A/N: Right, this going to be important info so read it mfers. Since I swapped to a new job (10 hour shifts) I have absolutely no free time except for Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. And as someone that likes to play games and hang out with friends on the weekends I have quickly lost motivation to do weekly updates. However, I have not lost my motivation for writing at all, and as a reader I have grown to prefer longer chapters over shorter ones. As such, I will be moving to longer but infrequent chapters instead, and will be trying to take up the time on fridays each month to write. As a whole this will mean more content a month and the opportunity to string together a more interesting line of sequences than a single chapter dedicated to two povs at most with a week in between. Payoffs will appear faster, events can happen quicker, and I can make my povs shorter with a return to them within the same chapter.
I have also been able to take a step back and realise the trap I was writing myself into. I knew something about what I was planning felt like I was betraying the series and my original intention, and that was because I was starting to care more about the power scaling side of things and less about the heart. I can comfortably say now that I feel more confident about writing my characters as strong but weak at the same time.
Also! I have two pieces of art commissioned, both drawn by Maousr, and YES one of them is the cover! Well worth the money, ngl 🤤
Anyway, time for your regular dose of existentiality
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Burning.
It was the only sensation that could be perceived by the young girl strung up on a cross.
Her eyes?
Halved.
Her ears?
Needles.
Her skin?
Cauterised.
Her nostrils?
Smoke.
Her tongue?
Slit.
Her entire being was encompassed in an inextinguishable flame of anguish. Her calls fell upon nought but stone, gems, and darkness.
And then the Fat One returned.
He was the one who enjoyed the infliction the most. The Skinny One was more pious towards his corrupted god, but the Fat One played the tune of misery as elegantly as a harp.
His hands were practised and measured. They conducted his symphony as easily as the wind blows. His tuning tools came in various sizes, but he always ensured they were hot and ready when needed. But, of course, an instrument can't be played without proper tuning.
With whip and electricity, with fear and intimidation, almost all of the Cult of Zeref's instruments quickly sang in tune with the rest.
But occasionally, they must be tuned manually, and the Fat One takes pride in his work.
When he returned, he walked up towards the latest instrument that was out of tune. His hands reached out and twisted the forty screws; with each crunch of a finger or toe, she sang more in tune with the greater chorus his god desired.
Then he pulled the first proper tuning tool off a burning stove and got to work.
She begged without restraint as the burning only grew hotter and hotter, but her tongue was lamed with a wound that twisted her speech. So instead of what she wanted to, oh so desperately, cry out, she exclaimed, "-o..More!...P-ease!...-o more!"
And so the dutiful choirmaster eagerly helped his instrument with their shared desire.
—
Time burned away within that lightless room, and restraint was taken with it.
The flames of agony that were oh-so-controlled released an ember that was overlooked by their master's gaze. It was round, predominantly white on one side and bloody red and pink on the other, but within that dulling whiteness was a sea of amethyst. Within that sea, the ember lay slowly, hour after hour, lash after lash, and the ember grew into a flame that blanketed the world.
It was not significant. It was a simple blanket that would never flare higher than the top of a foot. But its vastness touched everything it could reach and consumed it.
The girl on the cross watched it do so with hypnotised hope — a hope that maybe, just maybe, it would burn her away along with the rest of the world.
And so she waited with rapture and anticipation as the beauty of annihilation burned away everything: her pain, her desires, what love she could share that had not yet been shared, and her sympathy before it finally encroached upon her. At that moment, she craved nothing more than to join the ashe.
The sea of flame, no higher than a hand, was thick and slowly began to climb her. It was a greater agony than she could have ever felt, but she bore it with a smile. Her tears were of honest, pure joy. For in her mind, she would never have to bear a greater agony than this. It would all soon be over.
But it never ended.
Not her.
Not the world.
Nor the pain.
She, along with the world, just continued to burn underneath that sea. But nothing was ever truly burned away; it was buried and never seen again. There was only flame and its lover, pain —- two licks of fire that danced in unison over the sea with taunting grace as they trampled all over love, joy, hope, and kindness ad infinitum.
They were so blatant in their mockery that she could only laugh. She laughed until her madness became the new song for the lovers to dance to.
