The 2012 Fanfic Contest Entries Part 2: Action

[Milbunk]

This shall be for all fics Action, first post shall be the Table of Contents and the following will be the fics themselves.

Table of Contents:

Lunatique

Zelretch does this and that for a lil’ while

Nadir

Rust

Shooting For The Stars

Bare Knuckle Brawler

No Name Given

For a link to the wiki version you can go here:
http://beastslairwiki.pbworks.com/w/...1598251/Action

[Milbunk]

Name: Lunatique
Author: Anon

All things end.

This is not in dispute; it is an unassailable fact of our existence. You, everyone you know, the world beneath your feet, all of it will one day pass from existence. You will die, and no matter what you have done it will eventually be forgotten. Nothing lasts forever, except nothingness itself. In the end, all we can look forward to is the void.

So why bother?

It is the nature of all living things to spread. To propagate. To create works of great beauty and great evil. To fight with all their power to survive and cling to life for as long as possible, to leave behind a legacy. But why do we bother, then, if there is no hope of success? Why does life struggle in futility, when all are bound for the same ultimate end?

Because even if you cannot win, surrender is the act of a coward?

Because if you battle with all your heart, perhaps some small spot of hope will emerge?

Because it's just more fun that way?

Such questions are the purview of philosophers, though I tend towards the third answer in my own personal life. I merely know that it is the nature of all living things to struggle without end. Against entropy. Against fate.

Against one another. All too often, against one another. Sometimes, the only way for the species to survive, to continue the struggle, is to hurl another into the void just a little bit early.

And we'll all do it. Because we know that if we do not, the other will. And even if the fight is ultimately futile... nobody wants to be a victim.

Not even me.

-An Excerpt from the Memoirs of Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg

__________________________________________________ _______
It was like staring into the heart of heaven.

The gems were a world of their own, a perfect pattern stretching into infinity. They sang into her soul; no real sound, of course, just the air of absolute harmony filling her with a radiance that bordered on divine. Singing without words or melody, like she was wrapped from head to toe in the idea of music and it...

“Sloppy.”

If a voice could be said to sound like the feeling of sandpaper, this was it. It sliced through Rin Tohsaka's awareness like scissors through gauze, shattering her concentration. The ritual fell to pieces, the prana she had gathered dispersing uselessly.

Rin fell to her knees, the agony of the backlash leaving her unable to do more than draw faint, gasping breaths as her body was flooded in anguish. “You... you...!” She growled, when she was able to form coherent thoughts again.

“The lattice of the mana web was off-balance, the gems were improperly cut, the ritual circle was a full millimeter smaller than the instructions stated, and the red light hurt my eyes.” The old man said, not even bothering to open those eyes which he claimed hurt so badly. “That last technically wasn't something wrong with the spell, it just irritated me.”

Rin wiped sweat from her eyes, trying to keep blackness from crawling into her vision. “I... hate... you...”

Not for the first time, she wondered if possibly accepting the Apprenticeship under the legendary Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg was more of a punishment than her execution would have been.

There was no disputing he was an astonishing magus. The Wizard Marshall, master of the Second Magic, Sorcerer and Archmage, living legend. And he had certainly done her a fairly huge favor, sweeping in on her trial and disrupting the proceedings that would almost certainly have ended in her execution... or worse. She owed this man her life, and the training he now offered was likely worth more, judging by how many had died or killed to be taught by the man who now instructed her. He was truly an awe-inspiring figure.

It's just he was also such an incredible jackass.

“The spell...” she growled. “Was fine. The magic was flowing with more than enough strength to call the elemental. The binding circle was more than sufficient to contain it, and the mana was easily potent enough to control it! Why did you stop me?!”

“I never said it wasn't fine,” The old man said, smirking slightly. “But 'fine' is not the same as 'flawless', and I am nothing if not stringent. Start over from the beginning, the grimoires are on the shelf. Re-draw the circle, prepare the new gems... and use something blue this time. Nice soothing color, blue. You could do with a bit of soothing, high-strung young thing that you are.”

Without looking, he raised one hand to capture the ritual bowl that Rin chucked at his head. “You... you! You have... that... the spell was not flawless?! You could have burned my circuits out with that backlash, you horrible, bloodsucking old... GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Wizard Marshall Zelretch rolled his eyes, and that sight was probably the strangest thing Rin had ever seen. She might have laughed if she wasn't so furious. “I like to think you have more potential than that, Miss Tohsaka. You replicated my sword. You have touched the face of God and were not consumed. I have not asked you to do anything I do not feel you can accomplish, and in exchange for that courtesy I ask only that you accomplish it to the best of your ability. That attempt was not flawless, and the best of your ability is. So... start. Over.”

Rin stared down the ancient Magus, his scarlet eyes unblinking. In the end, it was the apprentice who broke the gaze first. “... … I don't think I have any blue stones prepared. The Tower keeps me decently supplied in gems for my scholarship, but I'm not a sultan's treasure hoard. Will green be good enough for your delicate sensibilities?”

“Good girl.”

The old man leaned back in his chair, watching with mild disinterest as Rin retrieved a small pouch of semiprecious green gems from her room, laying them down in a circular pattern and beginning to draw the runes of the binding circle between them. “Is this good enough? Or will I be burning my soul out over a one-millimeter difference of opinion again?”

“You are the one with the book. Copy it exactly, and measure it a dozen times if needed.”

“I will need to sleep at some point, you realize. It's past midnight and I've been up since dawn. We aren't all creatures of the night.”

“Oh, come now! Surely the famed Tohsaka spirit that nearly got you killed a dozen times before you turned eighteen will carry you a few more hours.”

“I hate you so much.”

“That makes you the 74^th straight apprentice to say so, and yet I never grow tired of hearing it.” Zelretch said with a smile. “The northernmost gem is slightly less than a centimeter too far to the left.”

Rin smirked. “So it wasn't good enough after all. Thanks for the confirmation.”

“Unless the gem was actually in the right place, and I just made you move it incorrectly. I suppose you'll have to check the book and re-measure, to be sure.”

“... … … … you're lucky I don't have a bowl.”

“Not really... don't take this the wrong way, but you throw like a girl.”

“Hate you. Hate you so much.”

“Saying it more doesn't make it get old! How novel.”

The room fell silent for a moment, then, as Rin began to once more lose herself in the working of magic. The pain had faded, and the scholar in her rose to the surface again quickly enough as she arranged gems, lightly painted soft lines, thumbed through ancient texts. For his part, Zelretch took to the silence as he usually did, closing his eyes and smiling at nothing in particular. Rin was quite certain he did it specifically to give the impression that there was a joke being told, and he was the only one in the world who got it.

When the blessed quiet was broken again, it was once again by Rin's voice.

“So, why me?”

“Hmmmmmmmmm?”

“You don't have to pretend that the Tohsaka Clan registers in the magical community. Japan is considered a backwater, the Clock Tower really only acknowledged us as the guardians of Fuyuki because nobody else could do it. And if it's because I replicated the Jewel Sword, you know I didn't do it alone. It can't even be stopping the Grail, because it wasn't me. I was half-dead while an Einzbern brought home the final victory.” She was leaving out certain individuals, of course: she suspected that Zelretch already knew about Sakura and Shirou's role in the events, but the rest of the Tower Magi did not, and these walls had ears. “So why did you pick me? Why do you expect so much from me?”

Zelretch considered this. “To your question, a question. A nice simple one too, befitting an apprentice. Why do you want to be a Magus?”

“... well, my father was...”

“Your father is dead. Any influence he has on you is only in your head, and if you are not strong enough to step out of his shadow and become your own person, I suggest you leave.”

“Then because it challenges me. Magic is something I've done my whole life, and I have never stopped before I became the best, proved to myself that I had excelled, and...”

“Power is not an end. It is a means to an end. Power for the sake of power is worthless, transient. A child's motivation. Besides, neither of those answer the question I asked. I didn't ask why you wanted to become a Magus, I ask why you want to be one. Right now. You could be anywhere in the world; why did you choose this tower?”

Rin fell silent, thinking it over. At first she'd considered this to just be the old man being obnoxious again, but it seemed he was interested in deeper answer. And to her surprise, she really did have to think about it. Frankly, neither of the rapid-fire responses she had given sounded quite right to her anymore; they were just what she had always said.

What did she really want?

“I want to be a Magus... because it hurts.”

“... less childlike. Go on.”

“I've seen firsthand what this life can do. I've seen lives destroyed. People I care about made to suffer for... for nothing of any value to anyone. Just this endless stream of pain and madness and sacrifice, and all of it could be traced back to the Magi. To the same insanity that tore apart my own family when I was just a little girl. And... I started to wonder. Does it have to be like this? Isn't there a better way? I couldn't just leave it like that. That's not me. But I couldn't change anything by myself, either. Not as the person I was.

“But maybe you can make me a different person. A stronger, better one. And that person can change some other people. And they can change others. Maybe then, the next time I see my little sister, I can look her in the eyes knowing I've done even a little to make 'Magus' a title to be proud of again.” She shrugged. “Maybe it's not possible. The system might be too broken. But I'm willing to bet my life trying.”

Slowly, Zelretch smiled. “And lo, in answering my question the student has answered her own as well. Clearly, my work here is done.”

“... excuse me while I get my bowl.”

“HA! Oh, fine, be that way. If you must know, it's because I saw that in you. More important than any magic talent, far more important than lineage. I saw the capacity to see something in the world that was wrong, that repelled you utterly, and the courage to do everything in your power and more to correct it, no matter the cost to yourself. It's rarer than you expect, and yet I find there is no one single quality that better defines a truly great Magus. The will to stare into the abyss and fight with every fiber of your being, even when every instinct tells you that it is beyond you.

“Have a seat. Let me tell you a story...”

Europe, the German Countryside, 1175 A.D.

It was obviously a presence that did not belong.

Beautiful, ethereal, and cold, the man in white could not have been more obviously out of place. Even on this bloody field, with the bodies of men and horses scattered around him and great gouges torn in the earth, he was immaculate. Not a hair was misplaced, his bare feet were not dirtied and indeed seemed to not even disturb the dust, and not a single drop of blood stained him. He was clad in purest white robes that swirled around him even in the absence of wind, the overall effect more like a cloud of translucent tendrils than clothing. And while his basic form was relatively humanlike, his features were decidedly odd: eyes the shade of fresh blood, impossibly golden, skin that was not merely pale but actually luminescent. He was masculine, but not truly 'male', and the appearance was more beautiful than handsome in truth. But...

But for all the grandeur of his appearance, and he was grand... he merely felt wrong. As if the world itself struggled to pretend he did not exist. He stuck out like a beacon, and yet the eye struggled to avoid him, every instinct of any mortal creature screaming not to look, to turn, to run. Beautiful, yes.

But a monster, nonetheless.

He spoke, and even his words sounded musical, gentle, and yet somehow hollow, as if the ear did not register the full range of what was being said. “Gransurg. Attend me.”

The creature appeared in a flapping of wings; blacker than the night, feathered and deformed. Like the creature in white, it was obviously not human, but which of the two was the greater was quickly made clear; the black monster immediately fell to one knee before saying, “Your wish, milord?”

“This man.” The white monster said, pointing towards a fallen soldier, wounded but still alive. As far as could be told, the only living man on the battlefield, if barely. He sat gazing up in silent terror as the white monster above him spoke in a haunting tone, somehow both musical and discordant. “I saw him as I was preparing to leave, and grew curious. His eyes are strange to me. Wider than they should be. Somewhat manic.”

“I believe that to be fear, milord.” Gransurg said. He was not terribly surprised... his Master had dwelt on this world for uncounted centuries, experimenting, learning, creating life and destroying it, and could indeed be counted a transcendent genius in most respects. Despite this, he often asked these simple, obvious questions regarding human nature. He could create many wonders from a man's body, turn him into any number of miraculous forms, but he still had difficulty comprehending the most basic aspects of the human mind. Most likely he simply wasn't capable of putting himself in a position he could empathize with something like a human. Gransurg considered this to be right and proper, as humans were indeed so far beneath the master as to be less than insects. But as much as he couldn't understand the answers, he never stopped asking the questions...

“He fears me, then? Why?”

“If I had to hazard a guess, milord, I would say it is likely because you slew his comrades.”

“I do not understand. They were not him. Their deaths do not diminish him. If it is a case of resources, there is more to be had now that fewer draw from the total. I have done him a great service. Why fear me?”

“Most likely, milord, he has seen your power and considers it to be terrifying, as it is a common human failing to fear that which is beyond one's comprehension. Likely, he also feels you plan to destroy him as well, and fears the end of his existence.” The black monster said.

“I see. Do you feel I plan to do this?”

“I... apologize for my ignorance, milord, but...”

“I had no real interest in... this...” the white monster said, gesturing vaguely amongst the corpses. “I was thirsty, and sought only a few small sacrifices. The rest attacked me when I devoured one or two among them. They pierced my body with swords and arrows, struck me with clubs and staves.” The white monster's nose wrinkled, as if he were a child who had smelled something unpleasant. “I found it to be rude, and punished them.”

“Then horrible death was the least they deserved, milord. The lightest offense against you should be met with a thousand years of torment. But even so, if you slaughtered every one of this young man's companions, mere pattern recognition would suggest to him that he will share their fate.” Gransurg said calmly.

“Ah, yes. Patterns.” The white monster said. “I sometimes forget to look for them. Tell me, young man. Do you think I am going to kill you?”

The young soldier, pale and bloodied, his armor torn and his sword split in two, could not even muster the energy to reply through his terror. He merely stared, wide-eyed, whimpering softly. Several long seconds passed.

Crimson eyes narrowed. A perfect, pale hand shifted slightly. The scream of the fallen soldier pierced the cold night as what blood remained in his body was ripped from it in a fine mist, which then vanished as it was drawn into the palm of the creature in white.

“He should have answered me promptly. I dislike that sort of thing, Gransurg.”

The black-feathered monster, Gransurg of the Dead Apostles, Attendant of the Crimson Moon, shivered in fear and awe at the judgment of his god. Even in so tiny a thing as this, his perfection shone through. “Your will be done, my lord Brunestud.”

“I believe I am done traveling. The day will begin soon, and I wish to rest. I think I should like to sleep in a castle, Gransurg. Arrange such.” Brunestud said.

“I think that will not be a problem, milord. I know of no territorial disputes in this region, so I suspect this force to be scouting from a local lord. I will locate his home and clear it for you at once.”

Brunestud shrugged. “I suppose. It was really just a whim, so if you can't find it, it won't be a real problem."

"Your whims are absolute law, milord. It shall be done."

Brunestud did not quite smile. "I suppose that should be true. Oh, and tell the young ones they can feed, if they wish. I have already taken my fill.”

Gransurg threw his head back and let out a cry; not a human scream, but the shriek of a bird of prey. Like wraiths, they began to appear on the edges of the massacre... the Dead, come to collect the blood of the fallen for their own, lesser masters. Even some of the vampires themselves chose to appear, secure in the knowledge there was no threat here, in the shadow of their master. Here and there, screams were heard as one of them found a soldier who had not quite finished dying yet, and remedied the situation.

The dead feasted. Brunestud watched for a moment, not displaying any particular emotion, and without another word, chose a direction at random and began to walk, aware that Gransurg would find him when his living arrangements had been secured and purged of vermin.

The moon shone down coldly, as red as blood.
__________________________________________________ _______
Kishcur Zelretch Schweinorg sighed.

He cut an impressive figure; a man in (apparently) the beginning of middle age, he was nonetheless well muscled, with sharp, appealing features. He wore fairly simple, if well-made black robes, that were filled well by his physique, and a short sword was sheathed at his hip. He could have passed easily enough for forty, thirty, maybe even a bit younger if one was being generous. The only concrete sign as to his age was in the hair; jet-black on both his head and neatly trimmed beard, but just beginning to a few hints of grey.

Looking over the battle... no, the massacre, however, the Sorcerer began to wonder if his supposed 'wisdom' was indeed nothing more than appearance.

It wasn't that unusual anymore, at least not the general idea behind it. Vampires were unfortunately common lately; the True Ancestors were set in their numbers, but over the last few centuries, their demented 'children' the Dead Apostles had been increasing in both numbers and activity. Zelretch had to admit that while he had found the pattern worrisome, he had not truly looked at it as 'his problem', which he could admit, now, was likely a failure of judgment. It was rapidly becoming apparent that this was everyone's problem.

It's not like this was even done for food... there are tracks for a small horde of the undead, but the battlefield carnage is all centered around a single point. One creature did this, and the others arrived to feed after the battle was already ended. There don't appear to be any signs that bodies were removed for research, either. This was just a pointless slaughter, for fun. Probable hypothesis... the vampire responsible is extremely powerful, holds significant influence in their hierarchy, and also appears to be somewhat utterly insane. A poor combination. He thought. Given the power involved, it would most likely be a Demon Lord, or Dead Apostle Ancestor. Worrisome, but not unheard of. I'll pass on the news to that agency young Valdamjong is putting together in the church, and...

Something moved behind him.

“Hee, hee, hee, hee...” The cackling was soft, high-pitched, the laugh of a woman. A woman with a screechy, discordant, obnoxious voice, yes, but a woman. “I knew it. The others went on, but I knew. There's always someone who can't resist coming to look. Do you like the Master's work, little man? You're about to join it.”

“Oh?” Zelretch said, without turning around. “Then the artist of this unusual piece has a name? It would make things a little easier on me if you told me that. And since you chose to chat, rather than leaping on my neck, I assume you to be the talkative sort. Willing to share?”

“No sense enlightening the dead... now then, won't you be a good little meal for me?”

“Not as willing to speak as I'd hoped. Shame.” Zelretch still did not face her, but he could sense the vampire's smirk. Their kind always smirked. Not even clever enough to realize that maybe, possibly, the fact that he was not remotely afraid of her was a sign that she was not as in-control of the situation as she thought. Really, she attacked while the sun was in the sky, and hadn't even sent the Dead to test him. Sloppy, just sloppy. He was the sort who demanded nothing but the best of himself, and preferred it in others. Even if she had been alive, he'd never have made an apprentice of her.

“I say again, cattle... speaking to the dead is pointless indeed. Now, then... I am very, very hungry... and you are such a fine, strong man. I do prefer to break the strong ones, so forgive me if I play with my food. ”

Zelretch tried not to laugh in her face; it would have ruined the moment.

He heard her pounce, the pebbles beneath her feet rattled by her charge. She was fast; of course, they all were. Following the moment of the charge, he had less than a second to react.

Slightly more than required.

He had tensed his muscles to spin before she ever charged, not requiring a tremendous amount of foresight to assume the classical 'taunting evil vampire monster' would be attempting to hurt him in short order. He whirled on her, slashing his flattened hand across her path. A fairly meaningless gesture, were it not for the razor-thin beam of purest white light that flashed from his fingers, tearing through not only the vampire's path, but the vampire herself. Zelretch tried not to laugh once again (It was tacky) as her feral hissing was replaced by a wet, strangled screech as she was sliced in half at the waist.

The archmage walked over to the fallen creature and lifted her upper body by the hair. He saw that she had actually been rather pretty, when she was in one piece. Deep brown hair, lily-white skin, rather striking red eyes... and her legs might have been shapely, but it was hard to judge when they were not attached to anything. “Well then! Now do you feel more talkative?”

“Y-you... the incantation, magi need a...”

“Ah, let's not go into that. It's really not an interesting topic. There's magic and then there's Magic, and leave it at that.” He really was not terribly interested in explaining the nuances of sorcery to a being that would not be alive terribly much longer. 'No point talking to the dead' after all. “What is interesting, however, would be your input on the events of this intriguing massacre.”

“Rot, magus. You will learn nothing from-” The creature began, black blood flowing freely from her mouth

Zelretch made a small gesture with one hand. There was a flash, and the already bisected creature was now missing a finger, the digit reduced to ash. She screamed, cursed, threatened bloody death. Zelretch let her vent for a moment, before stating, “The name, please? Which Dead Apostle Ancestor?”

“You will suffer for this indigni-”

Another flash. Another digit reduced to fine powder. This time, the creature released nothing but wracking sobs.

“It had to have been an Ancestor. Which. Ancestor. Is. Your. Master?”

“G... G... G...” The creature stuttered, stopping briefly to cough up blood yet again. “G-Gransurg... of the Black Wing...”

Zelretch dropped the dying thing in the closest to shock he had felt in years.

He knew the name, of course. He studied nearly anything worth knowing, and most of the most powerful Dead Apostles were known to him. Gransurg was a powerful vampire indeed; not born one or turned, but a Magus who had transformed his body into a blood-drinking avian monstrosity. But he was most notable for his utter lack of any history in such things. He rarely killed even a single human being, due to his... unique psychological quirk.

Gransurg of the Black Wing was well-known less for his power, and more for his refusal to take even the tiniest of actions unless ordered to by the subject of his worship, the Crimson Moon itself.

“The Crimson Moon... Brunestud did this? It was here?” Zelretch said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The creature cackled, a wet, gurgling sound. “M-magus... the master will know what you did to me... he will...”

A final gesture, and one final screech as the vampire's head joined the limbs as ash. Final death came upon the thing, and with it an end to the constant whining. He needed to think, and the noise had not been helping.

Crimson Moon. The Father of All Vampires, the Night King, the Purest Chaos...

The creature had been active on Earth for centuries of course, since before even Zelretch was born, and Zelretch was far older than he looked. And certainly, it had never been a completely perfect houseguest. While offering the template for the vampire species commonly known as the True Ancestors, it had wandered the earth, gathering followers, experimenting on various forms of life, and creating many powerful Dead Apostles. It had not, however, been active beyond that. Impossibly powerful, of course, and extremely dangerous if you had the bad fortune to run into it, but no more deadly than any other vampire otherwise. It kept to itself almost always, and was acceptably subtle when it did not.

This was anything but subtle. And it had not been the first such scene in recent years. If they had all been Crimson Moon's doing, then the creature was taking a far, far more active position on human affairs. And given its own immense power, and the number of followers it had gained over the millennia since it had landed...

Building an empire?

Zelretch did not care to think about the results of the vampire population building a kingdom and challenging humanity openly. It sounded far too much like an extinction event waiting to happen. And the Church, even the Magus Association, would hesitate to challenge Crimson Moon openly. And, well, hesitating to confront it was what had let it build up a power base to begin with.

Zelretch himself was greater, far beyond anything like a Magus... his research had tapped a power that could be qualified a 'miracle'. He could play reality like an instrument, tap entire alternate universes as a power source, granting him powers vastly beyond even the greatest of the magi. And even before he had found the Sorcery that made him a legend, he had been a veteran of combat against many monsters... it was not for nothing the youngsters called him 'The Wizard Marshall'. He would test his abilities against any Dead Apostle with confidence, even against the True Ancestors, but...

Crimson Moon...

Zelretch sighed again. "But then, I can't just leave this one alone, can I? My word, but I am an idiot. Ah, well. I guess I never did want to live forever..."

__________________________________________________ _______

"You chose a rather ugly castle, this time." Merem Solomon said, sitting in the windowsill and glancing out at the setting sun. "I won't miss it when nightfall comes and we move on."

Gransurg fought down the urge to tear the other vampire's head from his shoulders. For all his considerable power, Merem had been a child when Lord Brunestud had found him, tortured by villagers exploiting his unique innate ability to manifest the wishes of others as physical beings. Even following his death and resurrection as one of the lord's Dead Apostles, he still maintained a somewhat irreverent personality, and Gransurg found his attitude, both in general and towards the lord, extremely scathing. However, Lord Brunestud had not ordered him to rip the brat to pieces, and, Gransurg understood the simple truth that it was not a servant's place to take any action without his master's command.

Someday, though. The master wouldn't always want both of them around, and then...

Without turning to face the whelp or making any sort of gesture. "The lord approved of it. You know full well any human edifice will pale before the Millennium Castle, yet he chose to accept this as his keep for the daylight hours. You should do as much," Gransurg said. "Though I agree that we should leave as soon as the sun sets. One of my lesser servitors was destroyed today, hunting in the daylight. She was young and weak, but I still dislike staying here while whatever ended her is unknown."

Merem shrugged. "If Lord Crimson likes it, it's fine. Just thought that maybe you didn't put enough effort into your search? A crow will roost anywhere, I guess. Ah, well... I think I'm going to go see if he's awake yet. If he's hungry, he'll be wanting someone to eat, and the sooner we know the less likely he is to wander off on his own." The apparently young man hopped down from the window and ran off, all but skipping.

Gods, how much I would like to kill this one. He is so fortunate the lord thinks him of value... Gransurg thought. Well, in point of fact, Brunestud likely didn't. He did not truly 'value' anything; the vampires who followed in his retinue were more like decorations than anything he truly cared for. On some level, Gransurg believed the Lord could only truly place any value on his own existence and things that might prolong it; his experimental attempts to create more perfect True Ancestors, hybrids, increased breeding, anything that might lead to a body pure enough for him to possess. Again, Gransurg wasn't really upset by that... one could not expect the thought processes of God to be similar to that of lower beings. Still, his peculiar mind made it occasionally... problematic to serve him. He was difficult to predict. He was...

"Gone." Merem said, ducking his head back into the room. "He left without us. Again."

Gransurg tried his very hardest not to sigh.

___________________________________________

It smelled like blood and power, so he had gone to find it. It was a great distance away, but he could move very quickly and it was not attempting to flee him, so it didn't take long.

It really was that simple. Brunestud knew that this planet rejected him, and he would eventually die here... that was why he supported the True Ancestors and bred the Dead Apostles, in the hopes that one of the two paths would result in a being pure enough to hold his essence. Altrouge had been close, but unstable. The True Ancestors had been close, but impure. Perhaps one of them would manage it sometime after he died; he wouldn't exactly 'die' even if he was killed; it wasn't the end, not unless he was killed on his own world, by a being from his own world.

But even if his eventual death had the threat of permanence about it, he did not think it would be tonight. The power he felt was tinged with the scent of humanity, and there was nothing to fear from them.

And so he walked through the across the plains of France, seeming even more insubstantial than before while bathed in the fading light of the sun. There were no sounds; animals could sense his presence, and fled from him. Even the wind seemed to prefer silence where Crimson Moon walked. But there was one thing that wasn't fleeing... the power he sensed stood its ground, beckoning him closer. He grew more amused; it had been awhile since such a bold challenge had been given. It might be diverting, if nothing else.

He came upon the clearing, and stopped, even his own unusual thought processes caught somewhat off-guard.

Zelretch sat on a stool in front of a small, but good quality wooden table. Two simple wooden plates, each set with a roasted pheasant, a ceramic bottle of wine, and two stoneware goblets were set on it. "Good evening." He said pleasantly. "It took me longer than I would have liked to find you, and then to find a place isolated enough for us to have a private conversation. So much work, I found I was positively famished when I finally managed it. So I thought, why not settle this in a civilized fashion over dinner? Simple fare, but filling. I loathe standing on ceremony."

Brunestud blinked several times without a word. If it was possible for such a creature to be 'confused', that was what he appeared to be. Finally, he spoke a single word. "... acceptable."

The Crimson Moon sat across from the Wizard Marshall, and stared into his eyes intently.

"You're not eating." Zelretch said merrily.

"I will eat after you have spoken." Brunestud said meaningfully.

"Aaaaaaaaah, yes, you have a liquid diet. My, I feel silly." Zelretch chuckled. "Well, I assume you already know I am, of course, possibly here to kill you."

"... Bold, for a mortal. I approve," Brunestud said. "But... possibly?"

"Well, I need to ask you something first. Depending on your answer, that's when the killing starts." Yours, or mine, we'll see that when we start. "Lately, there has been an increase in activity of a vampiric nature, all over this continent. Now, by itself this wouldn't be quite enough to make me step in personally, but a rather charmless young lady dropped the name of one of your retinue before I burned her alive."

Brunestud shrugged. "Replaceable."

"... charming. In any event, the conversation left me a bit concerned. You see... you, at least, had never really been all the interested in the more vicious tendencies of your 'children' and 'grandchildren'. You helped them out occasionally, played around with them more often, and were generally on the benign side overall. You were never the 'bloody murderous' sort of monster. Didn't seem terribly interested in the world as a whole. So... what has changed?"

Brunestud considered this. It wasn't something he put a lot of thought into, really. "Well... I might have started wanting things. I came here because the earth asked it of me. And I saw the struggle. The lust for power among the lesser creatures. And I didn't really understand it, because they are so small and meaningless, but it appealed to me somehow. I thought that if they could find satisfaction in ruling such meager holdings, perhaps I would do the same. I began to travel with others, and had power over them. It didn't truly please me, but it was still somehow compelling. I crushed those who opposed me, and it was almost amusing. So I've begun experimenting with it on a larger scale. It isn't like I go out planning to do such things... I'm just less cautious, less willing to hide myself. It doesn't really make me happy, but I don't hate it either."

"I... see." Zelretch said, a tight feeling in his stomach. This was not promising.

"I feel the sensation deserves further study, so I've begun other experiments. I am gathering the dead to me as a court, putting on the trappings of the human royalty. But it isn't enough. I need to think on a grander scale." The creature said. The white tendrils around him were moving more quickly, excitedly. "I think I could master this entire world, if I wanted to. Turn the humans into cattle, make it a world for my creations. Devour Gaia and make her a part of me. The moon will shine forever. I think I can do this, don't you?

"I confess, it isn't quite as amazing as the little tyrants make it look... sometimes, I don't even remember that I'm doing it, and I just wander like I always did. Yet I keep coming back to it, like an itch I can't quite reach, a meaningless game I nonetheless feel somehow compelled to finish. Perhaps I have caught some human disease?"

"You have. I believe it is called... well, humanity." Zelretch said. Fantastic, the Horror from Beyond the Stars has gazed upon our species, and decided the worst parts are worth emulating. I suppose we should be proud.

"Ah. Well, whatever the cause, you have the knowledge you sought. Is that the answer that makes you want to kill me?" Brunestud asked. And God, he really did sound nothing but curious.

“I regret to say that yes, it is.”

“Ah-ha. And why would that be?” Again, Zelretch wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at how the only genuine emotion in the thing's voice was curiosity.

Zelretch smiled, casting his gaze across the plains. The rolling hills really were lovely in the sunset. He hoped this wouldn't be the last time he saw them. "I don't know, really. I could make some grand speech about justice and slaying monsters. But that isn't me. Oh, I don't like the way you operate, but it's not really about do-gooding. I mean, it's evil, certainly, but people are a renewable resource. I guess... yes, I guess you could call it ego. I look at the world you're building, and I don't see myself on the top of the food chain. You are ending my world, and I am offended by this. I don't like to be prey, Lord Brunestud, not even yours.

"And I really, really don't like you."

The creature on the other side of the table closed his eyes, lifting a goblet to his lips and drinking deeply. “I don't care for solid food, but the wine is good. Well chosen.” He said.

Then he opened his eyes and the world shattered.

Gone were the red irises, replaced by eyes that spun in a thousand otherworldly colors; they would have been beautiful if they hadn't also been so very utterly wrong, seeming to burn into the minds of any who saw them, see into their souls and find them so, so utterly devoid of worth. Eyes that said, 'You are nothing. You have no value. Your life is meaningless, and your death will be equally so. And that death is now.'

And more than that, the space where his eyes focused...

The air around the Magus distorted and warp inward, as if reality itself were shifting solely to crush him. The gravity in the space he was sitting increased ten, a hundred, a thousand times in the space of an instant, the insolent worm to be crushed into a smear on the grass...

If he had actually been there.

Brunestud's eyes widened as the man sitting across the now-flattened table from him did not only not collapse in a puddle of gore and shattered bones, but simply vanished. He heard the gravelly voice in the air around him, emanating from nowhere and everywhere:

“You probably should have noticed that you weren't the only one who wasn't eating anything. Not very observant.”

The bolt of light slammed into Brunestud from behind, from an origin point nowhere in the range of human vision; not a razor line as he had used on the lesser vampire, but a blast of blinding incandescent white nearly as wide as the vampire was tall. The whipping white tendrils were shredded, the creature slammed forward as if by a giant fist. The Crimson Moon was pushed along nearly a mile, thrashing wildly as the bolt of raw magic ate away at its body. But the vampire's reaction was, if anything, more impressive.

Silence. Utter silence.

As the beam finally faded, Brunestud rolled with the impact, and rose smoothly to his feet. One moment, his body was smoking, his back nothing more than smoldering charred tissue... the next, he looked as though he had never been wounded at all, his body simply 'reset'. He smiled, slightly. “Interesting. I shall have Gransurg examine your corpse, later, to determine how it was done.”

Gravity meant nothing to him, and he was fast to the point that normal vampires seemed to be moving in slow motion. He covered the distance he had been hurled in a heartbeat, and was halfway to the source of the blast in the same time. More bolts of energy flashed at him from the horizon, but Crimson Moon lightly side-stepped each one with a dancer's grace, even as he moved faster than the eye could follow. He didn't bother seeking with his eyes... the scent of the energy was easier to follow, the path of least resistance for his will to look down.

There is no hiding from me.

The Magus was on the other side of a small hill, out of direct sight, weaving his spells over the top of it. Brunestud extended one arm, a blade appearing his outstretched hand. It was thinner than a razor, thinner than the eye could see, visible only by the sparks of angry blue running along the length of the weapon where the impossibly sharp blade sliced apart individual air molecules as they touched it.

Crimson Moon looked upon the hill, swung his blade, and the world screamed.

Earth's reality wavered, stretched, and split, becoming a cold black void along the path of the blade's swing, reduced to absolute nothingness by the Knight Arm of the Crimson Moon, Real of the World. A blade that could sever the universe, take all things back past the point of beginning, beyond even their true origin, to a world where time, space, and matter did not yet exist. The black wave consumed everything it touched; grass, rocks, the hill itself and everything behind it, leaving a trench in the earth as smooth as glass. Even when the strike itself had faded, the vewry space it had passed through was grey and distorted, a hole in reality that would last for decades. Maybe forever.

Crimson Moon gazed up on the scene in satisfaction... until another bolt of pure white light slammed into its left side, shredding that half of its body.

As Brunestud sat motionlessly in the ditch, its left arm and leg growing back, it heard the voice of the magus in the air again, "You have two weak points. The first is obvious... you drank the wine. If you were smart, you would have considered that magi don't play fair."

"... a potion."

"An elixir of True Sight. I know exactly where you are, at all times, and my magic can follow you wherever you go, from whatever angle I wish. There is nowhere you can hide from me."

"... hide...?" Crimson Moon said. In an unnaturally fluid motion, he rose to his feet, once more fully healed, and swung the blade again in the direction of this new attack. The wave of oblivion as reality shattered was many times wider than before, the power channeled through the sword nearly a dozen times greater than before. Brunestud was no longer playing; the darkness consumed a vast swathe of the countryside, extending for miles. If the magus was in that direction, he was dead. No question.

A bolt of light struck the Crimson Moon in the back, burning a hole completely through his chest.


_________________________________________


Twenty miles away, in the center of a ritual circle, glowing with projected magic, Zelretch smiled as he saw the Lord of Vampires torn apart for the third time in his mind's eye.

And that, milord, is your second weakness, he thought.

Ultimate One. The most powerful of all beings on his home world, the apex predator. He had never once faced something that could challenge him, never had to adapt, never faced anything that had forced him to evolve. He doesn't know how. So I can keep pulling the same trick on him over and over again.

He reached his mind out into a world that touched his own, drawing on the mana and manifesting it in a solid point, adjusting, directing...

Burn, you abomination. He thought, as the piercing light lashed out yet again from a point that was, in fact, nowhere near Zelretch. Attacks of this level wouldn't kill the Crimson Moon outright, but they cost it power, and cost Zelretch nothing. This would be a battle won by his mind, more than his magic.

Unless, of course, Crimson Moon was smarter than he imagined.

The skies went jet black, and the sorcerer began to wonder if perhaps he had underestimated the Ultimate One's adaptability...


__________________________________________________ _______

Brunestud cast his will into the sky, and made it roar for him.

The clouds gathered, the wind howled, the natural weather patterns of the world were distorted beyond recognition. The sky for miles around went black, and in the space of second, had been filled by a storm that made a hurricane appear no more than a summer breeze.

If the Magus sought to hide, then Crimson Moon would leave him nowhere safe.


"Alt Nagl."


With Crimson Moon at the eye, the storm descended, a pillar of wind that covered the entire region, as far as the eye could see. The storm was visible from the next country over and if the human was actually caught within it, he would soon be very, very uncomfortable...

__________________________________________________ _______

Zelretch was very, very uncomfortable.


He had once, on a trip to the Indian Peninsula, seen a typhoon. This was far, far worse. The winds threatened to shred his body simply by blowing, and that was to say nothing of the vast quantities of rock and dust being hurled against his defensive shields like a hail of hypersonic arrows. The sorcerer was hurled about like a dust mote, buffeted, bruised...


Torn from his protective magical circle, and open for the world to see.


He could see it, even through the black wind: the shining white speck flying at him totally untouched by the storm. The wind didn't even ruffle the Crimson Moon's hair...

The creature flung out one hand in a clawed grip, and the cloud of tendrils that surrounded it lashed out like whips, wrapping around the flailing magus and hurling him to the ground. Hard. Zelretch was no amateur; he had entered the battle wreathed in enough defensive enchantments to stop an army. He felt the impact rattle his teeth through each and every one of them, the force of it blasting a crater into the already shattered earth beneath him. A rib snapped; he ignored it. It wouldn't kill him. The Crimson Moon gazed down upon him, its Mystic Eyes already turning the Rainbow they took on when about to shatter reality.

As the air around him warped, Zelretch clapped his palms together, brought them apart, and vanished.

Brunestud's rainbow eyes widened in shock. He'd had the Magus in his grip, the real, solid man himself, no illusion. Teleportation? A mortal cannot...

His train of thought was cut off, then, by the mortal in question reappearing behind him (from the alternate reality he had temporarily jumped too), and tearing him to shreds. Beams of light scythed from his fingertips, slashing the Ultimate One apart; both arms, both legs, and head all sliced cleanly from his body.

Brunestud seemed not to notice. The severed pieces simply... fell back together, and the cloak of tendrils lashed out again, this time not so much whips as spears. Most of them skittered harmlessly off Zelretch's shields, but one lone blade pierce through, stabbing deep into his shoulder. The magus hissed in pain and gestured sharply, burning the offending tendril out by force before it could lop off his arm. He drew the same arm back and slammed his open palm at Brunestud, releasing not a concentrated beam, but a wall of force that slammed into the creature and hurled it away into the howling winds. Brunestud slammed into the ground with enough force to crumple plate steel like paper.


He, again, seemed not to notice. That inhuman sword appeared in his hand, and even as he lay in the shattered earth, he swung it and released the wave of oblivion without the slightest change of expression.

