AN: Important update! I found a way to make this work, but in order to do this, I'll have to change one of the points I wrote in the first chapter. Remember when I said that this fic shares the 'verse of my two others, as an attempt to expand the background lore? And how I wouldn't use the elements of this 'verse extensively? Yeah, I decided to change that, the reason being that, if I don't do this, some details and points in the story won't make any sense at all. I'll be sure to update the point right after posting this chapter.
But in order to do that, I have to explain at least some of the lore that is going on in the background, because this same lore is affecting the plot of this story in the first place. You can find the lore at the end of the chapter. There will also be a short list of possible implications of how such a lore might affect this story, though none of them are set in stone yet.
Keep in mind that this fic is an experiment, so please don't hate me for bringing up so many changes and details all of a sudden. At least I tried...
Junior Scribe Ted Diaz took his job very seriously. To be a Scribe was to be someone who dealt with knowledge itself. It meant spending long hours hunched over a table and trying your best to understand the newest piece of technology your group had acquired. It meant an acute case of stress and headaches after compiling every bit of data in your servers because some asshole clearly never met with the term 'organizing'. But, most of all, it meant learning from your superiors, from your betters, from your elders. That was the part Ted liked the most. Because, unlike the traitors, the Outcasts had the luck to have a quite competent elder Scribe and instructor among their black-and-red ranks.
If Ted were a believer, he would have said that the Scribe Silas was a gift from God.
Other Juniors teased him about his 'infatuation' with the Elder. To which he would remind himself of their foolishness, replying with a scoff. Idiots, the lot of them. Unlike others, Ted would be the first to show up during Scribe Silas' lectures or on-the-field hours. He would devote his whole being to listening to every word that came from the man's mouth for the simple fact that, when he looked at the Silas' eyes for the first time, Ted had found a spark that spoke of the Elder's knowledge. It shocked him to the core, to the point that his mouth fell open, embarrassing everyone. Ted swore to himself that he would do everything it took from him to become the Elder's disciple, to learn his knowledge.
Silas, on the other hand, didn't care much for the twenty-something boy. He didn't care much for anything these days. If there was ever a man, or woman, that had truly accomplished that one impossible goal in life, the same goal that would turn into bitterness that would haunt a person for the rest of their days should it be left unachieved, it was him; Silas Gardner. He had done the impossible.
And he cursed every day of his life because of it.
Every once in a while, after solving an encryption he would find in the Brotherhood records, Silas would ponder on his Humanity and how, as he believed, he was not a part of. In other words, he thought of himself as someone who was Human no longer, even if he looked and sounded like one. It was all because of one event that changed his life forever, and not in a good way. He wondered how many Magi from the past would kill to be in his position. If only they knew what he did…
When did it happen, actually? Silas thoughtabout the question. His condition left him with more questions than answers. Why did it happen? What started it?
He wasn't a denizen of the Capital Wasteland. In the past, he used to wander through the irradiated deserts, using his spare time to write down all knowledge of Magecraft he possessed. He believed that his tomes held little to no literary value, mostly because there was no literate person for miles, but also because his thoughts used to be erratic, spontaneous, and it had reflected on the empty notebooks he carried around as a jumbled mess of black lines. They were old now, though in worse shape than he would ever be.
One day, when he had come to a conclusion that his pastime was worthless and thus he needed to burn every written word of his, Silas felt a ripple in the already distorted energies that permeated the world's corpse. It sailed through the charred sea of Magical Energy, as if someone had tossed a rock into a lake.
The pressure he felt was enormous. It wasn't focused on his body, even though his heart started beating so painfully that he had to drop on his knees and clutch his chest in sheer agony. No, it was focused on his soul. For the second time in his life, Silas Gardner had felt a transcendental fear, one that went beyond the body and impacted the soul, which screamed at him to move somewhere far away and never come back. Naturally, he had done the opposite. Another layer of impurity had come to take what little of the Earth's beauty that was left. Another cancer on reality. How could a scholar like him miss such an opportunity?
Thus he ended up in the Capital Wasteland, another hellhole among many. Silas had seen depressive sights, but none struck him as the Wasteland did. Sand dunes stretched as far as the eye could see, littered with dead trees and walking corpses, as he called the soulless people whose greatest intellectual achievement was how to survive until the next day. On the horizon, none other than Washington DC, a graveyard of skyscrapers and ruins. And a warzone as he had soon learned.
Three sides fought for supremacy over the city, like vultures struggling for a carcass they had found. Two of them were non-Human and both wanted the former dead. The Supermutants were a chore to deal with. Their "condition" made them a bit harder to kill, yet even that dirty trick wasn't enough for his powers. But the Horde, though…
Oh, the Horde.
