by Ashley Cope
GlassShard@hotmail.com
***I really made good use of my artistic license in this fic ^_^ Hardly anything is ever explained about Legend of Legaia's baddies or why exactly Cort turns evil so I uh, got pretty creative while still trying to keep everything within the realm of possibility as far as the actual game is concerned. So in other words, I took what info the game does give and then fleshed it out and added some of my own speculation, trying to humanize Cort and Gi as best I could. Well heck, I guess that's what fanfiction's all about anyways ^_^
Conkram Kingdom jutted from the surrounding countryside like a mirage; it was a
city too beautiful to be real. White marble glistened in the
sunlight of early afternoon, dappled with the violet shadows, ever moving, of tree leaves swaying, brushing over eachother and whispering secrets as birdsong punctuated their soft music, chittering ups and downs of gorgeous
melody. A dog yapped at the baker's door. Children played in
the streets and shouted at eachother, marbles clacking inside
shoe-string circles. Citizens strolled the cobblestones, toiling
pleasantly beneath the heat of a fresh day.
With little warning, a trumpet screamed for attention and
shattered the paperthin tranquility. The children quieted. The faces of
the citizens grew ashen. The dog was shushed and the birds flew
away.
With a creaking of old hinges and a
muttering of protesting wood, Conkram's mighty oaken gates
swung slowly open. Unexpressibly unwelcome, a horse-drawn cart entered the city; broad,
ridden with the stench of decay and old meat. Flies followed it
and buzzards circled overhead. The children retreated inside,
frightened of the contrast. The small dog ran forward to sniff at a bloody,
cold arm hanging nearly to the ground, slipped
roguishly from the stained tarp covering the rest of the bodies
held inside. One of the drivers flung an
applecore at it and the animal squeeled, dashing away. The cart
slunk past the marble with its burden and towards the morgue.
Just as it did every day.
For longer than anyone could even
remember.
Cort wasn't sure how long the church had stood there. The looming
structure, a cacophony of raucous marble swirls, looming white
buttresses, stained glass reaching to the God they'd been built
in the name of, had all been there since. . . well, it seemed
since the world had been created. And if that wasn't the case,
than it didn't matter to Cort. Because the cathedral had stood
since before he'd been born. And in the young man's mind, the
world hadn't really begun until then.
"Prince!"
Cort shuddered at the call. It was a
summon and a reminder all at the same time. Features just as cold
as the church's marble walls, he stood stately and slow from the
pew he'd been sitting in and turned around to face the
dark-haired boy running towards him.
The coloured light filtered through
the tall windows and flash flooded Gi Delilas in brilliant
squares of mosaic illumination. He squinted intermittently as he
huffed along, throwing a wink to Cort as the stately seventeen
year old eyed his approach.
"Gi, you enter a room like a
whirlwind," Cort muttered, stepping into the aisle, throwing
a last look towards the alter at the church's front. Gi grinned
at him, screeching to a halt and panting.
"Sorry. Master says I should run
as much as possible, it's good for my lungs."
"Master Dohati should follow his
own advice, he's as fat as a roast turkey. I love watching him
demonstrate techniques to you, it's like watching a cow trying to
do ballet."
Gi chuckled, throwing his hands in
the pockets of his tunic and leaning back on the heels of his
boots. His brown hair fell before his reddish eyes and he blew it
away with a few impatient puffs from his bright lips. "Don't
ever let him hear you talking like that, Prince. He'll tell the
King and have you made one of his students."
"Hmph. The Crown Prince of
Conkram a student of the mortal techniques? Uncouth to say the least, "Cort
scoffed, "You know I'm more interested in the sciences, in
Seru studies. Scholarly pursuits, more befitting royalty."
"Aw, stuff it. You know if your
dad would allow it you'd be training alongside Lu, Che, and I.
Don't try your sour grapes stuff on me, Prince, I'm your best
friend, I know you better than you know yourself."
Cort smirked at his friend, winking
his green eye and peering at Gi with the other violet one.
Crossing his arms and beginning to amble down the aisle of the
deserted, quiet church, he muttered, "You're not as smart as
you think you are, Gi."
"Oh, you're right. I'm
smarter." Gi ran up and popped his friend a good one in the
shoulder, then skipped forward towards the church's exit, his
lithe form swallowed by the harsh light pouring in from outside,
"Now c'mon, Doom'n Gloom, your dad wants you. And he didn't
sound too happy when he told me to fetch you. I think you're in
trouble."
"What?" Cort looked up and
blinked innocently, "You don't think he found out what I did
to the kitchen, do you? I thought I hid the explosion quite
well."
"I don't know, Prince, "Gi
called mischievously, "I think he's just sore because you've
been in here praying since ten this morning. That's what. . .
four hours? You know your dad gets tired of your bible-beating.
You should be boning up on your fencing or something more. . .
princely, I don't know. You're always in this damned church
kneeling at the alter. Princes don't kneel. Well, they
shouldn't, I didn't think..."
Cort shrugged, following his friend
outside, his hands in his pockets, his silvery hair falling
before his eyes. Gi watched him suspiciously, staying at his side
as they approached the magnificent main palace of Conkram
Kingdom. The breathtakingly beautiful structure rose before them
as though carved from a mountain and, as it always managed to, it
intimidated the crap out of Gi. He and his brother and sister had
lived in the palace since they were small children, taken in as
orphans with the purpose of being trained as Royal bodyguards,
but still, he never quite felt right living there. He always felt
like a stray dog someone had taken pity on one day, only
tolerated because he kept the burglars away. Hmph. In a way, that
was the case.
Shaking off the thoughts, Gi turned
to Cort with a firm question at the corner of his mouth.
"Prince, "he began softly, "What do you pray for
all the time?"
"Hmm?" Cort looked up, his
own train of thoughts interrupted. He blinked slowly, then smiled
at his friend with slightly saddened eyes, "Oh, I don't
know. Mainly I pray that the war with Sol will end. But you know, Gi, I'm
not always praying inside there. Mainly I'm taking lessons from
Zeto. He's teaching me of all sorts of things; of Uru Mais, and
Seru-kai, and Genesis Trees. He's teaching me how it all ties in
with Tieg. He's convinced I'm going to ascend to the throne as a
pious man and bring the cult of Riem back to its proper place in
the Conkram hierarchy. He's batty, but I tolerate him. He does
know a lot of useful things. He and Jette must be the smartest
men in the kingdom. Well, next to the King, of course."
"Of course, "Gi replied
automatically, but then his voice softened into a more
conversational wave of friendliness. "Speaking of Seru,
Prince, do you. . . do you buy into that belief that God sent the
Seru to help mankind? To, ah. . . give them an edge?"
"Belief?" Cort asked,
cocking his head to one side, "It isn't a matter of
believing. It's just. . . the fact of the matter. Seru are a gift
from God. A sign of His love for us, His ultimate creations.
Though we people waste those sublime gifts horribly, eh?"
"Well, I don't know about that,
"Gi said uneasily, balking a bit at the tone of serious
anger in his friend's voice, "I mean, in Octam they use them
usefully, and my own Seru, heh, I can really do some damage with
it on." Gi patted the bulky creature melded to his left arm
and grinned, doing a little pose and ending it with a mock punch
to Cort's jaw that the young Prince didn't even acknowledge with
a blink. "It's like anything else. Seru are just as useful
or just as pointless as whoever they're attached to. They're just
weapons, Prince, nothing more."
Cort shrugged and replied, "I
don't care. But I won't wear one, not unless there's a real use
for it. People walk around and lift rocks because they're wearing
Seru. Just "because they can". That's wrong,
squandering the gifts of God. Zeto says how wrong it is and I
believe it. If the people of the world keep being so wasteful,
one day, God may just decide to take the Seru back."
"I doubt God cares, "said
Gi wryly, "If anything, he's probably more concerned with
the way we're all blowing each other to pieces in this war. Quit
giving yourself more things to fret over, Prince. It isn't good
for you. That Zeto, he's a little nuts, always going around
condemning us all for our Seru. I'd like to strap a Seru around
his mouth and get him to shut up."
Cort laughed lightly, turning his
eyes up the sky, grimacing as the white heat of the sun baked the
top of his head. "He is a pompous old man, "he agreed,
"But he has a point sometimes. I don't know, Gi, sometimes
this world just seems damned strange. With the war raging, people
dying, casualty lists as long as I am tall coming in everyday. .
. you have to wonder what we're all doing wrong."
Gi didn't answer, he couldn't think
of anything worthwhile to say. It was no lie, the horrors of war
were truly wicked. But he was used to them. The war had been
raging since before either of them had been born, it was
something they'd grown up with. He could remember his nanny
tucking him in at night and whispering that General Gaza would
come and cut him up if he didn't go right to sleep. War was his
reality. Cort's too. Gi just didn't understand why his friend let
it all eat him up inside so badly. Maybe growing up as Prince,
hearing the gruesome details discussed everyday by his royal
mother and father over dinner, hearing the numbers of soldiers
killed that week tossed around as though it were nothing. . . Gi
imagined after long enough, it would start to eat away at him
too. Or make him cold to it, turn his heart to ice. Sometimes,
with the way Cort talked, Gi wasn't sure which was the case.
"Well, I'm rather dirty from my
exercises, "he said suddenly, noticing they were at the main
doors of the palace. He gave a grin to Cort who only looked up
briefly from his ponderings and offered a half-hearted smile.
"I'm off to clean up and get something to eat. Don't let the
King chew you out too badly about your spending so much time with
Zeto in the church, Prince, I just think he worries about you.
You are pale as anything, your grace. A little sun, a little
sparring might do you good."
"Gi, you'd mop the floor with
me, "Cort said with a grin, "But don't worry about my
father. I'm not."
"Heh. All right. I'll see you
after Dinner at services. Fare thee well until then, my
liege."
Gi bowed as was customary, then
skipped away, running as usual, off to find his siblings. Cort
watched him go for a moment, then sighed, clasped his slender
hands behind his back, and entered the Palace.
"Four hours, Cort, four hours. I'm not sure if you've
realised it yet, but people talk. It's unbefitting that the Crown
Prince of Conkram should spend so much of his time in tutelage
under someone as, as. . . " King Nebular closed his eyes and
searched for the most tactful word, "Zealous as your
friend Zeto. He's a strange, questionable man who has only
befriended you because of your position."
Cort stood respectfully straight,
eyes forward, and nodded at his father's words. Nebular watched
him and frowned, rubbing his proud chin with two thick fingers.
It was a harsh thing to say, but Cort needed to learn how
important it was to watch who ones friends were when one was
royalty. "I cannot forbid you from going to him during your
days, Cort, but I must say that if you don't begin to cut back on
your time spent with Zeto, I may have to consider sending you to
Drake Kingdom for a spell. King Drake has expressed his
willingness on more than one occasion to tutor you in the finer
sciences. You could spend your time with his professors, studying
the water."
"That sounds delightfully fun,
"Cort muttered, still staring forward. Nebular frowned at
the rebellious words and crossed his arms, pacing the length of
the Palace's gorgeously adorned throne room with loud steps.
"I'm just trying to help you,
"he said, attempting to keep his voice friendly instead of
strict, "Your mother and I worry about you. Your experiments
and your genius make us quite proud, I'm not sure you know how
much but, Cort. . . we just ask that you put your intellect
towards more wholesome pursuits than Seru study."
