Futility - The Hagiography of Ecclesia's Master, as Recounted by Lucila Fortner
Chapter Seven: The Traitor
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“For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing. They have no further reward, because the memory of them is forgotten.”
And now, we reach the events that had transpired a few months ago. Recent history, and what caused the utter destruction of our holy Order from within. The night of the lunar eclipse was about a month away, and all measures had been taken. Shanoa would be ready. However...
Albus, during some nightly, sleep-deprived experiment with blood (as he had become convinced it would make Dominus safer for intake), had discovered the true toll of the Glyph, which on its own would not be quite so concerning (Barlowe had taught us carefully the meaning of sacrifice, after all), but his immediate defiance towards the Master’s choice did not bode well. Barlowe was stuck: cater to the demands of a petulant child, or risk having mutiny among his disciples should he share the knowledge. Thankfully, his quick thinking would be able to solve this issue- he sent Albus on a deliberately long mission abroad, and intended to host the final ritual in his absence. By the time he was to return, there would be nothing he could do: Shanoa would already be dead. Maybe he would mourn her, but the ascendance of humanity from that which tethered them to earth would surely justify it all, if he had any sense in his head despite the bullishness that had become characteristic of him as he had grown up.
As Albus left, the Master made a key decision, as the ritual soon approached: he called me to his office and told me everything. He trusted me above all others with this knowledge; he wanted a record of his accomplishments before the final judgment arrived. At first I was aghast- all this time, having been told we were to save humanity, we were working towards the revival of Dracula, and a dear friend of mine would be sacrificed to do it. But how many times had I sworn my loyalty to Barlowe- to Ecclesia's noble purpose? How many times had we all promised that we would die for progress, if necessary? I had meant it with every breath in my body; we had all meant it; Shanoa had meant it. There would be no grace in disavowing those promises. I trusted Barlowe above all others, and clearly he trusted me, to have given me this secret knowledge, the kind no other disciple was given the privilege of knowing. So I accepted what he told me in a heartbeat; the ends justify the means, and they always had. Shanoa had lived a good life, and the destiny that awaited her would ensure her crowning place on heaven's celestial circle. There would be no reason to mourn her death. Mankind would look to dawn, and the darkness would be there to hold them in His embrace. It was here I began writing, based carefully on Barlowe's guidance and my own experience. This was where the very tome in your hands had begun; my greatest work and dedication.
So of course I accepted this. He was my leader, and practically my father; he was my master.
Shanoa was to be carefully given food that would enhance her mana, and allowed more sleep than was typical for our Order’s schedule rather than being awoken sharply at six a.m. She did not know these were to be her last days, though we all had a sense of finality in that time. Perhaps it was the eclipse; perhaps it was the ceremony of the whole thing.
A ceremony that would not go uninterrupted.
It was a turbulent night for an eclipse, most definitely, a storm roiling outside like a boiling kettle. Lightning found glee in clashing down in showering sparks, and thunder struck an ominous beat like a war drum. Shanoa had come inside from a walk around the grounds as soon as the rain had begun and in the entrance hall- that same entrance hall we had first met- Albus waited, hidden in plain sight. He always did, wanting to scare her; she spotted him before that could come to fruition.
I was just outside the entrance hall when this happened, in one of the training rooms Barlowe used to summon monsters in to let us get a taste of real combat. I did not hear every bit of the conversation, but it went a bit like this: Albus asked how things were going back home, explaining that he had returned early; Shanoa explained that the ceremony for her absorption of Dominus was to begin that night. Albus had a sudden outburst, angry that Barlowe had gone back on his “promise”, and the bells in the high towers rung, calling Shanoa to her duty in the forbidden room.
Albus was left at the bottom of the staircase. Thunder crashed down around the cathedral once again, louder than ever, as though it was his own anger.
“HOW COULD HE?!”
His anguished wail chills me even now: the wail of a man with pure envy and spite in his heart. Having found that he was not to be the bearer, it nearly destroyed him there.
“Orders may be orders, Barlowe... But I'm holding you to your promise.”
I was not in the forbidden room during the ritual, but my master saw it fit to recount the events that transpired there very soon after, the great turning point in what would spell the end of our Order, and very nearly the failure to resurrect Dracula. I am glad he told me before he met his own end.
