This is the thread that contains all the entries for the 2017 fanfic contest. I will also include a table of contents so that they can be navigated in an easier fashion.
1. A Drop of Quicksilver
2. A Summoning
3. Being an Evil Kitsune for Fun & Profit
4. Cursed Cold Colle (Part 1)
4. Cursed Cold Colle (Part 2)
5. The Lone Master
6. HE WAS A GOOD KING
7. Le Meilleur des Mondes Possibles
8. THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD
Last edited by Milbunk; April 9th, 2017 at 03:07 AM.
A Drop of Quicksilver
Opening my eyes, I was struck by a dry, dusty wind.
It took me a moment to recognize what I was seeing. Everywhere around me, the land was...dead. There were no plants. No animals. What few trees there were were toppled, grey as stone. Stretching off into the distance was a barren wasteland of sand and rock, as far as the eye could see.
...a dream?
The sight before me was so alien, so unfamiliar, that I couldn't help but immediately assume it wasn't real. Had I ever had a waking moment without being surrounded by the green of the forest?
Above me, the moon glowed with a harsh light in an otherwise empty sky. There were no stars, another sight I could hardly fathom. Yet despite the obvious clues of nighttime, I had no problem seeing the landscape around me.
Even realizing this was a dream, it was tremendously unsettling. What could have possibly happened to rob this land of life? What toppled these trees, and replaced the rich soil beneath them with sand? It was scary enough to think of something powerful enough to do so, but that something wanted to do so was even more unnerving.
Though the landscape was foreign to me, it was not the first time I had had a dream like this, one so vivid and...disturbing. It was not uncommon, and it was normally important. While I was far from skilled at interpreting these kinds of dreams, I knew Etsa certainly was. All I had to do was remember, carve every detail into my memory, and tell him exactly what I saw.
What did this mean? Why was I seeing it?
...and where was it?
A soft rumble in the earth below me distracted me from my attempts to memorize the scene. Instinctively, I covered my ears as the rumbling grew into a deafening shriek. For a few moments, the shrieking continued, so loud I felt like it alone might have split the rocks around me. The earth shook beneath me as the scream continued, knocking me down to fall on my backside.
Gradually, the shriek waned, and the earth settled. Less than a minute after they had begun, both came to an end, and once again silence reigned over the desolate wasteland.
...no. That wasn't right,
It wasn't silent again. Before, even this barren expanse was filled with the noises of nature. Wind blowing. Sand shifting. Rocks toppling down hills. Dried wood cracking under its own weight. The sounds of a pained, wounded world, but still a living one.
Now, there was nothing. Everything was still and silent, like it had been frozen in time. Like the faint traces of life that had filled it moments prior had been extinguished.
Like a corpse.
At first, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. However, no matter how long I waited, no matter how intently I listened, nothing changed. There was no sound. There was no nature.
The Great Mother was dead.
Instantly I began to panic. How? How was that even possible? Without the Great Mother, how would we even survive?
Without her voice, how could I even survive?
Panic soon gave way into sheer terror. There was no way this could have happened. Everything relied on the Great Mother. What would ever want to see Her harmed? How could something so essential to everything that lived possibly die?
How could we possibly survive in the face of that?
Nevermind our village, without the Great Mother, how could any village anywhere survive?
As my mind raced, trying to understand the implications of what was happening, another cry filled the air.
It was different from the first. While the first was a shriek, a death cry filled with pain and despair, this was more of a howl. A mournful cry, full of sadness and emotional pain.
Looking up to the sky, where the howl seemed to be coming from, I saw it begin to change. The pale white moon was turning dark, dyed red as if soaked in blood. All around it, eight stars began to shine brightly, piercing through the blackness of the empty void surrounding them.
The stars themselves were crying out in mourning, weeping over the loss of their sister, howling with grief immeasurable.
And they were crying out for revenge.
As the howl died out, it was replaced by the sound of shifting sand and earth. In the near distance, what had once been a large hill was starting to shift - to stand. Sand and rocks poured to the ground as the thing rose up, paying no more mind to the enormous stones and dessicated logs that lay on top of it than a man would to a blanket of dry leaves.
Even as the sand and stone washed off of it to reveal the creature beneath, my eyes could barely understand what they were seeing. It was both green and blue, and yet somehow neither. It had skin - fur? Maybe a shell? - like polished stone, gently gleaming in the harsh red light from the moon above. It had legs, and yet no feet. It had a head, yet no face. It seemed alive, yet made of stone, yet made of fire.
No matter how I looked at it, I couldn't even begin to describe it properly. Just looking at it for a few moments made my head hurt, and yet I couldn't look away.
Watching that monster rise up in front of me, all else was stripped from my mind. My fear and panic at the Great Mother's death were still there, yet somehow beyond my reach. While this creature existed before me, I could see nothing else, think nothing else, hear nothing else.
As the beast rose to its full height, larger than any tree I had seen, it raised its head to the stars above. With a roar that was both frighteningly loud yet just beyond hearing, it answered the call of the stars still shining in the sky.
There was no mourning in its voice. There was no despair, no sadness, no grief. No, the strange beast called out with nothing but anger. Rage. Fury.
As that promise of vengeance dominated my mind, I could feel my consciousness begin to collapse.
As my vision faded to black, staring at that monstrous creature, I was filled with a new, much more primal terror.
No matter where I ran, no matter where I hid, no matter what I did, the very existence of this creature carried with it a terrible promise.
...I was going to die.
---------------------------
With a cry, I sat bolt upright.
The Great Mother was dead.
I was immediately beset by panic upon awakening. Vaguely I was aware that there was someone else here, but I had no composure to answer them as they called out to me.
Truth be told, I didn't even really understand what I was scared of. I knew I had been dreaming, but in my current state I couldn't even remember what it had been about. I knew it was something terrifying, something of the utmost importance, but I couldn't remember even a tiny portion of what had happened, and somehow that made it even scarier. All I had was the overwhelming conviction that the Great Mother had died somehow.
That I was completely and utterly alone.
I knew I needed to calm down, but I couldn't. I knew the dream was important. It had to have been. I had to remember it. But my inability to remember it made the fear worse, and the fear made it harder to think, made it harder to remember. Somewhere deep inside my head I understood I was caught in a vicious circle, that I needed to calm down if I had any hope of escaping it, but by this point I was far beyond reason.
I could feel myself losing my grip on consciousness as I struggled to keep breathing. The harder I tried, the more difficult it seemed to be. Clutching my head in my hands, I tried to scream, but I didn't even have the breath for that. I tried to move, but something was pinning me down to the floor. I tried to struggle, to cry out for help, but I couldn't hear anything over the sound of my own heartbeat, going faster, faster, faster-
Be still, my child.
I froze.
Deep within my blind panic, the sound of the wind passing gently through the leaves outside reached me.
You are not alone. I am still with you.
The call of birds, the chirping of insects from outside came to me, clearing my mind like they had torn the blindfold from my eyes.
Slowly, I let go of the breath I was holding, dropping my hands from my head and looking around.
Breathing heavily and drenched with sweat, I was sitting on a thin mattress in a familiar hut. I was home. I was in the village. I was safe.
I was not alone.
After taking a moment to get my breathing under control, I finally noticed the girl sitting beside me. Her expression had frozen in fear, little different from what I had been feeling before, but by the way she was holding my shoulders I could tell it was fear for me.
Wordlessly, I nodded to her in thanks. After a few moments, as if to confirm I was actually okay, she tentatively took her hands off my shoulders, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
She was still quite young. Perhaps a few years younger than me, she must have been sitting here watching me sleep since I lied down around noon. Now, she sat only an arms' length away from me, clearly shaken by my fit. Come to think of it, it must have been her first time seeing me go through that.
Faintly, I hoped it would be her last, but even I knew that was naive at best.
"Don't scare me like that!" the girl's voice was still a little shaky. "I thought you were dying!"
"...sorry..." Without making eye contact, I mumbled an apology.
Hearing my voice, the girl's mood completely changed. With a beaming smile, she stood up, brushing the dirt from her legs.
"No problem! This is my job, after all!"
For some reason, hearing my voice always made her unreasonably happy. It had only been a little over a moon ago that she had been assigned as my attendant, one of the special few who were allowed to be left alone with me. Maybe it was because I rarely spoke to anyone, but it seemed like she treated hearing my voice as some sort of special honour. Really, I just didn't like talking all that much. Ever since I was little, others did the talking for me, and I was more than happy to let them do so.
At any rate, she was a good, honest girl. She was bright and cheerful, perhaps a bit too willful, but she took her job very seriously. Maybe a bit too seriously, though I'm sure most of the villagers would be aghast at the suggestion that was even possible.
"Shall we go get something to eat?" the girl said, already moving to prepare my clothes for going out. "Nothing settles the stomache after a bad dream like some food, after all! That's what my mom says, at least."
After thinking for a moment, I shook my head. Still feeling the lingering effects of my fit from earlier, I had no appetite for food. Seeing my refusal, the girl stopped for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. After a few moments of standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, she returned my clothes to where they were and instead got out a small brush.
"Okay, whenever you are ready then," she said, trying to mask the uneasiness in her voice. Sitting down behind me, she set herself to brushing my hair, humming quietly as she did so.
Though she had been assigned as my attendant for a short while now, she shared the position with two others, who took turns looking after me. As such, she was still a little unsure of what kind of suggestions were appropriate, or what to do when I refused them. I suppose it would help if I just told her how I felt, but life was hard enough without that added stress.
As she brushed my hair, I turned my thoughts inward. Now that I had had some time to calm down, I could recall the events of my dream much easier. That bizarre landscape, that agonizing shriek, and the mournful cry that echoed after it. It all left a terrible feeling in my stomache. Though I was absolutely certain of the meaning of the dream, the cry of the Great Mother's death, the fact I could still hear Her voice whispering to me now was clear enough evidence that She was still very much alive.
Was it a prophecy, then? Warning of some future event? It was not completely unreasonable. I had had such dreams before, though typically they were much more cryptic, much more difficult to decipher. But the meaning this time was so clear, so evident, it made me doubt my own interpretation of it. Especially combined with the absurdity of it.
The Great Mother, dead? Was that even possible? She, who had existed even before the first man? It seemed only fitting that She would live long after the last man passed away. And yet, that death cry still rang in my ears, as if to defy my intuitions of its impossibility.
...either way, this dream was certainly something of great import. Even if my interpretation of the dream was mistaken, it no doubt still spelled grave news. I couldn't just keep it to myself. For all I knew, the lives of everyone in the village were at stake.
Ignoring the girl behind me, I stood up and took a few steps towards the exit of the small hut. There was only room inside for a grown man to take perhaps five steps across, so with that small movement I was positioned at the exit, standing in the streams of sunlight that peaked through the grass curtain into the dark interior. Once again, the girl behind me had stopped, unsure of what was happening or what she was supposed to do.
"Puyu." In a quiet voice, I called the girl's name, causing her to jump to her feet.
"R-right! Sorry! One moment, one moment!" In a rush, she returned the brush, got the clothes from earlier back out, and quickly set about clothing me. Really, I didn't mind putting my clothes on myself, but it was as I was told many times before by the elders. Even in trivial, meaningless tasks, there can be great meaning in leaving it to others. As mundane as it was, this was Puyu's job. It would be an insult to her to take it away from her.
After a few minutes, she had finished changing me from the light clothes I wore to sleep to the heavier, more regal clothes of my position. Though they were untouched by the bright, vibrant colours of the Honoured, the somber darkness and stifling thickness of them were testament enough to my station.
Giving Puyu another few moments to prepare herself, I gave her a nod, and she opened the loose door in front of me. Covering my eyes against the sudden flood of afternoon light filling the room, I took a deep breath. As much as I disliked going out into the village when I didn't have to, I now clearly did have to. The elders...Etsa needed to know what I had seen.
Releasing the breath slowly, I nodded again, this time to myself. After taking a moment to wipe the cold sweat from my face, I followed Puyu out into the sunlight.
---------------
Though I didn't really enjoy going outside all that much, it wasn't all bad.
Even walking through the heart of the village, with dozens of people milling about around me, I felt much closer to the Great Mother here than in my own closed off little hut. Cutting through the sound of people hard at work - mostly women at this time of day, though it was late enough that the men were beginning to trickle back in to the village - was the soft hum of life around me. Though I always felt nervous with more than two or three people around, especially those who I didn't know well, the gentle whispers of the leaves and distant calls of wildlife helped to ease the stress.
Wherever I was, the Great Mother was with me. No matter how I closed myself off from those around me, or how the noise of daily life struggled to drown out Her voice, I could always hear it, could always feel Her comforting presence.
You are not alone.
I will keep you safe.
Neither man nor beast can harm you.
Whenever I was stressed as I was now, these words would come to me over and over, comforting and encouraging me. It was thanks to them I had the strength to leave the confines of my little hut in the first place. Even the thought of losing that voice, losing that connection...that terrible premonition brought on by my dream from earlier, was enough to drive me crazy. Just remembering it now, I could feel the fear I felt then coming back, but with Her voice still with me, I could push the fear down.
Though I avoided making eye contact with the people around us as we made our way to the center of the village, where Etsa's hut was, Puyu was another story entirely. Bright and cheerful, she greeted everyone we came across with a smile, and similarly they greeted her back with open affection. And as I tried to ignore them, they ignored me as well.
It was by no means a rule, but ever since I had officially been Named, the people of the village had started talking to me less and less. It wasn't out of hate, or some attempt at ostracizing me - rather, it was the opposite. The longer they spent with me, the more they realized I didn't like talking. As such, they gradually learned not to talk to me either. Surprisingly quickly, it became an unspoken rule that I only ever spoke with Etsa and my personal attendants, and anyone who had business with me would have to go through them.
I didn't particularly mind people talking to me, but I was just as comfortable with them not. It wasn't that I particularly disliked them. Far from it, actually. It was thanks to them that I was even alive - though my father Returned to the Jungle well before I was born, and my mother died to give birth to me, it was their open kindness that kept me fed and clothed since I was a baby. And in turn, I knew it was my sacred duty to protect them, to be their Guiding Light in the Dark.
But ever since I could remember, the voice of the Great Mother had been with me, comforting me, guiding me, teaching me. Her words seemed so much more true, so much more real than those of the people around me. I found it very difficult to have even the simplest of conversations with other people, even the most honest and well-meaning of them talking to me from behind a social mask I didn't understand.
Luckily for me, Puyu was the opposite. Though she was still a child - or perhaps because she was still a child - she cut right through those masks and brought out the truth in everyone. And though I couldn't participate in those conversations, it made them much easier to listen to when she was a part of them. No doubt that particular charm of hers was one of the main reasons she was chosen to become one of my attendants.
Our village being one of the largest in the area, with a population numbering in the hundreds, it took a few minutes to reach the center of the village where Etsa's hut was. Standing separate from the other structures in the village, it was clearly the most ornate. While most other huts were constructed simply, with dirt floors and uncovered entryways, this hut was different. Built on a raised platform, perhaps an arms-length off the ground, a solid wood frame and roof, and ornate grass curtains covering the entry, it was easily three times the size of any of the other huts in the village.
This was, of course, to be expected. This was no mere home, after all. This was where the people found their connection to the Great Mother, where they came to plea for mercy or show their thanks. It was a sacred space, where neither the elders nor the Honoured could enter without permission. Even the Chieftan was barred from entry. Only two people in the entire village could enter this space freely.
The first was Etsa. And the second was, of course, me.
Today, however, there was something decidedly strange about it.
"Hey there, Puyu. What are you two doing here so late in the day?"
One of the two men guarding the entrance to the Shrine called out to Puyu as we approached, eyeing me with a look of concern mostly overshadowed by curiosity. It was very normal for the Shrine to be guarded day and night, so that no one could enter it and taint the sanctity of the place. Normally, however, that role was given to older men, injured, or those exhausted from repeated outings into the jungle. It was mostly a ceremonial position, meant more to scare away children who didn't know any better than for actual protection.
"Lady Nantu has business inside today. I think she wants to talk to Etsa."
The two men guarding the door gave each other a concerned look, as if unsure of what to say. Turning back to look at the little girl, the first man spoke again.
"Sorry Puyu, but Etsa gave us explicit instructions that no one is allowed inside today. No one at all."
It was normal for there to be a pair of men guarding the entrance to the Shrine at all times, but this was different. Though their garb was the standard fare for the men in the village, a knee length grass skirt with chest bare, they each had a grass armband on their right arms, halfway between their elbow and their shoulder. Woven into each of their armbands was a feather, each a startling vermillion. Similarly, in place of the simple, expendable wooden spears favoured by most of the men in the village, lashed to the tips of their weapons were sharpened stone spearheads, a similarly coloured red feather tied in with the bindings.
These men were Honoured.
Warriors, who had stolen their lives back from the jaws of certain defeat. Champions, whose actions had saved the village itself from destruction. Heroes, whose influence earned in battle rivalled that of the elders themselves. Chosen, of which there were only five in the whole village, and who stood as the symbol of the village's might, beside the wisdom symbolized by the elders.
The fact that these heroes of the village were posted here, at what should have been a guard duty that was little more than a ceremonial show, would have been more than enough to confirm something was terribly wrong, even if I hadn't seen that dream earlier.
"How dare you! Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?!" Puyu, of course, didn't care who they were. "Lady Nantu demands that you step aside at once, or else face her wrath!"
The second of the guards laughed, resting his free hand placatingly on Puyu's head. "Sorry kid, but Etsa's instructions. If Nantu wants us to move, she can ask us herself."
"You have no right to stop us!" Puyu shouted back at him, her 'outrage' looking somewhat comical as she made no attempt to remove the hand resting on her head.
"I have every right to stop you," the man replied, ruffling her hair as he knelt down to her level. "If Nantu wants to go in, like I said, she has to ask."
At that point, Puyu, followed by the other two, turned to look at me, a look of obvious concern on her face. It wasn't that the man - Kapanti, if I remembered his name correctly - was being mean-spirited. I outranked even the Honoured when it came to anything involving the Shrine. Even instructions from Etsa wouldn't be enough to keep me out - if I asked them to step aside, I had no doubt they would.
But the fact that they were demanding my specific instructions to step aside from their duty before letting me through was enough to tell me of the seriousness of the situation. Looking at the top of the Shrine's roof, I could see a steady smoke rising into the late afternoon air, signalling someone was definitely inside. Etsa had never before attempted to restrict my access to the Shrine, so the fact that he had given instructions that even I wasn't to enter was unprecedented. Of course, Etsa would know that I could enter if I really needed to anyways, but even an easily passed barrier sent a clear message.
"...how long?" I spoke a bit softer than I had intended, motioning towards the Shrine door.
The first man stroked the stubble on his face. "How long? Oh, I'd say since he woke up this morning? Shortly after sunrise, we received word that no one was to disturb him inside until he gave the go-ahead. We're the third shift to take guard duty today, I suppose? He hasn't even come out to eat anything yet, as far as I've heard."
Looking at the sun, I guessed that it was probably little more than an hour before sunset. There were few rituals that he could be doing that would take so long that could be completed alone, so I concluded it would be best to wait a little longer, to allow him to finish what he was doing. What I had to tell him was urgent, but not so urgent that I needed to risk a potential ritual he could be involved in, especially since it was likely close to completion.
Nodding in thanks to the guards, I turned to leave, prompting Puyu to stomp up beside me in a huff.
"Lady Nantu! You don't have to listen to them! Just go on inside! You have important business, don't you?!" Though she tried to speak in a low voice, it was hard for her to do so while so upset, so I figured the guards probably had no problem hearing her.
As if to confirm my suspicions, Kapanti called out after her. "Puyu, don't bother her. She knows better than any of us whether its okay for her to interrupt Etsa or not. Trust her."
"But...but..." Caught between a rock and a hard place, Puyu sputtered briefly before crossing her arms with a scowl aimed at no one in particular.
"Why don't you go get her something to eat?" Kapanti continued, fruitlessly trying to pacify the now-furious girl. "You can bring something back for Etsa as well. I'm sure he'll be done soon, and will no doubt be starving after skipping a full day of meals."
"That will not be necessary." A muffled voice called out from inside the Shrine, shortly before the grass curtains over the entranceway parted.
Stepping through the doorway was an old man. Tall and muscular, and though his cloud-white hair and wrinkled face and hands displayed how ancient he was, his strong frame and powerful bearing showed that age had done little to weaken him. Unlike the other men in the village, he wore a finely woven coat, covering his upper arms and chest. Woven into the coat was an alternating pattern of white and black feathers, creating something like a hoop that circled his upper body. On each wrist was tied a thickly woven band, decorated with a crest of feathers similarly black as night on his right wrist and white as bone on his left. His ceremonial headdress was nowhere to be seen, indicating that whatever ritual he had been performing inside was now complete.
"Wisdom," Kapanti immediately spoke upon seeing the man emerge, "I'm glad to see you well. Please, come have something to eat." Though before the other villagers I had similar standing as the ancient man before us now, even the birds would have been able to tell that the men treated him with far more respect than they did me. I could hardly blame them, though. After all, I was nothing but a little girl to them, still years from even being an adult.
This man, who had seen more sunrises than the two Honoured guards combined, who had watched three generations - some dared to suggest four - grow to adulthood, would have commanded such respect if he was an armless, legless lunatic. How much moreso that he was Etsa, the longest serving Wisdom our people had ever had?
"As I said, that will not be necessary," Etsa spoke, looking at the four of us present with a firm yet unconfrontational gaze. After a few seconds, he settled his eyes on me. "Come, Nantu. I'm sure you have words for me, but I must speak with you as well."
With a nod, I approached the Shrine, Kapanti and his companion parting before me without a word. Without waiting for me, Etsa turned around and walked back through the curtain into the interior of the Shrine, and I made to follow.
Even before I had given her instructions, Puyu walked ahead of me up the stairs to the Shrine, sitting down on the platform beside the door. For some reason, she had a rather smug look on her face, but the fact she understood she needed to stay outside without my explicit instructions was enough to satisfy me.
Turning one more time to nod in thanks to the guards, I took a deep breath and parted the curtain leading into the Shrine's interior.
------------------
With a deep breath, I pushed down the impulse to stand up and stretch my aching legs.
Though it had felt like hours since I had entered the shrine, I knew it couldn't have been more than one. The complete lack of windows made it impossible to see how dark it had grown outside. Even the hole in the ceiling to allow smoke to escape was carefully constructed to prevent any hint of sunlight from entering. But as Etsa added only the second log to the low-burning fire in the center of the room, I knew it couldn't have been that long.
Sitting alone with him in the darkness, he gave a very different impression than he did from outside. Maybe because I was closer to him than any other in the village, I could see the tiredness that hid beneath his powerful exterior. As we both sat unmoving, staring at the soft glow of the firelight as it hungrily set to work picking apart its newest prey, I could see an air of lonely exhaustion hanging about his shoulders.
Though he had wanted to speak with me, he had yet to speak a word since we had entered the shrine. Even so, I understood, at least in part, what he wanted to tell me.
Etsa and I were unique in this village. Out of all the many hundreds of other people, only the two of us could hear the Great Mother. For him, it was a difficult task, requiring lengthy rituals and complicated potions to open his ears to Her voice. When he learned I could hear the same voice, he was jubilant. When he learned I could do it without the aid of his potions, without any sort of ritual, he openly wept with joy.
...now, Her whispers told me exactly what he wanted to speak to me about. No doubt he had spent a large portion of today communing with the Great Mother, trying to confirm his suspicions.
The jungle was calling.
It was time for him, after all these long years, to finally leave us.
And though I hardly needed Her voice to tell me so, it was one more layer of dreadful confirmation.
"I am afraid, Nantu." Without warning or preamble, he spoke. Like his appearance, his voice was strong and robust, giving no indication of his proximity to death. Without responding, I stared further into the embers, now flaring with life.
"I am afraid," he continued, "not because of my end. I have lived a long life, have been the connection between our village and the Great Mother for far longer than I deserve. No, I have long waited for my chance to return to the jungle...but now? Now, I am afraid."
Quietly, I nodded. I did not like speaking, but that was beside the point. Right now, more than any other time in my life, he needed me to listen. Though I had a natural intuition towards it, once again Her whispers told me the sad truth.
