Chapter Text
“Three hundred years ago, the Scourge – humans – arrived here,” Melanie began her tale while Meryl and Milly freed Vash from the metal bands. The ache would last for a long time, but already his skin was knitting together, with the help of their songs, closing up the wounds inflicted by his brother.
Vash knew this much: humanity had long ago mastered the ability to travel from planet to planet and sent their great metal birds flying through the stars. “I don’t understand what that has to do with my brother and I,” he asked.
Melanie quieted him, “When they came to this desert planet, it was by accident … A cataclysmic explosion set off a chain reaction through the ship that clipped their metal wings and sent them plummeting to the ground like shooting stars. Industrious as they were, they began to build, spreading their technology – carving themselves out a place to grow, laying down foundations, and wrapping the land in burnished metal, cement, and plastic. Combing through life, changing, recreating, and then spreading outwards. But, there was never enough room to grow.”
Meryl and Milly continued to sing softly while Melanie continued her tale, “At that time…the Sovereign of the Seraph, ever curious, climbed through time – sending feathers and shoots upwards and downwards, opening portals in the past, present, and future. She was watching and learning about the universe, young and newly coming into her powers. A slight miscalculation, a portal opened too soon, a meteor veering off course; it sent her plummeting to this desert planet like a star falling from the sky. And that was when he found her…”
“His name was Michael, and it was through him the Scourge were born.”
*
The day was unbelievably hot for winter. Those who say a desert doesn't have seasons have clearly never lived in one because Michael could tell by the sun's angle, the subtle shift in shadows, and the direction of the breeze that the days were phasing into winter now. Soon, the cool night air would grow frigid. The enormous worms that dug through the sands would be moving again, migrating from one side of the planet to the next as its gravitational pull shifted with the direction of its axis on its lazy rotation away from the twin suns.
"Ah, it's about time for dinner," He sighed exhaustedly and folded up his surveying tools, tucking them away in a duffel bag next to him. The Skyeye – a tiny drone – rested beside the bag; he used it mainly for scanning the deep canyons inaccessible by foot. Humanity had been on this planet for nearly fifty years, but there was still so much to discover. His stomach rumbled, urging him to return to his quarters.
Michael grabbed his belongings and made his way back to the developing township. Even from a distance, he could see where the remaining parts of their spacecraft had been repurposed into laboratories, greenhouses, and dwellings. The colossal metal structure loomed overhead, providing shade and a reminder of the people who had perished during the Fall, a sepulchre to guard their spirits. As he strolled through the streets, saying hello to familiar faces, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He had sensed the unseen eyes in the desert. While using the Skyeye, he thought he spied movement – but nothing was there when he dispatched the drone to inspect it more closely. He decided that the loneliness of this place must get to him. He had friends, sure, but they weren’t extremely close, and he wasn’t sure he could depend on them in a fight.
Doesn’t matter, day in and day out, it’s the same either way, he thought, grateful when he’d finally reached his home. He had more important things to do.
“I’m home,” he greeted as he closed the door behind him, latching it shut. It was a simple apartment. Like many others, it had been salvaged from the wreckage. Portions of the living quarters that had survived the Fall had been repaired and converted to continue serving their original purpose, though, with his job as a research assistant, a small lab had been installed so he could continue his work while at home. The walls were littered with diagrams and sketches, charts with scrawled notes, scraps of paper tacked to the walls, data screens and monitoring stations, books and journals, flasks and beakers, Bunsen burners, and a myriad of other instruments. All the things he might ever need to conduct his research.
As he set down his duffel bag and drew off his jacket, kicking off his dusty boots, he called out again while going to the back room where his personal lab was. "Ah, you're looking healthier today!" he gushed and wrung his hands together. At the back of the room, an enormous glass and metal cylinder stood against the far wall and inside sat his beautiful angel.
She was frowning at him, eyes half-lidded as she watched him move around the laboratory.
"Tesla... don't give me that face," he scolded and knelt before the capsule, placing his hands on either side. The woman – angel – stood and leaned towards him; her eyes were pale blue, fathomless, beneath a crown of long hair of spun gold. Pressing her hands to the glass over his, she pressed her forehead on it and then hissed. Spreading her wings, she beat them against the glass, trying to break free.
"No! Don't do that!" Michael shouted, slamming his fists on the transparent wall. "You'll only hurt yourself more!" His voice echoed off the laboratory walls as her wings continued to thrash, loosening feathers, tearing apart the bandages he had carefully wrapped around them after finding her, broken and bloodied in a small crater. He did not know how or why she’d come to be there, but he had seen her fall… rescued and nursed her back to health. She was his now; she owed him. Tesla’s pale feathers turned red, and blood dripped off the ends where it was smeared beneath her stomping feet, staining them pink. Michael scowled, narrowing his eyes. “I'm doing this for you, Tesla... for us. My beautiful angel..," he murmured.
