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Swords and Songbirds [Rated M] (Fanfiction) - Varus - 03-28-2013 A Final Fantasy XIV and Bioshock: Infinite Crossover Fanfiction.  The works of Final Fantasy XIV and Bioshock: Infinite all belong to their respective owners. Please note that due to its setting in the late 1800's to early 1900's, Bioshock: Infinite has many themes of racism and white supremacy. I will do my best to tone these themes down and censor them where I can. Tyonis Magstrom always had a soft spot for girls in trouble, so when a strange duo drags him through time and space to free a young woman, he decided to offer his help. Or so he’d like to think. Honestly, they didn't give him much of a choice.  Warning: Contains Bioshock: Infinite spoilers. Chapter 1: A Shift in Constants How long have I floated idle, in this place? A year, maybe two? Or maybe I just arrived. Perhaps eternity already expired – at least my sense of time had. My thoughts wander as I drift across this endless space, cradled by eldritch powers. I recall and moments and memories, if only to not forget my own identity. I remember the feeling of blood between my fingertips as I took life after life. I reveled in that nostalgic mayhem, for it was undeniable proof of my spirit as a warrior. As a creature who could only acknowledge his existence on the battlefield, these memories preserved my mind like the magic of Althyk protected my body from the void surrounding me. At some point, I came to realize that this realm I drifted through existed between time and space. This revelation certainly didn’t alleviate the boredom, however. And reminiscing could only last for so long. I grew bored of reliving my life – of fighting adversaries I’ve already slain.  Like a good story told too many times or a book read one-hundred times over, my memoirs began to grow stale and my mind began to stagnate. I was aware there were others who were sent to this realm between realms. Like me, they were warriors who chose to stand against the Garlean Empire on Carteneau Flats. If only to occupy my mind with something tangible, I briefly wondered how they were coping with the eternal monotony. But at the end of my many musing, I could only acknowledge one thing: this endless boredom was slowly killing me. Eventually, my mind refused to continue the roundelay of memories, and I fell into a deep sleep akin to the abyss of death. So when a voice called out, I ignored it. It came again, but pitched painfully high. My mind stirred at the familiar sound. It was the bloodcurdling scream of someone experiencing immense pain and suffering. At first, I thought I was simply reliving an old memory, but the volume and weight of the screams made them feel much more tangible than the wisps of voices I grew accustomed to hearing. “Mr. DeWitt! Booker! Booker! Don’t die Booker, please!” DeWitt? Booker? No, that wasn’t my name. This endless abyss had yet to strip me of my sense of self. “Someone help me… please…” The voice began to sob. Despite my inane desire to remain dormant, I open my eyes at the piteous whine and find myself sitting in a cushioned chair, in front of a large table full of alchemist equipment. “Well, how unexpected.” Came a male voice. “Unexpected, but not improbable. M-Theory or Ultimate Ensemble?” Returned a female voice. I drag my murky vision up toward the pair. Instinctively,one hand reaches for the hilt of my sword. I relax as my fingers grip familiar steel. “Neither, I suspect. Does he even understand us?” Asked the male. “I’m not deaf,” I grind out, blinking hard. “What language are we speaking, now?” He prodded. “What else would we speak in Eorzea?” I spit back, my voice sandy and hoarse. “Well, I imagine this experiment has become much more complicated. Shall we abandon this attempt?” The female suggested. Inwardly, I cringed. “But a change in constants may be what the experiment needs. If it fails, there’s always next time. Perhaps he’ll row. No, it’s too late for that, I suspect. Pity.” “Row?” I repeat, confused. “What are you talking about?” I hissed angrily, my voice gathering strength. “Who are you two? Where am I?” I rub my eyes once more and my vision finally sharpens. “I suspect he’s very far from home.” The man motions to me,apparently ignoring my queries. “If you wish to return from whence you came, find the girl and bring her to Booker DeWitt.” Without another word, the woman handed me a wooden box. Curiosity overpowers my irritation. I open it and scowl at the first noticeable thing: a pistol. I wasn't a fan of firearms. I turn it over in my hand and tuck it into my shirt before sifting through the rest of the contents. There wasn’t much besides the gun: a picture of the girl, some silver coins, and a large key.  