Sneaking back through the city was actually kinda hard. The Legatus were out in force, and I couldn’t exactly get near most people without them being able to tell that I wasn’t really one of them anymore. I was a Sarkaz in the City of Angels, and I was beginning to feel that paranoia I’m sure most Sarkaz feel when they’re in a city. I hadn’t really felt it before, being with my buddies, but I guess there was a twinge of it in Siracusa. That was more paranoia on behalf of James though, not me.
Now, I have my cloak back on, and I’m sneaking through back allies with Fia and Nini. Honestly? It feels like my school days when we were on our way to pull an especially epic prank! I even have several pounds of high explosives. Though I’m planning on doing a lot more demolition and using a lot fewer party favors.
Too bad, really. This messed-up version of Laterano could use some proper excitement.
Everything here is too clean, too neat! I am extremely tempted to stop and do some tagging to liven up these walls, but we’re on a mission and in a hurry. I promise myself to do some real street art later. It’s too bad Ethan isn’t here. He really isn’t as much of a perv or a creep as people make out. He mostly uses his stealth arts to shirk work and do some epic street art. Guy’s got talent!
I noticed that Vannini was looking around furtively, her eyes wide, body trembling, and I stepped closer to her as we jogged. I’d already slipped her a bit of Amiya’s magic originium, so she’s probably safe now. If, uh, sort of Infected…“Hey, it’s alright! We’ll liven up Laterano again, don’t you worry! I know it looks dull and drab now, but the city will come right!”
“...the ice cream is s-sugar free now,” she mumbles, pointing to a vendor hawking her wares on the main thoroughfare we’re moving alongside of in the alleyway. I stop, do a double take.
There’s a young girl, like 12 or so, with a sign advertising “Sugar free ice cream! Now with cavity prevention!”
There’s a line. A big one. People seem excited to be buying it.Children are even laughing and cheering when they get cones of the disgusting abomination. Suddenly, I know how Texas felt about broccoli on pizza.
“I changed my mind,” I grow, taking out a brick of C4. “We rescue the others later. Right now, we have a fucking travesty to avenge.”
“Whoa there, maulerbeast,” Fia says, grabbing me from behind as Vannini relieves me of my plastic explosives.
“Let me at ‘em!” I snarl, actually far angrier about this than I have any right to be. My blood is literally boiling, and I’m seeing red. This makes me even angrier than any other aspect of the mind control. Turn my sister into a zombie? I’ll kill you, sure. Take away my graffiti? I’ll fight you. Confiscate our patrons? ¡Viva la revolución! BUT YOU TAKE SUGAR OUT OF MY ICE CREAM!?
“I WILL BURN YOUR CART TO THE GROUND, USE ITS ASHES AS SEASONING, AND MPHHHH MMMMPH MMMM!” I scream as Fiametta claps a hand over my mouth as her and Vannini drag me away, struggling helplessly in her grip. Damn, when did Fia start lifting? Girl has to be hitting the gym pretty hard.
Nini’s got a pretty good grip, too. Good for her.
It takes me a good minute or two before I stop seeing red and they set me down. I’m breathing hard, still feeling my blood pounding in my ears. I bent over double, hands on my knees, trembling with rage still. “I…I’m OK. I just…fuck! Even the ICECREAM!? What the hell is WRONG with this woman!?”
“According to rumors, the Holy Bitch’s lover slept with a seamonster,” Fiametta deadpanned. “She’s taking it well.”
I have to laugh at that despite myself. “Godlike power, and she’s throwing a temper tantrum because Leader married the crazy yandere god who’s been carrying a torch for them? I mean, shit, how repressed is this woman?”
Vannini looks worried, clutching at her patron nervously. “I...um, I…I can hear her…you know. She…she whispers…she is mad…um…also crazy, I think. She…she told me…sugar free ice cream is good for me…and to stop being so childish…but…only in the back of my mind…I didn’t listen… sugar-free ice cream…it’s s-so gross.”
“I actually kind of liked it,” Fiametta said with a shrug. I gave her a horrified look, while Vannini flinched and looked away. Fia scowled at me for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Ha! You should see your face! Like a Siracusan when Mostima asked for syrup for her spaghetti!”
“Suddenly I understand what cultural appropriation is,” I muttered, but I was fighting off giggles as I tried to elbow Fia in the gut.
I sighed, smoothing my hair back and looking around. “Well. This is it. We’re a block from Sanctuarium Reconciliationis. If you want to turn around and go home…now’s the time.”