You will not have many more meetings like this one. Cherish it.
"The Great Mother gave us a tremendous blessing with your birth. It seemed almost certain that our village would lose its connection to Her when no one with Her blessing was born for two full generations. But after that period of fear and panic, for one as skilled and blessed as you to come along, what could it be other than a sign of Her favour with us?" Though it still carried great strength, his voice began to grow softer as he continued speaking.
"And though you are yet young to inherit the title of Wisdom, I believe you are capable. You have learned well, and will almost certainly outperform me in no time at all." Though he praised me, his face remained stiff as wood. Come to think of it, I wasn't sure I had ever seen him smile. It made me wonder a little bit if he even knew how.
"...but no matter how capable you are, I fear it may not be enough. Of late, I have dreamed of great calamity. Not just upon us, and our village, but upon a great many. A great tragedy upon the entire jungle, a disaster that will harm not only the living, but those who are yet to live. And even those who already have left us. Yet as I appealed to the Great Mother to reveal to me the nature of this calamity, Her responses have been clouded with declarations of my own fate, convictions of my advanced age. As if to say what is to come is no longer any of my concern."
For a few moments, silence passed between us. Though I didn't make eye contact, I could tell he was staring at me, and the voiceless question came across loud and clear. As I delayed the inevitable, I took a deep breath. The smell of smoke, of the burning wood, filled me with a sense of forlornness. Seeing the dead wood consumed by fire, I couldn't help but think of Etsa sitting across from me. Just as the wood, long since bereft of life, found one final purpose in feeding the fire, so too did Etsa seek a final purpose.
He knew his life was over. He knew there was nothing he could offer anymore. Yet still, seeing even just hints at the darkness that was coming for us, for the people he had served tirelessly for generations, for the people he loved with all his body and soul...he wanted to find a way that even his dying self could burn brightly one more time.
Because even dead wood could burn.
I took another deep breath, letting Her whispers soothe me as I prepared to speak.
"...I had a dream today." Long accustomed to my reticence, Etsa made no reaction as I finally spoke out, his gaze still locked on me, unrequited. "The stars were mourning, for the Great Mother had died. And then a monster awoke. A beast greater than any in the jungle. It was angry. It wanted revenge against the one who killed Her."
Nevermind speaking about it, even recalling that dream was dreadful. But as fear threatened to choke me again, Her voice echoed in my ears. The crackling of the fire, the faint sound of the leaves swaying in the wind outside, the even fainter sound of Etsa's own breath. As if to deny my words, Her words came to me.
I am alive.
I am still with you.
Do not be afraid.
As the fire in the center of the room grew, it more clearly illuminated the tightly drawn expression on Etsa's face. Though I didn't look at him directly, I could still see the strain those words put on him. He must have known, after spending all day alone in the Shrine, that the Great Mother was far from dead. It took only a single glimpse outside to see She was as strong and powerful as ever. But that did little more than make my dream even more terrifying.
What could possibly happen to bring Her, in the height of Her power, to Her knees?
...and why did that beast seem even more terrifying than the thought of losing Her?
A sudden sigh of relief from Etsa caught me off guard, causing my eyes to snap up and look at him directly. His eyes were closed, and a much more gentle expression than before was on his face.
"Thank you, Nantu. Your words give me great hope."
Once again, I blinked in surprise. Hope? How did the prospect of the Great Mother's death give him hope? Surely, her death would mean the end of our people altogether...right? Looking up again to return my gaze, he answered the question he must have seen in my eyes.
"Yes, hope. Look outside. Listen. The Great Mother is as strong as ever. Perhaps in saying this I am no more than a little egg trying to console the mother bird. You can feel it far greater than I can, can't you?" Seeing I was still oblivious to his meaning, he continued. "The Great Mother is strong. She is overflowing with life. She will not fall to the likeness of even the greatest disaster, nor can any man hope to injure Her." After a pause to make sure I was following, he finished. "Even if the dream which you saw comes to pass, it will be many lifetimes before it does."
Slowly, I nodded. What he said certainly made sense. After all, what could possibly happen to kill the Great Mother? Surely, nothing in the jungle could hope to do so. All things depended on Her for life. All She would have to do is withdraw her favour, and any threat would be extinguished. No, Etsa must have been right. Whatever threat I dreamed of must have been in the far future.
And while that didn't make the problem any less important, it meant we had time to prepare for it.
...I had time to prepare for it.
I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as well. With that line of thinking, it was likely whatever catastrophe was coming would happen well after my lifetime as well. Perhaps I would need to play a key part in staving that disaster off, and that's why the dream came to me. But it was not necessarily so urgent, and I would not have to shoulder the burden myself.
There would be many generations after me who could carry that burden alongside me.
As I had thought, speaking to Etsa had been the correct choice. Even in his last days, he was able to provide me with such wisdom. Perhaps that is why I had the dream now - so that he could teach me what it really meant before he returned to the jungle. If he had not been here to teach me what that dream truly signified, then who knows what I would have done in the grips of panic?
Suddenly, everything around me grew quiet.
Something was wrong.
Before I understood what was happening, I was holding my breath. Etsa was speaking, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. The whispers of the Great Mother that had been with me every waking moment since I had been born faded to silence.
Then, like a lightning bolt had fallen from heaven, She screamed.
I was in shock. In all my life, I had never heard such a voice come from Her. It was even different from the wail I had heard in my dream. While that had been a cry of anguish, a dying moan, this was something entirely new. Fear. Confusion.
Panic.
Almost unconsciously, I rushed to my feet, stumbling as my sleeping limbs tried to carry me outside. Vaguely, I was aware that Etsa had noticed my distress, but even that was crowded out of my mind by the keening anger I felt coming from outside. Not just the Great Mother, but it felt like all of nature itself was joining in the tumult, raising its voice in protest.
As I tried to lift myself to my feet again, slower and steadier, I got outside as fast as I could manage. Had they not caused me to trip only a moment earlier, I might have even forgotten the pain in my legs from kneeling on the wooden floor for so long. As it was, as I pushed my way through the grass curtain that led outside, there was only one thought repeating in my head.
No.
Please no.
Not now.
Please, please not now.
I had no idea what was happening. Such a cry was entirely new to me, and so, try as I might to deny it, I could only assume the worst.
This was it.
This was what I was afraid of.
Turning my eyes to the sky, my eyes darted back and forth rapidly. The sun had set long ago, and the stars were hanging alone in the night sky. Once again, I was vaguely aware of Etsa exiting the Shrine behind me, but I couldn't understand the words he was speaking. I knew he was concerned, but filled with Her voice, I didn't have the presence of mind to even think about his words.
The Great Mother was crying out.
Run.
Run away.
Flee from here.
Her words were not directed towards me, nor towards the people of my village. I could understand that much instinctively. No, they were directed towards nature, towards the jungle. There was nothing I could do but wait and watch. And though time had seemed to slow down, I didn't have to wait long.
One of the stars was moving. Though it was difficult to tell at first due to the sheer multitude of stars in the sky, it quickly became obvious as it began to move faster and faster, growing larger and larger. As it grew closer and closer, its also grew brighter and brighter. In only seconds since I had left the confines of the Shrine, my eyes still unadjusted to the darkness outside, the falling star glowed so brightly that I could make out everything in the village as clear as day. And brighter still it became, as the star grew larger than even the sun at noon, twice as large, twice as large again.
Despite its blinding brilliance, I couldn't tear my eyes off of it. I didn't have much choice, however. In the next split second, the spellbinding light arced across the sky, passing over the village in less than a heartbeat, smashing into the ground a distance away.
Though it landed well beyond where we could see, thanks to the thick jungle surrounding our village, we felt the impact immediately. A strong tremor shook the village, knocking me from my feet. It lasted only a moment, passing shortly after I hit the platform.
Still blinded by the intense light shed by the falling star, I could do little more than blink dumbly as I waited for my vision to return. All around me was silence. Even the Great Mother's voice had grown quiet once again, as if the whole world was holding its breath together.
A few moments later, a loud howl tore through the village. This time, it was not the Great Mother's voice, nor was it nature itself, but rather it was an intense wind, ripping through the leaves and between the buildings of the village. Once again, this wind lasted only for a short while, and everything grew quiet again.
As my vision slowly recovered, sound slowly came back too. First, the faint whispers of the Great Mother came back, calm and soothing. Soon after, voices from the village came, calling to see if everyone was okay.
Realizing I had been holding my breath the entire time, I started gasping for air. Blinking furiously, I tried to clear the fog from my eyes so I could get a good look at the village, to confirm everyone was okay, but it was slow in coming. Before my eyes could adjust, sparks of fire began to light up throughout the village as villager after villager ignited torches, and soon the night air was alive with sound.
Moving in from the corner of my vision, I saw Etsa kneel down beside me, offering me his hand. Of course, someone as sturdy as him hadn't been knocked over by the tremor. Taking his hand, I let him help me to my feet.
"Lady Nantu! Lady Nantu! Are you alright?! Are you hurt?! Are you okay?!" As if not to lose to the panicked voices of the villagers surrounding us, Puyu suddenly popped up beside me, letting loose a stream of concerned cries. Though I was still shaken by the event, I tried my best to put on a brave smile and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. My nod was enough to get her babbling to stop, but she was still very much concerned...very much frightened.
I couldn't blame her. I felt much the same way.
Now that the village had filled with light, I could properly survey the damage. Thankfully, it was fairly minimal. A handful of huts seemed to have collapsed, and even now the occupants were being pulled from the remains. It was hard to tell from a glance, but there didn't seem to be anyone too terribly hurt. Another quick glance behind me confirmed the shrine was still intact, prompting me to give a sigh of relief. If we had lost the shrine now of all times, who knows how we could have managed?
"Wisdom, what happened?!" The two Honoured who had been guarding the Shrine were still there, now looking up at Etsa with tense expressions. "Was that...?!"
"It was not our doing," Etsa replied, making the men look simultaneously both relieved and concerned. Of course we wouldn't have done such a thing on purpose, not without warning the people of the village. But if it wasn't us, then what had happened?
But more than that, I could tell there was something more pressing on their minds. Looking to Etsa briefly, I turned back to the Honoured after receiving his nod of approval.
"Go. Please help."
Blinking in surprise at my sudden words, after a moment of hesitation, they snapped a quick bow towards me as one.
"Thank you, Lady Nantu!" For what must have been the first time, the men as one thanked me with a formality I really should have been giving them. Without complaint, however, they turned and bolted into the village, immediately setting to helping free people from the collapsed buildings.
"I cannot but interpret this as a sign, Nantu." Etsa spoke quietly to me as we watched the men go. "Though it may have been just a star, it fell with all the brilliance of the sun. It seems that my remaining time was even shorter than I imagined."
Taking a deep breath to try and calm my nerves, I nodded slowly. It was almost undeniable. Never before had I heard of such a thing happening, not in all the stories I had memorized from Etsa, or heard told by the elders. It was like the sun itself had fallen into the jungle.
The word, etsa. The Sun. The brilliant light of day, the source of warmth and life. His namesake had fallen to the ground right in front of us. Even a child like me could see the meaning behind that sign clear as day.
"As such, it appears that the time to pass the mantle of Wisdom to you will soon come." Dropping to one knee in front of me, Etsa looked me square in the eyes. With his impressive height, even on one knee, we were almost at eye level. "So, Lady Nantu." His voice was calm yet firm, his expression serious yet composed. If he was afraid, he did not show it. If he was worried, he would not show it. "What shall we do?"
In response to Etsa's question, I turned to look out over the village. It seemed, at least at first glance, that everything here would be okay. The people had organized themselves well, and it would be no time at all before everyone had been pulled from the huts that had collapsed in on them. Work on clearing them away would likely have to wait until morning, so until then, we would have to find a place for those people to sleep, and a way to tend to those who had been injured by the falling buildings.
...but that was not my job. That could be left to the Honoured, or the Chieftan. I had much more important work to do.
Over the sound of the villagers hard at work, over the sound of the crackling torches, over the sound of the still quivering leaves, I could hear Her voice.
Calling me. Calling me into the jungle.
Asking for my help.
"...sunrise. I will go to the fallen star." Turning to Puyu, who was staring uneasily at Etsa and I, I spoke again. "Please find the Chieftan. Tell him."
After another moment of dazed staring, Puyu finally snapped out of it, her whole body snapping rigid. "Yes Na-...Lady! Lady Nantu! Yes, Lady Nantu!" After a few botched attempts to speak, the flustered girl bolted off into the village in search of the Chieftan.
Shaking partly from my usual nerves and partly from anxiety at what I had just commanded, I instinctively turned to Etsa. Though I looked to him for advice, or at least feedback on my decision, he gave me nothing. Instead, he simply stood, heading back to the Shrine. "If we will leave at sunrise, then I will start making preparations for our departure now." Stopping as he pushed aside the grass curtain, he turned to look out at where the fallen star had landed. Though it was completely obscured by trees, it was almost as if he was looking right through them. "...it will be a long journey to where the star fell. Perhaps an entire day, to get there and back. I recommend you sleep as soon as you can." With that, he entered the Shrine, not even sparing me a glance.
With that, I was alone on the platform. Gently, I lowered myself to my knees, trying to suppress the shaking in my hands. Though the comforting voice of the Great Mother was still with me, urgently calling me to go out, that comfort was rather offset by Etsa's sudden decision to relinquish control of the situation to me. Of course, it wasn't the first time he had done such a thing, but I had never expected him to do so at the opening of such a crisis.
Taking deep breaths, letting Her voice wash over me and through me, I managed to keep control, and slowly the shaking receded. Etsa was right. It would be a long, difficult journey tomorrow. I would need all the rest I could get. And though he was leaving it to me, Etsa clearly intended to join me in my investigation. That at least was a comforting promise to lean on. We would leave tomorrow at first light, and bring this crisis to a close as soon as possible.
But for now, I needed to act.
After all, I was Nantu. The Moon. The Guiding Light in the Dark. And now, though I had so far only been acknowledged by Etsa, I would soon be Wisdom. Even if there was nothing I could do to help, I would not hide myself while the people of the village struggled, not knowing what was happening or why.
After one final deep breath, I rose to my feet. Puffing my chest out, wrapping myself in a confidence I did not feel, I stepped out into the village proper.
------------------
With an exhausted sigh, I lowered myself on to a fallen tree, clutching my walking stick tightly.
It had felt like forever since we left the village. We had left shortly after sunrise, as soon as it was light enough to make our way safely through the uncut jungle towards where the star had fallen, and it was now at least an hour past midday.
Looking around at my companions, it was clear that the only one who needed rest was me. For the third time since we had left, my escort had called for a break so that I could recover a little before continuing. Even Etsa, who was barely more active than I was and probably five times my age had no problem keeping up with the others.
Upon hearing that we were planning to go to the fallen star, the Chieftan had been furious. After hearing that both Etsa and I would be going, that quickly shifted to terrified. It didn't take long to convince him that Etsa would not budge from his decision, though. Begrudgingly, he assented to our expedition, giving Etsa free reign to select our escort from among the warriors of the village. And Etsa was not one to be stingy.
Ten of the fiercest warriors of our tribe, along with no fewer than three of the Honoured. Even I knew it was an escort of unprecedented size and skill for what must have seemed like utter nonsense to any of them. But both the Chieftan and the Honoured had an unwavering faith in Etsa - not a single one of them raised their voice in complaint against his choice.
I couldn't help but envy the men slightly. Even their fitness aside, the short grass skirts they wore as their only clothing looked much more comfortable in the oppressive heat of the midday jungle. For that matter, even the clothes of the women in the village would have been fine. But as an apprentice to Etsa I was wearing a much heavier coat of thick grasses, covering me from my shoulders to my knees. Though it was soft and green, unlike the rough yellowed grasses they wore, it still had me drenched in sweat from the hours of arduous trailblazing.
"Wisdom," Kapanti, one of the Honoured who had been guarding the shrine the previous night, called to Etsa as he emerged from the underbrush. "There are signs of burning ahead. Many fallen branches and a few scorched leaves. I believe we may be close to our destination."
As he and his contingent of three others returned from scouting ahead, Etsa gave them a nod of thanks. No doubt that was the exact news the others had been waiting for, yet even so I could feel anxiety mounting. Being so close to their destination, and yet having to wait for me to catch my breath, it was no wonder they were tense. Nevermind that they were being sent head first into who knows what when we actually got there.
Though Etsa had left me in charge of bringing this event to a resolution, it seemed he had not shared that information with the others. Though none of them complained about my presence, not even a single word of complaint at how much I was slowing them down, they clearly didn't think of my presence as anything important either.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. Unfortunately, there was little I could do to assuage their fears, and I had no desire to bring their scrutiny or judgement on me. It was best to just rest and get ready to leave as soon as possible.
Opening my mind to the forest around me, I turned my attention to the voices of nature. As it did last night, the Great Mother's voice still urgently called for me to press onwards, to find the fallen star. I did not know what She expected me to be able to do about it, but I'm sure I'd know once I got there. Besides Her voice, I could feel a general sense of unease and anxiety pervading the jungle - just as the men in my escort, the animals of the forest were all still terrified and confused. Even the trees seemed to be speaking in hushed whispers, their leaves barely moving as a soft breeze passed through them.
For everyone's sake - the men, the village, and the forest itself - I needed to bring this to a close as soon as possible.
Without missing a beat, the men moved into action the moment they saw me stand up. Kapanti and the other two Honoured kept close to me, while the remaining ten men split into two groups. At my nod, one of the groups slipped ahead into the dense undergrowth, while the remaining group took slower, more deliberate steps to trample down the jungle to make it easier for us in the back to progress.
As Kapanti had said, after only a few minutes of walking, we began to see signs of the fallen star. Scorched leaves and branches, no doubt thrown here by the impact, and a large number of fallen branches that must have been knocked to the ground by the ensuing earthquake. Using my walking stick, a sturdy branch that was slightly longer than I was tall, I pushed the fallen wood out of my path to create safe places for me to step as we advanced.
"What do you hear, Nantu?" I jumped slightly as Etsa spoke, having come up beside me without me noticing.
For a moment, I glanced at the trees surrounding us. There hadn't been much change in the forest since the star had fallen the night before. Slowly, things were calming down, but at the same time they were getting more anxious, as if the animals were too afraid to approach the impact site.
...as if they were waiting for me to tell them it was safe first.
"...tense. Everyone is worried, too scared to move."
Etsa gave a distraught sigh. "So there is danger ahead, after all?"
Quickly, I shook my head. "No. Just afraid. No one knows."
Another sigh. "That is unfortunate. It would have been nice to have an idea of what we were dealing with."
I refrained from responding this time, instead returning my attention to the surrounding greenery. At least, it had been green once. Here, tremendous swathes of scorch marks marred every surface, and clouds of ash and dust were being kicked up into the air by our escort's movements ahead of us. Luckily, the fires had burned out fairly safely, the forest around it too lush and green to catch easily.
A short distance ahead, I could see the frontrunners of our party standing still. Though they did not call back to us, just looking at them was enough to sense how they felt.
Tense. Uneasy.
Afraid.
Seeing them, the other men rushed forward to see what had caused them pause. The Honoured were slightly more disciplined, instead opting to tighten their circle around me, while Etsa moved up a few strides ahead of us. As each of them came up beside those in front, they too froze, silently staring out before them. Without a word, I walked up beside them with the Honoured, and in the same way, my breath caught in my throat.
The trees had ended.
While I had seen clearings before, like those in our village, I had never seen anything of this size.
Fallen trees, shattered and smashed, littered the ground. Greys, browns, and blacks replaced the lush greens of the forest behind us, stretching out a tremendous distance. Closer to the center of the expanse, the detritus covering the ground became scarce. A large portion of the area around the center was completely barren, broken earth and jagged rock making up the surface. It was hard to gauge by the eye, but I suspected if you laid forty of the greatest trees of the forest down end to end, you might reach from one side of the clearing to the other.
I had never before seen such a lifeless expanse. I had never even imagined that something could inflict such catastrophic damage on the forest. Even the greatest of fires were extinguished by the rains before they became anywhere near this size. I had never even dreamed-
I choked.
I had seen this before.
Up until now, the hard exertion of pushing through the jungle had been enough to keep my mind off of it, but now with the scenery right before me, the imagery of that dream leapt to the forefront of my mind.
Unconsciously, I took a step back, clutching my walking stick tightly to my chest. It was just like my dream. A burned, barren world, where the Great Mother was dead. Was this how it would happen? Stars falling from the sky, destroying everything? My eyes quickly filled with tears, as much from the sickening fear as from the dust and ash blowing into them from the clearing. Was this how it all ended? Was this how we were going to die? Was this-
"Nantu."
A firm hand on my shoulder pulled me from my panic.
"Nantu, breathe."
It was Kapanti. Kneeling down in front of me, looking at me eye to eye, he was squeezing my shoulder tightly with his free hand. Though I could feel, though I could smell his fear and confusion, etched on his face was a look of concern. For me.
Breathe.
Slowly, I relaxed my grip on my branch, and with considerable effort, was able to take a single unsteady breath. A second, and Kapanti's concerned expression finally broke into an uneasy smile.
"It's okay, Nantu. We're here to protect you. No one is going to hurt you."
After another deep breath, steadier this time, I gave him a shaky nod. Squeezing my shoulder one more time, he let go and stood back up. Though he turned to face forwards, he stayed only half a step ahead of me, occasionally glancing back to make sure I was okay.
It was endlessly tempting to reach out and grab his hand, just to assure myself that he would stay with me, but I instead just tightened my grip on my walking stick. I was scared, and I couldn't help that, but I couldn't act like a scared child all the time. In a few more years, I'd be an adult, after all. And I might soon be Wisdom, as well. As much as I longed for comfort, I forced myself to instead tear my eyes off him and return my gaze to the ashen expanse before me.
While I had been struck by panic, the others had begun cautiously advancing through the remains of the charred forest. Etsa, who normally would have been the one to chastise me for losing myself to panic again, had apparently not noticed the short episode, as he was advancing forward with the others. Only Kapanti had remained behind, standing by my side. I could tell from the way he gripped his spear, the way he eyed the ground before him, the way he nervously fidgeted...he wanted to be out there with them, searching the burned out forest for whatever was out there.
Silently, I thanked him for indulging my selfishness.
As we watched the others wade out into the ash, I reluctantly tried to recall the details of that dream. Now that I could think about it more clearly, the differences between that scene and the one before me became stark. In the dream, there had been no traces of life anywhere, whereas here, I was still surrounded by the lush green of the forest. In the dream, the land was dry and dead, like it had gone a hundred years without rain. But here, though it was similarly dead, it was in burned, charred remnants, a lively forest turned to ash in the blink of an eye.
And most importantly, with the sun overhead in a too-blue sky, with the sound of the wind passing through the leaves, and farther off even the sounds of birds and insects chirping away anxiously...
...the Great Mother was still here. She was still alive, Her voice still filling the air.
I was not alone.
With a sigh, this time in relief, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. Though this place was a great wound to the forest, it would surely heal. It would take a much greater calamity than a single falling star to kill the Great Mother.
From our spot at the edge of the forest we watched the others descend slowly. The ruined landscape before us curved gently down, no doubt caused by the impact of the star. It was not so steep as to be a problem, however, so in part out of curiosity and in part out of respect for Kapanti's obvious desire to join the investigation, I stepped towards the ash. Though I couldn't help but still feel a little shaken by my panic from earlier, I knew now there was nothing to be afraid of. With the Great Mother at my back and Kapanti at my side, and with Etsa and the other warriors in front of me, there was nothing left for me to-
-as soon as I stepped a single foot into the charred remains of the impact site, a terrified screech filled my ears, causing me to freeze. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that it took me a moment ot realize it was not an actual sound. As the others continued forward, unaware of the horrid noise, I froze once again, my instinctual fear reignited.
The Great Mother's voice called to me, with greater urgency and terror than I had ever heard.
Leave.
Run away.
Get away from here.
You are going to die.
Before I could so much as open my mouth, the earth began to rumble beneath us. Before the others ahead of us could even slow their steps, the charred landscape erupted upwards into a column of ash.
Everything else was different from the dream. The landscape, the Great Mother, even the sky. As the overwhelming terror that had punctuated it returned at full force, one last cogent thought slipped out of my mind.
