Finding Eden [Prada/Lehanna]

 


If you had pointed to any standing civilization on the map of Earthland right now, almost every country has had its salt's worth of conflict. Everyone had their own 'problems,' per se. In Fiore's case, their problems were bulleted on a list; Coming Storms and Warlords. Their names often changed and no one person remained on that infamous list for too long, but they were the Council's 'problems' laid bare.

Prada had been on that list once—and never intentionally. While many criminals had some rhyme or reason to what they did, be it for some sort of grandiose vision or maybe they found an organization in their madness and raped, pillaged, and destroyed all for the sake of doing it. In his case, however, he found satisfaction in the material gains of his endeavors. He had no points to prove to others, but only to himself. For a growing amount of time, he had pillaged several establishments, robbing them of their valuables so he might add it to his own collection. Like a dragon hoarding treasure, if he saw something he liked, he took it. If it was something someone else had but he didn't, he took it. Everything in the world rightfully belonged to him, and the journey in between was just making fun of the chase. The world was his oyster, and it was his right—his destiny to seize it all, regardless of the expense to others. Some things were really that simple.

Prada was only a name, though. Maybe to the rest of Fiore, it meant something, but to him, it was only a means of having his cake and eating it too. He wasn't normally one to care about the consequences of his actions, but without his eloquent and classy alias, his life as Louie Calvin Klein would only become more inconvenient than it already was. It was difficult enough to tolerate the fools he so frequently spoke within his guild and just overall, but with the Rune Knights and other sorcerers breathing down his neck too? Creating a name to go with a face during his exciting adventures was only a small price to pay for all of the fun and fulfillment he was gaining. And besides, Prada was beginning to grow on him. All the wealth, spunk, and charm of being Louie was neatly wrapped in different packaging, with silver-blonde hair and the same lion-ruby eyes as before.

His servants were loyal. That is, they feared Prada and the rest of the Klein family more than they feared any other organization or assembly. Where he was from, it wasn't anything unusual to keep secrets in order to save face. Sexual violence, domestic violence, drug abuse, and toxic families, and other crimes were easily swept under the rug. Hush-money was like any other sort of transaction, and servants were sworn to their masters, almost like a marriage. That was how it was in Napedia, and it wasn't any different from the men and women he had brought from home to Fiore. Many of those servants, William especially, had been serving Louie ever since he was a baby and were well-aware of his... difficult personality.

For most of his life, Prada excelled in everything he did. He was valedictorian of every class he's been in, and he was one of the best athletes in the region. He knew how to play dozens of instruments, and he was an amazing dancer, even if he didn't compete in competitions anymore. His taste in fashion was impeccable, and his ability to tailor and create his own designs were even more impressive. He was a talented businessman, having maintained and invested in several businesses, even though his father—Julian Calvin Klein—had stunted that part of his life recently. He was born into money and made even more of it for himself in later years. He had traveled the world and met all kinds of women. He's eaten the most exotic of cuisines and excelled in culinary arts as well. He was well-acquainted with classical literature and he kept up to date with recent news around the world. He liked museums and art, and he was amazing at chess.

However, despite being the epitome of accomplishment and triumph, he had never dated anyone. Well, not seriously, anyway. He had slept with attractive women and taken them out to eat, but that's all it was. He's had people who were so much worse off than him muster up the courage and ask him out, but he rejected them all. His mother, and nowadays even his father, had set him up with girls who they thought he'd like and would serve them well as additional members of the Klein family, but had never gone through with any of it. He was married, once. It was an arranged marriage that formed a year or two ago, with this CEO's daughter—Alice. She was a little older than Louie, and at some point, she had even become pregnant with their child, but even that never lasted. By his hand, she and their unborn baby died in the comfort of his private estate, and that was the end of that. Nothing ever seemed authentic. Nothing ever seemed to really last forever.

But who was he to worry about romance? Right now, he had more to worry about than something like that. He had sold his soul for magic, and because of that, he could delve into the many adventures he's delighted himself with today. The number of underground auctions he's raided, the Church he looted, and places he's been—his stories were beginning to add up. He had come to Fiore for a taste of adventure, and that's precisely what he was aiming to get under the careful protection of his servants and his company. The thrill of it all was uncomparable, and romance was something he could worry about when his bloodline was on the line. Before then? What was the point? No one was good enough anyway.

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WC: 1001 | Total WC: 1001 | WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph merci = thank you ""  —
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"Non, Maman. How many times must I tell you? I'm not interested in any of those suitors you're presenting me. As a matter of fact, stop doing it altogether. I have other things to worry about that are more importante than whatever you have planned for me. D'accord?" said Louie, adjusting the dress shirt's cuffs as someone held his iLac to his ear. Another servant was holding his entire outfit in a neatly folded pile in their hand, sliding the sleeves onto their fair-faced master as he got dressed. William was idly standing by over by the door, watching Louie prepare as he wearily spoke to his mother on the phone.

"I'm just so worried about you, Lou!" Josephine sighed into her mic, Louie's brow twitching just fractionally as she used that terrible, meaningless nickname of his, "You're almost twenty-years-old and you haven't even had a child yet. And then your late wife passed when she was pregnant... may she rest in peace. You've been on vacation in Fiore for so long, you haven't even come back to visit. I've talked so much about your business and your accomplishments, so there are a lot of pretty ladies waiting for your return! Even your father has reached out with some options of his own—"

"This is such a waste of my time. Au revoir." Louie took his iLac from his servant's steady hand, watching the screen light up as he pulled it away from his face to see the ongoing call continue. He could hear his mother pleading from the other end.

"Don't hang up on your mother! Loui—"

Beep.

The call ended, and an exasperated sigh left Louie's throat. Even after so many changes to his life was made, it was as if nothing had changed at all. Before he made himself into the success he was today, Josephine was only a mother to him in the very literal sense of the word. If anything, it was William and the other servants who were his real guardians. She had constantly compared him to other kids his age and their accomplishments, and even when he had decided to surpass them and create his own portfolio of achievement, the triumph felt empty. There was never any praise in what he was able to achieve, but only in what he could do better to one-up others. Nothing ever felt good enough, and at some point, Louie just stopped caring about her altogether. He continued to surpass the rest and achieve great things, but it became something he did for himself. Even now, Josephine kept trying to slither back into his life whenever it benefitted her. It was always about what he could do for her. His money, clout, and power were like hers for the taking. And Julian? His father? He was never even part of his life until recently when word of him finally getting magic fell onto his ears. Before then, he had nothing to do with his son or his mother. He had only himself. He couldn't trust anyone and no one was good enough to truly be his friend, let alone his lover. This was his story, his stage... his...

