This is the collection for oneshots of my 2015 contest. Because of the lowered amount of entries they will all be grouped together into one big thread for stories. However I ask for patience as because of the updating in the threads I will only be able to post them once every 10 or so minutes.
Entries:
A Hero's First Battle in Dark Hours
Blood Heat
Blue Altered Fate
Glass
Mitsuzuri and Ryougi's Day Out
Predator/Prey
Scarlet Roses and Crimson Thorns
Watery Grave
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; March 1st, 2015 at 06:56 PM.
Blue Altered Fate
Emiya Shirou leaned against the trunk of a tree, his breath coming hot and heavy. Around him was a small field of grass that lined the embankment of the river. If one were to climb up the flat but slanted slope, there would be a sidewalk and a road. A little off into the distance, following the downstream of the river, was a long bridge that stretched across the river.
It was a hot Sunday afternoon, just after the sun reached its peak, so there were barely anyone here, but that suited him just fine. That was because he found out an important revelation a few days ago. His father was a magic user.
For seven year old Shirou, this was a life-changing event. What more, his father had agreed to teach him how to use magic. The first thing that was taught to him was how to create magic circuits. That was why he was here to practice even on this heated day.
Well, it wasn’t really the first thing he was taught. What had been engraved into him by his father was that to be a magus was to walk with death. He closed his eyes and focused.
"Trace on..."
They were unnecessary words, a nonsensical chant, but they helped him concentrate so he recited them. He needed that concentration because it felt like a burning rod was being inserted into his spine, searing him to the core. The pain was real and dangerous, so much that he felt the world become a little fainter, but he could not falter, not now. Death was the only result of failure. Every time he did this, he was putting his life on the line.
For those with so few magic circuits, those that weren’t born gifted, this was the only path for magic. He inserted it deep within his body, whether the feeling of being melted from the inside, and connected his nerves to it. Only when that was done did he finally release the tension out of his body and open his eyes. It still hurt, that phantom pain that lingered, but he wiped away his sweat on his sleeve. It was not enough.
He closed his eyes once again and started to begin the process anew.
“Are you stupid?”
Shirou opened his eyes to find a busty red-headed woman staring down at him. No, staring was too light of a word. She was glaring at him as if he was an insect, her lips held in a tight frown. Despite himself, he felt his hostility rise from the pit of his stomach.
“Are you deaf too? I asked if you’re stupid.”
“Go away.”
“Not until you tell me why you’re creating magic circuits over and over again.”
Shirou blinked in surprise. “You know about that?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is why you’re trying to commit suicide with such a messy way. You might as well drown yourself in the river if you’re so determined to die.”
“I’m not trying to kill myself! I’m going to be a magus!”
“Keep your voice down. Do you want to tell the world about the existance of magic?” Aoko had a sour look on her face. “Who told you this was the way to be a magus?”
“My dad.”
“Does he have some kind of grudge against you or something?”
“No!” Shirou glared at her.
“Calm down already. I’m not going to hurt you, kidnap you, or make you into a meat puppet. I just want to know why he taught you in such a stupid way.”
“It’s not stupid!”
“Listen, kid--”
“My name is Emiya Shirou.”
“Emiya, huh.” Aoko’s eyes narrowed slightly. That name rang a bell. The Magus Killer. A former enforcer for Clocktower, infamous not for his power but for his method. He used modern weaponry to supplement his magic as well as trickery and traps to kill more powerful magi. To her knowledge, he had no living relatives left, so that meant that this was the son of the man universally reviled throughout the magical society. “Well, Shirou, you’re going to become a magus so you can uphold your position as heir of the Emiya family?”
“No, I’m going to become something better than a magus, someone that help people in need.”
“Like what? Some kind of hero?”
Shirou’s eyes shined.
“Not just any hero, I’m going to become a superhero!”
“...a superhero? Did I hear that right? Let me clean out my ears.” Aoko dramatically stuck her pinky into her ear canal and turned it back and forth a few times. Taking it out, she said, “Alright, now say that again.”
“I’m going to be a superhero.”
“...and why do you want that?”
“So that I can save people from the bad guys.”
Aoko’s first reaction was to call him stupid, but she held back. The child was only eight years old at most, so she wasn’t going to begrudge him his childish dream. Probably from a movie or something. She sighed a bit. She must have looked like some scary stranger. She forced her expression to soften.
“That’s quite a dream you got there. What does your father have to say about that?”
“Nothing, my father is already a hero of justice!”
“...really? How so?” To her knowledge, Emiya Kiritsugu was pretty much a rampaging psychopath.
“He told me stories of how he saved people.”
...and apparently, he was grooming his son to take his place as a rampaging psychopath. Nothing more crazier than a zealot who wholly believed that what he was doing was right, no matter the cost.
“Well, Shirou, mind taking me to your father? I would like to have a little ‘chat’ with him,” Aoko said with a strained smile.
“No.”
“No?” The smile fell. “Why not?”
“Because you’re a stranger.”
“My name is Aozaki Aoko. Now, we’re not strangers anymore.”
Shirou shook his head. Did she think he was that stupid?
She was starting to get a little frustrated. “Why not?”
“Because you look like you want to hurt him.”
“Ah.” The words leaked out of her unconsciously. Children were really perceptive, weren’t they? Aoko brought a bright, fake smile to her face and said, “No, I won’t.”
“Yeah, you will,” Shirou said stubbornly.
Aoko rubbed her temple. Damn her sense of morality. If she had a little less of that, she would just leave the damn kid to go kill himself or be turned into a crazy zealot, but nope, those options weren’t on the plate. She supposed that she would have to make the kid like her a little bit more first.
“So tell me about the stories your father told you.”
Shirou was quick to recall the stories and quicker to say it. Storytelling by a young child had far more sound effects and arm waving than necessary, but she ignored them as she laid down on the grass and listened. Some of them, she had actually recognized and asked some questions about them, which were readily answered by the child as best as he could. They were less gruesome versions, but they were all true nonetheless. By the end of the last story, it had become late afternoon with the sun starting to make its way toward the horizon.
“...and then he brought them back, safe and sound. The end.”
Aoko smiled. Despite herself, she was starting to like the kid. He was enthusiastic and cute, not to mention that he had a good enough appearance that she was sure he was going to be a lady killer when he grows up. She got up from her seat, brushing the pebbles and grass off her shirt and jeans. It probably was going to stain, but she didn’t really care.
She walked over to the river and crouched down. Dipping her hands into the water, she cleaned off the dust and dirt on her fingers. Shirou followed behind her and mimicked her actions.
“Do you want to hear another story,” Shirou asked eagerly.
“Maybe later,” Aoko said, bringing up her wet hands and flinging off the water. “I want to talk to your father first. Can you show me the way to your home?”
“No.”
“...what?” Aoko blinked in surprise and turned to look at Shirou. “Say that again?”
“I’m not going to. You’re still a stran--ah!”
Aoko had grabbed the back of his head and dunked him into the water. He was submerged for a few seconds before she brought his head up again.
“...so like I was saying, can you bring me to your father?”
Shirou coughed, sputtering out the way. He turned his head slightly to glare at her.
“Wrong answer.” Aoko dunked Shirou’s head into the water again, holding him down even as he struggled. She mentally counted the seconds off in her head.
“Hey! What’re you doin’ to that boy?!”
Aoko pulled Shirou’s head out, ignoring his gasps for air, as she glanced back. There was a police officer climbing down the embankment.
“Oh shit.” Aoko was on her feet within a moment and running down the embankment, following the river downstream.
“Come back here!” The angry police officer chased after her.
Dripping wet, Shirou watched them leave.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A few hours later found one smirking yet slightly disheveled red-haired woman and one wet red-haired boy standing in the backyard of the Emiya household.
If Aoko thought Shirou had a sullen face, then Kiritsugu was practically a ghastly corpse. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes were haunted.
When Aoko waded through the bounded field that surrounded the Emiya household as if it had been nothing but paper curtains before her, Kiritsugu had merely bowed his head with the assumption of inevitability. There was no resistance in his features; just dull acceptance. For a man that was once a driven killer with no morals, he was now nothing more than a dull shadow of his former self, simply awaiting death.
“Are you this boy’s father?” Aoko asked as she stood in front of him, even though she already knew the answer. The former Magus Killer was seated on the patio, barely making the effort to even bring his eyes to meet Aoko’s pitying stare. She sighed, not bothering to even hide it. Even if she were to threaten the man, it would probably not do much. He was already just a living corpse.
“I am,” Kiritsugu responded. There was no point in trying to deny entry to one who had the title of Destroyer. Any shield that he could come up with would probably be destroyed in an instant, even if he had been a better magus. “What’re you here for, Ms. Blue?”
“I think you know what I’m here for.”
A slight emotion passed his eyes as Kiritsugu turned his gaze onto Shirou who was standing beside Aoko. “Shirou?”
“She followed me home,” Shirou responded with more than a hint of bitterness.
“Ah,” Kiritsugu simply said. “Go make us some tea, Shirou.”
“Ah, okay.” Shirou obediently ran off to the kitchen.
The two adults, now alone, stared at one another. There was a tension in the air as they gauged one another. It was the red-haired woman who spoke up first.
“I can see in your eyes that you care about the kid,” Aoko said. “So why do are you trying to kill him?”
“Kill him?” Even on his gaunt face, there was slight look of surprise.
“I found him making magic circuits repeatedly by the river.”
“So he wasn’t playing with the other children, after all.” Kiritsugu looked even more sullen than before. “Unfortunate. I’d hoped he would give up. I’ve no desire to teach him things that he won’t need.”
“So instead, you teach him something half-assed,” Aoko said, her voice rising with anger. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“I’m well aware, Ms. Blue.” Kiritsugu closed his eyes tiredly for a moment. When he reopened them, he had a more determined look. “I’ll rectify this problem. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
“And what do you plan to do? Teach him how to overload his circuits so they’ll explode?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business.”
Kiritsugu’s finger twitched. Tucked into an inside pocket in his hakama was his Thompson Contender. It would only take less than a moment to activate his magic to speed up his internal speed and pull out the weapon, and a blink of an eye before a bone dust bullet would be lodged into her body.
“...don’t even think about it,” Aoko warned with narrowed eyes.
Kiritsugu forcefully relaxed his hand, though he gave no response to Aoko’s words. Though, it looked like he had been seen through. “I won’t be teaching him any more magic.”
“That’s not your decision,” Aoko said. “You showed him this, so even if you stop, he’s going to keep making magic circuits until he’s dead. It’s your responsibility to at least make your son competent enough to learn magic on his own.”
Kiritsugu frowned. “He’s not my real son. He’s adopted.”
“What does that matter?”
“You know why it matters.”
It was Aoko’s turn to frown, though she couldn’t refute it. For magus families, bloodlines were very important as they were ways to cultivate descendants to increase the quantity and quality of their magic circuits. That was why the more prestigious families were those that had been magi for numerous generations, such that most of their descendents were born with large amounts of quality magic circuits.
Still, that was secondary to the problem at hand.
“You started this, so you have to finish this,” Aoko said. “I’m not going to watch while you give this kid a death sentence.”
“No need for you to trouble yourself in our business,” Kiritsugu said with a sigh. “I’ll deal with this.”
“No, I’ve a better idea.” Aoko stared straight at him. “I’ll teach him.”
“You?”
“Yes, me,” Aoko said. “With his stupid binge on being a superhero and your half-assed teaching, he’s going to do something dumb and get himself killed. You don’t seem to be motivated to do it, so I’ll have to do it. Frankly, I blame all this stupid nonsense on those stories you’ve been telling him.”
“A superhero?” Kiritsugu mulled over his words, looking stunned, before he erupted into laughter.
“Hey, this isn’t funny. That damn kid believes wholeheartedly in this crap.”
Kiritsugu abruptly stopped laugh, his face suddenly looking more depressed than ever. The contrast from a moment ago was almost disturbing. “This is my fault.”
“Yeah, we all knew this problem was your fault.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Kiritsugu said. “This is my fault. Everything is my fault.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
Everyone that he had ever touched had died because of him. Shirley, Natalia, Maiya, Irisviel. Even his own father, Norikata, had been a victim. It didn’t matter that the man was a Philosopher, sacrificing countless innocents to his experiments. In the end, by killing his emotions, he murdered his father to save the rest.
Now, he was about to condemn Shirou to a similar fate. It was not something he would wish even on his worse enemies. Perhaps, his daughter, Illyaviel, was spared because she was kept away from him. Should he leave Shirou to someone else?
No, he couldn’t do that. Maybe it was selfish, but he was living only for that salvation, that redemption from the crimes that he had committed knowingly and unknowingly. If he let Shirou go, he wouldn’t be surprised if he died the next day.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kiritsugu said. “I appreciate your offer, but this is my own duty to carry out.”
“You think I’m going to let you do that?” Aoko asked.
“It’s because I’m the one who caused his family to die. It’s my responsibility, not yours.”
There was a loud crash as a ceramic teapot shattered against the wooden floor. Standing above the mess of shards with an empty tray was Shirou, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.
“Shirou.” Kiritsugu looked over at him with a worried face. He reached out his hand. “I…”
Shirou turned around and ran down the hall.
“Shirou!” Kiritsugu stood up from his seat on the patio, but Aoko slapped him across the cheek, sending him sprawling.
“You’ve done enough,” Aoko said coldly before climbing onto the patio and walking on the path Shirou took.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Within the workshop, Shirou huddled in one of the darker corners. The only light that came into the room was from a small window nearer to the ceiling, but it was dim at best. Finding out that revelation should have been shocking, but what had surprised him was how he felt about it.
He felt nothing. It was like meaningless words that had no relations to him, but that wasn’t right. It had everything to do with him. Whoever he used to be was destroyed that night. There was not a single memory left to him, not even a scrap of feeling. All that he was began when he had looked up at the sky to see the black sun, to find his father above him with tears of happiness in his eyes.
He should have felt hatred, he should have felt anger. Yet, all he felt was emptiness. For the man who had raised him for years, he felt neither righteous vengeance, only singing gratitude. Maybe it was because he couldn’t remember anything before the fire. If he did, would that have changed things? He bit down on his lip.
A superhero. He had always thought of his father as a hero of justice, saving lives and defeating the villains. To find out that his father had caused the fire, that he had made that unnatural sun that created the calamity, shook his faith. Was his father a villain?
No, a villain wouldn’t have saved him.
Just what was he then?
Shirou wrapped his arms around his legs tighter. In the end, there was a single question that occupied his thoughts.
“What is a hero of justice?”
“An idiot. A stupid idiot of the highest degree.” Aoko took a seat next to him, startling him.
“So it really is stupid,” Shirou sullenly said.
“I don’t mean it that way,” Aoko responded. “They’re good people, but sometimes, they make bad decisions. Costly decisions. For themselves and others.”
“Was the fire one of those decisions?”
“Fire?” Aoko blinked in confusion until her mind connected the dots. She had heard about the giant fire created at the end of the Fourth Holy Grail War, but the details about it had been sparse. Most of the information had been covered up by the Church, though there were still some things that got through that net. So that was probably caused by a Servant fight, no doubt with Kiritsugu being one of the Masters present at the time. “Ah, so that’s it. You don’t have to worry about that. Kiritsugu may be an idiot, but he wouldn’t have done it on purpose. It’s more likely that he’s just blaming himself for something he couldn’t prevent.”
“You know father?” A slight tinge of hope leaked into his voice.
“Nope,” Aoko said, grinning at Shirou’s falling expression. “But I’ve heard about him. He may be a crazy, but he’s not a mass murderer.”
“Really?”
“...probably.” Now that Aoko thought about it, she did hear about Kiritsugu shooting down an airliner, but that was to hunt down a renegade magus. Oh well, she already said it so it was too late to take it back now.
Shirou slowly began to smile.
“That’s the spirit.” Aoko ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “I’m probably still a stranger to you, but I know a way we can become great friends.”
“How?” Shirou asked curiously, innocently.
Aoko’s smile became predatory.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“I don’t see how we can get closer by doing this.”
“Trust me. By doing this, we’re practically family now.”
Aoko was relaxing in the furo with Shirou on her lap. There was so much steam rising that it was a little hard to see.
Shirou blushed red as he could feel Aoko gigantic mammaries pressing against the back of his head.
“Awww, how cute. You’re all flustered,” Aoko cooed teasingly. “Don’t worry, you’re too young to be gobbled up. This is skinship, Shirou, skinship. With this you can even turn enemies into friends!”
That caught Shirou attention. “Really? I don’t feel any different.”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“No…”
“Then it’s working!” Aoko nodded. “The more we do this, the better we’ll understand each other. Do you get it now?”
Shirou was still a bit confused, but he supposed it made sense. It felt nice to be hugged from behind like this. “Skinship, huh.”
“Skinship,” Aoko responded sagely.
“Mrs. Aozaki--”
“That’s Miss,” Aoko interrupted, bristling at his mistake. “But you can just call me Aoko.”
“Aoko,” Shirou began timidly. "Will I ever become a superhero?"
"Are you an idiot, Shirou?"
"No..."
"Then no. If you still want to do it, come back after you hit your head against the wall a few times,” Aoko said. “You can try falling down the stairs a couple of times too just to be sure.”
Shirou made an annoyed face.
Aoko sighed. “Shirou, what is a superhero?”
“Someone who saves people.” The answer came without hesitation.
“And what’s the necessary component of saving someone?”
“Um, you’ve to be strong.”
“No, it’s time, location, and sacrifice,” Aoko said. “You have to be at the right time and place to save someone, but more than that, you’ll often find yourself in a position where you must be willing to sacrifice someone. Do you understand?”
Shirou slowly shook his head.
“It’s not like a buy one, get one free crap. You’ve to choose one and stick with it. When you see many people in danger from like a falling plane--”
“Why’d a plane be falling?”
“Humor me. A plane is falling on a large group of people, but you only have time to save a few. That means you have to leave the others to die. They’re the sacrifice.”
“Why can’t I save them all? If I’m strong and fast enough, I can do that, right?”
“It helps, but at some point, it won’t matter. You can’t save them all,” Aoko patiently said. “A superhero, unlike in movies and comics, is someone who chooses who lives and who dies.”
Shirou’s frown deepened.
“In the end, a superhero will also sacrifice himself. There’s no way you can be normal when you have to decide and keep deciding the life and death of others.”
Shirou was silent as the words churned in his head. It was a bit hard to understand, but what he did understand made him feel worse.
Aoko hugged him from behind, squishing her breasts against the back of his head.
“Do you think I’m stupid for wanting to be a superhero?” There was a pleading note in his voice.
“Your father is a superhero, right?” Seeing Shirou nod, Aoko gently smiled. “Does he look happy?”
“Sometimes.” Shirou construed his face. “Sometimes, he just stares at the sky and won’t say anything even when I ask him something.”
“Before you, I’ll bet he never had a family. Probably had no friends before he settled down here,” Aoko said. “You sacrifice a lot of yourself when you become a hero. For him, it’s too late to save himself. All he can do is regret and regret his stupidity until the end of his days.”
“Is there...is there a way I can help him?”
“Just try to be there for him. That’s all anyone can do now.”
Shirou mulled it over as he looked at his reflection in the water
“Do you think it would be okay if dad joins us in the bath?”
Aoko burst out into laughter and mussed up Shirou’s hair. After her laughter subsided, she smiled softly at him.
“Over my dead body.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Several months later...
Shirou fell scream from high atop a mountain. Falling down, right next to him, was Aoko who was wearing a demonic smile.
“What’s the matter, Shirou?” Aoko taunted, projecting her voice over the raging wind. “You’re a superhero, right? Fly!”
“Aoko-sensei!” Shirou exclaimed in a panic as the ground dangerously close in to meet his face.
Just before Shirou could become a red splotch on the ground, Aoko grabbed him and tucked him underneath her armpit. The moment that her feet touched the ground, the surface shattered under the weight and a heavy cloud of dust rose into the air. When it cleared after a few moments, there was a large crater in the spot where she had landed.
The moment that she let him down, Shirou collapsed on the floor. To his dismay, this kind of scene was becoming more and more common. Ever since he had first met the red-haired woman a year ago, she sporadically came back to visit every few months to train him in magic. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, but…
Her methods were insane.
While his father was teaching him methodically and slowly, patiently going through magic with a cautiousness that befitted a retired magus, Aoko was like an unhindered storm. She used the fastest methods for the highest yield in the shortest amount of time. The fact that they were highly dangerous did nothing to deter her.
“You’re insane!” Shirou shouted at his teacher.
“So are you,” Aoko countered as she picked the boy up and set him on his feet before giving him a teasing look “Mister superhero.”
Shirou blushed looking down at his feet. He still wanted to be a hero, but no longer as fanatically as he once did. His teacher literally beat it out of him. She once compared him to a sword and said that she was going to change his shape to be a different type of blade. He wonder what she meant by that…
“Well, that’s it for the lesson. You need to get over the fear of falling so we’ll do it a few more times later,” Aoko said as she ruffled her pet project’s hair. “You got my lesson itinerary?
“Yes, Sensei.” Shirou nodded and show her the notes that he scribbled under her tutelage. His teacher said that she was like him at one time and to not be discourage by poor practical magical use, but he couldn’t ever believe his teacher could be bad at anything. She seemed so much stronger than him that the gap between them wouldn’t ever shorten.
“Good boy.” Aoko grinned making the boy eyes widen in fear. “You know what we do when we celebrate, Shirou?”
“Get lunch?” Shirou nervously backed away.
“Nope!” Aoko took a step forward. There was a familiar gleam in her eyes that Shirou recognized all too well.
“Uh, dad says that it’s not appropriate to take baths together anymore.”
“Did he now?” Aoko slowly asked as her face turned demonic. “I’ll have a talk with him later.”
Shirou silently apologized to his father in his heart as Aoko advanced on him with a strange expression.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
In the Emiya household’s furo, Shirou started to feel nervous when he noticed his teacher giving him an appraising gaze. “Sensei?”
“Mmmm, you’re coming along nicely,” Aoko muttered softly before turning the kid around and hugging him to her breasts. They remain silent for a while before Shirou looked up at his teacher.
“So what will be you teaching me next, Sensei?”
“Hmmm,” Aoko said, leaning back into the tub and cupping her cheek. “You know, for a sword origin, you’re pretty handy with your eyes. Let’s try archery for now and see if it helps.”
“Archery?” Shirou asked shocked. Thanks to his teacher, he had learned about his unique origin. “That has nothing to do with swords!”
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it,” Aoko reprimanded. “Even though I’m good with my fist, I’m still known as a magical gunner, you know.”
Shirou looked pensive, but it would make him more versatile. Still, what did sword have to do with bows?
“Beside, who knows, if worse comes to worse make you can chuck your swords at them or something,” Aoko said with a grin as she started to lather up shirou’s hair.
“Sword chucks...” Shirou mused as the wheel in his head began to turn.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Several years later...
As Shirou stood in front of the tombstone, he closed his eyes and clapped his hands together. Several years had passed since his father had died, but he had never forgotten to visit his gravesite. It had been hard the first couple of years, but after that, it had become somewhat normal again. Fujimura Taiga came over practically every day at the time, supporting him through the hardship. Even Aoko stayed longer on her visits, taking over the entirety of his magical studies.
Shirou cracked a small smile as he opened his eyes. He still remembered the first time that Aoko bribed--or was it coerced--Taiga into a skinship bath. Of course, he had been dragged into it too, but he would never forget Taiga’s expression. They were memories that he treasured.
That was when he noticed her out of the corner of his eye. It was a young girl around his age, standing in front of a much shabbier tombstone. It was a girl from one of the other classes in his grade. He had never personally talked to her, but he did vaguely remember her name.
What was it again? Matou Sakura?
Yes, that was it. He sort of remembered her.
Why had he never talked to her?
Shirou began to make his way over there when he felt it. A feeling, a notion of wrongness. The moment that he focused on her, he felt the need to run away.
It was in that moment that her eyes stared at him.
Those eyes...
They were like father’s.
Despite the need to escape, despite his body’s earnest wish to flee, Shirou moved forward. It was like wading through a sea of mud. Every step he took, it clung to him, making the next heavier than the last. It was only now that he realized what it was.
A minor compulsion spell. Someone was trying to keep her from being noticed. Did she cast it on herself or did someone do it to her? Well, it didn’t matter. He would just have to ask her directly. If his greeting was an inconvenience, he would just quickly apologize.
With his motivation solidified, Shirou continued walking towards the girl, wading through the thickness that told his body to turn back. It was only when he reached a few feet from the girl that the power of the spell finally stopped. In that moment, he gasped for breath. He didn’t know how heavy it weighed him down until it was gone.
The girl merely stared at him with dead eyes and an unmoved expression, but that was to be expected. They were strangers in every sense of the word.
Yet, it was the familiarity of her eyes that brought him to her.
“Sakura.” The girl seemed startled that Shirou knew her name. However, he could not falter now. These next words were the same ones that he wished that he had told his father before he passed away. “Would you like for me to save you?”
Sakura stood stock still, her eyes widening very slightly, but it was noticeable enough.
Shirou smiled nervously as doubt started to infect him. She was probably going to tell him that he was an idiot, a stupid stranger that shouldn’t have butted in on something that wasn’t any of his business. He knew that because her eyes were wide, filled with skepticism and disbelief.
Under the afternoon sun, Shirou prepared himself for the abuse to come.
Minutes passed in silence as they stared at each other, each unable to break it.
Until a teardrop rolled down her cheek.
“Uncle…”
It was like a whisper on the wind, nearly inaudible, but he heard it nonetheless.
“Save me…”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++
“What the hell is this, Shirou?”
The boy stared up defiantly at his teacher in the living room of the Emiya household. Sakura was hiding behind him, peeking only half her face out at the angry-looking red-headed woman.
“First. how can you just bring home some random kid off the street,” Aoko said. “Secondly, that’s not just any kid either. She’s the Matou heir. What were you thinking?!”
“She asked for help.”
