The ebb and flow of stale wind lingered even as the world saw freshness in other breezes. The planet breathed as Yggdrasil breathed, cleanly and with great deliberation, for the love of the pure air--that which had not been filtered black by the crawling war--had grown great since its sweetening. Yet there was a land not yet freed from the filth, for the stagnation of horrible history clung tight to the bosom of the yard of graves. Here warriors laid, whether in rest or torment, free from the bondage of life and all its pains offered. Here they found their true freedom, cursing the living or perhaps cursing their own selves for grave circumstance. Here Celia came to, alone by all means, both solo in visitation and life, yearning for slivers of happiness donated by outside means (hence unable to create her own, so mired deep in the bog of filthy depression she had been). The cemetery, and the bitter wind that still wound through it, offered her nothing but cold caresses and that wretched feeling of loneliness. She was the last one, by all means. She knew that for certain, because she had gone through the trouble of burying them all here. "Why is it that I survived and everyone I loved did not?" she asked the emptiness. The wind replied with a low whistle, and the tombs said nothing. Celia cast her face down, in shame and observation, and yearned ten times more to have died alongside her beloved comrades so that the threat of empty life would consume her no more. Their names, and some small belongings that had not been damned post-mortem, were all that remained, and memories she had that somehow kept her sane. Lawfer. Kashell. Arngrim. Aelia. Lemia. Even Grey. The whole gang was there, yet only one still walked the earth, unliving in soul yet bearing pulse and breath for some last torturous service. She knelt down and placed flowers on each tomb, even upon those who bore the bodies of those she had neither liked nor understood. Grey, the one she blamed for it all. Lemia, the catalyst for pain. Arngrim, the genius who went mad. Lawfer, the man who died a martyr. Kashell, her beloved half-brother and partner. Aelia... You have to be strong. Kashell will only grieve if you cry. Those words would stab her evermore from that day on, as her comrades fell and her legs remained upright to tread upon the ground once more. Would it really be so weak of her to mourn? She had wept bitterly before--during each time of their reported deaths. Did that make her weak? She shook her head as an afterthought, believing it did not, for suffering was normal in Midgard, and to suffer was to live, and to know it not meant either death or utter foolishness. Yet handling such strain made the men and women who they were, and Celia, reflecting upon each blow, felt she had handled them all properly, as expected. She touched Aelia's grave. Typical. The beautiful Dragonite was as reckless as Arngrim, so it was not a surprise to hear of her capture. She had investigated the realm of Vilnore too long and too deeply, acting surly and even mad at points. Her cause was righteous, yes, but it ended up landing her in a dungeon. Word had reached master Gandar's ears of a Dragonite walking amongst men again, and he set out to capture her and extract information from her mind--even going so far as to torture her unto death. Celia remembered grieving with powerful sorrow when she heard that news. Aelia's strength probably kept her alive longer than she might've wanted, thus forcing her to bear even more pain. If she had been weaker... "Is that it?" said Celia, her voice quivering into the cold wind. "Is it because I value strength so much that I am still alive to feel the repercussions of it? If I were weaker, would I have died sooner to be with them? And what prevents such weakness from becoming? Am I so stubborn, like her? When will my time come, Aelia? Must I go through torture as you did? Can I not feel a quick, merciful end to all this, as Kashell did? Or must I...?" She looked down to her sword-belt, and took the hilt in her hand. Memories of what Lawfer had told her about Arngrim's fate echoed still in her mind. But... It's not that. I know we can't... I gave up all hope of that a long time ago. I'm more like a willow tree. "A... weeping willow?" she murmured. Celia took in a deep breath and let go of her sword. Best to die in battle. Yet Midgard had an absence of battle, which was peculiar given that no two nations seemed to ever agree on anything before. They had all tried to kill each other, even down to the towns and villages, and what had remained but more souls to await in the afterlives? She wept again, not out of misery but pity for those poor souls on the living plane that had put so much waste into the world. "What good is it if everything is destroyed?" she asked the wind. "If the world goes away, nothing will remain. Ultimate chaos and anarchy lead to emptiness. Fighting and dying for ideals... is a foolish thing." She cast her face away from the tombs. She had been there too long, and needed to go away. She didn't know where she'd end up; she just needed to go. Anyplace was better, really, though she knew that history and tragedy would continue to be at her heels. She turned around and walked in the other