Shanoa entered the room with the solemnity demanded of her, the heavy door slamming behind her. She understood at least some of the great responsibility upon her- and of course, had she known the true price, she would have done it without hesitance. This I knew for certain, as I knew her well. In those days she had the steadfast heart of a martyr.
What could have led her astray?
“...This responsibility is yours alone, Shanoa. As you know, only you can become the bearer of Dominus. Every moment of your discipline has led you to this moment,” Barlowe explained, carefully. “Every pain you’ve ever bore.”
“Yes, sir,” she nodded.
“Even so, it will be nearly impossible for you to control its power. The purpose of this ritual is to make sure your body will adjust to Dominus completely.” He pointed at the runes on her shoulders. “Those will only take you so far... Don’t look so concerned, I will be handling all of this. You just have to do what you’re told, and it will go smoothly.”
“Yes, Sir. But when it's over, I-”
He told me that he saw a terrible spark of hesitance in her eyes. Had Albus told her what would happen? Had his earlier behaviour caused her to wonder? He could not allow this; not in these final moments before He would be revived.
This was technically the truth, thus he had no guilt in telling it: “That's right, Shanoa. You will be able to wield our most powerful Glyph... Dominus, which Ecclesia created as the ultimate weapon against Dracula’s Vessel.” It seemed to satiate her brief apprehension. As instructed, she stood before the Vessel, shaking horribly in its dark presence, as if it were beckoning her closer and closer.
“I'm proud of you, Shanoa. You will become our world's new saviour.” Barlowe gave her his warmest smile- after all, he wanted her final moments to only be the most wonderful of all. She must know how much we are thankful for her, for her sacrifice. This, too, would reassure her towards acting without fear- to using Dominus.
Finally, the tomes were cast, pages whirring as they floated into the air, and within Shanoa’s trance state she could see the sigils glistening on the air. Hatred, the blade, as she was; Anger, the dragon, Dracul; Agony, the weeping of the sinful. She, the sacrifice, needed only to stand, waiting, deep magic flickering through every inch of her and making her hair float as though she were underwater. She turned her back to the Glyphs, serenely, and accepted them; they began to converge on her, in her, through her, becoming her...
The door slammed open, a massive crashing noise echoing through the forbidden room, and the moment of delicate magical tension that had been building was instantly defused. Shanoa shrieked; everything dropped to the ground: the books, and even Shanoa herself, on her hands and knees before the Vessel and her eyes very wide.
The absorption had failed. Barlowe whirled around. “What’s going on?!”
The figure that greeted him confirmed all of Barlowe’s worst fears. The rogue, the rebellion, the fallen angel. Albus stood there, the tomes of Dominus now summoned at his side. His hand was in a claw-like configuration, as though beckoning the tomes to him.
Shanoa looked up at him, and there was not a bit of recognition in her blank expression. “You... Who... are...?”
Albus looked back at her, fury beginning to spark in his heart like a funeral pyre. He wanted this; to be her; to be the bearer. It drove him mad and would drive him madder still. That was why he took Dominus in that awful moment.
I could have stopped him! In my terror I was frozen, as he ascended the staircase to the forbidden room. The guilt destroys me even now. But my dear master has never blamed me, only comforted me as I wept. He is more gracious than any else.
Shanoa fainted before her traitorous brother could answer, the immense magical energy it took to absorb without the snap of its fruition was enough to knock her out cold. Albus glared at Barlowe, teeth bared like a furious wolf.
“What have you done...” It came out a worryingly calm whisper.
“What is the meaning of this!? Albus! You know how crucial the ritual is!” His own anger could shine just as brightly. Of course Albus would have gone down this path. Of course, he was the betrayer, the disobedient of his disciples.
“You lied to me.” His voice began to shake, his hands violently twitching.
“Albus-” He maintained his stern, disciplinary tone. It used to frighten the boy into obedience when he was young, to hear his warm, admirable mentor turn cold in an instant and know that a lashing was soon to follow.
It didn’t work now.
“I was to be the bearer. You promised me!” Albus shrieked like an anguished banshee.
“We each have a role! If you had followed orders, you might understand that. Above all else, Shanoa is the only one with the capacity for Dominus. You know that as well as I do. You’re wasting our time and everything we’ve worked for. Return the tomes to me.”