Why was this the same?
A howl loud beyond hearing rent the air as the enormous beast raised itself from the ash. Whether it had been waiting for someone to come close, or had just now managed to free itself from the earth, it now rose up with a sound loud enough to drown out even the voice of the Great Mother. Greater in size than any tree of the forest, with a form beyond comprehension, even my inability to understand its shape was precisely familiar.
Though it rose a considerable distance away, the sheer size of the creature made the distance between us meaningless. As earth and ash poured from its rising body, a cloud of dust and rock plumed outwards, enveloping the men in front before they could even see what was happening. Even those in the rear had only a moment to be shocked at the creature's sudden appearance before the cloud washed over them, shrouding them in darkness.
Kapanti and I, however, were far enough back that we could react before the cloud reached us. Though I was frozen in fear, Kapanti acted instantly, throwing me roughly to the ground and covering me with his body. No more than three heartbeats later, the cloud washed over us as well, the acrid dust stinging my eyes and throat, my mouth filling with the taste of burnt wood.
Even inundated by all these sensations, I still could focus on only one thing. Above the darkness of the cloud of ash, above the sting of its contents, above the sound of the wind carrying the cloud of ash past us, above the feeling of Kapanti's body pushing me into the ground...above all else, the roar of that beast filled my mind. And though I could understand so little about it, its form unreadable and its origin untraceable, I could understand this with terrifying ease.
The beast's roar was filled with righteous fury.
Thanks to our elevated position, the ash cloud passed by us and settled rather quickly. Both of us coughing violently, Kapanti lurched to his feet, pulling me up with him. Though he helped me stand, I was still completely overwhelmed by the presence of the creature, barely understanding what was happening around me. Though I could hear Kapanti shouting, I couldn't understand what he was saying, my mind so absolutely full of the image of it.
Faintly, I could see traces of movement within the ash cloud below us.
Run.
Somewhere deep inside me, a small trace of relief sparked to life. They were okay. They could still escape.
Somewhere deep inside me, I knew that relief was a lie.
Run!
Two enormous, spider-like legs lunged forward, gleaming like water under sunlight, cutting through the smoke like a spear through grass. Once more, plumes of ashen dust burst into the air, answering the creatures attack.
Though I couldn't see through the dust to confirm what had happened, I knew instinctively before it had even moved. What lay at this creature's feet was only death.
"Nantu, please!" Finally, Kapanti's voice broke through to me, snapping me from my trance-like fear. "Please, you have to run! Get back to the village! Warn them!"
Run!!
Standing before me, spear gripped firmly in both hands, Kapanti was in terrible shape. His arms and legs were covered in wounds, blood pouring freely from uncountable injuries. Though I was almost entirely unharmed, the chunks of broken wood and stone carried by the ash cloud had torn him apart. But even injured as he was, he still stood firm, facing down the unfathomable creature before us. Surely he knew he had no chance against such a beast, but that didn't stop him from pointing his spear towards it.
Once again, the creature's scythelike appendages tore into the ground before it. Even from here, I could feel the lives of the men before us extinguished. And in that next terrible instant, I could feel the creature's attention turn to us.
RUN!!!
I could hear the voice of the Great Mother screaming behind me, screaming to run away...
...but not at me.
"No, stop!" For one incredible instant, my desperation overcame my fear, and I shouted at Kapanti's back.
Had he not heard me? Or was he ignoring me? The terrible creature took two enormous strides toward us, clouds of dust and ash billowing into the air as it moved. In just two steps, it had crossed half the distance between us. But before it could raise its leg to take a third step, Kapanti sprang forward.
Coiling his body like a snake, he took three great strides before snapping straight, hurling his stone-tipped spear with all his might. Despite his numerous injuries, despite the sheer terror that he must have felt at watching the others die, his form was the epitome of grace and power. The crimson feathered spear soared through the air like a great eagle, straight and true.
...though like an eagle attempting to slay a mountain, it was doomed to fail from the start. Had it been against any lesser foe, the throw would have surely been a feat of legend, thrown so accurately across such a distance while so injured. But as the spear impacted into the body of the creature, it broke apart. The lashings holding stone to wood came undone, the stone spearhead shattered, and the crimson feather fluttered wildly to the ground, the attack leaving not so much as a scratch on the beast's hide.
For an instant, I felt the world go silent. The creature, having noticed the attack, had stopped. His only weapon gone, Kapanti didn't hesitate for an instant, immediately turning to me. As I opened my mouth to tell him to run, he grabbed me with both hands and hurled me to the side.
Before I even hit the ground, a beam of white-hot light cut through the space we had just been standing in. It lasted for no more than a heartbeat, and yet when it was gone, nothing remained in its wake. The ground had become smooth and hard, the ash and dirt becoming like a glowing stone. The sound of wood and leaves crashing to the ground filled the air as trees behind us whose trunks had been vapourised fell to the ground.
And Kapanti was gone, not even dust remaining to mark his passing.
Everyone was dead.
I was the only one left alive.
And soon, in just a few more moments, I would be dead too.
The creature broke into motion again, another enormous stride taking it close enough that I could feel the wind from its body moving.
In front of me, the spider-beast roared again, its rage enough that I felt my ears might bleed.
And behind me, I could hear Her voice. A mourning shriek, a furious howl at Her children unjustly murdered before Her.
Legs shaking, I was unable to stand, not that I had the time to. As the beast raised its frontmost leg again, this time to take my life, I pushed myself onto my knees. Unable to even sit up by myself, I planted my walking stick into the ground in front of me, leaning on it for support. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, in one final act of desperation, I screamed.
I was Nantu. The Guiding Light in the Dark.
I could not die. Now that Etsa had been killed, I was the only one left to connect my village to the Great Mother.
I was the only one left who could understand Her words, who could protect Her children.
Though I was only a child, I was the only one left who could be Her voice.
But above all that, one thought squeezed through the tiny gap between my fear of the creature and my sense of duty towards my village.
I was just a child. I had barely even lived. I just didn't want to die.
As I screamed, the wind howled. The sky thundered. The forest behind me raised its voice in chorus, and distant waters roared. Even the ashen waste before me raised its crackling voice, adding to the tumult.
I screamed, and as one, all of Nature screamed with me. The earth itself shook beneath us as we roared that one, simple command.
"STOP!!!"
...
...
...and the creature stopped.
Slowly, tentatively, I opened my eyes. The creature's outstretched leg filled my vision, only a hands-breadth from my face. For an instant, the world was frozen in time, the aftermath of our shout turning to silence, the creature stopped in a moment of indecision.
After a few moments that felt like an eternity, the creature slowly retracted its outstretched limb, shuffling backwards slightly to brace itself on the slope. Raising its head to the sky, the creature roared at the sky.
Immediately, I was beset by a splitting headache. Somehow, I understood that the creature's cry held meaning, but even hearing it was agonizing. Even trying to remember the sound made my head feel like it was going to split in two.
Using one hand to keep myself propped up on my walking stick, I used the other to clutch my head. Thankfully, in short order, the silent world raised its voice again, washing the memory of the creature's words from my mind.
You will not harm my children any further. Leave this place at once.
The voice of the Great Mother filled my mind, regal and powerful, more majestic than I had ever heard. Yet once again I could tell it was not directed at me.
Was She speaking to the creature?
As if the creature could hear Her voice as well, it responded with a series of whirs, clicks, and hisses.
Once again, I could somehow sense that there was meaning behind those sounds, yet the sheer weight of them was enough to hurt me. Had I not already been on my knees, I likely would have collapsed.
Leaning forward, the creature brought its head within a few feet of me. As the wind caused by its movement rushed by me, I could feel my clothes turning hard, and the texture of my walking stick turned from wood to stone.
Struggling to open my eyes against the pain in my head, I saw that the change in texture wasn't just my imagination. Not just my clothes or the branch in my hand, the ground all around me - and indeed further out, beneath the creature's own feet - was changing. Grass, wood, ash - all of them were changing to...something, right before my eyes. To my hands and skin, it felt cold, hard, and smooth like stone. Yet to my eyes it looked like deep water, clear yet murky. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, briefly bringing to mind the legends of water that had grown so cold it turned to stone.
My children have brought no harm to me. Would you have them executed for sins they have not committed?
The wind howled back, a violent gust in response to the creature's words. Though I could only understand half the conversation, I could somewhat tell that I - no, everyone, all people everywhere - were being protected. The Great Mother herself was standing up against this monster to protect us.
With another series of hisses and clicks, the creature withdrew, stepping slowly back down into the ashen crater.
The creature's voice changed, and for the first time I felt like I understood a small fragment of what it had meant. It's pitch was higher, a piercing cry. Pleading.
With slow, heavy steps, the creature retreated to the center of the crater, the place where the star - where it had originally fallen. With movements that seemed unnaturally efficient, it dug itself down through the ash and broken rock to the soft earth below, raising its head in one last keening wail.
With that, it sank itself into the ash and earth, disappearing within a cloud of soot and dust.
------------------------------
With a deep breath, I picked myself up off the ground again and pushed forward.
It had taken me what felt like many hours to even stand after the creature had retreated. Curled up in a ball among the ash and dirt mixed with the translucent stone marking the beast's passage, I alternately screamed and sobbed for longer than I cared to remember, drowning in fear and panic of an event that had already passed. Waiting for someone to help me, to comfort me, to tell me everything was going to be okay. Just like every other time.
...but no one came.
Alone in that desolate waste, I cried and cried, with nothing but the sounds of distant nature to accompany me. The creature did not return, and neither did any of the men that had been with me.
With no one to pull me from my panic, I spiralled downward and downward, until my mind itself fell apart. Like a tree whose roots had withered and died, I had only stayed upright because my branches had been caught in other trees. So when those trees disappeared, there was nothing left for me to do but to crash to the ground.
My mind had shut down. And when I finally came to, I was still lying there among the ashes.
In a way, I guess I had expected to die. Even after the danger was gone, I had seen everyone else die, and just expected the same thing would happen to me. But after lifting my head, after my fear had exhausted itself, I realized that no one was coming to take my life. And neither was anyone coming to take me home.
At that time, the soothing voice of the Great Mother finally returned to me, heavy with relief, as if She Herself had been afraid I would not return. Though I had felt my world was collapsing entirely, I had managed to pull through, and She was there to greet me on the other side.
To tell me I wasn't alone.
To tell me She was always, and always had been with me.
...to tell me I had to stand, to keep walking forward.
In a daze, I had weakly picked myself up off the ground, leaning on my now transformed walking stick, and had begun sifting through the ashes. Even in that state, I knew searching for traces of Kapanti, Etsa, and the others was little more than a formality. My mind would not recall the events I had seen just before, would not draw the image that had burned itself so unforgettably into my memory, but even so I knew it would take something far greater than a miracle to find any of the men alive and well.
And sure enough, never mind finding them alive, I was unable to find any trace of them at all. After a few fruitless minutes of searching, I gave up and turned back to the path through which we had come. It felt strange how easily I was able to accept the fact that they were gone, but I didn't have the composure to even consider the strangeness of it.
After all, they were just human. Humans died all the time.
That thought gave me pause. Did I really think like that? Was I really so callous? True, death was common to every human, but that did not make their lives any less valuable, their parting any less sad. Maybe I had gone a little crazy. I don't think anyone would blame me for it, all things considered.
At any rate, dazed and listless as I was, I knew I couldn't stay in the crater. Nevermind the thing that had attacked us, being out alone in the jungle at night was begging for death. By the time I had managed to push myself out into the forest, it was getting late into the afternoon. If I wanted to make it back before sundown, I would have to move quickly.
Of course, that had just been wishful thinking. Once again, I tripped over a high-sprouting tree root in the dark, falling hard. The sun had set what felt like hours ago. I had no idea how far away I was from the village, or how I expected to get back to it. Taking a moment to breathe deeply, I propped myself up with my walking stick, now a shaft of translucent stone. Gripping tightly so as to prevent my hands from slipping down its smooth, wet surface, I pulled myself back to my feet and continued on, ignoring the sounds of water dripping on leaves as I passed them.
Just as my walking stick had been transformed, so too had my clothes. The soft, comparatively light grasses I had been wearing were now mostly stone, jagged and broken both by their nature and from cracking and breaking every time I fell. And though I couldn't see it, I could feel that they were slick with blood, as those jagged pieces dug into my skin in a hundred places every time I moved.
Listening to Her voice, I stepped cautiously forward, this time remembering to test my path with the walking stick. While I was hopeless at navigating the jungle alone during the day, let alone at night, with Her voice guiding me, I had no doubt I would make it back to the village. As long as I was able to do so before something else found me.
If only the moon was out...
Through the haze of mental exhaustion at my prior breakdown and the physical exhaustion of having to forge my way through the forest alone afterwards, a single lucid thought slipped through. Clouds had apparently rolled in sometime in the early evening, blocking the moon and stars from illuminating my path. In the inky darkness, I had nothing but the Great Mother's voice to guide me. Not that I didn't trust Her, but there was something to be said about seeing where you were going, even if you had faith in the path.
For a moment I paused. No, I couldn't think like that anymore. Wishing things were better wouldn't help my situation, wouldn't get me back to the village. I was Nantu. I was the moon. I was the Guiding Light in the Dark.
In one afternoon, the village had lost three of the Honoured and our Wisdom. It was a crippling blow that would take many seasons, if not a full generation, to recover from. As Etsa's apprentice, and now the only person in the village who could hear the Great Mother's voice, they needed me. Even if I felt helpless and weak, even if I felt like the next time I fell I wouldn't be able to stand again, I had to keep moving. Because if I didn't return, they would have no one.
They would never know how dangerous the fallen star was. They might even send more people to search for it, might lose even more precious lives.
They would never know how brave Kapanti had been, sacrificing himself to save me, resisting to the last against that impossible monster.
They would never know how the Great Mother herself stood up to protect me...stood up to protect us.
Though I stumbled again, I was able to catch myself. Whether my dizziness was from the loss of blood or the sheer exhaustion, I had no options but to push through it. Even if I couldn't make it back, even if I were to collapse out here in the jungle, I needed to get close enough that the villagers could find my-
Suddenly, I broke free.
Stunned, I blinked, for a moment not understanding what was before me.
I had broken out into a clearing. Not a natural one, but one man-made, cleared out by humans. Far away, the faint glow of firelight illuminated wood-and-grass huts, huddled closely together around wide open spaces. The voices of a few people walking by, faint enough that I had mistaken them before for the sounds of the forest, gently hung in the night air, carried on a gentle breeze that made torches waver and flicker. The glow of dying cooking fires, their mission long fulfilled, lent a poor but sufficient light for recognizing that I too was standing among the ruins of old huts, damaged by the earthquake caused by the falling star.
I was back.
Before I even had the chance to fully process that fact, a group of villagers walked by me. In the weak light of distant fires, I was able to hear their approach before seeing them, but even without raising my voice it seemed one of them recognized I was standing there.
"...Nantu?" A faint, incredulous voice called out to me in the darkness. "Nantu?! Is that you?!"
Without warning, the young girl ran up to me, struggling to see me through the dark.
"...Puyu?" Though I couldn't see her either, her voice was easily recognizable. As soon as I managed to squeeze that one word out, Puyu leapt at me.
"Nantu, you're back! You're okay!"
An intenseshot through me as the sobbing girl grabbed me in the tightest hug I had ever felt, pushing the jagged pieces of my clothes deeper into me.revulsionpain
"I'm so glad! I'm so glad! I'm so...glad...!" Unable to contain herself, Puyu broke down crying on the spot, holding me tighter and tighter.
"Puyu...please...." Unable to manage more than a faint wimper, it was nevertheless enough to get Puyu to let me go. Though she was sobbing, her face was still beaming with happiness almost enough to light up the night air.
"I knew you'd come back! I knew you wouldn't leave us!" Grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me in toward the center of the village with enough force I likely would have fallen if I hadn't had my walking stick for support. Oblivious to my near fall, Puyu turned and shouted at the top of her lungs. "Everyone! Everyone! Nantu is back! Nantu is back!!"
Almost immediately, the fevered sounds of villagersout from their huts and taking up Puyu's cry filled the night. Dozens of footsteps accompanied by excited and worried voices raced towards us as I struggled to keep up with Puyu's pace, struggled to ignore the pain of dozens of deep cuts and gashes all over my body finally catching up to me.crawlingrunning
In no more than a dozen breaths, the whole village was in an uproar, half of the voices calling for the Honoured and the Elders to assemble, the other half coming to see for themselves. After a few moments of growing fervor, a large group of villagers, curious, concerned, excited, and relieved, gathered around me, and one by one torches made their way closer, lighting up the area around me.
"Nantu is back!! Nantu is-!" Now that there was sufficient light to see, Puyu turned to look at me and we both froze. The tear-filled horror on her face mirrored my initial reaction perfectly.
Puyu was covered in blood. Her arms, her torso, her face, all of her was smeared with a thick red, as if she had been mauled by a great jungle cat. As if she had been killed. As if she was-
The first to break from the spell of fear was actually me. Of course she was covered in blood. She had just hugged me, hadn't she? She was covered in my blood. Though I didn't have the energy to laugh, I did manage a weak, self-deprecating smile. Partly because of how silly I felt, not noticing that it was my blood she was covered in right away, and partly at theI had felt at seeing Puyu hurt, despite my own condition.satisfactionterror
Puyu, of course, was not so relieved. For a moment, as the villagers gathered around me saw the dirty, tattered, blood-drenched state I was in, a shocked silence settled over them. As they stared at me, a million thoughts racing behind their eyes, the distant sounds of shouting from those who had not seen me yet mingled with the sounds of the crackling torches filled the frozen air. Before long, an older woman's voice in the crowd called out.
"She's hurt!"
As if it was some kind of signal, the villagers snapped into action as one. Most of them immediately dispersed, organizing themselves spontaneously into groups to retrieve water, bandages, to clear a space, to set up a bed, to get food and medicines. Meanwhile, a smaller group set about to caring for me, inspecting my injuries with grim faces and gently picking at my petrified clothing, already removing chunks of translucent stone where they safely could.
And all the while, tears still pouring down her face, Puyu held tightly to my hand. "It's going to be okay, Nantu! You're safe now! Everything is going to be okay!" The way she spoke, trying so hard to be strong for me while speaking mostly to convince herself, brought another smile to my face.
As the villagers led me to a cleared area and sat me down on a fresh bed of woven grass, I sighed in relief. At the same time, I could feel in the gentle night breeze that She was sighing in relief with me. I was back. I had made it. I had come up face to face with that horror beyond imagination, lived to escape, and made it back home safely.
In the back of my head, I heard a whisper so faint I wasn't even sure it was real. But as gentle hands picked the jagged fragments from my wounds, and firm yet gentle words assured me my wounds were not life-threatening and that I would be okay, as Puyu firmly held my hand and did her best to put on a strong face through her tears, I had forgotten it almost as soon as I had heard it.
I was back. Despite all the pain, despite all the fear, despite how weak I knew I was, I had managed to make it back. I knew that the village needed me, needed to know what I had saw, and so I had pushed forward, and I had made it back. With the Great Mother's help, I had managed to get back in one piece, against all odds.
And now, that desperate determination was being answered. I had struggled so hard for their sake, and without asking a single question, without a single moment's hesitation, the whole village jumped into action to take care of me. Though I had never really felt like I could closely relate to any of them, they still cared for me as if I was their own daughter.
Because I was.
Though I didn't have the energy left to cry, tears began to pour down my face. Though I knew they wanted to hear reassuring words from me, I was so tired, so exhausted, the best I could do was offer them a smile. And though she didn't know why, even Puyu's ashen expression soon broke into a smile to match mine.
I was back.
I was home.
Though many other men had died, though Etsa was gone, I was still here. The following days, weeks, and years would no doubt be the most difficult of my life. But I could be strong. With the Great Mother behind me, and the people of the village around me, I could be the Guiding Light in the Dark that the village needed.
As the villagers tended to my injuries, and as the Great Mother's soothing voice encouraged me from the dark of the jungle, I knew everything was going to be fine.
A Summoning
The blinding lights finally dimmed out, leaving the shadows to seep back into the room. The cacophony of sound soon trickled away, leaving nothing but the ragged breathing of a Master and the ever so persistent tick-tock of the grandfather clock. The Master slowly looked up to see a sight that summed up her entire existence. The sight of failure. What should have been a looming beast of a person ready to fight and serve her every command was not there.
Instead, it was a book. A children’s book to be exact. Two hazel eyes soon lost their gaze of hope and wonder to be filled with disappointment. Her hand seeked out the light switch in the ever so vague hope of finding her beast hiding elsewhere in the room. The dim light drove the shadows and the false hope away. It weakly shined on the thin black book. There were no illustrations and no words on it. She slowly slid onto the ground, any remnants of strength long gone with this oh so twisted surprise. She just sat there staring at the book with those disappointed eyes as the grandfather clock continued its march through time.
The clock’s lonely march through time was soon followed by a laugh. It started as one of those small, quiet chuckles, the ones you get when something so crazy happens you just cannot help but laugh, before it crescendoed into a full on hysterical laugh. It was soon followed by a broken sob that perfectly illustrated this summoning. Pathetic and so very underwhelming.
The grandfather clock continued its monotonous march through time. Its companion through the march soon changed, as the crying was lulled into something quieter. The slow breathing of sleep, interrupted every now and then by a whimper, became the clock’s new companion in the silence. Sleep that was not going to be needed for long. Dead Masters get all the sleep in the world. With the circumstances as they are, she was going to be joining that illustrious club so very soon.
The light finally gave out in the small, aging room. The room was once again being consumed by shadows when a new sound resonated throughout the room. A rustling of pages; the book flipped to the first page and a single phrase was printed there. All in the golden afternoon…
A figure detached itself from the shadows before walking away into and disappearing into the darkness. The shadow hurried away thinking to itself, Master would want to know about this.
The grandfather clock’s chime failed to awaken the young Master. The slow growl of a truck failed to awaken the young Master. The deafening silence failed to awaken the young Master. The wall with the bookshelf filled with grimoires of old and the grandfather clock suddenly crashing to the ground and smashing the black children’s book just a few inches shy of her face did awaken the young Master.
She quickly scrambled away through the dust stricken floor and onto the left side of the room, her back hugging the wall reminding her just how small her summoning chamber was. A verifiable giant lumbered in through the newly-made door, quickly filling in what little space remained of the little room, and stopping just centimeters short of the black book. The giant was just a few inches away from puncturing the ceiling with his scar-covered head. It indeed seemed like his entire head was just made up of two small buttons and a billion stitches running up and down, left and right, and corner to corner. The giant was so pale he seemed to glow under the remains of the night as the dawn slowly began to paint the black canvas twinkling with small, white specks in tiny dashes of orange and red.
Her hazel eyes quickly moved down from his scar embraced head, past those broad shoulders, and finally stopping at his hands. One hand gripped a large burlap sack, big enough to hold a grown man, and definitely big enough to hold the young Master. The other hand held a small dagger with teeth running down it's length. What worried her was the slick liquid running down its side, the red standing out among the shadows surrounding the giant.
Even before any thoughts of self-preservation entered the young master’s mind, the giant suddenly appeared on her right side, and pounded her head with the dagger’s pommel. Her head jerked to the left; stars flashing through her eyes. A howl of pain tore through her throat before it was quickly followed by another clobber to her head, this time jerking her head to the left. She quickly left the land of the conscious and entered a painful, unconscious state. Blood seeped from both blows to the temple as the giant effortlessly slipped her into the bag and began lumbering out the door into the dawn. Blood seeped out of the sack and dotted the floor as he walked toward the truck. He deposited the sack into the open trunk before climbing into the driver's side, which was just able to hold his overwhelming size in the confinement of the truck.
An old man waited for the giant in an old, beaten up pickup. He was a small man, almost comically small compared to the giant, with a face strewn with wrinkles. He had a kind face, the type of face that you would want in your grandfather’s, yet there was one small problem with his face; it was his eyes, small and beady, more rat-like than human. Soulless little buttons, if the eyes were the windows to the soul than his eyes are just fractured mirrors, a broken reflection of everyone else’s souls.
“Zo zat’s zee kin killer”, mused the elderly man.
