Re: The ORG Intermission: Enmity
It's been a while I feel shame.
XI
Minerva referenced the Wayfinder, like a compass, with vigilance. Constantly, she checked the charm to see how brightly it glowed. The change that Gren had made to it to track down Mirage signatures would lead her to destination. However, the closest and brightest beacon of Eternus Ignis was not on the artificial planet, but a different world close by.
It was a world on which a tragedy had not yet occurred to give it a suitably ominous name, thereby robbing it of any name that would hide its mysterious nature. To title it as a “wasteland” or a “graveyard” of any sort would make little to no sense, unless an individual could see into the future, or had been to the future to when the world was so desolate.
Once, it has been dead, desolate place, with no life to call it home. Endless, dry desert was interrupted by tall, craggy mountains and jagged rocks and cliffs and deep fissures. There were frequent sandstorms that produced towering cyclones of blinding dust that blocked out the sun. It was an ideal battleground, or at least the insurmountable number of Keyblade wielders present seemed to think so.
Minerva arrived to see the world ravaged by fighting. Oceans of armored people blocked out miles of ground. Magic flashed across the surface like flashes of lightning in a storm. It was a battle of accumulated grudges from across the universe; the Keyblade war that Minerva had only heard stories of, and in which she feared her friends enlisting. The blood spilled would outnumber rivers and lakes if the world had any. What she could not tell from the violent scene below was that the bloodshed before her was not even half of the overall conflict. A number of other worlds were fated to be consumed by warfare.
Above the foot soldiers flew wielders on gliders. They swarmed and chased and shot at each other with mounted magical weapons. Explosions appeared to spontaneously blot out the sky with clouds of smoke. Even higher up drifted large airships and crafts firing upon each other. Enormous vessels were brought down with mixtures of artillery and the arcane, falling apart in mid-air and plummeting to the crevices below. Projectiles that missed their targets arced towards the ground, leaving gaping craters.
Smaller ships, still bigger than gliders, attempted to establish air superiority. Minerva recognized a Miragean ship, circular and dome-shaped, being surrounded by wielders. Moving too quickly for the dome, they found its weak spots and damage its engines, turning it into a comet headed for the surface, swirling with blue and the more conventional red flames. Wherever it crashed, there would be no survivors. The remnant of a ship would remain in place, a ruin half-buried in the dust, for centuries to come.
She watched the gliders that had worked together fly off in different direction, and take to battle with others. She was about to take off herself to continue her observation, when something flickered in the corner of her eye. Minerva gasped, and then yanked on the handles of her glider, barrel-rolling over to avoid a blast of dark magic. Steadying herself, she was subject to another barrage, and flew away for safety. No, she had no intention of joining such a disgusting fight, but as the rain of dark magic increased, its source remaining untraceable, she found herself gliding closer to the ground until she was on her feet. It was not the best idea she ever had for the sake of “safety”.
Almost immediately, Keyblades were being swung in her face. Minerva jumped back and her glider had transformed back and was in her hand. Wielders in armor of varying colors, most of them mixed with black, were waiting in line to have a go at the wielder with the obviously powerful and light-tapped heart. Minerva slashed and hacked her way through a crowd of opponents before she realized how badly she was leading on those that were closing in. Unleashing pure light magic and showing off her prowess with sword-fighting was going to get her killed. With no way of running without being caught again, she subtly switched to fending off her foes with lightning and ice spells. For the most part she was only trying to push away enemies, but more than one were slain in the process. She felt a sting of remorse whenever she saw an armored figure lying dormant.
When the last of the rush had been eliminated, she did not hesitate to turn and run. The airspace was becoming increasingly hostile, so perhaps if she could find an open area on foot, she could take off without danger. She spotted a rocky mesa, only sparsely populated by soldiers. A steep ledge led to its horizontal top.
