Chapter Text
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Sōran, District 5, Unidentified Sector
Day 5th of the 7th month, Year MMXXX
12:00 A.M.
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20 years ago
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The end had come abruptly as soon as the non-existent sun began to set, as the chartreuse sky gave way to a midnight purple, as the tempest brewed one of the strongest storms ever recorded, as he was left deserted.
The grand prison, a symbol of legislation and a silent promise to the enemies of Seido, had been built 10 years ago, all financed by the Pyramid. It had been rightfully titled "The Maze" by the government. Every hall, every stairway, every jailhouse, they all locked the same. It was built to confuse, intimidate, and prevent events like these from happening. Yet, it was now he, its creator, who was stuck.
Metallic cells meant to restrain mayhem were broken open, freeing the mad captives, who, in a fit of rage, now chased their captor. As he made a sharp turn, he caught sight of the group behind him; they carried the old, rusted bars of the jail cells as weapons, along with the blade of his broken spear. All of them laughed and laughed, their sharp and low voices synchronized in a grim choir, akin to that of a pack of wild hyenas.
A single thought ran through his head,
What the hell were you thinking?!
“Commander? Sir?”
A voice rang through his helmet.
“ Sir! Can you hear me?”
“Second in Command Meiyo?” He spoke as he continued to run through what felt like an endless hall.
“Sir!”
The S.I.C yelled, and an audible exhale was heard.
“Where are you? We’re receiving alarming reports of activity from inside the prison-”
“S.I.C! Tell anyone who’s in the area to report to their sites!”
A shuffling noise could be heard, along with that of the clinking of a keyboard.
“Sir- The only person here other than myself is Lieutenant Nyūman-”
“Tell him to report immediately!” The commander yelled.
“Will do, sir-”
The voice of the S.I.C turned into static. The commander banged on the side of his helmet; the blaring static on grew louder, slowly pitching into a noise similar to that of a flatline.
“Dammit!” He yelled. His voice echoed through the hall, mixing with the laughter of the captives tailing him. He dared not look back, continuing to focus on his target.
At the end of the hallway was a white metallic door, whose paint had begun to chip over the years. It could be his only chance to escape, or the place of his possible tomb. He didn’t think twice before charging through the dual doors, leaving them swinging as he continued moving forward.
The new room was different, with brown walls adorned with windows, leaving purple light and light rain seeping into it. And alas, he could see a door with a white keypad.
He smiled behind his helmet as he ran with all the strength he had left, almost losing his balance on a broken tile. His hands reached for the keypad in haste, typing in the passcode he’d made sure to remember.
Freedom, he thought, freedom at last.
He smiled, waiting for the keypad’s small bulb to turn green. Yet, he saw only a bright red followed by a loud buzz and a voice saying “Passcode incorrect, please try again”.
“What? No-” He re-typed the passcode again,
And again
“Passcode incorrect, please try again.”
And again
“Passcode incorrect, please try again.”
And again
“Passcode incorrect, please try again.”
The commander shook the door’s handle, hoping that it would budge, but it remained unbothered with every futile attempt. He shook with more force, sweat forming at his brow as he heard footsteps growing closer to him.
“No-” His vision went from the keypad to the door. “No!”
“No, no no, no!” He panted heavily, his hands shaking as he tried to input the passcode once again. “Please!”
A static echoed through his helmet.
“Commander Lazek?”
A new voice spoke.
“Commander!”
“Who is this?!” The commander yelled.
“Lieutenant D.Nyūman. What's happening?"
Nothing came through.
"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"
“You- you have to help me!”
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Pure static blared through the speakers of the office.
“What the hell?” The lieutenant asked the S.I.C., “What happened?”
“I- I’m not sure-” The S.I.C typed quickly in his monitor. “We- we seem to be losing connection with the prison,”
The lieutenant moved closer to the monitors, trying to decipher what the confusing code was showcasing–it all seemed like endless gibberish. “How is that possible?”