"Mr. Klein?"

"?!" Louie flinched when he heard his name, looking up to see who had called with that silvery, aged voice. It was William, his oldest and most loyal servant, looking at him with those old, baggy blue eyes as the others finished dressing him.

"You were lost in thought again, Mr. Klein. Shall we put Mrs. Klein to voice?" William queried thoughtfully, his arms firmly folded behind his back.

"No. Just... what were we talking about?"

"The Gardens of Eden, Mr. Klein. We believe you might be interested in this as your next hit."

"Oui, you'd be right if I were alive thousands of years ago, idiote." Louie finally finished getting dressed, donning himself in a dapper outfit caked in white, typical for many of his appearances as Prada. His silver-blonde hair, fierce ruby eyes, and pretty pale skin to top it all off. Streaks of black markings ran up his arms, neck, and some other places of his body. "I'm not interested in adding fables to my collection, William."

"It isn't just a fable, Mr. Klein—it's a real, tangible place, and you can get there through Eden's Crystal."

"Eden's Crystal?" Louie queried, walking over to the large glass panel windows that stretched from one end of the room to the other, overlooking Capital Crocus as buildings stretched across its horizon. "Continue."

"It's a special lacrima that, which under the right conditions, can allow you to pass through planes of existence and into the Gardens of Eden. We've located the crystal, and it's in the Holy Castle. It's a priceless artifact, Mr. Klein, and is carefully guarded."

"One of its kind, huh? And these gardens... what are they like?"

"No one knows, Mr. Klein. It's said that when Eden's gardens were one with the physical plane, it was an endless expanse of dreams becoming reality, of eternal pleasure and wisdom..."

"You make it sound like some sort of sex fantasy, William. In any case..." Louie made his way to the door, passing by his servants who lined up to serve him, "...this is just what I needed to take my mind off that pathétique mother of mine. Go get my translocation lacrimas."

That's how these conversations normally went. The irritable, hot-headed Louie preparing himself for his growing endeavors as Prada. If he wasn't directly presented with something of interest, he left it to his servants and employees to scour the country for things like Eden's Crystal. He did what he did partly because he felt entitled to it, like everything that others had would inevitably belong to him, as it should, and another part because the thrill of the heists was incredible. It as like going to an amusement park after a day of work. Sure, many lives were lost for the sake of that thrill, but why should he care? Their lives meant nothing anyway.

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WC: 1011 | Total WC: 2012 | WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph Non, Maman. = No, Mom D'accord? = Okay? Au revoir = Goodbye ""  —
Template by ivyleaf33

 


Prada never enjoyed churches, or really any place of worship. His mother was somewhat faithful and would often take him to the weekend church gatherings to pray, although as a child, he never took it seriously. He didn't really believe all that nonsense they were talking about. Noatak putting one of every animal in the whole, wide world on one measly ship? Impossible. Turning water into wine? Unheard of. He thought these stories to be just that—stories. Tales that taught morals and lessons that would keep people aligned with their beliefs. It wasn't until he grew older and realized his own worth that his view changed. Even if these tales were true, he was above it all. He could do everything everyone in those texts could, and do it better by twelvefold. That's just how it should be and was. It was ridiculous to pray to something you couldn't experience with your own eyes. But Prada? He was real, and he made sure of that.



The stained, painted glass that filled the Holy Castle with a bright, colorful ray of sunshine shattered into a million pieces as Prada crashed through. He breached on the middle floor of the Castle, high above ground but not as high as he could go, whereas many of the citizens of the country were enjoying their tour on the very bottom floor. When he landed into the pristine and ornate floors of the room, he was greeted with a bunch of red-robed altar boys and a bit more decoratively robed old deacon, who were all holding candles and walking down a wine-red carpet. All of them looked shocked to see the silver-blonde man in their company, stunned in seeing their painted glass laid bare and glimmering across the floor like glitter in the sunlight.

"W-Who are you?! You have destroyed sacred property!" the old deacon lowered his candle, pointing at Prada with an angry, accusatory finger, "You are trespassing on the Lord's kingdom!"

"And what? I suppose you all are the kingdom's line of defense?" Prada raised a questionable brow, dusting off his body clad in white fabric after his showy entrance. After that, he began to walk towards them. "You're kidding, right?"

The old deacon's face scrunched up after he said that, raising his hand to signal the line of altar boys behind him. When his wrinkled palm raised, all of them readied their magic in unison. They were all basic and mediocre at best. Some were firemake magics while others were ice. Water, earth, lighting—the basic elements. It was nothing special and surely nothing to be afraid of, either.

"Again, who are you?! If you stop this now, we'll let the Rune Knights handle you until something a lot worse happens, and no one has to get hurt in this sacred place," the deacon's eyes narrowed, "We don't condone violence, but we'll lay down our lives to protect these grounds."

"Tell me where to find Eden's Crystal," Prada held out his hand, fingertips dripping with liquid gold and the soles of his feet hard with similar color, "My time is a lot more precious than yours, so keep it rapide."

"Eden's Crystal?! So you're here to enter the Gardens?!" the deacon's eyes widened with almost a horror to them, "So you're just a thief! Sinful and wicked! Fire!"

But nothing happened.

"I said fire!" the deacon commanded again, and still, nothing happened, "What's the matter with all of you—?!!" the deacon turned around, but he didn't see the altar boys he was conducting a ritual with earlier. Instead, he only saw golden statues with brave, fearless faces etched into its metal. They were all silent, motionless, and frozen in a posture of what attack they were about to do. Below them, branches of gold covered the floor, all leading back to a single trail that connected to a small puddle of gold beneath Prada's feet. In a fraction of a second, the silver-haired sorcerer had made them shells of what they once were. "This gold...! You're Prad—ACK!"

