Dawn Rises over the Kill Zone
Chapter
(Countryside, Rouen)
The rural town of Rouen dozes in the afternoon sun. Inside the house, Agnès recites scripture in a steady, devout tone.
Marianne rests beside her cousin, softly repeating the words, attempting to let their weight settle in her heart.
Agnès
- “And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God.”
- “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose …”
Marianne’s attention wanes as a robin’s call echoes from outside the window.
A bird said to carry the blood of saints through generations. Its song is meant to bring salvation—but all she feels is restlessness.
Nothing seems to be able to take her mind off the quarrel that is still raging in the other estate. A quarrel caused by her.
Marie, stop it! Scripture requires the full attention of the mind. Focus. Be devout …
Agnès
- Marie.
Marianne
- Huh? … Agnès, what’s wrong?
Agnès
- I wished to ask thee the very same question. Thou didst rush to me, begging of me to read the scripture for thee, and yet …
- Marie, which chapter did I recount to thee this last moment?
Marianne
- …
- Agnès … you know as well as I that I have never been as familiar with the scripture as you.
Agnès gives her a long, disapproving look.
Marianne
- … *sigh* you’re right, “You shall not lie to one another.” The Lord does not look kindly upon such things.
Agnès doesn’t speak, but her gaze turns gentle as she encourages her cousin to open up.
Marianne
- You know, Agnès …
- Were we to head to Paris this very moment and wander along the Seine, we would see all manner of wonders from the four corners of the world.
- Auntie Suzanne says incandescent lights countless in number illuminate the night there, and great trains travel through tunnels deep beneath the ground.
- And the cinema! Oh my, Agnès—horses, true as anything, gallop on the screen …
Her thoughts had been suppressed too long. Now given the chance, they pour out like a river.
Agnès
- Ah, yes! Thou spakest of this before …
- The, um … The Exposition Universelle, was it?
Marianne knows her cousin is only feigning interest. The hustle and bustle of Paris has never stirred her as much as the scripture.
But Agnès always shows just enough curiosity and concern to gently support Marianne.
Marianne
- Exactly! Oh, how I begged and begged that she take me. And finally, she agreed! She even said we would visit the Eiffel Tower.
- But Father detests the Exposition. He says technology serves only to distract us from the word of God.
- … Auntie Suzanne and Father quarreled still upon my leaving.
- It was not my intent to bring strife to the family. Perhaps … perhaps I should never have had such thoughts at all …
Agnès
- Hmm … arguments between the grown are a fearsome thing indeed. They hesitate not to slice at one another with words.
- But such an act is against the Lord, it is plain. Our Father in heaven wisheth a life of peace for us, one without strife.
- Nanny says we must all act in accordance with God’s plan.
- Just as it is His will that I journey to the monastery in Saint-Lizier two days hence, perhaps it is His will that thou goest to Paris.
Agnès’s words are fair and kind—not just to comfort Marianne, but to live out the word of God.
Marianne
- Thank you, Agnès.
Agnès
- Mhm. Well, I do not believe any amount of reading will lift thee from thy haze.
- Come, let us stroll together in the orchard. The sweet scent of the apples is quite pleasant this—
Before Agnès can finish her sentence, a door bursts open.
Maid
- There you are! Mademoiselle Marianne, please gather your things. Your aunt’s waiting for you outside!
Marianne
- Why …?
Maid
- To take you to the Exposition Universelle, of course! Hurry now, before your father changes his mind!
Marianne shoots Agnès a surprised look. Agnès’s mouth quickly curls into a warm smile.
Agnès
- It is as I said, is it not, Marie? Thou hast been called to Paris, and I have been granted a peaceful afternoon in the apple orchard—
- God watcheth over each of us.
(World Expo, Paris)
The glass dome of the Grand Palais refines the sunlight to a crystalline brilliance amid its Eiffel Tower-esque ironwork.
Marianne cranes her neck in an attempt to see beyond the crowd on the Champs-Élysées, the halo of the new world reddening her face.
Marianne
- Auntie! Is our next visit to the “Pavilion of Elegance” you spake of?
Marianne shoots an eager look behind at her aunt. She’s struggling to keep up.
Suzanne
- Prithee, slow thy steps, child! If I lose thee, I shall have no words to explain it to thy father!
Marianne
- But Father allowed me but two days! We cannot linger, Auntie!
Suzanne
- … D’accord. I shall make certain to show thee all there is to see here.
She sighs and grasps Marianne firmly by the hand.
Suzanne
- This, ma chérie, is the Pavilion of Elegance. The works inside are what we now call “haute couture.”
Upon entering the pavilion, Marianne is enraptured by the dazzling garments on display.
Marianne
- *gasp*
Suzanne
- To the left of thee is Mr. Worth’s design …
Delicate embroidered patterns, bustled skirts—every inch of his designs pushes the boundaries of design.
Until now, Marianne had never imagined that something so ordinary as clothing could express the spirit of a new era.
Suzanne
- He was not only the first to establish a maison de couture, but also—
Marianne
- Auntie, how does one stitch such a pattern? And these pleats, how might they be sewn?
Suzanne chuckles.
Suzanne
- … Perhaps thou ought to explore the subject thyself, hm?
- Paris doth create all manner of fashion magazines, some featuring such techniques. I shall mail them to thee.
Marianne
- But Father—
Suzanne
- Now, now, thy father is not the final word on all matters. I shall find a way.
Marianne looks puzzled, but her aunt gives her a playful wink.
Suzanne
- I fear thy father groweth ever more blind to the realities of our world. This here, in Paris, is the future shaped before our very eyes.
- If we all were to live like thy father, would even a fraction of all this exist?
- Of course not. Those who cling to scripture cannot fathom such creativity.
This “rebellious” family member voices her thoughts with ease.
Marianne
- I … I know not. I have never thought of things in such a way …
Suzanne
- I am simply asking thee to linger on it, ma chérie, for there is more to life than the monastery—
- Thou hast the power to choose—to live a “new” kind of life.
- Come along. We have yet to see the Palace of Electricity at Champ de Mars!
Marianne snaps out of her thoughts and follows her aunt back into the crowd.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Countryside, Rouen)
When she closes her eyes, that brief trip to Paris all those years ago appears as vivid as ever in Marianne’s mind.
For six years, Marianne did not dare defy her father, and thus she entered the Ursuline convent as planned.
To be kind, to shun conflict—these are virtues of the faithful.
Suzanne
- Thou hast the power to choose—to live a “new” kind of life.
Marianne
- I can choose …
Marianne
- My, you’ve grown thick …
Marianne murmurs softly to herself, the hefty book clutched in her hands.
