A/N: This goes out to all the Magic the Gathering & Phantasy Star fans.
Gradius Wings: Booster Chronicle of the Phantom God
Act Zero
Ghosts of the Void. Skies of the Revenants
In the timeless, seemingly lifeless empty space that flowed between the myriads of realms, a lone valvalis soared. The hardy little creature was one of the few fauna that could somehow survive in the Void, and there many stories and theories about how the valvalis came about. One school of thought had it that the valvalis were wyverns whom escaped their world through a gate and found themselves in the Void. Unfortunately, these wyverns could not find their way back, and due to the strange nature of the Void, mutated to become the valvalis. The storytellers and bards had a different opinion altogether; the valvalis were the souls of dead Mystrans, unwilling or unable to be sent to the Beyond.
The valvalis neither knew nor cared what others thought of it. It banked into a long spiral, fueled by the eccentric winds of the Void, and descended to the level of the cloud tops below. The clouds represented the lower, enigmatic layers of the Void and were a constant danger to anyone plying the star-speckled nothingness between the worlds. Lives had been lost, and whole aethercraft have been consumed by the bewitching clouds of psychedelic colours. The valvalis knew of this from experience and natural instinct made it fly well above the cloud tops. High above him, the stars quietly shed their lambent light, watching and observing. Everyone knew that the stars in the Void were no true stars; they were merely dense spheres of light that signaled the openings into the various worlds out there. The stars were never stable; they kept vanishing and reappearing at erratic intervals as worlds were destroyed and new ones reborn from the ashes of their fallen ones. As the valvalis flew on, a whole cluster of lights suddenly flared brightly and winked out, signifying the destructive demise of more than a dozen worlds. The valvalis craned its long neck upwards to gaze at the skies with ancient eyes, wondering what in the name of creation had gone wrong.
At that precise moment, the creature that had been lying in wait decided to attack. From the clouds below came an ominous rumble, and three ghostly tentacles reached up to snag the valvalis out of the air. The tendrils missed by a mile as the valvalis banked steeply to the side. More tentacles shot out of the clouds below, and the valvalis in a flurry of wingbeats, pulled off a swift sequence of evasive maneuvers that saw it one step ahead of the deadly tentacles. The rumble grew into a roar, as the clouds parted and a titanic beast arose from its depths. The monster looked like a giant ball with a wide, expansive mouth and multi-faceted eyes sprouting from the upper half of its body. A mass of tentacles sprung forth from its back like the hair on a man’s head, and it’s body was ghostly, ethereal, almost transparent. Sailors of the Void named it a ghastro, and no two ghastro were ever alike. It was a popular tale amongst that the ghastro were the souls of wicked men or those lost to the Void, corrupted by the dark beasts that roamed the lower layers of the Astral Ocean. Encounters with a ghastro in the Void always ended in one thing:
The death of its prey.
The ghastro roared and lashed out at the valvalis with its tentacles, annoyed that its prey was giving it such a hard time. The first strikes broke the valvalis’ crystalline wings, and the follow-ups filled the valvalis with the monster’s paralyzing poison. Bellowing with delight, the monster began to reel in its almost dead meal, shivering with anticipation.
Halfway through to its mouth, the valvalis looked up in time to see the hissing, jade-green arrow fly into the beast’s hungry maw, seemingly out of nowhere. For a split second nothing happened; then the ghastro gave one long, raw howl as its body disintegrated into dark ash which the wind scattered in its passing. A moment later, there was nothing where the ghastro had once been. The valvalis spread its wings wide, and felt its accelerated healing factor clean up its wounds. A single wingbeat sent it rocketing up into the air, now recovered from its encounter with the ghastro. After gaining some altitude to prevent another such incident, the valvalis finally turned its attention to its savior. Some miles off, a creature soared through the heavens with ease and cool aplomb. It vaguely resembled a valvalis somewhat, but anyone else could watching would have recognized it as a dragon. The dragon looked different however; the skin was shiny and colorful in some spots, and a drab brown in others. The magnificent creature had to be at least fifty feet long, and a hundred feet wide from bat-like wingtip to wingtip. A trail of evanescent light was left in its passing, like exhaust from a jet engine. Puzzled by this new phenomenon, the valvalis flew to within a mile of it to investigate.
