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Jun. 30th, 2007 12:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cybertrixxRight. This is an interesting one.
"If Aestar suddenly got redeemed tomorrow. . ."
I thought I'd take a different tack here. Not exactly a re-write of a decision so much as a 'what if?'. It ended up being possibly the world's biggest Deus-Ex-Machina ever - but that's kinda the point, yes?
(I don't think I've given away anything too FOIP there - it's almost all fluff and flavouring)
"You called me here, mortal. Why? Have you decided that my words ring true after all?"
The priest, somewhat taken aback at the prompt arrival of the spirit standing before him, leaps to his feet and steps away ever so slightly from the silver circle etched into the cold stone church floor. He bows his head, makes a holy symbol with his hand, and begins to chant.
The demon stares suspiciously at him for a second. Briefly, it looks like it is about to raise a steel plated claw to strike at him. But it pauses. Something is not right. It looks around, takes in the surroundings. Robed men. Carved stone pillars. Gargoyles. Stained glass windows. Brightly coloured tapestries. This is a church.
A wave of fear. A claw raises automatically to its throat...and suddenly there is overwhelming pain.
"No! How dare you? I...trusted...I...aaaaagggggggguuuuuuuuu" screams the demon as it shimmers with magical energies. It falls to the ground, clutching at its neck, its head, its chest, desperately scrabbling to hold together a body that feels like it is trying to explode apart.
Through the haze of agony, it seems as if the surroundings move. Stony gargoyles leer and crowd around, swimming through the swirling vortex of energy that locks the demon in place. Strong hands reach downwards and draw its body upright, cruciform.
"Not...like...this...I don't...I want...release me!" the demon babbles in agony. Its howls go seemingly unnoticed as it is dragged to the centre of a raised dias with a central pillar.
"Do not struggle, Jezebeth. You cannot escape. Embrace the pain - it will strip your heart of sin, just as this procedure will strip the sin from your soul." says the priest in reverence. Beside him, two white-robed eidolons in shining armour stand and watch dispassionately.
"Nnnnoooooo! This...this is not the end...cannot be..." The demon can only stare in horror as it is pinned in place while long silver nails are hammered straight through hands, shoulders and feet into the stone behind. Thick white blood begins to flow from the wounds, and crackling arcs of magical discharge occur where the streams touch the base of the pillar.
The priest continues in a monotone growl. "Fallen servant, you have been judged by the true gods, and found wanting. You were created to serve, and serve you will - in life or death. You were not destroyed outright because that would have served nothing. But now, demon, we have found a new use for you."
Jezebeth's meets the priest's gaze, eyes suddenly brimming with milky tears. "Nnnnoo. Please. Do not do this. I don't want to die. I don't want to die!"
The priest looks on dispassionately "How many have you consigned to oblivion with your selfishness? How many times have you rejected the chance to return to the fold, or at least face your punishment with grace? You wear your title well, demon. Do you now seek to undo all the damage done by your hand? Do you think you have the right?"
Jezebeth looks towards one of the white robed angels and sobs "Mardocai - is that you? Please, brother! Please don't let them do this. Please! How can you stand there like that? How can you...how could you..."
Mardocai stares straight ahead and says nothing. The priest's voice rings out within the stone chamber "Let the darkness come out from this failed servant, and be cast aside. Demon, you will be cleansed in the name of the true gods, stripped of the spark of divinity and rendered down into your celestial components. You will know only oblivion. It is time to face the finality of true death. Activate the dissolution engine."
The room seems to come alive and hum with energy. Thick bolts of white light shoot from the stained glass windows of the church and into the silver rods impaled through the demon's limbs. It convulses and its skin seems to crack like sun-baked mud.
The priest turns to one of his eidolon companions and gestures. "Proceed, if you please?"
Mardocai reaches for a large tapered spike and raises it to its brother eidolon's forehead. There is a brief moment of silence before Jezebeth begins to wail pathetically. "Not you, Mardi. Not you! Look into my eyes, brother. Look! Don't do this. It doesn't have to end like this!"
