Guest Post: The Angel of Chaos (Shattered Fate, by Astarte)

Though I call myself by a different name now, I am still and always will be, Thuka. I was born in the Year of Our Lady, 5430, the youngest of seven children. To say that I was poor would be the grossest of understatements. To be poor would be to have at least something, I had nothing. I was one of the Unclean.

My people are called the Alsy, descendants of the Great Betrayer. As such we have no rights, we are not even considered human. Every scrap of food or clothing had to be begged for or stolen. Most of us wandered the wilderness, trying to eke out a meager existence. Some of us, the truly unfortunate, were the property of landowners and did all the work considered unfit for people to perform. The average slave could expect to live to the ripe old age of twenty-five.

The Alsy were the lowest of the low, hated and shunned by all others. All others except Our Lady’s SeeD. Of all the people of the world, only those devoted to following the Way of the Lady treated the Alsy with any kindness.

The SeeD. It was so ironic considering that they had born the brunt of the Great Betrayer’s evil act. They often left bundles of food or clothing where itinerant Alsy could find them. And when the nobility protested, they only smiled and said that it was their way. I had grown up believing that they were my saviors.

Of all the Unclean, I was the most tainted of all. I was born with silvery hair, the mark of evil. Even as a child, I knew that I was different. How could one miss how the warrior priests of the SeeD always shook their heads when they saw me? Oh if only you could imagine how desperately I desired dark hair, normal hair. Ancient prophecy said that The Bringer of Chaos, the Ultemys, would one day come and she would be marked by her silvery hair. Most children born with hair that colour were killed in an attempt to prevent the prophecy from coming true.

Though I was born in 5430, my story only truly begins in 5445. My clan was one of the luckier ones, we were not slaves and were able to manage to survive in the wilderness. We always kept on the move, however, trying to avoid the slaver caravans. The high mortality rate of slaves meant that new slaves were in high demand. We lived in constant fear of capture, already I’d lost three of my brothers to the slavers. Little did I know that I would be next.

It was my fault, I realize that. I had not been paying as much attention as I should have been. Having lost two children to disease and three to slavery, my parents doted on my sister and I. Because they had only had two mouths to feed, the two of us were better fed and as a result, we were healthier. I was taller, prettier and smarter than most of the other girls my age. In the end, my active mind led to my capture.

I had been distracted by a butterfly, enjoying its fragile beauty, when suddenly a net appeared over my head. Slavers had snuck up on me and I had been too careless to pay attention. I never saw my family again but later I learned that they had also been captured. I can safely assume that they are dead by now.

I was taken to Balab, the center of the slave trade, guarded by women. My status as a virgin had made me valuable and I would fetch a high price for my captures so long as that status was maintained. The transport was filled with other Alsy girls like myself all destined for the worst kind of slavery.

Once in Balab, we were kept separate from the other Alsy and were bathed and groomed. In utter humiliation we were led to the auction block, naked and in chains, so that spoiled noblemen could see what it was they were going to purchase. One by one, sobbing girls were led off by their new owners to live a life I consider worse than death. Then it was my turn.

Of all the nobility there, one caught my attention. Terrified as I was, I couldn’t help but notice the shrouded figure in the back. I thought it might be a woman, veiled in layers of the finest lace, but I couldn’t be sure. Whoever it was, it was someone important. I do not know how, but we made eye contact through all that lace and in that moment, something passed between us.

The bidding had been getting higher and higher, apparently most of the noblemen thought me desirable. Two men in particular, were engaged in a bidding war. Even I was stunned, though, to hear the shrouded figure bid one million credits. Many years later, I would discover that I had earned the highest purchase price for any slave in all of history.

The entire room fell silent as the figure walked up to the platform. Lifting away the veils, we could see that my new owner was a woman. She had elaborately styled black hair and sky blue eyes. On her forehead was a mark, shaped like a pair of white angel’s wings. I watched as every noble bowed deeply to the tiny woman that stood before them.

