Sin's Torment
by shike77
Chapter III
"Maybe that's why I
feel so alone…"
-Creed, Weathered
Yessir… this story is SUPPOSED to move slowly. It is indeed. At the beginning, anyway. *maniacal grin* OOH, but you don't know what shike's planning, do you? DO you?! ^_^ Nope. You've got no idea. How me gets there, I don't know either. @_@;;
On a side-note, does anybody else have a dog that chews on their… claw / nail-ish things dogs have? Methinks I'm the only one… and my cat thinks he's a dog. He wags his tail (although it's too long so he just hits the ground with it), he chases balls (doesn't bring them back, just like Hershey), and this morning he howled. @_@;; It's scary. But he's so disobedient it's hilarious. He talks back to my Mom. XD you have to be there…
Saer: …Y'know, I'm a little curious as to how this ties in with TLW. I mean, WHAT, are you gunna reveal that one of us is related in some very distant and long tie of genetics to one of the main characters?
shike: ^_^ Now THAT's a little far-fetched. I mean, could any bloodline POSSIBLY survive that long?
Leon: Maybe with one hellova lot of inbreeding.
shike: *shakes head* Yeah, that explains what's wrong with Saer.
Saer: *death glare*
shike: …meep… Er, I'll be running away, now… *skitters off*
Saer: *chases*
Leon: … *blinks* … I need a beer. *pops open a Molson Canadian* Oh, and shike meant to say that she spells names strange because she feels like it. *starts drinking said beer* And that the beginning of this chapter was for Fifi. Because we all knew Albert would show up eventually, seeing as he's one of shike's favorite characters. *downs the rest of the booze and pops open another one*
Albert sighed, staring at the ill-organized mess of papers, ink and broken quills that lay on the desk before him. Scrambling to find a feather that hadn't been snapped by either his own frustration or just pressing down too hard on the paper, he scattered several sheets of the stuff about the room once again, and nearly dropped the ink bottle on the floor—although a mere snatch had kept it from ruining a months' work that was easily scattered by the search for a quill.
Upon finding aforementioned writing utensil, he stared down at the blank parchment in front of him. Now, what had he been about to write…?
Hazel eyes blinked. Once, twice…
That was a really good question.
With an angry sigh, he stuck the tip of the quill in the near-empty ink bottle and grabbed the closest piece of worded parchment. No, not it. That discarded to the floor like trash, he grabbed the next. Not it either.
Frustration mounted, and the Jade Dragoon nearly growled. After a few lines of curses that would cause Miranda to shake her head in shame and nearly the entire desk upturned looking for that one paper, he let out an exasperated sigh of something akin to both anger and defeat and slumped back in his chair.
Then looked down at his lap and saw the very information he had been looking for in the first place.
Blushing, flustered although there was no one around, the Jade snatched the paper from his lap—with a quick glance to make sure that none had seen his folly—and, content, read the first line on the page.
A young noble girl had, quite literally, disappeared off the face of the planet. A month ago, she couldn't have been more pleased with the amount her father spoiled her rotten, while the man merely claimed, 'she's just hiding her sorrow in some need for attention.'
One morning, the servants walked into her room and found the bed empty.
There were no tell-tale traces of magic, and the window was simply bolted shut, as was the door. It was an absolute mystery as to where she'd gone.
Albert knew it was a kidnapping, although the father's pathetic, enraged acusements about every man—and woman—in the court who had even looked at his daughter the wrong way—in reality, rumour or myth—had done nothing to arouse this suspicion. He'd known that girl for her entire life, and she would not run off on her father like that. She simply knew that she was entirely incapable of taking care of herself, and, thus, was deathly afraid of the world outside her protected, sheltered life.
Then there was a sneeze outside the door. Albert's head turned, and there stood Khert in his nightclothes, blinking innocently at the King.
"Father…?"
"Yes?"
"Mother says to stop worrying about some silly girl and go to bed. Then she said something I'm not allowed to repeat or Nana'll skin me alive and hang me in the well by my toes for a year, then wash my mouth out for soap and never stop until I'm old and decrepit, and then…"
Albert laughed as the boy continued on with the memorized threats, who was undaunted by his father's amusement and seemed to think that the old Nursemaid was serious. He blew out the candle, stood, and walked out of the room, ruffling Khert's hair on the way and gaining a playful bat at his hand.
