Brilliance: A Legend of Mana Story

Eight ~Ghosts of the Luon Highway~

I hate you

God I hate you.

You monster . . .

You sickening beast.

"What the hell is going on?" Elleira whispered, clenching her spear tightly.

Cervantes shook his head, continuing forward. Something leapt out of the darkness from the side of the road, screaming at him insanely. He met it with a cold stare, and a sneer. There was a flash, and the shadow burst into a thousand pieces, each glittering like an ebony stone in the moonlight. He sheathed his sword, and pointed off the path. "I'm told ghosts and other such creatures congregate on the sides of roads when they cannot reach their destinations. We should be on our guard."

Elleira gulped loudly. "No kidding."

They started down the road, and as much as Elleira would have liked to go faster, Cervantes set a leisurely pace, stopping every now and then to halfway draw his sword. Several times she caught the lettering Chance on the side of the blade, in an elaborate script. It was beautifully done, and made her heart ache for her own sword.

"Cervantes . . ." she asked. "You don't suppose that woman had anything to do with this? These ghosts?"

He pondered, scratching his chin. They'd discussed the entire tale on their way to the Highway, and he knew as much of it as she did. "I . . . don't think so. These are spirits . . . more or less. Kana's creatures were zombies. Physical forms she could manuever once the soul had fled."

Elleira pursed her lips thoughtfully, looking at him.

". . . What?" he asked.

"You talk funny," she said at last. He laughed, and shook his head.

"One might say the same about you, where I come from." His smile slipped somewhat. "I speak elaborately because of my position. The lord I serve prefers we all are schooled in the use of words, as well as weapons."

"What kind of job do you do?"

"I'm a priest."

"No kidding?" she asked, reaching into her vest, and pulling a flask. "I never would have guessed that."

Cervantes nodded. "The sword throws people off."

She grinned. "So do you take confessions?"

"Occasionally. Most of them are deathbed confessions, though." He hefted his sword, and she nodded somberly.

The road narrowed, and Elleira knew they were closer to Gaeus. She cleared her throat, trying to word her question perfectly.

"I've lived my life as best as I could," she said, forcing herself to look ahead, and not at Cervantes. "Not a lot of people would be proud of how I've gone about it, but it suits me just fine. I like to drink, make love, and fight. My teacher taught me that there is a lot of grey area to life."

"How so?" Cervantes asked.

"Well . . . Escad, for example. His friend Matilda was in love with a half-demon named Irwin. But Matilda had all these powers, and the burden of their responsibility hurt her, a lot. Irwin stole her powers to take away that pain, but it aged her terribly. Escad figured it was because he was a demon that he stole her powers, not because he wanted to take away her pain. So Escad made it his life's work to kill Irwin. I ended up crippling Escad, and he was only doing the right thing, from his point of view."

She sighed, scratching her head. "I guess I'm asking . . . is there ever a point where the good guy is clear cut? Irwin had to die, because he wanted to destroy the world. Matilda didn't want to interfere, because destroying the world made Irwin happy - though it wasn't the destroying part he had a bone for, it was taking away Matilda's suffering.. But in the end, for all their efforts, neither him, Escad, or Matilda got what they wanted."

There was a moment of silence between them, and as the shadows gave way to the giant stone outcrop where Gaeus resided. Elleira wondered if Cervantes was going to answer her at all.

". . . That doesn't sound so much like a question of whether the grey areas get any more defined. It sound to me like a question of whether or not anything we do makes any difference in the end."

She lowered her head, and nodded.

"There's a long answer, and a short answer."

"What's the short answer?" she asked.

"The short answer is 'Yes'," Cervantes said, stepping forward onto the outcropping of rock which was Gaeus's hand.

Unlike every other time, nothing happened. Elleira stood, gawked at Cervantes, who hesitated, then tapped his foot on the hand. The silence stretched for so long that she wondered if they were speaking telepathically, and all her conversations with Gaeus had been just like this; silent to everyone else not standing right there.

"So . . . this is an interesting outcome," Cervantes mused.

"What? What?" Elleira stepped forward, squinting into the darkness. "Gaeus, what's going on?"

Cervantes shook his head, and looked around. "He's not here, Elleira."

"WHAT?!" she shrieked, leaping forwards. She stumbled, and fell, tumbling several feet. Where there should have been a big rock face, there was nothing. The road continued onwards as if the Wisdom had never existed. "What . . . what's going on?" Once she was standing again, she dusted off her legs. Cervantes opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden howl from a different part of the Highway caught their attention. They both took off, running towards it.

*************

I HATE YOU!!!

Elleira stumbled as the words crashed into her, almost like a solid thing. With a hiss, she lifted her spear, looking for something to fight.

YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!

Cervantes drew his sword calmly, and waited. If he felt the words being thrown at him, there were no outward signs of it. Elleira grimaced, trying to see where it was coming from. The steady hum of the quieter voices still hung in the background, but the louder one, the one with the force behind it, seemed to be moving. Just ahead of them in the blackness.

