Guardian of Souls
Final Book of The Soul Saga
Chapter 1
The Fracture
“So, you’re the new recruit, are you? Weak, huh?”
The man, if he could be called that, was a mountain, tall and sneering. Every vibe he gave off radiated unpleasantness. Almost like whatever he smelled under his nose was disgusting. From the younger man’s place, a head shorter than the person barring his way to the cafeteria, he could smell the arrogance. It displeased him, and he almost wrinkled his nose, but refrained from doing so.
“Could you move? I’d like some lunch.” The young man attempted to maneuver past the person in his way, but was pushed back. He looked up again, eyes becoming as slits in a threat. The man didn’t back off.
“Think you’re some kind of hotshot, it seems,” the man scoffed. He bent low and tried to grip at the young man’s hair. Failing that from its short length, he grabbed him by his robes. “Quake Squad? What a bunch of losers. They’ve nothing on the defense that is Flare Squad.”
“Funny. I heard differently. That you were more suited for Quake than Flare. Lacroix, isn’t it?” Lacroix didn’t take it well. He snarled, gripping the robes tighter and practically lifting the young man up into the air. Their faces were close enough to touch, but neither cared to relent in whatever their confrontation was. “Yeah, your aggression definitely fits them better. Or perhaps Tempest-”
“I’ll thank you to not talk to a superior like that, trash.” The spit hit the young man’s face, but his continued stare at Lacroix clearly unnerved the man. Not that he was sure Lacroix could be termed a “man”. He acted more like a boar than anything else, and was hardly any older than himself. Perhaps a few years, but little else. “Look at you, thinking you’re better than everyone just because you cleared all the trials with an S-Rank. You’re little more than trash, Arrant.”
“Actually, I just think I’d like to get lunch.” Lacroix looked a bit dumfounded, like he expected greater retaliation, just so he could teach him a lesson of sorts. Failing his opportunity at that, Lacroix sneered once more and let go of Arrant, his bunched robes dropping to the floor.
“Keep an eye out, Arrant. I won’t have you stepping on my toes.”
There was never any intention of him doing so, though Lacroix didn’t care. He jostled into Arrant as he left, his crimson robes of Flare Squad treating the man as a beacon. Arrant shook his head, thinking the man ridiculous, and he turned into the cafeteria.
Just as it was every other day, the cafeteria was packed with people. It seemed to him that the Corps and all the Guardians it contained really loved lunchtime. He didn’t care as much; lunch only mattered when you needed energy from a hard day’s work. Maybe that was why so many of the Guardians seemed at peace with things: from one cushy life to the next. They hadn’t worked hard day in and out, appreciating the value of a good meal and a day’s job. Arrant was pretty sure, by this point, that he had more time off now than when he worked under his own father.
“Oops, sorry!” Someone else had banged into him, snickering as they walked away. Arrant sighed. Cheese sauce was splattered down his front, clearly an act of deliberate maliciousness. He said nothing.
The jabs and usual snide remarks were a constant companion to him; had been ever since he’d made it to that vaunted stage of joining the Corps. People didn’t seem to like those who aced the trials without a problem. It made him more ostracized than he would have liked, but he just considered them misguided, and ignored the hazing. Affixing a smile to his face, Arrant walked to where people were getting food, and took some napkins to clean himself up. Chatter surrounded him, and other than nabbing a sandwich, he attempted to ignore them to get to a table secluded from the rest.
Most of the Guardians were seated with one another, chatting gaily, and a few legs attempted to stick out and trip him. He nimbly leapt over them, reading their intentions before they could act on them. They were easy to read, and their words were easy to hear.
“So easy for them. They just waltz right in with full S-Ranks and get a position on those major squads!”
“Yeah. What about the rest of us who worked hard to get where we are?”
“They could never understand. Like they want to show the rest of us up.”
“I heard Arrant didn’t even use magic during his trials. It’s like he’s screaming how much better he is.”
