AN: Sorry for the wait, I got a case of I'maslowfuckingwriter-itis… And considering my habits, it's unlikely to improve in the future… Oh well…
Thanks to Sydney for Beta-ing this chapter! Also thanks to FiftyThree for unfucking my German.
Slade01: Holy shit did ya just drop your term paper here accidentally? Jkjk.
But yeah, I definitely can see where you're coming from – once you take off those isekai glasses/protagonist-centered morality, Naofumi's (and many others') actions are seriously questionable, regardless of how desperate he was. Though I can't say much because both spoilers and that I only have very vague plans past arc 1, I can say for certain that Luther will not be joining Naofumi as a slave, because he's a true Red, White, and Blue American who abhors the very idea of slavery, and he's had his fill of oppression, especially from first-hand experiences from the Nazis and the Japanese.
hollandia1103: Neat! Nice to know my fic connects to your real life past! Have a good one, and see you in the next review! (^_^)b
ENSLAVEMENT ARC PART IV: «L'esprit est une énigme horrible...»
"Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else." - O'Brien, Nineteen-Eighty-Four by George Orwell
EM3UKWBALBDRUCK QPRKK TSNOJ FKSTQ AIHP – der 31. Juni 1969
It was an almost wonderful day. Almost, but not quite.
Lord Idol Perseo Claudius Rabier, the Earl of Rabier Manor and Steward of Aultcrayville-Upon-The-Warcrepth – though he preferred the much humbler moniker of Lord Idol Rabier for most occasions – wandered about the expansive halls of his manor. A lesser man would have waxed poetic about the fortune of his circumstances; but as a modest Lord of Melromarc, by right of blood and the Godly faith, he firmly knew his place in this world, and needed not say more.
Lordly status did come with lordly duties, and all the privileges his station afforded had a price – but thankfully, there were relatively few on this fine day, thus he had more time to indulge, as was his right.
But, nothing could be perfect as long as man walked this Earth, thus there was just one damned thing getting in the way of his enjoyment:
The heat.
It was suffocating – excruciating, to an almost supernatural degree. Melromarc was a more southerly realm than most, so a hot summer could have been reasonably expected, but the persistent feeling of being wiped with a boiling wet rag by the sheer humidity was just absurd for the climate. The climate played more to the tune of the leafy, monster-infested jungles of the barbaric far south.
I should have ordered more saltpeter when I had the opportunity… He grumbled as he broiled in his suit.
Alas, it was just the way of things. For every boon given by the Three Heroes, the Shield Devil played his apeish paw. It was how the world kept its balance, and Idol knew he had to accept it, for no man, not even a king, could affect the whims of God.
At the very least, there was little to think about on this day; it would have been impossible otherwise, going through his ledgers with such overbearing distractions.
So, what was there for him to do?…
Perhaps have fun with his servants in the "privy"? Hm… Well… He could always do that another time, those feral beasts weren't going anywhere. Besides, one of them spoiled his appetite, so only a marginal enjoyment could be derived from it…
Perhaps try a glass or two of wine from the cellar? If the heat hadn't already spoiled all of his damned wine stock that is…
What else?... What else?...
That question kept the Lord's mind occupied, as he circled around one of his manor's many corners. These thoughts kept him so distant from the world that he hadn't heard the clicking and clanking of armor swiftly approaching from behind.
"Mein Her–"
"Gah!" Idol nearly leaped from his breeches. He turned to glare at the insolent who dared to disturb his peace, only to find one of his guards standing at attention, "Dont… Do that ever again!..." He squawked with indignance.
He blew out a huff, and tried to still his beating heart. The armored lackwit nearly squandered a decade of his Lord's time in the living world; there better have been a good reason…
"Apologies, My Lord!" The guard was quick to bow – at least the fool knew his place.
Lord Rabier studied the man: He was well-fed, on the heavier side of things, denoting noble or high merchant origins. Or perhaps, the bloat came from Idol's coin, for he was a prosperous lord who was generous with sharing his wealth with his men.
The face, though, was quite familiar, but for the life of him, he could pin down a name. It was strange, he usually knew the names of all of his guards, since frequently, they were his only human companions between social calls. How could one have an enlightened conversation with a commoner, or even worse, a demihuman?
Well… it might come back to him eventually…
"–The dungeon."
Huh?
Oh wait, the guard was flapping his lips this entire time. Idol shook himself out of his thoughts, "Repeat that again."
"Of course, My Lord," The guard bowed again, "…One of the animals–" He spat out the world with the due amount of disgust, as should be afforded to such evil and wretched beings. Idol's opinion of the man immediately soared, "–tried to escape from confinement in the dungeons."
"So what? The crest will take care of it. I have hundreds more…" Idol unconsciously twirled his half-mustache, but that damned guard's name still eluded him "Ack! Can't bloody think in this heat! Guard, tell me your name so that I may remember it."
"Hans, My Lord, of the Knightly House of S–"
"Yeah, yeah, Hans will do. Now, off with you…" Idol flippantly dismissed the guard with a wave, not caring to learn any more. His patience was running thin as it was…
Yet the guard still stood around like a lost dog, looking at him with a nervous twist to his features.