Minerva ran, casting bolts of ice magic on those who tried to initiate combat with her. As she closed in on her destination, she watched wielders fall off the ledges of the mesa. On two or three occasions their descent was pursued by an especially bloodthirsty opponent. Minerva took her Keyblade in both hands, one on each side of the hilt, and tore in half; each part long and sickle-shaped. She pushed off the ground and sunk one of the sickles into the rock. Blood pounded in her ears. The mountain-climbing process was repeated until she flung herself over the edge. No one noticed her arrive; though the area seemed reserved for duelists whose fights had only brought them there by escalation.
It was then that Minerva noticed a trend. The “war” was so bizarre. It was hardly as chaotic as she had first observed, and instead reminded her of what Gren had told her. The war was not about killing everyone possible. It was hardly a matter of throwing armies at other armies and waiting to rout the enemy or destroy their morale or take out their leader. In fact, looking at the fighting, there were hardly any discernible sides at all. There were only individuals; hundreds upon thousands of individual Keyblade wielders fighting for a common cause.
Duels. It was duels she was seeing, not large-scale war. There was no point in having a fight that involved more than two people, because only two were needed to create the X-Blade. The number of fights, however, increased the odds of it happening tenfold.
In awe, Minerva scanned the air in curiosity; yes, the air battles consisted of pairs of gliders. Chases were acrobatic displays of wielders jumping at and grounding their opponents to get them to fight on foot, where they could properly forge the ultimate weapon. The atmosphere was bringing out the worst and most violent in everyone involved; frustration built up from light and dark supremacists trying to win the X-Blade for their “side” resorted to overly-violent means if events did not go in their favor. Minerva wondered if the bigger ships floating in the clouds were up to anything similar.
It was doubtful; they were all the same in origin. She could not remember if the skies had looked that way before, but now they were dominated by Miragean vessels. This alerted Minerva to the fact that there were no Mirage soldiers on the ground, only transports in the sky. Did they plan on landing a ship at some point, unloading their army all at once? It made her uneasy. The biggest Miragean cruiser visible loomed closer to the surface, nearly confirming her fears. On its bottom was a large circular orifice, at the center of which was a ball of blinding blue-white fire. Was it going to shoot?
Would Mirage really commit such a mass slaughter? It already happened once on Atlantis. But if Ra’s Ka really wanted to destroy all opposition, particularly dark wielders, he would wait until he had the X-Blade. If this was his way of unveiling something big, it would end up being a solution to finding the X-Blade before he wiped out the wielders he deemed weaker. The ship hummed louder and louder until the radiant clump of energy high above expanded and descended in a column straight down. She expected, against her previous logic, a violent explosion and a powerful, concussive wave. There was nothing.
The attention of the armies was caught by a hypnotizingly luminous, colossal figure standing where the light had been. The blotch of white shifted, and tremors shook the earth in response. Again it moved, and a second quaking made Minerva question her balance on the slanted precipice. She worked her way down, sliding down the slope, and continued forward, transfixed by the hulking mass coming in her direction. All the while the shaking continued in a steady pattern; it sounded distinctly like footsteps. Soon, the light cleared, as though it had cooled down after being heated to an impossibly high degree. The true form of the towering being was revealed.
A monstrous golem aimed its clawed hand at the crowd around it, vaporizing countless wielders and leveling the dirt. It was some artificial abomination, made of metal colored deep azure, and throbbing veins of neon blue lining its entire body. The terrorizing machine was hunched over, with wide, round shoulders and thick limbs to match. While its left hand had titanic fingers, the right was replaced by a crude replica of a Keyblade. It had jagged teeth running up and down the length, and it rested on the ground having to be dragged along sluggishly, which was as fast as it appeared its stumpy and heavy legs could handle. The weapon was reminiscent of a chainsaw. On its chest, Minerva noticed a stylized “M” that glowed with its magic-filled arteries.
The head was a spherical pod, its face consisting of only a circular glass window; a large X-shaped frame held it in place. The letter reflected on what must have been its mission. Humorously, a pair of ear-like strips of metal on the head mimicked those of an actual armor’s helmet. It was all that gave off the glow present on its landing. The stringy veins seemed to come from the neck before covering the rest of the body; undoubtedly something potent was up there, controlling it all or supplying it with power.
