Part II - The Apotheosis of Miyu Nocturne (1/2)

Five avatars, along with the deities they embodied.

The five of them, seated together there in that canvas-topped wagon, headed for Maiden's Throat. A journey none of them had chosen. The cart rattling underneath them along the uneven dirt road. Under stars they couldn't see.

Blink-bound, all of them, by the bracelets forced upon them—unable to fight or escape.

She looked around her. Avatars, the same as her. Incarnations of their own guardian deities.

Across from her sat Demetri, from Sylvaryl. Avatar of his village's warrior deity. Together they'd been forced into many of the same battles. The two of them were all that remained of their original group.

On either side of him, two priestesses she didn't know. Farah and Sera. No idea which villages they hailed from.

And lastly, on her left, a young girl, freshly taken from her village. Trembling in her seat like a newborn fawn. Gripping her staff so hard her knuckles had turned white.

She placed a hand atop the girl's. The girl looked up at her.

"Don't be scared. What's your name?"

Hesitantly: "A-Al … Alma."

"It's nice to meet you, Alma. My name is Miyu. Where are you from, Alma?"

"… G-Glintwood."

"Wow, Glintwood. I've never been there, but I'm sure it's a lovely place."

"Miyu—… Miyu-nee-san … I'm scared."

So young. Too young to be fighting a war she had nothing to do with. And all because she happened to be her deity's incarnation.

Miyu felt a pang in her chest, and silently cursed the Elfen Kingdom.

"Don't worry," she said. "Miyu-nee-san will try her best, to protect you."

Alma did her best to smile, but it was clear Miyu's peculiar wording had confused her.

A snort, from across the cart. Demetri shook his head. "Listen to you. 'Try her best'. Listen here, Nocturne—times like this, you're supposed to just say, 'I'm protect you, no matter what. Nothing bad's gonna happen.'"

Miyu, stiffly: "I don't make promises I can't keep."

Demetri sighed in exasperation. Then, addressing the two priestesses on either side of him: "Listen close, ladies. This one here? She"—pointing at Miyu—"scares the shit out of me. The two of us have survived countless battles, and she's still the only thing that frightens me out of everything we've been through."

"Why?" asked Farah. "She a good blinker or something?"

Demetri, chuckling dryly: "No, that's just it—she can't even blink!"

The other priestess, Sera, laughed. "What?! What good is she in a fight, then?"

"None. She's completely useless. She can't blink, she can't fight—there's no discernible talent. Our group of avatars … there were ten of us, in the beginning. Even better blinkers than I, in that group. … It's a sick joke, that she gets to come out of everything unscathed."

"If she can't fight … What does the Elfen Kingdom even use her for, then?"

"Even if some of us can't fight—it's enough that we avatars embody the divine will of our respective deities. The Elfen Kingdom believes they can tap into that same will. Redirect it into winning the war."

Alma, the girl, sniffled. "It's not fair. Th-they said they would hurt Glintwood, if I didn't come along. Papa tried to protect me. They—they beat him up so bad, he …" The girl trailed off, unable to stop her tears from flowing.

Demetri scoffed. "'Fair'? Listen to me, ojou-chan—Fair's got nothing to do with anything. Better you learn that now than on the battlefield." Then he looked at Miyu. "Or hey, maybe Lazumere here'll protect you. All that luck she's got. Maybe some of it will rub off on you."

Sera: "Wait, wait, did you just say … Lazumere!?"

Farah: "Didn't that place get torched to the ground? Must be nothing but ashes now."

Sera: "No, no, it was crystalfire. Last I heard, it was still burning."

Demetri: "I wasn't lying when I said this little lady scares the shit out of me. I was there, when she got the news. Her entire village, her parents, everyone she knew—all of them dead. She barely even flinched. Ice cold."

Miyu said nothing.

Silence. The wagon wheels creaked. They went over a small bump in the road.

"Wait, Lazumere …" said Farah. "So you're the one who skipped out on Observance, all those years ago!? That was you, wasn't it?"

Twelve years later, and villages in the south were still talking about what she'd done. Miyu didn't respond.

"That was you!?" cried Sera. "… I couldn't imagine doing something like that. Our village Elders would execute me on the spot, to try and get a new replacement incarnation immediately. I'd be a lost cause."

Demetri, smirking crookedly: "You girls know why she skipped out on Observance, right?"

The priestesses shook their heads.

"She stayed by her boyfriend's side. … A human boy."

