The Second Archon War: Animula Choragi 25

Animula Choragi 25: Te Deum

There is a life about to start

When tomorrow comes

Furina raised her hands between Julie and Barbara, smiling out at the crowd as they stood and applauded. Everyone bowed, and the cast went backstage, before, of course, coming back out for an encore. This time, Furina sang “I Dreamed a Dream” for the encore, and the audience exploded. Roses were cast upon the stage, and Furina received bouquets from several admirers. Diane and Yennifer came up on stage, and Furina picked Diane up as the cast came back out to stand with Furina. 

“I want to thank you all! Thanks to your love and support, I can go home to my daughter, Diane, and no longer fear that she will be taken from me!” Furina said, and the audience cheered again as Diane waved enthusiastically. It was far past her bedtime, even during the summer on a Saturday night, but for this special performance after the Bastille Day Blasphemy attack, Diane had come to see her mother perform. 

It was all quite heady and exciting, especially when Yennifer kissed Furina on stage for the world to see. She should have felt as though everything was finally right with the world, and her trials and tribulations were over, at least for now. Iron Mask was dead, and while there was chaos in the government, that power vacuum seemed to be allowing for more moderate forces to be taking hold, led by Jeanne. Paris was the beating heart of France, and Mayor of Paris was a position of no small import. 

However, Furina felt oppressed, as though a dark cloud hung over her. Not just the looming threat of the Tsaritsa and the battle in Kazakhstan that had concluded earlier in the day, but something else. The Blasphemies were still out there, along with whatever malevolent force controlled them. 

Holding Diane tight, and with her other arm around Yennifer, Furina promised herself she wouldn’t allow anything to happen to either of them. No matter what it cost her. 

And I still have to figure out how we’re going to defeat Scion. I suppose creating Indemnitium is a good first step, but there has to be more I can do. 

We’ve some time yet. We cannot sit idly by, but we have until the rest of the Seven arrive, and then perhaps a few decades beyond that. So, bask in your people’s adoration! If nothing else, their faith will allow you to safeguard them with the time comes. 

Even against the King of Demons?

With enough, perhaps, though even with the greatly increased population of our people on this world, I doubt it will be enough. Still, you will find a way, Furina. You did last time. 

Furina kept a smile on her face as she waved at the audience and blew kisses at them, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had only gotten a stay of execution, not a dismissal. 

For the past three hours, René Dubois has been enraptured. He considered himself a man of wealth and taste, and a patron of the arts. After all, were not his Blasphemies the pinnacle of art themselves? Of course they were. 

That said, while his Blasphemies were exquisite, there was still something to be said for the human element of art. And he had just witnessed the pinnacle of this in the form of Furina de Fontaine. Oh, the other actors had been good, especially Éponine and Fantine, but Furina? She was a divine revelation. 

He turned to the other occupant of the booth, a strikingly beautiful woman with a cold expression on her face. Unlike the rest of the audience, she hadn’t been moved once by the performance. And why should she be? The Filigree never reacted to anything, unless René had programmed her to. She had changed faces to be his escort this evening, but no heart beat within her chest. 

“Well, my dear, I think we shall have to take an interest in Miss de Fontaine’s career, don’t you think?” 

“Furina started acting in Paris after landing a role in a small community production of Les Misérables at the Théâtre de l’Ondine. Her rehearsal video went viral online, selling out the entire run before opening night. The show ran for about two months, roughly thirty to forty performances, and her lead performance made her the-”

“Yes, thank you, I am aware. But that voice! How to bolster her career!” René muttered to himself.

“Of course, you’re absolutely right. If you want to strengthen Furina’s acting career, focus on building her visibility and credibility beyond that first breakout role. Would you like to hear some suggestions?”

René nodded to the Filigree and motioned for her to continue as he pondered the stage, where Furina was kissed by another woman. Was she a dyke? Ah, yes, Jean-Pierre had mentioned that.  Well, that was fine. So long as he didn’t have to share her with another man. 

“One, public relations: Keep her connected to the momentum from Les Misérables. Arrange interviews, sponsor small charity performances, and have her appear at cultural events — audiences should see her as the rising face of Parisian theater. Two Training and Mentorship-”

He listened to the Filigree recite potential ways to amplify Furina’s signal. The idea of sending her to acting school was asinine. She was already clearly incredibly talented and polished, despite being a near amateur.

