Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Waver
“I think we are all able to agree that for now at least… This war has to end.”
“Finally. No more fighting.”
“Yes,” the final figure agreed. “At least until we know more about what is really going on and how we can stop the world from destroying itself entirely. The armies should retreat toward their borders and stand patrol against the rift monsters.”
The clear crystal dimmed as the transmission ended. The off white walls were lined with file cabinets, littered with papers. Dark cloudy skies attempted to darken the room. The scratching of a quill against paper grain fills the silence; it only paused occasionally as its operator sipped tea from a small cup. A groan of frustration announced the continuation of the task. The sound stops once more as the person looked over their shoulder to the outside. So, she wants to patrol the borders. Do able, the officer thought as a knock echoed into the room.
Beros Solaris glanced at the shadow in the door’s window. The golden eyes gleam in question as his mind turned. What in Zion, the phrase ran through his mind and cut itself off. Silence loomed. Then, the shadow knocked again. Finally answering, he granted permission as the knob turned. A human male stood before him; reaching a height about five foot nine. Blond strands hang limply over his blue eyes. The sapphire orbs twinkled sadistically, sending a chill down the historian’s spine while he did his best to hide it. A matching grin completed the expression, delivering a feeling Beros’ slowly found himself not liking despite the soldier carrying a large box that could hold a new uniform. “Sorry for interrupting, Commander,” he greeted. “But you aren’t going to believe where we are going.”
The man set the box on the desk as Beros kept eye contact. “Really? And the box is something for it,” he asked. He broke eye contact as he glanced at his teacup before a finger curled around handle. He lifted the cup and sipped again.
The blond shrugged. “I don’t know. I was told to deliver it since you are most likely trapped in this pig sty.” He dusted off his black and gold trim uniform to make a point. Beros scowled, daring the young man to say it again. The soldier didn’t, but returned to grinning. “Come on, Commander,” he egged on. “You haven’t even guessed.”
“You’re the first I’ve seen excited for patrol,” the historian deadpanned before drinking his tea again.
“Huh? No sir,” John Doe exclaimed. “We’re going to Necropolis.”
His mind stopped. His hand struggled to hold onto the fragile cup as it lowered.
Necropolis¸ the word sent another chill down his spine as the weight on his shoulders increased. Just from studying the map of Zion, the word emitted the aura of a death wish. Just as Ziaray is tucked in the middle of the Caelian continent, Necropolis rested on a river leading to the heart of the Arean continent. And much like Ziaray, the city is under the watchful eye of its god.
Suddenly, Beros rose from his chair as his eyes harden on the messenger. The wood ground its feet into the tile, scratching the smooth surface as his legs forced it back. His palms flattened against the hardwood desk as he leaned of the discarded paper. “Necropolis?!? After having to battle four rift monsters and saving citizens from collapsing lands, she wants to march to Necropolis while.” He forced himself to stop as the blond only blinked.
Oh great. Now the troops will catch wind of their commander questioning, he silently groaned. But who cares. I don’t think the Lady has thought this through. Even if we manage to beat the Arean Army, the war will not simply end. The faction… No, the nation will fall into a state of vengeance, bent on our defeat. Plus, the world itself has proven that it can make beasts big enough and strong enough to pose a challenge. All with the intent of wiping out civilization as we know it.
“Commander?”
Beros redirected his attention to the soldier. John Doe still looked as if he was awaiting dismissal. But, the young Phoenix could see the human storing the memory away. Black mail ammunition. Despite his stomach twisting, he sat down. “As the Lady wishes,” he replied. “Now go.”
John Doe obeyed the order, closing the door behind him. The historian waited. Then, he cupped his hands and buried his face against his palms. What is this world coming to? The question rung in his head. He sighed while his right hand pushed his bangs back. He then lowered that hand and kept his left bracing his forehead. His eyes ignored the sheet he was working on. Instead, they landed on the box the visitor brought in. Plain white cardboard reflected the office light. Torn, he reached out and gently grasped the lid. It gave in, sliding up its counterpart. The interior refused to lighten up as the light entered it.