It’s a scrapbook carefully put together from clippings of fashion magazines, so thick now it’s long since become too heavy to carry around.
Aunt Suzanne kept her promise. For six years, she mailed Marianne the magazines, disguised under gospel covers.
Marianne, taking the lead from her, glued church pamphlets over the cover. Her father never noticed the “rebellion.”
Marianne
- … Grant me courage through hardship, and guide me by Your will.
- Amen.
For the first time, she leaves the book on the table for all to see and walks down her chosen path.
Immanuel
- Absurd! Hast thou forgotten thy heritage?
- Thou carriest the blood of the Gargoyles. There is naught but the word of God that may shield thee from utter corruption.
- First, thou didst cast off the few gifts offered by our bloodline, and now, thou wouldst reject the teachings of the monastery?
- Dost thou willfully drive thyself to demonhood?
His hair may have grayed at the temples, but his commanding presence has remained utterly unchanged.
Marianne clenches her fists, pushing past her fear to meet her father’s rage-filled eyes head-on.
Marianne
- True faith is the pure connection between oneself, God, and the Holy Spirit. To put too much reverence in the likes of churches and monasteries is to head directly into ruin.
- Thus, no matter where I am, so long as I keep the Lord’s grace in my heart, I will not fall into depravity.
- Secular education will ink no stain on my bloodline, either, for reason is a far greater tool in discerning good from evil than our gift.
Immanuel
- I shall not suffer thee to attend public school, no matter how thou dost argue.
- This matter is finished.
The standoff is broken by the arrival of an elderly figure.
Madeleine
- Hmph … Scripture is not a sword to be wielded in a quarrel.
Marianne
- Grandmother!
Immanuel
- Mother, thou ought to be abed at this hour. For what art thou—
Madeleine
- How could one sleep through such clamor?
Marianne
- My apologies, Grandmother …
She waves her hand dismissively.
Madeleine
- Let Marie go.
Immanuel
- What?
Madeleine
- Church schools closeth their doors one after another. It is not an easy labor to find undefiled teachings these days.
- Allow Marianne to see it for herself. Only then will she truly comprehend thy words.
- She is young; she will come to understand thee in time. Why let such conflict shake our halls and taint thy spirit for so small a matter?
Her words ease the tension in the room.
Madeleine
- The ever-stubborn Marie, hast thou made up thy mind? Where dost thou wish to study?
Marianne
- Rouen Girls’ School!
Madeleine
- So shall it be.
- Now, return to thy room and seek forgiveness of the Lord for thy behavior.
Marianne
- Oh, thank you, Grandmother! Thank you dearly!
Immanuel
- Mother, thou must not indulge her so!
- Marianne hath already deigned to speak akin to the common folk; were she to place any more earthly wisdom above the true path, she shall never learn to discern vice from virtue …
Marianne has already skipped happily along to her room.
She is blissfully unaware of her father’s anguished complaints.
Having finished her prayer as instructed, Marianne makes the sign of the cross and gets up from the side of the bed.
She flings herself over to her desk, dips her pen in ink, and begins to write.
Marianne
- I must tell Agnès the good news. It is certain to bring her joy.
Letter
- Dear Agnès, word reaches me that you have gone to Saint-Lizier again to recover.
Though I hear no complaints from you, and I know you continue to pray through your
suffering, accepting it as another trial of a devout follower …
I yet sincerely pray that the Holy Mother may make your heart whole again.
Do you recall when you spake to me of God’s will? You said He had laid a path for each of us.
I have now seen the truth behind those words, for I have come to feel His calling this day.
Grandmother’s enduring love and kindness have finally granted me permission to go where I
truly belong—
I shall be attending a public secondary school! I hope the joy of these words reaches you true
and that they can, in some small way, ease your suffering, dear cousin.
Perhaps Grandmother will even allow me to apprentice at a tailor’s shop during my studies.
Perhaps within a year, I shall be sewing a straight-cut dress (no corset) for you, modeled after
Mr. Poiret’s designs.
My, what a boon that would be afore I finally go to Paris to become a fashion designer …
Paris has taken over all thoughts in her mind.
She looks out the window. The sunlight does not only fall on Rouen, but on those Paris streets from her memory.
She closes her eyes, trying to recall the scorching heat as she walked down the Champs-Élysées all those years ago.
Marianne
- Perhaps … here. Yes, this is where I shall run my little atelier de couture.
- It is best to face the Seine, for the light may reflect off the water onto the dresses.
The dream is just that. A beautiful dream, filled with hope and peace. A future laid out before her.
Perhaps time will honor the pious prayer of a young girl, and she will reach this promised land.
Perhaps, in another life, she would have.
Marianne
- Huh?!
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Battle)
Officer
- Arcane Support Soldiers, the battlefield calls. It’s time to engage in real combat.
- The attack alarms are sounding!
- Our mission is clear: hold the line against enemy forces, defend the company at all costs, prevent the enemy from gaining ground.
- That’s the signal to counterattack! Everyone, with me! We take the enemy stronghold!
…
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Tunnel de Rochebourg)
The bombardment of the Second Forlan Front hasn’t let up.
Debris falls from above, stones bouncing off her.
In her daze, her body shields her completely, turning flesh and blood into hardened “armor.”
Marianne
- I fell asleep …?
Somehow, she’s managed to sleep through an artillery strike.
The stench of the tunnel quickly jolts her out of her confusion.
Mud, corpses, human waste, and battlefield smoke all assault her senses at once.
Simon
- Hah, you slept like a rock, Marie. Quite literally.
- Who would’ve thought the girl who used to flinch at gunfire would end up so stone cold—and in just six months, no less!
She ignores her comrade’s teasing. Her body is too itchy.
Marianne
- Damned fleas …
She slaps her arm, crushing one of them, before reaching for the letter in her coat and letting out a quiet sigh.
Simon
- Anyway, it’s best you sleep while you still can—we have to be heading back to “Dead Man’s Hill” soon.
- We’ve been resting in the rear for more than three months now. It’ll probably be tomorrow, don’t you think …?
There is a tremble in his voice, but it reaches her clearly enough.
Marianne
- … I know not. “Arcane Support” is certainly not pulling out any time soon.
- Still, the commander gave his word—upon the completion of this operation, we may return home.
This unit of arcanists, sent to protect a critical supply route, carries impossible expectations.
In half a year on the front, they’ve already lost half their men.
But in the grand total of casualties, even that is barely a footnote. Arcane skills have done little to save the front line from the horrors of trench warfare.
Simon
- Hah! End the stalemate, turn the tide … what a glorious mission the draft posters gave us!
