Back to Xenogears:  God and Mind

      

Dark life bright death
By Dark
Null Space

Presented by: Xenogears: God and Mind

     Pain, each wrist a fire of agony as if red hot coins were being pressed against each of his pulses. He felt the blood drip from his wounds down onto the ground that seemed so far away from his dangling feet which hung in mid air, kicking uselessly at the rough wood of the scaffold. He had screamed when they had driven the nails in, and he would have screamed now, but for the breath that it would require. He pushed down hard, feeling the iron of the nails bite into his flesh, but it was the only way to breath, through pain he would live to more pain.
     The muscles of his arms built up through years of fighting stretched, as if he were exercising, then relaxed as he slumped forward, the sun in his darkening eyes.
     There was a lesson in crucifixion he though distantly, a deep irony that only through your own intense pain and shedding of blood could you survive, a lesson that he had learned too late. He pushed again, the air dribbling out of his mouth in a soft moan of agony. Sweat dripping down his tanned skin and soaking the bloody remnant of his white shirt.
     He screwed up his eyes against the flashing red of sunset, as mountains of fire boiled away into the sky, fire on the horizon like the burning of creation. He would not see the dawn ----- would die in the darkness alone.
     And yet he had been so powerful ----- His dying mind was fuddled, it had been Grahf who had been the powerful one. The black presence of hate and fury that had fronted for him, had committed atrocities far worse than this death he was dying now. Shame stabbed through him as he recalled Grahf's crimes, shame and a strange satisfaction as he felt the slowly dulling pain race and burn through his oxygen starving body. He opened his mind and let the memories come, to pillage the corpse of his wasted ego like the vultures that would soon feast on his dead flesh.
     Standing aloft in that red gear, the God gears glowing with power, red as blood and fire with it's gauzy wings flowing out behind it like a breath of God. His black cloak had filled the cockpit with darkness and his steel mask gave him the power of the unknown. Around him the black pillars had clustered, their power flowing out in destroying waves of light and brilliance, cities and settlements crashing down in ruins as he laughed. Then the Omnigears had come, their Shevite pilots young and brave, coming against the God gear and his legions. The destroyer that had been himself had looked on in scorn and watched as Diablo and Omnigear and fought a titanic struggle of mutual destruction, neither side wining. Then he had laughed, and turned the red giant of his Gear into the attack, omnigears falling before him like leaves before a hurricane.
     The man on the cross raised his head to breath once more, his hair falling over his forehead in a wave of darkness, his wide brown eyes going blank in death. He remembered the feeling then, Grahf had not felt, Grahf, Lacan's Id, standing at the forefront of his mind, corrupting his ego with the dark presence of revenge like some black pilot of a bright and beautiful gear. He had felt it, felt memory upon memory that had been shaken down into the voiceless depths of the mind like so many bright grains of sand. And she had been there. He had felt rather than saw her presence, felt her warmth, understood her love, that love which he had seen snuffed out in a rain of fire on a battlefield. In some strange way beyond human feeling or the mess of nerves and neurons that carried world sense to the mind, he had felt her, deep within Grahf's darkness.
     He wouldn't have used the word ghost, after all a ghost was a chill and cold thing full of fear, but her presence was warm as summer sunshine, a gentleness beyond thought touching his living thought as his body had never been touched by hers.
     Lacan
     The word had not been spoken, but at it's utterance he had felt his self unfolding, his old self, honest and true, before the twisting hatred and lust for power that had warped him into Grahf's darkness.
     Lacan you must stop this, I loved you Lacan ----- and I meant for you to live, not to die like this.
     "I am not dead"
     You are dead. Grahf is not you Lacan. Grahf is a dark demon, something primitive and feral and that is not you. I know you Lacan and I know that you would never do this to the world.
     "But Sophia ----- my love, how can I live without you? How can the world exist that doesn't contain you?"
     there was a stream of gentle humor, flickering across the newly awakened Lacan's consciousness like a flow of electrons in the form of a laser-beam flickering through darkness. Sophia was laughing.
     Oh Lacan, I'm not dead, no one is. It's just you don't see me because your stil with in time. I live, just as all humanity lives.
