The Great War.
That’s what people were calling it barely a year after it started. A world-spanning conflict that saw twenty six nations spill each other’s blood for nearly two decades using increasingly inhumane weapons and tactics. It was the first and hopefully last of its kind. In the end, there were no winners, only losers and bigger losers. The biggest loser of them all was the former Washein Empire. Any and every attempt to simplify the complex history and intertwined politics surrounding the Great War would inevitably end with some variation of the phrase ‘it was all Washein’s fault.’ They weren’t the only guilty ones, of course, but people were vengeful, petty, and stupid. It was inevitable history would by and large remember the once powerful and prosperous nation’s leaders as the evil bastards who schemed to seize the world. It was only right that all that territory be carved up and redistributed until basically nothing was left of the original.
Barely two years had passed since, and the world was healing, albeit slowly. There were few places that had it rougher than Khradstgraad, formerly the royal capital of Washein’s hegemonic empire. The city had been bombarded so thoroughly and frequently that most of it remained in ruins, with very few ongoing plans to reconstruct or resettle. The wounds here simply ran too deep and the great powers were content to leave its rotting carcass untouched. But, humans were stubborn and tenacious creatures, so thousands still clung to what few sanctuaries remained standing in this no-man’s land. One of those was a small hamlet of barely twenty buildings on Khradstgraad’s eastern outskirts. The small community was centered around an old, run-down, yet miraculously standing chapel dedicated to Ovha, the Supreme Goddess of Order and Justice.
Faith was a prickly subject these days. Religious tensions were often pointed to whenever the Great War was brought up by important people in sharp suits who spent their days arguing about the immutable past in fancy rooms. Their words didn’t mean jack shit to the simple people who only wanted to rebuild their lives and eke out a future for their children. To them, that this one chapel remained standing after the capital was bombed to oblivion and back several times over was like providence. That it continued to stand even after the region had devolved into near-total lawlessness was equally as impressive. Ovha’s faith had a lot of anger and resentment pointed at it – much of it deserved – so places of worship even remotely connected to Her were often vandalized if not outright demolished. That this little church had been spared such a fate for two whole years was indeed impressive, but it was hard to call its continued survival a miracle since it had a very clear, very mortal cause.
“Hey! Get the fuck out here!”
A gang of ruffians that were far too common these days showed up at the humble hamlet on the edge of Khradstgraad. It was known as ‘Broketown’ because everyone here was utterly broke. Their only real means of earning a living was sifting through the ruins of the once-great capital in search of anything valuable to trade for basic necessities. Most of the time it was a day-to-day struggle to put food on the table, but once in a while the locals would find a big haul that would set them up for a month or two. These human-shaped vermin tended to crawl out of their lairs whenever they caught whiff of such a jackpot, and this was one such occasion.
“I heard all about it! You brats found a safe full of gold, right?!”
The one making the ruckus this time around was a scar-faced hoodlum and his gang of skin-heads. With their buzz-cut scalps, imposing physiques, and old salvaged military gear, it was safe to say they were fairly intimidating. The air they had around them was completely that of scumbags who were only playing soldier until things took a turn and they deserted. People like that were only ever good at picking on those weaker than them, so it was no surprise that they were trying to shake down a bunch of war orphans who had no choice but to seek shelter in a run-down church of a ruined faith. It really was shameless beyond measure. For better or worse, all this strife had hardened the children as well.
“Th– There’s no such thing! It was just full of some old papers and letters, that’s all!”
Though he was obviously quite scared, a boy barely twelve years old stood valiantly against this unfair treatment. Six pairs of tiny eyes watched fearfully from the crack in the door and out of the corner of the windows, but none dared show themselves in front of these scary strangers like Michael did. Thankfully the thugs were keeping their distance, but the way things were going, that wouldn’t last long.
“Ha! You think we’re dumb, kid?! Old deeds and contracts might as well be gold, don’t you know?! Now bring them out before I have to get rough!”
“You’d only be wasting your time! The sister already took the papers to the trader!”
“Oh? A sister, eh? Is she cute?”
The way his desires showed on his face was so clear he might as well have been holding up a sign that said ‘Level 99 Human Scum.’
“Nope! She’s got this huuuuge scar! It’s super gross and scary!”
The boy stated it with utmost confidence, because it was the honest truth.
“That’s fine, we can just put a bag over her, right fellas?”
“Damn straight!”
“Any hole’s a goal!”
“Don’t care if she has a pulse, so long as she’s still warm!”
“… Jerry, let’s dial it back a bit.”