- But no one said we’d die of thirst before we could do any of that!
Enemy fire has cut off supply lines, leaving them hungry and parched for nearly a week.
They have enough canned goods and dry biscuits to just about survive.
But thirst is the bigger problem. Many have turned to licking the moisture seeping from the tunnel walls.
Marianne
- … I have already reported to Sergeant Pierre. Once the shelling abates, I shall procure some water.
Simon
- God bless! You know where to find some?
Marianne
- Francois chanced to hear the whisper of running water. He spake to me of a dip in the land 800 meters past the tunnel.
Simon
- Zut … I’ve heard about that place. It’s been hit hard.
- I know your arcane skills give you the best shot at survival, but …
- We’ve already lost so many. I don’t want to lose you too …
This grim truth stuns Marianne. She forces down her trembling voice.
Marianne
- … We have no choice.
- Without water, every one of us may truly perish here.
- You spake it yourself—I will live by virtue of my arcane skill.
Marianne lets out a dry, bitter laugh.
Marianne
- Francois will join me—that will better the odds.
- … Just a little longer. The shelling will soon be over.
(Marsh)
A soldier in navy blue crouches by a shallow marsh, quickly filling a canteen.
At least, that’s what it used to be. Now it’s more like a graveyard—bodies lie exposed and unburied, and canteens litter the ground.
Marianne brushes aside the green film on the surface, a bloated corpse gently swaying in the rippling water.
Francois
- Ugh … the water stinks.
Marianne
- … A far sight better than drinking sewage, still.
The soldiers fall silent, each recalling the horrors they have witnessed in the grip of thirst.
Marianne
- The enemy knows well that we collect water from this place. We must make haste.
Francois
- Bon sang! They’ve started again!
Marianne
- Find cover, now!
(Battle)
Marianne charges forward, crashing into the foot of a low hill and heaving a last shaking breath before she curls up into a ball of stone. Francois’s groans fade from her ears.
Shrapnel, branches, dirt, ash—they all ricochet off her “armor.”
Yet again, her arcane skill has spared her, and yet again, she must watch a comrade fall.
This is the cycle of war. She has seen many lose their lives, and she will see many more.
Simon
- … Looks like we’ll be heading back to the front line tomorrow, huh?
…
Marianne
- No …!
Marianne
- … I will not trudge back into the depths of that hell.
- God … forgive me, for I have sinned …
- … Ugh!
On that wasteland, only God bears witness as two shards of shrapnel pierce the belly that should have been stone.
(Forlan)
Letter
- Dear Agnès, I ask your forgiveness for writing so late.
- At this time, I am recovering in Forlan. You needst not worry, for I am nigh on completely healed.
- It is a fair price. One I must pay for leading my comrade-in-arms to his death.
- For I returned only with the water, his body left to rot in the wasteland …
Marianne
- No … such words shall never pass the military censors.
- … Yet, I cannot taint Agnès’s happiness with lies …
She sits back on the makeshift bed and anxiously pats her face.
Then, she crosses out the part about the water and carefully rewrites her words.
Letter
- I heard tell that we have reclaimed a critical stronghold. Perhaps this stalemate will yet reach its end.
- For we have held the line, cousin, and spared the capital untold devastation.
- Thus, it must be so. I may well return home ere long. I can but hope the new commander will keep his promise.
- In your last letter, you spake of the aid you have provided to the homeless as of late. Your kindness moves me, dear cousin.
- But what of you? Are you well? How are matters at home? I pray for your safety day and night.
Messenger
- Ténébrun, orders for you.
Marianne
- …!
- Arcane Support … has the time finally come? Will we return home?
The messenger’s eyes hold a trace of pity.
Messenger
- Just read it.
She takes the paper, her fingers trembling, dread building in her chest.
Orders
- Second Class Soldier Ténébrun: According to the physician, your recovery period is nearly over.
- In light of the valor shown by Arcane Support, and the battlefield utility of your arcane skills …
- Command has decided you are needed in the next major offensive.
- You are to return in three days.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Battle)
Officer
- Soldiers, have no fear
- Protect our headquarters at all costs!
- Our superior firepower will crush the enemy’s mountain strongholds once and for all.
- In 48 hours, victory shall be ours.
…
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Carolus Battleground)
Officer
- Charge—!
A torrent of soldiers surges forward under cover of fire.
Marianne
- *panting*
They run mechanically toward the highlands, gasping for every breath. Even her superior Gargoyle sight can’t clear the vision in front of her.
The once-beautiful riverside is but a shadow of what it once was.
She remembers walking its bank with Agnès before the war, her footsteps light, her heart lighter.
Marianne
- Ugh …!
She stumbles into a muddy crater, another layer of grime coating her uniform.
Marianne
- *cough*
The earth reeks. The stench of blood and rust chokes her.
Cold rain falls hard and heavy, pummeling her skull. She forces herself up and keeps going.
Something catches her foot. She looks down. A limp arm.
Marianne
- Simon …
Her comrade lies lifeless, killed by friendly artillery meant as cover.
Do not let your compatriots fight alone!
Arcanists, your powers can turn the tide!
Transcend racial divides! Fight for the motherland!
Marianne
- Liar.
- In the face of weapons of such dreadful artifice, arcane skills are no more powerful than a child’s feeble fist.
- Humans and arcanists alike will rot here, reduced to naught but bone.
- Astrologers cannot escape the clutches of death, alchemists cannot cure necrosis, petrifiers cannot turn bombs to stone.
She rushes through a break in the barbed wire into a trench, her squadmates following close behind.
No time to see faces. You see an enemy uniform, you shoot.
Marianne
- S**t!!
She pulls the trigger. Nothing. Gunpowder must be wet.
She hardens her skin to stone just as a bullet grazes her cheek.
She tosses her rifle aside and lunges at the shooter.
Enemy Soldier
- Urgh …!
Blood sprays from his mouth, splattering on her stone face.
Marianne
- *panting*
Flesh is no match for rock.
Marianne
- Gun …
She scrambles to grab his Mauser, and in her rush, pulls an insignia out with it.
Marianne
- What’s this …?
Two overlapping hands, either lifting or concealing. Its black sheen gives off a disturbing sanctity.
Marie, are you going to enlist?
I must. The motherland calls. And if I do not, the atelier will be reduced to ash and rubble.
I truly believe this war will soon end. We shall continue our design work ere long!
Marianne
- Liar.
- Only those ignorant of the truth of war would dare speak of victory before it is won.
- God, is this Your punishment for my arrogance?