"Yes, father."
"Weapons development for
instance. Jette is even now working with scientists from Octam
and Jeremi to develop new offences for the royal army. Jette is
very optimistic about some of their research so far." Cort
frowned deeply and turned his eyes to the ground, causing
Nebular to approach him in concern, placing a fatherly hand on
his son's proud shoulder. "I know that the war concerns you,
Cort, "he said lowly, low enough so that the guards standing
watch at the door couldn't hear. He didn't feel family matters
were any of their business. "It should concern you, you are
Prince after all. One day, when I am gone, Conkram's future will
be in your hands and it'll be your turn to battle Sol. But Cort,
instead of avoiding the war, instead of stewing over it, letting
your worries eat at your insides. . . "
Cort looked up, mouth open to
protest, but Nebular shushed him with an upraised finger.
"Don't bother disagreeing, I see
the expression on your face whenever you hear me meeting with the
advisors, or with the General. This war sickens you, you hate it.
Don't be ashamed to admit it, war is vile, it should be despised.
But we cannot avoid it. Our Kingdom and our country are at stake
and we must face the threat, eyes forward, swords at the
ready."
"But father, "Cort began,
still staring intently at the ground, shame welling in his heart,
"I have no sword, I'm not a skilled warrior, or tactician. I
can't be of any help in ending the fighting."
"Everyone has a different
talent, Cort. Yours is science, technology. That's why I suggest
you leave Zeto and his pessimistic teachings behind and go to
study with Jette. Help him with the development of his weapons,
use your intellect to save lives by ending this war. You are
Prince Cort of Conkram, make that a name that Sol fears, become
as terrible to them as their Gaza is to us. Make the Kingdom
proud. Make your mother and I even prouder. We both love you so
much, Cort, and we worry that sometimes, you don't see things
clearly. You don't need Zeto filling your head with his religious
babble. Put your skills to practical use, and if you must study
Seru, do so with military intent, not to condemn us all, as Zeto
would have."
Nebular laughed heartily and slapped
Cort lovingly on the back. Cort gave a weak smile, his eyes still
clouded over with his own thoughts. Once his father dismissed
him, he left the room with heavy treads, his arms crossed as he
went, the corners of his mouth turned down with barely hidden
grief and unease. Nebular watched his exit, his own
features just as uneasy. A gentle hand fluttering at his back
caused the King to turn suddenly. His wife Queen Minea was standing there, grace and beauty almost visibly emanating from her tall and slender frame.
"You spoke to him then,
my love?" she queried, her green eyes sparkling with concern.
"Yes, "Nebular returned,
his voice low, "It's really up to him. I'm his father, but I
can't be there to guide his every step. He'll live his life as he
sees fit. I just worry sometimes about some of his influences.
Zeto, for all his religious babble. . . sometimes, I see things
very. . . for lack of a better word, ungodly in his eyes.
I could curse myself for ever appointing him head of the sect.
Perhaps there's some truth to separation of church and state. How
can I be expected to be any sort of judge as to who's a better
earthly representative of Tieg? I don't know, Minea, I just hope
that there isn't another casualty of this horrible war right
inside these Palace walls. I can't be there for Cort as I'd like
to."
"I know. But I trust him, we've
raised him well, he knows what he's doing. He'll go to Jette,
you'll see. He'll win this war for us, Jette said there wasn't a
more gifted young man in the Kingdom."
Nebular grunted noncommittally, then
turned and left the throne room, off to meet with the royal
advisors. Sol was coming down hard and things were tense, the
fighting more brutal and serious than it had been in many years.
Bodies lined the streets and the carpenter was running low on
wood for the necessary coffins. Nebular was aware that Cort often
visited the morgues. He didn't understand why his son would
desire to see such things, but he knew quite well of his habits.
Perhaps Cort prayed over the murdered soldiers. Perhaps he was
punishing himself for not being able to stop their deaths.
Nebular didn't know, but he didn't like it. And his instincts as
a father and as a King, told him that no good could come of such
morbid actions.
Cort left the glittering white of the Palace behind and stepped
out into the sun, his short red cloak streaming behind him like a
banner, his hair shining silver and bright. The strength and
might of Conkram's cathedral stood before him with open arms,
longing to hold him, to make him feel some worth. He could be
worthy, when he was wrapped in the marble of the church. When
Zeto told him how things stood in the world, why there were so
many new headstones in the graveyard, why his father was a
murderer, why things seemed so wrong, so unfair. Cort bit at his
lower lip as he walked, trying to stifle frustrated tears. Why
was he crying? He didn't know why. Too many years of standing by,
helpless, as more and more of his people were killed. It hurt,
after long enough, to be so helpless. To be Prince of the entire
realm, to be privileged, pampered, wealthy in love, breeding, and
friendship, yet be so helpless. It didn't make sense.
He left the harsh sunlight and
suddenly was inside the church. The high walls reached to heaven
all around him, the warm red of the long aisle stretching away to
the beautiful perfection of Tieg's gold altar at the front. Warm,
maternal, and best of all understanding. Cort wasn't sure if it
was God that made him feel so at ease when he was in the church,
or if it was the church itself. He smeared the tears from his
eyes with a disgusted hand, then flung himself on the short set
of velvety steps leading up the altar and sighed, leaning his
weight on his hands.
The short conversation with his
father hadn't helped his state of mind. He'd just felt so on edge
lately, so critical of everything going on in the Kingdom. He
couldn't understand it. Everything just felt so. . . dirty. Such
a waste. Such a lie. Here was beauty, the most beautiful city in
the world and what was it built on? Those dead soldiers and a
lifetime of war. His father's Palace, his father's clothes, his
own clothes, it was all paid for in the blood of innocent young
men. It just didn't make sense. Where was the honour in living
off of other's deaths? Giving a long, shuddering sigh, Cort
rested his tired forehead in his hands and shut his eyes, weary
of the thoughts. They seemed the only things on his mind anymore.
"Master Cort, what is
wrong?"
The voice was imperial, the voice of
a lion if lions could talk. It made Cort snap his head up and his
eyes rove the shadows of the church for the speaker. They finally
found him, a black blacker than the shadows, a silhouette nearly
as immense and intimidating as the church they both stood in.
"Zeto. . . "the young
Prince breathed, sitting up a little straighter, slapping his
royal dignity and demeanour back on like a well-worn mask,
"I didn't know you were in here."
"I seldom leave these walls,
Master, you know that. All sanity ends the moment I step from
this church. That world outside. . . well, it is disturbing, to
say the least."
Cort smiled darkly, leaning his
elbows on his knees, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "So
you always tell me, Zeto. Strange for such a religious man to be
so condemning of God's creations, don't you think?"
"No stranger, young Master, than
for the Prince to be so disapproving of his father, the King's,
actions. I can read it in your face. You wish this war over with
so badly it galls you."
"That's none of your concern,
"Cort snapped suddenly, steel in his normally impassive
voice, "Don't tell me what I do and don't wish, old
man."
"Of course, "Zeto
apologised, stepping forward with a friendly smile. The filtered
rainbow light from the stained glass lit his face suddenly,
revealing his strange, exotic features clearly to Cort. There was
something almost too accessible, almost too welcome about him; he
seemed to emanate something so open, so bereft of his own
personal sins that it was as though he desired to make others
just as pure. It was this quality that had made King Nebular
appoint him as head of Conkram's religious sect. No one seemed as
pure or pious as Zeto. "I just see such things in such a
young, promising, talented man and it worries me, "he
continued in a drawling but reverberating voice that bounced off
the rafters and to Cort's ears eerily. "Do not be dishonest
with me, Master. You are one of the few truly good men in
this kingdom, perhaps the only one besides myself. It does not
befit you to lie."
Cort nearly rebuked him again for
calling him a liar, but he found he didn't have the heart.
Instead, he began to talk, to spill his soul, to say things he
knew he could never say to his father. "A hundred more
today, Zeto, " he whispered, closing his eyes, "A
hundred more bodies. And if that were all, that would be one
thing. But there're so many corpses laying scattered somewhere in
Karisto, men, boys who died so far from here, from their
families. What did they die for? I asked my father that a few
weeks ago. He couldn't give me a straight answer, just a lot of
garbage. They died for the honour of Conkram, they died
protecting the citizens. Protecting them from what? From Sol?
That Tower in the distance and that General Gaza and his vicious
sword? It just seems such a pointless, fruitless lie. Why
must this war continue and people die? Why do they use the gifts
from God as weapons against each other? It's wrong, Zeto. I don't
understand it."
"You aren't meant to understand,
Master Cort, "Zeto said soothingly, moving a few steps
closer, "And neither am I. We are humans and ignorance is
our lot in life. Ignorance to the workings of God is our burden.
It is a heavy burden, it breaks our backs and steals the sanity
from those of us who fight it, but it never lightens, despite our
efforts."
"I think this war goes beyond
the "workings of God", "Cort whispered. Zeto's
keen black eyes widened at the words and he smiled smally as his
pupil continued, "I think that humanity's strayed from any
grand purposes that God ever had for us. The seru, they were
meant to be noble, an augmentation, not a crutch. A tool, not a
weapon. But Zeto, the soldiers, Sol and Conkram, they use the
seru to slaughter each other. They turn God's gifts to their own
destructive purposes. My father, the King, he's just as bad as
any of them. And what does my mother do to stop him? Nothing.
Some of the battle strategies the armies have used as of late
were her very own. They are both murderers, both usurpers and
violators of divinity. I don't understand it. I don't. How can
they not see that what they're doing is evil? No one is right,
not they or Sol. Both sides are corrupt so how is it possible to
hope for either to win? If there was any justice in the world,
both sides would fail."
The dim insides of the church echoed
with his words, shooting them into the young Prince's ears
mockingly. He cringed beneath the assaults of his own bitter
voice, almost covering his ears with his hands. Zeto watched his
struggles, hands folded into the large sleeves of his elaborately
decorated robe. After a moment, he began to speak.
"You nearly have to begin to
wonder about them at times. . . "
Cort looked up at the strange words,
the coloured light reflecting from the tears at his eyes.
"At who, Zeto?" he asked
meekly. The dark man turned down and looked at his pupil with
malicious wisdom in his gaze.
"At humanity, "he finished
with a sweep of his arms. Closing his eyes, he turned away and
eyed the golden alter behind Cort, his words low and slow.
"They really are little more than animals. They need a god
to care for them, to leash them, to fence them in."
"But Tieg does not do that,
"Cort replied, remembering his lessons, "It is not
God's place to stick an intruding hand in the affairs of his
creations."
"And that is why we are at war.
. . "Zeto said with half a chuckle.
"Zeto. . . "Cort breathed,
"You're not blaming this war on God, are you?"
"No, just the opposite, young
Prince. This war is because of a lack of god. If only Tieg would
make his presence known, and silence the stupidity, the ignorance
of the human race, then people wouldn't have to die everyday. You
wouldn't have to go to the morgue to pray over the slain. Your
conscience would be cleared."
"My conscience is fine. . .
"Cort protested half-heartedly. It was a lie, but he didn't
feel it the old man's place to pick him apart for sport. His
emotions and his guilt were his own dark little secrets, not
Zeto's.
