"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all."
– 2 Corinthians 4:16-17
All she saw was red.
Her breath was heavy as she sprinted down the paved road. Crackles of fire all surrounded her, the picturesque buildings falling apart at their touch. But it wasn't the fires that haunted her—no.
It was the screams.
In the backdrop of the large town, in the houses she passed by, in the streets she ran in; it was those screams she couldn't bear.
She clenched her eyes, trying hard to focus on the crackles of fire or the sound of her breathing instead as she continued on, her steps growing heavy. Even in the haze of shock and confusion, she knew the sight of the townsfolk would follow in her wake.
So she ran, and ran, and ran. Her eyes closed to the madness all around her. It was only by some miracle she hadn't stumbled, but even the Lord's good graces would falter every so often, and so she found herself falling.
His name was Tom, a friendly baker who helped get her acquainted with the town. He was an older, family man known for his rich laughter and warmth shared by the croissants he was famous for.
Every day, he wore a white apron, who would stand outside his store waving at passersby, like everyone's favorite uncle. And like the rest of them, he treated her with the same kindness he had for everyone else.
Now all he wore was red; and from his lips—was nothing but a low, aching groan.
His left leg was gone and his life fluids spilled freely. But that didn't matter. All that mattered to him was whom those big, red eyes were focused on now.
Asia Argento screamed.
"Miss Argento?"
Her head snapped towards the other occupant of the room, emerald eyes meeting concerned rustic orbs. And in the corner of the room, a grandfather clock ticked away.
"I-I, uh, yes?" she mumbled after a moment's hesitation.
"I said tea, Miss Argento," he smiled. "Would you like some?"
"Ah," she stammered, embarrassed. "N-no, thank you."
The man blinked.
"Miss Argento, forgive me for being so blunt but are you alright…?"
"Wha—? I-I am, Your Eminence."
"Are you certain? Just a moment ago, you had a look of panic and disgust on your face."
The young woman blushed, straightening her posture. "I apologize for my rudeness, Your Eminence," lowering her head in a curt bow. "I-It's just…"
She bowed her head even lower, golden bangs hiding the width of her expression as she clenched her fists on her lap.
"Raise your head, Miss Argento," his voice stern. A tender look crossed his features before he softened his tone. "There's no reason for you to apologize."
"But—!" the seated cardinal raised a hand to stop her before pushing himself up. Lifting the teapot from his desk, he moved to fill her empty cup against her silent protest.
"Take a deep breath and take your time. There's no need to pretend that you're okay. The tragedy you've experienced was something no one should have gone through, and it was my mistake to have called you so soon."
The former nun made to reply but no words formed. Instead, she took a moment to heed his advice and sighed, turning towards the untouched tea he had just filled for her.
She stared at the reflection upon its calm surface. Heavy, dark bags under emerald orbs with a tinge of red in the white of her eyes. Softly, she lifted the cup and saucer to her lips, a subtle shake as she took a sip.
The warm liquid sensation drowned out the incessant sounds of the ticking clock, calming the anxiety residing within her heart.
For a cardinal of his standing, the room itself wasn't ornately furnished as the few others she had seen. Like the man himself, the set pieces were simple enough not to constantly remind others of his position or status, but if one looked closely, or asked of its history, then they would understand just how priceless everything in this room was.
Across from her, the cardinal gave her a gentle smile before taking a sip himself.
She could appreciate the sense of style. From the few rooms of those in similar positions she's seen and how she was raised, she much preferred this arrangement.
Anxiously, she looked back down to the tea.
If only it were a different color.
But she couldn't say that. Not to a kind person like him.
The former nun wondered why someone of his station would take someone like her in.
I can't even...
I'm not...
She sniffled.
"Thank you."
Asia kept her head low, the cup and saucer still held within her grip as it sat on her lap.
A moment or two passed by. She didn't know why she whispered those words or why she found it hard to meet his gaze then, but she wanted to say them.
"It's no problem, child."
A ripple broke the calm surface of the tea; a trickle from a tear that had fallen. Her hands softly shook, but she made no noise. Her voice was still as it could be, as if to make herself as small as possible.
Calmly, a pair of wrinkled, old hands gently took the tea set from her possession and laid them on the table.
She hadn't heard him move from his desk, but it didn't matter. She shut her eyes to keep any more from falling.
He was only trying to help—they all were—but just like all those times, she could do nothing but cry.
That same warm hand laid atop of hers.
"I know it's been hard," his voice tender, "and things have been going wrong since that unfortunate day. So, whenever you feel like you're ready to talk, I'll be right here."
Like a broken dam, the tears flowed, despite the tight reign she had. Despite her ex-communication—despite the fires, the deaths, and the blood—despite it all—there was only one thing that came to mind.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm so, so sorry.
The holy man leaned back in his chair.
A Sister was called in to take Asia Argento back to her room.