Mardocai sighs in resignation and whispers "Jezebeth. You have brought this upon yourself. You have rejected your duty - do not try to turn me from mine, now." his expression softens for a moment "I... will try to make it quick." He then plunges the spike through the demon's forehead, directly into the centre of its soul symbol. It emits a tortured shriek that extends beyond audible frequencies and its form seems to explode into razor-sharp strips of multicoloured light which gradually coalesce into a million ghostly visages all overlayed atop one another.
One of the "gargoyles", a golem carved in the visage of a leering, demonic statue, turns to a robed monk and growls "See? It is as I said. The threads of theurgic essence all coexist in the same space, but are invisible normally. We have cut this one's bindings apart, so that they all simultaneously manifest. Watch the discharge around those focus points."
Mardocai looks pained. "Is it over?" he says in a voice that rings with the strain of performing this grim duty.
A facet looks at him, incredulous. It appears -from a distance- to be a gargoyle-shaped golem like the others "Of course not! This is the first time I have witnessed a theurgic disjunction, and I have absolutely no intention of coming away without learning everything I can. Proceed -slowly- to stage two."
Another ray of incandescent energy pours from the spike in the demon's head. A hiss fills the room and the ghostly shadows unravel from one another, leaving behind one single form. It is a tall silver skinned androgynous humanoid with long streams of solid azure crystal for hair, and eldritch runes written across its body. It lacks eyelids, a nose, or lips, as if an incompletely differentiated embryo.
More words from the golem-gargoyle "Ahhh. The True Form. By entirely cutting away the extraneous pseudo-corporate harmonic threads, we reveal the fundamental. See the runes? This is an aetheric inscription that encapsulates the soul. If you were to decipher these runes, you would find they are a direct analogue to the true name."
The silver figure passes its expressionless gaze around the room, lidless eyes staring intently, before settling on Mardocai. It speaks, voice feeble and broken "So. This is mortality? I feel...empty. Lifeless, as if already dead. It is ...abhorrent! You have split my soul asunder, the layers peeled apart, and even as I hang here in my death throes you continue to torment me. Release me, please...I beg of you!"
The gargoyle-facet stares as if lost in a dream before snapping to attention and saying "Fascinating! Already the field is having an effect upon the soul. I did not expect such a development so soon."
Mardocai turns to the facet and angrily hisses. "End this. Now."
Several of the golems turn to him with frustrated expressions. "If you are uncomfortable with the procedure, you are free to leave. We only invited you here in place of any number of others because we thought you would want to see this."
The eidolon whispers "I did not come to see this. This is torture. You know what my conditions were. End it now!"
"Ridiculous. It simply can't be done. Why, if we stopped now, we don't even know what -if any- the ultimate effect would be! Proceed"
A shrill whine rings out in the chamber as the nails begin to resonate. The silver figure's skin cracks again to show glowing bluish light. As the magic of its soul begins to become physically manifest, the demon finds itself shunted from the physical to the metaphysical.
***
It hangs in space - timeless, disconnected. The maelstrom. Home. I am home. It looks up, though 'up' has no meaning in this place. There is a tiny pinpoint of light ahead - with a simple expression of will, the light grows until it encompasses everything.
A voice. Soothing. Welcoming. "Ahhhh, wayward child. You have found us. Most interesting. How did this come to pass, we wonder?"
A tentative, whispered reply - all defiance, all hate, all rage gone and replaced only with a chilling ache that runs to the very depths of the soul. A single word that leaps from the mind reflexively: "Mother?"
Soft, booming laughter, filled with mirth. "Mother? Why, yes. It would be possible to view your construction as a birth, of sorts."
A futile attempt to prostrate a body with no dimensions in front of a creature with no dimensions, in a world with no dimensions.
