EXTRA
A Meaningless Tale of Gods and Heroes
A god’s voice broke the silence.
“Are you two sure about this?”
The faint glow of evening filtered through the stained glass window, casting an orange light across shattered flagstones and splintered pews. The name of the church had long since been forgotten, and now the only ones present there were a god and two adventurers.
“You really want to help me with my stupid little plan?”
Erebus seemed amiable enough at the moment. The wicked charisma of absolute evil was nowhere to be seen.
The three were completely alone. Passersby rarely frequented this corner of the Labyrinth City, but that wasn’t why the god had shed his mask and presented himself as he truly was.
Opposite him stood a man and woman.
“’Tis a little late to ask now,” said the ashen-haired one, opening her heterochromatic eyes and casting Erebus an accusatory glare. “Was it not you who sought us out and dragged us from our seclusion when we were content to wait for death?”
“Yes,” said the man clad in a large set of plate armor, a smile upon his diabolical features. “What was it you who told us? If we’re to die either way, then why not allow the future to be built upon our backs? I must say, you surprised us both. But as I recall, we already gave our answers back then.”
Erebus gave a theatrical shrug. His two partners in crime—Zald and Alfia—were so brazen in the way they spoke to a divine being like himself, that he couldn’t help but smile.
“Just want to be sure,” he said. “This is your last chance to back out.”
Erebus turned up his palm, as though offering a contract to sign in blood.
“Whatever happens from here on out, the two of you will be remembered as villains. Villains who betrayed humankind and slaughtered hundreds, thousands. You’ll go down forever in history, and not in a good way.”
It was the truth. A plan was being forged that would in ten days raise up evil and knock down justice, and end in a terrible war of good and evil.
Lines of right and wrong would be drawn, and the names of all present would forever be uttered in the same breath as history’s greatest monsters.
“Are you both really sure that’s what you want?”
Alfia and Zald returned only bored and fearless expressions.
“How many times would you have us say it, Erebus? We made up our minds long ago, and it was not done with such little deliberation that we would change our answer now.”
“History can remember me however it likes, but I will die content.”
Like a wicked witch, Alfia was undaunted by the sins that lay ahead of her.
Like a soldier, Zald dismissed the assumed guilt of his future actions with a scoff.
Bathed in the light of evening, these two conquerors seemed far too genial for the name. Erebus softened his gaze and smiled back.
Truly, they were both heroes. Even a god could see that.
“My god taught me that anything can be a treasure if you set your mind to it. A sword, a woman, or even life itself. Not that he ever inspired great confidence.”
At Zald’s lighthearted jab, Alfia suddenly grew intensely displeased.
“Must you really remind me of that lecherous old man?” she spat. “How many times did his wandering hand approach my breasts? It irritates me to this day that your god is ever spoken in the same breath as my own.”
Never one to let a juicy morsel slip, Erebus chimed in.
“Oh?” he said, his voice taking on a sultry tone. “Don’t stop there, dear Alfia, you must tell me more. Whatever came of this god’s philandering?”
“My spells taught him a lesson before he could lay one finger on me,” she answered, in a tone devoid of mercy.
“Zeus, you’re lucky you didn’t get sent back to heaven…”
“And then I told Hera about it.”
“Zeus, you’re lucky you’re alive…”
Erebus gave an awkward smile. He turned his empty eyes toward the cracked ceiling and beheld the sky beyond. After a few beats of silence, Zald chuckled.
“Ha-ha-ha… But, are you sure you have no regrets, Alfia?” he asked. “Didn’t you want to see the child?”
At this, Erebus’s ears suddenly pricked up.
“Hmm?” he asked. “I didn’t know you had a child, Alfia. You’re looking remarkably stunning for a woman who’s given birth.”
“It is not mine,” replied Alfia, shaking her head. “The child belongs to my younger sister.”
Then she lifted her head and squinted through the cracked glass toward the sunset outside.
“The blood of a child of Hera runs in his veins…as does the blood of one of Zeus’s.”
“Huh. You mean, the kid’s dad is from Zeus Familia?”
Erebus’s curiosity was piqued, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to ascertain how this would tip the world’s scales. It was Zald, after a moment of awkward hesitation, who elucidated.
“…Yes,” he admitted. “One of the lowliest humans in our ranks, in fact. So weak that even that boar and the hero child could best him.”
Zald could barely stand being associated with such an embarrassment. Just thinking about it gave him chills.
“It happened after our group was wiped out by the Black Dragon under Maxim’s leadership. I still remember how furious I was when I heard. One of our own, knocking up a Hera girl?”
Zald suddenly looked so guilty that he was ready to die on the spot. He couldn’t even maintain eye contact with Alfia, who simply stood there, exuding malevolence.
“I mean, we speak of Hera’s women! Do you understand?! Even after the Black Dragon rendered her familia as desolate as ours, it was suicide to violate their purity!”
Erebus smiled. “A curious stance for the follower of a philanderer to take.”