DAMN YOU!!! DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!

She lifted her spear, and it shook in her hands, a black object spattering across its tip. It dripped to the ground, and she stared at it, shocked. "These things on the road! These things are Shadoles!"

"Or at least their essence . . ." he remarked.

YOU MONSTERS!!! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!!!

A dark-skinned woman stepped out of the shadows, which had become a roiling mass of Shadoles. She wore a strip of cloth across her eyes, and carried a crossbow of blackened wood in one hand. Elleira took a step back, blushing and averting her eyes. "She's not wearing . . . any clothes . . ." she said.

NOW I AM SABLE, OF THE NANTEN. Her bow raised, and a Shadole arced out, stopped by Elleira's quick slash. AND YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME!

"Lady, I don't even know you," Elleira said.

Chance lashed out, scattering the Shadole mass, and causing Sable to dance backwards to avoid the blade. Cervantes moved like a demon, his speed incredible, his coat flapping about him wildly. Elleira dove in, stabbing recklessly, trying to drive Sable onto Cervantes' sword.

Sable leapt straight into the air, twisting around, and firing a volley of Shadoles down at them. With a curse, Elleira dove out of the way. The swordsman raised his hand, and the Shadoles slithered across the ground, creating a perfect circle around him.

"BLITZ DARKNESS –" he began, but the Shadoles he had diverted leapt up, coming at him. They cut into his legs, and he fell as they swarmed over him. "- HAND!!!" came the muffled cry, and the mass exploded ouitwards, light shattering them completely. Cervantes spat to one side, his hand smoking.

Elleira dropped back, looking him over. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"I didn't expect someone like this here . . . Fa'Diel has changed," he said, an amused look on his face.

Sable finally stopped dancing, posing for a moment to taunt them, though even that was lithe and graceful..

Elleira lifted her spear, and charged. Sable fired rapidly, but Elleira drove her point into the ground, vaulting herself up and over the Underworld creatures. She planted both her feet into Sable's chest, sending her backwards roughly. Quickly, her hand shot out, and she grabbed Sable's hair, pulling her close and driving her other fist into her face over and over.

"GET! KNOCKED! OUT! YOU! CRAZY! BITCH!" Elleira yelled, punctuating each of her blows. Sable finally slipped from her grip, sobbing and breathless, and Elleira tried to grab her again, and caught the cloth, pulling it from her eyes.


Colors flowed like water in those twin orbs, and Elleira could only gasp in the face of such beauty. She was stunned. Every single color she'd ever seen and some she'd only seen in dreams flittered across in front of her, in this young woman's eyes. With them revealed, all the Shadoles faded away.


"Don't look at me!" Sable cried, covering her face and pushing Elleira away. "Haven't you done enough?!"

"What . . . what did I do?" Elleira whispered, collapsing. She didn't even wince as she bruised her tailbone.

Cervantes staggered over to the girl, giving her the blindfold, which she clutched to tightly, trying to wipe away rainbow colored tears. "She's not speaking to you or I. Not really. In her mind . . ." He shook his head. "She's talking to whoever gave her those eyes."

"But who . . ." Elleira shook her head. "Who could do something like that?"

"A god," Cervantes said. He stroked the girl's hair as she sobbed. "Or an angel. Probably sired her on an unsuspecting mother and then disappeared. Gods aren't usually too keen on their responsibility as parents."

Elleira stood shakily, looking at her hands, which were covered in silver. The same silver that poured from the broken lip of the girl. "So what do we do?" she asked.

"Put some in a vial, and pour it on your sword when you get the chance." Cervantes looked up at her. "It will make your weapon into something that can kill a god." The girl turned into his chest, crying into him. "But for now . . . just go home. I'll be along shortly."

The Mana Hero nodded, and feeling rather unheroic, started away.

Cervantes waited several minutes, to be sure she was gone, before stepping back, and slashing Sable. She fell to the ground, blood spilling out and gleaming like a pool on the dusty road. He stood, coolly wiping the blood from his sword. Sheathing it, he paused instead of going after Elleira, cocking his head to one side. In a quiet voice, he announced "I can hear you."

"It seems I came too late yet again." An indistinct voice came from the darkness. "All's well, though. She's not the type to die so easily."

"You would be the infamous Godhand." One hand on his sword, he tipped his hat again.

"I'll kill you, you know." Only Godhand's fists were visible, a burning golden and brighter then the bloody ground. Shaking with a rage held by a thread.

"I have no doubt you'll try," Cervantes said. "But I am a Dark Holy Swordsman. And I've outlived far greater and far older foes then you."

There was a sound like a hiss from the darkness, golden hands fading away along with the spectral figure they belonged to. And in the newly rising light, the body of the dark-skinned girl turned to snowflies, and fluttered away.