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Unrestrained Struggle	By : Elleyis Category: +S through Z > Valkyrie Profile Views: 2173 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Valkyrie Profile or any character within, they are the property of Tri Ace. Im not making any money either, so enjoy.

Chapter List
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The ground quakes and trembles beneath his heels. The sky is a blaze reflecting in the lens of his eyes.   In the distance there is a city set aflame. Clouds of black smoke emerge from the fires like ominous omens written in the skyline. The destruction left in the wake of the all-consuming blaze has spared none. The bodies of men and women lay lifeless upon scorched earth. Cries of torment fused anger and fury begin to assail his ears. A throng of wailing and charging hooves can be heard amidst the chaos. Nearer and nearer it is drawing. It is the sound of men upon horses engaged in battle between life and death. The desperate struggle for supremacy in land of mortals; It is war.
Lezard Valeth has found himself amidst a brutal conflict. The scene that unfolds before his eyes is abysmal. Fearlessly warriors clad in heavy armor charge ahead to meet their foes. The clash of metal and men that soon ensues is grand. Skilled swordsmen brandish their weapons in hand to strike down the opposing force. For many one mere blow decides which fighter lives and which dies. For others the outcome of this engagement comes at the end of a long struggle, costing some limb and leaving others badly wounded. Arrows pierce through the air like lightening mercilessly striking unsuspecting. Falling to the ground gasping for air they are either trampled underfoot by fierce stallions or impaled with spears. A few warriors bearing distinct armor are proving themselves quite formidable in combat. Easily they lay to waste any that dare to cross their paths. They unlike the others are far superior in conflict.
Lezard watches silently and ponders the meaning of this battle. He himself is no stranger to bloodshed or death, for Lezard is also tainted with the blood of many. Countless lives of elves and humans were lost by his very hands. He recalls their faces from his memories, watching his victim’s writhe and struggle in a futile attempt to escape from his experiments.
He shows no regret for what he has done. Each maiden was merely a pawn falling in service to a greater purpose. His transcendence to godhood and divine union with his beloved.
But here he senses it. Something more atrocious than he, from the foulest depths of the human soul, it is the primal urge in every living being. The urge to survive; to live no matter how gruesome or lowly their life was.
To Lezard the vanity of war among men is utterly absurd. Humans needlessly slaughtering each other; the childish notions of killing for honor and glory was completely irrational.    Such ideals were meaningless.
Lezard would have simply left such a disgusting place filled with creatures unworthy to be graced with his divine presence when suddenly a blinding ray of light descended into battlefield. The force at which it struck the ground was like an earthquake, sent waves of ash and soot rushing through the air.   Lezard quickly raised his cloak to shield himself from the blast. Through the dust he could hear the men shouting and wailing. Their voices were in disarray and panic. Before Lezard could glimpse from behind his veil another earthshattering blast fell. Again and again they struck, like a lightening storm at the apex of activity.
As the dust settled the cries of the warriors withered until there nothing but silence. Even the neighs from the horse were gone.
Lezard released his grip from his cape and calmly adjusted his spectacles. His eyes narrowed into a curious gaze. The land where once stood a fierce legion of mighty souls was now nothing more than leveled earth. Only a few people managed to survive the chaos. It was the same lot of talented fighters from before. Lezard watched as the quartet gathered amongst themselves. They were within the blast radius of destruction yet somehow they were still alive. Panting heavily lowered their weapons to their sides. They stood bewildered and shaken. Some began look to each other for comfort and assurance but found very little if any. “Ah,” gasped a young man with red hair. His head was tiled upward starring into the heavens. The rest of his companions followed suit. In an instant their soot covered eyes became affixed to the sky.
