Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Eastern Front, Rus Airspace

192X

"Get those Commonwealth Mages out of the way! We're almost done here!" 

Yet another 'decisive battle' for the Empire, leading to yet another firefight with that pain in the neck of a Volunteer division. Just why did they want to support a nation that couldn't be bothered to provide even a subsistence existence to their subjects? Was the prospect of defeating the Germanian Empire so tantalizing a goal that any sacrifice was worthy, down to the last scrap of human decency? Why were humans so irrational? 

For the thousandth time, Tanya von Degurechaff couldn’t help but wonder, “How had it come to this?” The war had stretched on for years in a seemingly endless grind. Somewhere along the way, the struggle had taken on a Sisiphean quality; everytime final victory had seemed within their grasp, the Empire was assailed by some new enemy attacking from yet another direction. 

Being X must be working overtime to mess up with her plans. 

"Damned Devil! I'll kill you!" An all too familiar scream caught the Ace of Aces' attention, snapping her away from her thoughts and back into the present. 

"She’s back. Wonderful,” Tanya muttered to herself before raising her voice into a imperious shout, “203rd! Continue the advance! I’ll deal with this stray!" 

Dodging the beam of golden death, Tanya snapped off a volley in return at the American girl. Without so much as a blink, the Germanian ace watched the crazed Mage take several rounds to the face without stopping. Her unnatural endurance had long since ceased to be a surprise as both parties had long since shown their cards. At this point, the berserker didn’t even bother with the pretense of shields. She had learned months ago that normal enchanted rounds couldn’t hurt her, not when she was vested in her unearned strength. Being X must have been proud the day he crafted this monster to be her bane. 

The game was rigged. Tanya could dance and weave around the overpowered shots spewed by her nemesis for as long as she wanted. But there were only two realistic outcomes to this matchup, and both represented losses. Either she dodges till the lunatic gets lucky, or she could once again give in to the bastard who truly pulled the strings. If she wanted to live, much less complete the objective, her already paltry options narrowed down to a single choice.

The only way to counter that unfair advantage was to use one of her own. In Tanya’s case, that advantage was the Type-95, the chain placed around her neck by the so-called god.

“Fine then. One more time.”

Grasping her cursed orb tightly, Tanya forced herself to go through the old and hatefully familiar motions. Beginning with the Ancient and distasteful opening, "Oh Lord, in…" 

A spike of fury interrupted Tanya’s words as the world froze. An all too familiar voice boomed from somewhere seemingly behind her eyes, "NOT THIS TIME, OH FOOLISH LAMB.  IF THOU SHALT NOT COME TO THE MOUNTAIN, THE MOUNTAIN SHALL COME TO YOU!" 

Abruptly, time resumed, just as the golden casing of the accursed device began to grow unbearably hot. As the glass lense shattered, Tanya put every scrap of her will into her last coherent thought.

“Damn you, Being X!”

Space Beyond Mortal Comprehension 

Time Beyond Mortal Understanding 

Being X rubbed his temples, sighing in frustration.

Even after an entire lifetime of retrospection, that apostate mortal still refused to pray on her own volition. His patience, like His grace, might be infinite, but somehow the wayward soul had still managed to grate irritatingly upon it. Why was that soul so stubborn? 

He had done everything He could! He had brought magic into a world reliant upon science! He had given the Mortal a disadvantageous body! He even gave her the war she was so sure would inspire faith!

Yet again and again, she refused to give Him the faith He deserved! The foolish mortals had even begun to revere her as a goddess! How blasphemous! 

In His infinite wisdom, He could only see one reason for her continued defiance. In His bottomless mercy, He had made the trial too easy to fully teach the apostate the error of her ways. Yes, that was the flaw! She had yet to face enough adversity to truly bring out her faith. She was still enslaved to her overweening sense of pride, which gave her the mistaken confidence that she could find victory by her own hands! If it became obvious that no amount of ingenuity nor fortune would grant her the victory she so hungered for, she would have no choice but to ask Him for help! 

Brimming with renewed surety, He strode towards the console and began to input divinely inspired solutions to errors the first iteration of the simulation had revealed. 

The Empire that He had caused the Apostate to be born into was already far too strong. Against all of His expectations, it had lasted long against many foes, eternally in defiance to His divine plan. That could not stand. It had to be weakened! Cut it into smaller pieces!  