Fia snorted, while Vannini clutched Cinncinatus tightly, pressing him to her chest like a beloved child. Which, I mean…he was. That was part of why all this was so wrong. The very soul of Laterano had been ripped out, and replaced by some sugar-free abomination.
Well. It was time to get it back.
“For real Ice Cream!” I shouted, raising Victor high in the air, Tactica on my back.
“P-Patrons!” Vannini gasped, holding Cinncinatus high, touching his barrel to Victor’s.
“FOR THE LIBERI!” Fiametta bellowed, and hoisted Holy Debt Collector on high, his barrel clacking against our own patrons. He was a beautiful, hard-crafted take on the Columbian Chesterwind‘73 lever action rifle, made with plated silver and walnut stock, and carved with images of a firefowl, rising from ashes into glory.
Well, I mean, I guess MAYBE those are more important than Ice Cream. And cooler, too. I guess. BUT COME ON, ICE CREAM IS SUPER IMPORTANT, OK!?
Then a talon reached out from my halo and touched our guns. FOR MY MOM!
I admit it, I jumped. I, uh, I had sort of forgotten about Mon3tr. By the expression on Fiametta’s face, she had too. However, Vannini just nodded, apparently the only one of us who remembered my hitchhiker.
Mon3tr’s pincher retracted, and the four of us turned to face the exit to the alleyway, where I could already see barricades up. Time to go wake my sister up. And the rest of Laterano with her.
We had to take the stairs up to the surface level, as we were currently in the basement. It was rather awkward with Lemuen, who obviously couldn’t be pushed up them. Instead, she ended up piggybacking on Aurian, while Avena carried the folded-up wheelchair. I was just scampering along on my too-short legs, being reminded that both Sankta and Liberi are much taller than me by the height of the stairs.
Mostima went ahead of us, and whenever we came to an emergency door, she used her staves like keys, turning them so that it seemed like time twisted and flowed backward, the doors shooting back up to where they had started. The more she did it, however, the more exertion it took from her. The red light cast by the emergency bulbs made it look like she was sweating blood.
“You’re going into arts overdose,” I told her as she staggered after sending yet another door springing back. I had to shout as the alarms were continuing to blare, and a voice over the speakers announced that prisoners had escaped the lower levels.
“Yeah,” she agreed, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her prisoner’s robe. She grinned at me. “What are you gonna do about it, Doc? Not like we have another way out of here, now is it?”
I sighed and reached into my medical kit. I produced two ampuls and a syringe, put on a pair of gloves, then grabbed Mostima by the arm. “Hold still.” I used an alcohol swab to clean her forearm, used my finger to find a vein, then quickly injected her with a double dose of Lythanol 2.0. This was the new formulation, the kind that anyone could take and not burn from the inside out. Though they would get a hell of a high.“This is going to feel amazing, but you’re not invincible, and you’re going to crash, and crash hard.”
“When?” Mostima demanded, her breathing quickly becoming rapid, her pupils dilating as the drugs raced through her bloodstream and into her nervous system.
“About six hours from now,” I told her. “Also…I just increased your BOCD by a not insubstantial amount.”
“Perfect. If we’re not dead by then, I-” Mostima let out a gasp as the drugs hit her in full force, shuddering with sudden delight and energy. “Oh, holy shit, this IS the good stuff! If I wasn’t Infected already, this might be worth it! Haha, let’s go!” Mostima cackled, then charged forward, this time a mere flick of her wrists enough to send the next emergency door slamming upward.
I checked my kit, noting I still had four vials of Lythanol, along with several other medications. I noticed Arturia watching me curiously, and sighed and held out a vial. “It might be best to give you some as well. Though it will make you even more unhinged than normal.”
“I do not require some medical concoction to allow my passions to sing!” Arturia laughed. She hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “But, I sense my greatest performance yet, greater even than when I played against Otto Dietmar Gustav von Urtica, is upon me. It…might be wise to give me a dose. I have already taken the sin of the stone upon me. What is one more transgression in the name of my art?”
I gave Arturia the same double injection, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Ah! I can hear the music, the music all around us!”
We soon caught up to Mostima, who had that glazed, crazed look of someone deep within an Arts Overdose mixed with drug abuse. She’d taken off the top of her robe, though she’d wrapped her chest with strips of cloth and was mostly modest, I could see the welts and scars where they’d tortured her on her back, and she was soaked with sweat, her breathing heavy and fast.