Lezard wasted no time and quickly glance into the sky as well. His eyes widen.   For within the sky angelic beings quickly descended upon the remaining fighters. Valkyries! Not simply 2 or 3 but a squadron of Odin’s shield maidens were present! Each bore unique armor and with a winged helm. Some held swords whose blade were made from with a fine mystical polymer likes of which no man of Midgard had ever seen. Others were archers with gleaming bows crafted from the very bark of Yggdrasil. The arrows they shot would find any target no matter how great the distance was. The rest wielded fine spears engraved with mystical runes that could allow them to pierce even the hardest of stone.   Lezard marveled. He had never in all his days seen so many Valkyries. Each lady was lovely and fair; a goddess not only by divinity alone but by beauty as well. Lezard smirked. No matter how fetching they were none could compare to his darling Lenneth.
The shield maidens completely encircled the men and stood proudly before them. The warriors were at a lost. Surely death was upon them for they had witnessed the decimation of friend and foe alike.
“Kneel and bow mortals,” uttered the voice of a woman. Moments a raven haired Valkyrie appeared like an apparition appearing from thin air. She was adorned in black gleaming armor, her voice ever powerful and commanding as she began to march towards the four. Her crimson steeled and beset upon them.
“You, who are you?!” a young priestess managed to speak, her hands still shaking as she clenched her staff. At this the Valkyrie took on a condescending grin.   She stopped within 3 arm’s length of the troupe and then released her blade from its dark scabbard. She swept the tip toward the ground and in a proud tone she spoke. “I am the chooser of the slain! Bearer of the souls worthy of Valhalla! I am Hrist Valkyrie of the Æsir!” The young men let out startled gasps. A goddess of death stood over them.
Hrist continued, “Our Lord Odin is need of strong and brave warriors. You have proven yourselves in combat and therefore worthy of place in Valhalla to fight at our Lord’s side. Lie down your arms and kneel.”
The situation was bleak. Each man knew that Valkyries only took the dead to Valhalla. To accept such an invitation would be tantamount to suicide. The warriors look at each other unsure of what to do.
“No,” the youngest among them spoke. A boy of no more than 14 with straw colored locks drew his bow. His face was stern as his hazel eyes fought back tears of anger. He shouted crossly at the woman in black, “I want nothing to do with the likes of you!” The tip of his arrow was now pointed directly at Hrist’s head. A passionate anger soon arose from his baritone adolescent voice. “They never stood a chance. You killed all the people here! You killed everyone, our comrades, my friends! This wasn’t a battle it was a massacre! You’re not a god you’re a demon from the blackest part of hell and I want nothing to do with you or Odin!” He glared at Hrist as his breath became heavy; his chest sharply rose and fell in an effort to consume more air.
Hrist simply smiled. The boy was shocked. How dare you grin at us like that? he thought. After taking away my friends you have the nerve to smile at us, as if their deaths meant nothing, you witch!
Several quiet seconds passed before Hrist calmly spoke, “Foolish youth.” Hrist began to snicker. “I simply seek the will of my Lord, I will do whatever is necessary to bring it about.” Her eyes lit up with an elated cruelty as she shoved off the upstart’s complaint. “Such is way of the world, those who have might are the ones who are worthy to crave it as they see fit. By nature itself only the strong survive and while the weak die. Even you must realize those who have the power shall rule and with that power bring about right order to mankind.” She lifted her blade in his direction. “You will come willing or by force, I leave the choice to you.”
The warriors quickly gathered to boy’s side ready to protect him. Seeing their young friend’s courage as he stood resolute against a god was all they needed to shake off their hesitation. Fearful though they were of the formidable Valkyries they were not ready to surrender to the likes of such heartless beings. Not even if it meant their deaths.
“Is that your choice then?” Hrist replied mocking the young lad. “Very well, then you live me little choice,” again she smiled.   “Hgnn…” the boy scowled as he let loose his arrow from its bow. It quickly darted past his companions and straight towards Hrist. Hrist had only to tilt the blade of her sword and the arrow easily was deflected, squatted away as if it was nothing more than a pesky horsefly.