“And who’s going to help her? You, Mr. Superhero?”
“Yeah.”
“This! This is what I mean by sacrifices. You’re going to give up your life for someone you just met an hour ago? Are you stupid?”
“Yeah, I’m stupid.” Shirou’s glare intensified. “I’m the stupidest idiot in the world, but I don’t care. I’m going to save her.”
“Do you even know what you’re saving her from?”
“Her grandfather.”
Sakura chose this time to speak up. “He...worms…”
Aoko sighed. Crest worms were pretty much the signature magic of the Matou family. She didn’t see anything wrong with that, but she guessed it would be fine to humor them.
“Yeah, yeah, fine. Come over here. I’ll see for myself before I decide.” Aoko beckoned Sakura to her, but the little girl only complied when she saw a nod from Shirou. Once the girl was close enough, Aoko put both of her hands on the side of Sakura’s head. “Now hold still. I’m not good at these kind of spells so I got to concentrate.”
Aoko closed her eyes and began to produce prana from her magic circuits. The words, the incantations, came from her memory and left her mouth, flowing together like a song. The moment the last word left her lips, she felt clarity…
...and horror.
Aoko shoved Sakura away, ignoring her cry of surprise as the little girl fell down. She stretched her palm forward as a ball of blue light gathered in front of it.
Shirou stepped in front of Sakura, stretching both of his arms out to the side to shield the girl.
“Move out of the way, Shirou.”
“No.”
“Move out of the way or I’ll move you.” When the boy refused to respond, Aoko’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Do you know what she is?”
“No,” Shirou said, “and I don’t care.”
“Hundreds, thousands, maybe tens of thousands will die if I don’t do this,” Aoko said. “Being a superhero means making sacrifices for the good of the world. Does her life have the same worth as a thousand people?”
“I’ll save everyone!”
Aoko held the energy aimed towards Shirou, tempted to release it anyways, but she relented. The ball of blue light flickered out as she dropped her hand in exasperation.
“Thank you, Aoko-sensei.”
“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, Shirou?”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Stupid apprentice. If it weren’t for the project, I’d have dumped his ass by now,” Aoko grumbled as she stood in front of the main door of the Matou mansion. There was a gate, but she had hopped over it, nonchalantly piercing through the bounded field that covered the grounds in the process. Before she could even knock, the door opened.
A blue-haired man in a wrinkled hakama stood in the doorway, inspecting her. However, there was no sense of perversion or lust in his eyes. There was only tired resignation. Even his voice only served to nail down that image.
“What can I do for you, Aozaki Aoko?”
“Seems like you know my name. Don’t know yours, don’t care. Where’s Zouken?”
“He is inside, awaiting your presence. I will lead you to him.”
“Nope.” Aoko pointed her finger over her shoulder towards the gate behind her. “Get out of here. I got some business to settle with him.”
The blue-haired man’s eyes widened slightly in comprehension.
“I see. My name is Matou Byakuya. I don’t believe we will see each other again.” Byakuya stepped down the front steps and walked passed Aoko. Just before he stepped past, he whispered, “His strength lies in the basement.”
Aoko didn’t bothered to acknowledge the statement as she walked forward and through the door. The interior was one befitting the household of someone who had lived for the last five hundred years. That was to say, it was spartan and lacking in glamor.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” An old, bald man with a walking cane stepped into views from the shadows of the stairway. His pupils and irises were white, while the sclera was completely black. With a tap of his cane to the floor, the main door swung shut with a booming report.
“Cut the crap. I got some things to settle with you.” Inside her body, Aoko forced her internal energy through her magic circuits, producing wave after wave of prana.
“I’m afraid I don’t know the reason why. Could you enlighten me?”
“Let’s just say that you pissed me off.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll settle for compensation,” Zouken said as the walls of the mansion began to bulge and writhe at random spots.
“If it includes your dead body, I’m all for it.”
“A pity then.” The wallpaper burst outward as swarms of blade wing worms flooded out. Looking like armored dragonflies with viciously sharp teeth and bladed wings, they could rip through flesh like a piranha.The air became saturated with blade wing worms, but they held themselves back. Zouken merely stared at her with a frown on his wrinkled face. Even with this, he knew that his chances of winning were slim. “What about a compromise?”
“Get out of Fuyuki and don’t come back.” Aoko gathered her prana, creating a visible blue aura around her.
“The Matou family have lived in this city for many generations.”
“They stay, but you leave. Otherwise, I’ll blow this whole mansion away,” Aoko said with iron in her voice. “I was planning to hunt you down to the last of your worms, but I’ll settle for never seeing you again.”
“I don’t know what I did to offend you, but very well. I have no desire to fight against the master of the Fifth Magic. I’m a researcher, not a battle magus,” Zouken said. “Give me a few days to allow my family and I to gather our possessions.”
“You got one day. And I don’t think I made myself clear. Your descendents are staying. Only you are leaving.”
“What--”
“They’re my hostages. In case you try something,”
Zouken’s frown deepened.
“I don’t need to be this lenient.”
Zouken narrowed his eyes. This whole situation was strange, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. If he wanted to survive, there was no other way. “I consent to your terms.”
“Then let’s seal this with a blood contract.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Sakura, I’m your new mother.”
“Huh?” The spoon in Sakura’s hand froze just as it was about to reach her lip with a scoop of rice. Across from her, Aoko was staring at her with a grin and steepled fingers. Shirou looked at the scene with a helpless shrug before he continued eating.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? You’re now my cute daughter.”
“Um, wha--huh? Ehhhhhhhhh?”
“Look, look! I even have adoption papers.” Aoko held up a stack of papers. “Signed and sealed. Government approved.”
“But...but…”
“Aozaki Sakura. That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Aoko smiled widely at Sakura’s shock. Legally, Byakuya was Sakura’s official guardian. After Zouken was forced into exile, it wasn’t hard to convince Byakuya to give her guardianship of the girl. In fact, the man had been happy and eager to please her. It did seem like the guy had some kind of grudge going on with the old man, but she didn’t care enough to find out about it.
“What...what about grandfather?”
“What about the old geezer? He left town,” Aoko said, clapping her hands together a couple of times as if it clean the imaginary dust off them. “And that’s that. So who wants a skinship session?”
“Eh? Eh? Eh?!” There were practically swirls in Sakura’s eyes as her brain overloaded.
“You don’t have to be so mean to her,” Shirou mumbled in between bites.
“But it’s fun!” Aoko poked his cheek with her index finger. “Now, how about that skinship?”
“I’m too old for that,” Shirou said with a disgruntled expression, though his cheeks had a dusting of crimson.
“Nonsense.” Aoko waved it off. “This is skinship, Shirou. Nothing is more awesome then skinship!”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Shirou and Aoko were settled into the furo on opposite sides. Although the water wasn’t high enough to completely cover her modesty, years of bathing with Aoko had made Shirou become used to the sight. Not that it didn’t make him feel funny, but he held it in well enough.
“Oh and Shirou, we have someone new joining our skinship party,” Aoko smiled broadly making Shirou look up in alarm.
“Wait, you can’t mean...” Shirou stumbled through his words. “I thought you said you wouldn’t--”
“Sakura, you can come in now.” Aoko called through the door before turning to Shirou. “She’s younger than you so you better take good care of your Kohai, alright?”
Shirou whipped his head to the door and in came a very shy, red face Sakura with a towel wrapped around her body.
“S-Sakura!” Shirou squeaked.
“S-Shi-Shirou-senpai,” Sakura greeted as calmly as she could which wasn’t much as her entire face was still as red as a ripe tomato.
“You said it just like I taught you. Come in, come in,” Aoko motion for the girl to join them. “And lose the towel. After all, Shirou is completely naked here, so it wouldn’t be fair.”
“Ye-yes.” Sakura nodded. Without much fanfare, she dropped the towel, completely showing off her young and slender body as she walked over to the furo. She idly noted that Shirou couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, partly because his teacher was behind him with her hand on his head to keep him from moving.
“D-do...do I look okay, Senpai?”
Realizing he was staring, Shirou turned away. “D-don’t ask me that.”
Sakura only blush before she daintily eased herself into the water.
Aoko whispered in Shirou ears. “Isn’t skinship great?”
Shirou didn’t respond. Still, he couldn’t help but agree in his heart. Despite being something broken that his teacher glued back together, he was nervous for a number of reason. Chief among them was because of the two female next to him in the furo. On his left was his purple hair friend, the ever gentle Sakura. On his right was the greatest mage in all of existence (her words), his teacher, Aozaki Aoko, the Blue.
To compare and contrast, Sakura was still a budding teen while his teacher oozed something that he didn’t want to think about too much. It made him feel funny.
“Soooooo,” Aoko drawled out looking at the purple hair girl looking levelly at her. “I finally meet you at last.”
Sakura blinked. “But we knew each other already.”
“I mean as skinship companions!”
“Ah…” Sakura squeaked as she sank a little lower into the furo.
Aoko appeared to look over Sakura before nodding. “You realize you got worms in you, right?”
Sakura face paled. “W-what are you…” she stammered while looking over nervously to her secret crush.
Shirou looked confused by the question and looked at his purple hair friend in concern. “Is that a STD?”
“No!” Sakura and Aoko both yelled.
“Ah, what am I saying?” Shirou scratched his head. “Sakura isn’t like that.”
Sakura looked away ashamedly.
“Idiot!” Aoko kicked him in the face with the sole of her foot while the boy flailed out his arms to keep balance even though he was still sitting down in the furo.
“Ow.” Shirou rubbed his nose when Aoko retracted her foot.
Aoko placed her hands on Sakura’s shoulder and raised her upper body above water while Shirou hurriedly turned his eyes away. She placed her hand on the teenage girl’s chest.
Sakura appeared to shake in on the spot while still glancing nervously at Shirou. “Pl-please n-not here…”
“Sakura, skinship is all about trust,” Aoko said. “Don’t worry; if that changes his opinion of you, I’ll break his head over my knee.”
“O...okay…” Sakura timidly said.
“You...you don’t have to say it like that,” Shirou complained even as he firmly keeping his eyes off the situation.
“I’m raising you for a reason so shut up,” Aoko told him him before she continued to examine Sakura. “I couldn’t sense them earlier when you had your clothes on, but they’re squirming around in there.”
Sakura looked downcast at that.
“I can get them out if you want.” Seeing the purple-haired girl’s face light up, Aoko hurriedly added, “But it’ll be long and difficult. It could take months or even years, and it’s guaranteed to be painful.”
“I’ll do it,” Sakura responded immediately with no hesitation.
“Really? Just like that? Even with all that pain?”
“I don’t care. I’ll do anything.” Sakura bowed her head. “Please.”
“Now, now, raise your head.” Aoko put her fingers under Sakura’s chin to tilt her face up. She smiled at the determined look in the younger girl’s eyes. “That’s the spirit! As expected of my daughter.”
“D-d-daughter?”
“Oh right, you’re still in denial about that.”
Sakura was looking shell-shocked and dazed to the world.
Aoko shrugged. “Oh well, you’ll get used to it.”
Shirou merely glanced at Sakura with pity in his eyes. He knew all too well the pain of being the focus of Aoko’s attention.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Several more years later…
Shirou gasped and writhed as he struggled to push himself up from the floor. He had woken mere moments ago to nausea and pain that racked his entire body, but he moved in spite of that. It took a few seconds to stumble to his feet, and a couple more to recognize the sound of something dropping and hitting the floor with a klink.
There was a ruby necklace lying on the floor. Had that been on him? His mind was too confused and dazed to make sense of it, so he grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket. He would figure it out later.
He knew he had been stabbed, but when he pressed his hand against the rip in his uniform, all he felt through the slit was unblemished skin. When he looked at his hand, he saw a thin layer of filmy blood covering his fingers. That confirmed it; there was no doubt he had been pierced by that spear, but why was he still alive?
It must have been that person. The one he had heard just before he lost consciousness. Was it Sakura?
No, she would have stayed with him. Whoever it was, he would have liked to have thanked that person for saving his life, but it didn’t looked like he was going to find out any time soon. He had a hand to his hand, trying to ease the sharp headache that resounded with each heartbeat. That was when he noticed it, the hallway clock. The time displayed made his eyes widen in horror.
“Oh no. Sensei!” Just how long was he out? There was almost no time left. Using his od, Shirou reinforced his entire body as he pulled open one of the hallway windows. Without a single hint of hesitation, he leaped out of it, falling down the two stories. The moment that he landed on his feet, he was off like a bullet.
The headache got sharper and the pain in his body felt more acute, but he ignored it as he rushed out of the school and down the sidewalk. The familiar scenery, overlayed by the shadows of the night, passed by him in a blur as he moved along the path he had used for years between his school and home. At this point, he didn’t care if anyone saw him; this was just far too important.
So intent was he on his task that he nearly missed the girl standing in the middle of the street, bundled in a purple coat and hat. If he had to be honest, the girl was pretty cute, in a pixie-like way, with her short stature and white hair.
“You better hurry and summon your--”
“Sorry, talk to you later! In a rush!” Shirou apologetically shouted as he ran passed the stunned girl, making his way towards his home.
Spotting his house, he rushed through the gate and into his home. It was only now that he stopped to take a breathing, letting the air rushed into his abused lungs as he walked through the darkened house. This was odd; was Sakura not home at this time of night? He flipped the light switch as he went into the kitchen, letting the light illuminate the room. There was a note on the kitchen counter.
“Went to get fresh steaks. Will be home later. Sakura,” Shirou said, having read it out loud and smiling a little bit even with how tired he felt. That was just like her, being so thoughtful. From doing homework together to shopping and even helping him wash his back everyday before they shared a soak, she was always paying attention to the important matters. He wondered sometimes what his life would be like without her.
Still, there was not much time left. There were already some plates of food wrapped in saran wrap on the counter, but they were going to need more. It would probably be best to get started.
Shirou took out a large pot and put it in the sink, turning on the faucet to fill it up with water. In the meanwhile, he walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. It was fully stocked with vegetables in preparation for today. Grabbing a bundle of them into his arms, he used his foot to close the fridge, only to see the same blue costumed man from earlier, leaning against the wall next to the refrigerator.
“Sorry, kid, but my Master wants you dead,” the spiky, blue-haired man said as he began to raise the red spear in his hand.
“Oh, come on!” Shirou cried out as he looked up at the ceiling, lamenting his fate even as he analyzed and hardened the vegetables he held in his arms.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Shirou sighed as he stared at the mirror hanging from the kitchen wall. The mirror was an ancient one with a peculiar snake-like design around it that originally came from a temple in the Greek city of Eretria. It was a last parting gift from the Matou family when Sakura moved out, though unique as it was, his attention was focused more on his reflection in the glass. He looked pretty haggard with his arm bandaged up and his clothes stained with blood. He could see himself pouring boiling water from the kettle into the teapot.
It was a ridiculous sight, all things considered, but a lot had happened ever since he woke up from death several hours ago.
“Senpai, is the tea ready?” Sakura’s voice echoed in from the other room.
“Almost,” Shirou said loudly from the kitchen as he placed the steaming teapot onto the tray, gently shoving aside the small stacks of teacups.
For Shirou, living with Sakura had been a very different experience.. Her demeanor was like timid like a mouse, and she kept avoiding him at times. Fortunately, Aoko had put a stop to that on her next visit. Nowadays, it was a more comfortable living arrangements. It was like having a sister, except for some of the quirks that she had.
All in all, life was going pretty well. Aoko visited every once in a while to check up on them and continue their lessons in magic. Everyday was pleasantly normal.
Except today.
Shirou tried to keep the frown off his face as he walked over to the table with a tray of teacups and a teapot. Going around the table, he placed a teacup on the table in front of each occupant.
One for Sakura.
One for Rin.
One for Archer.
One for Saber.
One for Rider.
And finally, one for himself. He set down the teapot before taking a seat.
Yes, it was this kind of situation. Shirou could feel a headache coming on. He looked down at the back of his hand. Three symbols were marked on his hand, though the top one had a dull, worn out look to it. It was obvious why; he had used it only minutes earlier to stop Saber from attacking Archer, though he hadn’t known its purpose at the time.
“So, we’re ‘Masters’?” Shirou asked. He didn’t know what was more surprising. The fact that he was a Master or the fact that Sakura was a Master. Then again, if someone like him could be one, he supposed that he shouldn’t be too surprised that Sakura got dragged into this as well.
“Yes, though I didn’t think that you, Sakura, would be a Master as well, but I guess you still have some connection to the Matou family.” Rin picked up her cup of tea and took a sip.
“I...I do…?” Sakura looked more than a bit confused.
“Geez, how dense can you two be?” Rin asked, irritation lacing her words. “Summoning involves an intent, a ritual, and a catalyst. You can’t accidentally summon a Servant.”
“Well…” Shirou scratched his chin with a finger. “I just kind of stumbled into the storehouse…”
“I was cooking…” Sakura trailed off as she looked down and began to fidget.
“You two…” Rin’s face darkened as the teacup in her hand began to rattle.
Across the table, Saber was watching Archer and Rider tensely. For his part, Archer just looked bored while Rider was… Actually, it was hard to tell with the blindfold over her eyes. She still picked up the teacup and took a sip.
“I’m a bit surprised you were out grocery shopping this late, Sakura,” Shirou said. “You usually get to bed pretty early.”
“Senpai…” Sakura blinked. “You remember what day today is?”
“Yeah, it’s--” Shirou cut himself off as his eyes widened in realization. He was on his feet in a flash, causing all eyes to fall on him. Even with all the recent clamor, how could he have forgotten?! “Sensei is going to be here any moment now! I need to clean.”
“Master, what should I do?” Saber asked.
Shirou blinked and paused in organizing a stack of books, as if just remembering Saber was there. “Oh yeah...um...you help clean too.”
Saber was stunned. However, an order was an order. She mimicked Shirou’s actions, picking up and moving the books.
Archer snorts in derision. “So your Master is actually a servant, Saber.”
Saber glared at Archer, wanting to slice him apart but knowing that she couldn’t do that in this situation.
Rin slammed her hands on the table, rocking the teacups still on it. “Hey! I’m talking to you here. We’re not done yet.”
“I don’t have time for that crap!” Shirou frantically rushed about. “My master is almost here!”
Rin grinded her teeth together as she attempted to hold back her anger. “And who is this vaunted master of yours?”
Suddenly, there was a polite knock at the door that froze Shirou in place. Undaunted, Sakura daintily rose from her seat and walked over to small passageway, disappearing around the corner with a happy smile.
It wasn’t long before the sound of a door was heard opening. Another woman’s voice could be heard conversing with Sakura. A moment later, two sets of footsteps could be heard by the Heroics spirits and their masters before Sakura returned. Behind her, wearing a white dress, with a dark blue chinese cut blouse, was a woman with long flowing red hair.
There was a sharp gasp from the Tohsaka heir as she stared at the new arrival with wide eyes. The woman ignored all of this as she calmly walked over to Shirou, who was slightly sweating. Stopping in front of him, she stared down at him.
“Sensei, there’s--”
“Shiiiirrooooouuuuu!” She picked him up high as if he weighed nothing before mashing his face into her breast. “I missed you so much!”
That action elicited a gasp from Saber.
“Buh-Buh-Buhh-Blue!” Rin audibly gulped as Aoko turned her attention to her.
The red-headed woman examined at the younger girl from top to bottom, assessing her. She turned back to Shirou, who she was suffocating with her chest. “You have a girlfriend now?”
“What! As if I’d ever date him!”
Aoko looked offended. “You’re saying my apprentice isn’t good enough?”
“Your apprentice?! You’re his master?!”
Aoko gave her a look that said that this was obvious.
Shirou reinforced his arms and pushed Aoko away, gasping for air the moment he was slightly free. He took a few moments for his lungs to greedily fill up with oxygen before he looked over at Rin. “This is my master, Aozaki Aoko.”
“I know who she is!” Rin shouted as jealousy leaked into her voice. “I just never realized she was your teacher.”
That was when Aoko noticed Archer standing by the table, watching the entire scene with wide-eyed surprise. Blood started to drip out of her nose as she turned away.
“Master?” Shirou asked, concerned.
“Wonderful, Shirou.” Aoko wiped away the blood with her sleeve. “You’ll grow up wonderfully.”
Sakura glanced over at Archer. He did look familiar, but now that she thought about it… Her eyes slowly widened as blood started to drip out of her nose as well. She quickly wiped away the blood. “Wonderful, Senpai. Absolutely wonderful.
Archer started to get a chill down his spine as he watched both of them stare at him. They couldn’t possibly…
Rin looked back and forth between everyone. “Can someone explain this to me already?!”
“Ah, you still don’t see it?” Aoko stood up, letting Shirou go free. She pointed at Archer. “He’s Shirou from the future.”
“Wait, what?!” Rin turned and stared at Archer.
Saber stared between the two with a shocked expression. Shirou was on his feet and gaping at Archer. Rider simply sipping her tea at the table, ignoring the entire scene.
“Congratulations.” Aoko put a firm hand on Shirou’s shoulder. “You become a superhero. That’s the only bright side of finding out that you and Sakura somehow entered a magical deathmatch while I was gone. Seriously, Shirou? The Holy Grail War? Couldn’t you two have just watched a wrestling match or something?”
Shirou turned his eyes to Aoko. “You...you knew about this…?”
“Of course I do. It’s not like it’s a secret. I just didn’t think you’d do something stupid like this.” Aoko tapped her cheek. “Though, I suppose it makes sense since you do become a superhero in the future.”
Archer frowned at those words.
Aoko walked to Rin and leaned down to whisper into her ear. Rin, for her part, blushed and simply nodded. Archer watched the two warily, but there was not much he could do when there was a very powerful magus and two other Servants in the room. He didn’t like his chances in this kind of situation.
“Archer,” Rin said, catching the red Servant’s attention. “I command you to pleasure Aoko-sensei for the entire night!”
“What?!” Archer gaped as the command seal on his Master’s hand briefly glowed before blinking out.
Rin clapped her hands together in apology. “Forgive me, Archer, but I can’t refuse a chance for an apprenticeship. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“You can’t...that’s...that’s…” Archer was at a loss for words.
“S-Sensei?!” Shirou said in shock, unable to believe what he was hearing. Sure, his master could be brazen sometimes, but…but…just what was this?!
“Let’s go, Future Shirou,” Aoko cooed, hooking her arm around his.
Archer was sweating as he tried to resist the effects of the Command Seal.
Sakura walked up to Aoko and Archer with a hard and serious expression on her face.
“Can I come too?”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Shirou stretched his arms out as he yawned. He didn’t exactly get a good night’s sleep, but he got just enough to keep on his feet. Still, he wasn’t looking forward to seeing everyone at the breakfast table. He took a deep breath before he entered the room.
“Morning, Shirou!” Aoko was sitting at the table, wearing one of Shirou buttoned-up shirts.
“Morning, Senpai!” Sakura was sitting at the table, wearing another one of Shirou buttoned-up shirts.
Rin and Rider were off to the side, eating toast quietly. Rin had bags under her eyes and a disoriented look, but for Rider, being silent was her natural state of being.
“Morning,” Shirou greeted awkwardly. That was when he noticed that Archer was looking sickly. “Archer, you’re looking pretty pale there.”
Archer glared at him. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
“Oh, suck it up, you big baby,” Aoko said cheerfully. She turned to Shirou. “Your future prospects are looking better and better.”
“...do I want to know?”
“Well, you see--”
“I wasn’t asking. That was a rhetorical question,” Shirou said briskly. “I heard you enough last night.”
Saber’s cheeks were dusted with red as she too had heard the vigorous moans and screams.
“Fair enough,” Aoko said as she took a sip of her coffee. “Still,I can’t wait to try you out, my little Hikaru Genji.”
Shirou froze. “Wha...why? You already tried out my future self!”
Aoko looked at Shirou weirdly. She exchanged a look with Sakura before they both started laughing hysterically. “Oh, Shirou sweetie, that’s not your future self. That’s your alternate future self.”
Shirou gaped like a fish.
“You’d never have hair that white or skin that dark. If anything, you would be look more bronze-ish,” Aoko explained before her eyes took on a dreamy look. “Mmmm, bronze Shirou…”
“Yummy,” Sakura said, licking her lips.
Shirou boggled.
Aoko noticed this and elaborated. “He was using his magic the wrong way so he turned out like that, but you were trained under me. Trust me when I say you’re going to turn out differently. And I can’t wait.”
Shirou gulped at the little purr Aoko gave him.
“Better you than me,” Archer said as he took a sip of his coffee.
Saber could only gawk. Just what kind of den of debauchery had she been summoned into?!
The End.
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; March 2nd, 2015 at 04:49 AM.
A Heros First Battle in Dark Hours
X=X=X=X=X
A hero is an existence made to fight the battles the weak could not, to protect them against the world.
But, for a battle with no weak to protect? A battle where the only enemy is confusion, and a pair of wet underwear transformed into such overnight?
The hero, thirteen-year old Emiya Shirou, was flabbergasted by such a foe, such a bizarre battle to enter.
In fear, the child stormed into the bathroom at the early days of the morning. Not because of his soiled underwear, but rather because it was the morning and hed amply hydrated the night before, so he kind of had to go pee. The underwear was not getting any less sticky.
Returned from his foray to the excretion removal and waste apparatus, the young boy observed his underwear once more. An odd feeling overcame him: guilt, shame, embarrassment, sticky crotch syndrome? No, it was far more bizarre than that.
Embarrassment, which he realized, was on the earlier list but fit the situation anyway because hed momentarily forgotten what the word meant, for he was but thirteen and quite dull to begin with.
As the sun rose over the boys confusion, a massive sound could be heard through the household as if on some universal kind of cue, like an early morning tempest come to expose his shame.
Shirou, are you up yet? shouted out a sonorous and yet familiar voice, as its owner, Fujimura Taiga, entered the compound and alerted him to her presence, a form of propriety in form of shouting unique to her own being.
