Exchange fic for Prophell, author of Believer in Love and Raven Black.
Technically what you asked for: A sin archbishop/other villain, focusing on stuff outside Emilia camp. What better character for this than someone who literally has no personality in canon? Enjoy a fanmade backstory for a dead guy.
lmao this poor guy thought I wrote 4k words of Yorna what an idiot
Of the many taverns in Chaosflame, one stood out in particular. Not due to its food, or low prices, or cute barmaids, but rather due to one worker in particular. Situated in one of the more dangerous parts of the city, it was an establishment that managed to thrive despite being surrounded by slavers, shady brothels, and other questionable businesses.
All thanks to its guard, responsible for making sure no one got too heated and started looking for a fight. It was a rather boring job, but it was his job.
The owner was an old friend of his, rent was free and he earned enough to comfortably survive, as well as going to the red district every so often. Wake up, eat breakfast, take a walk around the city, come back in the afternoon, deal with drunk old men, go to sleep.
It was a repetitive lifestyle, but he had tons of time to train, and every so often someone decently strong would come in looking for a fight. In the end, that's all Neiji Rockheart cared about.
"Neiji! Where were you last night!?" a rough voice called out, belonging to a robust, tall man standing behind a wooden counter. Wiping a glass cup, he scowled at the man walking down the stairs.
Neiji's steps were hidden by the loud yawn he let out. He stretched as he walked, his pronounced muscles flexing, showing off the deep red tattoo running from his right shoulder to his waist.
"Do ya need to shout like that so early?" he asked, ruffling his hand through his short hair and taking a seat on a tall stool in front of the counter.
"You were gone till midnight. I pay you to save my ass from everyone wanting to cause trouble, the fuck am I gonna do without you?" He put away the glass he was cleaning, giving his back to Neiji and turning on a stove.
"The usual?" he asked, taking out a frying pan from a cabinet. He opened a second one and took out a pair of eggs and sausages as if already knowing what his answer would be.
"Yeah, the usual. And I was training, like always. I kinda lost track of time."
"Yeah, I noticed when you were nowhere to be seen. It's the fourth time in ten days, for fuck's sake!"
"About that, uh… Sorry, I guess."
"You're an idiot. And an asshole. Don't think you're getting away from this, you're paying for today." Turning back to face Neiji, he handed over a plate full of fried eggs and sausages. "With your money, of course."
Neiji groaned at his words. "My money? Hell no, I don't have a coin on me. You're supposed to pay me tomorrow, can't you like... do it today or something?" The bartender stared at him for a few seconds, then sighed and took out a bag of coins from below the bar.
"Just once, okay?" Neiji snatched it from his hands, a smirk forming on his face as he heard the metallic clink from his hard-earned money.
"Now eat and put on a shirt, we're going to the red district tonight. I'll be opening early, so get ready for work."
He moved away from the counter, heading towards the door. Upon arriving, he turned a small wooden plate, the words "closed" now readable.
"Just don't drink until you can't tell the difference between your left and right fists."
"Oh? You're challenging me? You want to see who can drink the most and fuck the most whores?" He dropped the bag on the table and held his arms high, flexing his muscles. "You're losing already. Get some muscles in. I can share my training routine with you."
The owner lied with his back to a wall, waving his hand and dismissing Neiji's words. "Unlike you, I'm not interested in punching rocks for six hours a day. I still don't know how your King Palm bullshit even works."
"It's Palm of the Fist King," Neiji corrected. "And not even I know. I just do what my father's notes said, and that's all I care about. I'm getting stronger, so it must be working."
"Stronger? I haven't seen you fight seriously in a few months, just how 'strong' did you get?"
"If I put in the effort, I can probably destroy a whole house with a punch."
"I'm forbidding you from swinging a single punch inside this place," he deadpanned.
"How am I supposed to work then!?"
"Fuck off. And go put on a fucking shirt."
A loud metallic sound woke Neiji up. His vision was still blurry and with a pounding ache at the back of his head, so it took some time for him to adjust his eyes to the brightly lit room.
"Hey, you, you're finally awake," a masculine voice rang out. Neiji could barely make out the silhouette of a man in front of him. "Were you caught in that imperial ambush?"