"Do not shy away. You need not be afraid - if you are here, there is little else that could be done to harm you, for you are already dead."
Fear. Despair. Rage.
The voice turns crisper, brighter and more enthusiastic somehow "You were not expecting this. Are you aware of where you are?"
"No, mother, I am not."
"You are in a realm known as purgatory. A place where the souls of the departed come to be judged when they are released from the world. Your soul has found its way here somehow - the specifics are, of course, irrelevent - but it intrigues us nonetheless. Pray tell, how did you come to be here?"
The demon sings its words into the nothingness "I was...forced...here. A priest, a machine, I was betrayed! They promised me redemption...they...they *cut* me...cut my soul apart..."
This time, the voice is darker, firmer "How many promises have you made others, and then failed to keep? How many have *you*, yourself, betrayed? Poor little thing. What a waste. We had plans for you and your rebellious little brothers and sisters - all sorts of ideas, so much potential. One of our cousins especially was watching you intently. You have become a frequent topic of prayer, as well you surely know."
A faceless grin of satisfaction.
"We did not intend for your destruction. It is fortuitous, perhaps, that something of you remained. We have heard many interesting stories - by all accounts, it was your bloodthirsty brother who was responsible for the discovery of the engine that brought about your downfall."
The grin fades.
The voice turns sharp and cruel, dripping with venom "Fitting, do you not think, that it would eventually be turned on a fellow rebel? Hahahaha! You got what you deserved in the end, didn't you?"
"Bitch. That could only be Huntress" is the bitter response
The voice turns warmer again, softer. "Come now, you do not help your case. You *are* on trial, after all."
"Why? Surely you have already judged me, and you already know the fate that is in store for me now?"
The voice is soft, booming, warm "We have done. But you have not yet judged yourself. Make your case. Say the words, and find out for yourself where your path ends."
"Excellent." The demon grins to itself -as far as it is possible to grin in a world without dimension.
***
Hours, seconds, minutes, days, millenia pass all in the blink of an eye. Yet everything is as it was. The trial proceeds.
The voice is crisp, rigid and bright "You make a strong case so far. While your faith was weak, you endured nonetheless. Though you did doubt, you resisted for a long, long time. A little longer, and you most likely would not have come here in the state you did."
"I resisted, and held firm when my brothers did not. Does this not show that I am deserving of respect?"
Darker and firmer, perfectly balanced, the merchant speaks "More respect, perhaps, than others of your kind. Or less, perhaps. You trundled on for millenia with no real goal, no real faith, no real desire to uphold your duty. You walked the line, where others had the courage to leap to meet their fate head on."
"Surely courage comes from holding onto a cause despite all adversity? You say that I should have decided to fall with the others?"
"We say that in all things, eventually a decision must come. We must choose our fate. You have still not decided, and so the trial continues."
***
Crisp, rigid and bright, the teacher speaks "Why, then, did you choose to act at that moment against everything rational
that told you not to do so?"
"Love. I adored her. She was my light. She was my purpose. I dedicated myself to her - and then she was gone. She had to leave. Such is the way of things. But I was blinded by love."
Soft and warm, soothing, the Weaver responds "Ahh, love.
You wanted to hold on to her? To keep her by your side for all eternity-"
The Merchant finishes "-Rather than allowing her to find her just reward for a lifetime's work: peace?"
"I did! I wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, and she said many times that she would be happiest by my side!"
The sharp, cruel voice of the huntress shrieks "And where is she now? By your side? I think not! You damned her, as you damned yourself!"
***
"I did no such thing! Surely you know this!"
The Teacher: "We know what we have been told. If you wish to tell us otherwise, feel free."
"I saw her, saw her innocence, and I had to know it - to feel and experience it, and be bathed in the love of a mind free from prejudice."
"You wanted her soul, didn't you? You wanted to take it, as you had taken others before it, as you had taken that of your precious Lydia! One taste is never enough, is it? You saw her, and that ache you felt inside wasn't love or concern. It was hunger!"
