Part I: Precursors

by Auryx Saturnius

Second Interlude

It was the first time since he could remember that Vicar had a full night’s sleep. Like everything else around him in this world, it was full of complications, but he didn’t care. He had to sleep on an infirmary bed, but it didn’t matter: he could keep an eye on Crescent Star for Twilight. The bed and blankets were too small, but he didn’t mind: he found the room warmer than he would have liked anyways.

The only thing Vicar really wanted was peace. He wanted to be caressed by the clouds of the dreamscape. He wanted to feel the touch of his dreams and memories, all lost to his consciousness everywhere except there. During his conversation with Celestia the previous night, she had on multiple occasions mentioned how his memories could be found, slowly and painstakingly, through the dreamscape. Vaguely, she explained the power that comes from the mind through that dreamscape: how the imagination and creativity of sentience could affect the real world through dreams and wishes...

The world he had surrounded himself with was similar to the one he was in the first time only a few days earlier. Swirling around him were clouds of energy, fogging around him lazily like bees in smoke. The only difference, however, was him. He was more aware of who he was, what he needed to do. Now, he was Vicar Saint, and he needed, no, wanted, to help Celestia with this dangerous problem.

Dong!

His eyes widened as the feeling of painful weightlessness rose in his stomach and throat. It reminded him exactly of what he felt when he saw the vision of the desert, Molotov, and the machine. Pounding in his head, eventually forcing him to shut his eyes, the continual sound of a tolling bell...

Dong!

Dong!

Dong!

Dong...

Seven more times, the ringing of a solid metal bell echoed in his mind, his effort of dulling the sound doing nothing to stop the ear shattering pounding. After a total of twelve concise hits, the ringing finally stopped, giving him the chance to once again open his eyes and collect his bearing.

The world around him had changed dramatically. The gentle violet glow of the cloudy dreamscape had been replaced with the soft orange glow of lamplight reflecting on marble and wood. The room was smaller in comparison to the infirmary, with large, cleaning cut openings into the warm night air outside. Hanging from a vaulted ceiling, large curtains of violet, white and gold flowed down towards the top of the cut windows, perfectly stretched and spaced. In the center of the room, much to his confusion was a large tub filled with clean and clear water, hinting at a bathhouse or washroom of some kind. But the stranger part was who was standing opposite of him, who, much to his shock and happiness, was another Reclaimer, as the cleric liked to call his kind.

He was apparently much, much older than Vicar, but it was clear that they were of the same race and species. The older being, covered with a robe of white and violet, ornate with gold details in similarity to the curtains, looked down at the floor quietly, as if pondering at a thought. He was frail in his old age, seen by the robe hanging over him as well as the presence of two servants, one tall and young while the other pudgy and older, ready to help in any way.

To see with physical proof another being of his species became too emotional for Vicar. It made him tearfully happy to know he wasn’t alone, wherever he was from. Unconsciously, he found himself lifting his hand to his face and wiped at his eyes, before pausing with a tear running down his palm.

He moved. He physically moved his body during a vision. After failing to do so the first time, Vicar had assumed it to be impossible, but yet here he was now staring at the tear he removed with his hand... his hand: not someone else’s... his own.

“Is everything alright, Lord Didact?” A scratchy mechanical voice came from behind him. For a split second, he thought the voice was speaking to someone else, but he soon realized otherwise, instead thinking of what to respond with.

“I’m fine,” he heard himself say, “I am simply proud of my friend here...”

His heart sank a little at his answer. Even in his own body, he was a stranger. He didn’t move his hand at all, only perceived he did through circumstance... His tearing joy, while still the same for his memory, seemed to sour into sadness for him in the present... still only an observer. The memory of his former self, however, wasted no time as the slight shuffling at the door brought their combined attention forward.

Carried by two aides of a similar structure, was a different being entirely. He stood crutched between them, but it was clear that this alien was taller than anyone present in the room, standing at what he could only estimate as around seven-foot-something. His hair was cropped against his sweaty skin, a glossy raven black covering a brown tan that seemed almost armor-like, yet still flexible and soft like skin should be. His clothes were also that of robes, but of a more oriental style compared to the older Reclaimer, with blue detailing a larger white. It stuck to his skin with purple stains of blood, his face covered in gashes and cuts that seemed to only be the tip of the iceberg for his injuries. The largest cut, sliced straight down his eye, which was more or less unharmed, but paler than the right one in greyness.

As he was half-led, half-carried into the chamber, his memory-self bowed slightly in his presence. “Are you sure this should be done so hastily, your Supreme Highness?” His voice was firm and sober to match the mood of the situation. “It has only been a couple days since your victory and your wounds haven’t even remotely begun to heal...”

The creature raised his head so he looked straight at him, firm in gaze. “I have wasted forty years, my friend, for the true grace of God. This shouldn’t wait any longer... Holy Father, if you are ready.”

The older being stepped forward and bowed his head. “Do you have a godparent and sponsor, Emperor Vadamus?”