direction, and didn't come back to the cemetery for some time. You can't sleep? No... Is it too warm? A little. Maybe we don't need all these blankets. I guess. And... being so close to me... You're cooler when you're in human form. You're softer, too. Mm-hmm. But I don't fight best unless... Oh, gee, sorry. You got me off track! Heheh... ...Sorry. Hey, smile a little, Celia! I'm sorry. Even being here with you like this doesn't seem to affect me. It's not like I don't love you anymore... there's just a lot going on. The whole matter with Lemia... Yes, I know. I'm sorry for that. You know I would do anything to make you feel better. Why else do you think I got out of bed like that to "check up" on you? Then one thing led to another, and... are you still unhappy? No... I'm just very worried, and concerned, and... confused. I don't even know what's happening now. ...I can imagine how you're feeling. It makes me a bit angry, personally, to be reduced to a mere crutch for you. I wish I could do more than hold you and tell you things will get better, even though sometimes they don't. Thank you. That's good enough. Say, I have a question. Why aren't you doing this to Kashell? Ha! Are you serious? ......Oh, you are. Well, it's not like he's not enjoyable, and he's certainly attractive, but... he can seem happy no matter what. He's a little dense, sure, but perhaps ignorance is bliss. And you got the brains of the operation. ......Celia? I'm sorry, did I say something that offended you? Ah, uh... it's nothing. Sometimes I reflect when I should be listening. Hmm, perhaps you're right. Maybe... you should just believe that things will be better than you dread. Just once, have some hope at least. Even when people tell you to consider all options, I think it would be better if you tried to find the good in any situation. Come on, now, you're almost too dour for me. Smile a little, at least for me. .........How's this? Haha, perfect. You're very pretty when you smile. Now keep that for the next few hours, and I promise you'll feel better. I'll try. Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you... The wind went past her, falling into the wide open abyss. Her legs dangled over the side of the cliff, arms propped behind as she rested and reflected on many things. When her mind wandered as such, memories and other odd random things occurred with frequency. She detested solitude because it forced her inactive systems to compensate for the loss, and when they did, oftentimes she hated what was produced. Celia drew in her limbs, and hugged herself as the bitter wind fell down to the surface and was picked up again. If only she could fly. "I know what I would do without you," she murmured quietly. "I would continue your work until the end, and then I would be left to die because I had nothing left. You see, you parted this world with a gift for me, but its use was temporary, and afterwards, I felt emptier than before. It's sad, really. A week hadn't gone by since our midnight talk, and you had left this world for the next. All I had was that purpose, and then..." Celia trailed off and hung her head. Her hands, feeling naked without gauntlets or gloves, fell to the grass beneath her. She tore out a clump, studied it, and let it fly out with the passing breeze. Her eyes followed the green slivers until distance tore them away, then they were left up to the devices of nature. Celia gave a half-smile, remembering both Arngrim's proud question and Kashell's repeated, almost-mocking statement. Celia took to her feet and left the cliff's edge, deciding that if life would still be in her body, she would find new purpose until it decided to leave. Yes. The noblest and best thing for her to do would be to escape such lonely, stationary misery and seek other activity--to devote her life entirely to correcting the remaining errs in the world, and if possible, to avenge all her friends in some way. "Are you watching me, Aelia?" she spoke as she put the cliff behind her. "You may not see it from Asgard, but I am smiling quite broadly now. Please... I pray that you are able to see this, because I am about to do something that will make all this pain go away--at least for awhile. You did tell me once that the best thing to do under torture is to occupy your mind with other things, so..." It had been right there--or at least it had been there five hours ago. The revolving fireball above hid it from view, and that made the Valkyrie scowl with raw hatred. No matter how much she stared at the spot, nothing would produce from it until the sun had gone and a full moon took its place. She hated that more than anything. The cruelest of all fates landed her the role of slayer, and for that she paid the most terrible prices. Staying away from the sun for extended periods might've caused her face to pale and beauty to wane. Being in the confines of that dark palace could've rotted her armor black. Forced to fight the undead with only half her power made her resentful all the more. She took a breath and flew away, vowing to return, as she always did, when twilight drew forth its long fingers and grasped the world for its own. For the moment, all she could do was wait, think of what she was going to do, and seek worthy Einherjar