"Does nothing kill you?!" Zelretch snarled, despite knowing he would be unheard over the wind. With an effort of will, he stepped into another world even as the void devoured the space he had once been, the creature's own storm dissipating as Real of the World tore the heart out of it.

He stepped onto the soil of an alien Earth, then stepped back, barely taking time to breathe the air, but long enough to gather the prana of it in the palm of his hand. His native world blurred into existence before his eyes...

And four sharp, white spears slammed into his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the ground, as Crimson Moon struck him without even turning to look.

Yes, definitely underestimated his adaptability. Zelretch thought. It was vexing to think, because for some reason other thoughts were not quite getting through the haze of agony. The otherworldly white blades stretching from the cloak shifted, stirring fresh pains in the mage as they pinned him.

Crimson Moon stood over him, and smiled very slightly. "What is your name, Magus?"

"Y-you... want to... know... now?!" Zelretch snarled.

"Before, it didn't matter. You were mortal, flawed, meaningless. But now..." Brunestud said, gesturing at his cloak. And then, something very disturbing began to happen. The white tendrils embedded in Zelretch's body began to change color, a very pale pink.

As if a reddish liquid were flowing up the inside of them.

"But now... you are soon to be family."

Zelretch fought the urge to scream. It wasn't easy, because at the moment his entire being was suffused with terror and an awful sense of violation as this... this thing trespassed in the territory of his soul. He wanted to scream... he just knew it wouldn't do any good. He still had a vast deposit of mana stored; he needed to do something with it. Anything. Anything to get this abomination off him for even a few moments.

The urge to scream became the urge to smirk. The pain and humiliation was worth it for a moment this good.

He internalized the power, drew it in to his own magic circuits and ignored the burning. This was not his own mana, and under normal circumstances it would never enter his body in such a way; the only energy that actually came from him in his Sorcery was the tiny spark needed to open the path to the alternate worlds. The mana he stole from them never touched his circuits... until now.

He could not send the power out, could not focus enough to weave it into a spell. So he drew it inwards, pouring the magic harvested from another world indiscriminately and wildly into his own magic circuits, and from them, into his blood. The siphons drawing the blood from his body lit up brilliantly as raw energy ran up them and into the creature's body, striking directly at the core of Crimson Moon's essence as he fed.

This got an interesting reaction.

The Ultimate One screamed, truly screamed. While tearing his body apart had been utterly worthless, striking him through the blood he fed upon gave Zelretch a channel directly at the beast's true self, bypassing his alien 'Concept of Death' and limitless regeneration. He poured power down it, not merely that stolen from the other world, but his own, emptying his Circuits to strike at it again and again, burn the vile thing from the inside out, incinerate its soul...

The living cloak burst into white flame and burned black, the luminescent white skin went dull and gray. The inhuman eyes went from rainbow, to red, to a dead, lifeless brown, and still the creature thrashed and screamed as the Wizard Marshall threw every last erg of his power directly into the essence of its being.

Zelretch fell back, exhausted and anguished. He had taken worse than wounds, thought; he could feel it in his blood. In the absence of the burning magic, something cold and dark was spreading through him. Something empty, alien, and twisted writhing under the skin.

I wonder what blood tastes like...

Still, at least he could say that he was better off than Crimson Moon. The living cloak was lifeless ash. His skin had gone beyond merely appearing dull to actually turning gray and cracking in places, sickly white light shimmering from within. The golden hair hung limp and dead. But more than anything... the sense of intangible, 'unreal' power it had once possessed was simply no longer present.

It felt so much smaller.

Crimson Moon gazed upon its darkened, cracking limbs, as if willing them to knit themselves together. When they didn't oblige, the creature did possibly the one thing Zelretch had not expected.

"Ha... hahahaha... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Brunestud threw his head back and laughed, a distinct edge of madness to the sound. "This... this... this! I knew... I knew this world would... but to think it was a human! To think it was you! Some... some mindless insect without even a name! To wound me! To break this body! I don't... I hate you, but... to think the only thing on this world that I could respect would be the mortal who took my life! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Kischur... Zelretch... Schweinorg..." The magus said. "You should... know that."

"... Zelretch." Crimson Moon said. "I shall remember that, when I am reborn. I may even make a grave for you, in the new world."

Zelretch's eyes widened. "What... what do you...?"

"I cannot die forever, Kischur Zelretch. My essence will live on in my children, even if this body is destroyed. The Earth births them to purify and heal it, and one of them will eventually be pure enough to be my new body." Brunestud said. "... Particularly once the source of my own existence is part of her, corrupting her, injecting my purity into every atom of her. The True Ancestors born after that should be far better constructed, once she has a more accurate template. Don't you think that makes sense?"

It was then, Zelretch noted, that although it was not yet full night and the sun had not yet fully descended below the horizon, the moon was already very brightly shining down over them.

It was much, much larger than it should have been. And rapidly growing larger still...

"Of course, humanity and the Dead Apostles will likely not survive to see the new world, but the True Ancestors react poorly to their blood in any event. This was not my first choice of plans, but in the end... yes, it's probably for the best." Brunestud said. "Come, die with me now, Kischur Zelretch, be burned in the pyre of this broken body as I abandon it and prepare to claim a better one. You have earned this honor, for forcing me to use my plan of absolute last resort. For a mortal to so inconvenience a god... die proudly, in the grandest display this world will ever see."

The moon was ten times larger than it should have been, and getting larger. Zelretch could see it turning from silver, to red, beginning to burn as it touched the atmosphere, the shattered landscape beginning to flow upwards as gravity drew it in... the moon was falling. More than falling, it was actually going to land directly on him.

Ha, ha, ha... I was a fool, wasn't I? To think I could stop him. This is... this is how a mortal who faces a god fares, I suppose... I will be crushed under the hammer of divinity. I suppose... if I have to die, this is... this is...

Die. Here and now. And let this thing get everything it wants.

No.

NO.

"NO." Zelretch said. Slowly, painfully, he stood. His legs shook, but after some time, they held his weight.

"You say that as though you have a choice, Kischur Zelretch. You only defeated me by fortune, and it cost you all you had. You think you can turn aside a world? This is the end of days... accept it, and end."

Zelretch smirked, blood flowing from his mouth. "You obviously haven't been paying much attention to this world while you've been here. I'm a sorcerer, a wielder of the True Magic."

The magus drew the blade at his hip. The hilt was wrapped in plain black leather, but the blade was transparent, crystalline... and it burst into magical light as soon as it touched the air.

"Doing the impossible and spitting in the face of God is part of the job."

Zelretch raised his Mystic Code, and the Jewel Sword's light became impossibly brilliant, so bright that even Brunestud felt discomfort looking upon it. And yet, he could not look away, even as the glare got brighter, brighter than the falling moon itself, as Zelretch used the Sword as a crutch, replacing his own exhausted magic circuits, to draw in mana from a hundred other worlds, a thousand, a million. So much power his body felt as though it would shatter just from being near it...

He raised the blade and released enough power to crack the firmament directly up at the falling moon.

The white light slammed into the falling celestial body, and Zelretch felt his mind would explode. The power he channeled now was more than he had ever used at once, more, he knew, than he could safely draw on. He could feel his body changing... his muscles burning down, his hair graying, wrinkles forming in his skin. His body was wasting away even as he worked.

And he couldn't even tell if it was working. The moon was... was impossibly huge, and it didn't seem to be getting closer, but it also didn't seem to be getting any further away, and...

More. I need more. He touched his mind to other worlds, new and untapped worlds brimming with power, and drew it into the sword. More. More. A million became tens of millions, hundreds of millions, billions, an endless line of worlds, more power than he could have dreamed of wielding in a thousand lifetimes. He could see each and every one of them flashing through his mind's eye as he took power from each, an endless parade of images, people and places that he knew he would never remember, his mind simply unable to hold and process the sheer data pouring through it, the images whirling like some impossible kaleidoscope...

The falling moon, pressing against this wall of power and will...

Slowly... so painfully slowly...

Was pushed back.

The light faded, leaving the scene bathed in nothing more than the normal, quiet light of the moon, hanging in the sky.

Crimson Moon looked upon the Magus, his body worn and ravaged by magic and the already-encroaching vampirism. Years of his life torn away by the power he had channeled, his eyes already turning the blood-red of a Dead Apostle...

Brunestud saw this broken man, and for the first time in his existence, felt something that might have been fear.

The magus turned his gaze upon the Ultimate One, and there was nothing in his eyes but utter, impossible cold.

Crimson Moon smiled. "I think... yes, I think I finally begin to understand you, human. Only now, at the end."

In a movement too fast to be human, the old mage clamped a vampirically strong hand around Crimson Moon's neck. "I understand you too. Watch."

The Jewel Sword glimmered one last time. The world blurred around the Ultimate One, and when it stopped, he found himself in Hell.

The world was desolate, and dead. He could no longer feel Gaia at all, could not feel his children, could not feel any life at all. And in the sky above him... his own home. The moon. It was dead as well, he could not hear it singing to him, and...

And it was falling...

"I saw this in my mind, just a few moments ago. I couldn't wait to show it to you." Zelretch's smile was terrible to see. "A whole world for you to conquer, just like you always wanted. Enjoy it."

And then the magus was gone, and Brunestud was alone.

And the moon fell.


_________________________________________

Gransurg of the Black Wing set down in the devastated land, his heart sinking.

Lord Brunestud was... was gone. He had fought here, released his powers to their greatest extent, and he had been defeated. His presence, the shining light of his divinity, was gone from his Servant's mind.

There was no reason to live. There was...

The old man appeared next to him, as if from nowhere. "Which one are you?" He asked.

"G-Gransurg." The vampire said, blinking his inhuman eyes in shock. "You... who are you? You smell like the Master, and..."

"We knew each other briefly, yes. When he was alive." Zelretch said, and the words shattered Gransurg's heart. "And it seems he left his mark on me after all. I suppose if I were going to become the Dead, it would have happened by now..."

"The Master's touch creates nothing so flawed as a Ghoul," The Dead Apostle hissed. Even if... even if the Master was... appearances should still be maintained. "All those he feeds upon rise as Dead Apostles. A sign of his divinity."

"Ah. Ah-ha. Well, I suppose that saves me a few centuries of shambling. I take it you were his attendant?"

"His worshipper. His personal magus. His..."

"Seek a new career. I'm in no position to deal with you right now, and... and I'm just tired. Of all of it." Zelretch said bluntly. He wasn't lying, either. His magic circuits were burned out, and likely damaged; he would never be able to utilize power to this extreme level again. On top of that, his body had lost much of his remaining youth, and he could already feel the vampiric curse beginning to burn in his blood. He very much wanted to curl up in a ball and die, but he doubted that would even be possible anymore, so he would settle for the chance to sleep. For a month. "I'm going home. Don't let me hear about you again."

And as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.


Gransurg sat alone for some time, before taking wing. Merem was loathsome, but he had served the Master. He deserved to know. After that...

After that, he just didn't know.

England, The Clock Tower, Present Day...

Rin sat in silence, unsure of what to say, if anything.

"... I call bullshit on the part where you stopped the moon." She settled on.

Zelretch chuckled. "Believe it or don't. The moral is really what matters, after all."

"There was a moral?"

"There are things out there, little one. Horrible things. Things that will repel you to the core of your being, and that you as a magus and as a person will feel compelled to oppose, at all costs.

"And when you're doing that... won't you be glad that your form was flawless?" The old Sorcerer smirked. He pointed to his scarlet eyes, the mark of a vampire. "Wouldn't I have been better off not underestimating a God?"

He touched one hand to her stomach, where the scars from that last battle with her corrupted sister rested. "Wouldn't you have been better off with a more thoroughly considered plan than a half-forged Jewel Sword and a vague desire to kill you never really believed in?"

Rin sat in silence, lost in thought. Shadows everywhere... a black hole in the world, screaming with impossible evil... and at the heart of it all, a girl with white hair and red eyes, so eager to kill her, even as her eyes begged for salvation.

There were, indeed, things that the Magus Rin Tohsaka felt very, very compelled to oppose at all costs.

"Never again." She said, pressing one hand to her scar. "Never."

"You can't decide that, sadly." Zelretch said softly. "You can just make sure you're prepared to deal with it when it happens."

Slowly, Rin smiled. "Well... that's what I'm here for, right?"

The old mage smiled. "Good girl." He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Now! I believe the lesson has sunk in. So, if you would be so kind as to complete the ritual? You had most of the circle left to draw, I recall? And the gems aren't in the proper arrangement, so re-set them. And..."

He was cut off, then, by a rather heavy ceramic bowl, intended for the holding of ritual potions, striking home on his forehead.

Rin smirked wickedly. "Flawless."

Zelretch smiled, rubbing the tender spot on his forehead. "I'm going make your training a special kind of Hell for this, you realize."

"Bring. It. On."

And the lesson continued.

Outside, a beautiful full moon shone down.

[Milbunk]

Name: Zelretch does this and that for a lil’ while
Author: Anon


Emiya Shirou sprinted through the darkness of Miyamachou, his only destination being Ryudou Temple in the early hours of the morning.

He cursed himself for not planning for this kind of scenario. She made it clear that she felt it best to attack the temple. With this pained regret, he gripped the hand that contained the link to her – the command seals.

*~*

“Hee hee, it seems that onii-chan is in a bind.” The voice came from a cheerful young girl. Concealing herself in the darkness of night, she set off.

*~*

The blue knight and the purple samurai faced each other on the steps leading to Ryudou Temple. Sparks increased in frequency as their weapons clashed against each other faster and faster. With a height advantage, fast footwork and blindingly quick long Japanese sword, the samurai really put the knight in a disadvantage.

The two blades met each other and split apart just as quickly. Forcing it not to a battle of strength but rather a contest of speed, the samurai’s defense against his enemy’s invisible weapon was offense.

“Hoh, with skills like that, you really deserve the title of Saber, samurai.” The knight’s clear voice rang out, as the two observed each other’s condition.

“Oh? How did you come to that conclusion? I believe my fighting style is closer to an Assassin than a Saber.” The man, straight as a katana, wearing traditional Japanese clothing gave a wry smile.

“That is because—“ The knight, stopping herself mid-sentence raised her blade to block a stream of purple light aimed at her. She grunted as she was pushed back several steps by the force of the attack.

“That is enough playing around, Saber. Rarely does the chance come that a powerful Heroic Spirit comes into our territory.” A purple robed woman at the top of the flight of the stairs declared.

“Caster, no—Rider, the two of you are working together?!” Gripping her sword more tightly than before, she began to formulate an escape plan.

Surprised, the robed woman let out a gasp, before returning to her calm demeanor.

“It doesn’t matter how you found out my class identity, but this is where it ends. Saber, get ready to attack.” She placed her hand in front and muttered some words. Immediately, flame, extremely searing hot, tore through space and rushed forward to engulf the lone knight.

*~*

With that powerful a flame, the knight had to shield her eyes and ignore the heat, but, at that moment, she remembered Saber’s demonic sword. Immediately, she brought the sword forward, ready to parry and opened her eyes.

Surprisingly, the flame parted in front of her, forming two halves that did not engulf her. As the flame gradually disappeared, she could see a word –clearly Irish.

“Caster?!” She spun around, to see the spell caster clad in blue with his iconic red spear.

“Yo, Lancer, how’s it going?” A casual voice, totally unsuited to the heated exchange. Its owner climbed the steps and exchanged glances with the knight.

“Why are you here?!”

“Ah, I came to settle a score with that guy. She interrupted our match last time.”

*~*

“Tch, two servants, Saber, take Caster and help me later.” The purple robed woman clucked her tongue and determined her battle strategy with some nervousness.

“Ah, is that true? Finally being able to do what I want is great, at last.” Speaking in a cool voice, Saber readied for battle.

At that moment, prana emitted from Rider’s form and with a mighty voice, she declared, “Argon Coin!”

*~*

A sonic boom followed by a dust cloud that obscured her form immediately happened after. However, an earth-shattering roar blew apart the dust to reveal a massive dark-green form in the night air. Hovering in the air and eclipsing the moon, the beating of its wings seem to make the air around it tremble.

“A dragon?! Rider, is this your Noble Phantasm?”

“Fufu, yes Lancer, this is the Colchis Dragon.” Chuckling, Rider sat on top of her mount, as the undisputed ruler of the skies.

“Go, Lancer, I’ll keep Saber busy.” The blue spearman smiled, and got into his battle stance.

“Understood, I will trust you for now, Caster.” The knight nodded, and rushed up to confront the dragon.

“Oh? Showing off to a girl is good and all but, talk after you surpassed my magic resistance.” The samurai brought his katana up.

“Don’t get all cocky, you bastard with cheating stats!” With that, he gallantly charged upwards, demonic spear in hand to once again draw blood.

*~*

Flames raged all around.

“Ku…” Lancer clucked her tongue as she warded off another fireball from the dragon.

“What’s the matter, Lancer? This is a one-sided battle!” Chuckling to herself, the master of the dragon commanded another volley of fireballs.

The knight put energy into her legs and began to run. Dodging what she can and blocking what she could not –she could only stall for time while thinking of a strategy.

From what she could feel, the fireballs are not a great threat. That probably meant that Rider’s dragon is not strong either. However, being hit by one fireball would create a fatal opening. Thus, she could only stall for the moment.

Suddenly—

“Lancer!” A voice rang out, belonging to a young male.

“Shirou?!” Lancer froze, she was not expecting her master to appear at the worst possible situation.

“What a foolish Master to move into the open, well then, Lancer, its time to end this!” With a courageous front, the dragon roared and started diving at a great speed towards its target.

*~*

Emiya Shirou found that, from his father’s grave that he occasionally visited, by moving uphill, he would reach Ryudou Temple. Tonight was when he put this information to use. When he finally reached the temple, what awaited him was the figure of Lancer, who seemed to be staring upwards.

He called her name without hesitation immediately, but in doing so, he became the target.

The knight immediately broke into a sprint to try to cover her master, but a dragon is too fast!

Therefore, in desperation, she gambled her hopes on her Noble Phantasm.

*~*

Rider believed in her assured victory, by taking out Lancer here, she would be one step closer in winning the Holy Grail War. Thus, she charged. However, she had an ominous feeling.

“RHONGOMYNAD!” That cry proved to be the source of her feeling. She looked back to see a red spear, a little thinner than Caster’s spear, approaching her dragon at breakneck speed. Just this once, she trusted her instinct and immediately jumped off her dragon, casting a spell to enable her to fly.

True to its name as the cutting spear, Rhongomynad, the spear that killed Mordred and ended the battle of Camlamn, pierced all in its path without fail. As it was split open by the blood-red spear, the mighty dragon gave one last roar.

By throwing her only weapon, Lancer left herself open to attack. With no time to lose, Rider instantly chanted some incantations for offensive spells to finish off Lancer.

However, she stopped. The moment she laid her eyes on the supposed spear woman, she felt her defeat.

*~*

Powerful gales emitted from the invisible weapon the knight held, its golden form slowly revealing itself from its sheathe. Holding it high, as she gathered more prana into it, she swung it down while declaring its true name that made her a legend.

“EXCALIBUR!”

*~*

There wasn’t any time to prepare any defensive spells. In fact, she probably knew it would be useless anyway. The golden light pierced her chest in mid air. With that level of damage, she could not continue fighting in the war. But, just once more, in her final thoughts, she wanted to embrace him.

*~*

As Lancer watched the remains of Servant Rider fade away, she started walking towards her Master. He seemed awestruck by what just happened. Picking up her spear, she planned on berating him for his irrational actions.

At that moment, when she dropped her guard, chains shot out in her direction.

As her master yelled out her name, he was struck from behind by a powerful fist.

*~*

The duel between Caster and Saber is too amazing for words. The speed of the spearman is amazing as he relentlessly thrust his spear faster and faster. Along with the barrage of thrusts are incantations to spells that cause small explosions at his opponent’s feet. Sidestepping those and exceeding that speed is Saber with his Japanese longsword that deflects the spear and moves forward to cut off Caster’s head! By twisting the angle of attack slightly, the spear manages to block the sword. With this continuous exchange, it is unsure to tell who is really defending or attacking.

“Haha, this is really the best, Saber. You’ve really earned my respect with that damn technique of yours.”

“The same to you, while it is uncommon to see a spellcaster use a spear, you are not half bad either.”

After complimenting each other, the two of them agreed on one thing.

‘The next strike would decide the match, a challenge of finishing blows.’

Taking up a stance that he has never demonstrated before, the samurai brings the longsword above his head.

Crouching down and bringing the spear as close to the ground as possible, the spearman angles the spear burning red with mana as if he wanted to strike the ground.

The two of them moved at once, with the name of the weapon and technique that made them legends.

“GAE—“

“TSUBAME—“

At that instant, the two of them stopped. The longsword swung down and the spear pierced upwards.

“Clang!” The sound of metal clashing against metal rang out as the spear and sword managed to hold off the projectiles fired in their direction.

The both of them looked up, to see a tall, blond man with golden armor, his back to a similarly colored portal with all forms of weapons extruding out on the temple gate. The weapons angled slightly and now their tips pointed down at the pair, as if seeking their death.

“That was an interesting duel between a dog and a fake, however mongrels, for this Holy Grail War to be complete, the both of you have to die!” His voice rang out, declaring the decree of the King.

On that command, the weapons fired out of the golden portal. Barrages and barrages of weapons that gave Saber and Caster no time or space to move up and counterattack engulfed the duo as they worked their hardest just to deflect the attacks.

“Tch, what’s with this guy, showing up all of a sudden?!”

“Caster, look, at the top of the gate!”

“It can’t be….”

Bound by chains, the knight in blue imprisoned seemingly had the appearance of a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web.

“Even Lancer had no chance against this guy, damn.”

“Do not speak of the king’s possessions so lightly, mongrel!” As if to amplify his anger at that statement, the weapons seemingly doubled.

But—At that moment, a calm but strong voice came from behind the golden king.

“You, who defiles the battle, disappear.”

“Who is— ?!” As he turned around, a large axe-sword, made of rock collided with his figure. Before he could even be swung flying, he already started disappearing, with golden dust announcing his death.

“Ah, its Assassin, no wonder he could sneak up on that bastard.” The calm tone of Caster did not seem to fit the situation they were just in.

“Ah, please do not mind me, continue with your duel. I will challenge the victor.” Even though he held the title of the Servant who struck from the shadows, his large weapon and figure did not seem to fit the Assassin class. Perhaps the only thing that fit the requirement was his dark-skinned body?

“Tch, with what just happened, I feel like calling it a day.”

“Thump!” The figure of Lancer, who was held by the golden man’s side by chains fell to the ground after they disappeared. She was clearly exhausted after the battle with Rider.

However, at that moment, a greater sound enveloped the entire temple.

It was a bestial roar.

*~*

A black mass – that was the only way to describe it.

From the base of the steps leading to the temple, its ‘head’ was even higher than the temple gate itself.

“Ber…serker?”

It materialized out of nowhere, but fighting against four, no—three Servants, this Servant’s Master must be a great magus to supply it with a large amount of mana!

However, while it was gradual, Saber, Caster and Assassin all felt their strength being sapped.

“A boundary field that drains mana along with this figure, what kind of heroic spirit is this?!”

“I agree, this guy is as unfair as the golden man.”

Along with another roar, numerous tentacles shot up the stairs and attacked the group of Servants!

“Since I’ve lost my Master, let’s call it a truce for now and stop that huge guy.”

The other two nodded in agreement and the trio prepared their weapons to push forward.

The longsword flashed and a couple of tentacles were cut down.

The spear held the tentacles at bay with repeated thrusting and high agility.

The axe-sword became a hurricane and destroyed all in its path.

However, even with this combination, they made no progress.

*~*

After a while, the large Assassin analyzed the situation and spoke, “This beast is from my land, a Gorgon. The longer we prolong this fight, the worse this situation will become.”

“There are too many of these damn things, hey Lancer, you awake yet?”

“Wait, where is Lancer?”

“…!”

A tentacle snuck past the trio and managed to grab Lancer’s limb body. Caster broke into a run to try to save her but a large tentacle, lying in wait, squashed him. With one less person holding the line, Saber became overwhelmed.

The only Servant left in battle condition is Assassin.

*~*

In no time, the Gorgon managed to capture Assassin. As it tried to squeeze him to death, its instinct told it that something is wrong.

That instinct became true as it hurryingly retracted the tentacle that experienced this sharp pain, but it did not fade. As it looked down, it saw that dark skinned muscled man biting one of its restraining tentacles off. Even without a weapon, he still fought. He broke loose the tentacles with pure strength and fought the tall monster from the base with just his fists. The monster, for once, felt terrified. Its ‘mystic eyes’ were not working and no matter how many times that monster was squashed or pierced by tentacles, he kept shrugging them off and punching the black mass that was formed from many tentacles.

*~*

The weirdly large Assassin is filled with wounds from top to bottom. His twelve reincarnation ability ‘God Hand’ that also gave him supreme defense is almost used up. Yet, he challenged this monster with just his fists alone. Yet, what drove him?

His instincts told him that this was the only opportunity to face this foe. His mind was filled with the images of the small girl that was his Master. To bring her victory – that was his duty as a Servant. Thus, he fought with all his strength. However, he failed to recognize that there was also one more Servant, still alive.

“I am the bone of my sword – Caladbolg!” The strong, determined voice rang out as a flash of light raced towards the battle!

*~*

Matou Shinji peeked out from the trees in the forest around Ryudou. While he was initially alarmed that Assassin stood so long against his Berserker, he felt confident as his Servant held the upper hand. Along with the Blood Fort, his victory was all but assured, until the spiral sword pierced his confidence.

A loud explosion and a huge crater was the result of the blast detonated.

Shinji fell onto his knees, clutching the book that gave him the right to be a Master.

*~*

“Well, that’s a wrap, Master, killing two birds with one stone.”

“Mhm, you’re actually quite strong aft—“

“Don’t call me a bird, Archer!” Interrupting Tohsaka Rin’s chatter was the loud shout of Assassin.

The twin swords instantly replaced the disappearing black bow as the knight in red turned around and parried Assassin’s large fists.

The resulting shockwave blew Rin back as she collided with a tree and lost consciousness.

*~*

The dark figure launched a flurry of punches at the red figure. Assassin could not afford to lose here. The Master he had to protect was waiting for him at the end of this battle to win the War. With the difference in strength and conviction between the two, each punch broke a sword and chipped at Archer’s physical state. Using Projection had a cost, thus, Archer would lose in the long run.

However, Archer too, had a reason he could not lose. As the next punch came, he centered himself, parried the attack slightly and threw his blades to the side. The action shocked Assassin for half a moment, but he continued the attack. That is, until he saw the confident gaze in Archer’s eyes.

With two more swords in hand, Archer stepped forward, for the first time in their battle, to attack. Assassin became nervous. The battle with Gorgon was extensive and God Hand was at its limits. He continued swinging his fist but Archer ducked to the ground and rushed for his chest.

“Checkmate, Hercules!”

Bringing the other first forward, he punched at the advancing red knight with all his remaining strength. The air shook under the pressure as the fist collided with the twin Chinese swords.

“I agree, this is where it ends!”

With that much strength, he expected the weak swords to break and the punch to hit Archer.

But, the swords held their place.

“Wh—“ Surprised, Assassin began to exclaim.

A whirring sound brought him back to his senses. He instantly recognized it as the swords that Archer threw.

Bringing the fist that was dodged back; he elbowed the sword into pieces. However, he could not do anything about the other shortsword. Accepting the end, he breathed a sigh as the sword reached him. He closed his eyes and thought, “So, this is how I am defeated.”

It shattered. Upon reaching the mighty Greek hero, the Chinese shortsword shattered. God Hand’s protection held as it blocked Archer’s last attack.

Stunned, Assassin reacted instantly to use one last attack to end Archer.

“ILLYA—“

However, in Archer’s hands, were not the twin shortswords that he held dear, but rather, the red spear of piercing death, Gae Bolg, which should have belonged to Caster.

The spear found the heart, and ended Assassin’s final life.

*~*

“Fuu, that was a long battle. Master, are you—“ Archer relaxed a little but stopped halfway.

“Don’t count me out, Archer!” Lancer let out a war cry as she charged towards Archer, clutching her red spear by its black grip. Its tip, glowing with mana, implied only one thing.

“Of all times, Lancer?!” The knight in red shouted, he had no time to prepare a shield. Therefore, he could only rely on the red spear in his hands.

“RHON— “

“GAE—“

“—GOMYNAD!”

“—BOLG!”

The two similarly colored red spears collided each other. But—The spear that held the curse of causality and effect was pierced and broken from the intersection point. The knight in blue rushed forward, giving the spear all her mana to end this battle and the War.

The knight in red stood motionless as his body was pierced. There was no hope of recovery for him as his spiritual core was hit.

“It’s my loss, Lancer.”

“Indeed, it was an enjoyable battle.”

“However, I’m taking you down with me.” Archer gave a fearless smile while Lancer could only look on in despair. Her heart was pierced by the broken-off spearhead of Gae Bolg. From such a short distance, it was impossible for it to miss the heart.

*~*

As the two figures faded away after defeating each other, Matou Shinji wheezed as his sweat-filled hand held the Book of False Attendant. At that moment, his world was bathed in white. As he held a hand to ease the bright glare, he made out a tall figure in the distance, with long light-purple hair.

Somehow, he felt the figure familiar. It began to speak with a soft, alluring voice of a female. Even though the distance was great, he felt that the voice was close.

“Congratulations, Master, you have won the Holy Grail War. Even though we have only been together for a short time, I have a small request for you.”

“Ah, what is it?” At this moment, his mind was blank; he could not believe that he has won.

“Please, protect your sister, no matter what happens, stay by her side and protect her till the end.”

He nodded. He felt the figure give a small smile before turning to the light and disappearing.

“Thank you, no matter what wish you make, I believe you will make the people around you happy, Shinji.”

That was right, he had a wish to make. But—he had already made up his mind since a long time ago.

With all his feeling of inferiority and contempt since back then, he made his declaration clear.

“I wish to become a magus.”

Though, Angra Mainyu did not bear the title of «All the World’s Evils» for show.

From that moment onwards, Matou Shinji became mahou shoujo Magical Makoto.

[Milbunk]

Name: Nadir
Author: Anon

(tl;dr version: Burial Agency hunting a famous DAA)


“Please allow me to introduce myself
I am a man of wealth and taste.
I’ve been around for a long, long year.
Stole many a man’s soul and faith.”

“Could you please turn that off? I have enough trouble with the heat already…” said the red haired woman with a slight French accent. Indeed, it was not a convenient journey, driving through the desert in the midst of summer, neither for her nor for her two “co-workers” but they had no choice in the matter.

After all, they were sent here because they had a mission to fulfill.

“I am afraid that I cannot grant that wish of yours, ma’am. You see, the heat affects me too, and I am afraid that this CD is the only thing that keeps me attentive enough to not cause any accidents or involuntary off-road expeditions.” replied the grey haired, bespectacled man who occupied the driver’s seat in a calm fashion.

Contrary to her, who already got rid of her “uniform” and was now sitting in the cabin of the awe-inspiring 16-wheeled truck with nothing more than a tank top and shorts she wore underneath, the man still wore his blue robes and a shining golden cross which was dangling down his neck, identifying him as a Christian believer. To her astonishment he was barely sweating despite this fact, but the heat still seemed to affect him, even if it was less obvious. She almost expected him to start panting like a dog.

“Dawn, drop the ma’am, formality does not bring us anywhere. If you really dislike Claw’s name that much you can call her sister instead.” said the blonde girl who sat next to the woman known as Claw.
She didn’t know if Dawn even knew her real name, or the name of the boss, but in their business this was pointless trivia. “Also, please Dawn, I won’t tell you to turn it off but could you please turn down the volume a bit? I have trouble concentrating…” said the boss, holding up the rosary in her hands. The boss, or “Narbareck” as she was called, continued to pray the rosary, murmuring faintly as her voice was drowned out by the music which was now coming out of the speakers in a slightly lower volume.

Narbareck’s features were less feminine than Claw’s. Of course, Narbareck was younger, appearing to be in her late teenage years, but she still had an almost androgynous quality to her, her bust being smaller than Claw’s average size, her face being covered in long blonde, almost silver hair, and her body overall being smaller and thinner than Claw’s toned and trained physique. Also, not a single scar could be found on her arms or face, contrary to Claw’s high number of various healed cuts and even gunshot wounds, not to mention that Claw’s left arm was completely wrapped in red bandages, though her fingers were wrapped individually.

Seemingly finished the blonde girl now wore the rosary like a necklace. “I don’t recall ever seeing you pray before, Narbareck” said the red haired woman, still looking like she would keel over from the heat in a second.

“Oh, I do. After all I am a good Christian.” she gave the redhead one of her trademark smirks “This is no ordinary rosary though. It’s a present for this hunt by our highly-valued superior and friend, the Pope himself.”

With slight surprise Claw answered “Oh, so everyone but our errand boy here got some new toys…they really want this to go over smoothly…so why did you bring the newbie?”

“He needs to learn what it means to be a member of this organization. Besides, he is still a tentative member…also, do I hear slight doubt in my skill in there, Claw?” replied Narbareck with a teasing voice.

Claw froze. “Ee-eets not like that!”

“Your accent is coming through again…how adorable. I assume your efforts at starting a conversation with me were a result of boredom, so how about we just go over the details of our little plan again?”
Narbareck leaned forward, reaching for the glove box and took a small file out of it.

“Our target is number 24 of the Dead Apostle Ancestors, Mister “El-Nahat”, a former member of the middle-eastern association, so expect curses. We have no pictures of his appearance, not that it would matter with a Dead Apostle Ancestor anyway, and only a small number of speculations about his skillset. The last encounter the Church had with him was in Syria, 50 years ago, he was encountered exactly 5 times until now. A curious thing about his modus operandi is that, once he gets cornered, he apparently resorts to some sort of suicide technique, which leaves no traces of his victims, but instead notable quantities of his own blood. If we manage to trigger this technique and survive, we got him, though I’d prefer the conventional method…” She took a small black-and-white photograph out of the file and showed it to her two subordinates. It depicted a puddle of blood and some piles of ash. “This is the first time we got him directly after a location change, so he is probably still weakened and trying to adjust to the new spiritual land, though it is quite close to his home…”

Dawn interrupted Narbareck’s briefing with a question:

“Excuse me, but how do we even know that it is him and not just a regular Dead Apostle, or even another Dead Apostle Ancestor?”

The girl answered in her usual relaxed tone.

“Dead Apostle Ancestors have a distinctive…”handwriting” when they set up a new Lair. He takes over a whole town and uses authorities to his advantage to make it inaccessible for the general public, then slowly drains it for years until we find him. Considering that this method seems to be used this time, and considering that he is close to home, also factoring in the scale of his operation we can be quite sure that it is him. This time he was quite unlucky...”

“And why’s that?” Dawn’s eyes were still fixed on the road. “We should arrive in 5 minutes; I can already see a few houses in the distance…”

“Well, the town we go to now is a small Christian community, though openly practicing is forbidden by the law in this country. They get most of their supplies from the town our acquaintance occupies right now. Our contact can tell you the exact story; he is an Exorcist the church sent to investigate a day before our arrival…”

“Oh, an Exorcist, he’s working in the branch of the Church you should belong to, Dawn.” Claw’s comment was unmistakably an insult towards the man and his qualifications. But before he could reply Narbareck stepped in.

“Claw, is there anything you want to tell me? Do you want to suggest that my procedure of selecting individuals for my Agency is flawed?” there was a certain sharpness to her tone as she spoke the words with a smirk on her face.

“N-no, b-but…” Claw took a deep breath before continuing without stuttering her answer, her French accent becoming heavier and heavier the more she went on. “He is not a fighter. He is an Exorcist. I read his dossier, a very impressive feat I must say, but his usefulness for this Agency is limited. If you want Exorcists, why not just request them? And a mechanic or a driver…really? In the Agency?”

“Value, my beloved colleague, is not limited to combat proficiency.” Narbareck was obviously amused at this conversation, drawing pleasure from Claw’s visible nervousness. “All I can say is that the more independent this agency becomes from the main branch, the better. Also, he is ensuring the cooperation of his…spouse.” Suddenly Narbareck’s expression turned serious: “Critique is something I endorse, Claw. Moaning and complaining are a one-way trip to missions with a questionable chance of survival. I hope I made myself clear.” Nervousness turned into fear.

“Y-yes ma’am”

With that acknowledgement, she once again adopted her trademark smirk. “Oh, what did I tell you about formality? We are all brothers and sisters here...”

Dawn halted the monstrous vehicle “You should get out and get dressed now, we can walk the rest.”

“In that heat and those clothes? Are you crazy?” Claw’s complaint at Dawn was more of a rhetoric one, since she grabbed her crumpled nun habit and her headdress, which were lazily thrown over her seat as she slowly climbed out of the truck. “Get my gun and my vest, no way I am going to talk to that…thing again.” Dawn raised an eyebrow as he opened the door next to him and walked behind his giant vehicle, carefully opening the doors of the container. He quickly closed them behind him to not get any sand inside of it. He didn’t want to anger her.

“Good morning! We have arrived. I am just going to fetch a few things and then you can go to sleep again…” Inside of the container reigned absolute darkness. Fortunately Dawn knew where to look for the equipment. As he faced the left wall he heard dripping sounds, and cloth chafing against cloth. The lady turned towards him.

“Thank God. I got bored already. Do you have time to talk, Dawn?” It was a sweet and charming voice, though her exhaustion was audible.

“I am afraid not. Miss Claw is quite the bothersome woman, and she seems to be very stressed.” Dawn was unable to suppress a slight chuckle.

“Ahhh…what a pity. This land and its dry heat are taking its toll on me. Also, I hunger…”
She seemed to have turned on her back again.

“I am afraid that feeding is out of the question here. We are after a vampire. A special one apparently, one of the twenty-seven…” He carefully lifted a strange object out of a wall mounting and picked up a bag that was under it on the floor and slung it over his left shoulder.

“Oh, really? It seems that their trust towards you increased quite a bit, Dawn. They are taking you to such special missions…” Ignoring the slight teasing in her tone he moved to the back of the container, picking up a bulletproof vest and a second bag which he threw over his right shoulder.

“It is a great honor for me, yes. I got everything I need, maybe we can converse again once this mission is over?”

“That would be wonderful…good luck on your task.”

Dawn gave the malformed lady a smile before he opened the doors with great difficulty.

“Thank you. Good night.”

=================

“There you are, what took you so long?” The red haired woman stood in front of the container, holding her habit and headdress with her bandaged arm.

“Gimme the vest first…” Claw’s mood did not seem to lighten up even after getting fresh air it seemed.

Narbareck was already standing there, fully clothed in a male priest’s uniform.

“Your…”new toy”, Claw.”

Dawn handed the woman the strange looking object. It had a trigger and place for a magazine in front of it, but there was no visible hammer, no iron sights and it seemed to be made out of one single piece, impossible to disassemble. It looked more like a handheld vacuum cleaner than a rifle. Under its barrel there was a strange bayonet, looking like some sort of horn. On the side Dawn could read the manufacturing company “ATLASIA INDUSTRIES”.

