Harmonic Torture

[Harmonic Convergence]

"Why are we meeting with these people?" Arcana asked. Her wings fluttered in the mockery of a nervous twitch. Metal feathers rustled agaisnt one another in a sharp chime making her inwardly cringe. Her clockwork body was still in its trial phase, only barely a quarter of a year into it. It took time to get used to the idea of not being in a flesh and blood body. Where her heart once was, now a timing belt and gear rotated. Her body's muscles were made up of mettalic discs refolded several times for strength. Her figure was humanoid, and she felt a certain tingle in her mind to be so aware of everything around her.

Yet she wished she wasn't so aware of the diplomatic mission she was asked to join. Next to her, a sevenfoot tall warrior humanoid mettalic creation regarded her with a quick glance. His facial features were lacking, showing nothing but a calm, stern look impossible to read. That was nothing new to Arcana however, as she had grown up with Clockwork vessels her whole life.

"I don't know," the soft reply came. It was warm, inviting, and womanly in it's tone. Her best friend and caretaker growing up was her protector now, Arcana was silently grateful that even in the face of her newfound duties, her childhood guardian and now bodyguard still didn't treat her like a child. She spoke her mind clearly to anyone who would ask for it, but knew her place in the great cog of the Cult of Clockwork. "But know I will protect you with my all, little Ari,"

Arcana nodded to her, looking to the diplomatic clockwork man before her. His vessel was polished titanium, a symbol of status in their Cult. He was chosen for this meeting, and he asked for Arcana to join him so she could get field expierence. Reluctantly, it was a request that was granted. The head of the delegation rotated to face them, his feet still walking forwards as his axis turned.

"You two whispering rumors again?" He was one of the few vessels with a mockery of a mouth, smooth tiny folded panals that blended seemlessly to produce a mettalic mouth. He smiled to them, slowing his pace. "We are not one to give into the status of the world. We are learners, scholars, and tinkerers. Our small Cults spread like the inner workings of a clock all across the globe. To worry about the affairs of the living is simply no longer our priority. Just our continued research and scienctific breakthroughs as well as the mathmatic equations of magic and the study of mettalurgy. We were approached by these people with the attempts to harbor a bridge between each faction. I am to assess and facilitate a quandry to see if such an alliance is worth the investment on our end."

"But...what possible science could a Cult of Blessed Torture have for us?" Arcana blutered loudly. There was a small tension building silence before the diplomat, Hanagan, spoke with measured control. It seemed even he had trouble seeing the wisdom of such an encounter.

"I admit, not much," he started slowly. "But they do have ancient texts and relics that they agreed to allow us to study to our hearts contents in exchange for some basic blacksmithing techniques."

"Then why such a clandestine meeting?" Meredith spoke up. "It reeks of suspicion and I for one do not like it." She gripped her steel spear in her hand tighter, the leather gripping creaking audibly in the air. Hanagan had no reply to that. He merely gave a muttered response, a trained response. The Father of Iron, leader of the Cult of Clockwork, had decreed it. There really was nothing to debate.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, thoughts elsewhere until they reached the clearing in the middle of Corone's Concordia forest. As promised, the Cult of Blessed Torture sent one represenative. The daughter of the so-called Dark Mother, Aerith Remi and her attendant Samantha Dahlios. She was shackled by heavy iron chains to the chair, and with a grunt of effort she pushed the wheels forwards.

"Good morning," Aerith said, her teeth flashing in a brilliant white smile. "Shall we begin?"

[Requiem of Insanity]

Aerith didn't like them at all. Instantly her face hovered in a fake smile to hide her distaste for their bodies. Clockwork humans, as her mother had said. They offended her somehow. It was probably the lack of blood they would never spill, the fact they would never scream their praise to the Dark Mother and join her Requiem. But she knew she had a task, and one that she felt confidant in doing.

Despite the severe injury occured on the night of debauchery by the hands of Sei Orlouge, Aerith never felt more alive. Being imprisoned to her wheelchair, breathing on death's door mere weeks ago had opened her mind to bigger picture. To witness such a beautiful thing as her mother's ascension was now her growing priority, and the clarity of Death gave her the will and determination to see it happen. Her piece of the chessboard was clearer to her now. Aerith was her mother's voice. She would be the Word of Blessed Torture, and the Queen of the Forgotten.

"Hanagan, 'tis such a pleasure to meet you good sir!" Aerith burst out with a reserved open mouthed smile, her head tilting in joy to meet someone she had coorsponded with via messengers. She genunenly made efforts to sit upright, faltering once or twice. Samantha Dahlios adjusted her chair pillow at her back, slinking into the background until her chains pulled taught three feet away.