"I will not argue that with you,
my liege, "the old man responded with dignity and decorum,
"But if there is nothing on your conscience, why are you
crying?"
Cort grit his teeth together and shot
to his feet, smearing the tears from his eyes. Without a word
wasted, he stalked outside, angry that Zeto's presence was making
him leave the church, his one refuge in the entire sprawling
prison of a palace.
"Don't run away from me, young
Master!" Zeto called, "I'm only trying to help
you!"
"No. . . "Cort's voice was
a whisper as he left the comforting darkness of the church and
its beauty behind for the stinging harshness of mid-afternoon
outside. "No, I don't need your help, Zeto. You can't help.
And you don't really care, you're just like everyone else, just
like my father. A manipulating liar. A selfish, dirty. . .
human!"
Zeto watched the young man's
retreating form, his long, white fingers protruding from his
sleeves and clacking together, playing over the embroidered cuff
of his robe pleasurably. After a few moments, Cort's infuriated
figure flung itself outside and into the glare of late afternoon,
leaving Zeto alone in the dark church. The giant of a man turned
slowly away from the exit and began to pace, walking in small,
aimless circles.
"Sometimes I'm just not too
sure if I'm approaching this the right way," he
suddenly began to orate to no one in particular. His deep words
reverberated off of the high ceilings and echoed back like the
trembling voice of a demon. "He's young, he's
impressionable, but his trust is fragile. If I press my advantage
too hard he'll begin to turn away from me, just as he has
from his parents. That boy can cleanse this world, I've seen
it in my dreams. Just the proper influences, the proper powers
granted and he can save us all. He can do your will,
Tieg...."
Zeto shot his eyes up towards the
alter and suddenly dropped reverently to his knees, prostrating
himself in front of the shrine. His black eyes shone with a
desperate love for his God, sweat beading on his brows and
trickling down the sides of his face into his vision. "So
long... So long the voices have called. Your divine voice, the
voice of Juggernaut, the Rogue Seru from Seru-kai... soon, soon
you'll all be free and the Sacred Cleansing can begin. We
can be saved... we can. I won't believe that the human race
can be so easily damned. I will save this world. Cort will save
it. You, Almighty Tieg, will save it..."
Zeto touched his forehead to the
carpet, a small damp spot of sweat marring the perfect red plush
after he'd risen again. The church loomed around his massive
but suddenly dwarfed figure, the buttresses and high walls
degrading him, the windows dying him. Zeto laughed at the
blessing and turned to leave, long white fingers caressing the
black Seru egg in his hands.
"Jette!"
"Damn you! Jette!"
Cort ran frantically through the
halls of the palace, shouting the name, tripping on the carpet,
glad that there were no servants in this restricted portion of
the castle who might see him in his undignified dash to to find
Conkram's leading scientist. He had to find him. He had to
stop this. Zeto was right. His parents were right. And Cort was
right. This sudden realisation startled him so that he could feel
his heart roaring, desirous to leap through his chest and into
the air.
Zeto had said the war was from a lack
of God. He was correct with those blasphemous words. And Cort
himself knew how wrong the war was, knew in his heart of hearts
that people dying for nothing was evil. Mother and Father wanted
him to commit himself to designing weaponry. Well damn it, they
also, were so correct. He'd design something that
could free them all, the entire kingdom, every suffering man,
woman, and child from this beastly war and the deaths and
heartache that accompanied it. They'd defeat Sol. He
didn't have any quarrel with their rivals but what did that
matter? If using his skill and intelligence could halt the
battles and bodies, he'd do it. Even if it meant killing
everyone in Sol.
Could he do that though?
Could he be like his father? Could he
make himself become what he so despised?
Gasping for breath, Cort collapsed
against the side of one of the palace walls. He'd think
about it later, when he was calmer. Right now... right now--
....the floor sloped downwards
beneath his feet, leading to the secluded laboratories. Jette had
to be down there, he was always down there. Jette would listen,
would do as he said. Jette was so smart, he'd help him with
his aims. Cort comforted himself as he stood there sweating, a
trembling white hand to his throat. Footsteps. He could hear
someone running from up above, feet making soft whumps against
the palace's plush red carpeting. They couldn't see
him. No one could see him looking so weak. He fought for
composure, disgustedly smearing the tears from his eyes,
Zeto's words harsh and mocking yet in his ears.
I will not argue that with you, my
liege, but if there is nothing on your conscience, why are you
crying?
His silvery hair was in his eyes and
he brushed it away, straightening as the footsteps finally
carried their owner to his view. Gi. The boy halted suddenly,
almost falling forward, and approached his friend with concern
thick on his flushed face.
"Prince..." he breathed
hesitantly, holding a hand out, "Are you okay? Do you need
anything? I-- I saw you running from the church and then all the
way in here... and you say I run too much." Gi tried
to grin, putting a hand on Cort's proud shoulder. The young
Prince crossed his arms and slowly turned his head to gaze down
the dim, uninviting passage leading to Conkram's royal labs.
He could feel the burning in his eyes and knew it must be obvious
he'd been weeping. Gi couldn't be allowed to know that.
"You hate the labs. Why do you
want to go down there?" the boy asked, flinging his right
hand towards Cort's destination. "Dinner's soon,
Prince. And you hate going down there. All that talk of how many
soldiers they can take out with a single shell... military weapon
nonsense. You hate that, I know you do." Gi had no idea why,
but a feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he had to keep
his friend from going down into those laboratories. The
expression in Cort's face, the way he refused to look at
him. That wasn't like Cort. Cort was proud and serious but
he was a grand friend. He wouldn't be giving the cold
shoulder now or ever. "Want to go spar?" Gi asked
jokingly, "Or go look through the hole in the wall and watch
the maids undress? C'mon, Prince, you don't want to go
down there..."
"Gi..." Cort's voice
was a whisper, soft and feathery to hide the gruff, "Gi,
I'm not really sure what I want. No, that's not true. I
know what I want. I'm just not sure I'm prepared to do
what's necessary to get it. No more deaths... no more, Gi.
They're piled on my shoulder, every one of them a stone,
building a tower that started the second I was born into this
world. How, Gi?! Tell me! How is it fair that I was born a
murderer! Never a chance to change my mind, never any options
given! Born a murderer and if I don't stop this war,
I'll die a murderer! But oh God... if I want to stop all
this, I have to become what I hate..."
"What are you talking
about?" Gi said as lightly as he could, "You don't
have to do anything. What's happened? Something with your
father? When I left you, you were fine." Cort ignored his
friend, moving a meandering hand up to his face and absently
stroking his forehead, playing with the strands of silver bangs
hanging in his green and violet eyes. Those eyes were dark with
ill thoughts and Gi could see them swirling there, like an
unhealthy mist entwining about the Prince's uncanny,
brightly-coloured irises. Gi's own eyes narrowed as an idea
suddenly popped into his head. "Zeto, eh? You ran out of the
church all upset... that nut Zeto's been screwing with you,
I know it. Tell the King, Prince, he'll banish ole Zeto with
only a word from you, specially if he's been yelling
at you, or, or saying things... "
Gi's voice trailed off as Cort
turned slowly about to stare at him, features deathly pale but
his mouth a firm, thin line of control. "Gi, "he
whispered, "Please leave me alone. You just... you just
don't know. And I'm glad you don't know. The
th-things... the things I have on my conscience... I, I...."
Cort began to break down, throwing his arms around his sides then
turning violently away as Gi tried to step forward and comfort
him. The tormented young Prince stumbled down the dark hallway
clumsily, as though something was pulling him there, clawed hands
that had a hold of his shoulders, their grips like those of birds
of prey. "I think they're driving me mad..." he
finally finished quietly, advancing slowly into the black depths
of the hallway. His red cloak streamed behind him in the dimness
and Gi thought it looked like a shadow of blood. The premonition
whispered foulness in his mind and he darted forward fearfully,
not understanding.
"What makes you think that, my
liege?" he begged, a friendly hand on Cort's armoured
shoulder, "There's nothing wrong with you but what that
bastard Zeto lies about. Please, please... Cort... " Gi was
very hesitant to call his friend by his name. Addressing the
Crown Prince of Conkram Kingdom by anything else than his title
was punishable by death. Cort didn't even notice. He only
flung the hand off and stumbled further into the darkness of the
labs.
"Don't follow me...
"he demanded, a cutting tone mixed with his piteous sob,
"I'll go to hell by myself, Gi. By myself." Gi was
too taken back by the vehemence in his friend's voice to
immediately follow him. Something was wrong, so so wrong.
Something was there... Zeto's influence he supposed. He
wouldn't believe Cort was mad, he knew for a fact that he
wasn't, Cort was the most level-headed person he'd ever
known. But what would have him thinking he'd gone insane?
Because he cared about the lives of the people in the
kingdom? Because he sobbed over their deaths, because the
knowledge of those deaths ate a hole in his heart? No... no... Gi
leaned back against the hallwall and frowned anxiously. Cort was
sensitive, he was caring. He was too damned sensitive and
caring to have been born into a world of war where he was forced
to dwell in the most blood-soaked of the fighting. Gi
wouldn't let that kindness be his friend's downfall
when it was really his most admirable characteristic. Zeto was
using him... he wasn't sure how, but he could sense it. All
that time in the church, those lessons... why else would the man
be so interested in Cort unless he wanted something of him? Why
indeed. Heh. Gi would ask. He'd go right up to that pompous
zealot and ask him to his face. Gi wouldn't let Cort suffer
these agonies. Frowning in determination, the young warrior
whipped about, intent on halting the business before it got out
of hand.
"Ah... young Master Delilas...
how are you this afternoon?"
Gi turned to see Zeto himself
standing in the centre of the hallway. Light from the throne room
flooded from behind him, obscuring the foreboding man's
features in deep brown shadows. His tasselled cloak, receding
into a void of eerie black and then shooting outwards again in
glints of gold braid, hung dead from his bulbous frame, a frame
that blocked the entire passageway, leaving Gi feeling very out
of sorts and somewhat threatened. He composed himself as best as
he was able, sweeping a hand through his mass of chestnut hair,
then replied, "I'm fine, Sir Zeto, how are you?"
Zeto found this composed reply quite
hilarious. He chuckled gruffly, putting his hands behind his back
and looking down at Gi with a fatherly expression. The boy
noticed he was sweating though, the thick perspiration dripped
down his face and shone golden, like melted butter, with the
distant light. He had something clutched in his hand. Gi craned
his neck to try and make it out but Zeto caught him looking and
moved further into the shadows.
"It is not fitting for a common
boy like yourself to be friends with the Prince of Conkram,"
Zeto remarked bluntly, "I think it would be more proper if
you ceased contact with young Cort."
"That's Prince Cort
to you, Zeto, "Gi snapped, trying to inch his way around the
man, "He's upset, you've been telling him these
lies and, and twisting things around, making him hate the King
and Queen, making him think he can actually do anything about
this blasted war. He needs a friend more now than ever and
I'm going to be here for him."
"I'm his friend."
"Ha..." Gi shook his head,
fists clenched at his sides, "You're not fooling
anyone, Zeto. Especially not me. I'm going to talk to King
Nebular about the way you've been messing with the Prince.
He won't like it. He'll take your job away, send you
outta the kingdom. You can't hurt Cort..."