“Here’s hoping that our little side-trip paid off…”

Claw opened the bag Dawn brought her. Inside there were neatly sorted magazines, one of which she shoved into her strange looking gun. The rest she tried to hide in various compartments of her robe. She also took a small, holstered pistol out of the bag and handed it to Dawn. “You will need that, combat training or not.”

The priest just gave her a gentle smile. “I will not fire a weapon. Didn’t Narbareck tell you?”

“Well, I assumed being close to a town full of undead vampire slaves might change your mind…just take it.” She prodded him with it.

“Oh no, I won’t need it, thank you for your consideration!” the faintest hint of annoyance could be heard in his voice.

“Just take it you moron. You can throw it at someone if you really need to.” Claw became visibly annoyed.

“Fine, fine, I’ll take it.” Dawn did not want any conflict with his team members after all.
Meanwhile Narbareck had finished hiding the Black Key hilts which were in the second bag in her uniform. Once both of them finished their preparations they walked the last few meters towards the small gathering of houses.

“Greetings! You must be Mr. Narbareck?” a tall, Arabic looking man with short brown hair and a well-groomed beard greeted the three newcomers, extending his hand towards Dawn. He wore a priest’s uniform with a white surplice over it, identifying him as an Executor. “I am afraid not. This over here is Miss Narbareck…” Dawn smiled in amusement.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry…” he looked at the blonde girl, this time not offering his hand “…my name is Mahmut al-Askari, I am from the Exorcists’ order in Egypt. I take that you have been informed about what has been going on here?” He turned around, walking towards one of the flat-roofed houses. All other inhabitants of the village seemed to have retreated inside their own homes, making the small village look like a ghost town in the desert. Out of the corner of her eye Narbareck could spot a kid spying through the curtains of her house.

“I have instructed the people to stay inside their houses for their own safety. You see, five days ago a member of this community went to a nearby town to buy necessities, food for the animals, the usual…” The group halted before the house. “…apparently the whole town was declared a restricted area by the military, now surrounded by tall fences and guards. Even stranger, the day after the whole place was abandoned. Not a single soldier guarding the perimeter. We don’t know what happened afterwards, but apparently the poor guy got bitten while trying to sneak into the town…he came back yesterday, more dead than alive. The people here thought he might be possessed, they were instructed to capture him and not get bitten. Apparently the strongest men in the village could restrain him with a rope and locked him in his home. I was sent here to exorcise the possession. But it was not a corpse eating demon like the villagers assumed…do you know how they call those here?”

Narbareck answered in an instant: “Ghul”

“Exactly. So I guess you know with what you have to deal here? I couldn’t overwhelm this beast, but I think for trained Executors like you it should not be a problem…”

He took a key out of his pocket, turning it in the lock. “Careful now.” As he opened the door, rumbling could be heard, followed by moaning. Then Narbareck saw him in the corridor. A Ghoul, devoid of rationality, emotions, pain and soul…it tried to jump outside, tried to attack the people who stood in front of the precipice to its door with magnificent speed and strength, exceeding human limits. But considering his opposition it was futile. In a flash, Narbareck pulled out a Black Key from her robe, throwing it at the undead. Blubbering noises emerged its now penetrated throat as it turned to ashes.

“Yup definitely a Ghoul. Dawn, Claw, ask the gentleman over there for something to eat, then rest for a bit. We will get to that town once the sun has set. He knows that we are here now, but he won’t suspect an attack under the full moon, during the night. His new lair should be too valuable for abandonment…at least for now.” The Exorcist looked at Narbareck, still shocked from her display of speed and precision.

“You want to attack him during the night? Are you crazy? While he full moon shines? Do you plan to die? By all due respect, at least wait until tomorrow…”

“Mr. Al-Askari, this is not my first time dealing with Dead Apostle Ancestors under such circumstances. Please leave this to us.” The trademark smirk appeared on her face. “Now go get some rest you two.”

=================

“Do you want anything to drink, my friends?” The Egyptian exorcist stood in the kitchen of the small house, looking into the fridge of the deceased “We have some Leben 'ayrân, Mineral Water, some sort of orange soda and if you’re really serious about attacking this vampire tonight there is also some communion wine to drown out the fear…”

Claw pouted at that statement. “I am not afraid of some stupid vampire, especially not when I am going in with two other people. Well, let’s say one and a half. Oh, and please give me some mineral water, I don’t like sugary drinks. Or salty drinks.”

“She surely is a complicated woman. Please give me some of this soda, with a bit of water.” said Dawn with a gentle teasing smile.

“Shut up. Besides, if there is anything to fear on this mission it’s certainly not the vampires, but our boss.” Claw took a huge sip out of the glass she was served. “Is it okay that we use the house and drinks of the guy Narbareck just killed?”

Mahmut shrugged. “It’s not like they were planning on doing something with this house in the near future anyway. In this community they apparently share all their possessions and income to ensure a stable life for all members. They are good Christians, and very nice and caring people. Also they are happy about the Church caring for their well-being and wiping out a major threat to their village”

Claw tilted her head slightly in confusion. “Then why were they giving us so suspicious looks seconds ago? Doesn’t seem like they trust us. And it’s not like the Church kills vampires to be nice to random villagers”

“Well, you are wearing church robes in a country where Christianity is not really tolerated. I had quite the stress at the border…how were your experiences until now?”

Dawn answered that question. “Except for receiving a few curious looks, nothing too important. The Vatican was nice enough to give us diplomatic passports. It makes dealing with people trying to inspect my vehicle a lot easier.”

Slight jealousy could be seen in Mahmut’s expression. “Excuse me, but this does not seem to be standard practice for Executors. Also you appear here without Knights backing you up, with only three people, trying to wipe out the nest of a dangerous vampire. So tell me please, what exactly are you?”

Before Claw could blurt out an inappropriate answer Dawn interrupted her with something less profane and more diplomatic: “Very good at our job.”

“Ah, I see, the Church still doesn’t like telling their hard working priests what they want to know…such a shame.” Mahmut spoke with slight amusement in his tone. “Where is your leader, Miss Narbareck?”

Claw answered after finishing her glass. “She’s probably…I guess you could call it meditating? She gets awfully excited the closer she gets to a target so she needs to calm down a bit and get a grip.”

Mahmut replied as he poured Claw another glass “So zealous? I am surprised”

“It’s less zeal and more loving to kill. Enemy of the Church or not is probably a secondary concern to her…damn, now I am blabbering, let’s ignore that I brought up this topic please.”

“Oh, please continue. It is very interesting, don’t you agree Dawn?”

The priest was torn between wanting to know more about his superior and the orders to not compromise probably classified information. And the disparaging way she talked about Narbareck wasn’t helping that. But in the end he settled for “Please continue.”

“Well, the Church keeps her in her confinement room until they absolutely want something dead. Calling it a cell would be the wrong word, it’s more like a bureau she can’t leave. Nice furniture, lots of books to read, and she is allowed to train with fellow executors, though that is avoided when she is more excited. Sometimes she is even just sent out to kill a low priority target to calm her down before a dangerous mission. Quite the fearsome woman, but she brought the Church decisive victories. She already sealed two Dead Apostle Ancestors for example, once even emerging as the sole survivor of her team.”

“…so you say that she defeated the last one by herself?” The black-haired man seemed to be quite interested in the story, leaning forward on the table the three of them sat around.

‘Maybe he wished to be an Executor’ pondered Dawn.

“Not only him, but also 3 of his vampire lieutenants and roughly twenty of those brainless things. There was an ambush that wiped out everyone who accompanied her beforehand. The strange thing was that she probably drew her own comrades into that trap, just because she likes to surprise her prey by coming out of such situations alive…” It seemed that this anecdote made Mahmut slightly uncomfortable. “Don’t be afraid, Mister Al-Askari. She won’t hurt you. Can’t say the same for us two though…”

Apparently not only Mahmut felt unpleasantly surprised by such a story. “Excuse me, I will go take a nap. The driving exhausted me, and apparently I should stay vigilant during the operation tonight if Miss Claw is to be believed.”

“Well, I should say goodbye then. I will chat some more with your charming colleague, but I should return home to Egypt, it’s not exactly a short trip with my car.” He stood up, offering the man his hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.” After shaking the man’s hand, Dawn looked for the bedroom in the small house, still hearing lively chatter between the two.

‘What a quirky fellow...’ thought the man as he laid down on the bed, trying to relax before the battle began.

=================

It would not take much longer. She would get her hunt.

Trying to hide her inner tension, she tried to ask her two teammates, who were seated in the truck with her another pointless question:

“Did the Exorcist leave before us? I didn’t notice him driving off, but his car was already gone.”

“Yeah, he already left. He could have shown us the way at least…”

“That would be useless Dawn. Right now he should have wrapped the whole village in multiple bounded fields already, so if we simply follow his guidance we would only end up eternally circling that town. But we have our little handy gimmick here…” She pointed at something that looked like a compass, only that its needle constantly rotated above a strange set of gears other mechanical parts that were uncovered for some reason. “…so him throwing us off with strong magic is like trying to distract a bloodhound by cutting yourself.”

Despite the compass and other artifacts the Church provided being quite useful, she despised magecraft in all of its forms. It was a tool she had to use for improving her physical performance, as well for piercing defenses and finding troublesome opponents like this one. For her, it was just a corrupting influence in the act of fighting and killing a worthy enemy. Even the Baptism Rite was something that she would rather avoid, but in a fight against immortals compromises have to be made, and the conflict she longed for had to be tainted. But in exchange, they provided the most entertaining targets for her. The act of bringing down one of only twenty-seven Dead Apostle Ancestors was probably the only thing she had that came close to a real religious experience. Not that she did not believe, but her zeal and faith would normally not be considered suitable for her high position in the ranks of the Church.

‘Well, a true believer would not be able to lead a squad of monsters into battle.’ Thought Narbareck as she looked at the small compass again.

“Turn left Dawn. Claw, tighten the Shroud, you are giving off interferences…”

“It should not matter. Just drive.” An unusual seriousness filled her tone.

‘Huh, she became a bit bolder. It must be the proximity to the Dead Apostle Ancestor…’ reasoned the girl. Though her behavior had been slightly strange since their departure.

The tires of the truck suddenly screeched to a halt. Before their eyes a big fence with barbed wire on top and various warning signs attached to it appeared out of nowhere. Part of it was a huge gate, locked with chains and padlocks.

‘Apparently we entered a vision-concealing bounded field.’

Genuinely surprised Dawn commented on the situation “Most impressive. He can hide things this big?”

“He’s a Dead Apostle Ancestor, Dawn. That’s like a party trick for them.” Replied Claw in a sharp tone.

‘Bravery or just annoyance? Hard to tell, hard to tell. Well, at least I won’t get bored…’ analyzing her teammates was one of the more interesting parts of her job. She liked to surround herself with interesting individuals, their real use in combat being only a second concern.

“He is most likely aware of our presence now, but since we are only three…”

Dawn corrected her four, Miss Narbareck”

“Stop calling me “Miss”…four people then. He hopefully won’t panic and flee now. If he does, this trip will get quite a bit longer, but fear not, they are quite easy to find once they start running, since their need for blood leaves easy tracks for us to follow. And he’d also be quite weakened…”

“So he will probably try to settle this here?”

‘These rookie questions are starting to grate on my nerves.’ She hoped that Dawn would not eventually lose his appeal in her eyes. She disliked giving up a chance to tease Claw.

“He has a defensive advantage in here. If he flees he is nothing more than an animal on the run. Not that would help him either…Dawn, get something to weld that open. If they are enchanted I’ll try to dispel it…”

=================

As they opened the gate, another surprise struck them.

A flat roofed house in the color of sandstone, two stories tall. Not an uncommon sight in the slightest, after all, the whole city consisted of houses that only varied slightly from this type, mostly by having awnings or various signs identifying them as houses of various merchants, butchers or markets. The emptiness of the town, combined with the moonlight immersing the streets in a faint silver light would have made any normal person uncomfortable.

But every single house seemed empty, not even the Dead, Ghouls or Vampires could be seen.
Except for the one before them.

Mahmut al-Askari, now a lifeless puppet of El-Nahat, was nailed to the house’s wall with thick iron nails, hammered through his arms, his torso and his legs, and was groaning and panting under pain, his rational mind eliminated due to the vampire’s bite.

Above him there was a short scribble in crimson-colored paint. Presumably Mahmut’s own blood:

WELCOME #1

“You think they got the village?” Claw looked at Narbareck, nervously fumbling around on her strange looking gun. “Why the hell does he know that you are here?”

“It does not concern us. The knights can clean that up afterwards. Our target remains El-Nahat.” She casually threw a Black Key at the restrained undead, putting it out of its misery and turning it to ashes.

Her voice seemed full of repressed anger. She tried to hold on to her rationality as a commander in field, but she couldn’t. El-Nahat committed an unforgiveable act.

The vampire had desecrated this hunt. He expects her. For him, this was not a life-and-death scenario, just a little game to play to quench his immortal boredom.

“He…probably did not really get the weight of this situation…” Narbareck tried to calm herself down with slow and steady breathing.

“I decided that we will help our brothers and sisters from the chivalric orders a bit. After we disposed of him, we will wipe out every single remaining undead in this city.”

“But that takes quite a while, and without a leader they won’t go anywhere anyway…”

Narbareck turned around to face Claw, no longer containing her anger.

“So you are not motivated enough, huh? How about a little game then? For every single one of them that gets away and killed by the Knights, I’ll break one of your fingers.” She turned around, ignoring Claw’s shocked expression while taking out the compass from before. “He will be in the center, probably in that mosque; judging from his need for the dramatic and the way the city is shaped…cover my back and stay on guard.” She pointed towards a small minaret and pulled out six Black Keys, three for each hand.

The two women slowly advanced down a small street, carefully watching their step as they stood back to back. Except for their steps nothing could be heard in the whole city. And Narbareck liked it that way, after all conversation was not something she needed during her hunt. It was unnerving to her, especially when her target would not give her the satisfaction of feeling true fear before her, preferring to play with her. It would just desecrate it further.

They arrived at a crossing, still without any sign of any vampire activity.

‘Maybe he already went on the run?’ this thought annoyed Narbareck, but it was a distinct possibility.

To her left there was a butchery, behind her a small house, probably a family home to her right something that seemed like it was a shop of assorted pottery wares and another one seemed to sell hand-crafted carpets. As far as Narbareck could see in the darkness, most of the wares were still intact, the only sign of destruction being their doors being broken to pieces.

A tapping sound disturbed the silence. She saw a small motion on the floor, through the glass front of the butchery. She moved closer, trying to identify what it was that moved.

“There is something…”

Corpses. On the floor of the butchery there were neatly sorted corpses lying next to each other. Remaining spaces that were too small for an adult were filled with children. Apparently the vampire made sure that he concentrated as much of these corpses in one area as possible. Which would mean this crossing was a trap.

“Back! To the middle of the crossing!”

Her barking of orders was almost drowned out by the sound of windows and intact doors breaking. In seconds the whole place filled with undead, either bursting out of the houses or climbing over the roofs of the small houses.

In the pale moonlight, surrounded by hordes of the undead the leader of the Burial Agency smiled for the first time since entering the lair of the vampire.

The prey was showing itself.

“Let’s cut a swath through them and run!”

“No. They all have to die. Duck.”

The red haired woman followed her orders immediately. Almost as if she wanted to perform a pirouette, Narbareck turned on the spot, using the momentum to propel her Black Keys. In the blink of an eye the throwing swords were lodged into six approaching undead skulls, each of them approaching from a different direction. Before they even turned to dust Narbareck already held six new keys in her hands, this time throwing them one by one to push the horde back in front of her.

“Full-auto. Let’s go.” Her last orders for this fight were spoken to her companion, who kept her calm even though this mission seemed like suicide.

But this trap was only made to tire them out.

Due to their limited manpower the Church always responded to threats with an equal amount of force.

The knights were soldiers, designated to fight soldiers.

Heretics were killed by heretics, the Executors.

And against real monsters one would logically send monsters themselves.

Among all of the monsters in the Burial Agency, Narbareck reigned supreme.

The vampire knew this. He knew that his undead would not stand a chance against them, which meant he was either foolish or desperate. This fact made the hunt worthwhile again in Narbareck’s eyes. It meant that her target would be an entertaining one, since it would not matter what his motivation for this attack was, he would be terrified after she came out of this predicament.

Because sending soldiers against a monster would only results in a massacre.

In a flash she closed the distance between her and two piles of ash a few meters in front of the butchery, picking up the two Black Keys which laid in them. The undead already formed a half-circle around her, coming out of both buildings mindlessly approaching her guided by their hidden master. She charged forward in the wave emerging from the butchery of it, cleaving the first undead apart with her swords.

It felt wonderful.

Behind her the circle slowly closed, but she kept advancing, sticking her blades into the neighbors of her now pulverized opponent, flipping them in her hand and ramming the now reverse grip-held blades into two undead trying to approach from her dead spot out of the pottery.

The smile on her face just grew brighter.

The circle grew tighter. As she flipped the swords back into regular grip she found that six of the undead were now in arm’s reach of her, and managed to surround her.

With a quick spinning motion she decapitated all of them.

She relished every moment of this fight.

Now she finally had room to act.

=================

Meanwhile, Claw held the line in the middle of the crossing ensuring a safe fallback position for Narbareck.

Claw’s physical abilities were not up to par with those of her boss, but she received training with small arms before joining the Burial Agency, making her ideal for using various ranged conceptual weapons. The one she carried right now, however, was not one of the scriptures of the church, at least not entirely. It was a composite conceptual weapon, a gift by alchemists to the Church for a small favor. It was optimized for vampire hunting, which meant it should not flash when fired, it should not make a sound, and it should hit beings who are able to dodge bullets.

An unsolvable issue for a normal engineer. But for the alchemists of ATLAS it was just another commission.

The pulling of the trigger and the zipping of the bullets were the only sounds that the weapon made while Claw fired at the Ghouls that threatened to isolate her from her superior by storming in on her, apparently considering her the more dangerous target.

Aiming felt awkward due to the lack of sights mounted on the sleek and strange looking gun. But it was not needed in the first place.

Every shot she gave off resulted in a clean headshot.

The weapon was a conceptual weapon built from different parts, each having a distinct conceptual effect. The suppressor completely eliminated muzzle flashing and sound with the conceptual effect of “absorption”, every single bullet was blessed with holy water, thus they were able to “purify” demonic or vampiric targets, the loading mechanism prevented jamming from ever occurring unless mishandled and the barrel was imbued with a simple but deadly effect: “tracking”.

Vampires could avoid point-based small arms attacks, Claw’s forte, and while using subsonic ammunition this feat was even easier for them. But once the bullet starts tracking them, following them, destined to hit the target unless it lost momentum, the vampire would get in serious trouble, since it meant point-based homing attacks from multiple directions. Even if it was not possible to kill him outright with the bullets, he was forced into a disadvantageous position, making him easy to get finished off by her partner, or even herself with the bayonet or her bandaged trump card.

Surprised by the ease in which the weapon made the Ghouls drop she turned around, focusing her fire on an approaching wave of undead, unleashing a precise hail of bullets before quickly changing the magazine. While the masses of the dead were only slowly pressing on, more agile ones climbed the roofs of the four buildings surrounding the pair.

‘El-Nahat only has access to a limited number of Ghouls, even if he devoured the whole town, as the incubation time takes too long for a sizeable army, so he tries to increase the pressure…too bad that that won’t work…’ this thought amused Narbareck greatly.

The Ghouls kept a small distance from Narbareck, keeping out of her reach to attack simultaneously whenever she impaled a new one with her Black Keys. In fluent motions she threw Black Keys in undead heads and torsos, jumped to her target, pulled them out before they hit the floor and launched the bloodstained sword into an undead vis-à-vis. It seemed almost as if she was juggling the Ghouls, preventing them from even touching her via the means of agile movement and aerial approaches, the smile she had since the start never leaving her now blood-stained face. She would love to see the vampire’s terrified expression as he realized that it was her who was after him, and that he would meet his end as soon as she would find him.

As she made more and more room with her acrobatic killing method she decided that it was time to prevent the climbers from tilting the balance on this battlefield.

The two Black Keys hit the floor for the first time since she started the killing circle. Instead she drew six new ones from her robes, with a strange black mark on the side of the hilts to differentiate them from the rest. The usage of such equipment was something she liked to avoid, thinking that the vampire should always fear her, not her equipment, but it couldn’t be helped in this situation.

‘I need an elevated position…’ she realized that she had to improvise.

She ran up to one of the undead in Claw’s direction, ducked slightly and jumped. She landed with both of her knees next to the Ghoul’s head, who frantically tried to turn his locked head and keep balance at the same time.

“Ashes to ashes…” the start of a simple incantation left her lips during this process and small amounts of prana started flowing through her circuits.

With a forceful turning motion Narbareck broke its neck. Before it could fall over, Narbareck hopped, now more or less placing her feet on the still standing undead. As it keeled over Narbareck jumped with all her might.

What Claw saw next would be the most terrifying thing she ever witnessed.

Illuminated by the moonlight her partially blood stained hair seemed almost like a halo. The Black Keys in her hands reflected, giving of the impression of angelic wings.

In this moment she was nothing but an incarnation of divine wrath. An Angel, ready to eliminate every single one of these vile creatures who defy the will of the Lord.

“…dust to dust.”

She threw the Black Keys as she reached the peak of her jump, four of them hitting the flat roofs of the buildings surrounding them, two of them hitting the streets to the side of Claw’s position.

It did not even take a second for the incantation to take an effect. It was a simple enchantment of the Black Keys, standard in the repertoire of every magecraft-using Executor.

The incineration rite.

A field of flame erupted on the streets and on the roofs, instantly lighting the undead on fire. Screaming, moaning and cracking sounds filled the now illuminated streets. The attacking Ghouls were simply decimated without any chance of retaliation.

The everlasting smile on her face, she now ran to Claw, both of them standing back to back again.
With their ranks thinned they now only had two ways from which they could attack, each covered by one Burial Agent. An assault with weak undead would be futile.

Narbareck simply could no longer contain her joy, a strangely girlish giggling escaping her lips.

=================

Individual undead attacked them on their way, probably sent out to track their position, not to harm them. The two agents steadily moved forward, finally arriving at the center of the small city and the presumed location of the Dead Apostle Ancestor, El-Nahat, a simple looking beige mosque.

As they stepped into the courtyard the stench of rotting bodies became more and more intense. The fountain in the middle of it was filled with reddish water, presumably from the decapitated corpse swimming in it. Several body parts were strewn across the floor, most of them relatively fresh looking.

“Looks like we were right…” said Claw as they both advanced towards the main entrance.

Inside the main hall the situation looked equally grim. Arms, legs and entrails were scattered everywhere. The supporting pillars and walls were smeared in blood. Some of the victims on the floor seemed to writhe in agony, still alive after being rid of essential body parts. Moaning and screams were filling the hall, defiling the sacred place.

And atop the minbar stood a man with a slender physique and pitch black hair, reaching his shoulders in a slightly wavy fashion, holding a small cup filled with red liquid. He was dressed in a fashionable suit, though he wore no tie and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, giving off a casual aura unusual for a Dead Apostle Ancestor.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s not blood. I would not receive visitors on an empty stomach…”

Narbareck gave Claw a sign to lower her weapon. With a confused expression she followed her orders.

“I presume you know who I am, number twenty-four?” Narbarecks words were filled with disdain for the casual attitude of the vampire.

“Oh, I do, number one. And this charming woman must be number two?” he took another sip from his cup. “This number business does not really feel personal, doesn’t it?” He dropped his cup, jumping down the pulpit.

“Greetings, my name is El-Nahat. Did you have a pleasant journey, agents?” the man seemed incredibly entertained by his guests.

“It was most pleasant indeed. Greetings to you too, El-Nahat. My name is Narbareck, this is Claw, and we have a message from the Church…” Narbareck played his little game despite being visibly annoyed at the vampire not taking this seriously.

“To be honest, after doing this…” he moved his hand in a waving gesture “I’d rather have the Church find me than some Islamic order. They are learning from your little club, and with the local association trying to track me down it is hard to relax around here…” The vampire stretched his arms to illustrate his point.

“Well, this is the good part of our message. I quote:” Narbareck cleared her throat. “’The Dead Apostle Ancestor Number twenty four, El-Nahat, is to be sealed under any circumstances by the order of his holiness the Pope through his representative the Cardinal of…’ yadda yadda, you know how much they love their titles the higher they get…’and to be taken to the Vatican for further analysis, study and eventual extermination. Should this be impossible and the Dead Apostle Ancestor threatens to get away, execution is a preferred method, but disciplinary measures have to be taken. This also applies if the vampire escapes.’ Have no fear; they won’t get their hands on you in any case! So, I guess we had enough chatting for today? I am sure they’d let me talk to you once they have you on the operating table and try to get something worthwhile out of you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“Oh, that sounds unpleasant…” in an instant his eyes turned red and his hands took the form of hideous claws. “…let us hope that it won’t happen then?”

Claw tried to raise her weapon and fire at the Dead Apostle Ancestor, but he neutralized her attempts with a single word.

“Naẓīr“

Her eyes turned completely black. It was a curse that was simple to shrug off for any magecraft user, unfortunately for Claw she was not one of them. At the same time the vampire’s irises took a darker shade of red. Apparently he was affected to some degree, though his magecraft experience allowed him to mitigate the effect.

“I can’t see shit!” screamed Claw in frustration pointing her rifle to the floor while slowly trying to find something to hold on to with her other hand.

For Narbareck this meant an exciting fight versus an interesting opponent without any intrusions.

Perfect.

She pulled two Black Keys out of her robes, this time a green marking was on the side of the hilt. These were imbued with a simple effect: they would dry the victim out when stabbed and left in the wound, making sealing easy without killing it outright. The effect had to be relatively weak, or it would turn the target to dust.

She charged towards him with incredible speed, but contrary to the Ghouls she had to fight before the man she was up against now would be able to react accordingly. He did not sidestep her, but instead tried slashing her face with his claws. Narbareck could almost feel them scarring her as she managed to pull her head back in the last moment. She retaliated by trying to stab the vampire stomach, an attack that was rendered ineffective by the vampire stepping to the side, carefully avoiding stepping on a cut off arm, resulting only in the infliction of a small cut.

‘Why is he so slow?’ she could feel the frustration welling up inside of her.

El-Nahat took jumped backwards, trying to circle Narbareck and attack from behind, but she could easily keep up with his speed, closing the gap between them once again. She feinted an attack with her right Black Key to his neck. As the man dodged slightly she delivered a powerful kick right to his stomach, smashing him into the blood smeared wall behind him.
Her blind companion asked in shock “Are you alright, Narbareck?”

She was annoyed beyond measure, her smile having vanished and being replaced by a furious expression.

Why didn’t he give her her fight? Why didn’t he use bounded fields, reality marbles, rare conceptual equipment, long forgotten spells or the physical power that could be expected from a Dead Apostle Ancestor? Why did he mock her?

If he insisted on provoking her, then it was only natural for her to respond. As he readied both of his hands for a cross slash with his claws, probably to force her to jump back, Narbareck casually turned her outwards facing Black Keys so that the tips faced each other, cutting off both of the vampire’s hands. The vampire, still not realizing what had happened, continued to swing his stumps while she impaled his two hands in midair. With another swift motion she threw the Black Keys to the side where they stuck to the walls, the hands slowly drying out.

She grabbed one of the vampire’s stumps at the elbow with her left hand while simultaneously raising her right knee to draw a big military-grade knife out of her boot. As she smashed his arm against the wall behind him, she plunged the knife in her right arm through his bones, nailing him to the wall.

Panicking, the man tried to kick her while trying to loosen the knife by shaking and pulling on his arm. But Narbareck just took a step back, this time taking a knife out of her left boot into her right hand, moved to the left of the vampire and just casually stabbed through his arm again, immobilizing him completely.

His utterly frightened expression may have brought joy to her if he had not already desecrated her beloved hunt with his various antics.

“Worthless…” with a disgusted expression she pulled a new Black Key out of her robe, without any special markings. It would kill him for sure. His answer completely puzzled her:

“Peace be upon you.”

Suddenly she felt something rattling in a small compartment in her robe.

It was the compass. It reacted to something even she could feel. The vampire channeled massive amounts of prana.

It was another trap. And she walked right into it.

As fast as she could she dropped her Key and grabbed the rosary dangling down her neck between her hands.

‘Lord, protect me.’ Prayed the girl silently.

A golden aura enveloped her.

A deafening blast filled the room.

Hit by a very strong wave of pressure Narbareck was smashed through the wall on the other side of the exploded vampire. The protection the Scripture gave was strong enough to ward her from the shockwave, but as she hit the wall before it was blown apart it was already too weak to protect her completely from the hard impact on the already brittle wall.

She tried to sit up, trying to ignore the sharp pain she felt all over her body. Her left arm and shoulder were damaged the most, due to them being the first body parts to touch the wall. Looking at her forearm, she only now noticed that it had a slight bend in the middle of it. Apparently it broke. Her shoulder didn’t feel particularly good either but other than a severe bruise it was nothing to worry about.

Right now she had to grit her teeth and confirm the kill.

“Narbareck! You’re alive!” she could hear Claw shouting from somewhere. She must have forgotten her during the heat of the battle. It was a miracle that she survived the blast. She must have managed to get to the courtyard despite curse-inflicted blindness, a curse that wore off once the target was dead.

But still, Narbareck wanted to make sure. She had a hunch that there must have been some oversight, a little detail that she forgot. Even if his identity was confirmed by the usage of his presumed signature technique, she just felt that there was something wrong.

As she arrived at the rubble that was a wall just minutes ago she found pieces of the suit the black haired man had worn. Identifying him from body parts would have been a tedious task due to the abundance of them in the ruins, but she had to find something, after all El-Nahat somehow always managed to survive his suicide attacks.

What she found was more like red goo than anything even resembling intact body parts. There was not the slightest sign of regeneration in the body. Seeing that it was full moon it made the whole situation even weirder.

“Hah, we got him, great!” Claw had a winning smile on her face as she patted her superior on the intact shoulder.

Narbareck tried to piece this incident together, despite being slightly nauseous from the pain.

How did this weak vampire manage to kill five trained Executors?

Why would he even be on the list of Dead Apostle Ancestors, the elite of the elite?

At that moment she noticed a strange detail. The safety on Claw’s rifle was still off.

Just a small hunch. Narbareck stealthily procured a Black Key hilt from her robes, holding her hand behind her robes, filling it with prana.

“Hey Claw…what’s your first name?” Narbareck asked, sounding like she was honestly curious.

“Claire, didn’t you know that?”

With a swift motion she cleaved the rifle in half with the Black Key.

“What is wrong with you? You could have killed me!” shouted Claw, fear filling her expression.

“Your god-damned name is not Claire, El-Nahat.”

It finally hit her.

The strange departure of their Exorcist colleague.

El-Nahat knowing of their arrival.

The Ghouls focusing their effort on her during the trap.

The weakness of the Dead Apostle Ancestor.

It was not a Dead Apostle Ancestor. It was just a regular vampire, a subordinate of the real El-Nahat, the “girl” that stood before her. He must have disposed of her as she was talking to her as “Mahmut” the real one probably killed before they even arrived, then taking her appearance. Unfortunately for “Mahmut” Claw would never give out her real name in casual conversation.

Claw smiled upon this accusation, and then suddenly seemed to disappear into thin air, though she could still see signs of his footsteps on the rubble.

Shapeshifting was a skill that was not unheard of, but it was mostly a long and tedious process, not really effective for such operations unless one were incredibly skilled at it. Especially with the curse of time restoration affecting one, the alteration of one’s physical body, removing its appearance further of the image of the soul via magical means took time, and it would have used higher amounts of prana she would have sensed. Hypnosis, to convince someone that one was in fact another person would be ineffective on her and a lot of Church members.

His trick was a lot simpler. He manipulated light itself, making the eye see what it’s not supposed to see, deceiving even those resistant to hypnosis, a trick that he used to turn himself invisible just now, a trick that would even offer protection against sunlight to some extent. A simple enchantment to alter ones voice on top of this, and one could pass for everyone, as long as one would avoid touch.
This entire time she was fooled. She ran into trap after trap, doing exactly what the old vampire wanted her to do. But the last step was averted.

This day would not be her last. But it would be El-Nahat’s last day as a free man.

With her leg slightly limping, she went towards the traces the vampire left. Like a fencer she used the key in her hand, trying to precisely stab where she presumed the shoulder of the vampire.

Effortlessly the invisible vampire knocked the weapon out of her hand before it could reach him. With incredible speed he tried to scratch her throat with his claws, but Narbareck did not have to rely on sight to evade this attack, ducking under it and punching the vampire with full force in the presumed location of his nose. She felt resistance and blood on her hand.

If she were in a better condition his skull would have been smashed by this blow. The man tried to create some space between them by taking quick backward steps, his position now given away by small blood droplets hitting the floor, ceasing after a second.

“It does not make a difference anyway, Ancestor. Show yourself.” Her voice was full of wrath at the scheming vampire.

“Very well.” A deep, booming voice answered, sounding like it would belong to a very old sage. ‘Apparently there is still some pride left in the man’ thought Narbareck as he revealed himself.

In front of her appeared a man with white hair, a dark brown skin tone, a clean shaven face, wearing a dark red one piece robe, covering his entire body, on the front there were a few buttons holding together the piece of clothing, making it seem more like a cloak than a robe if it were not for the thin material. Underneath it he wore a pair of black pants and simple leather shoes and for some reason no shirt. His mouth was covered by a black piece of cloth.

‘There was no enchantment for the voice…just a cheap mystic code…’ the thought of getting outsmarted by a piece of cloth nearly drove her insane.

Together with his crimson red eyes and claws at his hands the man gave off an incredible aura of danger. He was, without a doubt, a Dead Apostle Ancestor.

“Why my subordinates did not manage to dispose of you pest is beyond me…” Disappointment was written all over his face. He did not intend to fight the Executor by himself. “Come, hunter. Let us finish this.”

Her mind focused on one single task. Killing the vampire. It did not matter to her if the church would penalize her for this. She just wanted the one who humiliated her to die. Her body seemed to demand that her consciousness would finally give in, to rest after the damage it sustained, but her mind kept it running on the pure contempt she felt for the being before her.

With empty hands she charged towards the vampire.

A grave mistake.

As she closed in on him she was suddenly blinded by incredibly bright light, coming from the vampire’s body. He used her disorientation to his advantage, uttering a single word.

“Tābit“

Her movements were halted on the spot, what hit her was an easily breakable curse of immobilization. She activated her circuits, flushing the malignant prana out of her as fast as she could, even a second of standstill could mean her death in this battle after all.

Suddenly Narbareck felt little droplets of blood hitting her face. Nothing could prepare her for what she saw when she regained her sight.

The upper body of the vampire seemed as if it was burst open, revealing his innards, but there was something clearly wrong with his stomach.

It seemed to be open. And it seemed to rapidly expand, strangely reminding her of a parachute. Towards her, who still could not move freely. The strange mass of flesh was now centimeters before her, and she was able to peer inside.

Inside his own body, the Dead Apostle Ancestor El-Nahat had a permanently running reality marble, undisturbed by the world’s order. She had heard before of another vampire accomplishing this, number ten of the twenty seven. But his reality marble, Alien Stomach World, operated on another principle.

It seemed like a desert in which strangely murky rain seemed to fall, causing damping whenever a droplet hit the sand.

A simple concept was behind it. Everyone and everything that would be trapped inside would suffer from conceptual “digestion”. No matter how indestructible, how undefeatable and how flawless a piece of creation was once it entered this realm it would eventually die, given time.

And time was a commodity vampires had in abundance.

This would mean her death. She still was not freed from the curse, and in a second she would be enveloped in it, dying an agonizing death without a chance of escaping the otherworldly dimension.

But this was not what angered her the most. It was that even at the end of all this, the vampire once again managed to one-up her, to deceive and trick her, and make her beloved hunt a farce.

With anger in her heart Narbareck closed her eyes for the last time.

Then she heard something unexpected.

Gunshots. Not coordinated, not from a great distance, just a man frantically pulling a trigger without the slightest clue on what he was doing, hoping to hit the target.

Dawn had arrived.

The semiautomatic pistol managed to transmit enough energy to the target to make it fall over to the side, thus throwing off the “aim” of the rapidly expanding organ, which rapidly contract inside of the vampire again, having found nothing to devour.

Narbareck was finally free to move. It was over.

The Burial Agency had managed to once again finish off a Dead Apostle Ancestor.

“Get a coffin for that despicable creature, Dawn…”

=================

“He killed himself, ma’am. I was just shooting a corpse.” Dawn shrugged, taking place on the driver seat of the gigantic truck, turning the key in the lock.

“Drop the ma’am Dawn, we had that already. Also he is still alive.” Answered Narbareck, her arm wrapped crudely in some bandages with a splint. Dawn attempted to change the topic from his breach of pacifism.

“I can’t believe that she died…it seems impossible that such a capable and fearsome warrior can get murdered just like that by one of our enemies…”

“She was always prepared to find her end in combat. Before she became an associate of mine she was a GIGN, but then demonic possession struck the poor girl. I guess it was because of all the stress she experienced during training and deployment?” Narbareck did not seem to care if Dawn was listening or not, staring out of the window with a slightly distracted look in her eyes. “An exorcism was performed, but they just didn’t manage to get that thing out of her, so it incarnated in her arm, consuming the soul of the priest who tried to get it out. So we manage to seal it and make her work for us, after all the only alternative was death…”

“Our deployment is not always like this I presume?” serious concern was in his voice.

Intrigued she looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Going up against beings that manage to bring even our best people down without much effort. That should not happen every time, right?” gripping the steering wheel with one hand he turned the CD radio on, though switching the volume very low to not disturb the conversation.

“Who knows…?”

“At least we are not deployed that often, right ma’am?” asked Dawn, the concern in his voice seeming almost atypical for the priest.

He did not receive an answer to his question. Instead Narbareck just turned the volume of the track up. Maybe it was an answer in itself when she started humming the song in a low volume as she closed her eyes.

“Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'
Our very street today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost its way

War, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away“

[Milbunk]

Name: Rust
Author: Anon


The sky was beautiful.

The smoky grey clouds drifting through the endless abyss. The spots of faint light shining through the thick blanket that coated the world’s ceiling. The soft, cradling openness of it all, leaving behind an idea of freedom.

Those were the boy’s first thoughts. The only emotion he could call his own at that time. All that he was had flown out into that beautiful sky, leaving behind nothing but a soulless shell. An empty person, unable to do anything but appreciate the beauty he would never reach. But for now, he had this one thing. This feeling that the sky could only be called beautiful.

