In Death, Life (short story)

[Zumberge]

_{(The new Dark Astoria really hit me when I first visited it, maybe because it ticked off the boxes of "the world is being fucked over by an evil god" and "you can punch cultists in their stupid faces."  It's appealing in a Quake-y, Blood-y sort of way, and I found myself just street sweeping my way between missions more than once.  Then I realized that an absolutely horrible scenario like this would perfectly benefit one of my villains.  In a realm of death and despair, what better place is there to gain favors and followers for a vengeful dream-born prophet of a slumbering god that embodies hope and new beginnings?)}

 

 

Fairchild had seen cities fall before.

 

There was no shortage of dead empires in the Old World, their capitals destroyed from within and without by armies, starvation, revolution, and sickness, both of the mind and the body.  Romes came and went, Germania began dying as soon as it was born and thrashed against the world in its death throes, the Celestial Kingdoms could never hold claim to the permanence of their namesake, and the empire on which the sun never set was in its twilight.  Rarely did this happen in the New World, however, and rarely so dramatically.

 

Mot.

 

The name was familiar, but from long ago.  It was reviled by the children of the star, before they held Yahweh as the One-Above-All, and before they tore down the temples of Asherah and forgot the name of his consort, the Lady of the Sea.  In his jealousy he denied the other gods, and so too did the children of the cross, and of the crescent.

 

For all the good it did them.

 

Mot's presence had twisted the world and its worshipers, creating agents of death bent on harvesting people in body and mind, and eventually, soul.  The air was thick, stale, and sour-tasting, eroding the minds of those who walked in Dark Astoria, spurring them on towards death.  Yet Mot's acolytes were all too mortal, and for a place of such evil there was still good to be done.

 

In an alley Fairchild found three half-human huntresses, having cornered a haggard-looking woman.  With a sweep of her arm a sheet of iridescent light sailed forth, getting the attention of two of them by cleanly decapitating the third.  Shouting curses they drew their weapons; the first brought a massive blade to bear, charging and swinging it overhead.  With a graceful turn Fairchild spun out of the way as the weapon bit into the ground, shattering the concrete.  A short lunge brought her close again, and as she drove her palm into the huntress' side she felt her bones buckle and crack a split-second before a pulse of energy liquefied her organs.

 

As the first fell the second advanced, twin swords cutting through the air.  Fairchild danced about, dodging her sweeps and diverting her lunges with precise touches against her hands and wrists.  The huntress' mounting frustration was evident, and she let out a roar, raking the air in front of her with both weapons.  With a casual step to the side Fairchild brought one arm down, light cleanly cleaving both her limbs at the forearms; she barely had time to scream before she swung her arm around and back, crushing her skull with the back of her fist.

 

As the gore sloughed off her skin and clothes, Fairchild turned her attention back to the woman kneeling in the alley.  During the fight she was lost in her own fear and thoughts, and as she approached she could hear her whimpering to herself.  It wasn't until Fairchild was next to her that she finally realized she wasn't alone.

 

"Why, why-" Her eyes were ringed with dark bags, puffy and stained with tears.  She clutched at Fairchild's pants, looking up at her pleadingly.  "Why did you do it?!  Why did you save me?  After everything I've done!  My children, they- they needed me, they trusted me and I just- I just threw them away." She slumped, sobbing. "Please, just let me die."

 

Hanging around her neck on a chain was a silver cross.  So there was some piety in her, Fairchild thought.  She could use that.

 

She knelt down, putting her hand to the woman's chin and gently tilting her head up to meet her eyes. "You wish to atone, but you will not do it by condemning yourself.  We will do it by saving others."

 

"We?" She pulled back, shaking her head. "No, no, I'm not strong enough to-"

 

"Then find your strength in me.  It may seem that the gods have abandoned this place, but mine has not.  I have not.  In this place of despair and endings, you will find a new beginning." The gloom around the woman faded, and the shroud over her thoughts seemed to lift. "There are others which linger in this place, and together we will become a beacon of hope."

 

The woman stared up at Fairchild, awed. "...yes... yes!" Fairchild took a step back as she scrambled to her feet. "Yes, I can help you!  We can save people who are trapped here!" She pointed down the alley. "There's a church in Toffet Terrace that we can stay in.  I, I don't recall seeing any of those things going near it."

 

"Securing it will be a trivial task," Fairchild replied. "None of the profane shall enter as long as I stand." She extended her hand, smiling. "Now come.  It will be a long walk, but the journey beyond that is longer still."

 

Are you watching, Mot? Fairchild thought.  In this realm, you have unwittingly planted the seeds of a god's birth.  You revel in death; be patient.  I will bring it to you soon enough.

 

But do not worry.

 

You will not die alone.