“…Zeus may have been my patron, but I do not share in his madness!”
The perverse pursuits of Zeus were known to everyone, both in heaven and the world below. Zald was one of the few men of good conscience in the god’s familia, and it was panic—mainly for his own safety—that drove him to cover his former fellow’s transgressions. Even without words, the queen’s ice-cold silence spoke volumes, and her feelings toward the uncouth ruffian who had bedded her younger sister could not have been clearer.
After thinking about it for half a second, Alfia raised her hand for a chop, causing Zald to brace both his arms. “No, Alfia! Please!” he yelled.
Her wrath surpassed that of all the world’s protective aunts and uncles combined. Erebus gave a soft chuckle.
“I can just imagine what things were like between your two familias,” he said. “So, where is that child now? With Hera?”
“…No,” replied Alfia, after briefly taking out her anger on Zald. “My sister entrusted him to Zeus. I was told they are living a peaceful life in the mountains.”
“Hmm. I see what Zald is asking now,” said Erebus. “This child is your only surviving relative—and a memento of your sister, at that. And you sure you don’t want to see him? Is your sister the only one you cared about?”
“…I did not interfere with her decision,” Alfia admitted, after a short pause. “I raised no objection when my dying sister chose to leave him with Zeus.”
Whatever emotions she felt, she didn’t speak of them. She stated only facts.
“I chose to prolong my own life instead of caring for my nephew… I don’t deserve to see him.”
Her final words sounded more like a confession. As Alfia stood still in the light of the setting sun, Zald opened his mouth to speak.
“Alfia,” he said. “I won’t claim that blood ties are all-important. And I won’t say that you have the right to call yourself his family. But if any small part of you feels for the boy, then…”
“It doesn’t, Zald. Forget what I said.”
The ashen hair swept her shoulders as Alfia shook her head, denying Zald’s words. A smile formed on her lips.
“Whether I have the right is irrelevant.”
With that, she rendered her tale meaningless.
“Besides, I don’t think I could handle being called Auntie,” she said.
Zald gave her an extremely odd look, like his eyes were bulging out of his sockets. Erebus was much the same. Then the two of them snorted loudly before bursting into howling laughter.
“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Well, that explains it! I can’t blame you for that!” roared Zald.
“Agreed,” said Erebus, trying to choke back his giggles. “We have no right to comment on such a delicate topic for women.”
That peaceful, pointless noise filled the chapel. After he had finally had enough, Erebus straightened his back, cleared his throat, and spoke.
“Alfia,” he said. “I wish to ask you something. Your twin sister must have been likewise beautiful, but was she also as difficult, neurotic, and violent as you?”
“My sister was weaker in every way. She couldn’t even go for a walk by herself.”
The witch closed her eyes, casting her mind back to the past.
“Plus, she was the most dull-witted girl this world has ever seen, and indeed may ever see.”
“Harsh,” said Zald.
“But true. For you see, while we were in the womb, I stole her gifts for myself.”
At that moment, the witch seemed truly saddened.
“Within me lies the potential that was meant for the two of us. That is my crime, and it is only natural that I should be reviled and feared for it.”
The woman’s self-deprecating words tore at the walls of her heart. But the one she longed to speak to most was no longer there. Instead, only the hallowed walls of the church heard her confession.
After a long silence, Alfia opened her eyes.
“That woman was everything left over after making me,” she said. “All that remained…was kindness.”
That was her sister’s one redeeming trait.
“It was curious, but people loved her even though she could do nothing. Even Hera did everything she could to prolong her life. She was an ordinary girl in every sense…save that whatever kindness she received she would always repay.”
Alfia’s words sounded like the melodies sung by spirits in heaven. Erebus couldn’t bring himself to speak and interrupt them. At this moment, the witch sounded kinder and gentler than ever before.
“Metelia,” she said, “was the purest, kindest soul I’ve ever known… That is why I loved her.”
The smile that accompanied those words was the most beautiful thing Erebus had seen. “I see,” he said with a smile of his own, then he turned to Zald.
“And what of the father?” he asked him.
“Nothing to say,” the man replied, suddenly looking sour. “At least nothing that brings me pride. A mere supporter who ran at the first sign of trouble, and who joined our god in peeking in on the women’s baths…”
Zald was despondent, mortified he had to follow up Alfia’s moving and personal tale with reports of degenerate behavior.
“…But I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I should have seen the child, too. I suppose…if he is that idiot’s son, then in the end, he is family.”
Zald broke into a smile as he recalled the mischievous grin of his junior, the source of so many headaches back in the day.
Erebus gave the pair a fond look, then opened his mouth to speak.
“Ah, I haven’t asked you the most important thing yet,” he said. “Zald, Alfia. What do you hope to gain from this battle?”
The heroes answered immediately, as though their answer were written in stone.
““A future,”” they both replied.
“For our descendants to devour us and surpass the Black Dragon.”
