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The man who was Messiah stood in Ginza, alone and unaccompanied, a rare time when his fellows went on their own paths rather than accompanying him. His eyes were focused upwards, upon the stone dome that covered the city. Smoke swirled near the top of it, shifting strange colors and twinkling with light reflected from the buildings below. He still remembered what it had look like from above, this dark cavern of a city with a ground covered in starlight. From the bottom it felt different, no less mystical, but the dilapidated rubble and ruins became much more visible from the ground. This was no beautiful kingdom—it was broken and battered, scourged by war he didn’t know. Twenty-five years was not enough to recover or change, not with demons lurking behind every corner, forcing the inhabitants of this underground city even further underground, into brightly lit tunnels and crammed rooms, into the veins and capillaries of the city, instead of living in its’ heart.
A sad fate, he thought, for these people who deserved none of it. Humanity was trodden upon in ways it shouldn’t be, in ways it didn’t deserve, and it was all too common for that to be the case. Even Mikado was subject to such, yet another imperfect society.
But humanity itself was worth more, so much more that it was difficult to quantify. He wanted to protect them, to do his best to create an outcome that was the best for humanity. To end the interference of demons and angels so that humanity could stand on its own two feet, so that the people would be able to enact their will on the world.
Even Messiahs needed respite though, and sometimes Flynn would take the time to explore rather than accomplish any specific mission (although he had plenty of those under his purview as well). He had been in Ginza before, but he hadn’t spent much time aboveground, other than in Tsukiji Konganji. It was impressive, the streets a little broader here than they were in other parts of Tokyo, allowing more freedom to move and decreasing some of the typical claustrophobia that he was used to feeling below the Firmament.
What really caught his attention here was the rock. It sat in the middle of the square, a large unknowable thing, seemingly meant to be there, yet it gave off an aura of dissonance. It was sharp in some places, twisting around itself, silvery-black and shining in the electric lights and signs. It was smooth, but not reflective, and he found himself moving towards it, unbidden by his own mind, but even as he noted that, he did not halt his approach. His footsteps were loud in his ears, echoing with soft tip tips, until he stood right before the mass of stone.
A feeling dawned upon him.
It was like a bell, striking him deep, all the way to his core. A sort of familiarity, déjà vu, he had been here before. Something tugged at him, something of the past, even though he had never entered Tokyo until a few scant weeks ago. Somehow, sometime, he had been here, in this exact spot, years ago. Twenty-five years ago, in Tokyo’s time. Memories that shouldn’t be his and yet were flooded into his mind, spreading into his consciousness with a resolute smoothness, like they had been there all along, waiting for him to recall.
He had died here.
His fate lay here. His death was here, embedded in the rock, spreading to the Firmament.
For his entire life he had been walking on the bones of his past self, the stone of the place he was born to was formed by his own corpse. His own blood had been spilt to ensure that that world existed. And now, he stood at ground zero of his own death.
The past hissed within him, smoke seeping into his consciousness, a poison dripping down into a pool within his stomach. The dirge rang, echoing in his ears, fate doomed to repeat because he was unchanged. Still a Messiah, still a savior for humanity, still a man who would give all he could for the people. And he would, he realized dimly. He would give everything he could, all that he could, if it was necessary. And it would be.
And he knew. He knew that all he was meant to be was a stepping stone, a foundation for someone much greater. He was the rock beneath one kingdom and the sky above another. He was a protector, first and foremost, and he must, always, die.
He, as a Liberator would make the way for the Founder, the one who would forge the ideals of the next world, who would create it with his own hands using the foundation that Flynn laid down. This next person, this second Messiah, was the most important person Flynn had ever known. They were tied together, strings twisted by fate, doomed to continue until their mission was complete. A fated pair of dwindling stars, failure upon failure until success was reached, until their dreams became reality. This person was his other half, without him Flynn’s life would be rendered meaningless. They needed each other, and Flynn felt within himself the will to lay down his life to protect this person.
Somehow, all of this wasn’t new to Flynn. This was the strongest instance of this feeling, this Knowing, here before this rock, but he had felt like this before. This was the third time. The third time he knew of his own death, his own martyrdom. But there was no other way. It was his fate.
It was hopeless, but he could not reveal that. A Messiah was not distraught, not even when his friends faded away forever, both naturally drawn to opposite extremes. He stood in the middle, like the previous him that had died to the rock, following in his footsteps, waiting for when it came to be the time that he finally died to pave the way for the man who always came after. For the man who accomplished what he could not. For the man who he believed in more than he believed in himself.
Here, before the petrified stone of himself and Masakado, his own destiny was finally known to him.
The first Messiah had to die for the second to rise.
Time passed with this constantly tugging at the back of his mind, a Knowing he could not abandon. His awareness slipped with the passage of time, with the intensity of his duties, but it all ended up as he had known it would.
His death was less dramatic this time, and he wondered if it was a mistake to do this, to die to protect these two children rather than the whole of Tokyo. Would this be enough for the second Messiah to come? Was this foundation strong enough? It was no rock, but every life was important, every human invaluable. He hoped this choice was acceptable. It would be a relief, in a way, to acquire this quieter death, this soft passage into unconsciousness, this ignorance towards his own specific fate. Comforting, to lose this way.
--
He did not know until later that this death had been worthwhile, because the second Messiah had been standing right there. Unable to defend himself yet, not fully brought into his power, and he had needed his protector one more time before he would be prepared. He needed the foundation of seeing this Flynn lose to come into his own.
His sacrifice had mattered so that this boy could make the ultimate choice.
--
When Flynn next opened his eyes, he was vacant. Something itched, pulling at the corners of his mind, but he was hollow within. Focusing was difficult, and he quickly realized that it didn’t matter. He already knew everything he needed to know. He only had one purpose, to be a foundation for what was to come. To fight and defend and to kill for the only person who mattered.
To pave the way for Akira.