In her daze, black canisters drop into the trench. Unlike explosive shells, these arrive almost gently.
But they strike a greater fear than any shell.
Officer
- Gas! Gas!!
- S**t, it’s a trap! Masks on, now!
A pale yellow mist spreads, silent and fatal.
(Battle)
Gunfire fills the battlefield. Marianne hauls herself out of the trench, bodies falling around her.
She drags herself forward, weaving between bullets as she scrambles to escape.
At the edge of the fog, she spots a shattered, half-standing tree and crashes behind it. She falls to the ground.
Marianne
- Thérèse … Catherine …
- Jean … Thomas …
Her chest heaves, her whole body shaking as she unconsciously recounts their names.
After today, she’ll never hear their voices again.
Marianne
- Lord God … I pray, do not abandon me …
Marianne, if thou hast chosen to enlist,
thou must sincerely turn to the Lord in far greater measure than thou ever hast.
For only He may grant thee the faith, strength,
and forgiveness to indulge in the sins of war and return unscathed.
Marianne
- Liar.
- My love for the motherland is true, my prayers sincere …
- Yet sin clings to me still, and fear blooms, rich and heavy in my heart.
Marianne
- Ugh …!
Something slams into her side.
But she doesn’t stop. Her adrenaline numbs the pain.
Marianne
- *panting*
She stumbles past craters, over fallen bodies. The chaos behind her grows distant.
Marianne
- Almost … safe …
The trench edge. It’s right there—
The blast hurls her into the trench. Perhaps her prayers have been heard after all.
She crashes hard into the mud.
Marianne
- Huff … huff …
She lies there, half-buried like a toppled statue.
She pushes herself up, pressing her back against the trench wall.
The artillery continues to rain down. It’s as if the enemy predicted their retreat.
Her mind races, her heart beating out of her chest. Darkness floods her sight.
Soldiers, the enemy hides in the ridge, thinking they can break our will!
But they forget that you are the victors of Forlan!
Today, we will put an end to their occupation!
In 48 hours, we break their line and end this war!
Marianne
- Liar!
Finally, the shelling stops. The survivors slump in the trench.
Marianne slowly lifts her face.
Marianne
- Hrmph …
Smoke, blood, moldy straw—she can’t breathe. Her lungs catch in her chest.
Marianne
- *cough*
Her throat burns.
The entire trench is filled with coughing and spluttering. The sounds of exhaustion.
“Thou shalt not kill … Thou shalt not bear false witness.” The Lord spake it unto us, Marie.
We must be honest and righteous, for only by doing good may He smile upon us.
Marianne
- Agnès, you carry every virtue the Lord cherishes. You are a true believer.
- I have received no letters from you for what feels like an age, yet still, the simple thought of you gives me strength to go on.
- And I’m glad. Glad that you have not borne witness to all this—the endless tragedies of the battlefield.
Lies.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Trenches)
A distant thunderclap breaks the silence that has fallen on the night. A declaration of the army’s utter failure over the past two weeks.
Defeat after crushing defeat has littered No Man’s Land with corpses. The living buckle under the weight of their losses, broken.
Only one man stands tall.
Soldier I
- Comrades, raise your heads! Do not let the enemy think we are cowards!
- Keep belief in your hearts! We have had many victories, and the general’s artillery hasn’t let us down!
- Victory is inevitable! The enemy will crumble before our will is broken!
- We must fight! For justice! For vengeance! We are unstoppable!
No one answers him.
That voice sparks terror in Marianne’s chest. It nearly drowns her.
In her ears, she can still hear Hervé’s wailing as he lay in the mud, guts spilling out, begging her to save him.
The threat of death forced her to turn away. He was the last company mate she saw.
Soldier II
- Name, soldier.
Footsteps draw near, and a figure blocks her view.
Marianne
- … Marianne.
The soldier’s finger pauses over the roster.
Marianne
- Tell me … how many of Arcane Support yet remain?
Soldier II
- … So far, you’re the only one I’ve confirmed.
- But we’re still counting. There might—
Her mind goes blank. She hears the words but can’t, or won’t, comprehend them.
A stabbing pain erupts in her skull, like scissors tearing through her brain.
“The only survivor.” The terror of the thought nearly swallows her whole. She starts grasping for anything to stay afloat.
Marianne
- … Have you seen any letters for me? I’ve received nothing for some time …
Soldier II
- I don’t deliver mail, soldier.
Marianne
- Then, do you know … when we will be afforded leave …
Soldier II
- I don’t handle leave orders, either. But I do know the assault won’t—
Marianne
- Why do we still fight?! For what?!
Soldier II
- … I don’t know.
He shakes his head and walks to the next soldier.
A hand holding a flask taps her shoulder.
Veteran
- Hey, longhair. Care for a drink?
Marianne turns, startled. The man is swaying a little.
Veteran
- Best to drink while you’re still breathing.
- This is my special stash—eau de vie, good stuff. Gives me a reason for living anyway …
His head is wrapped in a filthy, blood-soaked bandage. His right ear is gone.
Veteran
- Those bastards lounging about at headquarters don’t give a damn about us.
- May as well drink while we can. Shot or shelled, what’s the difference?
- Baa—
He bleats like a sheep. A sign of mockery.
The world spins. The trench tilts, and Marianne’s stomach turns.
Marianne
- *vomiting*
She drops the rifle she scavenged from the battlefield and crawls toward the blast shelter at the back wall, dry heaving.
Once inside, she curls up, the gray rock spreading rapidly across her body.
Right before she slips into delirium, the one-eared veteran climbs in and gently places a can in front of her.
The scent of the apples Agnès once described hits her nostrils.
Fresh and sweet. A scent of home. A scent of peace.
Agnès
- … Ladislas carrieth a peculiar fondness for traditional objects. To his eye, the irreparable flaws and wear of such trinkets are an elegance granted only by time.
- Much like thy father, he loatheth the inventions of the mechanical age.
Agnès crouches, curiously turning the item in her hands. Sunlight glimmers on her shoulder.
Agnès
- But I share not their disdain.
- Perhaps a photograph is not so poetic as a painting …
- But it may capture the apples on this table exactly as they are, and, in the years hence, I may glance upon their image, and the joy of this day will bloom full in my breast once again.
- That is to say, Marie, that I thank thee dearly for the camera.
The veteran climbs into the shelter. The blood on his bandage has turned dark.
Veteran
- You remind me of my daughter, you know … Shame I won’t see her again.
- Guess what? The bastards said they won’t hesitate to use guns to force us onto the field.
- So … I came to say goodbye.
- Eat the canned food if you’re hungry, longhair. Good luck to you.