Click-click-click-click… Click-click-click-click… Click-click-click-click…
Then, the guard started absent-mindedly tapping his fingers down on his armored chauses…
Idol had enough.
He gritted his teeth, "Come on, out with it." And motioned the guard to speak.
"It… It was the White Kitsune that tried to escape, M-My Lord,"
"The White Kitsune, you say?..." Idol just barely managed to bite out. A new, flaming fury bloomed in his chest at the mention of his latest thorn; only seemingly intensified by the heat. Sweat fell upon his brow, and his face grew more sanguine by the second. He clenched his fist, holding himself from letting his wrath out on the guard.
"…" The guard nodded, shuddering as if he had just swallowed a lemon.
"Take me to the dungeons, NOW!" He snarled.
How dare– HOW DARE that snivelling little shit–!
…
As the guard led Idol through the winding halls of his ornately decorated mansion, his temper merely cooled down to red-hot – simmering, instead of violently boiling the lid off the pot.
That skinny little ill-bred whoreson was a Heroes-damned waste of my rightful coin – Damn you all the way to Siltvelt, Beloukas! He snarled to himself. When he had paid an unholy amount of gold to procure a rare White Kitsune, Idol expected a compliant pet that would make him the envy of all honorable masters across the land.
Instead… he was given a beast far more stubborn than even the mangiest filolial!
…No, not a beast – A demon. A taunting devil that dared to mock his noble self, even as his faithful whip, which had served him for decades in service against the barbarian horde, cut into its flesh. Even the slave crest's punishment spell, the most potent tool for discipline afforded to each master, failed to cow this fiend!
How in the bloody hell did it resist the crest? It was supposed to be impossibly painful, breaking the will of even the most hardened of beings!
He honestly could not find any other explanation – it was an imp sent to torment him… A plague on his Godly quest to punish the inferior beastrace for their wickedness against der Rasse– the human race, against the faith, and against Good King Aultcray!
To think such misfortune would be pushed upon him… It…
It made him absolutely furious!
Rrraaagh! He silently growled, holding back from making noises unbefitting for a lord.
In blind rage, he moved to strike something, anything! But his wits caught up with him at the last moment. He stopped his fist before he broke his fingers against the stone wall.
Get a hold of yourself, Idol! Idol shook his head, forcing himself to take a deep breath, Stop letting it rule your thoughts… Its punishment will come soon enough…
…And with that turn, what was once incandescent rage quickly fluttered to giddiness. Idol was the sort of man to take pleasure in his work, after all – what good man wouldn't in fulfilling their duty to the Three Heroes?
"Just you wait, Luther…"He muttered, naming the demon. The queer Shieldfreedenite name tasted like iron on his tongue, "Oh wait and see what I have in store for you…"
…
The wrought iron entrance was dead ahead. It was a beautiful yet harsh sight for what it was, sharp and biting with harsh corners yet intricate like a flower – Idol commissioned it himself all those years ago. The familiar sight gave Idol a dreamlike flutter in his gut – a pleasurable anticipation from pavlovian reinforcement by the sight.
The thought of that demon's screams and cries… how delectable they might sound… Idol couldn't wait.
He rushed forward, pulling and dragging Hans behind him in his ravenous haste. Seconds later, they skidded to a halt in front of the door, and through Idol's incessant prodding, Hans tried to fumble through his keychain, looking for the right one before he was set to chains himself.
As Idol watched the guard's incompetence in action, an odd gilded glamor tickled the corner of his eye, pulling his attention away. An odd, unfamiliar decoration sat upon the end of the hall – Idol swore it wasn't there mere seconds earlier.
A large eagle, wings spread out and cast in gold, looked ahead in grim determination, but also with haughtiness – proudly displaying its superiority to its lessers. In its talons with a death grip, an intricate golden surrounded itself around a strange, blocky symbol.
Four legs jutted out from its center, bent at the knee in a perfect right angle – blacker than midnight on a circle of white upon a field of bloody crimson. Idol had seen this symbol before, but from where?
Faint memories of the grand tour he took upon in his youth – a right of passage for all young nobles of means – creeped to the forefront. A similar symbol was painted all over the heathen temples of Q'ten Lo… but a twinge in his heart told him there was something more…
He squinted. In bold, pitch lettering upon the wreath, wrote:
Vorwärts zum Sieg!
How odd… He would have certainly remembered such an ornate gift, but it seemed today his memory insisted on failing him. Perhaps it was this damned heat putting him in a tizzy.
Click. The lock finally surrendered to Hans' fumbling ministrations.
Eh… No matter… He didn't have time to think about something so trivial as a decoration, there was a disobedient animal to punish. Idol followed his bumbling fool of a guard down the twisting, dusty, and dark stairs with a grin on his face.
Yet… no matter how much he tried to keep his mind focused on a singular mission, something about this was just… wrong. There were just these little things that nagged him…
Like, for example, his mysterious guard's name, Hans of house S-something. What in the four hells was a "Hans"? It certainly wasn't a knightly Melromarc name like Idol, Aelfwyne, Aultcray, or Biscas…
…more like something a witless commoner with a lisp would spit out for their twelfth son after a barrel of ale. And that inscription on the decoration didn't look like any language he'd ever seen. Whatever this was, it was like he was out of focus with the world, and someone else was filling in the details.