Her first major victory had been equally in defiance of the fate He had seen fit for her.  Dacia had proven incapable of fighting the Empire's superior technology, and had been utterly helpless in face of superior Imperial mobility and logistics. It needed to be industrialised by 1910!  

Somehow, the Empire had proven itself equal to its double-headed sigil, holding its enemies at bay on two fronts at once since the beginning of the war. Again, His soft heart had led him into error. A third front to the south would be perfect.  

Above all else, handing the Apostate a relic that easily had been a mistake. Despite it forcing her to pray, her unceasing and damnable defiance had endured. She had begun to simply mouth the words, without an iota of true faith within her. No more of that. Instead, the Apostate would be challenged and tried by the Blessed without end. Through her ordeals, she would learn once and for all the true importance of being faithful. Until the Apostate finds sincerity within herself, she shall never know peace! More Blessings upon the world, to show her the worth of prayer and to give her trials to last her all her days!  

At long last, everything was in place. The entity known as "Being X" pushed the large red button upon his divine console, and with an eye-watering twist of time and space, the simulation unwound itself, ready for the next, more perfected, iteration. 

Would the Apostate finally come to Him with faith upon both heart and tongue? Would she admit in word and deed that He was the One? In time, even her sinful pride would be humbled. The only question, Being X mused, would be whether or not He was still willing to extend her clemency when she finally begged for mercy.

St Gertrude Orphanage 

Early 1914

"Waaaaaah!"

Where was that infernal wailing coming from? Why was there a baby on the battlefield? 

In the inexplicable darkness, Tanya turned her head, trying to figure out where the crying was coming from. The minor effort was almost impossible, and her muscles burned and ached at the minor movement. Her sudden weakness was concerning, and she found it difficult to calm her increasing worry with the incessant sound piercing her ears. Worse yet, the sound had somehow moved with her. Every minor yet herculean adjustment of her head made the sound move slightly as well.

If only it wasn't so hard to open her eyes… Try as Tanya might, the lids stubbornly refused to budge. Another feeble attempt to move her head nearly cost her the rest of her energy. It was almost as if she had lost all of her strength in an instant; she couldn't even move her arms to prop herself up. 

Icy panic washed over her as the sleepy confusions receded in the face of a waking nightmare. Why was she naked? Was she injured? Was that why she couldn’t move or see? If she was injured, where was she? Had she fallen into enemy hands?

What was the last thing she remembered…? 

Right. The Type-95 finally had finally blown, making good on threats and promises stretching back over years of all-too frequent use. That damned self-proclaimed deity must have tried to kill her. Unfortunately for him, his little bauble had proven just as half-baked as every other scheme he’d tried; she was still alive, if a bit the worse for wear. In fact, the alleged higher power had actually done her a favor – two, even! Not only was she finally free of the cursed Type-95, he had handed her the perfect excuse to stay far in the rear, away from any battlefield! And since she’d been wounded in the line of duty, a job would certainly be found for her, as would a pension!

She had fought in the war for nearly half a decade, seemingly never getting closer to the ever distant paradise that was a peaceful life. But in just a single mistaken action, Being X had given her everything that she could ever ask for, perhaps even more!

Were it not such a laborious effort, she would have laughed aloud at the absolute irony of the situation. With her throat drier than the deserts of the southern continent, mocking the entity would have only hurt her more. She would save her biting words for him when she finally got that cozy office of her own. But for now, she would content herself with quelling her parched tongue. With all of her might, Tanya called out to her ever loyal Adjutant. 

"Waaaaaaaah!" The sound of wailing grew ever louder, burying any other sound and any hope for getting Visha's attention. 

Enough with the crying! To think that her greatest obstacle preventing her from getting what she wanted away from the battlefield would be a needy child with an obnoxiously healthy pair of lungs. 

Wanting to take a good look at her newfound nemesis, Tanya braced herself to break through the darkness. With the strength it took Atlas to bear the sky, Tanya forced her eyes open. Finally light filled her world. 

The first thing she saw was the white. of a  plaster ceiling, not the green of the field tent she was expecting. This wasn't a field hospital. No, looking at the cracks in the ceiling gave her a sense of Deja Vu… This was the Orphanage. 

Tanya found her thoughts racing. Why was she back here? Did the General Staff return her to the custody of the Orphanage? Had they gotten rid of her? What about that rear line job? Was she not as valuable as she thought? Hadn't she proved her worth? 

