Guess what? I've got writer's block on Titulum Peccati again! So in the interim that we all await new inspiration for the next chapter, (or one of you makes a golden suggestion for an idea) here's a Bayonetta fanfiction!

For those that expect the usual erotic affair with this genre, you should go find another story. THIS one is following an idea I had while playing Bayonetta, being one of self-discovery, change, and finding the power that we all have within us. I will strive to fully utilize the symbolism and make a grand epic of this "shoot-em-up-beat-em-up" game.

So, more or less, a retelling of the Bayonetta game, though there's gonna be some minor to major alternative canon to it. It begins just after the prologue of the game.

Enjoy!

Isla del Sol. The crown jewel of Europe.

At least, that's what any Vigridian claimed the metropolis island to be, even going so far as to say it was the crown jewel of all of Europe.

Mike scoffed at the thought as he gazed down on the city. Sure, it was beautiful, but nothing similar to the cities in the class of New York, Hong Kong, or Paris. And he spoke from experience.

Standing, Mike looked down off the ledge he had just been sitting on. Many stories below him sat the dimly-lit street, an occasional car visible on who-knows-what business-at-midnight. Most of the lights on other office buildings were off, but the city as a whole remained illuminated, thanks to Ithavoll Tower on which Mike was standing.

For a moment, as Mike gazed at the street hundreds of feet below, he wondered what it'd be like to just fall off the edge and fly like an eagle. One thing it had going for it was he could just fly directly to the docks and take the ferry back to the mainland instead of needing to allow at least an hour of time to get back. Then again, he could just skip out on the ferry altogether and fly directly there.

Mike shook his head at the thought and turned to go inside. He had to catch the ferry back to mainland Vigrid and he didn't want to get left on this pseudo-metropolis. An hour's time was probably enough to get down and to the docks, but Mike had a feeling he'd end up rushing to catch it, again.

He received a few dirty looks as he walked back through the offices towards the elevator. Not like he blamed them; if he was some bigwig in charge of an immaculate office, he'd give the evil eye as liberally as they did.

At last, he reached the refuge of the elevator and, as he had on the way in, was caught off guard by the ample usage of gold in the elevator.

Each face of the elevator, as well as the accordion door, had a bas relief of celestial figures from the legendary Paradiso. Avian Affinities were the most numerous of the depictions, carrying their heavenly instruments and singing praises. Dears and Decorations were present in as many numbers, with Grace and Glory in their ferocity, accompanied by the lithe body of an Inspired curling across the landscape.

At the forefront of the bas relief, the focal point of the artistic rendering, was the Creator, Jubileus, gracing her servants with her celestial light.

Mike had to admit that the artist that made this certainly knew their trade. Despite Vigrid being his home country, he wasn't numbered with the Saints of Laguna, as the nation's official religion was called. Of course, he had been born a Saint of Laguna, but as he traveled abroad for his schooling, he encountered a number of different religions, being particularly impressed with Christianity and soon after became a Christian.

He was still trying to figure out what denomination he counted himself as, though.

The elevator dinged as it stopped just a few floors later. The doors slid open to reveal a rather strange character.

A cloud-white face and hair were the shocking appearance of the man, with half his face covered by a golden mask. The white and gold robe continued the shocking amount of bright colors, a peacock skin draped over his shoulders, and he wore only a single glove, his uncovered hand also stark white.

The man walked in without a word, only a curt nod to Mike. He responded in kind by making a little more room for the man.

Nothing in the way of conversation was attempted, at first. For his part, Mike was just taken aback by the sheer amount of white this guy had on him. He tried not to stare, but found his eyes continually drawn back to stare at the oddity.

He could only imagine how painfully long the guy's morning routine was, making sure his skin stayed that way. Offhand, Mike wondered what exactly was used. It didn't look like paint or powder. Maybe some kind of treatment?

Subtly, Mike put a little more space between him and the guy.

"I'm sorry, but did my appearance startle you?"

Or, not too subtly, it seemed. With that, the awkward silence became a lot more tense, as Mike rapidly tried to think of a valid excuse in the few milliseconds there were before it became obvious he was coming up with an excuse.