Shirou fumbled madly in flustered confusion, shoving his underwear into the folds of his futon. Luckily the child had already changed due to the sticky disgust of his previous pair, and was at least somewhat prepared for the arrival of the metaphorical typhoon that was Taiga.
Ah, uh, yeah! he shouted in reply, looking around his room as if looking for evidence of his shame he might have left lying around, as illogical as it might be. After all, the only evidence was the underwear and the inside of the futon itself, and those were functionally invisible in their current state.
The energetic Fujimura slammed open his sliding door before the youth could achieve peace of mind, and he turned around to face her with a small yelp escaping his lips.
Good morning, Shirou! she shouted without even looking down at him, but rather looking upwards energetically. She lowered her gaze and observed the child, noticed his awoken state. Ah, youre already up. Hmph, thats a shame, I never really get to wake you anymore
The young child, surprised and at a loss for words at the appearance of what could be called the elder sister hed never possessed, could do nothing but scratch his cheek awkwardly at her presence. He breathed in relief, however, as the energetic university student didnt seem to notice anything.
Until, she noticeably sniffed the air.
Hm, Shirou she started, her tone unnecessarily and noticeably serious in a way that set off some serious alarm lights for the youth, as he was unused to her ever breaching the barrier into seriousness. When was the last time you had a bath?
Ah? he stated, pure confusion summing up his state of mind. Had she noticed, or had she not? A true mystery in the mind of the youth. I, um, I think I had one a few days ago?
She looked at him, her brown hair almost billowing behind her in a devilish and intimidating way. In front of Shirou, hero of justice, stood a true foe he could not defeat with brute force, and should instead try to misdirect. And yet, how?
Now dont you lie to me, Emiya Shirou! she shouted, louder than any of her shouts until now. Its clear youve been skimping on baths, I smell it all around this room!
Before he could even react, the kendo expert had drawn in, palms at the offensive and ready for action, and grabbed his collar with a swift motion. No words could escape the heroic youths mouth as he was dragged away mumbling embarrassed words, aiming towards the bath.
Still, a small victory to the boy, as she did not yet know of his shame. At least, so he thought, for as soon as she reached the bathroom she tore the boy out of his clothing and ran the hot water.
A shame was replaced by another, the boy reckoned, as the woman put him on the showering stool and started cleaning his hair, while giving him a somewhat lighthearted sermon about cleanliness. The youth weighed his options as he sat helpless, the young woman cleaning him, and only snapped out of it once he noticed shed lifted him into the bath.
Yet behind him was not the porcelain of a baths insides, but the full, comfortable and soft breasts of the woman Fujimura Taiga, as she laid back in relaxation with the boy saddled between her legs.
How perverse, the boy thought, how unjust of her to put him in such an embarrassing, and yet comfortable position. Truly, he thought to himself, this place was soft, comfortable, and yet hard! Yet, the last one was not a property of her chest, yet of his crotch, the same that uttered out the viscous liquid that stained his underwear. But, remaining as such would sure be quite a comfort.
The boy realized the indecency of his thoughts and quickly displayed his embarrassment at the older womans casual approach to bathing.
Fuji-nee he said, his voice but a squeal in embarrassment due to her feminine and attractive body. Should we stop taking baths together? Its embarrassing.
His heartfelt words, spoken with the truth and earnestness of a thirteen-year old boy, were quickly and easily shrugged off by the veritable beast referred to in a human name by Taiga.
Ha ha, what? Little Shirou thinks hes too grown up to be taking baths with his nee-chan? she said in a somewhat sardonic, and yet somewhat mournful tone at the same time. I guess hes finally reached that age!
The young hero was inexperienced and foolish, yet even he recognized the feeling of abandonment in Taigas voice.
Its not that, you tiger he muttered, using her much-disliked nickname. And yet, instead of the usual explosive behavior, she replied only with a laugh and a hug, her naked body pressing unto his.
You know, Shirou, she started, and yet he was not paying attention, due to her chest pressing against his back, causing him fluster. Which became strange to him, as a year prior hed have shrugged off the entire situation. Breasts? Hed wondered. Since when did he become aware of breasts? Its no good to grow up too fast. Nee-chan here will feel lonely.
Shirou, in a bout of confusion and furious desire to hide these news feelings, along with their reaction, made bubbles into the water with his submerged, sighing breaths.
After what felt like an eternity of heroic battle against the forces of embarrassment, the youth had been released from the bath. He dredged his way to the room as his older companion got dressed with clothes shed left somewhere in his lodgings, and decided he had only one small window of opportunity.
He reached for his futon, his hands shaking with anticipation, pulled out his underwear and went for the garbage bin, until
Shirou, look at this shirt I found! Fujimura Taiga yelled out, as she once more opened his door with a great ruckus, this time holding a Lupin the third shirt his father had owned, one with a silly design. Yet, instead of finding a humorous reaction in the boy through the goofy face of Lupin, she found him with a soiled pair of underwear.
The scene was tense. She stared at him with a blank look, and he stared right back in silence. After a moment, her face reddened to a degree similar to the one hed hosted as soon as she opened the door, and she hastily moved out of the doorway with a muffled voice saying something similar to Ill leave you alone.
And they talked about it nevermore.
X=X=X=X=X
Disclaimer: Type-Moon totes pwns this, okay? I ain’t gonna get paid nuthin’ for this…
Lemon Content Inside! Hide the kids!
Predator/Prey
The night.
There was a time, long, long ago, and far away, when I wasn’t primarily active then. Back when I was human, when I went by the name Fabro Rowan. Like most people, I walked in the sun, experienced joy and pain, and craved the silken touch of a woman.
No longer.
I am now known as Nrvnqsr Chaos, or Nero, if you can’t wrap your head around that spelling. Like most nocturnal creatures, I’m a predator. I hunt humans. Not out of malevolence, or cruelty, but because only they can give me what I need. I don’t revel in what I do, but I don’t shy away from it either. It doesn’t bother me too much; after all, they’re only human.
If you knew the full extent of my deeds you’d probably say my soul was bound for Hell.
I’d agree with you.
If I thought I still had a soul…
I exist in a sort of limbo, travelling from place to place, taking what I require, and leaving blood and death in my wake. The lives I take precipitate a great deal of movement, for staying in one place would draw too much attention, and attempts to intervene from local law enforcement. They wouldn’t be able to stop me, but too high a profile might attract the attention of one of the few who could.
One way I can stay longer in a hunting area is to choose my prey carefully. Going after an orphanage would draw too much attention and outrage, but targeting the less righteous tends to cool the ardor of the police. If I was feeling charitable about myself, I could try to use this to justify my actions as a sort of vigilantism. But I feel no reason to do that, and more often than not, I see myself as a simple murderer, something I have to do, despite its inherent distastefulness. And it isn’t as if I haven’t killed the innocent many, many times, people whose only sin was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Tonight, to minimize what could very generously be called collateral damage, my target is an illegal gambling den in the backroom of a Chinese restaurant. It’s a target of opportunity, I only learned of its existence from a low level thug who made the mistake of approaching me in an alley. When I asked, he instantly gave up this place, believing me when I told him that this would save his life.
Cowardly and stupid.
His presence won’t be missed.
There’s a heavy black door at the back of the restaurant in the alley. I knock seven times, then three, then one, and finally four times. That’s supposed to let the guard inside know I’m a customer, and I’m ready to lose some money. A peephole slides open, eyes hidden by shades meet my own, then the panel closes, and I hear the sounds of bolts being thrown. The door opens with a creak straight out of a horror film, and light spills into the darkened shadows of the alley.
The guard gives me another look, seemingly troubled by my size, since I’ve got at least two inches on him, but he wordlessly gestures for me to follow. The hallway is dimly lit, and the smell of rancid cooking oil, stale food, and countless extinguished cigarettes hangs heavy in the air. The guard either doesn’t care, or no longer notices. It doesn’t bother me so much, but the scent makes other parts of what I am a little antsy.
No bother.
They’ll be able to work off that energy soon, and gather more of what they need.
The guard knocks on another heavy looking door, and another panel opens. Another set of shaded eyes gives the both of us a once over, before this peephole shuts, more bolts are thrown, and the door opens. This door seems to get regular lubrication on its hinges, for they make not a sound as the door swings inward.
The guard and I walk in, and I take a moment to look around. Figure a dozen gamblers, three dealers, four security goons, each trying to look intimidating, and a handful of assorted arm candy, all dressed in rather short red and gold trimmed qipaos. All for a grand total of twenty four.
This will suffice.
The guard who escorted me in gives me a none too gentle nudge, apparently wanting me to take a seat and ante up. Even through his sunglasses I can see his eyes narrowing at me, apparently deciding that I’m being a nuisance, and perhaps worthy of a rebuke. As he takes a step towards me, I make an instant decision on what creature would be the best for him.
The fifteen foot tiger shark lurches out of my coat, mouth gaping as it moves towards its prey. The guard doesn’t even have time to scream before its razor sharp teeth slam together on his neck, cleanly separating his head from his body. There is screaming though, as his body slumps to the floor, blood geysering from the stump; one of the women happened to be trying to meet my eyes when the guard met his fate, and her shriek of horror stopped everything in the room.
For a second there’s absolute calm in the gambling den, then all hell breaks loose. Tables are overturned, chairs are toppled, and there’s a mad rush to get out. Unfortunately, for them anyway, there’s only one door to this room, and I’m in front of it.
This isn’t shooting fish in a barrel.
A fish might be able to evade.
I notice a pair of gamblers trying to stuff their pockets with other players’ bets, even with all the pandemonium around them. I release a pair of jackals for those two, and shortly their sharp teeth and incredible bite strength are snapping bones like branches. High pitched, agonized screams fill the air. I watch with almost professional detachment as the beasts tear into the two men’s entrails, devouring while they feebly struggle, treated to the unique sight of being eaten alive.
A series of sharp, non-animalistic barks reach my ears, and I distantly register a few impacts against my overcoat. The surviving three guards are facing off against me, trying to stop the carnage.
While pistols aren’t very common in this country, they’re not completely unheard of either. And if there was any type of individual who’d have them, these guards would be it. Two of them are firing at me in a panic, their shots ricocheting off the door behind me, and one of them appears to have pissed himself. The third is a little more composed, using both hands to shoot, clearly trying to push down his fear. He isn’t doing much better, but at least a few of his shots are connecting.
Not that it’s making a difference, but I give him a little credit for bravery.
I release my hounds and they charge towards the shooting trio, snarling, their jaws dripping saliva. They go after the two more panicked ones, the scent of fear is irresistible to them. Their comrade watches with horrified eyes as they tear into his companions, ripping into their throats and disembowelling them. The pack is yanking out intestines as one of them weakly tries to beat back a hound with his bare hands before succumbing.
Now alone, the final guard starts shooting frantically, hitting the dogs, but they don’t even notice, circling him and cutting off any chance for escape. His pistol slide locks back on an empty clip, and he releases it, desperately slamming another in with his left hand. He resumes firing, but I can see his lips moving as he quietly counts his shots. He reaches fourteen and ceases, the dogs leaping for him. Placing the barrel of his gun in his mouth, he pulls the trigger, the back of his head exploding into red mist, his lifeless form dropping to the floor.
A brave man.
He knew there was no way out, and he took the only escape he had.
The tiger shark I released earlier has cut one of the other gamblers off at the knees. Literally. He shrieks in agony as the spectral shark takes him from below, effectively cutting him in half, and his screaming stops abruptly. One of the others is just standing and laughing, madness in his eyes, the guffaws getting more and more hysterical with every second. I let loose a bear to put him out of his misery; it swings its paw in a brutal strike that instantly decapitates him, a fountain of blood spurting from the neck as the body collapses bonelessly to the floor.
By now the hounds have finished with the remains of the guards and they turn on the others, a flurry of movement as they leap into the fray, dragging at least half a dozen people to the ground. The screaming and prayers die off as the people do, until there’s only one untouched survivor, a terrified young woman in a qipao.
With frantic eyes she watches the others being devoured by the beasts. She locks eyes with me, and I can see the silent pleading in them. She obviously never expected this, her only crime was being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Her silent entreaties reach the small fragment of humanity I still have left.
I set loose an anaconda, which slithers around her and coils before she has a chance to scream. I watch her eyes as the snake starts squeezing, air being forced out of the helpless woman’s lungs, ribs cracking under the strain. Being squeezed to death is a less gruesome fate than having your entrails torn out of you while you watch. I gave her a far better fate than everyone else who was here tonight.
Her eyes go dead as her internal organs burst, and the snake starts swallowing her corpse head first. Soon she’s only a bulge in the snake’s body, as the other animals finish their respective meals, the hounds licking up pools of blood. I happen to glance at a clock on the wall; less than three minutes have passed since I was escorted inside, and I’ve already finished my work. If I kept track of this, maybe this would be one of my better times for this number of people, but time ceased having any meaning to me long ago.
Once the beasts have finished, I’ll be able to take my leave, until the next night. The hunting here has been good, and as long as I’m careful-
Wait.
That sound…
My animals hear it too, even though most humans wouldn’t be able to detect it.
They start growling and whimpering, a strange combination of aggression and fear gripping them. All the beasts I contain are predators, high on the food chain even before I uplifted them. But they still have their instincts, and they react to a superior foe the same way they always would have.
It appears I have attracted someone’s attention. But not from someone who would stop me.
I’m not that fortunate.
The screams of metal slicing through everything in its path grows deafening, causing some of the animals to whimper in pain, the hounds trying to cover their ears. A trio of swords slice along and through the floor, moving in the concrete as easily as if it were water. I’m able to dodge them through experience, having faced them many times before. The blasted keys embed themselves in the wall, but I know I’ll end up having to face them again.
“Found you…” a sing-song voice calls out from the hall.
I grit my teeth as the servant of the Burial Society steps into view. Ciel, the blue-haired, bespectacled bane of my existence. Immortal, for all intents and purposes. You can kill her, but it never sticks. Although people have tried. Repeatedly. In ways that inspire a strange admiration of the creativity of the human race in devising methods of killing its own.
The church tried vainly to exterminate her, considering her an abomination against God. Their failure wasn’t from lack of effort, and they were fiendishly creative in their attempts, but it was all for naught. Eventually, she was recruited by the Burial Society, with the goal to take down Roa.
The fools…
It apparently didn’t occur to anyone that a person couldn’t be murdered with regularity, and still come out of it with all their mental faculties intact. The smart thing would have been to lock her in a vault, bury that in an abandoned mine, and then seal that with explosives.
That still wouldn’t have killed her, but it would have kept her out of circulation for a few million years until erosion breached her containment.
Instead they gave her a mission, and turned her loose, never considering that her mind had been shattered beyond any repair. She does follow her mission. The only problem, now she’s quite willing to see everyone else die as well.
As in, everyone else on Earth.
I’m surprised she’s maintained enough focus to even pay lip service to her duty. If I’d been through what she’d endured, as soon as I was free, I’d have killed everyone even remotely related to what I’d suffered.
And when I was done with them, I’d be going after their families. Friends. Acquaintances. Coworkers. Pets.
Even their houseplants.
I prepare to launch beasts at her, wanting to drive her off until I can escape. I can kill her, and on more than a few occasions I have, but I know that won’t be permanent. But all I really need to do is evade her, and delay her until I can clear the area. I ready the hounds, but they are reluctant in the face of someone they recognize as a higher predator.
Ciel’s relatively mild appearance belies a tenacity and intensity that put anything I have contained in me to shame. Once she has prey in sight, she is relentless in her pursuit, her immortality making her even more of a nightmare. I literally have no way of stopping her, all I can really do is try to escape.
With some urging I force the dogs to attack her, but she nimbly avoids them, managing to get right in front of me. I let out a crocodile, its huge mouth snapping shut on empty air that contained Ciel less than a heartbeat ago. Seeing her off to my right, I swing at her with a vicious left cross, missing her by miles, and driving my fist into a cinderblock wall. Losing precious seconds pulling my fist out of the ruined masonry, I quickly look behind me, a blue flash of movement drawing my attention.
She does it again.
Every single time I’ve faced her she’s always managed to get behind me, regardless of what I try. Perhaps I accept this as fate on some level, and am subtlety unable to avoid it? Or is she just that good?
I’ve never been able to figure that out.
With a strange sense of resignation I’m able to notice her fist whistling through the air towards me, connecting with a solid thud.
The occipital.
She always goes for the occipital, like clockwork. You’d think I’d be better able to defend myself, especially since I know what she’ll do, but she always slips through whatever defenses I’ve prepared. If I wasn’t the one being victimized, I’d probably feel some admiration about her ability to strike without fail.
When a normal human takes a hit there, if the force isn’t sufficient enough to induce unconsciousness, they will experience a momentary disruption of thought. A brief period of disorientation, which can hamper a person’s ability to react, and that’s probably why it’s a technique taught in many of the martial arts. You’d be excused for thinking that I would be immune to such effects, but I can attest, from bitter experience, that I’m just as susceptible to it.
As soon as Ciel hits me there the battle is effectively over. She pushes me roughly onto my back, leaving me open and vulnerable, much like some of my beasts do to show supplication. They have all vanished, coalescing back into the primordial soup that makes up the majority of my body; I know better than to fight any further. My hounds tried feasting on Ciel once. Her immortality overcame that, and the results were so disturbing, and so horrific, that I will not go into detail.
It’s better that way, for everyone’s sanity. Especially my own.
“It’s been too long, Nero-chan,” Ciel coos as she straddles me. She gives the room a measured look, mapping out the carnage in her mind, and mentally adding up my tally. “You did wonderful…”she tells me as she leans down and gently kisses my lips.
That smell.
It permeates every bit of her. Her breath. Her sweat, spit, and the other fluids I’ve had the misfortune to sample. That blasted curry. It wafts off her constantly, making my eyes water, and the hounds inside me whine in discomfort. It lingers long after she’s gone, clinging to me like smoke. If I were to end up in Hell, the stench of sulphur would be like the sweetest perfume to me, compared to the rancid pungence of Ciel’s favorite dish.
Ciel’s hands are forcing my coat open, and underneath it, despite my best efforts and frantic wishes, the amorphous mass has congealed into something approaching a human form. Or perhaps it could best be described as a sick and obscene parody of one; it looks like human flesh under only the most generous of allowances. The color is pale, ashen grey, like a cadaver that has been drained of all fluids. Where human flesh is warm and supple, heated from within by its own vitality, my ‘body’ is cold, clammy, an anathema of life.
I have wondered, time and time again, why I react this way to her touch; it doesn’t even make sense, other humans have managed to touch me before they died, and my form never changed. Between ‘encounters,’ I’ve theorized that Ciel’s uniquely predatory nature causes changes that no ordinary weak human could. That the sense of danger and menace she radiates causes the beasts that make me up to react instinctively to what they interpret as a threat.
But a more disturbing possibility, which I would give much for the ability to forget I ever considered it, is that on some deep, subconscious level, I want this, so I allow my body to do this. The very notion is abhorrent, and if I still had a stomach, it would cause it to empty violently. Yet it happens, despite all my earnest efforts, I seem to enable Ciel to violate me.
And yes, ‘violate’ is the correct term, there’s no other word that comes close to invoking the feelings that well up in me when she begins.
Having forced my jacket all the way open, Ciel uses her thumbs and forefingers to tweak my cold, pale nipples, which somehow harden, despite the fact there’s no erectile tissue contained within. She deepens her kiss, brazenly forcing her tongue between my lips, running it along my teeth, and nestling against my own. You might be wondering why I simply don’t bite it off; I have on a few occasions, but that just seems to make her hotter. Ciel enjoys it when I struggle, so I ceased trying.
I simply endure. My only way to resist is to not do so; let her finish as fast as possible, so the experience will be over. All I can really do is deprive her of that small pleasure.
I lay there, moving only when I must, forcing Ciel to do all the work. She breaks off the kiss, moving her lips to my throat, and I turn my head to expose it, as if offering it to a vampire. Frankly, that would be less unbearable, and if I could have gotten rid of her with a small donation of blood I would have done so by now.
Ciel lets out a pleased hum as her right hand traces the contours of my ersatz body, reaching the waistband of my pants before brusquely shoving it under. Of course I don’t wear underwear, so her warm hand easily grips my penis. She strokes the rapidly hardening pillar of flesh, not at all repulsed by its coldness.
Before I became what I am now, many centuries ago, I had laid down with a woman, and even the distant memory of those encounters still have more warmth and affection than this experience. The distant memory of that comes to the forefront as Ciel effortlessly undoes my belt, unzipping and exposing me to her.
I can’t help but wonder if it used to look that oddly shaped in the past…
“You must have missed me, Nero-chan.”
I haven’t. Not in the least. I would give much to avoid her. So why does my body react like this? An old, primitive desire I thought I’d moved past? An instinctual hunger from the beasts inside me? I wish I knew; I might be able to eradicate it if I did.
And now my cold flesh is surrounded by warmth, as Ciel eagerly takes me into her mouth, her tongue swirling over the head of my organ. I close my eyes and attempt to dissociate myself as she bobs her head up and down. It’s more like I’m trying to achieve a state where I’m watching what is happening, instead of actually living it. A sharp breath escapes my lips as my body betrays me, sending a faint twinge of pleasure to my brain.
A faint rustling reaches my ears, and a quick look reveals that Ciel is pushing down her panties, the white cotton garment bunched up around her left ankle. With me still in her mouth, she hikes up her skirt and straddles my face, grinding her sex against it. So she’s decided she wants that. I tilt my chin up slightly, and extend my tongue, tracing her soft folds of skin.
Why would I do this, even after explaining how unpleasant I find it? It’s just a matter of hurrying things along. If I simply lay here, Ciel will just grind herself against me, relentlessly, until she achieves orgasm. So I use my mouth on her, giving her exactly what she wants, knowing there’s no real way for me to stop her.
She lets out a throaty groan as I probe inside her, and that makes her mouth do things to my organ that a living person would probably call wonderful. Another spark shoots up the spine I don’t have, and I inadvertently brush my tongue against Ciel’s engorged clitoris. A wave of moisture flows onto my face, coating my cheeks and chin.
I can feel some tension rising, and the animals inside me are practically baying now, just like they always do. I feel the tip of my prick brushing against the back of Ciel’s throat, making me take in a sharp gasp of breath. Her scent floods my senses, overwhelming me, stirring up long buried sensations I’ve worked hard to suppress. Without my wanting it to, my tongue plunges deep inside her, probing the sopping folds, exploring, searching, twitching.
“Ohhh, don’t stop…” Ciel mumbles, her mouth still full of my flesh. She pulls her head all the way back, my prick slipping from her mouth with a faint ‘pop,’ before she takes hold of the shaft and swirls her tongue around the cold, pale tip like it’s a morbid lollipop.
The heat surrounding me makes my thinking become disjointed. I thrash my tongue deeply inside her, using my chin to grind against her sensitive clit. I can hear her breathing getting shallower, panting much like a dog, the occasional squeal punctuating it. There’s a virtual torrent of her wetness flowing onto my face, her flavor filling my mouth and overwhelming me. I can feel myself getting tenser as Ciel continues to try to warm my pillar of flesh with her tongue.
With one final, violent thrust of my tongue, she climaxes, her entire body shuddering, and even more moisture soaking me. I let out a tight grunt as I reach my limit as well, spasms gripping me as I feel myself shooting three streams into Ciel’s eager mouth, her gulps faint in my ears as she swallows. Inside my mind I hear a cacophony as the various beasts have gotten over their initial fear, primal hungers being stronger than unease. They signal their approval and appreciation, my sensations shared with them.
When I climax with her, it feels like ice water courses through me; I have no idea what I am releasing, I don’t actually have testicles, but Ciel doesn’t seem to care. If it’s part of the amorphous mass that makes up my body, I should be concerned about losing even a small amount of it, but I’ve never experienced any negative side effects.
None physical, at least.
Now the usual feelings of shame and anger wash over me, the endorphins fading as I regain my senses. I feel special disgust that Ciel is laying on me, seemingly in a blissful state, indifferent, or unconcerned with the turmoil I’m enduring. In the past, I have killed her a few times at this point, she’s completely defenceless, but it’s completely unfulfilling, since she’ll keep coming back for more.
What I resent the most is the way she gets to me, gets me swept up in her madness, despite all my efforts to stay detached. I don’t want this to happen, but I’m always betrayed by my body. While I try to sort out the swirl of emotions the immortal woman inspires, she pushes herself up and turns around, collapsing against my chest, a contented smile on her face.
At least I don’t put an arm around her to embrace her.
That quirk took a lot of effort to eradicate. Far more than I expected.
I stare at the ceiling, my gaze going blank as I wait for her breathing to settle down. I know what’s coming next, and it’s a brief respite before she decides she wants more from me. Strangely, I don’t think I mind this part, if only because there’s a dark fascination aspect to it.
“Do you have any draft animals in you?” she asks. “Beasts of burden?”
I let out a quiet breath that she interprets as an answer.
“They tried using those once,” she relates, her eyes taking on a distant look as she takes a trip down memory lane. “I guess they were tired of trying to slice me into nothing. So, they lead me outside, in shackles, and staked me naked to the ground. I didn’t mind too much at first, I can’t remember how long it had been since I’d seen the sun…”
For whatever reason, Ciel has taken it upon herself to regale me with details about all the attempts that were made to exterminate her. Maybe she finds it therapeutic? Whatever the reason, she always talks about one during our couplings. One could think of it as a strange form of pillow talk, but only if you were to stretch the definition well past its breaking point.
And there’s certainly a morbidly fascinating quality to her stories. Every time I think I’ve heard it all, she’ll surprise me. The imagination humans have in delivering pain and death upon themselves seems to be limitless.
“They’d set up a little circular cattle run,” Ciel explains. “They had about a dozen draft horses, a handful of cows, two donkeys, and a goat, I think. I couldn’t really tell, even though I had a pretty good view. They had them run around in circles, trampling me under hoof. It took a long time them to shatter all my bones, especially the femur. It was a long afternoon, and many of the animals defecated during the process, grinding their excrement into my flesh and the dirt.”
