บท 15: Burying the Hatchet
Once upon a time, there was a doctor who lived on an island of saints. This doctor had learned his medicinal arts from a group of twelve devils and gods, and was a master of his field.
Unfortunately, his people were all saints, immune to sickness and age, thus he never had the opportunity to use those talents.
Yet, he was still happy because he had his family, he had his friends, and he had a wife and a daughter who both loved him very much.
At some point in time, one of the doctor's friends who worked as a merchant trading with the outside world for the things the people of the island needed, let slip that the world outside the island wasn't as idyllic as the island.
The people beyond the island were 'not' saints. They grew sick, they grew old, and they died for almost no reason at all. Being a doctor, the doctor felt obligated to go out and help these people.
The elders of island allowed him to this, requiring only that he keep one promise. He could not reveal the secret of the saints' blood to the outside world.
The man promised not break this taboo, he swore on the moon, the stars, and the lives of his wife and daughter. Thus with a sense of trepidation, the gods, devils, and elders of the island gave the man their blessing.
Having been given permission to leave, the man would go and say goodbye to all the people that he cared about. He said goodbye to his friends, and his family. He tearfully parted with his precious wife and daughter, who both begged him not to leave.
As he stood on the deck of the ship that would take him away, and waved goodbye to the entire island, he briefly considered whether he truly wished to go through with his plans. Ultimately, he still went travelling around the world, using his miraculous skills to heal the sick and save the lives of many.
One day, the doctor came upon a stranger, a man with a dying son. The man begged the doctor to save his son, but this was the one illness that even the doctor could not cure. For forty-nine days, and forty-nine nights the man knelt at the doctor's door begging the doctor to save his son.
Finally the doctor relented. He took the boy and made him promise to keep what would happen next a secret. Then he gave the boy a drop of his blood. The boy was cured, and for a while all was well, but soon enough more people with that same disease appeared at the doctor's door.
The doctor tried to turn them away, but they would not leave him be, he tried to flee, but they chased him to the very ends of the earth.
One day, the doctor realised that the people were no longer chasing him. Relieved he decided to go back to his island home before he was discovered.
One sea voyage later he would find himself on an island with its sands scorched into glass. He would see all the houses broken, and he would see the bodies of all his loved ones, and friends.
It was at this point that the man realized why the people had stopped chasing him. They had stopped chasing him because they'd somehow gotten word of an entire island of people just like him, discovering the man's origins while they were trying to figure where he had run off to.
Grief and self-recrimination washed over the man. With tears in his eyes, the man called out to see if there were any survivors on the island. Yet no one answered.
Finally the man returned to his house and discovered the corpses of his wife and daughter. Hacked to bits and drained dry. In that moment the saintly doctor became a devil. Knocking his head upon the stairs of his home, till his skull was all but caved in. Knocking on the gates of hell and madness as he realized what his good intentions had wrought.
Left behind as the sole possessor the saintly blood the doctor decided he would undo his mistake as best he could. He thus began a trip, one even longer than the first trip.
Appearing at doorways throughout the world he would visit all those who held a drop of saintly blood within their veins and retrieve the lives that they had stolen. His first victim was his first mistake, the boy he had saved. The boy who told.
After 'that' was settled, he would go visit the others.
In the first year only a hundred died. In the second year, it was ten thousand, in the third year it was ten million. By the end of ten years no one was left. All that remained was a world of light, shadow, and silence.
Still believing that somehow, some way, his family's saintly blood had made it onto other worlds the doctor found a means to travel through the void, walking through the dark doorways that connected the worlds.
He'd eventually be slain after destroying his thousandth world and killing countless beings, but his story and a sliver of his soul would live on.
A last drop of his saintly blood melding with the essence of the cosmos, and the energies of the mortal realm's collective unconscious to become the entity known as the tintenklopfer. A kindly, yet sinister, soul born on the black and white paths.
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"...S-, Sir, are you okay?" said Monday. Her words breaking Desmond's train of thought.
"Huh?...Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. Why d'you ask?" said Desmond. Giving her a hazy look, to match the hazy sensation that filled his insides.
Monday pointed at his back and Desmond was bemused to find that his wings had somehow morphed into a mass of writhing tentacles. A third of the tentacles still beat the air, barely functioning as wings. The rest simply flailed, gripping at the space around them as if they were trying to tear down the sky.
Desmond shook his head and his excess mass disappeared leaving only the wings. He clucked his tongue at himself and his situation. Unconsciously shapeshifting like he had was bad news for more reasons than one.
Firstly, it meant that the return of his inner-marchen was coming faster than he'd hoped it'd come. Second, it meant his mental state was even further disarrayed then he knew.
