Consider our god like this.
A foolishly perceptive derogatively arrogant being.
Incomprehensible for the sake of their whims.
Acting solely for the watchers of the stage. Dancing a puppets tune for that sake.
Many are mistaken for what that stage is for. Or who is really on it.
A god cannot easily control everything. Or even another god.
Our god has a history mired in emptiness unknown. Shown selectively to fit what they do.
Inherently satiating themselves.
For animals who only understand the concept relating to the divine, this is the best course for understanding.
Even now, searching for a way to permanently erase them, to be a 'god killer'.
We do not call them a god.
An ilk associated word.
Kindly ingrain that in your skull.
— The Servant of The Evil God, Willerst
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------—
The hollow eyes looked at the wet brick ground.
The symbol from ages ago.
"Why…"
The hollow eyes looked at their hand.
"How many…. How many do you…"
The gloomy sky shed tears landing everywhere. Diluting the red pool of blood.
"How many do you send to their deaths! How many are massacred for simply opposing you!? How many lives are innocently cut short with no hesitation– Why, why do you create conflict? Do you see people as pawns? You have everything you could ever have! What more do you want! A murderer… a murderer like you…"
As the world's creator?
"In the memories…."
The brutality, torture, extortion, manipulation, lack of care for anything but themself.
This organization is a farce.
One the newborn acknowledges.
Ideals are grounded to dust.
History intentionally tweaked to fit whatever the interests lie in that insane head of theirs.
The hollow eyes closed.
Silently breathing as the newborn's turmoil exceeded the capacity.
Opening they watch the newborn.
"Murderer." They spoke.
The hollow eyes wandered off to the side.
"Sure. Whatever."
"You… you don't care."
"What do you want me to say. I'm sorry? I won't do it again? It's my fault for allowing it?"
The hollow eyes had put their hand on the chest. Eventually letting it fall back into place.
"I don't control anyone. Only I–"
"You do!"
The newborn felt the stares of Valorie Division's 1st squadron. Various eyes scrutinising the newborn.
"This entire scene was created by you!"
The Frontliner snorted.
"The soul is dead, the academies are let to run rampant for the sake of 'character growth' for her, and those outer gods play here as if it's their backyard! Not controlling? You intentionally made it like this! The possessors can't even be here without your hand! Your responsibility? Your responsibility???
I don't see it. Both of you shouldn't have power. If only. If only…."
The newborn stared at the device and the gun.
The hollow eyes said nothing.
They started setting the time, and before pressing the button, looked at the 1st squadron.
Faces neutral.
Only the Frontliner with a disinterested face waited with the rain wetting their hair.
"How would you like your death to be?"
"For these idiots, painful." the Frontliner instantly said.
"Aw Chief please..!"
The Frontliner clicked his tongue with a displeased expression.
"Give a good memory."
The hollow eyes watched without doing anything.
An empty mind only processing bare minimum senses with a void eating away at words.
The newborn gritted their teeth and pressed the button. Prying their eyes away from everything.
Disappearing again.
"...."
Val watched Them. The damp white shirt at the front was bogged down by the rain and sticking to the skin. The long hair strands clumped together, drooping downwards. Their fingers moved as if re-exploring Their hand.
".....d."
They said something too soft for her to hear.
Salder stood up.
"...I'd like to have it be simple for me."
His eyes stayed glued to the ground.
"My, uh, death. Since it seems–"
"No."
The hollow eyes now swallowed the reflection in them.
"It's the start of your journey."
They raised Their left hand and put two fingers together.
"Only this version will be with both of you."
Salder said nothing but sighed with acceptance.
Val couldn't do anything.
"Just reaffirm your conviction." words lingered on Their mouth but they stopped Themself.
The dead in the rain carried bitterness with happiness.
The Frontliner's light smile stayed.
…Not that it mattered.
They snapped.
In an office with a desk full of too much paper, the woman in the jacket had Their head cradled in Their arms face down on the desk.
Suddenly shooting up to Their feet, They slammed one of their legs on the desk.
"I wanna ruin someone's life!" They brightly said.
"Ah shit." The Head Executive looked up from their book. "Eh, who cares." one second of thought and immediately they went back to reading.
