In the Name of Justice: Chapter XXIII
The section at the beginning of this chapter is set about 900 years before the main storyline, around the year 630 of the First Era. Maybe I'll write up the chronology one day... Basically, the First Era began when the first Schwarzschild king arrived in Marthiel and developed it into a serious country on the map, and the Second Era started when Dreizehn died and the political states took over. The time before the first king is known as the Pre Era.
Chapter XXIII
A Final Wish
A small bird landed on the windowsill. A weaver, in fact - the man recognised it from his books. Silently, he watched as it paced for a few seconds, its green-tinted wings catching the rays of fresh morning sun as though its feathers were made of fine glass. Then, seeing that there was no reason to stay, no food of any kind, it spread its wings once again and took off into the sky.
The man's eyes remained fixed upon it, only looking away when it had disappeared into the distance. It had been a while since he'd seen a bird so close, especially one as beautiful as a weaver.
Yet then again, it was a suitable price to pay when one was bedridden.
Slowly, he turned his eyes to his lap. Even without pulling back the covers, he could tell what his legs looked like - limp, thin and, most of all, bruised. It had been several hours since he'd last attempted to use them, though that had only ended in pain, as usual. What would they be like now, he wondered? He'd been drifting in and out of sleep all morning, his consciousness wavering since long before dawn - surely he was rested enough to try again?
Sure enough, though, it was hopeless: the moment he lifted his right leg, a ripping agony tore along its length and into his lower torso - it was as if the very movement were shredding his muscles to ribbons. Panting, he fell back against the pillow, his whole body heaving with deep, shuddering breaths. The illness was worsening - there was no doubt about that now. How long would it be before he succumbed to it completely?
He could hear Flügel's voice in his head, urging him on: Be strong, Rafaga! Take a stand! That bastard... What did he know? For too long now, he'd allowed himself to be fed that man's bullshit - how dare he! He wasn't the one who'd lost the use of his legs. If he wanted to, he could pick up a sword and fight any battle he wanted.
And then there was him.
Rafaga's hands curled into fists around his bedsheets, and for a moment, he thought he was going to rip them from the mattress, but then he relaxed. Slowly, he took hold of his shirt and began to ease it upwards, craning his neck to look down at his stomach area, where a bruise, the size of a wooden plate, was etched into his skin. It was difficult to tell from something so vague, but by the looks of it, it almost seemed to resemble an insignia of some kind, the shield of an ancient clan marked onto his body in deep brown hues.
Though of course, that was impossible.
Carefully, he allowed the material to fall back into place and leaned back against the sheets; yet as he did so, he couldn't help but feel drawn to the window again. It was difficult to explain, but in a way, he felt as if he were waiting for something - for the bird to return, maybe? Or for the sun to set, marking the close of another wasted day in his life.
Perhaps, in the end, he was waiting for a miracle.
---
Justice wasn't sure whether he had heard the knocks the first time, but by the second, he knew his mind wasn't eluding him.
Blankly, he stared at the door in front of him. The cracks in the wood were enough to allow thin slithers of sunlight in, though they were far from reaching him. To his right, Blanche slept soundly, the weight of her upper body dispersed evenly against his shoulder and wooden wall behind them.
Yet still, Justice remained frozen. Who could possibly be knocking on a shed in the middle of the forest? Had Carbuncle returned? Or perhaps it was one of the villagers who had followed him. If attacked now, he would be vulnerable, utterly defenceless in the sunlight - maybe the only thing for him was to remain as still as possible and pray that it would pass.
However, when the knocks sounded a third time, the whole structure shook, and the door came crushing down onto the ground.
Light flooded the floor at once, and Justice leaped to his feet. However, it was mere moments before it was blocked out again, as several figures filled the doorway. Black robes fell over their bodies, obscuring their faces and eradicating any chance of recognition.
One advanced upon Justice, but paused mid-step when a deep growl began low in the black-haired vampire's chest.
“What's going on?” Blanche's voice was weary from having just woken. Justice shot her a sideways glance as she stood, eyes passing between the man and those assembled in the doorway in confusion. “Your Majesty?”