Arrant shook his head, and by the time he was clear of them, he was longing for the security of solitude. He knew he’d never get it, but at least he busied and tricked his mind into ignoring the people who seemed to think he was a cheater or some egotistical maniac. It had all been his own skill and hard work. A scowl plastered itself to his lips while he passed by a table right before the corner, operated by two other ostracized Guardians.
“Flare Squad! That’s great! Didn’t take you long to catapult up there!”
“I prefer working the public relations side of things, but having a pulse on the castle is never bad. How about you?”
“Oh, this and that…I’m doing grunt work for Tempest Squad…blegh! Give me a fight any day of the week!” The girl that spoke reached forward to take her companion into an affectionate headlock. “Look at us! Moving right on up! Those other Guardians might think us dirt from our accomplishments, but you and I survived the trenches together!”
“And there are days I wish we never met…When are you going to Lacardia again?”
“Next week! Maybe I’ll find love!” Her companion snorted in good humor, and even Arrant laughed. They didn’t hear him and he sat down, chewing into his sandwich before anyone could interrupt or taunt him further.
He sat back, content to watch the cafeteria in motion, ignoring the boring news that played out on the room’s television. Some Guardians caught him staring, looking away in displeasure when they saw it, but none of them made a move towards him. One tried to start, her frown morphing to a scowl, but she backed off at the sound of a scraping chair. Arrant looked up, surprised to see someone joining him at the table. Her platinum blonde hair was cut short, dotted with little earrings that seemed to be crystal. He was taken aback, finding her a cold beauty in the sea of ugliness surrounding them, but he didn’t speak to her before she fell in her chair. Her delicate fingers tucked her hair behind her ear.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said upon realizing that he was watching her. Her light-blue eyes glimmered, and he found himself drawn to them. They were…sad. He could tell. Not that he knew how, but there was a restraint inside them that held back tears. “Everywhere else is full.”
He knew that wasn’t the case. There were plenty of open spots from all he could see. He placed his sandwich down, and leaned across the table, watching her face. She noticed, but said nothing to him, tucking her hair on the other side while she ate. Every movement was dainty and soft; a prim and proper lady. He knew exactly who she was.
“Not a problem at all,” he replied at long last. She nodded, never cracking a smile. “You, too, huh?”
“Me what?” She never stopped eating, capable of keeping the mask up while asking him exactly what he meant. Arrant broke out his grin, finding himself liking this young woman already.
“You passed all the trials with an S-Rank, right?” Her answer would have been imperceptible to anyone less observant, but he caught the admission. “Feels like you’re separate from everyone else, right? Like they hate you for doing something they couldn’t.”
“I’ve always felt like that. Used to it,” she admitted. Her hand became a little shakier with the next spoonful. “My family was rich and influential to the northwest.”
“Was?” She placed her spoon down, but it gave no clatter. Her restraint was impressive, and looking up, he could see she was incredibly straightforward. This transferred to her next words.
“They died. My parents didn’t want to let go of their possessions when the edge of the world came calling.”
Arrant sat back now, nodding. He’d heard and known about it, of course, the falls at the edge of the world, but he’d never heard of too many accidents around them. Most people weren’t foolish enough to live that close to the edge. Those that were…he wasn’t sure how much pity he held for them, though he supposed the Corps had failed in their own job. “I’m sorry to hear.”
“Don’t be. They gave me nothing but pain. Always so above everyone. Eventually, you just stop caring.” Well, he could tell that. Her cold exterior wasn’t just for show. There were very few things about which she cared. “How about you, bright boy? They say you did the same, without any magic. What’s your story?”
“Nothing spectacular, ha ha.” Arrant raised up, hand running through his blond hair. His gray eyes shined with mirth when she raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “No, seriously. I’m just a boy from a fishing village.”
“No ‘boy from a fishing village’ comes to join the Corps, except for how easy the life is.”
“You see it, too, huh?” Arrant looked around at the cavorting Guardians, so lost in their own little bubble, and he shrugged. “Well, they try their best. As for me, I guess I just wanted to do something better.”
“Fishing not giving you high enough aspirations?”
