My brain is frazzled, so I won't be able to update my other stories for the week.
But with the announcement of Dragon's Dogma 2, I couldn't help but write this on my free time. It was actually a lot harder to write this... Anyway, I might improve on this and continue it later. I don't actually have plans for this crossover yet. Just putting it out there for now.
Chapter 1:
How long had it been since he embraced the mantle of the Seneschal?
From his humble beginnings as a boy in a simple fishing village to a heroic figure, slaying monsters, vanquishing adversaries, and finally ascending to the godly position of Seneschal, the steward of the very world he once belonged to?
Bell couldn't say precisely, nor did it truly matter to him now. As the Seneschal, his duty was to oversee the world, ensuring its prosperity, a responsibility he had borne for eons, surpassing the reign of any of his predecessors. Across the vastness of time, he had borne witness to the rise and fall of countless civilizations, observing both unspeakable cruelty and incredible acts of kindness. Generation upon generation came and went, and he observed it all from his domain. But nothing remained eternal, not even his own tenure.
Like his predecessors before him, Bell sensed the gradual waning of his power to nurture and sustain the world. With wisdom accumulated over centuries, he recognized that the time had come to seek a worthy successor to take up the esteemed role of Seneschal. Thus, he set the wheels of fate in motion, orchestrating the advent of calamities upon his world. It was a necessary step, a carefully chosen path to ensure the continuity of existence, for nothing could endure indefinitely, not even the reign of a Seneschal.
And now, as the Arisen stands before him, Bell bears witness to the culmination of their journey and the testing of their resolve. A profound trial lies before them, offering the tantalizing prospect of the mortal life they have always dreamed of should they choose to turn away. Confronted by apparitions of countless individuals they have encountered throughout their odyssey, each urging them to abandon their destiny and accept Bell's seemingly generous offer, the Arisen faces a momentous decision.
Yet, undeterred by the haunting chorus of familiar faces Bell has conjured, the Arisen resolutely presses forward. With unwavering determination, they deftly evade the strikes of the apparitions attempting to hinder their progress. Every step they take towards Bell draws them further away from the prospect of a mortal life and inexorably closer to embracing the mantle of the Seneschal.
"You are close now," Bell intones to the Arisen, his voice resonating with both encouragement and gravitas. With a wave of his hand, the conjured apparitions vanish, leaving only the Arisen and him, alone in this pivotal moment. "Very close to me."
In this pivotal encounter, the Arisen finds themselves standing at the very edge of their destiny, caught between the allure of a mortal existence and the weighty responsibility that awaits as the Seneschal. The culmination of their epic journey, the harrowing trials they have faced, and the choices they have made all converge in this moment. From the very instant the Dragon tore out a mortal's heart and forged them into the Arisen, to the countless battles fought and won, every step has led them to this critical juncture.
With a small, nostalgic grin, Bell reached for his ethereal, pure white hooded cowl, and with a swift motion, he cast it aside. As he did, a blinding white light erupted, revealing the visage of a boy with striking white hair and fiery red eyes. Lightly armored and poised with twin daggers and a bow in hand, he exuded an aura of otherworldly power. In that moment, Bell's true form was revealed, shedding the cloak of the Seneschal, and standing before the Arisen in his pure manifestation. The years seemed to peel away, and the weight of time was momentarily lifted, baring the essence of the boy he once was, the boy who had embarked on his own journey long ago.
"Come, Arisen!" Bell beckoned, his body shimmering with divine energy. "I shall meet you on your own terms, alongside my companion of old."
A dark, misty portal opened up, and a Pawn descended into Bell's domain, taking the shape of a slightly older version of himself. Simultaneously, the Arisen's own pawn joined their master, poised to face off against their counterpart.
"At this journey's end, Arisen, see it through!" Bell pointed forward, drawing his twin daggers with an air of resolute determination.
The air crackled with anticipation as the stage was set for the final confrontation.
In the Seneschal's Chamber, a fleeting hush settled over the air, a haunting calm before the storm. Then, in the blink of an eye, all four combatants sprang into action, unleashing their formidable might upon one another. The clash of their weapons echoed throughout the chamber, reverberating against its very foundations, as an impossible display of strength and speed unfolded.
Each move was a symphony of skill and will, a dance of shifting destinies.