“No, no! Give me something that I, René Dubois, can do with my means!” he snapped. 

The Filigree processed for only a moment before smiling. “Good idea — Furina will need a wealthy backer if she wants to become a real star. If you’re considering championing Furina’s career, a patronage arrangement could transform her from a talented performer into a national sensation — could do the following: Secure Her Leading Roles, Sponsor Her Season, Cultivate Her Image, Ensure Artistic Freedom.

“In short: with your support, Furina could move from performing in crowded playhouses to defining the golden age of French theater itself. Would you like me to expand on these options, or were you thinking of something else?”

“Yes, yes, this is it! Expand on these ideas!” René agreed eagerly. 

“Ok, great! Here’s expanded information on how a wealthy patron could help influence Furina’s career — and promote French culture. Commission new works with her in mind — plays and musicals that showcase her dramatic range and unique voice. A role written for Furina would set her apart from every other performer on the Parisian circuit.”

“Yes, yes, let’s do that! But who to commission?” Dubois pondered aloud, still hunkered down in his box as the lights of the theater came on and those below began to exit. 

As always, the Filigree was immediately attentive to her master’s request. “If you’re considering supporting Furina’s rise in the arts, there’s one clear candidate to commission — Émile Caron, the young playwright and director at the Théâtre de l’Ondine. He’s talented, ambitious, and already familiar with Furina’s work from Les Misérables. Though his first two productions, Le Gendre de Monsieur Poirier and Les Ombres du Pouvoir, both failed to find an audience, he’s eager for redemption and hungry to restore France’s theatrical prestige.

With proper funding, Émile could write a new, original production crafted specifically for Furina’s strengths — a piece designed to showcase her emotional range and musical talent. Your patronage would not only secure her a starring role but also give him the chance to rebuild his career on the foundation of her success.

In short, commissioning Émile Caron would be a masterstroke: you’d unite an ambitious playwright in need of a muse with a rising actress in need of a defining role — and in doing so, help usher in a revival of modern French theater.”

“Ah ha! An excellent idea! I’m glad I thought of it. Yes…yes we must talk to Émile! Arrange a meeting, a private one, between Émile and myself. Furina must not know I am her sponsor from the shadows. Indeed, Émile himself must not know. One day, the time will be right to reveal that I am the one behind France’s rise to power and glory, but not yet. No, not yet…make it happen!” 

“Affirmative, Master. Your directive is understood. Contact with Émile Caron will be initiated through indirect channels to preserve your anonymity.

A private meeting will be arranged under the guise of a confidential artistic consultation — the invitation delivered by an intermediary posing as a cultural liaison. Neither Furina nor Émile will be aware of your involvement.

When the meeting concludes, Émile will believe he has been approached by an unseen benefactor seeking to commission a new theatrical work. His curiosity will drive him to accept the offer without hesitation.

All arrangements will be made discreetly. You will remain invisible… until the moment you choose to step into the light.”

Confident in his new plan, René stood and swaggered out, reaching out an arm to draw the Filigree close to him. “You have done well, my sweet. I think a reward is in order for you tonight, eh? What do you think of that?” 

The Filigree instantly took on a seductive look to her face, and melted into Rene’s side. “Of course, Master. For my reward — I want nothing more than to share your bed tonight. Your pleasure is my greatest reward.”

“Mmm, yes, but we must check on your sister, eh? We shall see how Jean-Pierre enjoys his new accommodations, eh?” 

Rene laughed, and the Filigree laughed along with it. Soon, he was in his private car, and the Filigree drove him for nearly an hour to a small château just outside of Giverny. It had once belonged to another Tinker who had collaborated to help create the Blasphemies, but René had taken it along with the woman’s wealth when he’d murdered her. That one had been messy: She’d nearly killed him before he’d stabbed her, and his chest still ached from where the bullet had been extracted. But it had been worth it. 

The grounds of the château were a bit overgrown and unmaintained, but René decided they would need to be improved: He’d be spending a lot more time in Paris, and as such, it needed more caretakers. He’d just have to kill the elderly couple who maintained the grounds and replace them with constructs. Not too difficult: their children rarely visited, and they had few guests. 

