She had dared to love me; she, one of the Ancient Dragons, had actually dared to love a lowly human.
It was laughable.
And laugh they did, long and hard, and then shunned her from their close-knit society; every last one of them except for her brother, though considering his level of intelligence, or lack thereof, he probably didn't know better.
Blonds, go figure.
However they never disowned her, and they didn't bother or try to separate us. I guess the reasoning went that she could have done much, much worse than fall in love with a Priest of Ceifeed. A human Priest of Ceifeed, but a Priest nonetheless; a little lackey of one of the top administrators of that whole torrid system.
A Gold, of course, I worked under a Gold. They make the most wonderful beauraucrats, being the unbelievably uptight and anal-retentive folks they are. It's amazing that I got away with all that I did.
Perhaps it seems strange that the Ancient Dragons, the most powerful of the dragon races, left so much potential power in the hands of the Golds. But they preferred to devote most of their time to the arts of peace and war, such as sculpting, painting, weaponry, science, and magic. Golds you will always find behind an overflowing desk, among an impressive amount of important-looking work, in the midst of doing a "vitally important task", or some other nonsense, while the Ancients you will always find in the studios or labs creating, or in the fields trying out new inventions or spells. Which, incidentally, was how I met her.
I can still remember that afternoon, more than one thousand years ago, in that unnamed field now lost under the ashes of war. I'd picked up some strange traces of magic, and like the curious fellow I am, went to go poke around. As I got nearer, I realized one of the Ancients was working on a new Shamanist spell controlling fire.
And that was when I saw her, lit up by fiery sun and dancing blaze. An ethereal angel in human guise that was bending both wind and flame, bending those irrepressible, unconquerable elements that existed beyond time itself, to her will and whim. There, on that field, was fire incarnate; accented by shining garnet and gold hair that snapped and pulsed to the bucking wind, a trilling voice that crowed to the heavens in victory, and gemstone eyes that would capture and dominate all who would come in challenge; her whole form, figure, and stance shouting in defiance to every living being and outshining even that glorious setting sun.
And on that field, on that day, for one inexpressible moment, my heart forgot to beat, my lungs forgot to breathe, and my entire being forgot exactly how to exist, until she turned and looked and paused...and silently asked that I did...
Days turned into weeks turned into the months that became a year. And I hardly saw any of it pass, because I had captured my angel; or was it that she had captured me? We were together, and it was all that mattered, and I was so idiotically happy that I did not see the signs that I would otherwise have picked up.
And to this day I think that perhaps I should have never went to that field that day. She might have been elsewhere otherwise. She might have escaped. She might have survived...
The Ancients that past year had somehow acquired a weapon of immense power, and the Golds' eyes, which had already been simmering with greed and jealousy for countless decades, were suddenly lit aflame.
They were not called the "Gold" Dragons solely based on their color.
And so, these silly, absurd little Golds decided that it was high time to push their elders off their hard-won horde.
Perhaps you know of what followed. Or perhaps you don't; as some insist on not teaching, and others insist on not knowing, and still others simply refuse to believe that the schools of the Ancient Dragons, all their homes, all their buildings of learning, of training, of study, and of play, all became slaughter houses; bloody, gore-filled temples raised in tribute to the Golds' quest for power. And then everything was burned; buried and ground into the crying earth, too many closets full of too many bones shoved away from racial memory. I held my love early that one horrible morning, trying to stop her from going into hysterics, trying to convince her that it might somehow turn out all right. She watched from the reflection of clear spring water, as her brother was murdered while trying to protect his hatchlings. And she watched, with an ever- growing wish to not comprehend, and saw her brother's sacrifice splatter to the winds on the clear, sparkling blood of his blue-eyed children. Dead in the name of Justice and Light.
And they call me 'raw garbage'.
"The Ancients are becoming too powerful," they whined, "They have become corrupted and tainted with too much power! They must be purged! It's only Justice."