Gasps from either side of him. "No way …" they said, in unison.

Sera: "Oh, oh! Wait, wait—I heard that, that same priestess never achieved Apotheosis … Is that true?"

Miyu didn't respond.

Farah: "It's true, isn't it! You're like, ancient! How could you possibly have not ascended yet?" She stifled a laugh. "Are you even sure you're the actual avatar? Maybe you got disowned by your … Princess Whatever. Well, I'm not surprised, given that you—"

The wagon stopped.

The avatars went quiet.

Voices outside. Footsteps. The caravan was still.

Demetri brought a finger up to his lips.

The whirring of a war machine, drawing closer.

Closer.

When it reached the front of the caravan: "… Greetings, elfen travelers! Where y'all headed, this time of night?"

A voice Miyu and Demetri recognized instantly. They closed their eyes in silent dread.

The caravan guards answered. "Please, good sir … We are but a humble performing troupe. Let us pass unharmed. Our only function is to entertain, to bring smiles on the faces of elflings. We have no weapons, no medical supplies. This war is not our concern."

The war machine's pilot laughed whole-heartedly. "Now ain't that somethin'! A good ol' traveling troupe! Always wanted to see one of those. … Now why y'all so nervous? We're the ones intruding upon your land! This is elfen territory! You shouldn't have to ask us lowly humans permission to go anywhere. Ain't that right, fellas? (… And lady.)"

A cheer of agreement—plus the sound of a hammer striking the ground—from some motley crew of degenerates. … Four of them, in total.

"Well, it's quite a big caravan for a performing troupe," the voice continued. "What y'all perform?"

The caravan guards didn't say anything for a while. Then: "We … perform plays. And acts of p-prestidigitation."

A bellowing laugh. Whirring of machinery. "Magic tricks! Now, imagine that! Show us. We wanna see."

"S-sir … It-is late, and our performers a-are sleeping …"

"Ah, ain't that a shame. But hey! You're up! Surely you have some tricks up your sleeve. Show us. What's it gonna be? Rabbit in a hat? Doves from that coat of yours? Shoot some sparks from your fingers?"

A long pause.

"I can—I can juggle, sir."

"Wowie! Now aren't we lucky, gang! This man's gonna treat us to a juggling show!"

Laughter from the other humans.

Sounds of shuffling. Of rocks being picked up from the ground. Then silence.

The voice spoke. "Anytime you're ready, troupe leader. … Ah! Wait, before you begin. One more thing. To keep things interesting."

Nervously: "Sir …?"

"… You drop any one of those rocks, and this here wolfie of mine"—the slapping of his hand, on steel—"he's gonna tear you to shreds. That sounds fair, right?"

Complete silence.

"… No pressure or anything. … Well? What are ya waiting for? Get to juggling!"

The avatars sat listening.

A shuffle of the caravan guard's boots. Nervous inhale. Exhale.

Then—

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Three stones, tossed in the air—

—followed instantly by the sudden whirring of the war machine as it sprang to life, jaws opening and then snapping shut with a sickening CRUNCH.

The stones clattered back down to earth.

"Wow, Anders—you didn't even let him try. That's pretty messed up," said a female voice.

The second caravan guard: "You son of a—"

The avatars heard the unmistakable sound of an elfen blinker crystal firing up, followed by the sound of an energy blast from the guard's catalyst.

Then, the sound of knives unsheathing. A wet, squelching sound.

The caravan guard fell to the ground with a thud.

The female voice: "Ha. Nice aim, loser."

Someone spat on the ground. "Performing troupe, my ass. Could smell the blinker residue on these Elfen Kingdom assholes a mile away."

The mechanical whirring drew closer to the avatar's wagon, joined by the footsteps of his companions.

The avatars gripped their respective staffs tightly. Knowing full well they were helpless, as long as their bracelets were on.

"Fee …"

Stomp. Stomp. Whirrr.

"… fi …"

Stomp. Stomp. Whirrr.

"… fo …"

The wagon began to shake.

"… fum! … I smell—"

The canvas above the avatars tore open, ripped clean into the moonlit night.

A crow.

A spider.

A brute.

A wolf.

"—a cart full of stinking avatars."

The bald man piloting the wolf laughed. He threw his head back to the sky, and howled at the moon. Below him, the metal wolf opened its jaws, and adding a piercing screech of its own.

Miyu took Alma's hand, and gripped it tightly.