The aged wrinkles on his face deepened as he stared at the ceiling in contemplation.
He knew others would be relentless in seeking whatever answers they could from her, despite the state she was in. A part of him felt disgusted that it took someone of his position to be the first person to actually show her any sort of worry. Especially in an organization that preached out compassion and love to all.
"Thoughts?" he seemingly asked randomly to the air.
Wisps of blue energy suddenly coalesced in an empty area to his right.
A tall man with snow-white hair appeared, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He was dressed in a red garment and black, synthetic armor with white outlines that traced his corded muscles. Subtle thrums of power rippled beneath his frame, creating an imposing figure.
The cardinal hardly spared him a glance.
"At this time? We can only wait and see," the red knight answered.
The holy man's frown grew deeper.
"And her?" his tone a touch softer.
"Nothing. If anything, she seemed more like a normal human than ever before. I can only assume that her Sacred Gear is no longer with her."
The cardinal sighed. To have their Sacred Gear taken was a death sentence to its bearer. For Asia Argento to be alive and with no seeming complications, at least physically, was extremely rare. Though, perhaps it had something to do with... that.
He leaned forward, his chair creaking, to the document and accompanied photos sitting at his desk in front of him.
He read the paper for what he felt was the hundredth time. While tragic and unusual, it was the photos that garnered the disbelief of everyone in the know.
The holy man felt the red knight's hawk-like eyes scrutinize the photos from where he stood.
MEMORANDUM
To: Cardinal Ewald Cristaldi, Section 2
From: Section █
Subject: Investigation of the Town of Nançay
All information concerning her background is included under the same folder. This report also includes eye-witness excerpts from Argento, Asia, (see File #36a-2 for more details) a recently excommunicated nun who was also colloquially known as the Holy Maiden.
At the time of this report, the subject appears compliant, although her mental state is questionable. Clean-up operations are currently proceeding within the given timetable. A task force formed by members of both Sections █ and ██ (see Section 1.b for more info on Task Force 6) are cooperating with French authorities and various international agencies in investigative and cover-up operations incidentally called the "Tragedy of Nançay."
The 881 residences of the town, Le Vieux-Nançay, are now reported as casualties. 11 kilometers of terrain from the affected area had been effectively cordoned off by both mundane and mystical means.
The incident had only been discovered after reports from overhead flights had reported the burnt-down remains of the town.
The official cover story is listed as a natural gas leak. With officiated documents, the town populace was discovered suffering from hypoxia, leading to a conclusion that the causalities were caused by a nearby undiscovered pocket of natural CO2 gas that rapidly descended upon the town.
In actuality, the town residents have been infected by a strain of vampirism and were turned into ghouls, from what can be surmised by the witness and the analysis of ashes scattered throughout the settlement (see Section 1.a for results of analysis). Unknown to investigators was the source of the epidemic and the exacting method of their purge, which had occurred all within that same night.
During the initial investigation, an Oakeshott-type blade, measuring 48.26 cm in length, was discovered plunged at the center of the town plaza. The sword in question could not be retrieved by either magical or mundane means due to an unknown type of spell. All inquiries towards the ██████ ████ have been halted, by order of His Holiness, Pope Matthai Reese, (see papal bull Gladius Caeli). Instead, an Unseen Sacrament was deployed around the object to deter any unofficial forms of observation.
As for the populace, Asia Argento was found to be the only known survivor.
The investigation is ongoing.
Ewald Cristaldi had seen many things in his long, long life. Feats of magic that were only thought to appear in movies, monsters torn from the most wicked tales, and powers the like of which humbled even one of his caliber and renown.
Perhaps it was the angle of the shot—this particular, particular shot—that did it. But even he knew it only captured just a fraction of the majesty the investigators themselves had seen in person. And even if no one knew what this blade actually was, the sovereignty it imposed could not be denied.
Like the stories of old, he knew this was the trigger. Just like the man in red to his right. He knew it was all connected. The start of something more.
The cardinal steepled his gloved hands and narrowed his brows, resolve shadowing his rustic orbs.
If what was in the photo is what he thought it was, then he had to prepare.
The sword of the stone would eventually call out for its wielder, wouldn't it?
Author's Note—
A short chapter, but it'll have to do for now. Finals and all :p
The problem I had with its predecessor was that I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't want to follow the common plot threads of Fate crossovers and wanted to diverge from them. Unfortunately, I only had a vague idea of the start and finish but no middle. But hopefully, now I'll be able to make more regular updates~ (no promises)
Btw, Ewald Cristaldi is a canon character from DxD. As for Wilhelm? Well, I hope the clues I left behind points out to his obvious identity. (Hint: He's not from DxD)
Don't forget to review, and also stop on by my profile for a next story poll. I have a bunch of summaries that I like to write up from time to time, so check it out if that's your thing!