Justice, they say. That slaughter, all in the name of Justice. It is a tribute to my self-control that I somehow manage to stay smiling whenever our dear little princess rants. And it's a tribute to the state of my sanity that I can always somehow prevent myself from ripping out and crushing her voice-box every single time she starts preaching to me about "justice and love."
Justice. What justice is there, little princess, when that lovely being who had captured and kept your heart is murdered just because she was an Ancient Dragon, a race who had spat on her and shunned her the year before? When you are held down and forced to watch and hear your love being maimed and tortured for information she did not, and could not, have possessed? What justice, when they drop her bleeding, broken, and dying little body in your lap and leave without apology, explaination, or regret? What justice, little Amelia, when your head priest looks back over his shoulder while firmly shutting the door and, as a goodbye, orders you to "Clean up that filthy mess..."?
But she was still beautiful, late that morning, even as she lay dying there in my arms; her face cut, bruised, and bloody but still possessing that perpetual fire. And I held her, still naked, in our bedchamber, as I had held her that very morning before her tormenters had stormed in and yanked her from my arms; yet this time I could not say to her that everything would be all right. How could I? When, if it was not for me, she might have still been out in the hills or valleys somewhere, where she might have escaped. Instead she had been like a sitting duck, staying with me in one of the Golds' strongholds.
It was my fault. And I told her so.
Yet, to my surprise, her eyes held no regret. And she weakly protested when I had desperately tried to heal her, refusing to see that there was too much damage for even dragons to heal and refusing to believe that she was beyond hope. But there came a point where anything that I could do would only make her die faster, and far more painfully.
So, as much as I could, I numbed her pain, and held her gently to me in my arms; promising, over and over, that I would love her forever as she slowly slipped away.
I died that day, exactly one thousand and thirteen years ago, in too many ways to count.
It's ironic that the Mazoku have more justice than the Dragons. When you suceed, you gain power; fail and you gain pain.
Very, very simple. Very, very fair.
And I suceeded. A lot.
By the twelfth year I was the head servant under the Greater Beast, and immense power was opened to me. True, I had lost the ability to heal when I Turned, but then, there was no one left that I would want to heal anyways.
Along the way I gained a lot of power by my own right, and with the power boost that came from being both General AND Priest under Juuou-sama, I began to notice something that only the Mazoku lords, and to a very lesser extent their top servants, caused.
What I'm talking about, of course, is magic. Specifically, emitting magic and of the type that can be drawn from for use in spells such as the Dragon Slave and Garv Flare. Just as a person cannot stop the dust from swirling as they walk or the mist from shifting as they breathe on a frosty day, neither can the Mazoku lords prevent the magic their very existence kicks up.
Most of the other servants went directly from creation to the job of either General or Priest of whatever lord they served, and the magic they create blatantly reek of their masters' touch. I, however, with whatever advantage I had from Before plus the twelve or so years of clawing my way up to the top; well, lets just say that there was a surprising little side-effect to the whole thing.
Luckily it was not nearly as great as the magic that Juuou-sama produces or I wouldn't have been able to muffle it as much as I did. And the fact that both she and I can keep a secret helped.
And it wouldn't do to have too many people knowing after all; it would greatly spoil the surprise when I kill them.
You would not believe how delighted I was to get that assignment; you know the one that went "Kill the Golds, and lots of 'em."
True, the order came because they were upsetting the Balance, but that wasn't important. What was important was that they will finally regret what they did, for killing all those Ancients, for killing her, and......awww, who am I kidding? They'll never regret anything.
And since they refuse to cry tears for what they have done, they will cry blood.
It was a lovely day. Beautiful. A perfect day for a golden, blood-tinged, rain to fall from the sky. The silly Golds had snorted when they saw me smiling, and you could just see them think, "Oh it's just a silly, little, human-looking thing..." as they smirked and took to the air.
And as they flew towards me and the Mazoku under my command, I called on the spell I'd crafted from my own essence. Very long, very sharp crystals appeared at my thoughts, pointing at the flying Golds, floating over my head.
The Golds paused uncertainly.