     "Sophia, how can I face the world now?"
     With hope Lacan. What ever befalls in this world that you are in, the taking of life is the ultimate sin, you must stop this! Why do you think that revenge will bring you any closer to me when all you have to do is wait.
     "But how can I wait Sophia?"
     You don't have long left Lacan, and don't you understand that you're only making your own pain worse by this. Call off you darkness, you have no need of Grahf's mask. Step in to the light Lacan.
     He had felt his essence touched, touched and brought forward like a child in a dark frightening maze clinging fast to the hand of a trusted guardian. On and on, and then he saw her as he came up to his mind's eye, her face the same beautiful fair and pale, her long auburn hair flowing like fine red gold, and those deep lovely violet eyes.
     Sophia I can see you!
     With your mind Lacan, I've brought back to the level of the Ego, now the rest is up to you, you must cast out Grahf and exorcise your own demon. I will be waiting."
     He felt her presence leaving him, flowing away into an infinite distance into which he could not follow.
     "Sophia don't leave me!"
     I must Lacan, meetings across the barrier of time are usually impossible. It is only through Har's grace and power that I can speak with you now, Har brought me to stop you. It felt responsible. But Har's power is waning, the machine saps its infinite energy Until the cycle is broken there will be blood and tears. You could not break that cycle Lacan, not in your time but soon now the one will come who can.
     "Sophia I love you! Don't go!"
     Her presence was fading fast, the blue of Lacan's ego fading to black around her, a dark hole that stretched up before him as an impassable barrier.
     Lacan ------
     Her presence was only a whisper.
     Live
     Lacan's shriek of anguished echoed through every level of his mind, from the primary conscious level where dark Grahf cringed from the sound fear welling up in his black heart, down to the unknown depths, below thought and dreams, the depths where Lacan's battered persona had rested until Sophia had raised him back to the preconscious.
     "Lacan!"
     The mental voice was harsh black and hollow, and yet it was his voice ----- Grahf's voice.
     "This is the end Grahf, I don't need you anymore, I am myself I accept my pain and understand my vengeance. You are nothing."
     There was no fighting it, Lacan was the rightful owner of this Mind and slowly but inexorably fueled by the purpose that Sophia had given him he thrust Grahf down, down, down into the dark from which he had come.
     Before him fire burned and raged, and the last few surviving omnigears stood in a crowd, the Diablos lying a wreckage around them. Lacan looked down at himself, the mask and cloak of Grahf had faded to his normal white shirt and khaki trousers, and his brown eyes almost distantly saw that as Grahf had been banished the God gear had vanished too, leaving only Alpha Weltall with it's black spiked wings and red facings.
     Lacan reached forward with one shaking hand, strong tanned fingers trembling on the button that activated his loud halor.
     "I ------ I surrender!!!"
     They had taken him, tried him and condemned him. He had pleaded guilty as charged, virtually putting his head into the noose, he had no defense except admission. Death had been the ruling, death by crucifixion in that harsh sunlit land that is called Golgoda, death alone with his darkness.
     "Lacan"
     The voice rasped through his tormented mind, harsh and sharp as the nails that pinned him to the rough wood.
     "Lacan, give yourself unto me, and thou shalt walk down from this cross, thou art the Contact he who is borne to destroy God. Didst thou not rejoice in the destruction I caused? Didst thou not feel thy soul soar when I didst wrend thine enemies asunder. Give thyself unto me once more and together we shall conquer this world."
     Any observer would have seen his eyes change at that point, anyone watching, standing before the bloody transfixed body would have seen the young painter's eyes turn from their usual expressive brown to a dark infinite black. But then they were brown again as Lacan regained control of his corrupted Ego, his superego banishing Grahf with one sweep.
     "I'd rather die than have that sort of power Grahf, and you'll die with me."
     Then from his lips Grahf's voice, hollow and resonant, laughing strongly despite the dying body.
