I suppose you could say that, yes. I had a short break between essays, and I was aiming to finish up the Temple arc- The pace might slow again after this, admittedly, until I'm free again.
I suppose you could say that, yes. I had a short break between essays, and I was aiming to finish up the Temple arc- The pace might slow again after this, admittedly, until I'm free again.
OK, so, before I take the time to read this, am I (as a Sakura fan) likely to end up raging if I do (eventually, I mean). Because I'm very wary of post-UBW fics of this form (I've seen far too many that basically perform a full-on character assassination on her), but at the same time it's hard to tell at this stage between a realistic portrayal of Sakura's situation and her being treated as nothing more than another villain.
And, if it's a spoiler (which I suspect it will be), then please PM me....
I've questions similar to Mike's, though do understand that this is more me thinking aloud than it is requesting for Word of God.
As fascinating as the story's premise is, why is the way it is? Post-UBW-route vibes abound plenty throughout the plot, but that's what makes things more curious.
For example, whenever Ichiro has flashbacks, they either gravitate towards his late fiancee, or towards Emiya Shirou. Ichiro admits to thinking of Emiya as his father. However, his tone gave the impression that he saw Tohsaka Rin almost as an estranged associate. Likewise, whenever he has a memory involving Shirou, there's no mention whatsoever about Tohsaka. If this story really does follow UBW-route, then what happened to the couple's relationship?
Similarly, the same situation arises where the Matou are concerned. UBW-route established that all three members of the family survived the 5th War. Thus, what became of Shinji and Zouken? The 6th War's Master is, I presume, potentially Sakura's child as she was the only known source prepared for future Matous to regain magic circuits. it's possible that another woman, through Shinji, was brought into the fold, but who knows.
Likewise, Sakaru's brief chapter mentioned that there was some kind of falling out b/t her and Emiya sometime after the 5th War. What brought that up? And why is the Shadow activating now, especially in the current manner? Those bipedal beasts were seen as under Avenger in F/HA, so what's caused the discrepancy in the Shadow's increased capabilities?
And why is there a 6th War in the first place? It's been 30 years since the last from canon, and Waver was still alive in the prelude. The system should have been dismantled w/i the first 10 years. So what happened to prevent that from occurring here?
There are many mysteries in the background of the 6th Heaven's Feel.
Let the victor...be justice.
Originally Posted by Mcjon01
@Bloble: You shut the hell up, you're like in every RP on the page, you MIRACULOUSLY LUCKY whore-monger. You not getting in is like me winning the lottery in two states, obtaining a girlfriend, and not ending up nursing another migraine, simultaneously, by the end of this evening.
The Grail War is forgivable because this was originally written before that information was presented in Material books and the information regarding the dismantlement of the Grail System. The other questions are rather pertinent, however, and I hope to see them addressed later on.
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
[X / Nostalgia - Pure Love]
“…And then?”
“And then, nothing. Everyone- Everything- was extinguished, in a flash.”
“-I see.”
I slumped forward, resting my forehead against the cool, varnished wood of the pew. Sunlight sleeted through the church’s stained-glass windows, casting a mesmerizing, prismatic display across the marble-white floor. Like a slender ghost, Arisa glided past the altar, her fingers caressing- just for a moment- the polished altar.
In her black cassock, her pale hair brushing her slim shoulders, she looked almost saintly- Grey eyes distant, contemplative.
The escape had been a thing of nightmare. The hidden paths, unfurled by the destruction of Fuyuki’s sacred ground, had been a howling vortex of winds - The void alive with a terrible, groaning chorus…As if the great flare of light (half-glimpsed, as the tear in reality knitted itself together) had distressed it. More than once, we’d almost fallen, the obsidian-and-mica path underfoot wavering, unsure of its own existence.
A disembodied spirit once more, Assassin had nearly been swept away by the ethereal gale; Later, he’d confided how he’d felt some terrible gravity drawing on him, like the urge a man feels to leap at the dizzying edge of the abyss. I’d crossed the last hundred meters on my belly, crawling like a worm - clawing desperate handholds in the road.
“-done here,” Arisa was saying, her arms crossed over her chest- Her expression troubled, brow furrowed in thought. “-There’ll be a follow-up investigation, but I believe you.” A tiny shake of her head, as she laughed a little, odd laugh; “No…I have to believe you, don’t I? After all…There’s no-one left to tell the story.”
I sat up a little straighter, rubbing at my bleary eyes; the summons had come as soon as I’d stumbled home, strident and undeniable- The Manager of the War, calling me to account for the impossible thing that had happened.