A melodious voice shattered her confusion as a blond nun came into view, "Coming! Coming! Amelie brought your food. Please stop crying… Oh Tanya! You've opened your eyes! Tres merveilleux!" 

Who was this nun and why was she treating her like a child? As Amelie supported her head to help her eat, Tanya caught a glimpse of the final piece of the puzzle. The year printed upon a hanging calendar was 1914. 

For a moment, there was nothing Tanya could think about. Then, from the core of her body, it finally clicked. She had become a powerless child again. Being X had undone everything. More than a decade of work, all her hard won victories. Gone! 

In all her despair, she tried to curse at the devil, but all her body could do was let out more tears. Her searing words for Being X little more than incoherent babbling. 

Sister Amelie picked her up, trying to console her, "Non, non, non. Good girls shouldn't cry so much!" 

The world began to fade as Tanya's eyelids grew heavy, her brain unable to keep up with her much more mature consciousness. 

Northern Front, Osterreich-Ungar

September 1917

Second Lieutenant Marcel Fortin was terrified. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have left the orphanage. He shouldn't have volunteered for the Ostero-Ungarian Military.

"Keleman! Keleman! How am I supposed to get any spotting done if you just keep lying down there? Get up and load the damn thing, damn it!" Marcel shook the body of the Artillery Loader, before noticing his pale blue uniform had been stained red and black by blood and gunpowder, "Dammit, you promised me we'll get out of this together!" 

Joining up with the Army had been his last resort. There wasn't any other place that would pay someone with no identity. There wasn't supposed to be a war! The Kaiser was supposed to be smarter than that! 

Every step he had taken since that first one out the orphanage door had been a mistake. But now, he would never make another. Not with his legs mangled. 

Cursing fate as he removed the dog tag of his now deceased comrade, Marcel added it to the other five on the chain. All six of the Artillerymen he was spotting for were gone, bodies strewn about the trench.

Hugging his empty rifle and covering his ears, Marcel curled further into his shield. Without any ammo, he was going to die here. He was going to be one of the nameless corpses of the Ceskan trenches, nothing but a feast for the carrion-feeders when morning broke. 

Marcel had never been one to believe in miracles, but if he was already in such dire straits, he had nothing left to lose, "Oh Lord! In your infinite grace, deliver me from danger, guide me from darkness and grant me salvation!" 

As he spoke the last word, his vision began to give out. 

"I don't want to die!" screamed the Mage, sitting up in a panic. 

Looking around the green tent, Marcel saw many soldiers lain haphazardly on cots and tarps. Each one covered in burns, blood and bandages. He had been brought to a field hospital. 

Grasping his chest, he calmed himself down. With his panic finally under control, he gathered his scattered thoughts. 

He was alive. Was it all just a nightmare?

Looking down, he saw that it was not merely a figment of his imagination. There were only two bandaged stumps left, a clean amputation below the knees. So much for it just being a dream. 

Still, he had survived. Perhaps God really did answer his prayers. Amongst his multitude of misfortunes was a silver lining. Thank The Lord he was going to get sent off the front. Begging on the streets was preferable to fighting this damned war.

Yet things did not turn out as he had hoped. His final hours of fitful sleep had been interrupted by a visitor, unfortunately not one he could afford to ignore. Before him stood a man with more silver and gold upon his uniform than any other. Lieutenant General Falkenberg, field marshal of the Northern Osterreich-Ungar Army Group. The most important man this side of the battlefield had personally come to visit him, one of the most useless. 

Feigning respect for the commander who obviously didn't care about the lives of the men under him, Marcel asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure, General? What can this cripple do for you?" 

"Cripple? Boy, you are a Hero! I've never seen anything like that before! A lone spotter mage single-handedly taking on a company of Germanian Mages and killing six of them! The Stuff of Legends! It's my honour to be personally handing you your medals!" 

Marcel looked at the older man blankly. Hero? A dozen Germanian Mages? Single-handedly? There was no way. His gun was empty! He'd passed out from fear! 

Looking worriedly at the gleaming medals, Marcel asked, "Perhaps you are mistaken?" 

"Not a chance! There's no need to be humble," replied the General, giving a chuckle, "That company was terrorising our infantry. It was unfortunate to say, but I was at a loss. But before things could get any worse, you jumped right in! I watched you take them out! Who knows how many lives you've saved that night! Captain, you're an Ace now!" 