"Huh?" Blinking a few times in quick succession, he figured out some of the details of the man talking to him.
His face was full of cuts, especially around his chin. He was wearing a green vest and sand-coloured trousers, leaving his torso exposed. Few scars could be seen on his body, aside from a pair of claw marks on his right arm -as if whoever inflicted wanted to disfigure him and nothing else.
But his most notable feature was the absence of a left arm.
"Ah, sorry, a joke from my homeland. How are you, pal?"
Ignoring the man, Neiji inspected his surroundings. His hands were cuffed to the wall, and both he and the man were in some sort of cell. There were two beds, consisting of a single steel plate with some hay on top.
Multiple cracks ran across the ground and walls and the steel bars acting as a door were slightly bent. Breaking out of wherever he was shouldn't be too hard.
"Ah, don't even think about it, pal. I tried and, trust me, you ain't getting away anyways."
Not paying attention to the one-armed man, Neiji effortlessly broke his cuffs by applying a bit of force and stood up, heading for the iron bars.
"There's a drawbridge, and the water surrounding the island is filled with Mabeasts. Ya sure you wanna go out, bro? The food ain't that bad."
"Island?" Neiji slowly turned back, the one-armed man looking at him with a smirk. He moved his hand below the hay and took out a curved sword, examining its edge.
"Yep, that island. Hope you know how to fight because you ain't doing anything else."
Going back to his bed, Neiji lied down on it, keeping an eye on the swordsman. He expected him to practice some strikes, but instead, he put the edge of his blade next to his cheeks and started cutting his hair.
"You wouldn't mind lending me an arm, would you?" He let out a snicker at his own joke, cutting himself. A few drops of blood stained his sword. "Ah, not again. I should just let it grow."
"Anyways," he continued, turning his attention from the blade to the shirtless gladiator. "How did you get here?"
"No idea. I was too drunk to remember," Neiji said, his arms crossed behind his head, looking at the ceiling. "And you…?" he drifted off.
"Call me Al, bro. I don't remember either." Neiji turned to face Al. "I woke up here just like you. You sure you don't remember a thing?"
Neiji closed his eyes and scrunched his eyebrows. He could vaguely recall something…
He was drunk. That was for sure; he was suffering from the usual effects of a hangover. He had gone out with his friend and annoying at times boss to… the red district? Yeah, that was it.
They chatted for a while with their usual prostitutes, and then someone new came. A demihuman, of sorts. He recalled trying to flirt with her… And his hazy memories ended there.
"Nope, can't tell a thing," he said, turning in bed so that he was facing the wall. "I drank too much before coming here, wake me up if someone comes."
"Alright pal," Al replied, putting his sword on his chin once more. "Don't mind me if I cut myself again."
Accompanied by two guards, one on each side, Neiji could hear the cheers of the spectators. Not directed at him, of course. No one ever cheered for him.
Over the past few years, he had achieved what was thought impossible: To not lose a single match in Gladiator Island. He had a win streak of more than three hundred fights, and most of his opponents either died or were unable to keep fighting anymore. Few were the ones who survived to fight another day.
He cracked his fingers behind his back, making the guards stop and take a look. Seeing that his hands were still cuffed, they pressed forward. That fat asshole in charge of the Island had ordered him to not use his fists for once. It was his last fight, after all.
In less than an hour, he would be a free man.
Stepping onto the arena, he took note of who his last opponent would be. The one-armed gladiator, Aldebaran. The first person he had met was now the only one standing left in his way.
He had heard some rumors about him. He never seemed to give his all, and he only won when he felt like it. At times, he'd win against some of the more renowned warriors, just to lose twice in a row to the new guy. He was surprisingly skilled for someone lacking an arm.
However, Al stood no chance against him. Well, perhaps now given that he couldn't use his arms, but not in normal circumstances. At worst, a single strike would turn his torso into paste and spray blood everywhere. At best, he'd end up with both legs broken.