Was this a dream? He couldn't bloody tell, but it certainly felt like it.
At the foot of the steps, another gate, this time far less ornate. He had it installed as a security measure, just in case; his slaves could never hurt him, but a healthy paranoia was a defining trait for lords who wish to live to see their hair turn grey.
Click–Clack!
Hans, thankfully, was much quicker to unlock it this time; the guard took a lit torch, they both ventured into the deepest, darkest parts of the dungeon, where Idol liked to store his favorites. Memories flooded in on one such plaything… a little raccoon girl, Raphtalia was her name.
Her screams were so beautiful, like music to his ears… but one day, she stopped reacting altogether… and Idol got bored of her. So, he sold her back to Beloukas. Idol very much regretted letting her go from his grasp; so foolish was he, thinking that this damned demon would serve as a suitable replacement.
Bah!
He was almost there now. And that boy… he will either break or die by the day's end! Idol swore by it.
Idol followed around yet another turn in the labyrinthine dungeon, and there it was – the furthest chamber. It was almost pitch black, only lit by the tiny barred windows near the ceiling, but as he crossed the final gate, the torches on the wall lit up by themselves…
…Huh? Idol didn't remember buying any enchanted torches… strange.
Idol looked back, finding that the guard hadn't followed him in– Wait…
Where in the four hells was Hans!?
"Guard?"
No response, but the stuffy, humid breeze from outside…
A chill went down Idol's spine,
"Guard!?" He barked, "Hans!?"
Idol stepped back to the chamber's entrance, and peered down both ends of the dark brick corridor. Not a single sign of life – not even a little rat scampering around as they usually did…
In a final vain attempt, "Guard! Come to me at once!"
…
Ah… Hells… It seemed Hans vanished into thin air while Idol wasn't looking… damned halfwit coward! What's the worst a little beastling could do? Claw at you?… Peh!
The torch flickered; shorter than the blink of an eye, yet Idol caught a shadow appearing, peering through the bars of the far cell – the boy's cell. Bells rang above, almost too faint to hear – so dark in here, yet it told midday was near.
Something evil was here. Here!
"Ah… It zeems ve have a vizitor…" A baritone voice, thickly laced with a Shieldfreedenite accent, but he couldn't for the life of him place which tiny statelet of the patchwork Kleinstaaterei the dialect originated… It was ethereal, alien, yet all the too familiar – as if it had always came from his own mouth, "Are you looking for zomeone?..."
Idol looked back, there was no boy to be found – the shadow was a man grown, brown of hair, and firmly out of place.
The man was far, far too clean considering the dingy surroundings – nary a speck of dirt on that strange, white smock he wore over a grey tailored waistcoat with a long, thin, red cravat. The gauntness of his face and the wiry build befitted that of a starving peasant, yet he was well groomed with parted, combed hair and held himself like nobility. The man was a standing contradiction.
But worst of all were his eyes – Idol couldn't bear their piercing glare. Behind those dark brown, almost black irises, a yawning, hungry void tried to pull him in. He looked at him like a wolf would do as it cornered the fattest pig in the pen.
"W-who are you…?" Their eyes met only for the briefest second, but that was enough for the man's thin lips to pull into a face splitting smile.
"You do not know who I am… but, you do know who made me," The man spoke with a serpent's tongue, "Zere is much common ground to be found betveen us regarding him."
"Tell me your name!" Idol ordered with fleeting bluster, before the man's malevolent gaze cowed him once again.
"…Patienze, dear Master… Ve have zo much to show you…"
Then, a gust of air carried dust straight to Idol's face, triggering a coughing fit. Seconds later, he recovered, but the instant he looked back at the cell, it was completely empty. The man was gone… and the dungeon was deathly quiet…
Clang! The chamber's entrance slammed shut.
"No… No! No! NO!" Idol ran and desperately tried to pry the gate open.
Click–Clack! Click–Clack! Click–Clack!
The panicked sound of metal crashing on metal, neither giving way. The rapid thumping of Idol's heart beat a manic drum.
"NO! GUARD!" Idol shouted, but the walls themselves seemed to absorb the sound, "GUARDS! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!"
He felt oh so dizzy – his breath getting shallower as the world twisted and turned. He couldn't breathe… He couldn't breathe!
His heart's pace reached a fever pitch before suddenly…
Ack!...
He clutched his chest – a stabbing pain…
No… Not now… He lost his balance, Not now… Not like father! Please!
The world tilted lower and lower, the wind blew against his back…
No! I don't want to go! I don't…
Hands… He felt hands crash upon his back, preventing him from falling any further…
"Mein Herr…" Something called out – warbled and washed out…
"Is… this it?…" Idol wheezed as the world grew brighter and brighter… Am I going to paradise?...
As quickly as it came, the pain left… but he was still alive. Idol forced himself to regain his balance, and squinted his eyes, trying to get used to the harsh, white light.
"Mein Herr! Are you okay?" He called out again much clearer. It was Hans.
Myne… hair?
"What… did you call me?..." Idol croaked.
"Thank goodness, you're alive!" Hans cheered.
"Guard, where in the damned hells am I?"
