Izena steered her platform to the middle of a group of soldier-bandits, and I followed. Those with ranged weapons targeted us, of course; we were not subtle. This group appeared to be armed with an eclectic mix of enchanted rods mimicking a wide variety of mundane black magic, but so long as I didn't doze off and Oscanion was not personally nearby, there was no real danger. No mage but Oscanion himself could make my shields so much as quaver alone, and enchanted items scaled with the power of the blue mage who had made them. These items would all exterminate an innocent farming family well enough, that was plain, but if there had been anything or anyone sufficient to pose a threat to us among this group, we would have taken a more cautious approach.
As we drew closer, some members of the enemy force, those with their minds still intact, recognized us. A black and white pair of mage sisters levitating on mana platforms while covered in impenetrable liquid light left little guesswork to be done.
Hmm.
As a few well-aimed or lucky spells splashed harmlessly against my shields, it occurred to me that 'minds still intact' wasn't really appropriate for someone serving Oscanion while free from mind domination. They never had intact minds in the first place.
Wait, did...did that one really think that throwing rocks at us would do anything?! Desperation did cause stupidity, I supposed. And these weren't the world's best and brightest to start with.
There were various other reactions from Oscanion's Best and Brightest as each recognized us, one by one.
A sandy-haired man froze at first. His head jerked around, taking in the smoking evidence of his atrocities, and he belatedly rediscovered his conscience. Ultimately, he decided to try fleeing from justice, for all the good it would do.
Another man, hair arranged and dyed in what I'm sure he thought was an intimidating style, similarly froze and looked around at first, but then fell to his knees instead of fleeing. The appeal might have been more effective if he hadn't been desecrating corpses before catching sight of us, but any inclinations toward mercy for those willingly doing Oscanion's work had died with our mothers.
A woman, darker in coloring than the men, was apparently seized by delusions of grandeur, running toward us while smiling at the opportunity. An insane true believer in whatever Oscanion was preaching to get these people to do his bidding, apparently. Divine calling to wanton violence? The virtues of sadism? I had no idea and it didn't matter. She would not achieve whatever glorious feat she was imagining. Maybe, before the end, she would have a moment of clarity.
The mindless masses, those who had been captured alive in earlier conquests and subjected to Oscanion's most infamous and mysterious spell, thought of nothing but their orders. I caught sight of one woman dutifully, dispassionately firing weak flames at us, immune to understanding that it was futile. But if Oscanion was not personally present, the mindless were a quantity over quality force, so only a few were armed with such weapons. The bulk waited robotically for their chance to strike.
We could do nothing to help any of them; I had tried many times. Using purification to remove Oscanion's puppet strings left a vegetative body behind, which neither healing nor repair spells could fix. It was like their minds had been overwritten with whatever their orders were, leaving nothing. I could purify their minds to remove their orders, but there was no information left, no remnant of a pattern, for my spells to draw upon to restore the original state. I still could not understand how a black mage like Oscanion had developed a spell which seemed like it ought to be an advanced application of red magic, the color of telepathy and all matters of the mind. Or so it had been believed.
Being confronted with this kind of thing almost daily, as I was, it would be easy to lose faith in humanity, to stop trying to help. But I had been part of a family like the one that had lived here, in a place far to the south, where the front lines had been many years prior. If that helpless girl could see the famous helper she had become now...the thought made me gulp and squirm on my platform.
I was so glad the Corzas had found me. I would never stop helping.
Once we were in position, Izena used her normal strategy, creating a ring of fire magic that expanded in all directions around us. Heat magic, really; to equate what she made with "fire" was misleading. She had long since far surpassed Azenum, who was best among mere mortals, and I had exceeded any other white mage by an even larger margin--neither of us had squandered the freakish mana pools we'd been born with. Only Oscanion had comparable power; no one knew exactly how he had achieved his. Pre-war, he had been a strong black mage, but weaker than Azenum, and those who had known him described a mild-mannered researcher at the seaside Southern Marine Research Laboratory near Solenn, on the World's End peninsula in the far south. Then, one day, Solenn had become the first city he conquered, and he'd become what he was today.
Naturally, any black mage could make flames and lightning and so on, or at least light candles and make sparks, but where others roasted their targets, Izena vaporized them. Where others shot jets of red flames that could be from any campfire, Izena projected expanding rings of molten whiteness, consecutive rolling waves like an ocean of molten iron exploding from a shattered forge. It left spots in my vision and ringing in my ears.
I healed us absentmindedly.
It was excessive and I loved it, beautiful and terrible, on a qualitatively different tier. I'd always thought every spell she cast was beautiful, and she thought the same of my liquid light. Other black mages' flame spells left an unpleasant burnt or sooty smell behind, but Izena's left only sterile nothingness.
That Oscanion was powerful enough for his own black magic to parry the likes of this, as he'd demonstrated many times, sent shivers down my spine. If we were not present, he was impossible to contain.
If our targets weren't clustered or it wasn't safe to approach, Izena would usually pick off whatever she could with lightning bolts from her left palm, sometimes sprays of acid if she needed to destroy equipment. She was the best in the world at breaking things--breaking bad things. I'd seen it all many times now, but still...
So. Cool.
