To those of you who already know who I am, I must apologize. This is not part of my Supernova multiverse, and I honestly don't know when I'll be getting back to any of that. It's just something I don't want to discuss for personal reasons, okay?

For those of you who have no idea who I am, or what the previous paragraph was about at all, then you're in the right place. My friend, beta, and part-time complaint department Enkkidu got me hooked on Final Fantasy XIV over the holidays. I'm just now almost through Heavensward, and I've decided enough is enough. This series of revenge-centric oneshots is about just how stupid it is to piss off somebody that kills gods for a living.

If it made you angry or sad in the Main Scenario, or really any major quest chain, it's probably gonna wind up here. This isn't a "nice" Warrior of Light, or even a "heroic" one at times. This story is about payback, not angst. For every fallen comrade, tragedy, and betrayal the Warrior has suffered, those responsible will suffer a thousand times as hard.

So sit back, and enjoy the catharsis. And if there's any particular vengeance scene you'd like to see, or anyone in particular you'd like to see avenged, then leave a review and let me know. I will happily oblige if I can.

Summary: If they'd just given him the location of the Enterprise, this could have all been avoided…

Spoilers: FFXIV: ARR obviously.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't even own this WoL, since it's not my actual main, but is a perfect fit for the story.

Inquisitor Guillaime

Seventh Umbral Era: Year Five
Coerthas Central Highlands: Snowcloak

By the time Lord Drillemont was convinced that the wise and powerful "Inquisitor Guillaime" was a fraud, the damage was beyond measure. How many innocents had been framed and executed for heresy without even a second thought? How much blood had been spilt to slake the thirst of superstitious fear? How many more innocents would have died at the word of a single false Inquisitor had the truth not been brought to light this day?

These were the questions nobody wanted to ask, let alone answer. The shame felt by the people of Coerthas was nigh palpable, for while they had been deceived by a Dravanian imposter, they had still allowed him to murder their friends. They had done nothing but sit by and watch as good people they knew to be Halone's faithful were sentenced to undeserved death.

There was nothing they could have done, some argued. False or not, Guillaime wore the mantle of Inquisitor, granting him an authority above reproach. Yet in their hearts, every last soldier and civilian in Coerthas knew these were but hollow excuses. They had allowed a butcher to act with impunity out of fear and cowardice. For if they had spoken out, they would be the next alleged "heretics" to die.

If not for a single, meddling adventurer known as Malcolm, the false Guillaime's crusade may have continued indefinitely. That was the liar's one mistake, even if he didn't know it yet. He assumed Malcolm would be scared off by the zealous nature of Ishgardians. That simply branding the adventurer as a "suspected heretic" would force the man to leave.

Thus it came as no small surprise to the false Inquisitor when he was proven wrong at Snowcloak during the "interrogation" of a young maid. Looking up, he saw the adventurer striding purposefully towards him with Lord Drillemont and several knights in close behind.

"My Lord Drillemont – what is the meaning of this interruption?" The false Guillaime motioned to the fearful maid at his side. "You are aware that I am at present conducting an interrogation, are you not?"

"Silence, villain!" Drillemont spat in disgust. "I name thee Heretic, murderer of Inquisitor Guillaime and countless innocents! You are a traitor to Ishgard, to your own kith and kin! Your sins are beyond measure – beyond redemption!"

Yet for all their indignation and anger, the false inquisitor met them with but a shrug and a laugh. A mad, demented cackle of a zealot. Not a zealot of the Holy See as everyone previously believed, however, but one that had left man in favor of the Dravanian horde.

As the maid fled the man now clearly not Inquisitor Guillaime, the imposter calmed down enough to sneer at Drillemont. "Ah… grave allegations indeed. But you will find your logic flawed. How can I betray that which I owe no allegiance? No, Lord Drillemont – my conscience is quite clear, I assure you." With a smug smirk, the liar pointed at Drillemont and each of his knights. "I wonder… can you say the same? You whose hands are black with the blood of those whose only sin was to question your nation's crazed crusade!"