"Hurt him? "Zeto echoed in
disbelief, peering at Gi through depthless black eyes, "My
poor delusional little boy... I'd give my life for Cort.
I'd give my life for his cause. His aims are true, his sight
is clear. I've waited my whole life to meet a young man like
him. He will save us all, clean away the filth of war, of death,
of... of humans..."
"You're bloody insane,
"Gi mumbled, finally managing to squeeze by him. He took a
few quick steps out of the hallway, his skin crawling at the tone
of Zeto's voice. What was wrong with him? He was a priest or
some bunk, he shouldn't be talking like that. Unless he
loved his God so much that he couldn't bear the sight,
stench, or thought of the humans that just seemed so less
than Him. Well, as far as Gi was concerned, if Zeto was going to
kill humans, the fat old bastard could start with himself.
"I'm going to nip this in the bud, "he threatened
as he retreated Zeto's presence with quick treads, "I
won't let you hurt the Prince."
"Silly... "Zeto admonished
to his back, watching the young man hurry away, steps fuelled by
fear and unease, "Silly, silly child..."
Nebular, the King of Conkram, listened to Gi's humble
warnings. He listened to the boy's frantic whispers even as
he signed and sealed Letters of Condolences that the Palace sent
out to the families of slain soldiers. His personal stamp sealed
the bottom of each letter, the kiss of royalty, a reassurance
from Heaven on Earth to set the grieving commoners at ease. Every
death was a heroic one, another step towards victory. Nebular had
been giving that spiel for so long he even believed it himself
now.
"Sire..." Gi breathed, on
one knee at Nebular's feet. His head was bowed submissively,
his eyes stung with sweat, "Sire, I only tell you these
things because it is what I see. And what I sense. Zeto....
he's hurting Prince Cort, Sire. Telling him things that just
aren't true."
"Young Gi, "Nebular replied
distractedly, putting the finishing touches on a fresh letter,
"Just because you do not believe in the teachings of Tieg
does not mean you can disrespect the religion by calling its
teachings lies. Zeto is Tieg's Counsellor and
while I do not approve of how much time my son spends under his
tutelage, he is, at least, turning him into a pious man.
Cort's gone to Jette though?" The King's voice was
soft, thoughtful. He shrugged his broad shoulders, the ervine
mantle flung over them shifting slightly with an imperialistic
rustle he absently found pleasure in. "I suppose our
conversation this afternoon was not totally fruitless afterall
then... boy actually listened to me for once. Hmph."
Nebular smiled to himself with no small degree of satisfaction,
then went back to his letters, a random page whispering a
question in his ear that he responded to with a simple wag of his
head.
"But your Highness... "Gi
stammered, "There is something so wrong about this. I mean,
er, Cort would never do this. He hates everything to do with
the war, he'd never go to Jette so suddenly like this. And
Zeto, Sire, he is crazy. Some of the things he says gives me
chills."
"Gi, Gi, Gi... "Nebular
admonished, twinkling green eyes glazed over with distant
thoughts, "You're just upset that young Cort won't
be as accessible to you now as before is all. Don't worry,
you're still his friend, it just seems he's finally
taking some responsibility. Working with Jette will be a good
thing, it will benefit us all. Cort is a genius, you know. All
the scholars say so. He'll win this war for us."
Gi tried a few more futile protests
but Nebular was too content with his own explanation to pay them
any mind. He waved the boy off and went back to his grim work,
pushing the thoughts of his son from his mind, glad to think
he'd finally come around, finally decided to take a mature
outlook on the situation. He'd done his duties as a father,
now he'd do them as King. All was right with the world.
Better than right. It seemed Cort was growing up. Why wouldn't this boy with the red eyes, this Gi Delilas child,
just accept it? Instead he was prattling on about conspiracies
and threats from a man as threatening as a senile old hound dog.
Puh. Grasping at straws. Grasping to keep hold of a boyish
friendship.
"Shouldn't you go back to
Dohati?" Nebular asked with a bit of irritation at the edge
of his voice. That shut Gi up. The King's next words made
him lower his head in shame, "Really, Gi, go bone up your
skills, they are your asset here. Your skills and your Gimard
Seru. Go play with your brother and sister. Go spin your stories
to Dohati. Leave Cort be. Understood?"
Gi swallowed hard, on his feet,
alternatingly clenching his fists and teeth. "As you say,
Sire, "he replied, taking a step backward, sickened by the
sight of the thoughtless old King. Nebular sat there, making the
odd remark to his advisors about Gi's overactive
imagination, his son's newfound military prowess, and Gi
watched the man with an irrepressible sneer souring his lips. He
was going to let it all slide... Gi realized that King Nebular
was going to turn his head. As long as the surface looked all
right, he'd let Zeto have his way with Cort. No one was
going to listen to him. No one paid any attention to the orphaned
pauper, the guard-dog. Gi Delilas just didn't make a
difference. The King had said so; his skills and his Gimard Seru.
That was all he was good for.
Practically growling, mentally
muttering every oath he knew, Gi stormed from the throne room,
leaving the fatheads alone. He didn't slow his furious
retreat until the evening humidity of outside was pressing on
him, until he could feel the fat, hot drops of a summer rainstorm
on his shoulder. Conkram stretched before him, a beautiful city
of white marble... built on blood and bones and rotting corpses.
But that was okay. Because on the outside, it was beautiful. And
that was all that mattered.
"I don't care, Cort,
"Gi muttered through sobs, making his way towards his humble
quarters near the Palace's gates. He could hear Lu and
Che's voices ringing from inside, quarreling with eachother
over trivial things. He didn't want to deal with that when
he knew, was so certain he knew what was happening to his best
friend inside the castle's walls. "I don't care
what you say, Cort... Damn it all to hell, I won't leave you
alone. Something's wrong. The world... the world's
wrong. But you don't have to fix it, Prince, it's not
your place. No matter what the hell Zeto says, it's not up
to you to fix what's wrong with the world. Let Nebular,
Dohati, all of those pompous adults... let them keep their hold
on the world. Don't lower yourself trying to take it from
them. It won't work... it just won't work.... "
Gi collapsed against the side of his
home, the white stucco pricking him through his thin tunic. That
lifeless sprinkling rain had turned into a raging storm. The
greenish heavens emptied their tears onto the boy as he wept into
his own shoulder, face averted, chest heaving. If only this cruel
rain could wash it all away. All of it away. The war, the deaths,
the rage, the madness. Gi begged the skies for mercy even as he
knelt beneath the fury of the storm.
Over the next few months, Jette was amazed at how fervently Cort
worked.
"Like an incensed young man,
"he remarked to Nebular when the King asked for
information, "Like a demon, I swear to you, Sire. He works
for hours, testing seru and their properties, often quite cruel
with his treatment of the creatures, then spends more hours
turning his findings into something useful. Some of the theories
he comes up with are absolutely ridiculous yet before I can
finish laughing, he's proven them to me without question.
Amazing, Sire, the Prince is truly amazing."
"Oh, yes, Jette, I know,
"the King gloated, examining maps with his war advisors. Sol
was coming down hard, General Gaza had infiltrated a camp of
theirs stationed only two hundred miles to the south of Conkram.
The fighting was moving closer to home. And this had Nebular
worried. "Really though, Jette. The entire team must
redouble its efforts. We cannot allow Sol's army to reach
our borders. We cannot have skirmishes on Conkram's own
land. A weapon... a tool of some sort that can obliterate that
damned Gaza and his soldiers. Just the sight of the demon-man and
his sword sends our own ranks into a panic. A weapon... a
tool..."
"Yes, Sire, "Jette replied,
throwing his words over Nebular's shoulder, the King hunched
over documents, "Yes, we are working as fast as we can. But
Sire, I was wondering if you could talk to the Prince. He-- he
simply will not listen to me..."
"Talk to him? About what?"
Jette crossed his lanky arms, his
features taut with worry. "He will not slow down, Sire.
He's hurting his health with the intensity of his searching.
I don't know his reasons, I don't understand why he...
pushes himself like this. For so long, for years, he scorned all
that I do for the war efforts. The weapons development, the
research, myself and my team.... and then, seemingly out of the
blue, he demands to be made leader of the laboratories.... now he
buries himself in the work. Pushing like, like... "Jette was
going to say "like a madman" but he caught himself in
time. "I don't understand his motives, Sire. And
although I couldn't tell you for certain, I don't think
he's slept for a few days."
"What?" These words caught
the King's attention and he straightened, waving the
questions of his advisors off with a thick, ringed hand. He
narrowed his eyes towards Conkram's head Scientist and
asked, "Why would he do that?"
"I ask him that myself, Sire,
"Jette responded nervously, "But he doesn't seem
to.. . . to think me worthy of an answer. He mutters a few things
about his studies, the Seru he's dissected... then says his
own health is meaningless compared to the number who die everyday
in the fields."
"Perhaps I will talk to him,
"Nebular said, turning away, frownlines on his brow,
"His own health is hardly meaningless. He's...
he's the Prince for god's sake, a symbol to our people.
Such thoughts are hardly healthy."
Jette nodded soberly, uneasy with the
tone of the King's voice. He thought he should be interested
in Cort as a son, not as a Prince. Still, what did he know?
Nebular was a magnificient King for that very reason: the
Kingdom over his family. It had always been like that and it was
truly how it should be, still... Jette shook his head to clear
it of the thoughts. Watching Cort the past few months, he'd
come to the conclusion that the young man needed a father, not a
King. There was something wrong with him, something wrong with
his eyes.
"Obsessive and unhealthy though
they've been, his toils haven't been fruitless, Sire,
"Jette interjected suddenly, "We're on the verge
of a breakthrough, a new sort of chemical warfare. It'll be
grand and effective if only we can contain it, control it."
"Truly?" Nebular asked
hopefully, stroking his red beard with thought, "That is
wonderful. But I will not lose our Prince to win the war. I will
talk to him, Jette. Thank you for informing me of his state. He
never comes to see me... he's never liked to be around me...
I hardly blame him for that. The air around me stinks of blood.
My fingers drip the color of death... " The King hadn't
meant to speak those words aloud but Jette listened to them
eagerly. Not that they informed him of anything he wasn't
aware of. The Scientist wouldn't have traded places with the
man before him for a thousand pieces of gold. He would not have
liked to see his own name gracing the bottom of each command
memo. Every death sentence shipped to the Kingdom's army.
Still, if Cort pulled it off, perhaps this war would end.
There'd be no more guilt, no more wasted lives. The King
would have to write no more condolances and the Prince
wouldn't have to despise the sight of him doing them. Jette
hoped to see it happen.
"A Mist, Gi. A Mist of insanity. Do you see? It will corrupt
the Seru that the Sol soldiers use and make the creatures turn
against their masters. It corrupts the will of Tieg, turning
those things he's blessed us with into our own banes.
Fitting, don't you think? Taking away those gifts after we
humans misuse them? Use them to kill eachother? You see how right
this is? You see?"
Gi leaned against the dark wall of
the Palace's laboratory, his features a cold mask of
indifference. Arms crossed and hair in his eyes, he answered,
"Yes, Prince, in a way. But I hardly think it's our
place to dispense God's Divine justice with our own mortal
hands, do you?"