"I did not want her soul! If I wanted it, I would have killed her outright! I never raised a sword against her! I never attacked. I never hurt her. I just wanted her to be safe!"
"And is she safe now? It seems that wherever you try to *save* others through self-indulgent charity, you just end up damning them! You may have eventually grown to care for this girl, but your initial intentions towards her had nothing to do with love. She suffers for your crimes. Admit it!"
"No. I...she...I just want her to be safe!"
"Then why insist on tormenting her with your presence?" roars the Smith, fire and brimstone and solid as steel. "I hear her prayers, and they are full of fear! How can she be safe when you constantly put her in danger?"
***
"Do not honestly claim that you in any way mean to help him! You twist words into his ear at every opportunity, preying on his failing faith. You deny him his chance to decide for himself. You deny him his chance to return to the light. Your interactions did nothing but further your own selfish existence. Your empty claims of sincerity are painful to hear, even when filtered through the mind of another."
"I...no...I just...he..."
The huntress shrieks "You do not even have the words to defend yourself! Admit that all you have done has been for one reason, and one reason alone: Selfishness. You act only for yourself. You do nothing that you do not believe benefits you in some way - either directly and tangibly, or through some empty gesture of atonement or righteousness."
Something snaps "I...yes. I admit it. I am a monster. A demon. I act only to satisfy my own self-indulgent whims, be they good or ill. I serve none other than myself in all things. I am proud. I am arrogant. I am deceitful. I am cowardly. I am jealous, and lustful, and hateful, and more than anything else I am undeserving of love or respect or even pity. I am nothing - an empty shell, a burned out husk of what once was and shall never be again."
All five coalesce into one. "Good. Your trial is over. You are free to go."
A million years seem to pass. "What?"
Booming, mocking, sincere, friendly, hateful and motherly, the gods speak "You have clearly suffered enough. You know yourself, and you show humility. That is the first step. Perhaps, in time, you can regain other virtues as well."
"I am free to go?"
"You will never find these virtues when trapped here, so, yes."
"You mean, I can leave? Whenever I want?"
"In a manner of speaking..."
"A manner of speaking?"
"Quite literally, in fact. Listen, Jezebeth. Listen carefully. Do you hear that? That is our will, channeled through the prayers of the mortals and passed onto you. You have not heard it for a while - we hope you haven't forgotten."
The angel listens, hears faint whispers, but they babble and hiss and pass beyond understanding. "I hear words, but there is no meaning behind them."
"When you leave this place, you will understand. You, as you have probably already guessed, will not remember what happened here, but your soul *will* know. You will know purpose once more. You will know faith once more. Go forth, now, as you once did. Go forth amongst the creatures of this world, and bring our will to their hearts and minds. It is your duty. We will be listening. This -redemption- has never happened before. We're counting on you, little one. Make us proud. Show the mortals that you *can* change. Go forth, Jezebeth, and-"
A pause, the rolling of thunder across plains and the crash of waves against the shore. Wind through the trees. The screaming of infants, the sighs of the elderly. Singing. Laughter. Crying. Screaming.
"Yes?"
"-try not to get lost this time?"
"My purpose redefined, and my will reforged - I will not disappoint you."
A flower blooms. A civilisation falls. The sun sets.
"Good. Now go."
"As you command."
***
A warm summer's day. A grassy field. Leaves rustling in the wind. The air crackles and parts, and on the ground kneels a figure wreathed in white. It rises to its feet, stretches as if having slept uncomfortably for a long time. Looks side to side, tastes the air, and begins to walk. It knows its purpose. It knows what it must do. Words burn, unquestionable and imperative in the re-forged angel's mind.
Fight the fallen.
But first, it has a message to deliver. An apology long overdue for an old friend.
"If Aestar suddenly got redeemed tomorrow. . ."