It was the Queen of Heaven herself, Sorceress Arista. I had been bought by the ruler of the world. Though at first I did not know why she was interested in me, I soon learned. The Queen of Heaven, regardless of birth, had to be a sorceress. Arista had no daughters. It seemed that she had been searching the globe for a worthy successor. We were both surprised to learn that the only one capable of inheriting her power was one of the despised Alsy: me.

My station in life took a turn for the better, a change that I quickly came to enjoy. I was taught everything a princess was to know and, I am proud to say, I learned well. I first learned how to read and speak in the High Tongue, the language of the nobility. Next I was schooled in etiquette, dance, even how to eat. I was transformed from Unclean into Princess Royale by the time I was twenty-two.

Not everyone was pleased with my ascension, however. The nobles certainly did not like it. I was common, worse, I was a filthy Alsy. They hated the idea of one of the slave race becoming their ruler and being forced to bow to someone who, by all rights, should have been cleaning their homes, harvesting their crops, or providing a night’s entertainment. They were also afraid of what I would do once given power. They feared that I might ban slavery and ruin their ivelihoods.
The Queen of Heaven effectively silenced them by marrying off one of her sons to me, Prince Nerid. This act officially made me a member of the Royal Family and silenced all my critics. All except one.

The SeeD were outraged at my rise in social status. To them I had changed from being a poor, helpless Alsy girl to being a potential fulfillment of prophecy. They argued that I must not be allowed to inherit the power of a sorceress, that I must be killed. The SeeD, whom I had once considered friendly, had become a dangerous foe. They wanted me dead.

During my education, I learned a great deal about the SeeD, more than I think they would have liked. They had once been common mercenaries, soldiers for hire, not holy men as they were regarded now by the lower classes. I also learned that the blessed saint who had created SeeD was not an incarnation of Hyne as I had been taught, but only a woman who had run an orphanage thousands upon thousands of years ago. Her name had been Edea and she had been a sorceress. The focus of the prophecy, the warrior SeeD destined to destroy the Ultemys was one of her charges, a youth known to history only as Leonheart.

It was a name that was only slightly different than the ones I remember from childhood, when I’d sat around the fire listening to our shaman tell us about God and her saints. I fondly remember listening to tales of how Lion Heart the warrior fell in love with the archangel Rinoa. There had also been many stories about the other saints: Qis the wise, Seph the mistress of the dragons, Zell the strong and Vine the brave. I had spent my early years yearning to meet them.

It was all a lie. They had not been saints, angels or demigods, merely young mercenaries. Yet, prophecy was clear, they were destined to battle and destroy the Ultemys, the Chaos Angel. SeeD had spent thousands of years waiting for that evil to arrive. SeeD was convinced I was it.

I had become accustomed to luxury and was not about to give it up because SeeD clung to some ancient superstitions that they themselves had promoted. I had power within my grasp and I was not inclined to give it up. Let ignorant fools grovel before an imaginary Goddess and her false saints, I was no longer an illiterate Unclean animal. I believe in only myself and power.

My concern grew as the Queen of Heaven began to actually listen to SeeD. Everytime I saw her, some SeeD or another was whispering in her ear and they would look at me, at my silver hair. I began to fear for my life. The nobles, sensing that I was losing favour, began to openly speak out against me. If I did not act soon, I would be killed.

My consort gave me some sage advise. If I was in power, if I became the Queen of Heaven, neither SeeD nor nobleman could stand in my way. Over time, I had come to care for him deeply, even if I didn’t truly love him. I knew that he cared for me. He feared that sooner or later I would suffer a tragic accident at the hands of some assassin. Forced to make a choice between me and the mother he hardly knew, Nerid chose me. It was a choice that pushed my feelings from friendship into love and a choice that would be his undoing.

He was right, of course, Arista had become an obstacle to be removed. Oddly enough, once I had made up my mind to kill my benefactor, it was easy to accomplish. A childhood spent trying to avoid capture and trying to stay alive had honed my instincts. No one ever saw the poison that I slipped into her cup after the tasters had tested the wine. I selected my poison with care. It did not act immediately and expertly mimicked the effect of a stroke. I quietly knelt beside her and watched as the need to release her power struggled with the desperate desire to live. It was only as she released her magic to me that she seemed to understand what I had done. That knowledge came too late and she died before she could utter a word.