Idol looked around, this wasn't his dungeon, and it certainly wasn't his manor. The walls were made of a strange sort of flat tile, and the plaster was painted white and impossibly smooth. The floor was made of wax-like square pieces, with a smattering of uniform grey splotches, and the air smelled harsh and bitter.
Portraits upon portraits hung on the walls, equidistant from each other, all depicting the same man from different angles – all of them had no color, and were far too life-like to be ever painted by hand. Some part of Idol knew this man… His thinning grey undercut, the square mustache clinging onto his lip…
…That same, somehow, was afraid of what this man stood for.
And on each portrait, there was the same bolded lettering from the eagle:
Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Führer!
Vorwärts zum Sieg!
Unser Führer, Adolf Hitler
It was wrong… It was so, so wrong.
This didn't belong here… not here…
Idol's mind revolted, unable to understand what was in front of him, yet understood all the same. He remembered this… but it was not his.
He turned to the guard, who now had that same damned smile on his face. He wasn't wearing his issued armor anymore; he wore a foreign black doublet – a uniform of some kind, tightly tailored across his corpulent frame, with badges and honors all pinned at his left breast. Upon his collar were two pairs of steel lightning bolts… and on his upper arm, on a white circle on a red band… that same hooked cross from before…
Das Hakenkreuz, a mind not his own informed.
Who is this man? Who…
"... are you?" Escaped Idol's lips.
The thing stood still…
"What are you!?"
Idol lost control… something else took his body, and forced him to smile. A primal fear went down his spine at Hans' gaze, somehow even more savagely terrifying than the man in the cell…
"Kuno… It's me, Hans," The thing said in a gentle tone, "Don't you remember?..."
No! His mind screamed.
Nie! Someone else…
"Ja." His mouth whispered…
His body blinked – he was back in the wood… those same damned woods where his father–
–Wait, back? Idol hadn't a clue where this place was…
The thing was much younger now, skinnier, and with fewer ornaments on the uniform. But his eyes looked no less hungry. Behind him, a humble cabin stood, where men in similar uniforms dragged a man away from a mother and child…
That child looked familiar…
"It is good…" Somehow, the thing's smile grew even wider.
Bang!
The sound of thunder; Idol flinched. A small stream of blood flowed towards him across the muddied ground, originating between the thing's boots.
"…To see you again." The thing, savage and monstrous, bared razor-sharp teeth; its features contorting to be not just inhuman, but purely demonic; Idol trembled at the frightening sight, "So… gut."
But, strangely, that fear – primal, not unlike a child's fear of the dark – quickly gave way to a torrent flame. A flame that went from a flintish spark to a wildfire in seconds – a roaring inferno of unbridled, unadulterated rage… frothing, rabid, and uncontrollable rage.
"You…" A voice not his own escaped Idol's lips.
And that rage… it cut deep and it cut bluntly. It was not a gentle rage, which snipped at his heart, it was a sharpened rake, tearing through his viscera, leaving nothing intact in devastation. Tears rolled down his chubby – no…no… his gaunt cheeks… drop by drop, washing the carpet of mired leaves atop the muddied ground.
"You killed Tata!" The voice… a child's voice…
Luther's voice.
"Ty chuju jebany!" Idol's body catapulted forward in an incredible burst of speed. A renewed youthful vigor, something he'd missed for so long, defined his deft movements… Yet, these feelings were not his. This body wasn't his.
Whose was it?
Faint cracks in the world's tapestry formed at the corner of his eye, ripping and healing by the second.
Bang! Bang!
Idol's eyes snapped forward.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Things, insect-like pests, buzzed around his head each time thunder cracked, but this body dodged and twisted in its mad dash.
He was almost there. The thing's neck was within arm's reach… but then, a faint prick on the back of his neck. It didn't even sting… more of a flea bite…
huh…
Idol's face was pressed against the ground now. How did that happen?...
The floor… the laminate tiled floor… it was so shiny… so shiny….
A man – the same man in the white coat – stepped over Idol, hand holding a weird clear tube with a needle. He was scary… very scary.
Idol couldn't move – his limbs were jelly. He couldn't speak – his tongue was a club. He could only watch and listen.
Below him, the tiles showed a reflection that wasn't him; it was that of a child, eerily similar to the damned boy sans the ears and tail – Human. The boy's hair was brown, instead of white… the same brown as the man, and his eyes a deep dark brown.
The boy didn't dare meet Idol's curious gaze – he was crying.
»Du bist gerade rechtzeitig, Kuno!« The thing greeted the man in a strange, barbaric tongue, casually leaning against a wall. But, he conspicuously kept his hands from dirtying the many posters hung up on the wall – especially the ones with the face of that man.
»Es scheint mir, dass Luther verzweifelt geworden ist, seitdem er solch eine... fragwürdige Gestalt herreingelasen hat…« The man huffed, replying to the thing's "friendly" greeting with a measured tone.
