Lute: Well look who decided to grace us with his presence. Have you been to busy, as you say, "wanking it to teh interwebz pr0n," to bother updating your story?
AdCon: You know, you're the ideal paragon for womahood, considering you're just a pretentious and condescending ice queen.
Lute: Why thank you for the kind words.
AdCon: Errmm...that wasn't a compli - nevermind. Anyways, for those wondering why I've taken my sweet time updating know that ALOT of shit is going on right now. So much so that the most I could do in the realm of writing was drop an occasional review.
Lute: Oh, so you weren't lax in your commitment and had circumstances out of your control barring you from updating? I've heard some pretty feeble excuses in my lifetime, but that has to be the most utter dogsh-
(AdCon has set Lute on mute)
AdCon: I'm back and can hopefully finish this story arc soon enough. Give or take, it'll last about another chapters after this one. I've been wrestling with the prospect of posting alternate endings in the same fashion of certain RPGs where the character can either have a good or evil conclusion such as Jade Empire and Knights of the Old Republic. So drop me some feedback on that idea and I'll see which way to go.
As for you, Lute, I'll unmute you and expect that you read the disclaimer without any snide commentary. If you fail this requisite, then I'm going to drop the almighty banhammer on your ass, considering I have mod status(not really) and you're only a regular poster.
Lute: AdCon doesn't own Fire Emblem or any of its characters. If he did it would be in some sort of alternate universe where he owned Namco as well as Intelligent Systems. If that were the case, he - undoubtedly, would've put Hector and Ashnard in Soul Calibur 4.
AdCon: One more thing folks - if the characters in my story start sound like Karl Marx, Heidegger, or Nietzche it's not necessarily my own opinion. I already have my mind made up on the issues of politics and don't intend to use this fanfic as my own soapbox.
Conquest of Elibe: Chapter 4
"Tyrants have always some slight shade of virtue; they support the laws before destroying them."
-Voltaire
Mark awoke from his stupor shortly after being tortured, he had been better, but at least he was alive as well as having his sanity in tact. The method of torture he was just subject was the most physically painful experience(He's passed a kidney stone at a early age) he'd ever endured. The guards put him only long enough to suffer minor wounds, but not long enough to outright kill him. The reason for doing this was most likely to show the domination they held over the tactician's head. How whether he lived or died were entirely their own whims.
He sat upright and discovered his extremities were covered by grotesque welts that would cause him major pain for the weeks to come. Most of all, his small toe had been forcefully ripped off, which resulted in him not being able to stand upright without tumbling backwards. He was relieved to know it had been tended to while he was incapacitated. Maybe some of these soldiers had remnants of humanity left in them.
Being unable to stand properly, the tactician sat down in a corner of his cell content to wait. He wondered what many of his former friends were doing then. Would they think any less of him if they witnessed his breakdown prior to his session with the crocodile tube(1)? Most of all, what was she doing? The woman he would of betrophed had fate permitted it?
"Bastilla(2)...," he muttered with the both tenderness and reverence. The woman he had determined to settle down with. She was a commoner but her serenity surpassed that of a monk who's spent years in ascetic meditation. Her beauty was something that seemed inspired of the cosmo in all their splendor, but most of all she comprehended or at least knew the tactician better than anyone who's had dealing with him.
Prior to his crusade against the Basilisk's Glance(3), he yearned - craved adventure for all his glory and knowledge, but by the end of his travels he was jaded of it all. Two years had Eliwood's Elite spent combating Nergal, thwarting him at every turn and their campaign proved successful. What Mark gained was not only knowledge, but also maturity barring his relatively young age. Though it was only a few years, it felt like a milenia to him. His desire was only to live a rural lifestyle away from the fires of war and free from the stench of politics, maybe even have a big family and live the rest of his days as a nobody instead of the sought after superb mind.
In truth, he always had eyes for Lyn, but he doubted if Lyn ever had eyes for him. He could hardly blame her, he did, after all, have certain flaws that placed wedges in between them. She was noble both in blood and action. Always rushing to save others from trouble. He preferred the approach of biding time. She only thought of others while he was concerned with his own skin. He didn't see himself as uncaring or even selfish, but realistic. In the staff officer's mind, the world would be a much better place if people were less interloping. Very few would empathize with his outlook and wrote him off as a cynic and uncaring toward others.