     "Thou fool Lacan, thou fool. I hate thee and all that thou art though thou wert my creator. And it is I that shall live while thou dyest. As the raven fleeing captivity shall I be for know thou that in thy creation thou hast given me thought. I shall exist without physical body if needs be, and take unto myself another to serve as a vessel for my vengeance. I shall enter into his mind and corrupt his Ego until it doth so closely resemble mine that non shall know the difference between them and I shall live. My hatred will keep me alive. And behold one will be born who will be the next Contact, and I shall take him unto myself, and have all his power for my own as a great treasure. I shall be great and the ultimate power shall be mine again. God will fall before me for I am the dark Phoenix that can never die."
     Summoning all of Lacan's fading strength, Grahf raised the body for one last declamation, his voice roaring over the plain in a black torrent of sound, bloody as the light itself.
     "I am Grahf seker of power, I am the Dark priest of Chaos and the disciple of destruction, I shall not die but have life ever lasting!!!"
     Then suddenly Lacan felt a shift, and Grahf along with all the pain hatred and fear, like a dark crow hauling a weight of clinking black chain behind it, was gone. Like a bird of darkness he flapped away from Lacan's dying mind, to roost voiceless personnel's, unaware, only a tenacious desire for revenge, until he could steel the body of a new host.
     Then eventually, in Lacan didn't know how many generations, the next Contact would emerge into the world and Grahf would have his tool for destruction. But there was nothing Lacan could do, his life was over and his dark legacy released upon the world to fall like a destroying meteor in some future apocalypse. But what did he care.
     The pain from the nails was gone now, as if Grahf had dragged it away with him. Lacan relaxed his strong tanned arms and let his lungs close, his sight darkening as his body starved of oxygen. A peace beyond anything he had ever felt filled him like a warm draught of ambrosia, his lips smiled, a warm ancient smile of love and peace, an anyone standing before him in the fading light would have been surprised that a man who appeared to be dying was so happy. His eyes glowed with love, a warm brown tide that seemed to fill the air around him with soft radiance. The world swam away from him, the fiery light fading to burgundy, then to black.
     "Lacan my love. I told you it would not be long"
     "Sophia, I'm sorry I couldn't stop Grahf"
     "Come with me beyond yourself, come into the light Lacan and then you'll see"
     And he did see, in a realm beyond the multiverse, where physical words fail and where time stands forever like a giant book to be opened and read from cover to cover. Lacan saw. He watched as humanity arose on a small blue planet third of a system of nine around a tiny insignificant yellow star, watched as nations were formed and wars were fought stick against stick, stone against stone, sword, axe musket, gun, tank, missile, fusion bomb, Deus.
     He watched as the ancestors of his people made giant space going vessels, vaster and more complex than anything even the Solarians had created, and he saw their final folly, that war to end all wars colonized world against colonized world.
     Lacan would have cried as he saw the ultimate weapon, a being who dwarfed even Grahf in it's desire for bloodshed, wreck a planet and systematically absorb it's population with single-minded hunger. Then he saw the leaders of his human ancestors band together, trap the terrible God and destruction and transport far into the reaches of space, carried in the bowels of a ship called Eldridge.
     He saw his father's, father's oldest ancestor, Abel first Contact speak with the existence beyond existence, watched Abel's tragic end and the last stand of his antitype.
     Lacan sorrowed as he saw Zeboim arise and fall, Kim second Contact falling with it, his darling Elly dying before his eyes. Then Lacan watched his own life, and saw his mistakes and self deceptions, and then on and on. He saw how Grahf would find his host, and how in five hundred years he would find his gear once again and go in search of the next Contact. And how Grahf would take that tortured soul and make him his disciple.
     But then he watched in wonder as the last Contact overcame his own fear and guilt, and at the last destroyed first Lacan's demon and then Deus in the last great battle.
     "Well Lacan you see, it doesn't matter"
     "Oh Sophia, is this the end?"
     "No Lacan, this is the beginning. We lost our lives early before we could experience our love. But now we have all eternity"
     "I love you Sophia."

Author's notes.

Once again I apologize for going ultra weird but any Fanfic involving Lacan-Grahf conversations has to be a little strange. I apologize profusely if the crucifixion business made you feel sick, or offended your religious thoughts but Crucifixion is not nice and I tried my best not to make it too gory. Be that as it may, Lacan is in fact dead. I'm sorry for the after death scene but I really don't like to end a Fanfic in total depression.

 

~ End ~