This was becoming preposterous. Just what happened while he was passed out? The General must have made a mistake, there was no way he could have been the Mage they saw, "I'm not a Captain, Sir. I'm only a Second Lieutenant!" 

"You were a Second Lieutenant. After that feat of yours it had you promoted to a more suitable rank. Honestly, it's a shame that you're only just a Captain. Though, who knows? Perhaps our glorious Kaiser may yet see fit to grant you peerage."

He felt a churning within his gut. He'd already made peace with his life off the battlefield. They were going to make a cripple continue fighting? For what? A chance at nobility? 

Deathly pale, fear gripped at him, "I can't fight like this! I don't even have legs!" 

The General responded to the retort with a hearty laugh, evidently thinking that the Mage's distress was a joke, "Dr von Brandt is already preparing a solution for your problem. Besides, you don't really need legs to fly, do you?" 

He couldn't be a War Hero, he had none of the qualities. He was a coward with not an ounce of virtue. There was no way he took out six Germanian Mages, why were they so adamant he was the Mage they were looking for?

Almost choking on his words, Marcel asked, "So, I assume that I have further orders. What is expected of me?"

"Well Boy, you're now a Company Commander! Once you're done talking to Dr von Brandt, go pick out some Mages to fill your Company. I'm expecting great things from you!"

Captain Marcel Fortin was terrified. He shouldn't be here, and he certainly shouldn't be leading a Company.

Space Beyond Mortal Comprehension 

Time Beyond Mortal Understanding

Being X was overjoyed, in accordance to His will, all the pieces had fallen into their perfect place. Each Blessed was a fruit hand picked by His Divine Insight, a collection of Faith and Potential worthy of His Grand Designs. All but one. 

The Outlier had not been faithful, a singular sour fruit from a tree that had once before borne a great harvest of sweetness. The plant had shunned Him, and in turn The Lord withdrew His Blessed Waters. Without the Grace bestowed upon its roots, the Tree began to wither. And soon, it was uprooted by the Apostate. Tormented by its suffering, the plant cried out for forgiveness. 

'Mercy is the One who sits upon the Throne of Heaven; The Lord will grant the foolish plant a second chance.' 

With renewed Faith the Outlier once again took root, ready to strike down the Apostate in the name of The Lord. 

But what truly mattered was His Chosen, His hand to affect the world. She was blameless in His eyes, her obedience perfect as a cut gem, her faithfulness innocent in its purity. Though He had no choice but to revert her to a state of infancy, by His guidance she would grow mighty once more; Destined to carry out His Divine Judgement upon the Apostate. 

Such was the will of The Lord! 

St Gertrude Orphanage 

24th September 1917

Looking away from the tasteless goo that was supposed to pass for porridge, Tanya surveyed the packed room, looking at nuns corralling kids to sit down for their meals in overstuffed benches. The Orphanage was definitely more crowded this life than in the one before. A revelation that shouldn't have been too serious, if the orphanage didn't only take in war orphans. All this could only mean one thing, the Empire was already at war. 

A war. With which nation? Did the Republic strike early? Perhaps it was the Rus communists? The Empire had their enemies, but surely none that would attack a whole decade early!

Not without the interference from that wretched Entity! Tanya threw out another curse to the heedless entity. Was the Devil trying to kill her before she could even pick up a gun? Maybe he'd finally gotten smarter. Too bad he was still up against her. She wasn't going to just give up and die. Tanya Degurechaff won't stop until she beats the principles of the free market into that thick skull of his. 

Downing the last spoonful, Tanya got up from her seat and headed back to her shared room. All the while head deep within her plans on how she would approach the future. 

She definitely needed to stop Brest from happening. If they didn't have to fight the Republicans in the desert, then fighting the communists would have been easier. How about the Battalion? If she wanted to have a place at the rear, she should get that plan out without volunteering herself. But could they really succeed if she wasn't leading them? 

Just as she stepped through the doorway into her room, her train of thought was broken by someone covering her eyes with their hands. 

"Tanya, can you guess who it is?" spoke the chipper voice behind her. It was obvious who, there was no one else that would play with her like this. 

Humouring the nun, Tanya answered with a guess, "Sister Amelie?" 