He crawls back out and sits at the parapet as he calmly checks over his bullets.
Marianne carefully carries the heavy velvet bundle into the studio.
Atelier Owner
- Once you sort those fabrics, you can take the rest of the day off.
- Ah, and a letter from your sister arrived. I do hope it’s good news.
Marianne
- Thank you, madame!
She hastily says her goodbyes as she tears open the envelope.
Letter
- … Marie, Grandmother’s kindness and generosity is as unmoving as ever. She hath agreed.
- Shouldst thou be accepted into l’ENSAD, she has promised to fund thy atelier de couture in Paris …
Marianne
- Woohoo! Thank you, God! Thank you, Grandmother!
- Application … application … I must make haste!
The lieutenant glares furiously at the statue curled up in the shelter.
Officer
- Marianne! Dispel your arcane skill! That’s an order!
- You’re a soldier—you should willingly give yourself for the motherland!
- I order you to—
An explosion blasts him off his feet.
Blood splatters the shelter’s entrance. The deafening blasts quickly turn to the whispers of the dead in Marianne’s ears.
Marianne
- *panting*
Fire and ash swirl in the air. The stench of burning flesh chokes her.
All sights blur, fade, and collapse into a dark narrow passage.
Only one figure remains at its end, glowing faintly—a flawless lily.
Marianne
- Agnès!
But the barren soil cannot nourish the lily’s glow.
Her dear cousin kneels in the darkness, hands clasped in prayer, as her body is slowly swallowed in stone.
Agnès
- Marie, even should we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we must believe …
- God is always with us.
Marianne
- Agnès, get back—
Agnès shatters in an instant. Shards slash Marianne’s face and scatter across the ground.
Where Agnès stood, nothing remains.
Marianne
- No!
Her eyes snap open. In the darkness of the shelter, the can faintly reflects the moonlight.
She trembles, panicked and convulsing. For a moment, she is unable to tell dream from reality.
Soldier III
- Eat a bullet, you bastard!
Officer
- Are you threatening a superior?!
Shouting erupts outside.
Marianne clutches the can to her chest, close to the letter in her pocket, and crawls out.
Soldier III
- You want us to hold the line? Fine, we’ll hold the line!
- But tomorrow’s offensive? That’s suicide! It’s slaughter!
Marianne looks around. The soldiers are gathered, their faces burning with rage.
Fresh corpses lie at the trench’s edge. Shot the moment they climbed out.
One of them is missing his right ear.
Marianne
- I never even knew his name …
Soldier III
- How long has it been since leave, huh? We deserve to go home!
Marianne
- …
For the first time, her eyes clearly discern good from evil.
Officer
- The enemy’s defeat is just one step away; hold the line—
Marianne
- Liar!
She snaps, unable to stomach another empty speech.
Marianne
- This reckless charge has neither aim nor purpose!
- Naught awaits us but annihilation!
- We are naught but tools to your own selfish ends!
The soldiers roar in agreement, spitting curses and protests.
And slowly, all their voices chant a single line—
Marianne
- We refuse to cast away our lives!
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
Within a week, mutiny has spread like a plague across every position along the river.
Soldiers sit together in circles. One of them hums a quiet tune.
Soldier
- ♪ In the shadows under falling rain, soldiers search for their graves ♪
They have tossed their rifles aside, ignoring every call to the battlefield.
Soldier
- ♪ The rich men frolic down the boulevards, while we crawl through the trenches ♪
Three days ago, they raised their guns at a colonel spouting empty speeches—he ran off, his trousers wet with fear.
Soldier
- ♪ For them, life is good, but for us, not so much ♪
- Baa—baa—
The soldiers bleat in unison.
Soldier
- ♪ But it’s all over now, ‘cause the grunts are on strike! ♪
Marianne listens to the singing, a faint smile curling the corners of her mouth.
Soldier IV
- You medal-riddled cowards! All that metal too heavy for you, is it?! Can’t drag your cowering little bodies to the frontlines?!
Marianne
- We must persevere. None will die for their sake any longer—they must face us now.
Soldier IV
- I just want that murderer out!
Officer
- Soldiers, on your feet!
A command breaks their chatter. Marianne’s head snaps toward the officer.
Officer
- Fix your uniforms. The commander-in-chief will be here shortly.
Marianne
- …!
Officer
- Move it!
The soldiers shoot to their feet, sling their rifles over their shoulders, and stand to attention against the trench wall.
Marianne’s superior night vision allows her to see the man clearly. Her eyes widen.
Marianne
- Lord God, it’s him …
The general-turned-commander-in-chief, hailed as the savior of the front, steps calmly into their midst.
Everyone wears the same stunned expression as her. One by one, the soldiers salute.
And the general returns it.
Above a large moustache, his deep blue eyes scan the trench, pausing on every worn and weary face.
Commander-in-Chief
- Soldiers, you are the loyal and courageous defenders of our nation.
- It is thanks to you that we have thus far protected our country’s freedom and dignity.
- I know well the hardships you have suffered. Now that I have taken charge …
- You have my word that our plan of attack will change. No more mass charges. You will not die for nothing.
Marianne sees the same joy and relief in her comrades’ faces as she feels in her own.
Commander-in-Chief
- The trenches will be expanded and improved, allowing you more space to rest …
- Logistics will ensure the front line receives sufficient rations. You will go hungry no longer …
- And, starting today, a rotation system will be instituted. You will all get the leave you deserve.
Marianne clenches her fist.
Home. Finally.
Commander-in-Chief
- But the war isn’t over yet, brave soldiers—
- Soldiers indeed! You must not forget your duty, and you must not disobey orders!
- The enemy is only a few hundred meters away. One misstep, and we fall.
- Thus, we will not tolerate any breach of discipline.
- Any soldier who attempted to lead this mutiny, and anyone who still refuses to return to duty, will be severely punished.
(Cell)
A weak oil lamp flickers against the bars of the temporary jail.
Converted from a warehouse, the space holds many soldiers—each one part of the mutiny, each one now sentenced by a makeshift tribunal.
On a rough wooden plank bed, Marianne lies still.
Marianne
- Merciful Lord, you have ever been my comfort in times of pain, and I believe wholly in your power …
- I beg You, grant me the courage, faith, and strength to endure …
She murmurs, staring blankly ahead.
A rat nibbles on the crumbs scattered on the floor.
The battlefield has toughened it, kept it alive.
Marianne
- Let Your glory shine upon me, O Lord …
Soldier
- Ténébrun, you’re up.
Her prayer is cut short. A soldier opens the cell door, a rifle in hand.
Marianne rises from the bed and trudges out in a haze.