"This war is from a lack of God,
"Cort replied softly, "I mean to ammend that and thus
end the fighting."
"A lack of God, eh? That
Zeto's nonsense talking? Bloody sounds like it. So tell me,
Prince, what will you substitute God with? This mist? Or
yourself?"
Gi watched his friend through
narrowed eyes. The laboratory was empty, the scientists long
since asleep. The Palace stretched around the two young men;
silent, still, just as it should be at nearly four o'clock
in the morning. Their words echoed eerily in the chilly, recycled
air, echoed like ghost-wails from the place's sterile steel
walls, off of the buzzing equipment, shelves of chemicals, cages
of Seru. The entire complex was decidedly eerie, Gi had decided
that a long time ago, when he'd first made up his mind to do
his best to keep Cort company on his lonely quest. Much of the
time that Cort was there at night, Gi was there too. Both of them
were ill with self-deprivation. And neither really cared.
"I don't like your tone,
Gi... "Cort warned, working on the calculations before him
with weary, bloodshot eyes. He looked like hell, like a shell of
what he'd been. His unkempt hair was pasted to his brow and
neck, his clothes days old, his hands trembling as they struggled
to keep a hold on the quill in his hand. "I cannot be God,
don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't want to be, to have to
call you creatures my own creations. To have to admit to such
mistakes..."
Gi was used to hearing these words.
The more Cort worked, the harder he researched, the more he
discovered and the less he liked. And Zeto, that bastard Zeto,
egged his misanthropy on gleefully. But Gi was helpless to do
anything about it. He was watching his friend tear himself apart
with misplaced guilt and ill-founded dreams. Mist... Gi laughed
bitterly to himself, staring down at the Seru strapped around his
arm. If that Mist worked, this Seru could kill him. But the Mist
wouldn't work. They couldn't hope to harness such
power, Gi wouldn't delude himself.
"My father spoke with me
today..."
"What?"
Cort repeated himself, his words
surprising his friend. Nebular seldom took interest in these
things, why had he asked his son about them?
"He came to me, "Cort
continued, "While you were at lessons.... Jette.... Jette
went to him spouting nonsense. Now Nebular says I should slow my
work, take it easy... but the moment after he made the
"caring admonitions" he immediately turned about and
asked me how much longer it would be until the Mist is ready...
Gi, I'm a Prince to him. Not a son... never a son... but it
doesn't matter. I'm doing what he wanted. I'm
going to slaughter his enemies. And allow an entire country to
curse my own name with their dying breaths. The same way, Gi,
that our soldiers scream Sol's General Gaza's name as
they lay dying in the hospitals. Do you think it makes Gaza proud
to know that his was the last face so many men saw before being
swallowed by death? I don't think so... I don't think
anyone could enjoy such knowledge."
"So why don't you quit this
then, Prince?" Gi asked softly, hopefully, "I
understand. If your parents can't, if Zeto can't, I
can. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Or end
anything for that matter. You didn't start the fighting, you
are blameless. So stop killing yourself, making yourself sick
with toil and guilt over trying to end it... why, Prince? Why all
this strife? Why do you work so fiercely?"
"Because it hurts too much not
to, "Cort replied quickly, "This is all I have to keep
me whole anymore. This working towards destruction. I quit now
and this hole in my chest will swallow my heart. Maybe.... maybe
I didn't start this fighting, but what does that matter?
All my life I watched it and did nothing. Now, I do something.
The only thing I can. I work towards a conclusion, a victory. In
the name of my great and glorious father, I plan to make the
blood flow... damn me. Damn my life... " Cort laughed
bitterly, the unhinged chuckles souring the still air. Then it
was quiet for a while, and Gi watched the Prince's back as
he scribbled away on his notes, eyes thoughtful.
"It's pretty late, "he
said softly after a few moments, knowing the words were useless
before he even said them, "Maybe we should turn in for the
day."
"No... "Cort corrected, a
smile twisting his lips, "It's actually pretty early. I
have a whole new day, glorious with possibility, to work with.
But you go to sleep if you can. Go. Sleep for me. I cannot."
The smile faded away to a frown and
the young Prince toiled even more fervidly with his papers,
toiled with a desperate intensity that made his eyes tear from
abuse, his mind roll over and force him to grab at his head,
dizzy. He couldn't sleep, he wasn't lying. ...things.... came to him in his dreams. A voice that startled
him. He interpretted it as Tieg and Zeto, when he'd told his
mentor of his dreams, had assured him he was correct. Their God
Tieg approved of his actions. And so Cort continued; continued
for so many reasons. He had to stop the war and deaths, he had to
clear his mother and father's names, he had to prove himself
worthy as a human being and as a Prince, and he had to serve
Tieg. If that was Tieg encouraging him, he had nothing to fear,
he must be doing the right thing. He had to be...
"Gi, "he whispered, not
looking up from his work. His shoulders trembled and the page
swam before his eyes, "Gi... next week we'll test it.
Next week we'll know for sure. Perhaps then... then I can
sleep. I'm so tired."
Cort laughed, choking with the
action. Gi tried to put a hand on his shoulder, to comfort him,
to let him know he was there, but the young Prince shoved it
away, panting as though he couldn't breath. He swallowed
hard, then jerked back around, weaving his long, thin fingers
into his hair and clutching his head as he scribbled
unintelligable numbers onto the parchment before him. The
scratching of the quill and Cort's rapid breaths were the
only sounds in the empty laboratory. "She's
pregnant."
"What?" Gi took a step
back, startled by this new tone in his friend's voice,
"You-- you mean your mother? Of course, she's been
expecting a child for months. The midwives, they say in a week or
two... you'll have a brother, Prince, or a little royal
sister. But you know that."
"Another one..." Cort
growled, "Another one..."
Gi wasn't sure what he meant. He
didn't want to believe it was what he thought.
"Another one... Another...
it'll be a murderer, just like me, like Mother, like Father.
Like all of us. It'll paint over the bloodstains, and, and,
hide the bodies beneath white marble... it'll have to hear
the women scream when their husbands don't come home.
It'll have to be there and get the same looks as I, the same
looks as it walks down the streets and people think, "You
murdered my son, my husband, my brother, my friend... murdered
them for what? For some land? To win an argument so old that no
one remembers it anymore?" Gi, it'll have to go through
all I have. I didn't get a chance, a way out. I was never
asked if I wanted to be born into these filthy, pretty lies. A
brother, or a little royal sister? No. Just another murdering
human, another damned Royal butcher. I wish I could warn it. Tell
the baby not to come here, to die after it left my mother and
spare itself the agony and the flames of hell. But I can't.
All I can do is-- is take the murdering all in my own hands so it
won't have to deal with it, be soiled with it. I'll
kill Sol. I'll kill them all. Kill those poor, poor people
so we don't have to die anymore...."
Cort looked harshly around with tears
in his eyes but Gi was gone. He'd fled, disgusted with the
words. Cort was alone in the lab, ranting, raving mad.
"Mad..." he sobbed to himself, letting the tears roll
down his nose and stain the parchment beneath his pale hands.
"They've made me mad."
"No, young Master..."
Cort jerked his head up, gasping.
Zeto. He stood in Gi's place now, nothing visible of his
mentor but the golden tassels of his robe, the glint of faint
light off his black eyes, the flash of teeth as he spoke.
"You're not mad. You're thinking more clearly than
ever. But you do look tired."
"I am..." the boy relented,
the words coming in a whispered sigh, "But I can't stop
now, I'm so close. This'll stop it, this'll turn
their own Seru against them. This'll work Zeto, and then
it'll be okay. I'll be able to sleep again."
"You can sleep now, if you
want."
"What?"
Zeto advanced, the shapes of his
features emerging from the gloom of the lab dramatically, cut by
sharp shadows and pits of black. He focased his intense gaze on
Cort, smiling gently. Expression unflickering, he laid a thick
hand on top of the seated Prince's head, stroking his
matted, silver hair soothingly. "I've brought you a
gift, "he said in low tones, "Something to help you
sleep."
"I told you!" Cort snapped,
jerking his head out from under Zeto's unsettling touch,
"Old man, there's too much to do. Too much. Leave
me."
"But this gift will help you in
your aims. It'll help you focas, clear your mind of
extraneous thoughts... "Zeto tempted, his left hand
clenching something black, roughly-textured, and somewhat
sphere-shaped. He ran his cold fingers over its surface, moving
towards Cort again. "You've been working too hard,
young Prince, too too hard. You deserve a degree of respite now.
I have a Seru, you see, a special Seru that will make all of this
so much easier."
"I will not wear a Seru,
"Cort said wearily, face averted, eyes to his work, "I
do not need one. How can I judge people who misuse and take
advantage of the gift of those creatures and then don a Seru
myself? Out of exhaustion? I tell you again, Zeto, leave me. I
will accomplish my aims on my own, with whatever power I
have."
"But that is not possible,
"Zeto said coldly, a bit of the gentleness fading from his
smile. The laboratory stretched dark and cold and Cort could feel
the empty air pressing at him, desirous to swallow him. He wished
it would. The Prince wished he could dissolve into a mist and
just dissipate, let his worries melt away. He wished he could
sink into death, into some form of release. Sleep would have been
wonderful, but death was preferred. "Mad... "he
reiterated blankly, the quill moving on its own, his green and
violet eyes empty as he watched the numbers forming on the
parchment. Green... and violet. The green of innocence, the imperial
purple of royalty. Combined in one young man. He understood why
his life was as it was. Those two elements. He couldn't deal
with them. They tore him apart. "Look at me, Zeto... what am
I doing? I don't even understand myself anymore. I
don't want to hurt the people of Sol. I've seen them.
They're no different than us. I've seen the prisoners,
I've seen the bodies of dead Sol soldiers. Their
blood's the same color as ours. I don't want to hurt
them... and I don't think I can. Tieg will have to choose
another man, I'm too weak. I'll continue to let my
kingdom suffer because I-- I just can't kill. This Mist,
it's too horrible, I can't use it. It'll hurt so
many people, and hurt the Seru too. The Seru... they're
innocent. Only as evil or as pure as the person wearing them... and
I won't use them to hurt others. I'd be a hypocrite
then, wouldn't I? I won't become that. I won't
become my father. I won't kill... "
Cort's voice seemed to possess
neither the strength nor the will to back those words up though.
They rolled off his thick tongue heavily, barely above a whisper,
barely above a sigh. As the young Prince let his exhausted head
drop onto his arm, his body hunched over the small table he was
seated at, Zeto watched, smiling.
"And that is why, young Prince, you cannot cleanse these
humans. You're still too human yourself." Zeto waited in
patient silence, watching Cort sleep. He watched the boy's body relax as it hadn't been allowed to in days, listened to his breathing slow. He waited until the young Prince was blissfully, deeply unconscious. Then, eyes shining maliciously, the Priest
of Tieg grabbed the boy gently by the shoulder and took him up in
his arms, carrying him like a small child who'd fallen
asleep after playing too hard. Adjusting his hold around
Cort's slim figure so that he cradled him in one massive
arm, Zeto then brought his right hand around and unclenched his
fist to reveal that "gift" he'd offered to him
earlier. A Seru egg. But this Seru egg was different, unlike any
he'd seen before. Zeto was convinced Tieg himself had sent
it to him, he'd found it at the gates of Uru-Mais, embedded
in the sands like a precious gem. It was a Rogue Seru, an evil
presence from Seru-Kai. He could feel the thing's power
throbbing in his hand. It wanted a host. It wanted to increase
its power. And, as all Rogue Seru did, it desired destruction.