The giant moaned in response, it was just a tad louder than the growl of a chainsaw.
“Nein you're right, sche doesn’t zeem to fit zat tale nor does sche effen zeem to pe ein Masder…. Arh ! Put zat is of little conzequence, sche vill do vell to feed Rider. Zee mana ve vould pe aple to opdain from her schould keep us from neeting to ko into zee faffelas for avile. Arh ! Zough… vere is her Zerffant…”, he trailed off, looking into the rising dawn as the truck began to leave the warehouse district, slowly departing from the scene of the crime.
The blood slowly seeped into the rubble, bypassing the broken chips of wood and remnants of the concrete wall that had once kept the room safe against the elements. The blood slithered past the other ruined grimoires and sped into a black book. The book flipped open, lifting the ruined remains of the wall and bookshelf, and tossing them out into the outside environment, the first time in decades these objects had felt the naked light. Words began to write themselves across the pages as the blood continued to penetrate the pages of the book. A light glared out of the book and grew in brightness with every word that dashed out of the book. Once upon a time, a giant galumphed into a room and took a mimsy, littler girl: she burbled when she saw a slithy, little book. But once it’s brillig o’clock, that mimsy little girl will futterwacken the futterwacken when she sees what she brought out of the rabbit hole. Just as suddenly as it opened, the book closed once more. The room was soon plunged into darkness again, with dust and darkness covering the place once more.
The young girl was pulled from the pleasant dream realm too soon and into the harsh realm that is reality. The reality of her being stabbed in the gut that is. Quite a harsh awakening in an already harsh world, but very effective in bringing someone back from getting repeated head trauma.
The pain of getting stabbed was nothing compared to the pain of a dagger getting pulled out of the guts. Especially, if it has sawteeth at one side. She wondered morbidly which would be the first to go, her consciousness or her vocal chords as she discovered the ends of her vocal range. The answer was revealed to be neither as she discovered an all new type of pain. The pain of healing. Getting stabbed was nothing compared to the pain of having her intestines reorganize themselves in her stomach. It was nothing compared to having her skin sew itself back together.
“Ahh mein little angel, vat peautiful zounds you make!”, her healer exclaimed.
Oh god. Anything but that monster, she thought to herself in utter horror as she slowly realized that she was tied down to a table with this monster looming over her began.
“Vat zadness it is I von't pe aple to hear all zee peauty of your foice! Alas, it is almost time to ko! Put zere is schtill enough time for zome gueszions…..”, he cackled as his face soon became the only thing she could see. A gentle face, if it wasn’t for the maniac smile he had overwhelming his face and those eyes that barely tried to hide his depravity. So close, but oh so far from being human.
“It's gueszion time mein little angel! Zo let us pegin! Schtarting vith zee first one..... Arh ! Vere's your zerffant?”, the monster asked.
Silence answered his question, and soon the fake comforting gentleman act was quickly dropped as his true face began to slip in. The face of a monster. He grabbed the knife and slammed it onto her right hand, causing her to howl in agony.
“Mein little angel, as much as I loffe your fiprato, if you don't tell me vere your Zerffant is... Arh ! I'm koing to haffe to feed you to Riter. Und pelieffe me mein little angel... you don't vant Riter to feed on you,” the monster snarled.
Church bells rang in the city, bringing the faithful back in for 4:00 Mass. A house left to rot began to glow near the favelas. A blinding light accompanied with a cacophony of sound blasted out a little black book as the pages flew out in a tornado that threatened to destroy what remained of the room. A clawed hand exploded out of the book, clawing onto the concrete floor as it began to pull its owner out. The sound of very off-key singing could be heard over all the ruckus. Twinkle, twinkle, little rat!
How I wonder what you're at! A large top hat could be seen emerging from the book along with a dash of bright red hair.
“You zummoned ein pook..... mein little angel, I must admire your adfferzity to zis torture, put zadly, it is now time to end our little kame,” the gentleman said as he admired his handiwork. “One more schtroke vith zis art prusch und you vill haffe peen immordalised as ein vork of art! Jawohl ! Zadly your peaudiful zinging kaffe out 30 minudes ako, put oh vat ein peaudiful tvo hours it vas! Bure pliss to mein ears!”
Just before he could put the finishing touch on his magnum opus, a hole appeared a mere meter away, and from this hole came out a top hat. It flew out like a bat out of hell before coming to a sudden stop as it got lodged in the operating table, just shy of hitting the young Master’s leg. Singing could be heard coming from the rabbit hole as a enlarged,clawed hand emerged from the hole. Twinkle, twinkle, little rat!
How I wonder what you're at! A flamboyantly dressed character soon jumped out of the hole and right onto the operating table itself. It was colored as if cans of paint were just thrown willy-nilly all over its clothes. It was tall with bright red hair and ghostly pale skin. It was clothed in what started from the shoulders as a suit and ended up as a dress at the bottom. It wore high heels hat curled for a good eight inches and had on a bowtie that was as almost as big as the cheshire smile it had on. It had a bright yellow left eye and a hazy orange on its right side. Its gender was hard to tell as it seemed to verge the line between man and woman. Yet that was not the oddest thing about the flamboyantly dressed fool, the strangest thing was its right arm. It had talons were of mismatched sizes and it was bent at the elbow in order to accommodate its hand onto the floor.
It opened its mouth and said, “Good day little rat! How do you do at five after brillig o’clock?” It spoke with hundred of voices, ranging from the child bursting with excitement to the defeated man who couldn’t live for another tomorrow. However, they all had one thing in common, they were all just a little bit off. They sounded human, yet not.
The monster could only look at this crime against sanity and fashion before saying the first thing that came to his mind, “Vat zee fuck!”
This caused the newly emerged figure to frown and it spat out, “Now now little rat! That is not a nice answer at all! Especially in front of Alice!”
Then the gentleman had an epiphany. The figure in front of him was her Servant. Something that he was currently lacking.
The Servant then turned around and looked onto his magnum opus. A figure who was on the bridge between life and death, blissfulness and suffering, heaven and hell. A figure who happened to have command seals located just left of her heart, surrounding a twisted piece of family history.
The Servant turned back around, a smile that threatened to leap out of its face still being worn. There was no difference between before it saw his masterpiece and after.
“Little rat sure has been a naughty little boy,” it laughed. “Naughty boys shouldn’t be naughty to Alice.”
Fast as a Jabberwacky scarfing down on a snark, it’s right arm reached out and plucked the little man’s head clean off. It was so fast, the man’s response could be heard rolling off the tongue.
“Ahhhhh mein masderbiece....,” the bodiless head limply said before becoming silent. Forever.
Rider sensed something was wrong. Something was missing…… just as that thought was about to enter it’s empty head, his Master stirred. Eyes slowly opened and lazily looked around before settling on the spot he was currently standing on.
“Rider.”
“...............”
“The doctor has finally died.”
“..........”
“Mm….. I was hoping he’d be able to kill one Master.....”
“........”
“What's wrong, cat got your tongue?”, he asked full of mirth before falling into nonstop laughter caused by his own joke.
“......”
“No need to be so mad… Did my joke go over your head?”
“.............”
“Yeah… You’re right…That was a bad one….”
“........”
“Five more hours til it’s dark. We can head back out to the favela then and collect more mana. Man, losing the doctor is going to bring attention... “
“.........”
“.... Are you crazy!”
“............”
“We absolutely can not bring attention at all! If the Holy Church hears word of this… or even the Mage Association…. The other six Masters are going to be the last thing we need to worry about.”
“.........”
“Just…. I’ll figure something out… Wake me in a few….. This war sure got a lot more complicated…,” Rider’s Master said before shutting his eyes and falling back onto the bed.
Rider slowly started to dissolve into the light, but not before hearing his Master’s snide comment.
“Keep a head up on the other Servants would you?”
This was going to be a long war.
She slowly opened her eyes to look into a bright pink and hazy purple eye.
“MASTER HAS FINALLY AWOKEN!”, the mismatched eyes sang in a very off-key soprano. “Ahh! Where are my manners!” The pair of eyes quickly scrambled away and gave way to an even stranger view. For a lack of better words, she was staring at a womanly man or a manly women with a giant right arm and wearing what appears to be a tuxedo dress.
“So Master, what is the plan?
A blank stare answered it back as the young girl realized something very important.
“Who are you?”
“That hurts! Why I’m the mighty servant you summoned! I am maddest of them all! Why I’m mad as a hatter!”, “it said before falling apart into a bundle of laughter.
“... Who am I?”
“...... oh”
This was going to be an interesting war.
Last edited by Milbunk; April 8th, 2017 at 03:23 AM.
Warning: This fic contains unnecessary violence, a fox girl manhandling a (mostly) innocent king/doctor, brief hypothetical rat homicide. Also contains the aforementioned doctor trying to explain what Kashrut is to said fox girl, who nevertheless continues asking questions despite being completely unreceptive.
And me. Don’t forget: Tamamo-chan deserves her own warning. Mikon!
Being an Evil Kitsune for Fun & Profit
—Part One—
—Creative Use of the Resources Available to Me—
He was holed up in his dual-purpose room/office, slowly working through a massive stack of paperwork when she interrupted him.
“Doctor Roman! Are you there? I need your help! Actually, I just want your help but my ‘wants’ constitute ‘needs’ anyway.”
“Okay, okay, I’m coming!” the recently revealed Solomon stopped reading and set the fortunately mundane document aside to determine which of the three Tamamos currently in Chaldea was asking for him. After all, it was either the moe one, the scary one, or the mostly relaxed one.
It was Caster, as he discovered upon opening his door. So the scary one. His gaze drifted away from her for a moment as he noticed the Nameless Archer walking past his office. He was probably on his way to the kitchen. He wasn’t on cooking duty today, but to be fair, cooking was his hobby. Then Doctor Roman’s attention snapped back to the very dangerous—yet infinitely huggable—fox girl in front of him.
“Hello~!” she greeted him with her usual exuberance, then with a glare, “What took you so long?”
“It took me literally ten seconds to answer the door.”
“I know, I was kidding.”
“Sorry, it’s… I find it hard to tell with you.”
Tamamo didn’t seem to care and moved straight on to business.
“I want to be the next Order’s world villain. How do I go about doing that?”
Solomon blinked.
“That’s a pretty serious fourth-wall-break. Did Shiki kill the fourth wall again?” he asked. “Hmm, if memory serves, she hasn’t done that since someone wrote Tales of Nasunobare High and the adjoined Ryougi Shiki After-show Show in 2011.”
The fox stared at Doctor Roman and slowly tilted her head to the side.
“Who?”
“Oh, just a fanfiction writer and moderator on a website for evil people who really like us. I went on there once and they just crucified me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounds illegal. Also, that sounds like an even more serious fourth-wall-break than mine. I mean, just mentioning this guy and what Shiki did opened up a wormhole to some other dimension for a moment, and I know how you feel about those. Can you stop?”
“Okay, you’ve got a point. I don’t want to cause another incident like that, directly or indirectly,” he said. “Well, bye.” He started closing the door but Tamamo held it open.
“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I just asked you for assistance, and you’re just closing the door in my face?!”
“Well, yes. Yes I am. Even ignoring how busy I actually am right now,” Romani explained, “I mean, how am I even supposed to be able to help in the first place? What exactly do you expect me to do?”
“Just give me a place to start,” she said, “I’ve never formally applied for a job in my life. Not in any of them.”
“I’ve only applied for one. And I was accepted immediately because I was an unlicensed but highly qualified medical practitioner. Now shoo, I have to finish signing those forms,” he pointed at the giant stack of paperwork sitting on the corner of his desk.
He’d been procrastinating since before the whole Grand Order incident started, so in a way, it served him right. But to be fair, he looked like he’d gotten through about a quarter of them, and if his present demeanor was anything to go by, he’d probably been working on them since before the sun came up… or at least before it would have come up, had it existed. And of course, it wasn’t as though any of them had required the urgent attention they would have had there been an outside world where the people who sent the documents were waiting to get them returned, but nevertheless.
Piles of paperwork or not however, this whole situation was starting to get on Tamamo’s nerves. First he derailed the conversation, then he ignored her request and now he was making excuses all to evade doing her one small favor. Well, it might not exactly be a ‘small’ favor in the strictest of terms, but it wasn’t particularly big either. And when Tamamo got upset, she also had a habit of upsetting other people.
“How about I make you a deal,” she said, her sinister grin surfacing like a shark lurking in the shallows of a crowded beach. “I’m feeling a bit peckish right now. How about you give me some pointers, and I don’t slow-roast you over a fire.”
Solomon didn’t even blink. Gosh, he’d changed a lot more than she could have ever anticipated when he revealed his true identity.
“Look, I’d rather not be eaten. If you’re hungry go get some pancakes.”
“That’s a good idea actually, thank you, why are you handing me a spatula?”
A beat.
It was so quiet that he could hear a hiccup in the rhythm of a pair of footsteps coming from down the hall.
“Wrong Tamamo,” Doctor Roman realized. “Sorry, I should have been paying more attention, but I’m running on empty. My mind keeps wandering. This is my final season in the game for the foreseeable future. My, erm, Last Order, if you will—”
“Booooo,” whined Tamamo, “don’t quit your day job.” Never mind, he hadn’t changed at all. Not one bit. “Also, get that spatula out of my face before I do something crazy and, as is par for the course, positively adorable, despite the high chance of it being diabolical.”
“—and there is so much to get done before I do my big swan song and disappear, possibly forever, and I still need to get my affairs in order, do the last of the preliminary writing for my final scene…”
Tamamo started tapping her foot, her ears twitching uncontrollably as her patience depleted faster than a Limit Break bar.
“…still have to finish the last chapter of my Madoka fanfiction that I’ve been writing, as well as adding a farewell note to my readers. Granted, all the chapters will have to be posted on a weekly basis by Ritsuka or Mashu once we finally win, because until the world exists again, AO3 doesn’t exist either.”
“Anything else?” Tamamo asked. It wasn’t a question so much as a threat.
“Well, I do have to—hold that thought!” he cut himself off as Tamamo’s mirror appeared, “Just in case, I think it’s important that you acknowledge that spatulas are very useful kitchen implements, and humanity, should it actually exist, would probably be about seventy years behind where it would be now were they–spatulas I mean–not to exist. And also that if you try anything, this spatula will never leave your line of vision for the rest of your supernatural existence.” His eyes flashed purple and… nothing happened. Not visibly at least, but they both felt the mana around them stirring.
“What did you do?” Caster snapped, lifting him up by his shirt collar and pulling him out into the hallway, “What did you do to me?! Tell me this very instant! I have no patience on a good day—sometimes—but you have crossed a line!” she put him down, scratched the corner of her mouth with one finger, “I don’t know precisely where it is—” she picked him back up again “—but you’ve crossed it. Now tell me what you did!”
“I already did.”
“If you were interrupting me, I didn’t hear you, you limp di—”
“I didn’t interrupt, my curse was just exactly what it said on the tin.”
“I don’t speak Hebrew you hyperintellectual dimwit!”
…
“…did I switch back without realizing it? Whoops… sorry about that. Well, I said, ‘if you try anything, this spatula will never leave your line of vision for the rest of your supernatural existence.’ ”
“Oh. That’s all?” she asked, seeming to calm down with the news.
“That’s all.”
She tightened her grip and vigorously shook him back and forth.
“How dare you presume to curse me! I’m a queen, you have no right—wait, you’re a king…” she stopped shaking him. “Well what the cuss am I supposed to do now? Actually never mind, I outrank you because I’m prettier, and just more charming in general,” she gasped as she came to a realization that probably wasn’t as dramatic as she made it look.
“…And you’re a dirty polygamist!” She resumed her vigorous collar shaking.
“Look, in—all—se–ri–ous–ness—I need—to tell—Ritsuka—what med–ication—Mashu needs—to take—in the—coming—months.”
Tamamo stopped shaking him for a second, gave him two more curious jerks back and forth, and set him down on his feet.
“Wait, she’s sick? Aww, but I kinda like that one. I think. Eh, she’ll be okay, right? I mean, you fixed the Queen of Lust after the King of Heroes splattered her all over her room. I mean, nobody should survive that. Nor should they survive having all their blood being turned into strawberry syrup, but apparently, she’s pretty special.”
“I’m afraid she won’t, actually, I wasn't able to do a thing other than keep her comfortable and extend her life by a few more months than she would have lived otherwise, so learn to live with disappointment,” Romani's expression soured to the point of self-contempt. “Now, those months I gave her are all she has left. Oh my God, I’m not going to be there for her when it happens. That just sank in.”
He lowered himself to the floor.
“Um…Doctor Roman, are you okay?” asked a familiar voice, nearly making him jump out of his skin like a snake having a panic attack.
“I’M FINE!” he said, much louder than necessary, scrambling to his feet, and looking rather like he was falling up. “I am completely fine, Mashu, never better, can I get right back to you, I need to…fetch a…stepladder—I don’t need to fetch a stepladder, I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry, Mashu, my workload is turning me into a giant box of panic buttons.”
He was glad he had such a believable lie so readily available. Mashu wasn’t as fearless as she would have had other people believe. He couldn’t despair for her; she needed him to be positive.
“Oh, it’s alright, I just saw you get dizzy all of a sudden and worried. But if you’re really okay…”
“I wasn’t dizzy, I was just…spacing out.”
Mashu allowed herself a soft chuckle.
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Mashu smiled, readjusting her glasses over her ears. “Maybe you should take a rest and gather your thoughts.”
“Fou!” agreed her fluffy companion, clinging to her shoulder as he so often did.
“Maybe. There's just so much to do…”
“If you want, I’m sure Senpai and I can help out. Oh! We could all work together! It’ll make it easier.
Tamamo grimaced. This was getting so wholesome that she’d probably end up getting exorcised just by watching if she let it continue for another minute. To be fair, it was adorable in its own way, and she agreed with the sentiment, but for her own sake, she couldn’t let it continue.
“Look, you said you were going to help me, so stop moping and get to work. Chop-chop!”
“You evil little vixen, do you have any tact at all?”
“Yes, but I don’t really give it a second thought,” said Tamamo as she physically dragged him off to some unspecified location which she may or may not have determined, much to Mashu’s dismay. Solomon absently noted that he had been manhandled a great deal since the beginning of the afternoon. If there was such a thing, considering that the passage of time inside Chaldea was literally an illusion created by their clocks and digital calendar. “Actually, I don’t even give it a first thought. Oh. Never mind, I guess I don’t have any tact. Huh, go figure.”
“Annoying…”
“Well, unlike the bitchy little vampire girl, everyone actually does love me no matter what I do, so tough!”
“I’m sure that there are plenty of people who love Erzsébet and Carmipppphhhsssheheheha!” he cracked up laughing. “Nope, couldn’t say that with a straight face.”
“What’s funny? No one loves them. It would be sad if they weren’t total scumbags.”
“Erzsébet at least has her redeeming qualities.”
“I suppose she does have a unique kind of tsundere personality, and…kind of… tries not to be evil… but on the other hand, she constantly gives me flak. I’d set her on fire if Master hadn’t specifically ordered me not to.”
“Yes, we know. You’ve said so before.”
“No I haven’t. I’ve said that I would drown her, electrocute her, bury her alive, and crush her with a Raiders of the Lost Ark boulder,” she said, “I also said that I’d turn her into a cat, then turn her into a bat, then turn her into a rat, put that rat in a box and then smash it with a canoe, but I have not said anything about setting her on fire yet.”
Solomon stared at her for a moment, then tried to look anywhere except her. Also…
‘Why a canoe?’ he wondered.
Out loud, he just said, “I didn’t know about most of those.”
He was sure he had heard her say she wanted to burn her alive though… Maybe it had just been Carmilla? Of course, he avoided talking to her even if it meant making up humiliating excuses.
“She just doesn’t like the Countess,” said Marie Antoinette who passed them in the hallway as they were walking by the cafeteria. “I can’t really blame her. Erzsébet’s as much of a troublemaker as Tamamo. And she also can’t sing. Or rather, should never, ever be allowed to sing. She’s not actually that bad, but she always goes into supersonic vocals by the end. I mean even the two Draculas have more restraint than her, and let's face it, one’s a Berserker and the other is obsessed with his own mythos.”
“Oh, God, I know. I’ve heard one of her concerts. I’m pretty sure that finale was meant to be lethal. I’m glad that Nero tends to keep her on a leash with their idol-competitions. Not that she’s particularly great either,” he turned back to Tamamo. “So you wanted my help with… what? A résumé?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ve already sent in a cover letter stating my desire to play the part of an Avenger as the next Order’s villain. Like, a complete, nine-tailed yokai Tamamo no Mae. I suggested Avenger class instead of Beast because that way, they’ll let me in even if they have plans for the next villain. I’ll be unassuming but deadly and conniving enough to surreptitiously work my way up to Beast class and become the big bad for the next plot arc! Mikon! This is so exciting, isn’t it?!”
“Uhh, yeah… sure… ‘exciting.’ That’s the… uh… word… I was looking for…” Doctor Roman said hesitantly, “Sounds like you at least know where to start. That’s good. But how exactly do you apply for a genuine ‘villain’ job?”
Tamamo blinked.
“Mikon? I was hoping you could tell me that.”
“Er, pardon my ignorance, but… why would you think that?”
“Because you’ve been the villain since the London singularity. Sort of.”
…
“No. Still not me. Just a monster living in my astonishingly well-preserved corpse,” Romani sighed. Why did he have to explain this to everyone?
“Oh. Right… Well then, we’re going to have to actually think about this.”
“Well, since you dragged me out of my office, we may as well sit down and get something to eat while we’re here. You won’t object to working on this thing at one of the tables here, right?
“As long as you get it done for me, were just dandy.”
“Sure, Tamamo,” Solomon sighed. “Sure.”
They walked through the cafeteria doors and started looking for a table.
—Part Two—
—Strictly Cafeteria Business—
“So what did you want to eat while we’re here?” Romani asked, sitting down at one of the many empty spots.
“Before I answer that question, you’re buying right?”
“Well, obviously. I’m not going to have very much use for money by the end of next week, so where’s the sense in making you pay?”
“There’s a lot more reasons to not make me pay than just that,” she said pointedly, her grin promising eternal hellfire with a side of puns.
“Trust me, I can imagine.”
Before he could do anything to defend himself, Tamamo’s eyes began to glow bright gold.
“Are you reading my mind?” he asked.
“Yes. I want to try something new today, so I want to know what you eat. Why can’t I find any pork in here?”
“I haven’t eaten pork since I was originally alive. I don’t have over a hundred wives to impress, so I’m free to follow Kashrut as much as I want.”
“So…you’ve never eaten a pork bun? Good heavens, you must lead a tragically empty life. Wait, hold on, did you just say hundred—”
“At least I have a strong moral compass,” he interrupted.
There was something that Tamamo desperately needed to say. It was eating her up inside, then suddenly, this:
“There’s no seafood in here either!”
“What, are my memories a filing cabinet?”
“I think that question answers itself. Mikon! It’s like, half of the food eaten by the human race is just missing from your life in your present incarnation! What do you eat?!”
Doctor Roman sighed. He didn’t have to eat unkosher food anymore considering that he’d gotten his libido under control, and admittedly didn’t have over a hundred wives to impress, and yet here he was, trying to explain himself to—uh oh…
“AHA! You did say over a hundred before! Now I know, and you are never, ever getting off the hook, but for the moment, I still need your help, so they stay uncrushed for now. But later…” she trailed off.
“Later, I’m going to hide in my room with Jeanne, Martha, and George such that any attempt to attack me will result in divine punishment.”
“Fun-sucker…”
“Just don’t get the first letters of those words mixed up,” Doctor Roman said innocently.
“Eh? What do you mean?………Sun f-Oh… okay, I get it.”
“So did you find anything while violating my head that you wanted?”
“What’s a latke?”
“A pancake made from grated potatoes.”
“Is it fried?”
“Very.”
“In that case, it’s my new favorite part of your presumably rich and historic culture. Do you even have a culture? I thought that your culture was just a cycle of holing up in your office and watching anime for days on end. I mean, you do that periodically, and during those periods of time you only open the door for Master, Mashu, and da Vinci, so you can understand how I might come to that conclusion.”