After what felt like an eternity, but was about five minutes, even with me becoming a drug dealer for crazed Sankta, we reached the top floor. We paused at the final exit, as the alarms suddenly quieted.
“Put me in my wheelchair. It’s a steadier firing platform,” Lemuen ordered, and I quickly unfolded the chair, and Arturia placed her on it. She only had a pair of pistols, but she held them both steadily in her hands. “I have two extra, if you both wish one.”
“I have Piccino, and he is enough,” Arturia panted, her mouth distorted in a manic grin. “But I also have dearest Gasparo, and it is with him I shall fight my battles! Let me lead the way! I shall stir their emotions in a way the world has never seen before, and make manifest all the horrors of their own minds!”
“And what happens to us when you’re playing a merry tune, hmm?” Mostima demanded, leveling her staves at Arturia.
Arturia cackled in delight, her fingers curled into claws, the light of madness in her eyes. “Oh, dearest Fallen, do you not think that I, the greatest virtuosa to have ever lived, cannot direct my art in such a way to bolster my allies at the same time I bring woe upon my foes!? Only the servants of this so-called Holy Mother will lament that they were ever born! I could have you orgasming in ecstasy at the same time, seeing visions of your heart's desire brought to life!”
“I’ll settle for you bolstering our spirits and improving my aim,” Lemuen said, raising both her pistols to point towards the door. Avena had her wheelchair, looking pale, but determined to push Lemuen the Silent wherever she needed to go. “What I wouldn’t give for Tactica in my hands now.”
I took my place, along with Aureus, who also had a gun out. That might be more effective than bandages and morphine. Mostima nodded. “Right. I’m going to alter the flow of time. After this…I’ll probably pass out. Even with this stuff in my veins. If my head doesn’t simply explode from the effort. It should give us enough time to get in place, and for Arturia to work her magic. Even her arts aren’t instantaneous.”
“Do what you must! Only do not deny me my audience!” Arturia gasped, taking up her cello and putting the bow to the strings.
Mostima nodded, and began to chant her spell. As she chanted, Mostima’s nose began to bleed, and blood began to drip down her chin to splatter on the floor. Her eyes became bloodshot as blood vessels burst, and I could see the originum lesions in her arms expand rapidly. Whatever arts this was, it was frightening in power, and taking a horrific toll on her body.
The spell ended, and Mostima staggered forward, ramming the pushbar on the door and stumbling out into the atrium beyond.
Unlike the spartan, lifeless lower floors that were a dungeon and torture chamber, the upper floors of the Sanctuarium Reconciliationis were beautiful. There were frescoes on the floors and beautiful murals on the ceiling. However, they weren’t quite right. Normally, Sankta art features their Patreon firearms prominently, with saints almost universally having guns, even the Ancient races who attained that honor.
There was none of that here. Instead, there were peaceful, robed figures, kneeling for a serene figure I now recognized as Priestess, with a golden halo behind her head like the disk of the sun. She was depicted as the giver of the Law in this art, and the one who punished evil, words from her mouth streaming forth in purple rays to send Calamities upon devilish Sarkaz and primitive Ancients alike, the noble Sankta at her side.
It was, to be blunt, rather disgusting. This woman was erasing the entire history of my religion, to replace it with her own self-aggrandizement. She’d even found time to depict herself alongside the Doktah, clad in white robes like herself, in a pose that indicated they were lovers. With her foot crushing some sea monsters under her heel. Subtle.
The Law itself and the Sankta were merely servants who knelt before her, worshiped in awe, or did her bidding. It was masturbatory. It was enslavement.
And it was, apparently, effective. Because the entire atrium of the Sanctuarium Reconciliationis was full to bursting with Gun Knights, Pontifica Cohors Lateran, and Inquisitors, all armed to the teeth, with their guns pointed straight at us.
“Hmmm,” Lemuen said, pointing her pistols up towards the ceiling. “This is a bit too much, even for me.”
“Ah! At last! The perfect audience!” Arturia giggled. She struck a pose, eyes closed, bow raised on high. The sankta moved slowly, as if in molasses, and I saw bursts as they began to fire, though the bullets traveled slowly enough you could have outwalked them.
Arturia began to play, moving slowly along the edge of the room, beneath a mural that showed Priestess bestowing the Law to a group of kneeling Sankta. The music didn’t make me orgasm, but it was…incredible. I had heard Arturia play before. The songs she had played only an hour or so ago at the gunsmith had been some of the most haunting I had ever heard.