Scowling, the angel's expression was a mixture of rage and frustration, but he couldn't let her go.
Her voice was soft and weak when she spoke, "You promised to free me. I’ve helped you… given of myself a hundred times over," she spat, her voice muffled by the glass. "You swore that you would help me if I helped you!"
Michael sighed, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against the glass. "I know, and I will... I just need more time,” he said, pressing his fingers to his temples, massaging at the headache that had been steadily building all day.
“I could help with that. You need only let me out.” Tesla said gently.
Michael laughed. She could help him, he knew. But then Tesla would leave him, and he couldn’t have that. She had tried to barter like this with him and had almost escaped, so… he was forced to clip her wings. Cutting away the long flight feathers and leaving only soft down behind. The problem was that her exceptional healing ability had them grown back every two weeks, and he’d be forced to cut them again. He had considered removing them once, but he wasn’t sure that would solve the problem either. “A headache is a fleeting pain, Tesla. It will pass.”
Tesla huffed and shook her head, what was left of her wings still beating against the glass. "How many times must I tell you? I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go back to my people, to my home."
“Not yet,” he was so close to perfecting the serum that would give him what he wanted. Michael looked away from the fuming angel, guilt gnawing at his insides. He knew that he was taking advantage of her and keeping her here against her will, but it was for the greater good. The advancement of humanity and the expansion of their budding empire into the stars. He couldn't let her ruin it all. His eyes slid back to her, watching her as she recoiled from his gaze.
"Just bear with me, please?"
The angel pinned him with her eyes, sneering, showing her sharp fangs. Her arms and legs were wrapped in bandages, and the many lacerations along her body were proof of all she had already endured earlier that day. She was a caged predator, ready to attack. Time had worn down Tesla's patience with this human.
*
Days turned into weeks and months, and Michael always felt he was being observed by some outside force, though it never made itself known. Moreover, he had gathered followers among colleagues he trusted, testing and testing and perfecting his experiments with them and keeping an eye on the angel-turned-feral creature.
They were his ever-watchful eyes, vigilant and loyal.
"I understand it's painful, my angel," he said as he stood back from the glass and entered a command into one of the many machines surrounding Tesla's chamber. A pale green gas began leaking into the glass capsule, her muffled screams full of rage. Telsa had long since stopped speaking to him, instead only throwing herself against the walls when she had the strength. When her songs failed to affect him as his serum became more effective, he chose to gag her – it was for the better, as she wasn't eating or drinking anymore anyway. Though she had grown noticeably gaunt.
"I am sorry. It's for your own safety..." Michael whispered, and when she'd grown delirious enough to safely remove her from containment, he waved for his assistants to help. Opening the chamber, they hoisted the angel onto a gurney and strapped her down, ensuring what was left of her wings were bound tightly to her back. “I’m sorry, Tesla. But it's nearly perfected,” he whispered, picking up his scalpel.
*
“Michael was not proud of what he had done but was delighted at the outcome. What remained of the angel floated in the chamber, suspended in embalming fluid for further study later. For now, he would focus on the serum he'd created – using orphans and homeless people mainly; if they did not survive the experiments, no one would miss them. He was enthralled to find they had gained some modicum of the angels' potent ability to manipulate sound, but that also, given the planet's makeup, metals became a source of power rather than organic materials. As Tesla had died a martyr to Michael’s cause, he ensured her memory would be carried on secretly amongst those who had helped him succeed. Over time, Michael and his assistants perfected the serum, which became a gift to those who received it.
Taking from Tesla bits of bone that he polished into relics, Michael entrusted them with those who would keep their research embedded in their memories and tell tales. So, First Voice was born, their song more potent than the others, and was given free rein to choose to whom they would bless and what songs they would learn. All that Michael looked upon was sacred, so also, The Eye of Michael had been established. Over time, the serum was no longer needed… humanity had changed; their children begot children who begot children, all touched with the gifts of Eo’Mac.
Two hundred years later, the shadow that had trailed after his sister's lingering songs, woven as they were into the fabric of this planet, echoing upwards and downwards through time and space, encountered the humans and named them Scourge because that is what they were to him – he was furious, determined to avenge his sister's death... only this Seraph called Nai had used them and offered of himself in service of Eo’Mac, in return for a single night of shelter. That was all. And from that meeting, the Scourge created the first Sovereign, a child of Eo’Mac more potent than any other to act as a leader, a source of protection, and a face to present to the rest of the galaxy in times of need. A child of blessing. They were chosen through battle; only the strongest could lead, and so began the battles of ascension. Upon claiming the newly established throne, the first Scourge Sovereign was blessed beneath song and scalpel. Forever changed. The tradition was carried on, it continues this way even now...”