Up close, the dragon looked bigger than it had from a distance. The creature’s odd skin was explainable now; the shiny patches were of metal with a bluish hue. In fact, the dragon looked like a fantastic fusion of metal, crystal and flesh. The ethereal light came from a pair of convex crystal disks encased in metal that was mounted on both sides of the base of the dragon’s neck. A large wooden deck was mounted on the back of the winged creature, and in the center sat a grim-looking temple. The valvalis started to wheel in for a closer look when another jade-green arrow hissed past, nearly clipping its right wing. It took the hint and took off on another task, its crystalline wings chiming softly in the breeze.
“Oh, crap,” swore Arleta, angrily lowering her great bow as the valvalis grew smaller and smaller in the distance. She whirled on the older woman who stood behind her, chewing gum. “That’s the second time you’ve made me lose concentration, Izanami!”
Izanami snorted. “With your aim, you can’t even hit an elephant ambling along sleepily.”
“That’s not true!” Arleta howled, trembling with indignant fury. She was short and delicate looking, appearing to be around seventeen winters of age. Her short, spiky, copper-red hair jutted out from the back of her head at an angle, and her dark-blue eyes glittered with the flames of her fury, masked by a small visor-like strip of crystal.
“’Tis,” Izanami retorted. She paused to blow up another bubble loudly before continuing. “Why, I can’t remember the last time you hit something you actually intended to hit.”
“Oh yeah? What about the bakuro I saved you from on Antares?”
“Lucky shot,” Izanami said offhandedly.
“And the dokuro-riders?”
“An accident.”
“The ghastros? The Zealots? The el-methrin?”
“The wind changed the arrow’s direction at the last minute.”
Arleta gritted her teeth, her small frame radiating a barely-concealed rage. “I’ll make you eat those words, sister.”
A smile contorted Izanami’s lips. “With what? Another accidental shot from your bow?”
“Stop it, both of you, came a calm voice before Arleta could do anything else. Both young women turned to face the possessor of the voice, as she in turn, strode over to them. She was taller than either of them, and of a voluptuous shape and figure. Long, silky, silver hair cascaded down her back to the level of her waist, and cold, serene violet eyes with dark flecks glared out of a perfectly pristine face. She wore an outfit somewhere between a catsuit and a kimono, with a collar that came to the level of her lips. A fine slender katana, almost five feet in length, hung diagonally over her back, with a crystal pendant attached to the hilt by a length of tough string. Aas she came to a halt, the pendant began to sway gently, uttering a gentle tinkling sound.
“But Kitsune,” began Arleta.
“But nothing, Arleta,” said Kitsune Aeon, a cold fire burning in the depths of her eyes. “I’m disappointed in you. The valvalis had done nothing deserving of death. You had no right to shoot it out of the Void.”
“Yes, Sister Kitsune,” Arleta bowed her head in reply to the rebuke. “I’m sorry.”
Izanami, who had moved to stand behind the tall, strong figure of her elder sister, broke into a triumphant grin. Kitsune, who had her eyes on Arleta, spoke up; “Wipe that grin off your face, Izanami.”
The grin withered and died away as quickly as it had come.
“You also had no right to tease and taunt Arleta in such a manner. The dokuro-riders would have mowed you down; had not Arleta used her arrows against them. The Antarean bakuro would surely be feasting on your flesh had Arleta’s ‘lucky shot’ missed its target. Be thankful that your little sister has such an excellent aim, because next time she just might miss the opponent and you will be slain.”
Izanami returned her sister’s glare in kind. “It won’t happen again, Sister Kitsune. I assure you.”
Kitsune dismissed the sneer in her tone of voice, and moved off to stand in front of the guard rails that fenced the deck’s perimeter. Arleta spared Izanami a sneer of her own before she moved to stand beside her elder sister. Izanami scowled after her, and hastily rearranged her facial expression a moment later when Kitsune sighed. She strode up to Kitsune’s left hand side and did a quick survey of the immediate environment. The Void, looking the same as it did hours ago, had nothing new to offer or indicate that the Sisters of the Dynasty had not come all this way for nothing. The skies were empty, save for the stars, and the clouds below kept their contents a secret. Nothing was here, for certain.
“Are you sure we are on the right course?” She asked loudly.
Kitsune failed to favor her with a glance, and kept her gaze off in the distance, as if she could see things that neither of them could not. “Daedalus has been flying in his space for nearly an hour and a half now.”
“Oh? Really?” Izanami replied sarcastically.
“I told you already.” Kitsune shot her an unreadable look that the hidden lower half of her face made all the more mysterious. “If and when we get there is the only time you’ll be able to see his fortress. Until then, you just have to remain patient. Think of this as ample opportunity to enjoy the view.”