She says it like she was talking about the weather, so calmly. But sneaking a glance into her eyes, I can see the gleam of madness, and her hands unconsciously tighten their grip.
“It must have gone on for hours, the sun was almost gone when they stopped. Then they scattered salt over the soil, and then poured gasoline and lit it off. They wouldn’t miss a chance to do that, they loved using fire…”
The smile Ciel wears could best be described as manic. Then her eyes get clearer, and her expression gets serene. She moves up and kisses me, the scent of curry stronger than ever, and I know that the reprieve has ended.
Her tongue explores the inside of my mouth as she uses her right hand to stroke me, causing me to go erect again, this fake body reacting the same way a real one would. Assuming the person wanted it, which I don’t.
I keep telling myself that, so there has to be some truth in it, right?
Satisfied that I’m as hard as I’m going to get, and since she’s already quite wet, Ciel moves over me, positioning the tip of my prick at her slit, then effortlessly sliding down until she engulfs all of me. She shimmies her hips briefly, making sure I’m completely nestled inside her, her warmth and tightness sending strange sensations to my brain. For some reason, my inherent coldness, both figurative and literal, never bother her.
“You used to be more energetic,” Ciel remarks, seemingly reading my mind. “I liked it better when you tried fighting me off…”
I’m quite aware of this. That’s the entire reason I ceased.
“C’mon Nero-chan, slap me, hit me. For old times sake. I can take it…”
I already know she can, she doesn’t need to remind me. She continues to writhe on top of me, driving me deeper inside her. Her eyes get a strange gleam in them as she gives me a clinical look.
“Ever wanted to try a skull fuck?” she whispers. “I’ll let you shove your dick right into my eye socket. Both of them, if you want. That might be fun. It’d sure be interesting, come on, live a little!”
If I thought it would get rid of the madness behind her blue eyes, I’d consider taking Ciel up on that offer. But I’m absolutely certain they’d look the same when they grew back.
They always have before.
“You used to be more fun,” she pouts.
Ciel then lifts up her top, exposing herself to me, and showing that she goes into battle without a bra. Taking hold of my hands, she rests them on her breasts, putting her hands on my shoulders and lifting her hips. She then slams back down with all the force she can muster, driving me deep inside her.
Of their own accord, my hands starts kneading and squeezing, feeling Ciel’s erect nipples pressing into my palms. I breathe in through my teeth as Ciel continues to move up and down on my shaft, her inner walls gripping tightly at me, her body heat transferring to my cold mass. She’s biting her lips as she grips my shoulders, her grip surprisingly strong from someone as petite looking as her.
My hands have now started tweaking Ciel’s nipples, drawing gasps from the immortal girl. She’s rocking her hips intensely, sinking herself as deeply on me as she possibly can. The heat is once again bringing back long past feelings and sensations, which I’ve tried fruitlessly to forget. Now she has lowered herself so her breasts are in my face, and I unhesitatingly take a hard nipple into my mouth, biting it and swirling my tongue around the nub of flesh.
“S-so good, Nero-chan… Fuck me…”
Technically, Ciel’s been the one doing all the moving so far, but I do as she says, forcing my hips up to meet her movements, plunging far into her warm, sodden depths. She cries out, her head arched back and her lips open. Ciel’s nearly defenceless at this point, but I don’t even consider taking advantage of the opportunity.
Ciel lowers her head and moves her lips to my right ear, nibbling on the lobe as she pants and cries. She sounds rather like much of the animals that make me up; I’m not one to make accusations though, I’m in no better shape myself. Once again my thinking and rationality have been overwhelmed by the experience, just like all the times before. All my efforts, struggles, and strategies have been in vain. This woman is able to do with me as she sees fit, regardless of my feelings.
I make a distinct effort to not consider the possibility that my feelings are precisely why she’s able to do this.
By now we are both panting and grunting, writhing together, her insides coiling around me like a snake. I thrust up with abandon, feeling the tension inside me rise, even though I have no muscles to tense up. Ciel’s nipples are rubbing against my chest, warm, bullet hard points pushing into the pasty whiteness of my body. Her eyes are clenched, breaths just harsh gasps now, as she franticly races for her peak.
My hand grip her hips as tight as I can, and I know I’ll leave bruises on her that will last for weeks. She’s never complained yet, so I see no reason to ease up tonight. I buck my hips up so hard the slaps it makes when we collide sound violent, which seems natural, when you consider everything about our twisted relationship.
The animals inside me are howling as I approach release, with a stentorian grunt, and a sensation of a wave crashing over me, I climax. I feel five jets of whatever I release firing deep inside of Ciel’s waiting passage. She gets even tighter as my orgasm sets off hers, causing her inner walls to grip me tight, squeezing out the last drops from my rapidly deflating organ.
Ciel slumps over me again, breathing hard as she tries to get her wind back. She says nothing as we lay together in a dark perversion of intimacy, her arms embracing me as mine just fall to the floor. After who knows how many minutes she pushes herself up, a half lidded smile on her face.
“As good as always, Nero-chan.” She gives me a chaste kiss on the lips. “Until next time.”
She then stands up, my limp tool sliding out of her, trails of sticky looking black fluid dribbling out of her. Ciel absently pulls up her panties from her ankle, lowers her top and walks away, taking her black keys with her.
I remain on the ground for a few more minutes, trying to sort out my now clearing thoughts, my fake body slowly dematerializing back into its usual form. Numbly I get back on my feet, releasing a few hounds to finish eating the last of the remains that were left when I was rudely interrupted. Once they have finished their repast, I hear the faint sounds of sirens in the distance. They may not even be responding to this, but it’ll be for the best if I take my leave now.
Securing my jacket closed, I walk back down the hall and into the darkened alley. I see that the eastern horizon is starting to get lighter, the sun continuing its eternal march across the heavens. I will lay low during the day, but tonight, I think the time is right for me to consider changing hunting grounds.
Perhaps I should change tactics as well. Instead of making some effort to be discrete, simply take large amounts of people, whenever the chance arrives. Get as much of what I need as fast as I can, and disregard whatever uproar that might cause. Then move on before anyone, especially Ciel, has the chance to locate me.
Even though I’m alone, I nod to myself at this decision. This may give me some peace, without having to constantly worry about Ciel entering my life again.
I wonder again, how this will all end.
I still have no idea.
-FIN-
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; March 2nd, 2015 at 04:49 AM.
Blood Heat
A wild swipe went over his head, touching the tips of his hair. It was a blow that would have broken his neck. He tensed his legs, and barreled into her abdomen. In the instant that she was disoriented, he sliced into her left leg, and landed a roundhouse kick on her waist.
Effectively crippled, Sion tumbled backward and crashed into one of the building’s support columns. Even after taking those attacks, she began to rise, supporting herself against the pillar. Injuries that would cripple a human were shrugged off by an inhuman body.
“Y—you...I don’t believe it. How long do you think you can continue, Shiki? If you don’t finish me, I won’t ever stop wanting your blood. I am unable to move properly now, so you should take this chance to—”
“No, I’m not going to do that. I only fought because you attacked me. As long as you’ve stopped, I don’t have any reason to continue.”
“How ridiculous. I have already healed more than thirty percent of my previous injuries. I am going to attack you again as soon as I recover, so it is optimal for you to kill me before that happens.”
His hand tightened around his knife, and he quivered in a mixture of rage and excitement. Her argument needed to be refuted, but, he did want to kill her. Cursed blood surged through him, carrying thoughts of tearing through her flesh, separating her head from her body, and of disassembling the remains until they turned to ashes in the morning sun. His throat was dry, and his entire body felt ready to explode.
But, he couldn’t kill just because he felt like killing. Not long ago, a girl who pleaded to be saved had received death instead. Killing her saved the people she would have hurt in the future, but she was simply ended. As long as he could prevent it, he never wanted to relive that scene. So, he wasn’t angry because he wanted to kill Sion, but because she wanted to be killed by him.
“Shiki, I am telling you, kill me before I can drink blood.”
“Shut up! What kind of stupid things are you saying!? Kill you because you’re a vampire? Kill you because you want to drink blood? I refuse! Do you even know what it means to die like this? Calm down and resist it, just like you’ve been doing!”
“Re—resist it!? I can’t believe you. You don’t even understand this burning impulse to drink blood, so what basis do you have to say that?”
He couldn’t say it, but he felt he understood quite well. “I don’t care. If you’ve decided that you just want blood, I’m going to beat you down until you change your mind.”
“I really...can’t understand you. Fine, you brought this on yourself.”
Sion tore forward, making rapid predictions about his potential attack evasion patterns. His chest was the optimal target, but the chances that he would move left, or right, or even roll into her attack, were constantly fluctuating. The strained Thought Partitions shut down, and she was overtaken by her instincts. Any attack would be fine; it didn’t matter as long as it killed him. Mind stained red, she could already feel her teeth in his neck. She moved to rip into him, fingers splayed like claws.
Shiki brought up his knife, and took a simple stance. He suppressed his fatigue, and prepared to continue their stupid, pointless fight.
---
“You...How are you still holding on?”
Sion gasped for breath. Her throat burned, and her eyes were bloodshot. From the ground, she fixed her glare onto Shiki, who stood a short distance away.
“Heh, did you think that it would be so easy? We haven’t been at this for that long, but you’ve become so sloppy.” After every few words, he heaved air out of his lungs. He was very nearly at his limit, but more than ready to keep going.
“I, am? No, that is...not the case. I am still perfectly capable of judging my actions.”
“I see. So, is that why you haven’t used your gun, or your wire?”
“Kh, that is a lie, I have definitely...” She attempted to unspool Etherlite from her bracelet, but her fingers fumbled. With her concentration frayed away, she could not stop her hands from shaking.
“No, you haven’t. Seriously, this is like a playground scuffle compared to the time we met. Still, you’re healing really well. Even if you’re being an idiot, I guess you’re finally on par with a mediocre vampire.”
“Tatari’s blood is weak. When he is not manifested, I do not advance as a Dead Apostle. Unless I drink blood.” She pushed herself up, and managed to sit, her legs askew. Her body was not critically damaged, but she wanted to collapse.
“Hmm, so, shall we go for another round?” Again, his knife flicked out of its sheath.
She flopped back, and spread her arms on the floor. “No, I cannot move.” It was too much effort for no gain at all. Even if she won, her prize would only be self-destruction.
“Really? I thought you’d be better off than me.”
“It is not physical. I am exhausted mentally. Your movements are tiresome to predict.” Even when she was in top condition, fighting him left her with a headache. He was a completely illogical fighter. If her body defied human limits, then his movements defied common sense.
Shiki relaxed his body, releasing his tension. “So, does that mean you’ve calmed down?”
Sion stared into the sky. The Night of Wallachia’s red haze had vanished from the rooftop, leaving nothing obstructing the sky. A black sheet covered the night air, speckled with a handful of stars. It was a boring, everyday sight. “Yes, I am able to resist the desire to drink your blood. Instead of that, I think I would just like to hit you.”
Shiki sat down and stretched his legs. “That’s not really good for me either. Geez, I guess I must have done something bad to you somehow.” He gave a joking smile.
“You have, this entire outburst was your fault. If I hadn’t met you, I would still be able to hold on to my principles. You’ve left me with all of these crude, impulsive behaviors.”
“Hm, what are you talking about?”
Sion rolled onto her side, facing away from him. “Ah, who knows. Anyway, let’s just get some rest.”
Shiki slowly reclined, and stretched his arms, yawning. As his body cooled down, he was hit with drowsiness. “That sounds good, but—wait, if you still want to drink blood, get up. We’ll have to fight right now.” Until everything was resolved, there was no way he could let her regain her strength.
Sion chuckled, despite the threat. It was this earnest part of him that she found to be the strangest. “No, I’ve given up. It’s only your blood I wanted anyway, but I couldn’t defeat you after all that.”
“Whatever, I’m glad, then.” He leaned back, supporting himself with his arms. If she said that she was done, then he would believe her.
“Yes, so, shall we rest for a while?”
On the rooftop of the Shrine, there were no finished walls. If one of them rolled around more than a few meters, they would end up falling down into the building, or worse, off the side. Shiki was tired, but the wind was much stronger at this height, and it sliced through him every time it blew. He shivered; it was too uncomfortable, not even fit for humans to linger, and completely unsuitable as a place to relax.
He shook his head. “No, let’s get out of here. If you can get the elevator running, we should be able to make it to my house.”
Slowly, he got up, and walked toward her. When he stood near her feet, he extended his hand for her to take.
She stared at it. This kind of casual contact wasn’t good for her. In the end, wanting someone, even a little bit, had driven her insane. If she took his hand now, would she want to drink his blood again? The moment he dropped his guard, would she rip off his arm, or plunge her hands into his chest, or tear out his heart and drink and drink and drink and drink and drink?
“Th—that is unnecessary, isn’t it? It would be more efficient to just rest here.”
“Just come on, this isn’t a place for humans to lie around anyway.”
She saw his face again. His smile was gentle, and betrayed neither suspicion nor blame. The Etherlite was long disconnected, so she had no way to know his thoughts for sure, but that was fine. If he could make that kind of expression with her, then she would definitely stay sane: his trust deserved that much validation.
She took his hand, and he pulled her up. The moment of contact ended before she could register any feelings. Shiki walked ahead toward the elevator, wobbling as he moved. Sion was stable enough to walk by herself, but it would be a slow trip. Still, it wouldn’t matter for now.
At the lift, she uncoiled a short string of Etherlite. She closed her eyes, forcing her trembling hands to hold steady, and the doors slid open with a mechanical groan. They stepped in, and began the descent.
---
As they left the Shrine, Shiki began to sway, and collapsed near the base of the largest glass pyramid. His breathing was labored, and sweat soaked his body. With a grunt, he tried to push himself up, but his elbows gave quickly.
This was inevitable. He had used his body beyond its limits, and now that the danger had passed, the built up fatigue hit him all at once. From the memories she accessed before, Sion understood that this was his weakness. It was, in a way, the price for living in a body that ought to have died.
“Shiki, are you unable to stand?” They could not stay in the open carelessly. The Church Agent would arrest her on sight, so they had to move.
In response, Shiki rasped out, “Sorry, I’m trying, but I don’t really have the strength.”
“Alright, I understand.” She crouched down, and pulled him onto her back. Returning to her feet, she checked her balance. Shiki was much lighter than expected. “Is this satisfactory? I do not require directions, as long as we are going to the mansion.”
“Yeah, that’s right. But, you really did become stronger, didn’t you. I don’t think you could have carried me so easily before.” It was a little embarrassing to be so weak. He fought to keep his head up, but quickly gave up, and nestled it onto her shoulder. Nobody had carried him like this since he was a child.
They were as close as they had ever been. Sion recognized that it was a purely practical option to carry him, but her face flamed. His chest was pressed against her back, and his head rested on her shoulder, so close to her own. If she looked back, she would see his face next to hers, and then, what? What exactly was she expecting?
She walked briskly through the city. The faster they reached the mansion on the hill, the sooner she could disappear. On her back, Shiki was sleeping quietly. It would be easy to rip into his neck, and to guzzle down all the blood in his body. It would be like eating a pomegranate, drinking down a sweet red fluid. Once she filled that urge, she would become a complete Dead Apostle, and go into hiding until the next appearance of Tatari. Shuddering, she cut off her thoughts to suppress the welling bloodlust.
It was not so difficult, this time. The oppressive heat of the Hologram Summer had dissipated, blown away by this frigid night. The cold wind allowed her a measure of self control, and was a welcome relief from the blistering heat. Thankfully, the streets were still empty. The rumors of the returned vampire murders had not yet left the community, so few ventured out after dark. Even that would change in a few days, as the rumors were forgotten, and people returned to their normal lives. The city would quickly restore its natural order, unlike the places that Tatari had ravaged in the past.
In such a peaceful town, she did not belong. Before that time came, she would be gone.
A school building came up on her left. Ah, that was Shiki’s school. It was the place where he had confronted the Dead Apostle Ancestor, Roa, and the place where SHIKI had died for the second time. A memory came to her mind, of the blazing hot sun, the shrill chirping of cicadas, and the red blood that covered her hands.
Whose memory was that? It was not hers; she had never seen it before. Or had she? It was growing difficult to keep track, as her Thought Partitions were in disarray. A boy lay collapsed on the ground, in a growing pool of blood, the same as the blood dripping from her fingers. It all belonged to him.
The growing thirst ate into her mind, and her pupils shrunk to points. All of these feelings were about him. Shiki’s body was against hers, hot and full of life. She could take in all of him. He was the one who filled her thoughts, who destroyed her ability to act rationally. If he paid the price for that with his, it would only be a fitting conclusion.bloodlife
No, that was wrong. Trembling, she sank to her knees. Tears welled up in her eyes, and fell, splashing down on the ground. Again, her emotions betrayed her. Her grip on Shiki’s legs was released, and he slid to the ground. She wrapped her arms around her head, as if she was trying to keep herself from moving. Mustn’t, not a step, not while she was out of control.
Drink, she thought. More than anything, she wanted him, and there was no better way to honor her first friend than to bring him into herself, as completely as possible. A perfect plan. His blood would circulate through her forever; they would never be apart.
All wrong. This was a promise to him and to herself. She was not yet a complete vampire. She could remain at least partially human as long as she controlled the urge to drink blood. And, she wanted to spend more time at his side. Just another day with him would be worth any amount of suffering.
“Guh...Aah!” She held down a scream. This bloodlust could not be contained with willpower alone. Her body would continue to fight her, until she gave in, or she was killed. Why had she chosen to remain? Since that night, three years ago, this was her inevitable fate. Degeneration, degeneration, degeneration, degeneration into a beast.
Her nails dug into her scalp. Her vision blurred, and her lungs felt constricted. Everything about it was painful. Her desires had never contradicted each other like this before. Wasn’t she always sure of what she wanted? Now, she couldn’t move, and could hardly think.
But, even this conflict was a lie. The best course of action was always clear; she had determined it before. Right now, her selfish sentimentality was the only thing keeping here. It would have to end.
Struggling up to her feet, she picked a direction to run. It did not matter where she went for now, but she had to leave him behind. As long as their partnership ended here, she could remember it as something happy.
Something grabbed her arm. She started in surprise, and whirled around. Around her arm, with a tight grip, was Shiki’s hand. How did he recover so quickly? He was asleep only a moment ago.
She turned away, and attempted to move forward, but his grip did not break. “Shiki, release me. I cannot remain here. I do not want to harm you when I go out of control.”
“Idiot, we’re partners aren’t we? How can I just let you go when you’re in such a bad condition?” As always, he spoke without hesitating.
“Why do you continue to insist on that? In the first place, we were cooperating only to destroy Tatari. There should be no more reason for us to stay together.”
“You’re wrong. If it really was just like that, then I’d be fine with ending things here. But, it doesn’t look like you actually believe what you’re saying. I don’t think anybody would let you go with such a pitiful look on your face.”
Her heart pounded, and her blood rushed to her face. What was he saying? Didn’t he understand? It was for the best that she leave immediately. “That is foolish. Even if I am able to control myself for now, there is no guarantee that I will—”
His arms wrapped around her and squeezed. Like a small child, he impulsively embraced her from behind. “And so what? That doesn’t mean anything. As long as you’re still yourself, it’s fine. If it comes to that point, then I’ll stop you as many times as I need to. You still have to find a cure, so I’ll keep you in check until then.”
Her brain began to overheat. There was no end to the irresponsible things he could say, and he touched her so openly, when that was the thing she wanted most and least. Her thirst abated, and she felt something quite different. He held her tightly, their bodies touching without any space. It was a wonderful pressure.
Something warm rose up in her chest. Just like the violent hunger, she was unable to think about anything else. Though, compared to the thirst for blood, this was far more pleasant. She would have liked to stay that way forever.
Ah, he really had given her so many strange feelings.
“I...that is, thank you, Shiki.”
Tentatively, she touched one of his hands. It was larger than she expected, and the skin was rough. He returned her gesture, and covered her hand with his. His touch was exceedingly gentle, even though his arms held her firmly.
After a short time, he released her, and held out his hand once more. He wouldn’t force her to stay. It would be her choice, to take it, or to disappear.
She seized his hand, and held it as though he would vanish the moment she let go. Like that, they walked off into the night.
They moved slowly through the city. Shiki’s legs felt stiff, and his head was still light, so he took his time. With the buildings as a breaker, the wind was gentle and cool. It was a leisurely walk, that felt almost like an evening stroll. They had done this many times over the course of their patrols, but Sion found it much more enjoyable. A simple gesture left her mind abuzz; he had not let go of her hand.
---
They walked along quietly. The dreamlike night would end soon enough, so Shiki wanted to appreciate it, while it lasted. For Sion, this was a new experience. They had talked almost constantly through their patrols. It was a relaxing experience, but she felt ill-suited to silence.
At an intersection in the residential area, Sion said, “Shiki, I have a question. When did you wake up?”
“Oh? I was awake for a while, you know. I don’t think I slept for more than a few minutes.”
She huffed. “So then, why did you not alert me?” It was inattentive of her to not notice. Without a doubt, it was a more careless mistake than any she had made as a child.
He scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. “Well, that’s kind of embarrassing. I didn’t mind being carried by you, you know?”
“Ah, that is...good.” Her face colored. Why was he so embarrassed? She was the one responsible for his condition. It had not been entirely unpleasant either, to have him so close.
After that, neither of them attempted to speak. The walk up the hill passed quickly, and they were soon at the mansion gates.
“Well, here we are.”
“Yes, this is your home.”
Unsure of what to say next, they stared at the compound’s entrance, neither making a move. Shiki broke the awkward pause, and strode toward the gates.
“We can go right in, I think. Hisui usually leaves it unlocked for me.” Saying that, he pulled at the gates, which rattled, but stayed shut. “Erm, I mean, she usually leaves it unlocked.”
Sion sighed, and shook her head. “I’m afraid that that was too much of a generalization. You have been out at night with me consistently for the past few days. Perhaps someone is trying to teach you a lesson?”
Shiki pulled off his glasses, and unsheathed his knife. “I’ll have to apologize for this later.”
He cut through the chain on the door, and swung open the gates. “I don’t want to deal with Akiha just yet.” he said. “There’s a small building behind the mansion, though. We can hide out there for a little while.”
It was not an optimal decision. Sion had seen Akiha’s character through her second hand observations, and understood that she would only be more infuriated if Shiki attempted to evade her. Despite that, she followed him around to the mansion’s rear. She was sure that this was the best decision, as it would allow her to spend the most time alone with him.
As they neared the woods, she asked, “Shiki, why do you spend so much time away from the mansion? You are causing the people you live with concern, and I do not understand your reasons.”
He shrugged, but continued walking. “There’s no particular reason. I just don’t like the feeling of the place, that’s all.”
“There is no reason for you to feel that way. SHIKI is gone from here. Your memories of him here are just memories. the only people who remain here are ones who care for you, so why do you avoid it?”
He stopped, and gave her a hollow grin, “If you ask me like that, then I’d have to say that it just doesn’t feel like my home.”
They reached the detached building without incident. The sliding doors opened smoothly, revealing a simple but well-maintained Japanese room. It was dimly lit, as moonlight filtered in through the translucent rice paper panels. They removed their shoes, and stepped in. Inside, Shiki opened the large storage closet, pulled out a large futon, and spread it on the ground. He looked back inside, but only found two pillows.
“Shiki, what is in that case?”
The case in question was a rectangular wooden box, held shut by a metal clasp. Shiki wiped it clean of dust, and then opened it. It contained a matte black shotgun, similar in design to a SPAS-12. He snapped the box shut and returned it to the shelf, next to a metal box that looked suspiciously like an ammunition container.
“I, uh, didn’t know we had anything like that in here.”
“That was not within my predictions either.”
He coughed, “So, there’s only one futon. If you want to take it, I’ll just lie down on the floor.”
“That should not be a problem. There is enough space for both of us, I think.”
“I—is there? Okay, I guess that’s fine.”
He removed his jacket and dropped it by the entrance. After closing the door, he moved back to the futon. One of the pillows was lying at the end, so he simply dropped himself onto it. It was nice to rest at last, after everything that had happened. The room was just as he remembered it, clean, dry, and filled with the crisp smell of fresh tatami mats. Had it been maintained like this for all those years?
Sion quietly stared at him, sitting in seiza at the other end of the futon, her hat on the floor beside her. The room was completely bare of items or furniture. Compared to his bedroom in the mansion, this was equivalent to sleeping in a servant’s quarters. It confused her, who understood the allure of opulence, that his expression here was completely relaxed. If there was a place he considered close to home, it was this room, not the mansion.
She could not have understood why. The memories that she read from him were limited to those that concerned the situation of Misaki City, and his engagements with supernatural beings. Extraneous information had been ignored. Furthermore, there was a strong disruption in his early memories that was inefficient to examine. Because of that, everything she knew about him was incomplete.
Even if that was more than she deserved, she wanted to understand him more. She moved onto the futon, a short distance away from him, and lied down.
She tried to force herself to sleep, and to ignore his presence beside her. Those things were irrelevant, she thought, it would be best to just rest and recover before the morning. Yet, she couldn’t calm herself down enough to fall asleep.
“Shiki, a—are you awake?”
“Mh? Yeah.” He had not even come close to falling asleep. The room was so familiar to him that he found himself captivated by its atmosphere. When he was a kid, he often woke up in the middle of the night. Back then, the house had seemed so lonely. Distant sounds echoed in his mind, like a far-away festival. It was a strange thing to remember, and set him on edge. He felt the premonition of a long-forgotten threat, like a promise of death. That uneasiness forced him to ignore his tiredness, and he rested simply for the sake of it.
Sion drew herself into a sitting position, hugging her knees to her chest. “There is something I have been meaning to ask you. I, that is, when I explained the function of my Etherlite, you reacted strangely. I don’t believe that you were expressing surprise, but rather, familiarity.”