This music, however, made my breast swell with pride. Pride in my own accomplishments: getting a gold star on my spelling test when I was only six. Being accepted into medical school. James complimented me on my cooking. And, the crowning achievement of my life: discovering the cure for Oripathy alongside James. Yes, I couldn’t take all the credit for it, and I was more proud of him, but I had been there. I had helped. And, well, maybe I felt a little proud of managing to seduce a tall, handsome, idiot alien who had become the Savior.
And I also felt pride in who I was: A vulpo with a fluffy tail, a brilliant mind, and a quick wit. On being Siracusan: Passionate, expressive, and fiercely loyal to family and friends alike. Of being a doctor, a member of Rhodes Island. Whatever it was about me, I felt like I was two meters tall!
“Can they hear this as well?” I asked, and Mostima nodded.
“Yeah, don’t worry. It was complicated, but I slowed down time for their bodies, but not their minds. Wouldn’t work otherwise,” Mostima said. She was dragging herself along now, blood coating her face. I half wondered if I should try to put her in the wheelchair, but she was keeping pace with Arturia’s stately walk, her own face being with satisfaction at her mighty arts, and whatever else stirred her heart.
And it was a good thing too. Behind us, the bullets began to hit, first shredding the doorway we’d just come through, and then blasting Priestess’ serene visage to tiny pieces as the bullet fire walked after us. I did take some small amount of satisfaction in that, but the people firing at us were not stupid. They would eventually just fill the air with so much lead that it wouldn’t matter where we went, at which point, we would be dead.
However, the bullets began to slow. I saw many faces that looked full of shame and sorrow. Their eyes began to become downcast, and I saw several turn away, lowering their weapons, hiding their faces with their hands, hunching their shoulders and looking fit to weep. They did it as if in slow motion, their expressions seeming exaggerated due to how they lingered and stretched, but they did it.
And I understood: while Arturia’s music made us feel proud and tall, it was making our foes feel the deepest sense of shame and regret. They were relieving every embarrassment of their lives: I could see it playing out on their faces. Just as I was relieving every small victory and accomplishment from my childhood alongside my life’s crowning achievements, they were experiencing everything from wetting the bed as a child, to disappointing their lover, to, hopefully, serving the evil monster they called the Holy Mother.
As we walked, time began to reassert itself. Mostima’s arts sped up time from our perspective for about two minutes, but only a handful of seconds for the Sankta attacking us. However, that was enough. When time’s flow had normalized again, the guns had stopped firing. Arturia was standing beneath an image of Priestess granting the Sankta the Law in the form of a scroll she passed to the First Saint.
Arturia began to sing, slow and sweet, but building towards a crescendo.
See you now the folly of your ways,
All your pride is dead and gone,
The false mother steals all days
But harken, for there is yet dawn
With that, Arturia drew her bow across the strings with one final flourish. Her eyes were burning with passion, a grin on her face, sweat streaming from her. She bowed to her audience, gesturing to Lemuen, who Avena hastily pushed forward.
For my part, I caught Mostima just before she collapsed, and made her lay down. She didn’t protest, only gasping for air, and did what I could to heal her with my arts wand. She was hemorrhaging internally, and her oripathy had been extremely exacerbated. I was tempted to sedate her and force her to rest, but we might need her yet. Even if it killed her.
“Brothers and sisters. You have been lied to,” Lemuen said into the silence. There was barely any sound of breathing, only the fate clink of armor as men and women gazed up at her from their knees, tears in their eyes.
“The creature you call the Holy Mother is a liar and a thief,” Lemuen stated. “She has stolen the truth from you. Do you not remember? How many of you were born Liberi? Do you not recall your pride in your grace and perception? What of you, Sankta? Do you not remember the feel of your patrons in your hands? Do you not remember your joy in fireworks? Can we not all agree that sugar-free desserts are an unholy abomination?”
That last brought a chuckle from the crowd, but their expressions were still clouded.
“But…but the Holy Mother…I can hear her voice still,” one of the Knights said, removing her helmet to put a hand to her head. “I…she is telling me…she tells me she loves me…”
“If she loved you, Patia, then she would not have forced you to become a Sankta.”
I spun, tail bristling, while Lemuen leveled her pistols to the demolished doorway we’d just left. From it, on his belly, crawled Andoain. He was dragging himself by his hands, which were now bleeding, scraped raw by the effort he’d exerted crawling over metal and stone. His face was determined, however, showing no trace of the pain.
“Your Eminence!” Patia cried, jumping up and reaching Andoain in only a single bounding stride in her knightly armor. She gently picked up Andoain, who she propped up to face Lemuen.