The silence that persisted was testament to the absence of said excuse.

"Might I ask why someone of your drawl appearance is here in Ithavoll Tower?" the man said, his words coming slowly.

Mike shrugged, a little too enthusiastically though.

"I've just had to get some, uh, verification for my birth certificate and all that," Mike said, begging silently for the elevator to go faster.

"Whatever for?"

"I'm, uh, just changing my citizenship from Vigrid to, uh, America for personal reasons."

"Personal reasons, hmmm?"

Oh, great. Another one of those people...

"Ya, they're called 'personal,' and for a very good reason."

"Now, no need to get testy with me. I merely wish to inquire to these reasons, if I may."

Mike sighed.

"Okay, alright, fine," Mike said at last. "I really like how they run things over there and I need my birth certificate to join the armed forces. Happy now?"

"Quite, actually," the man said, "The military is a noble prospect for one's future. I only wonder why you haven't considered Vigrid's uniformed elite."

"Because, no offense, but Vigrid's military isn't very diversified and is just overall bland," Mike said. "The only other country I've been to is America and their Air Force has bases all over the world. Vigrid only has one base and has the rather monotonous task of guarding Vigrid from outside influence."

"Outside influence?"

"Why do you think that there's been no serious cultural renaissance for 500 years?"

"True. But is that necessarily a bad thing?"

"Sometimes, no, but in the case of Vigrid, yes. This nation has been stagnant for half a century and no one feels bothered to change anything. In my opinion, if there's stagnation, there can be no positive progress."

The man said nothing for a moment, leaving the opportunity for Mike.

"Can I just ask you a brutally honest question?" Mike said, thinking, I just know I'm going to regret this later.

The man nodded.

"Why do you care?" Mike said, "You're just some random guy who I don't give a care about. I just want to mind my own business, just do what I came here to do and get back home. You're probably a nice guy, I'll give you that, but can you please do me a big favor and get your big, honkin' nose out of my business? I'm not comfortable talking with you."

The silence following was like a slap in the face. The man's expression was stoic and unreadable, but Mike was already regretting the words he said. Mike made sure his own face was unreadable, but a weight settled in his stomach.

What the man said next, though, surprised him.

"Might I ask what brought on this bout of patriotism for the Americans?" the man drawled out "Americans" like he was lesser for saying it.

"Look, I just want to know what it is to you," Mike said. "This choice is one that I've thought long and hard about and I don't appreciate the likes of you suggesting I can't decide things for myself."

The man's gloved hand came up to his face and his other hand supported his elbow as he held his face and seemed to be studying Mike. The robed figure's gaze seemed to penetrate through Mike and into his heart, even his soul.

Suddenly, Mike felt repulsed and disgusted by this man. Where his appearance had been crisp and clean before, it suddenly appeared oily and cruel. The man's very presence felt like a stigma on every goodly thing represented by the colors he wore. This man, whoever he was, was a disgrace to everything the Saints of Laguna stood for.

"I make it a point to be concerned for those of Vigrid. After all, I am the president."

A mixed sense of fury and horror struck into Mike's heart as the realization came. For this man was none other than Father Balder himself. Mike felt an intense hatred for the man even as he wanted to run away as fast as he could.

"I salute your decision, young man, and desire to give you a parting memento, if only to remember the humble country of Vigrid and who you can become," Balder was saying, reaching into a pocket on his robe's inside.

Mike braced himself on the inside. He didn't want any gift from this slimy toad of a man. Any taint of Balder's presence was one he would rather do without.

As it were, though, Mike's conscious demanded he take the gift regardless. He held out his hand as Balder extended his own clenched fist.

The moment Balder's fist was over Mike's palm, the CEO released the contents and something heavy landed in Mike's hand and a glitter of gold caught his eye.

"I realize you have few good feelings towards me, especially given your interactions with my company," Balder said, "but please take this small gift as a reminder of Vigrid, and a tiny hope that your eye will always stay on your target."

Mike opened his hand to reveal the gift within.