»Ja, ich weiß!« The thing boisterously responded, the lackluster response only fueling his cheerful enthusiasm, »Guck dir das erbärmliche Ding an... 'S ist in eigenes Wollust verloren, wenig besser als ein Jude. Sogar Scheiße-verfickend Dirlewanger hat in der Nähe Kinder mehr Selbstbeherrschung!«
Somehow, Idol felt deeply offended by those words, even if he didn't understand them…
The man shrugged, »Äh... Na… Es könnte für unsere Zwecken zumindest als ein nützliches Fahrzeug dienen…«
»Ja... für unser'n Sieg…« A smirk graced the thing's lips. A faint, electric sensation tickled its way down Idol's spine at that – the boy seemed to stiffen in place, gritting his teeth.
»Zum Sieg!«
They both raised their hands, holding invisible glasses for a toast. The sensation grew and grew by the second, concentrating right over Idol's chest in a painful mass. The boy's eyes jolted all over the place, panicking as gloved hands crawled out from the light and constricted his throat.
Words grew in Idol's throat against his will. He tried to hold them back, but in a stray breath–
»Sieg Heil«
The boy flinched, as if he had been struck by lightning. Everything in Idol's body ached in shooting pain, but his body refused to stop.
»Sieg Heil« The thing and the man joined him, both staring down at Idol's pleading eyes with sadistic simpering.
»Sieg Heil« Idol's throat burned, his body burned. The boy shouted helplessly to the deaf heavens.
»Sieg Heil!«
»Sieg Heil!«
»Sieg Heil!«
Madness. It was pure madness.
»Sieg Heil!«
Hundreds of voices…
»Sieg Heil!«
Thousands…
»SIEG HEIL!«
Millions, all at once, shouting for their own damnation. Cheering for it, even as the lies of a mad serpent sent their children straight to its maw.
»SIEG HEIL!«
»SIEG HEIL!«
»SIEG HEIL!«
The boy screamed – Idol screamed too.
How could you have let this happen!?
Why, Luther!? WHY!?
He screamed and screamed, even as his body was torched and charred in eternal hellfire.
EM3UKWBALBDRUCK QPRNH BERWA OVINX NZTO – der 31. Juni 1969
"By the Thrice-Damned Shield Devil!" Idol bellowed, nearly falling off the side of his bed.
He tried to calm his strongly beating heart, taking in wheezing, shuddering breaths. He was back in his chambers – he wasn't there anymore, whatever there was…
…A nightmare… It's just a nightmare…
As he moved, he cringed at the feeling of his silk nightgown sticking to his skin, he was slick with sweat as cold as ice. A rush of relief flowed through his veins as the memories of his nonsensical torment flew out of his reach… He couldn't even recall what distressed him so.
Only a black and red symbol remained in the back of his mind, without reason or context.
An ill omen, perhaps?
Still, a pressing uneasiness remained in his mind…
Perhaps I should consult Father Aethelwulf… Or possibly, he hadn't been diligent enough in his faith?
Bah! Questions for another time!
And right on time –
Creeeeak…
"M-Mi'lord?..." A shivering maid peeked into the room, scared out of her wits. She was young – a small slip of a girl – and clearly inexperienced, but she was all that Idol had for now; a temporary assignment until Eunice recovered from her flux.
…Don't even know her bloody name… huh…
"Milord?... Are you we?–" She repeated, shrinking behind the door frame.
"I'm fine! Heard you the first time…" Idol quickly dismissed with his nose stuck up. Even still, she was but a mere maid, nothing worth occupying his thoughts, "…The damn nightmares are getting worse…"
Did the little beast cast a hex on me? He idly wondered. I should've let that thing starve so it would bugger off from my head… Fucking waste of gold…
And speaking of waste, this time of time… the maid still cowered in the hall, not daring to enter her lord's chamber…
"Well?..." Idol's face twisted unpleasantly, "The hell am I paying you for? Get me ready!"
Now sufficiently motivated, the maid leapt into the room like a terrified hare. Quickly, she skittered back and forth, retrieving the components of his daily habit with haste. But, there was one thing that the lord noticed – that she was absent-mindedly carrying an envelope.
The paper looked too good to be addressed to someone of her station… So, when she came back to set his clothes across his bed–
"Give me that!" He barked, yanking it out of her hand without warning.
Hmm… It only took one look for him to recognize the seal – a chill tingled down his spine… Ah, hells…
The maid, meanwhile, eyed him like a doe to a spearpoint – frozen in place from fright. Idol grumbled, "Come on, you stupid girl, the letter opener! Do you expect me to open royal correspondence with my Heroes-damned teeth?"
He gave her a slight push – not enough to trip her, but enough so that she would start moving. Quickly – still a few seconds too late in Idol's opinion – She ran off to his study to retrieve said opener, almost falling flat on her face when fleeing out of his room.
Oh why you curse me so with such indolent servants…
A minute later, she rushed back in, producing the requested item. Idol, now thoroughly out of patience, snatched it out of her palm, and heated it over a nearby candle. Carefully, he used it to separate the wax from the paper – damaging the royal seal brought ill fortune to the receiver… at least, that was what many believed here in Melromarc and Siltvelt.
Idol was in no mood to be testing fate right now; he gently placed the half-melted seal onto a bedside tray and unfolded the letter.
