Corinth breathed in deeply, inhaling the acrid smoke pouring forth from the censers placed around the tent; the harsh, sickly sweet fragrance of smouldering myrrh, labdanum and saffron burned her throat, but she had grown used to the unpleasant sensation long ago.
Floating before her was a deceptively simple, wooden wand, its plain appearance standing in stark contrast to its title of 'Imperial Armament.'
Apollo's Verity: Oracle of Delphi.
It was among the more peculiar Imperial Armaments in the possession of the Revolutionary Army, in that successfully utilizing it depended on far more than the compatibility of its user. Corinth had been determined to be a perfect match early on, but it had taken her years of painstaking research into both the Oracle itself and the myths and legends surrounding it to develop a process by which she could wield its fearsome power.
"Let's begin," she spoke, addressing the two women standing quietly behind her – her 'priestesses', as they had taken to calling themselves. The smoke suffusing the tent melded into their flowing robes, obscuring them into near abstraction as they stepped forward at Corinth's behest.
She accepted the ornate, silver ewer Lavinia handed her, heavy with its contents. Her sister Iosefka, meanwhile, gently, almost reverently lifted the silken veil concealing Corinth's face. They proceeded to take their places beside the Oracle, forming a triangle around it.
Corinth raised the silver vessel to her lips, drinking deeply of the liquid before emptying what remained over her Imperial Armament. The water never came into contact with the wooden wand, instead flowing along invisible curves and gathering to form a flawless sphere around it.
Lavinia and Iosefka each raised a robed arm, their palms facing the Oracle. Their eyes were no longer their own, replaced by familiar, azure luminance strong enough to burn through the veil of smoke surrounding them. The air trembled as they spoke, and Corinth, despite herself, shuddered at the otherworldly quality their voices took on; gentle and harsh, whispering and screaming.
BEARER OF HIS VOICE
petitioner ever seeking
HEAR OUR DECLAMATION|hear our declamation
CAST ASIDE YOUR CHARGES AND STAND
cleansed of what may defile
GUARD YOUR LIPS FROM OFFENCE
you who would seek his counsel
LET HIS ANSWER FIND YOU
untainted by mortal flaw
Lavinia closed her eyes.
"Embrace your fate."
Iosefka followed suit.
"Heed and understand."
Corinth exhaled, completing the ancient invocation as she, too, shut her eyes.
"Surety begets ruin."
A ripple of acknowledgement passed over the liquid sphere.
An irritating itch awakens you from fitful slumber.
A leaf fallen from far, shaded canopy rests upon your crown and you are grateful, for the nightmare was long and haunting and truth.
Chilling winds envelop you in warm, loving embrace, carrying with them beckoning temptation. The myriad sounds of a forest whisper sweetly, and your senses swim in the scent of pine and nectar and rot.
You are lead with gentle urging, past great poisoned grasslands and glacial streams long since dry, to a meadow awash with beautiful scintillating colour. You revel in the mournful aria echoing among the blossoms. It is cherished possession; a treasure held dear, hidden away from greedy grasping fingers and inciting thought.
Within the bosom of lush verdant bloom thrives a rose.
The rose grows from fertile loam|boundless scalar web.
The rose is delightful velvet asymmetry|cold hard reason.
The rose's fragrance is intoxicating ambrosia|imperceptible trace.
The rose is one among many and you do not know what draws you to it.
Temptation tugs more insistently at your sleeve now; forceful in its urging. Voices whisper in your ear and gentle touches skim across your form, promising what you would not ask of another; you need only… follow?
Distant memory stirs.
You seek.
Never follow.
You reach to pluck the rose and the sharp thorns|truth cut you.
Your blood drips and the drop spawns a ripple distorting flawless reflection|deception into undesired iniquity|truth. It is seditious flame fanned into uncontrolled conflagration, consuming finely crafted untruths and cracked veneer until not ash remains.
The meadow lay withering and ravaged and the hidden web is revealed, stretched thin and torn.
The strands are as needles – dark and long and sleek and many, humming quietly with fading tension and hollow purpose. They are a road leading to truth, and you the seeker.
Your fingers brush the strand and it is cold energy and dying, waning teleonomy. Dying, not yet dead, its hunger remains – ever seeking, as you are. You do not struggle as gnashing teeth rip your false-body apart, tearing you into octillions of blunt fragments before swallowing you.
You are cast adrift amid tranquil vacancy.
Unending void woven through time and starlight welcomes you, the visitor uninvited. You traverse the anomaly with confidence unbecoming, bold steps carving sturdy footholds into wavering quasi-existence. The path is narrow, honed to a sharp edge, leading past shadows uncast ever deeper into hungering abyss.
Eons pass during your brief journey and then you arrive.