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied. His mouth moved like a humans, and it unnerved her considering she couldn't hear the pulse of a heartbeat emenate from him. "I do hope you understand that pleasntries aside, we both have places to be and things to acheive. Shall we just cut to the chase and be on our ways?"

"But of course," Aerith spoke with joy, as if eleated that someone understood her time was valuable, but not wishing to rush the opening plays of neogotiation. "We are in need of armor and weapons for our endeavours, and my mother tells me that your forges can produce them faster than anyone in these parts."

"Most likely, as our smitheries are constantly running, but we never really have tested mass production of weapons before. I doubt, however, that the adjustments will be a major problem for us."

"Yes I'm sure," a hearty laugh filled the air as she pulled out from the satchal on the side of her wheelchair a stack of folders. "Each folder is a serperate work order we need created, and descretly shipped by you to our various locations. We come to you because you seem to operate behind the world's gaze. A trait we desperetly need these days, what with the militaries of the world opening hostilties to our Cult."

There was a moment of pause, and Aerith let her teeth dip into a wolfish smile. She let the thought pickle into their minds. There was hesitation, before Hanagan spoke again with measured care. "I do ask this with all tenderness, but we are a blunt people. You have us fill out these orders, what guarentee do you have that you will not drag us into your wars? We have no need for them, as the petty squabbles of the living mean nothing to us."

"I don't," Aerith said quickly with a wry grin. "Of course you know I cannot guarentee you such safety. We are a blunt people too, Hanagan. I could promise you that we work in shadows, covering our tracks triple times, and making sure nothing is left behind. I could easily promise you that your people will have no links to us. But what really do I have to assure a people that their lands and homes will not be tied to the Cult of Blessed Torture?"

Aerith paused for a moment, smiling. "Obviously, I don't. You run the same risk we do for associating with you. We don't know you couldn't sell our information out to the highest bidder. Share our hidden locations with the Ixian Knights or their allies. For all we know, you set us up in a trap. But you see, Hanagan, we are in a different buisness than most people. We have no guarentees we do not make for ourselves. We instead have faith."

"Faith is trust in the unknown, but we do not deal in the unknown." Hanagan smiled to her, a rehearsed line of a scientist who boldly refuses religions. "We deal in facts, mathmatical probabilities, and equations. Theroms are our Hymms, Scientific Methods our Praise, and expierments our reward."

"Then you would appreciate," Aerith spoke softly, but interjecting herself. "That statiscally, no matter what, there are odds we can be linked to each other. But if we do not go with faith, then we go with the gap that we both have in common. We may believe in Faith in my mother's name, and you in science, but we both have one trait that we share good sir."

"And that would be?" Hanagan said, amused at the philosophical debate between the two. Aerith let out a soft snort of amusement.

"Was it not obvious? We both take risks, Hanagan." Aerith let her teeth show again, as if this should have been obvious. Hanagan cracked a smile and nodded.

"Very well," he said assuredly. "Then what do you offer that is worth the risk?"

Aerith patted the side of her satchal. "We have in our possession an ancient text regarding the housing of Souls. Very likely a text of the great work your founders have built upon. It predates the demon wars, and if my mother is correct, your people have only recently been doing transference for the past six hundred years. So you know this tome is old enough to help with your process to place souls in clockwork vessels. In addition, the tool to use such magic is also in our possession, one we will allow you to study and learn from." There was a heavy tension that filled the air as the three clockwork people remianed quiet.

The angel looked to her as if she was mad, and despite they having no human characteristics, Aerith was born with the gift to read people. She could tell they were uncomfortable. The lead delegate stepped forwards. "The research done in our Cults name was radically changed from the theories provided before hand. I am intrigued what you have, but also regret to inform you such a thing, if I believe it to be true, is the antithesis to our great work."

"Oh?" Aerith said, smiling deeper. Despite being in a wheelchair she could feel taller and stronger than the man before her. He quivered back, as if suddenly aware of something. "I had no idea you changed methods. The tome in my possession is the Oria Ab Glarera." She waited for the words to fester in his mind.

"That's the book of the dead!" he shouted in outrage. "That's necromancy! That is against our tenents!" He struck the air with his hand before him. Aerith still smiled, completly in control now as she leaned back. "You...You knew this all along!"

"That necromancy is forbidden in your clockwork quilters guild?" Aerith looked to her nails for dirt, suddenly uninterested in the man before her. "Of course, but you will be happy to know our mother is a success story thanks to such practices."

"That book is an abomination to the world and should be destroyed. I have half a mind to do so now, but I will honor our non-aggression pact. Leave this place at once Aerith Remi of the Cult of Blessed Torture. You and your people are not to deal with us. We refuse to deal with such atrocities."