A tear fell from the boy’s right eye, as gravity took hold. It would never reach the ground. The blistering heat evaporated it before it could reach earth. The boy paid it no mind. He had finally found the second thought of his life.

Pain.

The second thought. A cruel, painful thing. The boy didn’t know what to make of it. It hurt. Why did it hurt? What was it?

“Ah.” It was what he would normally call his body. He looked down, and once more a tear fell from his right eye. Why? Why was it broken? Why did it hurt so much?

He raised a left hand that was missing its pinky and ring fingers, and touched it to the place where his left eye should have been.

It wasn’t there.

“Where... where is it?” Where was his eye? Where had it gone? Why had it left behind such a gaping hole inside of him? “Where did it go?”

He looked upwards again. The sky... so it had gone there. Along with his two missing fingers, his left ear, and both of his legs below the knees. All of him would soon follow.

The pain was concentrated in those places where he didn’t have things. Those holes in him hurt, and wanted to desperately fill them up, just to make the pain stop.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t walk without legs. He couldn’t see with only one eye. He couldn’t hold onto anything with those ruined hands of his.

He could only silently shed half tears as he realized that he was flawed. Imperfect. Something inside him was missing. Where there should have been a heart was just another hole. His insides felt mushy, as if they could no longer hold onto their original forms. He had been born wrong. He had been born, to die.

He looked around with his weak vision.

Fire. Heat. Smoke. He saw those things, yet did not feel them. Perhaps it was too late for something like him to feel anything but pain.

Ruined buildings. Great monuments that most likely took hundreds of years to carve crumbled in instants. Destruction was so much easier than creation. Just as giving could be called many times more difficult than taking.

And that was all the boy saw. Things not as they should be. Him, his surroundings, everything.

Except for the sky.

The beautiful sky. It was perfect, he thought. Never to be scarred, never to lose anything, never to feel the emptiness of life.

Thus, he realized it. He wanted, for one moment, to be that sky. So he too could feel free, just like the clouds. He wanted...

“I... want...” He croaked. Even though he couldn’t hear with perforated eardrums, the boy spoke, wishing to the sky for a miracle. “I want to live.” The tears fell freely now, even as the heat made them disappear instantly. “I don’t want to die.”

A curious thing. Why should one such as he wish for life? Why should an imperfect being want to exist? Why should this worthless boy ask such a selfish thing of the world? Why ask for a wish that would never be granted?

Hope.

The boy did not understand, or even realize that he had held on to one thing from the start of his life. Hope. In those few moments since his awakening, the illogical desire to live had instilled in him one last thing. The empty box, cleared of all sins, now only contained a grain of hope.

He wanted to live. He wanted to survive. He wanted... he wanted...

“Someone... save me!” He cried. His hoarse throat tore, and he tasted blood as his vocal chords couldn’t take the strain. He had given it everything. His scream contained all that he was. Every emotion, every thought that he had experienced in his minute of life was put into one plea to the world. His first and only wish.

...

What is the world? It is the ground we walk on, the air we breathe, the animals we kill and eat. It is everything. It has everything. It can do everything.

Yet granting a single wish is something it cannot do. No miracles can be created simply by wanting them. Determination does not lead to magic. A wish is worthless to the world. A useless, pathetic parasite that can never accomplish anything. Wishing doesn’t lead to anything but failure in the eyes of the World.

But for humanity, a wish is pure. It is something that is sought after. People cry for wishes, fight for wishes, and die for wishes.

And they can grant them, as well.

“Boy.” A voice interrupted the boy’s tears. It was deep and rough, like the dirt itself. In that single word an entire story lived, waiting to be told.

Though he could not hear, the boy noticed the voice.

And then he noticed its owner.

The figure standing in front of him, towering over his resting place and piercing the sky. The shape that sliced through the beautiful space. The towering giant.

The man.

He couldn’t see the man’s face. Wrapped in many layers of cloth, the man resembled a tall, dirty hill more than anything. All that the boy saw was the man’s eyes. His deep, grey eyes.

“Do you wish to be saved?” A question, from the mountain to the child. The boy would not be able to hear. He could not; after all, the part of him that could listen had already gone to the sky. But even though he couldn’t hear, the boy answered the hoarse voice with a rough question of his own.

“W-will you free me?”

The man nodded, almost imperceptibly. The tiny motion of his head moving did not go unnoticed, however, and the boy smiled in relief. This emotion was called... happiness? He couldn’t tell. But still, he was glad. He would be saved. His wish would come true.

The folds of the man’s cloak shuffled, and before his very eyes a thick, burly hand snaked out of the mountain. The boy saw tanned skin, marked with countless scars, yet still muscular and strong. The hand of one who had seen many battles.

The hand approached, and as it moved closer to the boy’s head, he saw the man’s hood fall back.

An old face. A thick white beard, messy and rough, had burst from the man’s chin years ago. His hair was white as well, as pure as snow the boy had never seen, and a sharp contrast to his dark, scarred face. But most of all, his eyes captivated the boy. The man’s gentle grey eyes, hardened like the softest metal. Those eyes would never lie, the boy realized. They were the eyes of one who could work miracles.

The kind, compassionate eyes of a hero.

The thick hand covered the boy’s head, and squeezed.

The boy’s head burst, splattering blood and brain matter all about. His battered and broken body stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as it could no longer receive any signals to keep it alive. The boy had died instantly, and painlessly, as a sharp contrast to his birth.

The man straightened, and shook his blood spattered hand, letting the blood of a once living being slide off it and onto the ground. It didn’t evaporate. Tears could fade, but blood would stay forever. The man wiped his soiled hand on his tattered cloak until he judged it to be sufficiently clean. He then brought the hood of his cloak up, covering his emotionless face until once more only his eyes could be seen. Then the hand found its way back into the cloak, and the man became a mountain once more.

He moved on, leaving the boy’s dead body where he had found it, lying broken on the sidewalk next to the crushed bodies of its parents.

Around him, the city slowly died.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


“Next.”

It was a curious scene. In the middle of a ruined city, a group of about 2 dozen survivors had gathered. Inexplicably, they had chosen to come together in the middle of a very large football stadium instead of a safe building. One would normally wonder why they would do such a thing, but after a single moment the reason would become apparent to even the weakest observer.

They were slaves, and this was their proving ground.

“Next.”

Each person there, from the oldest grandmother to the youngest child able to walk, was chained to another person, so that every single one of the 24 people formed a human link, unable to walk or run away without dragging the rest along. Thick, heavy chains of black iron bound them, and instead of manacles each had a cruelly shaped stake rammed through their palms and bound there, so that every single yank caused immeasurable pain.

“Next.”

Their conditions were no better than their situation. Rags, tatters, remnants of old clothes were all they wore, and most of the outfits were covered in dried blood. Time had not been kind to them. Their hair was unkempt, and anyone nearby would remark unfavourably about their harsh odour, the product of not bathing for weeks on end.

“Next.”

One of the smallest, a young girl of barely 7 years idly scratched at the stake in her palm. The surrounding tissue had already hardened and healed some time earlier, but had started itching a few minutes before... She continued scratching, unnoticed by the rest, until her frenzied clawing opened up the wound once more, and her blood spilled onto the dead grass. She stopped, and breathed a sigh of relief as the itching ceased.

“Next.”

At the head of the group of people stood two more people, different from the rest. Unlike the dead eyed people chained up, the man in front wore a fancy suit and tie that didn’t really seem to fit with the image of the ruined town. But no one protested. Behind him stood a short but thin woman with a machete strapped to her hip and a large brown fedora to keep the glaring sun out of her eyes. Her dark skin glimmered with sweat from the sweltering heat.

The man ran a sweaty hand through his gelled black hair and with the other flipped the page over on his clipboard. He retrieved a pencil from behind his right ear (the left was gone, as if it had never been there) and scribbled something on his the lined paper.

“Next.”

As he said those words the line shifted, and the person in the front stepped forward. He was a young man of about 24, and seemed reasonably fit compared to most of his companions, though he shared their empty eyes. The man in the suit looked over him for a moment, before saying something different. “This one goes to the boss.”

The woman behind him nodded, and walked up to the comatose man at the front of the line. “Hands out.” She commanded, and the man raised his chained arms slowly.

Slice!

With a single slash the chains binding him were sliced apart by the woman’s machete, which was already in its sheath by the time the chains fell to the floor. The stakes and part of the chain remained in his hands. The woman sighed and fished around in her pocket for a piece of paper, which she took out and slapped onto the recently freed man’s chest. He stiffened, and then, as the patterns on the paper twisted and turned, he stiffly marched past the duo, and towards the back exit of the stadium. His movements couldn’t be called anything but doll-like.

“Next.”

An old man stepped forward. He was one of the most aged, and couldn’t have been younger than eighty. The man peered at his condition for a moment before shaking his head.

The woman behind him caught the movement and gave a nod. She stepped forward, and with a single swipe of her machete sliced off the old man’s head and hands all within a single second, killing him instantly. The body wavered, but she grabbed it and threw it behind her with a single hand, onto a truly gigantic pile of freshly made corpses. Indeed, if someone entered the stadium the mountain of dead would be the first thing they saw and noticed. Its smell permeated the field, spreading the stench of death. The grass around it was red and slippery with blood, and flies were already flocking to it.

The other prisoners showed no reaction to the old man’s death.

“Next.”

The man sighed again. As the next person, the same young girl who had been scratching at her hands earlier, stepped forward, the man paused. He looked at the clipboard and peered once more at the girl.

“Hey Martha, we’ve got a VIP.” He said.

The woman with the fedora and machete approached, and took a look at the clipboard, before raising an eyebrow. “Huh. Her dad’s pretty famous. How much do you think we could get out of him?”

“At least a million, if not two. It says here that he dotes on his daughter.” The man chuckled. “Well, we can’t get rid of her then. Take her to the...” He pondered for a moment. “Take her to the boss’s pleasure chambers. You know he likes them
young sometimes.” He said with a disgusting grin on his face.

The woman didn’t seem to share his sentiments, and frowned. “Tch. You know I hate that place. Why don’t you go, Rex? I’ll handle the rest here. We’re almost done anyway.”

“No, I’m sending you there precisely because I know you hate the place.” Rex said, and Martha groaned. “Besides.” He added seeing her expression. “I’m Boss’s financial manager. I ain’t paid to do manual labour. Hell, the only reason I’m here is because we were too short on manpower after the last raid. You on the other hand are just one of his four bodyguards. I outrank you. Deal with it.”

“Fuck you Rex.” She grabbed the girl roughly by her long, stringy hair, and started walking away, dragging her captive along. She only got a few meters before Rex decided to speak.

“I know you want to, but perhaps later.” He snickered.

Martha stiffened, and her face curled into an angry expression, but it seemed that she decided to be the better person as she just kept walking, ignoring her partner’s jabs. The girl being dragged along struggled to keep up with Martha’s long strides, but otherwise showed no pain even as her hair was tugged. “I could kill that bastard in a second.” She whispered to herself as she walked, but didn’t act upon her impulses. As much as she hated Rex, she recognized that he was an important part of their group.

Rex turned back to the shrinking group of slaves, and took a look at the clipboard. He crossed off a name, and looked for another, uncrossed name.

“Next.” He said out of habit.

The next man to walk forward was clad in a thick cloak as a contrast to the nearly naked others. He was so covered up by cloth that Rex couldn’t even make out his eyes.

The suited businessman took a look at the slave, and sighed. “Hands up.” He said.

The man didn’t move.

Rex sighed once more, audibly. “Fucking hell. The damn stakes must be defective. Hands up!” He called clearly this time, with greater emphasis on volume. It seemed to do the trick, as the latest man’s hands rose slowly.

“Good, but you’re probably going in the pile. We’ve got too many old men as it is- wait.” Rex blinked as he stared at the man’s hands.

His unmarked, unchained hands.

“Oh shi-“

Rex never got to finish his sentence, as the other man’s right hand suddenly wrapped itself around his throat, cutting off all air, as well as effectively silencing the slave driver.

Rex choked, and clawed at the offending limb with both of his own hands frantically as he realized his predicament. But his hands couldn’t budge the other man’s iron grip. After a few seconds he gave up on that option and tried to call out for help, but instantly realized that he couldn’t even get a single sound out with the other man’s hand choking him.

Rex threw a wild punch born from desperation, aimed towards his assailant’s face. It struck, but it felt to Rex like he was hitting a marble statue. He gasped and sputtered, now desperate for air. He threw out a kick to the other man’s genitals, but once more his opponent showed no reaction.

He couldn’t hurt this man. A human’s blows would do no good.

Rex started to feel faint. His vision began to blur around the edges, and his struggles weakened until he could barely move. As a last ditch effort he drew the knife he kept around his waist, and pushed forward, but the man’s other hand casually grabbed the weapon out of Rex’s hands.

The slave driver blinked slowly as he realized his last lifeline had been cut and finally looked up from the hand choking him to the hidden face of the person who would end his life.

He couldn’t see the man’s face. It was hidden, after all. But in his final moments Rex saw his killer’s eyes.

Steel grey. Harder than the most powerful metal. Like swords, forged in the heated blood of thousands of dead. Those eyes were cold, colder than the deadliest ice storm, colder than the naked outer space.

The cold, cruel eyes of a hero.

His neck snapped, the spine breaking and severing the vital arteries and nerves to the brain. Rex died instantly, but most definitely not painlessly. His body went limp, and all of his previous struggles ceased as his life was ended for him.

The man looked at the dead body in his hands for a moment, and then threw it on top of the pile of corpses with a single hand.

He turned back to look at the slaves, still waiting in line unaware that their captor had been killed. They probably wouldn’t ever notice, considering their lobotomized states.

The cloaked man cleared his throat.

“Next.”


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


The duo trudged through the ruined city. They were a strange pair; a short, brown haired woman wearing a fedora and a dirty young girl with stakes running through her hands. They walked leisurely, in relaxing in the warm setting sun. Or more accurately, the woman was in no hurry to reach her destination, while the girl had no opinion of her own and simply followed the woman.

So they walked.

“It would be nice if I had a car, or a bike.” The woman sighed. “Walking all over is just too damn boring.” She spoke even though the only person who could hear her complaints didn’t have the capacity to answer. “You probably don’t even care, do you girl?” She looked at her companion. The girl’s bare hands and feet were bleeding profusely from walking over sharp rubble, and she left footprints of blood with every step. Still, the girl showed no pain. “Yeah, it would be best for you to just bleed out like that.” Martha snorted. “You’re already doomed anyway.”

No reply. Not that she was expecting one.

“Rex is a dick.” Martha kept talking to the unhearing girl. “Really, that guy always teases me like this. Sending me to do the worst jobs, and then when I’m about to snap and kill him he always finds some way to calm me down.” She took her machete out of its sheath and gave it a few experimental swings. It sliced through the air smoothly, and not a speck of rust impeded its trajectory. Truly, it was a work of art. A fabulous weapon that would never be found in this city anymore.

“The last time I got sick of ferrying people to the Pit for a week straight, and when I was literally in his office, ready to choke him to death... he handed me this machete and told me it was a reward for all my hard work.” She admired the weapon. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

The girl didn’t answer, but Martha didn’t care. She kept talking anyway.

“It was one of the older models, before the Third War. Apparently these were originally used for cutting plants and not people, but Rex managed to get the Boss’s personal magus to enchant it with some really nice effects. This thing is near indestructible, and carries a wind aligned piercing charm that lets it cut through some really cool stuff. And that’s not even half of what it can do.” To demonstrate, Martha snapped her hand to the side, and a nearby car slid apart, sliced perfectly in half. She swung again and a piece of rubble shattered.

She looked at her weapon again. Perfect. Not a single scratch on it.

“Ah, that idiot.” Martha smiled softly. “I’ll have to punish him when I get back-“

A breeze. For the merest fraction of a second a warm wind ruffled Martha’s hair slightly.

She threw herself to the ground, as a screaming piece of jagged metal shot past where her head had been a fraction of a second earlier. At hypersonic speeds it impacted a building a good distance past Martha and the girl, resulting in an explosion that tore apart a chunk of the building several cubic meters large. The groaning and creaking of the building was magnified as it started leaning to the front, having been severed from its most important support columns.

But Martha didn’t even notice any of this. She whirled, just in time to catch an identical arrow on the flat of her machete’s blade. Instead of leaving it to explode, with a grunt she swung, sending the glowing arrow upwards where it exploded again in a conflagration that charred some of Martha’s hat.

“Who-?” She swung again as another arrow approached, and miraculously she managed to intercept the projectile mid flight with her own inhuman speed, sending it to the side, past its intended target. She didn’t even bother looking at the explosion behind her. No, her eyes were fixed on the direction the arrow had come from. She knew that if she looked away even for a single second, it would spell her end.

“An assassin.” She growled. “Or a fool. But those arrows of yours aren’t ordinary ammunition. No, they’re more like missiles.” She rolled as an arrow more powerful than the previous ones shot past her head, neatly severing a strand of hair, and exploding the ground behind her.

“Shit.” Now she was starting to get annoyed. An unseen enemy launching projectiles almost too fast for her to catch? This wasn’t good at all. No, it was the worst possible situation. “Girl, get to a building and hide! I don’t need a useful moneybag dead!” The girl stumbled to one of the sturdier looking buildings, and crawled through one of the broken windows there. Martha breathed a sigh of relief, and grinned.

“Good. Now I can stop holding back.”

As the other projectile approached, she swung upwards, catching the arrow directly and propelling it upwards. As it exploded she rushed forward and inhuman speeds, heading straight for the direction the arrow shots had come from. Though she wasn’t very proficient at long range combat, she knew enough to get out of it.

And her sharp eyes had already caught the slight movement of a cloak in the wind. She had located her would be killer.

Standing on top of a ruined but still solid building a great distance away was a man so wrapped up in various layers of fabric that he resembled nothing more than a greyish mass of dirt in the shape of a human. As usual, all that could be seen of his face was his shining eyes. But one thing was different this time.

The jet black bow clutched in his hands.

He opened his free hand, and spoke in a voice like rocks being crushed to dust.

“Trace, on.”

From a flash of golden light came a sword like no other. It resembled nothing more than a shining example of what all other weapons aspired to become. The leather hilt, the elegantly polished blade, it was perfect in every way.

It glowed, slowly shifting until it was no longer a sword, but an arrow. A glowing silver arrow.

He slowly nocked the arrow and stretched the string of his bow to full capacity. He was ready.

He sighted his target, a woman running directly towards his sniping post. She was at least a kilometre away, but it would take only a fraction of a minute for her to reach him. He’d have time for one more shot before it was too late.

The arrow’s silver glow flared, strengthening as it fed on the man’s prana. He charged it more and more until he knew that it had reached the breaking point.

The woman reached the bottom of the building but didn’t even slow down, instead changing her trajectory from running along the ground to dashing straight up the broken apartment in violation of gravity’s rules. Ridiculous. Such a thing was obviously beyond even an extraordinary human, yet she defied that rule completely.

The man didn’t move. He held his bow ready to fire at any second, even though the woman’s approach drew her ever closer to him.

Time stilled. The man saw in slow motion as his opponent reached the top of the building, jumping straight over the lip of the roof and directly towards him, thrusting her machete out, ready to pierce his heart. He even saw the murderous grin on her face.

She saw his glimmering eyes, staring into her own. She saw his bow, glistening black in the light of the sunset. She saw his fingers relaxing, allowing the bow string to slip from them and launch his arrow even as she approached.

She saw his merciless eyes, and her death.

“Durandal.”

He released the bow string, and his arrow met Martha’s machete.

The enchanted weapon capable of stopping attacks that could destroy buildings cracked, and shattered as the arrow drove straight through it without a pause. Martha’s eyes widened as she felt the projectile pass through her weapon, her hand, and eventually her entire arm.

In a single moment most of her right side had been blown away.

She collapsed onto the roof in front of the bowman’s feet, her sides charred and smoking. If one looked closely they would be able to see some of her organs poking out. Her shoulder and all of her right arm was simply gone, and only luck had saved her head from suffering the same fate.

Behind her, a building exploded as a Phantasm that created miracles detonated. The rumble of the collapsing structure was felt by all within a 5 mile radius, and the noise of it falling went by the two warriors instantly.

“Who... are you?” Martha pushed herself up with her remaining arm, forcing herself to look at the hooded figure. He didn’t respond, except to release his bow, which disappeared into glimmering lights.

He kneeled down in front of the fallen woman, and pushed down his hood, revealing his tanned and scarred face. His pure white beard and shaggy hair revealed just how old he really was.

Martha’s eyes widened as she recognized the face in front of her. “You...” She breathed. “You were supposed to have been killed years ago.” She groaned as she felt her strength fade, and the burns on her right side intensified. “Are you here to free these slaves?” She sneered. “It’s too late. Their will has already been subjugated. You can’t release them just by taking out the stakes.” She coughed, and blood fell from her ruined throat.

“...where is he?” The man whispered to the dying woman in front of him. “Where is your master?”

“Heh. You want to kill him?” Martha chuckled weakly. She pushed with her hand and flipped over onto her back, collapsing and looking into the cloudy sky. She saw the sun slowly falling below the horizon. “It’s impossible.” She said weakly. “Even if you get past the 3 remaining bodyguards, not even you’ll be able to kill him. The master is invincible.”

“That’s irrelevant.” The man said. “Where is he?”

Martha blinked. “The tallest building in the city. You can’t miss it. He’s turned the place into his personal castle. It’s guarded by the remaining 3 bodyguards and every single one of the 25 floors is trapped with highly advanced magecraft. Only the bodyguards and the boss know how to get through-“

“Doesn’t matter.” The man cut her off. “Thank you for the help. You can die now.”

“Is Rex alive?” She asked him, already feeling faint. “Did you get him, too?”

“Yes. He’s dead.” The man said.

“Hm. Thought so. That guy was always one who’d get himself killed one day just from being an idiot.” Martha looked up one last time at the cloudy sky, but there was something in her way.

The man who had defeated her looked down at his prey. His face was empty of all emotion but Martha could still see traces of it in his eyes.

The eyes of a man who had lost loved ones. The eyes of a man who had killed loved ones. The eyes of a man to whom the connections between human beings meant nothing.

The empty eyes of a hero.

She closed her eyes and died in the dark, unwilling to have her last sight be such an empty face.

The man turned his back to the body of the woman he had killed, and started the long walk down the steps of the building he had chosen to attack from. The steps were cracked, but they miraculously held the man’s weight, only to collapse as soon as his foot moved to the next one. As he descended, the twisted staircase collapsed behind him like a burning bridge.

As he left the building, it groaned like a dying animal and slowly fell apart, too broken to sustain itself. The man didn’t even notice as he walked back to where he had originally attacked the woman. From the start his objective hadn’t been to kill, but to save. There was a certain someone who he needed to find…

“Girl, come out.” He commanded when he reached the place that had taken all of his arrows minutes later. His gruff voice swept through the dead city, and he awaited a reply from someone, anyone. “Come to me.”

He turned as he heard the scraping of cloth and skin against stone and metal. From one of the buildings that had been left intact, a skinny young girl exited. She plodded slowly towards him, leaving behind bloody footprints with every step. She stopped in front of the man, and looked up at him with empty eyes, awaiting another order.

“State your name.” The man growled.

“Amelia Hutchins.” She spoke. Her voice, like her eyes, lacked some ethereal property that made it human. It was nothing more than sound produced by vibrating vocal chords, and not speech.

“So you’re the one I’m here for after all.” The man nodded to himself. “Show me your arms, girl.”

She raised her hands. The stakes stabbed roughly through them had caused wounds that wouldn’t heal. They were already festering, and almost certainly infected.

“Hm...” The man went down on one knee to better examine the girl’s limbs. His steely eyes crossed over the stakes with a clinical gaze, not flinching at the brutal wounds they continued to inflict. “Don’t move no matter what until I tell you to.” He finally said.

The girl responded only by stiffening her muscles, locking her shaking arms in place.

The man firmly grasped one of the stakes, and tore upwards.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

The girl’s scream was unexpected, and she flailed wildly as the stake left her hand, almost falling to the ground as her legs lost their power. Her empty scream filled the air, and even the man flinched as he heard her cry of pain. But he had already hardened his heart. He grabbed the second stake, and quickly yanked it out of the girl’s palm, throwing it on the ground next to its bloodstained twin.

Almost as quickly as the scream started, it ceased. The girl collapsed into the man’s arms limply, resembling nothing more than a ragdoll in the shape of a human. He pressed two fingers against her throat, and held his breath, looking for any signs of life.

It was barely audible, and could have been just a trick of the mind, but he was sure that she still had a heartbeat.

“Well, that’s the easy part finished.” He muttered to himself as he examined the girl’s hands now that she had lost consciousness. “At least he won’t get angry at me bringing in a corpse.” He deftly tore pieces of his cleaner inner coverings off, and deftly wrapped them around the bleeding holes in her hands. Strangely they didn’t bleed as much as they should have, and he knew that she’d survive just fine until he could get her to a hospital.

He looked at her feet. They were bleeding almost as much as the hands, and with a sigh he tore off two more strips of his cloak to wrap them up as well. “Really, these guys are supposed to be a threat to the world yet they can’t even treat a hostage correctly. It’s surprising they lasted this long with such inefficient tactics.” He hoisted the still unmoving girl over his shoulder, and took a look around him.

Nothing. No one. Just him, the girl, and the dead city.

He turned, and walked down the street to an unknown destination.

As he strode down the path, he paused for a moment, and then looked up. Through the empty skies flew a single bird, a black crow.

“...so you were watching. Fine then, since you’ve taken the liberty of observing my actions, here is a message for your master.”

He placed the girl on the ground, and in an instant, the man materialized his bow and shot the bird down with an arrow. Despite the sheer impossibility of the task, his projectile struck true, and the avian creature was sent spiralling downwards with a cry of pain. It ended up on the ground, right in front of the archer.

He looked at the dying bird.

“I’m coming for you next. And this time, I won’t make the mistake of sparing your life.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Master, we have confirmed the death of Martha Slipkirk.”

“Oh? She was the best swordswoman of the Guard, if I recall. I find it hard to believe that she could be killed so easily. Does this have anything to do with the death of my financial manager and the disappearance of a half dozen prisoners?”

“...yes, sir. Both the incidents were perpetrated by the same person.”

“Who did it, Fenix? Who is the poor soul that has chosen to anger me?”

“We don’t know, sir. However, we managed to get a recording of the last part of the fight, just as she died. Would you like to see it?”

“Go ahead. I’m interested in what kind of man could kill her.”

“Durandal.”

“AAAAAAAAAAA!”

“I’m coming for you next. And this time, I won’t make the mistake of sparing your life.”

“...heh.”

“Master?”

“Ha! Hahahaha! HAHAHAHAHA! Oh this is just too good! To think that he’d finally come for me! It’s been years since I last saw the fool, and now he’s here in my city, thinking that he can kill me!”

“Don’t worry, Master. We shall kill this interloper before he can reach you. As one of your remaining Guard, I will destroy him and restore the honour that was lost when one of our own fell to an enemy.”

“Fenix, you are a fool.”

“Master, what do you mean?”

“You won’t be able to win against him. He, of all people, is even more cruel and heartless than I am. If I am Evil, then he can only be called the most Pure Evil. You will definitely fail.”

“We shall try regardless, Master. I have analyzed footage of the battle, and have determined some of this man’s abilities. We three remaining Guards shall ambush him all at the same time, and wipe him off the face of this earth for sure. He will not reach you. Did you not say that even you would have trouble fighting us all at once?”

“...do as you wish, Fenix. You may kill the man, and even the girl. She isn’t that important anyway. But if he manages to reach my throne, then do not interfere. I have been looking forward to the chance to kill this man once and for all, and I shall not have you taking it from me.”

“Yes, Master. I shall head out with the rest of the guard now.”

“Wait. Fenix. Before you go, just remember one thing. That man will not bend. He will not hesitate. If he sees an enemy in front of him, he will destroy it without remorse. Do not make the mistake of trying to reason with him or appeal to his heart, for he has none.”

“I thank you for the advice, Master.”

“...and so he’s gone. Ha. Good luck, Fenix. Hopefully your death will be quick. But it probably won’t. He won’t let it be.”

“Isn’t that right, Emiya?”


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


The empty streets of the dying town were graced by the sound of slow footsteps, walking down the cracked and broken pavement and towards the gigantic building at the center of the town. It was tall enough that the skyscraper could be seen from anywhere within the town, like a monument of humanity mocking the gods.

That was his destination. His mission: to slam down the hammer of reality upon the one daring to rise past the limitations of humanity. He would drag down the offender and destroy him before an even greater power interfered.

Behind him walked the girl. Her bleeding hands and feet were bound with bandages, but she was walking by herself, and in a much better condition than she had been moments before. She clutched one of the man’s many cloaks around her body, hiding her nudity from the world.

“Um... where are we going, Mister?” She asked, in a hoarse voice that should not have come from such a young child’s mouth. “And... why aren’t we going away?”

“The tower.” The man responded. “It is my mission to take care of its owner and halt his efforts at expansion.”

“But... didn’t you say your mission was to protect me?” She cocked her head to the side, and nervously rubbed her bleeding palms together.

“That was the secondary objective.” He replied, quickly and concisely. “It just happens that the person who made it possible for me to be here also demanded that I rescue and protect his daughter. You are not my primary objective, merely someone that I must try and keep out of trouble.”

“Why are you taking me with you, then? Can’t you leave me home?”

He paused, considering his answer carefully. When he spoke again it was with even and measured tones. “The trip here was difficult. In the first place, getting past this place’s heavy defenses was too dangerous for me to do alone. I required assistance from my employer just to enter, and leaving will be even more difficult now that they’ve strengthened the guard. Leaving alone will be very hard, but leaving with you is simply impossible.”

Tears appeared in the corners of the girl’s eyes. “Does that mean... I’ll never see daddy again? I’ll never leave this horrible place?”

“No. There is one way to leave this place.” The man responded without a hint of compassion. “I shall destroy the being that controls this city, and free it. Escaping was never an option to begin with, and there is no safe haven here, so having you with me is actually the best way to lengthen your life. If I left you alone in the city, you wouldn’t last a day.”

“Mister...” The girl trembled at the man’s words. “Are you going to kill people? People like Martha?”

“Martha?” The man paused. “Are you referring to the woman who was imprisoning you?”

“Yeah.” Amelia nodded. “I saw it happen. You shot her with some kind of arrow, and her sword broke...” She trailed off, as she suddenly found the man’s eyes glaring directly at her.

“How do you know that?” He growled. “You were under a trance then. You shouldn’t be able to remember anything from that time. And in the first place, you never saw that battle. It was impossible for you see anything from that distance, where even I have trouble hitting accurately.”

Amelia looked down, and shook. “I... see things. I see things that have happened, things that are happening somewhere else, and things that will happen. Daddy says it’s how he became so rich. He asks me a bunch of questions every day, and I try to answer. Daddy is really happy when I can tell him things, so I try to see them. But sometimes I see things by accident. One time, Daddy got really mad when I told him I saw mommy hugging some strange man, and then mommy went away...” She trailed off. Her nervous explanation had turned into a full blown confession. Without even meaning to, she had told the unknown man in all about her ability.

The man paused. “Clairvoyance. So that’s why he was so keen to get you back, and why they decided to let you live...” All the pieces of the puzzle were falling together now. Why he’d been hired by one of the coldest politicians on the planet, why he’d been offered amnesty, and why they had refrained from sending her into the pits with the rest of their slaves. “Girl, do not speak of your ability to anyone we meet.” He said after thinking it over. “It’ll be dangerous if anyone finds out.”

Amelia nodded, but still spoke. “You haven’t answered my question, sir.” She said.

“The one about killing?” The man asked.

“Yes. Are you going to be killing more people now?”

“Only the bad guys.” He said. “It’s necessary to kill the bad people to save the good people.”

“Am I... one of the good people?”

“Of course. If you weren’t, you’d be dead.”

Despite his efforts, the gruff man found himself talking to his young companion more than he’d ever spoken in years. Perhaps it was simply because she was the only one to talk to, or maybe he was just tired after years of only battlefields and fighting. Regardless, the two continued their awkward conversation as they walked towards the monument in the middle of the dead city. It was mostly just Amelia asking questions, and the man giving one word answers, but she was happy just to have someone to talk to.

As they finally neared their destination, however, she suddenly stiffened, and stopped walking, standing in place with her eyes and mouth wide open.

“...what is it?” The man stopped and asked her. A person familiar with his habits would have noticed the slightest tinge of worry in his voice.

“It’s... there are people hiding up in front of us...” She spoke hesitantly. “Three of them, and they’re strong! Mister, they want to kill you!”

“You can tell that much?” The man crouched next to Amelia and materialized his bow. “That ability of yours sure is convenient. Go hide in one of the nearest buildings until I tell you to come out. I’ll take care of this.”

But Amelia shook her head wildly. “No! If you try to go forward, you’ll be killed! I can see it happening!” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I can see it, Mister! I can see you dying! I can see you standing against a wall, and then a knife comes from the wall behind you and goes into... it goes through your head!”

The man narrowed his eyes. “We’ll see then, if your ability is as accurate as you claim.” He said as he looked around, examining what would soon be his battleground. “Regardless, I want you to hide in one of the buildings. If I have to protect you and fight at the same time, I’ll have to lose either you, or the battle. And for me, losing is not an option.”

“M-mister...”

“Go.” The man turned his back on the crying girl and walked continued the walk towards the tower alone, just as he needed to be. Behind him, he heard Amelia’s crying cease, and the soft pitter-patter of her bandaged feet heading towards one of the buildings.

As soon as the noise ended, and he knew his secondary objective was as safe as she’d ever be in the dead city, the man continued on towards the tower. Now it was no longer a landmark to lead him to his destination, but a concrete place that was near enough to walk to. It blotted out the sun, casting blanket of shadow against a part of the city.

Even though it was day, to him it was as dark as evening.

He continued walking for a short while until he reached the front of the tower. From where he was it extended almost endlessly into the sky. The stone and steel walls were like a testament of man’s desire to reach the heavens no matter what, and there was no visible entrance. The entire area around the tower was clear of buildings or rubble for at least a few dozen meters, leaving nothing but dirt and asphalt to traverse.

He stopped just a few feet from the wall.

“Are you going to come out or should I just go in and kill your Master now?” He said.

“That would be a problem.” Out from the wall stepped a man clothed entirely in black. He emerged, not from some kind of hidden door, but from the wall itself, as easily as walking through a particularly thick fog. He brushed off some invisible dust from his shoulder, and observed his opponent. “You must get this a lot, but you don’t look particularly threatening.” He finally said. “I find it hard to believe that you are capable of killing one of our own, even after seeing the recording with my own eyes.” His grin was infuriating, and his face was young yet old at the same time. And he had the eyes of one who enjoyed his opponent’s suffering like a fine wine. His slicked back ebony hair only intensified that feeling.

As he spoke, a different voice responded from a crackling radio receiver attached to his belt. “He looks like someone who’s been living in a dump for a few years. And this is the guy they say offed old Martha? I can’t believe it.” An unmistakeably female voice responded. Unlike the black clad man, who exuded an aura of serenity and calm, the voice was boisterous, and a short laugh barked out of the receiver before the man in black switched it off.

“It matters little, Angelica.” The man in black pursed his lips. “I do apologize for my colleague’s rudeness, good sir. I am Fenix, one of the Master’s four, or perhaps I should say three now, bodyguards.” He punctuated his sentence with a short bow. “It might be a bit of a bother, but could you please die now?”

The cloaked man stiffened, and immediately rolled backwards with a flurry of cloth, just as a bullet soared past where his head had been a moment earlier. The flying piece of metal pierced through his cloak, but he avoided injury, and ended up kneeling on one foot, ready to dash in any direction. His hood fell down, revealing his weary but sharp face. His eyes were already darting around, looking for a hidden sniper.

“Tsk, tsk.” Fenix sighed. “And here I was trying to be polite and end it quickly. It would be easier if you gave up now. Once Angelica has her sights on you, there’s no way to escape.”

“We’ll see.” The cloaked man said, before rushing forward, running straight towards Fenix. With a short dash, he was close enough to strike, and swung at his professionally dressed opponent with a short sword that suddenly appeared in his hands from thin air.

But like the air from which it had appeared, it struck nothing but gas. Fenix had vanished.

“Terribly rude, attacking your superiors.” Fenix’s voice echoed from the monument. “Why, that almost killed me! I didn’t even get to introduce the third member of our little team.”

The cloaked man spun and raised the sword in his hands just in time to intercept globe of darkness aimed at his unprotected back. There was a spark, and he was forced to release the sword, and it immediately decayed to a blackened husk, and eventually disappeared altogether. The globe itself stopped and faded as well.

“...foolish idea.” Behind the man had appeared a third figure, clad in pitch black robes that covered up to its head, and clutching an ancient tome in its hands. It chanted in a distinctively female voice, and two more robes of darkness appeared from within the book, both flying towards the cloaked man.

He bit back a curse, and dodged to the side once more. However, this time it was so easy, and the orbs moved, following his movements perfectly without once slowing down. He desperately drew two more swords from the air and slashed at the orbs, managing to dissipate them again at the cost of his weapons. At the same time, another bullet slammed into the ground inches from his foot.

Fenix walked out of the wall once more, clapping slowly. “So your survival instincts are up to par. Not bad, but I wouldn’t call surviving some test shots very remarkable. I see no reason for Master to be interested in you. Kasumi, if you would please...?”

The cloaked woman raised her book, and began chanting quickly, evidently preparing from a large scale ritual completely different from her previous attacks. Almost a kilometre away another woman another clip into her rifle, holding back a sadistic grin. Fenix himself drew a multitude of audibly sharp knives from his sleeves like a demented magic trick, clutching the lot in his gloved hands easily.

The spectre of death. He was surrounded by enemies on all sides. There was one, unseen yet able to strike with uncanny accuracy, forcing him to keep moving, and another launching deadly magic that he had no choice but to block directly. And yet a third, watching from the shadow, ready to strike if he let his guard down. It was a truly bad situation. It had taken luck and planning to defeat one of the bodyguards, but three at once? It couldn’t be done.

“Hmph. Small fry.” He said.

All three struck at once. Fenix launched a volley of daggers, Kasumi summoned up more blindingly fast seeking orbs, and from a distance away, Angelica let loose an entire clip of .300 bullets in the man’s direction without hesitation.

He spun, and the cloak almost flew from his body.

In such a situation, no matter what he did he could not evade all of the attacks. One attack at most was his limit, and no more. No matter what he chose, he would fall to the other two almost immediately.

Still, in the split second he had before he was struck and killed, he moved.

Two short swords formed in his hands, and he dove forward, towards the direction the bullets had been shot from. He raised his weapons just in time to block the half dozen bullets that thudded into the cold metal. Instead of meeting his head they had met their match in his swords.