“Uh…”
“Anyway, I’ll get the pancakes, and make a point to thank the Jewish people for coming up with it later. Or maybe never. I really just bounce between activities without thinking about them.”
“How do you plan on doing that? Getting latkes I mean.”
“Well, that nameless Archer is in the kitchen, and he can make anything, so I just kinda figured.”
“To be fair, he is a good cook. It’s not really the season for latkes though. Actually, never mind, that’s a really good reason to get some; besides, I may never get another chance, and seasons don’t really exist anyway.”
She waved her hand in Archer’s direction and—
—BRZZZHP!—
“OW! Did she seriously just shoot a lightning bolt directly into my face to teach me recipe?!” snarled the nameless hero, a small burst of information pouring into his mind, along with fifty-something volts. Sure, it was the amps that killed you, but it’s not like he wanted the volts either.
Tamamo strutted over to the counter, and looked at the disgruntled Archer.
“Yes, I know, grated potato pancakes, you evil fox,” he grunted.
“Ah, always nice when people know what you like already.”
“I can sincerely say that I wish I didn’t.”
“And I can sincerely say that I’m happy you do.”
Archer just gestured for her to get lost.
Now what to do while she waited for her food… if she was going to work on something, an uninterrupted job was always better than the alternative, so it’d be best not to go back to the table just yet.
She looked around at the various staff and Servants milling about the hall, minding their own business. Who would be good company? Okay, there was no one here that she liked at all, bar the Doctor, and that was technically debatable. So, who here did she like the least?
She found her answer to that question almost too easily.
As she scanned the room for an unfortunate—but probably guilty—victim, she found Carmilla. She was walking away from the counter with a plate of chicken nuggets, which surprised her because she always figured that the vampires only drank blood. On the other hand, Vlad—the Berserker—was eating what appeared to be some sort of spectacularly beautiful beef dish with a side of diced carrots and broccoli, so did she even know anything about vampire dietary standards? Also, she could see the Archer at the cash, but he was also cooking, but he had definitely not been frying chicken when she placed her order. Who else was even working back there?
Meh, it didn’t matter. Either way, that was fried chicken, and it would be hers!
First though, some humility. She walked over to a certain Japanese traitor who was sitting at his table with an unenthusiastic, but tolerant, Atalanta and eating roasted chicken with a fork. The heathen… Or maybe he was just feeling lazy. Whatever, as usual, it didn’t matter. She just needed a small favor.
“Psst, hey Amakusa, I know you’re a traitor, and we’re definitely supposed to hate each other, but do you have a cross I can borrow. You know, of the holy variety?”
Shirou Amakusa didn’t dignify her request with a vocal answer, but knowing that Tamamo would likely pester him until he gave in, he dug a small cross out of his pocket and reluctantly placed it in her hand.
She ignored the way he was rolling his eyes at her. She then walked around to the far wall; this was the part that she wouldn’t need help with. With a wave of her hand, a bucket full of grayish paint-like substance appeared with a roller sticking out of it.
“Oh, look, construction adhesive,” she said with surprisingly genuine-sounding nonchalance.
Sure; on the one hand, manual labor was beneath her; but on the other hand, fried food!
Coating the wall in a thick coat of glue, she pressed the cross into it until it stuck. A little more magic here and boom! Instant vampire trap. Amakusa was staring at her with a look that said, ‘I should have expected this, but I allowed it to happen anyway.’
“I suppose this is what I get for trusting a kitsune,” he muttered.
“And now for the fun part,” said kitsune giggled into her hand. Moving around to angle herself properly, she made as though to walk past Carmilla, and—
“Hyah!”
—she delivered a fierce kick to her side, sending her flying perfectly into the wall. Where she stuck. Moments later, a big, glowing blue cross appeared in front of her, blocking any hope of escape.
“Blast you, you miserable little swine! How dare you so much as lay one of your filthy paws on me?!”
“Sorry~, I just wanted your food,” said Tamamo, snatching up the plate of chicken. “But nonetheless, I’m very happy that you’re stuck there. Bye~!”
She turned on her heel and strode back over to Archer.
“I may not like the mad countess, but I should let you know that regardless of my personal feelings on the matter, I still don’t approve,” he grumbled. “That said, these,” he passed her a plate of latkes, “are, regrettably, already finished.”
“I like the looks of these. Nice job, No Name,” She looked at the dish. They were grated, fried, and positively exciting. She’d certainly never eaten potatoes like this before. They were like thickly braided frîtes. If frîtes could be braided. Or maybe just horribly tangled. Either way, these looked good.
She only managed to get halfway back to her table however when—
“Mikon!”
—something flew across the room and hit her in the face.
“Was that a—” Doctor Roman started.
“—Spatula!” Tamamo growled. And indeed, there on the floor—having smacked her cleanly in the face—was a spatula. “I know you did this, don’t try to deny it!”
“I swear, it-it wasn’t me!” he protested.
—WHACK!—
The next spatula fell to the floor.
“You fiend!” she snapped. She proceeded to clobber him about the head with her mirror. She huffed, backing away, her mirror now circling her in an elliptical orbit. “I’m definitely not ordering food for you, by the way.”
“Thas’ fine… Jus’ don’ hit me anymore,” he said dizzily. He really had to wonder where those spatulas came from.
She really wanted to get to work, but maybe she could eat first. She invoked a pair of chopsticks and picked up the first latke like a piece of tempura. To be fair, it was about the same size and shape.
Romani chuckled, earning a scary look from her.
“And what do you find so amusing, hmm?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just… latkes with chopsticks. That’s not something I ever expected to see.”
A beat.
“Why not?”
“Not that I know much about Jewish culture, but I’m pretty sure the answer is obvious,” said Erzsébet, who ‘just happened’ to be walking by. “Hey, nice! Who nailed my bitchy lesser half to the wall?”
“Oh, me. Here have a chicken nugget,” said Tamamo, offering the vampire idol a pair of chicken wings on a pair of tongs, magically produced, like the rest of her eating implements. That would be enough to offset any bad karma. Perhaps even the same kind of karma that appeared to be hurling spatulas at her! “They’re hers anyway,” she added, popping a chicken nugget that was still on the plate into her mouth.
“In that case, why can’t I have them all?” asked Erszébet.
She gave Erzsébet a dirty look, covering her food protectively.
“Becush I shtole thum firr nnd shqirre,” she said through the mouthful of chicken, “Munch munch munch munch munch…”
“Why is she literally saying the word ‘munch,’ while she eats?” Doctor Roman asked the other vampire.
“I dunno. But either way,” she turned to look Tamamo, in the eye, “just one noble to another, it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.”
Tamamo let out a breath through her nose, swallowed, and then took another deep breath.
“Oh, quiet down. I’m a fox,” she said, taking a napkin and wiping the sauce from around her mouth, “I could get away with eating with my bare hands. Which would, of course, be unsightly, so I don’t. But I could.”
Erzsébet snickered. “I’ll bet you could. In fact, why don’t you. Ta-ta~.”
“Oh, I’m sure that I could do that and still make it look adorable.”
The bloody countess fumed, despite being ahead in their insult match. She snatched the tongs and the pieces of chicken impaled upon them, and walked away.
Tamamo breathed a sigh of contentment. Well, that took care of one problem. So long flying spatu—
—WHACK!—
“EEP!”
Or not. Hearing the ensuing clatter, she looked down at the floor just to be sure. As she suspected, there was another spatula there.
She didn’t even say anything this time. She just shoved Doctor Roman backwards off his seat.
“Ow,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m telling you, I’m not doing this.”
“If not you, then who?” she asked.
“I don’t know! But maybe one of the people in the kitchen?”
“Archer can only project swords you dunce,” she began swatting him in the face.
“Ack! Hey! Cut that out!”
Tamamo didn’t really care to listen to pleas for mercy though. Of course, with all this chicken talk, she had only grown more curious about another matter.
So, she stopped whacking him about. And then this happened:
Tamamo: “So, about your messed up diet—”
Dr. Roman: “Not messed up, just healthier.”
Tamamo: “—there must be something you've eaten.”
Dr. Roman: “Not since reincarnation.”
Tamamo: “Have you ever eaten shark?”
Dr. Roman: “No.”
Tamamo: “Swordfish?”
Dr. Roman: “No.”
Tamamo: “Have you tried eel?”
Dr. Roman: “No.”
Tamamo: “Have you eaten shrimp?
Dr. Roman: “No.”
Tamamo: “How about pufferfish?”
Dr. Roman: “No.”
Tamamo: “Have you ever eaten squid?”
Dr. Roman: “No. Ew.”
Tamamo: “Have you eaten Octopus?”
Dr. Roman: “Urk.”
Tamamo: “Have you eaten crabs legs?”
Dr. Roman: “Still no.”
Tamamo: “You’re weird!”
Dr. Roman: “It’s an aspect of my religion!”
Tamamo: “Your religion is weird!”
Dr. Roman: “You can’t just say things like that! This is supposed to be a tolerant work environment!”
Tamamo: “Huh? Wha~? No it’s not! I don’t know if you noticed, but Ramses II is sitting two tables away!”
Dr. Roman: “You make a good point. And now I’m very sad. And also have to work on reforms now because no one should have to suffer racism in the workplace.”
Vlad III: “I’ll kill you if you even try. King of Magic or not, you’re still—”
(Vlad III spontaneously combusts.)
Vlad III: “Augh! What is this?!”
Tamamo: “Heheh. Divine punishment, it looks like. Evidently your god likes scholars more than warlords, Lancer.”
Dr. Roman: (Whispered) “Are you doing this?”
Tamamo: (Whispered) “Obviously, but look, I’m causing him to have a crisis of faith!
(Vlad III babbles unintelligibly.)
Tamamo: (Whispered) Also, if he’d continued speaking, the author would probably be pegged for insensitivity and anti-Semitism.”
Dr. Roman (Whispered) “Wait, what? Actually never mind. Either way, that’s not very nice.”
(Vlad III is burning and still snarling incoherently, but to his credit, is following proper fire procedures of stop, drop, and roll, so as to not spread the flames everywhere.)
Tamamo: “How about Lobster?”
Dr. Roman: “Huh?”
Tamamo: “I said, ‘How about Lobster?’ ”
Dr. Roman: “Are we still talking about this?”
Tamamo: “Yes, just because Dracula interrupts someone’s conversation and then explodes does not mean it is over.”
Dr. Roman: “Well, actually, in most cases, it does. We’re just immensely powerful.
Tamamo: “Quiet, you. Now, lobster.”
Dr. Roman: “No.”
Tamamo: “Darn it! You are so messed up.”
Dr. Roman: “I want you to give me three good reasons why you would think so.”
Tamamo: “Crab, lobster, calamari, you are a very sad person. Well, at least you’ve eaten salmon, tuna and trout. And snapper. I think.
(A spatula flies out of nowhere and smacks Tamamo in the face.)
Tamamo: (growls like an angry fox)
(Tamamo proceeds to pound Dr. Roman with her mirror for something around one minute, then bounces back.)
Tamamo: “Okay, moving on to more westerny stuff then… Have you eaten oysters?”
Dr. Roman: “No. Again, ew.”
Tamamo: “Have you ever eaten a deer?”
Dr. Roman: “The poor deer! Why would I do that?!”
Tamamo: “Because it’s a game animal. I’d eat it.”
Dr. Roman: “First, of course you would, you’re a fox; you live in the same kinds of habitats; and second, that term upsets me now when used in this context.”
“Meh, whatever,” said Tamamo, “Have you eaten rabbit?”
“What?! Never! …only a fox would ask that question.”
“Not true, I’ll have you know that I love bunnies! See!” to his surprise, she reached inside her mirror like it was a magician’s hat and pulled out a very frightened rabbit and nuzzled it against her cheek.
The rabbit looked at Solomon pleadingly, as though to say, ‘get me outta here!’
“Honestly, me eating a cute little bunny rabbit? Can you imagine?” she chirped.
Solomon did a double take. Was he imagining things, or had that rabbit just nodded fervently? Or was that a confused shrug? Either way, this rabbit was positively adorable.
“I’ll be honest, I have no idea. I mean if it was a rabbit that you didn’t know and had already been cooked, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Okay, maybe, but not Scamper here.”
The rabbit made adorable little paw gestures that Romani assumed could only mean ‘See! See! She’s deadly!’
She stopped cuddling for a moment, and in the next, she burst into tears. “Take him!” she bawled holding her apparent pet out to Doctor Roman, “Please! He’ll never love me! He’s my natural prey and he knows it, and however much I love him and shower him with adoration he’ll never love me back!”
Doctor Roman could only try and shrink into his seat as heads turned to stare at their table and the fox demon’s latest antics. Finding that she was rather forcibly shoving the pet rabbit into his arms, he found that he was unable to resist either Tamamo’s forcefulness. Or those adorable, pleading bunny-rabbit-eyes.
“You know, I feel as though you got extremely sidetracked the moment I mentioned food.”
“Ehh? Sidetracked? Sidetracked from what?” she asked.
He was just about ready to freak out just from her completely oblivious tone, when all of a sudden:
—SHWAK—
“ACK!”
Uh oh.
Had that been…
“That wasn’t another spatula, right?” Doctor Roman asked, praying he was right.
“Yes. Yes it was,” Tamamo said calmly, before her mirror slammed into his head.
“Ow! Stop! It isn’t me! Ee! I swear, it just–gah!–isn’t! Have I–augh!–ever lied to you?!”
“Yes!” replied everyone in the cafeteria.
“Oh, right–Ow!–about my identity–Oof!–but have I lied–Ow!–about anything else?!” he demanded, still getting clobbered with Tamamo’s mirror.
“Yes!” everyone in the cafeteria said again.
“You certainly didn’t tell us that the fake Solomon wasn’t the genuine article,” Caster said, her ears twitching.
Even the rabbit was staring up at him quizzically, which startled him because even though he was petting it up until the moment Tamamo attacked him, he’d completely forgotten it was there. It didn’t seem all that startled by the mirror that was spinning around and whacking its protector either, but on the other hand, its only experience with the object was probably going in and out of it like some sort of door, which was admittedly, (probably?) a trait native to magic mirrors, but which Doctor Roman still found surprising.
She sighed. She had finished eating anyway. She might as well get started on what she came here to do.
“So, how do I do this?”
“Do what?”
She conjured a sheet of paper and slapped it flat against the cafeteria table. With a wave of her hand, a template for a standard résumé appeared on it.
—Part Three—
—A Position for Which I am Devilishly Qualified—
“What usually goes first?”
“Oh! I’ll be honest, with all of your other antics…and the, uh, being beaten about the head, I’d completely forgotten what we’d actually come here for.
“Anyway, just start with your personal info. The template you’ve got actually gives instructions. Did you memorize one of the templates on a word processor and reproduce it?”
“No, I just created this earlier while looking at one and just conjured it back up here.”
Solomon looked at the sheet and frowned.
Why is ‘Reason for Application’ so low on the page? On my résumé, I was recommended to write my objective at the top. In any case, wherever you put it, you should explain what your objective is for applying to the position. Although in this case you should just write, ‘To contribute to the success of Notes, Mobage, and other affiliated companies.’ They don’t actually want to read about what your goals in life are.”
“Seems inconsiderate.”
“That’s the job market. It’s meaner than an angry mongoose with rabies being chased by vipers and maybe some other snakes selling car insurance. And this is the tame part.”
“That would make me angry if I were a mongoose,” Tamamo agreed absently. “But I’m not a mongoose, I’m a fox. With a glorious coat of golden fur.”
“I feel like you may have missed my point entirely.”
“I did not, I’ve just made it appear as though I have. That said… I’ll listen to you this time.”
She sighed but waved two fingers along the page just below ‘Reason for Application,’ and the words Romani suggested appeared there. As well as a few others.
“…lazy much?” he grumbled. “Also, you probably shouldn’t be saying things like ‘because you’re kind of bored and have a slight desire to beat your demon-self up a bit.’ It won’t leave a good impression.”
“In answer to your first comment, why bother using a pen when this is easier and looks nicer?”
“Point taken.”
“And in answer to your second comment, go soak your head.
“So the next thing is qualifications. What would I put here? I mean, I’m capable of a lot when I have all nine tails. Like, immeasurable. I can—like, seriously, you wouldn’t believe—I can do just about anything they’d want a villain to do.”
“Maybe you should just list a number of your achievements and atrocities you were guilty of performing in your lifetime.”
“That’s a good idea. See, this is why I came to you about this.”
“I may regret this in the long-term.”
“Quiet you, now, let’s see…”
She trailed off, and Romani found himself growing distracted again.
Wait…the longest term he could possibly reach at this point was less than fourteen days from now. He didn't have a long term in which he could regret this decision. Somehow, that thought brought him both a mild sense of elation, and at the same time, a strange inexplicable terror settled into his gut.
“Never mind, someone else is going to have to regret this for me.”
—SHWAK!—
“…Mikon?”
“Ow! What the heck was—?” Doctor Roman trailed off noticing the object clattering to the ground. They were amassing quite the collection of kitchen implements here…
“Okay, I don’t know who’s doing that, but we’re actually trying to work here!”
Under his breath he added, “I really hope that whoever is throwing these things was just distracted.”
Tamamo looked at him appraisingly.
“Alright, I’m more inclined to believe you now,” she said.
“Thank you.”
She smacked him with her mirror.
“Gah! But you just said—!” he stammered, “What was that for?!”
“Oh, I just felt like it.”
He groaned.
The rabbit wriggled around in his arms and he jumped. He had once again forgotten that it was there, which really only said something about his mental state. Most likely something bad, but forgetting about a rabbit’s existence while you’re holding it could also just say something about how a fluffy rabbit can put one’s mind at ease…
…even when one had less than two weeks to live before sacrificing one’s life to defeat a very depressed, nihilistic monster…
…made of sixty-four of one’s friends…
…who were probably suffering even as one was contemplating this…
He started petting it—the rabbit, not the monster, that was somewhere else—and it seemed to calm down—again, just the rabbit. If the monster would just calm down, they’d have already have fixed the world, and he’d be chatting about philosophy with Forneus, who would look like a shark, and not a gigantic, gyrating pillar covered in millions and millions of eyes!
Oohhhhh, now he was just depressed! Huh. How odd. He suddenly didn’t feel as bad about having to go and sacrifice himself now.
He looked over at what she was writing (conjuring?) and pointed at a phrase she had written.
“You should probably be writing these things in the third person. This resume isn’t actually supposed to sound like you’re selling yourself in person. It’s just supposed to be about you.
Tamamo hummed uncertainly and rewrote the sentence.
“Are you sure?” she said, looking at it again. “It seems kind of weird.”
“Positive. Though I’ll admit, I don’t know how it’s done in Japan—”
“Oh…great. Newsflash! This is a Japanese résumé, you metamagical moron.”
“Look, just do it anyway.”
“Fine. You’re such a nag.”
She ran her fingers across the page a few times. And suddenly her Noble Phantasms, and some personal skills were filled in, as well as a number of crimes.
‘Monstrous Deeds
Murder, genocide, attempted regicide (allegedly), treason (allegedly)…’ the list went on.
“I think that maybe instead of ‘Monstrous Deeds,’ you should maybe write ‘Achievements and Atrocities,’ as I said earlier.”
Tamamo placed her hand against her lips, rubbing them in thought.
“Maybe just this once I’ll take your revision advice. However, next time, there may be consequences.”
“Duly noted,” he said. He also noted something else on her page. “Wait, you were the one who stole da Vinci’s toothbrush that one time?! She wouldn’t speak to me for a week because of that!”
“Don’t really care. Would you put ‘violently unpredictable whims,’ under ‘hobbies,’ or ‘special skills?’ ”
“Skills. And remove the word ‘special,’ it probably doesn’t have to be there.”
“Ehh? Fine… How about mass defenestration?”
“Huh? You’ve done that?”
“No, but when I find myself a nice castle, I’ll need to get rid of its occupants somehow. So, Curse: Chaos Heaven everywhere!”
“Hobbies then.”
“Oh, and I generally don’t eat humans, but I’m fully capable of doing so.”
“Maybe leave that out.”
She filled in the rest of the boxes on the lower half of the page.
“I can’t help but notice you still haven’t filled in Past Experience. Isn’t that the most important part?”
“Yes. Yes it is. I’ll go in whatever order I please, helper-monkey. Your advice is appreciated, but you really just shouldn’t have opinions at all. Your opinions are wrong.”
Romani just sighed. He wanted to continue protesting about her abusiveness, but then again, he let himself get roped into this. There was no reason he had to be sitting here with a dangerous, conniving fox other than… well actually, there just was no reason at all. Whatever. He was already here.
“So, let’s start with China.”
“Wait, what?”
“China.”
“Yes, I heard you. But you’re Japanese, why are you talking about China?”
Tamamo blinked.
“Oh, right, you’re not familiar with most of my legend. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to educate you,” she grinned indulgently, raising one finger in the air. “To begin with, I was born—OW! DAMMIT! Cut that out already!”
—CLANG—
The latest spatula clattered to the floor. Servants and Chaldea staff were now beginning to take notice of the periodic smacking sounds, yelps of irritated surprise, and of course, the growing pile of spatulas. Every once in a while, someone would turn to look at Tamamo and Doctor Roman just to see if they were about to get hit. It was enough to make Romani a bit self-conscious, but he could also see how agitated Tamamo was getting.
“Do you maybe want to move somewhere else? We could go back to my office.”
“No. That would be tantamount to surrender. I refuse to give in!” she stood up, “Do your worst, you vomitous, lardaceous, cockroach-flavored ignoram—USCK!”
—CLINGCLATTER—
“I will have my revenge, mark my words…” she growled, sitting down very slowly. “Anyway, where was I?” she continued, her tone expression brightening in a manner very much like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
“You were about to tell your captive audience why you put ‘Shang Dynasty, China’ on your résumé in your Past Experiences.”
“Much obliged,” she reached across the table and patted Doctor Roman on the head, in response to which he sighed helplessly. “Anyway, it starts with—” she paused, abruptly ducking and covering up her head. “Nothing? No flying kitchen utensils? Okay then. It starts about three thousand and five-hundred-something years ago.
“My early life before I became a powerful sorceress doesn’t matter, but I took the name Daji—don’t call me that by the way—and became King Zhou of the Shang Dynasty’s mistress. He had really long fingernails. Like, you couldn’t even imagine. Really, really long.
“On our first night together, I cast a spell on him that changed his personality, and to a certain extent, elicited firm obedience to my will. He became a tyrannical ruler from then on. Eventually my manipulations resulted in the people growing fed up and violently rebelling against their leader. The Shang Dynasty fell, and I fled to Magadha—that’s India—in the ensuing chaos.”
Doctor Roman gulped. Well… Um… The more you know.
“Okay then, in that case let’s paraphrase that, and make it sound a little more professional, it can work as your first point under Experience,” he said, trying but not quite succeeding in his attempt to hide how unsettled he was all of a sudden, even as he dug a notepad out of his pocket started further summarizing her abridgement.
“This was in the Sixteenth Century Before the Common Era, by the way, so fifteen…something…”
“…Right…”
“Uh, sorry to interrupt, but I thought Daji was killed—” one of the staff attempted to speak up but Tamamo shushed him.
“Yes. I know you do. You were supposed to think that. Thanks for your input, now, silence! Or I’ll have your tongue vacate your mouth.”
She didn’t bother waiting for a frightened response and simply continued talking, paying no attention to the small crowd of humans and Servants that was gathering around the table to listen in. Or, admittedly more likely, to get a better look the next time something hit her in the head. Whatever. A captive audience was still an audience, and let it never, ever be said that Tamamo-no-Mae disliked being the centre of attention.
“In Magadha and became the consort of King Hanzoku. You might know him as King Kalmashapada.”
“Kalmashapada?!” Karna gasped. “You don’t mean Kalmashapada the Man-Eater?!”
She hadn’t even realized he was listening.
“Mikon… Mister Karna… you stole all of Tamamo’s drama, the Dramamo, if you will,” Caster sighed dejectedly, (after giggling at her own pun). “I was going to build up to where I had him scarfing down children, but you ruined it. Oh well, since it’s you, I’ll let it slide this time.”
“I apologize, Lady Tamamo,” said Karna, offering her a polite bow. “It was not my intent to damage the flow of your story.”