Minerva transformed her Keyblade and took to the skies once more, noting that she would have a lot less pressure on her than she did before. She felt as though she were responsible; she had no idea why or for what, but she knew she had to have some part in taking the golem down. Despite the indescribable obligation, it appeared that she was barely alone in that task
Like flies to honey, wielders who looked like insignificant specks raced and sought to take down the colossus, whether that meant destroying the machine or whatever was inside. The energy beam, too narrow and slow-moving to hit the numerous mobile targets, was set aside, and the golem lifted its massive blade. Its waist twisted, clicking and humming, as it prepared to strike. When it had wound itself far enough, the entire torso turned, bringing up the blade in an arc of enormous radius. Minerva saw gliders swatted like flies, their riders probably killed instantly from the force of the swing alone.
Minerva kept her distance, waiting for an opening to get close. While the shoulders were bulbous and solid, the joints between them and the limbs were openings to the inner machinery. Cables and cords flexed like muscles when the arms moved. If she could get close and sever a crucial part, it would critically disable the golem. It would only take a well-placed slice or detrimental spell, like fire or lightning. Circling from behind, she did her best to time her proximity to the weak point with the robot’s movements. When it went for another cleave, she would strike.
The variables were far too high in number, though. Five more gliders swooped from behind her in formation, either going the same route as Minerva or blindly rushing their common enemy. Regardless, their flashy entrance caught the golem’s attention before they could come close. When it turned, prepared to blow them out of the air, Minerva barrel rolled to avoid an attack.
She flew past the head as she did, getting a view through the glass pane. The source of its light was more discernible from her distance, and she saw that a human-shaped figure was to blame. A body that glowed blue and silver and white stood on a circular platform, contorted, with its arm reaching backward; the same way the golem was positioned. The machine was not acting on its own; a pilot controlled it from inside the head. It occurred to Minerva that it was a Mirage wielder, one who must have been exceptionally powerful. Her glider flew, creating more space between them as it stomped along, laying waste to those that opposed it. She pulled back and turned straight around, making another dive, this time for the face. Such a daring move would take precision timing.
Yes, there it was, the golem was distracted with another flock of gliders who would be hopelessly slaughtered. She sped up, lowering her head near the handles of her glider to accelerate as much as possible. Her throat bulged with a deep breath, and she readied her legs.
She leapt from her glider a second before it made contact with the head. Glass shattered, and a loud bang reverberated when it hit the back of the cockpit. The golem stumbled and began to lose balance as the pilot recoiled in confusion and surprise. Minerva’s momentum kept her in the air briefly; she had reached out and grabbed onto one of the jutting metal ears of the helmet. The force of her impact upon it made her thankful she was wearing something hard; she probably would have been cut in half if she hit the edge just right.
Wasting no time, one of her arms took a moment from clinging onto the ear and reached out at the skull under here. Her fingers curled, and she felt the presence of her Keyblade. Soon, a conical dent shot up from the top of the head. The thick plating strained to stay together, but Minerva’s Keyblade burst through, tearing the metal like paper. Minerva hopped down, once more jabbing her Keyblade into the crack, and wrenched it wider. She jumped down the newly-formed entrance. The identity of the pilot was clearer in-person.
“Al’s?”
Clad in a slimming, skin-tight suit of “armor” was Al’Shab Ka. The suit of blue, metallic, leathery-looking materially had silver veins lining it, much like the golem they were inside. His usual wispy hair was contained by a sleek helmet that covered the top half of his face. He brought a hand to the side of it, pressing a button and allowing it to reveal his eyes.
“Minerva?”
“What-?” She began, but was cut off by an impact against what felt like their side. An explosion was heard. The sphere was soundproofed for the most part but the destroyed window reversed any change it would have made. Al’s turned quickly, growling and breathing hard. He brought his arm up and whipped it from right to left. Outside, the false Keyblade lumbered through the air, following the same path Al’s took.