“You could have asked Saber’s Master,” I suggested, a little sourly- Entirely aware of how shabby I looked. Realizing, only now, that my hands were still shaking, my knees soft. I knotted my fingers together, to keep them from trembling- A strangely prayerful gesture, I thought. “-He was there until the end, anyway.”
“Saber’s Master?” Arisa echoed, the faintest trace of puzzlement to her words; Then- a tiny, secret smile. “-I see.”
I stared at her. “You knew, didn’t you? That we…”
-Loathe each other.
“-have a history,” I substituted, my voice flat. “You could have told me.”
I heard the swish of Arisa’s long black skirts- She was drawing closer, until she was right in front of me, those brown eyes locking with mine. “…And would it have mattered, Tanaka-san?” she inquired, so very gently. “Would it have stopped you?”
I looked down at my hands. “No,” I said, and meant it. “Not at all.”
“…That’s good.”
“Hmmm?”
“-You must fight, Ichiro. If you believe in something, you must fight for it, all the way until the end. Only then will the Grail bestow a miracle. Only then will your wish come true.” She smiled, radiant and innocent. “…Or at least, so I’ve been told.”
And then, more softly- “He must have loved her very much.”
“So did I,” I murmured, heavily- My fingers curling into fists. “So did I.”
"Then why did you kill her?”
********************
I strode out of the chapel, the Cloth of Matthew whispering as it brushed the gravel path; “We’re leaving, Assassin,” I ordered- Gesturing to Reiji, as he straightened from his casual slouch, falling into stride alongside me. In the full light of day, he seemed oddly diminished, ordinary- His too-young face unlined by exhaustion or worry. Only his eyes - as steel-hard, as grey as gunmetal – hinted any anything else.
Assassin nodded, just once; “How did it go?” he asked, glancing back at the Church with the deepest of suspicion- Or was that nostalgia?
“-Well enough,” I sighed, glad to be out of there at last. “As well as could be expected, I suppose…I’ve told them everything, after all.”
That wasn’t the truth. The truth was, I’d just remembered what I’d glimpsed- Something that I’d dismissed as a figment of my imagination, something that couldn't possibly have been real.
But even now…
“…I can still see it,” I muttered, almost to myself.
Yes. For one impossible instant- Before the Shadow had dragged Lancer to his furious death, before I’d turned to meet Schneider’s mocking gaze, I’d seen-
A face that wasn’t a face any more.
A sick old man, rotting and dying.
Last edited by Burnout; October 4th, 2011 at 08:20 AM.
I thought Zouken had made a cameo in one of those previous updates.
The bugs were a tell.
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
I'm really having a hard time following this. Can someone provide a summary of what, exactly, is going on here?
. . . Oh, crap.
“Love will be cruel to who it entices — love will have its sacrifices.”
— Carmilla Theme
"Evil isn't the real threat to the world. Stupid is just as destructive as Evil, maybe more so, and it's a hell of a lot more common. What we really need is a crusade against Stupid. That might actually make a difference."
―Jim Butcher, Vignette
Seeing Zouken again isn't going to bode well for anyone. Also rather interesting how Schneider and Ichiro have more personal grudges toward each other as opponents.
(Whew- Exam season is over at last. Just a quick update, until I get settled enough to resume.)
Through the city of the dead, beneath ember-red clouds, I toil. Great crosses cast their long shadows across the colorless snow, their trembling shapes stark and black against the raw-meat sky.
I have been walking for a long time, towards Golgotha; The hill where crosses come alive. It is such a long way, and I am so very, very tired, laboring onward with a bone-sore limp. The skeletal branches of bare trees frame the winding path towards the lonely grave, their withered leaves lost beneath the mire of the snow…
And at last, I am there. No tomb, no monument; Just a simple headstone, two words chiseled deep into the stone. A name, a fragment-
(A flutter of red)
Behind me, a twig snaps, with the brittle *crunch* of a bird’s bones. I turn, with glacial slowness, right hand raised to shield my eyes-
The arrowhead chips sparks off the marble, a hair’s-breadth from my skull. She holds the bow high over her head, as she nocks the arrow and draws the string; the breath hisses from my lips, as nauseous agony shoots through my hand, my *hand*, my HAND nailed to the headstone, rivulets of crimson welling up in fat beads of red, red, *red*-
“I’m sorry,” Elise whispers, and fires.
(A flutter of red)
-And Schneider reels towards me, his face hanging in tatters. Crimson tears well from beneath clutching fingers, as the notched blade hacks the air in graceless butcher's cuts. The point drags and skitters across the white wall, bloody handprints marking the edges as he stumbles ever forward, the edges of his mouth torn by the terrible roar-scream wrenched from his ragged throat-
He has no eyes.