The other Valkyries watched in amusement as Hrist closed the final gap between her and the humans. A lithe yet muscular red haired lancer broke ranks to lunge at her.   In one fluid movement Hrist spun away from the tip of the spear and with her free hand seized it mid shaft. She drew the tip into the ground and with her blade cut through the man’s armor. The red head was caught off guard. He was certain she would have been struck down by the speed of his thrust or at least retreat from it. Instead Hrist used his own strength against him. As he fell backwards he could see the slanting arc of his own blood being spilt upward away from his chest. It looked like the splashing of brightly colored wine from its bottle when the cork is removed. With a dull thud he hit the ground.
“Mikial,” shouted an older man, he was of muscular a build and stood 2 heads higher than his mortally wounded friend.   In one large step his figure overshadowed Hrist.   His strong hands seized his weapon of choice, a great broadsword over 4 feet long. His deep bass voice let out a booming cry as he began a relentless assault upon the murderous Valkyrie.   Each swing caused the air around the blade to swirl violently and have could have easily taken a man’s head off.   Hrist was not impressed. He was quick, but his heavy sword did not give him the agility he needed to match Hrist’s speed.   She quickly made of fool of him by dodging each swing and parrying his mighty thrusts with her small blade. She toyed with him, purposely throwing him into a rage, causing him to use brute strength instead of skill. At the same time the young archer steadied his aim looking for an opportunity to strike the distracted Valkyrie down. The priestess began an incantation to revive the fallen lancer.
Hrist was aware of actions of the others.   After parrying another swing she somersaulted over the raging Goliath. He watched as she gracefully sailed over his head.   Knowing her backside would be vulnerable as she landed, he swung his massive sword with all the force he could summon in order to cleave her in two. NOW! The archer’s arrow soared through the air as it darted directly toward Hrist.   There was no possible way she could escape both instruments of death.
Sadly a god is no servant to the whims of mortal devices. With freighting speed Hrist let out a powerful round house kick. As the metallic boot connected with swordsmen cheek; an audible snap of bone could be heard. This caused the man to tumble sideways before his own sword could make contact with Hrist; he died from a broken neck within seconds. Instead of burying itself into her chest plate the arrow that was meant for Hrist’s heart was snatched from the air!
“Auh!” The archer gasped. Hrist rid her hand the of flimsy piece of wood. She then took hold of Mikail’s forgotten spear and hurled it at the young man. The boy shut his eyes in despair as he awaited an inevitable death.   What could he do? Two of his friends were gone and now it was his turn to suffer the same fate.
“Leif!,” cried the priestess! His eyes snapped open. He could see his sister rushing towards him. She firmly pushed her little brother out of harm’s way only to have the head of the spear plow through her thin robes, slicing her from back to belly.   She collapsed to her knees. Blood came pouring out from the wound. Her bare hands clutched on to wooden shaft as she tried to remove it from her body. Her efforts were in vain.
“Ane!,” cried Leif, devastated at the sight of his sister kneeling in a pool her own blood. He quickly he knelt down beside her. “I’m sorry brother,” she coughed as blood came trickling from her mouth. It slid over the corner of lips and stained her cleric robes. “Please run, run from here,” again she pleaded. Her vision was growing dim and her hearing less acute.
“Ane, Ane. Please don’t…” Leif sobbed. He carefully embraced his older sister as not to cause her any further pain. His small hands tried to pull the spear from her belly, but he barely managed to move it more than inch. “Leif… I can barely…see you. Please… run from here.” Ane’s voice was a low whisper, “I can’t forgive myself if you die now.” She closed her was still.
“Ane…Ane?” The tears welled up in Leif’s eyes and came out of them unbidden.   He squeezed his arm around his sister trying to coax her back to life. “Ane!” he continued to sob, but no response comes from her. The rain started to fall, it was if heaven was crying along with him.
The warm from Ane’s body began to dissipate in the rain. When he could no longer feel heat from his sister cheeks, he looked grief stricken to sky. The golden sun was hidden behind dark lumbering clouds. The rumbling clouds and the howling winds seem to mesmerize him. All was lost to him now.
He then tilted his chin into the crook of his sister’s neck. A few small words departed his lips in a whisper “Ane, I forgive you, please do the same.” He kissed his sister’s forehead and laid her body on the ground. Removing his archer’s cape he covered body from head to toe.