Swiftly, he deciphered the intricate, yet precise calligraphy, starting from the salutation:
To His Lordship, Idol Perseo Claudius Rabier, Earl of Rabier Manor and Steward of Aultcrayville-Upon-The-Warcrepth,
You are hereby summoned to court…
Against Idol's volition, his tired eyes started drifting over the words from their sheer verbosity. But, Idol's mind could piece the overall tone and message from the rather… inflammatory wording.
The queen was far from pleased with him.
…I expect your presence and response post haste,
Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mirellia Quartilla, of the Royal House Melromarc, First of Her Name, Sovereign of the Realm, Defender of the Faith.
Oh piss on my grave! That 13-gold brat really did curse me! He clenched his fists, almost crumpling the paper. How am I going to explain all this!?
Well… might as well dress as best as he could, and pray to the heroes that could salvage this. He turned to the maid, who seemed to be mere seconds from soiling herself.
"…Bring me my formal doublet," Gone was the fire from his tone…
Only a numb coldness remained.
EM3UKWBALBDRUCK QPRCT KEBQB RYSOQ – der 31. Juni 1969
"Say what you will about Guevara and Castro, at least they kept the Krauts out of Cuba – Commie or not, they're good in my book!" A muffled voice from the other side of this wall…
Luther rubbed his temple in a vain attempt to nurse this damned migraine. Slowly, as the pain subsided, he ran his fingers through his hair… Something was missing…
Opening his eyes, the twin tails that he had just gotten used to having were suddenly gone, and so were his ears.
What in the hell?... Where am I?...
"Oh, you're just saying that… Hack! Cough–cough–cough!... Because you like their damned cigars…"
Mama?
Luther opened his eyes. Those old wartime posters on the wall… the everpresent sheep-stink left on every surface…
"That too…" A slight chuckle from the first voice.
"Uncle! Uncle! Turn the Television on! The Moon Landing's coming any minute now!" A third voice joined them… his own…
No… It couldn't be…
He was back… but, how?… when?
Luther forced himself onto his feet, restraining the urge to vomit with an iron grip. He tiptoed around the room, straight to the door.
"Alright, alright…"
Gingerly, he twisted the rusted door knob and pushed. The door gave a painful screech as gravity slowly opened it into the hallway…
"...Channel 3… I think…" But from Uncle Judah's mutterings, it seemed they were none the wiser.
Door's crooked… Just like I remember…
Stepping out, he gently sussed out the quiet parts of the creaky floor from his memories of taking the cookie jar. He stuck near the right wall, where the floor was more supported by the beams.
A dim, black and white light flicked from the other end of the hall; it was dark out, from what he could see from the thickly covered windows. A glance left, to the corkboard hung right outside the master bedroom.
The calendar sat pinned, most of the days crossed out in red marker up to one:
November 21st, 1959
It was a momentous day, of great achievement – where mankind broke from its cradle and set foot onto the moon. But, it was also a day of great tragedy, at least for Luther. It was also the day that the Lord finally took his mother away, after fighting for so long…
A faint pang of regret hit Luther's heart, reminding him that the scars there were still not fully healed, and probably never will be. There really wasn't anything he could have done – his mother's fate had been sealed a decade prior…
…When they had poisoned her on that fucking mission in occupied Hawaii.
It was a nasty weapon, that virus… The files leaked from Unit 731 called it Project Onryou. It was engineered to be indistinguishable from acute radiation sickness, and with the help of magic, it also had an extraordinarily long incubation period. Nine years, in his mother's case.
Luther knew why those bastards made it. They wanted revenge for the 17 MDs detonated across the archipelago, rendering many of their cities uninhabitable. Yet, even with magic, they still couldn't take down or compete with the American titan, so they took the coward's way out.
They threw it at innocent civilians, and it spread like wildfire. But the symptoms didn't show until years after the ink was dry on the Treaty of Linz. There were some, like his mother, whom they specifically targeted, but most of it rubbed off on to the most vulnerable – the young and the elderly.
Luther had seen it himself: Before the summer break of '59, Arlington Academy was full of cheering students, babbling about their summer plans. Then, when he came back from break, the classroom was dead silent and half the desks were empty.
Friends… Family… Teachers… Loved Ones… The plague didn't discriminate.
3 million souls taken before their time, and that was in America alone. God knows what it did in Australia, the East Indies, or China…
And the worst thing of all, by the time the COI figured out the true cause five years later, it had vanished off the face of the earth. The only evidence left was those documents and the polished gravestones with names of children.
Fuck…
To be so young… and lose your friends and family… He'd never forgive them for that.
Entering the living room, Luther quietly took a seat on a stool. They still didn't notice him.
The three all sat upon an old, large couch, huddled together. Uncle Judah leaned back, a glass of whiskey in hand. Luther's mother – a frail, hairless woman who didn't weigh over 90 pounds soaking wet – shivered at the nonexistent cold. And a small 12 year old child… his younger self, fidgeting with a glowing rock as he sat on the couch's arm, eyes glued to the small screen in anticipation.
Then, the advertisement cut away as a graphic displaying "Race to the Moon" showed over the familiar voice of Douglas Edwards:
"And a very good evening to everyone from coast to coast… You might have noticed that our broadcast is a few hours later than usual. We here at CBS have gotten word from the Allied Committee on Cosmonautics that Freedom IV is due to land at any moment. Soon enough, our cosmonauts are going to walk on the moon…"
Immediately after the announcement, an anxiousness seeped throughout the room. The child, meanwhile, leapt forward and practically sat nose-to-screen.