“Sorry.”
The rest of the scum quickly joined in, though even they were a bit creeped out by that one.
“Hm? Oh, my? What’s all this commotion?”
A gentle voice quickly drew everyone’s attention to the nun in question. A modest, dark-blue habit with white cuffs and collar and a matching cloth headdress that draped down to her shoulders. These were the first thing anyone would notice about her, followed closely by the gruesome wound that ran down the left side of her otherwise lovely features from forehead to chin. Even the Level 99 Human Scum was taken aback. That dull-red scar looked like a trench line after a five-hour artillery barrage, and the lock of ashen-white hair draped over it did very little to hide it. It was a wonder how her cheek and eye were still intact, though a closer inspection revealed that the ocular orb was actually made of glass. It was such an extreme injury that even these so-called veterans had never seen anything like it.
“Sweet Ovha’s tits, lady!” the leader blurted out. “Did you take a flaming chainsaw to the face or something?!”
“Why, yes, actually. That’s very observant of you, my child.”
Though she probably intended her expression to be a warm smile, the contrast with that trainwreck that touched the corner of her mouth made it seem creepy. Uncanny, even.
“Boss… I don’t think a bag’s gonna do it.”
“Yeah. I can’t unsee that shit now.”
“I think she’s kinda hot.”
“Seriously, Jerry?”
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“Sorry.”
The gang didn’t have a good image anyway, but they had to have some standards.
“Look, forget all that,” the Scum Lord spoke up again. “Your filthy brats dug up some important documents, right?”
“Ah, yes. They keep running off and rummaging through all that filth no matter how many times I tell them not to. Honestly, what am I going to do with those naughty kids?”
“Not my problem! Just hand over the goods nice and quiet and we’ll be on our way!”
If what the brat said was true she’d already traded them in, and by the look of that large cardboard box she was carrying it had indeed been a good haul.
“I’m terribly sorry, my child, but I do not think these clothes will fit you. I got them for those little tykes over there, you see.”
“Oh, oh!”
A brown-haired little girl suddenly poked her head out of the second floor window.
“Sistew Aggy, did you get me a dwess like you pwomised?!”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I wasn’t able to find any. Maybe next time, okay?”
“Oh… Okay…”
“Don’t ignore me, damnit!” the Scumperor finally lost his nerve. “Don’t care what the fuck you have there, just hand it over and nobody gets hurt!”
The sister looked startled for a moment, took a few steps closer, put her luggage on the ground, and clasped her hands together as if to pray.
“My sweet child. What pains you so, that you would say such dreadful things?”
“Huuuuh?!” he got even more ticked off.
“There has been enough pain and suffering. This is a place of healing. You know of Lady Ovha’s name – though you sullied it with your filthy mouth – so surely you are aware such behavior is unbecoming in Her eyes.”
“The hell did you just mumble over there, you bitch?!”
Indeed, that middle bit was said too quietly to be understood, but loud enough for her tone’s sudden harshness to be audible.
“Wait, boss. This don’t feel right.”
It would appear someone in this flock of scum had some brains and noticed something that most newcomers to Broketown failed to consider. Namely, if it really was a smart idea to mess with someone who took a flaming chainsaw to the face like it was no big deal. Also, that story sounded eerily familiar, but he just couldn’t place it.
“Shut it!” his boss shouted. “I didn’t survive through five years on the southern front for some ditzy little bimbo to act all high and mighty just because she’s got some dead religion on her side!”
“Ah… he’s gone and done it now…”
Michael, the boy who had been quietly watching the exchange, could do little but quietly retreated inside the church while praying for the Scumperor’s soul.
“I see, I see. You were in the south, hmm?”
The sister was no longer smiling. The corners of her mouth were definitely turned up, but it was impossible to call that blood-curdling expression something as innocent as a smile.
“No wonder you all look like that. The elves must have scalped you once or twice.”
“… The fuck?”
The chief brigand couldn’t help but take a wary step back while his underlings tensed up. Could one tiny woman really exude this much malice?
“Did they take a little too much off the top and cut off part of your brain?”
She was now holding an old pipe. How, when, and from where it appeared in her hands, nobody could say.
“Looks like I’ll need to beat some common sense back into you!”
*CRACK*
Barely a blink of an eye later and his left knee was shattered into a million pieces. The man could do nothing but fall over, screaming bloody murder. He didn’t even see the nun move, yet she was now looming over him as if she’d always been there. She then promptly kicked his teeth in.