As quietly, as gently as he could,
Zeto unstrapped sleeping Cort's cloak, then moved his
slender white fingers over the golden buttons of his
charcoal-colored tunic, unclasping them down to his sternum,
opening the two flaps wide to reveal his bare chest. It rose and
fell with the Prince's gentle breaths yet Zeto could already
sense how troubled his sleep was. He moaned quietly, beginning to
thrash his arms, assaulted by nightmares. The Priest didn't
know where they came from, these dreams of his, nor whose voice
it was that called to the boy in his sleep, but Zeto assumed it
was simply Tieg aiding his efforts, helping to convince the
impressionable boy that he truly was meant to stop Conkram and
Sol's bloody warring.
"Oh, but you're meant to
stop so much more than the petty arguments of a race of creatures
who collectively amount to little more than dirt. Oh, Cort,
you'll be the savior of this world, my boy. Humanity has
fallen too far to ever rise again, but you can clear them away,
let us start anew. This Mist... it is inspiration most divine,
most righteous. Clear away, smear away these human pigs with the
cleansing fogs. Cover years of mistakes. You can kill,
Cort. With aid from this Rogue Seru, you can. It will act as all
Seru do... it will aid you. And it will help you kill."
The egg throbbed with dark
potentiality and Zeto convulsively closed his hand around it a
final time before lowering the unborn evil over Cort's heart
and letting the creature sense the nearby vulnerability. An
eerie, sickly purple glow rose from the egg's crevices, even
as those crevices widened and split, flicking wet strands of
barbed flesh outwards, eager to find something warm to latch
onto. In one swift movement, Zeto slid his arm from around
Cort's shoulder and back, lowering him to the floor of the
laboratory just as the Rogue Seru's groping tentacles darted
through the boy's flesh and pulled its bulk close to
him, embedding itself over his heart in a smooth, blackish-purple
lump of tissue and bone. Cort came awake with a stifled cry,
instinctively grabbing at the thing, then staring downwards as it
didn't come away, horrified.
"Wh-what..?" he stammered,
blinking nightmares away. He gasped for air, realizing that the
Seru was taking a little of the oxygen he breathed in for itself,
having a firm hold on his lungs. "I t-told you, Zeto, I
don't want it..."
"I'm sorry, young Master,
"the Priest replied, hands folded into the sleeves of his
robe, his features unreadable. He was on his feet, looking down
at Cort, his figure a looming mountain of intimidation, "You
fell asleep, I was going to carry you to your chambers, but you
struggled in your sleep, I lost my hold, and you fell to the
floor. My Seru rolled down your shirt and apparently liked it
there. My humblest apologies."
Cort didn't immediately believe
the explanation but he was too busy being disgusted at the Seru
embracing his chest to question Zeto further. The thing was
pulsing in time to his own heartbeat, feeding off his life to
grow stronger. He'd never worn a Seru. He wasn't sure
if this was really how it was supposed to feel, if it was
supposed to hurt so badly. A few lines of bright red trickled
down Cort's chest and he smeared them away with trembling
fingers.
"I don't feel good..."
he muttered, struggling to regain his feet. Zeto offered him a
hand up but Cort ignored it, grabbing at the nearest wall and
stumbling out of the laboratory, sweat beading out on his cheeks
and forehead, a feverish glaze coating his eyes. This thing was
holding on so tight, being so greedy with its want of air, it was
making him dizzy. He stumbled along in the dark hallway, gasping,
wondering where the headache, the hurt, the roaring of his heart
had come from. Was he sick? All of this pushing himself? Maybe
Jette had been right, maybe it wasn't very healthy.
It burned, this Seru. It sent a fire
licking through his torso, waves of pain, an ocean of hurt. He
collapsed forward, grasping at the thing and sweating, his
fingers cold. He expected to hear Zeto approaching from the labs,
hear him ask what the matter was, hear a rebuke. Nothing though.
Just this dark, wet tunnel. The throne rooms were above, maybe
father'd find him here in the morning, a cold, stiff corpse
with his arms wrapped around the Seru in his chest.
Everything was so quiet. Except for
his ragged breaths, it was perfectly quiet. Things dripped in the
distance; old pipes, he supposed. Leaky plumbing. The ground
beneath him was cold, contrasting with the fire in his chest. He
hoped someone would come. Anyone. No, not anyone though. Not
Zeto. Let him stay back in the labs and preach to the walls. And
Nebular... his father... let him stay away too. And mother, with
the unborn murderer kicking in her belly, her false smile, let
her remain in her chambers, giggling with the handmaids. Cort
didn't want them. He'd die alone... in this hallway.
With this burning Seru squeezing the life out of him.
"Prince?!"
He only distantly heard his name
being called. It sounded like Gi, but he didn't dare hope it
was. He'd scared Gi off with his ranting, and his friend
wouldn't be coming back. Who wanted to be friends with a
madman? A madman obsessed with the business of war and killing
and guilt and God. Cort didn't want to be near himself, why
would anyone else want to be?
"Cort? P-p-prince Cort, are you
okay?! What the hell is this? A Seru? I thought-- I thought...
what the hell?? Why is it making you bleed? Seru
don't make you bleed! What is this?"
Gi knelt at his friend's side,
examining the lump of foreign flesh that looked so strange
embedded over Cort's pale chest. His fingers brushed over it
and he shuddered. This wasn't a normal Seru. This thing had
unwholesome intentions, he could feel it. "Don't worry,
I'll get this creature off you..."
Cort's eyes were rolled back in
his head, his breathing slowed to an unstable whisper. Gi grit
his teeth and wrapped two frantic hands around the Seru, intent
on pulling the thing off, Seru couldn't stay on a person who
didn't want them there, it should come free from his friend
easily. He dug his fingers into the soft tissue and yanked.
He didn't expect Cort's fist to come smashing into the side of his head as it did. And when the young Prince let out a scream of suffering, the boy nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise.
"Cort! Wh-what is it?! I'm trying to help!"
Gi shot a hand to his head, ready to
tackle his friend, but the Prince's attack had been nothing
more than a reflex to the pain of the attempt to remove that seru. He'd sunk back down now into apathy, barely breathing, hair soaked with sweat, limbs trembling against agony.
"You fool..."
Gi shot to his feet as Zeto arrived,
materializing out of the shadows and stepping onto the scene
imperially. "If you remove that now, he'll die. Is that
what you want?"
"Did you put that on him?"
Gi demanded, looking from Cort to Zeto and back again, "Take
it off before I go to the King! I'll wake this entire palace
and cause the biggest uproar, Zeto! I'm not playing around
with you anymore! That thing's hurting him! Get it
off!"
"I told you, you stupid boy, I
cannot take it off, he'll die. Why don't you put him to
bed, Gi, he'll be all right in the morning. You'll
see."
"My patience is about this
thin with you, old man!!" Gi roared, stepping forward to
spit in his face and holding his thumb and forefinger about a
quarter inch apart, "I will take you out, I don't care
what happens to me! These past few months have been hell for him
and you're not bloody helping with your constant
condemnations! Maybe if I take you out of the picture for good,
the Prince will have a chance to come back to his old self
without you shoving your rash of nonsense into his head. What do
you think, Zeto? I'll kill you if it keeps him safe.
Because it's started to hurt me too much watching you
killin' him."
"A threat then? You are more of
a child than I originally gave you credit for." Zeto smiled
as Gi balled his fists, Cort trembling on the ground, blissfully
unaware of the sudden confrontation, only painfully aware of the
burning in his chest and the chill of the floor beneath his back.
"There's nothing you can do to me, nothing you can do
for the Prince. I'm just helping him get what he wants.
That's all. If you no longer agree with your friend's
viewpoints on the world, perhaps you should be rebuking him and
not I. Perhaps whatever friendship you had is dead now, is all,
and that bothers you."
A feral growl rolled through the air
and it took Gi a moment to realize it was coming from him. But
before he could turn the snarl into something more physical and
infinitely more dangerous, Zeto sneered and turned and fled, his
robes rustling about his frame, the gold glinting bright in the
gloom. "Run, run away, coward..." the boy hissed after
him, kneeling again at Cort's side, frantic at his fiery
forehead and the lifelessness in his staring eyes,
"He's gone, Prince, and I'll kill him if he comes
back. I'll get Lu and Che and kill him. We're your
bodyguards afterall. It's time for me to remember
that."
"No..."
Cort's eyes were open, his voice
weak, his lips dry. But he smiled at Gi.
"Beginning of the end for
us..."
"Don't say that..."
The young Prince shook his head, his
bangs in his eyes, and grabbed at Gi's Seru-arm.
"Don't follow me, "he ordered softly, "Because I don't like where it is I'm going..."
"What're you talking about--?"
"This Mist..." Cort
replied, staring at the black-enshrouded ceiling above, "I
don't know what it is, how I came up with it... not really.
Was it Tieg? Or was it my own human nature finally rearing its
ugly head; my human nature to destroy anything that allows it.
Heh, war's nothing but an excuse for it... some excuse....
Gi. Please. Do not follow me. Leave the Palace, take your brother
and sister. I don't have any choices anymore. I don't
know how it came this far, but some how... I can't go back,
I can't take it back. And... I don't really want
to."
"Take what back? Cort, I mean,
Prince, please quit this stuff. This quest you're on
isn't your own... it's Zeto's..."
"It's my own."
"No!" Gi jumped to his
feet, breathing hard and refusing to believe. "It's
not! You're not a murderer! And you're not cruel,
I've known you so long, almost all your life and you've
never done anything ill to anyone! Why then do these things have
to come back at you now?? Why did Zeto choose you? Damn it, I
know. For those very reasons. You're too sensitive to all
this nonsense."
Cort smiled at what he considered to
be his friend's naivete, then closed his eyes, absently
running a hand over the Seru on his chest. "Don't
follow me, Gi. Don't allow anyone to. If this has to happen,
I want you to go far away. Go to Rim Elm. Or, or Biron. Go
somewhere safe. And don't.... don't follow.... me....
"
Cort lost consciousness with a sigh
and Gi bowed his head, somehow knowing of the ill things at hand.
The world was going to fall apart. And he didn't really
understand why. Zeto... and that Seru... and that damned Mist. An
ill-founded inspiration and a lifetime of guilt and anger finally
coming to a head. Humanity had done this to his friend. Humanity
and the Seru. The two elements of the world; God's two
creations. Gi dropped a warm tear onto Cort's arm, then
smeared the damp from his eyes and carefully slid his arms under
his friend's back, cradling him for a moment, then picking
him up completely. With solemn eyes and a hurt expression, Gi
carried him down the dark laboratory hallway and back into the
throne room, towards the Prince's chambers. At least he was
asleep. He deserved that much.
"I'm your bodyguard but I
can't protect you from your own head, "he whispered as
he walked, his footsteps sounding as empty as his soul felt,
"I'm your best friend but I can't help you fight
your worst enemy. What use am I at all, Cort? Heh. Useless or
not, I'll follow you to hell and back. And I'll die for
you, Cort. That is my duty. And my honor. The Mist is salvation
granted by God? Then by God, I'll fight by your side. Until
there's righteousness in the world again, I'll fight by
your side to end our follies. Maybe you're right. Maybe
you're wrong. Maybe this isn't you at all... but
loyalty is loyalty. And your views will be mine... my
liege."