Shiki rolled around, and propped up his head with his arm. “Sion? I don’t really understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
She moved in close, enough that she filled his field of vision. The coppery smell of blood hit his nose. She tapped his forehead with her index finger, holding it there. “My Spirit Hacking is a technique that interfaces with the brain. I told you that I was using it to draw out your thoughts and memories. I believe that most people would be surprised by that. You were certainly startled, but there is a high probability that you were reminded of someone, or something. I do not have any record of you interacting with a mind reader, therefore, it is a contradiction I must resolve.” A lie. This was information she would never need. It was just something she wanted to know.
“A mind reader...?” He had never met anyone like that. He was sure of it. Nobody he knew could see his thoughts at a glance. Arcueid and Ciel couldn’t match Sion’s ability to tamper with the brain. Who else did he know? Who else was able to see the patterns of his thoughts, responding to his feelings before he could say a single word?
Ah, it was far away, in a room just like this. From the day of his birth, there was a person who understood him better than anybody. A tall, strong man, who had played with him, and taught him to fight. A man with white hair, who he called father. He could see any person’s feelings with his Eyes, but was always so awkward when he expressed his own.
The girl in front of him was just the same.
His head began to ache, and he pressed a hand over his brow. The endlessly repeating curse speared out from inside his mind, and these memories would soon vanish again. He saw two eyes, both a bright blue, but underneath there was only red red red red redredredredredredredred.
Those eyes told him to forget, forget the night that the forest had been dyed the color of a tomato, forget the home in the mountains, forget that he was Shiki and not SHIKI, forget the memories of those nine years.
The silvery moon hung alone in the sky. Even if he lost everything else, he would always remember that.
“Shiki!” A voice entered his delusion, blending into the storm of memories. Whose voice was that? Someone had called out to him like that once, before she was torn apart. Who was this, shouting his name in the same urgent tone?
Something had gone wrong. A moment ago, the memories she received from him were of the purest kind, full of a childhood innocence she had never possessed. It was a bubbly nostalgia that made her want to laugh and cry. And now, he lay limp in her arms.
She couldn’t read his thoughts. Whatever was causing this, it interfered with her Etherlite connection. Something inside his mind caused this disruption, and it was clearly not benign. Those memories of his should not have been dredged up. Someone intended for them to stay forgotten.
But, they had not counted on the skills of someone like Sion. Etherlite shot out of her bracelets like quicksilver, rapidly forming a simple lattice. It would function as a neutral barrier, allowing her to delve into his mind, without even the contamination of her subconscious thoughts. She placed her hands on his head, and began the interface.
“Analyzing the foreign memory structure, complete. Tracking the sources of possible neurocognitive influence, thirteen distinct sectors. Magical interference isolated, impossible to purge. A workaround is feasible. Synthesizing the necessary materials, bypassing the neural structure, deriving the blueprint.
Synapse, Forge.”
Those words, rattled off at a dizzying speed, brought him back to sanity. A mesh of silver wires gleamed above him. One by one, they broke away from the arrangement, and were spooled back into Sion’s bracelet.
A hand was on his forehead. It was soft, and gently caressed him.
“Shiki, are you able to understand me?” She dreaded the possibility that she had made a mistake, even though the chances were less than one percent.
It was her fault; again, she had hurt him. When she first touched his head, she had reconnected her thread. Probing into these memories had disrupted the hypnosis laid down by Makihisa Tohno. Ordinarily, it would only function as a passive barrier to recollection, but when Shiki came into contact with something that should be forgotten, it was not unusual for him to fall unconscious from the stress.
A strong power was difficult to displace. As her magical ability was weak, she was unable to completely remove the hypnosis. However, her skill with memory alteration was sufficient to at least divert its effects. Though, given the method, an error would have been catastrophic.
The solution she found was hasty, but functional. She integrated about five nanometers of Etherlite directly into his brain, creating an artificial Circuit that arrested the hypnosis. It worked well enough. Compared to her techniques, a Hybrid’s powers were greater, but far more crude. Valuing precision above all else, she scorned such an inelegant application of force.
Shiki stirred, breaking her out of her thoughts. He shook his head, and with her help, managed to sit up. Sweat covered his forehead, and his body was burning.
He gasped for breath. “Sion, what did you do?”
Relief filled her. Now that he was active, she could confirm that no damage had been done. “I noticed an inconsistency in your memories. It appeared to be causing you distress, so I corrected it.”
Memories of those lost nine years flooded his mind: his time with SHIKI, the deadly forest, and a ghost-like man who had turned his world crimson. The vague nostalgia he felt before was nothing, compared to this wave of information. “I—I would have been fine even if you hadn’t. You didn’t need to...” No, he had never thought about remembering anything. The past was in the past, so he didn’t need to know any of this. Or, was that just an excuse to forget?
Sion bit her lip. “That is not untrue. I was just acting on a selfish desire. I am sorry, Shiki. I have caused you trouble once more.” It was to be expected. Just as her peers feared her for her talents, he was likely coming to understand as well: her abilities were insidious.
She accepted that as a rational response from everyone else, but if he rejected her as well, she felt that she might cry.
Shiki remained silent. In his mind, he saw a small boy, dressed in a red kimono. The child opened his mouth, saying something Shiki could barely make out. “Say thank you, I won’t forgive you if you make her upset.” With that, the boy disappeared into his memories, this time for good.
He placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair gently. “No, you’re not any trouble. I chose to help you in the first place, so I have to be willing to endure some of your stupidity. And, thank you. Since you chose to return them to me, I guess these memories are like a gift from you.”
Sion leapt at him, wrapping her arms around him. He fell back onto the futon, and she clung to him from above. How strange. Even though she was so happy, she still felt like crying. She buried her head in his chest, and squeezed him tightly. There was no grace or dignity in her actions; it was just something she felt like doing.
“Ah, um, Sion?” His mind was clear, and he was sure he wasn’t asleep. Awkwardly, he put his arms around her, gently patting her back. It was completely unlike her to do something like this, so he wasn’t sure how to respond.
At the same time, something else came to mind. Under the velvety fabric of her shirt, he could feel two soft objects pressing onto his chest. The smell of sweat wafted up from her neck. It was arousing, rather than unpleasant. Before he knew it, he was kneading into her back with his fingers. With rough motions, he felt his way down to the hem of her outfit. Just a little further, and he could feel what was under her clothing.
He froze. Whatever he was doing, he couldn’t continue. In the first place, it wasn’t right for him to start.
“Shi...ki.”
Sion’s eyes were unfocused, and her head was tilted to one side. A deep blush filled her face. Pushing herself forward, she changed positions, straddling him. She came closer and closer, until her face was directly above his.
She felt giddy. Something inside her drove her forward, to slake her need for contact. It was not painful like her thirst for blood, but it was just as basic a desire.
“There is something I did not tell you, Shiki. Do you know what the source of bloodlust is, for a vampire that was once human?”
No aura of danger surrounded her. Though her approach was a little strange, he felt that he would be fine.
“No, I—I don’t.”
Cute. If he denied the obvious like that, she would just need to make it clear.
She smiled. It was an impish grin, unlike any face she had shown him before. “Fufufu, that is a lie. You have seen into SHIKI’s mind, just like I have seen into yours.” She licked her lips, and stared him down. “Desire for another person: that is what sets off this instinct. Akiha Tohno was his trigger, and it seems that you are mine.”
She leaned down, and whispered into his ear, “So, do you know what I want to do to you?”
Purple hair brushed against his face. His pulse quickened, blood flowed like molten metal in his veins. Hold her, feel her, take her, he thought. “I hope it’s something like this.”
He pulled her face to his, forcing their lips together. Holding her head in place, Shiki moved a hand down to her rear. She made a slow moan, as Shiki rubbed supple flesh through her skirt.
They mixed together, moving and grinding. Groping at her chest, Shiki undid the buttons of her coat, and yanked away her scarf. Again, their mouths met. Heat poured off him, and she drank it all in. Thin cotton kept their skin apart, until he simply ripped open her shirt, and pulled off his own. Sion was on him in an instant, playfully nipping at his lips.
“I, really did, like that shirt, you know.” she said, speaking between pecks.
Shiki slipped his hand into her skirt, and caressed the cool flesh of her bottom. “I like it better now.”
He gripped her waist and pulled her to him. The smooth glide of skin on skin was electric, causing him to move deeper into her mouth. She tasted of rust: a coarse flavor. He stroked her nape, ran his hands over the smooth contours of her shoulders, and lost himself in the sensation.
With his leg, he rubbed the damp mound between her legs. Sion gasped in surprise, but quickly arched into the motions. Hands danced up her back, and slipped under the band of her bra. Starting from the side, he teased her breasts into his hands, until he cupped them completely. A soft, massaging squeeze turned into a rough knead. The points of her breasts slowly hardened under his palms, until the slightest motion brought forth a moan from her. Then, her bra was yanked off, and his tongue flicked against her hardened nipples.
From underneath, something was poking into her. A long bulge had formed at the crease of his pants. Instinctively, her hips ground against it, as if trying to set it free. The contact sent a shock through her.
Everything was new to her, but her body accepted these sensations naturally. Shiki’s emotions flowed into her brain, chief among them an animalistic lust. With no sexual experience, the only thing she could do was to respond to her partner’s desires, and so she did.
Pushing him down, she moved down to his pants. They came off in an instant, exposing his cock to the air. Sion grabbed his inner thighs, pressed them to the ground, and brought her tongue to the base of his erection. With her head turned to the side, her lips clamped around his shaft.
Shiki groaned in pleasure. Sitting up, he held her shoulders, reveling in the wet heat that lapped up and down his length. “S—Sion, keep going.”
She did not need to be told. Her lips closed around his head, tongue swirling around. The taste was heady, but it was undoubtedly his. Down, and up, her head bobbed on his cock. Her moist tongue traced its way from his base to his tip, before he was swallowed again. Every time her mouth surrounded him, it went a little deeper, before breaking off. She drove him to the brink, pulling back just soon enough to leave him wanting.
His hands ran through her hair frantically, feeling, stroking, grabbing, doing anything to distract him from the pressure exploding inside him. She continued to suck him in, setting his entire body on fire with her mouth. One of her hands teased his balls, tugging his skin tight. Then, her mouth engulfed him again. A hand squeezed around his base, and she rapidly licked up and down. The heat inside him grew and grew, until his vision turned white. He took her head and pulled her as far down as she would go.
A thick fluid filled her mouth. It tasted of salt, and of him. As he relaxed, she pulled herself away, containing his seed within her lips. She swallowed it down, cleaning it all away. Vitality filled her, as a small amount of magical energy trickled through her body. Thoughts of blood behind her, she instead wanted to fill herself with his essence.
Shiki was not yet spent. Had he been able to take her again and again and again, he would have done so. But instead, he would settle for once.
On his knees, he closed in on her, and pulled down her skirt. One more time, he wanted to feel her body: the gentle slope of her neck, the soft press of her chest, and the full curve of her hips. While he straddled her, his cock swelled back to size. Do it now, take it now, don’t wait a second longer, he thought.
His head rubbed against her entrance, and she nearly gurgled at the sudden sensation. Before he could enter, she grabbed him and pulled him close.
“Don’t let go of me,” she said, “don’t look away from me, don’t think of anything but me, Shiki.” Cherry red eyes peeked out through disheveled purple bangs.
With pure honesty, he replied, “I won’t.” and took her lips again.
He drew back, and brought his cock to her wet slit. Resisting the urge to shove it in, he asked,. “Are you ready, Sion?”
“Ye— hyaaa!”
In an instant, he buried his entire length into her, breaking past all resistance. He pressed forward, until his hips bounced against hers. Heat surrounded him, far warmer than her mouth. Slowly, he pulled himself out, feeling her walls contract against him.
“That is too much, aanh, Shiki!” Tears pooled in her eyes.
He smirked, pausing his motion, “This is what you wanted, right? At this point, you shouldn’t complain if it gets a little inconvenient.” Again, with full force, he thrusted into her.
Her insides melted around him. With every thrust, he would pull out a little faster. The heat of bloodlust was long forgotten, as he pressed deep into her. Her legs were in the air, and the smooth skin of her thighs met his hard waist. He gave a low moan, that sounded close to a growl. Even this much wasn’t enough.
“Shi—Shiki!?”
He lifted her onto his lap, still inside her, and spun her around. Their mingled flesh twisted and realigned, causing him to grow even harder from the sensation. She gave a cry of pleasure, and lowered herself onto all fours. That was his signal to resume.
In and out, he took her from behind. His hands were locked on her supple ass, guiding it up and down as he thrusted himself in. Sweat flowed from her back, and down her legs. Her body felt like a furnace, and he pushed himself in as far as he could go. Each time, he went in down to his base, until his hips met her rear. It was an intoxicating feeling, to use her body this way.
Inevitably, he hastened. To take more, to feel everything of hers until he climaxed, he moved harder and faster against her. With each thrust, he felt more and more ready to spill everything out.
Sion noticed his state. “Ahn, mmh, n—not yet, Shiki, just a little longer.”
Alright, he thought, if that’s how you want it. He buried all thoughts of finishing. Since she wanted to continue, he would suppress it until she begged for release.
He pulled at her braid, yanking her head back. At the same time, he redoubled his attack. This time, every thrust smacked against her flesh, leaving her skin a bright red. Again and again, he savagely jammed himself into her, pulling in and out at a painful speed.
Sion was overwhelmed. The constant motion left her without a second to recover, and she could only manage to breathe. She began a constant panting, feeling as though she would be torn apart. Yet, it was enjoyable, no, it was absolutely exhilarating. This was the precipitation of their meeting, of the night they exchanged names for the first time.
“Shiki Shiki Shiki Shiki Shiki!”
With a final contraction, she rocked against him, riding the climax as best she could. Shiki let himself go, and filled her insides with a hot discharge. They fell against the mattress, now entirely spent. After a night of fighting, and now this, sleep came quickly.
Shiki held her tightly, and nestled his head against hers. The scent and feeling of her body lulled him into a comfortable rest.
Sion failed to process all of her feelings. This was more than she could have wanted, and was something she thought impossible. But, she was happy in his embrace. That was enough to put aside her misgivings.
---
At around five in the morning, Sion woke up, rejuvenated. It was a benefit; she would need all the spare energy she could find in the coming days. By daybreak, she would have to leave the town.
She collected her clothes from around the room, and dressed herself. She looked somewhat disheveled, but that was to be expected. Fortunately, not many people would notice her at this time. His smell clung to her: it was something she burned into her memory. If she never forgot this day: perhaps she could return to it in the future.
She scanned the room again, confirming that Shiki was still asleep, and then moved to the door. According to her calculations, he would not wake for another few hours, perhaps more if he was sufficiently tired. It was the best time to leave, so that there were no lingering troubles.
Someday, she would return. She could apologize then. The sliding door opened, and she took her first step outside the building.
“So, where are you going, Sion?”
She could have cursed. To make this mistake once was unforgivable. It was beyond foolish that she had repeated it.
“I am leaving. I cannot stay in this place, while my condition is like this.”
He stood, and began to put on his scattered clothes. “You thought it would be best to just disappear, before anyone even noticed that you’d left?”
Buttoning his jacket, he gave a sigh. “You really are an idiot. No wonder I can’t leave you alone.”
“Shiki, I must find a cure for my condition. As the True Ancestor has refused to cooperate, I must seek out better samples. You understand that I cannot do so here.”
Shiki walked out of the building, and put on his shoes. “Yeah, I understand. So, I’ll go with you.”
“Wha? That is not needed. I will be perfectly capable by myself, so I beg that you stay here and—”
Smiling blithely, he replied, “Nope! Not a chance. I’m doing it because I want to, so you’ll have to fight me if you want me to stop.”
Sion stiffened in disbelief. He was truly absurd, never giving her a chance to get used to him. Even now, he volunteered away his life with a careless smile.
She sighed. “Alright, then. It seems you’ve made up your mind.” No, she was happy. In the end, he chose her.
“That’s right. Well then, shall we get started?” He offered her his arm, in an exaggerated show of courtesy.
“Very well then. Let’s go.” She slipped her arm through his.
In the first light of the morning sun, the two saw a dream that they would fight to keep alive. If they could spend even another day by each other’s side, it was worth the price. Someday, they would find peaceful days again.
For now, they would be content with this midsummer night’s dream.
Epilogue
Forest of Seven Nights
Dusk hung over the land, sending the twilight forest into a murky darkness.
This was the place they had been searching for. He was certain of it, after he saw the vast field of sunflowers in the valley. Deep in the mountains of Nagano, this was the forest he had known from the day he was born.
Even with her advanced prediction, there was not enough information for Sion to pinpoint the location of their target. Shiki was unable to remember the topography, so they wandered through the lethal forest, searching for something long forgotten.
The scars of a battle were still visible, even after so many years. Fallen trees, a devastated clearing, and the remains of humans, little more than bones with scraps of clothing. They came across a rifle, its barrel eaten away by rust.
Yet, none of that was as memorable as the open field that greeted them when they found their way out. At its center, there was a ruin, little more than blackened rubble and scattered ashes.
Shiki closed his eyes. The air was cool, the grass soft under his feet, and the scent of the forest crisp, just like he remembered it. Without too much effort, he saw the old mansion, standing alone in this dark corner of the world. Then, his eyes snapped open, and the illusion dispersed.
In the center of the ruin, a man had appeared. Wild black hair covered his right eye, but his left burned, vermillion.
“I have seen you before.” Without a hint of emotion, his words still carried a strange weight.
“Kouma... Kishima.” Shiki spoke slowly, testing out the unfamiliar name.
“You have come, then, son of Kiri Nanaya. Are you still searching for an answer, from that night?”
The wind howled, sending ripples through the grass. A blade slid out of its sheath, the safety of a gun flicked off.
“You shouldn’t have said that name. I can’t let this go now.”
The arm of destruction was lifted up, a challenge was accepted.
“Very well then, come and meet your fate.”
It was a wish made long ago. Two children, born at different times to different families, both wished that they could have a quiet life, grow old, and return to the soil without troubling anyone. Instead, both of them became instruments of destruction. It was inevitable that these two would destroy each other, if they crossed paths.
“Shiki, please try to leave his body intact.”
He gave a grunt of assent. “I’ll do my best.”
The man before him was death. Just looking at him made Shiki want to run, to escape the spectre that had killed everyone except him. Even the lines that ran through his body seemed few, and thin, like hairline cracks. His head throbbed painfully, just by trying to perceive it.
His fears were tempered by one thing. With Sion by his side, Shiki had a much better chance of victory. If he could push Kouma to his limits, she could at least gather enough data to assist in controlling Akiha’s Inversion. He had his own grudge to settle, at any rate.
The days that they could spend together were winding down. In a few months, Zepia Eltnam Oberon would manifest once more, and the Night of Wallachia would resume. Sion’s bloodlust was controlled, though only barely. If Kishima’s corpse would give them no answers, they would simply move on to the next target.
But for now, their act had yet to end.
From beyond the sky, the blue glass moon peered down onto this stage.
The players leapt to their roles.
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; March 2nd, 2015 at 04:34 AM.
Glass
The water was like a sea of jewels. The candles in small paper boats glittering on its surface, like treasure ships on a midnight voyage. Venice at this time of year was always beautiful, the city sinking ever so slowly beneath the waves. There was only one day before Carnival, he reasoned, and so his business could be concluded before the night’s festivities began.
Standing, empty eyes twitching beneath his dark spectacles, the man moved to walk away, hugging the shadows of the buildings, before he turned and vanished.
5̸͠͏0͟͡0͝͡0̷̧͝ ͘͝͠w̷̢͟҉ò̧͘͢͡ŕ͢d̸̷̡͞ ̛҉̵́́f̷͞i̡͏̨c̸̡̛͟͏ ̴̡͟f̵̡͜͟r̵͘͝o҉͠҉̴͟m̴͜͡ ̷̷̨d̶̢̀̕͢á͡͡͞r̛͢p͘͜͢l̴͞҉͜e̵͝҉͢s̵̨̛͘͟ ̧҉͏i̷̶̴̷̛ń̸̷̛͟ ҉̢͘ŕ̛e̕҉̶͜w̡͜͠a̢̨͜͠͠r̷͞͝d̸̴̨̡͜s҉͟ ̨̢̕҉̶2̢̛0̷̷͡1̸̧̀͝3̶̀,͟͝ ͢͏̢̨ǹ̸̢̀͠è̸͝v̴̴ȩ̸̢r͘҉͘͟͠ ̀f̨̡o̷̢͞r̀͟͝͡g̷̸͢͠ȩ͝t̷͜
Forty miles into the Adriatic sea, a cruise liner chopped through the waters. A crowd milled about on its deck, awaiting the first sights of Venice on the horizon. The chill of winter had not yet left the ocean, but nobody aboard seemed to care. Whether they were numbed by drink, or too excited to care, or simply packed handwarmers like sensible folk, it was all the same. They had paid a premium to find a spot on this boat, owned and operated by the owner of a renowned chain of casinos.
As expected, everything on the ship was extravagant. Champagne flowed like water, handed out to anybody who asked by the attendants. In the galley, large enough to resemble a traditional dining hall, the buffet was eternally refilled, heaped with succulent meats and fresh vegetables, spiced, and steamed, and fried, and served in a hundred different ways.
No expense had been spared on the boat’s decoration either. The rich red carpet spread from wall to wall, immaculate no matter where you looked. The moldings were intricately detailed, and burnished till they shone. The walls were papered in white, with tasteful decorations spread out in the halls. Oil canvases hung here and there, each a masterwork in its own right, though nobody could place them.
The entire ship was exactly as its occupants had expected it to be: Opulent, over the top, and wanting for nothing in terms of creature comforts.
Precisely for this reason, none of them noticed anything amiss, not even when one of the patrons on the deck, an elderly man, turned a violent red, and collapsed. Another one followed: a woman in a white backless dress, whose arms glittered with jeweled bangles. Lost in the haze of their vices and pleasures, the people on the ship collapsed, one by one, until not a single human remained conscious.
Up on the bridge, one of the ship’s attendants brushed past the sleeping crew, and made for an electronically locked door at the back. With the press of a few buttons, the door slid open, and the woman passed through.
The room inside was painted in red, so much that it was garish. The carpet was the color of wine, the curtains the hue of strawberries. At its center was an enormous bed, draped in crimson velvet. Atop it was a dark-haired man, his suit a stark white in contrast to the room. He looked to be about twenty to thirty, but his face had no lines to betray his true age.
A woman was draped over him, completely unclothed. Ringlets of blonde hair flowed down her smooth and unblemished back. One could liken it to a golden river.
As he fixed her with an inviting grin, the attendant spoke up. “Master, everybody aboard has been subdued. Would you give the order to begin?”
His eyes glittered with mirth. “Ah, why so hasty, Charlotte? I’ve yet to enjoy this one, so hold on for a little while.”
Charlotte gave a bow. “Understood.”
His pupils dilated, black slits widening in amusement. “Do you know where I found this one? She was an upcoming model in Paris, set to debut next month on an international stage. I came across her by chance, an introduction from one of my associates. It was tremendous fun, for the first few nights. I thought she might fill my boredom for a few more weeks, but it seems I shan’t have the time to continue.”
This was the game played by the Dead Apostle Ancestor, Valery Fernand Vandelstam. Without using his Magecraft, he roped in young men and women, always on the cusp of fame.
“But, well, you know how it is. After a time, I simply can’t stand the sight of them.”
The paintings on his ship were done by an artist of little renown, commissioned for three years to work incessantly to fill Van-Fem’s whims. The man hadn’t understood what happened, even after his lungs were torn out of his chest. The ship itself was designed and built by a team of private contractors, who all went missing immediately upon its completion.
“Now, wake up, darling. This little dream of yours is over.”
The woman’s eyes opened, and she stared up at him, into eyes the color of freshly spilt blood.
“Ah, Victor, what’s happened, dear?”
He smirked, licking his lips. “Apologies. I normally like to do this with more finesse, but time is of the essence. It pains me to say it, but sometimes simple really is best.”
“I don—”
Powerful jaws trapped her neck, fangs sinking deep into her throat. As the first drops of blood touched his tongue, a simple ritual was activated, and all the blood in her body gushed into his mouth. Gulping down the last traces, he cast away the dessicated corpse.
“She was such a bore, though. I almost regret using her up like this, instead of leaving her to the Dead.”
Still in a bow, Charlotte said, “Master, do I have your leave to begin the harvest?”
Van-Fem stood from the bed. His suit did not have even a drop of blood on it.
“Naturally, proceed.”
As Charlotte left the room, Van-Fem wandered over to a window, staring at the distant lights of Venice.
“How many is that now?” he muttered to himself, “How many of those worthless fools have I taken for myself?”
The greatest pleasure he had left was to taste unblossomed talent, budding beauty, and then, after he had enjoyed it completely, to snip it off at the bud.
Somewhere aboard the ship, the red carpet was hit with the first splashes of blood.
5̸͠͏0͟͡0͝͡0̷̧͝ ͘͝͠w̷̢͟҉ò̧͘͢͡ŕ͢d̸̷̡͞ ̛҉̵́́f̷͞i̡͏̨c̸̡̛͟͏ ̴̡͟f̵̡͜͟r̵͘͝o҉͠҉̴͟m̴͜͡ ̷̷̨d̶̢̀̕͢á͡͡͞r̛͢p͘͜͢l̴͞҉͜e̵͝҉͢s̵̨̛͘͟ ̧҉͏i̷̶̴̷̛ń̸̷̛͟ ҉̢͘ŕ̛e̕҉̶͜w̡͜͠a̢̨͜͠͠r̷͞͝d̸̴̨̡͜s҉͟ ̨̢̕҉̶2̢̛0̷̷͡1̸̧̀͝3̶̀,͟͝ ͢͏̢̨ǹ̸̢̀͠è̸͝v̴̴ȩ̸̢r͘҉͘͟͠ ̀f̨̡o̷̢͞r̀͟͝͡g̷̸͢͠ȩ͝t̷͜
On the ship’s spire, a young boy sat. His hair was golden, and his eyes a deep red. He stared down, indifferent to the killing ritual being carried out on the deck below.