"Tragic. You lay all of your lives down... for nothing," Prada sighed with a cocky smirk, a smooth, golden spike skewering the deacon from the front, piercing his chest, "I mean, you deserve this. You spend your entire, pathetic lives worshipping something you can't see or touch, and when I finally give you a chance to redeem yourself—to put some real value to your lives—woosh. Wasted. You didn't even reconsider your poor choices. That's the problem with so many of you and your countrymen. They're all fools. They don't realize the honor it is to serve me in any shape or form. But I already knew that. Anyway, where is Eden's Crystal?"

The deacon was gurgling blood at this point, the crimson liquid running down his mouth and then his throat, all the way down to his chest. He was holding onto the spike with an agonized, desperate grip as he tried to pull it out despite it suspending his in place like a toothpick. But at some point, his grip softened, and tears began to roll down that old, wrinkled face of his.

"I see Him...!" he wailed, holding out his arms to the sun that bled through the open window frame as gold slowly began to harden his body like the other altar boys.

"...?" Prada followed his gaze, seeing nothing but a bland sky, caked with clouds.

"Oh, He's coming... He's coming... to guide us to paradise... Oh, He's Coming... He's..."

"Idiote. You were useless—all of you. Just stay there as some pitiful statue," Prada began to walk away into the depths of the Castle room, passing by lines of other statues and candles, "forever, for all I care." he shook his head indignantly as he departed from the eerie scene. A line of golden statues, frozen in place, with altar boys forever etched with a look of devotion and defiance, and a delusional deacon who would eternally have his arms suspended in a warm embrace, his sobbing, wet face forever looking towards the light.

Prada approached a large set of doors, ornate and complex in design, before stopping with a triumphant, cocky smirk still. "You there," he'd say, his bold lion-eyes rolling to the side and fixing on a pillar just next to him, "maybe you'll realize your true purpose and tell me where the crystal is. Or do you need some 'convincing' as well?"

"N-No!" a teenage altar boy, trembling in place trudged out from behind the same pillar Prada was eyes, his face pale and white like a ghost, the candle he held shaking, "I'll show you the way! J-Just please! Don't kill me!"

Prada smiled. "Très bon."

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WC: 1130 | Total WC: 3142 | WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph rapide = quick Idiote = Fool Très bon = Very good ""  —
Template by ivyleaf33

 


The rest of the way there was littered with resistance. Deacons of the Holy Castle flooded the spiral staircases, bombarding Prada with a barrage of magic—but numbers was all they had. Even against a soft metal like gold, their attacks were rendered useless a wall reinforced with mana as gross as his own. That contract with Lady Twilight was really beginning to pay off. When he first had his mana unlocked to him, he debuted as something of an A-class mage. But now, his power continued to expand rapidly, and his heists became continually more successful. Places like the Holy Cedar Church and the Silk Road auction were only the beginning of his glorious tale. As Prada, his power was as limitless as his wealth as Louie.

Fwoosh! A holy fire crashed against a thick wall of gold, and dispersed into hot air as it couldn't even dent the glimmering bastion with Prada and his hostage behind its defenses. Old men and women alike bombarded the barrier with their maker magics from the corridor just before the spiral staircase that ascended to a higher level. But Prada held up his arm with palm facing the ceiling and snapped his fingers with a pleasant acoustic ring filling the room. The second his fingers slid off one another, small magic circles that matched the number of his enemies suddenly appeared, expelling golden chains from their depths and piercing every deacon in their chest through some angle or another. The corridor was littered with chains stretching from one side of the wall to the other, almost like a web of bodies suspended in the air with that sinister, regal metal of his, all squirming in agonizing pain as death had not quite come for them yet, and the kill wasn't as quick as it was clean. The golden wall that separated them melted into liquid, revealing Prada who had a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and a trembling altar boy who looked horrified by the massacre laid out before him. Their lives lingered for a bit, some of them still trying to pull themselves free from the chains that skewered them, while others were just trying to stop themselves from choking on their own blood. It was horrific, and Prada looked as if it was an inevitable job well done—as if he had cleared a video game level without losing a single value of HP.

"I-I... you..." the altar boy looked drained of color, frozen in place as his eyes floated from body to body of the men and women he once relied on for spiritual guidance.

"I-I-I—enough of that. I hate stuttering," Prada mocked him jeeringly, walking past him and carefully stepping over puddles of blood and bodies as he walked down the corridor, "The crystal is just up those stairs, oui? Once I go up there, I'll be on the highest floor?" The altar boy, still with this horrified look on his face, nodded. Prada could only smile. "Well then, what am I waiting for? You go first." he'd insist, leaving a hallway of bodies in his wake.

The two of them trudged up the stairs with a certain tension between them, with Prada holding a golden rapier to the altar boy's spine as the boy led the way up with a pale, horrified complexion. The silver-blonde was smiling at his backside as they ascended to the Holy Castle's final floor, his lion-ruby eyes sometimes wandering away from his traumatized hostage to look at the holes in the single pillar the stairs wrapped around, wherein each held some sort of head-only statue. Sometimes, they were just candles. There was no one but them as they walked up the stairs, with only deadly sharpness of the rapier and the sound of footsteps filling the void of silence between them.

"I can feel your heart racing, you know. It's like you're about to burst like a bubble, pffft," Prada snickered, continuing to press the tip of the sword into the altar boy's boney back, just enough to feel its sharpness, but not enough to break the skin through his thick robes, "Nerveux?" The altar boy didn't say anything, but he could tell that he was on the brink of sobbing right there and then. He could already envision the quiver in his lips to match the trembling in his posture, and how the vomit he had suppressed from the earlier massacre was threatening to expel any second now. It really was tragic, but teasing the boy was like playing with his food.

When they finally arrived at the large, stone doors that separated the spiral staircase from the final room the Holy Castle had to offer, no one lie at the entrance to impede their progress. The altar boy was shivering, looking down at his feet with his wide eyes, stricken with a ghostly paleness that could only come from witnessing something as awful as what he had. Meanwhile, unlike that boy, Prada was looking up at the doors with an adventurous smirk on his face, like he had just arrived at the final boss room. He lowered his rapier so he could examine the door before him; stroking the stone with his hand, pressing his ear against it to hear what was on the other side, and looking around the final stretch of stairs to see if there were any hidden exits—but there were none, and this was most certainly a trap.

"Alright, I think you've done enough, porcine," said Prada, pushing his rapier into the ground and leaning onto it like some cane as he nodded his head toward the doors, "You can leave now."