Unaware of the fire or the lovers, the maestro could only rejoice as his instrument became increasingly in tune.
The performance continued with renewed vigour, and with each bout of madness, the flames grew bigger and bigger, brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. Eventually, the flames burned away their lover and their song, and so they burned even hotter, even higher, and even brighter, hoping to find pain again.
The once gentle flames continued to burn away all else there was until nothing was left except for the flames' indescribable, blinding, hot —
"Hey, wake up."
William's head bolted up from the desk he had fallen asleep at, his sweat smearing the ink that took hours to compose. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the towel that desperately needed to be swapped out off the floor and wiped his face dry before turning to the sole other figure in the room, but her figure quickly became submerged underneath a deep fog.
He could make out vaguely familiar locks of raven, and even the single sleeved white kimono, but it was all lost in a sea of violet and blame that came from someplace distant, but strangely comforting. Like a warm blanket of reassurance.
It was this figure that hypnotised Jellal. It was she who was responsible for the prolonged suffering of those she called friends. It was she who allowed Jellal to turn them against her, to make them hate him. He just knows they do. He knows, he knows, she knows! There's know way they don't hate her for abandoning them, and she deserves it! She deserves their hatred just like Grimoire Heart deserves hers!
A sharp pain rang through his skull, and William found himself pinned to the floor, the fog lifted and the connection to its distant source severed.
"Hey, hey hey! It's alright, boss! It's all in your head!" One of William's subordinates shouted. Janus, he thinks. It was usually she who pulled him out of this state. Seeing him start to calm down, the tan-skinned woman breathed a sigh of relief. "You with us, boss?"
"Y…yeah. It happened again, didn't it?"
"Yeah," she nodded as the other two on top of him got off. She pointed to the other side of the room, where he saw Ultear leaning against the wall, holding her reddened throat and coughing.
"Shit."
"What…what the hell was that!?" the time mage screamed through a hoarse voice. William stood up and motioned for her to sit and for his subordinates to leave.
"That was what the team had been referring to as the Wisterin Seed," he mumbled as he reached into the drawer of his desk and started sifting around in it.
"I feel like I can guess where it came from," the ravenette spat. "The 'Oni' girl, right?"
"Mhmm. Everyone who's looked into her mind has been plagued with memories of pain and hatred. Most of the team is afraid to sleep because it tends to linger when you wake up."
"And you're affected by it too. The others?" She asked with an annoyed look, obviously still upset about being strangled but more curious about the team's resignation to the phenomenon.
"In a maximum security prison where their magic can be nullified." William barely suppressed a shudder as he found the barely legal stimulant powder and swallowed the maximum amount considered safe. He barely wanted to remember the chaos that ensued on the first day the memory dives began, but he did. The sight of dozens of people all being influenced by the emotions leaking out of the psychic mage that led the dive was horrifying for all involved. The whole thing only lasted about seven minutes before it was suppressed, but that wasn't the way he wanted to receive a promotion.
Not by process of elimination.
Needless to say, the question quickly arose as to whether or not the information was worth receiving, but the amount of money being dumped into safety precautions and traumatic relief showed how much they valued the information the girl possessed.
But no amount of money could hide the singular revelation everyone involved in the endeavour realised. They weren't being influenced by magic. No. No, they are all simply trying to delve through layers upon layers of memory, each filled with more detail than the human mind can properly process. It was almost as if the subconscious didn't exist, and their owner dedicated full brain functions to absorbing and recalling each detail with inhuman clarity. And someone just lived with these memories.
For the higher-ups, they were concerned about the threat this person represented. Lyssa Wisteria has already shown her destructive capability in the mission that made them aware of her existence, and if she's carrying this level of instability on a regular basis then she represents herself as a security risk just as much as she represents herself as a prospective investment. He could practically hear the council politicking already. They have one young teenager being considered for a Wizard Saint position, if she shows promise in both magic and in society, then they could potentially have two. It was laughable how predictable it was.
But William? William was more concerned about the mental health of the girl he once tried to act as guardian for during their time in hell. He never once bought Jellal's lies or his religious fanaticism. He was just a kid, after all, and the manipulation became evident when that Brain guy showed up with the intention of teaching magic to prospective students.