“So,” he observed, “this leech fancies himself a collector?”
He swung off the spire, and launched himself into the air. The fall should have been lethal, whether on the deck or water. Yet, he landed gently on the ship’s mahogany floor.
“Disgusting. Even if it is the best that this time offers, trash that glitters is still trash.”
On the deck, corpses were strewn about like dead leaves. The boy paid them no mind, and walked directly toward the ship’s interior. But, before he made it in, one of the corpses rose, and the newly risen corpse charged at him.
Without even turning around, he snapped his fingers, and a golden blade shot out of a ripple in the air. The ghoul was blown away completely, but the blast did not stop there. The deck was scorched, and torn apart.
The boy gave a smile, completely void of humor.
“You betray your nature, mongrel. Someone like you would pretend at playing a lord? Come, I shall show you what real treasures are.”
He moved forth into the ship, leaving behind only the Dead.
5̸͠͏0͟͡0͝͡0̷̧͝ ͘͝͠w̷̢͟҉ò̧͘͢͡ŕ͢d̸̷̡͞ ̛҉̵́́f̷͞i̡͏̨c̸̡̛͟͏ ̴̡͟f̵̡͜͟r̵͘͝o҉͠҉̴͟m̴͜͡ ̷̷̨d̶̢̀̕͢á͡͡͞r̛͢p͘͜͢l̴͞҉͜e̵͝҉͢s̵̨̛͘͟ ̧҉͏i̷̶̴̷̛ń̸̷̛͟ ҉̢͘ŕ̛e̕҉̶͜w̡͜͠a̢̨͜͠͠r̷͞͝d̸̴̨̡͜s҉͟ ̨̢̕҉̶2̢̛0̷̷͡1̸̧̀͝3̶̀,͟͝ ͢͏̢̨ǹ̸̢̀͠è̸͝v̴̴ȩ̸̢r͘҉͘͟͠ ̀f̨̡o̷̢͞r̀͟͝͡g̷̸͢͠ȩ͝t̷͜
Venice had many charms to behold, even at night. The water reflected the moonlight unto the old-fashioned buildings in a fashion some would call romantic, appealing to the fairer sex in a manner befitting fairytales. A work of art lacking a romantic couple on a gondola, a painting missing its center.
But upon a gondola was not a romantic couple, not a man and a woman admiring the night view while basking in each other’s presence, but a man and a woman with an incredibly strained air between them.
“I really don’t see how you thought this was necessary,” the woman said in a curt tone, cutting through the night like a razor.
The man, were he a frightful man, would have gulped under the pressure released by his direct superior. Instead he grumbled, a staunch improvement.
“It’s more subtle than taking a car out, lady Barthomeloi, and my contact dislikes unsubtlety.” He never looked up at her, keeping his focus behind him as he rowed.
His superior didn’t even deign him with a reply. If she’d had things her way, she would have tracked down this contact and forced the apostle’s location out of him with brute force. She wasn’t one for skulking around in the night.
Yet, in a rare show of spine and grit, her enforcer had refused to divulge the contact’s name and wanted to speak with him without the lady Barthomeloi. They’d reached a compromise.
Yet underneath the moonlight sky of Venice, city staring at them twice through the water, he couldn’t help but feel watched. More subtle than a roaring vehicle, yet so stiff and uncomfortable it almost had the same effect.
“It’d really help the subtlety if we acted like…” he started, until he saw the look on her face. He didn’t finish the sentence out of a desire for survival.
He also didn’t try talking any time before they’d reached their mark.
5̸͠͏0͟͡0͝͡0̷̧͝ ͘͝͠w̷̢͟҉ò̧͘͢͡ŕ͢d̸̷̡͞ ̛҉̵́́f̷͞i̡͏̨c̸̡̛͟͏ ̴̡͟f̵̡͜͟r̵͘͝o҉͠҉̴͟m̴͜͡ ̷̷̨d̶̢̀̕͢á͡͡͞r̛͢p͘͜͢l̴͞҉͜e̵͝҉͢s̵̨̛͘͟ ̧҉͏i̷̶̴̷̛ń̸̷̛͟ ҉̢͘ŕ̛e̕҉̶͜w̡͜͠a̢̨͜͠͠r̷͞͝d̸̴̨̡͜s҉͟ ̨̢̕҉̶2̢̛0̷̷͡1̸̧̀͝3̶̀,͟͝ ͢͏̢̨ǹ̸̢̀͠è̸͝v̴̴ȩ̸̢r͘҉͘͟͠ ̀f̨̡o̷̢͞r̀͟͝͡g̷̸͢͠ȩ͝t̷͜
“I think,” The gem seller said, in the slightly superior tone of a merchant who has realized that he holds the upper hand. “I think I will buy it for ten.”
“Ten? Don’t play the fool with me, it’s worth at least five times that amount!”
“Ah, sir, if you look at the underside of the stone, here...”
Their voices trailed off, dissipating into the endless murmur of foreign tongues as the young man carefully cleared the doorway. Ducking into an alley, he began to run, dark hair trailing behind him in the morning wind, warm, carrying the smell of salt and a thousand other scents from the streets of the city that pulsed like a living thing.
Its blood was its people and its veins were its streets – as he ran, he could almost see it as a giant heart, the slowly-beating center of the world. His own world had been left behind, and so he moved like a shadow through the jeweled city, its inhabitants taking little note of the foreign wraith that passed through with nary a whisper left behind.
Shiki jumped, clearing one of the canals in a single leap, rolling and letting the momentum carry himself, only moving faster and faster, his own heart beating hard, blood roaring in his ears. Straining, pushing, the young man skidded to a stop, silent as the grave.
He fucked around a bit and ran out of time for the contest.
The end.
Last edited by Frostyvale; March 1st, 2015 at 06:29 PM.
Mitsuzuri and Ryougi's Day OutA loud sigh was heard in the empty streets of Fuyuki City, particularly from one High School student of Homuhara High, Ayako Mitsuzuri.
“It’s strange for dad for to call me away from the Archery Club. From the way he sounded on cell, it sounded important I guess.” Ayako said.
‘Well, Emiya can hold the fort for today at least. If Shinji tries to be an ass, he can take care of it.’ She thought as she made the last few steps to the entrance of her abode.
The Mitsuzuri household was pretty decent to say the least. A traditional Japanese home of moderate size wasn’t by any means shabby in Modern America. Ayako always thought it was bit too big in her tastes for her family since it only consisted of herself, her brother, and their parents.
‘Wait a minute. Was that a limo parked near the household? Is someone visiting?’ She wondered quickly, before spotting the extra pairs of shoes in the entranceway.
“I’m home!” She yelled loudly to garner the attention of her parents. It was responded with a loud “Welcome home, daughter!” from them. ‘Nice, they’re in a good mood, so it isn’t something bad.’ She thought in relief.
“Come into the living room! We have guests that we want you to meet Ayako!” “Alright! Just let me change out of my school uniform and into something decent!” She replied as she went upstairs into her room.
After changing into a casual outfit of a hoodie and a pair of jeans, she made her way to the living room to meet the guests her parents have over. Ayako was pondering of who could it possibly be here and their reasons of visiting her family. ‘Maybe it’s Yakuza... Nah, they wouldn’t dare considering who Ms. Fujimura’s family is. But still, who owns that limo?’
She neared the doorway. ‘I guess I’ll find out soon enough.’ She slid the doorway open while bowing her head. “Excuse me for interrupting. I’m here.”
“Wonderful! Ayako, I want you to meet someone important, but close to our little family. This here is Miss Shiki Ryougi and her Husband Kokutou Mikiya.” Her father explained to her.
In front of Ayako was a woman with long black hair and a kimono. Surprisingly, she resembled herself if she was a bit older. Next to her was… Oh man.
‘Oh man indeed.’ She thought to herself. The person next to her was a fine man of Japanese proportions. She couldn’t think clearly.
He had his black short hair covering his left eye, leaving his only visible deep blue eye to stare right back at hers. He had an average, if seemingly toned body that she could peek at through his suit. The smile he had on his face could melt the Arctic Circle completely.
“Hello there, Ayako. Nice to meet you finally, your parents were almost done with our business with them.” He said with the voice of an angel.
She blushed. ‘Why did he have to be married, is the universe that unfair?!’ She raged within her thoughts as her face rushed blood to her cheeks, something unusual to see for sure if any of her friends saw her right now. Especially Emiya.
“T-thanks, it’s nice to meet you too, Mister Mikiya.” She stuttered out. It was then she felt something she had never felt before. It was like a heavy pressure was being directed at her existence and the instincts in her body were all screaming that danger was near.
She then realized that the woman, Ryougi who looked like her was looking right at her with… contacts and a look which screamed ‘I’m going to kill you.’ Internally, she was terrified.
Was she going to die?
“Shiki, please. We came to get to know the Mitsuzuri more intimately.” Mikiya said with a posed look towards Ryougi. Did he realize what she was doing to me? ‘His tone held no anger though.’
“Alright, Mikiya. But if she makes those leery eyes toward you again…” Ryougi said with a pout.
Ayako was surprised. ‘Oh wow, that was cute actually. Adorable if I say so myself, if she didn’t just wanna kill me a second ago.’
“Ah! I have an idea. Ryougi, why don’t we have a tour of Fuyuki with Ayako? We can get to know her more that way. Would you allow it, Mr and Mrs. Mitsuzuri?” Kokutou asked as if he had been struck with a brilliant idea.
“We don’t see why not. Keep her and her cousin, your wife, safe is all we ask in return.” Her parents answered.
Wait.
Wait just a freaking minute.
“C-c-cousin?!”
---------------------
Everything after meeting my cousin and Mr. Kokutou was a disaster from left to right. Every moment I spent close to her felt like death itself creeping up my spine. It didn’t help that “accidents” kept almost happening to me the entire time with Mr. Kokutou having to save me, all the while Ryougi had this ‘I didn’t do anything’ look on her face while he just gave a disapproving look right back at her.
It wasn’t until we hit the shopping district that me and my cousin started getting along when I suggested we hit the Arcade. She was surprisingly good at video games.
“Hey, Shiki! Let’s play some Street Fighter. I’ll have you know that I’m really good!” I told her while probably have a big grin on my face. Ryougi made a grin as well.
“Oho, are you now? I guess it’s time for you to be defeated flawlessly then.” She retorted. ‘Cocky bitch.’ I thought.
“We’ll see who’s defeated. I’ll knock you down a few pegs, Shiki Ryougi!”
“Same to you, Ayako Mitsuzuri!” I could feel the tension and anticipation of fighting a worthy opponent saturating the air around us.
Meanwhile, Kokutou and other onlookers just stared at the spectacle that was happening before them. A woman and teenager about to have a bout of skill in a video game of all things they thought. The air around them was sharp enough to cut through steel. It was something to behold all right.
---------------------‘Too bad I lost… Damn it.’
As Ayako, Ryougi, and Kokutou made their way back to her house, Mikiya talked with her the whole time, telling her about the Ryougi family and himself. What was at first at terrible ending to her day turned into exactly the opposite strangely enough. Kokutou went on ahead into the house, while Ryougi and Ayako were a few paces behind.
“So… I can tell you are crushing on Mikiya hard. It’s his smile, isn’t it? Too bad he’s married to me, right?” Ryougi said to Ayako with the most neutral face ever. She blushed.
“Yeah, you’re pretty lucky to have landed him Shiki. I hope I end up with someone as nice as him someday...” Ayako replied, while thinking of a certain boy with reddish-orange hair.
Shiki simply smiled and said, “Yeah. I really am glad to have him. I’m sure someday you’ll find someone too, Cousin.” Ayako smiled back and held out her fist to Ryougi.
Her and Ryougi’s met with a bump, and the universe was satisfied with this outcome.
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; March 2nd, 2015 at 04:46 AM.
Watery Grave
“I swear, I don’t know which one of you two idiots is the worse influence on the other.”
Tohsaka Rin was pissed off, plain and simple. Nothing suggested otherwise. Anyone who saw how she incessantly paced back and forth through the hotel room would’ve been reminded of an antsy wildcat stalking about its cage. Further proof of just how angry she was was how she didn’t break eye contact with the ones who drew all of this ire. Her gaze wandered with her troubled thoughts, but she never fully took her sight off of them. She had a mostly unfounded gut feeling that if she stopped reproachfully glaring at them for even a second there’d be even more trouble waiting for her to clean up the next time she looked.
It didn’t particularly help. The pair was still uncooperative to various degrees, in their own ways. As for whom exactly these two hellions were that she was forced to admonish-
Illyasviel von Einzbern boldly locked eyes with Tohsaka in some sort of counter dominance display. Emiya Shirou just looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even so, he still tightly held her small hand.
When Tohsaka saw that she scowled. Illya scowled right back.
“Do you even understand the gravity of the situation?” Tohsaka asked, “You can’t just do what you did and expect there to be no bad consequences.”
“And what of the good?” Illya countered, “Are you willing to deny the positive effects of our actions?”
Tohsaka pursed her lips. Grit her teeth. “Don’t act like you knew that going in. You essentially threw rocks at a hive because you decided it was your business to see if it had any bees. Only in doing so you inadvertently invaded a powerful micronation and assassinated one of its chief politicians. What were you even thinking?”
“Life’s just a series of small miracles isn’t it, Tohsaka?” Shirou replied. This comment caused the full brunt of her baleful staring to be directed right at Shirou. His shifted his gunmetal gaze to the side to avoid direct eye contact with the distressed woman. All things considered, her vitriol was justified. Still, he felt that if he didn’t at least do something to deter her attempts to undermine them she’d just lose sight of priorities.
Illya said, “If you want to be technical over analogies we knew full well the hive was active and went in with full intentions. What we stumbled upon was a mutant rogue strain of Africanized bees that boasted a lovely mother lode of honeycomb.
“You’re spot on with that micronation bit, though. Kudos to you, Rin,” and finished off with a perfectly cherubic smile.
Being an educated magus, Tohsaka knew full well of the terrible might of cherubim.
“You might be in the right in some capacity,” Tohsaka fully admitted as she collapsed onto a chaise lounge directly across from the loveseat the two shared. She was tempted to break into the bottle of complimentary champagne and drown her bad feelings in the traditional way of her family, but resisted the impulse to imbibe, “Might be,” she sternly elaborated with a tone heavy with real gravitas, “But, the morality of this matter doesn’t mean anything right now. This little stunt marked you as walking blood money.”
Whether it was irresponsible or thoughtful of them to do didn’t matter as much as she made it seem. Tohsaka wasn’t just angry. She was also afraid. Not for herself, though she had a healthy respect for death. Her concern was for the recklessness of the two before her.
“This was all Illya’s fault. I just know it,” The young woman complained out loud and a catty “Hey!” was uttered by the accused party in reply, “Seriously, Emiya, you do something crazy you’ll make the other people in your life sad.” As she warned Shirou, Tohsaka nervously twiddled her thumbs. It was only for a moment. No one else noticed how she made this gesture but her.
That was her self-imposed duty: to foster as much divergence as possible. She would condemn herself to Hell if she let the future she saw come to pass.
Difficult things were difficult. She imagined just giving in and letting the icy bubbliness of the chilled drink go down her throat. All she had to do was get that cork off and then this work wouldn’t feel so much like work anymore. Tohsaka put that aside and switched gears to do the comparatively more responsible thing: chew out these two, “You really ought to control your other half better.”
“Why would you say that like it was possible?” Shirou groused empathetically. Illya squeezed his fingers tight enough to make him wince a little. “There’s not much straight thinking between the two of us when we both get riled up, and especially over something that big.”
“Well then,” Tohsaka went on “dare I even ask how this absurdity came to be? If you drop a bomb like this I at least expect that much out of it.”
As she asked this, she gestured to the shadowy man standing passively in the corner. Who had been there the whole time. Who was clearly not human. Who knew better than to get in the way of a scorned woman.
“Umm…” Illya looked at Shirou with an expression that bore an uncertain kind of tautness. Shirou was clearly on the same wavelength as her because he mirrored her wide eyed-ness. “Yeah,” she said, apparently coming to some unspoken agreement, “I suppose there’s a way we can relay to you as much as you need to know in order to get the facts straight.”
‘As much as I need to know?’
“Yes. There are details that we,” she referred to herself and Shirou, “needn’t share for personal reasons, and we simply can’t speak for some of the viewpoints because we’re not privy to their experiences. We can only tell you what we choose to tell you, and that’s our limitation as storytellers.
“Even so, what happened tonight was definitely caused by the convergence of two stories- ”
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
He fucked up.
He fucked up real bad this time.
There he was, trapped in absolute darkness, deep within the Frankensteinian hull of the Fredensborg. The ship was so sizable that there was no discernable rocking. There was no distant, mercifully tangible indication that motion existed, a weak but there proof that the world out there actually existed and that it wasn’t always an elaborate hallucination in his head. It was still in his black prison.
The void he was sentenced to was only a facsimile of what a real one could be like. It was produced by human hands. Of course the experience would be a limited one. That was why the original shell was refined upon by the capabilities of once-human hands. That way it was no longer simply limited to be just a void.
Now, it could be something closer to an approximation of Hell.
He heard it echo, distorted by the winding hallways. He heard the just out of earshot whispers that drifted from the cracks into his head like lazy blowflies. He heard hushed conversation around him, but even if he knew the original language spoken by the voices he wouldn’t have understood for it was communicated solely through emotional vibes distorted and withered by ages of suffering. The arrhythmic quality of the noise was incessant. The psychic residue left over from the slaves who had been stowed and suffered back in the original vessel’s heyday had festered.
“Get a grip…” he muttered, “Your bodies were sold off to the New World centuries ago. …why are you even here?”
As for those who had died aboard it, their souls remained slaves to the ship ever since. They were guard dogs stripped of all their humanity, a strong reminder that he was not alone in this closed world.
The physical pain of his captivity was dull and monotonous. Every bone was broken, and every joint and tendon was pierced by a sword. Chains were unnecessary to hold him.
Here, his body impaled so, covered in wounds, with no way for the light of the moon to reach him in these bowels, he had no chance to recover.
This was a prison meant to hold a vampire.
The voices were torturous, the pain was cruel, and the darkness was maddening. That just came with the territory. None of that was meant to be an especially personally tormenting by the design of the creator. One of the few times he was allowed a glimpse of light in his prison had shown to him what exactly had been placed down here to keep him busy.
It was a single boombox that played Personal Jesus on loop. Original and covers. Bootlegs and official lives. Parodies and mashups. Drunken Singalongs. Acapella.
Now that, that had been done vindictively.
He’d have willingly barfed up his guts by choice a long time ago if they weren’t pinned in place by the crucifixion. He’d never have pegged Brunestud’s white knight as a closeted rocker, but he supposed a pseudonym like ‘Demon of Stratovarius’ had to mean something.
Or not. He didn’t know. He was too tired to think. But, he was never quite allowed to rest.
Especially not now.
The cover of darkness, chatter of ghosts and perpetual music had always obfuscated his arrival until he saw those glowing red eyes turn around the corner and bear right into him. The spirits would be silenced by his arrival. He would then will an old whale oil lantern to light, and approach him, strutting in tune to the music. He had no need for it in order to see in the dark. The reason he took it with him on was that it brought color to a world drenched in black.
It was purely to stroke his sense of aesthetics.
“Salutations, my dear Enhance,” his captor said with a jovial purr. He pressed a button on the machine and the music was silenced. He took care to not cut it in the middle of a note, though. It was all part of his ritual.
“…Svelten.” His prisoner wearily addressed the number Eight of the Twenty-Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors.
“You know what?” Svelten asked, “The more I look at you the more I realize just how much of a shame it is that I’ll have to ultimately give you up to m’lady. If you hadn’t been turned then I would’ve surely gleefully drunk you dry. That much is a crying tragedy, to be haunted by such almost near-perfection right in front of you and to not be able to enjoy it how you’d wish.”
“First name basis. Sure know how to make a guy feel special.” Enhance said.
Svelten continued to run his eyes over the ruined body of the one the Dead Apostles venomously knew as the Single Edge. There was a time only recently when he too had derided the Knight of Vengeance in conversation using that name.
That was before he successfully undertook his operation to capture the heretic. When he had not yet seen how starkly visceral it was the way the traitor charged madly into the ambush, even when pitted against the strength of his vaunted Ghost Corps. and their overwhelming advantage. Before he had seen Enhance up close and personal.
“Enhance” was what he was known as, and from that point on “Enhance” was what he would always be to Svelten.
“Verily so, your words are. That is because you are indeed quite a special oddity, even when compared with the unique existences of the rest of our peers.” He came in as close as the jutting hilts would permit and stared the captive Eighteenth right in the face. “Violet. Such an unusual eye color to be held by a vampire,” he said. This was not the first time he took to admiring this feature of Enhance. Svelten’s particular tastes had earned him much notoriety in the supernatural world as The Bloodsucking Count. He was a connoisseur of boys and men, and the more handsome the specimen the more he was compelled to make them his prey. Beauty nourished him. But eyes, eyes were the one thing he cared the most for. If it was said that his hunger made him lust for men, then it was eyes that fulfilled his soul. When it came to eyes sex didn’t matter to him as long as they were lovely.
“Indeed,” Svelten said, “I am not especially looking forward to the day when you change hands from me to the Black Princess. She might just turn you into food for the dog and be done with you. It’s not as if you don’t deserve it. You slaughter your fellow vampires wholesale like animals and you’re fed to the strongest one there is.”
Svelten retreated inwardly to think about this. Hours could have very well passed by in the interim lull.
“Perhaps I could see to it if I could maybe petition her into honoring a request for a co-claim on you. I would compromise on at least that much in this matter. Surely, we would be free to make the beautiful music together like I’d want to.”
“…pass on that. A psycho-socio carnivore like you gives gays the planet over a bad name.”
“Putting aside the fact that you’d have no choice, you have forgotten.” Svelten was unfazed.
“True enough,” his prisoner conceded. He didn’t have the means or desire to fight back. The wild stallion that he once was had its will broken enough to realize the futility of doing anything in this position.
“I do enjoy these visits of ours, Enhance.”
“Makes at least one of us.”
“Then I suggest you decide soon enough that you like them as well. It is fair to say that I have been rather accommodating enough to you, have I not?” He gave a quick one-over of the thoroughly penetrated Enhance. “…all things considered.
“The possibility that the transference of ownership of you over to m’lady is a death sentence is a strong one. It makes more sense to enjoy the time you have remaining when faced with uncertainty. I thought that, as the one of us who is closest to humans, you’d fully embrace that line of reasoning now that you have nothing left but me.”
“I’ll think about it.” Enhance said, after a moment.
“In that case, Enhance, I’d like to leave you with wishes for a pleasant evening,” said Svelten as he walked away.
The music came back on. The lantern went out. The red eyes vanished behind the corner. The darkness was back. The ghosts returned.
“As if I’d know,” Enhance growled through gritted teeth when he was left alone one more.
Boy, he really had fucked up.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
‘The difference of ten and two more’s steel will cause night to stay everlasting.’
It was the first time in Svelten’s 942 years that he had heard the fabled Rose Prophecy, and it would be the last. Whether it was the work of a lone sibyl, or instead the collective will of all of the Dead Apostles and their link with the moon as they subconsciously read the flow of fate as it related to their immortal selves, it was a message that all who ranked among the Ancestors received. It urged self-preservation, to designate with one’s own hands a successor to take their place among the Twenty-Seven.
It was a warning of certain death.
There was no voice. It did not have a particular sound or cadence. There was no way for a vampire to prove that those words only meant for him existed. It was purely an epiphany – the knowledge that this was to be.
“How difficult,” Svelten had merely said to himself at the time he received it. It was accepted as truth. But, during a night with conditions as optimal as these for a vampire he found it hard to believe. Just as it was accepted like how Christianity accepted the word of God, there too were vampires who had turned from the proverbial faith, and as such were unable to recognize its call– in theory. The dead could not speak on their own behalves.
He was a retainer to Altrouge Brunestud, whose court was at the center of the invisible kingdom of the vampires. It was easy enough for him to believe.
He believed, but he could not accept. His was a mission from the Black Princess herself, after all.
Svelten stood on the deck of the ship, a platoon of his Dead before him, Parade primed and ready to dispense its necromancy. Through his links to all of his work he had complete sight of the surrounding ocean, all the way to the distant horizons.
Let them come from anywhere on the surface, he thought. They'll be taken in an instant.
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“Okay, Shirou, open your eyes now!”
“…wow.” What Shirou saw made his eyes open quite wide.
He was not flying through the sky, but floating. The lights that surrounded him were not stars, but the glow of bioluminescent sea creatures. The liquid moon up above was full and white.
This response quickly turned to “Whoawhoawhoa!” when he saw that they were in a bubble underwater.
Both of these responses pleased Illya. “We’re fine, Shirou,” she said with emphasis and assurance, “If this wasn’t such a sturdy submarine I wouldn’t have even thought of taking you out here. I’ve done all of my homework for this one.”
If all of the unintentional poking around he did during his moment of surprise that hadn’t popped the bubble wasn’t enough, then it was Illya’s calmly confident words that put him to ease. “Okay. Yes, alright. This is wild,” once he regained some of his composure he scanned his surroundings and– more idly and deliberately –prodded lightly at the bubble’s interior, “It feels like just one minute ago we were on the beach, and then the next we’re here.”
“You did let me hypnotize you, so that’s within expectations. I wish I could’ve somehow given myself a similar time dilation effect during it. I couldn’t wait to show you!” Illya quickly stood up and spread her arms out wide, as if to properly introduce their ride for the night. It wasn’t especially visually interesting. It was just a bubble, after all. The only thing about it that could be pegged as unusual was its diameter of around the size of a wardrobe, definitely comfortably large enough for a pair of passengers.