It was a pendant and chain that one wore around their neck. The chain was of a high quality gold alloy, if looks were anything to go by, and the pendant was particularly impressive. On first appearance, it was a golden bow and arrow, but a closer inspection revealed miniscule detailing in the bow's midsection that suggested the bow split in two and acted as some sort of dual-wielded instrument.

Mike immediately thought of Pit from Kid Icarus, especially the iteration of him in Smash Bros, where he had the bow and arrow/dual sword weapon.

"Thank you, sire," Mike said, allowing a sarcastic drone to edge his voice, although he meant the gratitude.

"It is only a token sign of my appreciation for your service, young one," Balder said, bowing slightly and dramatically. "You may find its true value, someday."

Mike did make it to the ferry, though the ferryman was just about to close the door. With an hour's worth of traveling to mainland Vigrid, he had plenty of time to mull over his meeting with Father Balder.

In all truth, he didn't have to think long on Balder's comments. He just seemed like a creepy dude that was way too invested in the myth of Laguna. The guy's freaking tower had carvings of the Hierarchy everywhere and sculptures of past "Sages."

But the thing that really had Mike's attention was the pendant Balder had given to him.

His previous observation that it was a gold alloy proved true, as it had the brilliance of gold, but a toughness of some other metal. Which, he didn't know.

The thing that nabbed his attention was the amount of craftsmanship put into such a small amulet. The mini-bow was as large as an American quarter, and the attached arrow was hair-thin. But as he held it up to his eye, he noticed miniscule details.

Each segment of the bow had triangular symbols on it, surrounding a tiny ruby gemstone, or at least a convincing imitation. (Though judging by the way it gleamed, and Balder's healthy business, it was likely the real deal.)

Surrounding the part that would've been the grip, whorls decorated it. A small spike projected from both sides of the grip, probably as some sort of guide.

Mike was no jeweler, but this was impressive to even his uninitiated eye.

Eventually, he did tire of looking at it. One can only be dazzled so much for so long, after all. Finally, Mike put the necklace on and slipped the pendant under his shirt.

With his thoughts now pondering the symbolism likely embedded on the pendant, it occurred to Mike that he should look into the Hierarchy of Laguna. It was more of an interest than an actual necessity, as there was no true need for him to know aside from his curiosity.

Despite his earlier comments about the nation's stagnation, there were some spots of modernization, like the free Wi-Fi on-board.

At first, he looked up just the basics of Laguna. Sets of beliefs, current leadership, etcetera, etcetera, nothing that he didn't know already. An interesting point he hadn't known before was that the actual legend of Laguna had its roots in the distant past, with no one really knowing the true origin of where it all began.

Mike began searching for more information, his curiosity demanding more.

He began searching for more on the origins of Laguna, using the title for the inner circles of Sainthood, the Lumen Sages. Alongside his search results, the suggestion box brought up a mysterious title that sent both chills up his spine and a spark of curiosity through his mind.

Umbra Witch.

Another web search later, and he was looking into the history of another clan.

The methods and practices of this other group repulsed him, at first. The Umbra Witches practiced dark arts, made pacts with demons, and were brutal in their execution of combat. Rarely was there anything left of their enemies to the point that anything could be deduced from the battle.

But then Mike's mind recalled the Lumen Sages, the predecessors of the Saints of Laguna. They also practiced a magic-like art, made pacts with angels, and were similarly brutal, albeit ceremonial in their brutality.

Mike was only looking at two sides of one coin.

The Umbra and The Lumen were reflective of each other, seeming to treat each other with enmity. Of course, that was to be expected as light and dark can never mix.

But faintly, he wondered what would happen if it did.

The legends he looked up stated that such a fusion would mean the end of the world. But "end of the world" could mean so many things. Would it really hurt to try?

Mike chuckled at the thought. Mixing light and shadow? It was impossible. They couldn't exist in the same place. It was likely something like the mixture of matter and anti-matter; the impossibility was the explosive end of both.

So why were the possibilities of "what if" hovering around his mind?

The entire bus trip from the ferry docks was spent arguing with himself of the paradox. When he did eventually arrive at the train station, though, he was left with more questions than answers.