Tamamo added some dignity to her posture.
“Worry not. All is forgiven.”
“Wait, why does he get a free pass while I get smacked around?” Romani complained.
“Well, unlike you, Mister Karna isn’t a huge nerd. Far from it: He’s so cool. And it helps that he’s a fellow sun demigod.”
Doctor Roman just fixed her with the evil eye.
“Come on, Ayeen Hara’a, work your magic…” he muttered. To his surprise, no spatulas came flying out from some random point in the room at her. That was a disappointment.
“I called myself Lady Kayou in Magadha—don’t call me that either. Hanzoku was an interesting one to say the least. I subtly but very effectively drove him to psychotic insanity. He devoured children, murdered priests, and I even convinced him to build me a pyramid out of the severed heads of one thousand men. Eventually he converted to Buddhism though, and he was a lot less fun after that.”
“I thought that Kalmashapada’s wife was a good queen and a kind woman,” Karna protested. “He was transformed into a Rakshasa by another Rakshasa in disguise in most versions of the story. It was taking revenge for—.”
“She was, I was a consort, but not the queen. And in Japan, the story goes that I was responsible for his fall into madness. I’m sorry, for interrupting you, Mister Karna and I will be sure to listen to your rendition of the original story later, but I have to get this done. The sooner I get out of here, the less likely I am to get more spatulas thrown at me.”
“You’ve no need to apologize, I was the one who spoke out of turn,” Karna bowed once more. “If you’ll excuse me.”
—CLANG!—
“Hmph,” he grinned with utmost confidence as the spatula he’d intercepted fell to the floor. He lowered his spear. “I’ll be off then.”
Tamamo watched him leave, starry-eyed. One day, providing he didn’t vanish when the Holy Grail War ended, he would make some phenomenally lucky girl incredibly happy. Truly the epitome of an eastern knight in shining armor. Except instead of a knight he was a demigod. And instead of armor he was wearing some sort of… superfitted… feathery… thing? With floating blades on one side? What was that thing he wore anyway? Maybe she’d ask him later. Whatever the case…
“He is so cool,” she said.
“So, when was this?”
“Can’t remember.”
“…Great.”
“Anyway! On to my next husband.”
“I’m almost afraid to hear it…” Doctor Roman said cheerlessly as he further summarized her latest story for her résumé.
“Yeah, you would be. Now then, I stayed in India for a while, and it had been around eight hundred years, give or take since I toppled the Shang Dynasty, so that had all blown over. So I went back to China during the Zhou Dynasty… uh, no relation to the king I destroyed by the way.
“I called myself Bao Si—never call me that—and cleverly built a reputation there as the most attractive woman in the country. King You quickly took me on as his concubine. Like, seriously, he was quick. Not physically speaking, he just had very impressive servants. He also had really long fingernails too. Of course, I wasn’t satisfied just being his mistress. Obviously,” Tamamo’s inappropriately cheerful grin grew impossibly sinister, “So I manipulated him into having his own wife, Queen Shen, executed. Then I took the position for myself.”
Doctor Roman edged away slightly.
“Get back here.”
“Sorry,” he said, shuffling back. He grew increasingly pale as the story wore on.
“I made him desperate to please me. Made him need me more than anything. But I never smiled. I would only smile for him when he performed deeds of the utmost evil and depravity, and he was so enthralled by me that he committed atrocity after atrocity without a second thought until he grew just as depraved as I’d made King Zhou. Of course, I did use a fair bit of magic on him too. Over time, the other nobles in his court abandoned and turned on him, but he didn’t care. He had everything he needed with me. King You was eventually overthrown of course, and we were both executed,” she grinned like the mischievous fox that she was. “Of course, they probably should have checked to make sure that Bao Si’s corpse was still in the hole they’d thrown it into. Meeheeheekon!”
“Oh my God! Why did we even allow you indoors?!” Doctor Roman suddenly exploded. “You’re a complete lunatic!”
“That’s why I’m applying for the villain position. Get over yourself, sit down, keep your mouth shut, and write me a paraphrased version of all that. And get me some shrimp tempura.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, “…but I won’t be happy about it. And no shrimp.”
“Happiness is not a requirement.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know…” he was so not fetching her more food. But how to distract her… oh, right: “When was all this?”
“I think it was 779 to 771 BCE. Yeah, exactly that. Anyway, I hid myself away for the next thousand years or so.”
“Thousand years?” Romani asked, “What were you doing that entire time?
“I’m a fox. I hibernated and bided my time,” she answered him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“You’ll need to mark that down. If you’ve been between jobs for a while, employers prefer to know what you’ve been up to since leaving your last place of employment.”
“Seriously?” she whined, “Okay, fine, you know what’s what, I guess.”
She ran her hand along her resume and transferred the text that her captive assistant had suggested onto the page, along with a small section for hibernation.
“After that, sometime during the eighth century, I disguised myself as a teenaged girl and talked my way onto the crew of a boat leaving for Japan.”
“I think I’m seeing a theme here,” sneered Mr. Hyde.
Tamamo shrugged.
“You mean how each time I show up—”
“Yeah, yeah, you corrupt a powerful man and he destroys himself and his kingdom, whatever,” he interrupted. “That isn’t what I’m referring to you moronic bitch.”
Hyde’s manic grin abruptly vanished as Dr. Jekyll took his place, a visible change that had everyone breathing a sigh of relief.
“My sincerest apologies. You know how the other me can get. But he was telling the truth, at least in that the obvious notions weren’t what I saw here. I mean that your myths are stories of misogyny apologism.”
Tamamo blinked. Then she blinked again, her ears twitching. Then she hopped out of her seat and clapped her hands excitedly.
“Mikon~! I didn’t think any of the men would see it without me pointed it out! You’re a real clever one aren’t you?”
“I am a doctor, whatever my alter ego might be.”
“Well, he’s right everyone. My entire myth could be paraphrased as ‘Women; why we’re bad and you must never, ever do a thing we say.’ ”
There were a few murmurs within the crowd as a number of male servants agreed with the statement, to the great irritation of every single woman present. Tamamo, not one to lose her audience due to unexpected intermissions, cleared her throat.
“Mik-ko-kon!
“Okay, everyone listening again? Good, now then—”
She ducked, but nothing came flying out at her. She didn’t let her guard down or feel embarrassed by her sudden scramble. It had been a perfect opportunity for an obnoxious interruption, so it went without saying that there was a risk of a spatula attack.
“Kon~… Now then, I didn’t find any particularly good opportunities during the next couple hundred years, so I tried a different tack: I reincarnated myself. An old couple who owned a temple found me by the side of the road—or so they told me, memories as an infant aren’t that great—and raised me as their daughter, naming me Mizukume. They also trained me to be a priestess, and that’s where The Fox we’ve been following for the past two thousand years hit a kink in her plan, because despite being a heartless monster before she turned herself into a human child, her humanity coupled with her holy surroundings and pure lifestyle changed her a fair bit. Like, more than would be believable.
“Anyway, I naturally proved to be exceptionally talented at anything I did. I caught Emperor Toba’s attention when I was still a child, and met with him numerous times before I came of age, and he took me on as his consort. And he gave me the name Tamamo-no-Mae—never call me anything but that—and you know the rest. I’ve told you about my myth and how my involvement in his illness was a lie, and how I had no idea how I turned into a fox, and only managed to hide the ears and tail for a month before Abe no Yasunari had me attacked and found me out.”
She looked at the page, then at Doctor Roman’s notes. She transferred them over to her résumé with a wave of her hand.
“This looks about done, I’d say.”
“I agree,” Romani nodded, “but before you send it, I need to get a few people in here first.”
“Ehh?”
He got up.
“Wait a moment, I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t be too long!” she called after him.
“Oh, trust me, I’m not crazy enough to leave you hanging…”
“I dunno, you’re pretty cr—”
She suddenly ducked, and a spatula soared over her head, and clanged against the far wall ineffectually.
“Ha-ha!” she leaped to her feet victoriously, “You think you’re so clever, but I’m—”
—SMACK—
“Ow…” she grumped. “When I find out which one of you is doing this, I will show you horrors beyond the realm of sanity or conscious understanding. Enjoy your time, because I will have my revenge.”
She sat back down. Something hit her in the back of the head and clattered to the floor.
“I’m not even surprised anymore,” she grumbled, barely even reacting.
A few minutes later, Doctor Roman returned to the cafeteria, with da Vinci, Ritsuka and Shielder.
“Okay, I’ll just need to borrow your paper for a moment, and it’ll be set to go.”
“Um, okay…” Tamamo said cautiously. She held her résumé out to him and he placed in on a clipboard, uncapping a pen and handing it to Ritsuka, who appeared to sign the corner of the page. Was this a necessary procedure?
Ritsuka passed the pen and the clipboard to Mashu who also signed the corner of the page before passing it back to Doctor Roman. He did the same, and da Vinci followed suit.
“Wait, so you were the one who stole my toothbrush?” she squinted at Caster, noticing the note under ‘Achievements & Atrocities.’ She turned to look at Solomon. “It seems I owe you an apology, Doctor Archaman.”
“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” he said honestly. He took the clipboard, and handed Tamamo’s résumé back to her.
Before she knew what was happening, a pink marker flew out of nowhere and scribbled something on the page.
“What the—?”
Tamamo squinted at her document and gaped in total stupefaction.
“What in the hell is this?!” she sputtered.
“I’m sorry,” said Mashu, her face showing nothing but earnest empathy. “It seemed necessary.”
“It was the responsible thing to do,” da Vinci nodded.
“You’re hard to handle, you can’t deny that,” added Ritsuka.
The fox girl glared at her résumé. In the bottom left corner of the page, all stuffed messily into the small box entitled ‘Name of Guardian (if applicable)’ were Doctor Roman’s, Ritsuka’s, Mashu’s, and Leonardo da Vinci’s signatures. And just below theirs… was Lancer Tamamo’s signature, basically her own handwriting but in pink marker. The Lancer in question materialized beside her, giggling with spectacularly false innocence.
“Exactly how many people are supposedly my legal guardians?! Also, TamaLancer, you traitor!”
Lancer Tamamo just giggled some more and astralized, going off to who knows where, but probably a beach.
“So… I’m just gonna run and get Jeanne, Martha, and George now,” said Solomon, scampering off like a roadrunner.
It occurred to him that he was forgetting about Shirou Amakusa, who was also a Saint, but on the other hand, he was an objectively lousy person, so best he left him to finish his dinner.
“Hey, aren’t you forgetting someone?” Tamamo said, looking very unimpressed but sounding like she was on the verge of tears. She pointed to the rabbit.
“Mashu can have him, he can be a playmate for Fou—bye!”
Tamamo sighed. It wasn’t like she had to rewrite the whole thing; she could just copy it onto another page without the extra writing on it. An easy fix. But it was the principle of the thing!
Whatever. She’d just do the extra chore and send it off to Notes after that.
—THWACK!—
“Mikon!”
-----Seven to twelve business days later-----*
*actually eight
“WHAAAAAAAT?!”
“Holy crap,” Ritsuka stammered. He ran around the corner of the hall to find Caster prowling about, fangs bared. She was positively furious. He slowly moved toward her before a hand caught him by the shoulder.
“Ritsuka,” said Doctor Roman, “you should…probably stand back for now.”
“What’s wrong, Caster—” he saw what she was holding, and then gaped, “wait, is that mail?!”
“What’s wrong? You’re asking me what’s wrong?! Here’s what’s wrong:
“Dear Tamamo no Mae,” she read,
“Thank you for your interest in the position, but we regret to inform you that several tentative choices have already been selected for the role of the next Order’s villain. Current interest lies on Charlemagne, Archimedes, and Shirou Amakusa?!” she snarled. “That said, we thank you for your application and have considered making an event based on your yokai form.
“Love always,
“The team here at Notes.”
She stopped reading, pacing the floor anxiously.
“An event! A lousy event!” she ranted, “I’m capable of Beast class, and they’re shoving me into a week long time slot that’ll happen once every year-and-a-half, if that often?! Wait, they aren’t even doing that much! They’re just considering it! How dare they treat me like this!
“This is what I get for trusting a guy sharing a name with the Plains of Nasu! I knew I shouldn’t have done it—it was a bad Tamamomen right from the start, staring me in the face like a giant, dancing, anthropomorphic zebra in a tie-dye kabuki mask! I could conquer the entire planet as the Nine-Tailed Yokai, and I might have time in the spotlight for no time at all, and then back to the mundane for me?!”
She whirled around to look at Ritsuka and Romani. “What are they even thinking over there? And who in their right mind thinks a religious traitor is a better villain than a great demon who was once part of a god?! I outrank you, Saint Boy!” she pointed at the man known by some as Shirou Kotomine, who scoffed and walked away. Damn her impulsiveness! This was cosmic judgement for mucking about with his cross a week ago, she was sure of it!
“As for Archimedes, what’s he gonna do? Algebra us to death? He’s just a morally bankrupt, pedantic scumbag here! And I don’t even know what the hell they’re thinking with Charlemagne!”
“I know, right!” Astolfo agreed wholeheartedly.
“I mean, why would they even–Mikon!!” she recoiled as a spatula collided with her face.
“Stop doing that!”
* * * * *
At the far end of the hall, the nameless Archer considered taking her up on her demand, but she’d had such a good reaction, and even after more than a week, she still didn’t suspect him at all.
It had really been so simple: Once he realized that he could create plastic swords shaped like spatulas, the rest was simple. He just had to melt the sides against the stove to dull them, and they’d be real spatulas. If Kiyohime hadn’t walked past him carrying a knife and grinning widely to herself, he wouldn’t have been startled into releasing that one piece prematurely.
And Doctor Roman had given him the idea, so he didn’t really deserve to get hit. He’d been walking down the hall and stopped momentarily when Tamamo had her little outburst the week prior. Then the Doctor had described a curse that he’d supposedly placed on Tamamo, and he’d figured he could use that the next time Tamamo did something really lousy. He should have expected that he’d end up using it quickly.
He loaded two more cooking implements into his bow. This was turning out to be a really nice day. Unlimited Spatula Works, coming right up.
Cursed Cold Colle (Part 1)
0/
The old fortress on top of the hill?
…
Nothing in particular, I’m just surprised you asked. You’ve never shown much interest in this town.
…
No, I’m just glad you’re asking. After all, you’re going to take over the family business one day.
…
Don’t say that in front of your mother. You know what she would do if she heard you were seriously considering going to New York of all places.
…
Wait… your mother is heading up there? Are you sure?!
…
Stay inside. Lock the doors. I’m going after her. That idiot! Even when I told her I’d take care of it if anything happened, that she didn’t have any obligations to them anymore.
…
You’ve never met your maternal relatives because they’re witches who live at the top of that hill. Your mother’s ancestors… they were once called Icecolle.
1/
Lately, my mind has been on my sister. She’s… not with us anymore. In fact, my sister has been dead for more than ten years. As a member of our illustrious family, there was no way she died from a paltry accident in the workshop. Neither was the cause a symptom of living in the degenerate modern world like a car accident. My sister died with her fiancée while taking part in a magical war.
While I might call it a war, there were fewer than fourteen combatants. Even so, one of those wars causes enough destruction that even a career soldier would turn aghast. Therefore, I can’t help but wonder if my sister had the same look on her face when she died as the corpses of these fifteen hunters littered around me.
“What a waste.”
To be a magus, a researcher who delves into the maelstrom of mystery, is to live side by side with death. Any misstep, any imprecision with the connection to a magical formula can immediately lead one into his demise. But that is only an occupational hazard – just like how a chemist must handle dangerous chemicals or a laborer has no choice but to operate heavy machinery. Training can only prepare one for so much; after all, no matter how much of a mystical machine a magus may try to turn himself into… at his core he is merely human.
But I am one of the thirteen above that rabble, a Lord of the Clock Tower. Even if it’s only a trickle, I will undoubtedly detect any magical energy that seeks to harm me.
In reply, magical energy rushes from my magic circuits into the familiar that shielded me from the ambush that disposed of all fifteen associates. Like my pride, my familiar is unassailable; it would take at least a spell on the order of high-thaumaturgy to harm the Monstrous Beast.
“Surprisingly under-equipped and underwhelming. And what have you Lords of the Association always called us? Second-rate, we believe? Yet, how quickly the mighty fall when they leave their sheltered tower.”
A voice reverberates from a drum wedged between the ceiling and the wall closest to me. It’s a quaint drum, no doubt a relic of the savage indigenous magical foundation in this area. Some poorly tanned animal skin with painted-on markings stretches across the pan. There are some swirls and some crosses but I can’t make out any meaning – again, no doubt the relic of a backwater magical foundation that does not work anywhere else in the world. This is evident in how the mystic code seems only capable of amplifying a sound. In the base, technological world, devoid of magecraft, one might refer to it as a “wireless speaker.”
“No doubt, dear mistress; after all, why would we send our first or even second-rate hunters for the remnants of third-rates who couldn’t even successfully secede?”
A thud and brutal silence for a moment as the mental blow settles – just as I thought, wench. Do not think your jabs can even compare to the herculean blows delivered in a Clock Tower power struggle.
With that thought behind me, I can sense a stronger flow of magical energy in the floor behind those heavy birch doors – the next trap, then. If it is coming from the floor, it is nothing more than a child’s game.
How degrading.
With one motion, I grip onto the mane of my familiar and throw myself across her back.
How unpleasant.
Not my familiar, of course. She is the pinnacle of my craft – enough that I could call her the Supreme Mystic Code of my family. I have heard the stories about the familiar of the magus who quelled the Dead Apostle that was to be Disemboweling Sea of Trees and I believe mine not an inferior product.
However, as we approach the next stage in our conquest, I can’t help look back at the already fallen. Just looking at them slightly offends me. There’s enough sympathy for the families of these poor hunters. Yet, what a waste, not even being able to make it through the first ambush. So much for a rescue. Then again, isn’t that the reason I personally forsook my responsibilities to join this little expedition?
Yet, I just can’t shake one image, one thought.
I said, how unpleasant.
How unpleasant, was the first thing that came to mind when I saw the savagery that is so rare yet so commonplace in our magecraft-laden world. Lately, my sister has been on my mind, so would I think the same thing if I were to have watched her die as well?
***
“If this is the best you can do, enough with your childish games and show yourself!” I attempt to throw my voice so it echoes but the hazel walls absorb the sound. She heard my proclamation though; I can see those obnoxious drums hanging in the corners of this room as well. Surely, they must work as a microphone as well.
“You are the real deal, aren’t you? And with a familiar that swims through a sea of materialized curses without any protection…”
“Don’t flatter me. You wouldn’t even need a specialist to freeze grudges on this level.”
“Flattery? No, we would never. Not flattery, not for you. What we don’t understand is why you would go to such lengths for such a single person. We understand the El-Melloi faction making an effort, but you – why have you come so far away from the dungeon you call a home? This has nothing to do with your department, faction, or family.”
“There’s no need for me to take the moral high ground here. The person in your care has certain skills and certain things that I require. You have that person. You have refused to negotiate. Therefore, I have come to take what is currently yours.”
“Are you rationalizing the burglary of another’s workshop with that excuse? Truly, you are the real deal aren’t you, Lord,” she spits out the last word.
I’m not a Lord yet, but I’m too tired of this farce to correct her.
“But if what you say is true then you are not a party in this cold war. We have no reason to obstruct your path. These defenses are meant for an army, not a single, petty thief,” she continues. “Thief you may be, but you are still the next Lord of Eulyphis – let it be known that we have shown you respect befitting your station.”
The drumming stops. I can hear a multitude of traps being deactivated as doors open. Smiling slightly, I motion my familiar to continue marching forward.
About time.
***
After riding through what seemed to be a never-ending corridor, the final pair of birch doors crack open announcing my arrival.
“Bram Nuada-Re Sophie-Ri, welcome to our humble abode,” someone proclaims from inside the darkness.
There are too many lanterns in the room for the darkness to be truly smothering. However, there are not enough lanterns to illuminate all the corners of the room. Yet, even if I am only able to see a few meters above me, I’m certain the ceiling is littered with drums.
Like a concert hall. How vain.
And at the edge of the darkness is a throne made from birch and hazel, just like the walls and doors in this fortress. Are the legs fused into the wooden floor, or is the floor merely part of the throne? Either way, such an effect can easily be arranged with a few commonplace spells. Yes, that throne may as well speak for the entire house, the entire family.
Nothing but a second-rate house pretending to be aristocrats.
It is a common theory among magi that our ancestors were kings. For that reason, many of the twenty-three families and other noble houses have built castles. But for a degenerating family that ran away from their foundation to-
“We hope your familiar found those spirits palatable. A Soul Eater, is she not?”
My familiar brushes her scales against my hand as I rub underneath her maw.
“Yes.” That is annoying to admit. “She enjoyed them very much, thank you for that, Icecolle.”
Hearing her name, she rises from her fake wooden throne and walks into the soft lantern light. Like any other practitioner of the dark arts she smells like death. Sacrifice is a large part of spiritual evocation; however, it is not enough that the smell stains our skin. She is different. She is a magus whose entire being is based on cursing others. While that stench may overcome lesser magi, she is nothing special.
“I am glad you have deferred to reason and chosen to parley. Now…”
“No.” Softly, with eyebrows creased she shakes her head.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
With a fluid swish, she turns around, the back of her almost backless pitch dress facing me. Devouring all the soft light that tries to reflect it, the dress itself seems as though it was made of the same curses in the hallway.
“This is not parley. We merely invited you to this room to discuss the terms of your ransom.”
I want to let those words sink in, but they repeat so many times in my head that they stay afloat.
“A Lord you may be… one day,” she snaps a gloved hand outward in exasperation while the other goes to her hip. “But today you are undoubtedly a thief. And in this land, in Siberia, do you know what we do with thieves?”
“Before you tell me what is done to thieves, shouldn’t you tell me what is done to kidnappers?”
She chuckles at that before turning to face me.
“Sola Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri, your sister’s name was it not?”
There is no expression on my face. But yes, that is the name of the sister who has lately been on my mind.
She takes my silence as a confirmation. “We do not presume to know the nature of your relationship with her. However, if you had those who killed her in your grasp, would you let them go just because a Lord said he had need for them?”
I…
“The 726th Holy Grail also took our sister, the former scion of the Icecolle, away too. You see, Bram, sweetie, we are the same. So then, we know what you would do if an interloper came into your house wanting to steal your chance at revenge.”
She turns and faces me with a smile as black as her dress.
The same? How dare you even consider us comparable!
“Go-!”
My familiar lunges towards the witch at my magical energy infused command, but Icecolle is faster. Curses erupt from her dress – it must be some sort of mystic code – but no matter, none of them are strong enough to harm my familiar. All the spells will harmlessly bounce off her scales, fur, and hide. In the next second an overwhelming amount of muscle will flatten Icecolle into a bloody stain on this hardwood floor that will be impossible to clean.
That’s what should have happened, but my familiar never lands. Yes, it may have effortlessly nullified all the curses, but while mid-air something erupted from inside of its belly. Like three grenades consecutively going off, the force of the explosion throws her against a wall. That isn’t the worst of it though as her entrails shoot forth, wrapping themselves around my familiar and choking the life out of her.
“Bram, sweetie, you are truly impressive. To be able to use a phantasmal species as a familiar – why, wouldn’t you be a match for one or two Dead Apostles.”
“Get up! Get up, right now!” With each word, I force more and more magical energy into my familiar. Too fast. That happened too fast so there’s no way this can be the end.
Using all of its own magical energy and what I supplied, my familiars manages to upright herself. My priority should be breaking Icecolle’s control of my familiar’s innards and then healing the wound, but dispelling a curse is like dispelling destiny itself. Expending that much magical energy on a possibly fruitless task when I don’t know what is ahead… That would not be a good idea. However, my familiar is my only offense.
“How fitting for someone who has only seen the world through the eyes of the Clock Tower. Recreating the body of a Soul Eater and then forcing it into the shape of the Devourer of the Dead, Ammit! Half of us wonders what you used for the core to bind those two concepts. The other half is truly astonished with how textbook she is.”
“It’s not anything a dying blood-line like yours could recreate!”