Monotone elegance crystallizes into exquisite symmetry, folding away until no longer remaining, revealing crude structure and unrefined shape bending to crushing pressure and deepest, roaring depth. Sourceless light illuminates the cavern in dim wash and your feet find purchase on shifting ground.
The strands are the limbs and It is a heart, beating weakly nestled in Its throne of time and rock and fire. It is an ageless monolith, witness to the nascence of qualia and ruminative thought, born of unknowable womb.
The limbs reach longingly for the loom and burrow into the weft, into time passed and future untold and space unborn. Stone and pressure encase the heart and faint fissures reveal glimpses of Its infinite depth.
A step, and the monolith shudders and groans in agony, the mantle stirring and shifting before cracking with deafening toll. Wretched, anguished wails assault you; the gardens and the depths weep, mourning loss you cannot feel.
The shattered coat is shrugged off, crumbling to dust, and the heart lay exposed.
It is a dead thing now.
It does not matter.
Never one to receive, you take what is yours to claim, and a corpse offers freely of its riches.
You step once more, and there is no resistance – only soft, yielding rot; the veil concealing your truth. You pass the threshold and swim in serene|maddening deprivation, robbed of all you have, standing to gain nothing.
With dying breath the question is asked, but you are a husk your mind unravelled|your soul shattered|your selfhood lost.
Only purpose remains, but that is what you are.
You answer and you know your answer to be true for to be anything but would be to abandon your purpose and your purpose will not be forgotten as-
A jolt of lucidity.
You find yourself in an antechamber, decrepit and flooded with stagnant water and oppressing atmosphere. The paths surrounding you are many, but they are not yours to tread; your path is that of the lone figure standing at the end of the chamber, garbed in despair|hope.
They do not acknowledge your pursuit as they head down the path, treacherous and winding and wicked, but familiar and oft-walked, for it is their path.
You emerge in a grand hall where truth is held prisoner, and the man garbed in despair|hope is the gatekeeper|brother to the truth.
You behold majesty overwhelming in every aspect of its being, dismissing all that you are and all that you stand for with dispassionate ease. Your purpose is grand and thus you are grand but before it you are small and thus your purpose is small. Power without equal bears down upon you and you want to grind your teeth in aggravation for you cannot comprehend what does not even attempt to conceal its imperious presence and majestic form.
It is the ocean's deepest depth and the sky's highest reach and your gaze is long but you cannot see.
It is a splinter, a fragment of a greater whole standing proud atop the peak of existence and you are mighty but you cannot contend.
It is elemental fury and primordial purpose, cataclysm given form and perdition bound by will and your mind is sharp but you cannot understand.
The pressure rises but it is humility that brings you to your knees. You feel the insignificance it assigns your feeble, fleeting existence; a challenge unissued and you falter.
But you are the seeker; bearer of His voice.
A daughter bereft. A sinner wishing to repent. A sovereign seeking to reclaim. A pawn promoted to bishop. A consort to salvation. A spider upon the Web. A sister turned traitor. A mind ravenous and eager, ever seeking to understand.
And you will understand.
The man smiles; the gate opens.
The air turns frigid and the tide boils. Harsh gales set upon your body as knife blades, and your blood stains the waters as relentless pressure cracks your bones and vile miasma drowns your lungs.
But you stand tall.
And you step forward, for you must understand.
You struggle|fall|rise|drag|fall|crawl|struggle|fall|rise until you are close and your bleeding palm reaches out to the man and-
He is gone, and it bears down upon you.
It is nine tails and blood-red eyes and smiling teeth.
You understand.
Its jaws snap shut.
Camp Greywarren was as lively as ever.
Von Arx and Kirishima platoons stood in flawless formation, facing the fluttering, crimson flag of the Revolutionary Army. Their respective commanders, lieutenant Von Arx and first lieutenant Kirishima, stood to the front of the formation, conversing with sergeant major Miller, likely regarding the schedule of the day ahead.
Purveyors and suppliers acting through trusted middlemen were rushing to report to the camp's quartermaster, first lieutenant Andrews, who coordinated the unloading and storage of the various goods they were delivering with practised ease.
Gwaine was satisfied as he swept his gaze over his camp.
The preparations were going nicely, and the new recruits showed a great deal of promise under the guidance and command of his newly appointed platoon commanders. The lack of any real action was starting to get to him, but the orders he had received from colonel Akihito were very clear and left little room for debate or interpretation.
And what kind of example would he set as company commander if he were to be tried for insubordination within three months of taking office?
Deciding not to further pursue that grim thought, he continued his walk toward the newly erected tent near the centre of the camp.
The arrival of major Corinth of the Imperial Armament Troops and her entourage had been very sudden, but the lack of prior notice couldn't be helped; the location of Camp Echo had been compromised and the troops stationed there were forced to abandon it. The major had arrived shortly after Gwaine received the order to accommodate her and ensure her every whim was catered to – a task that had proven to be astoundingly simple so far.