Marianne
- … May I leave a letter to my family?
There is no answer.
A makeshift tent stands near the river trench.
Wooden planks and sandbags have been used to reinforce it, shielding its temporary but sacred function from the wreckage of war.
Special Court-Martial President
- … Second Class Soldier Marianne Ténébrun is charged with the following crimes:
- Unauthorized use of arcane skills, incitement to disobedience of orders …
- and evasion of combat.
- Your actions—your betrayal—are a disgrace to the military and to our nation.
Stripped of the right to defend or appeal, Marianne listens numbly as her charges are read.
The army has enforced its will. Those who led the mutiny have been arrested in service of restoring order.
Whether they were the true ringleaders doesn’t matter. The act of judgment has served its purpose.
Special Court-Martial President
- The court finds you guilty of insubordination and incitement to rebellion.
- Your sentence is death.
The sentence declared, Marianne rises, turns, and stiffly follows the guards out.
As she leaves the tent, someone taps her shoulder.
Soldier
- We still believe in you, Marianne. You’re a true patriot.
The mutiny is over.
Letter
- Marie, thy courage amazeth me greatly.
- I shall pray to the Lord that He watcheth over thee, and that He doth bring thee home safe from the battlefield.
- I eagerly await the day when we may walk again in the apple orchard and I may hear thee speak of thy designs and dreams …
Marianne
- Agnès …
(Woods)
Marianne kneels on the ground. Before her, a row of soldiers stands at attention, each with a rifle in their arms. A stern officer looms beside her.
Her hands are bound behind her back, a white cloth tied over her eyes.
Marianne
- … My comrades-in-arms, has the shelling begun again?
Soldier
- No. It’s you who’s shaking.
- With this many rifles, you won’t feel a thing.
Her teeth are chattering too hard to speak.
Officer
- Ready!
Marianne knows the sound of rifles being raised.
Agnès
- Marie.
The voice echoes from all directions, piercing her to the core.
Officer
- Aim!
She loses her sight once again, finding herself back in that narrow path strewn with dust and ash, a gargoyle both filthy and holy standing at its end.
Marianne
- Agnès, will I ever see you again?
She touches her cousin’s head, now cold and hard, just as she did countless times when they were children.
Officer
- Fire!
Sparks flash from the rifle barrels, and bullets spin toward her chest.
Marianne
- God, forgive me …
The bullets lodge in solid stone. In the instant before impact, she petrified herself.
Officer
- Zut! Keep firing!
She staggers to her feet and runs as fast as her body will allow, stone chips breaking off her body as she goes.
Officer
- Her petrification can’t withstand all of you! Fire!!
(Battle)
Officer
- Stop right there!
- After all your experience on the battlefield, I never expected you to desert.
Marianne
- I will not allow myself to be killed in this godforsaken place …
- I have a duty to my home!
Officer
- You disgraceful coward!
Marianne
- Steady now … I’ve got to get out of here alive.
- The moment I get out of the camp area, I’ll be safe.
- Not many routes to choose from—I’ll take the least guarded path.
…
Marianne
- Why … why won’t you fire?
???
- Take this rifle, soldier.
- An arcanist’s gifts shouldn’t be squandered on mankind’s petty conflicts.
- Your destiny calls you to higher purposes.
Marianne
- I don’t understand. Who are you?
???
- I will inform the others about your presence, and they will begin searching for you.
- When that time comes, all will become clear to you.
- Get out of here soldier.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Countryside, Rouen)
A lone figure hurries down a deserted country path.
Her cloak clings tightly to her, twigs and leaves clinging to her back.
Nature makes the best camouflage. It’s helped her escape the gendarmes more than once.
Marianne
- Two years passed, and it yet stands as it once did … Thank you, God.
Days and nights of sleepless travel have brought Marianne back to her hometown in record time.
She stops at the gate, hesitant.
Marianne
- Dust on the handle and the steps … None have passed in or out for quite some time.
- What happened here …?
Ladislas
- I moved them out.
Marianne
- Hah!
Marianne spins and raises her gun, aiming squarely at the figure’s chest.
Ladislas
- We have been apart too long, cousin—grown too distant—for my voice doth no longer echo true in thy ear.
Marianne
- Ladislas? Why are you here? You were stationed at the front, were you not …?
Ladislas
- Our kin are safe. They now reside in a secure place.
- I heard tell of the mutiny—and of thy execution. I had believed I wouldst never lay eyes on thee again.
Marianne
- … I deserted.
Marianne avoids his gaze.
Ladislas
- Hm … Gargoyles truly have no place amidst the many misfortunes cast down by God.
His answer surprises her. She studies this cousin she hasn’t seen in so long.
Like all its soldiers, this war has weathered him. But something strange, something almost obsessive, lingers beneath the surface.
Marianne
- Why speak such words, cousin? Where do you plan to go?
- How did you know I was here?
Ladislas keeps walking.
Ladislas
- I too am a Gargoyle. It took little effort to locate thee.
- Come. Thou dost desire to see her, yea?
Marianne
- You mean …
Ladislas
- Verily. Our dear cousin, Agnès.
In a brief silence, both heads turn toward Agnès’s home.
Marianne
- Agnès yet tarries here …?
- Why did she not flee with the others? Is she hurt?
Ladislas
- Hm. Then tis true she spake not of it to thee.
Ladislas turns to scrutinize Marianne, a hint of irony behind his eyes.
Marianne
- … She spake of offering aid to those displaced by the war.
Ladislas
- Yea, the most saintly among us.
- Generous, kind, compassionate to strangers and kin alike.
- … But those whom she aided wert not here but in Armand.
- She did receive one pleading letter from a distant branch and traveled there forthwith, a small fortune in her pockets, to that place soon to be engulfed by war.
- She wished to abate thy worrying, and thus omitted her place in her letters.
Marianne
- No … She wouldn’t lie.
Ladislas
- *sigh* Thou dost understand her as shallowly as thou grasp’st faith.
Ladislas opens the door. In the center of the lounge stands a Gargoyle statue.
It’s her dear cousin—curled forward, forever weeping.
Marianne
- Agnès?!
She rushes forward and falls to her knees before the statue.
Marianne
- Wake up, it’s me, Marie! I’ve returned!
The statue does not move.
Marianne
- What … why will she not awaken …?
Ladislas
- She cannot.
Marianne
- …!
Ladislas
- Hast thou forgotten the power of our bloodline?
- To awaken from petrification, one must preserve a final shred of flesh.
- It seems instinct alone did drive thee to maintain a modicum of thy flesh on the battlefield.