“I intended to overcome my weakness. What happened to working together?” He stepped backwards, refusing to yield.
“Perhaps we still can. Together, we will overcome this setback as well...” He extended a hand. “Give me the tomes, boy.”
“...It's too late for that.” Albus’s eyes wandered to where Shanoa lay unconscious, and shoved the books into a satchel at his hip. His eyes glistened with ardent resolve like hardened shards of sapphire.
“Tell me, Albus. What do you intend to do with Dominus?” Barlowe tried to maintain his cool authority.
“You think I’d be beholden to what you wish of it?! ...You said it yourself: each of us has a role. And, like a fine master, you've finally shown me what mine must be.” He grinned, a joyless thing. Cold amusement.
“Don't be stupid, Albus! What are you planning?”
“I will be taking Dominus with me. I’m leaving.”
“Be rational! Without that Glyph, our mission is a failure! You’d forsake everything just for this?!” His veneer of calm was gone. It was as if his heart was torn in two, seeing the ungrateful boy he had worked so hard to raise turn against him so willingly. “Give me the damn books, so help me God.”
“I have my own mission.” He pointed Agartha straight at him, and the master didn’t doubt for a moment that he would shoot to kill. However he did not, scattering a flurry of golden diamonds across the floor from the barrel of his gun. As Barlowe stepped forward to try and take the tomes or cast Fulgur, the flurry of bullets turned into massive spires of topaz spires of ice. He struggled against the crystals that bound him, but to no avail.
“You are my master no longer... Farewell, Barlowe,” his voice shivered with icy contempt. He turned and left, not even dignifying him by looking him in the eyes as he spoke.
The master wrestled free of the frigid prison of the Torpor Glyph, but by the time he shook the golden crystals off of him, Albus was long gone. Shanoa was still motionless, having been still as the Vessel itself since she had fainted.
For a brief, frightening moment, as he saw her crumpled there like something destroyed and lifeless, he thought he had killed the girl; broken her beyond usefulness. But consciousness returned to her, after those few minutes of agonizingly quiet, stale silence. He witnessed her deadened, empty eyes open; she had the eyes of a corpse, bereft of any light, but she was living- if this state could be considered as such. If she was malleable before, it was nothing compared to this. He realized then he had done no such thing, much like when he had engraved her with the runes. No, she was not broken.
He had fixed her.
She was taken to the infirmary, as it was imperative to lead her to believe this was an unforeseen consequence; that Albus had caused this loss deliberately, as Barlowe feared that the snake would use his previous closeness with her to lead her astray from her sacred purpose. The lie was quite necessary. I was to be sent in to visit her, and the thought thrilled me- to meet someone touched and shaped by the holy powers of Dracula! To look into those vacant eyes would be like staring upon those of a prophet or saint. Our saviour! I was glad for her, as I still considered her my friend at that time; however, I could not show it. I knew how to pretend, though, to be the ever-concerned bedside companion.
She did not remember me, upon my visit, but I cared not. I would forget all I knew if it meant a chance at the divine, elevated trance she was now in. She stared down, blankly, at her interlocked hands, placed on her lap where she sat up in her infirmary bed, not even looking up when I spoke to her. When she responded, it was in fragmented short acknowledgements. An "I see" or "Yes, ma'am", as though I wasn't merely two years her elder and once her close friend. It was as though everyone around her was an authority to obey, including myself. I had an awe and respect for that peculiar obsequity, though in reality it should have been me bowing to her- she was the one who had been chosen, after all. Even still, the feeling of authority was delightful. I wonder, now, if Barlowe felt like that all the time, with all his followers at his beck and call.
What Dominus had done to her was create a permanent version of the trance state necessary for casting, and thus induced the most pure connection between soul and body: a purely magical object, a conduit in and of herself. All else was suppressed: pain, memory, temptation... She had become merely a vessel, a dwelling, a messenger for the holy powers of Dominus, though the way Albus had stolen the tomes had delayed her inevitable sacrifice. But in the meantime, she was an angel on earth.