That was the warrior’s dream. From a loser’s heart, a winner would be born and lead the world into a new Age of Heroes.
“For this world to know hope, and for my sister’s child to not have to fight.”
That was the witch’s wish. Lasting peace that would give birth to a world for a memento to live on in happiness.
“And what if…?” the god went on, picking at the fickle strands of destiny. “What if that child comes to this land, guided by the blood of his parents? What if he is called to battle, and the fate of the world hangs in the balance?”
With a smile on his lips, Erebus asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Do you really have to ask, Erebus?”
“Yes. The answer to that is obvious…”
Alfia and Zald spoke as one.
““We wish there to be strong heroes to protect him.””
It was only one possible future. Perhaps, at some point, a single white rabbit would pass through the gates of Orario, where countless setbacks and difficulties awaited.
“May he be baptized in the fires of fellow heroes and strive ever higher.”
Perhaps he would be shattered and built back up by those around him. By a warlord, a hero, or elven royalty. By warriors, a chariot, or a sword princess, or a gale wind.
Perhaps the young heroes in whom Zald and Alfia placed their trust would become a test for that child to pass.
“May he succeed in his trials and become a hero himself.”
Perhaps he would inherit their dreams and carry them upon his own back.
And perhaps, though he never knew their faces, Zald’s and Alfia’s wish would become his own. Just as justice endured and went on. A tale of heroes.
“If he turns out anything like his father, his quick feet should come to the aid of many an adventurer.”
“And if he turns out anything like his mother, his kind deeds should dry the eyes of many a friend.”
Sharing thoughts of the boy’s parents, Zald and Alfia placed their faith in the bonds of blood and trust. Nobody believed more in that child’s future than they.
That was love. Whatever anybody else said, it was their love.
“I see…”
After lending a serious ear to their words, Erebus grinned.
“Love is a terrible thing. For you to wish hardship on a boy you barely know…I’m starting to feel sorry for him.”
“We are the children of Zeus and Hera,” said Alfia. “We are capable of much worse.”
“Yes,” Zald agreed. “The boy should count himself lucky our familias are no more.”
The two of them wore defiant grins, showing no shame at all for their cruel words.
“Oh, dear. Whatever am I going to do with you two?”
Erebus shrugged and gave a wry smile that nonetheless bared the emotions laying at the bottom of his divine heart.
“Erebus,” said Alfia. “Do not test us any further. We have no regrets and will carry out our duties to the bitter end.”
“Many will perish at our hands, but if a future can be built upon our deeds, then it will all be worth it.”
The smiles were gone from their faces now. All that remained was to shoulder the weight of their sin, without eagerness or regret, and uphold their oath to the world.
“There is no other way,” said Zald. “This is the ultimate test. I will give what little of my life remains to see it through.”
If Orario could not reach their future, if the city of heroes succumbed to the might of the conquerors, then Erebus, Zald, and Alfia were fully prepared to topple Babel and send the world back to ancient times. It was the only way humankind could carry on.
They knew and accepted the price they would have to pay to assume the mantle of evil. But at the same time, they believed it would not come to that.
“Yes,” said Alfia. “Let us bring despair and forge a keystone of hope. We have lived long lives. This will be our final duty.”
They knew that the city contained unrealized potential. Something that could strike down the cannibalistic fiends they would become.
And in a corner of that very city, in an abandoned church, the warrior and the witch gave their vows.
“We leave all that we are to the heroes who come after us,” said Alfia.
Erebus closed his eyes. Of his own regrets, he spoke only to himself, only now indulging in the rightful confidence of divinity.
Ah, how bright they shine.
These are the heroes who should be sung about in unending tales.
And yet here I am, dragging their names through the mud.
Look how bright they shine in spite of that.
If they’re going to be so gung-ho about it, then I should be the same.
Sorry, Vito. I know you’re not going to like this.
You won’t understand my love. You’ll curse my lies and never learn to love this world.
But I have a dream. A dream I must accomplish.
I know you think that word’s silly now, but I hope it one day inspires you to love something.
I will join these two and search for justice. For heroes.
Because I believe that Orario, and the whole world, will reach its dreams one day.
I love you, Vito.
I love all my children.
I love this world, so small yet so, so vast.
“…Very well. Then, in my name, I declare…”
When he opened his eyes, no longer was there a god who loved the world. Only pure evil. A being of chaos, who sought nothing more than to spread his word and harry the agents of order.
“From this day forth, we work together. We are necessary. We are absolute. And we will go down in history as symbols of sin itself!”
The warrior narrowed his eyes and nodded.
The witch closed her eyes and smiled.
“Even so, I alone will sing of the great deeds you are about to perform!”
The god signed an unbreakable covenant with the world’s mighty heroes.
He wrote a footnote of history that would never be read by mortal eyes.
He turned, pushed open the church doors, and bathed in the light of the outside world. There, he looked back at his two accomplices.
“Let’s go,” he said. “To give birth to a new generation of heroes.”
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