“So,” Lemuen said, lowering her guns. “You’ve come to your senses, I see.”
“I can still hear her voice,” Andoain said, shaking his head. “Faintly, however. The pain blocks most of it out. I see you found a different way to free yourself: becoming Fallen. Brave of you, Lemuen.”
“Better a broken halo than a prisoner’s shackles,” Lemuen said with a shrug. She gave a soft smile. “Well. I suppose I can forgive you now, Andoain. Can you forgive me?”
Andoian only waved a dismissive hand. “There is nothing to forgive. You showed me the Truth: this is a greater burden even than the law. How can Priestess claim to love us, to bring equality, when she forces everyone to be the same? That is not right. That is not how Laterano should be. This is not the future I fought for, one where Liberi and Sankta are equal in the eyes of the law. Not the same.”
“Good. Then we can work together once more,” Lemuen said with a small smile. Then she grew serious. “But Arturia’s song will not hold forever. The False Mother will reassert her hold upon you. Upon all of you. What will you do?”
Andoain shrugged. “Well. I suppose it would not be so bad to be fallen. What say you, Patia?”
“I would follow you into any peril, sir,” Patia said, her voice raw. “Even this.”
Patia produced a sidearm, and I saw tears in her eyes. She handed it to Andoain, and closed her eyes. “Make it painless, sir.”
Andoain barked out a laugh. “Patia, I’m going to give you a flesh wound, not shoot you in the head! Take off your armor!”
Blushing furiously, Patia made to respond, then suddenly froze. Her eyes were glowing purple. Andoain cried out in pain, putting a hand to his forehead. I looked desperately at the rest of my allies, but while they seemed shaken, none were backing down. Even Avena and Aureus seemed to be with us still.
“I can’t believe you’d all so easily reject this gift. Forced to be Sankta? Don’t you understand? The supposed heretic was right. We were Sarkaz, once, the Sankta. Just as the Liberi were once beasts,” a tired, weary voice said, as Patrizion Pozzo himself clanked up the steps and into the building. He looked around at the still confused Cohors and knights, and shook his head. “We are all being guided towards peace and prosperity. We are children, prone to squabbling and disunity. Andoain! You should understand how much hatred and mistrust have taken place because of the inequality between Sankta and Liberi.”
“It…it is…wrong! And what I will…seek to change! Have sought to change!” Andoain gasped.
Pozzo spread his hands, his underslung guns glittering in the sunlight he was silhouetted in. “Why? Why seek to change it still? There is no difference between Sankta and Liberi now. There will be no more racial hatred and tension. When all are made Holy by the Holy Mother, there will be only peace.”
“What of the woman I love!” Aureus demanded, his gun trembling as he pointed it at the legendary knight. “I loved Avena the Liberi!”
“Then if you loved her, you will love her still!” Pozzo growled. “Or did you just have a feather fetish, boy?”
The gun fell from Aureus’s hands, and he turned to Avena, who was looking sick herself. “No, I…I love you still, Avena! You have to believe that!”
“I do, I just…this still doesn’t feel right,” Avena whispered.
“That’s the black magic talking. The Lord of Fiends herself put a Soul Binding on you. But the Holy Mother can cure that,” Pozzo said with a shake of his head.
“I have no soul binding on me,” Lemuen said, her two pistols pointed right at Pozzo’s head. “And I can see the abomination this is. Sugar-free ice cream? No patrons? This Holy Mother would strip Laterano of everything that gave this city its identity.”
Pozzo let out a bark of laughter. “You cry for sweets and toys? You’re still a child after all, Lemuen, whether or not you wear that red robe. Yes, it’s painful to leave childhood behind. But you know what sweets gave me? Cavities. Got a full set of dentures in my mouth now.” Pazzo let out a clacking sound, his jaw working under his helmet. “No real teeth left, because I was a child who couldn’t stop eating sweets, even as his teeth rotted out from under him. And Patrons? We put so much stock in violence that we made guns holy! They are not! They are weapons! Tools for violence! We would be better off in the world the Holy Mother seeks to build: one where there is no violence, and no need for guns.”
“She uses brainwashing, Pazzo!” Mostima rasped from the floor, her bloodshot eyes glaring at Pazzo. “She forces people into her way!”
“She disciplines, as any good parent would do,” Pazzo replied. “Look at yourself. Bleeding, broken. Nearly dead. You need a parent to stick you in the corner and put you in time out until you stop hurting yourself!”