The Arisen, propelled by the weight of their arduous journey and the unbreakable resolve to fulfill their purpose, met the Seneschal's onslaught with great tenacity. Beside them, their loyal Pawn fought with an intensity that mirrored the Arisen's every motion, as if sharing a profound connection that transcended the physical.
On the opposing side, Bell radiated an ethereal aura, his twin daggers weaving through the air with a grace bordering on the mystical. His Pawn, a mirror image of himself, matched his every motion, brandishing a mighty sword that cleaved through the air with each powerful swing.
"Stroke the flame of your will to survive! Temper your soul in its searing heat!" Bell's voice rang out amidst the fury of their fierce fight. "This is a fight that knows no end!" With a surge of power, he unleashed a devastating blast of light, which the Arisen narrowly evaded. "It will repeat, just as the world will with it. This cycle will continue forever, and ever...!"
Within the chamber, a tempest of clashing weapons and swirling energy engulfed all, a battleground where the destinies of mortal and divine intersected. The entire world seemed to quiver, and the air crackled with the intensity of their collision. Time relinquished its hold within those walls, seconds stretching into seemingly endless moments, and yet the battle remained a fleeting heartbeat. Each strike, each parry, and every counterattack bore testament to the unyielding will of those engaged, a testament to the choices they had made and the paths they had traversed.
The Arisen surged forward, their weapons a blur of resolute purpose. The consequences of this momentous encounter transcended the bounds of the Seneschal's Chamber, possessing the potential to reshape the very essence of the world. Their ferocity turned the tide of the battle in the Arisen's favor, causing Bell's Pawn to falter, opening an opportunity for the Arisen's own Pawn to strike at Bell.
Bell, engaged in the fierce duel with the Arisen, attempted to defend himself against the dual onslaught with impressive speed. But facing two skilled opponents while already weakened proved too daunting, and the Arisen and their Pawn landed powerful strikes on Bell just as he unleashed a dazzling burst of light. The force of the explosion sent the Arisen tumbling backward a few feet, though they swiftly regained their footing. Their Pawn, being of sturdy build, managed to hold their ground against the impact, while Bell was left staggered from the attack.
Seizing the moment, the Arisen's Pawn lunged forward, grasping Bell from behind and leaving him vulnerable to a fatal blow.
"Now! Attack the Seneschal!" Their Pawn's voice cried out with urgency.
The world held its breath in that critical moment, the Arisen's choice would determine not only the world's own destiny but also the destiny of all existence. Wasting no time, the Arisen sprinted forward, their blade finding its mark upon the Seneschal.
A profound silence enveloped the Seneschal's Chamber as Bell collapsed to the floor. The Arisen gazed upon the fallen figure, but to their surprise, Bell vanished from where he lay and reappeared seated upon the chamber's grand throne.
With a small, apologetic smile, Bell spoke, acknowledging the hardships he had placed upon the Arisen.
"Arisen... Forgive me," he uttered, bearing the weight of his actions. "Everything I did was to test your will. That is the fate of all Arisen." Stepping down from the throne, Bell approached the Arisen, no longer the Seneschal but a humble figure ready to pass on the mantle to his successor.
"You and I, and all who came before and all who will come after, are swept up in the currents of destiny," Bell explained, his voice carrying the wisdom of ages. "Each of us shapes the volition of the next, and so… the endless cycle endures."
Now face to face with the Arisen, Bell held no arrogance, no desire to retain his lofty position. Instead, he stood before them as a guide, a mentor, and an equal. The moment had arrived for him to relinquish his role as the Seneschal and entrust the great responsibility to his successor.
"And so, until the advent of a new soul, worthy to forge their will to live, someone like you," Bell continued, acknowledging the Arisen's indomitable spirit and potential to shape the future. "Until that day, may you guide the world ever justly."
He knelt before the Arisen, a sign of respect and submission to the new Seneschal. With a painful grunt, Bell delved into the very core of his existence, extracting a sword pulsating with a luminous blue glow, radiating divine energy. He presented the sword to the Arisen, bowing his head in reverence.
"I present you with the Godsbane blade... Those who arise to oversee the world are undying, save by this brand's kiss," he explained, his words carrying the weight of countless ages.
Hesitant, the Arisen reached out and accepted the Godsbane from him, realizing the immense power it held.