The major and her two priestesses, or however they called themselves, had remained isolated in their lodging since first arriving at the camp. Furthermore, far from making any outrageous demands as some senior officers were wont to do, she and her companions declined any and all meals they were offered. Gwaine didn't inquire as to the reason, but assumed it wasn't merely a matter of tastes.
Nevertheless, he made sure to drop by during his daily inspections to check up on them and make sure they weren't wanting for anything. They were guests in his camp and he considered them his responsibility, but it was also a simple formality that he felt had to be observed; major Corinth was a superior officer, after all.
"Hadley platoon, Alpha company!" sergeant Silva reported with a salute as his platoon marched past Gwaine, who returned the greeting with a curt salute of his own.
Before long, he reached the plain, beige tent where the major resided, but as he was approaching the guards posted by the entrance, a blood-curdling scream originating from the very same lodging pierced through the air.
Reflexes sharpened over years of conflict allowed him to rush past the two guards before they could react, pistol drawn and ready to engage whatever enemy had managed to infiltrate his camp.
Within the tent, major Corinth lay writhing on the ground, clutching her head as she continued screaming without pause. Her priestesses were lying motionless around what Gwaine assumed was her famous Imperial Armament; Apollo's Verity.
As far as he could see, no-one else was present in the tent.
The tent flaps rustled once again and Corinth's guards charged in, a step behind Gwaine, "Major!"
"Secure the tent," Gwaine ordered calmly before they could rush to their commanding officer's side, "and be on your guard, we could be dealing with an I. A. wielder." They answered with solemn nods, rifles primed and ready as they began thoroughly inspecting the tent for any signs of intrusion or foul play. Sparse as the tent was, the search went by quickly and failed to turn up anything out of the ordinary; not a single sign of forceful entry or of a struggle.
"You," Gwaine addressed one of the two guards, "your name?"
"J-," the man choked on his own saliva, likely shaken up. He swallowed before trying again, "Jonathan, sir. Sergeant Jonathan Greene."
"Sergeant Greene," Gwaine spoke, calm as he issued the order, "go and inform sergeant major Murray of what happened, then get me first lieutenant Kirishima and doctor De Mattia."
He turned to major Corinth, ignoring the sergeant's confused expression, "Kirishima's likely still at the muster, De Mattia should be by the medical tents and Murray's in the guards' quarters. Hurry now."
Sergeant Greene nodded resolutely and quickly set out.
Gwaine then holstered his pistol and knelt by Corinth's side, grabbing hold of her flailing arms. "Help me hold her down before she hurts herself!" The other guard, who had been checking the vitals of the two priestesses in the meantime, moved to crouch by Corinth's legs, holding them down as she continued kicking and screaming. "Sergeant Nakamura, sir. Their vital signs are elevated, but nothing life-threatening; no external wounds either. Major! It's us! Calm down!"
"She's suffering from hysteria," Gwaine ventured, "we'll have to wait until De Mattia gets here."
Gwaine sighed, feeling a migraine coming on as he tried and failed to make sense of the situation, 'Just what the hell…?'
Neither of them noticed Corinth's bleeding palm.
Father's Note: Hello again, my dear children. First of all, my apologies.
Not for how long it took to post this chapter, but for the previous chapter, which I have since edited and reuploaded, reason being that it was actual garbage I posted all of twelve minutes after finishing – not a good idea; won't happen again.
This is the level of quality I strive to deliver, and I will do so from now on. With that said, there aren't any substantial changes to the previous chapter, but don't let me stop you from rereading it.
As you can tell from this chapter, I took the liberty of making some alterations to the "Divination Imperial Armament," as it is called in the manga. I believe it was used only once, and the original function was somewhat underwhelming given its lofty title.
Reviews:
AtomicGod666: Yes, Athena is an Imperial Armament I created. As for Naruto's backstory; it deviates somewhat from the manga, but it will be revealed as the story progresses.
AvexedAuthor: Rest assured; no harem. God knows we have enough of those.
killerhot80: I'm glad you think so, that was my intention. All very good premises, but as you can tell by this chapter, Naruto might well get involved with the Revolutionary Army. And another faction not listed in your review. I'll be positively surprised if anyone can guess which one it'll be.
Future247: Don't worry; while his personality will obviously be impacted by what he experiences in the story and the fact that the Akame Ga Kill universe is a bit more mature than his own, I don't plan on writing an in-name-only Naruto/OC story.
Dasgun: . - .
To everyone else, thank you for your reviews so far, they really do motivate me to deliver the best work I am able to.
A special thanks to my wonderful friend and proofreader for ensuring the chapter was readable before presenting it to you, the dear reader.
Until the next time, my lovelies.