At first, the altar boy looked stunned, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. After everything he had just been put through by this sinister man, clad in white, he was just letting him go?

"Y-You're... releasing me?" the altar boy fumbled over his words, his face frozen with shock and stretched with terror.

Prada's face scrunched up a bit when he said that, his expression tinged with a baffled disgust. "Yes, porcine. Are you deaf? Your friends are likely on the other side of that door. But—"

The altar boy wasted no time in securing his escape, crashing his arms against the door as he pulled a single one open as if his life depended on it. His face was wet with tears, and his was breathing as if he was laboring from the very pit of his soul. Nothing mattered more to that altar boy than seeing the light on the other side of that door, escaping the darkness that encompassed that spiral staircase and the void of a sinner that forced him up them. At first, Prada looked surprised to see the altar boy jump so quickly to the opportunity without even letting him complete his statement, but that self-satisfied smirk returned to his face the second the door finally opened just enough for the boy to slide in.

"Bishop Maxwell! I'm so glad to see you! I—AGHK!!!" Fwoosh! The altar boy's screams were cut short as a tide of holy flames crashed against the door and splashed out from the small opening in the doorway, blasting right past Prada. He could hear the voices of old men from the other side.

"T-That's not Prada!"

"It's just an altar boy..."

"God have mercy on us! What have we done?"

"We thought for sure that no one was alive... get him some help!"

"He's doomed! We must save our energy for Prada! We must defend Eden's Crystal!"


"You know, your defenses are pathetic. If you were going to defy me, you should've at least tried," entered Prada, carelessly stepping over a black and burnt body, almost unrecognizable, "Anyway, you all have something that belongs to me, so hand it over. I'm really getting tired of wasting my energy on old, fat idiots today who doesn't know a real God when they see once right in front of them."

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WC: 1343 | Total WC: 4485 | WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph Nerveux = Nervous porcine = piggy Très bon = Very good ""  —
Template by ivyleaf33

 


The tension was high when Prada stepped in, all of those old, faithful men donned in their white robes staring at him with a look of shock on their wrinkled faces. It must've been quite a surprise for them, seeing as not many people came into these grounds with a desire to pillage and provoke, but there was a first for everything. At first, Prada disliked how people underestimated and his abilities as their enemy, but as a portfolio of misdeeds grew over time, he began to relish the satisfaction in his conquest. Something was gratifying about showing the true disparity in their power and enjoying the fruits of his tedious labor afterward. Seeing people who thought they had value suddenly cower before someone clearly better than them was something he never got tired of, even if it was completely expected of everyone.

"Oh, désolé, did I interrupt something?" Prada smirked, pushing back strands of silver-blonde hair that fell slightly out of place during the last few conflicts on the lower levels.

"We won't let you pass us! You've gone far enough! Feel the wrath of God's kingdom!" announced one bishop, holding his arms high above his head as if he were worshipping the ceiling itself, and in the space between his arms, a sphere of flame began to swirl. Following his judgment, the other bishops began their casting in unison. Everyone except one, of course, who was in the very back of the room, on his knees in silent prayer to a statue of their God reigning over the room. "Die, sinner!"

The orbs of holy flame fired at Prada in a single linear path, never breaking its spherical shape as they came barraging at the intruder. But everything seemed so... slow. If there was anything Prada specialized in, it was his speed and force. Ever since his contract with Lady Twilight, he experienced combat faster and faster until everything ended as fast as you could say his name. The first fireball came at him like a bullet, but with a cocky, triumphant smirk on his face, Prada leaned aside, the fireball passing right by his face when he did. He began to walk forward, blocking another with his forearm quickly hardened with gold, and breaking into a dash to speedily maneuver around the rest that came his way. It was elegant, it was graceful, and it was like watching death run towards you. His expression didn't change—it was like he was cleaning up trash with legs. When he dashed past the barrage of fireballs, Prada was within their immediate vicinity and stabbed the first bishop in their V-formation straight through his head. It was an impossibly big target after all. With the first one gone and Prada now within arms reach of every one of them, their fate came swiftly. One tried to blast him with a beam of holy flames from the palm of his hand—something like a flamethrower—but the second the flames burst out, Prada grabbed his wrist and redirected it upward, planting the shaft of his rapier deep into the bishop's sternum as he did. Magic circles opened up in tandem, various weapons expelling from their golden voids and launching themselves into the remaining bishops at odd angles. The head of an ax splitting a bishop almost in two down from the shoulder, and dozens of lances skewering the other and filling their body will bloody holes. In just under ten seconds, everyone was dead. Everyone but one.

Thud. Prada pulled his rapier out from the dying bishop, letting his corpse plop to the ground, defeated. Corpses littered the room, their blood creating puddles and running down the floors and small steps that led up to the statue of God. Praying beneath it was none other than the Archbishop, with a beard so long and white that it could teach his knees. He was small, frail, and had eyes so baggy that you couldn't even see them clearly. His eyebrows bushy, and his face was covered in warts. Prada walked up to him but wasn't smirking this time. Instead, he had a look condescension on his face, looking down at that Archbishop curiously as if he were a roach.

"All of your followers are dead, and your bishops were the last ones. I'm surprised that you can sit here and pray while I slaughter your friends like the pigs they are, especially when you're about to die yourself." Prada stared at him coldly, curiously, leaning on his rapier which he had firmly pointed to the ground.

"They do not worship me, Prada. We all follow our God's teachings, and it's because of their sacrifice that I know that their souls will reach paradise. God bless them," the archbishop made a cross over his face in the air as he said that, finally standing up and looking at Eden's Crystal on the pedestal before him, "You, however, are not so lucky. I know what you've done. I know about your sins at the Holy Church of Cedar, and how you not only tainted their holy water but condemned those sacred grounds to an eternity of your gold. You are going to Hell, and I'd sooner see myself join my fellow believers in paradise than to see you take the Gardens of Eden for your wicked ways."

"I'll never stop pitying you and your kind," Prada rolled his eyes, "All this talk about God and paradise is just an elaborate excuse to justify your inability to achieve something in your own life, by your own terms. You fools spend so much time preparing for the "next life" that you end up doing nothing with the pathetic life you already have, not that it amounts to much to begin with. I'm greater than any God you could conjure up with your fables and bedtime stories, and I actually have the resolve to create my own paradise right here, right now. People like you are silly and are better off dead."