“Was this the filthy mouth that insulted my kind Lady Ohva?! Huh?! HUH?! ANSWER ME, YOU PIECE OF GARBAGE!”
She just kept working him over with her steel-toed boots and repurposed plumbing line while hurling all manner of verbal abuse.
“COME ON, THEN! YOU WERE TALKING ALL THAT GOOD SHIT A SECOND AGO! NOT SO TOUGH NOW, ARE YA?!”
“B-boss?!”
One of the underlings managed to snap out of their shocked stupor and took a step closer in some misguided attempt to help, only to instantly regret that decision.
“WHAT?! YOU WANT SOME TOO, LIMP-DICK?! COME AT ME, THEN! I GOT PLENTY OF PIPE FOR ALL YOU WORTHLESS ASSHOLES! YOU’LL BE EATING, PISSING, AND SHITTING THROUGH STRAWS WHEN I’M DONE WITH YOU! SO, YOU GONNA BRING IT OR WHAT?!”
The way she waved that bloodied rod around made it clear she had every intention of following up on that threat.
“DIDN’T THINK SO! PTCHO!” she spat on the ground. “Now… where was I?!”
“Agatha, I think he’s had enough.”
A calm voice of reason cut through the madness. It came from a tall, sharply-dressed, black-haired gentleman with a pair of frameless square glasses resting on his slightly crooked nose. The black suit and green armband he was wearing made it clear he was working for the provisional government. He looked like he’d been standing behind the berserking nun for a while and only now bothered to call out to her. A single look at his unflinching face was all it took for her to instantly mellow out.
“Ah… Oh, no! I did it again! No waaay!”
She dropped her improvised weapon and ran into the church with her face in her hands. She was actually crying by the sound of it, though the thunderous force with which she slammed that front door made it clear she was best left alone right now.
“Hm. Well, could be worse,” the official spoke confidently as he picked up the box of clothes. “By the way, I don’t know who you people are, but I’m willing to overlook this incident so long as you never show your faces around here again. Are we clear?”
He received a disjointed chorus of ‘Yes, sir’ as the skin-heads collected their facially-rearranged leader and dragged him off to wherever they came from. There wasn’t much in terms of law enforcement around here, but everyone knew to steer clear of government agents if they valued their freedom. Anyone who so much as looked wrong at one of those spooks was liable to get ten years of hard labor, and that was if they were lucky. It was therefore surprising that one of the skin-heads was actually brave enough to stick around and ask questions.
“Excuse me, s-sir?”
“Hm? What?”
“Was… was that woman…”
“She is Sister Agatha. A simple nun and nothing more.”
“No, no, I’m pretty sure–”
“A simple nun,” he firmly reiterated, “and nothing more.”
“Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
He hurried to join the rest of his old unit, who were understandably rather cross with him.
“Why the fuck did you bother the suit after he let us go?”
“Yeah, you trying to get us court-martialled?”
“No, we really shouldn’t have come here in the first place,” the smart one grumbled.
“The fuck?! You’re the one who said this would be easy pickings since Richt was no longer around!”
“It wasn’t my fault, okay?! I heard there was a real psycho in the area, I just didn’t expect it to be that nun!”
“That’s… yeah, that’s fair. I thought she only looked like a monster at first. Didn’t think she actually was one.”
“Oh, absolutely. You have no idea how big of a bullet we just dodged.”
“Why? What did that suit tell you?”
“You really don’t wanna know.”
The unusually intelligent scumbag who stayed behind, he actually had a very good idea what that nun’s identity was, and he sorely wished he didn’t.
Back during the Great War, there was nobody who hadn’t heard of Agatha von Kocher, the Washein’s Empire’s ‘Supreme Butcher.’ An immensely powerful paladin of Ovha whose cruelty and bloodthirst were matched only by her ruthless intellect. It was no exaggeration that she alone was responsible for much of the hatred and distrust people had towards the Washein Empire and the Supreme Goddess of Order and Justice. Though she claimed a holy purpose, her methods were so unbelievably creative in their cruelty that new international laws had to be made just because of her. That crazy bitch exploited so many recently-plugged loopholes that if she were tried and judged for her past deeds now, she’d have been hanged ten times over as history’s worst war criminal.
Forget dodging a bullet – what these idiots avoided was a literal superweapon. Between her and the g-man prowling about, there was literally no reason anyone could ever have to stick around Broketown.
“… Think she’ll step on me if I go back?”
“One more word out of you, and I’m ripping your dick off!”
“Sorry.”
Fuckin’ Jerry.