The way he saw it, by taking on the problems of others unconditionally you deprived them of any mental or spiritual growth they would gain from solving their own dilemma. This was in sharp contrast to the chivalric idealism and Sacaen honor the lords maintained.
Indeed, he did recall a rather heated debate between himself and Hector.
--
"Say, uncle Canas, this book you gave me is really something," chirped Nino
While polishing his monocle and sporting quite a please grin, Canas replied with the same scholarly enthusiasm he showed when talking about anything to do with academics.
"Of course, little Nino, it's as I said, books open us too a whole new realm of possibility. I'd say it's like delving into a new world altogether. The worl...," Before he could contiue his lecture the sky filling the campsite reverberated with the sound of shouting Hector.
Striking the table with his gauntlet-clad fist and face glaring with anger, the young lord played the role of brute some of Eliwood's Elite wrote him off as.
"That's a load of molarchy, Mark, and you know it!"
Seeing that various members of their group were peaking in the command tent to investigate the cause of Hector's yelling, Mark determined he would neither be intimidated nor made to look like the bad guy.
"It is as I said, in order to defeat the Black Fang we need to divide their forces and give them free reign over some of the villages. This will give the delusion that we are too weak to intercept one contingent of their men, thus lulling them into a false sense of security. With that, we'll strike at the heart and watch the rest scatter."
"We're not talking chess pieces here, we're talking about human lives, you bastard1 Do you have any idea what those assassins will do to the townspeople once we decide let them do whatever the hell they want?!"
As though expecting this question to be prompted, Mark looked the young lord straight in the eyes before he rebutted.
"It behooves you, young lord, to know your enemy's capability. Once you underestimate them you're as good as defeated. Blind siding the Black Fang is integral toward victory and if we don't allow a few sacrifices to be made then how can be stand before Nergal when we're too cowardly to reconcile the fact we can't have everything both ways."
"Hector, perhaps we could make a compromise," implored Eliwood, doing his best to pacify his friend.
"No! I've had it up to here with this damn know-it-all. He treats us as like we're all expendable and on top of it all, he has no regard for human life!"
Hearing the murmurs of his troops outside, now it was Mark's turn to be upset not because it wasn't true but he couldn't be undermined in front those under his command.
"You, who wouldn't last a single battle at my helm, have the goal to question my authority? Lecture me when you've been in my position. Preach to me when you make life altering decisions. Educate me when you make choices that will that will either save or condemn thousands to their death, but do not look down on me or impugn my integrity when you're ignorant of all the above. That is why it ultimately falls on my shoulders to make decisions and you... to be nothing more than a grunt mindlessly swinging his axe."
Whether it was the condescending way he said it or just his pure arrogance was something Hector himself wasn't sure set him off, but before anyone there to witness that spectacle could realize it, Hector marched over to the tactician and delivered a punch powerful enough to send him crashing to the ground.
Prone on his back, the tactician raised his head, hand clasping his bloodied cheek, to see if the lord would strike again. The sight that greeted him was not an infuriated Hector aching with the desire to pound him to a bloody pulp. Standing in the same spot where he struck the tactician, the young Ostian lord stood there, clenching his fist, as firm and resolute as a rock column.
"Let that be a reminder, Mark, what we fight for. We fight for a continent free from Nergal's clutches. A world where its citizens do not fear death or oppression. If we achieve victory by sacrificing innocent people are we any better than Nergal himself"?
Not waiting for Mark to reply, Hector continued his train of thought.
"What right would we have to be these people's savior if we'd just turn around and throw them at wolves' paws when it suits us? No, the reason we're here is the opposite and even you know that, Mark. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't it make us hypocrites to parade purity when we show the same callousness as the enemy we claim to be morally superior to?"
Still unused to the clarity that had swept him, (And slightly annoyed by the looks he was getting) Hector hesitated before leaving the tent to gather his own thoughts.
Turning his head over his shoulder, Hector only glared at the tactician before concluding his rebuke.
"As that bruise remains on your cheek let it remind you of why we're doing what we do. You're not Nergal and should not use the same underhanded tactics to get what you want."
Whether it was the spirit of Roland himself speaking through Hector or a latent wisdom belonging solely to the most honorable rulers was anyone's guess, but one thing was for sure, Hector showed a side he never showed before. It made a firm impression on everyone there; Mark included.