After that, Prada raised his rapier, ready to finish off the Archbishop and his pathetic little castle along with him, when suddenly, he turned around. Unlike every other opponent he's faced today, something was odd about him. His robes were open enough to reveal his bare chest and the lacrima etched within it, pulsating with an unstable blue light.

"What is this?" Prada glared.

"An explosion lacrima. With this, you will never see the light of day again, nor will you join the rest of the kindred spirits in God's Holy Kingdom! It's over, Prada! Beg for mercy from His holiness! Pray that your soul find light!"

"What about the crystal? You're going to destroy it all!" his gaze narrowed fractionally, lowering his rapier.

"Sinners like you should never be allowed to visit Eden and attain their wisdom! The crystal is better off destroyed than in the hands of evil! God have mercy on me! God have mercy on you—!!" Splat. Prada suddenly thrust his hand caked in gold forward, coiling his fingers around his neck and letting his old, wrinkled flesh slowly begin to transform into gold. Even as the body died and the Archbishop turned into a shiny, regal statue that was signature to Prada's heists, the lacrima continued to get brighter and brighter. Even in death, he knew he'd still explode.

"Alright, very cute. Time to go!" Prada smirked apprehensively, stepping past the Archbishop's frozen body and snatching the levitating crystal from the pedestal. There wasn't any time to relish in his catch just yet with the bomb getting closer and closer to its invisible fuze. Going back down the spiral staircase and to the lower floors would take too long, even with someone of his speed. There was only one option left. With a running start, Prada lept out of the stained glass windows and began plummeting to the ground behind the Holy Castle, a tide of glass tidbits following him and glimmering in the light in their descent. Bwoom! The entire world seemed to rumble when the top floor of the Holy Castle suddenly combusted, plumes of flame and smoke bursting out from the other windows right after Prada made his flighty escape. A single hand turned to hardened gold as he planted it into the walls of the Holy Castle as he fell to the ground, slowing his descent as his hand tore through its glassy structure until he came to an eventual stop. He dangled off of the side of the building, safe from the doom the Archbishop had promised. Any minute now, the Rune Knights would arrive, but he knew that he would not be there to greet them. He looked up, staring at the fiery smoke pouring out of the top floor he was just in seconds before. Taking his other hand, he reached out in front of his face and opened it, revealing the item that still levitated when free, Eden's Crystal. Now his. All his, as it should be.

"Hmph!" Prada snickered arrogantly with this self-satisfied triumph tinged on his elegant features. Placing Eden's Crystal in his pocket, he put his iLac in his hand this time. "William, come pick me up. I've finished my business here, and frankly, I'm a little hungry."

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WC: 1551 | Total WC: 6036 | WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph Nerveux = Nervous porcine = piggy Très bon = Very good ""  —
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Well, another heist well done, if Prada said so himself! Unlike other criminals, Prada made no effort to keep his crime a secret or discreet. In fact, the only reason he called himself Prada and not Louie Calvin Klein was simply because he was having fun with his different face, and it just sort of stuck from then on out. As predictable as his desires were, he was difficult to track down because of it. It was no secret that he went after valuables and items of special interest, so it was easy enough to speculate where he might strike, but it was practically impossible to know where he would go next.  After all, there wasn't just a select few valuables in Fiore. If you looked hard enough, you could find something of value everywhere you went, and there wasn't much rhyme or reason to his theft other than for the sake of having it.

With the heist over and Eden's Crystal in his possession, all that was left to do was to get into the garden itself. Alone with a litany of servants dressed in suits and sunglasses, Prada paced back and forth in one of his many hidden bunkers in Morgate Town. It started with the Colosseum, where he kidnapped people and stole their souls only after they fought for their lives, and after that, he just began to make small investments into hidden and safe bunkers scattered throughout the wasteland for moments like these that required some sort of privacy. Even he had some sense of stealth now that the towns would be on high alert after his heist. The bunkers in Morgate Town were his only solace.

"This is ridiculous! What the hell is this garbage supposed to mean?!" Prada paced back and forth in the dark room, holding something old and a tug away from being ripped apart with something scribbled over it.  "Find what is Godly and what is not, intertwined, and offer it. When the embodiment of that creation is laid bare, only then can you reach the Gardens. I've captured and killed every priest this country has to offer, and still... nothing!" In a moment of thinning patience, Prada kicked a bucket of blood-water over and across the room, spilling at the feet of a servant who was idly watching this all unfold. Behind the aspiring Master Thief was a line of men and women of various churches across Fiore, all donned in their sacred robes and cloths covering their eyes and mouths. Still, you could hear them whimper through it all, as their ears were still very much uncovered. A pile of headless golden statues was neatly surrounding them, at least a dozen all frozen in place. It was clear what Prada was doing, and the kneeling followers of God were next. It was like a scene out of a horror movie. "I've offered the lives of every God-loving rat I can think of and yet this stupid crystal won't activate!"

"Prada, sir," one servant spoke up from the line of otherwise unconcerned assistants, "a suggestion?"

"What is it?" Prada sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose impatiently.

"What about God Slayers, sir? The scripture may be requesting something like them, not just a believer."

"God Slayers..." Prada stopped his pacing as thought on the suggestion before a self-satisfied and eager smirk fell onto his arrogant lips once more, "Very well! Get a private investigator and have them find one or two, and bring them back here. I'm getting tired of dirtying my hands with a bunch of blood from old pigs like this lot, anyway." Well, he couldn't very well let them live now that he had taken them. The head of every church in Fiore was there, and one by one, Prada had killed them all and offered their blood and bone to Eden's Crystal, which was promptly placed on a stone pedestal before their murders and carefully observed for any reactions.

The next part of this process would hopefully be more fruitful and interesting than the last three days have been. With his immense and seemingly endless amount of money, Prada had purchased a private investigator's services, a man who didn't seem to discriminate one customer from another and took the job after being offered a handsome sum of jewels. Although Prada had never actually spoken to him, one of his many servants exchanged the details of his duty in his stead. Lehanna Seraph was their target, a young girl who, by some accounts, was confirmed to be a God Slayer. It was for investigations as meticulous and detail-oriented as this that Prada found too tedious for his liking, even though he himself was surprisingly thorough.