“Without a doubt. Our dying bloodline neither has the time nor resources to attempt to fuse two alien magical foundations. But then again, it wasn’t all that difficult, was it? Considering Europe’s fervent Egyptomania from the eighteenth century onwards, the mysteries of Ancient Egypt are rather well established in the British consciousness. For instance, there are many places in London with strong Egyptian influences. And doesn’t the British Museum have a permanent Egyptian exhibit, too? But do we even need to go that far? If you want to use Egyptian magecraft you can find it in Madam Blavatsky’s Theosophy, if you aren’t afraid of sinking into ‘Modern Magecraft,’ Lord.”
“You… Don’t…!”
“Don’t what, you hack? Lay bare your mystery? Your crowning achievement? But Bram, sweetie, it’s not that tough to work out. Popular magecraft, this is all your familiar is, popular magecraft. It’s equivalent to a Gandr, a Snap, or some lackadaisical fireball.
“Still, these must have been some fine ingredients to have created a replica on this level. You’re nowhere near the original, but her hide’s magic resistance and her soul-eating efficiency is quite superb.”
No matter how much they are humiliated, a magus does not reveal another’s mystery.
There is a myth that when a magus reveals himself to the public, he loses his power. The reality is the Association just sends an assassin to kill that magus. Magecraft is a power steeped in mystery. A mystery only has meaning because it is a mystery. The more people who know it, the more people who can use it, the weaker the mystery becomes and eventually it is degraded into nothing more than a method. Revealing the mystery is the equivalent of destroying that magecraft; not just for the user, but for all those who relied, rely, or will rely on that mystery. And she, so nonchalantly just…
“But you see, that was your downfall. Look around you, what do you see?”
I don’t understand. It might be bigger than the standard Siberian hovels I saw in the town below but it’s the same: the paneling, the door frames, the wood… the wood. But it’s only a different color, isn’t it? No, it’s an entirely different type of wood.
“Yes, the Icecolle clan’s pride and our greatest shame is immigrating from Western Europe in the Middle Ages. The witch hunts were so horrific we fled to a place where the Church had negligible influence. But we never forgot where we came from – what we lost. This fortress is a testament to that.”
Broomsticks might only be mystic codes that allows for a limited form of flight. However, the modern image of a witch requires her to have a broomstick. The broomstick carries the witch during her debaucherous midnight flights; therefore, one might say the broomstick also carries the very soul of a witch. Furthermore, broomsticks are traditionally made of birch and hazel – sacred trees very much connected to the spiritual world in more than several cultures – adding strength to the concept and magic formula.
“How on earth did you ever think you could compare, sweetie? How could your flimsy familiar made from some perverse imperialistic fascination compare to centuries of persecution and suffering this family has faced?”
It… can’t.
This throne, this floor, these walls, nay, this entire workshop is alive. While it may not draw breath, while it may not be able to move, theof all the Icecolle witches are one with the castle, one with the magus standing in front me.curses and lamentationshopes and dreams
If I had all the resources that Eulyphis has to offer, crushing this entire area would be a trifle. With only a half-dead familiar on the other hand….
She lifts an arm and points deep into the chasm above us. At her command, magical energy lights up the ceiling. The glow is so bright that I can finally confirm the ceiling may as well be made of drums.
“Let us be a good hostess and explain for you.” She curtseys until her black dress looks like its eating the floor. “These drums are the Icecolle’s shame and salvation – the shamanic drums of Siberia.”
Not only revealing the mystery behind my familiar, a major mystery in this workshop? Can she be so assured of my death? Even so, no magus would ever–
“In Siberian traditions, there are two types of shamans. The ‘white’ shaman, and the ‘black’ shaman. The former are healers and diviners.”
With knowledge of the world that is a mystery to his peers, the witch doctor who advises his tribe is the original and classical magus. He holds the power to see what is to come, the power to heal those who were hurt, the power to lay the dead to rest. Whether their power was from science or magecraft… No, back then it didn’t matter at all, it may as well be one and the same. Either way, what they were able to do was truly Magic.
“And the ‘black,’ or warrior-shaman who cursed his enemies and blighted their livestock and crops,” she continues.
The concept of a warrior-shaman is not foreign to that of a witch. Immigration from central Europe shouldn’t be an issue. As long as the witches are regarded as “black” and curse the populace, why shouldn’t they submit to the humiliation and integrate themselves into this magical foundation as black shamans.
“And the greatest tool for the black shaman are the drums above us.” She waves her hand. “When played correctly they can attract vengeful sprits. We can harvest their regrets and convert them into curses or magical energy. But you mustn’t think of the drum as a mystic code, sweetie.”
I’ve heard about magecraft tools like these before. The item is everything that the user wants it to be, not just a mystic code, it is also a familiar and a spiritual guide. To call it a mere wireless speaker… still, even in this disadvantageous position I will not retract my former statement.
“One specific use for these shamanic drums is as a bow. You see, look right here.” Icecolle smiles and a drum falls from the ceiling into her hands. She traces a slender, gloved finger over the curved handle of the drum. “A bow to shoot those who endanger the black shaman.”
I can see all the drums on the ceiling now. The innumerable number of curses aimed at my struggling familiar and myself. It’s pathetic, it’s beyond pathetic.
“And now that we’ve explained that to you, do you want to hear how we did your familiar in?”
There’s no need to explain that. My familiar’s hide may be very resilient to magecraft but her insides are not. The spirits that she ate were filled with grudges. I’m the successor of the, I know and will admit that much. If these drums are able to amplify one’s voice, then they should be able to amplify curses as well. No, perhaps their original purpose was to amplify curses – the wireless speaker function is just a party trick. After all, the only way to hide a mystery is to obfuscate the observer into believing that it is a different mystery entirely. A phenomenon created in order to hide another phenomenon only draws attention to itself.EulyphisDepartment of Spiritual Evocation
Hook, line, and sinker.
I laugh and raise my hands. “Very good show for a third-rate. I give up. I will grant you whatever you wish.”
She turns her head to face me – her eyes as cold as her namesake.
The atmosphere freezes just for an instant, but when it thaws, a never-ending barrage of curses rips my familiar apart. She is no longer recognizable, just a mess of scaled and furry flesh. But the thought of all the time I wasted making her never crosses my mind because-
“Bram, sweetie, do you honestly believe we would let you leave this workshop?”
Move. Get out. Get out now. You can throw your pride away for all you care, you just need to get out this instant because this woman is dangerous.
Screaming, I sprint to a window and attempt to throw myself into it, but a curse slices one of the tendons in my leg. I can’t move it anymore. No matter much I try, I can’t move it anymore and the pain is so intense, just so intense that I don’t think I can generate any magical energy.
Brought down low, I can only crawl.
Am I going to die? No, that shouldn’t be a question. Lately, my sister has been on my mind. She died fighting a magical war in a backwater country and I think a little part of me thought that was a slightly pathetic death. How does having the third-rate successor of a third-rate family curse you to death compare to that?
“There’s no use moving. Your familiar can’t help you.” With that warning, Icecolle starts slowly walking towards me. At this rate, she’s going to get to me before I reach my familiar. Wait, can I still call her my familiar when she is nothing more than a bloody mess on this hardwood floor?
I’m scared and I want to scream. I want to scream so much, but it hurts. That’s why all I can do is try my best. If I die, at least I will die with my work. At least there is a modicum of dignity as a magus in that. Lately, my sister has been on my mind so I can’t help wondering if this is also what she believed.
That this world is too unfair.
That this world should have a safety net for people like us. After all, we are the ones who are destined for greatness, so then isn’t it the world’s loss as well?
There. Reaching into my familiar, I grasp what I was looking for tightly in my left hand and use my right as a lever to roll my body over to face the figure looming over me.
Lately, my sister has been on my mind, so I can’t help comparing them.
They look nothing alike. Icecolle’s slightly tired and lined face looks terribly normal and doesn’t fit the type of dress she is wearing. It’s almost as if someone tried to force it onto her. But I say that with an unsteady voice as I look into her to frozen blue eyes. With that stench of death and oppressive atmosphere, she truly is a curse incarnate.
Her eyes twitch.
“Sto-“
But as blood blossoms from my right arm flying off into the darkness, my gut-wrenching screams drowns out any words I could have mustered.
2/
Lately, my sister has been on my mind.
More specifically, I’ve been thinking about the time my father told us that my sister was to be married. His office was always dank with the aging grimoires and the cursed objects that were so carefully mounted on the wall or placed around the desk that it made me uneasy. However, the most oppressive thing in the room was the man himself.
“You are now betrothed to the El-Melloi Lord, Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi,” he told her.
How drearily normal; what would be incredible is if he talked to us in a different manner.
I, of course, was delighted. Kayneth was a great man and I considered our department lucky to have him as a lecturer. And now this eminent man who was prophesied to unite all the factions of the Clock Tower was to be my very own brother-in-law?
However, that would never to come to pass. Kayneth decided to participate in a ritual known as a sub-category Holy Grail War to prove his martial prowess and took my sister with him. It is in fighting this war that they both perished. It was rumored for a while that my brother’s very own disciple, the current El-Melloi II, killed him. I know that deep-wrinkled, stomach-ache withholding man well enough to declare it impossible.
As for why this memory in particular, I would have to say it is because no matter how many times I replay it, I can’t see the expression on my sister’s face. I can’t remember how she felt the moment she realized she would be marrying this man. It might not matter because our father’s word is absolute in our family; however, after losing her, I feel like it is something that I shouldn’t forget.
People die all the time and magi are no exception. To a magus, a death is nothing special and it might even be better for me as a magus to forget everything about her. But for some reason, being unable to recall her expression at that time annoys me. Actually, I know the reason.
For those of us who are left behind, perhaps this is all we have.
I am sure that she is the same, the one whose sister was killed in a variation of the same magical war. What would she think if she found out that I was the one who supplied the catalysts to the magi who killed her sister?
But then again, she already killed me, so I guess that makes us even.
Wait, if she already killed me then why does my right arm hurt so much?
***
The first thing I felt when I realized that I was still alive was my loss.
I have already lost many things, but never a part of myself. Instinctively, I curled up and wrapped my arms around my knees.
And that was when I truly understood I no longer had my right arm.
“Get up,” a gruff voice orders me.
Everything is hazy. I must have been crying while I was asleep. It doesn’t matter though since the first thing my eyes focus on is that blond mustache of his.
“I’ve seen injuries much worse than yours. For god’s sake, a missing arm is nothing compared to an imbecile recovering from a pierced heart.”
I glare at him.
He continues nonchalantly. It seems he must be used to being glared at, “It seems your rescue plan went awry didn’t it, Lord Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri?”
“I am not a Lord yet; however, if we were in the Clock Tower that would be the appropriate way to address me yes. Here, Bram is fine, Mr. Musik.”
Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia. Once, the Musik family were regarded as first-class alchemists. When their bloodline started deteriorating, they were absorbed into the Yggdmillennia like the Icecolle and no one paid any more attention to the family under the Eight-Forked Tongue. However, a year ago, the Yggdmillennia attempted to secede from the Association with the 726th Holy Grail. Fourteen Heroic Spirits were summoned as Servants to do battle – seven on each side – in the greatest Grail War seen thus far. One of the only survivors of that war, dubbed the Great Grail War, was this man. This man who was the central reason for the assault on the Icecolle fortress.
“So, Bram, I know why they came, but did you drag your idiot self just to be captured?”
After thrusting the contents of my left hand into the pillow, I throw the sheets of the lacking bed to one side. From the lingering damp on everything and the bars at the foot of the bed, we must be in the fortress’s dungeon then. However, I can’t feel a mystic lock around the area, so then if I am able to….
“Don’t even try that, you idiot.” Mr. Musik narrows an eye and glares at me. “Just sit there and tell me why you’re here.”
My shoulder feels exactly the same as it always does, but if I move my hand further down I have to ask myself… was this man truly worth that arm?
“My family suffered some slight humiliation last year.”
Mr. Musik nods. I’m reluctant to admit it, but as the next Lord of Eulyphis, the Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri family were the ones who supplied catalysts for the Association-affiliated Masters in the Great Grail War. Masters who were compromised before their Servants aligned themselves with a rogue element in the Assembly of the Eight Sacrament ran amok.
Mr. Musik is the man who collected most of the catalysts for the Yggdmillennia side. My family has made its mark as being the greatest supplier of catalysts. We even have relics from the Age of Gods in our storehouses. Therefore, it would be natural for us to at least approach the man who amassed his own horde of catalysts from under our very noses.
“You saw this as the best opportunity to recruit me.” Mr. Musik pauses for a second, “No, you snakes are more conniving than that. You blackmailed my family, didn’t you?”
“Of course not! We only requested that for your safe return, your family would be contracted under our own.”
“That’s blackmail.”
It’s not blackmail. That’s how we normally negotiate in the Clock Tower. I was certain a magus of your stature would understand that. But it doesn’t seem like he does since he is still looking into my unflinching eye as if he can continue to pretend I blackmailed his family.
Without any warning, he sighs, breaking any tension. “Blackmail or not, your idiotic, blackmailing self is stuck here with me.”
“Stuck? I’m sure my family will contract freelancers to break us out.”
There is no doubt that Icecolle will send my arm to my family with a ransom note detailing whatever demands she may have. My family will send an execution squad and within a few days this castle will be nothing more than diamond dust.
After losing their spare, there is no way my family will risk my life.
“Then, why on earth did you come here in the first place?” Mr. Musik asks.
“I didn’t come alone,” I reply. “There were fifteen hunters who came with me. They were here to rescue you; something about being contracted out to the El-Melloi clan.”
Mr. Musik just looks at me, swallows, and says. “I understand that. I’m asking why you came.”
It’s an understatement to call this fortress a safe place since any missed step might mean death. Mr. Musik definitely isn’t someone who I would ever risk my life for and I have never been the one for adventure – not since my sister died. So, then what drew me away from the meaningful political mechanisms of London to this castle in the middle of Siberia?
I might have not been sure, but before I knew it, I was on a plane with fifteen other magi who are no longer here. I think that’s the important part.
“There are only two times when a magus uses magecraft,” I start. “Ascending to the next level and when fighting against another magus.”
“Yes, we’re all bark and no bite. The only time that a magus will ever choose to fight…” Mr. Musik pauses, realizes something, and says with his barbs in full force, “You absolutely disgust me.”
W-What?
“You’re an idiot Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri. So narcissistically fixated on what you want to see, you didn’t realize there’s a fucking civil war going on here.”
Words that shock rather than hurt even if they’re words that don’t make any sense at all.
“No one is leaving London to save you,” Mr. Musik continues. “No one is coming save me either. They can’t without stirring up an even bigger shit-show. Seriously, why did you even come in the first place? I would understand if you had a proper reason, but that reason is as dumb as challenging a magus in her workshop.”
“Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia, you were kidnapped because of your strategic value to the remaining Yggdmillennia. As the only family within that clan who was able to produce homunculi, you naturally control them. The Icecolle family, your former collaborators wanted that military force and proceeded to take you.”
I have only seen the eyes he is giving me once before in my life. I was young then and my sister was even younger. At the very end, there were only three people in that room, me, the person charged with protecting me, and the person charged with killing me. I, of course, did not die. Instead, as the assassin lay dying, he looked at me with eyes that Mr. Musik is currently giving me.
Hate isn’t appropriate and there was no malice his eyes. Rather, the assassin disapproved of my entire existence, as if I wasn’t worthy of this life. Not that this life was better than me in any way, but my very existence broke a natural law. That this was not the way the world was supposed to be.
The man who died that day gave me a present one year before. I thanked him as “uncle.”
“You couldn’t be any more wrong. Shut up before I hit you.”
I shut up.
He gets up from his chair, walks to the lab bench, and fiddles around with his alchemy set. I hadn’t noticed it when I woke up but this cell is more like an alchemy workshop. A witch’s den should smell like blood and herbs. However, it smells like chemicals here; the sanitary smell that one would expect from hospitals. Various reagents litter a lab-bench top and the most striking of them are the multiple volumetric flasks filled with a crimson liquid. Large pieces of equipment like tanks filled with green liquid, a furnace, and a large distiller litter the gigantic dungeon cell. If the bars weren’t here, I think I’d actually somewhat feel at home.
Mr. Musik mumbles something about this being what you get when you let your wife deal with idiots who think they’re already Lords.
I’m not sure what to think of Mr. Musik. He certainly isn’t as great as he was described. He might have the dominating, portly stature. But that is slightly more comical than oppressive. As for who he is, he seems to me like a failure of a magus. He is too temperamental about things that other magi would not even flinch at. Almost like these notions offend his sense of self or aesthetics. I wonder why that is.
Being from a formerly notably noble family, I’m sure Mr. Musik has had “duty” to the family’s legacy hammered into him. Watching him now, it’s almost like he has rejected the parts he didn’t like while accepting what was convenient. Does that mean he is strong or that he is weak?
“Einskaya, Icecolle, and Frain.”
Those three family names didn’t come from my mouth.
“Those three houses were hurt the most during the Great Grail War. The Frain and Icecolle lost their only heirs. The Einskaya lost everything.”
A report filed after the Great Grail War noted not only was the famed Zugzwang unit decimated in the Far East but they also lost their Magic Crest. As for the other two, the leaders of the Frain families are still young and have enough time to produce another heir. As for the Icecolle family… I don’t think I need to mention the Icecolle family.
But I see what he is trying to say. Losing this much under the name of Yggdmillennia, these families wish to leave the collective while trying to scrounge up anything to make up for what they lost.
Gordes turns around to face me, “They have found a home amongst the minor houses of the Clock Tower.”
The minor houses. Those who have lost, are on the verge of losing, or just merely began. The houses that scramble and scour for any scraps. To preserve and push magecraft forward, the Association must regard these minor houses as “important.” The greatest example may as well have been Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia being given the honorary title of “Grand.” I am not sure what would have happened if the sub-category Holy Grail Wars never occurred; however, there currently aren’t many living magi.
“With the support of the minor houses in the Clock Tower, those three families are pressuring us – the three families who believe staying together is better, Forvedge, Musik, Sagara. We are currently under the care of the El-Melloi.” He shrugs at the last part, before adding how the current head of the Yggdmillennia is part of the El-Melloi classroom.
I remember hearing about that particular New Age.
Either way this isn’t just an internal Yggdmillennia issue. In Clock Tower terms, they’re being used as pawns in a proxy war between two much more important sides. The Lords of the Clock Tower who the El-Melloi are ironically, adorably representing and the minor houses of the Clock Tower. How idiotic.
But that still doesn’t explain why the Icecolle kidnapped Mr. Musik.
Shaking my head, all I can do is look at my stump over the sterile gown I was given. It doesn’t hurt now, it doesn’t even itch, there is only a medically induced numbness I can assume was Mr. Musik’s fault.
Fault. Mr. Musik’s fault. Just like how it was his fault that I came here in the first place, Icecolle placed the blame of her sister’s death on Mr. Musik. I ponder that for a few moments while supporting my face with the palm that is still there.
Without a doubt, Icecolle is a victim. I’m not sure who or what she is a victim to, but her reason for lashing out and kidnapping Mr. Musik is utterly justified. I can say that because lately my mind has been on my sister.
What did Icecolle say in that accursed throne room?
“If you had those who killed her in your grasp, would you let them go just because a Lord said he had need for them?”
No, I wouldn’t. Of course, I wouldn’t. A thousand times, I wouldn’t. No matter what relationship I had with my sister, no matter what my sister meant to me, at the end of the day she was my sister. But I have no idea what my sister might want of me. Either way, it’s natural for Icecolle to want to kill Mr. Musik for the sake of the sister she lost.
Right, it’s obviously why Icecolle would want to kill Mr. Musik.
“But then why hasn’t she killed you yet?”
It doesn’t seem like he has any intention of answering my question. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the expression that when you are cursing someone you may as well dig two holes?”
If was to use the traditional magecraft definition, a curse is merely a spell that changes someone’s fate. For example, when Gandr, a common Northern European Runic curse, hits a person, their physical condition deteriorates – they basically become sick. However, if Gandr was used on a rock, it would have no effect as a rock cannot become sick. Of course, if you overload the curse with enough magical energy, it can cause physical damage. That is how Icecolle ripped my familiar into shreds with curses.
“The Icecolle cursed too many people until it became harder and harder to have children. The former scion, Celenike was the first child born in that generation.” Mr. Musik continues.
And she died in the Great Holy Grail War. If Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia was truly the last of the Icecolle, then who is this magus claiming to be her sister?
“If she’s a fake, then why would she want to keep you as a hostage?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment. He must be too busy with whatever alchemical reagents he is playing with until we both hear the sound of footsteps from other side of the cell.
“Why don’t you ask the person herself?”
Still in that dress as jet black as a city night sky and with eyes as cold as her namesake, the mastermind smiles at me.
3/
“Is this truly the first time you’ve ever woven, sweetie?”
I nod and concentrate on the bark in my fingers. Even though it is cold, smooth, and pliable, using one hand to weave a good basket is impossible.
“We take the inner bark from the trees and slice them into strips. It’s these strips that we bend and weave into a basket or a pair of shoes. The most incredible thing is that after some time, these strips harden. It’s quite a common technique around the world; the North Americas, China, and our Scandinavian countries.”
A pleasant conversation between two friends after a cup of afternoon tea. She doesn’t sound like a person who just cut off my arm and then held me hostage at all.
“This bark, it’s birch, though isn’t it? I’m starting to see a common motif.”
She nods vigorously, “Why, of course. Ours is a magical system which links the broom, the very symbol of a witch to the world tree of Siberia.”
In many cultures the birch is seen as a sacred tree. In Celtic traditions, birch trees were an indicator of Tir na Nog, the land of the young. In Siberia, if I recall myclasses, the birch tree was seen as a guide post either to the land of the dead or the land of gods. These baskets we’re weaving are not just some playful afternoon tea activity; we are filling them with mystery. Eventually they’ll be used as traps or vessels for stray spirits.SoloneaIndividual Foundations
“Just like we weave these baskets, the Icecolle weave our curses one thread at a time, making sure each sacrifice renders the basket as tight as possible.”
Previously, I talked about the standard magecraft definition of a curse. However, there are different ways to look at that. For instance, it might easier to think of a curse as a set of conditions that, when triggered, will cause an effect.
“Each weave is made as tightly as possible so nothing can fall between the gaps of the weave. If nothing can fall between those gaps, the basket won’t loosen and fall apart. Whatever comes into contact with the basket must then stay inside. Is that the analogy you were trying to make?”
She smiles, happy to know that I am not a complete idiot, before dropping the half-finished basket she had in her hands on the table.
“Do you know what the Icecolle name means, then?”
I shake my head. I have a good guess, but I don’t want to be right.
“To deal with our sacrifices with ice-cold eyes.”
Ahhhh, the same solemnness that some people take when hunting and cooking meat. It seems I was completely off. For each thread of the curse, there needs to be a sacrifice, something dying painfully and in agony. Even to a magus, watching something like that is unpleasant. For that reason, we create shields within our minds to distance ourselves for those emotions. But that iron-clad will isn’t to protect oneself from the self-hatred and remorse from killing. The greatest fear for all practitioners of black magic is one day falling in love with that agony and pain – to drown in one’s magecraft and die. So, the name, Icecolle, is a reminder to never degenerate to such baseness.
“But Bram, sweetie, if we are to speak of sacrifices, then we have to speak of the sub-category Holy Grail Wars. What is your opinion of them?”
“A thaumaturgical tool, nothing else. A mere magical energy furnace for those who dream of reaching the Swirl of Origin, yet lack the patience, pedigree and resources.”
She laughs at the answer.
“We didn’t ask you what the sub-category Holy Grail Wars are. We asked your opinion of them,” she purses her lips for a moment before continuing. “We are keeping you because we think you and us are the same. We both lost our sisters to these wars. Yours to a sub-category war, and ours in the Great Holy Grail War.”
“But what does that have to do with holding me here?”
“Nothing at all,” she purrs. “Those hunters and you were the ones who came and attacked us. We were only acting in self-defense; would you not agree?”
“You were holding a man against his will.” My retort comes out weaker than I wanted it to sound.
“Yes, but does that make it any less of a self-defensive act?” With that, she nods her head, acknowledging my missing arm. “Either way, Lord or not, you have paid the price for trespassing and attacking our land, let us not speak of that anymore.”
