I Never Wanted To Become A Celestine Worthy

Nils sank onto the bed and the wooden frame creaked softly in response as the mattress caught his fall. He lay back and settled his gaze on the dim, flickering shadows that danced along the ceiling. His thoughts drifted. His mind wandered through alien emotions.

"... it's cold..." he murmured, barely hearing his own voice over his breath. He paused mid-thought, the words caught in his throat, "...when I'm not hugged by a big-breasted woman in her forties". Nils' taste in women was for those that were nearly twice his age and could pass for the role of either his mother or aunt.

The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the faint crackle of the candle flames. A large book was next to him and it sunk into the soft mattress. Its title read 'Fillmore's Old Testament'. He had taken it from the library to read.

"During the first calendar the age of the gods bloomed in a roaring wave of conquest and power. The gods were few, but mighty. They governed the Einar and acted as enforcers of universal law" he read in a casual tone. "The Greater Dragons, known as the prodigal species, were a prideful flock. They refused to swallow the bitter truth of their inferiority to the gods, mainly because they viewed themselves as gods. The second calendar started with a war that shook the heavens and cracked the earth and it ended with the death of four hundred Greater Dragons and twelve of the thirteen gods".

Nils couldn't help but grin and chuckled even. For him there was something comically humorous in the Greater Dragons winning with a rate of casualties four hundred to twelve. Considering there had only ever been thirteen occult gods in Einar during the first calendar, it would be far more reasonable to assume the victory belonged to the deities.

"The third calendar started when the last of the gods, the goddess Grainne, rewrote the memories of the world, thus creating her own desired outcome. Her own deus ex machina."

Nils shut the book with a snap and threw it on the bed, rolling his eyes. He could not fathom why Grainne, for the love all that describes beauty, would create a world with the order of the 'celestine worthy'. A world were everyone had the potential to become, in essence, a "god" (Nils means an occult god, which is a title given to those that have incredible mastery over magic). A celestine worthy is an individual granted a unique gift from the Odom apples governed by the serpentine occult god of the Vadimatican church. The Vadimatican church is a large cathedral that stands watch over Ridgemond. It is vast, as elegant as the library and a monopolized politically religious office inherited by the noble house of Beauchêne.

"Beauchêne" Nils whispered, rolling the name on his tongue as if it contained a hidden meaning he wished to uncover. "Merlinette Alexandrie Beauchêne had only recently reached the third rank of the celestine worthy, didn't she?" He remembered because of a grand coronation the prior week her father held in her honour.

The name he mentioned, Merlinette Alexandrie Beauchêne, was the eldest daughter of the current archbishop of the Vadimatican church, Oswald Mosley Beauchêne. And although he had never met her in person, daily gossip painted her as a manipulative and cunning wytch-borne from the noble house of Beauchêne. Considered an apogee amongst the wytch-borne prodigies and even reached the status of Reverend Palace honor student as well as that of a Greater Dragon in record time when she gained the ability [Dragon Trigger], further enforcing the prodigal characteristics everyone sees in her. Her father "ritually" appointed her, a celestine worthy of the third rank, as the celestine worthy of heaven. In other words, she is officially considered an existence far greater than the norm since her ascension into the third rank, she is an occult god(dess).

For Nils the topic was something he's skeptical about. He stared at the dancing shadows again, his grin fading. "Four hundred dragons for twelve gods... and Grainne erased it all with a stroke of her divine quill.." he mused bitterly. He traced his fingers over the spine of Fillmore's Old Testament. The leather was cool to the touch.

"Was it worth it?" he whispered, not to the shadows, the book or even himself, but to the goddess who would never answer. His gaze fell on the book again, now slightly ajar. The flickering candlelight illuminated the serpent's sigil embossed on the back cover, its coiled body forming the shape of an apple.

"I'll have to return this before the library closes" he said. "Otherwise I'll have to pay a fine the next morning".

He failed.