"You see," Aerith said tapping her finger on her chin in thought. "That's not why I came here. I had a different reason for meeting you. The Cult of Blessed Torture has need of you to continue mother's great work. We don't need armor and weapons," she chuckled. "We just need you"

[Harmonic Convergence]

"Lord Hanagan step away from her instantly!" Meredith shouted as her nine foot steel spear pointed down at the small woman in the wheelchair. Arcana's wings fluttered open and she took to the sky, eyes focused on the woman. Aerith gave off a dark chuckle, as if this was all a game and the conclusion was on the wall. The woman's attendant, Samantha pulled on her chains with a gruff roar, the links never tied tightly. The chair pulled back along the ground while Samantha began to spin giving her weapons momentum. In moments the chain wrapped around Hanagan's neck and arm. He pulled against the bonds, his gears whirling in protest as he fougth to anchor his control. The white haired girl rotated her leg and stepped on her chains, pulling the weight down sharply. Hanagan fell to the ground with a shout as he fought to get to his knees.

Meredith stomped forwards, her heavy tread kicking dirt and leaves up behind her as her spear aimed for Aerith's heart. When she was in range a dark shadow flashed in front of Arcana's eyes, a winged angel of flesh and blood screeching in rage landing before the wheelchair with enough force to create a small crator. Samantha released her chains to rescue Aerith's Wheelchair before it fell backwards, and Hanagan fought to free himself as Meredith came back around after being repelled.

The newcomer lifted with brooding features, eyes bloodshot and axe held in hand. The material was clearly enchanted as Arcana assessed the weapon, finding the material more than adequete to cut into their metal bodies with a few well aimed blows. Her axe came up and parried the spear along the head, the angel's wings beating once against the ground as she moved fast. In a blink she her blade cut open Meredith's chestplate, revealing her innerworkings. Arcana felt panic grip her mind as she raced down with her wings to tackle the woman.

When she was close she heard a grunt of annoyance, and in a flash her wrist was firmly in the grip of this blood lusting warrior. She spun with her momentum from flight, tossing her into the ground where she dragged her in a cicle like one would tackle a bull to the floor. Arcana's eyes saw dirt spray all around her as her body rolled. A heavy boot caved her breastplate inwards nearly destroying the housing of her timing gears. Her ax cleaved upwards and came down aiming for her face, but Meredith's spear caught the weapon along the shaft and pushed it aside as she shoulder tackled the angel off her.

She spun on the ground with the loss of control, eyes narrowing in hatred as she used her own force to turn her reckles tumble into a crouching position. Her nails dug into the earth, her ax parted from her. Long locks of blond hair covered her face save her eyes, and it was not unlike starring into the eyes of a hungry wolf. Hanagan stood up quickly, free of the chains when he suddenly was blasted by several watermelon sized rocks. They beat into his armor, denting it but doing no lasting damage. The force however was strong enough to knock him back down.

Gibbering abominations, for their was little way to describe these horryifing creatures, ran from the tree lines, flanked by a strange Elf who carried a lantern attached to him by chains. He had a collar that held three chains wrapped to his waist, and with a demonic like grin he nodded in the direction of Hanagan. The three chains snaked into life, serpetine movements quicker than Arcana could follow.

They latched at the waist, neck, and left arm of her diplomatic charge and without even a struggle he was pulled deeper forwards. The lantern lifted, softly illumenating white to a sickly green as voices cried out in agony. She stood, body fighting to prevent seizure as she moved towards Hanagan only to be hit by Meredith's flying body. A sickly roar of lust for battle filled the air as the angel of Blessed Torture took to the sky again and landed upon Meredith's chest plate. Her closed fists punched over and over again into the steel housing of her faceplate first denting it, then cracking it, then obliterating it. She breathed ragged breaths, as if she was searching for something, her mouth bleeding and tongue darting to lick up each drop of crimson life.

"Listen to me, Arcana!" Meredith's voice rang out. "Go and tell the Father of Iron what happened! Go now!" The crimson angel looked to the clockwork angel, feral eyes filled with a lust to shed blood clearly featured upon her gaze. Meredith's hand lifted upwards, grabbing her by the neck as she hollared. Arcana felt helpless as Meredith's disembodied voice continued to shout for her to run.

Looking at Hanagan she saw the group of ghoulish creatures protecting the man with the lantern, and in a display of power that would have made her vomit, she watched Hanagan's soul being ripped out of his Clockwork Vessel by dark magics. Feeling despair she turned beating her wings into the air. Meredith continued to fight despite the grevious wounds she suffered. She knew she felt no pain, but her soul was trapped by those people and until a search party came to retreive her she would forever lay there. Parts of Meredith were ripped off, tossed aside as her caretaker had done all she could to protect Arcana's flight to freedom, dark thoughts racing through her mind.