This left everyone there, save a few people, absolutely dumbstruck. Silence as dead as the grave settled over the crowd there, the tactician decided to break the ice.
"Who would of known below that exterior of a gruff and dimwited brawler is a wise and benign ruler?" Mark said as he wearily rose to his to feet.
"And he's right, perhaps I should re access my strategy," smiled the strategist at the surprise of everyone there.
Else on the outskirts of the camp, a lone Ostian lord sat on a large and rotten tree stump, staring at and continually closing and openning the fist he used minutes before to strike the group's pretentious tactician. He failed the notice the presence of a petite falcoknight watching him from the side of tall oak tree.
He wondered why he went from the temperament of rage to clarity in such a spontaneous way. It was akin to a raging flame transmuting into a sickle of ice. It made no sense in his mind and why all of a sudden he chose now to lash out at the tactician despite all the other times he followed Mark with an uncertain conscious.
More importantly, would his older brother have frowned upon his earlier impulsive action or applauded him for sticking by his moral conviction? At this time he noticed someone was watching him from the shadows.
"If you have something to say then come out and say it, instead of skulking in the shadows!" He barked at the silhouette of this unknown person.
Florina, consistent with her timidness, let out an "eep" at being noticed and stood behind the tree only. Poking her head out, wondering if Hector was angry at her for not making herself known earlier, began to stammer an apology.
"I-I-I'm sorry for...uh...w-watching you, Lord Hector."
Realizing instantly who was this mystery person was, Hector mentally kicked himself for shouting at the young woman.
"That's alright. You don't need to apologize for being concerned. I did kinda go off on you when you didn't deserve it."
Seeing that she was still taking cover behind the tree, Hector decided to break the ice a little and invited her over to his current location. Several attempts later, Hector finally coaxed her into sitting next to him.
"You know, it makes it hard to talk to you when you're sitting practically half a mile away," Florina was trying her earnest to sit as far as possible from Hector due to slight intimidation she felt by all men, but nonetheless she scooted somewhat at his urging.
Mentally bracing herself for this moment, Florina decided to be the first to talk about what happened in the command tent earlier.
"Lord Hector...what you said to Mark earlier...do you really mean what you said?"
Without thinking his answer, the Ostian lord flatly said, "Somewhat, though I probably was looking for something to hold over Mark's head," looking Florina squarely in the eye he proceeded to continue opening up "Do you think I was wrong somehow?"
Florina found herself nervous under the mighty lord's scrutinous gaze. No, she willed that she wouldn't falter now.
"I think...," now she searched for the ideal way to phrase it, "...wrong to punch Mark, but right in what you said."
Turning away from the falcoknight and staring direct ahead at nothing in particular, Hector meditated on what Florina before he replied.
"Yeah, granted Mark can be an arrogant horse's ass sometimes, I suppose he didn't warrant that. Still, when words will not suffice, the best way to convey what you mean is with force. I have been doing alot of thinking lately, and wonder if I'm worthy of ruling Ostia. All my life, I've been breezing through, doing little thinking and following my own personal desires.
"That's not true, Lord Hector, you've been fighting for a better tomorrow!"
Hector was a little taken aback how forceful little Florina had been in her assertion.
"You really think so?"
"Yes. I believe that someday you rule Ostia, and its people will proud to have such a strong and self-sacrificing ruler."
"Florina," Hector said in almost monotone.
The falcoknight almost recoiled. She had talked out of place and was now about to endure one of Hector's infamous tirades.
"Thanks," was the only word she heard from Hector, spoken in such a smooth and calming manner that she was somewhat confused. Before she could inquire why he thanked her, she found that he wrapped one of his arms around her. She at first struggled to get free of his grasp but readily accepted the gesture of affection. She felt her heart begin to flutter and that the safest place in all the world was in the lord's loving embrace. She wanted to spent eternity with the man she loved, but instead settled for the rest the evening looking up at the stars that had inspired so many before them.
--
Mark's recollection was interrupted by the screams of some unfortunate soul subjected the torture chamber.
He did start to adopt a more interventionist approach after the experience with Eliwood's Elite, but still had a quantity of aloofness.
Irregardless, perhaps now wasn't the time to reminiscence about the past. Perhaps he should set his mind to the task of escaping this predicament.