“No, no. Nothing like that, I promise.” He was waving his hands in front of his face, unsure why he was spilling this to a practical stranger. Divulge it all, he did, however. “It’s more…I watched the sea every day, and you start to wonder…what’s beyond it? What could we achieve if we all strove for it? What could I do to make that happen?”
“Sounds…simple.”
Arrant laughed, enjoying her clipped remarks and the conversation. His sandwich was long abandoned as he leaned in with enthusiasm. Before he knew it, his hands had touched to hers, and she turned pink, but didn’t pull away. “It is simple! Just imagine the kind of things the Corps could do if they were united as one, following that single vision! I want to see where that road takes us. Past the edge of the world, if it needs to. I think about it every day, just watching the waves go by.”
At last, the girl laughed. It was quiet, but he could tell how genuine it was. “I like it. A very simple dream. Would certainly bring this place into shape.”
“Eh, it’s kind of a pipe dream,” Arrant admitted. “You have any dreams?”
“Mm, not really. Just wanted to make the Corps better, maybe. Didn’t think they’d hate someone with such innate talent so much. I really had nowhere else to go.”
“Nowhere to go, huh?” he said. His hands removed themselves, scratching at the light stubble on his chin. “How about you and I go to the top, then?”
“Now, you sound like a pipe dream.”
“I’m serious! We’re S-Classers! You and me! You want to change the Corps and I want to see them move to a better future! Together, we can make it happen.”
She folded her arms, glaring across to him. There was doubt in her body language, and hesitance. He didn’t blame her; they had only just met, after all. However, she had been the one to approach him, and with a cheeky grin, she addressed him. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like it could be fun. My loyalty is yours, heh.”
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
He saw the joke and joined in her laughter. Their food was left by the wayside, and Arrant extended a hand to her. “What can I call you, Miss Winter?”
“That’s not nice. I’m not that cold,” she said, but she clasped it all the same. “It’s Cynthia, though. How about you, fishing boy?”
He grinned, and gave answer at the onset of their journey together. “Marcus.”
----------------------------------------
Twenty Years Later…
Pain.
Unbearable pain.
Marcus was awoken by the throbbing jolts of agony in his chest, forcing him to sit up with a groan. It was still quite dark, but he wondered if that was because of the hour of day or the world itself. He couldn’t tell. It all hurt so much.
Hoping it would stave off that pain, Marcus stood from his cot, walking the length of the room to the grimy mirror and sink that joined it. Another gasp left his lungs, and he fell forward, hands gripping to the sink, imagining that it could yet crack under his grasp. His breaths were short, but heavy, and he looked up, his gray eyes reflected back at him through the dirt. He looked so old.
“Just a little longer…” he breathed. His hands slowly let go of the basin, his body coming to stand of its own accord, and he lifted his linen shirt up. With a hiss, he touched to the large gash that stretched across his chest. Even after a month, it stung. No amount of healing spells could make it right, and certainly not the souls burning inside. They left a scar too painful for words.
But he would not give in. Marcus would never give in.
Guess he got you good, huh?
“Quiet…” the man growled under his breath. They had gotten louder lately, and he was unable to silence them.
That’s what happens when you burn through souls like they’re tools.
“Quiet!” he finally roared. The tempestuous souls inside him were brought into submission, though Marcus acknowledged the fact he was leaning against the sink again. A knock came at the door.
“Sir, are you all right?” the voice on the other side asked. Marcus breathed in, steadying himself and pushing those other souls deeper within him, to the darkest recesses. They knocked again, and when they finished, Marcus had stood. His fist clasped, and one of the souls inside flowed into the rest of his body, adorning his body with armor. “The others are ready to meet.”
“I’ll be there soon.” They took his word as law and retreated. Marcus exhaled, certain everything was as under control as it could possibly be. Back to his nominal state of being, he pushed the door open and walked out into the corridor beyond.
Like his room, it was a rather ramshackle place on the outskirts of civilization, but the ones who gathered there didn’t seem to mind. Black robes and Guardian Corps members alike populated the halls, each as silent as the next, waiting for the orders to come. The former outweighed the latter in number, but Marcus trusted his former Guardians more than the power-hungry, goddess-obsessed members of the World Restoration Order.
