Hellfire | Torn Asunder 17 | Bright Side
There's no escaping the mantle of L'Sunder. Even if Festor removes the mask. Even if he runs. L'Sunder is in his mind, his blood, his soul.
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The title is a reference to this song.
I’m writing this story as a companion piece to my visual novel Project Grandfather Clock - demo can be found here!
The events of this story are told from both the point of view of an outcast among his religion fighting to be heard (Festor), and a devout defender of tradition carrying the weight of The Moon on his shoulders (Lunik). What happened to Lunik during the battle? You can find a version of this chapter from Lunik’s POV here.
This post is a part of Bradley Ramsey ‘s Flash Fiction February!
Prompt: Invaders sweep across the cosmos, snuffing out stars and planets in equal measure. They are legion, but you? You are worse. Your crimes are unforgivable. As punishment for your sins, you have been chosen to wear an exosuit that fuses with your body and your mind. Once donned, it cannot be removed. Ever. As you march into battle, take comfort, for there is redemption to be found in a glorious death.
May the fires of war wash your soul clean…
Everything this chapter has, except I used the most liberal interpretation of “exosuit” ever.
Event Directory:
////|| Wails of L’Sunder: Velevyn Prison, Theophor - Year 32
« MEMORY CACHE » : FIRST | RECAP1 | PREVIOUS | NEXT :
FESTOR
Everything in the catacombs wanted to kill him.
Commandments etched into its silver walls spiraled around Festor, once a creed of ethics, now a list of all the reasons he should burn. The metal, called Velevyn Metal, would disintegrate those deemed sinners with the slightest touch.
But avoiding the metal was the easy part, and only delaying the inevitable. Festor’s mask weighed heavily in his satchel as he directed Amore towards a row of abandoned prison cells. Even if he never touched Velevyn, even if the mask was off, his destiny was secured in place as long as he stayed with Theophor. In his mind. In his blood. In his soul.
His blood pumped, and the heavy garments he wore to block contact with the wall became a furnace, his heartrate causing the Sunder magic in him to heat. He felt nauseous. Carrying a nuclear reactor in your body did that to you.
Amore paused. They were approaching an occupied cell.
“Is that…?” Festor asked.
“No, that’s not who we’re meeting. Still, I’d like to help them, but…” Amore gave a warning, “Festor. Are you absolutely sure about this?”
He knew what Amore was implying. What if they ran into trouble, and his fellow clergyman saw him defending a Ginovan? “I agreed to do this with you, Amore. I’m not leaving you.”
The Head Council had no idea how little danger mattered to Festor. He was L’Sunder, destined to die a supernova. If that happened helping innocents escape to a place where they could live freely, so be it.
Three prisoners were crammed into the featureless box. It was locked by a disk marked with a Half-Moon symbol. Festor tapped it, and the door slid open.
“Hey!” a voice cried, with a familiar Ancient accent, as blinding moonlight exposed them.
What were The Holy Orders doing here?! These weren’t normal patrol guards. Festor recognized Davodson, Cantor, Leonard… And a battalion. Shit. There’s a lot of them…
“Go! Don’t let them see you…” Amore hissed. He elbowed Festor to the ground, raising his hands as he faced the staff of Davodson Lunik.
Festor donned his mask, then stood, reaching his feet just in time to see Amore dodging the blades of incoming Holy Knights. Five of them. A lot, but they could make it…
Amore crouched, firing his laserbow. Pink flames skittered across the ground, tripping one of the knights as Stars magic pierced her armor. Festor joined him as both backed towards the catacomb’s exit.
One leapt the bullets, sword swinging at him. He caught it on his laser-bow, using his spare hand to release a raw emerald-tinged nebula that sent him sliding backwards and thrust her against the ceiling.
Frustrated, Festor asked Amore, “I thought you said there were more of us in here.”
“There are,” Amore replied, in a whisper. “Just wait…”
Festor squinted at the gathered clergy ahead of him. Leonard had blocked the cell door, leering over the prisoners inside. Lunik and Cantor flanked him, but Festor noticed another Half-Moon slipping to the front of the troops. Evon, the Crescent he’d taken in the day before the conference that started all this… Several others had L’Sunder patches on.
Leonard raised his blade. A prisoner tried to run, but tripped as the tip of the sword grazed him. Fortunately, the Sunders surrounded him, healing staves ready, immediately.
Except…
There were seven of them. The wound wasn’t healing. The screams kept coming. Don’t tell me…
It was bad enough even Davodson Lunik got involved, shoving troops aside. Festor caught a good look at the wound. Saw blisters boiling up so fast they seared off the boy’s clothes. Watched him close his eyes, willing himself to go before the burns could destroy his entire body. No…
He knew the way that metal glinted. On Leonard’s blade, and Cantor’s…
Amore defeated another Holy Knight. Three down. Then a fourth. The last ran for back-up.
