NOT TO READERS:
This is not yuri!
Janet is just crassly . . . frank, that's all.
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RAGNAROK ONLINE FANFIC
SOLDIER'S TASKBy: RAGNAR (that really is my name)
Chapter 03: Shadows of the PastThe Choirs of Chaos . . .
For hundreds of years, he searched relentlessly for a way to hear them again. To him, the voice of but a few angels was worth the lives of millions.
In all that time, Marus was always in his way. Shadow Eyes never understood. Nobody does. All Nathan wanted was to hear the Choirs one last time, to feel the bliss that coursed through him during that fateful day once more . . . is that so much to ask?
The lights in the city of Prontera, now known as Neyus, sparkled like stars beneath the valley. He stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the city.
Nathan remembered a time when the valley that protected Neyus wasn't there. When the sea air still went through its walls.
The sea was no longer there however, but then, neither was the city of Izlude. It was a wonder that Prontera – or rather, Neyus – still stood after all these centures. Maybe that little legend about it standing against the grinding of time was true. It did survive the Ragnarök after all.
That girl back in the building was an interesting case. Nathan never knew Marus to be the type to care for women unless they were placed in his charge. Maybe the Fates started meddling with events again . . . but that would be impossible because Sei'Gash had already been vanquished back to the Void. There was no need for Marus in this world anymore . . . or is there?
The world is full of mysteries. In spite of himself, Nathan smiled at the thought.
He strapped the railgun to his back and walked away from the cliff's edge towards the shadows within the forest.
The railgun was an interesting weapon. It had the ability to turn one simple medium-caliber bullet into a cannonball. In some distant time, when he was still younger, he might have cursed the existence of such a device. Now, he simply saw it as a tool that he can use.
Another thing in this world was that the world was full of people hungry for something to believe in. That fact made it easier for him to create somewhat of a "cult".
So . . . the good thing about being the leader of a radical group of fanatical zealots ready to die for a cause that they themselves don't even know: is that you can order them to do absolutely anything.
Fools, the whole lot of them!
The shadows engulfed him as he went deeper into their cold embrace.
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The shadows in the alley next to the hospital stirred like leaves in the wind. From a nearby wall, the shadow spiraled into itself and reached out into the world. Then, it turned into a silhouette of a man.
Before long, Marus Shadow Eyes materialized out of the darkness. His Assassin's uniform, cut, tailored and modified to resemble the fashions of the time, flapped in the sudden wind that blew through the alley.
His long, black, sleeveless coat flew along with the wind. Bandage-like straps that wound around his upper arm and his waist gave the illusion that he was a man of slight build. The handles of his throwing knives peeked out of the gaps in his straps – a hundred throwing knives in all.
Marus' two custom-made handguns were holstered comfortably at his lower back.
Looking up the hospital's wall, he found the window he was looking for.
With little effort, Marus jumped from one side of the alley to another in rapid succession, bring him higher up from the ground and closer towards the sixth floor of the seven-story hospital.
When he finally reached the window to room 621, he quickly pulled out two of his knives and jammed one in between two bricks of the windowsill and the other on the wall above his head. He used the first knife as a foothold and the second as a grab-on to give him balance.
Looking into the darkness of the room, Marus saw his reflection on the smooth glass. His face never changed, it would seem. Those scars of his will never go away.
On the left side of his face, scars crisscrossed against each other in a way that made them look like a spider's net. His left eye was completely white – and blind.
Marus shook off the memories that latched themselves on his scars. There was no time for such thoughts.
At will, both his eyes turned into pitch-black orbs when he switched his vision to scan the room for anyone alive.
Marus spotted the injured and unconscious Erin Gomez lying on the hospital bed. Her red aura pulsating, signaling him that she was still weak. Good, she was alive, at least.
He used another of his throwing knives to slice several small holes on one side of the window. Steadily and quickly, using the first slices for starting points, he started shaving off part of the window until there was a large enough gap for him to put his arm through.
He unlatched the window from the inside and sneaked in.
Erin was lying on the bed. An oxygen mask was strapped over her nose and mouth. Bandages and unhealed stitches covered practically half of her body from all the injuries she sustained during that mission.
The only thing keeping her alive was the beeping devises that artificially kept her heart beating and her lungs breathing.
Technically, she could be referred to as a vegetable.
Marus placed his fingers on her left temple and closed his eyes.
How long was it since he last did something like this again?
What he did was something hard to describe. Priests, Acolytes, Crusaders, Monks . . . they had their own Healing. Marus didn't know what to call his version of that skill. In a way, his method was better, in another, it wasn't.
What happened was more easily described as shadowy tendrils reaching out into the deepest corners of the girl's soul. Those tendrils of power were the effect of his improvised Heal spell. It was a good thing that Erin was unconscious, otherwise, she would be screaming in pain by now.
Judging by her heartbeat, breathing, and aura, she was going to be all right. Now, Marus had but a few minutes to get out of the building before an orderly comes rushing in to inspect the sudden change in the patient's condition.
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John and his wife were having dinner that fateful evening. It was Carol's twenty-first birthday and he was finally able to pull enough strings to give her a surprise dinner she'll never forget.