As the Arisen grasped the hilt of the Godsbane, Bell felt the weight of his long-held duty dissipate. A hint of relief colored his voice and ruby-colored eyes as he spoke, "I ask that you, as the world's new Seneschal, use it now to vouchsafe freedom to your weary servant."
The transition of power from one Seneschal to the next was a solemn moment, marking the end of an era and the dawn of a new one. Bell bowed deeply to the new Seneschal; his heart eager to be released from the divine duty he had borne for so long.
"New crowned sovereign and keeper of eternity, grant me now this single boon: The fire of my life is spent and waning. Grant me freedom with the kiss of the Godsbane blade. If there is something you wish to know before my passing, you need but ask," Bell offered, his voice carrying the weight of the knowledge and wisdom he had accumulated over countless eons.
After a moment, the Arisen finally spoke, their voice steady yet filled with curiosity.
"I have somethings I wish to ask," said the Arisen.
"My knowledge, as is my very existence, is yours to take," Bell replied, still bowing respectfully. "What would you like to know?"
"What is the Seneschal?" the Arisen inquired, seeking to understand the nature of this role they had now inherited.
"The Seneschal is the steward to the world. The world you have traveled now rests in your care. Just as the Arisen calls pawns into being and sets them in motion, the Seneschal holds dominion over all living things. Some may call such a being a Maker or a God, but those are just words. The office I have served, just as those before me and you beyond, exists beyond the bounds of time and eternity."
"How is the world composed?" the Arisen asked, seeking insight into the nature of the vast realm they now governed.
"The pawns exist astride the rift," Bell explained. "They speak of a multitude of worlds, each infinite unto itself. These worlds extend in an eternal, perfect loop, like a ring without start or end. The origin and final terminus, if they exist, lie beyond our comprehension. We are prisoners of unpassing time, wandering within an unending land. What lies beyond, we do not know."
"What is eternity?" the Arisen inquired, contemplating the concept of eternal existence.
"Eternity is a state where life and death intertwine," Bell replied thoughtfully. "Nothing lasts forever in this world; each rise and falls in its time. Life appears, then vanishes, only to reappear again like bubbles in a mountain spring. All living things within this eternal world are bound by the rhythm of birth, death, and rebirth. Nothing lasts forever, yet everything persists unto eternity."
"What is will?" the Arisen questioned, seeking to understand the driving force behind their journey and purpose.
"Will is that which led you to this place, and it is also what turns the eternal wheel of the world. Along the endless string of life and death, there are some born with a hunger, yearning for some other, better place. They are the Arisen, nascent fountainheads of will. The Dragon is sent into the world to guide the Arisen, to refine and temper their wills into something capable of sustaining the world. This is how the cycle of our world has perpetuated for eons."
As Bell imparted his wisdom, the Arisen began to grasp the profound nature of their role. Their newfound knowledge was both a burden and a gift, for they now held the fate of the world within their hands, destined to carry on the ancient legacy of the Seneschal. The world awaited their guidance, and with each passing moment, they would shape the destiny of existence itself.
With all their questions answered, the Arisen raised the Godsbane blade, feeling the weight of the world's destiny in their grasp. Yet, they couldn't help but feel a deep sense of compassion and sympathy for the soon-to-be former Seneschal. Once a boy who was thrust onto the divine throne, denied the joys of mortality, now destined to be set free and never experience it.
"Thank you. I hereby relieve you of your duties," the Arisen declared with solemnity. Without hesitation, they plunged the Godsbane blade into Bell's chest, and he accepted it with a serene grace.
"I should be thanking you." Bell said, finally freed from the shackles of the Seneschal's burden. "Please, do not mourn me." A sense of tranquility washed over him as he gazed up at the endless, lonely dark skies of the Seneschal's Chamber. "I am finally free... I can finally rest."
Bell stretched out his arms, as if welcoming his long-awaited release. The chamber began to glow with blinding brightness as his body gradually dissipated, his essence slipping past the fabric of the eternal world.
In those final moments, Bell's mind drifted to the unknown, wondering where his essence would find its resting place now that he was no longer the Seneschal.
/-/
When was the last time she had genuinely smiled from the depths of her heart?