The S.I.C typed frantically, “I-”
“How is that possible, Meiyo?” Nyūman asked once again, his voice picking up speed. “There are guardsmen everywhere guarding the damn power tower! How could we just lose signal like that-”
“I don’t know!” The S.I.C yelled, slamming his fists into the table below him. “I don’t know everything, Nyūman!”
The lieutenant huffed. “Could you at least try to connect to-”
“Goddamit, Dairou!” The S.I.C placed his face in his hands, rubbing circles around his eyes. “The connection is too low to do anything.”
Nyūman looked from the screens and the S.I.C.
“We- we-” The lieutenant rushed from his seat and retrieved his helmet from the table. “I’m going to the prison,”
“Are you insane?!”The S.I.C lifted his head from his hands, looking at the lieutenant with disbelief. “Without any connection, you’ll have no access to backup!”
“I don’t care,” Nyūman pulled the contracted naginata that hung from his belt, extending it to its full size with a swing. “I’m going, whether you like it or not,”
“Going there would be a suicide mission, you idiot!” The S.I.C yelled.
The lieutenant ignored the S.I.C, rushing out of the office without a second thought.
Silence filled the office as the S.I.C looked back at the monitors. He banged his head on the table, running his hands through his hair.
“Goddamn lunatic!” He yelled, his voice muffled by the surface below.
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Sōran
7th month of the 5th Day
.M.A 65:21
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Nyūman had traveled miles and miles, and he was sure that the terrain was playing tricks on him. He could hear voices similar to his comrades, yet every time he turned to look at the origin of the noise, there was nothing, only the barren wasteland that was Chaosrealm.
The worst illusion was hearing a voice that sounded similar to his. All the imitating voice did was laugh, and laugh; every laugh becoming higher pitched that the one prior.
It was unsettling, to say the least.
But then, what wasn’t unsettling about Sōran?
As he approached the gates of The Maze, Nyūman received a call from Meiyo. He clicked the side of his helmet, hearing a faint static before listening to the frantic typing of the S.I.C.
“Hello?” Nyūman asked. The typing continued and intensified. “Hello?”
“Gods, you’re still alive?”
“Very funny,” The lieutenant laughed bitterly. “I haven’t reached the prison, but I can see-”
The typing ceased, being replaced by a slam.
“Don’t go near it!”
“What?” Nyūman looked at the building; some of the windows were broken. “Why? The commander is still in there, I have to-”
Another loud slam was heard.
“That’s an order! Do not, by all means, go inside.”
The lieutenant backed away from the Maze; it wasn’t that he was afraid, it was just unnerving hearing his superior in distress.
“F- Fine, I won’t-”
“Good, now get the hell out of there!”
Static blared through the lieutenant's helmet, startling him further. He hit the side of the metallic piece, trying to get it to work again, yet the static only intensified.
“Gods!” The lieutenant exclaimed. He slowly backed away from The Maze, turning back to the path from which he had come.
The storm caused by the tempest seemed to worsen. The previously clear waterdrops became a deep shade of red, looking almost like a rain of blood. The lieutenant began to run towards the nearest portal, not risking getting any sickness from the strange rain.
As he walked, he could once again hear imitations of voices he knew. They all seemed to be uttering the same thing: “freedom.” Their chanting intensified as he stepped onto the yellow platform, mixing with the loud static emitting from his helmet.
He felt light-headed, and his heart beat increased at an alarming rate.
Everything only seemed to get louder and louder.
With every new voice that joined the chanting, the static seemed to grow more high-pitched.
Was the tempest’s rain causing this, or was he simply losing his mind?
At this point, he couldn’t tell.
Just as Nyūman was about to remove his headpiece, the static cleared, and the chanting diminished to a strange humming. He’d arrived back in charted terrain.
The lieutenant sighed in relief, his elevated heartbeat slowing down; the office was visible from afar. Soon, he could finally know what was happening with Meiyo or what happened in the Maze.
Just as he approached the offices, he received an incoming call. He clicked to answer without thinking twice.