Desmond couldn't do anything about the former issue. He just had finish the hunt as quickly as possible, or retreat if things neared a point of no return.
As for the second issue, it was like having an itch in an impossible to reach place. It was like knowing the melody to a song, but having all the lyrics escape him completely. It felt like he had remembered something that he had never known in the first place, a feeling not unlike learning a subject with the akashic plane except more intimate.
Desmond snorted. His brow gathering as he tried to push aside the strangeness in his mental state. Compartmentalizing, the alien emotions that were sweeping over him and placing them somewhere out of sight.
Monday watched her employer with a look of concern. Her worries growing lighter as the man's look grew sharper.
"So, are you fine then, my lord." said Monday.
"Yes...Just a small case of wool gathering, and distraction. The distorted realms have a way of getting to you eventually.…So, uh, .keep on your toes, M." said Desmond. Deflecting the woman's concern with a bit of false bravado.
"Yes, sir." said Monday. Her earnestness making Desmond chuckle.
A few more minutes went by with the two peacefully flying above the rooftops of the town. Desmond focused on getting his head on straight while Monday looked at the ground below intrigued to find that the clearing of the mists had somehow led to the disappearance of the majority of the cursed ones.
There were only a few creatures wandering on the ground below. Following her blossoming draconic instincts, Monday would swoop down to slay the creatures before quickly flying up again with loot in hand.
Desmond let his assistant do as she pleased. The girl was fast and efficient in her actions and was only growing more so the more she practiced. Even if he wanted to quibble with her over the issue, he'd have likely still restrained himself from doing so, their goal was literally right in view. So long as nothing unexpected happened they would be done with their hunt before the end of the evening.
Desmond watched as Monday dived low and drove her midnight blades through the chest of a minotaur. Sharply turning upwards and using the creature's own weight to saw through its chest.
"Enough playing around, M. We're landing soon." said Desmond.
"Very well, sir." said Monday. Catching the creature's materia core, and a bone fragment, that was left behind after the slain minotaur's body crumpled into nothing.
They ended up landing through the shattered sky light of an old library. Desmond cast some spells to hide them from view and muffle the noise of their landing.
He was discomfited to find that the casting was much easier than it would have been a few days before. Having his magic return to the point of being almost effortless was a sign that Desmond's inner-marchen was on the brink of waking up once more.
"We'll go on foot for now." said Desmond.
They walked through three city blocks, without running into anything. There were no signs of any undead, and Desmond was careful to keep them on a path that avoided the cultist's patrols.
Right when they were about to reach their destination, Monday called out.
"Sir, something's coming."
Desmond nodded, halting his step.
"....I know."
Out from behind a former-bank emerged the dog-headed giantess. She was different, looking almost like an entirely different creature to Desmond's view. Though she hadn't disappeared like the rest of the town's cursed ones, she wasn't entirely what she had been before. She now lumbered with steps that thundered and shook the earth beneath her.
"Sir?" said Monday. Drawing her blades.
Desmond shook his head, holding one hand up to gesture to Monday that she should just hold her position.
The dog-headed giantess paused mid-stride to regard the little beings she'd come across. Then she ignored them, resuming her pacing. Desmond frowned, his expression growing even more grim, his eyes growing even more cold.
He listened to the giantess as she passed, listening to groans of her bones, and clank of her chains. He hadn't been able to hear the sounds the creature made when the mist was around muffling all the sound within the town, but now he could hear the giantess properly.
She was whispering, muttering beneath her breath. A harsh, repetitious, susurration issuing out of her body as if she were a massive speaker. By themselves the whispers were nothing, but there was something else, a squeaky sound not unlike the sound of air being let out of a balloon.
As he watched the giantess go, Desmond realized that there was more to the shrinking of her figure, than the fact that she was walking into the distance. The creature's brutal aura growing more intense with each inch it lost.
"Are we not going to slay that creature, sir?" said Monday.
Desmond shook his head.
"No. That one's been through enough." said Desmond.
As the dog-headed giantess went her way, the two travellers went theirs. Five more minutes of walking, and a quick use of gathered shadows to phase through a thick barricade of scrap metal and brick lead them to a small, closed off, portion of the town with a large number doll-masked cultists living inside.
"Where exactly are we, sir?" asked Monday.
"A settlement built right in the center of this dreary little place, and the home of our target." said Desmond.
"Actually….Sir, I've been meaning to ask, what exactly is our target?" said Monday.
Desmond chuckled his mood growing brighter the more the physical distance between the target and himself, shrank.
