Futility - The Hagiography of Ecclesia's Master, as Recounted by Lucila Fortner
Chapter Six: The Binding
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“It is the same for all: There is a common fate for the righteous and the wicked, for the good and the bad, for the clean and the unclean, for the one who sacrifices and the one who does not.”
Like I have said before, Shanoa was, from the start, most obviously the pick for the role of bearer. Her strength, with new control over her wild magic, had made her by far the most powerful of our Order’s warriors by the time she had turned eighteen. She was already decided upon so many years in advance. She was not ready. She would, however, be ready soon, and just in time for the sort of celestial alignment that would be necessary for the ritual, in two years’ time.
Things were falling into place, and though the Chief Researcher was initially accepted into his role with hesitance at best, he was finally allowed to work on his own projects, leading the effort to understand Dominus and make it suitable for absorption. And lead he did! With immense vigor, he dedicated himself to the whole of it. And, against all odds, he had made a discovery.
He delivered this discovery at lunch, gingerly taking his seat near Barlowe’s great chair. After gaining the role of Chief Researcher, he was bound by his role to sit at the table of great scholars, the highest honor, though he often complained that he could not spend his time with me or Shanoa.
“Well, you see, sir, it’s like this. Er... That is to say, I mean- Engraving. You want to engrave the soul for bodily conjuring. Ah... you know that already. You’ve always told me that the body and the soul are linked; magic and physicality are twins. Logically, to engrave the body is to engrave the soul. So if you were to draw sigils on the body that can summon such a wealth of power, then the one who bore the sigils could indeed bear and use the Dominus. Ink is impermanent, but if you could make the flesh-” Albus began, running his mouth like always.
“Of course! What a genius you are. I have a process in mind, actually, and some of your researchers have indeed created suitable runes for such a concept... I shall test it on Shanoa, as she is already showing great promise in her attempts to summon without a magical conduit, as you know.” Barlowe rubbed his chin, keeping his tone of voice even.
Of course, if Albus knew what sort of “process” Barlowe had planned, he would have put a stop to it at once, possibly even leaving the Order. He was far too sentimental, always speaking of the greater good while still forsaking humanity at every turn if it meant protecting Shanoa from brief amounts of pain. He had been this way since his youth, and I asked Barlowe if he regretted housing the two disciples in the same dormitory. He did not answer, only saying that a friendship among his children was a beautiful and dangerous thing.
“What sort of process, sir?” Albus asked, as predicted. “I don’t know of any. I don’t think it’s been done before. Ink could suffice, actually,” he muttered, even though he knew it wasn’t true. It would not be a true mark, not in the way Barlowe wanted it.
“She will be alright, never you worry; she’s the perfect specimen for the process. This knowledge is forbidden even to my closest associates. Even my favourite researcher.” He smiled, warmly.
“Yes, sir,” he acquiesced. “...I won’t question you further.”
The process would indeed be a physical rune, one upon her back and two upon her shoulders. However, the pain of it, the agony of it, would be the way to tie it to the soul: an emotional wound. It would be unpleasant, surely, to be hurt so viscerally by someone she trusted, and she would fear him; she might even hate him; she might go numb with acceptance during the inscription process. Any of these would be a mark upon her mind and soul; the same as that physical rune, and it would be enough to even last through the loss of her memory. The anger, hatred, and agony would allow her to use the three pieces of Dominus simultaneously- hence the three runes- and thus she would reunite the holy trinity. Any potential lack of compliance afterwards would also be washed away, as such emotions were needless.
He was not cruel about it. He explained that the creation of runes would be extremely painful, but necessary. Otherwise, she would have relinquished her claim as bearer, and the fate of the world would be uncertain, and it would be her fault (this was by all accounts true). Under these terms, she had agreed, and assured her master that she could never say no to him.
I am sure she meant her enthusiasm to humbly comply. She could have backed out at any time. She knew what was at stake.
