A Dark Seed

The air around it pulsed with energy, wisps of umbral darkness dimming its luster, absorbing light itself. It looked so beautiful in the shadows, the resplendent gold detailing of its casing highlighting the mystery of its penumbra. The weapon itself was well-polished, a triumph of design and engineering, despite the brass patina of its barrel failing to mirror the lamplight as it should. Everything about it beckoned Diana to touch, from its plush velvet bedding to the smooth surface of its grip. Claude stood beside the case with a pleasant smile, hands folded neatly behind his back.

"I hope this will help staunch your doubt. Consider it a gift—a show of goodwill for your cause."

Diana shifted her weight, uncertain. "What is it?"

"Based on your combat data from your time in the military, I have crafted a rifle befitting one of your skills. I have named it the Gloamspire Lance."

She hesitated, wary of the way his smile never reached his eyes. "Why throw your lot in with me? If you were looking to help the resistance, there are plenty of Automaton in need…"

They needed doctors; knowledge on how to care, mend, and even augment their bodies. That critical information had been sealed away within Imperial research facilities and the minds of their Alchemists. While Arisanna had been working tirelessly alongside the few Alchemists that had joined them, Claude's knowledge would be invaluable, and yet he only used it to fan the flames of war. There was a reason that he arranged this clandestine meeting deep in the heart of the Gloamspire Black Market.

At least this explained why he had addressed his missive to Diana, instead of their more diplomacy-oriented members.

"I am working in my own way within the Empire. Your Arisanna seems to have everything under control on that front, at least." Claude chuckled, "Ever since you defected, the tales of your sharpshooting have become a conflicting source of pride for us engineers."

Stepping closer to the rifle, Diana felt the air grow humid and dense. The darkness it emitted was oppressive, her heart fluttering nervously as she peered into its case. Claude was eager to explain how it worked to her, and it reminded her a little of Arisanna and the genuine joy she expressed when speaking about her experiments. If Diana found Claude's smile paper thin before, it had transformed into the picture of true happiness.

Just like when Arisanna spoke, much of it went over her head.

When he was finished, she was left with a loose picture of its capabilities. The weapon used dark energy to amplify emotions, enhancing her physical abilities and artillery in the form of curses. The thrill of battle would cause her bloodlust to surge, or seeing a comrade fall would fill her with enough rage to surpass her limits. While it had its detriments, Claude assured her the weapon was tuned to bring clarity to her senses, not cloud them.

It felt wrong. Emotions were not something to be manipulated, and she shouldn't need some sort of enhancer to keep her wits on the field. Claude's explanations had also focused on negative emotions; no mention of the joy of victory, bravery, mercy.

This was her heart—didn't it beat strong enough already?

"What if the emotions are too much?" Even now, Diana couldn't take her eyes away from it. "Even without a tool like this, people already lose themselves to rage or sadness."

"Perhaps in the hands of a weakling." Claude's voice grew strained, but she couldn’t guess why. “But I have made such weapons before to great success, I can judge who is able to wield it. I believe in your strength, Diana. In your sense of justice."

She looked up at him, finding no lie in his eyes. He had struck a chord, his words putting a name to the heaviness in her heart. Diana had arrived in this foreign world and found her purpose almost instantly because of that ideal. The Automatons deserved to live a full life, and Azoth deserved peace. Diana truly believed that if humans and Automatons worked alongside each other, the world would be better for it. Just like in her world, if they could only just—

Before her, the darkness pulsed to the beat of her heart.

Diana gathered all of her courage and turned away from Claude and the rifle. If he believed in her, then why did she need this? As long as she held fast to her beliefs, she would find the strength to uphold them through other means.

"I am grateful for the gesture, but I can't accept your gift." She hesitated. "However, we acknowledge your support. We'll be in touch."

"I understand. I'll keep it for you, should you ever need it."

With that, Diana walked out and into the night.

Spring at Dusk

Despite the distance between them, Tristan Halifax was as good with a dagger as any markswoman. The two had never met face to face, but Diana had heard the tales; the assassin with shocking red hair, a ghostly flame in the darkness. A portent of death.

Diana had failed to land a crippling blow with her first shot, thus disclosing her position. That mistake was all the assassin had needed to find her general direction and launch a dagger, the wind whistling as it passed by Diana's ear. She shot a couple more rounds, but Tristan seemed to almost blend into the shadows, deftly avoiding every shot with feline grace.

That was fine. The failure to stop her did not mean the mission was lost, and as Tristan dashed past the perimeter Diana defended, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Now she just needed to escape and hide her trail; no blood would be shed tonight.

She made it to a small clearing outside of the town limits before the wind whistled again. Diana recoiled away from the dagger's trajectory and scrambled into a battle stance. Her shoulder throbbed, and from her peripheral she saw a streak of red. The wound burned hot, then numbed instantly.

"Do you guys always play such lame tricks?" Tristan shifted into view from nothingness, her form warping the air around her.

"What do you mean..."

"Don’t even bother." She snarled, dropping closer to the ground as she prepared her daggers. "My pay only covers the goods, but I won’t pass up the chance for some payback!"

The weight of the pouch tied to her belt suddenly grew tenfold.

Behind her, the air grew humid and dense. The same shadows she had seen and felt around the Gloamspire Lance before were now nipping at her heels. Something was coming and she needed to dodge—Now.