The other two attacks fared much better. Instead of missing their target they both somehow corrected their course in mid air, flying towards the man’s back for a killing blow.

He didn’t move.

They were close enough that nothing he did could stop them, so he stood absolutely still. Out of the multitudes of choices available to him, he chose the one with the largest chance of letting him live.

And a miracle occurred. The knives and orbs of darkness had both chosen the same target, and both reached their target simultaneously.

One knife and one orb intersected. In a moment the knife had rusted away then the orb disappeared from the world. Again and again the weapons intersected and destroyed each other, fading from the world before they could reach their real target. Thus, instead of destroying their enemy as they should have, they failed completely.

Fenix and Kasumi both flinched in surprise and even the unseen sniper bit back a cry of denial. The man in the cloak just ran. Before they realized it, he’d already begun running back into the city, towards one of the larger and more solid office buildings.

Fenix growled. “Find whichever building he’s in and seal it with a bounded field! We were too lax this time and ended up hitting each other’s attacks. Call Angelica to set up closer. I’ll handle the rest myself.” He grinned as he silently followed his fleeing prey. “This one is mine.”

“...are you sure?” Kasumi asked. “He... anticipated our homing attacks and... moved in such a way that they... collided. He is... no ordinary man.”

“It matters not. We are the Master’s personal guard. Allowing ourselves to fail is not an option! Together, we can destroy even a Dead Apostle Ancestor!” Fenix and Kasumi both carefully proceeded into the city, and a few hundred meters away, Angelica picked up her rifle and approached her two allies.

In the city, nestled inside one of the shorter office buildings, the man in the cloak breathed heavily, leaning against one of the less broken walls. “This... isn’t good.” He groaned, as he reached back and pulled a knife out of his back. It was slick with blood, but he just threw the offending weapon away. “I’ll have to think smarter for this one. I’m not as young as I used to be...”

But it was enough that he could move. No matter what, he could not afford to lose until his mission was complete.

“Come out. I know you’re following me.” He said.

Despite the room being empty, he received a response. “Ho? Well, I suppose I could grant you your wish, seeing as you have so few moments left to live.”

As Fenix finished his sentence, the man in the cloak choked, and fell to his knees as everything around him suddenly became several times heavier. His breath caught in his lungs, and his muscles desperately tightened as he tried to rise from his position.

“Interesting what magecraft can do.” Fenix said, casually walking out of one of the walls. “Even amplifying gravity isn’t beyond its grasp. Of course, the brilliant part is that Kasumi can chose who this affects. Thus, while this building and I won’t feel a thing, your weight has just increased fivefold.”

He knelt next to the struggling man. “How pathetic.” Fenix remarked. “And here Master was saying that I’d die for sure. He seemed to think you had some sort of power that could stand against us.” Fenix kicked his struggling opponent in the stomach, and with a groan the man vomited up a stream of blood. “No, this is reality. Your life is over. That girl you came here to rescue will not be saved...”

The end of Fenix’s sentence was cut off, as a viselike grip closed around his right leg. He let out an involuntary cry of pain as the man in the cloak crushed his ankle with a single hand. He jumped backwards, nursing his foot and hissing in pain. “So you can still move?” He growled. “Fine, I suppose you’re nothing if not stubborn! Die!” He drew three more knives and threw them at his kneeling opponent with one smooth movement.

All three failed to hit their mark. Two bounced off the steel weapons in the man’s hands, and the third was caught between his teeth.

The cloaked enigma rose slowly, struggling under his weight. But still, he rose. “You... don’t get to tell me... who can’t be saved.” He growled past the metal in his mouth. Once he straightened, he spat the knife out and it clattered to the ground beside its brethren. Then, with a battle cry he lunged forward towards Fenix, swinging wildly with his twin blades.

But once more, the elegant man danced backwards into a wall, disappearing from view. His shattered foot didn’t seem to inconvenience him much, other than a few visible winces and some slightly slowed movements. He was still fast enough to easily dodge his weakened opponent’s attacks.

“Of course, I shouldn’t have expected it to be so easy.” Fenix seemed to speak from everywhere at once. “It doesn’t matter. Even now I can kill you easily any moment.” The cloaked man almost fell again, but managed to keep his unstable footing. “But I won’t risk it. Better to wait for backup than to go when there is even a tiny chance of you managing to hurt me again.”

“How... intelligent of you.” The cloaked man gasped as he tried desperately to get air into his lungs. It was like breathing through sand, or solid stone. He could barely get enough air to survive. “But it won’t save you for very long...”

“Oy, you called, Fenix?” His weak voice was drowned out by a much stronger one. At the other end of the hall stood a figure the cloaked man hadn’t seen before. But he recognized the voice attached to it.

“So this is the guy, huh? He looks even weaker up close.” Angelica attached the rifle in her hands to her back, and pulled out two heavy pistols from the twin holsters she wore. At first glance, she seemed normal, but upon further examination it was apparent that she wasn’t an ordinary woman. Her body was lean but muscled, and although her clothes were limited to a pair of very short shorts and a swimsuit top, she seemed perfectly comfortable walking around half naked.

“Well, I don’t know how he could block my rifle’s bullets earlier, but there’s no way to escape two clips of enchanted ammo from the old Desert Eagles.” She grinned, and raised her guns, holding both at once in a ridiculously inefficient single handed stance. Yet all three of the combatants knew just how deadly those weapons were in her trained hands.

The instant Angelica’s fingers tightened around the triggers of her guns, the cloaked man dived straight into the wall Fenix had entered, slashing at the plaster with his short swords. A flurry of impossibly accurate bullets flew his way, but his move had been unexpected enough that the majority missed. He crashed through the thin wall and into a bare room, giving him a brief respite. He rolled to his knees, and forced himself to run to the only exit, a rotted wooden door. He barreled through, just as another bullet came at him through the hole in the wall.

He ran, through rooms and sometimes even through walls, trying all sorts of tricks to avoid his pursuer. But it was hopeless. He could barely move, and each bullet Angelica sent his way came closer and closer to actually hitting. Just as he bashed open a door and ran into a room, she sent a slug towards his head, and it pierced his hood, luckily not wounding him but coming closer than any of the previous attacks.

“Running isn’t going to do you any good, honey.” Angelica said as she leisurely walked towards her prey, singlehandedly reloading one of her guns while keeping the other ready to shoot. Miraculously her wrists were fine despite her improper method of shooting, and each of her bullets had been on target, if slightly too slow to hit the fleeing man. “Once you’re inside Kasumi’s bounded field, there’s no way to escape.” She pushed open a closed door that had closed a second before.

“Who said anything about escape?” The man’s voice came from in front of her, but he was nowhere to be seen in the dilapidated office she entered. She frowned, and proceeded to the door straight across from her, where she could see a small trail of blood.

The moment she stepped forward, she felt a small string snap, and two curved blades launched themselves towards Angelica from the corners of the room, each perfectly aimed to slice her neck off.

But it was all for naught. Two simultaneous shots deflected the swords off course, and they both buried themselves into the walls on either side of their target. Angelica lowered her Desert Eagles, their barrels still smoking slightly.

“What’s this? Are you actually trying to fight back?” Angelica laughed. “Talk about a weak trap. I could’ve stopped those in my sleep!”

But instead of hopelessness or anger, his reply contained only scorn. “No, you didn’t stop them. You just set them off.”

Angelica took a step back as the two swords began to glow, becoming permeated with bright white light that caused her to close her eyes. She felt the influx of mana in the room, and those weapons were absolutely full of it.

It was then that she realized it. From the start, those weapons had been a completely different trap, and she’d fallen for it completely.

“Are you serious? Turning them into bombs by overloading them with prana? That’s just...” She couldn’t finish her sentence in time, as the two swords exploded with the force of two grenades, forcing Angelica to dive backwards out of the room to escape unscathed. The walls in the room cracked, and the ceiling collapsed, raining down rubble upon the room.

Angelica rose from the dust with only a few scratches signifying her near death experience at the hands of her prey. “So this is what they say about cornered prey being the most dangerous?” She growled. “Well next time I won’t be holding back, whelp.” She emptied her still full clips, and retrieved two more from her pocket. But these weren’t ordinary bullets...

“This time, there won’t be any last minute dodges.” She grinned.

Meanwhile in a completely different part of the building, the cloaked man made his way to the dead end of a hallway and collapsed against the wall. He groaned as he bled from a half dozen bullet holes. “Dammit, she knows how to use those guns...” He observed the damage. Two bullets to the upper right leg, one lodged in his ribs, two more had ripped their way through his body, and one was stuck just above his left hand. None were fatal wounds, but he couldn’t afford to take any more hits.

He closed his eyes once more and focused just on breathing. He could barely move, and was forced to stop every few seconds just to get enough air into his lungs. He could already feel his muscles aching from the strain of operating in the increased gravity, and he knew they wouldn’t last much longer.

“This has gone on for too long.” He muttered to himself. “I need... I need a plan.”

He closed his eyes, and for a few moments he shut out all outside interference. He tuned out the pain in his back, the cold floor, and the slowly approaching footsteps. It was a gamble, but one he needed to take. Fighting on instinct wasn’t how to win this fight, and he knew it. No, he needed a plan, fast. So for a few precious seconds, he left himself completely defenceless.

As he thought, a single sentence came back to him.

“I can see it, Mister! I can see you dying! I can see you standing against a wall, and then a knife comes from the wall behind you and goes into... it goes through your head!”

“So... that’s how it is.”

He opened his eyes, and this time they glowed with tinges of prana. Activating the circuits in his eyes, he saw through the building’s foundation, creation, history, construction, and structure. He saw every flaw in the room he stood in. He noticed every single break and tear in the metal that held the walls together. He saw every crack, every gash, and every bit of damage that the building had sustained over its long life. All was laid bare before his Structural Analysis.

He saw the shape slinking through the walls, approaching him like a spider sneaking p on its prey. He saw Fenix sliding past objects, and passing through others, phasing past the obstructions he encountered.

He saw, but did not move.

Even when Fenix disappeared from sight, he did not move.

And when the knife emerged from the wall behind him, followed by a hand, he moved.

The cloaked man shifted his head to the left slightly, and let the knife pierce his hood. The serrated blade sliced open his cheek and ear, and tore through his cloak’s fabric. It continued on, and stopped abruptly as Fenix realized that he had missed his target. But by then it was already too late.

By all rights, Fenix’s attack should have succeeded. His opponent was tired, and would normally have been incapable of dodging with such little warning. But knowledge of the future is a dangerous thing. If one knows what will happen, then it is possible to bend such an ultimatum to one’s own purposes.

The cloaked man seized Fenix’s hand, and heaved. He pulled forward with all his might, pulling the shadowy assassin forward. Fenix solidified himself, embedding his body into the wall as a last ditch effort to escape, but even then it was too late. The cloaked man used his increased weight to his advantage, letting himself fall and allowing gravity to do most of the pulling.

The wall cracked, broke, and finally collapsed as Fenix was thrown forward, slamming into the floor with a sickening crack. He gasped, but before he could rise the cloaked man threw himself on top of Fenix. The wall crawler screamed in pain as 5 times the weight of an ordinary human being was thrown on him, and he felt several ribs crack. Still, he moved his free right arm and produced a knife. His eyes met with the cloaked man’s own. They both had a weapon ready to strike.

“Go to hell.” Fenix spat.

The cloaked man’s eyes burned. “You first.”


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


“Oy, Fenix?” Angelica called out as she crept through the hallways. “You there, or did that hobo gut you already?” She turned a corner and peered through the gun’s sights as she did so, constantly ready to fire off a round or two in case she contacted her enemy. There was no response. She bit her lip in frustration and continued to creep through the building. All of her senses were on full alert, and she watched for the slightest signs of movement.

Though she had seen countless battles, and possessed the patience and mental strength to lay in wait for days to get a chance to hit her target with her trusty rifle, the creeping silence slowly eroded her mental fortitude. The possibility of an enemy ambush was ever present no matter how many times she told herself that she was fighting someone who could barely walk.

But he had killed Martha. Martha, her only friend in the four bodyguards. Martha, the best close range combatant in the group, whose preferred battlefield was just like the one Angelica was in.

She turned the corner, and froze.

In front of her was the cloaked man, with his back to her. His messy rags were stained with blood, and on the floor she saw a body so bloodstained that it was almost pure red. The face was unrecognizable.

The man turned to face Angelica, and with his hood up all she saw of him was his sharp eyes and the blood dripping from his face, running down the front of his cloak. He took a step forward and almost buckled from the strain. Several holes in his cloak dripped blood, and judging from the volume he had lost, he could barely move. He half growled, half moaned from the pain, and took one painful step towards Angelica, hands outstretched to choke the life out of her.

Her grin fell. “You... bastard. You killed Fenix. You killed him!” Her face twisted in anger, and she immediately raised her pistols and squeezed out two rounds. The twin bangs were almost indistinguishable from each other, and the man stumbled backwards as two new holes in his cloak bled fresh blood. But once more he pushed forward, running empty handed towards Angelica with an almost suicidal fervor.

She shot again, and once more he came close to collapsing, but he inched forward anyway, desperate to reach Angelica.

“Fuck you.” A shot. “Fuck you!” Another shot. “Go die!” Two more shots, and his body was racked with more holes than swiss cheese. “I’ll kill you like you killed Fenix!” She screamed, and squeezed the triggers of her guns. A barrage of bullets sliced through the cloaked man, perforating his battered body and carving more and more wounds into it. An ordinary human would have died from the first shot, but he somehow managed to stay standing.

“This is enchanted ammunition.” Angelica hissed. “It’ll burn you from the inside out, and constantly torment you. There will be no rest. Your wounds will not heal until the bullets have been removed. You’ll feel the pain until the last second.” She shot once more, and kept on shooting until all the ammunition had been wasted in both guns.

The cloaked man had stopped moving. He stood like a ruined tower in the middle of the hall, scant feet from Angelica. She calmly reloaded both guns. He didn’t move. No, he couldn’t move. Even his almost inhuman tolerance for pain could only go so far. It was all the man could do to keep himself standing and alive.

“I made sure to only go for crippling, non lethal wounds.” Angelica remarked. “For maximum pain, of course. You’ll die, but slowly. In fact, I think I can sink at least two more clips into you before you finally croak, old man. So savour these bullets, because each one of them is for you.” She finished reloading her guns, and raised them up once more.

Shots. More shots. Even more shots. Bullets made to kill monsters thudded into the cloaked man’s body like a rhythmic drum beat. His torso became less a repository for organs and more a steel storage. First his stomach, pulped to an unrecognizable mishmash of flesh. Then one of his lungs, leaving the other as barely enough to breath. Next, his hands, each shot in the most painful nerve points that would leave them paralyzed yet still functional enough to feel the agonizing pain. Finally, for no reason other than sick pleasure, she wasted three bullets solely on his gonads, rendering the man unable to breed if he ever did survive the steel rain he’d been exposed to.

And yet, after all those bullets, he still stood. Somehow, despite resembling a pincushion more than a man, he stood. He was unnaturally silent, but Angelica could still hear a strained heartbeat trying to pump whatever blood remained in his body to where it needed to go. Each beat drained more of his life onto the floor, already painted red by the sheer amount.

She dropped her empty gun to the floor, and held the other one in both hands. One bullet left. It was just enough to end it.

The cloaked man twitched, and slowly, moving like a broken puppet, raised his hand, reaching out towards Angelica, though he could never reach her.

“Ah...” He breathed.

“Fall.” Angelica squeezed the trigger.

The slug buried itself directly into the man’s forehead. He spiralled backwards in the air, finally ending up on the ground, unmoving and most certainly dead. His was blown off by the force of the shot, revealing his battered face in death.

Angelica walked over to the finally dead cloaked man so that she could finally see under his hood. It had irked her, ever since she’d heard of his reputation. She naturally liked prying into things, and people who hid their faces were the most fascinating ones to uncover.

She froze.

“No...” She breathed. “This isn’t possible.” She began trembling. “This has got to be some kind of joke.” The Desert Eagle fell from her hands. “I... he was...” A single tear fell from right eye, followed by one from the left, and eventually an entire deluge of them. She cried over the man’s corpse, silently hating herself for every wound she saw.

Fenix’s normally mocking face was twisted into an everlasting grimace of pain.

“I’m... sorry.” She sobbed.

“So am I.” She heard, and then Angelica’s head was separated from her shoulders by a pair of absurdly sharp blades.

The man in red watched the headless body fall limply to the floor with only a clinical curiosity. “That makes three down.” He removed his ragged cloak from Fenix’s body, contemplated taking it, and finally decided that it was too bloody to be of use anymore. “Now there’s one more.” He allowed his blades to disappear into thin air once more, and started looking for the nearest staircase.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Kasumi sighed. It had been almost half an hour since Angelica and Fenix chased the cloaked man into the building, and being forced to wait outside for them was boring. She contemplated going inside to look for them, but almost immediately dropped the idea. “Too slow...” She muttered to herself. If she crossed the boundary of her own boundary field, she’d be forced to take it down, allowing the cloaked man full use of his capabilities. And that was most definitely not part of the plan.

So she waited. She sat on a piece of rubble, and leaned against a broken piece of wall, watching the open entrance lazily. “Stupid...” She yawned. “Can’t even... kill one...”

Just as Kasumi was about to nod off, the sound of gunfire snapped her awake. This was much different than what she had sensed before. Just from the prana she could sense, Angelica was firing off her entire armory of enchanted bullets. Kasumi’s eyes widened. “Did they... reach?” She whispered.

She forced herself to stand, and opened her book to a suitable page for fighting. The gunfire had stopped just as soon as it had begun, and something in gut told Kasumi that the battle was far from over. “Did Fenix die?” She asked no one. “Did Angelica... get killed?” No one would answer her unspoken questions.

“Yes, they’re both dead.” Regardless, even if she hadn’t asked for one, she received an answer. Kasumi whirled, only to see someone she couldn’t recognize.

He was clad in garments of red and black, and stood at an imposing height that towered over her bare 5 feet. Just from looking at the man’s body she knew that he was a force to be reckoned with. Hardened muscles, scars everywhere, and eyes sharp enough to pierce steel. This could only be one person.

“Y-you...” She almost choked. Frantically she spoke a number of eldritch words and balls of darkness appeared in front of her. She gestured wildly with one hand, and they flew towards the man as fast as bullets!

He walked slowly towards Kasumi, and every single attack she sent his way was matched and destroyed by a sword. Sword after sword appeared in the man’s hands, and with each he slashed through one of her attacks. Even as more approached and his swords faded from the world, more and more appeared in his hands. He created and sacrificed a weapon for every blast he had to deflect, yet he was winning. He did not speed up, and merely walked leisurely but purposefully towards Kasumi without hurrying.

“Your question was a good one.” He said. “However, instead of asking whether your allies were dead...” He swung and slashed an approaching dark ball in half, instantly summoning another weapon once his current one faded. “You should have asked ‘Will I be next?’.”

Kasumi screamed. She backpedaled away from the man in red as fast as her legs would move, until her back bumped into the wall of the building, leaving her no place to go but to the side. She lunged to the left, but was stopped suddenly when a falchion embedded itself into the wall, millimeters from her nose. The same thing happened when she attempted to move right.
She was trapped.

“Y-you...” She sank to her knees, trembling as the implacable man in red continued his slow walk towards her.

“Fall!” She screamed again. He raised a hand, and chanted another spell, this one many times harsher than her others. The man halted as he suddenly felt his weight become 5 times more once again.

“So it was you that did this...” With a grunt he took another step forward, seemingly unfazed by the increase in gravity. “You’ll need more than that to take me down, girl.”

“I said fall!” She spoke more words, and the force on the man doubled. His feet sunk into the ground, and he himself collapsed to the dirt, forced to his knees by the weight of his own body. His breathing ceased as his lungs inhale any air. His heart protested the additional force it had to fight against.

“You... will not... stop... me...” He pushed forward, crawling now under the incredible gravity.

Kasumi had tears in her hidden eyes. “Fall, damn you!” She screeched, and her hood fell, revealing disturbingly childish features. The tears in her eyes brought an air of sickening innocent to the whole debacle, but her rage was clearly visible. Once more she chanted the spell, and the force doubled once more.

The man froze. He could not move. If he so much as twitched all the muscles and tissues in his body would rupture. He could already feel his heart slowing down and the world turning black. He had long ago surpassed the limits of Self Reinforcement in an attempt to counterbalance the force of increased gravity, and it had finally reached a level he could not pass.

He opened his mouth, and vomited a stream of blood onto the cracked dirt. His body couldn’t take anymore. The human body was not designed to survive in gravity even a fraction higher than that of Earth’s, and taking 20 times as much would normally have crushed most humans into a fine past.

But the man in red was not most humans.

He choked, and his throat gurgled as he tried to speak through blood. Kasumi heard it, and laughed.

“I-I did it!” She yelled. “They died, but I’ve beaten you!” Still trembling, she stood shakily and laughed weakly. “I’m the best!” She cried. “The best!” She had made an almost 180 degree turn from her previous quiet personality. This was what the happiness of winning could do to a person.

“...r.... n...”

“Eh?” She cocked her head to the side. “What did you say?”

“Tra... n...”

“You’ll have to speak up!” Kasumi laughed. “Or maybe you should just die in the dirt like the filthy mutt you are and save me the trouble of having to listen to your pathetic whining!”

“Trace, On!”

The air around the man in red glowed, and particles of prana freed themselves from his circuits. From nothing, came something concrete. Instruments of war that humanity has been using for thousands of years.

Swords. First two, then four, and eventually a full dozen swords of various shapes and sizes hovered in the air above the man in red. They radiated magical energy, and Kasumi’s next laugh died in her throat as she realized her mistake.

“Sword Bullet, Full Auto.”

They flew. Faster than rounds from Angelica’s sniper rifle, they flew. Shot from the bow that was the man in red, the arrows were perfectly accurate. The multitude of magical swords instantly pierced the flimsy barrier Kasumi tried to put up, and stabbed into her fragile body.

“Gah!” She was thrown back into the wall, pinned to the stone by blades. She screamed once more, not from fear but pain. Her concentration broke, and the spell holding the red man down shattered with it.

In the blink of an eye, the battle had turned from victory to defeat, and vice versa.

The man in red stood once more, shaking. He spat out more red blood, and raised his head to look Kasumi in the eye once more.

“You won’t die.” He said. “Not yet. Not until I’m done with you.” All the swords had pierced non vital areas, yet still caused enough wounds that Kasumi couldn’t summon up the focus to weave a spell. Either way, it didn’t matter, as one of the larger ones had shredded her magical tome, rendering it unreadable. Furthermore, all of her magical energy seemed to fade as one of the smaller swords pricked her skin. “And you won’t escape.” He continued. “Your friends are dead, and no one can save you now.”

“You...” She gasped. “What... are you?”

The man didn’t respond. He simply approached Kasumi’s immobilized body with weak steps until they stood face to face, their positions fully reversed.

“Who is your Master?” He asked in a low voice. “Don’t bother lying. The sword in your right shoulder will force you to tell the truth to the best of your ability, and it’s worthless to try to defy it.”

“I can’t tell you.” Kasumi replied without hesitating. “We all swore on a magical contract that we would never reveal any information concerning the Master.” During the reply, her eyes unfocused, signifying that an external force was controlling the battle. “Thus, I am not capable of telling you.”

“What are your Master’s abilities?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“What is your Master’s name?”

“I can’t tell you.

“What is your Master’s goal?”

Kasumi blinked. “World domination.” She said. “I thought it was obvious. Didn’t you come here to kill him?”

“No.” The red man replied. “I just came here to topple the group that had claimed to be taking over the ruins of this city. I never heard anything about such a silly thing as world domination.” He snorted. “Your Master is probably a fool.”

Kasumi frowned. “It may seem like idiocy, but I’ve seen Master’s plan, and it’s definitely good. I won’t tell you what it is, but Master’s plan will definitely succeed!”

“Fine, fine. I’ll assume the crazy world domination theory is true for now.” The red man sighed. “Now, what is your Master like?” “He continued his questioning.

“I can’t tell you.”

“What is your Master’s favourite food?”

“Rice balls with extra seaweed.”

“...seriously?”

“The Master cares not for trivialities!” Kasumi retorted.

“Hey, Miss, why are you stuck to the wall by a bunch of swords?”

“Because this man is currently in the process of torturing me for information, after which he will most likely violently dismember me and leave me dead in a garbage dump somewhere.”

“...” The two adults turned to look at the newcomer to the torture session. Amelia waved hesitantly at both of them. “Um... was I not supposed to come out yet?”

“Why are you here?” The man said, straight to the point. Behind his snowy beard, both females saw him frown. “I thought I told you to wait and hide until it was safe to come out.”

“But it is, Mister! I saw you walking out here and talking to Miss over here so I knew it would be safe!”

“Kasumi.” The trapped sorceress replied, out of habit.

“You didn’t have to answer the child.” The man growled, turning his face towards his prisoner.

“Sword of Truth.” She replied. “I’ll answer whatever I can until you take it out.”

“That is... remarkably inconvenient.” The man sighed once more. All of a sudden, without his cloak, he looked less like a hardened warrior and more like an old man too old to hold a weapon properly. “It’s never had this effect before... well, at least I didn’t do anything stupid like ask what his favourite television show is, or your three sizes.”

“Neon Genesis Evangelion, and 88/55/81.” She replied instantly. “By the way, you’re not my type at all. I’m not into old men. Perhaps if you were 20 or so years younger I’d think about it.”

The red man sighed and brought both palms to his face. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

Kasumi nodded. Amelia nodded. Were Angelica there and not a headless corpse, she would have nodded as well.

“Fine. I know more than enough anyway.” The man in red sighed and stood up. “Thanks for the help. You can die now.”

Kasumi gulped, but didn’t say anything.

“Mister, are you going to kill her now?” Amelia asked.

“Yeah.” He replied. “Just give me a second... you should probably look away, or this’ll end up scarring you for life, girl.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Amelia grinned. “Besides, you’re not going to kill her. You’re going to knock her out, tie her up, and hide her unconscious body in one of that building’s broom closets.”

“...that’s seriously what I do?” He asked. “Are you sure you’re not just seeing things that aren’t real?”

“Nope, that’s definitely what happens.” Amelia nodded firmly.

“...”

“...”

“So, what are you going to do to me?” Kasumi asked, still nervously awaiting a sword through the face.

The man in red turned to her. “I’m going to knock you out, tie you up, and hide you in a broom closet until I get you back later. Then I’m going to take you to the authorities and have them interrogate you for information concerning the other cells of your organization.” He said as he materialized a wooden baseball bat in his hands.

“Um... I think I’d rather die.” She confessed.

“Not an option.” He replied, and hit Kasumi in the head with a baseball bat enchanted to put people to sleep for at least 24 hours. She went out like a light.

“You.” He picked up Kasumi’s unconscious body as the swords holding it up disappeared. “No more future stuff. It’s throwing me off. Now you’ll stay here and guard the prisoner until I come back.” He gave the little girl detailed instructions as he entered the building and looked for a free broom closet. He eventually found one that seemed slightly less dusty than the others and dumped his limp hostage inside. He then materialized a tiny dagger and handed it to the little girl. “This will keep you invisible as long as you hold on to it. Stay here and don’t let go.”

As he set out, Amelia called out to him. “Mister! I need to tell you something!”

“No.” He spoke without slowing down or turning. “No more future stuff. I’ve done just fine until now without it, and I’ll continue doing so. Just stay there.”

Amelia obliged, but reluctantly. She bit her lip in frustration. Finally, as she watched the man disappear into the distance, she settled with a simple sentence.

“Don’t die Mister!”

The man in red didn’t respond, but if Amelia was standing in front of him at that time, she would’ve seen the corners of his frowning lips turn up ever so slightly.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


The tower was deserted.

The man in red did not see a single soul in his travels up the Master’s tower. No one opened the previously invisible entrance. No one put up signs telling him to go up the large spiral staircase leading to the top of the tower. Not a single person highlighted the path he needed to take with fluorescent paint.

Yet the tower itself seemed to be prepared to receive him regardless. His path to the top had been opened with the defeat of the Master’s four bodyguards.

The staircase stretched up almost endlessly, and when he had passed the 17,000th step he tried using Structural Analysis on the building just from curiosity. The bright light of the prana infused into the structure of the tower almost blinded him, and he resolved never to try analysing it again.

By the time he passed the 36,000th step, he had removed all of the bullets lodged in his body from Angelica’s gun, and carefully wrapped his wounds with bandages infused with healing magecraft.

At the 59,000th step he decided to trim his beard on a whim, and several snow white hairs began their slow drift towards the ground, along with a muffled curse as he accidentally cut himself when shaving with a European Claymore.

The 66,666th step ended in a heavy stone door.

He pushed it open with a grunt, and it opened to a dark chamber. He couldn’t see the top of it, and there was no light. In the end, the man in red was forced to step out into the room without a single light source.

The door closed behind him, and he soon became painfully aware of his footsteps as they clacked on the marble floor. There was no other noise, but he could sense someone’s presence nonetheless.

“You’re looking awfully old, Emiya.”

The room was suddenly illuminated by light, coming not from the sun or any fixtures, but from the walls themselves, glowing a gentle white. But the man in red didn’t notice that. The second he heard the voice he whipped his head towards it.

His eyes widened. “You... how do you know that name?” He growled.

The man on the other side of the room, sitting leisurely on a golden throne, clad in robes of spun gold and sipping wine from a golden chalice, laughed. “Has it really been so long that you’ve forgotten me?” He took a sip of the expensive liquid from the precious cup, and savoured it for almost a full minute before deciding to speak again. “I haven’t forgotten you, Emiya Shirou. I expected that you at least return the favour, but it seems that I overestimated your memory.”

The red man, no, Emiya Shirou had to hold himself back from charging the man on the throne. He couldn’t recognize him, but that person seemed awfully familiar. The manner of speech, the lavish decorations, and the relaxed posture that treated the one who had singlehandedly slaughtered his elite troops as no more than a bug. That behaviour could only belong to one person.

“You’re not him.” Emiya Shirou said. “You look like him, true, and you certainly act similar enough, but you aren’t Gilgamesh.”

The man on the throne laughed once more. “You compare me to Gilgamesh, King of Heroes?” His roaring laughter slowed to a chuckle after mere seconds, during which time Shirou had crossed half of the vast, empty expanse of the room, moving steadily closer towards the throne.

The man suddenly sneered. “Hah. Don’t be so insulting. I intend to surpass him. I have no need to be compared to a long dead relic. I have, however, learned some of his wiser teachings.” He drank the rest of the wine in one gulp, and set the chalice on the throne’s jewelled armrest.

“...who are you?” Shirou furrowed his brow. “You feel familiar, yet completely different, as if I’ve never truly met you before. How do you know my name?”

“Why wouldn’t I know your name, Emiya?” The man raised a cobalt eyebrow. “I’ve certainly seen it enough in the past that there’s no reason for me to forget it any time soon. In a way, it is, to me, the most important name in the world. Yet you have forgotten me so easily...”

“I don’t make a habit of remembering unimportant people.” Shirou replied. He was most of the way across the room now. The man on the throne was perfectly clear to his reinforced eyes, yet he could not recognize him any further than a very strong feeling of familiarity. It was maddening just looking at the ‘Master’.

“Unimportant?” The Master repeated softly. “Me, unimportant?” He crushed the gold chalice in a single fist. “Yes, I suppose I was unimportant, then.” He admitted. “But not anymore! You can’t ignore me now, Emiya! Not when I’ve surpassed you so completely!”

He stood from the throne and cast aside the crumpled remains of the wine glass. It clattered over the perfectly polished stone floor, echoing into the darkness until only silence remained between the two men. “I’ve been waiting, Emiya.” He strode forward confidently, and Shirou sensed the prana in the building begin to rile up. “I’ve been waiting for much too long.” Out of nowhere, a perfectly groomed suit appeared on the mostly naked Master, along with shoes, and a pair of sunglasses. In a split second he had become fully clothed. With a sigh, the Master removed the sunglasses and threw them aside. “Always had trouble with precision.” He muttered. “And I always forget I’m not outside.”

Shirou stopped. He narrowed his eyes. Those clothes had perfectly materialized. It wasn’t creation, teleportation, or projection. No, this was instantaneous. It had happened too fast for him to notice.

“What did you do?” He asked. “That was...”

“Just a trifle.” The Master replied. “It is nothing to get worried over. It is a part of my power, quite simply. I have learned much since the last time we saw each other. Too much, one might say.” His grey eyes bored into Shirou’s own, not blinking even once.

“And soon, it will be even less.” He continued. “Once I finally get rid of you, the chains binding me to this world will be gone. I’ll be able to accomplish my goal.” In his hands materialized a weapon, a katana to be precise. It was of pure gold, layered with different metals and perfectly balanced. Deep in the center of the hilt shone a tiny gem that glowed in all the colours of the rainbow. Shirou didn’t know why or how such a thing could be created, but he didn’t care. He activated his Structural Analysis and looked into the sword itself, to absorb the very history and creation of it.

He screamed, and fell to the ground, clutching his suddenly burning eyes.

“Tsk tsk.” The Master chuckled. “Did you really think I’d be unprepared for your arrival? I am perfectly aware of your many talents, Emiya Shirou, and have planned accordingly. This entire structure is so densely packed with high energy prana that if you even attempt to analyse anything in here, you’ll effectively be staring into the sun. I’ve made sure of that. I even had several kidnapped magi test this place. I wasn’t satisfied until it could blind 50 of them with less than 5 seconds of exposure.”

“You... monster.” Shirou opened his eyes, and although they were red and shedding tears profusely, he could still see the man he’d come to kill. “Why? Why do you despise me so? I don’t remember ever doing anything to earn your ire before today!” He summoned his best glare, but it fell flat.

“Why?” The Master repeated. “What a ridiculous question. If you do not know that already, then there is no reason for me to tell you. If you cannot remember on your own, then I’ll make your remember with your body!”

He raised the sword and swung it horizontally across, slicing some unknown enemy. It was many dozen meters too far away to hit Shirou, yet the man in red quickly dove to the ground, just as an invisible force passed above his head and crashed into the far end of the wall with a screech.

“What?” He barely had time to realize he was being attacked when the Master swung once more, and Shirou dived to the side to avoid another wave of invisible energy that sliced through the marble as easily as a hot knife cutting butter. Easier, in fact. Where the blast passed, it was as if the ground had simply stopped existing.

“Come, Emiya! If you cannot do at least this much then I will be sorely disappointed!” The Master said, and swung again, three times in succession. Shirou grunted, flexed his muscles, poured prana into his body, and leapt straight up, preferring to avoid the attacks directly instead of attempting a risky dodge. As he reached the apex of his jump, he materialized two more identical short swords in his hands, and threw them both with pinpoint accuracy towards the Master.

“Hmph!” The Master swung as the swords approached him, and they were both instantly swallowed up by another invisible blast of energy. There was no noise or clash; they had simply ceased to exist.

Shirou landed on the ground, and immediately materialized his jet black bow. He fired off a half dozen shots before he had to run to avoid another invisible blast that swallowed each of his arrows up without a sound. He ground his teeth together as he was forced to narrowly avoid another blast by diving forward over it. He saw in slow motion how the slightly different portion of space reached a patch of loose cloth from his clothes, and the cloth simply ceased to exist.

The game of cat and mouse continued for another few minutes, but to Shirou it felt like hours. With each swing of his unusual sword, the Master would produce another almost invisible shockwave that Shirou had to avoid. And every time Shirou decided to go on the offensive the Master would simply swing his sword and swallow up his attacks without even trying. The strength didn’t matter. All of Shirou’s weapons were equally ineffective. Durandal, Hrunting, Tyrfing, he was sure even Caladbolg would fail against the erasing slash. The only positive result in that time had been that it became easier to spot the blast of energy, and it was no longer near invisible.

“Is that all, Emiya?” The Master said after some time. “I could go on like this for days, but I’m wondering if you can. You seem to be getting tired.” It was true. Even five minutes of fighting had taxed Shirou’s prana reserved considerably. Added to the fact that he’d wasted plenty of prana in earlier fights, it wasn’t looking good.

“I’m... just... getting warmed up.” Shirou panted. “That’s a nice sword you’ve got there, but you’re a one trick pony. If I can get past it, you’re dead.”

“You can’t.” The Master remarked. “But I assure you that this isn’t the limit of my power. It is simply what I deem good enough to kill you with.”

“Then you’ll have to rethink that judgement.” Shirou said. “Because I’ve already figured out how to beat it.”

“Hah! Just try it, Emiya!” The sword glowed a bright gold for a single moment, before discharging an exceptionally large slash. Shirou saw it travel through the air in almost slow motion, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to dodge it. And then he noticed something.

It wasn’t scarring the floor. Where the slash impacted the floor, it left it behind exactly the same, unlike the rest of the blasts.

He had a hunch, and nothing else. There was no way to prove his hypothesis, and even if it was true there would be no way to test it other than one.

“I’ll take you up on that offer.” Shirou said, and ran directly into the blast. The last thing he saw was the Master’s surprised face before the twisted space swallowed him up.

His body curved. It went sideways into time, and skipped stones on the river of life and death. He absconded from the fight between good and evil in favour of refereeing the match between Jiminy Cricket and Sherlock Holmes. The sport of Quidditch was interesting, he realised, and he looked forward to surgically removing a pirate’s liver in the future, as long as the blasted thing didn’t decide to sing opera at him. The oblique square that was his heart shriveled with joy as Bertha’s 3.5 dimensional ice pick pierced it. Having 15^50,000 eyes was fun, he decided, and he promptly went off the choo choo train to eviscerate a planet sized muffin with his beaver teeth. The activity was promptly done in only four hundred billion years, and he felt quite full afterwards, although he could have used a spot of tea, by which he meant a bathtub sized pile of mammoth lard, with one teaspoon of Rank B+ Noble Phantasms added for a slight kick. Eventually, however, he decided not to because he really needed to watch his weight. She had always said he would die from sickness one day, and he would definitely tell her how much the whooping, rumbling, and fornicating coughs had affected him for the 8x2 days he’d had them. But until then, he’d settle for going through the unusually brown marshmallow door he saw sneaking up on him. Or maybe he would just look into that spinning, turning and twisting, gyrating, flying, sinking, multiplying, thing. What was it called again?

Ah, right. A kaleidoscope.

He hit the ground running, and punched the surprised Master in the face with his free hand.

The suited man flew backwards, tumbling almost comically head over heels until he collided with the throne that Shirou noted was now silver for some inexplicable reason.

“Get up. This is just the beginning.” Shirou said as he shook off the sudden numbness that had overtaken his body during his passage through the blast. He glanced around the room, and other than the throne everything looked the same. “Or was all your bluster just talk?”

“EMIYA!” The Master stood up, and wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. “How did you survive that?! It’s supposed to be impossible! You bloody fool- Eh?” He blinked. “Hey, Emiya... weren’t your clothes blue? They’re red now.”