I think she did things this way for my sake. She knew what I liked--overwhelming brute force--and I always had the best seat in the house. All I had to do was sit next to her and make us indestructible, feet swinging off the edge of my platform.
No need to fix what isn't broken, or to make fights interesting. Our proven strategy was unfair, efficient, and effective, and we intended to keep it that way. We had to dial back near friendlies, though, and we couldn't be too aggressive about going behind enemy lines and possibly stumbling into a prepared trap. Oscanion, or conceivably a well-balanced group of many of his better-armed subordinates, or especially both together, could threaten us if we were too careless.
At least Oscanion, like all mages, couldn't use enchanted items himself--a mage's will, their mind, is already bound to their own intrinsic mana. No need to worry about Oscanion wielding a dozen looted legendary artifacts made by the greatest blue mages of the past 10,000 years.
Shivers down my spine again--that was not a pleasant image. Hmm, well, I suppose we would be able to do the same in that world.
...I could play offense!
In any case, there was no cause for concern today.
Our task complete, we set out to rejoin our father, who had been forced more and more, in recent times, to play the role of politician and general. As we traveled, I healed anyone in need and made any miscellaneous repairs that didn't require too much time.
"You earn it," Izena said suddenly. We had just parted from a worshipfully grateful family of fully healed and magically cleaned refugees, whom we had come across by chance. I'd repaired their fire-damaged wagon and clothing, too.
Izena counted on her fingers as she continued.
"You descend from the sky on a platform of light as if in answer to their prayers, heal all their injuries and restore what remains of their livelihoods, and leave them and theirs cleaner than they have ever been before, after they have suffered the humiliation of living in filth for who knows how long. Then you leave as suddenly as you arrived, ascending to the sky on your light, asking nothing in return. Consider yourself objectively: How must you appear to these people?" She paused, briefly. "Embrace it, for their sakes. You are 'just a strong white mage' in the same way that the mainland is 'just a big island.' They are not stupid. They see the difference."
"It's just--"
"Just because your dedication, focus, and talent have made the miraculous mundane for you does not mean you deserve no credit or praise for what you are doing, and what you have done. Oscanion has all of that, too. We see what he does with it. And so do they."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"And don't now start scolding yourself for me needing to say this! Honestly, I need to give myself the same kind of talk all the time. I didn't compose it just now," she confessed, massaging her brow. "Father is right and you know it. They need us to be benevolent goddesses, because they fear"--she rocked her head back and forth a bit--"no, they know in their bones, that it is an evil god trying to hurt them and destroy everything they care about. What entity could stop such an enemy? They see in you what they need to see, half of it: a benevolent goddess answering their prayers for salvation, whenever and wherever she can. Just do what you can do, be yourself, and if they need to call that person a goddess, fine. It is all your power. You did not steal it, nor are you faking it. Be the goddess they need you to be."
My face was on fire. How could anyone listen to this and not squirm!?
Some time later, my sister closed her argument in a much more somber tone.
"They pray for vengeance, too. Those people you just helped knew which prayers I must be here to answer. They did not ask who I am or what I am here for while you helped them, because they already knew. They need it to be true, so it must be. I will not deny them that comfort. I'm 'just a strong black mage' in the same way that the ocean is 'just a big lake.' Speaking objectively, stating facts, father is a very large lake, the largest of all, but I am an ocean. The people we fight for can see the difference and it gives them hope."
We flew in silence for a while.
"You should've used 'a thunderbolt is just a big spark' for yourself," I told my sister, after reflecting on her point. "It fits your skills better. And you are Justice, not Vengeance."
Izena snorted. "Villains beware. Salvation and Justice are on the prowl."
I rolled my eyes and backhanded her shoulder. "You--. Mmmph! Don't act like you didn't start this nonsense!"
"And admit it, the ocean-mainland dualism thing makes the overall metaphor work, about how we complement each other," she added, ignoring me.
Oh no no no no no! Constrained by Izena's immeasurable coolness levels, my teasing opportunities were rare. I wasn't going to let her get away with this cheesy crap. I can play offense. Watch me.
"'Consider yourself objectively,'" I opened, in the most dopey tone I could conceive. She tensed a little, which encouraged me to continue. "You descend from the sky on a platform of void as if in answer to prayers for justice and deliver it unto thine enemies. Behold! For so effortlessly are anathema rendered unto dust!"
She shrugged, ears now as red as mine. "Uh, yes, that--, that is the idea," she admitted awkwardly. Awkwardly! Izena! "But you don't need to phrase it so--"
"And she asks nothing in return." I twisted the knife.
My sister lowered her face into her hands for five seconds, until recovering her dignity enough to gasp a surrender. "Fine, fine, alright, I admit: it was a little cringeworthy."
Ha! Victory!
"I just wanted you to realize that you are already amazing, by any reasonable standard," Izena pleaded. "And yes, try to view yourself objectively, from the perspective of the people you help. Embrace who you are to them."
I love my sister.
A minute later, after I had let my guard down, she struck the fatal blow. It was perfect in its minimalism. The only warning I got was her fighting a battle against a fit of giggles.
"Sun." She was pointing at me. "Not candle."
...No matter what I did, she always got the last laugh.