Nightfall arrived and the diving sun painted the world in a spreading gradient of black, sparks of white from ever so distant stars glimmered in mass deep within the blackness among the glowing disc of a full moon. Nils sprinted through the icy streets and his leather shoes thudded against the frozen ground with each step. His breath escaped in quick, visible puffs and each cloud dissolved into the bitter winter air. The chill bit at his face but he pushed forward, driven by urgency.

"Dangit! If only I hadn't overslept!" he groaned.

A thin coat of snow layered the thickened skin of ice on the stone-tiled streets. The city was still and asleep, no noise save that of the blowing, whistling wind and the cluttering of nocturnal creatures was to be heard. Before long the library loomed into view, tower and imposing. Its magnificent architecture stood as imposing as ever and the towering arches and crouched snow-covered gargoyle statues bathed in pale moonlight. The ogreish gargoyles, eternally vigilant, seemed to sneer down at him. Their shadows stretched like claws across the ground. Nils approached the massive wooden doors and pushed against them but they refused to budge as they had been locked from within by weathered steel. The heavy wood shuddered in place and rattled loudly but held firm. Inside, many bats fluttered freely and their wings cut faintly through the silence with repeated flaps. They darted after insects and thus kept the precious books safe from pests. The tables beneath them were draped with large capes, shielding their polished mahogany surfaces from the bats' droppings.

"How am I supposed to get in?" Nils muttered, freezing mid-step. His hands rested on his hips as he stared at the stubborn doors. Frustration mounted as he thought. "I shouldn't..." he whispered with defeat, dangling his arms loosely as he dropped his head and sighed. A cold cloud of icy breath evaporated in seconds. " No, it should be fine, I'm simply returning this book". (It was not fine, he was breaking and entering)

He climbed in through a window, which he was well aware was not allowed, and snuck deeper in the library to return the book, placing it exactly where it belonged. He retreated with a step and sighed with a relief that evaporated his burdened sensations like his breath, gazing in satisfaction at the completed shelf were hundreds of books stood like soldiers at attention. Nils stared at the shelf, his breath steadying as he marveled at the rows of books. The library's silence pressed against him, broken only by the faint rustle of the flapping bat-wings overhead.

Then a faint spark glimmered in the corner of his eye, beckoning for his immediate attention. He reached, forcing his hand in a cramped space of between a book and the shelf. His fingers brushed against something smooth. When he pulled it free his heart skipped....an Odom apple!?

"What in Gaiwan's name!? This peachy-looking fruit...its design.. it's an Odom apple!? What is it doing in a bookshelf and in the public library no less!?"

Odom apples weren't just rare—they were sacred. Each could grant a unique gift: an "authority" to bend the world's rules or an "inheritance" to transform the user. Statistically, the Vadimatican church singlehandedly sold hundreds of Odom apples every other month, each for five-hundred gulden (gulden being the currency used mostly throughout the entire Prussian continent) and only after answering a rigorous amount of personal questions, such as the current condition of status, wealth and property, bloodline and heritage and even your religion. Of course it goes without saying that the Vadimatican church refused to sell to those with varying religious views.

Devotees of the rank zero celestine worthy of myth, legend and epics or the rank two celestine worthy of fate and fortune would under no circumstances receive an Odom apple from the Vadimatican church, even if they'd pay triple.

Nils stared down at the apple, its smooth, glossy surface was polished enough for him to see his reflection staring back with the same dull gaze in reverend awe. Finding one here, unsupervised no less, was unthinkable.

Nils stared at the apple with unnerving focus and held it firmly in his grasp. He swallowed hard, the weight of the apple felt heavy in his palm. "Yeeah~ NO."

Like he had never come across the Odom apple, he shoved it back into the shadows, wedging it deep behind the books. Whatever trouble this apple carried, it wasn't his to bear. He snuck out the way he came, making sure to close the window behind him and left in a dash vectored homeward.