With the fighters arriving at the middle of the arena, a tall woman wearing a blue kimono stood up and took a step forward, gazing at Neiji from the safety of an elevated balcony. Her nine golden-colored tails reflected the sunlight, making her look as if the sun itself had descended upon Vollachia.
Yorna Mishigure, 7th Divine General and, as he learned a few days after his arrival, the one who sent him here.
"Before we start," she started speaking, her voice heard in all of the arena, silencing the chit chatter of the viewers. "Neiji, did you enjoy your stay here?"
Neiji smirked before answering. "If you don't want to be confused with a whore maybe don't dress like one."
Yorna smiled and said, "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind next time we meet."
The two guards left Neiji's side, and he started warming up the best he could. It was hard to do any exercises with your arms tied to your back. Meanwhile, Al did his usual weird warm-up: radio calysomething.
"For this time, Neiji Rockheart won't be able to use his hands in battle," Yorna started explaining. "If he is capable of winning, he'll be granted the honor of leaving this island."
Granted the honor of leaving this island… As if he didn't have it already. Spectators loved betting on who would win, and no one was dumb enough to do so when he was in the arena.
Few cared about watching him fight, already knowing he would win. Why would they bother with a gladiator that brings no money? It was a surprise that it took so long for him to be freed.
At least this fight should prove interesting for once.
"Now, fight," Yorna spoke, and then Neiji rushed forward, doing a horizontal kick once he was in range.
Al dodged it by taking a step backwards, then unsheathed his sword and struck. Neiji stepped to the right, then did a roundhouse kick which Al narrowly dodged. The exchange continued for a few seconds, both sides not giving up.
After stepping to the right to dodge Al's vertical slice, Neiji tackled him with his shoulder, throwing him off balance. He followed up by bending backwards and headbutting him, a gush of blood coming from Al's forehead. The first injury in over a minute of intense fighting. Hopping backwards to increase the distance between the two, Al wiped off some blood running down his face.
A loud clapping sound distracted the two gladiators, originating from the terrace Yorna was on. Turning their heads, they saw Yorna smiling down on them.
"Oh my, what a surprise. The supposedly strongest gladiator is struggling for once. Though it's getting kinda boring…"
Neiji scoffed at her words and turned back, showing off his arms to her. "Well, as ya can see, I lack my weapons. Ain't it unfair that he has his own?"
Yorna gave a faint nod before answering. "That is true. Well then, why not-"
"Uhm Foxy Lady? Aren't you gonna say something really bothersome for me? I'm barely staying alive, ya know?"
"Why not break those shackles of you? That'd make for a far more interesting fight than two unarmed dogs."
Before Al could reply, Neiji effortlessly broke apart his cuffs and performed some quick stretches. Al spun his blade around, letting out a dry laugh as he turned to face Neiji.
"Stars really aren't on my side tonight…"
Then, round two started. With his hands now free, Neiji dashed forward and, once Al swung his sword, he caught it with one hand. His grip on the blade left Al unable to move, and then he struck his torso with his open left palm.
"Palm of the Fist King," he whispered, before Al's upper body was blown to… bits? To his surprise, Al did the unimaginable: He let go of his sword to dodge his fist.
He then whispered something Neiji couldn't understand, and then relaxed his stance as he asked: "You wouldn't mind giving my sword back, right? Kinda hard to fight without it."
Neiji giggled at his words, bending from laughter. Sighing, he returned to his previous stance as he threw the sword back at the one-armed gladiator.
This time, Al was the one to take the initiative. He stepped forward and threw a fast slash aimed at Neiji's neck. He moved his head upwards, the blade narrowly missing his flesh, and then countered with a quick kick. Al narrowly dodged it and countered, launching a hit with the handle to make Neiji lose his footing.
The two were locked in a stalemate, with Al perfectly dodging each of Neiji's attacks with a neutral expression. Tired of being unable to even get a single hit in, Neiji put more strength on his right palm and struck forward.
With tremendous strength behind it, Neiji's palm moved the air as it advanced, producing a small shockwave that threw Al off guard. Neiji followed up with a shoulder bash that threw Al to the ground, and he finished with another strike with his right palm.