“Meiyo? I’m already here. Why are you calling?”
Nothing came through.
“Very funny, Meiyo! But your attempts at scaring me are not working,”
The sound of loud panting blared through the speaker, followed by strange giggles that sounded muffled.
“Alright, this isn’t funny anymore. What’s happening?
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The commander ran,
And ran
And ran
And ran
And now, he was lost in some place he had no recollection of.
The hallway had no exit, with only one entrance.
He panted heavily, banging against the walls of the hallway.
“Goddamnit! Get me out of here!” He yelled out, his voice breaking with every word. “Please!”
His assailants entered the room slowly, all of them wearing strange brown cloaks, all standing in a crooked and inhuman way.
The hunt was over.
“No!” He cried. “Stay away- you- you freaks!”
The group laughed in synch, inching closer to their prey. The commander backed into the wall. He regretted not bringing any other weapon than that old spear. How was he supposed to know that any of this would happen?
His heart pounded heavily in his chest,
All of the air from his lungs was missing.
As the group got closer and closer, all he could hear was the sound of a flat line.
And as he was grabbed by what seemed to be the group's leader,
His blue eyes grew wide, and he knew
That everything he’d built had been nothing but his own grave.
This place would become his tomb,
And all he’d represent is shame.
He wouldn’t be remembered as a hero,
But as a total failure.
A fate far worse than death
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“Shit, shit, shit!” The S.I.C tried to connect to the Seidan Network. Yet nothing was working. “Come on!”
Nyūman remained startled, unable to move or say anything.
“Those- those bastards must’ve taken down the satellite-”
A sharp scream rang through the office’s speakers, startling the two guardsmen. The sickening sound of gnawing and sharp laughter followed right after.
The S.I.C removed his hands from the keyboard.
The lieutenant remained still.
The screams intensified with every wet chew and tearing of flesh from bone.
Meiyo felt a knot forming in his stomach as he reached for the speaker's cord. The closer he got to the device, the more deafening the sound was. He heaved dryly as he pulled the cord of the speakers, yet the sound didn’t go away; at least not to him. Meiyo felt the bitter taste of bile in his tongue, and before he could prevent it, he puked on the trashcan near his desk.
Silence filled the small room, silence at last.
Meiyo coughed wetly as he looked up at the monitors, typing mindlessly, his face filled with the purest of terrors.
Nyūman tried speaking, but his words were caught by a knot forming at his throat.
Silence was far better than words.
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Sōran
Day 5th of the 7th month, Year MMXXX
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Present Time
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The Legion of Clerics formed a circle around the tempest. The powerful glow of the tempest filled the sky with deep red clouds, which released small bolts of lightning. Today wouldn’t be an ordinary day. Today, the tempest required a sacrifice; if it wasn’t appeased, it would leave.
Hence, it required the sacrifice of a youngling. If it survived, they would be introduced into the legion; if not, its sacrifice would ensure that chaos would continue to rule over Sōran.
The young Sōrarian, chosen by the Legion, was walked by two clerics wearing black robes. He was to wear red robes for the event. The Great Haruspex, a woman wearing a white robe adorned with gold, carried the carcass of a barn owl with both hands, standing right in front of the tempest.
“Oh, great storm which watches over us,” She spoke with a trembling voice. “We bring the vessel of a vertebrate!”
The woman extended the owl’s carcass into the storm, watching it as it was consumed by the red light. The storm brewing in the tempest intensified.
“Now, we bring thee the blood of a youth!” The woman opened up her robe, pulling out a gold dagger with colorful gemstones. The ‘sacrifice’ was led to stand beside her, held in place by two other Sōrarians.
With one swift motion, the woman stabbed the dagger into the youth’s heart. The youngling cried, thrashing in an attempt to free himself.
“Now, now,” The woman soothed. They stabbed the dagger further into the sacrifice’s chest and began to carve a spiral. “You’ll be freed from your pain soon,”
Once she was done, the dagger was forcefully yanked, splatters of blood spilling into the Great Haruspex’s robe. She stored the dagger back into her cloth and turned back to the storm.