It was easy to say that; to let his
conscience rest on another man's. Cort would be his
conscience. He'd act accordingly.
"Damn you, Zeto... "he
muttered, the harsh lights of the upper palace stinging his eyes.
The tears dripping down his face didn't help. "But damn
us too. And this war. This is inevitable, Cort, "he finally
realized, staring at his friend's almost peaceful face.
"You shouldn't feel so bad. This is inevitable."
The square was bustling with thousands of eager citizens. The
testing of a new weapon against Sol, a weapon that might very
well turn the tide and end the endless war for all time. The buzz
was deafening, like a thousand unreleased bees all singing in
unison, eager for honey. Royalty was there; King Nebular and his
pregnant Queen. She shouldn't have been seen in public in such a
condition but this was a special occasion and exceptions were
being made. The entire Court was present; Dohati and Zora, the
Delilas siblings, Lu, Che, and Gi, though the muttering crowds of
Conkram all were of the opinion that Gi Delilas looked troubled.
Zeto was there too, standing smiling in the sun, his golden
tassels catching the light and twinkling merrily. He waved to the
crowds and blessed the odd citizen, shaking hands and speaking
benedictions towards the occasion. There were a few Soren
hovering overhead, their wings flashing with opalescent rainbow
colors in the early afternoon light. They watched the goings on
below with nearly as much hope as the citizens of Conkram did.
The fighting below soured the view. They wanted to able to see
green again.
The crowd and the Royal Court was
gathered around a massive glass sphere in the center of the
square. Most immediate to the structure, Cort conversed with
Jette in low, somber tones. The Prince was a different person,
some of Conkram's citizens thought absently. He'd grown
up, was how they interpretted it. His smile was gone, as weak as
it always was. He only looked upon the crowd occasionally with a
small sneer, dark, cold malignance in his eyes. He had a Seru
now, they saw, and his attire had been altered according to that
fact. But a Seru attached at the chest was a rare thing and got a
lot of stares. Conkram loved its young, handsome Prince but they
knew he was no warrior. What need could he have for a Seru? They
shrugged it off though, too pleased with Cort to question
anything he did now. He was going to end the war with his weapon.
He was going to stop the deaths.
"An end to Sol!! An end to
Gaza!!" the crowd chanted, Nebular and Minea looking on and
beaming, never having been quite so proud of their son as they
were now. Cort had earned their adolation, he'd worked hard,
non-stop, to bring this all about. Nebular was certain now that
he'd make a grand King when his day came to ascend to the
throne.
Filling the clear blue air with a
beautiful, imperial clattering, trumpets were suddenly blasted,
long loud songs played to silence the crowds. The people
fulfilled the request for quiet fitfully, desirous to continue
patting themselves and eachother on the backs, to continue speaking
with hope of the future. Stepping forward, Nebular made a
speech, Dohati said a few words, and finally Zeto uttered a
prayer. Then Jette left Cort's side to explain the
particulars of the weapon they were about to test for the
ignorant people. He gestured grandly, every bit as skilled an
orator as a scientist. A Mist that maddened the Seru of their
enemy, he told them in broad, sweeping tones. The crowd saw Gi
Delilas stiffen quite noticeably as Jette spun his explanation,
while Zeto smiled larger with every word, winking reassuringly to
any nervous citizens that glanced his way. The people found
themselves loving the massive, muscled priest and Zeto got a few
friendly waves. He lapped them up like water from a trough.
A cloud of black among the rays of
hope and pompousness, Prince Cort brooded over the controls to
his sphere. He glared at the nervous Soldier behind the glass. A
young man, his own age. He'd volunteered, eager to be the
one to be able to grant so much hope to his people. Cort wondered
if he had any idea what this Mist would do to him when it filled
that sphere of glass. He hoped he didn't. But he'd find
out soon enough.
The Prince wanted to get the testing
over with, it bothered him that his parents felt the need to
"test" the Mist at all. He'd designed it,
he'd discovered it, of course it would function. But
father had always been a grand one for show, he wanted to boost
Conkram's morale with this little display. Let them have it,
he thought bitterly, Let them see how I'll kill their
enemies for them. What a bloody fantastic little display. Let
that unborn child his mother carried see what awaited it when it
was born into the Royal Family of Conkram. Destruction and
madness. Yes, let it see... let them all see up close, what Sol
would go through. Perhaps that would dull their enthusiasm.
Perhaps it would make them start acting human again. Yet...
Yet, their lust for pain from their
enemies was so human... It was a terrifying, maddening thought,
but Cort wondered if he hated these people because they were
human. He was the freak then.... the wrong one. No...
His hands closed around the
sphere's controls, trembling, Jette's speech coming to
his ears distantly. If those people were the pinnacle of
humanity, if humanity wasn't mercy and love and
understanding.... if it really was nothing but war and death and
bloodlust.... Oh god....
He was acting human now then,
wasn't he? By offering his weapon? Oh god....
If that was the case, he didn't
want to be human. To be dirty and vicious and thirsty for murder.
But he didn't want to be a freak
either.
Nothing....
His mind screamed, his hands
tightened around the controls, the Seru grasping at him already,
grasped harder, dug deeper.
Oh, god....
"... researched and finally
began to suspect its existance... "Jette was saying. Cort
listened only distantly, thoughts fixating on darker matters, on
pain and horrible, horrible truths that he prayed were really
false, "...but the true wonder of this Mist isn't the
Mist itself but rather the portal that his Highness Prince Cort
has discovered leading to the Seru-Kai. The Mist flows from there
like a river waiting to be tapped and used. It is truly a sign
from Tieg that it is Conkram's destiny to be the victors in
this war. Such a discovery is impossible to be made by mortal men
but our Prince is blessed. Such is our sign... the sign that
we shall prevail!!"
The heartening words caused a roar of
approval to rise up from the crowd. Cort sneered, but inaudibly.
Butchers, they all were... cheering deaths. Pigs, waiting to be
slopped. And he was the bloody pigkeeper, the only sane one among
them though he knew he himself had lost his sanity. He'd had
to go insane to become sane. He'd had to have a breakdown to
get by. Cort had no delusions about his own mind. He
wouldn't fool himself. But he saw no need to find his
sanity again. It made it so much easier to think about the
consequences of his actions when he didn't think at all. The
entwining Seru around his chest that grew larger everyday, it
burned less, it hurt less when he didn't fight its control
and its "aid". Fighting now was like dying a little
more each time. Cort wondered how much time he had left.
He watched his white knuckles,
clutching the two main levers of the sphere. The volunteer
Soldier inside watched him frantically, hoping for a smile of
reassurance. He was so young and nervous, the bulky Seru strapped
around his arm almost too big for his slight frame. This Mist
would hurt him... it might kill him... Cort didn't want to
hurt anyone.
But the young volunteer was just another human.
Another Soldier. Murderer, pig, filthy, dirty, weak
human.
And so was Cort.
He didn't want to murder... but
it meant nothing to kill a pig...
Oh, god.... this hurt. This hurt
everywhere and his mind roared. Oh, god....
A sudden glance from Nebular snapped
the young Prince from his thoughts and the King winked at him, a
sign for Cort to give a speech, to encourage his people. But he
felt no pride in what he was about to do. Only deep, maddening
disgust, a disdain that spread and tented his feelings towards
everyone in the kingdom. Everyone, he supposed, except Gi. Gi was
the only one among them that knew the particulars, the evil in
every one of their hearts. That was why Cort didn't want his
best friend to be there. Gi was as he himself used to be, but
stronger. He couldn't allow his friend to be twisted by his
own dark purposes. Let Gi retain whatever innocence he could yet
claim to possess. Let him remain a reminder of what Cort had had
stolen from him.
"Prince..." Jette was
hissing in his ear, "You should reassure the people, say
something, don't you think, your highness?"
"Say something?" the young
man replied, eyes blank, two pale hands on the controls to the
sphere, "I say damn them all to hell. They're no better
than Sol. No, that's not true. They have me. So they're
worse. Connect the circuits. And let's give these pigs what
they want."
The Mist was beautiful when it came. A vent opened in the bottom
of the glass sphere and it oozed upwards in curling white fingers
catching the morning sunlight and twisting in prismatic color,
throwing shadows of light and smearing away the calves of the
test subject inside. The young soldier looked nervous but he
retained his smile, seperated from the thousands of eager faces
outside by only this thin layer of glass. He slid his cold
fingers against it, wondering how hard it would be to break, even
as the cold Mist creeped up his legs, wrapping around him
lovingly. It was like a million fingers all trying to invade his
flesh and find his blood. It looked like fog, nothing more than
mist off the fields in the early morning. He'd played among
such things a lot, he was only a slight sixteen years old. Yet
this Mist... this was different. He hoped it wouldn't hurt.
He hoped whatever it was supposed to do wouldn't last long,
that his Prince would keep him safe...
Nebular approached Cort, slight
anxiety in his features as his subjects' attentions were
drawn to the display, hearts in their throats, knuckles to their
mouths. They watched the young Soldier's eyes darting
anxiously at the rising mist inside the sphere, they watched the
stuff center around his Seru and begin to thicken. "Cort,
"Nebular whispered in his son's ear, Cort not turning
to look at him, "You're sure that glass is unbreakable?
We can't have that stuff curling around here. You're
sure it's safe?"
The young Prince watched the Soldier
beginning to writhe as the Mist seeped into his Seru's
senses. The Seru, which controlled a small part of the mind of
anyone who wore one, now began to increase control, digging with
pincer-like claws into the man's brain. He moaned, falling
to his knees, forgetting to be strong for his people, his King,
his Prince. Colors exploded in his eyes and he began to lose
consciousness.
"Safe?" Cort asked,
watching him, "Perfectly safe."
A roar, and the crowd looking on
released a thousand gasps in the crystal blue air of morning.
Their Soldier was no more. He was on his side and screeching,
humanity gone, a monster, spawned from the will of a maddened
Seru. His skin was twisted, his features like an animal's
with no thought or conscience or consciousness behind them. Only
a bloodlust in his eyes, a thirst for murder as he began to pound
on the glass. His roving, beast-eyes sought out the King's
face and leered. The monster licked his lips, growling.
"By the Grace of God...
"Nebular breathed, stepping back, unable to control
himself, even with nearly the entire Kingdom looking on,
"This isn't right.... is it? Is that what it does?
It's inhuman... the Mist.... it turns them .... I
don't.... " The King's mouth hung half open and
he felt his Queen coming to his side, clutching his arm in a
panic. "Cort, "he suddenly snapped, "Cort, turn
that damned fog off. Get that man out of there. Now! Turn it off
now! This is inhumane!"
The young Prince turned slowly away
from the sphere, his hands clasped behind his back. Sweat ran
down his face. "But father, "he said softly, panting
between his words as though out of breath, "Inhumane, you
say? No, no, no, this is so, so human... this is all you
are and all you want. Isn't this what you want? What you
want? Look, look how he's suffering, beating against the
walls of his prision because the pain his Seru sends into his
brain is so intense, even with his will gone, he can't stand
it. Look, father, look at it. Your "weapon". My design,
what you begged me for. Isn't it beautiful? Do you not love
it? Aren't you bloody proud of how human your son is
afterall? Your... heh heh, your Prince is a more efficient
murderer than you... Sire."