The great door slams shut between us, and the *pounding* begins, the crash of fists and feet on steel, battering with a mindless animal ferocity-
Until the sound chases me down, down into the dark.
And I awoke, the first rays of the sun glimmering through the dusty windows, my eyes dry and blank- My head empty of everything, except for the fading echoes, like the ringing of bells-
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing-
With a groan, I groped for the antique telephone- Missing it the first time, lifting it off the hook. The edges of the heavy mouthpiece felt unreasonably cold against my cheek, as I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to press down the beginnings of a migraine.
"Who-" my voice was dry, clotted, tongue thick and heavy in my mouth. I winced, the effort stretching sore muscles- My body still dragging itself back into shape, still recovering from the side-effects of Enhancement, as inertia asserted itself with a vengeance. "Who is this?"
On the other end, I heard the white noise of static- Then Kazuya's voice, the Makiri heir sounding unreasonably awake for the hour, damn him. "-We need to talk. When can you get here?" No pleasantries this time, I couldn't help but notice- There was an edge to his words, an indefinable something that lingered at the very edge of perception-
-Fear.
I closed my eyes, just for a moment. "I'll be there," I answered, tasting quinine and dust in my mouth. The Cloth of Matthew rustled, as I dragged it down from it's perch, bundling the crimson fabric close to my chest; Dark spots throbbed in my vision, receding only reluctantly as I levered myself upright, onto unsteady legs.
I managed all of two long strides before I fell, my head thumping hard against the motheaten carpet as I measured my length on the floor.
"This," I observed, in a hoarse croak that passed for speech, "-is going to be one of those days."
Last edited by Burnout; November 17th, 2011 at 02:56 PM.
Burnout's back~!
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
I hate those days - but reading about them is fun!
“Love will be cruel to who it entices — love will have its sacrifices.”
— Carmilla Theme
"Evil isn't the real threat to the world. Stupid is just as destructive as Evil, maybe more so, and it's a hell of a lot more common. What we really need is a crusade against Stupid. That might actually make a difference."
―Jim Butcher, Vignette
~Awwwwwwww yeah~.
Let the victor...be justice.
@Bloble: You shut the hell up, you're like in every RP on the page, you MIRACULOUSLY LUCKY whore-monger. You not getting in is like me winning the lottery in two states, obtaining a girlfriend, and not ending up nursing another migraine, simultaneously, by the end of this evening.
When you posted this update, I read the entire fic in one sitting. It was...interesting. I'm still a bit confused about what's going on and feel like by not being on the original Beast's Lair I've missed some enlightening discussion. After reading this and chewing on the experience though, I'm intrigued enough to be game for more.
That's all, folks!
Sometimes, when I slept, I dreamt of the past. Crimson dreams, powerful dreams full of lingering and miserable pain. Not merely dreams of the Atrocity, and the long, long mourning that followed; but the memories ebbing from my conjoined Crest, a blurred jumble of alien images and sensations, too frayed to make the faintest sense.
A woman in red, asking for my name. Her voice was kind, as soft as her midnight hair- but she plucked it from me, and gave it back changed. Another dream involved an old man in a great, crumbling house that smelled of formaldehyde; He was waiting for something, waiting impatiently, but guests arrived unexpectedly, and-
The Makiri mansion, I reflected, was very much like that old house I could never quite remember. From the outside, it was even more impressive than I’d imagined, as solid and unmovable as a monument- Very much a twin to the Tohsaka estate that could almost be glimpsed from the crest of the hill, a distant cousin to the Association’s manor I now called home.
Parallels and echoes, again.
In the full light of dawn, last night was almost like some fantastic, surreal dream; a blur of steel and capering bodies, cordite and flame in the endless dark. Being on the grounds, though – It brought it all back, in full force.
The iron gates had swung open, soundlessly, as I approached – But I’d stiffened, belatedly, as I’d glimpsed a half-cohered spirit from the corner of my eye; Relaxing only when I realized it was boar-headed, with great, sweeping tusks, instead of the fanged monstrosities I’d carved my way through. It snorted, satisfied I was no threat, and lumbered off – To join, I observed, with something like unease, the other phantoms that lurked like an invisible thunderhead.
Caster, I concluded, had been busy. Overlapping wards shrouded the grounds, the sensation enough to make my skin prickle; the place was well on its way to becoming a magical fortress. A single path remained, right down the heart – That was the invitation I’d been extended, and I crossed the distance to the front door without incident.