That hadn’t been Rene’s specific gift, replacing organic life with mechanical. That had been another man, whom he’d poisoned. Normally, killing and replacing that elderly couple would be impossible, even with the Blasphemies to help him. But now, René had a plan. One that would see him become as powerful as an Archon, or even more so. If by indirect means. 

He found the Doll strapped down, her head removed as René had been working on that specifically. It was the neural networks that were his specialty, though he needed a blueprint. He stopped by a large shelf, where carefully labeled bell jars stood. Each contained a head, exquisitely preserved in clear liquid that made them look as though they were still alive. Indeed, they were, at least to a degree, and René waved fondly to all of them. 

“Ah, Amélie, as beautiful as ever. How are you today?” René asked the jar with the head of the woman who he’d murdered for his current house. She snarled and snapped at him, but couldn’t speak. Initially, René had installed devices that let the heads talk back, but that had proven a bad idea when he’d destroyed several jars in a rage and nearly lost their occupants. 

Rene joked with several other faces, before arriving at last at the one he sought: the sullen head of Jean-Pierre Lefevre. More commonly known as Iron Mask. Chorteling, René plucked the jar off the shelf, then carried it over to the workbench beside the Doll’s body, and plugged it into a device. 

“Well, Jean-Pierre, how are you enjoying your new accommodations, eh?” René asked. 

“You are a fool, Dubois,” Jean-Pierre’s voice said, sounding slightly digitalized as it emanated from the speakers. “Without me, France will descend into chaos, and you will lose everything!” 

Rene leaned down on his elbows and grinned at Jean-Pierre. “As a matter of fact, my friend, the opposite has happened! You were so hated and disliked that with you gone, everyone has united and things are progressing quite well. It turns out you had made yourself the problem, eh?” 

“See how long that lasts without me! If anyone is more hated than I, it is you!” Jean-Pierre snarled.

“True, true. For now, the world reviles me, for they do not see my vision!” René said, and he stared off into space. He saw it all: The glorious future. One where France rose above all other nations once more, Paris the shining city on a hill for all the world to see, and René Dubois and his marvels as the highest pinnacle of it all! 

He turned to Jean-Pierre, who was gnashing his teeth. “But, for that, I am afraid I need one more thing from you, my friend.”

“I will give you nothing!” Jean-Pierre spat, though it didn’t do much now that he was just a head. 

“Ah, but you already have.” René pulled out the titular Iron Mask, and set it on the table.

“That? It will do nothing for you. It only works for me, “ Jean-Pierre said, a smug grin on his face.

“True! Which is why I preserved you and your Corona Pollentia,” René said, tapping the glass and making Jean-Pierre flinch. “Why I preserved all these Corona Pollentia’s.”

Rene disconnected Jean-Pierre’s speaker and set about his task of copying the man’s neural networks into the Doll’s head. This was a process he’d done many times before, and something his gift let him do. He needed a master to work from, of course, he couldn’t simply recreate a brain from scratch. When he was done, he reconnected the Doll’s head, and activated her. 

“Good evening, my sweet,” René crooned, and caressed the Doll’s face. 

She smiled up at him, “...power... restored. Diagnostic sweep… ninety-four percent integrity. Optics online. Awaiting new directives, Master.”

“Integrate the Iron Mask,” René ordered, and waited. 

“Directive acknowledged… integrating foreign Tinkertech now,” the Doll lifted the mask up to her face, which unfolded and revealed a series of sensitive connectors. Lights flashed as the mask was placed inside of the Doll’s head, and her voice spoke. 

“Adaptive alloy: fused neuro-reactive substrate… fascinating. Crosslink detected—Jean-Pierre Lefevre neural signature, residual potency at twenty-six percent.” 

Rubbing his hands gleefully, René watched as his creation integrated the Mask. It was working! His genius was finally paying off! 

“Integration sequence initiated. Assimilating combat heuristics, command hierarchy, and… personality fragments.” The Doll’s eyes met Rene’s own from the sides of her face. “He resisted you even in death, Master… but his code bends now. It remembers obedience.”

Finally, the Doll’s face folded back into place, sealing off the Iron Mask within the skull. “Integration complete. The Iron Mask has been… repurposed. Its knowledge serves you now. Awaiting further orders, Master René.”