Cort's voice was a maddened
lilt, a soft song of insanity. His green and violet eyes shone
softly in the sunlight, pointed at the sphere and the writhing
creature inside. His right hand strayed up to grab at his chest
but struck the Seru there instead. Beneath the folds of his
shirt, he could feel the disgusting lump's hold on his body,
feel the sharp spikes dug into his flesh. It felt like it had
another hold on him though now. A stronger hold somewhere else...
"What is this thing?" he whispered,
"What is it doing to me? Father? Whose fault is this... oh,
god... "
"Cort... "
There was terror in Nebular's
face but he tried to shove it away, seeing something wrong with
his son. Cort had tears in his eyes and was sinking to the
ground, gasping for air. The King reached down to brush the tears
away, Minea stepping forward and about to wrap her arms around
their tormented child, not needing to know the particulars, just
that he was upset. But Cort wouldn't have it.
"Get away from me.... " he
growled, a catch in his voice at the end of the words,
"It's too late. By God.... it's too late.... no,
no, no, no...noo... help me but don't.... god...."
Even as he spoke, the Seru-possessed
human inside the sphere gave a resounding roar and beat both
rock-hard fists against the inside of its prision. A hairline
crack snaked its way vertically on the surface, marring the
perfect crystal-cut glass, the soft flesh of the monster's
hands splitting and smearing red blood against the walls. The
citizens of Conkram stared in horror, their festivities ended,
panicked shouts beginning to fill the air.
"No, Cort, "Nebular
insisted, hearing their cries and grabbing his son firmly by the
shoulder, "Control yourself, you're frightening the
people with this display. What's going on? What's
wrong? Are you hurt? And why are you saying such things,
I've never wanted anything more from you than your respect
and your love."
"Respect.... and love....
heh...." They didn't love him. He was the Prince was
all. They'd used him for his intellect.... yes, his entire
tortuous existance had been planned by them, to get him to make
them this Mist.... yes.... they'd brought this upon themselves.
But why? Why was Cort the one who had to make it happen, drop the
ax? He clutched his head, eyes squeezing shut. There was nothing
else. And it was too late to go back. And air was too precious a
thing to waste now. He felt himself suffocating under the dark
Seru's lust for his lungs, his heart, his mind. But it
didn't matter... living was trivial. Living in a world of
war was hardly living at all.
Cort didn't know where the
thoughts were coming from but they suddenly made so much sense.
So much sense it was funny. What a damn perfect time for
revelations.
As Conkram Kingdom panicked, the
glass sphere containing the Seru-possessed Soldier cracking and
splitting further apart, hissing mists beginning to seep into the
air, citizens struggling to disconnect their own Seru from their
bodies, Nebular and Minea listened to their son's laughter.
He sounded like a madman.
"You wanted something
that'd kill, here it is.... here it is straight from Prince
Cort of Conkram Kingdom. And Zeto too, and Gi. Yes, Gi, you hear
me.... this was what I was working for and I didn't even
know it. How god damned hilarious is that?"
Gi Delilas scowled upon hearing the
words. He was a few feet off beside his brother and sister,
trying to calm the crowds. He suddenly threw off a panicking man
and dashed up to Cort, red eyes snapping in anger. The Mist was
hissing from the cracks and the air seemed full of snakes.
"Cort! Turn off the Mist! Now! Before there's no going
back!"
The King and Queen both looked
startled but Cort only laughed, holding onto his constricted
chest and coughing, a small stream of blood trickling out of
the corner of his mouth, dribbling down his chin. He saw red
droplets hitting the dirt at his feet, spattering into perfect
little circles and he laughed even harder, sobbing all at the
same time. Blood and tears stained his shirtfront.
"No, Gi... you s-said you'd
f-f-follow..... me?" He struggled to get the words out,
stepping backwards and wrapping both his arms around the
sphere's controls as the Seru monster's roars and the
sound of shattering glass filled the air. "You said
you'd follow me....? Well.... gghhaa-- well....
I'm ch-changing sides..... this blood-blackened Kingdom and
its lying leaders don't.... d-don't deserve to win...
I'll conquer this hole.... c-c-conquer it in the name of, of
Sol.... "
"Cort!!" Nebular
thundered, running forward angry and frightened to pry his
son's hands away from the controls. "What's gotten
into you?!"
"One thing, father....
"Cort replied, voice weak but hands like iron around the
controls. That was his Seru's aid, that strength. It would
help him kill, just as Zeto had promised. "One thing. The
truth. Not Zeto's truths, or yours, or Gi's, or my own.
A cosmic truth that's made me mad... but better to be mad...
than a delusional pig like you..."
Nebular roared and leapt but was
knocked aside by Gi's arm. The boy stood over his King
frowning, tears rolling down his face. "I've cast my
lot, Sire, "he explained, "I'm sorry. But maybe
he's right.... maybe it all should go.... "
The King was going to protest, Minea
was going to plea to Cort in a voice choked with sobs but the
speeches never came. With a sound like a mountain splitting, the
sphere burst apart, shards of glass exploding and slicing into
the surrounding citizenry. The Seru Monster lunged, tackling a
man and beginning to systematically tear him apart. As the Mist
rolled out, spreading like a pool of cold dew, those it engulfed
collapsed to the ground, their Seru maddening with the fog's
mysterious properties and taking over their owners. Screams of
pain and confusion filled the air and Zeto smiled at the pleasing
song it created. He loved the music. He stood stoic and still
near the remains of the sphere, watching the people die, watching
the people turn into the very tools of Tieg's cleansing. He
said a prayer of thanksgiving as Conkram fell apart. The Mists
washed over him and he raised his arms, the sleeves of his cloak
slipping down and revealing his eager flesh. The cold Mist
against his skin made him laugh. With happy eyes, he listened to
his Prince.
"Will you repent now,
father?" Cort was asking through sobs, "Repent and help
me? I don't want to hate you..."
"Help you?!" Nebular
raged, "Cort! Son! What the hell is wrong with you! Where is
all of this coming from?! I thought you were going to help us! I
thought you were my son! My Prince! My Heir!"
"I am... more than that. I
don't want to be what I was anymore. It was a miserable
existance. If you can't understand that, father, then you
can stay here in your rotting Kingdom and rot along with it. You
love your precious Conkram so much that you'll kill your own
people for it? To keep it safe? Then you can rot here with Mother
for an eternity. Become one with these walls you love so
much."
"Cort!" Minea sobbed,
latching onto his shoulder, eyes fearful and glistening with
tears, "Cort, love, what is it? This isn't you talking!
What's happened?"
The young Prince shook his head, her
words stinging his heart. But the emotion faded in almost an
instant, and he coughed into his fist, grabbing his chest again.
What was happening? Did he... did he want this? Of course he did.
He wanted the deaths to stop... but that Mist, twisting around...
it would hurt his people.... weren't those bodies on the
ground? More... more death, always... oh, god... what was he
doing? Why couldn't he stop?
Cort clutched his head in pain, Gi
dashing to be by his side, while Nebular grabbed the Queen and
began making for the Palace. The grounds around them were
littered with corpses, blood splattering beneath the Royal
couple's feet as they ran. Seru monsters were busily
stalking anything that moved but the Soren above watched the
murders in horror, their leader catching sight of the retreating
royalty and swooping after them, fighting off the monsters
threatening the King and Queen.
Minea looked to her husband for
reassurance, halting in her mad dash, groaning suddenly and
falling to her knees.
"What is it?!" Nebular
demanded, jerking to a stop, clutching at her shoulders, "My
love, what is it?"
"The baby... "she answered
feebly, gasping, "It's coming.... "
Nebular plucked his wife from the
ground and cradled her close, then resumed fleeing, the noise of
his dying Kingdom sounding off his in his ears.
"What have I done..?" he
murmered, Minea clawing at his chest feebly, moaning with pain,
"Cort... my Cort... what have I done to him?"
"No... "Minea protested,
"Go back to him, we can't leave him, something's
wrong. No, Nebular, don't abandon him!"
The King ignored her, throwing
himself inside his warm Palace walls and a few Soren followed
him, a few citizens, and that was all. The thick iron gates
clanged shut, hiding the guilt, the grief, the questions, behind
thick walls of gorgeous white marble. They didn't open
again.
Gi heard the sound and thought of it
as a death sentence. The Mist was getting closer. The monsters
were on the prowl. His own Seru was beginning to burn his skin.
"Prince!" Gi tried to calm
his friend but Cort was beyond anything like that. Tears fell
from his eyes and blood frothed at his lips as he cried out in
agony.
"It's.... k-killin' me.... "he sobbed,
falling to his knees, "I don't want to die, Gi!
D-don't want to, not now, I, I haven't had long
enough... Mother.... I love you, I'm sorry. I'm so
sorry for this... if only I could be born again, into something
else. I was just too weak and too unworthy to be what you wanted,
what you needed... if only I could start over..."
Cort's Seru was absorbing the
Mist and becoming stronger. Gi could feel his own Seru being
affected by it and he began to feel dizzy, the edges of his
vision blackening as the world around him swam in nauseating
circles. Still, he clutched at Cort's shoulder, trying to
keep his liege from falling to the dirt. "I don't care
what happens, Prince, "Gi whispered, "I'll follow
you. I'll follow you to hell, if I have to. I've cast
my lot. I'm done with decisions. I wish I had more to give.
But I've never had anything in this world but my life.
It's yours.... "
The boy collapsed, his Seru pulsing
with the Mist. Movement ceased in Conkram Kingdom, all movement
save the Seru beasts who wandered aimlessly, beginning to leave
the city and go out into the countryside, along with the
horrible, curling Mist that just kept coming from the broken
sphere. Zeto stood just as motionless as the corpses. His Prince
and his entire Royal Court lay unconscious or dead on the ground,
controlled by their Seru. The Seru would take what they were
weakest in and make it what they were strongest at. Zeto laughed.
Tieg had blessed them all.
"Cort... "he whispered,
stepping forward until the boy was slumped just at his feet,
"My beautiful, righteous Prince... and Gi, so faithful, such
a friend. You all are worthy. I am glad to serve you, Cort. So,
so glad."
The boy opened his eyes feebly, slow,
cold horror passing over his face at the sight of the stacked and
scattered bodies of his subjects. They littered the beautiful
white marble grounds, their crimson blood seeping into the
cracks, running to soak into his clothes. Silouhetted black
against the Mist, human-shaped monsters mumbled and paced, eyes
reduced to nothing but smears of insanity. Zeto was there too,
his broad countenance close to his own. Cort couldn't speak,
he could only stare out at it all. And cry.
A battleground stretched before him.
A battleground after the battle.
At the beginning of a new war.
The last thing Prince Cort of Conkram
ever saw before falling into a deep and final slumber, were the
glistening wings of a retreating Soren in the distance, a wailing
bundle clasped in his strong arms. Then the Mist closed and the
Kingdom slept.
Cort distractedly thought that perhaps that baby would be able to end the killing.
And be his second chance.