It was strange—the things he'd do for validation. He had something to prove by stealing all of these things at everyone else's expense. Even though it was the thrill of it all that became his muse, he had to let everyone know whose story they were a part of. Whose staged they were simply background characters on. Prada could do things no one else could, and if they could, he'd be able to do it even better. The world was his oyster and no one else had the right to butt in. Never again would be ignored or denied the recognition he deserved, and never again would he let anyone forget who he was and who they were. He had no one but himself to count on, and he knew he was special. He knew he was destined to do things no one ever has done before.

"I'll be the first man to step foot in this garden. It has to be me," he stepped over streams and puddles of blood as his servants pushed the new headless statues in line with the rest, creating a ring of golden figures as he looked upon Eden's glowing crystal with those terrible ruby eyes, "I won't be denied by something like this."

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WC: 1002 | Total WC: 7038 | WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph Nerveux = Nervous porcine = piggy Très bon = Very good ""  —
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The secret underground bunkers scattered throughout Morgate Town were secret for a reason. Most places in Fiore were simply too public for what Prada had in mind, and not even his own company estate was private enough for his liking. So, he didn't regret the investments he made in securing several "hideouts" in that wasteland of a town. There were so many of them that he eventually dedicated one to hold his treasures and others to hold bodies. It was quite efficient, really. However, he wanted those secret bunkers to stay that way—a secret. He knew that he was popular among law enforcement, and they would no doubt be interested in spoiling his endeavors if they found out where he hid all of his stuff, so when that private investigator would drop off the girl at that castle, it was nothing more than to secure the secrecy of their actual meeting point.


"She's been delivered? Good! Bring her to me." said Prada, leaning over the metal pedestal he had put Eden's Crystal on, staring at it bright, glowing luminescent blue light as it levitated in place. He wanted to enter those gardens now more than ever, and seeing such a world closed to him, taunting he was pushing him on edge. But now that they had a God Slayer in his possession, it seemed that the Garden of Eden wouldn't be locked to him for very much longer.

Meanwhile, at the castle, Lehanna would be greeted with two large, burly men decked in white suits with black shades covering their eyes. Much like Prada, his servants and employees matched his sense of fashion and were easy to spot in a crowd, and they were easy to associate with Prada himself if one knew of his fondness of white. But regardless of how they dressed, they were powerful in build, and as soon as Lehanna stepped foot at the rendezvous point, each man would grab one of her arms, practically lifting her up off her feet as one pulled out a translocation lacrima, ripping an opening in space which directly led them to the bunker Prada was in—no transportation required. In fact, translocation lacrimas was the primary way Prada and his servants got around so quickly and sporadically. The airships were just for fun.

"We have the slayer, Mr. Prada." said one man with incredible bass and gruffness in his voice.  

"The Private Investigator didn't see a thing, Mr. Prada." chimed the other, both of them still holding onto Lehanna tightly as they addressed Prada, always making sure to add the honorific. The underground bunker was dimly lit, the glow of Eden's crystal illuminating most of the room in its charming blue glow. In the very back of the room were those headless golden statues of all of the religious leaders he kidnapped and killed for Eden, and despite not having heads, a phantom of terror and agony encompassing their shiny bodies. There were buckets of bloody water scattered throughout the room, and everyone wearing latex gloves to keep themselves from becoming covered in the mess they've been making since early this morning. They did a pretty good job in cleaning up, as many servants were still mindlessly scrubbing the floors of blood, but anyone could tell that something sinister was unfolding, if not by the smell of death, but by everyone who didn't seem to care about it at all.

"So this is God Slayer Lehanna Seraph, huh?" said Prada, turning around to look at the little girl before him with this condescending, judgmental look on his smirking face. He folded his arms behind his back as he walked up to her, leaning down to stare at her. "The gods you're slaying must be pathetic if a little girl like you could do anything to them. Or maybe God Slayers is really just a title."

Despite having achieved the power he has and causing the chaos and violence he seemed so proud of, Prada was still a foreigner to this country and ignorant to many of the ideas surrounding magic and sorcery. When he thought of God Slayers, Demon Slayers, and slayers of everything else, he envisioned men and women that epitomize power and barbarism. People who truly lived up to that epic title and were forces to be reckoned with if he wasn't at the level he was at. But no. This little girl looked pathetic, and frankly, he felt a little disappointed when the talk of Lehanna Seraph being a little girl was true.

Prada raised his hand, signaling his servants to release the girl from her grip, giving her freedom to act as she pleased now that this handsome, silver-blonde man was leaning over her at eye-level, looking down at her like a bug.

"I paid good money for you, so you better not let me down, oui? If you behave like you should, maybe you won't have to end up like the others." Prada smiled, eyeing her down with that lionlike stare of his. He was a man of confidence and power, and oddly transparent about his motives and desires as well. The only thing secret about this man was his name, and even then it was only by coincidence that Prada came along. When Prada snapped his fingers, a line of gloved men and women approached with buckets, sponges, and other sharp utensils meant for cutting. If his purchase would work as she was supposed to, the Gardens of Eden would soon be open to him. "Now then, let's start small. We'll take your blood, first. I don't want to kill you just yet, since I may be able to get it to react to more than just your death. Blood, hair... you know, pieces of you. If we run out, I have some of the finest healers in all of Napedia to restore some of the parts we'll need. I'm quite efficient, aren't I? You should be honored to put your life on the line for me, you know. So be grateful."

Someone amazing was about to unfold.

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WC: 1027 | Total WC: 8065 | WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph Nerveux = Nervous porcine = piggy Très bon = Very good ""  —
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Her response was, needless to say... a surprise. He hadn't met a kid with spunk like hers since, well, since he was a kid. But the only surprising fact about it was that those fiesty words came from a person as small as she was, but the words themselves were nothing to write home about. Ever since coming to Fiore, Prada's heard a litany of ignorant speeches from one insect to the other, and as anal as he was about his perception of how people saw him, he felt a little impervious to the words coming from a child, especially since he was in the position of control.

Lehanna's attempt at being intimidating, if that's what she called it, was met with a confident, calculating smirk of his own as he allowed the little girl to yank him down to eye level. He didn't particularly care for children, but they weren't under this imaginary safety-net because of the fact that they are children. If they impeded his plans or are a means to further his own success, there simply was no reason to discard the resources they were born to provide him with. It was their purpose, after all.