He looked around his dreary cell and scoffed at the idea. His options and were few and his logical mind ruled out a number of them. All that remained were three alternatives: he'd either have to die, escape this prison(easier said than done), or appeal for amnesty from an Etrurian noble. The first one was out of the question since it defeated the purpose of wanting to flee. The second idea wasn't within the realm of possibility since he did lacked knowledge of the compound's layout, excluding the fact he possessed no means to even escape his cell. As for the third, where would he rendezvous with such a person? From what he could tell, they weren't hosting tea socials in any of the corresponding cells.
Mark, prior to dismissing the latter, realized he was acquainted with Lord Pent. Surely the Mage General himself would be able to grant him pardon, but even that seemed If only he could contact him somehow if only briefly. He'd have a number of things to say to the Mage General, none of which would be very boastful of Etrurian handling of their campaign.
On cue with train of thought, the jailer arrived to bring him his daily meal. She slided open a small grate cut-out of the cell's door to allow one to slide in a tray of food to the prisoner inside.
"Miss, I need you to do something for me," said Mark not at all hiding his urgentness.
The gendarmes looked up with a forlorn look still on her face.
"What is it?"
"I wish to speak this fort's captain."
"That is not possible," grimly replied the jailer before she stood up.
"Why not?"
"The captain does not see anyone without official business. You do not any with him, do you? Besides, it is against fort regulation."
"Then what is allowed?" Inquired Mark, clearly losing any bit of patience dealing with this witless guard.
"Better food, literature, and some recreation time if you can pay for it all."
"I lack the funds for any of those things. Your moronic soldiers purloined all my money!"
She shrugged and began to walk off. Mark watched as she exited the open doorway reached out to it as she closed it, frustration erupted as he cursed a blue-streak.
The next morning she returned to give the incarcerated tactician his breakfast of more moldy bread and fetid water. She noticed the man didn't speak a word to her and had her curiosity aroused.
"Is there a particular reason why you're pretending I'm not here?"
Mark still didn't answer his hostess.
"Brooding won't do anything except ravage your sanity in this...place," she implored clearly not wanting to deal with a loony inmate.
"I wish to petition the captain."
"I told you once already that could not be done. If you keep going on about that I'll have the soldiers tend to your discontent!"
"Hmm, maybe I'll be fortunate enough and they'll kill me."
What disturbed the jailer was not Mark's deathwish but how little he cared when he voiced it. This place may have relieved her of all energy and resolve, but not her compassion.
"Listen," she began in a more quiet tone, "If you behave yourself without causing trouble then maybe, just maybe the captain will grant your request. Whether he listens or not will be his decision, but you'll get your shot in the end."
Mark, clearly more uplifted raised his head.
"How long would I have to wait then?"
"Six months - no, perhaps a year or two."
"Surely you don't expect me wait that long in this hellhole!?"
"Lower your voice," she hissed.
Mark restrained his tone himself and followed with a more forceful voice.
"I have another offer for you; if you ever go to the capital I want you to deliver an oral recitation to the secretary of the Mage General: Lord Pent in my stead. Upon completion I will be released and will grant you two thousand gold mersaleses of my own fortune."
"If I did what you ask me and were found out I would be dishonorably discharged. My position pays a year triple what you offer me and I'm not willing to make that risk."
Now Mark noticed a discrepancy in which the jailer spoke. Clearly she was frightened of the prospect of upsetting her superiors and that gave Mark the perfect leverage.
If an eagle were capable of grinning at a dove foolish enough to fly within its territory it would be the exact smirk Mark was wearing.
"If you do not do as I ask then I will tell that you were speaking to me. A clear violation of the code of conduct. Are not jailers forbidden from so much as speaking to their prisoners? I wonder what they do - a hundred lashes or even a court martial, perhaps a dishonorable discharge?"
Eyes widening at the implication, the jailer could little but recoil backward as if the man she was speaking transformed into a gorgon.
"You can't! Do you know what that would mean for me if I was blacklisted from military service?! I wouldn't be able to feed my family if you do such a thing!"
"You needn't worry about me turning you in if you comply."
Shoulders slouched in defeat, the jailer kowtowed to her blackmailer.
Among his demands, Mark told her to bring him a piece of percel and an inkwell as well as instruction to deliver it to Lord Pent's estate next time she was on leave. He resented himself for forcing-gagging the girl into submission. When push came to shove he wouldn't of actually turned her in, but she didn't know that.
