful present prepared for you at the holiday."

What an idiot.

"And I think, hsss, the cuckoo has flown from the bird's nest. Trust: in the end, you will only be betrayed - and left behind to suffer ever more."

Cretin.

"Well, if I am to be the 'Hero' that so many appear to wish for, then is there not the same hope that in suffering - something would be gained?"

Imbecile.

"That, hsss, is the way to hell."

Simpleton.

"...Nina, can I lean on you just a little longer?"

Halfwit.

"Why? Is that what you harbor so precioussss, hhhhhkkkk, you will continue to forge ahead, knowing you will bleed with every heartbeat?"

Was there no end to my tongue and cheek? When did this become me?

"Because you will not pity me. And as for what I --- guard... Methinks, only madmen cling to that which causes them so much grief, if it cannot save anyone."

No. That is the wrong question. The true question to be asked is...

"As you wish, hsss, your lordship."

Who in the hell am I really?

The cycles like great black oxen tread the burning wasteland,

And Dread the herdsman goads them on behind,

And I am crushed by their passing feet.

First note: my apologies, there is quite a bit of a gap between this entry and the last. There was just nothing particularly "outstanding" to remark upon, at least in the daily life of an Idiot of Justice, nor did I have any high expectations to live to see the next sunrise. Every day was a challenge in itself to face. Still, you would be amazed how fast time flies by when you are busy having "fun": two cycles came and went.

A few months ago, I turned eight cycles old, grown quite a bit some, celebrating a handful's worth of anniversaries along the way, and now, starting my third and final rotation here at Atlas. During, both Mother and Countess Lowran had taken their new posts with Taskforce 47, revitalizing the former greatly while the latter busied herself marshalling the company to outstanding readiness. Like the hound hot on the scent of blood, she pursued eagerly more ambitious projects for the unit, and reached out build lasting contacts with like-minded "defense contractors". The intent was to cement Taskforce 47 on the cutting edge of the newest developments in arms and technology, and overall, her scheme appeared to be paying off, judging by the number of commendations they were amassing quickly.

It would not be long, I imagined, before a string of promotions would result in a pair of Rear Admirals and a Captain, meaning the taskforce would end up expanding and becoming even more influential.

Alas, beginnings brought some endings as well. Lieutenant Lotte Lieze's rotation was finished and she was due to her new duty station aboard the indomitable dreadnought USV Retribution, famed for its powerful broadside firepower and abundance of ordinance. The lieutenant was already familiar with everyone, more or less, save for our newest colleague, and it did not take much convincing for her to take a shine to us.

With the Sergeant Major coming on deck in her department, there had been a shift in personnel and politics, namely he had been adamant against "softies" (I kid you not) monkeying with his cadets. Instructors he approved of, personally, would only teach them and she had not made the cut, much to her dramatic burst of tears, cursing "that old meanie". For your information, that old meanie took her down no less in a judged contest before an assembly of their peers, leaving no doubts as to who was running the show.

Still, he had not forbid cadets from meeting after class with instructors, so indulging in a little revenge, Lotte was happy to add all of us into her motivated extracurricular troop. Training with her, honestly, made it much easier to keep up with the physical demands of the course. In fact, I do not think we would have received our green belts, if it were not for the time the passionate feline woman invested in us. She would be missed dearly, though never too far, having exchanged contact information with us.

"Uuuuuu, hic, you four made me, finally, feel like a real teacher-nyah... So, you'd better take responsibility for teach's maiden heart and stay in touch, okay? Promise!"

On another fun academic note, we completed our first magical devices just last semester. It was a quest of mortifying setbacks and absurd tasks that tested each and everyone of us to the brink of insanity. So many hours spent in the labs, toiling over workbenches, reviewing and altering schematics, accidental "discharges", trial and error ad nauseum...you name it; it probably happened. Being a professional Device Meister in my opinion is no easy feat. I would rather not repeat the events again, though I was surprised to learn I had exchanged "numbers" with Countess Lowran at some unrecalled point.

She had called on me over the summer, offering a pep talk as one who had braved her way through amateur sorcery, and gave me as a belated birthday present in the form of a Tech License with Elkoss Combine. Replacement components needed in the wake of my repeated engineering failures was killing my cash flow, for which I had to make up by running errands, doing odd jobs, and participating in studies for the corporations. Not to mention, there was the lost time I could never get back, making the "budget" materials from Elkoss absolutely critical to my success.

I am not knocking on Hahne-Kedar, what being a major supplier to the Bureau military, out of any personal resentment, but their products are stock quality at best and not worth their value at all. Yes, being on the inside, we were already getting a significant discount, and the costs were being partially subsidized by the Bureau too, but still... Ugh, my sincerest sympathies for the grunts because the best we can provide them also entails the lowest bidder.

Now as for my fellow colleagues, to my awe they faired much better in the exercise. The young lord of House Artai and his maid, both, ranked in the top one-hundred percentile among the thousands of devices evaluated at the end of the term, earning them esteem and high marks. It was Ryuune Zoldark who surprised all of us, standing in the top ten, with her device, Valsione [Prototype], also known as Proto Val (or Val-chan from her newest spontaneous fanclub; more on that another time). Her tutelage under Nina Wang had mellowed out the near-incorrigible spitfire quite a lot, to the point where she had entertained the venture with the guidance of her guardian, Doctor Shuu Shirakawa.

Yes, that Shuu Shirakawa. Big shot, debonair genius at EOTI. The guy she absolutely loathed but now was willing to play ball in his dangerous court. She only had a Class-III Tech License with the institute, plus the freebie Class-I from Hahne-Kedar, but "only" was a poor euphemism for whatever technologies and expertise EOTI had given her access to was simply beyond the rest of us. The only reason Valsione had not been considered the best of the best was because Ryuune herself was the only monstrous cadet capable of using the equally monstrous device.