"Very cute, petite fille. Now that you've had your tantrum, I should tell you," Prada's smirk faded into a cold, dark, blank stare as he caressed Lehanna's hand in his own before squeezing just slightly and filling the dark room with the sound of finger bones snapping. In just a blink of an eye, the girl's hand was crushed by his gloved one, the disparity in their strength so immense that he didn't bat an eye when he did. His lion-ruby eyes fractionally narrowed as a condescending twinge fell onto his dark face as he felt the girl's bones literally fall apart within the skin. "don't you ever lay a single finger on me."

The anticipation he felt in seeing his god slayer delivered to him was gone now that she was here, and Prada was eager to return right back to where they left off with the crystal. He released her crushed hand from his own after briefly telling her off, standing up and firmly readjusting the collar of his white suit so it shifted back into place from where Lehanna moved it. Louie didn't mind a bit of trashtalk—after all, what good was he if he couldn't take any of the very venom he spewed out? As a Napedian and a cynical man bent on getting an edge over people, he felt comfortable in such a toxic environment. He was born and reborn from a cesspool of bad taste. But, more than anything, the people of this country were foul pigs and barbarians, and he prided himself in his ability to avoid stepping in the mud they rolled in. Everything about his being was above them, and it was already a privilege to even look him in the eye. So to touch his clothes as she had... he couldn't overlook it.

"Well, now that that's over with, let's get to work, everyone!" Prada clapped his hands together pompously, a line of men and women in their dapper white uniforms approaching Lehanna with trays of tools, some conventional and some not. They ranged to the precise and sharp scalpel to a barbaric and almost horror-like mini-chainsaw—anything to get the job done and the job done efficiently. "I want every piece of her at my disposal, so make sure she doesn't die and keep her regenerated. For the amount of trouble I went through to get a God Slayer, I'd be really upset to see it up and die on me."

When Prada said every piece, he really didn't sugarcoat his words. If any employee or servant of Prada knew anything of their young master, is that he wasn't a liar, and he meant everything he said, exactly as he said it. Unlike the headless churchmen in the back of the room, Lehanna wouldn't be immediately dismembered. Instead, two lines of people would harvest two different parts of her at once. In the beginning, they'd start with her finger and toenails, pulling all of them off and into a small metal tray. And then she was regenerated. Blood pulled from her body with syringes, and then she was regenerated. It was like she was slowly being deconstructed and rebuilt, only to be deconstructed again. Whatever noises she was making, Prada didn't hear them. Whatever fight she was fighting, Prada didn't see it. As his servants went to work, slowly accumulating bits and pieces of the God Slayer into several metal trays, Prada was staring deeply into Eden's Crystal, captivated by its luminescent glow, smiling arrogantly. The means didn't matter—his success was on the line, and he'd sooner see everyone drop dead to see him rise than to taste rejection of a world that rightfully belonged to him. The world was his oyster. The world was his oyster. No one else's.

Slowly but surely, Prada was beginning to make his mark on the world. When he first came to this country, he hadn't ever killed someone before—but he didn't feel bad when he killed his wife. When he first came here, it was only going to be a short vacation—but he sold his soul for the limitless potential of magic. He had never thought of joining Fairy Tail, or placing a chain of his companies here, or meeting that gorilla Aeluri, or having to deal with that small-brained ape, Vandrad. He hadn't considered any of that, and yet...

"I can feel it. I think we're getting somewhere, finally. The whole energy is... different!" Prada perked up excitedly, eyes wide with anticipation as he stared at the floating crystal. When he turned around with that self-satisfied smirk on his face, he knew that he had invested in the right girl. This God Slayer was going to fulfill her purpose and open the gates of Eden to him, as she was meant to. With a confident stare, Prada smiled. "I almost feel sorry for you, but why feel sorry for a girl serving her purpose? Keep it up and I may even send you back in one piece—free of charge."

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WC: 1040 | Total WC: 9105 | WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph Nerveux = Nervous petite fille = little girl Très bon = Very good ""  —
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It was quite the gruesome scene, Prada could admit. Expunging the unpleasant smell of blood from this bunker would be a most troublesome task indeed, but he believed in his servants' skills. It was just a bit shocking to see a murder scene consisting of all the parts except the actual murder. Instead, it was just a girl lying in a puddle of her own blood and tears, a husk of a girl who had lost her ferocity in just a few measly hours of special care. Even after all that had happened, it might've been difficult to believe that Prada wasn't a sadist. It wasn't like he derived any sort of pleasure or delight in seeing the girl in pain or struggling—he actually didn't care for the gore that resulted in this process, either. He enjoyed it about as much as a normal person enjoyed watching cows and pigs get slaughtered in real-time. It wasn't like that at all. It's just that... well, the means justify the end. Any means.

"If you didn't want me to find you, you should've made it harder for me to catch you. If there was another God Slayer that was worse at evading than you, I'm sure you'd be out and about, living your carefree, pathetic life as a pig right about now." Prada sighed, shrugging his shoulders with a sort of 'well, what can you do?' air. "I don't know why you're complaining, though. If everything goes as planned, you'll be leaving here with your life. Honnêtement! You really should be grateful!"

"M—Mr. Prada..." one man stumbled over his words.

"?" Prada looked at them, brows raised suspiciously at the panic in their faces.

"Mr. Prada... y-your back!" another stuttered, shaded eyes fixed at the center of his back, in between his shoulder blades.

"Stop stuttering! You all know I hate stuttering!" Prada, who had enough of the anxiety swelling between his servants, barked. But more and more of them began to turn their attention to his backside, and one by one, the apprehension began to fill their faces. "Now, what's this about my back?"

"Y-Your clothes, sir..."

"Yeah? Go on, say it."

"They're burned..."


The uneasy calm before the store, that anxious quiet in the forest seemed to rattle everyone in the room. A man whose power was irresponsibly weaponized, and whose temper short and dangerous. He prided himself in more ways than one: wealth, status, power, they were all elements that, when brought together, created none other than the very epitome of perfection itself—himself. Everything that couldn't be achieved, he'd achieve it. Every hurdle thought to be impossible to jump, he'd jump it. Even if he wasn't the first at everything, he promised to be the best at everything. Even the very clothes he wore were a testament of a level no one could ever reach aside from himself. The clothes he let touch his skin were sacred and some of his most precious items. Every day he spent time in dressing himself, had businesses surrounded with the concept of fashion, and he even went out of his way to make sure his servants dressed well like they were representing Prada wherever they went and whatever they did. Prada was a fragile man, but not like a flower. He was fragile like a bomb.