--
Pent seethed with disgust while sitting at his desk. To say he was stressed was an understatement, since he came back from quest with Eliwood's Elite he had been bogged down by the politics of Etruria. Namely, a fellow by the name of Roartz who sought to undermine his every initiative.
"That court will be the death of me! If those aristocrats had their way they'd let Etruria burn as long as they could still build their villas."
It was late at night and he should be getting rest, but his duty was more imperative than mundane affairs. There he sat at his desk, hands clasping his heads, contemplating ways to supersede the ruling of Roartz and all his cronies.
So engrossed with the proceedings of the recent that he failed to notice the figure of his wife, Countess Louise, enter his study.
Annoyed that her husband noticed her presence she cleared her throat in a tone indicated her husband was running on thin-ice.
"Dear, I know you're dedicated to your work and would sooner burn your entire library before neglecting it, but this is ridiculous! You've spent an entire evening moping over what happened at the king's court. If you do not get any rest the only thing you'll be confronting is a deadly illness."
Pent accepted the chastisement and regarded his wife's concern. He looked her over noting that despite the fact she was clearly livid and with child being several months pregnant, the night gown she wore only accentuated her beauty. Even with her crossed arms and lip pursed she was pleasant to the eyes.
"Of course, Louise, I'll be there shortly. They're just a few details I need to sort before I come to bed," he assured her. She left the room knowing that her husband was a man of his word.
As his wife left for a night's slumber another person entered his personal study. It was his butler carrying a piece of folded parcel.
"Excuse me, milord, but somebody left this message for you."
Pent stood up from his desk seemingly interested in the envoy, mentally asking himself what could be so dire that it needed to be conveyed so late at night. The Mage General eyed the document one more time before he spoke.
"Did this messenger say who the parcel is from or even it's contents?"
"I do not know, milord, but she seemed to be a soldier in service of his Majesty's army. She also refused to give her name but did stress that this document was for your eyes only. I complied with her request and did not read the message myself."
"Indeed? I'll take the document and see what it's about. You may return to your other duties, Gregor."
"Very well, sir," with a bow the butler left his master's presence.
Warily sitting back at his desk, Pent began to slowly unfold the piece of paper. He expected that it would contain some lude comments or threats from an unnamed political rival but his expectation were dispelled after he read the document firsthand. Setting the paper on his desk he began to pace his study in contemplative thought as though he had artistic mania.
"Damn him!" He shouted while slamming an open palm on his desk.
"Mark, you fool, of all the times to be captured you chose now!" Lord Pent was not prone to such outbursts and retained enough level-headedness to make the least high-strung envious, but his distress was understandable at the current circumstances.
He had no doubt that the letter was written by the hand of the staff officer. Not only because of the aesthetic handwriting, but the details it relayed were written down to the last detailed easily overlooked by those with limited observations.
"If I grant him amnesty I will first need to present my case before a tribunal. If I do that then it becomes public that I've been aiding and in betting a wanted man."
He could only shutter at the thought of how Lord Roartz and his cohorts would pounce on him for this. It was true that he had been helping Mark well before his capture, and that knowledge in itself was dangerous toward Pent's career. By knowingly aiding a fugitive, his future will be forfeit and subject to judicial scrutiny. The sentence for this action could be trumped up to treason, an offense avenged by capital punishment. And if his prosecutors are not successful in having him sentenced to death, they could just as easily have his noble status relinquished, in addition to all his assets and fortunes appropriated by the state.
"No, he has contributed to the security of Elibe, but not only that, he's more importantly a friend. There should be no hesitation in my mind what I must do."
Looking over the spacious room he was in, as though trying to find the answer to his dilemma in one of his many books, the Mage General could only weigh the pros and cons of each action.
If he condemned the tactician he would save his own skin. Inversely, if he saved Mark's life he'd forfeit his own life.
"By allowing Mark to pay for my indiscretion I would be damning myself. How would I answer Saint Elmine when she asks me why I allowed innocent man to die? Not only that, but how would I explain myself to my late mentor? What I am contemplating is morally reprehensible."
Looking down at his wedding ring, the question of how Louise would be effected by all this struck him like a kick to the groin.
All it took was the image of Louise, with babe, thrown into the streets and subject to the cruel world, to have him make up his mind.