The assembled nobles had expressions of grief intermingled with horror as the truth slowly dawned on them. I was Queen of Heaven. Their fate hung on my every whim and they had made an enemy of me. Things did not bode well for them and we both knew it.

I never heard the shot. One of the SeeD had smuggled a weapon into the castle and had fired at me. Nerid had seen the SeeD take aim and had pushed me out of the way. He died in my place, his chest shattered. My rage knew no bounds. They had taken away from me the only family I had left. Of all the people I had met only he had shown me loyalty and love. I would avenge my murdered husband.

Power the likes of which I had never known coursed through me. I called down Apocalypse on them, time and time again. I was deaf to the screams of agony and terror, untouched by any of SeeD’s smuggled weapons. The expensive handmade rugs became saturated with blood and gore. I didn’t care.

By the end of it, only one person had survived, a SeeD. I allowed him to live. I wanted him to hear and spread the word. I wanted them to know what they had done. The prophecy had been fulfilled by their own superstition. If it was Ultemys they wanted, Ultemys they would have and to hell with all of them.

“Now and forever shall I be Ultemicia, Angel of Chaos.”

Fin

Author’s Note: This is my attempt to understand what might have driven Ultemicia. It came about as a result of my trying to figure out how that time compression thing worked.

(c) Astarte 2000 (included with permission as part of the Shattered Fate storyline)

Guest Post: Lamentations (New World, by Switchblade)

The man walked into the pub, wincing as the smoke of a dozen cigarettes stung his eyes. This was the kind of bar he hated; no groups of friends out for a night on the town, no pretty waitresses with large breasts spilling out the top of the dresses, no laughter. Poor lighting and a bunch of sad, miserable bastards crying into their beers were all that this place had to offer. Anyone who wanted to hide away from reality would be hard pressed to find a better place. If he was going to find the guy anywhere, it’d be here.

“Hey, barkeep,” the man called out, strolling casually up to the bar, “I’m looking for a friend of mine.” The bartender just stared at him with palpable disinterest, the look of a man with only an hour left on his shift. “He’s a big guy,” the man continued, ignoring the bartender’s ennui, “Got a gun for a hand, you can’t miss him.” The bartender said nothing, merely pointed to a table in a dark corner before turning away.

The man walked over to the table, barely able to perceive anyone in the unlit corner. Drawing closer he was finally able to discern a definite shape, a scratched and dirty gatling gun, attached to a man’s wrist where a hand once was. Reaching up the man yanked the chain on the overhead lamp, filling the corner with unwelcome light. Sitting down the man smiled at the table’s occupant, “Hey, boss,” he said.

The man called Barret Wallace made no response, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, staring intently at some vision that only he could see. After several moments Barret raised the glass and downed the contents in a single gulp, then slammed the now empty vessel back down on to the table. Reaching for the bottle to pour another round the big man’s bloodshot eyes finally took notice of his companion. “Fuck off, Reno,” he growled as he refilled his glass.

“Aw, c’mon,” the red-haired Turk grinned, “After I get Cait Sith to track down this little piss hole that’s how you say hello?”

Barret set down his still full glass and stared at Reno disdainfully, “Cait Sith’s dead, moron,” he said.

“No,” Reno corrected, taking hold of his employer’s bottle and downing a swig, “Reeve’s dead. There’s a difference. Cait Sith is still around. Actually ten Cait Sith’s are still around, extras in case Reeve broke more of ‘em. Someone back at ShinRa HQ had the bright idea of reprogramming them to serve as secretaries. They’re kinda lacking in the personality department, but they’re damned efficient. The stuffed bastards even managed to find you, despite your best efforts to disappear. Ugh,” he added, taking another drink from the bottle, “What the hell is this pig slop?”

“I know why you’re here,” the black man replied, “And you can forget about it, I ain’t going back with ya.”

“Listen, boss…” the Turk began.