It was incredible what humanity had done. A mere five years ago, space seemed so far away except in the most outlandish of science fiction tales, and magic was deemed impossible, nothing but sleight of hand tricks…
Oh, how times have changed!
Thanks to the many breakthroughs made in such a short time in fields not limited to rocketry, physics, and computational thaumatology, mankind wasn't crawling out of its cradle to the stars, it was leaping.
It was just a shame that the Nazis tried to covet those achievements for themselves…
"… The footage is to be simultaneously broadcasted on the Runic Network and on Standard Television. Meanwhile, German broadcasts claim that their own mission, Triumph VI, is due to land as well. It has not been confirmed by the ACC whether our lander or theirs is closer to the ground at this time…"
Sighing, Uncle Judah put down his drink and got up, "C'mon Luther…" The boy gave a yelp as he was pulled back by his shirt, "You're blocking your mother's view…"
"Sorry!"
His mother clicked her tongue, "Judah, let the boy go, he's fine…" She wheezed before succumbing to yet another coughing fit. Neither Judah nor the child noticed, but when she pulled the handkerchief from her mouth, it was stained red.
"'Aight den…" Judah shrugged, returning to his seat. Meanwhile, Luther crawled across the floor at a snail's pace, inching closer and closer to the television screen.
"…And now, I bring you Michael Collins and Ed Dwight, two great American men about to make history."
The broadcast, after a brief second of blackness and silence, cut to the interior of the lunar lander. On the screen were the helmets of the astronauts, still showing their faces as the reflective visors weren't pulled down yet. Considering the gravity of the mission, both were surprisingly young, being only 29 and 26 respectively.
Yet, it was the people behind those helmets that were more important. It showed the unity of the American people against the Nazi menace, regardless of what color their skin was; a black man and a white man were shown as equals in this auspicious moment in history, demonstrating that the race doctrines of Der Partei were complete and utter bullshit.
It shouted to the world the all-American creed: "All men are created equal!"
This, as Luther would later find out, was at the behest of the late President Joseph McCarthy, a hardcore anti-fascist from the war, the Black-and-Yellow scares, and the countless scandals of the late 40's/early 50's.
In his final years, he only grew more entrenched in his beliefs. One of his final acts in office before his sudden passing from hepatitis was signing the Civil Rights Act of 1957, putting Jim Crow to pasture… for most places at least. Then, soon after, he publicly affirmed the decision made by the supreme court in Milk v. City of San Francisco, declaring that all "Sodomy Laws" were unconstitutional.
Luther specifically mentioned that latter one because… well… If Uncle Judah was born in Germany, he would have been forced to wear that damned pink triangle.
That wasn't to say that McCarthy didn't have his flaws; his war on drugs was an absolute disaster from the get-go, and the less said on how he treated student protestors, especially the socialist ones, the better. Regardless, though, in Luther's honest opinion, he was the best damned president since Lincoln, and one of the few around who had the balls to stick it to that failed chicken farmer Himmler.
"Landing in T-minus 5… 4…" Mission Commander Collin's voice sounded through the radio, bringing Luther back to the screen, " 3… 2… 1…"
The camera jolted a slight bit – Luther saw his younger self tense at that…
Then…
"Engine arm is off… Miami, Serenity Base here. The Eagle has landed. I repeat, The Eagle has land–"
"Whoo!" The child jumped and cheered.
Uncle Judah, meanwhile, fished a party popper from between the couch cushion and let it blow, spraying confetti all over the living room. Then, Luther turned his attention to his mother, who settled on giving a brilliant smile, her happiest one in years… even as she stuffed the bloody handkerchief into her pocket.
Luther felt something wet on his face, and he couldn't help it – a smile tugged on his lips as well.
Eventually, though, the child's understandably excessive celebrations died down enough that Luther could hear what the Cosmonauts were saying…
"...Now back on Earth, Me and Ed had Buzz flip a coin on who would walk first…" Collins looked to the man on his right with a beaming smile, "...Ed, would you do them the honor?"
"Gladly, Sir…" Dwight said with a slight chuckle, flicking down the reflective visor.
"Come on, Ed, I work for a living…" Collins quipped
Right as the cosmonaut unlatched himself from the seat, the broadcast switched to a view out on the lander's exterior.
"Gladly, Mike." Dwight enunciated in good humor.
"That's the spirit!"
The camera, which happened to be mounted on one of the legs, was pointed towards the airlock. Between the rungs of the ladder, Earth could be seen in the background, floating among the stars. The child's eyes sparkled in pure fascination.
A few moments passed, filled in with beeps and idle conversation. But eventually, that outer door was opened, and Dwight could be seen crawling out, floating as if he were in a dream. Slowly, but surely, the cosmonaut made his way down the ladder.
Everyone in the room watched with rapt attention – history was in the making here…
Then, finally, Dwight let go, leaping two rungs and landing on the moon's surface, kicking up some dust along the way. He paused for a moment, turning his head towards the tiny Earth, taking in the sight…
"Won't you look at that… Everything we know and love, on that lil' blue marble… By God… It's beautiful…" He said in awe, firmly cementing himself in the annals of history for the rest of time.