“It didn’t move when you did,” Shirou noticed, “So it has some frictional quality to it. On top of that, it’s stable.”
“Gyroscopically stable!” Illya said excitedly, “Both of which are features that can be controlled at the caster’s will,” and demonstrated this with an effortless twirl. The hem of her white, airy sundress tickled the tip of the sitting Shirou’s nose. It was enchanting, until he realized that Illya was getting physical in a small, enclosed space. “Hey. We’re…not going to run out of air in this, are we?”
“There’s no need to worry about that, either. The bubble is designed to let oxygen filter in and carbon dioxide and other things filter out. I did say it was a submarine. It’d be a poor one if it couldn’t even last a few hours.”
“It’s anything but poor. This is impressive. You’ve put so much thought into it that I don’t know what to really say. It’s amazing.” Shirou said with glowing admiration as he once again ran his hand along the inner surface.
He was a grown man, but his reactions were, in a word, boyish.
She had another word for it: charming. She was reminded of times that, while not necessarily more innocent, were still turning points in their lives, as well as part of a youth to be treasured. Putting aside the fact that they were still young, of course.
“Shirou,” Illya sing-songed, “Do you like touching that bubble so much?”
“Well, I do like beautifully crafted things,” he wryly admitted.
“Then, why don’t you come in close so that you may touch this beautifully crafted thing?” Illya suggested as she scooted up to Shirou. “There’s atmosphere to enjoyed.”
His arm around her was the only answer needed.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
For this part no more details were given than were absolutely necessary to set up their location in this event for the sake of Tohsaka Rin’s information gathering.
“Okay, so why were you underwater, and kilometers off the coast?”
“That’s what we can’t tell you.”
“And why not?”
“I thought the Japanese were supposed to be more modest than this.” Illya bemoaned to herself, though she made no attempt whatsoever to keep her thoughts from Tohsaka. “Don’t you think it’s rather impolite to kiss and tell?”
“I never asked for any kiss and tell! And I am too modest enough!” Tohsaka furiously blanched. She looked ready to throw something heavy in Illya’s direction.
“The only thing in this world that could judge anyone doesn’t exist,” the other man said, “There’s no God and the only Hell that exists is the one that people create themselves.”
“Did you actually say something just now?” Tohsaka asked with a raised eyebrow, “And did you just side with these two?” Her shock just as quickly morphed into persecution.
“You suggest that I care what these crazy kids do with each other? Because I don’t.”
Violet and azure eyes stared at each other for a few silent seconds. As befitting of a Dead Apostle Ancestor, he dodged that bullet after it was fired. That kind of apathy was something she just couldn’t argue with.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The atmosphere was enjoyed.
“Do you know what would look good right there?” Illya pointed to a spot. It looked like just about how every location of a low-visibility aquatic environment at night looked, but to her this specific spot was the spot. “A castle! With ramparts, and twenty-meter walls, and an elaborate keep with eight spires, one for each possible bearing on a map, as part of a symbolic gesture of our dominion!”
“A castle? Underwater?” was all Shirou took from that.
“An underwater castle made of ice!” An enthused Illya refined upon the original idea.
“That’d be too cold to live in.”
“It would not be.”
“You moan at me to bring out the kotatsu every other time you feel a draft. I think it’d be too cold for you.”
“As if! Igloos are warm and I read that in an encyclopedia so it must be true.”
“Who are you supposed to be anyway, the Snow Queen?”
“That’d be ‘Princess,’ to you! “Besides, there’s another Lorelei called Queen, so it couldn’t be me, anyway.”
”Wait, what now?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not important anyway,” she casually blew off the tidbit of information that she herself had shared with Shirou. It sounded like there could have been an interesting story behind that one-off detail, but as it stood Illya didn’t want to talk about it. “Because of how snow works igloos are insulated, so they retain body heat well.”
“A castle is on a completely different level than an igloo. There’s too much space for that method of heating to make a real impact on its temperature.”
“That’s why there’d be snuggling!”
“24/7 snuggling sounds like it’d get old after awhile.”
“You take that back!” she demanded the blasphemer.
The bubble did make for a fine submarine. Illya and Shirou freely lost track of time within its cozy confines, isolated in a world where they were the only two people.
“There’s so many of these little comb jellies. What do you suppose they’re here for?” Shirou asked as he looked on at the glowing blobs that played the role of ever-shifting constellations in the undersea night sky. The way the carefree animals gently strummed in the dark currents was like they were slowly dancing with each other.
There was nothing to distract them from the nearby sights.
Illya gently toyed with the stray lock of silver that grew in contrast to the rest of his hair. She twirled it around her finger, made it into a curlicue. She was enamored with it. It wasn’t hard to remember what he looked like before the changes to his body had begun to accumulate noticeably, but Illya still came to adore the way it had made the boyish youth look more and more like a man.
There was nothing to distract them from themselves.
“That’s a good question because it’s so easy to answer, Shirou.
“They’ve gathered here – to mate.”
As she spoke she moved into position on top of him. “What do you think? That all these ctenophora may be brainless, but they have the right idea?”
A single strap of Illya’s dress had already slipped off her shoulder. The moonbeam that shined down lit her figure up like a pale spotlight.
“Illya, did you bring me down here for this?” the look on Shirou’s face gave it away that he didn’t ask a real question.
Illya’s smile as she leaned over him gave a real answer.
Who were they to argue with the call of nature?
The lovers embraced. Their lips met with playful, earnest hunger; they couldn’t imagine not kissing each other during a session. He took her straps, both the one astray and the one that had still kept its “proper” place, and slid the dress down from her chest. Illya really didn’t want to stop touching Shirou at any point, but she found the will to move her arms so that she could help him slide it off. One of his hands went all the way down and past her back. It stopped there. It was joined by his other hand, which also stopped there.
He gave an inquisitive squeeze. She giggled.
“Has your butt gotten bigger, Illya?”
“Whose fault would you suppose that is, Mr. Executive Chef?”
“It’d be the fault of the one who orders that fancy room service in between the meals I take the liberty to prepare in our room’s kitchen, I suppose.”
“And do we have a problem with that?” she asked cheekily.
He cupped it again. “No, we do not.” Shirou reached under her skirt, only to find his hands grasp nothing at the sides of her hips. “No panties?”
“No panties,” she winked. Illya went back, far enough for him to ogle her delicately sized breasts, far enough to unbutton his shirt so that she too could eat up the sight of his bared body with her eyes. She went back even further and did his shorts next. With Shirou’s cock exposed thusly to the air of the bubble, air warmed by his and Illya’s mingled breaths, he was at her mercy.
The girl brushed some white strands of hair back behind her ear. Now she was ready to let him have it. Illya ran her tongue around the point of his head. She especially liked to do this bit just so- it was like kissing him, but somewhere lower. She savored the slightly bitter taste of his pre-come, which always perked her up, and better than a cup of morning tea ever could. Earl Grey had nothing on Emiya Shirou.
With her thumb and forefinger gently encircled around his base, Illya brought her hand to in between her legs. The tips of her fingers brushed against a button barely revealed by her folds, and it made her quiver. That was it. She already felt herself get wet. The lovey-dovey atmosphere of this whole venture had proven to be immense. The hours of reading material from both scholarly and trashy genres, of trying to figure out how to optimally mix thaumaturgical with mushy, all to produce an unforgettable night for her and her love: all of the research had paid off. With interest.
Illyasviel von Einzbern had decided that she was a romantic genius.
She continued to rub, pinch. Her head dipped further. Down and up. She rolled her tongue around the underside of his tip, rubbed at the soft skin of Shirou’s shaft. The hand that had lightly held him in place now worked Shirou at the same time. Up and down. Down further, up further. Up with a twist, down with a reverse. Down even more, up all the way, so far that her lips almost broke away with a light ‘smack.’
Shirou’s hands tightened with intensity at her devotions. She knew the man was at his breaking point. He’d reach it before she did, but that was fine. That was what Illya wanted. The two of them would be more than happy to arrange something where he would return the favor soon enough. To push him past the point of no return, Illya did-
-Nothing. Illya froze.
“Ow,” was all Shirou could muster up to say. It actually hurt, the cessation of her ministrations that had denied him sweet, orgasmic relief.
“Not a word. Be absolutely still.”
She was deadly serious. Shirou followed suit and grew taut as a pulled bowstring. Her eyes darted back and forth. She scanned the barely lit sub-surface waters. He did just the same in his direction. Even the bubble seemed to have stopped breathing. It became quite cold all of a sudden within it. The bubble had made like a heatsink and flushed all of the warmth it held within to disperse in the nearby water, to camouflage the temperature of its passengers.
The moon was gone, and a dark shadow loomed overhead.
Illya and Shirou didn’t have to look very hard or long for the intruder.
It passed by at an almost lazy clip, its shape obscured by the night, but even from their position they could tell it was huge.
“There’s a bounded field,” Illya whispered barely audibly, excruciatingly slowly into Shirou’s ear, “If I hadn’t been here in the water, and if it hadn’t passed right over us, we would have never noticed it.”
”Do we have an idea of what its like?” he asked.
”Yes to invisibility of the highest order. Grade-A wards are a given. It’s the strongest field of its type that we’ve seen. This really is a one in a million chance. We shouldn’t have even been able to see how it blotted out the moon,” Illya said. Not that there was way to know what exactly the bounded fields did without obtaining knowledge of the creator’s mindset and abilities or, heaven forbid it, testing directly, Shirou still implicitly trusted her estimate to be accurate enough to go on.
“What do you think it is?” Shirou asked another question,”A magus, or…?”
“Even if it was perfectly cloaked it wouldn’t have been able to hide the sense of decay associated with it from me.”
Then there was no doubt that it was the lair of a vampire. A strong one.
Yes, it was leagues away from civilization. But, the vampires it housed fed on people. There were few exceptions to this rule. The younger ones fed with rabid abandon. The older ones secretly enthralled entire regions and were a different sort of cancer. Vampires on the whole caused people as individuals to suffer.
To top it all off, there were rumors of the Dead Apostles mobilizing for some cause…
They knew what had to be done about this was obvious. Especially when Shirou donned that look. When he got like that it was like he wore his beliefs on his face, to save all that he could within his sight and to see justice be done. He wanted to make others happy, keep them safe.
She was the first one that he had been able to. She who originally decried the ideology, and resisted that aspect of him again and again. But, they continued to be drawn together. There was common ground to be found, forgiveness to be had. After much loss, choices made, things that had been done and said that couldn’t be undone or unsaid, he had been able to save the one he made the decision that he really wanted to more than anyone else. They joined together and somehow made it work when the odds were stacked so drastically against them.
In the end, he was still the boy who wanted to save the people. What changed was that as long as the young woman stayed by his side she was the one he always would choose above others. That was the flaw in his lofty ideal, which kept him grounded and made him all the more human.
That was the look that she had learned to see the beauty in. That was the reason Illya chose to be Shirou’s partner-in-crime. It made her heart race, to see that look on his face, to know that she was a part of this as much as he was.
If left to be, someone, somewhere, would be hurt sooner or later. There were vampires, the enemies of humanity, right in front of them. Could the ones who strove for justice simply let them pass by?
“Trace On---” was the only answer needed.
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Once again, Enhance saw red eyes turn around the corner and greet him in the darkness. The key difference this time was that the height was all wrong.
“Well, aren’t you a pitiful thing?”
It was not Svelten. It was a little girl, no more than thirteen at best. He couldn’t possibly mistake her for a real human. Her features were too ethereal, she carried herself with confidence, and had a mature edge to her being that no amount of precociousness could emulate. A small will-o-wisp also gently floated above her outstretched hand. This orb gave Enhance enough light to see by and take notice of her appearance in the first place. The light also showed to him that she was not alone, for a steely-faced young man followed closely behind her.
“He has no lieutenants that aren’t part of his Parade,” Enhance’s weary mind tried to process this. “Unless you’re independent specters you’re not from around here.”
“How astute for one so brutalized,” she said with an interested expression, “Yes, we here are gate crashers.” The man she was with nodded affirmatively. “We drilled up through the bottom and more or less barreled into you right away.”
“Like a single hole would sink this ghost ship,” Enhance mumbled, “Why do that?”
“There’s a vampire here that needs to be killed, and we’re pretty sure it’s not you.” The man who said.
“Not from the Church, then. You acquaintances of Lorelei?”
“Seriously, who is that?”
“Not now, Onii-chan. The vampire’s talking,” she said, “No, we merely happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“A couple of freelancers who happen to be out in the middle of the ocean storm the property of a Dead Apostle Ancestor simply because they don’t like it. And here you are, talking to a different Dead Apostle Ancestor just because you can.” Enhance let out a raspy snigger.
“I see our presence here has lit your fire,” the girl said. The vampire feebly nodded. “I’ve not felt this good in a long time,” he said.
“Then, if you’re not our target, what crimes have you committed to be interned like this?”
“I kill my own kind. Not for fun and games. I kill to kill.” Enhance gave his reason for living.
“And why do you do this?”
“…because for the Knight of Vengeance, it’s the natural thing to do.”
“Sir Knight of Vengeance, I do believe that there’s something we can do about this situation...”
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The deck of the Fredensborg exploded like a missile had been shot straight through from the inside into the sky.
The Eighth had been attacked from the sea, but not in any direction that he anticipated. That was his error, and he would have to correct it soon.
Svelten turned his head in the direction of the clamor as soon as it detonated. He noted with an emotion not unlike dismay that that was directly over where his prisoner was kept several stories lower. A storm of swords rained down from above and pierced into several of the Dead he commanded.
There were many of those that had missed their mark. That was deliberate.
A pair of figures alighted on the deck, a rumble of impact told of the force they landed with – a man with his arms around a fair child. A field of scattered swords sheathed into the wood lay between them and the bloodsuckers.
It was the full moon. On a night like this even the lowly Dead would have power that neared that of a mature vampire. As soon as the pair landed the Dead flailed towards them with the speed of hunting wolves. They rapidly hobbled and weaved around the swords as they zeroed in on the pair.
That was anticipated, and with flashes of light more swords came down. Not to strike at the familiars, but to embed into deck. A layer of blades encircled them, like a wall. The Dead approached heedlessly.
“Stick close to me. I’m no good without you.”
“That’s an apparent truth, Shirou!”
At this, the cage of swords had become a pillbox. The corpse-bodies that snaked their way into the gaps to get at the intruders within were mutilated. Hot energy and flying steel snaked from in-between the fencepost-like blades and slammed into the encroaching Dead.
The light of the moon empowered the walking corpses. Any blow that wasn’t a killstrike to the head was mindlessly recovered from and promptly forgotten. Their rate of arrival and their numbers was their advantage. They converged on the pseudo-turret as one, as per Svelten’s orders.
Through centuries of sponsorship by the Black Princess there was no need to create Dead of his own. Svelten was too picky of an eater, too greedy of one as well, to produce children. The slack-jawed visages of the males he once fancied would only have been registered as corruption to his sensibilities. That ghoulish reminder was something he would not allow. The corpse-puppets that had been gathered here were all taken from enemy rivals by means of his own might and magecraft.
Each of his Dead possessed a single spiritual core, a ghost egg. Through these scrapings of Svelten’s venerable soul he was able to exert his parasitic will over tools that were not originally his own.
Via these nodes, the white knight of the Black Princess ordered his privateers to devour Illya and Shirou.
“Duck and grab on!”
Ten lights screeched forth from within the circle of swords. One Dead for each had their jaws ripped off, their heads cracked. Wings of light shredded into them past the speed of sound.
The cage of swords shattered simultaneously. Shirou spun-swept with a golden longsword that broke the wall of lesser blades in a single blow. The exploding metal dug into the Dead’s faces and chests. Reactionary physics, not concern for their own wellbeings, made the Dead recoil from the force of the biting shards. The precursor sword of Germanic lore was used to split a Dead from collar to crotch, and left in its body. A long-handled sickle turned a Dead into a true corpse due to its concept of immortality revocation, and with it a gap in the line of the lunging Dead appeared. He scooped Illya up with one arm and bolted. His body was reinforced to nearly the breaking point. It’d be cruel if it wasn’t necessary.
The memories of Perseus within the weapon told his body what to do. He ran from the scary monsters and took cheap shots at them when he could until he lost the weapon in one of their heads.
The Dead that could pursue did, while the others who needed to regenerate trailed behind. The claws and teeth of the Dead raked at Shirou. Their strikes went skin deep. Their nails scratched up bloody sparks when contact was made with the swords that grew within him. The visible wounds that the Dead inflicted on him were cosmetic.
But they hit like battering rams. Each strike that connected stirred his insides up. His bones creaked from each bodily tremor.
He’d break down from the inside-out. Or they’d trip up. A tumble to the ground for even just a moment meant that the Dead would pull him apart.
He didn’t care about that. He ran with as much power as he could. He just had to protect Illya from them.
Illya shared this sentiment. She had to protect Shirou from succumbing to the pressure of the horde.
Together, they were an archer and his quiver. With her he could fire unlimited arrows. Without either item to support the other their usefulness was cut by more than half.
He struggled to keep the distance he and Illya had on the Dead nipping at their heels. He weaved around and over rubble. He used the leftover swords that remained from the initial assault to swipe at the Dead that got too close. He left the weapons behind when they got stuck in the vampiric puppet’s bodies.
The lights returned. The maximum number of Illya’s guardians were deployed. Ten wireframe familiars, each aglow from the energy of the independent magical core it possessed. They had the shape of birds and flew in a defensive perimeter around the two. They buffeted any who came close with their razor edges, and fired off salvos of prana at those who were further away.
Each one was single thread. The hair that he thought to be so soft and fine had become a weapon used to slice at the bodies of the pack of encroaching Dead. It was meant to be used for protection and active retaliation. She could not fight like this, and against numbers which hardly dwindled. Illya flushed from the stress of having to control ten familiars at once. They were meant to act autonomously and follow simple orders. If she wasn’t an Einzbern homunculus it would have been impossible and dangerous to do. Her neurons would have fried and she would have undergone brain death.
It was still hard. ‘Shoot that one there, hit that one next to Shirou.’ She acted and reacted at exhausting speeds.
There were less Dead than before. Not by much. Many were partially inhibited with swords stuck in various parts of their bodies. That did nothing to affect their relentless chase, and nothing to curb their appetites for the human beings their master ordered them to feed on.
For the second time that night, a figure leapt out of the crater in the ship’s deck and took the fight to Svelten.
The moment that Illya and Shirou had been buying time for had arrived: the full moon had replenished the Knight of Vengeance, the traitorous Single Edge, the demon of the Dead Apostles Ancestors.
Enhance had joined the battle. And it was the lyrical stylings of Depeche Mode that heralded his arrival.
With a blur of motion he brought the boombox down like a sledgehammer on the Dead closest to Shirou and Illya. Its skull exploded into bony gore.
‘-personal-’ the machine stuttered. ‘-someone-’‘
He swung wide. The chest of a foe became a bloody concave. The crumpled body knocked back into the Dead that followed behind it like tenpins.
‘-hear- prayers-’
Enhance followed through. He didn’t let the Dead regenerate. He didn’t let its fellows that it had been thrown into the opportunity to again chase the humans. He jetted towards them and again swung the boombox.
'-flesh and bone-'
The sounds that followed were the sounds of skulls and its chassis crunching. He spun with monstrous speed and hurtled it at some distant Dead. Many of the mindless zombies tripped over their downed fellow. The rate at which they moved caused their bones to break under their own weight.
'-make you a believer-'
The thing was still playing music faithfully. Even though they hadn’t shared the best of memories, Enhance had decided that his begrudging respect for it was well earned.
'-reach out-'
Avenger, his now-reclaimed demonic sword, was a dark blur that sliced into the Dead. Gouts and clouds of blood and ash sprayed wherever its harsh edge cleaved through Svelten’s vampires. He took a swing with both hands. A few Dead clustered too closely together were bisected at the same time. He took the legs out from another one. He stabbed it through the heart center and split its chest in two with a horizontal blow.
‘-your own-’
He threw a punch at speeds that parted the faint cloud of debris that had billowed from near the crater. The head came clean off and disintegrated from the force as it sailed through the air. Enhance seamlessly went into a spin that slammed the stock of the shotgun, the property of the Church known as the Holy Crematal Artillery, into the head of another. The force of the blow popped its head off with a twist. With the monstrous momentum of this move, Enhance used it to flick his wrist and bring the shotgun to the opposite side, his finger right on the trigger. He fired. The Dead in his path were utterly blown away by a burst of blessed fire. A single leaf of paper was dispensed where the shell would have been in a normal rifle.
He grimaced in pain. With the gun in hand, wisps of smoke rose from his withered arm. Just from using it like this it was like an old man’s arm, wrinkled and leathery. But the moon was full. Instead of letting the hurt he felt limit his actions, Enhance channeled into it. The pain was a metronome he danced to. It was a breakbeat in the most literal of meanings.
A weapon by heretics, for heretics. Amen.
If the casing gets dented Ciel’s gonna throw a fit when she sees how badly I’ve treated this, Enhance thought to himself. He sighed internally even as the chalky, gangrenous brains of Dead plopped onto the deck from each decisive strike.
Hey, if they all died here- quite likely against such a high-ranking Ancestor -at least he’d get out of a lecture. If pain drove him, then guilt was the mind killer, and boredom just as bad.
‘-personal Jesus-’
Depeche Mode as interpreted by DDYND. Trance beats filled the night air.
He’d let it play.
“Clear!” he shouted to Shirou and Illya. They leapt back; he sent a storm cloud of molten metal at a group of nearby Dead that had again dogged the magi duo. With that self-contained killing spree, the Dead were gone.
This meant that it was time for Svelten to switch gears. “Give one a miniscule taste of freedom and they indulge in buck wild totality,” he drolly complained as he fingered the brim of his cap. “I of course expected nothing less from you when this series of events came to pass, my dear Enhance.”
‘-I’m a forgiver-’
“You know what, Svelten? I did enjoy our little talks. Talking with you always pissed me off, and when I get mad it’s easy to turn that to hate. And hatred is where all of my strength comes from.”
Enhance glowered with black hate. Svelten remained neutral. He did nothing but let the moonlight glint off his armor. He let the world do the work of flaunting his position as the white knight for him.
“It was also way too arrogant to just leave my weapons on the wall across from me. Bastards like you put on a few centuries and then think they’re so above it all.
“That Black Princess of yours will have her turn with me someday, but if she thinks she’ll get to have a leak she’s out of her damn little mind.”
Enhance left the world behind. He surged forward. His curse bolstered his already maxed-out full moon potential. The world he was in now was a world of blurred motion, and he aimed to take Svelten’s head. The memory of his bitter loss against the Eighth did the exact opposite of dissuade him from his course.
Tonight would be different. There was no ambush. It was an enemy he fought before. They were both at full fighting strength.
Svelten invoked the power of Parade that he had allowed to build up all this time. His years of necromancy had ultimately culminated in its development. From soothsaying to bombs powered by the tumultuous feelings of victims of genocide to simple summoning, acts of destruction and creation were things he was capable of achieving in equal measure.
The rubble that littered the deck began to slide back in a single direction. Enhance, Illya, and Shirou felt their centers of gravity shift, and it was became harder to stand up straight by the second.
An amorphous giant had risen from the water behind Svelten. He had summoned upon the most numerous dead that the ocean had to offer. The chalky white skeletons of billions of plankton had been unified in death to come together and form a colossus made of sludge-moist diatomaceous earth.
With a pair of arms as thick as semi-trucks and it was tipping the boat over like a child in the bath would.
‘-Jesus-’
The now 50-degree incline put no damper on Enhance’s enthusiasm for vampire killing. He ran. He climbed. He ascended. His talons and his pair of wings took him higher and higher. He didn’t care if a hundred plankton golems were here. Svelten was at the top, waiting for him.
Svelten was waiting for him so he could knock him back down to the depths of Hell.
All the while the ship was tipped even more.
When they registered what was happening, Shirou stabbed swords into the wall that used to be the floor before he and Illya fell too far back. The blades and hilts of the many Noble Phantasms that Unlimited Blade Works had in stock were used as makeshift footholds.
“Shirou!”
“Got it!”
Shirou okayed Illya’s plan. His body felt like it was on fire. Like his heart pumped magma, or her nerves were electrical wires. He blazed with the surge of prana Illya sent to him.
Even if their body was a magus’, a human was not meant to hold a fraction of the capacity of the Holy Grail. His body would break apart if he stayed at this level for too long.
A fuse was lit, and he was full of powder.
If his magic circuit was turned into a cannon, then all he’d have to do is fire it.
“I am the Bone of my Sword…”
He was sent into overdrive. He reinforced himself the instant the heat grew thermonuclear. For an instant, Shirou felt what it was like for a Command Seal to be used to push him past his limits.
He had to use this surplus of energy before he collapsed from midnight sunstroke.
Use magic, make more, spend the influx of Illya’s prana. That’s what he told himself.
He would not be blue-balled again, in any shape or form.
‘-feeling unknown-’
Shirou launched sword bullets at the mass of plankton.
His true target was big. Streaks of metal shot past Enhance. The swords split the wet mud. Its arms broke, and its head crumbled where each heroic blade buried into it as the conglomerate of dead essences was slowly overcome by the surplus of spiritually superior weapons.
Plankton cannot speak, but if they did then their death wail was the sound of tons of damp clay collapsing back into the sea it came from.
There was nothing to stop the ship from catastrophically falling back down into the sea.
The silver familiars morphed into a safety net that kept the pair from falling away. All Enhance had to do to weather the fall was dig into the deck and tough it out.
Svelten showed no concern for himself as the boat fell. He merely stood as calmly as if he were on solid ground. Instead, he just sort of blinked incredulously as he saw how easily the titan of the Ghost Corps. went down when going against this magus’ weapons. He and the homunculus– he saw her for what she was now –were nearly shredded by his Dead. That was no fluke– he had seen their desperation.
Was his compatibility against them just that poor?
If that was so, then he would simply make better use of his resources. It’d be far more satisfying to meet his enemies head on.