Shirou blinked as well. “No, they were always red. But I distinctly recall your throne being gold, not silver.”

“...ah, I see now.” The Master nodded. “Right, could you just run into that blast one more time? There seems to have been a bit of a mix up and I’ll need to correct it before the universe implodes from the sheer paradox of it all.”

“...no.” Shirou said.

The Master sighed. “Fine, we’ll do it the hard way.”

Shirou charged, materializing two more short swords in his hand. Whatever running through the blast had done, it had still brought him closer to his enemy, and that’s all he cared about. The Master flinched, but swung again, launching an identical blast at him, which Shirou promptly dodged with little trouble.

“That won’t work anymore.” He said. “I’ve already learned to see those blasts of yours. Frightening, sure, but they’re too easy to dodge. If you wanted to actually hit me with one of those on purpose, you’d have to ask politely and hope for the best!”

“Damn you Emiya!” The Master screamed, and charge forward himself, meeting Shirou’s twin blades with his own gold one.

Their clash was punctuated by the sound of steel snapping and breaking. The second their swords had met, Shirou’s began to crack apart. The red warrior narrowed his eyes, but just swung towards the Master’s neck and abdomen at the same time.

The Master swung through the lower sword with his own weapon, completely shattering the inferior blade, and against all odds caught the top sword in his teeth. Shirou immediately released the weapon and projected two more swords before swinging again. The Master merely spat out the captured weapon and rejoined the battle.

After enough clashing, one thing immediately became apparent.

They were completely evenly matched.

Shirou’s flexibility allowed him to constantly keep his opponent on the defensive, but he had to spend prana to constantly project new swords with each swing, as the Master’s was too superior, and he couldn’t hope to copy Structural Analysis barred to him.

The Master, on the other hand, was stronger and faster with his weapon, and even more skilled than Shirou at using it. Every strike sent his way was mercilessly deflected and crushed, and Shirou needed both weapons just to stop the Master from attacking. If a single swing was made offensively, Shirou knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

The Master swung upwards, shattering both of Shirou’s weapons instantaneously, and then instantly switched his grip and brought the sword down towards Shirou’s head. The red knight pushed upwards and formed two more weapons to stop it, but they cracked and shattered without slowing the golden blade down in the slightest.

Shirou smirked, and danced back, narrowly avoiding the descending sword and receiving a cut down the shoulder for being too slow, but still surviving the deadly slash.

And then he moved forward again. Once more the golden blade flickered, aiming to decapitate the red knight, but Shirou once more brought up both hands and his own weapons stopped the golden sword cold.

No, not weapons. Weapon.

The sword in Shirou’s hands was simple, yet elegant. A two handed European blade, it was light and heavy at the same time, and perfectly balanced. The pure blade and the shining pommel were both forged of the finest materials, and one could not look at it without calling it beautiful.

“Gram.” The Master spat. “So you did take some of Gilgamesh’s things even after all the trouble you went through to kill him.”

“I don’t know how you know that, but I don’t care.” Shirou replied. “If this Phantasm can stop that sword of yours, I’ll use it no matter what the cost.”

“A nice thought.” The Master admitted. “Indeed, I operate upon a similar principle. But unlike you, I do not place too much reliance upon weapons I have not myself created!” His golden sword glowed a bright yellow once more, and too late Shirou realized that he was too close to dodge any blasts.

“Emiya.” The Master said, mockingly. “Would you kindly let yourself get hit by this?”

Shirou jumped backwards, and at the same time the blast surged forward towards him, too close for comfort. As he flew through the air, however, he noticed something unusual once more. Again, the ground was unharmed by this blast, unlike the others.

As it swallowed him up, he remarked that he almost saw a flash of blue appear next to him out of the corner of his eye.

Once more he was led like Alice through the universe’s demented wonder land.

Once more he saw the kaleidoscope.

Once more he tumbled backwards, landing on the cold marble of the Master’s tower.

“Had a nice adventure, Emiya?” The Master remarked, standing in front of his once more golden throne. “I was getting tired of fighting that blue you. He was really quite a bore.”

“Sorry.” Shirou groaned as he stood. “No more distractions.”

“Hah!” The Master laughed. “You’re an idiot, Emiya, but you actually do a pretty good job!”

Shirou froze. “That sentence... it can’t be.”

“Oh?” The Master raised an eyebrow. “Impossible? Is that what you wanted to say? How about you tell me my name instead?”

Shirou coughed, and blood stained the marble floor red. “No, it can’t be. You’re dead. I stabbed you in the stomach myself. I still remember that bloodstained knife!”

“So do I, Emiya.” The Master said. “I remember it every day, because that wound still hurts to this day, even though I’ve already healed from it! But it won’t go away, because of you! Because you still exist in this world I have to bear the fact that I lost to you!”

“It would’ve been better if you had stayed dead.” Shirou muttered.

“Shinji.”

“So you do remember! Finally! I was waiting for you to realize who it was that became superior to you!” Matou Shinji laughed out loud. “Look at you! You’re an old man who can barely fight, and I’ve surpassed you in every possible way! I’m at the peak of my growth, and I’ll stay that way forever!”

Shirou narrowed his eyes. He noticed that the crushed golden chalice had rolled to his feet. He picked it up, and sniffed. “Tch. This wine... it smells exactly like Gilgamesh’s.” He threw the crushed cup to the side. “You stole some of his youth potion, didn’t you?”

“He won’t exactly need it.” Shinji shrugged. “Not where he is, at least. Besides, as his last Master I can take whatever I want without consequence.”

“You... all you can do it steal.” Shirou roared. “Shinji, you haven’t changed since that day! You’re still the same person you were all those years ago!”

“I could say the same for you, Emiya.” Shinji retorted. “No, actually. I stayed the same, but you got worse. The you in front of me is completely different from the Emiya I knew in high school.”

“I’ve changed for the better!” Shirou spat. He charged forward, swinging Gram wildly. Shinji parried the blow with his own weapon, if barely.

“No, you’re worse!” Shinji pushed back his less youthful opponent and swung while the man’s guard was down. Shirou winced as he felt the golden blade scrape his ribs, but he recovered almost immediately and went for a counter attack. “The Emiya I knew wouldn’t sacrifice innocents!”

With their two blades locked together, Shirou raised a foot and kicked out, catching Shinji in the gut and pushing him back.

“It was for the greater good!” Shirou countered. “They couldn’t be saved from the beginning! I did what I had to do, unlike you who only desired the grail for your own selfish wishes!”

Gram began to glow as the red knight poured more and more of his prana into his. It was a risky move, but he had no choice at this point. Shinji’s eyes widened, and he responded in kind, clutching his glowing weapon tighter.

Both fighters distanced themselves from each other as they prepared to bet their lives on one attack. Shirou poured more and more prana into Gram until it almost reached the breaking point, whereupon the heat it exuded was almost enough to burn his tanned hands.

Similarly, the shine from Shinji’s golden weapon went more and more powerful. Instead of a pure white light like the others, this light was simultaneously all and none of the colours. It was formed of every colour of the rainbow, and depending in which direction one looked at it from, it showed different scenes.

Shinji grinned wildly, and Shirou’s furious expression escalated even more.

On some preordained signal, both men swung forward.

The light from Gram was more than that. It was an otherworldly fire, burning anything and everything it touched, even air itself. The bright light was simply a side effect from that. It burst forward, shattering and incinerating the floor as his swing became a harbinger of certain death to all that dared oppose it.

By contrast, the wave of energy that left Shinji’s blade was almost identical to the others, save that it could be seen clearly instead of as a silhouette. The ethereal nature of it was plainly obvious, and it seemed to almost not exist in the material world.

When the two collided, there were no flashy fireworks. No battles of will or screaming occurred. The blast from Gram simply vanished along with Shinji’s blast of energy. Both had been erased.

Shinji stood, grinning wildly, as Shirou panted, trying to regain the stamina he’d lost simply by charging up his fake Phantasm.

Shinji spoke once more. “At least... at least I didn’t kill the girl I loved with my bare hands.”

Shirou froze. “You... how...”

“Don’t underestimate my sources, Emiya.” Shinji said. “I know what you did. I don’t know why, but I know what. It was really very simple, Emiya.”

“...stop it.”

“You went to the church right after my sister was recovering from her operation...”

“Stop it.”

“You brushed past Tohsaka, and Kotomine, heading straight for her room.”

“Stop it!”

“And then, when you saw Matou Sakura, you took a knife, tore her heart out, and stabbed it until there was nothing left but a pile of meat.”

“...”

Shinji shrugged. “What? It’s not like I’m telling you some big revealing thing here. This is old news, isn’t it, Emiya?”

“...”

“After that you betrayed Tohsaka, and went out to fight in the Grail War on your own. I still have no idea how you managed to get so far as to defeat me and Gilgamesh with no Servant to call your own, but it doesn’t matter.”

“...”

“The man I once called my friend died that day, Emiya. Shirou died that day, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell, doing foolish things over and over again. And that’s what you are, Emiya. Empty.”

“...is that it?” Shirou raised his head. His eyes were calm once more. He was perfectly calm. “Is that all you wanted to say, Matou?”

Shinji shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah. Just wanted to remind you that you’re just as evil as I am.”

“No, I’m not.” Shirou shook his head.

“Heh, still refusing to accept the obvious.” Shinji chuckled. “At least that part of you hasn’t changed, Emiya.”

“I’m... a superhero.”

“Keep telling yourself that!” Shinji roared, and raised the golden sword into the air. Once more it glowed with all the colours of the rainbow, and he slashed down, releasing a blast of energy-

No. This was different.

Through a tear in the fabric of reality... emerged something very familiar.

The heat was the same. The light was the same. The same holy energy was exactly the same... as the blast Shirou had fired from Gram earlier.

Shirou’s eyes widened. “So that’s it... you bastard.”

He raised his right hand, and braced it against his left. Prana swirled around him, and the approaching harbinger of death collided-

With a seven petalled flower. The strongest defense Emiya Shirou possessed. His greatest defensive Phantasm.

“Rho Aius!”

The blast from one of the most powerful holy swords in the world collided with the ultimate defense, a seven layered defense with seven fortress walls between death and Shirou.

One petal shattered instantly, and then another.

Two more shattered in a single second.

One cracked, and took longer, but eventually broke as well.

Finally, only two remained. The foremost cracked as well, and agonizingly the blast began to slow down, losing momentum.

Still, that didn’t stop it from breaking through the 6th petal as well.

Finally, one more wall remained between Shirou and his own sword of death. He poured prana into his defense, bolstering it as much as he possibly could.

The two forces became perfectly balanced. Offense and defense. Push and pull. Give and take. The petal fractured but managed to remain whole, and the blast died off completely, leaving the ultimate defense no more powerful than a tissue. But it had held, if barely.

And then Shinji leapt through the air, driving his sword through the shield and into Shirou’s stomach.

“Urk!” The last petal of Rho Aius broke completely, and Shirou collapsed, unable to stand with a sword in his gut. His vision darkened as he slowly bled out.

Shinji withdrew his sword with a sigh, and backed off; looking over his former friend’s torn up body.

“That was... remarkably easy, really.” He said. “I expected more from you, but I suppose aging really does weaken a person.” He turned and walked away, back to his throne. Once he was slumped in the golden chair, he began to speak once more.

“I’m no magus, Emiya.” He admitted to his fallen foe. “I learned over the years that there’s nothing I can do about that, short of turning myself into an undead, which I refuse to even consider. I looked for options. I went to the Association, the Church, and even to ATLAS, but I couldn’t open what wasn’t there in the first place.”

“It almost broke me, Emiya. I refused to believe I couldn’t do something. I thought that with enough hard work I could break past my limits as a person and succeed.” He let out a short, barking laugh. “As if. The world doesn’t work that way. But I did eventually figure out the key to power. Ironically, Gilgamesh had it right all along.”

His grey eyes hardened. “Take. Take everything. Take what you want, and what you need. If you can’t do something, get others to do it for you. I couldn’t be a magus, so I became one who controls magi. I even set myself a goal. To reach one of the True Magics and make it my own. It was a foolish move, but not an impossible one.”

He raised the golden sword into the air, showing off the blade, and especially the multicoloured jewel in the center. “I eventually settled on the second. It would do me well, I decided. Of course, I had no idea how to use it, and I wasn’t foolish enough to get it from Zeltrech himself, so I resorted to a more realistic idea. Tohsaka Rin.”

Shirou twitched. His eyes opened the barest sliver. “I am the bone of my sword.”

“Do you know why she disappeared after the war, Emiya?” Shinji asked, rhetorically. “It wasn’t because she was sickened by what you had become. It was because I captured her. That’s right. Me, of all people, managed to capture and control the prodigy Tohsaka Rin. It wasn’t easy, I’ll admit, but I managed it after ten long years.”

Shirou’s hand twitched, clenching into a loose fist. “Steel is my body, and fire is my blood.”

“I finally broke her, Emiya, and it was beautiful.” A tear rolled down Shinji’s cheek. “Seeing someone as proud as her serving under me was the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life. I had finally taken what I wanted, and it was mine.”

Shirou gasped. His lungs began to breathe slowly but surely. “I have created over a thousand blades.”

“And then I had her make this for me.” He showed off the sword. “I knew that she could do it. I could tell that she was close to achieving the second, so I forced her to work. It took twenty years this time, but in the end I finally received this sword.” He admired it once more. “I call it the Kaleidoscopic Blade. It can slice through dimensions, sending things from this one to another. Those blasts, if they had touched you, would have probably left you in some random alternate dimension where earth or this tower didn’t exist. I don’t know, and I don’t really care. What I do know is that as long as I have this, I’m unstoppable.”

Shirou growled, as his voice returned. “Without mercy and without pain.”

“And that’s that.” Shinji finished. “Tohsaka died right afterwards. She couldn’t take it. But she finished her job before dying, so it’s fine. I got bored of her after the first few years anyway.” He stood. “But now I only have one last thing to do. I have to cut my ties with the past, forever. And to do that, you have to die.”

“No, you die!” “Have become the judge of living and dead, awaiting the final verdict.”

He stood. The wounded red knight stood, pushing his broken body to the limit. Even though he bled from innumerable small wounds and from the one big stomach wound, his eyes still held enough fire to make Shinji take pause. “So you still have some life left in you? Fine. I’ll destroy you for good this time!”

“No, Shinji.” Shirou growled. “This time, I’ll fix the mistake I made all those years ago, and kill you myself!”

“This world was always, Unlimited Blade Works!”

The world twisted.

It groaned.

It shattered.

It reformed.

It became perfect.

“What is this, Emiya?!” Shinji screamed, as he suddenly found himself in a completely different place.

The sky was that of night even though it wasn’t yet evening. It stormed with dark thunderclouds and occasionally flashes of lightning lit it up for fractions of a second. A wet, acidic rain fell constantly into the muddy ground, burning all skin it touched.

The ground itself was littered with debris, and all of it was the same.

Swords. Weapons. Instruments of death. All failed, all broken, and all discarded only to be picked up and kept for all time. Littering the ground were only broken weapons.

But at the same time, the whole weapons stood above. Impaling the ground, stabbing and killing it, were swords. Each a work of art. Each different. Each unique. Each stained with blood.

Shirou walked among them, greeting each as if meeting an old friend. He whispered names under his breath as he brushed past familiar swords. He knew every one of them.

“Emiya, what have you done?” Shinji said, in horror. “What is this?”

Shirou looked up, and in sharp contrast to his previous anger there was only sorrow in his eyes.

“It is death, Shinji. It is the graveyard of swords, where broken weapons go to die. It is where the failures live, where the imperfect dwell, and where all the bloodstained weapons that can nothing but kill wait for their next victim. It is heaven, and hell. It is Unlimited Blade Works.”

“A reality marble...” Shinji whispered. “So this was your trump card.”

“Don’t call it that.” Shirou winced. “This is merely where I bring those that I kill with my own hands. Or more accurately, it is the depths of my heart.”

Shinji nodded. “I see... well, too bad Emiya, because it makes no difference whether you possess a reality marble or not, because I’ve still got the Kaleidoscopic Blade!”

He brandished his sword, and swung it triumphantly-

“What?” The once golden sword had turned a dull colour. It sizzled and melted as the acid rain pelted it. Although the other weapons were fine, Shinji’s sole weapon collapsed under the power of a reality marble. The gem on its hilt broke, shattering with it all hopes of Shinji being able to fight.

“This... this is...”

“May your sword rest in peace, Matou Shinji.” Shirou lowered his head and gave a quick prayer.

“I refuse!” Shinji roared. “I won’t accept this! You can’t just pull some reality marble out of nowhere and win like that! It’s impossible!” He grabbed the nearest blade out of the ground, and hefted it. “I’ll kill you with your own weapons then! But I won’t die! Matou Shinji won’t die like this!”

Shirou sighed.

“Shinji, you’re already dead.”

...

“Eh?” Shinji blinked, and looked down. “...why... why?” The sword clutched in his hands had impaled him, stabbing through his stomach and through his spine. Even as he watched, his own hands pushed it deeper, cutting off his own life with each centimeter. “This is...”

Shirou looked up. “Sayonara.” He said softly.

“DAMN YOU EMIYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Shirou closed his eyes, and the graveyard of swords faded around him along with Shinji’s screams. When he opened them again, he was in the tower again, and Shinji’s body didn’t even resemble something human anymore. It was over.

He walked to the only door he saw in the wall. He pushed it open, and stepped out onto a balcony looking over the city.
It was dying. The buildings were falling apart, and the population was made up of criminals and slaves. There was no happiness there.

The sun was setting in front of him, and for the first time in years, he simply watched it sink below the horizon.

Behind him, Amelia, panting, ran up to him and was about to ask about how the battle had gone when she stopped.

She could see his eyes. They shed no tears, but she could see them nonetheless.

It was as if they were forged of steel once, but had rusted to the point where they could no longer be called sharp. They were hard, yet soft at the same time. Putting up a powerful image of mercilessness on the outside and inside. She saw, saw through those eyes and beneath. She saw the tears that he would never be able to shed for fear of rusting himself further.

He couldn’t cry.

Those eyes couldn’t cry, because they were the eyes of a superhero.

[Milbunk]

Name: Shooting For The Stars
Author: Anon

A Fate Zero X Notes Fan-fiction.

Emiya Kiritsugu was done. He had completed the summoning ritual... a hero of the past should now emerge before him the moment he opens his eyes.

He had not used a catalyst so the servant that would appear would be one that would be at least a fair bit like him. The thought didn't particularly entertain him. Amidst this church, the rainbow coloured stained glass descended to the altar.

“K-Kiritsugu!?” Iri's voice cried out in shock. By instinct Kiritsugu leapt back and landed safely on the ground, in front of his beloved and opened his eyes to see what would cause such a shock.

A smiling face.

The figure was standing in grey combatant like clothing and from his lips came a puff of smoke. His face... was very similar to Kiritsugu's own. It wouldn't be surprising if someone mistook them for brothers. The smoke came from a crumpled cigarette in the man's mouth and his low ponytail fell back.

Small tears began to fall off the man's face; he was sitting upon the church altar looking upon the people who had summoned him. “What heroic spirit are you?” Kiritsugu took no chances. In the case this was someone else's servant then acknowledging he was the master without a prompt could lead to a disturbance in his strategy.

“Hey, you!” The man upon the altar laughed, he had spoken the words heartily while looking at the roof of the cathedral. Kiritsugu's brow rose slightly and he motioned to draw his Thompson Contender hid in his jacket pocket...

Though if this was an enemy he would undoubtedly fire a shot and activate Time Alter and escape with Iri by his side. At least that would be the plan in that scenario. “Who are you?” Kiritsugu asked yet again.

“So... this is Gaia. Living and breathing... so beautiful, but you'll become quite scary one day, hah.” The man had ignored his Master yet again. A small silence that raised the hairs on Kiritsugu's body as Iri took an uncertain step back. “Hey, you!” He repeated and almost fell over laughing.

The Magus Killer was not amused and his servant saw it. “Sorry, sorry, Master. I'm just not used to this. Hah, the final moments of my life were a huge changing point you know. I used to be very 'cut the nonsense' and 'empty' but then... an angel fell into my mind.”

The man took one last breath from the cigarette and threw it to the ground, rubbing it out with his foot, smiling. “A lot of people never bothered to learn my name. They would just yell 'Hey You!' whenever then needed something you know. Or they would laugh and say 'oh look it's him the god! The god is fighting with mere simpletons like us!' it really was just luck in the end. A lot of luck.”

“I am Servant Archer. I am from the year 3100 AD. My name... is not important... however, if you really want you may call me... Jyuushin, the Gun God.” Gun God hopped down from the altar and stood to attention in a relaxed manner. Even a Magus in this war would doubt the words of such a man. But... those plain serious grey eyes told him all he needed to know.

The man before him... the Gun God, was someone who had truly seen the horrors of war. God would never lie over a thing like this. There was no point to it. A gust of powerful air surged around Gun God's arms. A brilliant flash! Shining across the entire room, enveloping it in stained glass light. Kiritsugu's eyes focused upon God. Within his hands was now a perfectly made gun. Black steel stretching out to the heavens with an eye to the stars. For some reason in his mind he thought of it as a lance, but something was truly different about it.

A gun is usually a cold killing machine which the user releases for the means to an end. However this Black Barrel, it was so strange. A warm soft feeling glowed from it and straight into the hearts of those who saw it. Without a doubt! Emiya Kiritsugu knew! This gun... somehow it knew the value of life better than any man! It was a weapon of hope.

“Hey, Master. Can I tell you one thing? When I was a little kid... I always dreamt of being a hero.”

X

God lazily watched from his window upon Kiritsugu and his daughter Ilya, playing about in the winter wonderland so far away from the rest of the world.

“Huh... he's actually a really nice guy deep down, isn't he Irisviel?” God then lit up a cigarette indoors, much the dismay of most of the Einzberns but they had gotten used to it by now. Irisviel looked at the man and smiled gently.

“Silly God, I told you to call me Iri remember? ...Kiritsugu is a good person. I love him after all. All he wants is...” She began trailing off to find the next word, but God spoke them for her, in a manner of speaking. “What he says he wants, and what he really wants... what he wants right now and what he wanted back then... are different things right?”

A small silence ad a look of muddled emotions upon her pure white face and her joyful yet ever so sad eyes. “The reason why I wanted to live was because I never felt anything good, I had enjoyed very little in life and lost my reason somewhere down the line, thinking only with logic instead of my emotions. Then... only then in the last few moments of my life, I knew why I wanted to live. Why I still wanted to fight. Or rather... the answer had changed.”

“You look a lot like her though. The usual perfect woman, not exactly human but yet at the same time more than any of us. Just like her. Hmm...” God made a happy sigh by the window side, not once had he looked away from the white world before him. “People like Kiritsugu and I... we just really want to smile. And if everyone else in the world can too... then isn't that for the best?”

He closed his eyes for a brief second and saw the fake angel smile in his mind. “You value it more than anyone right? Life. Because until you met him you didn't really have any. Hah, until I had met her I didn't have any either. ...I don't usually really believe too much in fate, but if there's any time when you can say it's real, then this meeting of ours... surely this must be fate.”

A soft blue sky. The one called God couldn't help but make a wryly smile at the sight of it, along with the falling snow and the simple everyday trees... even this castle was beautiful to him merely for being what it was rather then it astounding appearance.

In the lands lost to time... in a day far away yet so close to today, every last inch of this world would change into the land of steel. The sky turned grey, no that wasn't correct, life was deprived of the sky. God had a chance to stop that sort of world from ever being born. Right her and right now. If he wins the grail war, he could wish that the earth would never die. But would that really be what he desires?

X

A plane. He had been sitting and enjoying the luxury of a plane. He had flown in one before whenever he ventured to war. This time however it was simply to bring one person closer to another. God tried to remember what he could about the fall of Gaia. A prophecy in the year 2000 that must be adhered to, or else the world will die.

Well it didn't matter right away anyway. He smiled as he saw people walking, talking, and laughing, walking together. He wasn't the only human being in this world any more. He didn't want a world like this to fade away, don't think. Feel.

To some degree he learnt this in his final moments, heading to the blood red sky. Iri's eyes shone in amazement, the sight of this world was just as beautiful to her as it was to him. Yes, this world was definitely worth fighting for! Knowing this God picked up the pace. “Yo, Iri you told me you wanted to see everything right? Then let's go!” God had no need to fear any servants. Or rather them finding him. He was special that way.

“Yes!” Iri rushed after him and headed to the limo, sitting in the back seat as God lead her into it like a typical gentleman. The ride was a simple but glorious one. The sound of birds singing, the bustle of a child's laughter, the scent of cheaply cooked yet homely food, the sight of the stretching sea... and the simple footsteps of another living being.

Arriving at the oceans end Irisviel stepped back and forth in time with the evenings tide. Dancing among the thousands upon thousands of grains of soft once warm sand. “Doing things you've never done before, things you've only heard about or seen once before... I feel like I'm kind of watching the same type of scene again.”

X

The second battle of the holy grail war, was about to begin. Normally Kiritsugu would never send a class such as Archer into a full frontal battle. But Gun God was different. The very way he was made it that even a full frontal battle could work. Coming to life from the night air a man in green armed with two lances, one of red and another of yellow, wrapped in purple cloth stood before the rifleman.

“Archer, I presume? ...You're odd. I am Lancer. You do not emit any sort of magical presence. And that appearance... who exactly are you?” Revealing his identity meant nothing, it was obvious by just looking at him.

His face was rather handsome; he had bright orange eyes and a mole below his right one. His voice was gentle but firm in its presentation.
“Normally I would strike down a gun man such as you... but you're different. You are a heroic spirit too... and that gun of yours, for some reason feels just like my lances.”

God smiled and lifted his weapon up to the appropriate height, but with only one hand. Lancer did not shy away or prepare to attack, he was perfectly still. He as a warrior could feel the intent behind the movement. “A knight? In my time a knight... well that's a different story for a different place. I'm Archer as you can see, and I'm the one whose gonna kill you here and now. Nothing personal.”

Archer's index finger wrapped around the trigger and in a single flash the end of the gun was hosted against his shoulder, the simple firing stance of any gun of this size. A single shot rang forth! Bang!
It had been dodged by the nimble green warrior, who was now before Archer, the noble spears descended forth to meet the eyes of God!

But instead they met cold and bitter steel. The rifle had been swung the same way a spear would have and met the fangs dead on! “Aahhh!?” A cry of pain and anguish, the green knight fell back and dropped his weapons, clutching his head with both of his hands, wincing the entire time.

Black Barrel seized that chance, it rose up and was level with Lancer's head, and another whisper of fire came to life! “Lancer, no matter what dodge!” A shining red light in the distance, and a blur of colour! Lancer grimaced as he held up his lances in a defensive position. “Urgh! What, was that!?”
He gritted his teeth and brought himself up to his full height and readied his feet to pounce forth.

And then the beast pounced. A rapid succession of sword like swings with the poles, as long as Lancer could avoid contact directly with the gun he shouldn't feel that sharp poisonous sensation, this was the quick and decisive battle analysis of an expert. And this assumption was correct.
But... God was ready, using the long sniper rifle like a staff to attempt to strafe away any attack. In response the knight lifted the fangs to the skies, losing momentum but ignoring the damaging potential of his enemies “lance.”

Lancer smiled, he had come to a conclusion. The effect of the gun in the man's hands must be magical in origin, they could be no other way such a modern weapon could possibly be able to inflict such incredible damage. And so with this in mind! In the blink of the idea he closed in, raised his right arm and yelled. “Gae Dearg!” The lance of red howled as the winds tore around it, lunging in for the kill! God stepped back, using the gun once again like a staff to repel the blow!
A dead on collision! And then a monstrously excruciating sensation ripped through Lancer's body yet again.

His body curled in ever so slightly... he would not fail his Master a second time! That was what he swore to do! Enduring his suffering he began to use all his strength to bring his body down to the cold hard earth... and just as he did a bullet tore away a small lock of his hair. The pain intensified like a small singe of flame being lit in his heart, but he could not bear the thought of failure, dragging his feet across the ground he tore away from the point blank distance he was formally at and jumped a relatively safe distance away... hot lead being shot at him every second, but he dodged every single one. He wasn't Lancer for nothing. And as he did so God spoke again.

“You just said Gae Dearg right? So you must be Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.” Diarmuid regretted his precious action... perhaps he shouldn't have revealed his noble phantasm so soon... he could have tried other ways of defeating Archer. Lancer was now on edge and frankly a bit frightened. The feeling of even just his spears coming into contact with that weapon felt like he had been forced to swallow poison and feel every inch of it spread through and destroy his veins. He had felt so close to life yet so close to death with its simple 'touch'.

God did not say another word. He merely pointed his gun at the direction Lancer was in yet again. Another ray of light, another blur of colour. “Gae Buidhe!” Lancer had chosen a wise course of action, instead of wielding the lances as lances he launched the yellow rose forth... as a spinning disk of death.

Gun God swept the rifle into the flow of the rose and struck it down to the ground with a lightning fast reaction. Yet... this same instance gave Diarmuid the chance to launch a simple and straightforward but powerfully executed manoeuvre. A simple move done by all spear-men taught to them to defeat the foes before them.

Left foot forward. Right foot just an arms space behind. Lance to the depths of hell. Eyes glaring to the cold ground. Step forward. Thrust the spear to the heavens and charge forth wills all your heart, body and soul! Roar! “Yyaaarrrrggggghhh!” The fang of read was but a second away from a clear and unexposed back. The gun couldn't possibly turn in time to deflect the blow... so it didn't.

Something fell to the floor... with a clang. What was now before Lancer's very eyes was a pistol. The entire sniping and rifle equipment had fallen away to reveal this much smaller weapon that did not fail to immediately barrage him with an onslaught of attacks. Each and every bullet seemed larger than the last.

The thrust turned to a leap back and a desperate twirl of defence, a seemingly stupid and react move with little chance to repel the attack, but done anyway... and it paid off. However... Gun God had kicked the gun attachments at that point, and they snapped into place with the pistol joint... forming the sniper rifle once again... and leaving room for a clear and decisive shot. So his eyes burst forth into the looking glass, and the scope fell just marginally below Lancer's face... and then the trigger was pulled, and once again the clear and heavy sound of metal and flame filled the night.

Lancer was lucky. He had been able to force his body up higher at the last moment... however he had escaped far less then unscathed. Actually, his entire right waist seemed to be missing. A howl of pain like no other heard before in the history of mankind. Poisonous life made itself known to the knight of the red branch... he cowered in pain. Life is beautiful and meaningful. Yet for every taste of happiness and every drop of joy you shall without doubt feel the touch of sadness and the fangs of despair through your heart. This suffering was one that you could never easily forget and in truth deep down in the depths of your heart of hearts... it never will.

The second shot of life aimed itself at the shambling and fallen warrior. There is no mercy in war. Thunder crashed from the heavens to the mortal world. The cry of something God had never heard before and one that the green knight had known too well... the cries of cattle. Then a large booming voice erupted from the man who led them with his chariot. “I am the King of Conquerors Iskander! In this war I have been summoned as Rider! So I ask you two heroes... will you not follow me and rule this world by my side!?” But chance always makes a mess of things.

Lancer stepped back, in an extremely defensive position ready to strike at anyone who came near. Iskander's eyes turned to Lancer's fragile form. Sweat fell from the warriors brow and once calm eyes glared directly at the King. “Ah, I can see your loyalty to another. Too bad then.” The man turned to look at God. “Very well then. How about you Archer?” God raised his gun and looked at the man for a moment; no intent to kill could be sensed at all. “Not as long as my Master is alive. But if an unfortunate accident occurs then I'll consider it. The world needs heroes... but if I win it won't matter anyway. Sorry but you'll die right here and-!”

The Servants turned... and saw a gate of golden air, hundreds of weapons floating in the water like texture; they waited silently behind the man they served. A man covered in gold with bloody red eyes, a smirk was upon his face. “A mongrel, a faker and... a human.” He sneered as his gaze lazily fell upon his prey. “Huh, pure but not so pure... what an interesting little side attraction. No God's live where you come from child... and that gun in your hands... what a degrading and dangerous toy you carry as your own.” The weapons in the vault edged a slight inch closer to the Servants below them...

The King of Conquerors made a small smile for a while... and that was quickly swept away. He snapped the reigns and the bulls of heaven turned and began to march... then charge away. Lancer was gone. The Golden man turned using the balls of his feet, and looked to the distance. God could only stay still... in silence and sheer fear. Kiritsugu and Iri begun to retreat. The ground began to shake violently as in fear and awe... as if trembling in excitement. The night air held its breath and went as cold as a jaded human heart... mist began to seep into view and a small dark glimmer of light shone throughout the oceans floor and the view of all those awake... what was before them was an enormous, gargantuan and outstanding palace. Simply beautiful, simply frightening... simply astounding. The castle began to open as if it were an enormous gate...

Sealed within the very centre, seated and locked away upon a huge shining crystalline like throne... was a knight adorned in pure black. Chains flowed downwards from the roof and below from the sparkling floor, they were wrapped violently around the black knight's limbs, the knights figure was rather thin despite the armour, but this was took nothing away from his majesty or his presence. The chains began to slowly move across the sleeping knight’s arms... his head rose and God knew for sure... they were staring directly into his eyes. The chains began to shake as if restless for thousands of years, the mere sound they made caused you to feel as if death was even if only, a single step closer, with every dance in the cold night sky.

“HHHHYYYYARRRRRGGHHH!” A roar that would echo beyond time and space! His body began to rise to his full height... the chains began to crack and then... every single link shattered to mere dust! The figure leapt, and began to soar through the almost empty skies... the only thing above was a silent beauty. The faint white blue moon. The knight then eclipsed it... and for but a brief and awe inspiring moment basked in its radiant and soft glow. Within the palm of his hands was a small blue glowing vine like construct. The man wielded it like some sort of weapon... it was obvious to anyone who had ever seen a true swordsman before. Then he dropped to the earth, feet first. The impact shattered the ground into shards of refuse and dead dust. The vine like blade dug into the rotten earth... and then ate it all away in the glimpse of a single thought.

In but a single minor moment that no one could remember, the vine had erupted into a towering blade of everlasting darkness. With another inhuman howl the ‘blade’ was brought down from the heavens and sang pure death. But...! It met an eruption of explosions and cold metal. This had all occurred in the space of a single thought. What met God's eyes however was... pitch black like smoke, fire and ash? What came racing into his mind was-! “Western continent! The place where I was born! I remember. I remember! This... this blackness! My home... this dark dust. Is what destroyed it... that black knight was the one who destroyed it!”

With every thought, something went pass the man's eyes before he could even see it. The battle before him... he was almost blind to it. Blurs of distinct and deadly blackness enveloped in the fires of war... a shining light glazed across the skies just as fast. The black knight... the golden warrior moved faster than thought itself. However... even though the King of Heroes sat upon his throne and rained hell upon the knight... even he knew with all the treasures in the world... they would run out... and be empty in but a while. The king scowled and then smiled a smile he had only done but thrice in his entire life. Yes, he was awakening to something he had not felt for thousands upon thousands of years... fear. Fear and true heart wrenching excitement!

He could contain it no longer. He reached into the depths of the vault and drew his weapon. A golden hilted drill like 'sword', black cylinders glowing with red inscriptions made the 'blade' and then... with but two simple words... “Spin, Ea!” The atmosphere... the heat and coldness in the air, begun to spiral and spin as one, entangling each other into a deadly and unmatched force... a violent red maelstrom of pure terror and magnificence. Swallowing everything before its 'sight'. The tower of darkness rose forth to even greater heights! The dying earth below! The soaring and every lasting sky above! Time moved so fast in but a few fractures of a second.

The eye of bloody red screeched in joy, unfathomable heat and cold mixed together... the tower of black shone a great glorious light... the world around him turned into a pure sky blue, with drifting clouds. The Vimana, the glorious flying machine descended at a break neck pace. The King Of Heroes roared in delight.“Enuma Elish!” The black knight twirled the twin edged towers of metal with a swift and elegant yet powerful hand motion... a twisting storm brewed within a single instant.
“Slash... Emperor!” The knight shrouded in black spoke.

One blade swung to reach beyond the horizons, another turned to rip apart all before it.
Truth clashed against Truth.

God saw it. Truth. Pure shining everlasting blue, somewhere in the back of his mind...
The dust cleared. For some reason... everything had been reduced to mere nothing. Except for him.
Black broke apart... and the red fire within its soul burnt away. The tower had become a small jousting like lance that tore right through the King of Heroes. A small burst of blood left the wrecked warriors body. Then rumbustious mocking laughter left his blood stained lips.

“You fool! You mongrel fool! Had you not taken that moment to spare this pathetic wretch you could have won and escaped unscathed! Ahahaha! It is too... bad that... you... cannot understand... what I'm... saying. I would wish to ask your name... I will surely remember it... like the God's I slew, I swear... I will take you down from your throne one day!” The golden king began to disappear into light... that then melted into the darkness... “My name is Ado Edem.”

Then there was nothing left of the golden warrior king. Bang! The knight fell to his knees and sighed. His body too was turning into but dust before the rising sun. The bullet that had landed into his helmet had merely hastened the process. “...I remember... when I was barely old enough to join the army... well to be fair we had been fighting all out lives.. but you know that don't you? The lands of steel... ah. I'm so tired of it all. Ah, this feels good. Y'know. Just fading away without a care in the world. I'm sorry. I didn't know it would end like that.” Gun God remembered it a little better now. The black haze... shaped like a man tearing through the cities. Everything began to burn to ash... he was a little sick that day so he stayed at home, holding his older sisters guitar.

Then he was told to leave and run. Holding unto the guitar for dear life he just kept on running. And running. Faster than anyone else. He was barely a teenager but... he was able to outrun so many others, even if it meant sneaking under a soldier or ignoring warning signs. He was out of breath... and the black knight before him appeared. It ended there. A blue sky shone for the first time in Gun God's life... and then the black haze was cut in two... and it burst into flames. So much flame it devoured the entire continent... except for him and the knight that was in front of him. “I... was the only one who survived. I was left all alone... in a barren dead land... with no one by my side. But you. The one who saved me but killed everyone else.”

“Not once... could I deny my orders. And even when I was chained and kept away... I didn't really mind. I just fought and fought, hoping to save people... but I killed just as many if not more. I was trying to meet you y'know. Before you died. I had finally tracked you down. I wanted to say sorry.”
With another heavy sigh the knight fell to the floor, a small piece of the visor broke and revealed a rainbow coloured eye. “Don't worry... I tried to settle every problem that might do with our wretched future... in another world I'm sure you'll live a happy life. My master... he died the moment he summoned me. But... he wanted to live. He used all his command seals at once; he was thinking something in the instant before he died... I completed it. So... I have nothing holding me any more... I don't want to kill any more innocents. Goodbye... I never got to see it y'know. That city built upon Venus. I think... I died before I could really get a good look at it. Oh well.”