“What…what are you doing here?” He asked for her. His tone changed to a cordial one for her.
“I came here because, I, well…” Minerva’s speech trailed, she was finding it hard to word how she wanted to take down the institution that raised him.
“Did Master send you?”
That felt like a smart thing to lie about given her lack of information on what was going on.
“Yeah, he did. I was supposed to find you right away.”
He stared at her. His eyes were cold, yet anything but shallow and unfeeling. Minerva worried that the response was an unwise one.
“He’s still having me do this?”
The golem shook again, but this time Al’s did not tend to the offender. Minerva nodded, tense; she had expected a fight, only to receive a disturbing conversation.
“Alright.” He took a deep breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Go on and get out of here, it isn’t safe.”
“Just tell me where it is around here.” Minerva sighed, shrugging. Al’s chuckled, smiling gently before remembering where he was and going back to his default, nauseated expression.
“I’ll tell you when I find out. Stick close and I’ll do what I can to keep them off your back.”
He went back to his post, silver limbs radiating with Eternus Ignis and taking the reins of his assignment. His legs trembled when he shifted them, and his back arched as though it were aching terribly. Minerva did not like what she had just done; it felt like she was condemning him, even if Ra’s Ka had apparently told him to do it in the first place. Minerva reached up to the hole in the sphere, ready to climb out, but something caught her eye out ahead of them.
Lightning struck, connecting with the ground. Shrieking thunder pierced the air along with it. There was no storm to be seen nearby, as the ships in the area had parted the clouds, not to mention the color was off; bright orange. It was suspicious and alarming. Al’s had noticed it too, his proxy fighting stopped so that he could see the event. Another two bolts struck, crackling as loudly as the first. Wielders were vacating the area where the cataclysm occurred, or having the evacuation done for them.
Something had created a clearing in the distance. Minerva squinted, spotting a small group of wielders walking in regal formation. All of them wore pitch-black armor which was covered with pulsating orange tubing and wiring. There was an obvious leader among them; the one in front, with a helmet shaped like a crown adorned with electrified gems. A black cape with auburn decals billowed ominously in the desert wind. His visor was prominently pointed, like a nose, making it easy to see, when he looked up, that it was the golem he was most interested in.
They appeared robotic in everything but their movements, which were quick and fluid. When a wielder ran forth to challenge the lead, he did not stop walking, but only turned his head and raised his hand. His Keyblade was not even out. Angular, orange tendrils of lightning, like the bolts that heralded their entrance, spiraled around his arm and jumped from his hand, piercing the wielder in multiple fatal locations. While the wielder lowered his arm, the open wounds detonated in a burst of electricity, vaporizing the victim. The clearing increased in diameter soon after by wielders who had stopped fighting. It was not out of fear of the new challengers, however; it was out of interest.
Minerva looked to Al’s, who had locked gazes with the dark wielder.
“We’re going to end this here.” He said to her, monotone. Minerva shuddered, recalling Gren saying something just like it. Seeing another friend repeat it so ominously was frightening.
“No.” Minerva shook her head. “You don’t have to.”
“Yeah,” Al’s responded flatly. The vibrant, alien lights which lit up the golem faded away. The all-white pod in which they stood went dark. All of the light in the room gathered to the floor underneath Al’s and collected at his feet. Running up his legs, it was sucked up into Al’s hand, forming something long in his hand; his Keyblade.
“I do.”
With superhuman agility, Al’s burst from the pod, sending any glass that remained flying.
“Al’s!” Minerva called after him. There was no way he heard her. She wished she had said no earlier.
He landed feather-like at about half the distance between them and the dark wielders, lit up as vibrantly as a star. Minerva thought that in spite of his seeming exhaustion, he looked brilliant, and felt some hope inside that the side she was most familiar with could come out on top. Subconsciously she ridiculed herself for being so biased in what she knew was an awful cause, but the light before her made her confident for once in what felt like a long time.