William had already been learning illusion magic, so getting into the "inner circle" of sorts was relatively easy. Before long, his skills grew, and he could even use magic to make an illusion of himself to have a conversation with people separately, while he spied on other conversations around the tower.
So it wasn't long before he could figure out the true scope of operations. The R-System, all of the Towers that had been built before being destroyed, they had been nothing more than distractions. Two of the corners of the Balam Alliance, the traitor Brain and the fanatical Grimoire Heart, had conspired to create this overwhelming distraction while also rallying the worship of the false God Zeref to meet their own goals. William would have been impressed by the level of effort used to provide a cover for their own operations, if he hadn't been one of the hundreds of thousands of pawns, that is.
He had thought he had it rough, trying to convince the other kids Lyssa was friends with that she hadn't betrayed them. Simon was a smart one and quickly realised, too. But he also knew he had to play along. The others, though, took it too hard to rectify. Two of their "big sisters" had left them to rot on that island, and it would take a lot to change that perspective.
But Lyssa's echoes of rage are deafening. He could only hope they were surface-level or that she had a good support structure around her. Then there was the knowledge that the Erza girl probably had a similar mindset, and his desperation to reach out and tell them that they could do something about it only worsened.
Because he couldn't. He had to maintain his cover for as long as possible. He had to influence the Magic Council, he had to steer Jellal away from self-destruction, and he had to make sure he wasn't cast aside or killed before the terrifying monsters around him were tamed.
After all, he knew the young woman in front of him could beat him ten times out of ten.
"So, what'd you come here for?" he mumbled.
"I came to warn you of a couple of things that could jeopardise our progress in attaining at least two seats on the Magic Council and of getting Siegrain a position as a member of the Ten Wizard Saints." William looked into Ultear's eyes and noticed, with surprise, that underneath the stern expression the leader of the Seven Kin of Purgatory usually wore was fear. That made him forget his exhaustion and pay close attention. "Not only has a certain girl entered the eyes of every notable wizard on the continent thanks to the newspaper that was released today, but we also suspect that she's aware of our plans and that she has the intention of subduing Beestenloed before we can, taking the spotlight with her."
"Alright, yeah, that would be a bit of a hindrance, but what evidence do you have? We only know that she read the memories of one girl who may have just been a grunt. A test drive to see how far they could go."
"Earlier today, there was an attack on a diner in the capital. Beneath it was what was a hidden base for the budding cult of Walraven. Tunnels led out to the edge of the city, indicating it was a smuggling base of some sort. However, the attacker took away all potential documents and information. The survivors of the attack with known allegiance or potential allegiance are in custody for further questioning. Already, a link has been established between one of the employees and the girl currently in a memory-induced coma."
A pause passed between the two as William took a moment to digest and process the potential outcomes of the aftermath. "Ok. That's an opportunity lost but ther-"
"There was also someone who used a Thought Projection in the guise of Jellal and the other teens in his circle. All were wearing the robes of the Cult of Zeref. They publicly outed the existence of the R-System, its goals, and shouted, quite literally, from the rooftops that Siegrain knew about it all the entire time and never once tried to help them."
The gears in William's mind started screaming against each other as it worked overtime to predict all of the fallout. "Okay, so it is Lyssa, but we prepared for this. I assume Siegrain is in questioning right now?" He received a nod. "Then so long as the twin excuse doesn't receive too many suspicious glances, we oughta be fine with occasional improvised movements."
"It gets worse." The time mage said with a sardonic grin.
"Okay, don't know how, but lay it on me," he said as he began rummaging through his desk for more stimulants. He knew he was going to need it at this point.
"We have one hundred per cent confirmed that whatever technique she uses to read and transfer memories can also be used to alter memories. Anyone who spends any amount of time alone with her becomes a security risk, because they won't even realise they've had their memories read and altered until it's too late."
His mind came screeching to a halt as the implications of that immediately set in. He knew she had a perfect memory, more than perfect if recent experiences were anything to say. Anything she learned wouldn't be forgotten. He looked at his interlocutor with growing horror. "You were alone in a room with her recently."
It wasn't a question. But the confirmation he received left only one word on his mind.
"Fuck."
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Btw, I got some pieces commissioned :P