Mostima tried to speak, but nothing but blood came out, and I had to focus on using my arts on her to keep her alive instead of telling Pazzo where he could stick his stupid arguments.
“I…what do we do, sir?” Patia asked.
“Fight it! Fight her!” Andoain urged, but Patia wasn’t looking to him. She was looking at Pazzo.
“Arrest them. They will need to go before the Holy Mother to be purged for their sin. But the world we are building is one where even wayward children such as this have a place,” Pazzo stated, striding forward, the Cohors rising to do his bidding, and closing in on us.
“HEY OLD MAN! HOW ABOUT YOU TASTE A LOAD OF THIS FULL-FAT, SUGAR-ENRICHED TREAT!”
Pazzo half turned before a grenade hit his armor and detonated. It didn’t do much as dent the armor or make him flinch, but he whirled about, head swiveling. “What in tarnation! What are you-!”
A figure that seemed wreathed in flames posed at the top of the steps, the sunlight catching in her halo and making it burn with righteous anger.
“Wayward children? More like out-of-touch old men who still can’t see what’s in front of their fucking faces!” Fiametta snarled, loading another grenade into her launcher.
“Sir?” one of the Cohors said. “What…what do we do? Do we…do we arrest Sir Fiametta as well?”
“‘Sir’? Give me a fucking break. You think I get to be a knight now, just because some bitch gave me a nightlight and a pair of fake wings?” Fiametta sneered, even as Exusiai appeared behind her, looking more sober than usual. I was relieved to see her, but I didn’t recognize the timid-looking Sankta who was pointing a fancy pistol right at Pazzo.
Pazzo seemed shocked by that. “Fia! It’s everything you’ve dreamed of since you were a little girl.”
“No, you washed up old idiot! It’s everything you ever wanted, because you wanted a perfect little sankta princess, not a liberi reject,” Fiametta shot back.
Her shot found its target, because Pazzo stumbled slightly. “I…Fia! How could you even say that? I always supported and loved you the best I could!”
“No, you were always away on missions, doing your ‘duty’, and only came back to shove bad movies down my throat! You never even bothered to try to understand me!” Fiametta declared, taking a step forward. I could see hot tears on her cheeks now, and several of the sankta were flinching away form her, a few hissing with rage themselves as their Empathy overwhelmed them momentarily. Probably the other former liberi.
“I’m an old man, Fia. I tried, so hard, to understand a young girl and raise you right. I…I thought you loved those movies. It’s why I showed them to you!” Pazzo protested. “Surely this can’t be about me making you watch One Armed Chainsaw Guy!”
“I love One Arm Chainsaw Guy, and Three Armed Chainsaw Guy: the Revengening,” Fiametta said in a whisper, then shook her head. “But you don’t get it! You never get it! You just expected Empathy to fill in the gaps, but I didn’t HAVE Empathy, gramps!”
“I…I know. Which…which is why I’m so glad you do now, Fia,” Pazzo said, extending hand. “Don’t you see? We can finally share what we were always meant to.”
“NO!” Fia snarled. She pointed at Exusiai. “SHE DOESN’T HAVE EMPATHY, AND I SURE AS FUCK DIDN’T WHEN WE MET, BUT EL ALWAYS UNDERSTOOD ME!”
“Empathy is just a crutch, Mr. Patrizion,” Exusiai said with a nod. “It’s always been how we were enslaved. How the Law turned us from Sarkaz, into it’s puppets. Empathy…and violence.”
“I’ve had enough of violence. It’s why we need this new world. With everyone sharing Empathy at last, there will be no need for war. You won’t have…have to do what I did. For Laterano. For the Law,” Pazzo said, and he sounded weary unto death now.
“Really? Because even now, when we share Empathy, you still can’t tell what I’m feeling, can you?” Fiametta demanded.
“I…I can tell you’re mad, Fia, but-”
“NO SHIT. BUT YOU DON’T KNOW WHY, DO YOU!?” Fiametta demanded, stepping so close she was less than an arms length away from Pazzo now.
“You’re mad because you think the Holy Mother will enslave us. But she won’t! She’s helping us become better, helping us grow up!” Pazzo said.
Fiametta threw back her head and laughed. She laughed until she cried, her arms hanging limply at her sides, guns drooping. The other sankta seemed confused, but Pazzo seemed utterly baffled.
“Dammit, Fia! It’s the Rhodes Islanders and the Sarkaz that did this to you! What happened to my little girl, who was so proud to get her patron and knighthood just the other day?”