Diana dashed to the side just as the air was sliced cleanly in half by a second, incorporeal assassin. She had been practicing moving about with shadows, even upgrading her rifle to help her channel energy more efficiently, but Tristan was on another level. While Diana could just barely augment her speed, Tristan was weaving clones from darkness itself.

"Ooh, impressive!" Tristan laughed again as her shadow jumped back, blocking Diana's escape route. "Maybe this won’t be as boring as I thought."

Her job had been to defend the perimeter of a resistance hideout. It housed most of Arisanna's research into the Automatons' processing capabilities, and even counted a reconstructed prototype of the Mercurial Heart among its stores. It was non-functional; a miniature replica merely meant to theorize how Claude could have constructed it to use the World Seed.

At least, the hideout used to house such things. Hours ago, they received intel that their location was leaked and to evacuate staff, so most of their research materials had been destroyed or taken by evacuees. Except for the fake Heart. After discussing it, she and Arisanna agreed it must be the work of the Obliviate. The research materials were of no interest to the Empire—they would have been bombed before they had learned about the leak, as learned from experience.

The Obliviate, on the other hand, had no team of Alchemists working for them, and little time to study themselves. No matter how badly they wanted to snatch the World Seed, they wouldn't know how without Arisanna’s research or Claude himself. It was an opportunity to face the Obliviate head on, maybe even weaken them significantly. Although she and Arisanna agreed that at least one Champion needed to aid in the evacuation, the other person could fight.

And so, Diana offered herself as bait.

Neither of them had expected a hired hand.

When Tristan brought her daggers close to her face, Diana noticed a familiar gold pattern shimmering underneath the thin veneer of skin; an Automaton arm. It was exuding darkness, its tendrils flowing around her daggers and clothing. Diana tried to match the faint patterns with a specific memory, but the corners of her vision were growing dark, and her injured arm felt leadened and numb.

She should have expected the dagger to be coated in poison.

Tristan dashed forward, her brilliant red hair a flash of fire in the moonlight. Diana shot in response, but the woman zig-zagged in strange patterns, guiding her muzzle to a certain spot before jumping out of reach. Even while impaired, Diana recognized the beauty of her dance, but there was no time to admire it. Behind her, the energy's pulse quickened, and Diana could feel how painfully slow her movement was compared to her awareness.

Diana doubled over as Tristan dug the pommel of her dagger into her stomach, a whirling tempest of shadows bursting from the hit. At the same time, she felt a weight drop from her hips; the leather pouch sliced cleanly off by the clone with a quiet schwing.

She tried to hit something—anything—with the butt of her rifle. It was useless. With her arm completely numbed and the shadows whipping against her, she lost all sense of direction. When the darkness dissipated Diana found herself on the ground, her rifle a few feet away, and Tristan’s heel digging into the small of her back. Craning her head, she saw the assassin checking the contents of the pouch casually.

"You can't take that! Don't you know that the Obliviate wants to destroy this world?!"

"Being a little goody-two-shoes usually doesn't pay so well, so I doubt you could buy them out for it."

"You'd doom everyone for money?!" Diana struggled under her boot pathetically.

"And what are you doing this for? For fun?!" Tristan stepped off Diana’s back with a rough kick, securing the pouch to her own belt as Diana coughed weakly. “Save your lecture for when you can actually back it up."

Diana dug her fingers into the dirt, trying to crawl toward her weapon with one arm. This assassin was right, though Diana loathed to admit it. She had hesitated when she saw it wasn't one of the Obliviate. She had turned down back-up earlier today when Arisanna offered. She had turned down Claude’s gift. She made too many promises, not realizing she wasn't strong enough to deliver on any of them.

From her blindspot Tristan kicked her side, flipping her onto her back. The poison was working its way through her body, her vision swirling with the sudden movement.

Tristan palmed her uniform for any remaining artifacts or documents, but she had nothing. Just some bullets she hadn’t even managed to load. "Now I feel like I overcharged. In the end it was just a trinket and a bad markswoman."

“If you live through this, you better not put up such a half-assed fight next time.” Tristan laughed mirthlessly, her Automaton arm pulsing with a furious dark haze as it held up the unused cartridge belt. “Pathetic.”

Then, her vision went dark.

A Black Bloom

"Thank you for meeting with me." Diana said, struggling to hold eye contact with Claude.

"Of course." He smiled as usual, his demeanor a perfect mask. "Did you need something from me?"

The question was a farce. Next to him was a table displaying an elegant wooden case, its edges inlaid with gold patterns. The same case he had brought to their first meeting—the Gloamspire Lance calling to her even within its ornate case.

She had been wrong. She wasn't strong enough. Diana had wanted to do things right, to rely on her own strength to enforce justice and save Azoth. A true Champion, just as the Grand Archive had believed she could be. And yet, losing to Tristan had shown her just how outmatched she still was, and to know that she used the same power Diana had turned down made it sting more. If Diana had wielded that same power, perhaps they would have been equally matched.

She might have even won.

Is power truly evil on its own? Should she use even darkness itself for good, could it not be called justice still?

"I—" She hesitated, before pushing forward. "I would like to accept your gift, Claude."

In that darkened room, Claude nodded. "It was always yours."


‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Art by Solis
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Written by apricot