A moment of silence overtook the room as the sheer grandness of the moment set in…
…Which was soon interrupted when Pete Conrad called in from the Columbia in lunar orbit:
"Hey Mike, get this…" Excitement laced his tone, "Just got a call from Mission control – we beat the Krauts by 17 seconds!"
"Heh! Well I'll be damned…" Collins muttered.
As his younger self tried to process those words, still caught up on the fact that humans were on the moon, his mother started muttering to herself, holding the cross around her neck with a death grip.
"Heh… Serves them bastards right…" Her eyes glazed over, staring at something not in the room… Her eyes started drifting shut, "…Andrzeju... Czy to Ty?"
Luther's breath hitched.
His younger self, ignorant of what was happening around him, burst into celebration over Conrad's words. They beat those damned Nazis to the Moon!
Uncle Judah was the first to notice that she was completely still, no longer breathing. He immediately rushed over to her body, drawing the child's attention. In slow motion, the child's joyful expression morphed into one of horror and pain…
And then, like an old engine just running out of gas, time itself shuddered to a halt, the world's color bleeding into black and white. Luther was deaf to the world, unable to hear anything but his own unwanted sobs.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Five…
He blinked.
Everyone stared at him, unblinking, manic smiles splitting their cheeks all the way to their scalp.
The smiles, they're too wide. Too wide! Their eyes pierced his soul in their madness. The madness – swirling pools of madness. Madness sucking him in! Trapping him!
It was too much!
IT WAS TOO LATE–
He turned on his heel and ran, and ran.
Turning the corner, he scrambled to the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, locking it, and blocking it with his body.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
It rattled, almost breaking off its hinges.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
…
…
…
It stopped… They were gone…
He was alone now, with his blissful silence. Silence was precious to him, since it was so rare with the voices.
Luther breathed a sigh of relief, and pulled himself upright, brushing the dust off his body.
Swish… Swish…
Glancing at the tub, he noticed that it was full, almost to the brim. But it didn't look like water… it was tinted red, and it moved like syrup…
A temptation… His body went on its knees against his will. Luther was forced to stare at his reflection…
Two reflections… They were smiling.
Why were they smiling?
Stop smiling!
STOP SMILING!
STOP IT! STOP IT!
"STOP! PLEASE STOP!"
STOP SMILING! STOP!
Needles under skin, smiling, mocking. They're gonna get him! Gonna get him!
They're gonna take over again!
Stop mocking me! I hate you!
You can't stop us!
You will be purged!
GET OUT OF OUR HEAD!
LEAVE!
And he couldn't do anything to stop it.
The needles, scratching, picking and poking. Under his skin, under his skull.
They were almost there, they were almost done… He was scared. He didn't want to go… not again, Please not again!
Mama… Tata…
His head was pulled into the tub–
EM3UKWBALBDRUCK QPRCB SSLQB RDYKM NZE – der 31. Juni 1969
Putrid water splashed onto his face. Luther jolted awake.
Pain… Laughter… His ribs hurt… The guards were laughing at him… smiling. They laughed and joked, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand what they were saying…
The walls were filthy, the floors covered in the dried blood and excrement of previous tenants, the bars thick and firm, but rusted to the core… It couldn't be… It couldn't be here…
No… Not here!
Desperately, he tried crawling back. The chains held him back but he didn't care, he just wanted to get out!
"Luther…"
It can't be! It's impossible!
His eyes snapped open, an older man held his shoulders. Luther scrambled away, holding his rail-thin body into an impossibly tight ball.
He died! I saw it! HE DIED!
"Luther, look at me." The man persisted.
He's dead! He's dead! This is a dream!
"Luther!"
Their eyes met… it felt too real to be a dream…
Luther reached out to touch the other's hand.
Flesh. And. Bone.
"Jesus wept…" The man shook his head
He was looking at a dead man walking…
"I told you, you shouldn't have tried that dream shit… Look at you, you're all freaked out now…"
James Robert Temple II died under Japanese confinement after a weapons shipment to the Viet Cong went wrong. That was a fact in Luther's mind – part of the certain bedrock that kept him in reality.
"Wh-where are we?..." Luther only just barely managed to gibber out.
"Malacca? Remember?" Jim sighed, "Nips ambushed us before we could get the guns to Uncle Ho."
Unless it was all a dream…
Unless…
It wasn't all a dream…
Was it?
Spells
[Project: [REDACTED] – unofficially known by COI mages as Dreamtapper or Mindfuck]
– Description: A highly dangerous, experimental runic spell developed by the COI, Project [REDACTED] is able to access and potentially manipulate the thoughts, intentions, personalities, and memories of a target through [REDACTED]. Currently, [REDACTED] and it is [REDACTED].
[-40 MP initial, -10 MP/min. rate]
– Source: Uncategorized, Runic-Enchantment Only
AN: Is this even a Shield Hero fic anymore... Eh, it has Idol and Rifana, so it technically counts! Don't worry, I won't drag this prologue arc forever, two more chapters! Hopefully, I'll be able to complete it before the protons start decaying... See ya next chapter!