Not that he hated them. Far from it. They were useful tools, and he had been the one to whip them into a frenzy, after all. Now, so close to the end, to their goddess, he was aware of how useful the Order was overall. It was the final stage.
Marcus’s gait became stronger the further he walked down the hallway, his jaw set while his gray hair was run back through his fingers. The members of Quake and Frost Squad, and those few that had defected, snapped a salute at him. He returned them with a nod, each step commanding their attention upon him until he reached the room where his meeting was set to occur. He saluted them all to return to their duties, and then entered.
“We may be safe in the Metropolis, but what about the rest of the world?” The television, crudely assembled inside the space of meeting, was loud, but informed Marcus of quite a bit. Not that he needed it. The souls outside his own were easy to read in the increasingly distressed state of the world. “The falls are drawing closer, towns have been abandoned, and it’s been a month since the Corps fell. The Home Guard is working double-time, and even then…”
“That’s the whole thing: the Metropolis is safe,” another newscaster said to his companion. “People can come here as the falls grow closer. We’re large enough for it. There’s no need to worry beyond that. And is the loss of the Corps really so great a loss for the rest of us?”
“Well, that’s just selfish, isn’t it?” the other anchor said. He was familiar to Marcus, but he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name. Chippin? Chapham? It didn’t matter. They’d all be the same sooner or later. “The Corps had its issues, but there’s no denying the good they did. What is a world without them to look like? We’re already a month out and we’ve seen a greater increase in crime, a more unstable world. What’s next? Is the Metropolis really going to be the bastion we hope for when the edge of the world comes calling?”
“Ha, I don’t think we need to concern ourselves with that quite yet. Lacardian scientists only just noticed the edge creeping closer, and that’s taken, what, a thousand years? Maybe more. I’m sure we won’t see the event in our lifetime.” The anchor looked a bit too pleased with himself, sipping a cup of coffee before delivering his conclusion. “And regardless of all that, Marcus is still someone to trust in, no? There’s no word on whether he survived the slaughter at the Corps or not, but Raymond Childs has announced an intention to rebuild the Corps just two short weeks ago. This is a chance for something new. Something better.”
“And what are we supposed to do until then?”
“They’re running scared, heh…” Maria’s voice cut a sharp tone across the men on-screen, and the television cut off right after. The bushy brunette scowled, her jangling earrings turning to Cynthia Frigas after she had shut it off. “I was watching that.”
“We already know what’s happening in the world. Caleb’s creatures have told us much.”
“Yes, we’ve heard many things on the wind, haven’t we, Cario?” The dog at Caleb the Beastmaster’s legs barked, content. Marcus let the door snap shut, putting all eyes on him.
“It matters little,” he announced. Maria grinned, his very own Deceiver flopping on her chair and perching her feet upon the table. Caleb quirked an eyebrow. Marcus had little note of them, glancing to his steadfast confidant in Cynthia, and to the most silent in the room, Raymond. His once-captain sat separate from the other priests of the Order, hands folded. Had the news disturbed him? It was possible, Marcus figured, but he seemed to try and figure more out than just that. “Let them run scared. In time, they’ll understand.”
“Feeling better then, Mr. Reaper?” Maria asked. Her cocksure smirk told him how playful she was being while he sat and stared across to her.
“For now. I’ll be much better once we finish the plan.”
“What plan?” Caleb asked. He laughed under his breath, leaning back and nearly falling over when Maria tried to trip him. “We’ve yet to locate the Abyssal Blade, and you lost the Earth-Splitter at Corps Castle!”
“I’m well aware of that fact, Caleb, thank you,” Marcus said. His words were a lash to the Beastmaster, and the dirty-blond, bowl-cut man bowed in apology. The scar on Marcus’s chest burned again. “However, we’ve little time for that. The edge of the world is closing in. I fear that man’s actions at the castle have caused it to accelerate…”
“I can confirm, sir,” Raymond said, the first words he’d spoken. “The remnants of the old Corps have taken residence in Lumarina. There are reports that you can see the falls from there now.”