But, indeed... Someone would need to retrieve Dominus. Barlowe chose her for this mission, even in her current state, so that she may in combat regain the abilities that she had forgotten, and for the secret reasoning that Albus may be more easily swayed by the demands of his sister. He wouldn’t hand the tomes back to just anyone, and certainly not Barlowe, he had made that clear... But Shanoa? He would have done anything. And the blade, without her worldly attachments, would have no issues taking whatever measures were necessary to retrieve them. She was pliable, easy to command and eager to listen, as it was all she had to direct herself. As though she were dependent on Barlowe to even think, with the new limitations on her emotional capacity. It was only strategic.
The theft was a crisis, but Shanoa was perfectly suited to handle it. She had lived up to that name Barlowe had bestowed on her long ago. She was nothing, and everything.
A few weeks passed by, Shanoa slowly becoming acclimated to Glyph absorption and combat via her runes once more to the point of nearly completely regaining her skill. Before she left, Barlowe demonstrated his summoning of living dead, as the first combat trial for the new, real Shanoa. Deftly she slayed the skeletons with Confodere, the rapier Glyph, despite the disadvantage of slashing-type weapons against hardened bone. And that was proof enough- it was time for her mission. I was there when Barlowe wished her well, as she would likely take a long time to track down the elusive agent with his three week head start. I, too, gave her my farewells.
“Good work, Shanoa. I expected nothing less. Exemplary,” Barlowe said, bowing his head as she dismissed the ephemeral blade. “The way you handle your Glyphs is natural- as though you hadn’t forgotten anything at all.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, no intonation in her voice. So unlike how she had once vyed for his praise, now it all meant nothing. The humility is something I can only yearn for.
“And now, your mission must begin at once- the purpose of this abridged training regiment. Recover the supreme Glyph, Dominus. My pupil has it: Albus is his name,” he explained further, holding his gaze steadily into her hazy eyes.
“Albus,” she repeated slowly, as though tasting the unfamiliarity of the name on her tongue. Two meaningless syllables. Oh, if she knew who that name belonged to... If she could hate him as I do...
“Does that name stir your memory, by chance?” I saw the falter in his eyes, the sudden worry that her oblivion was not complete. It was a justified fear, as the sacred ceremony had been interrupted. If her state of emptiness was not complete, she could not be a vessel. No room within, you see, as Dominus seeks to inhabit every darkened corner of the mind that meaningless thought usually takes hold within. She must be entirely empty.
“No, sir.”
“Your feelings, then? You knew of him, before,” he prompted further.
“I know nothing of him now.”
“Know this: it's he who robbed your memories blind. He cost you that, and cost mankind its wish. Its only hope, and you must take it back!” His voice shook with complete conviction. The hatred behind his words was indeed genuine. Without Dracula’s revival, the hope for the ascendance of humanity was a dying wish.
“I saw a man at the ritual, before I... fell.” Shanoa’s eyes closed in effort, as though it was difficult for her to even remember something from less than a month ago. “I asked who he was and everything went dark. That’s as far back as I can remember.”
“That was Albus,” I said, placing a hand on her arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Shanoa.”
“So this is all his doing. But why? If Dominus can do such things, why take it?”
“He coveted your power, and your fate. But Dominus was yours alone to bear. Had I explained, perhaps you'd still be whole,” the master said with a slightly exaggerated sniffle. “He is evil. He wanted the power to himself to feed his ego, no matter the cost. Even when it meant such awful things happening to you! He once thought of you as a sister. I never thought he’d betray you!”
She didn’t respond. There was only silence, where anguish and hate would have perhaps found a home. I admired her, no way to fall to wrath or envy. She was a being above sin!
“I imagine it would be hard, to face the man who stole your soul,” I said, prodding a bit. I, of course, knew the truth, but it was an interesting question nonetheless.
“I don’t have any particular thoughts on it,” Shanoa replied, straightfaced as ever. We hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk after that day, so the emotionless state of her was still unfamiliar to me. “The master says that tracking him down will be a just retribution. I get the impression that he has... wronged me.”
“He has wronged everyone. Without Dominus, the future is grim. Dracula, you know,” I said, a half truth, and I caught an approving glance from Barlowe. “Whatever despair you are spared from, I must suffer, and I have suffered terribly to know you don’t remember me.”
“Were we allies?”
“Friends, Shanoa.”
“...I don’t think I know your name.” She looked away.
“Lucila. Don’t worry over it.”
“Worry...?”
