(This is part one of my three or four {haven't decided yet} part fic on Seryntas' origins. Tell me what you think, and spare no criticism.)
A strange man walked down a worn dirt path through fields of grain. The robe covering his gaunt form was gray, though by the look of it, it was apparently once white. The traveller leaned heavily on his old staff, which was curiously burnt-looking. He stopped just two hundred yards from the door of the large farmhouse at the end of the path.
“Are you sure this is the place?†he asked, hesitantly.
A voice in his head sounded as though yelled from a mile away. Of course I’m sure. Just knock on the door. The father will answer–
“Well he’s not a father yet.â€
Well he will be, if you follow my instructions. Do you have the bead?
“Yes, yes, Father. I have the bead.†The traveler was impatient to reach his destination.
Good for you, son. You know how to use it?
“I’m not your son, Father.â€
You are for the time being.
“Would you please just admit – at least to yourself – that you’re a chauvinistic pig who thinks himself inadequate because his offspring happened to have been born female?â€
I will admit something…namely that a certain daughter of a certain god needs to finish a certain task if she ever wants to be female again.
“I don’t see why I couldn’t do this in a female body.â€
I explained this already. This was the closest, freshest corpse I could find for you to use.
“It smells.â€
It’s a corpse. Of course it smells. Be glad the body hasn’t started rotting yet.
“I hate you.â€
So be it, my dear Herald, so be it. Use the bead, and return here as soon as possible.
“Yes, yes.â€
The smelly corpse of a dead hermit knocked its bloodless, demigod-driven hand on the farmhouse door. The door opened to reveal, as the Herald’s father had predicted, the future father. His face was pale and stained with either sweat or tears – the Herald couldn’t tell. “What?†he asked rather irritably.
His irritation is understandable, the Herald thought. “I was wondering if you had any food to spare an old, starving traveler.â€
The farmer’s eyes widened as though the Herald had committed some great injustice against him, then narrowed again. “My wife is slowly dying in our bed," the farmer said coldly. "If you’re still starving tomorrow, I assure you I can provide as much food as you need. Neither of us will need it anymore.†With that, the farmer slammed the door in the Herald’s face.
“Father?†the Herald asked tentatively.
I am here.
“Are you sure what I'm going to do is right?â€
You heard Varell. If Tarya dies, then he will end himself.
You are saving them both.
“You know that’s not what I meant, Father.â€
I know…do not worry. Neither of them will affect the track of this universe in a large way.
The Herald sighed inwardly. “I understand.†She guided the body’s hand to the door again and knocked. Varell opened the door.
â€What is it now?!†the old farmer yelled.
“I can help your wife.â€
Varell’s eyes narrowed. “Many have tried.â€
“Many have tried, one will succeed. May I see your wife?â€
The farmer exhaled, trying to master his rage. “Fine. Do what you see fit…if she dies from your ministrations, it will not make a difference in her state.†Varell guided the Herald through the modestly-decorated farmhouse to Tarya’s side. She was, the Herald sensed, fluctuating between consciousness and unconsciousness. During her increasingly shorter returns to consciousness, she wavered between lucidity and delirium. Her internal body temperature was much too high for a normal human, almost 104 degrees Fahrenheit. The demigod attuned her senses to the submicroscopic and stared into one of Tarya's infected cells. The disease was viral. She didn’t recognize the virus, but to an agent of an omnipotent god (no matter how far removed from the plane of the god’s omnipotence) all virii are the same.
The Herald turned the corpse she inhabited to Varell. “I must be alone to do this.â€
The farmer nodded hopelessly and left, shutting the door behind him. Immediately the hermit’s corpse fell lifeless again onto the wooden floor as the Herald burst forth in her true form. Her deeply-tanned body was slim but covered in wiry muscle. Long, slightly curly bright red hair with yellow and orange highlights cascaded down her back, somehow keeping out of the way of the sword sheath strapped to her back.
She wore a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of trousers made of a strange cloth that flowed and shined like silk but seemed far less delicate, more like chain mail.
She picked a small shiny sphere from the corpse she had just inhabited and looked through it with her divine powers. Inside she could see a single sperm cell, swimming in circles through the fluid inside.
“This is our world’s savior? By my father, I hope so.â€
The old hermit’s body opened the door about twenty minutes later (two of those spent killing the virus and inserting the sperm-holding bead into Tarya’s fallopian tubes and the other eighteen just for show) to see Varell pacing outside the door. “Will she recover? Did you heal her?†he asked. The demigod-inhabited corpse nodded and tried to look worn out, but couldn’t stop a slight smile from appearing on its face. Varell didn’t appear to notice, though, because he had already shoved past the Herald into the room to stand at his wife’s quickly healing side.
“Father?†the Herald whispered softly. “It is done. I’m coming home.â€
(EDIT: Editted in response to the wise comments of Raishilliah and E Mouse.) <p>"Especially when you put them up to your eyes and said, 'Look at me, I have chocobo testicles for eyes!'"
-Nezetta (Shinigori)</p>Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=spleeninfinity13>SpleenInfinity13</A] at: 12/1/03 9:27 pm