Across the street a man stood watching him in stoic silence. He was older than the keeper of the cemetery and his mustache was neatly trimmed. His black butler's suit was a stark contrast against the white of the snow. He held an umbrella in his right hand, shielding himself from the snowfall. His eyes were cold and calculating and followed Nils with a predatory focus. Unaware of his presence, Nils approached the building. The stone steps leading to the entrance had frozen over, becoming a smooth and slippery surface, almost frictionless. It nearly brought him to a shameful stumble, but he managed to avoid such an outcome, catching himself just in time.

Upon his entry, Nils removed his coat and hung it on the hat-and-coat hanger next to the door. Delicate flakes of snow hung desperately to the fabric and Nils hadn't the time nor the efforts to brush it clean. Instead he wearily swatted the coat with a cotton handkerchief several times and left it as it was, abandoning the coat mid-process. He strode through the hall to his room, shrouded in darkness and a lingering damp air. Ironically, the stone-cold stone bit at his bare feet and the unlit candles atop the suspended wheel emitted small traces of vapor.

Outside, the man in the suit approached the entrance to the building with measured grace, coming to a halt at the frozen stone steps. His unnerving gaze fell low to the brass handle of the door, glazed in a glossy layer of thin ice. His posture was straight and unwavering, seemingly unaffected by the cold winter winds that blew and beat against him. He held an umbrella in one hand, shielding himself from the snowfall and his neat, grey mustache complimented his stern but weathered face. He blinked as if in response to something and vanished like a phantom in a bustling murder of crows that came into sudden view appearing inside the house.

At the sight of the stranger, Nils jumped back and assumed a defensive stance, clenching a tight twin pair of fists. "The heck, did you just teleport with ravens into my house!? (they were crows). "What are you doing here and who are you!?" Nils demanded. His expression apart, his trembling voice was evidence of his confusion. The stranger appeared as a magician would, from thin air in the middle of an act, displaying his talents as a celestine worthy. Although his rank and full range of abilities are unknown, that somehow added to the mystery and the threat of the stranger.

A smile spread across the old man his wrinkled face. At last he laughed, his voice low and whispering.

"Muu~"

Steadily his laughter loudened and the old man made more exaggerated movements befitting of such laughter. His smile widened from ear to ear as he hunched back with a tilt of his head and laughed, deep in his throat. "Mhwuaahahaaa!! You actually do look alike, to think that good for nothing would lead me to you!"

"?"

"My apologies, where have I left my manners behind? I am Williams Winston, a contractor and celestine worthy of the twelfth rank"

"a... contractor..?"

"I understand this must come as somewhat of a shock to you, contractors are hired assassins after all. Whom would hire a celestine worthy to kill you, you may wonder?"

"..."

"Sadly that is information I cannot disclose, professionalism requires such from me. But I must say it is with great pride that stand before you today, [Variant of Dietrich]"

"I don't understand.." Nils whispered.

"Never the matter, use your gift! Let us see what kind of authority or inheritance you have gained!!"

"W-what..?" Nils stammered over his words as his body rebelled to the commands of his brain. "I've never eaten an Odom apple. I don't have a gift!"

"....." The old man was dumbfounded. Perplexed. Distraught. Flabbergasted. His face contained a thousand emotions and he glared motionlessly at Nils. "You're telling me, you're just a normal human?"

Nils nodded and the old man laughed as he did before. His eyes teared up as he gripped his umbrella and pushed its tip against the floor, supporting his weight as he bent over. He hissed for breath, unable to contain his laughter.

"This..this is almost too perfect! It would seem that the occult gods look down upon me with favor". The old man thrusted his closed umbrella with violent intent, lancing it through Nils' chest. "Now dieee!!!" For an instant, Nils' world froze.

"!?"

His eyes widened as the sting of the impalement blooming as a roaring wave of pain that crashed through his mind. With the chill of the umbrella radiated through his frame, numbing his limbs even as blood spilled freely from the wound, soaking in the fine fabrics of his tailored clothes. Each ragged breath came harder than the last, his chest heaving as air hissed through the punctured lung. The burning ache clawed at him, relentlessly, like a molten iron pressed onto the skin. He collapsed to the cold wooden floor with a thud, rendered immobile by the dual effects of both a severe loss of blood and the graveness of the ill-received wound. The attack was swift. Precise. A well-executed death sentence delivered before he could even react.