Instead, a pitch black jacket greets him; its presence announced by gold angelic trim. Off center of the jacket rested an aqua green sash. Beros studied it, tempted to just shove it aside. But the color of parchment snared his attention from its resting place under the sash, where only a corner of it stuck out. He pushed the fabric back to pull the paper out, finding that it was folded and his name fancily inscribed on it.
Commander,
I wish to extend my congratulations on your selection for the STFC. With your outstanding performance, especially the victory at Orseon…
I can’t accept this, he flinched. Not if I am questioning the orders she has given. I’ll do as she wants, but I don’t deserve a seat among the selected.
Purpose
Cold wind rushed against him and the other flyers. An eerie full moon lit up the night sky. The planning meeting repeated itself in his head. Meanwhile, the young commander battled his stomach, which knotted itself up at the reminder of what was about to take place. He felt surrounded by loyalists, people that are willingly to follow and hold views on the enemy close to their goddess. Then, there was him, a civilian turned soldier whom served only to uphold a vow from another time. A vow that even has his lady friend, Merry, confused. The historian held to his story that his past life, Sanatos, chose a poor choice of words.
“I solemnly swear to eternally serve you and the faction you represent.”
“Solaris!”
Beros gasped as an angel rolled his eyes. “Get your head out of the clouds.”
Clouds? Memory lane is more like it, he kept to himself. The angel managed to pull him out, right when he’d rather have the memories overtake him. Instead, the memories refused to come, giving way to his anxiety of the future while realizing the presence of the troops, his armor, and his gut churning.
“Solaris!!”
Beros groaned as he dove downwards. The troops around him followed, never allowing him to get away from them. The snapping angel landed near him. His brown eyes glared at him as his eyebrows knitted together. “What the hell is wrong with you?!?! Why the hell can’t you focus on the task,” he angrily hissed, holding back the urge to scream at his superior. Beros decided not answer, earning an annoyed ‘tsk’ from the angel. “Figure out who you serve for, Commander. And it better be quick,” he growled.
“Caelians!!! On the roofs!!”
Time ran out. The troops kicked into gear; their weapons readied to face the opponent. The phoenix’s left hand gripped his sword and pulled, freeing the blade from its container. Areans climbed the roof and lunged at the invading forces. Using his powerful wings, Beros knocked several out of the air or off balance as he parried. Can this really bring peace, he asked himself as the confrontation forced him away from the others. He spun around once more, swatting another jumper out of the air. Everyone powered by the need to fight.
Except for him.
His body crumpled forward, colliding into the hard roof tiles. A weight forced itself on his back. Then, his other limps felt it. “Fancy seeing you here, tidbit,” a voice almost purred.
This historian attempted to move, but his body refused. “Malijah… Would you kindly…?”
“Move,” his friend finished for him. “I think not. With the Caelian forces spread out, it was easy pickings.” She grinned before snapping. “I didn’t ask for your help!”
“But… He could be one of their officers,” a voice hissed.
So… There is more than just her holding me down, he thought.
“Officer sofficer,” he listened to the drakken laugh off. “Tell me, tidbit. You’re not putting up much of a fight. Why are you?”
“What do you think,” he growled.
“Mm… I thought,” she paused before her weight on his back vanished. Before he could force the others off, they followed her lead. Beros rose to a knee before looking his friend in the eye. “I was the one asking the questions,” she yelled as she lunged forward.
Her thick hunter green tail curled before her moving frame; then it lashed out at him, striking his head. His neck submitted to the force as it pressured the prone figure back to the ground. His ‘flight or fight’ finally started to kick in. His eyes glanced around and landed on his sword, which she kicked away. The two wrestled each other; one intent on obtaining victory. The other attempted to deny the Arean that.
“Come on, Beros,” Malijah growled. “Cut the bull crap. Either fight or let your overprotective soul buddy do it.”
“I don’t need him,” he snapped, feeling his past life stir at the mention of him.