Izanami folded her arms over her not-so-ample bosom and scowled inwardly. If anyone cared about her opinion, this Zidane character did not want to be found if he had gone to the trouble of crafting a whole little realm out here in the Void, period. No one in his right mind would want to live in an empty nothingness occupied by ghastros, tringa and other equally vile beasts.
No one that is, except maybe Kitsune, She amended silently.
The dragon known as Neo-Levia-Daedalus let a loose a bellowing roar that echoed faintly in the nothingness. Kitsune and Arleta spared a glance fore of the alchemical creature. Izanami turned to look as well, and very nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise.
All around them, things were starting to materialize in the Void. Before Izanami’s startled eyes, a whole armada of war engines, aetherfighters, panzers, draconoids and the gods knew what else, cluttered the air all around Daedalus like a swarm of mutant locusts. Even as the sisters watched, several warcraft broke ranks and shot off towards the distant stars above, probably to fight some obscure battle. The ships were connected by a loose system of planks, catwalks and walkways, which were cluttered with droids, alchemists and soldiers in black and silver armor, bustling with activity. The dragon kept a straight, level course through the center of the cloud of death and destruction, which was clear of any obstacles. Izanami slowly tore her eyes away from the scene around them and focused on her sisters.
“I think I like this guy already,” Arleta said with a fierce grin on her mien.
“Showoff,” scoffed Izanami, though she inwardly agreed with Arleta.
“Rufus Zidane is a warlord; a very dangerous one,” Kitsune reminded them, a breeze from a passing panzer ruffled her hair. “He has already conquered four realms including his own world of Lord-Maar. As we speak, he’s making plans on taking a fifth and a sixth.”
“With an army like this, he can take on the Phantasma without breaking a sweat,” Aarleta observed.
“Which is why we need his army to do our bidding.” Kitsune pointed at a structure in the distance. “We’re almost at his Keep.”
The dragon had left the warlord’s armada far behind, and the fortress of Yamimakai loomed closer and closer with each passing second. Izanami fished out her alchemic spyglass from the pocket of her jumpsuit and fixed it over her left eye. What she saw alarmed her; the warlord had somehow managed to uproot a large chunk of earth from some realm and used it as a base for his fortress to rest upon. The Keep rose towards the heavens like an accusing finger of metal and plastic. The walls of Yamimakai bristled with manned and unmanned weapons of every type and description. Zidane had even managed to have a nest of wyverns-real ones, not the alchemic sort-policing the space around the fortress. Nothing short of an army of demigods could hope to take on the dread Keep of Yamimakai, assuming that they made it through Zidane’s wall of war machines intact.
That is not to say that the Sisters of the Dynasty could not blow this den of vagrant warriors out of the Void, if they wished it. They merely needed the services of this particular warmonger; that was all.
Arleta slung her great bow over her back, as the dragon flew through the spell-sphere that cocooned the Keep from the entropic effects of the Void, as well as shielded it from its enemies. Each of the sisters felt a brief tickling sensation as Daedalus went through the thick and near-invisible sphere and came into the fortress’ airspace. Without hesitation, the dragon descended towards the nearest empty dock in a flurry of its great wing beats that left the wyverns fumbling in its wake. With a loud reverberating roar, the dragon announced its arrival as it landed with an almost gentle thump in the open field. The sisters waited until they were sure that Daedalus had docked fully before descending down the stairs that suddenly appeared on the immense flanks of the dragon.
At the foot of the stairs two figures waited, flanked by a phalanx of the dread alchemic hybrids known as the Jugulators. The first of the two was tall, burly man with fine dirty-blonde hair and cool, electric blue eyes. He wore the same black-and-silver armor, bearing the stylized insignia of a valvalis spewing fire from its maw, as that of his men. But there was no mistaking the identity, or the way he held himself with an almost regal air.
“Lord Zidane,” Kitsune said, by way of greeting. Izanami and Arleta merely nodded from behind their elder sister. Rufus Zidane regarded each sister in turn before, before he acknowledged their greetings with grim nods.
“So,” He began slowly, in a rich gravelly voice. “The Sisters of the Dynasty are finally here?”
The question was directed at the one who stood on his left. She was taller than Kitsune, and far more beautiful than any of her sisters. Her long, dark hair cascaded down to the level of her knees in a tumble of wavy curls, and dark, gold-flecked eyes stared out of a face that could have been mistaken for a goddess’. She was the oldest of them all, and the smile that erupted on her face could have frozen the entire fortress with its quiet malice.
“I suppose you can say that,” said Samus Shinra, leader of the Sisters of the Dynasty.