"It hurts..." the thought burned through his hazy mind as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. He struggled to cling to consciousness, to piece together what had gone wrong. Nils worked at the library. He had little to no knowledge of gifts and relics and had never before attended Reverend Palace, an institution for those studying and harnessing the powers of relics or gifts. He had never eaten an Odom apple or much less ever met this person! Why!? Why!!!?

His thoughts faltered, fragments slipping away as numbness consumed him. Soon the embrace of death had fully enveloped him and darkness was all that he was left to see.

Nils heard the fainting voice of a women as if she were a great distance away "You poor thing...". There was the color of pale crimson silk, slightly transparent and a cotton ribbon swirling freely as a flag. This red was a gown, full of volume and adorned with intricate bows and ribbons across its surface. A petite and young woman with porcelain pale skin wore the gown. Her coiling blonde strands of hair hung beneath a witch's hat and they framed her strikingly beautiful face.

"Whua— a red witch...!? Who are you!?" Williams demanded, speaking in a tone of authority and command, but no answer came save the howling winter winds. "How did you know where I was? Are you a spy? Answer me, witch!!"

The young lady spared no attention for the contractor and instead spoke with a honeyed voice, asking Nils "do you wish to live?"

"I will not let you stand in my way!!" Williams launched himself forward, his umbrella in hand, and aimed for the slim-wasited lady in the red gown.

This however, would prove to be a fatal mistake. The contractor had not accounted how she had suddenly just appeared without so much as a sound or shift in light. In other words, he launched a blind attack, unaware of her rank as a celestine worthy or the nature of her gift.

A scarlet light flashed throughout the house with a deafening sound, almost like an explosion. And its crimson glow shone with bright intensity, halting Williams in his tracks. The contractor averted his gaze from the source of light, and opened his umbrella facing it forward to shield himself.

"!?"

He felt a brute force collide with the umbrella, forcing him against the door with a powerful push and the wooden door crunched and creaked in protest before it shattered like a frail glass. Its metal hinges fell to the floor, ringing with a metallic "ting". Williams couldn't believe his eyes and his bones shuddered under the weight of the attack. When he looked, a towering three-headed wolf stared back. Its fur as black as tar, glistened with black sparks. Each of the wolfen heads moved in unison and glowing black eyes scanned the contractor with predatory intent as it padded forward with eerie silence through the door opening into the cold winter where Williams waited. The lady is the witch's hat smiled and although her smile was gentle and warm, it contained a hidden hostility.

"You're eager to know what my gift is, I'd wager" she spoke, maintaining her cutely but devilish smile while her gaze stared down, fixated on Nils, with clear pity in her sparkling eyes.

"!?"

"It's [Seal of the End], an authority that allows me to seal any mythical beast away save the wild gods from Eden and the Greater Dragons. The success rate is nigh absolute you see, but it comes at a cost alas..the sealing vessel must be a relic"

"I see..so the beast.."

"You would be correct to assume, it emerged from my left earring". Hanging from her left ear was an intricate piece of jewelry. A golden earring molded in the shape of coiling tentacles cradled a small red stone. It was a gemstone of sort, smooth-surfaced, oval-shaped and glinting with pride under the flickering lights. The red stone is a relic and it granted the witch in red a mild resistance to the cold. "You called this boy the [Variant of Dietrich], would you be so kind to explain what that may be?"

Williams frowned and his scornful stare pierced with hate, wrinkling his weathered face. But almost as if a distant thought washed ashore to the beaches of his mind, he suddenly smiled from ear to ear. "I am a contractor of the guild of the Shadow Crusade. I trust I needn't tell that our guild is associated with the noble house of Fontaine?"

"So? I am the youngest daughter of the Vadimatican archbishop, the red witch of conflict, calamity and misfortune — Ornelle Elwyne Beauchêne. Why would I have any fear for another of the five noble houses?"