I thought I'd take a different tack here. Not exactly a re-write of a decision so much as a 'what if?'. It ended up being possibly the world's biggest Deus-Ex-Machina ever - but that's kinda the point, yes?
(I don't think I've given away anything too FOIP there - it's almost all fluff and flavouring)
"You called me here, mortal. Why? Have you decided that my words ring true after all?"
The priest, somewhat taken aback at the prompt arrival of the spirit standing before him, leaps to his feet and steps away ever so slightly from the silver circle etched into the cold stone church floor. He bows his head, makes a holy symbol with his hand, and begins to chant.
The demon stares suspiciously at him for a second. Briefly, it looks like it is about to raise a steel plated claw to strike at him. But it pauses. Something is not right. It looks around, takes in the surroundings. Robed men. Carved stone pillars. Gargoyles. Stained glass windows. Brightly coloured tapestries. This is a church.
A wave of fear. A claw raises automatically to its throat...and suddenly there is overwhelming pain.
"No! How dare you? I...trusted...I...aaaaagggggggguuuuuuuuu" screams the demon as it shimmers with magical energies. It falls to the ground, clutching at its neck, its head, its chest, desperately scrabbling to hold together a body that feels like it is trying to explode apart.
Through the haze of agony, it seems as if the surroundings move. Stony gargoyles leer and crowd around, swimming through the swirling vortex of energy that locks the demon in place. Strong hands reach downwards and draw its body upright, cruciform.
"Not...like...this...I don't...I want...release me!" the demon babbles in agony. Its howls go seemingly unnoticed as it is dragged to the centre of a raised dias with a central pillar.
"Do not struggle, Jezebeth. You cannot escape. Embrace the pain - it will strip your heart of sin, just as this procedure will strip the sin from your soul." says the priest in reverence. Beside him, two white-robed eidolons in shining armour stand and watch dispassionately.
"Nnnnoooooo! This...this is not the end...cannot be..." The demon can only stare in horror as it is pinned in place while long silver nails are hammered straight through hands, shoulders and feet into the stone behind. Thick white blood begins to flow from the wounds, and crackling arcs of magical discharge occur where the streams touch the base of the pillar.
The priest continues in a monotone growl. "Fallen servant, you have been judged by the true gods, and found wanting. You were created to serve, and serve you will - in life or death. You were not destroyed outright because that would have served nothing. But now, demon, we have found a new use for you."
Jezebeth's meets the priest's gaze, eyes suddenly brimming with milky tears. "Nnnnoo. Please. Do not do this. I don't want to die. I don't want to die!"
The priest looks on dispassionately "How many have you consigned to oblivion with your selfishness? How many times have you rejected the chance to return to the fold, or at least face your punishment with grace? You wear your title well, demon. Do you now seek to undo all the damage done by your hand? Do you think you have the right?"
Jezebeth looks towards one of the white robed angels and sobs "Mardocai - is that you? Please, brother! Please don't let them do this. Please! How can you stand there like that? How can you...how could you..."
Mardocai stares straight ahead and says nothing. The priest's voice rings out within the stone chamber "Let the darkness come out from this failed servant, and be cast aside. Demon, you will be cleansed in the name of the true gods, stripped of the spark of divinity and rendered down into your celestial components. You will know only oblivion. It is time to face the finality of true death. Activate the dissolution engine."
The room seems to come alive and hum with energy. Thick bolts of white light shoot from the stained glass windows of the church and into the silver rods impaled through the demon's limbs. It convulses and its skin seems to crack like sun-baked mud.
The priest turns to one of his eidolon companions and gestures. "Proceed, if you please?"
Mardocai reaches for a large tapered spike and raises it to its brother eidolon's forehead. There is a brief moment of silence before Jezebeth begins to wail pathetically. "Not you, Mardi. Not you! Look into my eyes, brother. Look! Don't do this. It doesn't have to end like this!"
