Pride of the Quincy [Akia vs Nozomi][Private]

Word Count - 1,460

There is a theorem that humans are programmed to reject perfection.

This makes logical sense, of course. It oftentimes seems as if humans entirely, or at least prominently, define their very existence through the misery they feel. They use their pain existentially, as a justification for a practiced and sentient apathy. A human will blame anyone but themselves for the tragedies and cruelties of the reality they are so doomed to live in. This is because the second they blame themselves, they are forced to accept that they are flawed, and that they are only prevented from attaining perfection because they refuse to see the truth.

Nowhere on Earth is there a better example of this folly than in the barren expanse of debris, rubble, and frosted terrain commonly referred to as "the wasteland".

It was, of course, inevitable for this to come to pass.

Gleaming cities with buildings reaching skyward, as if to touch the very clouds, or even the heavens themselves.. Vast expanses of villages, farmland, factories, and et cetera.. Shining and gleaming examples of how humanity and nature can coexist.. These areas were a brilliant reminder of human potential, and of progress.

It was only natural that it would all be decimated.

There was nothing left now but... scarred earth, rubble, and endless snow. A horrible and twisted remnant of a by-gone era of reconstruction... It was, at once, tragic and.. amusing. Perfection was nearly achieved... but the human beings rejected it. Perhaps there was more weight to that theorem than was credited?

Wastelands.

It was all Akia had ever known. Endless expanses of.... nothing.

Of course, it wasn't always the same KIND of wasteland. There were sweeping, blistering deserts. There were ruined cities that stretched for miles, nothing but rubble or radiation. There were empty and devoid forests, all trees in sight uprooted and nowhere to be seen. There was a part of her that knew these wastelands were what she was destined for. This sort of thing was the price for one who had, in essence, been forced to sell their very soul simply to get here today.

Unlike many of the Quincy that had been rising to power as of recent, Akia was extremely young. The amount of power she had inside of her, one might expect of an elder in the quincy arts. Or, rather, one who had spent several lifetimes training. However, one would find no such age or honed discipline within Akia Hisashi. She was only nineteen years old, a fact that was hardly believable to anyone who had seen her in combat.

Including, of course, the leader of the Vandenreich, the organization that she now belonged to. It was an interesting coincidence, the fact that a Quincy organization stood to defend their own. On one hand, Akia felt grateful for its existence. It was awesome, the kind of unity and sense of accomplishment one could feel when knowing that they were part of a group that was striving... fighting for something more. On the other hand though.. Akia resented them. Not because of their goals, or motivations, but because that they had chosen now to appear, instead of a time when they could've really made a difference in HER life.

But such thoughts were selfish, and to dwell on them was immature. It would be un-befitting of her position if she were to express such immature notions aloud. Besides, she had to prove to those around her that she was worthy of her power and rank, and her age was already enough for most to cock an eyebrow and question her.

And prove it she would. Even if, for the moment, all it meant was more wastelands.

This one, at least, was more bearable than most. It was frigid, yes. It was just as desolate as any other. However, Akia prefered the cold, and it was a welcome change to see a landscape that was destroyed because of external forces, and not her own strength.

These were the thoughts coursing through the mind of the one known as Akia Hisashi as she passed idly through the deserted landscape. While it was ruinous and almost completely overrun with snow, it made for a good place to drift if one was looking to be the only living thing within a hundred miles. The lazy, blistering wind tossed Akia's white hair about her face, whipping it occasionally against her until she resigned to just tying it back in a ponytail as she wandered.

Today though.. Something was.. off. Something was.. different.

There was a strange calm over the snow today.

Akia visited this place often. She had been told to avoid this place. She was told it was dangerous. She was told that there was nothing worth seeing here.

Akia disagreed.

Usually, this place was a blizzard-laden frozen hell. It was absolutely no place for a human. The odds of surviving in the frostbitten weather that surrounded this location were damn near zero.

Maybe that's what Akia liked so much about it.

But today was different. Today, there was an odd and eerie peace surrounding this land. On any other day, there would be only the howling wind and blinding snow to keep Akia company. And yet.. there was a momentary hint of blue sky, and even this bit of light was enough to release a flash of diamonds across the wide landscape, so oddly disfigured by its snowy adventure. The snow stopped on that day, as if for a quick survey of what had been achieved thus far; the rare days of sunshine seemed to serve much the same purpose—the flurries died down and the sun’s direct glare attempted to melt the luscious, pure surface of drifted new snow. It was a fairy-tale world, child-like and funny. Boughs of trees adorned with thick pillows, so fluffy someone must have plumped them up; the ground a series of humps and mounds, beneath which slinking underbrush or outcrops of rock lay hidden; a landscape of crouching, cowering gnomes in droll disguises—it was comic to behold, straight out of a book of fairy tales. But if there was something roguish and fantastic about the immediate vicinity through which you laboriously made your way, the towering statues of snow-clad warriors, gazing down from the distance, awakened in her feelings of the sublime and holy.

Akia gently ran a hand through her hair as she hobbled forward slowly. While no one she had seen recently knew who she was, those who had heard of her would identify her instantly for what she was: A Quincy. And a member of the Vandenreich, at that. Not from appearance, though hers was certainly distinctive. No. One who had met her could tell that she was coming from quite a distance away, if one simply listened. The silence of any given day was periodically broken by the "clack" or "thud" of Akia's cane connecting with the ground onto various surfaces. It was quite a hindrance when one was trying to be sneaky, but it was necessary. Unlike some, Akia didn't use her cane for a cosmetic appeal. Akia [i]needed hers. Desperately. Her leg was useless. The muscle of it twisted, ripped, and essentially shredded. The cause behind this was not one she shared regularly, or openly, with anyone.

Anyone who heard that Akia was primarily a bodyguard might find the notion laughable at best. Even beyond the messed up leg, Akia was frail, her shaky stance and white-washed hair evidence of a completely worn out and practically useless form. To anyone who might view her, she would probably seem like easy pickings. Although anyone with a brain would know not to judge a book by its cover, and this rule goes doubly so for Akia. Cripple or not, she had some pretty vicious tricks up her sleeve.

Akia had been waiting here all day. She had to think. To process. She needed this time to herself. usually it was relaxing but there was something so carnally not right about today. She had assumed it was because of the loss of the snow, but at sunset the clouds gathered again, bringing an earlier night, and the snow began to fall straight and steadily from a sky without wind, in a soft universal diffusion more confusing than the gusts and eddies of the morning. It seemed to be a part of the thickening darkness, to be the winter night itself descending on us layer by layer.

Akia slowly lowered herself to the ground, resigning herself to a cross-legged sitting position, laying her cane across her lap as she looked around this new, odd torrent of snow.

This was an omen, that much was obvious

The question was

What was it heralding?