That name could hardly describe the horrors he had encountered. Not even the deadliest, mutated abominations of the Wasteland could rival the damned Things when it came to bloodlust. The first time he met face to face with them, he was overwhelmed by the blatant wave of hatred that wasn't even directed at him, but at the entirety of the world he just so happened to live in. It was more toxic than a waste disposal.
Back then, he had learned another truth that made him feel a little worse than before. It became a theme with him, he would later muse. Magical attacks were worthless against them. It was like trying to drown a fish in the water. Thankfully, he had found some members of the Brotherhood with black-and-red armor, who happened to be the only survivors in a massacre that was over even before he came. With a few tricks and spells, he had convinced them that he was a Scribe who had seen the error of his ways. The rest was history.
"…der Silas?"
Silas blinked in confusion, having been brought back into reality by the incessant nagging of the Junior Scribe on his right.
"Hmm, yes? What do you need, my child?"
It was Junior Scribe Ted, a delusional boy that thought he would be his disciple if he worked hard enough to please him. After all of his effort, the poor fool had found a small place in his heart. He was one of the few who were willing to deal with the ramblings of his. Everyone else was busy keeping all of them alive.
"I was wondering if… you had a moment, sir?"
Silas sighed, a hand rubbing his tired face as he stepped away from the terminal. He would kill for a cup of that instant coffee he had the habit of finding across the ruins in the west.
"Sure. As long as it's not something ridiculous or beyond my abilities."
Ted smiled.
"Actually, I was wondering, you know, what are your thoughts on our current achievements." Ted coughed awkwardly when he saw Silas raising an eyebrow, "I mean, as Humanity… Er, I'm sure nobody outside the Brotherhood had ever thought about developing or storing technology, otherwise we wouldn't be living in a wasteland, eh?"
"Did you read another one of those crazy fictitious books again?"
The reddening of Ted's cheeks told him everything he needed to know.
"B-but, sir!"
"Elder."
"Elder." Ted corrected himself, "I can't stop thinking about it. Of what we as a species could do if we just… thought better, I guess. We could build spaceships and travel to the moon. Beyond the moon!"
Silas sighed again, "Ted. Can you tell me what is the goal of the Brotherhood?"
"To preserve and protect any and all technology left by our ancestors until the day when the Wasteland becomes free of all that plagues it so that we can rebuild Humanity."
"Right. And, pray tell, why do you think we follow such an ideal?"
"Because the people from the wasteland are savage, chaotic and selfish enough to put their own survival before our common future. Because they don't care about technological development and the rise of standards of living."
"Right."
"But the traitors and their Elder succeeded in activating that Project Purity and even fought against the Enclave. They've done something we never could've. We stayed holed up like molerats while they are expanding."
Silas raised a hand as if to slap Ted, checking with his eyes if there were fanatics nearby.
"You're lucky we're alone in here, boy. Never say something like that aloud ever again."
"But it's true! You know it's true! What's the point of preserving Humanity if we let everyone die?"
"Look around you, boy!" Silas was getting angry too, "We're in the middle of an irradiated hellhole because of technology! Because of those who used their limited knowledge without thinking about the consequences. Those people destroyed…" he stopped himself before ranting about secrets best kept hidden, "So what if they activated Project Purity? Do you know what kind of impact that cleaned water will have on a fragile ecosystem that evolved to survive in a world filled with nuclear radiation?"
"So, what do you suggest then? To sit here and wait for better times?"
"No. Science has gone too far. Our ancestors gave us this mess through it. You want to travel through the stars? Fix the Wasteland first. Get rid of the hostiles and the mutants. Let them kill each other, then fertilize the lands, cure diseases and clean the garbage. Only then can this planet have space big enough for your dreams."
"Is that really the only way we can win? Can't we do better than this?"
Silas shook his head.
"I see."
"Don't misunderstand me. Reading books is okay. It helps you grow. But you always have to remember that those writes lived long ago, before the War, when everyone thought a bright future awaited us. I'm not so sure about that right now."
Ted nodded, biting his lip to forbid further protests from escaping his mouth. Silas eyed the younger man in front of him, wondering about how great a Magus he would've been if the world weren't so nightmarish. Maybe, in another world out there, he is. And maybe he, the great Silas Gardner, had a fate far kinder.
Junior Scribe Ted apologized for wasting the Elder's time when the whole bunker shook as if a bomb had dropped on it. The wails of multiple alarms rang throughout the facility.