It took them seven minutes of walking through the shadows to reach the center of the settlement. Built upon this ground was a building, a former hospital that had clearly been converted into a place of worship by the cultists.
Having finally reached his goal, Desmond stepped out of the shadows and strolled inside the cultists temple.
He could feel a force trying to drive him out. He looked to his side and saw that Monday walking as if she were trying to resist hurricane winds.
Desmond snapped his fingers and felt his shadow swell, surrounding Monday's shadow and anchoring it.
"Thank you, sir…" said Monday. Suddenly realizing that she no longer had to use all of her materia to keep from being tossed out of the temple.
"Don't mention it, M." said Desmond.
The main hall of the temple still looked much like the hospital it once had been. The cultists hadn't bothered to take down the bulletin board, or change the teal wallpaper and linoleum tiling. There were even still a few gurneys lying around.
The only change the cultists seemed to have made were the bloody red script that they'd scrawled all over the walls, and the sickly sweet, slightly metallic, stench of the incense that they were burning.
"Monday, be a dear and clear the way for me, will you." said Desmond. His expression still bright even in the face of small army of epic and earthly realm guards, that were charging his and Monday's way.
"Yes, sir." said Monday. Holding her hands open to receive a new set of midnight blades from Desmond's shadow, since the last pair had faded away an hour ago.
As soon as the blades fell into her hands, the woman darted forwards. Becoming a lethal orange haired streak. Her movements sharp and clean, and brutally efficient. Desmond noted with approval the fact that fighting opponents with much sturdier physiques had helped the young swordswoman learn the trick to aiming for points of weakness.
While Monday slew the guards and anything else that stood in her way, Desmond strolled through the hallway. His hands clasped behind his back. Occasionally someone managed to make it through the humanoid-blender that was his assistant, but Desmond simply handled them by sending them flying back into the fray with just a thought and a little telekinetic force.
In this manner, Desmond was able to make his way to the inner chambers of the temple without getting a single drop of blood on him. (Assuming that the soles of his boots don't count.)
He opened the doors to the inner-sanctum, a room that would have once been the hospital's main operating theatre.
At the center of the chamber was a shrine with an aquarium sitting on it. Within the aquarium was a tall, stone, statue that either depicted a woman or an octopus.
He was only slightly surprised to see his 'friend' from before standing there, next to the cult's high priest. The mayor's brother.
It seemed that Desmond had underestimated the man's importance. He might have known that the leader of that group had been the leader of the captain of the cult's security force, had he cared enough to look the man up in akashic record. Unfortunately, beyond not wanting to waste his time with the man and his subordinates Desmond hadn't really cared about the man and who he was.
"What in the nine hells?!...Oh, wait...You?! What are you doing here?" said the Captain.
"Hello, again." said Desmond. Walking into the cult's inner-sanctum as if he owned the place.
"What are you trying to do friend?" said the Captain.
"Who is this cretin, Brother Ethan?" said the High Priest. Looking offended as he saw Desmond walk towards the dais of the shrine that sat at the heart of the cult's inner-sanctum.
"Just a friend from outside, Brother Hawkins. I'll sort this out." said the Captain.
"Oi, mate. Just what are you up to?" said the Captain.
"Oh, you know. Plundering your temple. Desecrating your shrine. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll even get to kill that false god of yours." said Desmond. His tone remaining jovial and conversational.
"Bastard! You dare?! Our goddess the great Akkorokamui will flay your blasphemous hide and tear your soul to-," snarled the High Priest. Stomping his feet as he spoke.
"Hush up for a minute, Hawkins. Me and my friend here are still talking." said the Captain. Cutting off the High Priest.
"Mhm….Considering the fact you made it here. I guess its safe to say you had something to do with the protective mists being blown away." said the Captain.
"A fair guess, as well as a correct one." said Desmond.
"In that case, chances are I might not be able to handle you on my own. Add to this the fact that your beastie out there has gone and killed off most of my best men, I suspect you might have me right over a barrel." said the Captain. Cupping his chin as if he were a detective unravelling a mystery.
"Another good guess." said Desmond. Smiling.
"I don't suppose you'll listen to reason and simply leave? That b*tch is still roaming outside, our shrine is the only thing keeping a lot of good people from dying."
Desmond chuckled.
"Please... Even if one could stretch the imagination and label a community that knowingly sustained their livelihoods by sacrificing innocent and virtuous youths- sacrificing young heroines no less- to a demon, as good people…. Do I look like the kind of being who'd care? After coming in here and wantonly slaughtering all your men? After striding in, dressed all dark, with a spooky and 'clearly' murderous aura all around me?...Does that look like the picture of a person who cares about the fates of 'good people' to you?" said Desmond. One eyebrow raised.