“Don’t you dare fucking call me that!” the big man barked. “I never asked to be head of ShinRa, and you can be damn sure I ain’t gonna do it, to hell with what Reeve wanted!”

“Well, gee,” Reno retorted sarcastically, “If you don’t want to be president of ShinRa, then I guess you don’t have to. God knows life is all about getting whatever you want.”

Barret picked up his glass again and downed the contents, glowering darkly at the Turk all the while. “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?” he asked.

“Yes you did,” Reno answered, “And I’m not gonna listen this time either.”

With a fierce growl the former head of AVALANCHE reached across the table, sending the whiskey bottle crashing to the floor as he grabbed Reno’s collar in his hand. Raising his gun-arm to the Turk’s chin Barret snarled out a warning. “Listen you son of a bitch, you can either walk away now and forget you ever saw me, or you can have your remains carried out in a Thermos. The choice is yours, but either way you’re gonna leave me the hell alone. Got it?”

Nonplussed Reno looked over his shoulder and called out to the bar. “Hey, bartender,” he said, “Another bottle of whiskey over here. And this time make it something that doesn’t taste like it’s passed through an elderly male Chocobo’s urinary tract.” Turning back to the one-time terrorist Reno smiled, “She told me you’d react like this,” he said.

“Who’s ‘she?’” Barret demanded.

“Tifa,” the Turk answered, “She told me you’d be threatening to kill me within ten minutes. Very perceptive, that girl.”

Barret lowered his gun-arm and pulled back, allowing the visibly terrified bartender to place a new bottle and two glasses on the table before quickly scampering back to the safety of his bar. Pulling the cork out of the bottle Barret filled a glass and downed the contents. “What does Tifa have to do with this?” he asked.

“When you didn’t show up for work after the funeral Elena and I started looking for you. We started off by asking Tifa for help, her being your oldest living friend and all,” the Turk answered, filling and quickly emptying his own glass. “Damn, that’s better. Still horrible, but better. She’s worried about you, ya know.”

“Tell her I’m fine,” Barret said, reaching again for the bottle.

“Liar,” Reno countered, “If you were fine you’d be at work, not holed up in some little cesspool of a bar in the middle of nowhere drinking yourself to death. I know becoming president of ShinRa wasn’t exactly something you wanted, but that’s no reason to run and hide in a bottle.”

Barret polished off another glass then looked Reno in the eyes, “Who says I’m hiding?” he asked.

The Turk poured a fresh shot and answered the big man’s question. “It’s more of an inference,” he said, “Based on the fact that you disappeared of the face off the Planet a couple of days after the funeral, not even bothering to tell your friends where you were going.”

“Yeah?” Barret replied, “Well you’re wrong. I ain’t hiding from anything. Has it ever occurred to anyone that I’m sick and tired of you all?”

“You’re lying again,” Reno observed, “You’re obviously hiding from something.”

“Really?” the big man asked, “And what leads you to that conclusion?”

“Like I said, it’s obvious,” the Turk answered, “You’ve just lost a bunch of friends, your home town, and your own daughter. If you didn’t have anything to run from you’d be with your friends. This is the kind of time when a person needs to be comforted by their loved ones.”

“Hmph,” Barret snorted, “Comfort. I don’t need comfort,” he said, pointing accusingly at Reno. The new president of ShinRa then poured yet another round, but instead of drinking it the big man sank back in his chair and sat silently, seemingly lost in thought. After a long pause Barret spoke again, this time in a soft, saddened voice. “I don’t need comfort, I’m the strong one.”

Reno put his own glass down and listened attentively as his new boss continued. “When things go wrong I don’t cry or get said about it,” the big man said, “I get angry. When ShinRa destroyed my home, I got angry. When Sephiroth drove his sword through Aeris’s gut, I got angry. I didn’t break down, I stayed strong. And in my own way I comforted the others, drowning their sorrow in my fury.”

“So that’s what this is about,” Reno said, “It has nothing to do with becoming president of ShinRa, it’s about you. Who comforts the comforter? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Barret said nothing for a long time, just gazing deeply into the amber liquid in his glass. After a few minutes he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was supposed to be safe,” he said.