Mardocai sighs in resignation and whispers "Jezebeth. You have brought this upon yourself. You have rejected your duty - do not try to turn me from mine, now." his expression softens for a moment "I... will try to make it quick." He then plunges the spike through the demon's forehead, directly into the centre of its soul symbol. It emits a tortured shriek that extends beyond audible frequencies and its form seems to explode into razor-sharp strips of multicoloured light which gradually coalesce into a million ghostly visages all overlayed atop one another.
One of the "gargoyles", a golem carved in the visage of a leering, demonic statue, turns to a robed monk and growls "See? It is as I said. The threads of theurgic essence all coexist in the same space, but are invisible normally. We have cut this one's bindings apart, so that they all simultaneously manifest. Watch the discharge around those focus points."
Mardocai looks pained. "Is it over?" he says in a voice that rings with the strain of performing this grim duty.
A facet looks at him, incredulous. It appears -from a distance- to be a gargoyle-shaped golem like the others "Of course not! This is the first time I have witnessed a theurgic disjunction, and I have absolutely no intention of coming away without learning everything I can. Proceed -slowly- to stage two."
Another ray of incandescent energy pours from the spike in the demon's head. A hiss fills the room and the ghostly shadows unravel from one another, leaving behind one single form. It is a tall silver skinned androgynous humanoid with long streams of solid azure crystal for hair, and eldritch runes written across its body. It lacks eyelids, a nose, or lips, as if an incompletely differentiated embryo.
More words from the golem-gargoyle "Ahhh. The True Form. By entirely cutting away the extraneous pseudo-corporate harmonic threads, we reveal the fundamental. See the runes? This is an aetheric inscription that encapsulates the soul. If you were to decipher these runes, you would find they are a direct analogue to the true name."
The silver figure passes its expressionless gaze around the room, lidless eyes staring intently, before settling on Mardocai. It speaks, voice feeble and broken "So. This is mortality? I feel...empty. Lifeless, as if already dead. It is ...abhorrent! You have split my soul asunder, the layers peeled apart, and even as I hang here in my death throes you continue to torment me. Release me, please...I beg of you!"
The gargoyle-facet stares as if lost in a dream before snapping to attention and saying "Fascinating! Already the field is having an effect upon the soul. I did not expect such a development so soon."
Mardocai turns to the facet and angrily hisses. "End this. Now."
Several of the golems turn to him with frustrated expressions. "If you are uncomfortable with the procedure, you are free to leave. We only invited you here in place of any number of others because we thought you would want to see this."
The eidolon whispers "I did not come to see this. This is torture. You know what my conditions were. End it now!"
"Ridiculous. It simply can't be done. Why, if we stopped now, we don't even know what -if any- the ultimate effect would be! Proceed"
A shrill whine rings out in the chamber as the nails begin to resonate. The silver figure's skin cracks again to show glowing bluish light. As the magic of its soul begins to become physically manifest, the demon finds itself shunted from the physical to the metaphysical.
***
It hangs in space - timeless, disconnected. The maelstrom. Home. I am home. It looks up, though 'up' has no meaning in this place. There is a tiny pinpoint of light ahead - with a simple expression of will, the light grows until it encompasses everything.
A voice. Soothing. Welcoming. "Ahhhh, wayward child. You have found us. Most interesting. How did this come to pass, we wonder?"
A tentative, whispered reply - all defiance, all hate, all rage gone and replaced only with a chilling ache that runs to the very depths of the soul. A single word that leaps from the mind reflexively: "Mother?"
Soft, booming laughter, filled with mirth. "Mother? Why, yes. It would be possible to view your construction as a birth, of sorts."
A futile attempt to prostrate a body with no dimensions in front of a creature with no dimensions, in a world with no dimensions.
"Do not shy away. You need not be afraid - if you are here, there is little else that could be done to harm you, for you are already dead."
Fear. Despair. Rage.
The voice turns crisper, brighter and more enthusiastic somehow "You were not expecting this. Are you aware of where you are?"