I pocket them all and toss the box aside. I stand, suddenly, intending to strangle the answers out of the pair when light fills the room, blinding me. By the time my vision returns, the two are gone – vanished without a trace. I stared at the empty space before me and rubbed my head in exasperation. “I hate magic.” After a long tirade at the Twelve, I took a few minutes to test my body with a brief stretch and a dozen sword swings. I feared my muscles had atrophied after an eternity of aimless drifting, but my body said otherwise. Satisfied, I made my way out of the room and gaped at the immense, metallic contraption that greeted my sight. “Am I in Garlemald?” I asked the air. I steer clear of the alien machinery and explore the rest of the house. It appeared to be abandoned and I felt no shame in taking a few untouched articles of clothing. I shed my chainmail in favor of a beige get-up similar to what the man from earlier wore. I wasn’t a fan of coatees, but I couldn’t afford to draw unnecessary suspicion; being painted an Eorzean in Garlemald was the last thing I wanted. I couldn’t recall any laws restricting public arms in the Empire. Against my better judgment, I decided to chance bearing my swords. I scrounged around for a bit of coin and something to eat before finally stepping out of the house. A trio of men covered in blood stared wide-eyed as I emerged, but a giant red airship appeared overhead, catching everyone’s attention. The airship sported the bust shot of a dark-skinned woman who’s voice echoed through the air like a lion’s roar. I was vaguely aware that the picture was the one speaking. If I wasn't so dumbfounded by the alien display, I would have said something about giant moving pictures and dancing Mi'qote in the sky. “Did you see this coming, old man? ‘The seed of the Prophet shall sit the throne?’ Well, the Vox'll strap her to your damn throne and burn her on it! Come, Comstock! Come and try to get her back! Come and die, Comstock!” The image of a girl flashed across the side of the blimp. She was chained to a stock and gagged. “Hear tell they shoved that bitch back into her tower on Monument Island. No idea why we don’t just kill her though. Rumor is she’s all sorts of dangerous.” I turn my head curiously at the dark-skinned man. “Monument Island?” “The giant angel-shaped tower, you idiot.” He snapped. I narrowed my eyes. “What’s an angel?” I urge again. “Wha-? Are you making a fool out of me, c*****r?!” He moved to draw but I was already several steps ahead of him. My sword was halfway through his neck by the time his hand reached his gun. I howl in savage delight, licking the man’s blood off my cheek as it splatters chaotically about. An infinite roundelay of memories could never match the real thing! I grabbed the headless body and hurled it at the closest man to knock him over, then drew my pistol to plug a bullet between the eyes of the third. As the last of the trio tried to scramble to his feet, I casually approached him and delivered a brutal stomp to his spine to keep him pinned to the ground. There was an audible crunch of bone as I drove my heel into his back. I rested the tip of my sword lightly against the man’s carotid artery, drawing a thin line of blood. “Now then,” I hiss, my voice a deadly whisper. I lean down toward him, my sword scraping deeper into his flesh. “Tell me more about this girl and Monument Island.” Author's Notes: Had a random urge to write this after a few days of brooding over the ending of Bioshock: Infinite. I have a story mapped out, and we'll see where it goes from here! I hope you all enjoy it and look forward to the next chapter! Please PM me any crits or comments! Thanks for reading! RE: Swords and Songbirds [Rated M] (Fanfiction) - Varus - 03-29-2013 Chapter 2: Clarke’s Third Law “Well, this is disappointing.” I groan. My companion whimpered and I replied by swatting him in the back of the head with the pummel of my knife. He fell to his knees, cradling his skull only to gasp in terror – blinded by his pain; he almost collapsed over edge of the precipice overlooking the ruins of a giant golden statue. Many posters around this strange city illustrated the tower as an immense Hyur woman with wings. But instead of a beautiful deity, what I saw was the mutilated corpse. The head and left half of the upper torso had fallen off – this Lamb of the Prophet was worth going to war over, apparently. My dissatisfaction quickly faded, however. Dancing exempted, I was never fond of fine arts, anyway.  