“You mean Marlene, don’t you?” Reno asked.

“Jenova was dead. Sephiroth was dead. Meteor was gone. She was supposed to be safe.” Barret set the glass down, the liquid inside untouched.

“We made a mistake,” Reno responded, “We all thought that all the world’s evil somehow vanished with Meteor. How were we supposed to know that Jenova wasn’t dead? Or that Tenarrus was going to free Chaos? We thought everyone was safe. There’s no way we could have foreseen what happened. No one could have.”

“But we should have known,” Barret answered, “We got careless. We spent all of our time rebuilding things, planning weddings, and acting like everything was okay. And look what that complacency got us. Cid’s dead. Reeve’s dead. Rude’s dead. Elmyra’s dead. Cloud may as well be dead, God knows we’ll never see that spikey-assed bastard again. And to top it off that bitch Jenova took away my little girl.”

Reno said nothing, aware that the big man was going through a necessary purge of the strong emotions that had been stewing silently inside him.

“Ya know what the worst part is?” Barret asked. “The last thing she ever said was that I didn’t love her. That she had killed Cid, and was going to kill the rest of us, because I never loved her.”

At that Reno spoke up, drawing the big man’s attention to an important fact. “That wasn’t your daughter, man, it was Jenova. And she was telling the truth, you never did love Jenova. Quite frankly we’d all be really worried if you had.”

“I know it wasn’t really Marlene,” Barret sighed, “But it still haunts me. How do I know that the reason Jenova said that because that’s how Marlene really felt? How do I know that Marlene didn’t actually think I didn’t love her?”

“It’s simple,” Reno answered, “You know it’s not true because Jenova’s the most evil, spiteful bitch the world’s ever known. With the possible exception of Elena before she’s had her coffee. She said you’d never really loved her because it hurt. Jenova really got off on causing pain, and the chance to wound you both physically and mentally would have been too great for her to pass up.”

“That may be true, but there’s always gonna be that seed of doubt. Whenever I think of Marlene I’ll hear those words. For the rest of my life.”

“And that’s what this is for, isn’t it?” Reno asked, tapping the whiskey bottle. “You’re trying to not only dull the pain but drown out those words while you’re at it. If that’s it I can tell you right now that it won’t work.”

“I know,” Barret sighed, “But right now it’s the only thing I can do.”

“Because you’re the strong one,” the Turk responded, “And you can’t ask anyone for help.”

Barret said nothing, simply raised his glass and poured the burning liquid down his throat.

“You do realize you’re an idiot, don’t you?” Reno asked.

The big man stared into the empty glass, not raising his eyes even to respond to the Turk’s question. “How’s that?” he quietly asked.

“You think you’re the only one who can be strong, and that everyone else has to lean on you for support. What you don’t realize is that people can’t live like that. If everyone leans up against you for support their weight will eventually push you over, and then what? People need to lean on each other, support each other. It’s like a house of cards; if one card is straight and another leans on it they’ll both eventually tip over. But if two cards lean up against each other they’ll stand.”

“Go home,” Reno continued, picking up the bottle and sticking the cork back in, “Right now you have a real good friend who needs someone to hold her up. Go see Tifa. If you can talk about this stuff with me then you can sure as hell talk about it with her. Don’t forget, you aren’t the only one who lost someone they love.”

Barret didn’t respond immediately, taking time to let the Turk’s words sink in. Finally he looked up at Reno and let a weak smile form on his face. “Thanks, Reno,” he said, “I’ll do that.”

“Good,” the Turk replied, “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go find a nicer bar to drink off this case of philosophy I seem to have developed. Preferably somewhere with an atmosphere less conducive to suicide.”

As the Turk got up and began walking out of the bar Barret stood up and called out one final message to his employee. “Reno,” he yelled, “I want you and Elena in my office first thing Monday morning, we have a lot of work to do.”

Reno turned around and smiled, “Yes, sir,” he said.

Fade

(c) Switchblade 2005

(reprinted with permission)