Was he being attacked? Justice probably wouldn't have been able to answer Blanche's question if he'd tried. Slowly, he looked down at the floor, and his heart jolted in relief to notice that he was in darkness: even with the shadows from the cloaked figures, the pool of sunlight only reached halfway across the floor, leaving an area of four or five feet at the back safe from protruding rays, So long as he remained still, he was safe.
“So I believe that this is 'hello' again, Your Majesty.”
A figure stepped forth from the group, shouldering his way through until he reached the front. The very sound of his voice was enough to send shivers sliding down Justice's spine, like steel bolts, making him freeze in place.
Gideon stood before him, the subtle traces of a smirk still visible beneath his hood. “And I see that you've gotten yourself a little bedwarmer along the way. Why, does a night without your beloved Guardians scare you so much?”
Blanche flinched by his side, but Justice moved so that he was in front of her should any of the figures decide to make a move. He stared at Gideon with sharp, narrowed eyes, trying with every effort to suppress his desire to leap forward and tear the smirk from his face with his own hands. Then, all of a sudden, the cloaked man dashed forward. One hand reached for Justice's face, though the other, unseen, landed in the soft of his stomach, causing him to double over briefly. Yet no sooner had he reeled back, something wound in his hair and thrust him through the doorway.
Justice hit the grass on all fours, then twisted around so that he would be able to face the ones descending upon him. Raw sunlight flooded his skin, blinding him as much as it scalded, but he was more occupied with the robed figures who tore at him like hawks over a carcass. His boot flew up into one's hooded face, knocking him backwards. Following in his partner's footsteps, another reached for Justice's collar, though the man's fingers were already around his dagger, and in one swift movement he drove it deep into the flesh of what he presumed was his thigh. The gap created allowed him to claw his way to his feet.
The doorway flashed before him, and like an arrow from a bow, Justice sprinted towards it; darkness met him like cold water, relieving the scalding damage the sun had inflicted upon his skin. However, no sooner had he fallen into the shadows, a scream drew his attention to the outside world again, where he saw two figures locked in struggle. Gideon's arm wrapped around Blanche's neck, crushing her against his chest, though that wasn't to say that she was letting him. Desperately, she fought against him, sinking her teeth into the flesh of his lower arm until blood stained her lips and he was forced to relinquish his grip.
Without even a further thought, Justice launched himself towards her, though Gideon was faster. A smile came over what was visible of his face as he plucked the struggling girl from the ground and slung her over his shoulder. Then he turned back to the trees.
“No!” Justice shrieked. One hand reached out to somehow grab at Gideon, but just as he approached, his boot caught on a root and he found himself on the ground again. By the time he had managed to pull himself to his feet, Gideon and his men were disappearing from sight.
Yet still he carried on, pushing himself further through the forest. His eyes stung from the light, but that was nothing to him now - all he could care about was moving forward as fast as he could.
It was only when he reached the river, however, that he stopped. The water had been stirred - he could sense the smell lingering in the air - though nothing else could be heard. No shouting, no breaking of branches... Nothing but the sound of the stream and his own panting.
Furiously, he thrust the heel of his hand into the bark. The sun hung behind the clouds, and despite the relatively short amount of time he'd spent before it, his skin was already beginning to tan under its rays. Growling in frustration, he turned and began to sprint back to the clearing, racing over roots and dirt until the small wooden shed was in sight again.
Darkness rose up against him once more, and as he knelt back into the wood, he felt the first sensation of sinking despair gnaw away at him. Again and again he pounded the wood with his fist, his knees sinking him closer and closer to the ground. How could he let this happen? First the Guardians, then Carbuncle, and now Blanche... What was going to be stripped from him next? Or rather, what was there left? One half of him yearned to tear through the doorway and race through the forest after her, to keep on running until his entire body fell apart into ashes; yet even if he did that, nothing good would be achieved - another life wasted. Perhaps it would be better if he were just to fade away here.
Just then, however, a light noise met his ears. Justice paused, unable to tell exactly whether he had heard anything or merely imagined it, but there it was again, a faint rustling overlayed with the slightest of whimpers, as though someone were sobbing. Slowly, he straightened up and pushed open the door to see a figure lying on the ground several feet away. A hood covered his face, but there was no mistaking the blade that protruded from the top of his thigh. When his gaze turned to the man, he recoiled in hatred, a low growl arising from his chest.