I knocked, once. The echo hadn’t had time to die before the lock disengaged with a clunk, the door sweeping a half-circle furrow through the snow, to reveal a high hallway lined in wood veneer and beam lighting, thick carpet underfoot-
-And the man who’d opened it. He was tall, his slender clad in a simple brown coat – Unruly strands of wavy hair, so black it was almost blue, framing his gaunt face. There was something else about him I couldn’t quite place; a slight hunch to his shoulders, a suggestion of effort…
Pain, I realized. This man, whoever he was, was in pain – And doing his best to hide it.
He smiled, all the same, as grey eyes fixed on me – A smile that, unfortunately, looked very much like a sneer, though his words softened the edge. “-You’re here to see my nephew?” The door creaked open, just a little bit more, and I moved to step inside…But not before I inclined my head in a slight bow.
“Lord Makiri,” I murmured, respectfully. “It’s an honour to meet you.”
“Not so formal, please,” he replied. “‘Shinji’ will do.”
That is the sneakiest and most tantalising way of responding to that comment that I could possibly think of - now I'm dying for the next bit!
“Love will be cruel to who it entices — love will have its sacrifices.”
— Carmilla Theme
"Evil isn't the real threat to the world. Stupid is just as destructive as Evil, maybe more so, and it's a hell of a lot more common. What we really need is a crusade against Stupid. That might actually make a difference."
―Jim Butcher, Vignette
What the---?
@Burnout: I'm on the edge of my seat, man! Why are you being so cruel?
Let the victor...be justice.
@Bloble: You shut the hell up, you're like in every RP on the page, you MIRACULOUSLY LUCKY whore-monger. You not getting in is like me winning the lottery in two states, obtaining a girlfriend, and not ending up nursing another migraine, simultaneously, by the end of this evening.
Whoa, it's Seaweed Head!
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
We emerged in a guest room, luxuriously appointed – Shinji brushed past the plush armchairs and seats, crossing the room to a sideboard. Liquid gurgled, as he poured himself a drink from an inlaid decanter. He sipped, grimaced, and downed the rest of the draught, shuddering at the taste.
“Laudanum,” he offered, by way of explanation. “-For my heart, you see.” Some colour had returned to his face, his hunch becoming slightly less pronounced; it didn’t take an expert to see that he wasn’t a well man, as he refilled his glass – clearly steeling himself for another drink.
“Your heart?” I echoed, not quite comprehending.
He fanned the fingers of his free hand over his chest, pressing down lightly. “A souvenir, from the last Heaven’s Feel.” A hollow chuckle. “-Can I get you a drink?”
“I appreciate it, but no.”
Shinji sat down, facing me, swirling the potent concoction in the glass – An odd expression on his drawn face. “It’s funny,” he mused aloud, at length. “-I heard you were Emiya’s boy, but…I don’t really see the resemblance.”
“I was adopted,” I cut in, and he shrugged – As if it didn’t matter. “Be that as it may,” he said quietly, not joking any more. “After what happened at Ryuudoji, well…” He shook his head, swirling his glass some more. He hadn’t touched a drop.
“You knew-“
“I’m not a Magus, but I’m not blind.” This time, Shinji knocked his drink back, before he looked right at me. “-I never liked Emiya,” he went on, reflectively. “I was his friend, but I never liked him. He was always too stiff, too serious- But I could trust him. As for you, well…”
And I felt-
(A sound, almost a throb, like the stifled beat of a black heart.)
“There’s no reason to harm Kazuya,” I said, carefully. “I won’t do anything unnecessary.”
He sighed, as though it was exactly what he’d expected. “-See that it stays that way,” Shinji murmured, indicating a red-panelled door. “Through there. He’s been expecting you.” I got up, sensing I’d been dismissed; two quick strides took me towards it. I was reaching for the handle, when Shinji said something – A parting shot, an absent remark, that quite chilled my blood.
“We all do something we regret, Master,” he called, almost kindly. “Even pursuing the Grail can’t change that.”
I looked back, into his level gray gaze – A gaze that seemed to know entirely too much. This time, I did shiver- But a turn of my wrist, and the door boomed shut, taking me away from him at last.
. . . OK, you have accomplished the impossible. I now almost feel sorry for Shinji. Take pride in that, because I never thought it would happen.
“Love will be cruel to who it entices — love will have its sacrifices.”
— Carmilla Theme
"Evil isn't the real threat to the world. Stupid is just as destructive as Evil, maybe more so, and it's a hell of a lot more common. What we really need is a crusade against Stupid. That might actually make a difference."
―Jim Butcher, Vignette
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