"What is happening?!" shouted Ted, suddenly panicking.
"Go and activate the security systems, we seem to be under attack! Go!"
Silas saw him opening a door and running down the hallway, before allowing himself to tremble like a leaf in the wind. He knew what was happening. He felt them. Their presence. The Horde was launching an assault on their base. That was a sign that he had to leave everything behind. Abandon his identity, abandon his 'brothers', everything. He had to leave if he wanted to live, for nothing could withstand the Horde unscathed. If the Outcasts were lucky, the end result of the conflict would be a few survivors among a sea of corpses.
The Elder ran. For a being as old as he was, he still had kept his youthful body and its functions, even though the beard made him look older. It was an element of surprise when an occasional raider had the brilliant idea of attacking him back in his wandering hermit days. Even there, in the bunker, Paladins and other Brotherhood staff didn't bother too much with him, as they had a better job to do. He came to learn that the Scribes, while beloved and respected, were little more than armed civilians and were treated as such by the competent fighters. It was why he chose to be one. No brother or sister was crazy enough to think that a Scribe could defend himself, much less be capable of deeds they probably wouldn't like experiencing.
More tremors. Silas leaned against a wall to keep himself from falling. He wondered what was happening on the surface while, at the same time, figuring out how to escape unnoticed by anyone. His musings were interrupted mercilessly when he noticed something glowing on his right hand. He saw it and his eyes became as wide as saucers.
"No… No! No!"
If someone were to see him, they would think that Silas became mad. He grasped his head, trying to understand the new world he was thrown in, tried to understand the cold, dead and cruel laws that governed it, the same laws that allowed him, of all people, to gain new Command Seals.
This can't be, he thought. Him gaining the dreaded red marks on his right hand was a sign of what awaited him. A past he tried to bury suddenly rose from the earth and threatened to choke the life out of him. The Holy Grail spoke once more. An absurdity in itself; the cursed heap of energy masquerading itself as an overrated drinking cup reared once again its ugly head when, in fact, it had no reason to. It was buried, destroyed, locked away, discarded and forgotten, never to show up again.
He was sure of it.
Earth had to burn.
Like Sodom and Gomorrah in ages past, Earth had become a place disgusting in the eyes of the Creator. So it had to burn. It was a great reset, a way of His to tell Humanity that it needed to begin again. And what did they do? They basked in Sin yet again. They had to crawl out like rats from their holes and start murdering and pillaging and stealing all over again.
And he was thankful to them.
Truly, no created being in any reality could be so twisted, so corrupted, as Man. A hairless ape desperate for forbidden knowledge, for that ascension from the chains of mortality, is bound to delve into the abyss, looking for answers it itself couldn't comprehend. More often than not, something would follow them, follow the doors that the lower beings opened, so that they could barge into the world, more unstoppable than a natural force.
Thanks to one such mortal, the whole of Creation had entered into its Fourth Age. It was the Age where eternal feuds between larger-than-cosmos entities would be settled, once and for all. But until then, chaos would reign. Lives had to be ruined, mortals had to be corrupted, worlds had to be conquered, souls had to be damned.
It was his destiny to meet his superiors. Unlike others, he didn't run from them, instead learning to accept them as beings far more real than he would ever be. They appreciated his effort, gifting him with powers a mere Human would never have. Through them, he learned secrets long forgotten, he performed miracles impossible to replicate with technology, he even saw order in a senseless, chaotic reality that was his life.
Now, hidden in the basement of a house near the Arlington Cemetery, the nameless man performed yet another sacrifice to appease the thirst of his lord and master, yearning for a contact with the entity. The symbol carved in the floor, a circle inside a triangle, greedily sucked the blood of the virgin whose neck he sliced open. It was essential for her to suffer in a way that her life would slowly flee from her, rather than end with a simple thrust of the blade to the head. After having accumulated enough blood, the symbol shone bright, evaporating into a thick red mist that focused in the middle of the room, shaping itself into the replica of the symbol below, albeit smaller. A horizontal slit in reality formed inside the circle, only to open into an eye with a yellow iris and a pupil not unlike a lizard's. The eye trembled before setting its sight on the man that knelt in front of it.
"You have done well, my servant."
The unnatural voice that emanated from the phenomenon was like a whisper to his ears, yet so loud and potent that it raised dust from the rotten furniture nearby.
"Thank you, lord. If everything goes well, you will soon have another cult full of fanatical worshippers, ready to sacrifice themselves so that they could open a gateway for your troops behind the enemy lines."