Even among the Goddesses of Beauty, Freya's Charm was extraordinary, whether she desired it or not. Even the virgin goddesses who sought to limit her actions could not match her, save for the three from Olympus who paid no heed to her existence. Her life in Heaven was a paradoxical existence – a paradise where her every wish could be granted, yet a confining prison that kept her locked within chains, preventing her from engaging in her true interests and hobbies.
Long had it been since she yearned for love, yet found herself unable to attain it. Over time, her desire turned to resentment, and she wished to forget her longing altogether. If she could rid herself of these desires, perhaps she could escape the 'constraints of a goddess.' She tried to soil herself, thinking it might lead to her liberation. However, no matter how much she tarnished herself, she soon realized that the eyes of those around her remained filled with a passionate but empty 'love.' All her efforts were in vain.
So, she wept and ran, traversing mountains, valleys, seas, and stars. Disguised as the girl with one of her one-hundred faces, she ran tirelessly until she arrived in a vast field of red flowers at twilight. For countless nights, she stayed in that flower field until one fateful day when a Goddess named Idun appeared before her. Idun fervently offered life advice to Freya and ended with the notion of seeking 'Odr,' someone somewhere out there who could fulfill her desires and bring her happiness.
From that day forward, Freya embarked on a journey throughout Heaven, occasionally wearing the face of the 'girl,' in search of her Odr. Yet, as time passed since her conversation with Idun, Freya began to suspect that her Odr might not be found within Heaven's realm.
And so, once more, Freya found herself in a field of flowers, wandering aimlessly and feeling dejected. The roots of despair gradually took hold in her mind, spreading their tendrils slowly but surely.
My Odr might not in Heaven. Maybe... my Odr will be from the lower realm. Freya pondered quietly.
If her Odr was not a God or Goddess, then perhaps they were mortal – one of the children of the Gods that inhabited the lower world. Lost in her thoughts, she let her foot guide her aimlessly through the sea of flowers until she halted abruptly.
There, before her, lay a sleeping figure nestled among the vibrant blooms. An injured and unconscious God dressed in light armor, his attire bearing the marks of recent battle. He appeared youthful, with an adorable sleeping face and hair as white as snow. Intrigued, Freya approached the fallen deity, her curiosity piqued. He was alive, though extremely weakened, as indicated by his faint divinity and the soft sound of his breathing. He seemed fragile, yet there was an air of resilience about him. A compassionate instinct compelled her to tend to the wounded God, but her domain was not that of healing.
A War God? Freya thought to herself, noticing his armor.
Softly, she extended her hand and brushed a strand of hair from his face. The God appeared and felt somewhat pure, exuding an aura of innocence. His divinity didn't seem to hold dominion over war, but rather over creation and destruction.
Still fast asleep, the youthful God turned, accidentally laying his hand against her chest.
Freya blinked but didn't bother to move, despite the God's grasp. The sleeping God frowned at the strange sensation and tightened his grip slightly. As he roused from his slumber, he blinked away the drowsiness, and his red eyes met her silver ones. The first thing that struck her was the purity of his red eyes. They were wide-open, revealing his thoughts and emotions for all to see. Freya couldn't help but feel terrible, knowing that her Charm might taint such purity, engulfed by empty love and passion.
However, instead of succumbing to her Charms, the youthful God's face lit up bright red with embarrassment and horror. It was evident that he was not under the influence of her powers but was genuinely taken aback by the unintended intimacy of their encounter.
"W-waaah! I'm sorry!" The God quickly drew back his hand and rolled several times across the flower field in apparent embarrassment.
"You're not..." Freya blinked in surprise, certain that her divinity and Charms were not affecting him. "Ah, pardon me. I didn't mean to intrude on you while you rest... You looked injured…"
"No, no! It's entirely my fault. I should have been more careful." The God sat up, his face still flushed with embarrassment, and looked deeply confused at his surroundings. "Where... Am I? I was relieved of my duties and..." He turned to her, studying her intently, and grew even more perplexed. "You're... Like me?"
"Like you?" Freya tilted her head, intrigued to learn more about this mysterious God. "What is your name?"
There was a moment of silence as the God sat there in a daze, then he smiled softly.
"How many years has it been since someone asked me that?" The God gazed up at the moving sky, lost in thought. "It's been so long that I almost forgot my given name." He met her eyes again and gave her a pure smile. "My name is Bell, my lady."
With that pure smile, Freya felt as though one of Cupid's love arrows had pierced her heart.