Malijah chuckled as the contest of strength continued. Neither gave or took ground the watching crowd began to fidget, dying for action. Some opted to cheer for their comrade. The others lifted their weapons enough that Beros’ attention slipped from his Arean friend to the threat around him. Feeling her coming closer, he forced his mind back to her. His body shifted, attempting to kilter her balance. Beros, then, shoved her off and rolled onto his knees.
One of the bystanders charged at him, hoisting up a mace. He swung the weapon over his head and allowed the weight of the weapon to pull it down. It shattered the roof tiles that Beros stood on mere moments before. The spike shredded the dark green jacket’s edges and sliced a layer of the black leather. He glared at the attacker. Then, his hands reached up as Malijah wrapped her arms around his neck. The gold connected with excited ice blue. “Come on, tidbit. Our battle at Hell’s Gate went unfinished,” she coaxed, trying to spark the fight in him.
When he refused to answer, her eyes narrowed as her comrades took advantage of the situation. Groups blurred as fists punched the visible flesh. Cold metal slashed, nicking the metal plate over his chest and wearing down the leather belts holding it on him.
Damn… What in Zion is wrong with me, he questioned himself. All the other assignments, I gave my all. Why can’t I now? The mind halted as a fist punched his face. The Areans laughed and jeered as oxygen became more and more precious. He continued to claw at Malijah’s arms before his body crumples onto the roof top. And the sounds of the jeering enemies stopped as his stomach rebelled.
“This is pathetic,” the drakken growled. “Not only is it easy, but ridiculous. Fight back. Or let Sanatos out and handle me like he always does.”
I can beat her on my own… I don’t need him to handle this, the words wanted to say if he was sucking in air. Beros perked as he noticed Malijah stiffen. His eyes darted to the horde around them, landing on the mace wielder, splitting the sea of his comrades to try again. The round spike covered end already raised and waited for the moment to fall. Beros tried to coax his aching body to move, but it refused to leave the spot. As it came down, he raised his right arm. Pain flared as the metal plate of his bracer crunched. A harsh cry of pain pierced the air, forcing several of his opponents to cup their ears. Beros cradled his arm as a flicker grew starter. I’m going to be killed here… Father… Brother… Alex… George… His heart almost leapt as mental image of his friend he rescued from Vinoss appeared. Merry…
The Caelian commander shakily rose to his feet. “I do not fight just follow Helia’s orders,” he gasped, causing the Areans flinch in surprise. “I fight for Caelius due to promise my past life. I fight in the war,” he paused as the pain started to numb. “To protect those that I care about.” He glared at Malijah, whom flinched as if she had seen the look before.
The mob closed in as she backed up. The commander reached for his emergency dagger as the gold irises hardened. Faint flames flickered on the ragged edges as he called the magic forward. “Back away,” Malijah cried. He assumed that she was remembering the times she received the brunt of the spell. But, the mob refused, eager to end the fight with him here. The flames grew solid and spread over his frame angrily. The Areans howled as it scorched their hands. They gazed on the first quiet commander, now cloaked in plate armor like flames with a bird head as a helm. Another layer of heat cloaked his wings before he retaliated.
Screams filled the air as Malijah’s fear transformed. “Now, that is more like it, tidbit. Come on and fight me,” she challenged as she opted to take off.
Beros didn’t need it to be repeated. The mob that dealt damage to his torso fled or lay dead at his feet. The adrenaline continued to flood his system as he sheathed the dagger. Then, the commander rushed to retrieve his sword. The tricolor wings opened and propelled him into the air. With another cast, the flames reignited, cloaking his battered body in the appearance of a fire bird as he rose to meet her in combat. He imagined the drakken grinning at him before diving down.
The pounding of wings muted the sounds below. Their cries propelled them. The dance of dominance the two shared in every confrontation. A test to see whom bettered whom. And now… Beros wasn’t holding back.
I have to make it… I’m not doing this for me, but for them. Not for Helia, but so that the family can be whole as we take a step into the unknown future.