He figured that he could at least have some quality time with Ynes when he was working. Besides, the delegates had enough bodyguards as it is. Most of them are even better than he could ever dream to be. Beside's he was on a working holiday. In short, a vacation that had him in the same place the president and the foreign delegates decided to have their "secret" meeting.
Carol's golden hair glittered from the chandelier's light. Her ocean-blue eyes seemed to take in every detail she could find. Her red lips parted as she tried to find words to describe her joy.
He and Carol weren't exactly the richest couple in Neyus. John didn't blame her for being this enthusiastic. It's not an everyday matter that the two of them can spend some quality time, much less in a place this fancy. He was simply lucky to have been granted free food, in account of tracking down the kidnappers of the restaurant owner's daughter.
So, in direct opposition to his conscience and exploiting the owner's offer . . . the two of them ordered the most expensive food in the menu. Carol's eyes practically sparkled at all the food that was placed on the table. The other bodyguards ogled at the heaps and heaps of wine, meat, and by everything that's holy . . . poultry! Five different kinds of birds were practically dropped on their table from the sheer weight on the waiter's serving tray. Even John's jaw went slack from all the poultry . . . why on earth would she order all this poultry!?
John's eyes threatened to fall off their sockets when he spoke with incredulity. "First of all, is it me or do you have a bird fetish? Second, how the hell do you keep slim with all that food in you system?"
His wife's mouth, practically stuffed full of food and looking like a bloated fish, worked for a way to talk to him and at the same time, chew . . . if that was possible. Finally, after a few seconds of mumbling and a moment that almost required the Heimlich maneuver, Carol was finally able to talk with a "reasonably" empty mouth. "Do you actually think that I'm gonna pass out all this food?! Besides, I just love bird meat."
John sighed while slicing off a piece of pork on his plate. "All right . . . but if you start having cramps on your chest, don't say I didn't warn you."
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Here lies Carol K. Marshal.
Born March 15, 2023.
Died March 15, 2044.
Devoted daughter.
Beloved wife.
Rest in Peace.
Those were the words carved on her gravestone. Those were the words that convinced him that this world could never change into the way he dreamed it to be. There can never be piece. As long as there are people like the ones that bombed the restaurant not so long ago.
John carefully placed the flowers on Carol's grave. The water from the light rain dripped down his raincoat and fell to the grave's raised dirt. He didn't know if his tears joined those raindrops on the ground.
Until now, he couldn't understand how he could have survived that night. How he could have walked away from all that fire, rubble, and carnage with only a few cuts and bruises.
John's eyes went to the statue of angels standing watch over Carol's body. Half of him wanted to spit on and break the marble into powder because the angels she so trusted didn't save her that day.
But then, the other half of himself won't bring him to destroy the sculpture. Carol loved angels so much that he himself carved the statue himself. He searched for months just so he can find the perfect piece of marble to be placed onto her grave.
He couldn't understand why. He can never understand.
"My condolences to you, Marshal, she didn't deserve to die the way she did." A voice seemed to come from all directions at once. But for some reason, John knew that it came from behind him.He already knew who it was.
"How was the girl, Marus?" John asked.
The shadows around him spiraled into one single spot to welcome the arrival of Marus Shadow-Eyes. How the man can use shadows as his means of transportation sometimes made John a little uneasy. But a single look into Marus' one good eye can tell him that he was a good man. Although, he can also be the kind of man to twist your neck for some reason not known to anyone.
The deceptively thin man replied, "She'll live . . . although I don't understand why you've taken an interest on her."
John pulled the raincoat's hood lower to avoid a sudden gust of wind on his face. "I have my reasons and you have yours Marus. But we did start this Agency for the same purpose . . ." he paused for moment, then added, ". . . we do have the same purpose, don't we Marus?"
How Marus seemed to stay dry in this weather baffled him. Marus waited for a short moment before answering "You never trust anyone, do you, John?"
"I don't trust anything I don't understand."
"Then you can never trust me." Marus replied with a slight twitch of his lip.
John offered a quick prayer for Carol and stood up. He didn't know why he prayed though; Carol was the one who believed in such things, not him. "Sergeant Erin Gomez of the RTCTF. She graduated just three months ago with high marks and notable potential."
The rain stopped, it would seem. The moonlight just broke through the clouds and already John was starting to heat up under his coat despite the cooled weather. "I've been keeping an eye on our little soldier and I think she just might have the stuff to fit into our little group."
Marus huffed and crossed his arms while looking at Carol's grave. "I spotted Nathan when I tracked down the girl."
John raised an eyebrow. "Your brother?"
"Half-brother. He is actually the cult leader the news was talking about."
John's face creased all over with thought. "If you're talking about the Will of the Shadows cult, then I should be very disappointed in him. The group is just made up of runaways and rejects who babble gibberish every time they hack into another local TV station."
He pulled out a digital camera's memory card out of his pocket and handed it over to Marus. "Take this to Jenny. She knows what to do with it."
Marus slipped the card in between those straps of his and asked, "And what about you?"
"I have some personal work to do."
The rain started all over again and John had to pull up his hood once more.
His feet splashed on the hundreds of water puddles that formed on the cemetery's pathway as he walked alone towards the gates and out into the city.
Behind him, there was but the garden of marble headstones and a single bouquet of roses that marked his wife's grave.