the First Act of Defiance (2018 FanFiction Competition)

[smash_fic]

Title: the First Act of Defiance
Rating: PG
Prompt: Destroying things is much easier than making them – Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games
Fandom/Series: Granblue Fantasy
Word Count: 1349Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).
Summary: Running out of options, Sandalphon joins the Rebellion in a quest to get his creator to notice him. He is given what he wants, and more.

the First Act of Defiance
 

The sword severs the other archangel’s wing with ease, and without proper balance, the archangel plunges into the bottom of the blue sky, screams of pain and primal biofluids following it’s ugly descent.

 

Sandalphon lets out a long drawn out laugh filled with glee. The sound catches the attention of another archangel that comes charging in, but a simple swing of his sword cuts against their core and they scream.

 

He never thought that taking another one’s life would be so exhilarating, but it’s still not enough. Just a few measly kills isn’t enough to satisfy him.

 

Besides, he hasn’t proven that he isn’t just a spare yet.

 

His next kill is stolen by a crazed pale fallen, but he lets it slide. They’re the ones responsible for planning everything, after all. He has to give credit where it’s due. Finding the timing to start the attack right when the primarchs are away and when the Astrals were off guard must not have been easy, especially with the more... extreme experiments they were being put through recently.

 

He flies off to the cape of an island with Astrals firing magic to have some fun. He slaughters one in the group and turns to the rest. He doesn’t know what face he is making, but it seems to make the Astrals hesitate.

 

Perfect.

 

Sandalphon beheads the second Astral, cuts off the arms of the third before pinning them to the ground with his large purple sword, and turns to look at the fourth.

 

“You vile archangel! Your actions will bear nothing and punishment will be your only salvation!” the Astral yelled as they hurled a weak torrent of water. One flap of his wing repels the water away and as he approaches step by step, the Astral cowers in fear.

 

Worthless follower.

 

“I will ensure that the punishment won’t be dealt by worthless Astral hands,” he says, venom dripping from his words as he raises his sword. He doesn’t give the Astral a chance to scream as he slices the Astral’s windpipe and deals the final blow with a clean stab.

 

He’s slightly happy that the variety of books he reads as he spent each passing day peacefully came in handy, not that his past self would ever think it would be useful in such a violent way.

 

Pulling his sword back, he turns to look at the sky. The blue and white he always sees while captive is practically gone, replaced with streaks of black, gold, deep red, and many other colors of the rebelling primal beasts. That’s good. The less he sees of the endless taunting sky, the better.

 

He lifts off back into the air and assists another fallen on the way with his sword. He doesn’t spare them a glance, of course. He has more important things to focus on.

 

He flies higher and higher until he is no longer surrounded by battle. Stretching his wings with a chant under his breath, a magic circle shines behind him and his four swords materialize on command. He grins as the magic circle fills to the brim, and releases the energy in countless streaks of light.

 

“Ain Soph Aur!” he yells with all his might as the white streaks of light pierces through the sky and hits countless archangels. He watches them as they fall, and all he does is laugh.

 

It’s still not enough.

 

He readies his sword as he angles himself to descent when the screams in the air change.

 

The tide change takes only an instant. The archangels silence themselves and the fallen are the ones who scream in panic and fear. For good reason as the wind forms a tornado that only swallows black and gold. Others have their black wings replaced by deep brown and plunge withouta means of stopping. At another side of the battlefield, a storm of fire burns countless white and black. Large bubbles of water devours deep red and refuses to let them escape.

 

The four primarchs.

 

That can only mean...

 

Sandalphon lets himself descend, only opening his wings to catch himself when he sees the unmistakable shade of untouchable six white wings.

 

He lets himself stare into the blue eyes of Lucifer, his feathers bristling from an emotion he can’t recognize. He knows his uncontrollable anger is what driving his core going, and his head is pounding from the euphoria of making the Astrals that were responsible for his experiments feel the pain they caused him. But as Lucifer’s stony expression changes, he ignores the emotion he can’t figure out in favor of the anger burning within him.

 

He charges and crosses swords with Lucifer for the first and last time. He attacks aggressively, without mercy to try and push Lucifer back, to make him give him a reaction.

 

His sword is slashed out of his hands, and he stands defenseless against the Supreme Primarch. He feels fear, then quickly forces it out with anger. He refuses to let anything out other than his endless anger and frustration.

 

(He can’t let him see him. How his heart has been shattered into a million pieces. He refuses to even gain the chance to mend it.)

 

Lucifer locks eyes with him for another moment. And it is this moment Sandalphon decides that if he were to perish by Lucifer’s hand, then that would be the most favorable punishment he’ll ever receive.

 

That is his last complete thought as the tip of a sharp sword pierces his armor and through his abdomen, too far away from where his core resides. He grits his teeth and refuses to let out a sound, only relaxing when the sword is extracted and all traces of his energy seem to disappear as if drained through the sword. His arms and legs and wings fall limp, and he is only left to fall for a second.

 

Arms grab him, and he is pressed against gold armor. The last color he recognizes is blue and white before he blacks out. Time stops, and he feels nothing.

 

----

 

Sandalphon regains feeling bit by bit. Starting from his fingers then his arms and legs until his body feels like his again. He is aware of the cold marble under his back and a part of him is disappointed that he still lives. It takes another moment for him to open his eyes.

 

He’s greeted by more black. He pushes himself off the marble and stands up without trouble. He doesn’t feel any pain, but he can’t see anything. His heels resound against the marble as he moves with his hands outstretched. He touches a marble wall, and follows it until his hand bumps against what he feels to be a door handle.

 

He opens it, and yet still sees nothing. He doesn’t remember how long he takes trying to find any trace of light, but he remembers giving up. He remembers sitting against a wall and curling into a ball.

 

For some twisted reason, his mind supplies him with information in the form of Lucifer’s voice.

 

‘This is Pandemonium. A cage made by the Astrals to seal the beasts that rebelled. I wanted to listen to your reasons, but I can’t defy my duty. I’m sorry, Sandalphon.’

 

He clutches his knees closer to his chest, trying to shut the voice out. He didn’t want to hear Lucifer’s voice now. He didn’t want an apology now. Besides, he’s sure that this is all his imagination giving him what he wants to hear.

 

He just wanted to be useful to Lucifer. Even if his duty was pouring coffee everyday, he wouldn’t have minded. He just wanted to be useful, and look where that got him. So even his simple wish of wanting to be useful is nothing but a sin, huh?

 

In the darkness, his thoughts loop with no end in sight. In the darkness, he despairs over his existence. In the darkness, he doesn’t try to find a way out.

 

In the darkness, he doesn’t see the pure white feather sitting innocently beside him until it dissolves into particles of light. 

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