The emperor nodded and looked at Vicar’s former self once more. “You have told me what the power of God can do; long before anyone else had... it is only fitting that it be you... old friend...”

“As you wish, your Supreme Highness.” His memory bowed his head to the monarch and watched as the Holy Father and aides led the emperor to where he could enter the tub.

“Thor Axi Vadamus: you have decided to become a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. Do you believe in one God, the Father the almighty, creator of the heavens and of the universe?”

“An avai,” he answered in his native tongue. “I do.”

“Do you believe in Jesus Christ, the only begotten son of God, born of the father before all ages?”

“An avai.”

“Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, the lord the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son, who with the Father and the Son is adored and glorified?”

“An avai.”

“Do you believe in one, holy Christian church: catholic and apostolic through Jesus Christ?”

“An avai!”

The Holy Father gestured for him to come forward. The emperor did so, his servants removing his robe to leave only a loincloth and bare skin, covered with numerous wounds that have yet to be healed. He confidently stepped into the water, warm and relaxing to the touch, and leaned against the edge with his shoulders and neck. The Holy Father placed his hands on his head and with a gentle push, dunked the emperor so he was fully immersed by the water. After a second or two, the emperor’s head surfaced once more, splashing water around him as the Reclaimer leaned his head back and, using his thumb, traced a cross on his forehead.

“I, Pius XII, now baptize you, Emperor, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

In that brief moment, Vicar felt a feeling of pure happiness and joy that he was unable to explain. Through some strange reason, this ceremony, which he couldn’t remember anything of or about, had made him feel more at home and as himself than anything else... he wished that nothing could change, that this moment could last forever...

‘But the Marker changes all...’

His mind became assaulted with white noise as the world around him took on a harsh red tint. The feeling of happiness and joy was shoved aside and broken into millions of irretrievable pieces, a feeling of fear and anguish by a sense of malevolence replacing it. The room dissolved into a land of chaos and entropy. The pain and anguish of sorrow seeped into his soul, swirling around him in a taunting dance of hatred. Hideous chimeras, grotesque and disfigured creature, charged and assaulted his physical self, drawing blood and caused his heart to race.

As the torment of his ghastly nightmare continued, he cast his eyes out and spotted what was a far off light. Steadily, it grew in brightness and size, blinding the creatures that attacked him. In a single burst, the light exploded out and repelled the malevolence to reveal... Princess Luna?

It was undoubtedly her, the crisp colors of blue and black with the tapestry of the heavens flowing from her hair proving it, but her form was not of an alicorn. Whether it was due to his subconscious or by her power, he wouldn’t and couldn’t be able to tell, yet she stood before him undeniably as he was: a Reclaimer. Her two legs were covered by a pair of polished black boots, tucking in the pants to a beautifully royal uniform: matching her nightly and lunar excellence with a military showmanship, while at the same time by not removing her feminine being through the show of distinct curves. Flowing from her shoulder, under her hair, was a cape as black as night, adding to her majesty as a matriarch.

With her image, the world around Vicar lost its grip on the chaos, re-establishing order’s dominance by creating an empty stone room. He cowered on the stone floor as Luna, tall and mighty, stood in front of the room’s only window, shadowing him from the moon’s brilliant light.

“Dear Vicar Saint,” her voice was smooth and clear, like mercury, “are you well? I know not what happened, but your nightmare was a severe threat to your safety and to the safety of the dreamscape.”

“Y-your... your Grace...” Vicar tried and was unable to find the words to say, so Luna came forward and shushed him.”

“Speak not, stranger from the mines: save your strength for the trials ahead.”

Vicar reached up and clasped Luna’s finger, removing it from his lips and holding it firm in his palm. It was strange; to feel the touch of another like him, after all he could remember was different. “What do I do now?”

She looked down at him and smiled mother-like. “My magic will wake you up and it will feel like you were experiencing a nightmare.”

Luna extended her hand and offered to help the stranger up, which he readily accepted. With a strong tug, he was lifted onto his feet, standing a couple inches taller than the princess herself. She cleared her throat, “There is only one other thing you need to know before I send you off, Vicar Saint.”

“Yes, your Grace...”

“Luna...” she spoke peeved.

“I’m sorry... Luna?”

“It’s not blood...”

Vicar leaned back confused. “What?”

Before he could get an answer, the lunar princess snapped her fingers, dissolving the dream. Vicar himself shot up from his position on the infirmary bed, the wisps of dreamscape removing itself from his mind as he grew wide awake with slight terror and confusion. He could remember everything from the dream, and the more he thought about it the more confused he got at what it meant.

“It’s not blood...” she told him.

“Well, it took you long enough to wake up...”

Still startled by the experience, his eyes darted around for the source of the voice. His eyes settled on the corner where the only other resident rested coolly with a look of absent boredom.

“Crescent Star...”

Comments

[Shadow-Dancer]

im slightly confused on all that LOL