"Yes. I sense their intentions. I will make sure to amplify their emotions by darkening their hearts."
It brought a smile to his face. He was always be happy to serve such an incomprehensibly greater being than him. And when it moved to show its tremendous power to the pagan world, he would start crying from sheer ecstasy he would feel at the moment.
"Glorious be their suffering."
"Indeed it will. As for you, my loyal servant, I have another task for you. A final request separates you from the promised ascension, as I am true to my word."
"Oh, master…"
Never did he ask for compensation for anything he had done in the name of his ruler. No, he would give him on a whim, whenever he felt that his little servant had done a splendid job. Health, women, powers…
"Listen well, oh servant of mine. The four winds speak to me of an event that has to take place in these wretched ruins; a false mystery know to mortals as the Holy Grail War."
His lord didn't need to offer explanations, for his loyal slave knew everything there was to know. He frowned.
"So our enemy is on the move, I presume?"
"It would be foolish to think otherwise."
"I understand. So, what is my purpose?"
He felt a burning sensation on his right hand. Looking at it, he saw an intricate red symbol glowing on his skin.
"Our enemy may have dominion on this world, but we are its true rulers. The universe is a puppet we manipulate at our will. Even the spawn born from Sin knows that. Everything dances to our tune, to my tune." The black slit slightly expanded. "And so will this "war"."
"You will be the seventh contestant in this ridiculous ritual. It still isn't aware of this intrusion, nor of the fact that we will alter the rules by letting you summon a Spirit more suited for our needs. Compared to us, it is nothing but a child, left alone in an uncaring cosmos."
"And I have to win, yes?"
"Of course. None of the other contestants have the gifts you possess. They rely on this cesspool of a planet and its energies. Their attempts at sorcery are laughable at best. The Spirits, however…"
"They might be a problem, hence why I need one myself."
"We're still in the dark and I doubt that the other contestants know more than we do. A cooperating Spirit should be an appropriate support."
"Forgive me for my insolence, but have you tried to pry the information from the source itself?"
"It refuses to cooperate, seeing us as a threat, as it should be. In Sin we deal, but we are by no means related. You will win this battle under its observation, to display our strength. Only then it will surrender."
He bowed his head.
"Your will be done, master."
The eye squinted.
"I know it will."
LORE TIME!
a) First of all, in this 'verse, there exist multiple realities. By reality I don't mean dimensions. Reality, as a term, is used to explain all multiverses, parallel dimensions, timelines, etc. that share some, if not all, details and rules of how they work (using this idea, for the sake of the example, every timeline in the Fate franchise is canon, but the Nasuverse itself is just one reality with its own set of rules. In contrast, again for the example, Final Fantasy 'verse is a reality different from Nasuverse, and has no connection with it).
b) All realities that exist, exist in such a way that they are 'stacked' on top of one another (think of it as a stack of papers). Only two realities are not part of this 'pillar'. For all intents and purposes, we can call them "Heaven" and "Hell" and they stand on the opposite sides of this pillar. These two realities are connected with all others, so that the souls of all dead mortals can go through one or other, in a way that the souls can go into Heaven/Hell, but nothing from the latter can go into the realities placed in the pillar/stack, except on special circumstances.
1b) point b) forces me to explain another detail, which I won't do here, because it will spoil the story, so I will do it down the line when the time is right.
On the other hand, 2b) is a detail I have to explain and I'm sure this one detail will make someone drop the story right here, guaranteed. What mortals, regardless of race and reality, think of as gods are anything but. This means that gods might be everything from living ideas, powerful entities, man-or-alien made organisms, super-advanced species/computers/constructs, malevolent/benevolent entities posing as such from "Heaven"/"Hell", ascended mortals, condemned mortals, nonexistent etc. This, in turn, implies that I will have to retrofit/retcon backgrounds of any deity-like being that comes into the story, something I'm not sure I can do without fucking something up out of sheer fucking terror, which means that this story might border on AU or it can become a can of worms I opened without knowing what I threw myself into, meaning that I just started a massive shitstorm. Hooray!
3b) Connected to 2b) are mythical beasts (this point might not be too relevant in this fic, however, for reasons you will soon understand). Now, in this 'verse, on a grand scale, exists something known as Hellspawn. This is an organism or entity whose existence is a perversion of the laws of nature and thus serves as a way of mocking the ultimate creator being responsible for the making of the 'verse (which, for the sake of convenience, I call Creation). Because of this, a Hellspawn might be the object of myths and legends made by mortals. Hellspawns are soulless, so when they die, their bodies burn away, interpreted as a way for existence to erase them. This is one of the ways to differentiate them from beings that might look similar to them.