Kiritsugu would probably kill him for this. “I don't know why... but I want to show it to you then. Sigh. This is painful to do.” Gun God closed his eyes... and he imagined that single angel, in an empty room... all alone with nothing but a guitar, playing a flimsy song. The world shifted gently into a large forest, brimming with an alien life.” The black knight seemed to smile. “I checked out all the other servants. I think you'll be able to handle them if you play your cards right. There's something only some people can do... that's what makes life so precious. I wish I had learnt that sooner.” God tried to smile. Really tried. And he did. “Nice smile. Well... I think I'll be going now. Goodbye, keep looking to the stars though. Just in case. Haha.” Edem was pretty sure that was the first and last time we would ever make a joke. The forest like world disappeared with the knight.

“I owe it to the people who died... to live on.” Gun God looked to the skies, but his eyes were searching far beyond that. He finally knew it. Happiness and sorrow. The value of his own life and everyone else's. His mind drifted to a conversation in his mind he never really finished, as well as the image of a falling angel... and a smiling fake one, a fake but more real than the real thing.


"Why do you fight?"

"Because I don't want to die, of course."
"Why don't you want to die?"

"Because I want to live, of course."
"...then, why do you want to live?"

That's obvious. It's because------ life's worth living.

[Milbunk]

Name: Bare Knuckle Brawler
Author: Anon


Blood ran down between Satsuki's knuckles, and she clicked her tongue. A failed punch.

She'd been aiming for Sion, but the lithe, purple-haired girl had dashed aside right before the blow had landed. Thus, Satsuki was left standing there with her fist sunk into the brick wall of the alleyway, rain pouring down on her. She felt no pain; the only sensation that touched her was a touch of disappointment as she found herself unable to end the fight just as she had expected to. Still, Sion was a skilled fighter, but lacked Satsuki's brute strength. Satsuki believed that she'd be able to take at least a few more hard hits, so long as they both kept to fisticuffs.

but Sion almost had her spine broken in half but that one discharge of raw power Her little fangs glared in the moonlight that barely reached the two; they were shaded from all living light by the imposing alley walls, two tall buildings of no important purpose. It was a miserable night, but in her life Satsuki had grown used to disappointment and despair. Some bad weather wasn't going to make her lose heart, not now.

“Were I Roa, I could have struck you with twelve point five deadly strikes in the time you took to remove your hand from the wall!” Sion informed her opponent as she did a light cartwheel turn to escape Satsuki's rabid punches.

Satsuki frowned. “Wh-what would 'point five' of a deadly hit be? How's that even possible?” Though she tried to be serious, Satsuki couldn't keep her mind focused on the fight. Her thoughts drifted far too often to little observations and notes about what was going on, and to blissful memories of the boy she was still in love with.

“Do not question my statistics! You should be paying attention to the battle, not my words!” Again, Sion was harsh, and Satsuki had to wonder why her friend was being like that. Maybe she really believed Satsuki had a chance of defeating Roa, or maybe she was blowing off steam? The answer wasn't apparent, and Satsuki hardly had enough time to think about it.

She steeled herself. The blood on her hand had dissipated, and she clenched one pale fist. Her school uniform, once a chipper mix of colours with a blue skirt and an orange-peach vest, was now drenched with grey water, and the blue had faded as it was splashed with months of grime and dirt from unhealthy living. Only recently had her life turned around, but she still bore the scars of vagrancy like a sad, wet rat brought in from a storm.

None of that registered in her mind at the moment, though. Satsuki was far too caught up in the fight now to care about her hair or her clothes. This was serious, even if it was practice, and she'd never let Sion take another win. She gritted her teeth together, and focused on Sion's casual dodging. That girl had a keen understanding of how Satsuki moved and fought, but ofttimes lacked the ability to make a solid offensive. In a match of endurance, Satsuki would likely win, and both contenders knew exactly that.

Satsuki, wanting to end this quickly, kicked off against the ground, entering a fierce and powerful run that showed her capabilities as a vampire. Her eyes narrowed, and every part of her mind and body was dedicated to the task at hand. Under her feet the cement started cracking, almost tearing apart, and Sion was at once taken aback, but not for long.

“Satsuki, that would not-” She began, but was cut off when she dodged; she had been expecting a punch, but Satsuki unexpectedly came from the side with one outstretched arm, striking Sion firmly in the throat and making the girl cough and sputter wildly.

Sion wiped her hand across her mouth and tried to get back to her feet, even as the blunt pain was still ringing through her body. Her speed was lacking, though; she felt a brush of air beside her, and Satsuki had brought the force of her elbow down on her back, hitting with a sickly snap and a surge of burning pain. It felt dull and muted to Satsuki herself, but Sion almost had her spine broken in half by that one discharge of raw power.

But, her mind was too strong to be overcome by just that. Her brain overclocked, dividing her senses into fragments and shifting the pain into a partitioned section of her mental faculties, rendering it null for all intents and purposes. That happened in just a split second, and she was able to twist her body to the side to avoid a heavy punch aimed right for her gut. If that had struck, it would've pierced right through her body. That one note was sobering in a way, and Sion raised her fists once more, getting ready to counter whatever Satsuki had planned.

The young vampire licked her lips as she stared straight ahead in Sion's direction, looking just a bit past her. Sion wondered at that, but kept focused on Satsuki. This was a dangerous match, but nothing she couldn't handle. She had beaten Satsuki nearly every single time they had fought like this before, and it wouldn't be unusual if this was another victory to be added to her list. She watched Satsuki clench and unclench her hands, rain making them almost gleam in the bright, full moonlight high in the sky.

All that came next happened in fleeting moments.

Sion felt Satsuki's balled up fist coming right for her face, sensing the movements in the air and the few telltale motions Satsuki made just before she was about to make her usual punch. This was exactly as to be expected, and Sion weaved to the side, her face only being struck with a ripple of force that rushed through the air, the wake of Satsuki's incredible fist. Still, it was a blunt and obvious manoeuvre, and Sion prepared to make an offence, turning about on her heel-

-when she suddenly felt her body moving against her will, twisting down towards the solid, rain-streaked ground. Her face bashed against the concrete, and there was an immense, tearing sensation from her leg that went unmatched by all the pains she had felt previously in the fight. Looking weakly behind herself, she saw that her leg was sticking straight upwards below the knee, something that human anatomy rendered physically impossible in her position. Still, it had happened, and ivory-white bone could be seen gleaming like bared teeth in the pale light.

Satsuki was on her in seconds, dragging her by the collar of her muddy purple shirt and grabbing roughly the back of her neck. Sion squirmed about, trying to escape, but the more she moved the tighter Satsuki gripped, and the more intense the pain of her snapped leg felt. Despite all that, she wouldn't resign herself, and remained conscious even as her skull was slowly pulled in one direction, grasped by Satsuki's whole hand, and smashed against the metal of a dumpster. Satsuki repeated that until one half of Sion's face was drenched a red that flowed down to the cement below, and there was a sizable, half-torn dent in the dumpster's side the size of Sion's head.

“You... ah, you win.” Sion's words were slurred and hard to hear, but Satsuki understood them implicitly, not wanting to ignore at least some form of praise from her only teacher.

Blushing lightly out of embarrassment, Satsuki pulled Sion up to her feet. “Ah, I'm really sorry, Sion!” She said, hugging the girl tightly to her chest. Sion let out a gasp, and at that Satsuki realized that she was only tearing up the girl's broken leg even more. “I-it doesn't hurt too much, r-right? I'm really sorry if I hurt you!”

Sion took a deep breath, not wanting to strain herself too much. She could taste blood in her mouth, a sharp and sour sensation, but she ignored it for the time being. “Do not worry, Satsuki. If you managed to win, then... then that is worthy of some approval, at least! But.. perhaps I lost on purpose, to make you feel better!” She smiled, somewhat wryly.

Satsuki's solemn expression was broken by a cheery smile and a laugh even in this dark and depressing part of town, and the two huddled together against one wall for warmth, dragging up a blanket to cover their bodies. It wasn't perfect, and the overhand above didn't keep out all the rain, but it was enough for now. Of all things, Satsuki didn't want her friend to be in too much pain. Sion, too, was a vampire, and fortunately could heal herself rather easily, and especially on the night of a full moon like the one that was grand and huge in the sky above.

Her breathing soft and her arm draped across Sion's shoulder, Satsuki wasn't content. “I... I think I'm going to go fight Roa, now. I can probably beat him, and then become the strongest Dead Apostle!” She said this quietly, as if it was embarrassing.

“You should not do that. Not yet, for you have a lot to learn. You must practice more, Satsuki; one battle will never make you a good fighter. Roa is one of the strongest vampires you may ever encounter, and you should never take him lightly.”

Satsuki pouted, her lips pursed. “But Sion!” She whined, hugging her friend, “I've fought a lot more than once with you! I think I can do this, since I've learned from all my mistakes. I'm sure that Roa won't even know what's going to hit him!” All of a sudden she smiled, trying her best to look cute so that Sion wouldn't be able to deny her.

That idea was cast aside as soon as Sion spoke up again. “No. Your victory showed more skill than usual, but it was nothing too impressive. Most likely, our next bout would end with myself as the victor, and there would be little variation. Perhaps you would begin to see more victories than usual, but really nothing impressive, and certainly not so to a man like Roa. You have to know your body's limits, Satsuki. Do not do this.”

There was no way Satsuki could be satisfied by what Sion wanted. If she thought herself that she could beat Roa tonight, then she'd do exactly that. Sion was the toughest person she'd known, and their fights were always intense and quick. This latest one, so she thought, showed how she could beat Sion even in a match of skill, and so she felt that if she was serious, she could defeat Roa. After all, could he really be much more skilled or talented than Sion herself?

Satsuki stumbled up to her feet, collapsing once before she could stand ably. She closed her eyes and smiled at Sion, who looked honestly worried, but Satsuki saw that only as the girl being doubtful, as usual. Satsuki was optimistic about her own abilities, and that optimism was all she felt she needed. Her skills and strength had been honed to a maximum, and there was no way that she could lose in a pitched battle.

“Don't worry, Sion! I'll do my best!” She gave her friend just one last smile and walked off, out of the alleyway and into the rainy streets beyond. Sion could only sigh, and try to fall asleep to the sounds of the pattering rain and rolling thunder.


x-x-x x-x-x


Finding Roa himself was hardly a difficult task for Satsuki; he was the man who gave her a new life (or lack thereof) as a vampire, and she shared with him a sort of unconscious bond. So long as she just willed herself to search for him, he could be found.

And, as a powerful vampire himself, Roa tried to avoid the bustle of ordinary, crowded life, staying out of sight and out of mind. For most, at least. A few unfortunate souls who wandered too close to his ramshackle lair may have found something more than what they had expected in a warehouse in one district of the city. At times he could be hungry, too, and unlike Sion and Satsuki he had no access to simple replacements for the blood he needed. He had to feed regularly, and that was perhaps part of why Satsuki wanted to defeat him.

With hesitant steps she entered the warehouse, gazing on at its vastness. She closed the thin aluminum door behind her, and she could hear the clatter of rain on the metal roof and sides of the warehouse. It was almost homely, she thought, and understood well enough why Roa would want to spend most of his time here.

This warehouse, too, was quite empty, having no storage containers or boxes barring the way; it was just a wide open space, occasionally littered by an abandoned forklift or set of empty shelves, but beyond that... nothing. It all smelled old and musty, but with a sharp sort of heat to the air that made Satsuki's skin crawl. Ultimately, it was a disturbing place fit for a vampire.


The lights hanging from the ceiling were on, sending their bright glow down to the floor to illuminate wide circles in the cold grey concrete.

Into one of those circles walked a man in a ruffled white dress shirt and dark black trousers, his hands in his pockets semi-casually. Unlike Satsuki, who had her fists already raised, he seemed to hardly even care about what was going on, even looking at the girl with a smile on his pale lips. He raised one hand, a simple greeting.

“The little fledgling vampire has arrived, has she?”

Satsuki narrowed her eyes, holding her hands in front of her face in a tight guard. “I've come to defeat you, Roa!” Her words were simple, but they had some strength behind them. “I don't want you to hold back! I'll end you and show you my power!” Her little voice mustered up all the seriousness that could be managed, but still Roa laughed.

His lips almost began to curl into a sneer, but he stopped himself. “Are you sure, girl? I created you, and I can very well destroy you if you challenge me. I'm not sure if you can handle that, to be honest.” Roa gave a shrug of his shoulders.

“Of course I'm ready!” Satsuki shook her fists, her face scrunching up into what she called a scowl, but would look to most like a little kid's face after she learned she was being grounded. That display of so-called strength elicited another few laughs from Roa, and he took one single step forward. His shoes tapped on the smooth floor, and their sound echoed through the warehouse.

He nodded. “Then, so be it. Come at me, if you're really worth the trouble!” A feral grin replaced his smirk, and he looked like a madman standing there, his posture instantly switching to that of a trained fighter. He raised his hands like a boxer, mimicking Satsuki but with the airs of a man who was far more skilled than her.

Satsuki took that as a sign that the fight was truly beginning. She prepared herself for a heavy punch, clenching her fists as tightly as she could. She trusted her power enough to not doubt it, not now of all times.

Breaking into a run, she angled her body to deliver a tough body punch to Roa, aiming to hit him in the stomach or in the chest, knocking him at least off balance. Satsuki was sure that if she put enough raw strength into this, she could break even Roa. All she had to do was make sure this all worked out. It would all be like the fight against Sion, she told herself. As she closed the distance between herself and Roa, she let her whole mind tense up in pure concentration on the single task of beating Roa with one single blow, then finishing him off for good. She took a deep breath.

She reached him, and he pulled back just slightly, swinging his leg up and to the side at the same time. Satsuki, who had continued to press on forward without stopping, was caught by his raised leg, taking a rough kick to the back of her leg. With all of her force exerted to run forward as fast as possible, she stumbled and fell, sliding along the ground.

Roa raised one hand into the air, and from the tips of his fingers lightning sparked, jolting in all direction upward; his body was surrounded by an aura of strange symbols and concentric rings. Something was building up, and he was about to let it all discharge.

Flashes of lightning burst out, and there was a crackling sound as the ceiling lights were all knocked out at once, leaving the two in utter darkness. Satsuki stiffened up just slightly at this, but had enough control over herself to roll onto her back to meet the oncoming attack heralded by the few light steps on the cement floor. Any normal person wouldn't have been able to react, but as a vampire Satsuki was able to at least prepare some defence. She hoped it would be enough.

Hearing a rush of air beside her head, Satsuki twisted her body up and around, leaping backwards as she just barely got to her feet. Instinctively she held her closed fists up, wanting to protect her face, but that was far from enough for a defence against someone like Roa. He had centuries of experience, whereas she was just a fledgling Dead Apostle; though she had great potential, she had to reach the extent of her capabilities.

She knew that it was all over for her when she felt a dull impact on her chest, and heard horrific snapping noises as her ribs bended and broke from the sheer power behind even a quick strike from Roa's hands. He had struck her in just the right place with just the right amount of force, and she began toppling backwards, unable to save herself.

That was not the end of the fight, though.

Roa ducked down in a split second, and grasped at Satsuki's leg. He prevented her from falling straight backwards, but at the same time she was in his grip, and at his mercy. Without even a second of delay, Roa reacted and charged a bolt of hot electricity through his arm, sending it coursing through Satsuki's whole body.

“This is for your own sake!” He told her, though he didn't even know if she could hear, as shortly thereafter he swung her around, tossing her away in the direction from which she had entered the warehouse.

Everything was numb, and none of her senses seemed to work. She vaguely understood that she was flying through the air, and she saw Roa as a figure in the distance, getting smaller and smaller with each passing instant. There was the very light, vague sensation of cold air rippling across her body and her arms going limp, but before she could think about that her head smashed through solid concrete and aluminum, sending her mind reeling with pain that passed even beyond the numbness that wracked her form.

She scraped against the rough ground, her body tumbling and sliding along the asphalt far outside the warehouse like a pathetic ragdoll, unable to alter the course she was on. Roa had absolutely destroyed her, and she had no chance of victory even in the beginning. She realized that when she finally came to a tumbling stop, her back pressed against a solid steel shipping container. Her eyes drifted across her battered and scarred form, examining through blurry eyes the tears in her dirty clothes, and the rain that was washing away the thick red blood that covered so much of her body. It almost made her sick, but she was too exhausted to even be able to comprehend exactly what was going on. All she knew was that she had lost, and that was enough of a disappointment for her. Having taken so many injuries was really only an addition, meaning barely anything to her.

Looking up, she could see a figure walking towards her from the warehouse off in the distance, wearing a fluttering bluish coat and with a number of swords in hand; the person's steps were calm and confident, and Satsuki wondered what anyone like that was doing here.

She glanced up once at the clouded moon before her senses slipped away.


x-x-x x-x-x


“Finally, you're awake!” Those words were spoken by a woman, who heaved a sigh of relief as she lifted her hand from Satsuki's forehead. “You really were an idiot back there, though.”

Satsuki shook her head, trying to get her bearings first before even trying to speak to the woman. She glanced feverishly at her arms and legs, and found that she was perfectly unharmed, and wearing a clean – though slightly oversized – school uniform. Where she was, she had hardly a clue. She did note that she was laying in a soft, warm bed that wasn't all too large and was actually rather undecorated. There was a dresser, mirror and closet nearby, and it became apparent that this was someone's bedroom. The main question was, then, who?

“I... where... what about my fight?” Satsuki held her head in her hands, not understanding a single thing that was going on. The woman kneeling beside her smiled and patted her hair, trying to calm her down at least a little bit.

“You're Satsuki, right? Oh, this is terrible... I never thought someone like you would end up in a situation like this. Try not to move around too much, okay?” The woman, looking to be at most in her early twenties, had striking blue hair and seemed kind, if not a little serious underneath that.

Satsuki gasped. “C-Ciel? But I'm a vampire, what are you doing here? But what are you doing here I'm sorry I didn't mean to it was just-” She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to somehow clear up anything that had gone wrong. It seemed like all too many things were her fault, and in fact that idea was part of why she wanted to defeat Roa. But if this was Ciel, then... something must have been especially unusual lately.

“Don't worry, Satsuki!” Ciel said, squeezing the girl's hand gently. “I'm not here to kill you or anything, okay? I just want to help.”

Pursing her lips, Satsuki looked hardly convinced. “Why do you want to help me? I don't think you've got any reason to, and... and, well, you're supposed to hunt vampires!”

Ciel just shrugged. “I may hunt vampires, but not indiscriminately. You're cute and Roa's a nuisance, so that makes me want to help you. It'd be better to have someone like you in his place, really. He can be hard to deal with at times, but I think you're best suited for fighting him.”

“Why me?” There was still some lingering doubt in Satsuki's mind, and she wanted a full explanation from Ciel. “You're from the Church, so you should be the one to get rid of Roa if you really don't want him around. I just want to fight him and beat him, and... I haven't been doing too well at that, I guess.” She hung her head, looking forlorn and disappointed in herself.

Showing more kindness than she expected to, Ciel grabbed Satsuki by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes, smiling broadly. “It's simple! You see, if I were to go and fight him, then he would take me seriously and fight to kill me. I'm a legitimate threat to him, after all, and unlike you he wouldn't be interested in actually fighting me so much as he'd throw all he's got against me. If he were to fight you, though, then he'd go pretty easy on you in comparison, since really you two are teacher and student, in a way. He's your parent as a vampire, and he's actually interested in seeing you grow and develop. If you were to kill him he'd probably be a little proud, but if I were to kill him he'd just be disappointed in comparison.”

“That... that does make sense, I guess.” Satsuki smiled back at Ciel. “I guess you're right, then! But why do you think I've got a chance at beating Roa? It was you who came up to me after he threw me out of the warehouse, right? There's no way that I can match that kind of power.”

Ciel shook her head. “No, right now, you can't beat him. It's good that you still want to try, but you'll need practice first. You understand that, right?” Satsuki nodded dutifully, hanging on Ciel's every word as she waited for an explanation. Ciel found it cute, in a way, how the girl looked so eager to learn. There was certainly a lot she needed to know, that much was certain.

“I've got something for you, then. Wait just a minute.” Ciel stood up and left out the bedroom door, leaving Satsuki alone. She was back shortly, though, and was dragging behind her a makeshift dummy that looked to be made out of old clothes piled onto a coat rack. It had shaggy black hair made from a random cheap wig, and wore glasses that were actually Ciel's old swim goggles rather than legitimate prescription or even sunglasses. The clothes were blue denim, and looked worn and too small for Ciel herself to wear.

A red flush spread across Satsuki's cheeks. “Wh-wh-why does it look like Tohno? Th-that seems like an unnecessary d-detail, Ciel!” Indeed, the resemblance was... uncanny. Or, at least, somewhere in the uncanny valley. Satsuki almost wanted to look away due to the strangeness of the fake idol of her school friend, but was oddly transfixed by its appearance. Maybe it was just a one-off thought, but it sort of did resemble Tohno beyond vague appearances.

Ciel pumped her fist, a serious look on her face like some old martial arts instructor. “You must learn to fight what you love! Only if you can fight against those most dearest to you will you be able fight for them!” Her advice struck Satsuki like a load of bricks, making the girl reconsider her earlier opinions and think about this in a different sort of way.

“Now, punch! The first lesson: finesse!” Ciel shouted, not caring if her apartment neighbours could hear her.

Satsuki nodded as if possessed by some strange spirit that drove her to strive for the best that she could achieve. If she wanted to beat Roa, she would have to practice, and learn from the best. Only through real training could she see the path to victory.

Taking in a deep breath, she let a serious expression cast itself on her face. “Alright, I'll do it! I have to, to beat Roa once and for all!” Her voice showed her immense spirit, and she went at the plush fighting figure like she never had before. It put up a good fight, but she considered herself the better fighter in this match.

“Good! Now, with skill!” Called Ciel, acting as Satsuki's coach. You must be able to kill this foe without using too much strength, or else you'll just needlessly waste all of your power at the worst of times! Also, you'll destroy my whole apartment if you try too hard. Think of that as an incentive.” Satsuki absentmindedly nodded, but she was far too focused on laying almost excessive hurt on the image of her friend to pay too much attention to Ciel's warnings or advice.


x-x-x x-x-x


From that day forth, her life became intense and regimented, focused on her end goal of defeating Roa in hand-to-hand combat. Surprisingly, Ciel actually had a rather small role in her training, mostly giving advice and acting as an occasional sparring partner for Satsuki to test her growing skills against. She was improving slowly, but there was a definite difference between the night she had fought Roa and the days of her training under Ciel's watchful eye.

In the morning, she would wake early and go for a jog around town, making sure to stay within human limitations of speed. Constraint, Ciel had told her, was a very important sign of power. In the end, it was the most powerful people who didn't have to use all their strength to win, while the losers used everything they had and still managed to fail. Jogging normally helped with that, and it made Satsuki get a better idea of what she was and wasn't capable of. Ciel seemed happy when she had that revelation, and fed her a nice dinner as a reward.

At night, however, Satsuki preferred not directly training her body, but instead training her mind. For though she was someone who had been in numerous fistfights and the like and wanted to fight, she didn't have the same mindset of a fighter, and didn't understand that mentality.

To cure that ailment, she turned to various entertainment goods: in her bedroom in Ciel's apartment, a stack of magazines with burly, half-naked men on their covers, brandishing their fists as if to challenge the reader. Inside were stories and pictures of famous boxers and pugilists, men who were masters of the sweet science and knew the true way to win a gentleman's duel. Satsuki eagerly absorbed what information they could pass to her through the printed word, and yet soon that wasn't enough for her.

She turned to the internet, then, to sate her need for more information, more knowledge, more wisdom about the world of fighting. Satsuki kept her eyes glued to the screen, staring at internet videos of schoolyard brawls and street fights and backyard boxing of all sorts, wanting only more. She wanted to understand the world of fighting with one's fists, if she couldn't actively live it yet. It was her belief that she could somehow absorb the fighting experience and attitudes of the people she watched through some kind of osmosis, understanding them by studying them.

In a way it was a study; she tried to piece together exactly how the winner of a fight won, and how the loser lost. It was almost a game to her, as much as it was a serious sort of practice for her own goals, but she felt in her heart that she was getting a better, greater knowledge of the art of fighting through this. She felt the urge to fight and beat things with her naked fists, to be a bare knuckle brawler just like she saw in the videos and read about in the magazines.

Yet, she had no outlet for it, and no way to express her enthusiasm for fighting.

That changed one day, when she came across stories about an American man from many decades ago, a famous leader, hero and of course a boxer; he epitomized the manly art, and Satsuki felt strangely drawn to him and his accomplishments. What he offered most to her, though, was an idea: if she were to replicate one of his feats, then she could truly consider herself a 'fighter' in the sense that she knew. She had an idol to look up to through her studies, and now she just had to find a way to make it real.

The fight with Roa that she longed for began to feel like a vague and distant memory, slipping with each passing day as it was pushed aside in favour of professional stories and amateur fighting videos that amassed themselves under Satsuki's careful research.


x-x-x x-x-x


There was one man who could make her goal come to life, and even Satsuki was unsure whether or not he'd be willing to participate in this. She clenched one fist tightly, then loosened it, letting the desire for fighting surge within her. This was what she wanted, after all.

Late in the evening on a dry, windy night, she walked down the street, looking like any ordinary schoolgirl. But, she had a rendezvous with someone in an alleyway planned for tonight, and she couldn't bear to miss this. The man she was looking for was Nrvnqsr, a wandering vampire himself who had decided to take residence in this city. If anyone, it was he who could create the challenge that Satsuki was dying for.

A smile slipped onto her face as she entered the alley, disappearing from the late night lights and prying eyes to somewhere she and her compatriot wouldn't be noticed. She felt along one wall, making sure everything was as usual for this part of town, and she looked on ahead.

Standing alone in the space provided right near the end of the alleyway coated in darkness was a tall man in a long, ragged coat. He wore neither a frown nor a smile, seeming to be emotionally uninvolved in this entirely, but from the look he had in his eyes, it was obvious that he understood Satsuki. The glimmer in her crimson eyes showed that she was looking forward to this in a way that went beyond her normal fighting practice. This meant something different to her.

The air smelled faintly like wood smoke, and Satsuki took in a deep breath of that scent. This was no time to be unsure of herself; she had to have confidence, or else this would all be for nothing. She had convinced herself that this was right, but in order to prove it to herself, she would have to act on these strange new desires that she had. Only then could she embrace her new path in life. She licked her lips at the thought.

There was little more than silence in the shadowed alley for a long time.

“Satsuki Yumizuka? This is what you want, is it?” Asked the man standing before her, his arms crossed. He questioned her in a low voice, trying not to make any assumptions but instead attempting to gauge her character.

Satsuki nodded, firm and resolute. “I'm sure. Do just as I asked, and then I'll be able to fight Roa later on. Right now, I... I don't know, I think I need this.” Her lips creased into an unsure smile, and she fidgeted her feet, tracing circles in the dusty ground. “But, I'm not going to doubt myself any longer! I know what has to be done, so let me fight your beast!”

To all appearances, Nrvnqsr himself looked calm and perhaps even solemn, but in a single moment that all brutally changed. His face contorted into the visage of a mad rage, its pallid skin turning a shade of sheer black. Bestial teeth jutted from his mouth in place of anything that looked human, and he let out a deep and fierce roar. Lines of what looked to be shadowy blood poured down his neck and down his coat, spreading out onto the ground like flame, advancing towards Satsuki in individual, writhing streams, bringing with them the stench of bile and saliva.

Right in front of her they all converged, a whole mass of nondescript shades pouring from the core of the ancient vampire Nrvnsqr, spilling out to form a huge beast standing on its hind legs, a great black bear far larger than Satsuki. She stepped back as soon as it materialized just a metre ahead of her, her foot pushing into the thick cement as she steadied herself. From this beast she knew just what to expect, but she also knew that she couldn't be prepared enough. The creature of chaos roared and charged, its dark fur matted already with blood and dirt; it was far from a noble creature, but it was what Satsuki knew she had to fight. This would prove her worth at last.

Standing still, she took the brunt of the beast's attack as it fell upon her, trying to crush her down to the ground. Its huge arms crudely wrapped around her and tossed her to the side, and she smashed against a brick wall with the sound of stone shattering. The wall had broken, but not her. She believed herself too tough to suffer injury from just that. It was a matter of moments before she got back on her feet, and she raised her fists again, breathing in deep and keeping herself completely concentrated on her massive foe. Its very movements thundered the ground, and sent reverberations through her small body, but she wasn't intimidated in the least.

A hiss of foul breath steamed out from its nose in an indignant huff when it saw that the girl it had beaten was still alive and well. It got down on all fours and snapped its jaws, circling around Satsuki. She had little room to manoeuvre, and the bear soon had her trapped in a corner. It snapped its jaws at her as a threat, edging in closer with each moment.

However, Satsuki wasn't going to be brought down just then. When the beast bit at her again she twisted her body to the side to avoid the attack, and then she clamped her whole hand over the bear's mighty jaws. They were held tightly shut, and in one fluid motion Satsuki wrenched its head aside by its snout and punched it right in the neck, making it let out a muffled, rumbling cry. Raking one claw forward it caught Satsuki's thigh, tearing three thick gashes in her flesh. That was enough to make her loosen her grip enough for the beast to shake its head about and escape her hold, and then it tried to get her arm in its mouth with a heavy snap.

She could hear the crunch as it failed to bite down on her forearm, but she wasn't willing to risk another attack from this powerful creature. Even if it managed to clamp her arm in its jaws even once, it would be likely that Satsuki wouldn't be able to escape at all. So, she came up with an alternate plan, and she narrowed her eyes as she stared right at the bear. It, too, seemed to have a look of rage in its eyes, and Satsuki smiled at that.

Using the extra foot or so of space she had created for herself by forcing the bear to back up, she stepped backwards in a short leap. Her feet pressed flat against the two walls of the corner, with one hand steadying herself as she kept to her perch just out of the bear's reach. It tried to swat at her but failed, and when it shook its head back and forth, roaring, Satsuki let out a triumphant laugh in response. She loved fighting, and this was making her hot blood pump like nothing before. This is what she lived for, she thought, and ran along the wall.

She only had a few moments to keep her grip on the wall, and she used them well. She acted before the bear could respond to her in any way, and crouched down to leap from the wall. Performing a somersault in midair, she landed on her feet, scraping slightly along the ground with one hand pressed to the concrete, steadying herself. She was in a crouch like a runner getting ready for a race, and she charged straight forward. The bear tried to snap its body around to get at her, but Satsuki was too fast, and its bulk was too great to quickly change direction. The girl found herself right behind the creature, and yet there was nowhere for her to strike.

Through she had managed to injure it by punching its neck, that had done little to stop it. Almost all of the bear's body was covered in thick, furry hide that was enough like armour that Satsuki's flurry of punches could hardly even make the beast of chaos groan. It didn't even feel Satsuki's attack, and after a few seconds of Satsuki pounding on its body, it turned around and lashed out, striking her with two heavy paws like hammers, sending her flying back into a dumpster, her head striking the sturdy metal with a dull clang. This wasn't a good position for her to be in, and she saw the bear on four legs walking slowly forward.

Like a whip she snapped to her feet with a slight jump, getting back to her fighting stance with her legs moving from side to side and fists readied, to either guard or strike. She'd hit with the force of her whole body, and dodge with her whole body taken into consideration. Though her offence against this beast wasn't perfect, she believed that she had a masterful defence against it, and she waited for it to approach.

After they stared at each other, it was clear neither one was going to make the first move. The bear stood on its four legs, denying any opportunity for Satsuki to hit it where it would hurt, and at the same time Satsuki was in a more open space with room to move to either side. If it came to it, she could probably easily dodge anything that the bear tried. In the end, though, getting into close range combat would be detrimental to her, as the bear had more raw power than even her vampiric body could muster.

Rushing ahead, Satsuki tempted the bear by appearing to be making a strike, but in reality stepped back before she had moved even a single foot. Still, the bear roared and stood up on its hind legs, sending spittle ahead with its hot breath whenever it opened its mouth. It had fallen for the feint at first, but Satsuki hadn't performed well enough to be completely convincing.

She tried again, and the bear growled, getting low to the ground. Its ears flattened like a dog's, and it seemed ready to rush at the girl. But, after a moment or two, it didn't. It just remained still, following with its eyes Satsuki's most minute movements, as if calculating what she would do. It was a true predator, trying to get any advantage over its prey. Compared to any normal bear this one was a paragon of its species, having great intelligence, size and power. To relive the legend of one of her favourite fighters, Satsuki wanted to wrestle this bear, and show it her power. Only that could prove that what she was doing was right.

Her third and final movement wasn't a feint at all. However, it proved one theory true: Satsuki believed that the bear's own intelligence could be wielded against it, and indeed that was true. Rather than pure instinct the creature had memory and the ability to learn, and yet that made it only expect that Satsuki was attempting one last, complex feint after her first two had failed.

Even as instinct was overshadowed by intellect in sapient creatures, so was the property of self doubt extant, and even this bear had some traces of that. It looked curiously at Satsuki as she rushed forward, her feet beating against the ground and tearing up dusty cement. It realized that this was a true attack, and raised up its whole body onto its rear legs to try to take her down with the sheer power of its own mass. That was what it had as an advantage in this fight, and so it would try to do anything in its ability to achieve victory.

However, that was exactly what Satsuki had wanted the black bear to do. Just as it roared and raised its body up, she ignored the throbbing pain of her wounded leg and jumped, crouching down for but a second on the ground and leaping into the air, swinging one leg forward in a last gasp attack. This was her only chance, and she had to take it.

Her foot made contact with the beast's throat, make it howl in mumbled pain and collapse forward. Deciding that she wasn't done yet, Satsuki grabbed at its fur, holding on as the bear shook its whole body about trying to lash out at the girl. It bit down on her shoulder, its teeth digging into her clothes and her flesh, but with its nearly collapsed throat it could hardly keep that up for long. Satsuki clambered onto the creature's back, holding onto tufts of thick fur; the bear slammed down on all fours, tearing Satsuki off of its bulk and sending her to the ground.

In its eyes was a look of absolute rage, incomparable to anything Satsuki could muster. Foam poured from its mouth in thick globs and it let go of any reason. Satsuki, on her back, felt the whole weight of the beast falling down on her as it pinned her to the concrete, its paws holding down her arms and its jaws opening wide to bite down on her pale, exposed neck.

Faced with near death, Satsuki felt a sense of power rushing through her, and urgency. She took in a deep breath right before the bear tore into her with its powerful jaws, and slipped one arm around the same limb that was holding her down. Using all the force she could manage in one blow, she managed to twist her arm around to snap the bear's bone right at its joint, making the beast tear itself away in pain, roaring. Only some magic of the ancient vampire Nrvnqsr kept the whole town from hearing that cry of rage, but for Satsuki the bear's howls were only signs of her victory.

Wrenching her body free from being pinned down, Satsuki wrapped her small arms as best she could around the bear, and pushed forward, running with all her might to slam the off-balance creature into the wall, its head snapping back and smashing against the solid bricks. She slipped her body to the side with quick and precise footwork, and let the bear tumble to the ground, the fire in its eyes extinguished. The fight had been ended with that last, absolute attack, and Satsuki let out an exhausted sigh as she stared at the black corpse.

The thing's stench was still on her, but it didn't matter. Her skin was hot and flushed, with sweat dripping down her face. She'd exerted herself more than ever before in that fight, but she was filled with such an incredible feeling of accomplishment that she was able to ignore all of that in favour of glancing over at Nrvnqsr, who nodded once in her direction.

With a dark shudder the beast unravelled, turning back into the slithers of chaotic black matter that had made up its body in the first place. All those tendrils and streams of shadow returned to their host, Nrvnqsr, and the whole area was clean as if nothing at all had happened, save for shattered brick and cement, and spatters of blood from Satsuki's torn up body.

She sat down, utterly spent from that battle, and she looked up still at Nrvnqsr, who seemed to be curious, if a shade disappointed in the vampire girl.

“An impressive victory.” He said after a long silence. “Months ago, I would never have expected you to have fought so well against one of my greater beasts, but it seems now you have changed. You have much potential in that body of yours... though I have to wonder if you'll ever truly end up reaching the peak of your abilities.”

Satsuki pursed her lips, wondered why Nrvnqsr still doubted her. “Why's that? I... I really want to fight!” She clenched her fist again, pumping it and showing Nrvnqsr her inexhaustible spirit. “Now that I've really done something I can be proud of, doesn't that make me more willing to go on and be better? With this I can really become the best fighter there is!”

Sighing, Nrvnqsr now wore a frown on his face, and shook his head once more. “That is not a goal suitable for a Dead Apostle, Satsuki Yumizuka. You have truly unparalleled potential even at such a young age, but even if you achieve this goal of being a 'great fighter'... you will only be directing your growth in a way that isn't satisfying to what you could be.”

“Wh-what do you mean? Surely there has to be some vampires out there who just want to do something simple, like me?”

“No.” Nrvnqsr answered her quickly and harshly. “You spoke once of defeating Roa himself in single combat. That is a goal you should work towards. However, based on your attitude as I've seen it, you wish to become a good fighter for the sake of fighting. That sort of ideal is... self-defeating. If you become a good fighter, then what will you do with that? It seems that you've been so absorbed in a culture of fighting that you've failed to learn that the greatest fighters do not do their art merely because they wish to fight, but because they have some vast goal that they want to achieve, something solid and reachable.” He breathed another sigh, and stared at Satsuki. “I was willing to help you advance as a person and a Dead Apostle, but you seem to have changed. I am disappointed in you, Satsuki Yumizuka.”

Satsuki shook her head, her hair waving across her shoulders. “I don't get it!” She cried, her shoulders slumping. “What do you mean, then? How am I supposed to get better or appreciate myself if I don't want to get better at fighting? I... I just don't know what you mean, and... and it makes me sad, sort of.” Her thoughts were jumbled and she hardly knew what to say. All she had within her was a mix of tangled emotions, and she needed to express them somehow.

Giving her a rare, honest smile that yet hardly seemed to fit on his face, Nrvnqsr lifted her off of the ground. “We should go have tea at a shop near here. I can explain this to you in greater detail there, if you are willing to listen. There is no bad blood between us, but I do wish to see you develop properly.”

Hesitantly at first, Satsuki smiled back and nodded, following the man to a tea shop in town. She was blissfully ignorant of how suspicious an old man in a trenchcoat and a young schoolgirl looked walking together, but she understood that Nrvnqsr wanted to help her, somehow.

But most of all, she wondered what her original mentor would say, and if she had advice on this dilemma that she now faced.


x-x-x x-x-x


When she next awoke, Satsuki felt somehow... strange. There was a certain lightheadedness that clouded her mind, and she groggily raised herself out of bed, hardly feeling like doing anything really physical. She rubbed her eyes and checked her alarm clock. It was still morning, but two hours past the time she usually got up to go jogging.