- Agnès, however, chose full petrification, and with it, the meeting of the Revelation.
Marianne
- … What happened in Armand?
- I have never seen her so afeared as to do such a thing …
- … Were those visions truly a warning of the divine?
- What … can I do to wake her?
Reality overlaps with hallucination. Fear rises hot in her chest again.
She trembles as panic grips her.
Ladislas
- Cousin, dost thou not yet see? Hath this filthy war so utterly blinded thee?
Fighting her dizziness, Marianne barely manages to peer up as Ladislas spreads his arms.
Ladislas
- Humanity hath grown ignorant and proud, bending knee and clasping hand at reason’s feet—taking it as sacred truth!
- They lie, deceive, and manipulate in great measure, wearing “progress” and “freedom” as masks for their depravity.
- God shall never abandon us, yea—but faced with such blasphemy, disappointment surely flourishes deep in His breast.
- This endless bloodshed is His punishment.
Marianne
- Then … Agnès …
Ladislas
- We must not lay blame on the Lord, Cousin.
He speaks over her, crouching and gripping her shoulders tightly.
Ladislas
- My eyes laid upon Agnès in such a state, I have come to know God’s plan—Gargoyles are not to coexist with this war.
- This catastrophe shall wipe clean this world of sin. Faith shall be reborn, and humanity shall resurrect from within our mortal flesh!
- Come the end of this war, we shall build a world renewed! One which is truly fearful of the will of God!
- Gargoyles have ever been the protectors of the sacred, demons in form yet divine in duty! God wills that we return His people to Him!
His eyes blaze with fanaticism.
Ladislas
- That, my dear cousin, is why we must persevere through this calamity—not partake in it. We bear a loftier charge.
Marianne
- … Then, you too deserted, cousin?
Ladislas
- Do not bind thyself to the rules of mortal men, cousin, for there is no true law but His.
- In a purified world, under the light of the Lord’s mercy, Agnès will return to us.
- Dost thou understand, cousin?
She doesn’t. Not entirely.
But in her crumbling world, those final words give her a sliver of hope.
Marianne
- Come the end of the war … Agnès will return …
- So long as the war comes to an end …
In a deserted church, Marianne brushes dust from a Gargoyle statue.
This church, not far from the village, is now her and Ladislas’s refuge.
Marianne
- Home is no longer safe, Agnès. We had no choice but to take you with us.
- But here, at least, you may feel God’s light shine upon you. I hope you can forgive us …
- I will pray for peace—for this war to end, so that you may return. May the Lord hear a sinner’s prayer …
- My understanding of our lineage is shallow, I admit.
- But Ladislas is learned in such things. His conviction must hold some truth I have yet to see … right?
Agnès remains frozen in stone. She can no longer provide any answers to her questions.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
Far from the front, six months melt away like water.
The freezing trench winters feel like a different life. Her days return to peaceful monotony.
Tending the statue, praying day and night.
Marianne
- Merciful Father, I kneel before You to beg You to have pity on this world. End this conflict and bring us peace again …
- Amen.
Ladislas
- We must begin preparations, Marianne.
Ladislas returns from an errand, hands full—bread in one, a newspaper in the other.
Marianne
- For what?
Ladislas
- The war will soon come to an end. The time is nigh for us to undertake our divine mission.
Marianne hurries over and takes the newspaper from his hand.
Marianne
- ”… enemy’s crushing defeat … seeking negotiations … peace in sight …”
- God has truly answered our prayers …
- Agnès will soon return to us!
For the first time in a long while, a smile of pure joy spreads across her face.
Ladislas
- First, we must cleanse the streets of those abominations.
Marianne
- You mean …
Ladislas
- Seems there is little need to explain.
Following Ladislas’s gaze, Marianne sees three figures approaching the church.
They are cloaked in black with accents of seductive blue.
Ladislas
- Fetch thy armament, cousin.
Before he even finishes his sentence, Marianne has already raised her rifle.
Her instincts fire faster than her eyes.
???
- Monsieur Ladislas, Mademoiselle Marianne, good morning.
Ladislas
- Leave this place.
???
- … The Ténébrun clan, an ancient lineage of Gargoyles. You don’t get an arcane bloodline more pure than that.
- Your clan has fractured through this war, though. And you two are deserters.
- Mademoiselle, do you recall the soldier who helped you escape that day?
Marianne
- … What?
???
- It’s thanks to him that we were made aware of the exceptional bloodline tucked away here.
- You long to escape the war, yes? Lucky for you, we know how to end it for good.
- We’re here to extend an invitation.
Marianne
- The soldier who aided my escape … was one of you?
- Who are you?
???
- Forgive me. I ought to have introduced us earlier.
- We follow the Mother of Resurrection. You may call us—
- Manus Vindictae.
A hand extends toward her, seemingly in peace.
Marianne studies the figure. The mask on his face stirs something long buried.
Marianne
- …
Two hands, crossed, lifting or concealing.
When she pried the Mauser rifle from the enemy’s corpse, she saw the very same insignia.
Marianne
- To accept this invitation … would be to commit treason.
Manus Officer
- … Ah. So you’ve seen our emblem on the battlefield.
- Allow me to clarify. We’ve infiltrated your enemies, yes—but we serve no human faction.
- Our manipulation of armies is merely a means to an end. You can join us without fear.
- The Mother has returned. Arcanists are rising. The world will no longer be divided by nation, but ruled by blood.
- And you will never suffer like this again—
A shot lands by his feet, cutting him off. Smoke curls from her muzzle.
Marianne
- Your warning. I know not what you plot, but speak no more your twisted words.
- What you speak is blasphemy. Resurrection is an act saved only for the Son of God.
- I will not have His virtue tainted by the likes of you.
The figure steps back, his face dark and unreadable.
Manus Officer
- Mademoiselle, have you forgotten the soldier who saved you?
- Our voice has long been whispered among your own …
Marianne
- Don’t you dare insult my comrade-in-arms. Leave! Now!
Manus Officer
- What if I told you the upcoming negotiations were doomed to fail?
- The war will not end. Your only way out—
Ladislas
- Cousin, thou needst not listen on.
Marianne
- … you’re right.
She steps forward, rifle still raised.
(Deep in the Woods)
With the Manus driven off, Marianne makes her way out of the church.
Ladislas follows close behind, still trying to dissuade her.
Ladislas
- Cousin, we Gargoyles are not to meddle in this war. Thou must not make way to the negotiation site.
Marianne grips a letter pulled from one of the Manus in her hand—a lead.
Marianne
- The information is too detailed—as if they know everything about the negotiations.
- If this plan of theirs is true, I must confirm it for myself.