“...You’re leaving soon, and there’s no time to be wasted. We can save the pleasantries for when you’ve retrieved the tomes of Dominus,” I explained. Part of me sort of hoped I wouldn’t have to look at her again. But why? I was glad this had happened to her, that she had become this ascendant thing. But she unsettled me so! Her eyes were a stranger’s; the eyes of a dead woman.
The master responded with furious passion: “Yes, no time now for wishes or regrets! With Dominus, Shanoa, we can save the world- from nothing less than Dracula himself! Retrieve it, and we burn him back to dust. There's nothing else that's ever mattered more.”
“It shall be done, sir.”
“You truly are a blessing on us all. And we have one advantage: Dominus cannot be used by ordinary men. Not even Albus; it requires you. No flesh but yours can ever host a Glyph. You see now why I chose you for this task.”
“I do, sir.”
I wandered away a bit, as the mission briefing was not my own and there was no point to further distracting the weapon. But I paid close attention to the conversation, now that I had my vital duty to document the history of Ecclesia. This moment could potentially be important: either the mission that would turn our fates around, or doom us with her potential failure.
He continued: “However... Albus has a keen and cunning mind, trained in magical science. With time, he may yet find another way. So find him first, before his trail grows cold. Some of our scouts have spotted him around an abandoned monastery. It is possible he’s taken up his own headquarters there, but please take caution. Places like these are often haunted with hostile creatures. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” She turned away to walk towards the staircase down to the entrance hall, as certain as she could manage. She would move forward, and that would be her existence hereinafter. But before she could descend, Barlowe interrupted.
“Shanoa, bring him back unharmed, unless... Unless he proves too stubborn.”
I understood the message perfectly: if necessary, kill. Shanoa was a creature without hesitance, so there would be no guilt if it came to that. The loss of her feelings was quite a blessing to her. Despite my feelings of disease, oh how I envied her role. Why, I am nearly as terrible as Albus, I must admit. But had I taken the mantle, my envy would have been washed away.
Shanoa agreed to those terms, and left curtly.
“Our hopes go with you... All the world's, and mine,” I whispered to her as she left.
Annotations
-The “nightly, sleep-deprived experiment with blood” that causes Albus to realize the truth is actually chronicled in a much older fic of mine, Scientific Methods, which is one of my favorite works to be honest. If you’re curious about it, feel free to read, but it’s not necessary for the narrative of this fanfiction, and I thought it would be redundant to rewrite the scenes within. Instead I’ll leave you with this recommendation to check it out as “further reading” ;)
-When Lucila is given the truth of Ecclesia’s purpose, that could have been her way out. Her path forked there. She chose loyalty since it was all she knew. That’s a bit of an understated tragedy to me.
-Here’s where the “trance state” worldbuilding comes in again- if Shanoa needs an extreme trance state to cast the whole spell, then that is essentially what the sacrifice of her emotions and memories seeks to do. A permanent connection to that state, though she’s still only “fully” in it when she strikes the pose (presses “Up”). Hopefully that makes sense :P
-OOE’s opening scene is underrated. It’s artful in how you can see Albus lose every shred of respect he had for Barlowe in real time between the opening text crawl (“and our leader totallyyyy came up with this awesome secret weapon to kill dracula and hes soooo much cooler than all the other people who tried to stop dracula you guyz”) and finding out Barlowe lied to him, all culminating in his explosive interruption during the ritual. It’s a scene that changes heavily based on the context that a new player would have (absolutely none) and a returning player would have- and I think Shanoa’s amnesia plays into this idea of context and recontextualization: the player has as much context/information as Shanoa does throughout the story once she loses her memories. It’s soooo fucking cool. Video games are an absolutely wonderful medium for storytelling. They’re art! Appreciate them :D Anyway, I think context further distorts this scene in this fic, with Lucila’s own lens.
-“Yes, Sir. But when it's over, I-” is a line that breaks my heart. She came so close to escaping. It’s a subtle detail that’s easily overlooked so I’m mentioning it here, bye
-“He had fixed her” and the paragraph that precedes it is the most horrifying thing I’ve ever written, and also one of the first things I wrote for this fic, before Lucila had even become a part of the story. I’ve always thought of the loss of Shanoa’s emotions to be a sort of violation of her agency and personhood. Like I said before, agency is a key theme of OOE. Communicating that horror was vital in my creative process