Disappointment aside, that dark-skinned woman on the airship was using my target as bait for someone named Comstock. But to me, it was like a colossal party invitation for tea and crumpets, and I loathed refusing a free meal with a hearty serving of blood-letting for dessert. I grin eagerly at the thought. “So then, what to do with you?” I ask my companion. He turns to look up at me, horrified. “You said you’d let live!” He cried. I playfully waved my knife at him, slapping his cheek with the flat. “No, no,” I corrected with a sneer, “I said I wouldn’t run you through.” I used the guard of my knife to kill an itch behind my ear. “Well, time to see if you lied to me about those clouds, eh?” The man’s eyes widened but I gave him no time to react further. He could only scream as I kicked him off the side of the platform. I leaned over the edge to watch him plummet past the clouds, although his screams echoed for some time. “Well, I’ll be damned. It is a city in the sky.” I confirm replacing my knife. For most of my journey to Monument Island, I snuck through the backalleys of Columbia, taking a long, roundabout path to my destination. It didn’t take me long to realize I had stepped into some kind of civil war between the Vox Populi and Comstock. Normally, I would simply walk through hell and slaughter my way to the other side, but I was unfamiliar with the weaponry of this realm and I didn't want to chance unnecessary risk. I observed over a dozen skirmishes between the two factions and grimly noted that Garlemald’s firearms were mere firecrackers compared to the guns of the Vox Populi and Comstock’s followers. Even the Empire’s airships failed to compare in pure destructive power, although an Imperial Juggernaut could easily outmaneuver these cumbersome airships. As I watched two opposing fleets engage in the sky overhead, I started to wonder if I could somehow bring a cannon or two back with me. Such a weapon would fetch a hefty sum if sold to the right buyer. My musings came to an abrupt end as flaming cannonballs rained down from above. I cursed and leapt through several broken houses and buildings, sprinting for cover. “Bloody flying city!” I snarled as I slid to a halt at the edge of the area’s platform. I pivoted quickly only to be blown over the edge by a rogue cannonball. My reflexes saved my skull from being pelted by debris and shrapnel, but since my arms were guarding my face, I could not reach for the ledge in time and fell through the clouds. “Ugraah!” I howl in agony as I landed on my back and bounced once off of a wooden surface. I clutch my entire body, content in reveling in my pain. A small shred of my mind that could ruthlessly analyze, calculate, and plan regardless of how broken the rest of my mind and body was, noted that I landed on the deck of another airship. “Hey! Hey! Who are you?” Demanded a male voice. I force my eyes open and my vision is greeted with a barrel of a pistol trained between my brows. Rather than answer, I batted away the gun with strength and speed that surprised him – I don’t think he expected vigorous retaliation from someone half-dead. I swept the man’s legs from under him and scrambled to stand, but he tackled me back to the ground with a spinning hook-contraption in his left hand. With a roar I slammed my knee into his floating ribs and forced his lungs to collapse. I landed another blow across his jaw and hammered him off me. Groaning, he rolled away from me, giving me time to drag myself up and draw my sword. My body sagged under the weight of my wounds and I found it difficult to stay conscious. The conditioned mentality of a warrior brandishing his favored weapon was the only thing keeping me standing. “Drop the… sword,” he ordered hoarsely, albeit bewildered at my choice of weaponry. I ground my teeth as the man reaches down to retrieve his pistol – that was why he rolled away. He aimed the barrel squarely at my shoulder. “Drop it!” He repeated, his strength returning. I refused to yield and after a few moments, he fired. I could feel my entire body surge with power as I infused Aether into my back. With my spine as the focal point, Lightning Elemental Aether coursed throughout every inch of my body, boosting my speed and visual perception threshold far beyond Hyuran limits, and reducing my reaction time to infinitesimal degrees. It was a botched enchantment done without proper preparation and