“Are you meaning to say you have contacts there, Raymond?” Cynthia asked. She was playing with her frozen glasses, humored by the young man who shook his head. Raymond’s own glasses and black hair bounced on his face.
“No. I’m not so idiotic as to attempt to make contact. They wouldn’t understand,” he said. Marcus nodded his head, absorbing the information. It didn’t change his goal in the slightest. “They’re being rather cowardly, hiding out in a place I’d never knowingly attack…”
“May want to get rid of that bleeding heart, captain,” Maria said, flicking at a piece of dust on the table they were seated round. Raymond’s scowl continued to inform Marcus of their strained relationship, not helped by Caleb’s sudden cackling. “It’ll be the end of you. You can’t change the world without pushing aside personal relationships, like our little Miss Winter here.”
“Or myself!”
“No one asked you, Beasty.”
“I’ve cut off my personal self,” Raymond assured them, his eyes glaring daggers across the table to the other two. “I’ve stomached the both of you for a month, haven’t I? My loyalty is to the cause before me; the cause that is at the center of our creed.”
“Which is the exact reason I asked him to join,” Marcus reminded the two priests. They were mollified by such a remark, acknowledging their leader and following his instruction. Even with his identity revealed to both, he was glad to have their loyalty. “I don’t want to create a world where all we do is senselessly slaughter, Caleb. Nor am I pulling the wool over anyone’s eyes. I am going to change it, so that the horrors you both experienced, that drove people to lead lives of sodomy and complacency, no longer occur.”
“That’s why we seek the goddess.”
“And to rebuild the Corps anew, with her guiding light and her chosen leading the path,” Marcus confirmed. Raymond sat up, seeming proud. There was always that kernel of wonder regarding the path he’d chosen over that of his sister, but Marcus smiled to reassure him all the same. “That said, we are running out of time. There will be no goddess to meet if the world crumbles in around us. We need the remaining Weapons.”
“Well, no word has come on the Abyssal Blade, and I’m all but certain Amelia is looking for it, too.” Cynthia replaced her glasses back on her face, that cold, aloof exterior back in her eyes. “It’s a race to the finish there. She’s ensuring that the remains of Flare Squad are watching the castle, too. The Earth-Splitter is a no-go, Marcus.”
“That leaves the Bow of Torrents…” Marcus confirmed, rubbing his temples. His eyes slipped to where the other Legendary Weapons sat, bound against the wall: the Chain Blade, the Lightbringer Axe, the Violent Staff and the Spear of Squalls. It had been a long road just to gather those four in one place. Collecting the final three would be a chore. “No doubt in Vivian Lacroix’s possession. And the old Corps…”
“Not necessarily so, sir,” Raymond answered. “Frost Squad did some digging, and it would seem the old interns returned home.”
“It wasn’t that hard of information to find,” Cynthia said, waving the matter aside. “I don’t think Amelia wanted to have to care for all of them. The Lacardians went home, Miss Childs is still in recovery in Lumarina and Vivian Lacroix is back at Lacroix Manor, to the north.”
“With Victor, is it…?” Marcus folded his hands, leaning forward. Thinking of that man, once a well-known captain, almost-commander, made his scar twitch. The thought of such a precious weapon in the grasp of such a fool who desired nothing but his own selfish gains made him tremble with anger. He could see Raymond having the same thoughts and feelings. Victor Lacroix’s name was not one treated kindly. “Well, if that’s the case, then we’ve no more time for deliberation.”
“Ooh, another mission?” Maria spun on her chair, feet planting themselves on the ground. “Who do I get to assassinate this time?”
“What is with you two and killing everything in sight?” Raymond asked, exasperated as he slapped a hand to his forehead. “There are other means that don’t draw as much attention to us.”
“Sometimes you need to drop a few bodies to get what you need, hee hee,” Caleb responded, licking his lips while he pet his dog. Raymond rolled his eyes, coming to stand while he faced Marcus. The former chief commander watched his apprentice, who bowed low in reverence and respect.