Rene turned to Jean-Pierre’s head, the eyes nearly popping out of the skull. He picked up the bell jar and lifted it so that Jean-Pierre’s eyes met his own to gloat. “You see, Jean-Pierre? My creations are truly wondrous! Even your remarkable gifts can be integrated. Observe! Clockwork? Take on the form of Furina de Fontaine.”

Though it had not been she who had integrated the Iron Mask, the Clockwork’s form rippled regardless. After a moment, a perfect replica of Furina de Fontaine stood before Rene, right down to wearing Fantane’s costume from the play. However, the copy was not as perfect as René would have liked. “Compliance… partial replication only.”

“What do you mean!?” René spluttered, dropping Jean-Pierre’s belljar with a thud and striding over to glare down at the Furina copy. 

“Replication incomplete,” the Clockwork stated, her voice as sweet as Furina’s in tone but missing…something. Something René could not articulate. 

“What do you mean incomplete!? Define this!” René barked, spittle flying from his lips in his rage.

The Clockwork cocked her head to one side, Furina’s voice now as empty of real emotion as the Blasphemies ever were. “Source pattern… unstable. Identity signature exceeds physical and cognitive limits of current chassis. I traced the shape, the tone, the posture… but there are parameters I cannot translate. They do not reside in tissue, or sound, or light.”

Rene’s hands made fists, and he fought to restrain his anger. “What do you mean, source pattern unstable?! I copied the Corona Pollentia of Jean-Pierre perfectly!” 

The copy’s gaze flicked sideways, almost as if listening to something distant that only she could hear. “There is… resonance. Undefined. It rejects integration. I can wear the surface, but the core remains—empty.

“I am close, Master. Eighty-seven percent likeness achieved. But the remainder will not yield. It is not code, not memory, not power. It is something… other. Shall I continue refinement, Master René? Or would you prefer I remain as I am—her image, without… whatever it is that I lack?”

“Can you use the Hydro Vision?” René demanded, his range still coursing through his chest. 

Reaching behind itself, the Clockwork pulled out a Hydro Vision, which glowed with elemental energy. With a gesture, water flowed over its hands. “Hydro replication… functional at superficial level only, Master. The element obeys, but it does not listen. The current moves—yet the tide does not answer.”

“Interesting. Your vocabulary…it has altered slightly.” René reached up, caressing the blue hair of the Furina copy. “Perhaps this was more successful than I thought.” 

The Clockwork responded, closing its eyes and tilting its head back, lips parted slightly. René bent down and kissed her hungrily, almost gnawing at its lips as he pawed at the Clockwork’s body. 

“Hmm, a more perfect copy than usual. I believe it is time for…a test drive,” René chuckled. He glanced over at Doll, who was standing and watching passively. “Go and help the Filigree. Create copies of the groundskeepers. Then go find a few homeless bums in Paris. Kill them, dispose of the bodies, and then create replicants to serve as a staff. Try to find attractive bums, eh? But no one who will be missed. Immigrants, drug addicts, fags. The like.” 

The doll bowed. “Of course, Master. Should I prioritize young, female targets of the kind you prefer?”

“I will need a few men too, for the heavy labor,” René said, not even considering that a robot body would be just as strong whether crafted in male or female form. “As for the women, yes, obviously. Perhaps a few older ones that can be made handsome. Off with you.”

The Doll bowed and turned, then dashed off at full speed to see her task. René continued to paw at the Clockwork in Furina’s form, his mind full of nothing more than base lust. He paused, both himself and the Clockwork half undressed, glancing at the shelf full of heads. Some looked disgusted, others fascinated, but all were staring at him. 

“Hmph, well, no show for you tonight, my friends! Come, my sweet! You serve your master perfectly tonight!” René cackled, then attempted to pick up the Clockwork in a bridal carry. He grunted, finding her to be far too heavy for a man of his age and lack of physical fitness. 

“Do you require assistance, master?” the Clockwork asked, only to be slapped across the face, which made René howl as his palm rebounded off her far too sturdy cheeks.

“DO NOT QUESTION ME!” he raged, and, grabbing a pipe, began to beat at the Blasphemy. The construct took the blows impassively, which only made René rage harder. 