Allow me to explain through an example I used in my other fic ('A Hunt Like No Other'): two types of dragon exist (in that story). The dragon of myths, a being that can spit fire/guard treasure and so on, is a type of Hellspawn that has no unifying race, meaning that each individual Dragon, while sharing some similar characteristics, are unique in name, origin and power (this would mean that the Tarrasque or the Dragon of Saint George are Hellspawns). However, there might be a species called Dragons in one of the realities out there that are nothing more than lizards or an intelligent race like Humans, which is another story entirely. There exists a reason why are there Hellspawn, let's say, counterparts of certain beings, but I can't explain that yet in here.
c) This one might not be relevant to the story, but it provides the full picture. In general, it is possible to travel from reality to reality, but the processes for doing so are extremely hard to perform and/or exhausting. One must find a way to make a bridge between realities so that they can pass through the Void Between Worlds, though the travel itself is made to be discouraged. A being from one reality can, somewhat, adapt to the first reality below and under its own, as they are the closest version of its own, and doesn't have too drastic changes that would harm it in any way, shape or form. The chances of survival start dwindling when a being tries to go further, into realities that are far above or below its own, as they become increasingly hostile and alien to its nature.
So, for example, someone from our reality could go into the reality above this one, which happens to be an endless sea with millions of islands, and survive, because nearly everything there is similar to our Earth, save for some creatures or weather conditions. But if they were to go a reality beyond, where, say, the laws of physics are mere suggestions, their chances of survival would go down, as they would need those laws in order to have their body function properly. Going a step even beyond that and they would likely die, unless they were someone really exceptional and so on.
d) In this 'verse, a mortal soul is a complex, immortal entity created mostly out of Aether. It inhabits a body through its birth, using it as a filter through which it experiences the physical world, and it is the thing that makes someone who they are, a software to the body's hardware, if you will. Removing the soul from the body causes it to die and, likewise, fatal injuries and death release the soul from the body. Such a soul then travels through either the 'Heaven' or 'Hell' (exceptions are made, don't worry about it for now). Further details will be explained if necessary.
POSSIBLE IMPLICATIONS FOR THIS FIC:
1. Heroic Spirits, for the purposes of this story, are/could be:
a) (for the Spirits connected to historical figures) Metaphysical projections that act and think as the soul they were based on, but perceive themselves as the actual figure and have no knowledge of the original or its current state, and might as well be the real thing
b) (for the Spirits connected to historical figures) Exceptional souls that, for one reason or another, find themselves in the Throne of Heroes, a plane of existence cut off from the rest of reality, though it has complete access to any of its traits.
c) (for figures of legends and myths) Close to b), lthough they were of a past and Age which mortalkind forgot and thus were remembered in vague myths and legends
d) (for figures of legends and myths) Living ideas that everyone sees as bearing a certain characteristic (i.e. everyone would perceive Cinderella as a beautiful girl, because the concept of the story of Cinderella has a girl as a protagonist, and thus it is a part of her being), that transcended their state and became Heroic Spirits
e) (for figures of legends and myths) Metaphysical projections of people from the past but based on the legends that surround them rather than the actual person
f) (for Divine Spirits and mythical gods) same as a)
g) (for Divine Spirits and mythical gods) Watered-down manifestations though not powerless
h) (for Divine Spirits and mythical gods) Idea given form based on how a god should be perceived by Humanity (i.e. if Zeus is imagined by many as a man with a beard, the Divine Spirit will be a man with a beard, but won't be Zeus himself, even if it possesses all his powers)
i) (for Divine Spirits and mythical gods)Anomalous slain beings reanimated through anomalous means
j) none/one/all of the above
2) Mythical beings are/could be:
a) living beings as common as any other creature on Earth, but as time went on they became rare or extinct
b) Hellspawns, with a few exceptions
c) living beings with unique "magical" properties that are still present on Earth, but are near extinction
d) ideas given form by people
e) none/one/all of the above
3) Legendary weapons/items:
a) normal objects that gained anomalous properties thanks to the individuals that used them and became Heroic Spirits
b) items that gained a 'blessed' or 'cursed' status for any reason
c) items that didn't exist but because so many peopel thought they were real, they became real
e) Items created by an external force
f) Items in which the essence of the external force is trapped
g) Items that receive anomalous effects only if they are held by their original owners or someone they deem worthy
i) items that can corrupt and reshape the being that holds them in order to fully maximize both the item's and user's potential
j) none/one/all of the above