Tears fell down Melanie’s face and splashed over her robes, “I helped Nicholas become what he is now…” she cried. “He chose to become the Blessed so others would not have to because they do not know… they don’t know… it is better to die in the ascension battle than undergo what I must put them through. Many died during the process, never surviving to become Sovereign, so another must be selected. Dozens of children's blood is on my hands and the hands of my predecessors; I carry their sins."
*****
Vash could not run fast enough or hard enough; Wolfwood was slipping, and Vash wasn’t going to make it. Crying out, Vash dove for him. Reaching out and catching him by the fingers.
And then felt him
slip
from
his grasp.
“NICHOLAS!”
Wolfwood fell. Gravity reached up to haul him down, trailing vaporous smoke and blood. Face contorted in rage as Legato pulled the metal threads between them, bringing them together; the two clashed together mid-air. Vash beat his wings, preparing to fly after him, when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and forced him onto his stomach. “Watch brother, watch as that loathsome thing dies like the parasite he is,” Nai hissed into Vash’s ear. Fingers bit into his skin with enough force to make his bones ache. Vash wanted to look away, but he could not. He watched as Wolfwood fell. He was a magnet to this land, tied to it, scarred, carved, and shaped by its challenges. Vash’s eyes pricked with furious tears as the battle-torn ground, its waves of Scourge and Angelic warriors, caught him.
Enveloped him.
And swallowed Wolfwood whole.
Vash stared in disbelief. Just like that, he was gone. “N…Nicholas?”
“Brother. It is about time you put aside childish things. Come with me; watch as I destroy the Scourge home city. Finally, Sepulchre is mine!”
“Nai. I know what you did! The prophecy… First Voice, the Scourge High Priestess – told me everything. They told me about Tesla and Michael and you... You can’t bury this.”
“I can do whatever I want, brother. I am God here. The Scourge belong to me. Without me, they would have ceased to exist a long time ago, our sisters blood could only care them so far. She was young and foolish; she should have offered to work with them as I did. They made it easy.”
“You let this happen. I will never follow you. I would rather die myself than do that.”
“Like that vagrant? What was he called again? Oh yes, Nicholas the Punisher… was quite the looker, was he not? I bet he is a beautiful corpse, the blushing bride of death,” Nai chuckled. His eyes turned icy, his voice steely. “He won’t be meting out any more retribution.”
Grabbing his head between his hands, Vash fell to his knees; how easy it was for his brother to toss aside any and all life. How easy was it for him to use, use, and use, and for what? “Why? What is wrong with you, Nai?” Vash wiped away his tears, gathered himself to his feet, and summoned his scepter, “This ends now, brother.”
Nai turned, “You dare to challenge me without earning the right?”
“I have every right!”
“Hah! You’ve tried, and you’ve lost before. So many times, what makes you think you’ll win this time?” Nai teased. The air shimmered around him. Metal wires laced with blades, thousands, millions perhaps, glittered in the air around Nai, surrounding him in a halo of sharp barbs. His knives, there was a reason the Scourge knew him as Millions Knives; he was a light in the center of a dervish of blades – the Seraph had always believed the abilities of the Scourge Chanters, their use of song, had been stolen from their people…all while the Scourge believed the Seraph had stolen their ability to twist and warp the elements of metal, turning it against them like poison. The truth was far more complicated.
“You started all this nearly one hundred years ago; you visited these people and planted your seeds of hate. Eo’Mac is a lie, a false God… but you are no more a God than that man was.”
“You figured it out. Took you long enough, brother. What better way to usurp a kingdom than to take it down from the inside? All that is left to do is summon their Seraphim blood… they’ll join me willingly, become one with the Ark, and forget they ever lived their silly little lives on this God-forsaken junk heap of a planet. And, well, those that refuse – they’ll be exterminated. I do not need anymore.”
Vash turned and watched the Ark. It had grown so large, its reach so far. Entire worlds, galaxies, and timelines had been destroyed or rearranged for Nai’s desires. It would take centuries to repair the damage. Vash pressed his hands to the surface of the Ark; lights bloomed around the place where his fingers touched. So many Seraphim and Nephilim sacrificed to the Ark, to Nai’s selfish wants. Vash would not let this happen, not anymore.
He had been the blind, coddled second prince long enough.