“Young Sōrarian, the tempest cries to you.” The woman placed her hand on the youth's shoulder, allowing the Sōrarians in black robes to let go of him. The youth stumbled, already lightheaded from the bloodloss. “And your blood it shall receive,”
“No!”
The youth’s plea was muffled by the Legion’s chanting, and he was pushed into the tempest. His body left the ground, being sucked in by a strong vortex within the tempest. His fully-white eyes widened upon seeing the decaying corpse of the barn owl, which seemed to approach him as if he were a magnet. The youth felt as if the breath was being sucked out of him as the carcass grew closer to him. He tried to scream, cry, fight back, but his voice and strength were nonexistent.
He wished for death.
The opening in his chest had widened into a much larger hole. He could see his heart floating around in the endless vortex, and soon, he saw more of his organs floating about in a spectacle of randomness. The open hole was filled by the barn owl.
He closed his eyes as he felt his skin begin to close around the avian carcass. The youth felt disgusted and soiled. He didn’t want a part in any of this. In this cult, in this sacrifice, in this realm.
He hoped he was dead.
The vortex’s spinning began to slow down. The youth felt slight relief, yet a deep feeling of emptiness overwhelmed him. It was as if every feeling he’d ever experienced was nothing but a lone lost memory.
He felt dead.
Before the ritual was finalized, a small glowing orb found its way into the tempest. It mixed in with the red, illuminating the area surrounding it with an aquatic hue. The youth’s eyes grew wide, and as it approached him, he extended his arms. The soul seeped into the crevices left by the opened skin and hastened the healing process. The youth felt a feeling of peace engulf him, which fought against the emptiness.
And finally, he was back on the ground. The Legion of Clerics stood around him, eyeing him with amazement.
“It’s a miracle,” The Great Haruspex spoke. “The vessel did not shatter!”
The Legion cheered, and the Great Haruspex kneeled before the youth and ran a trembling hand through his black hair.
She extended her wrinkly hand to the youngling. “I sense the chaotic energy between you; it’s all struggling for some form of control.”
The youth blinked rapidly, still unsure of how to feel or move.
“Yet, none of it is winning,” The Great Haruspex watched in amusement as the younglin’s eyes went from full-white to a glowing aqua. “You, youngling, have become a living vessel of chaos!”
The youth’s heart almost stopped.
“You’ll make a great cleric one day, Havik-”
“No!” He cried. “No, no, and no!”
The Great Haruspex gasped, and the legion stopped their cheering to stare at him.
“You do not mean that child,”
“I do mean it!” He cried once again. “I don’t want any of this!”
The member of the Legion shook their heads, and the Great Haruspex slapped him.
“Whether you like it or not, we are Sōrarians.”
The youth wanted to cry, yet he didn’t feel sadness or pain. He once again felt nothing.
“And we are to bring chaos into the realms!”
The youth pushed the elder woman aside and out of the circle of clerics that surrounded him. The Legion simply watched as he left, saying nothing. The Great Haruspex only laughed. “You’ve raised a great son, Sister Anarkh,”
“Why, thank you, Great Haruspex,” The referenced woman bowed before the haruspex.
“We seem to have made a great choice choosing your child for our sacred ritual.”
“Indeed you have,”
“But I’m afraid you know what must be done,”
“I do,” Sister Anarkh stopped bowing and stood straight. She walked past the Haruspex and started into the tempest.
“Then do it. Make us proud,”
Sister Anarkh smiled as she tore open her chest, prying out her heart and tearing it of its blood vessels with ease before throwing it into the tempest.
“,tsepmet taerg, hO” She spoke. “.lessev siht eeht gnird I”
The member of the legion made a circle around the tempest and began chanting. And Sister Anarkh finally jumped into the tempest. The crimson of her blood mixed with the hue of the tempest as she was disintegrated.
The cycle was now completed.
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