He strode through Indels Castle, stopping at his and Emille's shared chambers. The King of Serdio knocked gently, opened the door an inch, and peered in.
Emille gazed at him with raised brows and that look that always made him feel guilty. He smiled sheepishly, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him.
"I know you're concerned about the Lady Dresla, but you do need your sleep. Let the knights handle this; you're a King and you have a country to run. You should be through with saving damsels in distress."
He laughed. "Yes, you're right." He pulled off his shirt, kicked off his boots and stepped out of his breeches. He crawled into bed beside his wife and blew out the candle with a sigh. He lay back on the bed and smiled as Emille curled up close to him with a happy sigh of her own.
Yet, even as he closed his eyes, Dresla's disappearance still nagged at him. Meru had even come in to investigate, there having been a major anti-Wingly riot in Serdio mere days beforehand, and yet she had claimed there was no Wingly magic involved. Dresla must have gone willingly, most assumed and rumours of mysterious suitors flew about the castle.
But… what if it wasn't Wingly magic?
As soon as the thought hit him, he almost dismissed it. Who else could use magic?
Dragoons could.
He frowned. But… none of the Dragoons he knew of could teleport—let alone fit through that tiny window in full armour—but it made some sense. A rope would have been needed to land safely from a window that high up, but the window would have to have been left open, with no way to close it.
And, thinking back to teleporting, nobody really knew for sure how many Dragoon Spirits there really were. Legend spoke of Dragons ruling the world at one point in history, so there must have been a Dragon slaughter at some point in time, resulting in countless Dragoon Spirits left to find a bearer.
He sighed. It all made sense, but he wasn't too happy about it. Why would a Dragoon want Dresla, of all people? She wasn't beautiful, charming, or even pleasant company, and her father's wealth paled in comparison to countless nobility figures in Serdio, most of which had vulnerable children.
Unless they weren't looking for wealth or companionship.
He sighed again. At this rate he was sure to never sleep again in his entire life.
***
A deep, heavy sigh, taking in the crisp, early winter night air of Mille-Seasau. The elements that drove the rest of the world inside to huddle by their fires rushed into a solitary room, tall balcony doors thrust open in a rush for the cool that might bring coherent thought.
Flushed cheeks welcomed the snowflakes thrown against them, polished leather and ruffling cloth. Papers, tapestries and bedsheets alike were thrown to the opposite wall haphazardly not unlike children's toys—and the curtains seemed soon to follow—but the Sacred Sister refused to move.
As if challenging the force of Nature herself, the White-Silver Dragoon stepped out onto the balcony, snow crunching beneath her heavy boots, arms held out as if to say, 'show me what you've got.'
Eyes snapped open, and the woman hissed her disappointment at finding herself standing before the banister. "Damn."
A gloved hand reached into a small beltpouch to grasp the shining stone with a blinding white aura. She held the mighty stone in front of her, sighing sadly as she stared into its depths.
"I know you hate being trapped here," she told the stone hotly, eyes flashing in anger, "so why don't you leave me alone?! Go find someone who still needs to fight?!"
The stone didn't budge. It merely shone with the brilliance that had always been welcome to Miranda, had always calmed her, but now…
The healing Dragon demanded to be used. It had been years since she'd summoned the power of the mighty beast, why not use it? Why wouldn't she summon the power? She hated being trapped, too, why didn't they both leave?
"Because I'm needed," the Sacred Sister sighed, "and there's nothing to it other than that."
The stone pulsed again, the brilliance of the Dragon's need to be called illuminating the world around both Spirit and Dragoon. The stone was needed, and she was too, but in more ways than she knew.
"What do you mean by that?!" she snapped, famous temper flaring once again as she narrowed her eyes in a glare at the stone in her hand, unmoved by the howling winds that drowned out her voice and tossed the words that passed her lips to the sky where none could hear them.
The stone heard, its crystalline depths swirling with the light that displayed the healing power of the Healing Dragon, whose knowledge was as vast as the years her lifetime had spanned.
As powerful and as intelligent as the Dragon could be, she didn't answer her Mistress' question.
Fuming, Miranda was about to let the stone have a piece of her mind when the door handle jiggled.
"Miranda…?" the voice was muffled past door and wind in the Dragoon's ears, but was unmistakable regardless.