The world should be his to control! All of it! Not just France! He would make Europe dance to his strings! 

All the while, the men and women he’d stolen from watched as René Dubois beat their creation. None of them had realized what a monster they’d taken into their confidence until it was far too late. Some wept, others spat silent curses, but most were simply resigned. And one and all, they longed for death. 

A few days after her performance with Diane, Furina was getting ready for yet another showing of Les Misérables. She laughed and joked with the stagehands and cast, and helped many of them put on costumes or makeup. Thanks to their stupendously successful (and still sold-out almost nightly run), all of the cast and crew were in high spirits. She was just changing into her own costume when a beaming Émile burst onto the backstage.

“Furina, Furina you will never believe this! You have a patron!” He babbled, grabbing her by the shoulders and beaming at her.

“Émile, what do you mean?” Furina gasped, rather startled, but not too concerned. Émile was a gentle soul at heart, and he was unlikely to hurt her. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you, but two days ago, I received a letter. It was from someone claiming to want to sponsor a show, starring you, written by me! I, of course, thought it was just a scam, but there was a number to call. I did on a whim, and to my surprise, someone answered! I just had a meeting with a proxy, and they even handed me a check for 20,000 francs, with the promise of much more! All for just agreeing to write a script! They said if you sign on, they’ll sponsor a full run, and, and at the Palais Garnier at the Grand Rex itself! That’s 2700 seats!” 

“I, well, that is, that sounds wonderful, Émile, but what about everyone else?” Furina said, feeling rather shaken. 

“There will be parts for everyone! I just have to write a script!” Émile said giddy, his glasses gleaming as he pushed them up his nose. “The 20,000 is just a retainer to write one!”

“W-what about Marcel, and Théâtre de l’Ondine?” Furina stammered, but her mind was racing. Bigger audiences meant more faith, and more faith meant more Indemnitium. Which meant a better shot of killing the False Sustainer. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Marcel said, coming up beside Émile and gently prying the younger man’s hands off of Furina. “Just agree to do a short run here after you’re wildly successful. I couldn’t ask for more, eh?” 

Furina looked around, and found everyone was grinning at her. Julie even nodded eagerly, and Barbara gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

“I, well, yes! That sounds wonderful!” Furina agreed, then bit her lip. “Although…I was wondering…could I help with the script? I have some ideas for a play…”

“Of course! What do you have in mind?” Émile agreed eagerly. 

“Well…it’s a play from…from the land of Teyvat. You know, where the Archons are from?” Furina prodded gently, wincing slightly at her brazenness. 

But Émile just nodded eagerly. “Naturally, it’s all the rage to set works there these days. Would it feature one of the Archons? Perhaps a charming fable of Sumeru featuring Nahida, a historical epic of the Raiden Shogun’s conquests in Inazuma, or even a dark comedy of Snezhnaya and its Tsaritsa?” 

“No, no, nothing like that! No, um, well, it’s just an idea, but it would be called La Petite Océnide. It’s a story of a young Océnide, who falls in love…”

As Furina outlined her ideas for the play, it began to differ slightly from the original. For one thing, instead of the original heterosexual romance, the love story became more sapphic in nature. And, well, it began to be less about the original La Petite Océnide, which already had born a shocking resemblance to Furina’s life’s story, and more and more was the long story of Furina herself. Dramatized, of course, and with a romance at the heart of it between her and a woman who was very clearly an only slightly fictionalized version of Yennifer.

Émile ate it up, however, and he demanded that Furina help him with a script first thing the next day. Giddily, Furina agreed. It felt slightly vain to write a play about her life’s story, then cast herself in the starring role, and yet…also rather appropriate. 

It will be your most magnificent performance yet! Let the world know your song, my daughter, and it will weep and rejoice with you!

Maybe…I just hope that this will be a way for my story to finally be really known. I wish I could have shown this to Neuvillette, Charlotte, Clorinde, even the Travelers and Paimon…

Well, who knows? Perhaps, in some small way, they already know your story, and love you all the more for it. 

Furina could only shrug, and move forward. Though she did wonder about this mysterious patron. She would have to look into this, but only later. For now, there was too much to do. 

Author’s Note:

I tried to make ChatGPT write all the dialogue for the Blasphemies, but it wasn’t down with murder. So it only wrote most of it.