The crystal suddenly exploded into a fine mist and those droplets of light streaked towards the dragon horde.
Silly, silly things; they stopped fleeing once the first of the needles of crystal hit them and they felt only a pinprick that did not even draw blood. They laughed and turned back, advancing into the mist, heading towards the Mazoku troops once more.
What they did not know was that the needles were still lodged in their insides, almost impossibly thin and small; lodged in muscle and tissue, organ and bone. Every single dragon unknowingly held countless crystal shards beneath their skin, hundreds upon hundreds of those tiny, bladed daggers. And just as victory seemed within their grasp, I set those daggers spinning, 'round and 'round, like so many pinwheels.
The Golden sky burst into fireworks of warm, crimson rain. How perfectly lovely.
The attacking golden tide stuttered and started collasping in on itself, the screams of dragons filtering through torn, floating, golden feathers to claw at the unrelenting sky. I couldn't help but smile as those exquisite golden feathers drifted to rest on twitching heaps of dragon flesh.
Gorgeous.
I picked my way carefully through the carcasses, looking for the owner of the one set of crystal blades that I did not yet set spinning.
There was some coughing nearby. Haunted, clouded, eyes looked around itself as it gazed at the slaughter. "Look familiar?" I asked pleasantly, eyes closed, smiling.
The creature, stuck under a fallen comrade, just blinked at me.
"Who...?"
Oh, it doesn't remember. Of course not, of course not. Why would he (...no, not "he", the Golds have already lost all possible claims to humanity) why would it remembered me? Would it even consider me as significant as, or value as much as, these dried flakes of blood on my hands? It stared silently with growing comprehension at the falling flakes of reddish-brown.
"Murderer." The dragon spat.
"Oh really?" I struggled to keep the smile on my face, struggled to keep my teeth from grinding in anger and making itself known.
"Heartless, cold bastard..."
"Yes; if you wish to call me that." I reply lightly, cheerfully.
It glared. "Namagomi Mazoku," it muttered.
Stay calm. Breathe slowly, look innocent. Smile. "I'm 'namagomi'? My my...well, I guess I must believe you because you should know. You know what they say, 'Trash knows trash.'"
Oh, if looks could kill...but then, I'm already dead. However, we've already gone over that, haven't we?
"Me?! TRASH?! I'M A GOLD DRAGON!!", it roared.
"Yes. And Gold Dragons are so noble, aren't they?? So brave and courageous and just. The epitome of all that is good and right, ne?"
It seemed to think for a moment, and then raised it's head up arrogantly. "Kill me then. Now. You've won. You've killed all the others."
"Kill you? Oh no no no no!! You - , I have something special reserved for. Maybe later though, if you really want." I smiled pleasantly and turned to leave. I had held out salvation, and he spat at my feet; I offered an ear, and he filled it with insults; I gave him a smile, and he gave me screams; I held out, under the circumstances, with more paitience than he was possibly worth, and was returned with nothing but scorn. Oh well, the needles were all still in place. "My my, do pardon me, it's been so nice meeting you again but I really have to go! Stuff to do and people to torture and all that. Do have a nice life, and organize the Golds a bit better next time, hmm?" I teleported away.
That silly Gold actually thought he defeated me; he thought he defeated me with his confidence! Aren't they just so amusing?
The next day I wiggled some of those needles still inside of him. He coughed up blood that day and found he could not use his left hand.
Over the course of a year, he aquired a constant throbbing migraine that somehow led to his deteriorating eyesight, suffered from internal holes, causing hemorrage in his lungs and internal organs, lost the use of the left side of his body, and continuely coughed up blood and bits of his throat.
The doctors could do nothing. Besides, it was never so serious that he died, the accelerated natural healing of dragons took care of that.
And then, a year or so later, all symptoms disappeared for about a week. During which he gained the hope that his ordeal was over.
That hope was very, very fun to squash; and I can safely say that I was extremely amused for the next 128 years or so.
After 128 years I got bored and broke my toy. He should thank me, I think.