under extreme duress, but even so, I could tell the man was dumbstruck when I deflected the bullet with the flat of my blade. I had to give the gunman credit. Instead of gaping like a wide-eyed Aldegoat, he fired shot after shot, intending to overwhelm me. Despite the power of my enchantment, I was forced into the defensive, swatting away gunfire like a man trying to fan down a forest fire. Worse still, firearms of this realm had negligible reload times. With my body as broken as it was, I couldn't manage a single step forward. But soon I discovered there was nowhere to step backward, either. “You cheeky bastard!” I screamed as I fell over off the deck of the airship. ================ “Never seen a man block bullets with a damn sword. This place gets worse and worse.” Booker lamented with a pained sigh of relief while clutching his lower ribcage. He carefully gazed over the side of the barge, pistol reloaded and held at the ready. The swordsman fell one story below, onto the foot of Monument Island. He landed on a thick patch of bushes, but after nearly getting blown to smithereens by rocket fire and falling onto the deck of an airship from three stories above, Booker was sure the swordsman was dead. “Didn’t think people actually fought with swords up here,” Booker mused sardonically as the barge automatically docked at the foot of Monument Island. A series of explosions overhead reminded him of his purpose and urgency; while Comstock and Fitzroy blew each other to kingdom-come in the skies above, he would be free to infiltrate the Island. His gaze drifted up toward the tower and his eyes narrowed resolutely. “I’m coming, Elizabeth.” RE: Swords and Songbirds [Rated M] (Fanfiction) - Varus - 03-31-2013 Chapter 3: A Slight Miscalculation For the second time today, I awoke in an unfamiliar place. Truthfully, I was used to such circumstances – wandering aimlessly through the world in a drunken stupor was a time-honored tradition among warriors. But this was one of the few times when every inch of my body screamed in pain. I was laid upon a thick bush, staring mindlessly at the sky as I waited for the pain to recede. Every so often, I was entertained by a flash of light from above the clouds and the fall of an airship. I was grateful; such sights gave me something else to focus on. “I imagine this marks the end of this experiment, Dear Brother…” “And here I thought it would work.” “You two again…” I tilt my head to source of the voices and my eyes narrow at the pair standing just out of arm’s reach. “I imagine Mr. DeWitt will also fail at this point, as well.” The woman says apathetically. “The Guardian is quite a troublesome constant.” “Pity, I do grow weary of rowing,” the man continued. “Back to the boat, I suppose.” “Wait,” I demand, “I’m not dead yet.” To emphasize, I force myself up to a sitting position. “You’re Lutece, right? That house I woke up in was called Lutece Labs.” “So the subject can speak and read alien languages without being aware of doing so. Quite fascinating.” He offers me a small parchment. I choke back a groan of pain and take it. It was of a strange Hyur-shaped machine and a giant beastman with wings on the back. I look up from the parchment only to curse – the pair vanished. Next time, I’ll cripple them first. Slowly, I drag myself off the bush and limp out of the courtyard.A fountain sat idle in the center and I used its waters to wash and dress my wounds. My major injuries were bruises and muscle sprains, but I received quite a few cuts from my fall through the foliage. The water was crisp and a few splashes revitalized me enough to ponder my next move. With a simple glance, I realized I made it to my destination, albeit less graceful than I intended. I scanned the parchment once more and sighed heavily. “Damn cryptic buffalo-shit! Just tell me what you want!” I hiss at the empty air, fairly sure the pair could hear me. The duo had a vested interest in my success, but they were among the most annoying employers I ever had. And they were magical. That made things much worse. After a few more minutes of brooding, I decided to simply walk up to the tower, parchment in hand. The ruins of an immense gate stood before me and I had to praise my good luck. As I strode into the monument, I whistled in appreciation. If anything, Colombia was beautiful – its citizens called it heaven. If not for the gigantic airship battle occurring overhead and the occasional scream of women being violated, I would be inclined to agree. I had no particular problem with either in my version of heaven, but