He was the only one in the station at the moment, as the sun began to set on the humble countryside without. The only windows were the ones up high above the tracks, through which the sunlight gleamed upon the train tracks. Twilight was descending on the outside world, lengthening and darkening the shadows in the alcoves. It made the graceful curves and lines of the station's architecture seem otherworldly, foreign... alien.

With a shudder, Mike sat down on a bench and brought his laptop out again. He did find a Wi-Fi hotspot, on the furthest-back bench, and it was a decent connection even.

"My dear sweet child."

Mike straightened, chills racing up his spine. How was he here...?

"Fear not. For I am always watching over you."

Mike whipped around as the ice of fear relinquished its grasp on him. He steadied his laptop as he felt it nearly fall off his lap, but his mind was focused on his fear. There was no way...

"There is darkness, a pall approaching this land, my child," Balder's voice resounded through the chambers, "I fear for the light's power when it arrives. I ask that you help me."

Mike was given no chance to refuse, for the moment he came to his own thoughts again and his own fear, a piercing burn stabbed into and through his heart. He groaned monstrously in agony, almost a feral growl borne of pain, as he fell from the bench. His hand flew to his chest, but the fire lanced through his palm and fingers. Almost roaring again, he clung to the stabbing heat in spite of the agony it shot through his fingers and he tore it away from him. The piercing fire wrapped around the back of his neck as something there stopped his pull.

He pulled again, then again, and again, beginning to choke from the burning now spreading into his neck, hands, and chest. He could hardly breathe. Not enough air was making its way into his lungs, not enough oxygen, not enough...

Mike's eyes passed over his hand. His pain forgotten for a moment, he saw, not a hand, but a blackened appendage before his eyes. Then his gaze fell upon the jewel in his grasp.

Balder's gift of the bow-and-arrow amulet... it was glowing an angry golden light.

It pulsed, shooting a fresh wave of agony into Mike's hand and body. He groaned like a feral beast again, dropping to his knees. Unseen to his clenched eyes, his blackened hand was hardening with a newer, rougher skin. His fingers fused and transfigured into a triplet of talon-tipped fingers. His skin now scale-like, the changes spread to his elbow. Feathers began sprouting up from above the elbows and to his shoulders.

"What... are you DOING TO ME!?" Mike roared, his voice strangely melodious through his anger.

"The light cannot be shadowed. The light must go on," Balder's oily voice echoed, "your power must continue."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!" Mike replied, as some new pain stabbed through him.

His feet changed now, toes fusing from five, to three, finally two claw-tipped talons, covered by similar black scales to those on his forearms. The scales stopped at his knees, his feet raptor-like and scaled with ebony. Feathers black as night continued appearing, seeming to blossom from Mike's skin as the wave of changes continued. Wings erupted from his back, ripping through his shirt and jacket, also black as the night.

"The light's presence within is faint," Balder's voice slithered again, "the power of shadow has a hold on your form."

"SHUT UP AND FACE ME!" Mike roared again, "FACE ME, COWARD!"

Mike fell back onto his wings as another flaming tore through him. His form underneath his clothing bulged as he grew suddenly. There was not a sign of his former shape, save his still-human head, as feathers completely covered his body. They reached his neck and his spine rang with a ripping as his head rose away from his body. He hardly noticed his head stretching, the pain indiscernible from the fiery burning in his body. He curled into a ball, tears flowing from his face as the changes finally began on his face.

There was no transition. One moment, the skin of his face was darkening. The next moment, his head had become that of an avian. Mike gasped, eyes shooting wide, as a sudden chill gripped him suddenly. He opened his beak in a silent scream as the fire extinguished and an intense cold took its place, chilling him so thoroughly that he imagined his very soul was turning to ice.

Something entered his mind, a thought so foreign and new that Mike almost revolted away from it.

Father Balder only wants the best for me.

NO, Mike yelled, I will have nothing to do with that man!

Mike rolled over onto his chest, groaning in agony as the ice shattered through him and into his skull. He grasped his head, beak wide open in an avian cry.

Give in to the light, let it cleanse your soul of impurities.

Fire shot through him again, eliciting another screech.

No, I am who I am. I will not change for another!