The two of them, master and disciple, gathered in the forbidden room, where the seal loomed large and beckoning. He recounted the inscription and what occurred that moment, though in consideration he left out the details of how he performed the ritual, out of fear of its misuse.
“After you endure this, you shall become a weapon; a blade to banish all evil; capable of freeing the world from the dark shackles that hold it,” he said, solemnly, the gravity of this decision weighing upon his voice.
“I understand, sir,” she nodded with her own equal solemnity.
“You are to remain still while it happens, lest it impair your magical abilities. Do you hear me? Absolutely still. No matter how much it hurts.”
“Of course, sir. I learned in my training, didn’t I?”
“The trance state... Very astute. That will indeed ease it along. Repress the pain.”
“Thank you, sir. I will.”
As he explains it, Shanoa let the magical energy bubble up within like that day in her youth she had cast Luminare. However, the Special Trainings had paid off, and she was able to keep that volatile energy at bay; leashed and muzzled. It flowed like blood in every vein, and that was all she could focus on. The inscription itself was something like a brand or, indeed, a tattoo, though I doubt it was the same as any conventional methods, as magic too was necessary for the desired effect.
The pain of such a burden was incredible, they had known this from the very first. Once it had been completed, Shanoa snapped from her trance and collapsed on the ground, bleeding from the arcane engravings that now scarred her, carved into her skin; she was loudly weeping. The pain was temporary and irrelevant, though- this would afford her great power, more power than any before her. Only her flesh could be branded; only she would be a vessel for the Glyphs. Barlowe found no sorrow in this, even as she wailed in agony, begging for reprieve like a needful infant, hands balled into fists. He would soon, of course, take her to the infirmary to recover, but the magical runes needed to set into her; mutilate her flesh; become her newfound limbs. And so he waited a short while; Shanoa would endure. She knew how to suffer pain and had done it throughout her warriors’ training. She was dutiful and obedient. She was his perfect specimen, after all, the one to bring about the end-times and cleave the world of evil.
She was his blade; his Isaac bound. Albus was a setback; Shanoa was a revelation.
Indeed, she is the fourth and final piece: Dominus Hostia. When she would absorb the three pieces, all would be reunited into one, and that would be what allowed Dracula the strength to live once more. She, in her own way, would be a part of Him; it would be an honor to give her soul to become a part of the very Lord. That was the truest of heavens more than any afterlife we lesser mortals are afforded.
He could not revel in the success of the ritual for very long, however. The ornate blue door, decorated with intricate gold engravings, opened with a loud, panicked thud. It was Albus.
“Why must you always interrupt?” Barlowe quickly turned to sternly look at the interloper. It was becoming difficult to hold himself back from reprimanding him; this particular ceremony was a secret for good reason. Even his followers, even his trusted Chief Researcher, were not always understanding of what must be done for the good of mankind. They would react in horror to what they could not understand, as tragic as it is.
“I heard screaming. I wanted to make sure-” he paused suddenly, his eyes darting to the bleeding girl laying before the vessel. Those eyes went very wide with horror, and he rushed to her side. “What have you done to her?! You mean to kill her!” His voice shook with accusatory grief. He dared not touch the raw flesh, even as he crouched close to her and stroked her hair with quivering hands in a futile effort to comfort her, that precious thing.
"I've done no such thing," Barlowe maintained.
“Don’t... Don’t worry about me. I'll be alright,” Shanoa finally stammered, blinking away the tears as though ashamed of them. “It’s necessary for the greater good. I’m a blade now. I can break the vessel, once you finish your research. Isn’t that what we wanted...?”
“Did it have to be like this, sir?!” Albus turned his gaze back towards his master. “When you said you’d make her flesh suitable, I didn’t think you meant something like this!”
"Albus, please. The ends justify the means. You'd forsake hundreds of lives just because it hurt a bit to save them? That is most selfish of you."
The boy winced.
"I'm not," his voice quieted into something meeker, like a dog with its tail between its legs. "I'm not selfish, sir. I apologize."