Festor shot her down before she could escape. Hollering an urgent warning,
“Get the blades! They’re lined! Velevyn metal!”
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The room danced with auroras as Theocricites transformed into Ginovans. Constraining cloaks shed, replaced with masks of flowing feathers. The Goddess’s strength flashed in, their eyes, on their raised fingers. Promising Theophor a fight.
Amore had overestimated - A quarter of Leonard’s troops had joined their side, but they were still outnumbered.
Leonard’s blade slid across the floor, secured by the rebels. Cantor, still armed, fought as well as the Holy Knights - steady, swift, relentless. The padded Ginovan vests were thick, and Velevyn swords weren’t sharp. One of the Knights, with her sharper steel, amputated a rebel’s sleeve, opening a life-threatening vulnerability.
“Just cover their escape,” Amore whispered. He pulled the wounded soldier aside and directed them to send a signal beacon up for Contestatore.
Festor directed his attention onto the Holy Knights. The biggest threats first. Disarming swords, fireworks of magic knocking them star-struck. His work was undone as quickly as he made it. Jonothon was a damn good healer. A second bleeding rebel limped down the corridor, a woman sailing after him with her feathered cape flying behind her.
Festor paused his fire, charging a stronger shot. A gust of nebulous jade smoke pulled the knight’s cape adrift, sending her backwards in a tumble.
He smelled smoke. He checked his bow, thinking he’d damaged it, but it was his own hands that had started to smolder.
A birdlike whistle sounded behind Festor. Amore copied it. The pegasi had arrived.
One small burst at a time, the Ginovans started to retreat. Stocky in stature, Amore positioned himself to guard their escape route. Festor covered him with his sniping, and the pair moved back pace by pace.
“Get them!” came a Half-Moon’s shrill order. Davodson Lunik took to the front lines, Holy Knights flocking beside him. The rest of Theophor’s healers turned on the offensive, staves raised in unison. The gems at the top twinkled, becoming a second Moon. A field of moonlight swept the battlefield. Festor’s firing slowed, the controlled gravity making him sluggish. They wouldn’t be able to run in this!
Amore pushed to the front of the pack, and raised his arms. When concentrating, one could use The Stars’ magnetic magic to pull in whatever energies they wanted. Even harmful ones. The moonblasts all locked onto Amore. He absorbed the damage, plummeting forward as the rebels ran freely.
A few still remained, caught between too many swords to run. Leonard had become a wild beast, staff wielded like a club. Cantor managed to pry a mask off, and the body disintegrated before it could hit the floor.
Festor stepped in front of Amore. “Her powers… I know it normally just absorbs magic effects. But, the bridge - If someone has Her Blessing, can I pull them?”
Amore, unable to stand, panted, “I’m sorry. I can’t… Lend you any power.”
“Not what I’m asking…” Festor said, slinging his bow back over his shoulder. “Just needed to know it worked.”
He concentrated. Focused on the roaring fusion sensation in his heart. Pictured the memory of Cantor’s purple veins. Then reached out a hand, and pulled.
The warrior tripped, hollering as tendrils of spirit drained from his legs, dropping his sword. Festor dove for it, securing it in his bag. He felt his arm fizz, rejuvenated. But he was still seeing spots. He needed more power.
Leonard saw him, and charged. If Festor tried to drain from someone again, he didn’t have time to be wrong. He wasn’t willing to risk a Gi-Blessed ally. Time to test his theory. He aimed, concentrating the magnetics onto Lunik.
It took.
He’d never heard a scream as tormented as the one Lunik made as he lifted off the ground. Festor’s vision blazed with plasma bright as diamonds, body rumbling, stellar reactor thrumming his ears. It wasn’t just a charge, but emotion, that molded into him. Grief. Longing. A biting loathing. Dear God, that’s… strong!
The force was too much for Festor to take, and his spell broke prematurely, sending him crashing onto his back. An explosion ignited, soldiers flying as a blistering mint shockwave bellowed through the catacombs.
Gi’s magic struck harder against those The Goddess opposed than Her own, giving the remaining rebels time to flee. Amore helped Festor to his feet, though the Theocricite magic he’d absorbed made him unable to run.
Theocricite footsteps picked up again. Festor, dragging Amore on his shoulder, split off from the rest of the group. Amore’s breathing grew haggard. Festor ducked into an empty cell, where the walls weren’t Velevyn-lined, and let Amore sit.
“I can’t outrun them…” Amore gasped. “Let’s wait for them to clear out.”
Of course. It was a dead end. Theocricite staff lights strobed from the end of the hall.
“They won’t go until they find you. Someone here will try to kill you,” Festor’s hands shook. Shadows licked around the corners. He had an idea, one he hated. “And I have to pray… I’ll fail.”
Fun Fact:The name of Festor’s hometown/temple, Cheyava, comes from Cheyava Falls, a rock on Mars where scientists discovered potential signs of life.
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