Mike rose to his feet, wings spread and stance wide open. He opened his beak as he cried out again, defiance rich in his rising anger.

Why fight this? You only hurt yourself.

Mike realized, with a jolt, that the voice was a very tangible thing. He could almost hear the hisses of someone whispering to him, but it came from within his mind.

"GET. OUT. OF. MY. HEAD!"

Light coalesced around Mike as he hunched over with the mounting agony within his mind. A great pressure was pressing itself into his skull, as if trying to push out his cerebrum. Furious, Mike pushed back against the force with anger unfamiliar to him.

Mike suddenly uncurled with a shout. The light exploded in a mighty shockwave that pulsed away from him and slammed into the walls of the platform. Huge cracks spider-webbed the masonry and the steel-work bent and warped into shapes dissimilar to their original form. The floor heaved with the power of the shock and scorch marks traced lines away from Mike's avian form.

His shout died on his beak as the pressure in his mind suddenly vanished. The light around him was gone, too, as suddenly as the pain had disappeared. The abrupt change left him shocked and surprised, disbelief coming easily that it could not have been that feasible.

The thrill of pain and agony gone, Mike finally relaxed his form, arms dropping to the sides and legs starting to quiver, even with his slight weight. His wings dropped to the floor as his head fell forward. His eyes opened right before drooping shut again with the loss of all his energy.

Mike fell to his knees and his torso followed a moment later. He caught himself on his talons briefly right before his arms gave out as well. He twisted and landed on his side, scraping his feathered cheek on the edge of a broken tile.

He lay there prone, not even hearing the train pull up. The hiss of the doors opening warned him of approaching humans, but he didn't care. The cold floor felt so good.

The humans didn't even look at him, they didn't even look solid. It was like the humans had suddenly became transparent crystal and he was also invisible to him. A wavering foot came towards his face, but he had no energy to move. Instead of colliding with his beak, though, it passed right through his head, like a ghost. The footsteps echoed, as if in another realm.

Maybe it is another realm, Mike thought, finding it easy to believe.

He shuddered from a deepening cold that seemed to grip every atom of his being, not one iota knowing warmth. It felt like the very shadows themselves were wrapped around him like a blanket made of ice. It didn't feel painful or even uncomfortable, though, and Mike found himself relaxing.

Shadows flicked around him, like they really were alive and folding around his form to protect him from something. Mike felt like he could reach out and grasp the shapes.

He reached out a talon, testing to see if he really could. The shadows responded in kind by rushing from around his body and coalescing into a length in his out-stretched talon. The shadows twisted and convulsed into a more-recognizable shape, which Mike witnessed was a larger version of that bow-and-arrow amulet Balder had given him.

Dark, burnished gold, however, replaced the bright yellows, and the shining rubies were a dark red, like that of blood.

Grasping the bow in his talon, Mike felt his strength begin returning to him. He pushed himself onto his knees to look at himself some more. The feeling of cold still remained, but he could feel it was somewhat alive, moving in tandem with the wavering of the shadowy shapes around him. He noticed, with raised eye-ridge, the shapes seemed to look like a flame surrounding him. It was subtle, and you had to be looking for it, but it was there.

The slow footfalls of someone wearing high heel shoes forewarned Mike of someone's approach. He initially thought it was just another ghostly being. But he noticed the echoing quality came from bouncing sound and not an other-realm.

His body flaring with soreness, he turned towards the sound.

Something metal and heavy crashed into the side of his face, throwing him to the ground right away. His face was on fire where the hit had connected. If he still had teeth, he felt like he'd have several loose teeth from that collision alone. Mike groaned in pain and held his talon to his face. Blackness lined his vision, the pain proving too much for his system to handle.

"Well, well, well," a seductive, feminine voice cooed, "this little birdy is a strange one."

Mike lost consciousness and became dead to the world.

Well, there it is. The first chapter in my Bayonetta fanfic. I really hope this doesn't turn out to be a flop, as I really want some different direction with the Bayonetta genre. There's a lot of good potential there, and it's being squandered with one-shots meant to get a hard-on.

Let's change that, let's break that stereotype.