“Take me to the infirmary...?” Shanoa asked, eyes squeezed shut in pain. “Please?”
“I think that will be fine now; the binding is complete. Albus, you take her. I have things to attend to.” Barlowe waved a hand.
Albus, not wanting to argue anymore, complied.
Shanoa’s recovery was long, and in that timeframe the scribes, with our brief training in tailoring, were to create a dress that would not irritate her sensitive runes. It was wonderfully kind of Barlowe to design such a dress with her in mind, as I could not imagine living with fabric chafing against them. Not all scholars would have made such a consideration for their students. Albus was attentive to the point of his studies’ neglect, always bringing her food from the kitchens despite the strict diet the nurses were keeping her on and checking on her health.
It would be worth everything, Shanoa assured him, on an occasion where I had come as well. He had brought an apple, among other fresh fruits that had been brought to the cathedral (always a joyous occasion), but she was pushing it away, trying to explain the importance that she recover as the nurses had instructed. Albus always seemed to avoid looking at the bandages wrapped around her torso and arms, wincing whenever he caught a glance. I had the sense that day that something was eating away at him, having witnessed the inscription.
During my writings, I asked Barlowe about this, and he indeed confirmed those old buried concerns: that Albus had considered the unforgivable. He had asked to leave.
“I’m through with this,” he said, once Barlowe had let him into the private office. He slouched over in the chair across the desk, hands twitching violently as though that movement was his only comfort. “You’re not honest with me. I don’t want to... contribute to this, anymore.”
“You’d really consider leaving when Shanoa is still recovering? I thought you cared for her like a sister.” Barlowe raised an eyebrow. He knew he would never really do it, but the empty threat was concerning.
“Of course I’d visit-” Albus protested. “I... I was actually planning to take her with me.”
“No! No. You either stay here or never see her again. You must know where your loyalties lie, and where hers do as well; she agreed to this. You wouldn’t betray us, would you? And if you should leave, you would have no home, no family to care for you. Where would you be without us?! Without Ecclesia!”
“Nowhere... I suppose,” he acquiesced. "But... This worries me, sir. I assumed no harm would come to her from my work, but magic always has a price, does it not? Especially Dominus, the power of Dracula Himself..."
"Indeed. The greatest power of all."
"I need to test Dominus for- well, you know, if there are side effects, I cannot allow- I can't let her get hurt." He blabbered, his mind racing to the most terrifying of possibilities. "If this poses further harm to my sister, she cannot be the bearer. As your advisor and trusted student, I want you to promise this to me."
It was time for the leash to tighten again. If he ran amok with his investigations, he ran the risk of discovering the whole of the truth, and yet again the curiosity that made him so brilliant was jeopardizing the great wishes of mankind. Oh, if he knew it all, he would raise hell.
"You act as though she's made of glass. She chose this duty on her own, Albus. How do you think it feels, to be treated like a fragile child when one’s grown into a strong young lady?"
"Did she say that to you?"
"She doesn't spend all her time with you, I'm sure you're aware..."
"No... She-"
"You baby her. Let her be independent, alright? She yearns for it, secretly. She’s ashamed to ask you, but it’s what she wishes." Barlowe, of course, had no idea if those were actually her feelings, but Albus would bow to anything he even thought she wished. It was awfully convenient. “Anything that happens here will be for the greater good, and the Lord’s plan. Do you understand?”
“Of course, sir,” Albus bowed his head in defeat.
“You may continue testing the Glyph, but I want you to remember my command is absolute, regardless of your personal feelings on the matter. Is that alright?” His voice softened a little, like how he usually talked to Shanoa. It seemed to put his students at ease, and Albus was no different. “And... You cannot leave because we’d miss you terribly. We love you.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, and the matter was over after that.
Despite the brief disagreement, things were looking up in a number of ways. Shanoa had reached the physical requirements that would be necessary for Dominus, only needing to be prepared for the magical performance, a training regimen that would begin very quickly. Once a week had passed, Barlowe made the request for her to be pulled from the infirmary as soon as possible.