Queen Theresa.
A hiss of discontent from the Sacred Sister.
The light from the stone flared and dimmed a bit. It would do Miranda good to talk to her.
"Fine!" she snapped, "But you'd better give me answers when we're done!"
Without waiting for an answer, she shoved the stone back into its pouch. A furious glare cast in the direction of the Spirit, and she stormed back into the room and swung the doors closed.
She cleared away the heavy tapestry that had barricaded the door, and opened it to let the Queen in.
Whatever Theresa thought about the catastrophe that had become the Sacred Sister's room, she didn't even raise an eyebrow. She merely closed the door behind her and stepped over strewn belongings mixed with snow and sat on Miranda's bed.
"Come, sit."
Miranda obeyed, sitting where the withered, aged hand had patted the mattress once. She was stiff, and knew exactly why Theresa was there, sitting beside her. She knew she was about to get reprimanded for overreacting again, and firmly refused to meet the Queen's gaze, staring at the wall.
"I know I overreacted."
Much to her surprise, there came a chuckle from the Queen.
"No, Miranda, I doubt you of all people could have done any better in that situation. A proposal isn't an easy thing to handle."
"Especially not from a jackass," she muttered bitterly, glaring at the wall.
"Miranda, you know the man has a reason to be that way."
"Not a very good one," she snorted, eyes flashing, "but he had no reason whatsoever to propose to me! I mean, honestly! Do you think I give a shit about men and marriage?! For one thing, it involves a fucking dress-"
Then there was a knock at the door.
"Queen Theresa, Lady Miranda, there is a guest in the throne room who wishes to speak with you. His name is Derek Failcross, although I don't think I can pronounce title or castle he comes from, as I've never heard of it."
Miranda nearly groaned, but Theresa silenced her with a wave of a hand and asked, "What does he need to meet us for?"
"It's about the Moon Child, m'lady, although I don't understand it myself."
That got both Queen and Sacred Sister on their feet and out the door in a matter of seconds.
In her rush to reach the throne room—which was a mere walk down the hall—Miranda nearly tripped over several servants, knights and guards alike while the Queen easily dodged every obstacle in her path.
Upon reaching the grand, reconstructed room, Miranda spotted this Derek and her Dragoon Spirit nearly exploded with the amount of light it gave off. The White-Silver Dragoon gasped in surprise in spite of herself, glaring through the light at where she'd seen Derek, trying to find out what had set off the Dragon's rage.
She sent a calming message to the Dragon's Spirit, and winced as the light pounded brighter. She needed to fight him, to get rid of him, and soon!
Why?! What's going on?!
She snatched the Healing Dragoon Spirit out of its pouch, temper rising as the light intensified.
It was impossible to tell, yet. Miranda wasn't ready.
I'm damn well ready if I want to be! She growled, trying to see the man.
If she used the Dragon's power, there would be less to worry about, and so many troubles would be unnecessary.
Finally caving in to the Dragon's will, she let the soul of the Dragon bathe her in the light form the powerful, legendary armour about her. Her eyes snapped open, and there was an arrow on her bow before anyone could move.
The light vanished, with only a small aura about the Dragoon, and everyone in the room wondered, briefly, if they'd gone blind, although Derek seemed unfazed. He merely grinned, holding out a stone…
A glowing stone.
"Shit," she hissed, predictably, as the light enveloped him. A sudden burst of energy ripped through everyone there—although all remained intact, unharmed—and Miranda was forced to drop the arrow and shield herself from any blow that would come, along with the other archers lining the room.
It was time to face fate's backlash…
Miranda had to wonder what the White-Silver Dragon meant by that, but couldn't question when the energy suddenly vaulted back towards a howling—in pain?—Derek, the man a mere glowing outline of a human skeleton within the chaos that had enveloped him. The energy formed an outline around his body, and suddenly gave a mighty shatter—leaving deep, haunting blue armour in its place.
The chaos dwindled to nothing, and the Dragoon smirked, folding his arms in front of his chest.
No weapon…? Is he a Martial Artist?
The armour was plain, without any of the engravings that had freely adorned that of any other Dragoon armour she'd seen. The gem in his chest was hard to look at—it seemed aeons of pain and torture were captured within its depths. Large, pointed spikes adorned his spine, arms, and legs, as if to threaten anyone who'd never seen a Dragoon's armour before.