“You moron. They didn’t do jack shit to me,” Fia chuckled, looking Pazzo dead in the eye. “Proud? Sure. I was proud of myself. Because I wasn’t a racist asshole like the old idiot who raised me. Because I was pulling the wool of all your eyes. And because Priestess was giving me the weapons to kill her. But proud to get a Patron? The very thing Priestess banned? Sure. You keep telling yourself that.”
“Now you’re just acting like a petulant child!” Pazzo growled, looming over Fia, who, without her own armor, was a good 40cm shorter than he was.
“And you’re a brainwashed old man!” Fia shot back. ”Maybe if you had your eyes open, you could see why I’m so pissed!”
“Brainwashed? Ha!” Pazzo shifted, showing an originium shard embedded in his armor, a bit of blood staining the metal rusty red. “The Lord of Fiends herself tried to curse me! I’m not brainwashed. I’m just old enough to see the truth.”
“And yet, you can’t see how badly your granddaughter was hurt when she realized that you never actually loved her,” Mostima rasped, then coughed again. I hushed her, and tried to heal her again, but my arts were at their limit of what they could do.
Pazzo spun about. “Mostima! You know me! You’ve known Fia since Literator when you were seven! You had sleepovers at our house, and watched the entire Nian collection! How can you say I don’t love my granddaughter?”
“Because…because you never loved me as a liberi,” Fiametta whispered. “You always…you always wanted me to be a sankta.”
Pazzo stumbled, hand going to his heart, his breathing growing ragged. He turned slowly back to Fia. “I…no, Fia. How…how could you ever even think that?”
“Because the only time I ever thought you were proud of me…that what I did was good enough… was when you had old man Paganini give me a patron,” Fiametta gasped, hanging her head, tears trickling down her cheeks. “When you performed my knighthood. Was I proud? No, gramps. I was just…I was happy…that my grandpa finally loved me half as much as I loved him.”
“Fia…” Pazzo knelt, tilting her chin up. “No. That’s not…you didn’t think that. You couldn’t hide your emotions from me then, or now. Not with Empathy.”
She pushed him away, turning her back on him. “I’ve always had to hide my emotions from you. Because you’re just like her. A tyrant. Who only allows people to feel one way. The right way. The sankta way. And with Empathy…I could never miss how happy and proud you were to finally have a real sankta as a granddaughter.”
“I…I know you were upset. I thought…I thought it was because Mostima was arrested,” Pazzo said, stretching a hand to Fiametta.
She whirled again. “No shit that was part of it! Can’t you hear yourself?! My best friend, locked up just because she’s got a cracked halo!? But the worst of it was, I knew I was loved only because mine was whole! If I Fall? You’ll lock me up, the same as her! It’s what you’ll do to the world! It’s the same as those villages you and your buddies burned to the ground! Either you’re Sankta, or you’re the enemy! I can’t believe it took me 25 years to figure that out!”
“No, Fia…I… no, that’s not…” Pazzo shook his head, as if trying to ward off a biting insect.
“Just say it. If I go back to being a Liberi…you’d stop loving me,” Fiametta growled, pointing her gun at Pazzo. “SAY IT!”
Slowly, Pazzo reached up. There was a hiss, and his helmet released. He lifted it away to reveal a scared and battered face, with a neatly trimmed beard and long mustaches. HIs eyes were grey, but still intense, and while there were liver spots and wrinkles on his face, he still looked good for someone nearly 100 years old.
“If you honestly believe that…then shoot me right now. Because…because I don’t know if I want to live in a world where my granddaughter doesn’t know that I’ll love her, and be proud of her…no matter what. You know what the proudest moment of my life was? It wasn’t when I knighted you. Wasn’t even when you joined Notorial Hall, or when you graduated from the Schola at the top of your class. It was when a little girl first took my scared and bloodied hand…and told me she loved her papa.”
Grief and joy warred on Fia’s face. She let out a strangled sob, then dropped her guns, and rushed over, into her grandfather’s arms. They embraced tightly, the giant of a knight, and the lost granddaughter who wanted her family back.
“I don’t want to be a sankta,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be a knight. Can’t you tell that? I just…I want to be me. And this? This isn’t me, papa. This isn’t me.”
“I’m sorry, Fifi. I’m sorry,” Pazzo whispered, tears running down his wrinkled face.
After a minute, Pazzo stood. There was a clang, and the two cannons detached from his arms.
