turning the wheel

[llyse]

The world is dead. You know this, don't you? You did this, on the day that you awakened, screaming with your powers, to bring fire from the sky and sear the world with the throes of your birth.

He was waiting for you when you woke. He grieved, but he recognized his Mistress.

And you took up the reins of your power; you caused that castle to be created, chained like your heart and soul. So many years of watching mankind squabble and fight over power and honour, and now you awaken to bring the wrath of God upon these stupid useless people. How you know the darkness within men's souls, how you see the shadow hiding with the best of intentions. You know them, have watched them, and you despise them. With all the force of one who is immortal, you despise those lowly things that crawl upon the world and defile her with their excrement.

You will rid the world of them.

Once you were one of them, but you do not remember. You watched them, but you do not remember. All you remember is the hate, for hate is what makes the world go round. Remember that. Hate.

And when you reach out to the past, you will seek out the Knight first. He is the golden one, who does not deserve what he has. In your service will he achieve glory, and if you have to twist his dreams to bring him into that service, so be it. The ends justify the means. His servants too will have glory, even if they do not like you. The palehaired one stares in an oddly violent one-eyed way, and you shudder mentally away. She is different, much like you. She is an enigma that you must understand, to understand yourself.

Think not. Fight. Destroy. The Black Gardens must fall.

And when the Black One come to you, you understand it. You see the destiny that the fates have laid upon them, skeins and chains binding them all together, and those who are yet unbirthed, and those who were left behind. It stretches before you like the web of the stars, and in that moment before time swallows you you remember: you are not the Ultimate, the destroyer; you are not the Watcher; you are not the Wind. You are merely human, a girl-woman twisted by the fires of fate, and you Understand, now.

And you must Fall. The Circle must turn.

Squall raised his gunblade, concentration etched on his face: "Renzokuken!"

           

Slash, slash, slash, slash, slash, and the final move:

"Fated Circle!"