"Palm of the Fist King," Neiji whispered for a second time. Al moved his head to a side just enough for Neiji's attack to miss, striking on the ground an inch away from his hair. The sheer force behind it caused a few cracks to spread across the arena's ground, turning the ground into a spiderweb with a small crater at its center.
"Yep, I'm giving up," deadpanned Al, making Neiji's eyes widen from the surprise.
"Really?" He straightened up and followed. "Just like that? Come on, you're a gladiator. Fight until your body gives up, that's where the fun is!"
"Bro, I was an inch away from having my head blown up." He stood up and spun around, looking at the effects of Neiji's fist. "Look what you did to the arena, you think I would have survived? I enjoy living, bro."
The spectators started booing at Al until Yorna spoke again.
"Giving up is not against the rules. To admit that you're weaker takes courage. As previously stated, Neiji Rockheart is no longer a sword slave."
A loud crack reverberated across a mountain valley, a few days away from Glarasia by carriage. The animals living nearby had long since fled to a new home, scared of the constant tremors caused by a shirtless man.
He had arrived there after being released from Guinevere around half a year ago, and hadn't left the place since then.
Every few minutes the sun was up, he'd make a crack in the hard stone, sometimes with enough force to make some of the rocks high above the ground fall off. He only left the valley to gather food, dedicating all his time to the training he was unable to do while stuck on that island.
Or so that had been the case until two days ago.
"You…" He said with incredulity. He lowered his fists as he widened his eyes. Standing in front of him was a tall humanoid of around three meters of height, his skin covered in a metallic substance similar to bronze.
He had a large green orb where his face should be, as well as many others in his joints.
"You're alive!? But…" A recent memory surfaced in his mind. That same man had come here a few days ago, asking him to stop due to making the nearby residents of Glarasia worried about the constant tremors.
"I'm sure of it, I broke you apart with my own two hands! How the fuck are you alive!?" he shouted, pointing a finger at him.
A single punch was all it took to decimate him. He became nothing more than a pile of rubbish lying on the ground. It had been a perfect test; despite the metal man's endurance, he had no problem plowing through it. His training was producing positive results.
"No concern."
"No no no, yes it is! How did you even survive that!?"
"Emperor. Wishes to meet you," Mogro said, cutting Neiji off. He dropped his eyebrows in suspicion.
"The emperor? What does that guy want with me?"
"Learning of your strength. You, divine general. Candidate, along Balleroy," he explained.
Neiji gazed at him for a second, a smirk forming on his face. Then, he bent over in a fit of unrestrained laughter. After a few seconds, he recomposed himself, taking a deep breath while wiping some tears off her eyes.
"Man, that was a good joke." He sharply gazed at Mogro. "Is that idiot serious?" He nodded, and then Neiji turned back.
"I ain't gonna suck his dick. The only thing I love more than fighting is training, and because of that whore, I spent too much time stuck on that stupid island." He pulled his fists back, winding up for a big hit.
He planted his feet on the ground, blowing some hot breath. He then stepped forwards and struck a rock the size of a house with his fist, making a big crack on it. It spread all over its surface, and soon it crumbled to mere rubble.
Turning back to face Mogro, Neiji spoke. "Unless ya want to end like this again, you better leave me alone." He cracked his fingers before continuing, "Tell that pussy emperor to fuck off." Mogro looked at him for a few seconds before nodding.
"Understood," he answered, turning back and soon disappearing from his sight. Neiji returned to his training routine.
A few hours later, the sun started to set. Wiping sweat off his forehead, Neiji took a look at the sun on the horizon when a chill ran down his back.
Moving his head around, he quickly inspected his surroundings, setting his sights on one short figure in the distance. As it approached, he made out some of its details.
A short kid, probably not older than ten. He wore a purplish full suit with pink stripes, torn and exposing the center of his chest. Over his neck was a long black robe with red stains, dragging over the ground.
His long dark brown bangs reached his neck, covering his left eye. He walked with steady yet decided steps, two daggers dripping blood on each of his hands, and a wide smile plastered with pointy teeth on his face. Despite his ragged appearance, they shined a perfect white.