"No, mother, I am not."
"You are in a realm known as purgatory. A place where the souls of the departed come to be judged when they are released from the world. Your soul has found its way here somehow - the specifics are, of course, irrelevent - but it intrigues us nonetheless. Pray tell, how did you come to be here?"
The demon sings its words into the nothingness "I was...forced...here. A priest, a machine, I was betrayed! They promised me redemption...they...they *cut* me...cut my soul apart..."
This time, the voice is darker, firmer "How many promises have you made others, and then failed to keep? How many have *you*, yourself, betrayed? Poor little thing. What a waste. We had plans for you and your rebellious little brothers and sisters - all sorts of ideas, so much potential. One of our cousins especially was watching you intently. You have become a frequent topic of prayer, as well you surely know."
A faceless grin of satisfaction.
"We did not intend for your destruction. It is fortuitous, perhaps, that something of you remained. We have heard many interesting stories - by all accounts, it was your bloodthirsty brother who was responsible for the discovery of the engine that brought about your downfall."
The grin fades.
The voice turns sharp and cruel, dripping with venom "Fitting, do you not think, that it would eventually be turned on a fellow rebel? Hahahaha! You got what you deserved in the end, didn't you?"
"Bitch. That could only be Huntress" is the bitter response
The voice turns warmer again, softer. "Come now, you do not help your case. You *are* on trial, after all."
"Why? Surely you have already judged me, and you already know the fate that is in store for me now?"
The voice is soft, booming, warm "We have done. But you have not yet judged yourself. Make your case. Say the words, and find out for yourself where your path ends."
"Excellent." The demon grins to itself -as far as it is possible to grin in a world without dimension.
***
Hours, seconds, minutes, days, millenia pass all in the blink of an eye. Yet everything is as it was. The trial proceeds.
The voice is crisp, rigid and bright "You make a strong case so far. While your faith was weak, you endured nonetheless. Though you did doubt, you resisted for a long, long time. A little longer, and you most likely would not have come here in the state you did."
"I resisted, and held firm when my brothers did not. Does this not show that I am deserving of respect?"
Darker and firmer, perfectly balanced, the merchant speaks "More respect, perhaps, than others of your kind. Or less, perhaps. You trundled on for millenia with no real goal, no real faith, no real desire to uphold your duty. You walked the line, where others had the courage to leap to meet their fate head on."
"Surely courage comes from holding onto a cause despite all adversity? You say that I should have decided to fall with the others?"
"We say that in all things, eventually a decision must come. We must choose our fate. You have still not decided, and so the trial continues."
***
Crisp, rigid and bright, the teacher speaks "Why, then, did you choose to act at that moment against everything rational
that told you not to do so?"
"Love. I adored her. She was my light. She was my purpose. I dedicated myself to her - and then she was gone. She had to leave. Such is the way of things. But I was blinded by love."
Soft and warm, soothing, the Weaver responds "Ahh, love.
You wanted to hold on to her? To keep her by your side for all eternity-"
The Merchant finishes "-Rather than allowing her to find her just reward for a lifetime's work: peace?"
"I did! I wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, and she said many times that she would be happiest by my side!"
The sharp, cruel voice of the huntress shrieks "And where is she now? By your side? I think not! You damned her, as you damned yourself!"
***
"I did no such thing! Surely you know this!"
The Teacher: "We know what we have been told. If you wish to tell us otherwise, feel free."
"I saw her, saw her innocence, and I had to know it - to feel and experience it, and be bathed in the love of a mind free from prejudice."
"You wanted her soul, didn't you? You wanted to take it, as you had taken others before it, as you had taken that of your precious Lydia! One taste is never enough, is it? You saw her, and that ache you felt inside wasn't love or concern. It was hunger!"
"I did not want her soul! If I wanted it, I would have killed her outright! I never raised a sword against her! I never attacked. I never hurt her. I just wanted her to be safe!"