But without those engravings, the Dragoon seemed… weak. No weapon, weak armour…
What kind of Dragoon was this?
She strung her bow, the string tense as she aimed.
Right… There.
She shot, the arrow loaded with light energy soaring towards her foe.
And, suddenly, everything… stopped. She couldn't move. She couldn't even turn her gaze to another spot in the room, her body unable to respond.
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT?!
She needed to calm-
Hell no. I'm NOT calming down until I can MOVE!
She could almost see the Dragon wince, and realized she wasn't even breathing.
How… was she still alive? How could she still register everything that was happening if she wasn't performing any necessary intake of air?
Derek walked up to her, his head tilted slightly to the side, blinking.
"…So, the White-Silver Dragoon is not the Moon Child, as I was told."
…The hell?!
The man heaved a sigh, and suddenly Miranda breathed.
"Where-"
His nose met her fist. Hard, and with a loud snap.
"Fuck you!"
He smirked, not even touching his broken nose. The pull of time began to flow faster around him, and suddenly he looked a week older… With a fixed nose and a new beard.
Miranda blinked.
"…What. The. Hell."
He chuckled, waving a hand. "There are greater forces at work here than you understand, Sacred Sister Miranda. Now, I know that Dragoon Spirit once belonged to the Moon Child, and I that you know where she is."
"I never believed in that fairy tale," she spat, cocking another arrow to her bow, noticing that everyone else in the room was frozen. Did his magic have something to do with that?
"You'd better believe it now," he chuckled, smiling, stroking his beard. "The God that will be born from the soul of the Moon Child must be avenged, and only when the Moon Child is found shall the Sin's Torment dawn upon the world in all her glory, and avenge the God of the Utopia that was killed with the fall of the Moon."
She rolled her eyes. "Please, you expect me to believe that shit? I've never believed in Soa or her God of the Utopia." She let the arrow go-
-and it stopped the moment it left her string, hanging there in mid air.
Blink.
"Please tell me that there's a very good reason for this, and it's not just my recurring shitty luck."
He laughed, causing Miranda to growl. Oh, how annoying that was getting…
"Time is of the essence… and, thanks to this gracious gift from Soa, I have all we need. So, if you'll join me in my castle… it's rather lovely, you know."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
He smirked. "Is that so?" He shrugged innocently, merely swerving to the side as she flung her fist at him. In missing, she growled and kicked out, only to find her query gone. She blinked as time slowly began to restore itself, and growled as everything suddenly kicked into movement again.
"…You better give me answers." She snapped as the armour disappeared in a flash of light and extended her hand to catch the Dragoon Spirit as it fell.
The stone pulsed. Even the Healing Dragon didn't understand it all.
…I think this is record time, isn't it? Must be. Last chapter was out… a few weeks ago. @_@;; Scary, ne?
*looks at reviews* Hm… Seems my Red-head's gotten everyone quite frightened / disturbed now, hasn't he? ^_^ I'm proud of him, although I think he needs to lay off on the sex. It's getting to his head.
Sniper — … o.O;; That was poetic… Kinda cool, too.
Aer — You read it? I figured you'd throw something really pointy at me after all I read in EHLOING…
Fifi — I'll continue to deny it for as long as I live, and there's nothing you can do about it.
MadamButterfly — Talent me no have. I have mentioned this many times, but nobody believes me. I want someone to flame me so I can agree with them… Oh, and Shifty? ^_^ He's going to get lots more in the fic. Story-line wise, he's hangin' around for a WHILE.
DemonG.Bear — I think Rose should stay
dead. I mean, she's lived long ENOUGH hasn't she? Saved the world
enough times, lost enough people… betcha she was kinda sick of it all
by the end, which is why she died. @_@;; Nu, Rose stays dead. And
action? That comes later. ^_^ You got a bit of it, but Derek's a bloody
coward so he ran off. This story moves along slowly for a REASON, mind
you. Everything's done for a reason. *maniacal cackle*
Striker — *blink* Er… My muses kick me all the time, do they count?
Shade — XD *adds Shade to the list of those she's scarred for a few days if not for life*
Anyway… *cough* My hand hurts, for some reason… Which is why I'm not going to make the end of the chapter more attractive. So Nya. *waves* Ciao!