“If I can’t even tell what my granddaughter wants…if I can’t even determine what’s best for her…then what right do I have to tell this city what it should be? I…I’m standing down. I can’t…no. I can. The Holy Mother…she’s wrong. She’s forcing you to do this. If you have doubts…then embrace them. Because this isn’t the path we were meant to take.”
The Cohurs look at one another, and I guess the magic of Arturia’s song lingers. Slowly, they drop their weapons as well.
“Huh,” Exusiai says. She grins, frowns, and turns to Lemuen. “Uh…you know I still love you and stuff, right? But if you love sugar-free ice cream…I’m going to have to use Tactica to beat some sense into you.”
Lemuen shoots forward, hands a blur on the wheels of her chair. She scoops Exusiai up in a hug, tears in her own eyes. “Sugar free ice cream is as much of an abombination as apple pie with char-suit. I’m back, El. And…and I was willing to Fall to find you again. Turns out, it’s not so bad.”
“No, it’s the fucking worst. But…we’ll handle it together,” Exusiai promises. She sniffles, and hands Lemuen back her gun. “You’re gonna need this. We’ve got a false god to kill.”
“Yes, I-” Lemuen suddenly spins, raising the rifle to her shoulder. She fires off a round. Not a rubber bullet, but a real round, taking one of the Cohors in the leg. They’d just picked up their gun, eyes glowing purple, and were raising it to point right at Arturia.
“PRIESTESS!” Exusiai shouts, even as more eyes begin to glow purple and those that were previously free of Priestess’ spell begin to turn on us once more.
Pazzo reacts immediately, slamming his helmet back on, and laying about himself with his fists. Fiametta scoops up her grenade launcher and fires off flashbangs and stun grenades into the grouped up Cohors. Aureus and Avena try to shield Arturia, but cry out in pain as several guns bark. I scream in rage as they go down in a spray of blood, and Arturia is forced to scramble away behind a statue of Priestess of all things, clutching her cello to her, and unable to begin to play in the cacophony.
I, somehow, seem to be invisible, or at least they’re respecting my medical wand and lack of weapons. I hurry to heal Avena and Aureus, and watch as Exusiai and Lemuen skid about, with Exusiai riding on the back of the wheelchair, pushing with her legs like it’s a scooter and firing one handed, while her sister’s gun barks over and over. They’re good enough that no one is dying, but a lot of people are losing knees or taking hits to the spine that might be life threatening if not treated soon.
I see the nervous Sankta slowly begin to turn her own gun on herself, hands trembling. She seems to be mumbling something, I think she’s trying to resist Priestess, but her eyes are glowing purple. Exusiai slides by and slaps her, and leaves a shard of Originium in her. It seems to help, but the poor girl collapses to her knees, sobbing and hugging herself in panic still.
Andoain is shouting at Patia to fight, and while she’s struggling, it’s clear that she’s losing the fight to Priestess. She finally drops him, drawing her guns and turning, but she delayed long enough. Pazzo has delt with most of the others, and charges forward, fist cracking into her cheek. She does a full pirouette, then crashes to the ground in her armor, insensate.
We’re all breathing hard, but the Cohors and Patia are down, so it’s only our allies standing. I’m scrambling between wounded and trying to stabilize them, but there are simply too many, and I’m having to triage. If this keeps up, I’ll need to give myself a shot of Lythanol just to keep going.
But no. I can’t do that. I’d get infected…and the baby…no. I can’t. Not even to save a life. Not with James and the baby on the line.
“We…w-we won!” the new Sankta gasps, pushing herself up to her feet, shaking slightly.
“Not yet,” Lemuen says, pushing her wheelchair forward towards the steps. She raises her rifle, and takes aim.
Only to have to skid to the side as a spear of black originum the size of a lamp pole blasts through where she was.
You haven’t even delayed the inevitable. If anything, you’ve sped up my timetable, gathering yourselves here so neatly, a voice that reverberates with power and makes me gasp and try to cover my ears says.
Everyone takes a step back, and I expect some enormous monster to materialize. Instead, I hear the click-click of heals, as up the steps outside, an ordinary woman in a white lab coat with a clipboard ascends. She has a faint smile of amusement on her face, but those eyes…they are glowing purple.
Now, Priestess says as her gaze sweeps the room. I think it’s time to incorporate you all into my Model. There has been quite enough fuss as it is.
Originium appears in the air like a nimbus around her, like a halo around a saint. I swallow, as we all ready ourselves to do battle with a being who calls herself a god.
And, unfortunately…I’m starting to think she might be right.