But no, really, truthfully, there was no more purpose to the revenge. What use is revenge, when you finally learn hope?
You see, that year a very jellyfish-brained man was born, a man who would eventually found the Gabriev family. A very jellyfish-brained man astonishingly similar to a very jellyfish-brained Ancient Dragon I once knew, brother to someone that I loved dearly; a jellyfish-brained human was too similar to that brother in every way, shape, and form to be simply coincidence.
I would almost have to say he was resurrected.
And if he got resurrected, couldn't she be resurrected too?
You understand now? So for the next couple of centuries as I occupied my time with nothing much at all, I waited.
Do you know that I don't even remember her name from Before anymore? Not that the name matters; it was just an identification tag that those administrative Golds gave to her when she hatched, just like the one they gave me when I was born. But the name they gave me doesn't matter anymore, I'm just Xelloss Metallium now. Just as she is Lina Inverse.
Funny how the dragons still have a hold through her, through her sister. But I'm helping her break free.
Every adventure makes her stronger, gives her experience, gives her skill. And if I must lie to her to keep her strong, to keep her safe, then so be it. And if I infuriate her in the process, then at least I'm near her, if not in her arms. That perhaps shall come later, when she is brave enough to hear her sister's name without shaking, when she powerful and skilled enough to hold her own against that phantom fear she keeps. Only then is it safe enough for her, to be with her, because I'm Mazoku now, in case you haven't noticed, and when those idiotic Golds decides to go all noble and moral and vindictive on her, only after she has the ability to battle her fear will she be able to survive. And survive even if I somehow couldn't help, like I couldn't help the first time; may it remain the first, and only, time...
But only then, when she's strong enough, will I ask her if she remembers from Before. Only then will I ask if she still loves me. And if she knew that I still loved her, throughout all of the past one thousand and thirteen years.
Love, you exclaim. Mazoku can't love! you say. And who exactly told you this, hmm? A lil' gold dragon? True, we feed off the darker emotions, but who or what's to say that we can't feel the lighter ones as well? Oh yes, yes of course. The Dragons said so; those little hatchling Gold Dragons that I had spared - about 1000 years ago.
Well then, let me ask you, do the dragons hate? Do they feel anger? Jealousy? Fury? Desolation? Arrogance? Greed? Do the dragons feel this with the hope, compassion, happiness, mercy, and love that their reputation normally proclaim?
Yes?
Then who's to say that the Mazoku aren't the same? Who's to say that Mazoku jealousy overrides Mazoku happiness; that our arrogance overrides our compassion, that our greed overrides our mercy? Who's to say that Mazoku can't love?
Oh yes, yes of course, the Dragons. The Gold Dragons. And Gold Dragons always, always, tell the truth, don't they?...don't they?...
But, then I'm not trying to ridicule you; you go ahead, believe the Dragons. After all, why shouldn't you?
Anyways, back to the subject, I will tell dear Lina-chan of my (dare I say it people?) love only when she is ready. But till then, being near her is enough.
And it doesn't matter that she strangles, fireballs, and otherwise try to inflict bodily harm on me because if that pain is the price of being near her, if burning is the price of being near that beautiful, ever-lasting flame, then so be it. No regrets, not ever.
Well, I take that back. I regret my lies to her; but then, these lies are necessary.
One day however, I will tell her everything. And then offer her immortality as a Mazoku, and if she refuses that, there are other ways...
But till then, I'll let her live as she does now, carefree, happy. She is happy with her power, she is happy with her adventures, and she is happy with the rest of her companions; and I'll guard this happiness. I'll wait for her. Because I have more than enough time and patience.
I can wait.
Because I am near her. And she is happy.
It's all that matters.
Yay! All warm and fuzzy now! ^-^
A bit OOC perhaps, but I tried to give a reason for it...and besides, it was all in the mind anyhow and who could tell exactly what makes the Trickster tick? The show never DID reveal anything conclusive...
...but anyways, comments?? criticisms?? anything?!?!