I guess a majority of people would. With a pained effort, I pushed open the double doors into the tower. The first thing I noticed were the machines and giant wires that lined the walls. The second thing I noticed was the trail of bodies – all riddled with bullet holes of varying shapes and sizes. Some even appeared burned or eaten alive. I was still severely injured, so I scrounged around for supplies, eventually coming across a white bag full of medical equipment. I unfamiliar with the tools, but I recognized the sweet feeling of relief after applying some kind of ointment across my bruises and sprains. After only a few minutes, my aches and pains had vanished, although a quick test of my body said the wounds had yet to fully heal. I pocketed as much of the gauze as I could. Then entire building shook and began to collapse. An inhuman shriek echoed from above and spurred me into action. I sprinted through the building as debris collapsed around me, guided by the trail of bodies. I had no time to marvel at the giant magitech contraption as another screech resonated throughout the tower. An elevator sat waiting on the other side of the machine and I barreled into it, slamming on the button aptly labeled ‘push.’ As I ascended, I drew my sword – whatever was shrieking was large enough for me to hear it from the base of the tower. I readied myself to spring forward as the elevator began to slow. I could hear gunfire now – probably the ones who slew those men on the first floor. I closed my eyes to mentally prepare myself as the doors slid open. “What-” A woman stared at me, her voice frantic and confused. Her gaze drifted to my sword, but my reaction time was faster. I snatched her arm before she could leap away. “Elizabeth?!” An alarmed voice called out. I recognized it –the gunman from before. Thinking quickly, I pressed the button and pulled the girl against me, my sword set firmly against her jugular. I was gambling on her universal importance to the Vox Populi and Comstock. Confirming my suspicions, the gunman stopped in mid-stride as a line of blood trickled down her neck. His features were rough, scarred and hardened by death and war. It was obvious he was a man who carved his life through fire and adversity but when my blade flashed below the girl’s throat, I saw resignation overpower resolve. I smirked victoriously as the elevator doors closed and our descent began. “Get away!” The girl squirmed but I held her fast. “Stop struggling. It’ll be easier for both of us if you just do what I say.” I hiss into her ear. “I said get away fro-“ The girl paused as the elevator rocked dangerously followed by another shriek. “Songbird...” She said, her voice a frightened whisper. “Must be one big bird,” I comment dryly. She scowled at me. We soon arrived on the first floor and I pushed her forward, my sword still held lightly against her throat. “Move. That gunman came on an airship. It should still be docked.” “I’m not going ANYWHERE with you!” She snarled, glaring daggers at me from over her shoulder. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. When she turned her head to face me, she ran her own flesh against the edge of my sword, tracing a long line of red across her jugular. She was either extremely stupid or determined to die. The former I could deal with, but the latter was much more problematic. “Blame Lutece,” I replied. Her eyes widened, but I didn’t want to risk my quarry escaping or killing her in a struggle, so I bashed her in the back of the head with a carefully placed elbow smash. She collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. With a sigh of relief, I hefted her over my shoulder and ran for the airship as the tower collapsed around me. ======================== “Damn you!” Booker bellowed, firing another clip into the behemoth’s chest as it charged forward at him. Like many times before, and countless times unknown, the attempt was futile. With no other option available to him, Booker barreled out of the tower as Songbird smashed through the walls once more. The gunman managed to latch onto another skyline. After descending far enough, he disengaged from it, free-falling into Battleship Bay. He dove further and barely escaped Songbird’s gigantic hand as it swiped for his legs. The monster tried following him deeper into the water, but since it was built to soar through the sky, it could not withstand the water pressure. Both of its glass eyes cracked and shattered. Songbird recoiled in pain, clutching its face and peeling away from Booker to break for the surface.