for the deed. As scathing her powers were, they were but pinpricks on their own, and a stronger cut was needed to fell the dark lords. She, like her father Odin, required warriors. However, she could not just concentrate and listen for souls to cry out to her, she had to go and find them. It was her best fortune to find one so quickly on a fly. Valkyrie had been above the world not long ere she could listen to a soul yearning to break free from its fleshly confines and seek the embrace of friends long since gone. Those that yearned so passionately were rare to find, but all the more perfect as candidates for the goddess. Valkyrie's sensors told her exactly where to fly, and as a bat finds creatures in darkness so easily, the dark Valkyrie did find her next warrior of worth in the murk of Midgard. She was human, beautiful, and sad, and by all means far from death, though her spirit rotted inwardly from several past woes. Valkyrie flew overhead unnoticed, observing the woman walk across an open path in the barren countryside. She wondered if the woman would be afraid to see such a haunting creature come for her, as many men did fear when the thresher of souls came calling. She descended down from aft to see, landing with a graceless thud directly in front of her. Valkyrie bore her black eyes into the woman's face, studying with animalistic wonder. "What manner of being are you?" whispered the woman, her hand going for her sword. There was not a trace of terror in her hushed voice, nor even mild concern. The sound she made was the sound of the hopeless, one that feared not the greatest demon or the ugliest terror from Hel. Valkyrie could see that this woman would be a good choice to bring into the dark realms. "I am a taker of souls, a Valkyrie of Asgard," she identified coldly. The other woman didn't seem to react very strongly. "If you are to take me, you may need to wait. I do not think death will come for me anytime soon." "Why is that?" The other woman pursed her lips and carefully distanced her hand from her weapon. "Are you not the Valkyrie that observes souls before their moment of ultimate doom?" "No. I am a slayer of the undead. Those I gain from life still are living; the souls of the Valkyrie you are thinking of need death before they can be of service. Tell me, what is your name?" Celia identified herself carefully. She knew a little more about the knights of Odin than most people could claim, but the jackal's face of this black-wearing battle maiden made her wary. "I have felt your strength, Celia," resumed the Valkyrie, "and it is a sound thing--yet your total fearlessness gives me better reason to have you at my side than any weapon or skill you may have. I felt that emptiness within you, that sense of darkness that comes with isolation, and surely you must feel as if there is nothing left to lose but your own body. Tis' perfect for aiding me in my endeavors." "I'm not sure what you mean, lady Valkyrie," replied Celia. "You are asking for my help in one of the missions Odin has sent you?" "Correct. And unlike the dead, you have a choice." Celia cast her face away from the Valkyrie, shamed to think that a goddess would ever believe the hopeless still had hope. "No, I don't. I seek a path away from this life, and the only means of doing so in a worthy manner is during battle. I shall accompany you for as long as life permits, and I will be all the happier when I enter into Asgard. I am assuming I would make proper Einherjar were I not living." "Indeed," replied Valkyrie. "But the mission I am referring to cannot take place immediately. Our destination is a cursed place, only appearing once the sun sets and darkness covers the world. If you are able to stand fast that long, I will be glad of your aide: tis' the manor of a vampire king which we will raid." "It matters little to me," shrugged Celia. "Except to say my soul itself may be in danger if I succumb to the dark powers." "If that happens," whispered Valkyrie coldly, "then I will cut you off from this life and end your suffering." Celia breathed out a little sigh of relief. To be damned into dark eternity was definitely not the way she wanted to go, especially since it meant living (yet not living) away from her beloveds for all times. To be killed kindly was more of a good promise than a dark threat to her. "Thank you, my lady. Where is this manor?" "It is lost, as I said, but it appears most on an island far to the east of here. Even if we walk, it will still be absent upon our arrival. Human, grant me a small favor in exchange for your eternal safety. I wish to know more about you. My younger sister needs to not know such information, as she is acquainted with the soul well before she meets it, but t'would be poor of me to have you at my side and yet know so little. We shall become acquainted as we walk." "It's a favor I'm willing to grant, provided I'm able to rest before we enter this manor." "I accept your condition," said the Valkyrie with a bow. The two women-warriors, redheaded human and obsidian Valkyrie, took to the road together on foot and marched towards the land where the sun rose first, and Celia began her story.
Back to Distortions in the Void of Despair Index - Back to Valkyrie Profile Shoujo-Ai Fanfiction