Racing out of the room, They went to the inauguration ceremony.
People saw a woman wearing laced dress shoes and black formal pants. The white formal buttoned shirt tightly snug. The jacket flutters with Their speed.
Carelessly smiling with devilish intentions.
— —
"The gracious tomb of the saint!"
The wheel landed between [Vaken Kingdom Cont.] and [Outskirts: Frozen Field]
The one it landed on was [Parizen]
"Capricious indeed." The Host said.
"Mmh."
The Assistant halfheartedly agreed while chowing down on a whole roasted leg they found somewhere in the desks compartments.
The Host snapped Their fingers, recapturing the audience's waning attention directed towards an animal eating ravenously.
"Now now, let's play a small game." They raised Their finger. "If we just keep rolling like this it'll be boring."
"I feel bored…"
The Host's skeptical face at the Assistants remark quickly shed in exchange for a more cheerful one.
"What's one thing you think I and the Assistant did in our lives? Actually scratch that, what aboooout, something about the forest village? Hm, maybe not that one. Theeeeeeeeeeen… favorite person? Totally me right?" The Host surmised. "Uhhhhhhhhhh. Hmmmm."
The Assistant picked at their teeth with the crushed bone.
"Ah. I really don't have any ideas today." The Host sighed.
"Only the next objective."
"Sorry guys. Can't think of anything fun. Guess I can introduce what the crackpots at BR made."
The Host lifted a device that eerily looked like a duct taped amount of C4 together with a keypad command on it's front.
"So like," The Host chuckled. "This here is the Time Reverser! Made a decision in the past you detest? Like that one movie of going back in time after nearly being lit up by terrorists, you too, can escape being sho–sh–shot in the bronxse!"
The latter of what The Host said was muddled with giggles and small short laughs.
"Like that memory thingy, we can delve into time! Cuz we're that good at being us."
The audience could feel what that meant. Not The Host's fickle and sly words.
"So lemme put…"
They punched a bunch of keys and once done waved it at the camera.
"Ya. here, so you press the numbers for time, the letters for place, and wa-bam! It works. Only has two downsides. It has to come from a visual medium."
The Host threw it at Evan Paris who was blankly watching.
Belatedly realizing, he caught it with his face while his hands fumbled to grab it.
"So, just point there!"
The wheel went under and the wide screen came down showing an outpost in a forest.
Evan Paris looked at the cheerful Host.
"What do I… press to…"
"Ah, uh, the big button with enter written."
A minor disappointed realization washed over Evan Paris.
Regardless, something eroded the order. A question from the past.
The spark and piece felt repulsion.
Unifying to get an answer.
"Sometimes, the easiest way to get cake is to make someone else do it."
The Assistant had no idea what The Laidback Host was saying, but still kept their mouth shut.
Speaking was the fastest way into getting in a squabble with negative gains.
There was also the other reason.
"Parizen! The foundation–? The financiers greatest start at scamming! Clearly. In that place, the 7th department worked their magic. Wait, was it… A-eanyway, one of the places to first encounter us! That sounds like we're aliens.
Parizen paves the way to the heartland of the Lantia Kingdom! There's many monarchies lurking beyond them. Your mission is…!"
Certain faces soured with the mention of the kingdom.
"...."
The smile faltered after finally looking at Evan Paris.
The Assistant ran their hand through their face with a snarl.
A trail of light surrounded The Host.
Hollow eyes slowly moved up.
The flesh around the right eye twitched.
— —
Argon Weischeld is generally a timid person.
Not exactly the person you'd think who'd get up close and personal. That's for the people who know her.
For those who only see the exterior and nothing else, they see a cold blooded warrior with a penchant for piercingly harsh eye contact.
The scar certainly doesn't help with the face she neutrally has.
Perhaps if she went bald, it wouldn't be annoyance but laughter.
As of now, the ceremony for the new recruits who'd be poached by the departments was underway.
And standing with others…
LTR Argon Weischeld.
Currently contemplating and freaking out.
For this kind of thing, it was more middle work for middle 'tier' as one guy would say. Or rank advisors.
For advisors who were one up above the departments, there were essentially two factions.