I, myself, was only in the three-hundredth percentile, receiving slightly above average remarks. S2U had potential but it was still immature, a concept that would rely heavily on I bringing out my own potential as a magus. In contrast, well, our Corellian hellcat was lauded with much praise and many honors. However, it also became clear she was an opponent that one would be ill-advised to engage at the end of the cycle, with the graduation final exam looming on the horizon. You would need an ingenious plan and a disregard for sanity, if her reputation alone was not enough to deter your recklessness.

Speaking of which, methinks I am crazy. Yes, I am being a thousand-percent frank. I am crazy, but I cannot be crazy because of Catch-22 logic, that is "that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind". Therefore, by the act of thinking I was crazy, I disprove the premise that my sanity is-was eroding away, in spite of all evidence I have accumulated. Evidence that on a daily basis, I was being treated to terror, injury, and delusion, which did not correlate in an increase to my compassion, but a rising trend toward psychosis.

Even now, I can see my shadow turn to a homicidal impulse to machine-gun strangers en masse in unreasonable belief, a retrospective falsification that people hated me and were conspiring to distort me. No, that was not funny; it was a horrible waste of taxpayers' credits, and the I in the mirror should not point and laugh because that was unbecoming juvenile behavior. If it is not clear as to the source of my mordacity, simply put, the experiment has reached a new level of sophistication.

I have yet to meet The Burning Man, instead I continue to become more indelibly entwined to the memories of this Il Forte. The more I learned of him, the more I lost of myself, a price I paid unwillingly; it is the "blackouts", see? Incidences are still sporadic, but they are lasting longer. The worst case, thus far, was an entire week where I had no recollection at all as to what had transpired. I still did not have a clear understanding, of course, as to what that fellow was about or who his people were because something without and within that sorted my own memories was feeding fragmented transcripts of the events after the fact. Worse, it was self-censoring, deliberately withholding information from me.

If I had to pick a suspect: He, The Voice, the I in the mirror, has long since transcended all reason into a waking nightmare that stalks me in shadow and reflection. A wink there, a laugh here, and a sneer that does not belong; I loathe in particular the tricks he plays on my shadow warping it into any shape he desires with fondness for that of a grotesque man-thing with canine features. There was still no pattern I could discern in his attacks: sometimes it would be over f-fa...That Man, and other times for something else entirely.

We never made much headway. It was always us barking back and forth in circles. He never made anything explicit. Glib tongued. Implications. Hints. Bottom line, though, He made it his personal mission to be my Devil's Advocate, encompassing all that makes me "I".

I must be crazy. Was it pathological? No idea, but confirmed impact.

Every day was nothing short of a miracle that people and my tightly knight circle did notice that I was crazy. Mystra bless Nina Wang. Without her, I would have been found out a long time ago, and I loathe to think how I am going to make do once we all part ways in twelve short months. I relied on her. Needed her...badly. So many catastrophes had been headed off by her intervention that I might have as well signed off my life to her, and the physical reality was closer to the truth than meets the eye.

I had become an addict, shackled to the crutch of chemicals as necessary to life as sustenance. Of course, it was nothing illegal, or else I would have been discovered in a heartbeat and promptly done away with in dishonor. Unless assisted on a daily basis by a cocktail of analgesics, now complimented with some rudimentary Boost-type spells, I would become an invalid, bound to my bed.

Why? That is the price of the power I held. The Mystic Code beckons always in the realm between consciousness and dream. Whispers of untold knowledge and tales of glory yet to be manifest tempted my slaved body. I shan't bore you with a brave front for I do fear its promise. Who is the sorcery and who is the sorcerer?

Grandmother had told me that I could voice to her whatever concerns I harbored. She was willing to be my companion come what may, but the fear that Morgan would take the birthright away poisoned my longing heart. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was the code. I do not know. All I could be certain of was the feeling that I had no desire to forsake the power, even if I am already its slave. I swore I would find a way to persevere and become my own master once more.

This was a test. My trial. Two cycles had passed. What was seven more to me, the fool who has already come this far? But I will not merely endure - I will prevail!

And so, I began to search for my heart, pursuing my true self...

To be continued...

Author's Notes:

Well, there you have it. Entry 1.25 in all of its glory. Yeah, it's a big time skip, and that's pretty much going to be the trend for the rest of Act 1. There is no more actual linear storytelling per say, as we're pretty much just fastforwarding to incidences, letting that narrative play out, and then moving onto the next. Coming up next, we'll do a little more WAFFy housekeeping, and then we'll cut straight to finals, which is pretty much lots of tactical arsekicking and hotblood when the occasion calls for it, and a little "bromance". Graduate and we're off to the Outer Rim.

Thoughts, feelings, questions: hey, fire away, fellas.

Oh yeah, time for a small advertising service announcement thingie here: if y'all get bored in between waiting for new episodes, be it anime, manga, or fanfiction and whatnot, but you're dying for a fresh/unique AU fic go read Kara no Kyokai: The Borderline to Emptiness by Tempest Dynasty in the Naruto section. I guarantee, he is the only fella who has the guts to fuse Magical Lyrical Nanoha with Naruto and the infamous Warhammer 40K gothic-scifi military tabletop game series. Give it a shot; you won't regret it.

Thank you all for tuning in and remember, I always encourage each and everyone of you to feel free to comment, review, and/or discuss the story. Your comments can really make a difference, I assure you, and if you're up to it, feel free to ring me up on AIM, or even send me an e-mail (although you really don't need to boost my ego too often). You know how to get in touch with the maestro here.

Tsudzuku!