Going by the growing redness of his ears, it looked like the guard captain was blushing in either embarrassment, or rage.
"Right….Well, its been quite a while since I've seen what's playing in the core world's cinemas but last I saw, anti-heroes with dark powers and hearts of gold were pretty popular. I was guessing you might be one of those." said the Captain.
Desmond sighed.
"Nope….Oh, well. After so many correct guesses, it was kind of inevitable that you'd eventually get one wrong. And you know what, two out of three isn't bad so you should definitely still feel proud of yourself." said Desmond.
"Damn…." said the Captain.
"....I guess we're going with plan B after all." said the Captain. Grabbing the assault rifle that was slung over his shoulder and firing at the invader.
Relying solely on his lightning-fast perceptions, and just a hint of body augmenting magic Desmond waved his hands through the air, as the guard captains rifle barked at him. Once the rifle fell silent, Desmond opened his outstretched hands and let the bullets he'd caught tinkle onto the floor.
The captain clucked his tongue.
"Tch, is there an admin in the house? It looks like someone's using a bloody cheat character!" grumbled the captain. Tossing aside the emptied rifle, and drawing a pair of combat hatchets out of the pouch at his back.
He pressed a trigger on the hatchets and the heads of the hatchets came alive, glowing with an angry red light.
The Captain dashed forwards, closing the distance between Desmond and himself, in a single instant. The Captain swung the hatchet in his left hand horizontally, the plasma in the axe head mixing with his aura and cutting the wall behind Desmond in two. He swung the hatchet in his right hand vertically, like a great saint of legends trying to split a waterfall. The excess energy from the attack bringing a portion of the ceiling tumbling down.
Desmond ducked under the first blow, and stepped out range of the second. Making both evasions look effortless. He stepped forwards stomping his foot, and made his aura explode out from under him. A wave of light, shadow, and telekinetic force sending the Captain flying back several feet.
The captain coughed up and then swallowed a mouthful of blood. Gritting his teeth as he recovered and unleashed a flurry of blows at the stranger who seemed determined destroy everything the captain had sworn to protect.
Desmond weathered the storm of attacks like an ancient oak standing against a typhoon. He diverted a third of the blows using clever movements and the simple strength of his psychique. The other two thirds might as well have been aimed at the empty air.
With passing second Desmond's inner-marchen was growing closer to awakening, with each passing second Desmond was getting strong. His body gradually becoming more able to follow the speed of his perceptions.
It was gradually becoming the case that the captain's attacks seemed to be getting slower and slower, and only part of this was due to the other man growing tired after so many failed attacks. Part of it was the other man growing tired, most of it was the fact the Desmond was getting faster.
"Grr….What kind of monster are you, dammit?!" roared the Captain. Growing increasingly frustrated.
One of the captains blows actually managed to land but the most it managed to do was cut off a bit of cloth off of the other man's cuff. This small victory was immediately nullified as the man's jacket repaired itself.
"What kind of monster indeed." said Desmond. Smiling coldly, as he finally stepping forwards to attack. Dropping his elbow into the other man's chest with enough force to completely shatter the man's sternum and make the man spew blood.
The captain went flying, his body smashing into the glass aquarium that sat at the center of the cult's inner-sanctum. Desmond followed up his attack by throwing a midnight blade into the man's chest, and causing the blade to explode in much the same way a midnight bullet would.
The Captain's eyes went wide as he looked down at the gaping hole in his chest.
".....Bollocks." swore the captain. Defiantly spending his last breath on an invective, before the light faded from his eyes, and his body slid to the ground and tumbled off of the dais.
There was a bang. Desmond waved his hand without turning his head and caught yet another bullet. There five more bangs and Desmond caught those as well. Then with a flick of his wrist Desmond returned the bullets to their own. A half-second later the high priest would keel over dead. His shatter mask falling off the ruin that was once his face.
"Now for the moment I've been waiting for…" said Desmond. His black eyes glowing an eerie yellow. The whites of his eyes becoming darker than a moonless night.
He walked up the dais, stepping over the broken glass, dead fish, and clean white skulls that had once filled the aquarium. Using both his actual hand, and the metaphysical energies within his core, he rapped his knuckles on the frame of the aquarium.
*Knock-Knock-Knock*
"Excuse my rudeness, my dear goddess. Everyone's good buddy, the ever amiable and lackadaisical Lord Midnight, has now come to pay his 'respects'." said Desmond. Smiling a smile that was wider than his face had space for. Showing off more gleaming white teeth than should have been able to fit in his mouth.
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