Justice, on the other hand, did not move.
Because at last, he knew what he had to do.
Next Chapter →
Chapter XXIII
A Final Wish
A small bird landed on the windowsill. A weaver, in fact - the man recognised it from his books. Silently, he watched as it paced for a few seconds, its green-tinted wings catching the rays of fresh morning sun as though its feathers were made of fine glass. Then, seeing that there was no reason to stay, no food of any kind, it spread its wings once again and took off into the sky.
The man's eyes remained fixed upon it, only looking away when it had disappeared into the distance. It had been a while since he'd seen a bird so close, especially one as beautiful as a weaver.
Yet then again, it was a suitable price to pay when one was bedridden.
Slowly, he turned his eyes to his lap. Even without pulling back the covers, he could tell what his legs looked like - limp, thin and, most of all, bruised. It had been several hours since he'd last attempted to use them, though that had only ended in pain, as usual. What would they be like now, he wondered? He'd been drifting in and out of sleep all morning, his consciousness wavering since long before dawn - surely he was rested enough to try again?
Sure enough, though, it was hopeless: the moment he lifted his right leg, a ripping agony tore along its length and into his lower torso - it was as if the very movement were shredding his muscles to ribbons. Panting, he fell back against the pillow, his whole body heaving with deep, shuddering breaths. The illness was worsening - there was no doubt about that now. How long would it be before he succumbed to it completely?
He could hear Flügel's voice in his head, urging him on: Be strong, Rafaga! Take a stand! That bastard... What did he know? For too long now, he'd allowed himself to be fed that man's bullshit - how dare he! He wasn't the one who'd lost the use of his legs. If he wanted to, he could pick up a sword and fight any battle he wanted.
And then there was him.
Rafaga's hands curled into fists around his bedsheets, and for a moment, he thought he was going to rip them from the mattress, but then he relaxed. Slowly, he took hold of his shirt and began to ease it upwards, craning his neck to look down at his stomach area, where a bruise, the size of a wooden plate, was etched into his skin. It was difficult to tell from something so vague, but by the looks of it, it almost seemed to resemble an insignia of some kind, the shield of an ancient clan marked onto his body in deep brown hues.
Though of course, that was impossible.
Carefully, he allowed the material to fall back into place and leaned back against the sheets; yet as he did so, he couldn't help but feel drawn to the window again. It was difficult to explain, but in a way, he felt as if he were waiting for something - for the bird to return, maybe? Or for the sun to set, marking the close of another wasted day in his life.
Perhaps, in the end, he was waiting for a miracle.
---
Justice wasn't sure whether he had heard the knocks the first time, but by the second, he knew his mind wasn't eluding him.
Blankly, he stared at the door in front of him. The cracks in the wood were enough to allow thin slithers of sunlight in, though they were far from reaching him. To his right, Blanche slept soundly, the weight of her upper body dispersed evenly against his shoulder and wooden wall behind them.
Yet still, Justice remained frozen. Who could possibly be knocking on a shed in the middle of the forest? Had Carbuncle returned? Or perhaps it was one of the villagers who had followed him. If attacked now, he would be vulnerable, utterly defenceless in the sunlight - maybe the only thing for him was to remain as still as possible and pray that it would pass.
However, when the knocks sounded a third time, the whole structure shook, and the door came crushing down onto the ground.
Light flooded the floor at once, and Justice leaped to his feet. However, it was mere moments before it was blocked out again, as several figures filled the doorway. Black robes fell over their bodies, obscuring their faces and eradicating any chance of recognition.
One advanced upon Justice, but paused mid-step when a deep growl began low in the black-haired vampire's chest.
“What's going on?” Blanche's voice was weary from having just woken. Justice shot her a sideways glance as she stood, eyes passing between the man and those assembled in the doorway in confusion. “Your Majesty?”
Was he being attacked? Justice probably wouldn't have been able to answer Blanche's question if he'd tried. Slowly, he looked down at the floor, and his heart jolted in relief to notice that he was in darkness: even with the shadows from the cloaked figures, the pool of sunlight only reached halfway across the floor, leaving an area of four or five feet at the back safe from protruding rays, So long as he remained still, he was safe.