Leif stood up and turned to Hrist, his gaze unwavering at the sight of death. Before he left his sister's side took a hidden dagger from his ox hide boots. Hrist was prepared for the boy’s attack, placing both hands upon her sword’s hilt, but what happen next she did not anticipate. In fit of reckless of rage, Leif’s charged directly into Hrist. He skewered himself on her sword trying to make a last ditch effort to severe Hrist’s vocal cords. Hrist was stunned, no one before was foolish enough to come with in blades length of the goddess. She quickly tilted her head away. The blade fell short of her neck by centimeters but Leif managed to cut a small lock of Hrist’s hair.
Hrist swiftly disarmed the dying lad. The blade fell to the ground after the Valkyrie had dealt a crushing chop to his hand. His blood slowly dripped from the end of Hrist’s sword as he collapsed on the blade.
He desperately to breathe, but each breath was labored and painful. The last of his strength was waning. “Ane,” he whimpered.
Hrist stood posed to kick the boy off her sword “are you finished?” she spoke.
Leif clenched his jaw. He grabbed Hrist arm’s and allowed the blade to sink even further into him. When a desperate punch failed to connect from his free hand, he open his mouth widely and fiercely bit into her exposed flesh. A grunt was stifled by Hrist’s pursed lips. She was amazed to find the lad had any fight let alone life left in him.
“I commend for your courage.” Hrist spoke. Her voice had lost most of its arrogant overtones being humbled by the boy's courage and shear will. “You fought bravely but you still have much to learn. Know this when next your eyes open you will be welcomed in the halls of Vallaha.” With a one final forced thrust Hrist drove her blade to its very hilt inside the boy’s chest. Leif’s jaw slackened and the pain in Hrist’s arm was gone now.
Hrist lifted Lief’’s chin with her free hand. There was no longer any life in his gaze. She removed the blood stained blade from his chest and in a quick movement grasped Leif’s body in one arm.   With her free hand she respectfully closed his eyelids.
The Valkyries went to their task of collecting the 3 fallen fighters. When all was done each Valkyrie’s faded away in a shimmer of hallowed light. Hrist was the last to leave with Leif in her arms.
Lezard was perplexed by all he had witnessed. Though he would have like to spectacle its meaning his mind was set on another prize. To find his beloved’s heart. The air began to howl. The scorched earth and the blackened sky shifted and rippled before him. Images of an archaic temple began flicker through spaces of the superimposed reality. Everything from the ground to the firmament above began to dimmer and fade away.
Lezard found himself in the center of a vast rotund room. Gathering from his surroundings he soon realized he was in the interior of one of the many temples he had seen earlier. It was filled with aesthetic mosaic stone floors and a glorious mural lined its immense domed ceiling.    They were images of the Valkyries he had he seen before, slaying the unworthy and spiriting away those that were.   The paintings had taken on a life of their own recreating a grand scene of moving colors.
Lezard was surprised that such an illusion could have affected him. But he was after all inside the conscious of another. Perhaps these are her memories he mused .   Using his keen sense of deduction Lezard surmised the Valkyries shared a collective memory, a sisterly bond on psychic level.   Even inside his beloved he was not yet free of the other pesky sisters. He sighed in annoyance. “Im all but a part of you, and yet I must find you again,” he grieved.
As he was making his way to leave the image of a woman adorned in black armor emerged from the colossal mural and descended behind him. Her metallic boots landed with a reverberating clank. Lezard whip around to find a winged ball of black fathers before him. Soon the feathers unraveled to reveal a beautiful woman with crimson eyes.   Hrist Valkyrie did arise from her kneeling knee, her wing span casting shadow on cunning mage. A long weapon materialized in her hand and with a swift twirl of her wrist the pike of a mighty halberd was mere inches from Lezard’s at his throat. She spoke, “Defiler of souls how dare you enter this hollowed sphere?!”

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Sorry for the hiatus. Anyway that last part in bold sounded kind of poetic so I decided not to change the sentence. I apologize for the long wait.
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Unrestrained Struggle