He was nothing more than a kid. Someone who probably only managed to eat by killing and stealing from other homeless children. Yet, something about him spoke of danger. His instincts screamed to run away, to not get into a fight.
He stopped a few meters away from Neiji and opened his mouth to speak, drool slipping off a corner of his mouth and onto the ground.
"We found you ~tsu," he said. Neiji huffed at his cocky tone and adopted a fighting posture of his own, grounding his feet and extending his right arm above his waist.
"We're hungry, and the gospel spoke of you ~tsu." He held one of his hands on his chest. Despite being easily two heads shorter than him, Neiji couldn't shake off the feeling that he was looking down on him. "You look tastier than the cultists back at the church ~tsu."
"So you're a witch cultist…"
"Yes!" He moved his hand down, bending over in a perfect bow. "We are Ley Batenkaitos, Sin Archbishop of Gluttony ~tsu. And we…" He narrowed his eyes, looking at Neiji as if he was nothing more than a defenseless rabbit in front of a starved wolf. "Are here to eat you."
He lunged forward, keeping his body low, dragging one hand across the floor. Neiji took a step forward, widening his eyes at his speed, before moving his right arm backwards and preparing to launch an explosive punch. Then, Ley moved his hand away from the ground in a quick motion.
"Lunar Eclipse. Jeremey Tofrah. Al Dona." He murmured, and a wall of debris came raining down on the shirtless gladiator.
Neiji punched it in the middle, flinging sediment to the sides, the shockwave of his attack nullifying the spell. Ley's eyes widened and he planted his feet on the ground, stopping in his tracks while covering his face.
After all the rubble flew past him, he dropped his arms to his sides and saw Neiji standing right in front of him. He yanked his arm forward, grabbing Ley by the neck of his robe and picking him up.
The Sin Archbishop attempted to writhe his way out of his grip, flailing his legs around. They were too short to hit Neiji.
"I don't care if you're part of the cult or anything… You could go and slaughter a city if ya want to. But if you co-"
"Lunar Eclipse, Nikol Torei, UL SHAMAK!"
Ley interrupted Neiji by covering their surroundings in a cloud of pitch-black smoke. Neiji found himself blind and deaf, unable to tell where he was standing. He reacted quickly, snapping out of his confusion by yanking his arm backward and throwing Ley to the nearest wall.
Ley smashed into the mountain, the impact blowing the oxygen out of his lungs. He fell limp to the ground unable to breathe for a second. He rose his hand, pointing it towards the cloud of smoke, and whispered with a hoarse voice, "El Huma."
A dozen spears of ice flew through the air, catching Neiji off guard and forcing him to block them with his bare hands instead of dodging. Ley stood up, spitting some blood to the right.
"You little piece of shit," Neiji growled out and hung his body low, expecting the Sin Archbishop to follow up with more magic. However, he stood in place, slowly raising his palm to his mouth and gently giving it a lick.
"Neiji Rockheart," he spoke, and he found himself unable to stand up.
He sank to his knees, holding a hand on his chest, right above his heart. It threatened to burst out of his ribcage, and he found it extremely hard to breathe. His vision was tainted by white spots, spreading and threatening to render him blind.
"Ahh~" Ley moaned, holding his palm close to his mouth. "These memories… So tasty, so appetizing, so yummy, so flavorful, so exquisite, so scrumptious…" He licked his lips, which curled into a wide smile, exposing all of his teeth. Just like before, they shone a perfect white.
"So gourmet~tsu."
The white spots covered the rest of his vision, and an infinite hall spread in front of his eyes. White walls, ceiling, floor… Everything was pure white. What was left? What was right? Where was he?
"Welcome," a childish voice rang out. Focusing on the distance, he could spot a short girl with bright yellow hair. "To the Hall of Memories. The cradle of Od Laguna. The center of this world. The final destination of the soul, where the cycle of life continues once more."
The young girl turned back, and he could see a devilish smile clad with sharp teeth.
"It was nice knowing you, Neiji Rockheart," she sang that name with a mocking tone before his vision went black. The young girl disappeared, the only memory of her being her sharp smile. The way she looked at him, taunting him with her eyes.
But, more importantly…
Who was Neiji Rockheart?