Rating: M (Mature)
Fanfic Warning: Graphic Depiction of Violence, Major Character Death
Categories: F/M
Fandoms: Dungeon ni Deai o Motomeru no wa Machigatte Iru Darou ka | ダンジョンに出会いを求めるのは間違っているだろうか | DanMachi — Funjino Omori
Relationship: Bell Cranel / Aiz Wallenstein
Characters: Bell Cranel
CIVIL WAR
Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen
Notes:
Just some words I wrote while I was drunk and after re-watching DanMachi season 1 and listening some Guns N' Roses songs.
That the prelude to a story marks the peak, development leads to the tragic end of a war. Words of men and decisions of fools that direct the melodic music of a world invaded in the darkness of the original nature of man.
The drama embodied in the words of a writer lies lost in the rubble of the terrified soul of what the future holds as a hero. The sad life of changes. Imminent dangers. Everything involves the life of a man willing to give it to safeguard the threatened homeland that gave him life and covered him.
Let's not look for a story between these sentences, since there are none. Just nonsense from an old man who has fought.
...
Has no sense.
...
Let's look at the battlefield one more time. Endless waves of enemies are coming to end all life that exists.
The dark flower that is born from a corpse marks the end of the soul.
Shrapnel and projectiles that do not let the soft earth rest from combat. The incessant rain of an enemy side that seeks to end the opposite. Within the endless labyrinths of war; An unprecedented slaughter stands the acclaimed and sin-bathed figure of Bell Cranel exhausted, battered by the sunlight that reflects the scarlet and crimson that covers him from head to toe. The grime sticks to him like dark ink, covering up the emerging marks.
With an eagle eye fixed on the enemy repelled with explosions and fire, he raises the weapon that hurls the annihilating lightning of hope. A burst of projectiles that destroy. A wave of arrows... a death.
Look again at the crimson flower being born.
White feathers fall from the sky, the earth vibrates with thunder. War is born and war dies.
Look at the golden hair of a woman who raises the bright crown of the pain that overwhelms her. Strength in those who continue to fight on a battlefield torn apart for days without rest.
Son of the father, child of the man, born of the divinity. The trio of a being. A soul split into segments out of fear of rejection, fear of death, and hatred of mortality.
We return to combat.
"Goodbye, agony. Goodbye friends." A soldier says goodbye, sacrificing his life for that of others who are still exhausted in the mud of blood and the dead that flood the eyes of others.
Let the war machine do its work against the creatures that rise out of nowhere and consume with abysmal dark fire the flesh of life itself and the blood of the spilled soul. Honey of sadness, garlic of loneliness, salt of pain and sugar of love. Death to the children born of the darkness raised by the beast of the end.
Armed soldiers; children, spouses, friends, siblings, cousins, nephews, uncles, partners. All enemies must die.
Acclaimed is the hero who continues to fight full of blood and mud. Blinded by the pain of the loss of a love that soon corresponded to his desire, but that disappeared in combat of life itself. Heart hurt. A veteran of the death of others, and survivor of the disappearance of the emotions that used to bring joy to his reborn heart. He is acclaimed, but not loved. A hero without destiny. A hero who only cries out for the end of his premiere chapter in order to return to the frozen arms of his annihilated beloved.
Losing is part of winning, as winning is part of a scheme. He Thinks
Winged warriors, spirits of bronze, souls of gold, all arise in combat. Nothing.
...
What an era! What a sharp, long-awaited ending! They all seek what they have already found, always trying to satisfy their lust for an ending equal to the one they once read in the past. Look, obviously, see ... the fruit of the war has given birth to an unexpectedly expected conclusion. Perfectly Imperfect.
What a tragedy of the demigod hero!
In the endless waves of the cursed beasts child of darkness lost in the abyss of eternal cold, the love of two beings who had just understood loving died. Dead. Gone was that love. Like a Greek work worthy of the Olympian gods who live in the black words of some book, the hero died tragically without being able to fulfil his mission.
They all fled from him.
Dead is, well... the desire to continue.
...
Watch as the sun brazenly attacks the hundred-day battlefield. A complete masterpiece of contemporary art that seeks to capture the very essence of war. Look. Thousands and thousands lie in the compendiums, scattered in the fields, dismembered and thrown in all directions.
The perfect image plucked from the imagination of a gloomy writer.
Look, then... the scene of the war.
The clouds are dyed dark grey and the sky is blue. It is a beautiful day. Scarlet is blended with crimson and crimson with black; a variety of dark tones that reveal the passing of days and the disastrous rot that is everywhere.
The heads that exist and the bodies that need them are lost in the sea of corpses. Look. There on the rocks, in the valleys, in the trenches, in the craters of explosions; on the towers, on the walls, on the roads; between the rocks and the trees. Wherever, look, there is death lost.
And there at the top, kneeling with pride, and his beloved in his arms. The arrows pierce his back, letting the bloodstain his white tunic and colouring the ground with fertility and life. The helmet of his armour lost due to the weapon wounds. The armour left in the foundations of destruction caused by cavalry. The sword was thrown aside in a desperate attempt to be able to embrace the queen of his dying heart with all his being.
Look.
There is the man who died and unprotected what was really important. That betrayed the truth. Ironic. A protector that unprotects the sacred. He learned.
Read this while the protector lies. Understand as the writer recounts the events of a brief adventure that happened. Bell Cranel's death.
Look.
History will remember him as a hero because they want to do so, but he was a traitor. I don't know that, and neither do you. He knows that.
With five arrows he died in the back. With a dagger to the heart, he lost his love. And with a cut to the head, he said goodbye to what was left of his life. A demigod lost in the madness of lost love.
...
Men seek comfort on the lips of fate that is jealous of time to time. It allows us to have a companion, but it does not allow an eternal one. Bear in mind then, that fate did not let him be with her forever, fate would always have him.
Hence the hatred of fate is born.
How romantic the idea of dying for who you love, but how tragic is the idea of disappearing for who you should.
Hence the story of a morbid writer is born.
From fleeting thought without rein that only writes a story according to how he thinks at the moment, without context. That's how powerful black words are. That's how powerful the truth is. A story of the war was born... that ended in tragedy.
...
Bell Cranel… was born demigod, grew up as an adventurer, and died as a hero.
This is how the novelist and comic fate wanted it. A story that repeats itself over and over again, but is hidden when it is sought. It is the story of a soldier who lives times at the same moment. It is the story of a young man who is lost in the despair of not knowing what will happen. That makes it magical. Goodbye.