With a heavy hand and even heavier heart, Pent began signing a warrant for the man who had just appealed for amnesty. By the time he finally finished writing the proclamation he was sweating profusely.
Lord Pent was a good man and loyal friend. He would have certainly put his head in the noose in exchange for the sake and wellbeing of a friend, but now when Louise would save the noose.
"No," The Mage General forcefully said as though trying to convince himself, "I am not some monster by doing this. If I granted Mark's request not only would I be damning my wife, but also the citizens of Etruria. If I go then who can say what burdens the people suffer under the heels of Roartz or his cabal?! I'm sorry, old friend, but you'll have to play the role of matyr. It's for the greater good."
He walked out of that room with self-resentment that he had not known before. He sought the comfort of his bed but sleep was something he would get this night and many nights following. One day, the entire continent would feel the harrowing consequences of Pent's action.
--
Mark sat in his cell day by day expecting for an officer, in the stead of Lord Pent, to arrive and release him from this shackles. To apologize for any inconveniences he's faced and to extent a heartfelt reparation. What came for him he'd never expect.
Instead of the stiff-lipped officer to order his release, what stopped in front of his cell block was fully armed unit of Etrurian soldiers.
"Open the door and bring the prisoner before me!" The commander barked to one of his underlings. Obeying the leader's command, one of the soldiers scurried to the cell lock with a key in hand. Grabbing him by one arm, another soldiers brought Mark before the commander.
"I'd say it's about time. Has Lord Pent deigned to finally release an old friend?" Mark said in a condescending but relieved manner. It was evident that he was overjoyed to be set free.
The soldiers only looked at eachother all them wondering if this man was as delusional as their ears had led them to believe.
Stepping forward, the commander regarded the tactician as though he were a psychiatric patient.
"Are you daft? We've come here with orders to bring you down to solitary confinement for the duration of your stay at Fort Severe."
"T-t-that's impossible! Did you not receive word from Lord Pent to sanction my release!? Why are you not releasing me then!?"
Taking a step forward and unravelling a formal document from his cuirass, the commander soon answer the befuddled tactician's question.
"Actually, we did receive word from Lord Pent. According to him, the man you're claiming to be has died recently. Lord Pent's agents uncovered his remains on the fringes of Etruria and suspects that he was assassinated by vengeful remnants of the disbanded Black Fang. He's given us words that we're to confine and execute the usurper claiming the identity of the superb mind. That means you."
Mark, for the first time in his life, was speechless. He was not angry at that moment, but flabbergasted, so much so that his brain seemed to reel from the shock of this sudden revelation. When one is struck in the back of the head with a blunt object they do not feel pain, but a numbness courses through their entire body deadening the senses. Pent's betrayal had the same effect.
"Seize him and make sure he is only fed by deaf mute so they can't be infected by his lies!"
Feeling the metal fingers of the soldier's gauntlets grabbing his arms, Mark senses finally returned.
He did not neither resisted nor voiced his outrage because he knew that would only lead to them more problems. He had no desire to withstand the torture chamber. He was confined to a windowless sub-basement of the fort where not a single soul resided, save the tactician himself. The level of restraint was greater here than his previous cell. Both his hands and feet were shackled to the wall severely limiting the amount of movement he had, in addition to the abysmal sanitary condition, the poison tipped arrows, that had subdued him at first, left many cracks and blemishes on his back, resulting in greater susceptibility to the organism modern medicine knows as Staphylococcus aureus, the cause of boils and many staph infections.
Within a period of a few days boils began to form on the strategist's back later becoming abscesses. So painful were these furuncles that he could neither lean against anything or lie on his back to get much needed rest. The shackles made it impossible for him to lay on either his stomach or side, thus, he was deprived of any sleep.
The only sounds that could be heard in the emptiness of Ford Severe's were Mark's ravings and blasphemies against whatever gods that did this to him. Going so long without sleep, coupled without any sort of entertainment or something to pass the time, caused the temporary deteriation of the once admired sanity of the tactician, with the bitterness of betrayal weighting the heaviest upon Mark's mind.
As more and more his mind slipped into darkness, he began to see enemies where enemies were not. He became more convinced that every member of Eliwood's Elite feigned all show of friendship and were always plotting his demise. Somehow, someway he'd escape this place and exact retribution for the misdeeds carried out against him. Every show of affection was lie, all to lull himself into complacency, and when his back was finally turned one of them would have stuck the knife in it.