“And it’s no wonder you were captured while Maria was found out,” the captain said. The two priests looked at one another, shrugging as if he had a point. “Sir, while I don’t approve of your past methods, I understand sometimes risks need to be taken. This isn’t one of those times. Victor Lacroix…the whole Lacroix family might be some of the worst examples of a Guardian I’ve seen, but we cannot paint ourselves as worse. Not with such an ambitious goal as yours.
“You’ve driven the people to a disbelief in the Corps and took out the old, selfish and vain version. Don’t have them not believe in you, Reaper or no. Talk with Victor Lacroix.”
Talk.
Marcus should have seen that coming, the earnest plea in Raymond’s eyes. It was the very reason he had chosen him: that stirring willingness for the same ideals. Yet in Raymond was one who hadn’t been lost by the chains of command. By the years poisoning the water. In Raymond’s mind was a place that truly strode for the peace they all wanted.
And he had to admit, the thought of leaving Victor Lacroix as a humbled man, unable for his name to mean anything, had a certain appeal.
“All right, Raymond,” Marcus agreed. “Caleb stays behind, to help Cynthia look for the Abyssal Blade. I will go speak with Victor, and you and Maria will accompany me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No, thank you, for your measured opinion. We’ll make the world a better place yet with those kinds of thoughts,” Marcus assured him. He meant every word of it, and Raymond knew that. There were no more lies between them; just an earnest will to change and better the world. Something else needed to be said, however. “But know this, Raymond: Victor Lacroix is a man known to make overtures of war. He will not part with it so easily. Should he choose to resist or harm anyone, this Order or his family included, I will not hesitate to avail myself of more violent measures.”
“Of course,” Raymond agreed, his own eyes on a now-whistling Caleb. “I’m well aware of when violence needs to be applied for a better world. Why else would we have the Trial of Power?”
“Well spoken. Raymond, Maria, work out any issues you have with each other and prepare for departure. I will join you but momentarily for Lacroix Manor.”
“Come on now, Your Worship,” Maria said, the familiar smirk playing at her lips. “We get along great! We have something in common, after all. Isn’t that right, captain?”
“Long as you rein yourself in.”
Marcus wasn’t sure if he could fully trust the two together, but their earnestness in pursuing their own ideals, finding common ground with his own…well, the two of them could work together as part of his body yet. He stood, and giving no further preamble, retreated from the room.
He wasn’t long into the hallway, less full of people than before, when he fell to a knee, clasping at his chest.
You won’t keep us locked up forever.
Your will is not ours!
“Shut…up…” Marcus started to thump and bang on his chest before a pair of arms encircled him. They were familiar, and he reached up to touch Cynthia’s cold hands. “Thank you.”
“You’ve gotten worse the last few days,” she said. Her head craned around, and he could spot her face in his periphery. A kiss landed itself on his cheek while his body stabilized, as though Cynthia’s nearby soul offered an anchor to it. “You never had this problem before the assault on Corps Castle.”
“I…may have burned through some souls to heal myself,” Marcus admitted. Unwilling to show weakness, he stood, carrying his commander with him. Careful to make sure no one else was watching them, he spoke further. “The wound that was dealt me was grievous, and I had to use the energy of souls to stitch it up…crudely, I might add. It feels like my body is being torn apart from the inside. Like my soul is…”
“Marcus…” Cynthia stepped around, facing him now as she cupped his face in her hands. “Will you make it? Will your soul be able to handle what comes next?”
Marcus looked at her, the woman’s resolve firming his own up. He remembered the words she spoke to him, about knowing which lives mattered. About his conviction. Always driving him forward. Cynthia leaned in, placing a kiss upon his lips, chaste as ever, but no less full of meaning.
“Would you ever let me doubt myself or waver otherwise?” he asked. She smiled back, her warmth present. That kind of love and conviction, for a better world; it was all he needed. “I will handle everything.
“For I have been chosen to save the world, and by the goddess’s will, I will see that change done.”