Bolder wielders of darkness charged for their chance at the obviously strong of heart. Al’s stopped, Keyblade outstretched. They threw themselves at him one at a time, taking their turn, not wanting to risk the delicate balance needed to create their prize. Al’s smote the first in half, not even challenged. He dueled longer with the next one but slayed him without much more effort. By the time and third and the fourth wielders came to fight, he was growing irritated. The only one fit to forge the X-Blade with him was behind legions of lower beings.
Without a second thought, his empty hand turned over and ignited in blue fire. An inferno blazed from up his arm and covered his shoulder, and once it roared high enough, he turned and lobbed it off to his right. It was magical incendiary, which exploded within seconds. He had still been making his way towards the dark wielder the entire time.
But that was only one flank taken care of; he turned his attention to his left. His right hand once more blazed on, but instead of throwing it, he chose the more torturous method of unleashing it on his victims in a cone. The flames poured out from his fingers without end, torching no less than a hundred wielders. When his attack’s range was insufficient and the wielders finally caught on and began to run, he pointed his Keyblade, energizing it with magic. Al’s pointed and shot casually as though it was a hand gun, with deadly accuracy. The butchering was a demonstration.
Al’s continued, at a much more leisurely pace, towards the exclusive arena the clearing had become that no one else dared enter. The dark wielder’s escorts summoned their blades and prepared lightning magic, but the leader waved them off, wanting what he saw as a fair challenge. He and Al’s saw themselves as equals, or rather, knew they were equals. Their hearts were pure, but polar opposites, and each of them felt it and could be no more certain.
And so they clashed. As soon as their Keyblade touched there were devastating results. Magic that they were full to the brim with was exploding out of them form the intense action. Incredible dodges and evasive maneuvers, spells of ancient nature, and Keyblade transformations of which were intricate and deadly. The circle of wielders grew wider as they backed off, now focused on the calamity unraveling. The arena was split evenly into two distinct sides; blue and white fire streaming form Al’s and his Keyblade, and orange and black dark magic, spouting off as wild arcs of lightning. Eventually their finesse deteriorated into violent exchanges where Keyblades were hammered against each other with as much strength as possible. The influx of magical energy created gale-force winds, and Minerva had to hold onto the remaining window frame for support. The golem wavered.
The combat in which the two were locked consistently reminded Minerva of her fight with Gren. Was it working, she wondered. Could Al’s really wield the X-Blade? Both duelists were obscured by the contrasting colors they threw off, consumed by a magical inferno it entirely.
Suddenly, as the duel reached its peak, when most of Minerva’s vision, even from afar, was obscured by blinding flashes, a column of light shot up into the air, rising without end. The ultimate weapon had been forged. Still, more blasts flared out form the center; the vaporizing energy flowed like tidal waves out in all directions, barring four strips of salvation in equal, opposing directions. From above, it resembled an “X”. The ships above noticed, at least those that were not being damaged and destroyed by the light.
Minerva felt the golem rock more roughly. She held on tight to the frame, but the entire machine began to fall backwards, freeing her of gravity. If it were not for the inverted pod protecting her she would have surely been disintegrated like thousands of others. When she opened her eyes, she was lying flat on her back, broken glass and dust covering her like a blanket. The dawn sky above had most cleared of ships, and a few gliders zipped away. Minerva crawled out of the golem; it was beyond repair, and skeletal thanks to the corrosive magic stripping it of its armor.
For a mile ahead, most wielders were gone; in place of them were Keyblades. Hundreds upon thousands of Keyblades littered the landscape, driven into the ground and sticking up like tombstones. The world could appropriately be called a graveyard now. Minerva looked to her sides, seeing the places where the magic had not affected; they resembled pathways. She made it to and followed one, seeing wielders who survived the blast struggling with injury and shock. The more fortunate, she assumed, must have left on their gliders already.
Did that make the war over? Was it that simple? It really depended on whether or not the X-Blade has been formed. Minerva thought of her friend down the path. She had to know if Al’s had survived, or if he had the X-Blade now.