The images of all he had seen and experienced in the few days still scorched his mind like magma. Visions of all he had witnessed, heard, and experienced washed over his conscious mind like flood waters. Those horrifying sights forever burned into his brain, playing over and over again like a demonic cackle. No matter how many times the images replayed in his mind the same question would always pose itself: what prompted these soldiers to commit such acts upon their fellow man? What benefit would be achieved by carrying out such barbarism? Did the warrior of ancient times have something to gain by forcing a father of defeated people to ravage his own daughter(4)? Were the riches and possessions the legionaire ransacked from a conquered city worth the impoverishment of its people? What of the officers who decided to employ the use of plague in overcoming opposition. Afterall, loading catapults with the remains of disease-ridden carcasses and launching them at the city they sought to break had the consequence of infecting the innocent peasants inside as well as the soldiers upon its walls.
"Hah, there is no God or any sort of divinity. All this world is, and will always be, is a petrid cesspool of suffering peasants and self-serving nobles. And yet, they're still those with the arrogance to presume there's some sort of higher purpose behind it all. What a vile joke to dangle over the heads of equally vile humanbeings," he had seen the worst humanity had to offer with no redeeming quality in sight. The only shocked that came to him was how long it took him to realize that the world is cruel place full of more wickedness than pleasure.
Now that he realized his life was soon to be taken, somehow, in spite the conclusion he had reached, the desire to live on burned in him greater than a dying star. He always abhorred suicide and believe it be the coward's way out.
"Imbeciles, they fail to realize how eager the grave is to swallow them up regardless if they desire it or not. When one perishes that is all their fate holds. There is no salvation from this doomed existence and certainly none in death."
He mused, if the shamanistic religions were correct; whether his animus would make the transformation into phantom. It was widely believed that whenever soul is overwrought with bitterness, that it made the transition from benign to manevolence, cursed forever in a vicious cycle of preying upon the living and enduring the loathing they died carrying.
As skeptical and hostile toward the prospect of deities he was at the moment, there is no doubt in his mind that demons existed for he had witnessed firsthand a man who nearly made the ascension to one.
--
AdCon: I was under a little pressure to finish this chapter to show I'm still alive and well, so it is more rushed than others. I apologize for those who feel it was shiite. I promise the next chapter will be better.
Still, it provided the pivotal motives for Mark's actions in the future. Still, he has one more personal travesty before he makes that transformation.
Lute: I noticed you added some fluff.
AdCon: Yes, I put in some fluff for those who enjoy it. I don't have my mind made up on couples in future(except canon couples such as Bartre and Karla) updates, so I'll take suggestions. And if anyone suggests a non-heterosexual couple I will see to it both characters are killed off.
Lute: Your bluffs are pretty transparent.
AdCon: Yeah, but they didn't know that until now. Thanks a bunch. And I was hoping I could deter the legions of fuckwit yaoi lovers with my idle threats.
Ahem
(1) Crocodile Tube is the name of the machine Mark was tortured by in chapter three.
(2) I will give anyone a dollar via (not really) if they successfully guess why I picked this name.
(3) In the Japanese version of The Blazing Sword, "Basilisk's Glance" is the name of Nergal's class. If you ask me, that title is a hundred times cooler than "Dark Druid," which is not only redundant since regular druids use dark magic, but contradictary since Nergal could also use anima and light magic. From now on consider Basilisk's Glance and Dark Druid interchangeable.
(4) Didn't make that up, despite how over the top it was. The ancient Assyrians actually did that for fun.
I'd also pondering whether I should write a humor fic following the misadventures of Shinon and his assholery in regards to the other members of the Greil Mercenaries. Leave some feedback on that idea.
Lastly, please, please leave a review. This lets me know what you think or if I'm wasting my time since no one can be assed into voicing opinions. The greatest incentive for an author to continue their work is to have others say what they think and make suggestions on improvement.
Lute: "Now you're just whoring for reviews."
The way I see it: if the person reading this can't be assed to drop a quick review then why should I be in any hurry? Obviously no one cares enough about my story to review. Regardless, I'll update review or not, but it'll take MUCH longer if no one tells me what they think.
Thanks to those who have submitted reviews to the story. I still hope I live up to what you expect.