Now that the proverbial mask had come off, the false Inquisitor was really going all out, it seemed. Worse still, neither Lord Drillemont nor his knights staining the snow of Coerthas red with blood through inaction if nothing else. They had not once challenged his authority before today, after all, and the false Guillaime was taking the opportunity to pour salt on the open wound.

"You speak to me of Ishgardian innocents? Hah! All are complicit in these crimes, for all live their lives by the-oof!"

His tirade was prematurely halted by Malcolm, who planted a mailed fist squarely in the Elezen's gut. The force of the punch was more than enough to silence the heretic imposter, going so far as to lift him off the ground and carry him a good five yalms before dumping him back into the snow.

"W-what?" the liar coughed in confusion

"Do you ever shut up?" Malcolm growled, his voice a low, reverberating baritone. He was larger than most Midlanders, owing to his partial Elezen heritage, and people had long since ceased to insult him for his origins when met with the full brunt of his wrath. "These men may care for your pretty speech on the rights and wrongs of faith and heresy." He marched up and stomped down hard on not-Guillaime's right knee, snapping it like kindling. As the man howled in pain, Malcolm bent down and grabbed him by his blue robes. "I don't. But if you wish to speak of blame and blood, well…"

Lifting the imposter's own Dravanian rosary from his pockets, Malcolm knelt down, wrapped the rosary around his adversary's neck and started garroting him with it. The beads dug into not-Guillaime's flesh as the man clawed and clutched for air that simply would not come.

"Every moment I've spent freezing up here," Malcolm calmly explained as if strangling a full grown Elezen required no effort at all, "my friends have spent that selfsame moment in the custody of the Garlean Empire." Gasped oaths and incantations hissed past the imposter's lips as he called upon the power of his winged allies, but Malcolm merely tightened his hold, and the transformation from man to wyrm was brought to an immediate halt. "I would rescue them, but I know they would want me first to end the threat of the Primal Garuda. To stop Garuda, I need the Enterprise, the airship to which you have denied me access from the moment of my arrival here in Coerthas."

Was he to be denied the strength of dragons now, at a time when he needed it most? The heretic imposter struggled frantically now, trying in vain to die with some semblance of glory. His captor, however, would not allow it.

"You would speak of blood, 'Inquisitor' or whatever in the Seven Hells your name really is," Malcolm rose to his feet, bringing his victim up with him. "Very well. You have cost me time I could not afford to lose, and so I shall exact payment in blood you cannot afford to lose!"

In one swift motion, Malcolm spun around so that he held the rosary in front of him while the suffocating heretic kicked at the ground behind him, the axe on the adventurer's back digging into not-Guillaime's spine. With a final twist and a sharp tug, Malcolm snapped the bastard's neck and dropped his lifeless corpse in the snow.

Malcolm sighed before glaring at Drillemont with his odd, golden eyes, the color not unlike that found in the eyes an archetypical bird of prey. "If there are no further objections, I intend to enter Stone Vigil, kill everything between myself and the Enterprise, and fly far, far away from this place."

Three Days Later
Camp Dragonhead

"My Lord!" a scout yelled as he burst through the door. Haurchefant turned just in time for the scout to salute before handing him a hastily-scrawled document. "Report on Ixal activity, ser. They're acting… strange."

Haurchefant's eyes scanned the document until he apparently found what he was looking for and smiled. "He did it! He slayed Garuda! That adventurer with the axe, Malcolm? He actually did it!"

Everyone in the keep broke out into applause at this news. If they only knew what had really happened, they would be less inclined to cheer…

For where one target of Malcolm's rage had fallen, another had risen to take its place. And still the white-armored Garlean woman, Livia, remained at the forefront of his mind, for all who came after him and his would pay in blood.

Such was the code of Malcolm, the vengeful Warrior.

To whoever reads this, I hope you like it. There's (probably) more to come. I'd like to say that with more certainty, but anyone who knows me already can attest to the fact that I've become far from a reliable author these days, let alone a consistent one. Assuming I do write more to this, however, the next target on the list is probably Livia, though if anyone wants to see a victim from an earlier point in the timeline, leave a review and let me know. I'm sure I can work something out.

Until then, I invite you all to…

Read, Review, and Enjoy!