Snow, pure white and innocent, descended from the dawn sky in gentle spirals. The Valley of Demeter lay open before the two travelers in the faint light of the dawn. Far off in the distance was the reason why they had come this far; the camps of a tribe of Manes. The fur-clad strangers took the path that led down into the valley, and stopped shortly before the mouth of it.
“Bry’ce, you may go now,” said Aria Seraphine. She was the shorter of the two by a few inches, and graced with an exotic beauty, pointed ears, long dark hair and absorbing violet eyes flecked with black. Abundant, auroch furs sheathed her slender body from the cold, and an ornate naginata was strung across her back. A small, crystal pendant swung from the hilt of her weapon on a length of string, chiming softly in the wind.
“Mistress?” Bry’ce queried.
She reached into her fur coat and withdrew a stack of brightly colored plastic sheets. “I believe this will cover the expenses?”
Bry’ce gulped, mentally calculating the value. Aria pressed the chips into her guide’s hands and turned away without a word. The native guide thanked her profusely as she walked away, and promptly took off with the money, thanking the stars above for his good fortune. Aria kept on walking until she could no longer hear his voice, before slowing her pace a little. She reached up to fit the indigo aviator goggles over her preternatural eyes. The goggles-a sophisticated alchemic device she had picked up at a market on Kahou-came to life and began to reduce the world to a series of readouts on her peripheral vision. The snow had obliterated the tracks on the path, but she could tell that few people had been here recently. The goggles also pointed out that wild, dangerous beasts had been on the prowl lately, as evidenced by a pair of skeletons in tattered clothing lying on a nearby boulder, Aria averted her eyes from the ghastly sight, and kept her focus on the path, softly reciting a Mane prayer for the dead under her breath.
Ma’hare oesti kalar
Du jahras ta’far i
Noes to savatli…
By the time a thin sliver of sun had grown into a half-sphere of fire and light, she had reached the gates, with a force of soldiers shadowing her every move. She knew they were following her, and kept herself from giving away that fact. Confidently, she strode up to the wardens manning the gates, which she noticed were huge, well-crafted alchemic ones. The five wardens stood in front of the gate, wielding an assortment of different, yet deadly weapons. The leader of the wardens-the biggest of them all-held out a large paw in front of him.
“Hauruto,” He growled, bristling his mane of rich amber-colored fur around his face.
Aria stopped as he had commanded, keeping her hands limp at her sides.
“Who are you? What are you doing on Mane land?” He questioned in his native tongue.
“My name is Aria Seraphine. I come from a faraway place, good sir,” She replied in a strong, firm tone. “I came because I heard that an uncle of mine is here amongst your people.”
“Name him.”
“Your people call him the Metal Lion.”
The warden stiffened at the mention of the name and turned to consult with his partners. Minutes later, Aria found herself being marched into the settlement, escorted by a dozen warriors of the Mako-Mane tribe. The settlement was silent for the most part, with only a few people up and about in the dawning light. She forced herself to look forward, though she could not help noticing the amount of stares she was garnering with her escort. The adults were modest enough to look away after a few minutes, but the eyes of the younglings followed her all the way. None of the people of this tribe had seen a human in the last three moons, and most of them were wondering why one had suddenly shown up after such a long period of time. The younglings, curious to see this stranger from a faraway place, tagged along after the group. The head warden drove them off with a few growled commands, which only served to quip up their interest even more. By the time Aria had reached her destination, she had attracted quite a crowd
“You, come with me.” The warden beckoned to Aria, switching over to the Anglish tongue. She strode up to his side without batting an eyelash. He gave a single to the escort to stand down, and then together, they walked up to the entrance of large tent that stood in the center of the village. A tall, burly Mane with a wild, unkempt mane and a wicked-looking battleaxe in one meaty hand stood before the tent flaps, eyeing the warden and her with an unreadable look. The warden approached him calmly.
“Garth, is he inside?”
The Mane glared at the human, who returned the look in kind, not the least bit intimidated by the battle scars that marred his visage. After a moment, he grunted and turned to the warden with one word, “Vashon”.
The warden nodded, and Garth held open the tent flap to admit them in. Aria went in first, and the warden followed with Garth bringing up the rear. A man with long, spiky red hair and white temple locks had seated himself cross-leggedly on the floor with his eyes shut. As the three of them sat down before him in the same manner, he sighed and looked up at Aria.
“Uncle Tristan…”
“Aria. What could have brought you all the way here to see me?” His voice was light, but behind the familiar tone was a sense of dread.
“Uncle Tristan,” She said. “Bahamut is awakening.”
Gryphon's Nest 2.0 