Taking off his outermost white trench coat, he brought it up in front of him so he could see the damage that was done, and surely enough, his coat had a small hole burnt into it, some of the white scorched black from the flames. For a moment, there was silence. There wasn't an immediate outburst that usually came with a man of his short temper. Instead, he let his hands slowly descend to his sides, the trench coat still in his grasp, and the most chilling, gut-wrenching glare falling onto his dark face. There was the face of a man who looked like he had just watched this girl kill someone he loved.

"Ah," Prada said matter-of-factly, "it happened just a couple of hours ago, so I'm sure I said it. What you did was pretty foolish, so I know I'd remember scolding you for it. I remember what I said. I said to not lay a single finger on me."


"I know you heard me, so why did you touch me anyway? You didn't hear it? What, so you're saying I have a quiet voice? Do you think weaklings speak softly? But I'm not weak, so why did you pretend not to hear me? Did you scream so loud from me crushing your hand that it drowned out my voice? Is that what happened? How is that my fault? It's your fault. If you had shut up, you would've heard me properly. Why don't you take responsibility and apologize for touching me again? Did you parents not teach you better? Did no one tell you to touch the art at exhibits? It's priceless. If you touch it, you'll ruin it. You almost ruined me. Do you know how much is at stake?"


"Isn't it great? Me, Prada, am giving you the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lick my shoes. My shoes. Do you know how priceless they are because I'm wearing them? Do you? I'm not deranged, so don't call me that. I wouldn't have done this unless I needed to, and I needed to do this. I went out of my way to ensure that you didn't die on me, and you had access to some of the best healers in the entire country, and you still touch me like that? Who are you? Who are you? You're nothing. If I killed you right now, no one would miss you. No one would come looking for you. There's not a single person in this world that knows you're missing, and none of them care. But I care. I'm bringing out the best in you, and using your very being to unlock a world meant for me. "

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WC: 1166 | Total WC: 10,271| WC Needed: 11,000 @Lehanna Seraph Honnêtement! = Honestly! petite fille = little girl Très bon = Very good ""  —
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"That's the third time you've used that handbag line, and you should know that comments like that lose their effect after the first time." Prada sighed through his nose and shook his head. The pique of his anger had passed after beating Lehanna, and frankly, that was satisfying enough for reel back his outburst. It was only a trench coat, so he'd get another one, and like all infected things, he'd just burn the one that she touched.

After that, Prada pushed the strands of hair that fell out of place back into his head, turning around without acknowledging anything that the beaten and broken girl had said. She had nothing of import to say anyway, and he didn't pay for her words, just the tongue that spewed them. It was probably traumatic to see yourself gutted like a pig and then regenerated as if nothing happened, and while none of the scars were there, the pain probably haunted her like a ghost embracing her. That was the only thing that came to mind as he passed the trays of blood and body parts, neatly assorted again from when he tossed the God Slayer across the room. But now was the moment of truth, the moment he had been waiting for ever since he got his hands on Eden's Crystal. Finding Eden.

Unlike every attempt before, Eden's Crystal was pulsating with a light that seemed almost as bright as the sun itself, filling the dark room with a bright blue glow. The blood and guts all disintegrated into raw mana as they all floated towards the crystal, manifesting into a gate with a world of light on the other side. There it was, in all of its glory—the Garden of Eden. A place where no man had ever stepped foot. A place of enlightenment and wisdom. A world previously locked to Prada, now laid bare in front of him with its spoils. His face broke into a wild, proud grin as his servants stared at the gate with a look of shock.

"Amazing...!" Prada spoke under his breath, taken aback with the world he was about to enter, "Just amazing. To think I've wasted so much of my precious time dealing with old fools when all it took was a little God Slayer and some concentration. But before I go in..." he turned around with that triumphant smirk of his, looking at Lehanna from across the room, "I think I'll personally return this Slayer. She's no longer needed, anyway."


By the time they left the bunker, it was the middle of the day. It was sure to say that the world kept spinning despite what had happened in Morgate Town that morning, and Prada wouldn't have had it any other way. From what he was told, the girl was from a mediocre and irrelevant guild, Silver Wolf, located just on the Phoenix Mountain. It was no easy task to find the actual guildhall, however. So many men came down those mountains, saying how no matter how high they climbed, they simply couldn't find the guild. Well, why did it matter anyway? When Prada arrived at that mountain, he had no intention of scaling it. He was only making a quick delivery.

Stepping out of another translocation portal, directly from his bunker in Morgate Town, Prada stepped out onto the foot of the mountain with the same two big men dressed in white that "picked up" the God Slayer from earlier this morning, with Lehanna held between them, one arm in each him, bloody and beaten. She didn't receive healing this time, and she was far too dirty and broken for Prada to feel comfortable touching her with his gloved hands.

"Oiii! Silver Wolf!" Prada shouted up the mountain, arms folded behind his white appearance, "I'm sure you haven't noticed, but I'm returning this little girl who worked so, so hard for me this morning! I'm sure with careful healing, she'll be up and running again in no time at all! For those of you listening, this is Prada, and please take care in remembering it! You're very welcome!" Prada chuckled as he yelled up the mountain. He wasn't sure that anyone was actually listening, but if they were, they'd know who was responsible for their beaten and broken little God Slayer.

After that, the big burly men dropped Lehanna to the ground, with Prada stepping over to her and looking down with a condescending, arrogant smile. "I don't 'cower in shadows' just because you only saw me in darkness, petite fille. There's no reason for me to hide if I'm not doing anything wrong, right?" Prada carelessly stepped over her body and into the portal as his servants waited for him. Before he stepped into his bunker cities away, he dropped a stack of jewels by her face. "Just in case your healers aren't enough. Bye, now."

And with that, he was gone, off to enjoy the fruits of his new garden, leaving Lehanna to her own bloody devices. As far as he could tell, this all went very well, if not for the gross scene left in his bunker.

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WC: 873 | Total WC: 11,144 | WC Needed: 11,000 (complete) @Lehanna Seraph Honnêtement! = Honestly! petite fille = little girl Très bon = Very good ""  —
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