With the boon of the moon to bolster the Eight’s fabled skills, his ornate but sharp sword and parrying dagger easily met with Enhance’s Avenger and Shirou’s Kanshou and Bakuya.
“I don’t believe that I’ve ever had the amusement of seeing an Enforcer in an Aloha shirt before.” Svelten said as he dished out strikes to his foes, genuinely pleased with at least that aspect of the night’s events.
“I’m no Enforcer,” Shirou grunted, as he fought to keep the Dead Apostle Ancestor from overpowering him. His arms ached; they were already past their limits, and it was survival instinct and the desire for victory that kept him going. Enhance was a decent partner who helped divert Svelten’s focus, but it wasn’t enough. If the fight continued, he knew he would lose. “-just a concerned guy who you happened to cross paths with.”
“Does The Battalion mean anything to you, young man?”
“What ‘Battalion?’ ”
“Of Krom? Lorelei’s Battalion?”
“-Damn. It.” Shirou cursed as that name once again haunted him that night.
Enhance didn’t ask. Sometimes he felt it better to just not ask.
Svelten jumped away from the brawl. He lazily dodged the thrown swords and sanctified gunfire as he backed away. “Phantom Rondo; slay once again.” the Eight Ancestor intoned. More spirits appeared, this time shoulder to shoulder, rank and file at each of his flanks. He raised his sword; the ghosts did likewise. “Synch rate; bellissimo.” Svelten confirmed his passphrase.
This was why the Church had named him Svelten. His elegant technique where he perfectly synchronized the moves of his ghosts with himself. The intangibility of his retainers coupled with his grandmaster-tier martial prowess as fueled by his Ancestor reflexes made him a virtually insurmountable obstacle.
Rizo-Waal Strout, Neardark; Fina-Blood Svelten, White Knight Vlad. Her knights, they were the pinnacle of the vampire race for good reason. It was said that victory against them could never be achieved- that all one could pray for was mutual destruction, and even that was a miracle-to-be.
Deep down, he felt some variety of remorse that he would overcome the Rose Prophecy. Would that be like what humans felt when they lost faith, came upon that which to themselves was irrefutable proof that their God or whomever was a sham?
Or would he instead feel elation? Achieve enlightenment? Be the vampire who broke the chains, and paradoxically the symbol of the divine right of how Altrouge’s court was a dynasty everlasting?
Only time would tell, and he eagerly awaited the answer.
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…The fight couldn’t go on anymore like this. He needed to be stopped.
So Illya made a miniature black hole to do the work.
She didn’t care how she did it. She had only read a glimpse about the precise mechanics in a library book and a half-remembered astronomy documentary seen on an outing to a planetarium. But stars were composed of hydrogen, and black holes were collapsed stars, and there were exactly two atoms of hydrogen for every single molecule of water on Earth, and the sea breeze was moist with misty vapor and that was plenty for her to work with. That was more than enough for her full awareness of her wish-granting capacity as a Grail.
Spaghettification occurred. It was a matter of course that Rondo would un-synch. He was pulled like taffy. Svelten let out the kind of horrible sound that no human should ever hear. The grinding of his bones made a makeshift duet with the crackle-pop of unstable time-space.
This unthinkable torture was splitting his head. It was suffering the likes of which he had never imagined the possibility of. Still, he was an Ancestor, and the left hand of the Black Princess. He would solve this problem before he was crushed like a grape.
“…huh.” Illya said. “So that’s how it looks when a person is pulled into a hole that small.”
It was the girl. Of course.
If he killed her, the magus lost support, and this horrible trap would be exorcised from existence. If he could slink away into a hiding place in his ship, he could find somewhere to heal in peace, where he would then proceed to kill the final intruder and once again subjugate Enhance using all of the methods at his disposal. Ancestor or not, he would partake of the Eighteenth.
“I’ll take your face, you processed meat doll.”
In a sudden burst of movement he split his breastplate with his own hands. An oarfish familiar shot out of his chest towards Illya. It was one of his oldest, most precious creations. It was from the Baltic Sea, from the time when the Third Crusade was in full swing. The serpentine beast’s jaws distended wide to show rows of vampire fangs. Already the black hole began to distort the thing’s ribbon body. But it was long, and it would reach, and her head would be gone.
“Bastard-Breaker, draw.”
Avenger throbbed like a phallus and shifted from a mortuary sword to something much larger, with a highly defined spine. The familiar was vivisected from the jaws all the way to the tip of its tail. As the sword penetrated through the now-corpse the scent of fish exploded out.
Enhance took the brunt of the undead fish guts. Not a single drop of rotten slime splattered on Illya.
She peered from behind the vampire to get a better look at Svelten’s last moments. The end would be too interesting to not see.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Her eyes were red.
Not the kind of red that was swollen with tears. Not the kind of red that were the bloodshot eyes of the exhausted or tripped out. No, red was the color she had been born with. Her eyes were red. Not red like the eyes of his princess. Svelten could go on and on about the minute differences between his beloved Altrouge and this hateful homunculus. The layering of the irises within the sclera, how wide apart they were set in their faces, the shapes, wines and roses and vermilions and carmines and cardinals and cornels and garnets and crimsons. Such wondrous crimson. That color, it stirred his heart the way that few things in the world did. It was a holy color. It was not a dirty red, an ugly scar red. It was a hue of gospel. It was pristine, mighty, something more. A color linked to the wondrous world he wanted to take more in of.
Her eyes were not the eyes of his princess. He could never deny that as long as he lived. He could also never deny that her eyes were just as beautiful as those of the princess he adored so much, for different and innumerous reasons that only mattered to him.
The darkness encroached on everything in his sight. Soon there would be no more light to bounce off anything for him to see with. With that, there would be no way for him to see the beauty of the world.
Her eyes were red.
Her eyes were not the eyes of his princess.
But if he forgot all about those important, bothersome little details, then he noticed, with enlightened disappointment and pleasant surprise, that that there was no difference at all.
If those crimson eyes that baptized him with darkness were to be the last thing he’d ever see…………………
He’d be a lot worse off without them.
“M’lady…” Svelten wistfully whispered with a tip of his hat.
Then he was gone.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The Fredensborg they were on was an existence sustained by Parade. The demise of the Reality Marble’s owner meant that the ship would go down with its captain. With the disappearance of the necromancy modifications made to it, it would return to being a skeleton and would be laid to rest once more on the ocean floor.
That was assuming, of course, that it would be allowed such a peaceful and cyclical interment. The small black hole continued to rage as it devoured the rest of the boat, as if it were racing against the world’s corrections now that the prana link had been severed. Steel and wood that felt like it became more brittle with every second wailed and rumbled as it was compressed into the apple-sized vortex.
“Well, then.” said Shirou.
“The guy was a creep and a weirdo. Let’s go.” said Illya
“Best thing I’ve heard all night.” said Enhance.
‘-reach out and touch faith-’ said the boombox.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
“If anything’s going to be destroyed, it shall be on our own terms, not because it was the territory of a load-bearing foe.” Illya said with a flash of pride as the abridged recounting of the night’s events was completed.
“So you just left a black hole in the middle of the ocean?” Tohsaka asked.
“It was a small one.” Shirou said.
“Don’t worry about that,” Illya explained, “Its natural decay rate means that it’ll poof into nothingness on its own. Eventually.”
“You don’t know how a black hole works at all, do you?”
“Can any one of us claim to understand how the deeper mysteries of the universe work, Rin?”
“Black holes are not target selective! That wasn’t a black hole you made at all!”
“It was a small one! That’s why!”
Let it be known that Illya would not moonlight as a theoretical physicist anytime soon.
“I still can’t believe you brought a Dead Apostle Ancestor along with you, just like that.” Changing topics, Tohsaka said this incredulously as she once again eyed the dark-coated young man. He didn’t respond. He was too busy idly fussing with a beat-up boombox.
“Can we keep him, Rin?” Illya asked enthusiastically.
Shirou added, “He did say he’d prefer to keep us nearby as the fallout from this comes to a head because he told us ‘Live bait that can fend for itself is a rare commodity.’ Him staying with us shouldn’t be a problem for you or Fuji-nee this time,” he said with a bit of relief, “For once it’s not a young woman we’d be putting up.”
“The gender of the Single Edge is not what I take issue with!” Tohsaka loudly protested. “His name is Enhance,” Shirou said with a bit of an affronted look, but right now she couldn’t care less about his skewed priorities. “The problem is about not a broody man who actually calls himself the ‘Knight of Vengeance’in public. The problem is that you people are nosy and have a death wish!”
“So, Rin,” Illya said, “Does this mean that if you were in our position you would’ve let a craft full of hostile vampires and vengeful spirits roam free as it held a decisive prisoner captive?”
“No. No, I wouldn’t have just let it go. I also wouldn’t have attacked it head-on without any intelligence on what I would be getting myself into.”
“Would you really have?” Illya asked. “If your intelligence had informed you who exactly your foe was would you have still gone up against him?”
If it was just her, Tohsaka Rin alone, would she have taken such a risk? She decided that was doubtful. An upbringing as a magus made her accepting and prepared for death, while at the same time it urged the philosophy of self-preservation. She was a single woman with no successor to pass her Crest on to. If she went, then so too went generations of Tohsaka knowledge. Whether to be left to rot in the middle of nowhere, or stripped from her corpse and taken into Clock Tower storage it would be lost forever. Her things would be hawked by vultures from the Association, and the loss of its Second Owner would cause the power balance in Fuyuki City to shift. Even if the stars aligned and she somehow succeeded in destroying her target, the enemies that this would make her would be too powerful. On her own, Tohsaka Rin wouldn’t have risked it.
But if she had something worthy on the line? Something that she could go crazy for?
“No,” she admitted, “I’m not like that.”
-I’m not like you two, she thought.
“You’re right. You’re not foolish like us. It’s nothing to be ashamed of that you can’t care about justice the way we can.”
Because really, what else would you call someone who fearlessly attacks a vampire’s lair without any prior information on it, and especially when it turns out that the vampire in question is not only one of the Dead Apostle Ancestors, but also one of the most powerful ones out there? What would you call it when a victory is achieved against all odds, with not only zero casualties, but the addition of an ally? “Idiots” and “dumb luck” were appropriate.
“And what of your so-called ‘justice?’ Tohsaka asked, “This good deed of yours was inconsequential to your original intentions.”
“That can’t be denied,” She admitted, this confession of hers articulated with a matter of fact shrug, “If Shirou and I hadn’t happened to be there we certainly couldn’t be having this conversation.
“You’re right, Rin. The only reason that we even got caught up in that watery grave,” Illyasviel von Einzbern looked at Emiya Shirou with a knowing smirk, “was all because we wanted a few little deaths.”
END
“For the love of- did you really just say that?” Tohsaka groaned. She slumped so much in her seat that she looked like her true identity was actually that of a previously undiscovered species of invertebrate, beached and trapped by the oppression of the surface world. That only liquid could prevent her sluggish body’s termination by desiccation.
Looks like she’d be nosediving into that bottle of champagne after all.
Idly she looked to Enhance and wondered if vampires could drink alcohol without, like, suffering a reaction to it.
“Tohsaka…”
“That’s a beer stein you’re pouring that into, Rin.”
“I need this. I need all of this.”
“As I said, the only thing that could possibly judge anyone in this world doesn’t exist.”
Unlikely Pairing
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; March 4th, 2015 at 03:32 PM.
Oi Franco, just post your fic here when you're done.
is this what highjacking looks like
Scarlet Roses and Crimson Thorns
“Whenever you’re ready.” These simple almost nonchalant words were carried through the air with a sort of melancholy. Bathing in the ghostly shine of the moon, two men who had once been proud warriors, faced one another and smiled.
One was armed with two spears, the first was a smaller lance that looked like it was made of an impure gold alloy; the other was a pulsating crimson. He had already taken a fighting stance, prepared for his opponent’s mighty charge.
“…Yeah, let’s do this.” the seemingly bored man in blue who answered with a nasal voice. Both men had shared burdens, joys, and betrayal in the end. They were what you could call friends, but at this point both knew it was too late to back out.
Only one of them would have his wish granted.
A single crow watched, perching on a tree. It’s deathly gaze observed this battleground, as if death itself awaited eagerly for one to fall.
“Um… won’t you draw your weapon?” The dual wielding spearman asked, scratching at his mole in annoyance.
“Getting on it. You’re eager today, are you feeling lucky or something?” The other warrior chuckled while shaking his head.
“Hah, who am I kidding, luck’s too good for us, ain’t it right Diarmy?” he added in a grim tone before waving his hand, a blood curdling screech tearing the forest’s silence as a sickening aura flooded all that surrounded him.
Diarmuid, a legendary warrior who had been cursed since birth by a powerful charm, and whose seduction of his lord’s fiancée had cost him his very life. A tragic tale, the hero ended up betrayed and met his unkind fate with endless remorse. To serve a lord faithfully and right his past sins, is it truly selfish to strive for such a thing?
His golden eyes narrowing as he gripped his weapons tightly, his stance reflecting his focus as he braced himself. He could finally catch a glimpse of the blood-red spear, for a second his heart stopped.
Such a demonic aura, the seven barbs… this weapon was the accursed Gae Bolg, the belly spear wielded by none other than the hound of Culann.
The knight laughed, of course he was to face his homeland’s legendary child of light. Such a thought couldn’t help but make his spirit cry in excitement.
There was nothing else to add, these two legends would fight to the bitter end. Words were meaningless, a deafening silence rang louder than any clash. It took but the crow’s hungry call to announce the beginning of the end.
Cu Chulainn's face twisted and distorted in a sudden burst of bloodlust, a feral smile and widening eyes brimming with killing intent was all Diarmuid needed to understand. In a blur, leaves were torn and ground as the blue warrior dashed like a murderous gale towards his opponent.
“Yaaaah!” the battle thirsty warrior cried in beastly joy as a deadly lance of crimson lunged at his enemy’s heart. If this cry was of a burning passion, the strike that met the demonic spear was of such incandescent bliss. The golden rose clashed against the barbed spear, sparks flying in all directions as both opponents grinned in delight.
Using all his strength, the hound of culann kicked off the ground, using his momentum to flip behind his enemy. This time, it was the longer crimson spear that clashed against the barbed lance, both pushed back by the force of the exchanged blow.
As soon as the two had regained footing, they clashed once again. Furious strikes akin to crimson cannon balls shredded all I their path as quick and precise strikes deflected the lethal blows. The shorter spear would swap the thrusts as Diarmuid’s Gae Dearg went for a counter attack, a cursed lance that would bypass even the mightiest runic defenses with ease.
But if Cu Chulainn was famed for one thing, it was his monstrous speed and beast-like agility. Quickly counter attacking the blow with his lance’s razor sharp spinning motion, crimson clashed against scarlet as the blows grew in speed and intensity.
Moving like the fleeting winds, Diarmuid stepped aside just in time to avoid the furious longing of Cu’s lance and used the window of opportunity to thrust his Gae Buidhe at his opponent’s heart.
Tsk… my ear-
Of course, neither was to go down with ease. Instinctively, the blue warrior used his arm to avoid a lethal strike, the golden metal piercing through his hand, the wound would not heal. His face twisting in pain, the hound of culann moved his arm aside, the golden spear held tightly even as the arm was practically impaled.
His eyes burning with murderous passion, he used his free arm to grab onto his lance and swing it to the man’s neck with a killing blow. Without wasting a breath, Diarmuid let go of his golden lance and focused on the Gae Bolg’s strike, using Gae Buidhe to repel each blow.
The violent sounds grew as sparks burst from each clash. The air around them twisted as if sucking everything in a torrential rain of metal clashing against metal and shredding all around them.
This seemingly endless exchange of killing blows lasted but an instant. With a sudden swing, Diarmuid pushed his enemy back just enough to gain control.
The two enemies had now a fair bit of distance, about fifteen feet separated the two.
“What’s wrong Cu Cullhainn, tired already?” Diarmuid taunted, grinning despite the injuries covering his body. Multiple cuts bled all over, but none had managed to incapacitate him, despite each having been a clearly fatal blow.
His opponent, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky.
His arm was bleeding profusely, not unlike a fountain spilling copious amounts of blood, it was clear that he was in pain. Still, he grinned and lowered his stance, his multiple cuts having flayed his flesh, but his bone remained intact. He could still fight, no, he still wanted to fight.
To feel the cold metal tear his flesh, to feel the lance devastate his innards. With a chuckle, he regained a somewhat calm expression.
“Of course not, it’s just a flesh wound. Takes more than that to get a hero put down for good.”
Smirking, the knight pointed to his opponent. “Oh? And what about a dog?”
The air around them froze.
The Hound of Cullhainn winced before his face twisted and distorted, veins popping as he took the resemblance of some sort of beast.
Gritting his teeth, the warrior snarled. “Why don’t you stick around and find out?”
In a flash, the spearman now appeared right before his enemy, a furious rictus seeping as his fangs were bared with deadly ferocity. In a howl, the irate servant closed the distance in an instant, his lance moving like lightning in order to eviscerate his opponent for good.
The red blur flashed before the dual wielder’s eyes, who instinctively moved in order to avoid the deadly blow. His spear held in front of him, he blocked the demonic lance with all his might; earth crumbling under his feet, he yelled in sheer joy: such a good opponent was hard to find.
Cu Cullhain’s features were now distorted, none of the dignified beauty was left. All that stood was an animal, a rabid beast who only wished to fight and slay his opponent. Even so, he laughed in the face of his opponent, both struggling to keep their opponent at bay.
Using his opponent’s anger, Diarmuid used the momentary distraction to kick dirt in his enemy’s face, blinding him momentarily. Of course, Cu quickly avoided the attack, just as his opponent would have expected.
Using this window, he grabbed onto the golden lance that still stood inside his enemy’s arm and removed it with haste. A spray of blood flew, marrow clearly visible as the arm split in half.
Cu wasted no time, his spear was thrust once more at the man’s chest with ferocious might. The crimson spear met the attack just before it reached his flesh, and dashing against the spear, swung the golden lance at his enemy’s tigh.
The hound gargled blood as his guts were displayed in an unwholesome fashion. That wound would have incapacitated any man, and because it wouldn’t heal, the hound should have been crippled beyond reason by now. Still, he was not done… Not yet.
With a ferocious howl, he grabbed tightly at diarmuid’s face, his thumb dug into his eye socket and twisted painfully. Groaning in pain, diarmuid used his agility and nimble movements to jump and leap off this hold, kicking off his enemy’s face before spinning in the air, his crimson lance going for the enemy’s head.
By now, the man in blue had stopped smiling. Grunting, he brought his lance forward and spun it with deadly speed and effectiveness, blocking the strike as he was once again pushed back. He could taste the blood in his mouth, the pain grew colder and colder. His crimson eyes now glared at his enemy with unprecedented coldness.
Diarmuid too had stopped laughing. His enemy’s head was supposed to have met his lance at least a hundred times by now, yet his enemy was still breathing. With a nod, he clicked his tongue before dashing away.
“You worm… you dare run away!?”, he roared before chasing his enemy. The grass was torn apart from the earth as the two enemies blurred across the forest, the very air around them split as sparks flew all around in every direction.
A sickening crimson light came from above, Cu Cullhain was leaping from tree to tree and pouncing on his opponent, his spear attempting to claim the enemy’s heart with each lunge.
Every strike was met with an intense blow, nearby rocks and trees slowly shattering from the sheer force and speed. Like consecutive machineguns, the blows just kept multiplying without end. Leaves simply disappeared from sight, branches were torn without end. It seemed this bout was to decide the fate of the world.
“Too slow!”, Diarmuid suddenly cried out as his crimson spear flew towards the man’s opponent. The blue warrior dodged the blow by a hair’s length, jumping from the rock he stood above just in time to avoid the murderous spear. Flipping over his enemy, Cu Cullhainn circled his spear before crashing down on his enemy like a meteor.
Crossing his spears in a protective manner, diarmuid blocked the bullet-like blow, although he was sent backwards. Of course, both warriors did not stop there. Running against the earthly ground, Diarmuid’s cold golden eye stared intensely at the hound of cullhainn’s burning glare. Their muscles seemed to twist and bend with every step, as if they were crushed themselves under their own speed.
Both leaping at once, they clashed once again with the intensity that would shame any battlefield. As their weapons met with hungry bloodlust mid air, the air twisted once again with a violent spark. After a mere instant, both were pushed back with a fiery burst in opposite directions.
The two spearmen now faced each other, their eyes and very soul clashed despite both standing inert, in the middle of what seemed to be a river.
“You haven’t used your noble phantasm yet… why? Your belly spear would have easily ended this battle in an instant.” Diarmuid pointed out, his breath steady despite his obviously unwell state. He… had not much left. His opponent was visibly worn down as well, his breathing much less clear, almost heavy.
This battle would end here it seemed.
Grinning, the hound of cullhainn chuckled before digging his lance into the ground, using it as support to keep standing.
“If I did that… this would have been no fun.”
A simple answer. If anything, this man who stood proud despite his multiple wounds should be respected. Such tenacity… was truly admirable.
“Very well, let us end this.”, Diarmuid declared in a clear gleeful tone, smiling warmly at the proud hero’s resolve. His golden lance trickling with blood, he cast it away before taking hold of his longer spear. The lance spun in all directions, as if taking a life of his own. Surely this was Diarmuid’s way of welcoming his opponent, to acknowledge his skill and glory.
“Ok. Last stand!”, the undying warrior roared, his lance twirling between his fingers before he took a fighting stance, lowering to almost impossible degrees as if his face was to touch the ground. His smile was one of a rabid hound no doubt…
Whatever the result of this battle may be, both would have no regrets.
The ensuing clash was of unseen power. The river seemed to split as the two warriors dashed towards each other, ready to kill one another. By now, their spirit was tainted by the madness of battle, one that is far more intoxicating than even the finest drink.
Water burst, as if blown by countless explosions at once. Their weapons, mighty weapons that had been bathed in blood countless times, were now focused solely on bypassing each other’s defense. Wincing, Cu stepped back at each exchange, being cut down and slowly flayed by the sharp spear.
Grimacing, he used all his strength to twist forward, his bloody arm flailing towards Diarmuid’s face, a bloody stream befell upon his eyes. Yes, for what seemed to be an eternity, but happened to be the tiniest fraction of a millisecond, his opponent was blinded.
…Thank you.
The barbed spear lunged forward, murderous wrath screaming on it’s very edge. Aiming for the man’s heart, the spear would have easily pierced his heart. So why, why did it not reach?
His arm, Cu’s arm felt somewhat numb. Glancing, he realized everything. That arm… was gone. Everything slowed down, the water’s ripples were filled with blood. Everything was dark and silent. All Cu could hear was his opponent’s gasp.
It all happened so fast. DIarmuid had been blinded by the blood, but even so, he used all he had to swing his lances once again. One pierced the man’s chest, while the shorter one slashed his arm apart. Gae Bolg never reached his target, still held by the arm, it was to fall to the ground as it’s owner gave his last breath.
But he couldn’t lose, he didn’t have the right to. He made a promise, once again he made a promise, but this time he would keep it.
“Eeeeeeh, don’t worry. You’ve made the right choice summoning me. I’ll get the grail for ya without a pinch.”
He could still remember her face…
The world turned pitch black, using his remaining strength, the blue warrior grabbed onto his lance with his mouth, feral teeth gritting against his weapon as he swung it with all his might.
The river’s ripples were filled with blood.
Thousands of barbs filled diarmuid’s innards in an instant, his very being was being torn apart by the demonic lance. Smiling weakly, he vomited blood as his eyes reddened and faded slowly.
“So this is the end. I guess I was no match for you.”, fionn’s knight murmured.
“Yeah… you were good, but you fought too recklessly.”, said Cu with a warm smile. He was fooling nobody, both knew he had died before his enemy. But even so, he did put up a fight to the bitter end, like a wild cur.
“It was…fun.”
And with that, Diarmuid gave his last breath.
Cu sighed with a pained look before coughing blood violently. He was cold, everything felt cold. He suddenly felt… sleepy. But he wouldn’t fall, he had no right to fall. He would see this to the end and stand, to do any less would dishonor his opponent, his friend.
Just a little longer...
Using his spear like a walking cane, the hound of Cullhainn walked weakly to a nearby tree. Taking hold of his guts he tied them in an unsightly manner around the tree. His back standing against the dying oak, he waited patiently for the end to come.
The last thing he felt was a perching sound, feeble claws grasping on his shoulder, and a slight pricking sensation in his ear. It seemed the crows were hungry on that night.
“…Good grief.”
And with that, the Hound of Cullhainn closed his red eyes, and fell asleep.
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; March 2nd, 2015 at 04:48 AM.
Originally Posted by Korburss
One true OTP...
gg, you may all now judge franco for being franco rather than his fic.
Localizationing stuff
A literal god.
what a great contest
verily
wowsoFANFIC
Names what are you doing
[12:37] <I3uster> if playing overwatch would save my mother from the deathbed
[12:37] <I3uster> id probably flip a coin
[12:38] <I3uster> to see if i play or not
[18:23] <frantic> spinach is like a caffeine zombie
[18:23] <frantic> in AX he would like
[18:23] <frantic> drink 8 shots of espresso
[18:23] <frantic> then he'd turn to me an hour later
[18:23] <frantic> 'frantic', he'd say, his eyes wild and his lips smug
[18:23] <frantic> 'i need coffee'
M E M E
E
M
E
Is this how it ends
Linger: Complete. August, 1995. I met him. A branch off Part 3. Mikiya keeps his promise to meet Azaka, and meets again with that mysterious girl he once found in the rain.
Shinkai: Set in the Edo period. DHO-centric. As mysterious figures gather in the city, a young woman unearths the dark secrets of the Asakami family.
The Dollkeeper: A Fate side-story. The memoirs of the last tuner of the Einzberns. A record of the end of a family.
Overcount 2030: Extra x Notes. A girl with no memories is found by a nameless soldier, and wakes up to a world of war.
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