"And is she safe now? It seems that wherever you try to *save* others through self-indulgent charity, you just end up damning them! You may have eventually grown to care for this girl, but your initial intentions towards her had nothing to do with love. She suffers for your crimes. Admit it!"
"No. I...she...I just want her to be safe!"
"Then why insist on tormenting her with your presence?" roars the Smith, fire and brimstone and solid as steel. "I hear her prayers, and they are full of fear! How can she be safe when you constantly put her in danger?"
***
"Do not honestly claim that you in any way mean to help him! You twist words into his ear at every opportunity, preying on his failing faith. You deny him his chance to decide for himself. You deny him his chance to return to the light. Your interactions did nothing but further your own selfish existence. Your empty claims of sincerity are painful to hear, even when filtered through the mind of another."
"I...no...I just...he..."
The huntress shrieks "You do not even have the words to defend yourself! Admit that all you have done has been for one reason, and one reason alone: Selfishness. You act only for yourself. You do nothing that you do not believe benefits you in some way - either directly and tangibly, or through some empty gesture of atonement or righteousness."
Something snaps "I...yes. I admit it. I am a monster. A demon. I act only to satisfy my own self-indulgent whims, be they good or ill. I serve none other than myself in all things. I am proud. I am arrogant. I am deceitful. I am cowardly. I am jealous, and lustful, and hateful, and more than anything else I am undeserving of love or respect or even pity. I am nothing - an empty shell, a burned out husk of what once was and shall never be again."
All five coalesce into one. "Good. Your trial is over. You are free to go."
A million years seem to pass. "What?"
Booming, mocking, sincere, friendly, hateful and motherly, the gods speak "You have clearly suffered enough. You know yourself, and you show humility. That is the first step. Perhaps, in time, you can regain other virtues as well."
"I am free to go?"
"You will never find these virtues when trapped here, so, yes."
"You mean, I can leave? Whenever I want?"
"In a manner of speaking..."
"A manner of speaking?"
"Quite literally, in fact. Listen, Jezebeth. Listen carefully. Do you hear that? That is our will, channeled through the prayers of the mortals and passed onto you. You have not heard it for a while - we hope you haven't forgotten."
The angel listens, hears faint whispers, but they babble and hiss and pass beyond understanding. "I hear words, but there is no meaning behind them."
"When you leave this place, you will understand. You, as you have probably already guessed, will not remember what happened here, but your soul *will* know. You will know purpose once more. You will know faith once more. Go forth, now, as you once did. Go forth amongst the creatures of this world, and bring our will to their hearts and minds. It is your duty. We will be listening. This -redemption- has never happened before. We're counting on you, little one. Make us proud. Show the mortals that you *can* change. Go forth, Jezebeth, and-"
A pause, the rolling of thunder across plains and the crash of waves against the shore. Wind through the trees. The screaming of infants, the sighs of the elderly. Singing. Laughter. Crying. Screaming.
"Yes?"
"-try not to get lost this time?"
"My purpose redefined, and my will reforged - I will not disappoint you."
A flower blooms. A civilisation falls. The sun sets.
"Good. Now go."
"As you command."
***
A warm summer's day. A grassy field. Leaves rustling in the wind. The air crackles and parts, and on the ground kneels a figure wreathed in white. It rises to its feet, stretches as if having slept uncomfortably for a long time. Looks side to side, tastes the air, and begins to walk. It knows its purpose. It knows what it must do. Words burn, unquestionable and imperative in the re-forged angel's mind.
Fight the fallen.
But first, it has a message to deliver. An apology long overdue for an old friend.
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no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 04:10 am (UTC)Well written T', I love the *nastiness* of the first part.
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Date: 2007-06-30 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-10 08:11 pm (UTC)"-try not to get lost this time?"
...and that was perfect.
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Date: 2008-07-11 10:51 am (UTC)Looking back, this seems like a million years ago. It is, in fact, one year. Heh...