- I cannot allow this war to go on …
(Battle)
Marianne
- So this is Manus Vindictae’s camp.
- They must have the critical information I need.
- Take them out one by one from the shadows.
- First, take down the frontline command post.
- Next, the operations staff.
- Finally, the general headquarters—stick to the plan.
…
Manus Officer
- … Taking our lives won’t change anything.
- There’s no shortage of warmongers on your own side.
- They’ve never given up their ambitions.
Marianne
- …!
- … A comrade of mine spoke the very same once, as we patrolled along the Carolus River …
Manus Officer
- All we needed to do was give them a gentle nudge in the right direction …
- And they freely surrendered all sense and reason.
- Your commanding officer is also involved in this. We’ve had an arrangement for quite a while now.
- These peace negotiations are doomed to fail. Any pretense of a ceasefire is pure fantasy.
Marianne
- You lie! You speak venom without any truth!
…
Marianne
- ”… Our forces have successfully assisted in quelling worker uprisings in all territories …”
- ”… The faction advocating for negotiation has been fully subdued …”
- ”… This ‘war therapy’ has demonstrated significant success … combining arcanum with military strength …”
- “Frontline troops will be redeployed with boosted combat morale and superior firepower …”
- ”… The human leadership has rediscovered their determination to continue the war …”
- Their influence has penetrated deep into enemy lands …
- Those accursed war-hungry maniacs!
- We cannot allow them to achieve their goals.
…
Marianne
- ”… A top-ranking military advisor has now arrived at the Clotaire encampment …”
- ”… Authorization was granted for a victory through attrition strategy, and further cooperation has been secured …”
- This is treason!
- Why would they do this?
- No, I must see to this with my own eyes. Else I will not believe it!
…
(Forêt de Clotaire)
In the depths of the forest, where few human traces remain, only a few birds chirp.
But this calm is an arcane illusion—cross the incantation’s boundary, and the truth reveals itself.
Outside a crude little camp, a man in a navy uniform whispers to the figure across from him.
Military Advisor
- … We’ll demand they revert to confederation status. They’re sure to reject such terms.
- And the war will go on …
Manus Officer
- We’ll provide general-purpose arcane weapons and support units …
- There’ll be no shortage of manpower or firepower …
No one notices the statue hidden beneath the branches.
Still and silent, she blends in like any stone in the forest.
Manus Officer
- We’ll see the results of the negotiation soon.
- The future you want is already within reach.
The gold stars and medals on his uniform sting Marianne’s eyes.
Manus Officer
- Pleasure working with you.
Military Advisor
- … And you.
With just a few words, they casually decide the fate of every soldier.
Utterly absurd.
She steadies her trembling hand, takes aim, and pulls the trigger.
Manus Officer
- Who—?!
She moves forward step by step, unflinching as shots ricochet off the surrounding trees, and guns down every last member of Manus Vindictae.
Military Advisor
- Zut! Enemy forces?! I need to sound the alarm—
Marianne
- Put down that flare.
She steps out of the forest, over the corpses, rifle aimed squarely at the adviser’s chest.
Military Advisor
- … Of all the people to end my life, I never thought it would be one of my own.
- Didn’t your commanding officer teach you never to aim your weapon at a superior?
Marianne
- … You traitorous coward. You truly have thrown your lot in with Manus Vindictae.
Military Advisor
- Traitorous? Everything I have done, I have done for the motherland.
- The enemy invaded our land—interfered with our colonies.
- If we allow them to grow stronger, we will only repeat the shame we suffered half a century ago.
- We must wipe them out if we are to truly have vengeance!
Marianne
- Fool. Manus Vindictae does not collaborate with you alone—they work too with our so-called “enemy.”
- We are all pawns—us and them alike!
Military Advisor
- So what?!
Marianne
- What—
Military Advisor
- The enemy came to us to negotiate peace—they’re begging for it, in fact. Even with Manus Vindictae’s help, they cannot turn the tide.
Marianne
- You truly have made your lot with the devil …
- How many more must perish before you are satisfied?!
Military Advisor
- Blood is the sacrifice for victory.
- This is the time to give it our all. This is our chance to resolve all of our nation’s problems.
- You’re short-sighted, soldier—a coward. You have no understanding of the true nature of war.
Marianne
- … The true nature of war?
- I have seen the face of it. An excuse to spend lives like currency for your own gain …
- And to absolve yourself of all guilt for your heinous acts.
- War is naught but a tool to exercise your ambition.
- You do not fight for the nation. You fight for yourself!
Military Advisor
- Heh … And who do you think authorized me to make contact with Manus Vindictae?
- Soldier, it is you who has betrayed your country and forgotten your duty.
- You fear death and reject the honor of war!
A raven glides down from a distant train car, lands lightly on the officer’s shoulder, flaps its wings, and flies off.
Military Advisor
- … Hmph. As expected, they’ve rejected the deal. Negotiations have failed.
- So what now, soldier? War resumes tomorrow.
- And those who carry the glory of our nation in their hearts will be sent onward to crush our enemies.
- And you? Which will it be? Fight and become a hero, or turn back a coward?
Marianne
- No …
The ground shakes violently. Her insides burn.
Marianne
- Huff … huff …
Marianne gasps for air.
At the end of a dark, narrow corridor, she sees the stone Gargoyle receding into the distance.
Ladislas
- … We Gargoyles are the enactors of His divine judgment in a demonic guise. We are the guardians of faith …
- Only when this war doth end shall Agnès return unto us …
Agnès
- Marie … what immortal hand or eye could frame the cause behind these deadly ends?
Marianne
- Agnès …
She closes her eyes, her finger trembling by the trigger.
Military Advisor
- So. You choose desertion.
- You choose to kill your compatriot, your commander! You are the traitor!
Marianne
- Whoso sheddeth man’s blood … by man shall his blood be shed.
- To kill a fellow countryman is to willingly put a stain upon my soul. I confess to You …
Military Advisor
- I command you to lower your weapon!
Marianne
- I shall ever bear the cross, and in death, l shall face Your judgment …
Military Advisor
- Killing me will change nothing! You’re just one person! What could you possibly do?!
Marianne
- Lord …
I pray, do not abandon me!
Military Advisor
- Disgraceful …
Marianne
- I will put an end to this war.
Military Advisor
- Rgh!
The bullet hits him square between the eyes. He drops, his star-stamped epaulettes stained with blood and dirt.
Marianne wipes the tears from her face with her arm, her brow hardening into a look of determination.
Then, she steps forward into the forest, no longer as just Marianne, but as Sentinel.
(THE END)