"Oh my! My little Tanya is so smart! In that case… Does she remember what day it is?" 

What day? Probably somewhere in late September? There was nothing special… Unless? 

"My… Birthday?" 

"Haha, oui! You turn four today!" replied the nun, giving the birthday girl a kiss on the forehead, "Because it's such an important day, I got you something special!" 

The nun laid out a chocolate cupcake before her, "It's nothing special, I know. But I couldn't let your birthday go uncelebrated." 

Nothing special? That's chocolate right there! Wasn't there a war going on? The price of that sweet sweet treat must be astronomical! How did Sister Amelie get her hands on something like that? Wasn't the Orphanage tight on funds? How could she afford this indulgence? Why did she treat her so differently? 

Amelie spoiled her, almost like an overindulgent mother. From letting her skip prayers and sneaking her additional food to getting her a room only shared by the two of them. Why didn't any of the other nuns stop her? Surely they wouldn't like anyone getting special treatment? 

Once again sister Amelie interrupted her deep thoughts, this time by pushing a napkin into her face. 

Why is Amelie trying to wipe her face? She hadn't even eaten the baked treat yet. 

"Don't just scarf it down… You should enjoy the food more. Take your time to appreciate it."

Tanya turned to look at the plate only to find it was empty, looking down she saw that her pink attire was covered with dark brown crumbs. When did that happen?

Licking her lips to enjoy the final specks of the delicacy, Tanya couldn't help but wish she had another. No matter, if Sister Amelie keeps treating her so well, she'll get plenty more delicious treats in the future.

It's always good to appreciate whatever benefits she got. No sense in looking a gift horse in the mouth, she should enjoy what little time she had left, especially since she was going to leave in five years time. 

Space Beyond Mortal Comprehension 

Time Beyond Mortal Understanding 

Being X wiped the sweat off His brow, He stood before His greatest fear. His superiors. Towering above Him were four of the thirteen Overseers. Somehow the usually sluggish bureaucracy had found out about His actions, now they were ready to judge Him for His minute overstep. 

"Proclamation: Humanoid Administrator #25182358, you stand before the Divine Tribunal to answer for your crimes. You are accused of chronological manipulation of a world without authorisation by a deity of class A or above. Question: how do you plead?" boomed the ebon monolith that was the Machine Overseer, its singular red eye piercing into His Divine Form. 

The Overseers believed themselves incapable of making mistakes and they had already decided He was guilty. It came to Him to be the bigger Deity and to accept their erroneous judgement, "I Plead Guilty! But it was just a mistake! The world was new and barely anything was affected!"

howled the Magical Overseer, a maelstrom of Energy churning ever quicker. 

Ever the peacemaker, Being X took the blame upon himself, "No! No! I just mean that the fact that it was not a serious offense should be taken into account when deciding my punishment!"

It was nice to see at least one of his superiors had the sense to listen. But there was no way He was going to tell them it was to punish an Apostate. All of the Divine realm would mock Him till the end of infinity. 

"I have nothing to say," He lied, giving a sideways glance at His direct superior, only to see the disappointment upon the Entity's face

roared the Magic Overseer, angered even further

"Declaration: in accordance with the laws of The Divine Realm, the Accused is hereby sentenced to three Eternities of corrective training, with their Class lowered to E until completion."

Looking at his subordinate getting escorted away, the Humanoid Overseer sighed,

"Decision: with three votes for, the order has been given. Recommendation: establish an observational period." 

"Well Kysll, best of luck. You're going to need it."

"Clean up? Clean up! I take extra time to get my Magic Qualification and this is what happens? Are you fucking kidding me?" 

Order deities existed to keep worlds from crumbling under the weight of their administrators, they had only one role, to clean up. The whole reason Kysll took up Magic was to get out of cleaning duty, but now he was the only one 'qualified' to deal with this world.

He could have been constructing an entirely new world himself, building magical societies! But now he was stuck playing Divine Janitor all the same. 

Like the multitude of Order Deities that came before him, he repeated their ever-constant mantra, "Fucking Humanoid Gods always messing shit up." 

Bracing himself for the sight of watching mortals tear apart each other with gruesome ease, he slumped into his seat and turned to look at the screen. 

Sighing for the sixth time that minute, Kysll looked at the manifest, "A magical war, huh. What a way to get my first World. Time to clock in and clean up this mess, I guess."