That just made her fall backwards and give up, seeing no purpose to waking. The events of the night before were blurry and she felt some pain trying to recall them, but she felt some urgency even though she'd already woken up far too late for her usual jog. Messing up her own schedule completely drained her of any willingness to get anything done that day, and the only reason why she slipped out of the covers of her bed and got up was because her stomach started growling at her.

Still wearing her pyjamas, she trudged out of her bedroom and into the small kitchen and dining room of the apartment, sitting down and waiting for the breakfast that Ciel usually prepared around that time of day.

For some reason that Satsuki couldn't fathom, Ciel never showed up. She scratched her head, looking around and trying to see where her mentor had gone, but even when she looked in the woman's bedroom she saw nothing. After looking around for a solid hour Satsuki started getting worried, thinking of anywhere that she could have gone that was outside of the apartment. School wasn't in session, and Ciel never usually had duties to perform, at least most of the time.

“Ciel? Where did you go? I'm... I'm kind of getting hungry, you know!” Satsuki crossed her arms and pouted, blaming Ciel herself for not showing up when she should have.

Just then the door burst open, slamming right into the wall, and through a cloud of mist came a blue-haired woman in a blue robe, her hands bare and free of any weapons. Her eyes were locked on Satsuki's slouching form, and she cast a harsh glare at the girl. Ciel had arrived, but not in the way Satsuki had ever expected.

Satsuki backed up against a wall, not knowing what to do but implicitly understanding that Ciel was here not to teach her, but to kill her. This was a poor battlefield, but one that Satsuki knew Ciel would have an inherent advantage fighting in. Satsuki, after all, was used to flat, open spaces, and in this apartment there were couches and tables in the way, and she felt almost confined. Her breathing started to get shallow and quick, like an animal about to be pounced on by a much more powerful and terrifying predator.

“Wh-what are you d-doing, Ciel?” She asked, her voice breathy.

The woman in blue narrowed her eyes. “You're useless now, Satsuki.” She spoke, shaking her head. “I offer to you two choices: submit or die. Since you don't seem to be willing to fight Roa and have strayed from the path I placed you on, I have no choice but to force you back to wherever you came from. If you wish, though, I will show you mercy and let you remain free, for at least a time. Tell me: what do you choose?” Those words had a sense of finality to them, and Satsuki felt as though a great weight was being pushed down on her body.

Even though Ciel's words were harsh and foreboding, Satsuki wouldn't bow to them. “I'll never do that!” She shouted, weakly tightening one hand into a fist as she adopted a fighting stance. “I'm not going to back down now, Ciel. If you want to kill me, then try. A true fighter entrusts her life to her fists!” Her voice was full of courage, but had the slightest wavering to it, and Ciel knew that Satsuki wasn't completely sure of herself. That was exactly what she had expected, and it was what she would use to turn this fight in her favour.

Striking first, Ciel dashed into the kitchen, diving and rolling past Satsuki and sliding along the smooth tile floor until she was up against the dining table. She beckoned for Satsuki to come and bring the fight to her herself, and the vampire girl was more than willing to oblige, a proud smile on her face that wasn't cruel in any way. She was fighting for her life, now, and knew that there could be no changing the course she'd set for herself.

She raised her fists and started forward, her steps cautious the whole way. Ciel crossed her arms, looking impatient but still ready for a fight, completely aware of what was going on and ready to strike back as soon as it was necessary. When Satsuki was close she pressed one arm and shoulder forward as a guard and kept the other back, prepared to punch or parry as was needed. Slowly, she drew her feet up, preparing them for a dodge as Satsuki gathered up speed.

The young vampire kept both fists closed tight and readied, and barrelled forward. When she got within range of Ciel, however, the woman just backflipped out of the way, onto the table right behind her. One of her feet struck Satsuki in the jaw, but at this point she couldn't be stopped at all from charging right ahead. Satsuki lowered her hands and gripped right below the edge of the table, lifting it up and forward with superhuman strength and sending Ciel unexpectedly backward, pinned against the wall.

She tried to resist, but Satsuki never let up for even a second, beating Ciel with a left hook to the cheek, then a right straight to the jaw that left a stinging red mark.

“Why are you fighting, Satsuki?” Ciel shouted her question, unaffected by the punches being laid on her.

Satsuki kept her body pressed against the table, not letting Ciel go as she answered, “I fight because that's what I have to do! I don't need any reason!”

“Not good enough!” Ciel shoved the girl with a sudden burst of force, feeling one gasp of hot breath from the girl before she was knocked stumbling backward towards the living room. “You'll never win if you only think of fighting without any purpose behind it!” A sharp lunge and a punch brought her fist up and into Satsuki's gut, knocking the wind out of her and making her grasp at her stomach, stunned for a few vital seconds.

At the very least she could control her vague lurching steps, and she made her way backwards even further. “I don't care!” She yelled, grabbing at Ciel's forearm as she went in for another punch, and Satsuki tossed the woman's arm aside. A look of fierce determination was in her eyes, but it didn't impress Ciel at all. The woman of the church just walked steadily forward, an imposing wall of force that couldn't be stopped no matter what Satsuki tried to do.

“Who are you fighting for?” Ciel asked again as she hit Satsuki with a heavy shoulder check, sending her tumbling backwards over the back of the couch. She vaulted over, getting right beside the girl who was bent over, barely able to defend herself in any way.

“I fight for myself!” Shouted the girl, and she twisted her body around to get behind Ciel, smashing her spine with a well-timed blow with the side of her fist that nearly sent Ciel reeling. But, Ciel knew there was little spirit behind even an attack like that, and she would continue to fight so long as Satsuki had no spirit to put into their battle.

Ciel spun around, hitting Satsuki in the nose with her swung arm, making her grasp at her nose and take a few blind steps backward, completely off-balance and easy to exploit. Ciel stepped in to make her followup attack just a fraction of a second later, swinging her leg around behind Satsuki to knock the girl flat to the ground, on her back and helpless.

She stared at her, frowning. “That's not what you said after I saved you, Satsuki.” Disappointment could be heard in her voice, and Satsuki felt an ache in her heart. What wasn't she understanding? It almost brought her to the brink and made her want to give up, but she wouldn't allow anything like that to happen.

“What did you say, that morning? Tell me, Satsuki!” Ciel lashed out, even stronger now, stomping with one booted foot down on Satsuki's leg, nearly crushing her bones with the sheer force of that. Her power was unrelenting, but she at least gave Satsuki time to answer for herself.

“I said I wanted to defeat Roa!” Satsuki gave a plain answer, sputtering up blood and saliva when she was kicked harshly in her side for that incomplete and lying answer.

Ciel couldn't be satisfied by the way Satsuki was acting. She grabbed her by one arm and forced her to her feet, then held her shoulders and rammed her with a relentless shove against one wall of the room, beating her in the face with a clenched fist, wanting to get something more honest out of Satsuki. If she had to kill her she would, but she had to deal with something more important before then. Her questions struck Satsuki's very spirit, and it was clear that the fledgling vampire wouldn't be able to withstand them for much longer.

“Tell me the truth!” She pulled Satsuki back from the wall, and then slammed her back at it, making her head snap back and forming a shallow dent in the wall exactly there.

Satsuki's breathing was now ragged, and her body was covered in sweat. “What d-do you want to know? Th-there's nothing else!” She shouted, absolutely exasperated.

Her frown now a genuine scowl, Ciel brought her knee straight up and rammed it into Satsuki's stomach, sending the girl lurching forward, her head resting on Ciel's shoulder and her face contorting in pain. Her skin was flushed, and bruises could be seen all over her.

“Who are you really fighting for?” Ciel asked, the look in her eyes showing clearly that she wanted to know what Satsuki had been missing this whole time.

“I...” Satsuki let out a long breath, her face turning a shade of sickly pale, even beyond her normal undead pallor, and she felt like she was slipping into sleep. “I... I'm fighting for-” There was a solid blow to her cheek. Satsuki's eyes lit up at once with rage, but that cooled shortly afterwards, her fighting spirit dwindling to nearly nothing. She was fighting for something, but... for what?

She was struck by the realization just as Ciel gripped her head and smashed it once more against the wall. Though she was feeling dizzy and barely aware of anything that was going on, it was clear in her mind what she really meant behind this fighting, why she did it all in the first place. She remembered what Nrvnqsr had said, and when she realized what she had been getting wrong, she nearly collapsed on the spot.

“I'm fighting for Tohno!” She let out a mad yell, and gripped Ciel by her sides, one arm right under her shoulder. Energized by her epiphany, Satsuki had a second wind and lifted Ciel all the way into the air, dropping her down onto the coffee table right in front of the couch. She bounded over the couch like a beast, tearing across it and letting her hands do her work; Satsuki fell on top of Ciel when she leapt from the couch, smashing through the table with the impact and pounding away at Ciel's face with an endless barrage of punches, each one stronger than what she had ever let out.

Even under that onslaught Ciel laughed, but it was something more. It sounded somehow happy. “That's good! Tell me more; why do you fight for him?”

Smells of blood and sweat mingled in the air, an intoxicating mixture. Satsuki was nearly drunk off of it, her reasoning clear as she utilized everything her body was capable of. Ciel kicked up, sending Satsuki flying backwards into the kitchen, but the girl landed on her feet, hardly affected by the heavy strike. She would never give up, not now.

“I fight for Tohno...” Satsuki began, gathering her strength as she watched Ciel rise to her feet, crouching low to the ground, “...because I love him!”

She spoke what was on her mind. Yes, that was the reason, in the end... if she could defeat Roa, and prove herself worthy of respect and admiration, then the boy she loved, Shiki Tohno, would finally pay attention to her. Her struggle would meet an end, and she could be happy. But, until that happened, she would have to fight with every ounce of her strength and willpower.

“Never forget that!” Ciel responded, elated by and perhaps a little jealous of Satsuki's answer. However, by the time she said that she had already began to sprint madly forward, running right for Satsuki; if she managed to make her next strike connect, then they'd both smash right through the side of the apartment and onto the street below.

However, among fighters, Satsuki was the sort who focused on defence. Her offence was certainly impressive, but there was little in the world that could match her supreme instincts and skill in the art of defending herself against attackers. It was like a divine gift to her, or perhaps a talent taken to the utmost level. Here she was at her peak, and she had a sense of self-worth that couldn't be quenched, not in a hundred thousand years.

As Ciel reached her, Satsuki brought her fist forward, completely level and clenched as hard as she could make it. She punched straight ahead for Ciel's stomach as Ciel herself tried to grab on to Satsuki to hold her in her attempt to bring them both through the wall in a thundering, mighty last move that could end up destroying them both. It all hinged on whether or not Satsuki's defence would hold against this peerless charge.

Then, as it turned out, her defence held.

The sheer force of Ciel's body colliding with Satsuki's fist was too much for even the expert hunter of the church. Her stomach was pierced, and her spine broken as Satsuki's fist passed straight through her body, sending a splatter of gory red across the tile floor behind her, and coating Satsuki's arm with blood.

“Good... good work.” Said Ciel, staring up into Satsuki's eyes as the girl held her in her arms, cradling her gently and bringing her lightly to the floor, not wanting her to be in too much pain as she fell unconscious. Satsuki wore a solemn expression on her face, knowing that Ciel hadn't been killed, but had been dealt a blow that was nearly fatal even for a person with superhuman endurance. Satsuki's punch was not only forceful, but her very body exuded an aura of incredible willpower that would be enough to overwhelm anyone and kill them, if a solid and lethal enough blow was landed. Such was the power of Satsuki's fist.

But, now wasn't the time to be waiting. With Ciel, her mentor, impressed and defeated by her skills, Satsuki had only one fight left before her: Roa.

Stepping lightly out of the apartment, Satsuki made her way to the warehouse district where she knew Roa was still waiting in his makeshift lair. He likely knew that she would be coming back to fight him, and yet even then, Satsuki knew that even Roa wouldn't be expecting the changes that had happened over the course of the past weeks. Satsuki was almost a new person, reborn in her own body, but her mind remained the same, and undiluted.

She had a goal, and no matter what, she was going to achieve it.


x-x-x x-x-x


The warehouse had hardly changed in the weeks since Satsuki had last seen it. Perhaps a few shelves or cardboard boxes had been moved about, but otherwise nothing much was different. Satsuki warily eyed the whole place, suspicious of open spaces. She checked the ceiling, and there was no one there.

No, Roa wasn't hiding: he was sitting lazily on a pile of boxes, chin resting on his fist, watching Satsuki enter his lair and walk about. He let out a small laugh when he saw her evident suspicion, and he jumped down to the ground from his makeshift chair. In recent times he had little to do in this city, so Satsuki was a rare spot of relief for him. Even now he still remembered her last visit quite fondly.

“So the fledgling vampire has come again!” He exclaimed, raising his arms as if to present Satsuki to a nonexistent crowd. Just like before, he stood under one of the ceiling lights in the illuminated circle it traced on the smooth concrete floor. The floor, in fact, was polished, enough so that one could see a person's reflection in the concrete below.

Satsuki stood under a light right across from Roa, letting him see her clearly. “I'm not inexperienced anymore, Roa. I can defeat you this time!” She planted her feet squarely apart and readied her fists, held tight.

“You'll always just be a little girl to me, you know.” Roa said with a small chuckle. “I'm the one who made you a vampire, and like a father to his daughter, I can hardly see you as 'grown-up' in any sense. It will be nice, to see if you've really changed at all.” He nodded at her, his expression finally becoming serious. “You're ready, are you?”

“Of course I am!” Satsuki pumped her fist, hopping from side to side on her feet, not wanting to wait for the battle to commence. “Come at me, Roa!”

And, so he did.

Satsuki circled around, rolling to get behind Roa after he rushed forward to start a regular melee with her. He never planned on actually hitting her with that, though; in the end, they were still apart, having not advanced even a foot closer to each other. Still, Satsuki kept her fists up, not wanting to be caught off guard. A feint certainly wouldn't work against someone like Roa.

She didn't want this to go on much longer, though. She sprinted forward and hit the floor, her leg aimed forward in a low kick. Moving faster than a bullet, she slid across the concrete and tripped Roa with a sweep of her other leg as she raised back up to her feet just behind the man. However, he took that in stride, and casually flipped forward back onto his feet, still standing.

That wasn't unexpected for Satsuki, either, and she tried her best not to underestimate Roa. Still, she was in a good, close position here, and so she raised her fist, using the momentum from her quick slide to propel a punch right for Roa's chest.

He stopped it with one hand, and smiled grimly. His teeth bared, and he began pressing Satsuki's fist back at her, trying to slowly break the bones in her hand and wrist. She wouldn't be taken down so easily, though, and after a second of careful thought she whipped her other hand up to the side of Roa's white dress shirt, grabbing onto it and trying to toss Roa aside with the little leverage that she had in her position, dragging him down.

At the very least, that managed to make him divert his attention elsewhere, and he slid the hand that held Satsuki's fist down the front of his shirt, tearing it open. Offering some resistance to one side, exactly opposite the force that Satsuki herself was exerting, he slipped away, shirtless. Satsuki was left stumbling backwards, Roa's torn shirt in one hand. She tried to regain her balance, but wasn't fast enough: Roa slipped up right in front of her, looked her in the eyes, and punched her in the stomach, making her lean over from the heavy blow, and then swung a right hook for the side of her head, putting enough weight behind that blow to knock even a Dead Apostle unconscious.

Satsuki, though, wasn't an ordinary Dead Apostle. Instead of taking the blow, she smashed her head and body forward, the top of her head connecting with Roa's chest in a spectacularly strong attack that managed to make even him take a few steps back, reeling from that strike. He never expected that, and he gave Satsuki a light smile, showing he was impressed with her. That, though, wasn't what she wanted. She'd only stop when she had absolute victory, and she had no time to waste thinking about other things.

“You're doing well! Keep it up, now!” Roa laughed and leapt to the side, gesturing for Satsuki to try to keep up with him as he began to run, trying to make speed a factor in the outcome of this battle. Satsuki knew she could meet his challenge.

In fact, she didn't need to even match his speed. She shuffled about a small space, waiting for Roa to get into one space where she knew she'd be able to pull off an attack that would give her an immediate advantage. Her eyes followed him closely, and it was a matter of making sure to move when she needed to, rather than waiting for him to strike. She knew that Roa would only make a move when he had the advantage, and at the moment they were about equal.

She dashed forward, leading Roa like a moving target, knowing where he would be next out of instinct and experience. He fought in a way similar to Ciel, actually, and Satsuki made a note of that as she rushed to get right into his face, her shoes tapping loudly on the smooth floor beneath her. Eventually the taps became more spread out as her strides grew wider, and she was nearly flying with each step she took. Much like before, she ran at Roa, but this time she didn't go at his side. Instead, she got up close and tossed his old shirt in his face, taking him by surprise. He hadn't expected her to fight dirty.

His bare chest was battered with a dozen punches before he could slip slightly to the side, avoiding one heavier blow and getting his own wound up strike on Satsuki's shoulder as she tried to bring her fist back to defend herself. She was too late, and the hit to her shoulder forced her to take a few steps back, but not too many. It was clear by now, though, that Roa wished to stay out of a direct melee with her, and that Satsuki herself was a superior direct fighter, while Roa had more dexterity but a larger frame. If Satsuki ever got in close and stayed there, she'd probably be able to pummel Roa down with blow after blow that would force him down.

Roa's goal, then, was to avoid that. He took a hit to his side, numbing the pain with sheer willpower and using that time while Satsuki readied herself for another strike to hit her right in the neck with the side of his hand, a chop strong and directed enough to nearly tear a person's head off. He was a serious fighter in situations like this, and he wasn't going to go easy on Satsuki.

One pale hand reached out and gripped her throat, and she held onto it with both of hers. Roa raised her up, up until she couldn't even kick at him, and slammed her into the ground without mercy or remorse. She made a clear crater in the floor, and was aching all over. She wouldn't have been surprised if a few of her bones broke from that, but she still wouldn't care. It was her fight, and she would keep on going until she dropped dead. Roa may have been clever, but Satsuki believed that she could at least outlast him physically.

A glowing aura surrounded Roa's body, and lightning crackled from his fingertips. It arced upwards, striking each of the ceiling lights, until the only light entering the warehouse was of the waxing moon filtered through the wide windows. That was still enough light for Satsuki to see with, though, and she wasn't caught off-guard by that trick like she was the first time. Instead, she twisted about as she stood to her feet in what looked almost like a dance, her legs spinning and knocking Roa down; Satsuki used the one opportunity she had then to lunge up from the ground and hit Roa in the jaw as he fell.

He wasn't down long. Satsuki stepped back, not wanting him to use a move similar to the one she'd just executed, and as a result he just sprang to his feet, looking no less energized than before. No matter how many times Satsuki beat on him with her supernaturally tough fists, he was still immensely strong, even amongst vampires. It would take something serious to defeat him, more than just a few dozen punches across his body.

Satsuki took in a deep breath as she readied herself for another round of fighting. She made herself recall why she was doing this. She understood: she was a bare knuckle brawler, a fist-fighter, a pugilist of a bygone era. Her goal, in the end, was to defeat Roa and make the boy she loved pay attention to her. That, for her, was more than enough motivation. Nothing in the world could stop her, and as she smelled her own hot sweat she felt the desire to fight and win coursing through her whole body, making her feel all-powerful.

Roa was already up and fighting her again, and she stopped his rapid punches with her own fists, meeting them blow against blow, trying to beat him down with every parry and every punch. One forearm pushed Roa's hand to the side, and the other arm used that opening to meet Roa's other fist, pushing past it and striking the man in the side of the jaw as he tried to move his head out of the way to avoid another hit.

That wasn't the end: Satsuki knocked him off-balance but didn't move him back, and so she locked her arms up and around his, and pressed the top of her head against his throat. This technique was inspired by the bear she had fought, and she imagined its immense strength as her legs worked to propel them both forward, the concrete cracking under Satsuki's powerful feet, her heels almost digging into the floor. She ran ahead, holding Roa as tightly as she could, and at the last moment shoved him forward into a tall and empty shelf made of pure steel.

He stumbled back at a pace he couldn't control, and fell into the shelf with a heavy clang; it swung back, then forward, and finally with a momentous, slow collapse it toppled onto him, crushing him under its immense weight. He let out a pained cry, the first of the long battle, but Satsuki wasn't convinced that he had been defeated quite yet.

As she bent her knees, ready for anything, her prediction came true.

Roa stood up, knees bent, his powerful arms grabbing hold of and tossing the whole shelf at Satsuki, rocketing it at her with reckless abandon. She ran at it and ducked down, sliding along the floor underneath it to get right back in front of Roa again, not wanting to give him any breathing room. If she kept up the pressure then she would win, she thought.

At the very least, it was clear that the fight would soon reach a conclusion, with a victory possible for either fighter. The shelf smashed into the floor far behind the two with an unceremonious crash, twisting itself apart on impact. It acted almost like a signal for them to starting beating on each other again, and Satsuki was more than willing to oblige. Though she had bruises covering her face and blood running down her legs and chest, she kept going. Similarly, Roa was covered in cuts and had a clearly broken shoulder, the bone sticking up from his flesh and sweet red blood spilling down in drips onto the grey floor. They acted as if nothing was wrong, though, and fought harder than ever.

Roa blocked a punch from Satsuki with his bare chest, grabbing her wrist, and he twisted his body around to arc her up and over his shoulder. She landed with a thud, smashing on the ground and almost snapping her own limbs, sliding a few metres, but she didn't let Roa gain any advantage. When he came up behind her, she pressed one elbow backward, aiming it up to impact right with his stomach. The force of that hit combined with his momentum made Roa nearly topple over forward, and Satsuki seized her chance.

Barely standing up, Satsuki locked an arm around Roa's neck and with her other fist bashed him on the back of his head, letting him fall to the floor. It was enough to cause a sickly crunching noise as Satsuki's knuckled collided with his skull.

Not giving up at all yet, Roa just laughed and flipped Satsuki over himself with the leverage of his body; as he did so he brought up one hand and smashed it against the girl's elbow joint, snapping her arm and making it bend in a way it wasn't supposed to at all. Satsuki let out a bloody scream at the burning pain of having her arm broken in half, and when she stumbled up to her feet that arm was absolutely useless, hanging limp while the other had to carry its weight. Could she win this fight with just one arm? Satsuki felt some doubt fill her mind as soon as she heard the raw crack of bone, but she cast that away and narrowed her eyes at Roa.

Though he tried not to show it, he had felt that last blow to the back of his head, and he stumbled vaguely about when he got solidly back on his feet. Satsuki, even in her current state, could note that. Her breath ragged, she pressed her luck in a risky move that, if performed incorrectly, could leave her open to a finishing blow from Roa. The battle was heating up, both figuratively and literally: Satsuki could see drips of sweat trickling down Roa's chest, and even his pale skin was getting hot and flushed from sheer exertion. His bared muscles gleamed from the slick sweat covering them, and he flexed them as he clenched one fist.

Satsuki stepped forward and, instead of punching with her good arm as Roa expected, she spun about, bringing one leg up high, tucking it in, and then shooting it out at a magnificent speed, faster than nearly anyone could match or even try to keep track of.

Her roundhouse kick smashed the heel of her foot right into Roa's throat, and he coughed up blood and spit, grabbing at his throat. He retched in pain, nearly vomiting, but he didn't lose focus, trying to still keep track of Satsuki. She was reaching a crescendo in her fighting, knowing what she had to fight for, and how to achieve it. The next few attacks she thought up were planned out clearly in her mind, thoroughly understood and practised to perfection.

Though he hit Satsuki in the stomach with a punch that mustered up all of his remaining strength, Roa couldn't manage to stop the girl's advance, and she shoulder-checked him with her broken arm and aching shoulder, a risky and painful tackle. She winced in pain, but accepted it freely. Pain was necessary for success. And, she knew just as well, Shiki had to suffer pain every time he fought. If she couldn't match his resilience, then she didn't even deserve to win.

Roa was off-balance, and open for a clear strike. There was nothing he could do, and his eyes locked on a fist coming straight for his chest, a strike that he could do nothing about. He understood, then, that he would die, and let out a long, sputtering laugh. Even though he was a nearly immortal Dead Apostle, a centuries old vampire and the famed Serpent of Akasha himself, he would die. There was something about Satsuki's fist, barrelling ahead for his body, that was unlike anything else he had ever come into contact with. It was infused with such passion, determination and sorrow that it was magical in its own right, perhaps even utilizing some of the immense magical potential Satsuki had within her. Whatever it was, it filled Roa with both absolute dread and absolute satisfaction.

Burning with pride and passion, her blood pumping hot through her veins, Satsuki shot her fist forward with all of her might.

“I'm never going to forget this, Roa!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, and her mighty, resounding blow pierced right through Roa's chest, crushing his heart and coming out the other side, and she pulled him in close to her body. A few small tears fell down her cheek, but she steeled herself; this was no time to be emotional, as she was a fighter now.

Roa himself had a vague and distant look in his eyes, Satsuki noticed, and even as the adrenaline within her began to lose its potency and her hand no longer burned a hot red, she realized she had won. Roa gave her one last, happy smile, and said,

“I... can't really call you a fledgling any longer, can I...?” His eyes closed, and he lost all power in his limbs and his body, falling forward onto Satsuki. She caught him, and sensed that her connection to him was severed without any trace. Roa was truly and finally dead, his very soul dissipated by the raw power behind Satsuki's passion-infused fist.

It had ended at last, and silence fell upon the dark, moonlit warehouse.

Though she had faced many trials, both internal and external, Satsuki rose to her feet once more, now proud. She had come from humble beginnings in search of a single truth, and had found a world of knowledge and excitement she had never known before. Though she had nearly succumbed to losing herself in pointless violence, she managed to see her goals only more clearly, and that made her heart swell inside her. She'd never felt that before; she'd never felt pride. But now, staring down at her battered, beaten and bloody hands, she knew that she had accomplished something worthy of her own legend, beyond just a recreation of the achievements of someone else.

She knew, in that moment, that the boy she loved would finally pay attention to her.

Staring off into the distance at the entrance she had stepped in through to seal her fate, she saw a familiar figure in a blue-coloured suit and jacket, standing completely still in the doorway wearing an awestruck smile.

[Milbunk]

Name: No Name Given
Author: Anon

Shirou ran. He was in the dark back alley which was wide enough to allow two people walk here not bothering each other, and now he was wearing a dark leather coat, jeans and a t-shirt. In his hand was a submachine gun which wasn’t a usual sight for Japanese boy but he couldn’t care less about his appearance. In his mind’s eye was swirling an image of his opponent who could actually slice twenty five 9mm Parabellum bullets in the mid-air.

‘Not good… I need to concentrate…’

The boy caught his breath and reloaded his submachine gun, brushing his red, partially discoloured hair from his grey and brown eyes. He didn’t have time for panic.

‘I knew that he wasn’t a normal guy, but still… Tch, speak of the devil.’

His opponent suddenly appeared behind him trying to cut Shirou’s arm off with small knife. Emiya, reinforcing his legs, jumped forward, dodging the slash, rolled and stood up to face his opponent. His pursuer was a boy with black hair and glowing blue eyes.

His clothes were a set of typical high school uniform, consisting of white shirt hid under dark jacket, and trousers. And, more importantly, he tightly held the small knife in his right hand.

Shirou muttered curses feeling nausea while he was looking at the weapon of his opponent. It was just a small knife but it was a fine weapon forged by skilful blacksmith and had a long history. Including the skills of its current owner.

“Hey. You tried to shoot me down twice. Do you really think that you can just run away?” tiredly asked his opponent tilting his head. Shirou slowly exhaled ignoring a rhetoric question and looked at the side alley which was at his right hand.

“Trace…” A submachine gun flew into the air distracting his opponent. In his mind quickly appeared the image of two swords. “…On!” Two Chinese blades appeared in his hands and Shirou quickly threw them to his opponent. Their trajectories were rather limited because of place of the battle so Bakuya flew at higher arc than Kanshou.

Brunet clicked his tongue and took a step forward destroying first scimitar with swift slash of his knife, and ducking under second blade. Shirou allowed himself a small smile and caught his submachine gun, while the boy was turning around on his heels to land a strike at second and the last blade. Guns weren’t his favourite type of weapon but he knew that it was better to save energy shooting his opponent down instead of trying to overwhelm him by creating and shooting blades.

“Crap.” The boy apparently looked at the reflection in his knife for quick understanding of the situation, and rushed forward. The submachine gun in Shirou’s reinforced hand roared. It wasn’t the best gun in terms of accuracy but Shirou knew how to control his weapon to minimize scattering of the bullets. Almost all of bullets flew at his opponent but they were either knocked aside, slashed or dodged by his opponent who used even the walls as his footing performing acrobatic skits at extremely high speed. Clearly, the boy was too fast and agile for Shirou in close quarter combat. Emiya clicked his tongue and threw useless submachine gun aside. The boy was just five meters away at the start of the battle, and he already covered a half of this distance, hardly stopped by the storm of bullets. But he never knew that Shirou chose this escape route because of hidden trap which he set up a few days ago. And the submachine gun landed exactly at the right spot for activating the trap.

Shirou quickly jumped to the side alley and took cover. The explosion rang out in the back alley and shook the ground. Dust covered the air, but Shirou knew that it wasn’t enough to kill his opponent off. The boy was from Nanaya clan, after all. Shirou quickly stood up and ran, knowing that he needed more space to fight. And he already knew the best place for the ending of this battle.


***


“…That guy… Why the hell does he have a gun and a landmine?” Shiki muttered, dusting his clothes off. He killed the shockwave before it knocked him out but dust and shrapnel always were a problem. His reinforced by Ciel clothes took all the damage so now they were a big mess. Shiki sighed and put his glasses on. The fight wasn’t over but he didn’t want to lose his consciousness in the middle of the battle.

“And how did he find out about me? I thought that nobody knew about my decision to go to the Fuyuki besides Ciel-senpai and the local priest.” Shiki checked himself and started walking. He had a very interesting opponent and his current target could wait for a while. He even showed him the road leaving needles on the asphalt, after all.


***


Shirou was standing in the middle of the silent park. The place looked like a small desert in the dead forest so there weren’t many covers. But the park was very spacious and this fact made the park better place for fight than the narrow back alley. And Shirou knew that there won’t be any passer-byes at this time.

“I almost fell asleep awaiting your arrival.” He slowly said. His opponent revealed himself and slowly stopped when there was twenty meters between them.

“Your courtesy and patience are appreciated but I needed to change. You turned my clothes into a big mess, after all.” Shiki answered and smiled. His hands were empty and he was wearing glasses now but Shirou knew that it was only for the time of conversation.

“I’m sorry for troubling you, Nanaya Shiki.” His opponent tensed up, and Shirou noted this reaction. He was taught that even small details were very important in actual fight.

This advice never failed him, after all. “But I couldn’t bring myself to just ignore your appearance in the Fuyuki. I’m Emiya Shirou, and, since it would be our last conversation, I’d like to talk with you a little longer.”

“How…” Shiki started speaking but Shirou butted in.

“Don’t worry about that. I have my own sources. But I’d prefer hear the reason why you’re here, the descendant of the famous demon-hunters’ clan.” Shirou said. He had the upper hand in the conversation and he didn’t want to lose his advantage.

“Oh, I’d like to know your sources but I can wait until I beat you up.” Shiki regained his composure but the look in his eyes became more dangerous. And it didn’t escape Shirou’s attention. “About my reason… Let’s have a bet. You know the prize, right?”

Shirou sighed. “I’m sorry, but… I’m afraid, you’ll be dead by the end of this battle.”

“You’re pretty confident. Please, try to survive this fight. I really want to know how you managed to find out this much about me.” Shiki replied and took his glasses off. This action signalled the start of the second round of the fight.

“Trace, on.” Shirou using his imagination created two Chinese scimitars. He set up traps but they were pretty useless at the beginning.

His Reality Marble would take too much time for deployment, and there was a possibility that the descendant of Nanaya could harm his mind killing an embodiment of his personal reality. Shirou couldn’t take the risks.

His bow and arrows were pretty useless against such fast and agile opponent, and he had Mystical Eyes of Death Perception, after all.

Shirou exhaled and threw his weapons at his opponent. He needed some more time for analysis.

Shirou looked at the reaction of his opponent. The park was wide enough to allow scimitars be thrown at wide arcs so their trajectories were less predictable. However, Shiki couldn’t be stopped by this attack. He swiftly sliced first scimitar and dashed forward. The second one flew at him from behind but demon hunter jumped and spun in the air using his momentum to destroy the weapon by one fast strike of his knife.

Shirou used this opportunity to create some distance between them and to switch the weapon. Now in his hands were two UZIs with full magazines. Second step of his plan has begun.

“You like to copy yourself!” His opponent said readying his knife on the run. But Shirou didn’t shoot. UZIs flew into the air and in his hands appeared a large bow with a single arrow. Yes, he knew that arrows were useless against speed of his opponent regardless of Shirou’s skills. But who said that Shirou was going to use only his own skills?

“I am the bone of my sword.” Explosion rang out when young magus chanted his spell.

Shirou used his tactic to activate traps sacrificing his machine guns once again but it wasn’t the main dish for his opponent who just used the shockwave as footing to jump forward. It was just an appetiser.

“Trigger, off.” The command was sent to his body. His muscles turned into swords and changed their shape adapting to a technique which Shirou was going to execute. “Nine Lives Blade Works: The Shooting Hundred Heads!” Using his Reality Marble to create arrows and skills of the greatest hero of Greece he started to shoot his arrows at his opponent who was running through the dust which couldn’t have possibly hidden him from Shirou’s reinforced eyes.

One. First arrow pierced the air but it was effortlessly sliced by Shiki’s knife.

Two. Three. Second arrow was simply dodged but the third one forced Shiki to use his Mystic Eyes once again.

Ten. The interval between shots was exponentially decreasing. Shiki still didn’t have any visible troubles with destroying arrows but his advance through the storm of arrows wasn’t as fast as before. Ten meters left before he will be in his comfort distance of battle.

Fifty. Shirou felt like his body was lit up due to great amount of energy being run through his magic circuts for the sake of maintaining his body in this state. His breathing became harsh and hard, his muscles were tensing up because of exhaustion.

Shiki still didn’t have any serious injuries but he already was hit by two arrows. It was just scratches but Shirou was slightly relieved. His opponent wasn’t perfect and had his own limits, after all. Eight meters left.

Ninety. Sleeves of reinforced jacket and shirt didn’t exist anymore showing small red scratches on Shiki’s arms. There was also blood on his forehead and left cheek. But all vital areas of his body weren’t hit. Five meters left.

Ninety eight. Ninety nine. One hundred. The last three arrows were shot from point blank distance and were sliced by mockingly slow strikes. Shiki’s knife in a moment was so close to Shirou’s eye that he couldn’t even blink his eye without risk of his eyelid being sliced by the tip of the knife. But this fatal strike was too slow for Shirou who fully analyzed the skills of Shiki and recreated his favourite weapon.

“Trigger, off.” His hand which had a strong grip on a small knife moved on its own to slice the arm of his opponent off. Shiki’s knife was close to piercing Shirou’s eye and ending his life.

But none of these actions happened.

Strong gust of the wind blew between opponents.

Shirou’s hand was forcibly stopped, and he himself was unable to move his body due to black key piercing his shadow.

Shiki’s body was sent into the air by strong hit of white lance of tall man in blue jumpsuit-like clothes with fur and leather armour on it, and he was caught by certain tall priest with wavy brown hair and heavy, piercing stare.

“Long time no see, you weasel.”

“Your tongue is as sharp as ever, Lancer.”

Two newcomers exchanged their greetings. Shirou slowly exhaled and dismissed his weapon, letting his tired muscles relax and return to their normal state.

“Lancer, do you remember our agreement?”

“Don’t worry, lad. I’ll let him off if he’ll be willing to get out of here right now, and I’ll try to be careful enough not to kill him on the spot if he’ll be more hostile than he is right now.” Man who was called Lancer answered unwillingly.

“You’re so kind. I’ll use this opportunity to take my leave then.” Tall priest turned around carrying unconscious Shiki on his shoulder. He was cautious, yet composed enough to show his back to his opponents. He was supervisor of Holy Grail War, after all. And he knew that his death at this stage wasn’t included in Shirou’s plans. “Be more hospitable to our guest, Emiya Shirou. He’s second supervisor, after all.”

“Just go away before Lancer got sick of you and killed you off, Kotomine.” Shirou answered and closed his eyes. Priest immediately disappeared in the night, hiding in shadows of trees. Lancer took this chance to slash a long sword which restrained Shirou from moving around. Young magus waved his tired arms and sat down on the ground.

“You owe me one, lad.” Lancer said and dismissed his weapon.

Shirou shook his head.

“Not really. You just returned me a favour. Thank you for your help, though. And, please, call your master out.” Shirou closed his eyes. “I know that she wants to ask a few questions.”

“Yes, I do. And, please, do not run away in the same way as you did the last time.”

Voice of young woman replied. Shirou chuckled with closed eyes. It would be a long talk.

[I3uster]

My money is on:
Lunatique (why not just call it Lunatic though)

[Keyne]

Zel doing whis and that has my money.

[RadiantBeam]

My money goes to Lunatique.

[Lycodrake]

All of my money goes to Bare Knuckle Brawler.~ <3

[Sakuraba Haru]

I'd hate to admit it but Lunatiques got me beat. Ah... I should have extended and described the fight scenes more.
Oh well, there's always next time... after the judging is over I'll reveal what I wanted to include but couldn't.

[Elf]

My money goes to Lunatique.

And you have my AXE . . .

Wait, so does mine. I liked the whole set up, from Zel teaching Rin and Rin's response . . . Very nice set up.

[Hymn of Ragnarok]

Lunatique is utterly, stupendously awesome.

That is all.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Lunatique and Nadir. Nadir for Executioner goodness, and Lunatique for Zelretch vs. Crimson Moon badassery.

[R.Lock]

...Zelretch!Troll. Crack about Shinji the victor. Cool Narbarek (Bloble?). Emiya!Superhero in the dead land. Gun God & Ado Edem. Sacchin. Emiya!Sniper vs Shiki!Hunter.
Nice choice of fics, huh. Need to read that one about Sacchin (for the record, my snippet doesn't involve her).
But, do like Zelretch vs Type-MOON, Burial Agency's adventures and Emiya!Lone Wolf.

[eddyak]

Lunatique. Definitely.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Rust is under appreciated, if only for the big reveal in the climax.

Still, my favorites in this order are Lunatique, and Bare Knucle Brawler/Rust tying for second/third place.

[R.Lock]

Lunatique is my favorite. Next is Nadir. And the third is Rust.

My fic is so not epic compared to others T____T