“So I believe that this is 'hello' again, Your Majesty.”
A figure stepped forth from the group, shouldering his way through until he reached the front. The very sound of his voice was enough to send shivers sliding down Justice's spine, like steel bolts, making him freeze in place.
Gideon stood before him, the subtle traces of a smirk still visible beneath his hood. “And I see that you've gotten yourself a little bedwarmer along the way. Why, does a night without your beloved Guardians scare you so much?”
Blanche flinched by his side, but Justice moved so that he was in front of her should any of the figures decide to make a move. He stared at Gideon with sharp, narrowed eyes, trying with every effort to suppress his desire to leap forward and tear the smirk from his face with his own hands. Then, all of a sudden, the cloaked man dashed forward. One hand reached for Justice's face, though the other, unseen, landed in the soft of his stomach, causing him to double over briefly. Yet no sooner had he reeled back, something wound in his hair and thrust him through the doorway.
Justice hit the grass on all fours, then twisted around so that he would be able to face the ones descending upon him. Raw sunlight flooded his skin, blinding him as much as it scalded, but he was more occupied with the robed figures who tore at him like hawks over a carcass. His boot flew up into one's hooded face, knocking him backwards. Following in his partner's footsteps, another reached for Justice's collar, though the man's fingers were already around his dagger, and in one swift movement he drove it deep into the flesh of what he presumed was his thigh. The gap created allowed him to claw his way to his feet.
The doorway flashed before him, and like an arrow from a bow, Justice sprinted towards it; darkness met him like cold water, relieving the scalding damage the sun had inflicted upon his skin. However, no sooner had he fallen into the shadows, a scream drew his attention to the outside world again, where he saw two figures locked in struggle. Gideon's arm wrapped around Blanche's neck, crushing her against his chest, though that wasn't to say that she was letting him. Desperately, she fought against him, sinking her teeth into the flesh of his lower arm until blood stained her lips and he was forced to relinquish his grip.
Without even a further thought, Justice launched himself towards her, though Gideon was faster. A smile came over what was visible of his face as he plucked the struggling girl from the ground and slung her over his shoulder. Then he turned back to the trees.
“No!” Justice shrieked. One hand reached out to somehow grab at Gideon, but just as he approached, his boot caught on a root and he found himself on the ground again. By the time he had managed to pull himself to his feet, Gideon and his men were disappearing from sight.
Yet still he carried on, pushing himself further through the forest. His eyes stung from the light, but that was nothing to him now - all he could care about was moving forward as fast as he could.
It was only when he reached the river, however, that he stopped. The water had been stirred - he could sense the smell lingering in the air - though nothing else could be heard. No shouting, no breaking of branches... Nothing but the sound of the stream and his own panting.
Furiously, he thrust the heel of his hand into the bark. The sun hung behind the clouds, and despite the relatively short amount of time he'd spent before it, his skin was already beginning to tan under its rays. Growling in frustration, he turned and began to sprint back to the clearing, racing over roots and dirt until the small wooden shed was in sight again.
Darkness rose up against him once more, and as he knelt back into the wood, he felt the first sensation of sinking despair gnaw away at him. Again and again he pounded the wood with his fist, his knees sinking him closer and closer to the ground. How could he let this happen? First the Guardians, then Carbuncle, and now Blanche... What was going to be stripped from him next? Or rather, what was there left? One half of him yearned to tear through the doorway and race through the forest after her, to keep on running until his entire body fell apart into ashes; yet even if he did that, nothing good would be achieved - another life wasted. Perhaps it would be better if he were just to fade away here.
Just then, however, a light noise met his ears. Justice paused, unable to tell exactly whether he had heard anything or merely imagined it, but there it was again, a faint rustling overlayed with the slightest of whimpers, as though someone were sobbing. Slowly, he straightened up and pushed open the door to see a figure lying on the ground several feet away. A hood covered his face, but there was no mistaking the blade that protruded from the top of his thigh. When his gaze turned to the man, he recoiled in hatred, a low growl arising from his chest.
Justice, on the other hand, did not move.
Because at last, he knew what he had to do.
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