The support faction and the combat faction.
The combat faction is segregated into offensive and defensive offshoots which are then categorized based on intended purpose.
But generally it was roughly split into melee or range.
So it could be a defensive ranged Advisor or offensive melee Advisor.
The support faction is much more complicated.
A combatant Advisor excels in, well, combat advising. Though it depends on the niche of their weaponry and skills if the circumstances arrive rigidly.
The support faction has various roles for any lack of personnel required if it so comes to that.
From cooking to artisan work, they are the more called upon faction.
And are also the primarily paper desk job workers for the organization.
So technically, where Argon stands, is their job.
A Lowest Rank Advisor standing next to Low-Median-High Middle Rank Advisors?
The fidgeting and trembling horribly hid the nervousness sweltering on Argon's back.
Regardless of however much pressure and screaming internally she did, the ceremony in the auditorium continued.
"Most of you expect some conviction from this place. Some of you are correct. The majority of you have your head in the clouds."
The newborn watched the stage and the worsening complexion of Argon.
"You'll die. For causes you might not even agree with. Carry out acts that disgust the morally normal. Your will makes or breaks you. Do you matter much here? Hah! No. Don't like it? Get up and leave. I swear if any of you lot get pass this point and bitch and moan with whimpers about this or that I'll fucking kill you!"
The hinterlander slammed their fist on the podium.
Some pages flinched at the loud noise. The newborn felt emptiness. This entire place has a lack of care everywhere.
"You chose this as your job! Or what? Did you leave your brain at home with mommy? Feeling special yet? Don't give me shit for your stupid ass questions about what you feel! I'll personally shove my fist up your ass and tear you inside out if you get sentimental for anything! Do your Job!!!!!!"
The rage and hatred on the hinterlanders' faces disappeared as if it never existed.
"Congrats. You're now part of the A.T.G.U."
The hinterlander stepped away from the podium.
–Skreeee…
In that silence, the roof echoed something.
A hole of light punctured in the dim auditorium.
"Tsk."
Argon agonized on what's happening. Her brain overloading with heat.
–Duwoom!
Part of the ceiling cracked. Spreading until fully ripping itself into two as more light came in.
The woman in the jacket fell twirling a sword of blue ice. Quickly accelerating downwards.
Right before their feet touched the ground, the sword held in a reverse grip struck the ground.
A cloud of dust and ice particles flooded everywhere.
"W-What's–"
"Sigh…"
"Hehehahehehehahe…"
The pages backed away, disregarding their seats.
The Advisors got ready.
Slowly standing up, the woman in the jacket locked eyes with the newborn.
"Then I'll borrow…"
The vague movement was illuminated by the Blue Star deeply shining everywhere.
The Star split, a red hue covering half. The lines of blue on the jacket pulsed.
"Who am I? I am ME!!!!!!" they thumped their chest.
They roughly grabbed the blue sword and walked forward.
Left hand knocking their head over and over.
"Whew."
The Progenitor(?) smiled. They always smiled. Shoddy jokes on their lips.
The newborn grasped for the gun and fired.
–Ting!
"Ha-Ha-Harsh!"
The Progenitor(?) flicked the sword and blue ice spun out without effort.
The newborn dodged. Roughly landing on the ground. Swiftly aiming and firing several more times.
The Progenitor(?) lazily moved their sword slightly with awful grip.
—Click click!
She snickered with that maniacal smile.
"Hahahaha the end! The end the end! This is the end!" her head with her hand covering her face rolled backwards. "The end the end the end the end of EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!"
The world started to–
The world started–
The world–
The–
"AHAHAHAHA I CAN'T I CAN'T I CAN'T I CAN'T AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"
The manic reveled in hysteria.
The newborn quickly put in the new numbers.
"THIS IS MY WORLD!!!!! THE MORTAL OWNS ALL!!!!!!!!!!"
The newborn barely escaped the freezing ice.
The arm holding the lowered head returned to the normal position.
"You'll die here."
"..."
"Don't worry too much. All of you."
The soulless eyes of gold saw the star flicker a different colour.
"My responsibility after all."
Hearts of life heeded.
She?, they?
The Progenitor walked forward.