“Are you sure I should begin this new training so quickly? It still hurts, sir. The scars-” A hand wandered up to her shoulder, and she flinched at the light touch. Her other hand clenched around the crisp white sheets that were nested around her waist.
“They are runes, Shanoa. Remember that. Do not call them scars. It is incorrect.”
“Right...”
“We are working on limited time. The lunar eclipse, the event where the line between the physical and magic blurs, will come in two years’ time, and I want to make absolutely sure you’ll be able to make the absorption by then. That is the optimal time for me to perform the ritual, and though the eclipse isn’t necessary, it’s an opportunity I want to take,” he explained. “When the moon runs red with blood, then you shall be invited to the forbidden room to become a Vessel in your own right.”
“And absorb Dominus,” she said, filled with renewed resolve. Indeed, her magical ability was only half of what made her such an excellent candidate to be the vessel. Her complacency was the other. “Well, everything I’ve been through would be for nothing if I didn’t. I cannot refuse you.”
“Good,” Barlowe nodded. “You’ve done well. I think some sweets are in order, now that you’re off the nurses’ diet, right? It’s only what you deserve for facing the pain so bravely.”
“That would be nice, sir.”
“I’ll tell the kitchens posthaste.”
Indeed, the pieces had fallen into place. Barlowe’s efforts would indeed bring the Lord’s plan to fruition, however, not all would go as he planned. Not at all! Albus’s constant questioning and prodding and “ethical dilemmas” would be the catalyst for the eventual defeat of our sacred Order as the eclipse neared...
But indeed, she was perfectly conditioned to play her role. Victory was almost certainly secure, and there was no reason for her to question her duties as he did. She had gone through with the hardest part already, after all. Her death was to be painless, so there was no guilt in imagining it.
Barlowe relished this. He found himself drawn to the forbidden room at night again, rather than sleeping in his private quarters as was usual for him. Did that dark power of His spark more brightly from within the Vessel, as though in approval?
I can only guess, and terribly miss that optimistic time.
Annotations
-The “Bad Things Happening To Shanoa” chapter (of which there are a few admittedly...) It’ll get its catharsis at the end, I promise. The idea of tying her magical ability to an emotional scar as well as a physical one was an idea I thought was pretty relevant due to how emotions and trauma are a part of OOE’s story. Her tattoos being scars are a headcanon I’ve had for a very long time. Pain for the “greater good” is, once again, at the center of this tale.
-“Dominus Hostia” is meant metaphorically, but she IS the fourth component of Dominus necessary for it to work. The fuel. It’s Latin for “sacrificed animal”.
-I think Albus feels at fault for what happened, having presented his discovery and causing the “inscription”. I think this guilt can be read as further informing his desire to protect her from further harm. (I don’t know why I say “I think” as though I haven’t written the damn thing, lol. It’s like the characters are beyond my control. But I guess in fanfiction- especially a fic that acts as a prequel- they kind of are...?)
-Barlowe trying to drive a wedge between the siblings is, ofc, something he attempted during OOE (convincing Shanoa that Albus was envious and selfish to steal Dominus, something that cost him his life) so I think it was very possible that he would have attempted the same tactic before.
-The eclipse being part of the absorption, and its stealing of memories are a tenuous connection to the events of the Demon Castle War. It’s possible some fragmented records of Ecclesia’s research informed the Hakuba rituals, or perhaps their traditions informed Ecclesia’s theories. Who knows? Either way, similar magic was used in 1999, and Julius too forfeited his memories as sacrifice.
-Something you’ve probably noticed by now is that Lucila constantly trips over herself in her writing to justify everything Barlowe did. She wants to persuade you. But I think subconsciously she fears him, too, and fears to criticize him at all. Anything less than obedience is seen as unforgivable in Ecclesia. I think Lucila comes across as a total teacher’s pet, and an arrogant little know-it-all, but her attitude comes from the same trauma as Shanoa and Albus’s. She deserves some sympathy, I think.