I drop my not-even-quarter-finished basket onto the table. Naturally, all the weaves come apart and I am left with the strips of bark I began with. Smirking self-derisively, I pick up the china teacup and take a sip of the tea.
“It’s a complex flavor, isn’t it?” Icecolle comments. I can’t get how she says that line out of my head. It must be something she says to everyone she serves this tea to for the first time.
It doesn’t have the bite of a fine black tea; instead I feel as though I’m transported to a different location. To those familiar with the flavor or that location, it might be easier to place, but as for myself…
“Some thyme flowers, melias, currant, and Sagaan Dali, doesn’t it taste like the taiga itself?”
So then even a land as harsh as Siberia can give birth to beautiful things. There are only so many things that keep one going, especially after losing one’s home. But then again, maybe all it takes for a family, a culture to keep surviving is something as mundanely miraculous as tea.
Or maybe I’m just becoming too sentimental after losing this arm.
“At least, that’s what the former owner of this body always said to her customers.”
The moment I walked into this room, I could feel it. The magical energy radiating off this woman wasn’t anything human. If we’re purely talking about quantity, it doesn’t feel greater than the dregs that radiate off a first-class magus. Instead it was the malice, the dripping spite that was coming off the woman. It almost felt as though….
“I want to tell you about her Bram, sweetie, so you might better understand how alike we are.” She cuts my thought off with that. “When our sister died, the Icecolle magi gave up; they gave up and summoned us. Of course, all Icecolle magecraft requires a sacrifice, a price. The entire family died. But you see, they had already given up so it wasn’t that high of a price to pay as magi. With that, we were summoned and given the shell of one of the crones.”
What is she talking about?
“We weren’t satisfied with such a body. The crone was compatible and had sufficient magic circuits, but her body was rotting too quickly. With the resources of our allies, we searched and searched for someone younger but just as compatible. And guess what, there was a distant relative of the Icecolle living in the town right below the castle. She was even the hostess for a local inn!”
There’s no need to explain what happened next. I have no sympathy for the woman who had her body taken over. At least, I wouldn’t have if I still believed Icecolle was a magus. To a magus, the advancement of his goal is everything. It doesn’t matter if an entire town must be massacred as long as it is done secretly, effectively, and the pay-off was worth the lives that were taken. For the sake of reaching the Swirl of Origin, we must all make sacrifices. But this woman, if I can still call her a woman, isn’t a magus. I have no idea what she is at all, but as a magus, as someone who is prepared to take all the responsibility for ruining the lives of others, I can’t forgive her. Not for taking a woman’s life. But taking it without understanding all that comes that action.
“But the more hilarious thing was that the woman’s husband and son came up in some misguided attempt to obtain revenge. They knew that she was dead, yet they came up. They knew that they were powerless, yet they came up anyway. And this is what we want to discuss with you sweetie.”
That inhuman face, those inhuman eyes. I can see them now.
“When we were summoned into this world, we only had one purpose, to obtain revenge for our sister, and we did everything in our power to make it happen. When we saw those fools attempting to avenge a wife and a mother they knew would never return, we couldn’t help thinking: ‘We’re in the right, aren’t we?’
“After we possessed the crone, after we possessed that hostess, we came to understand love, we came to understand rage. It was no longer a mechanical purpose that drove us, but a feeling. We are sure you understand Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri. Your sister died in a Holy Grail War. She is gone, nothing more than a memory. That pain, that loss, isn’t fair. We can blame the person herself for selfishly dying, but isn’t it also the fault of all those who attacked them, who succeeded in killing her?
“Bram, sweetie, you are the next Lord of Eulyphis, so you should know more than anyone about the nature of vengeful spirits, evil spirits. We don’t wish for those we love to turn into such raving beasts trapped on this plane, saying the same thing over and over again. Then to honor those who died. To honor those we love. Shouldn’t we do everything we can to lay them to rest?”
“I…”
I can’t argue with her because I want to believe in her words, no, I actually do believe in her words – as a magus as well as a brother. Right, we are the ones they left behind in the world, so we have to do our best for the people we love who are no longer here.
This is… the correct way to live. The correct way to deal with our losses.
I want to tell her that. I honestly do, but there’s just one part of me that can’t agree. Maybe it’s because lately, my mind has been on my sister, but there’s something wrong with what she said. Still, I can’t answer because I don’t have the answers. Instead, “What are you going to do with Mr. Musik then? If you truly believe what you say why is he not dead?”
The first question becomes the last.
“For all the pain Mr. Musik has caused us, he is a cooperative and compliant hostage. There is no reason to kill him, yet.”
If there’s no reason to take her revenge, yet. Then it must mean Mr. Musik is useful to her. After those words leave my mouth,
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Mr. Musik’s specialty, he coins homunculi.”
“But if you wanted homunculi, you could have gone to any other….”
I finally understand. It’s incredibly stupid, but I see. She doesn’t want a homunculus, she wants a homunculus body. And she doesn’t just want one of those defective homunculi that will die in three or so years, she wants a bona-fide child of nature. Other than the reclusive Einzbern family, the only person who can make homunculi even close to that is Gordes Musik Yggdmillenia.
She sips her tea, watching me putting the pieces together.
“We don’t want much. Not much at all. But there’s something that you’re missing sweetie. What Gordes will make for us isn’t a child of nature, but the very vessel for a wish-granter.”
4/
Lately my mind has been on my sister.
Icecolle said that we might be able to blame the person herself for selfishly dying but I can’t even do that.
Winter in London is white. The streets are paved with snow, and usually it’s the seasons of comings, rather than going. It’s with this false consumerist cheer serving as our backdrop that I said goodbye to my sister and her fiancée.
There wasn’t much emotion in my chest that time. There was no apprehension, I was not worried about the future, and there was no way I could imagine they would never come back. Never doubting for a moment, I passed Kayneth the wooden box with his replacement catalyst inside.
The previous catalyst had been stolen by an idiot student of his so it was natural that he would turn to the Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri for a replacement.
“In this box are the remnants of a fence with seven doorways that once stood in a forest near Athlone. With this, you will summon the Saber-class Servant you seek.”
Patting me on the shoulder, Kayneth regaled me about how great of a brother-in-law I would be and promised when he came back he would tell me all about the great battles he conquered in the largest sub-category Holy Grail War held thus far.
I have been waiting ten years to hear his stories. I have been waiting ten years to see her face once more.
It was difficult to see it back then, with her being bundled up in furs and a scarf covering the bottom half of her face. But as I was wishing my sister, my former spare, goodbye and a safe trip, I’m not sure I felt much at all.
If I didn’t feel much, if I didn’t put much importance in that farewell, wholeheartedly believing that in two weeks they would return, then what are the chances of me even remembering what her face was at the time?
Was she happy, ready to go into battle with the man she loved and would marry?
Was she scared, hopelessly depressed about the possibility of being drawn into battle?
And that’s why I can’t blame my sister for dying. I might be able to blame Kayneth for bringing her, but who could blame such an illustrious and great man in the first place?
Without knowing who to blame, I’ve spent this decade pondering about everything I’ve lost; even if, at the time, I took everything I had for granted.
How truly easy it must be to punish those you believe did wrong and in doing so, do right, while laying those you love to rest. It doesn’t even matter if Icecolle isn’t human because, and I don’t want to admit this, that feeling, that emotion, is more human than anything that I have decided on in these ten years.
We are both victims.
We are the ones who were left behind because of the selfish nature of a magical war.
But even so, it’s not like we had everything taken away from us; this is just one part of who we are. Yet, why does it feel as though this is now the core of my being?
Maybe that’s why Icecolle took my arm away from me, so I could finally understand what was lost and what can never be replaced. Even if I somehow remember the sort of face my sister made when she left for that Holy Grail War, I’ll never see her again.
This is difficult, but not difficult in the way that magic formulas or rituals are difficult. The problem is difficult because I don’t think there’s a right answer. It’s not like I know that what I did was correct because some phenomenon was correctly replicated. Rather, the question is whether or not I can live with myself after what I’ve chosen.
How do we, those who were left behind, move forward?
***
When I wake up, I find a plate of food next to the bed – what seems to be a thick yogurt sweetened with honey, a slice of black bread, and the same pot of the tea that Icecolle made me when we talked last afternoon. The smell woke my stomach so I break off a corner of bread, dip it into the yogurt and pop it into my mouth.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Mr. Musik is at the laboratory bench-top. “Sour cream mixed with cottage cheese, sounds absolutely disgusting like most of the foods this culture has to offer, but it grows on you after a while.” Like the insolence of a certain homunculus, he adds, mumbling under his breath.
When our afternoon tea concluded, Icecolle escorted me back to the cell, where I promptly flopped into the lumpy bed without saying a word to my cellmate. I don’t think my cellmate really cared.
Still, as I absentmindedly ruminate on this hard bread, I can’t help but think how unsafe it is to be eating in this alchemical workshop. In the Clock Tower, they do teach us not to eat while performing magecraft unless that happens to be one’s switch or the magecraft is the food itself. Either way, I digress.
“Mr. Musik, what was Icecolle talking about when she said she wanted you to create a vessel for a wish-granter for her? Does this have to do with the Great Holy Grail War?”
Mr. Musik snorts, making a crude remark about Icecolle.
“It’s something as idiotic as you are,” he says, moving to the old-fashioned furnace. “You know that my family once almost reached the level the Einzbern were at. We had a long way to go, but at the very least, we were able to see their haughty backs.” Mr. Musik lightly scoffs at himself.
All magi look back into the past, that’s what separates magecraft from science. But it seems like Mr. Musik is saying those times were when his family was the most useless or maybe those times mean less to him now than they once did.
“The Einzbern are able to make Holy Grails and put them in homunculi, or rather, make a homunculus as a Holy Grail,” he continues.
If you give the Holy Grail a personality, the Holy Grail can not only manage itself, but also choose who should wield it. Essentially, the Einzbern are able to cheat. But why are we talking so much about the Einzbern if the person Icecolle kidnapped was Mr. Musik?
“The Einzbern once gifted the Musik family a portion of their magecraft and with that I was able to create the homunculi we used for the Great Holy Grail War. During that conflict, there was one function that I was able to realize that Darnic didn’t want in the homunculi. Either way, implementing it into every single one of those brats would have taken too much time and didn’t have much of a use. What was left out was the ability for the homunculi to fully function as vessels.”
I see. I’m not an alchemist, but at the very least I understand the meaning behind those words.
“The reason why the Einzbern created homunculi that served as vessels is when the Servants were defeated, their spiritual cores could be collected and stored there, then.”
A homunculus is an artificial life-form made from alchemy. However, the original purpose of creating a homunculus is creating magic circuits which are housed in a body compared to a magus who has a body which houses magic circuits. Furthermore, the zenith of homunculi are those called children of nature, basically, artificial nature spirits. These children of nature are generally complete the moment they are born and can survive on the breath of the planet alone. Needless to say, homunculi are riddled with defects due to their artificial nature. These go from a missing limb or mental disabilities to stunted growth or a very limited lifespan. No matter how much magical energy they can produce, they are a weaker species than humans. However, there is one advantage to this, a homunculus’ artificial soul is young and very malleable, and if Mr. Musik is correct and he is able to create homunculi who are conceptually “vessels….”
“Mr. Musik, what is this new Icecolle head?”
“How on earth should I know? Probably a group of evil spirits or something like that.” He throws his arms up in exasperation. “I can tell you that close to half a year after Celenike died, the three families who wanted to leave the Yggdmillennia debuted this new head.”
I look at Mr. Musik’s back more intensely. He knows, but he just doesn’t want to tell me. I don’t know who or what he’s trying to protect. But we are never going to get out of here if he’s going to be like that.
If I had to make a guess from our former battle and from everything that I have heard, I would say that Icecolle is a curse, the curse of the Icecolle so to speak. The moment this “Celenike” person died, there was nothing but ruin waiting for the family, so those who were left sacrificed themselves to change the destiny of the family. But a curse can never save anything, it can never give birth to something new. The remnants of the Icecolle had to know this, so then maybe what they wished for wasn’t the further prosperity of the family. Maybe they just called it a day and decided to curse those who drove them to such a desperate situation.
In their desperation and dying moments, the Icecolle made a wish, but it was a distorted wish, a curse. And what place suits a distorted wish better than a wish-granting vessel?
“So then, Mr. Musik, do you want to escape?”
He sharply turns around, “Of course I do. What sort of question is that?”
“So then, Mr. Musik, why are you cooperating with her?”
If Icecolle wants Mr. Musik to create a homunculus body for her, there’s no way she could put a mystic lock on this place. After all, Mr. Musik has to be able to use alchemy. At the same time, while we might not be able to escape via brute force, there is an infinite number of tricks that we could use. The question is why hasn’t Mr. Musik tried? Icecolle even said that he was cooperating.
Usually, Mr. Musik looks slightly disgruntled at everything around us. However, right now, his face is at its most emotionless. He leaves the furnace, sits on his bed, and turns to face me.
“That’s the question.”
It seems that Mr. Musik also can’t help but feel responsible. From what I’ve seen of him, he’s an abrasive and awkward man who doesn’t care about anything other than himself and his magecraft. In short, he is the perfect magus. That’s obvious though; after all, only the greatest of magi could have survived the Great Holy Grail War.
“Bram,” he looks at me like one would look in a mirror. “I’m not that great of a person and I’m not that great as a magus. Neither are you.
“I’m no more than an idiot who was given the best card possible but never believed in the person behind the card. It might be okay if that card was someone I alone possessed and only I was brought to ruin because of my mistake, but that wasn’t the case. It was a card that the entire clan shared and it was because of my mistake that we lost it before the war even started.
“It was my fault, but it wasn’t only my fault. In that war, everyone made mistakes and the Ygddmillennia were blind-sighted by so many things. To make matters even more pathetic, the kid who saved us became a dragon who stole hope from humanity.”
He laughs at that last remark before continuing.
“But, as a bad-mouthed and coarse homunculus once said to me, ‘As an alchemist, you are… not that bad.’ She’s dead now, but as terrible as that woman was, those words saved me when I hit rock bottom,” he says so without any emotion, but I can see a faint smile behind those words.
“Bram, I know that you lost a sister in a sub-category Holy Grail War, so I think you understand this better than most people do. What we lost and the situation that we were in doesn’t make us special. What I went through is simply a part of life. Hah, it might be different for that fool and his sister since they were in the thick of it, but me? My war was over before I knew it and I became nothing more than an observer. Life is short but at the same time life is extremely long. The things that you believe that define you now… in ten, twenty, fifty years, their brilliance and luster will fade until they are nothing but faint dreams. Even so, there was meaning to those things. It’s because of how they sparkled that I am here today.”
Mr. Musik, I don’t think I understand that because I haven’t been able to let my sister go. In fact, I can’t even touch something related to a sub-category Holy Grail War without thinking about what may have happened.
“What does this have to do with Icecolle though?”
“Celenike was not a good person. You could say she was a monster. However, she was still family who died because of our mistakes. When I was taken, I immediately thought to escape, just like you said. But this new head is simply too thick, just like you. Argh, it seriously annoys me thinking about it.”
That’s the Mr. Musik I know. Arrogant and problematic to the core. The reason why he’s staying here can’t be because of compassion or any emotion remotely close to empathy. He saw someone incompetently living their life and found it insulting to his sensibilities – like a veteran scolding his junior. It makes me slightly happy that there are magi like this.
That must be the reason why I sought out Mr. Musik. Feeling lost for ten years, never finding the courage, the humility to ask for help, I forced myself into a situation where I could at least watch someone who I believed went through the same thing I did yet came out stronger. With that being said, I’ll admit that I have totally failed. Bram Nuada-Re Sophi-Ri can never compare to Gordes Musik Yggdmillenia, no matter our pedigree, no matter our magic circuits.
Valuables things were lost, but at the same time there were precious things that were obtained. I will mourn those things, I will learn from them, but no matter what I will face the uncertain future aiming for a star that I know I will never reach.
Frankly, I’m jealous. I wish I could live like that. I wish I had people around me who could provoke me, guide me to live like that. Instead, lately, my mind has just been on my sister.
And that’s why Icecolle wants me to acknowledge her. Because honestly, I want Icecolle to acknowledge me as well. I know that she isn’t human, but that makes it even more inviting. To have some objective proof that it’s okay for me to feel this pain, that it’s okay to hurt others because of my pain is more than comforting.
But I can’t help thinking that’s she’s wrong. That she’s forgetting something.
“Mr. Musik,” I look him straight in the eyes, “Can you help me?”
“What do you want me to help you with?”
"..."
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He scoffs, “Of course I can you idiot. All you ever had to do was ask for crying out loud!” He looks at my feather pillow. “Now take the relic out of that pillow case. Why do you think I turned on the furnace?”
Ha?
“You might be an idiot, but just because we share a cell, don’t assume for a second that I am too. This is going to take a few days, but I said I was going to help you, didn’t I? What you have to worry about is what spirit you’re going to evoke into it.”
“Don’t worry Mr. Musik, I already know what spirit I’m going to use for that.”
But the moment I say that, I look down at the clothes I was supplied and make a second innocent request.
“Can you help me put on my suit as well?”
“Hell no. One arm or not, put on your own trousers, you cheeky brat.”
And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I smile.
Let’s get to work, shall we?
Last edited by Milbunk; April 10th, 2017 at 04:59 PM.
Cursed Cold Colle (Part 2)
5/
Malignant Information.
In the material world, it is a transient curse that disappears the moment the rumors do. There was a Dead Apostle who once who tried to reach a mystery known as The Sixth or Program Number 6. Unable to reach it in his lifetime, his spiritrons were dispersed into the The Sixth. It is said that every few decades, this Dead Apostle reappears in closed communities, using his Reality Marble to collect malignant information and transforming himself into what is feared the most, annihilating the entire town. Named after the first place he materialized in and for using the image of Vlad the Impaler as his foundation, he is known as The Night of Wallachia. I am not trying to say that Icecolle is a version of The Night of Wallachia; after all, TATARI disappears after one night of theatre. Instead, one might say she is something even more sinister.
“Before she died, Celenike was working on a way to curse people through what I believe they call the internet, a quantum world.”
When we had finished casting the casing, Mr. Musik revealed what we were dealing with –Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia’s greatest creation, the remnant of her three-decade epic.
In a quantum world like the internet that has its foundation in data and information, malignant information is inevitably stored and locked away as “useless data.” I don’t dabble in such degenerate behavior as “surfing the web,” but all the vitriol, all the terrible puns, and all the cartoon reaction images, don’t just fade away. Instead, they fester and pile up until they turn into an all-consuming tidal wave of mud – the cast-away, abominable, history of humanity’s sins. However, the core of malignant information is nothing more than hollow demagoguery, spreading for the sake of spreading, just like videos of kittens.
Yet, even if it’s called “useless data,” this travesty still has an incredibly high spiritron energy value. Therefore, is it not the perfect medium for sending curses across the internet? Chain e-mails, internet urban myths, need to apply; after all, they are products of children playing games, wholeheartedly believing in the power of anonymity or wishing to be part of something greater.
It is through the accumulation of malignant information that people who are hurt in turn hurt others. We construct a web of lies, a hollow web of curses that will continuously circulate in the “circle-jerking” closed online communities that are now too commonplace in the quantum world we constructed. The victims become the assailants and the cycle continues; all the while, the amount of mud slowly but surely increases, eroding more and more of reality.
You were born in that hell.
An aggregate of all the mud, all the filth that Celenike had spread, you are the family tugging back every cursed thread Celenike had woven into the internet and in sacrificing themselves, the family was able to pull you out and pour you into a compatible human goblet.
The greatest magecraft the Icecolle have been capable of.
The only magecraft the Icecolle have been capable of.
For the sake of your creator, for the sake of the person you call sister, you seek a never-ending vengeance. In all honesty, it’s quite beautiful to go that far for someone you love. No matter how inhuman you are, that emotion alone is something fundamentally human. Therefore, there can only be one name for you. After all, you perfectly personify the tribulations as well as the desecration that this family of witches has endured and performed.
You are the actualization of the cycle of victim and assailant, for curses can only breed more curses.
Drowning that a sea of curses, yet never averting those ice-cold eyes, your name can only be Icecolle.
***
“We see. And who are you sweetie?”
A victim of the Holy Grail War, just like you. That’s why I so badly want to say that you’re right, that taking revenge on those who did your sister wrong to lay her rest isn’t a mistake. I know that lately your sister has been on your mind as well. You’ve been thinking about her so much that you might go mad.
“Someone who recently realized he’s an idiot. But that’s why I’m a magus.”
Those who aim to throw themselves into a maelstrom without knowing what awaits them on the other side. There is no guarantee the magus nor his descendants will arrive at the promised land. One could say that there is no end. There can never be any compensation for those who are already gone, neither is there any hope for those who are yet to run their portion of this race. The people who are called magi are either those cannot grasp the concept of “impossible,” or are simply idiots who cannot give up.
But Icecolle, that’s the precious truth which separates us.
“And what has being a magus ever brought you? Pain, misplaced pride, and a dead sister. All for the sake of what? A metal owl sitting on your shoulder? How can that ever be worth the sacrifices?”
Every one of the owl’s feathers was hand-crafted and alchemically treated so rather than a tool, it looks like a living creature. Mr. Musik spat out that, “Bah, this might even be my greatest work to date.” I don’t disagree with him.
“You’re right, Icecolle. All the pursuit of Magic has ever brought people is suffering and dead sisters. You would know the best; after all, you are magecraft itself. But magecraft is also the reason why I’m here right now and I need to believe there’s at least an iota of meaning in that. That instead of escaping, I came into your throne room to fight one more time.”
The only time that a magus will ever choose to fight…”
--is when he has something that he can’t give up.
“Bubo—“
“Hoot, Hoooooooot”
Hearing her name, the owl immediately comes to life, spreads its argent wings, and circles her master.
“That’s what Gordes was doing instead of making me my body.”
The instant Icecolle stands up her black dress of malignant information bubbles and flows around her until veins of black cover the poor woman’s body like a spider web.
“When you mentioned your bodies were eroding, I incorrectly assumed that you were an aging soul who was taking over bodies. But it’s nothing like that isn’t it. The core of malignant information is hollow, a zero, and the remaining personality of the person you are taking over is a one. All those niceties, all that curtesy you extended to me – like that delicious tea – aren’t you. They’re the fragments of the woman whose spirit, husband, and son you killed. At the same time, malignant information itself erodes reality. It might be okay if it’s a small quantity; however, when it’s as concentrated as you are, it begins to purge whatever it touches. There’s no way a human body can withstand that so you try your best to contain yourself.
“That’s why you sought a homunculus body. Rather, that’s why you sought to be contained within a proper vessel meant to grant wishes. Your core may be hollow, but you are made of wishes – the warped hopes and dreams of Celenike’s internet victims, and you represent a wish – the deepest and final wish of the Icecolle.”
The compatibility between Icecolle and the homunculus is too optimal, as if they were made for each other. Functionally immortal, even if the mystery isn’t anything close to a materialized soul, there is no doubt in how much calamity she could bring about. After all, a new-born homunculus barely has a personality. All that will be left controlling the body will be a distorted, unfilteredfor vengeance.cursewish
The embodiment of Nemesis.
I’m not here to stop that. In fact, as a magus, it would impossibly interesting to see. Instead,
Victim to victim.
Assailant to assailant.
Dead sister to dead sister.
We’re here to figure out where do we go on from there.
“Go--!” I command my familiar, now a silver light speeding across the throne room into Icecolle’s heart.
“Did you learn nothing, sweetie?” She snaps her fingers and initiates a large-scale ritual.
The ceiling erupts in materialized curses shaped as arrows. Dark and oppressive, each one would spell certain death for Bubo, but the silver owl weaves through the rain of arrows like a small propeller plane through a tropical storm.
“It’s certainly better built than the other one.” Icecolle dryly states as she watches her certain death approaching. No matter what substance Icecolle is made out of, she still needs the body to move around. The malignant information won’t have a host any longer if Bubo pierces her heart. “I really wanted you to acknowledge us sweetie. I thought that at least you would feel the same way. It’s a coincidence that you came to this castle, but that is why it’s so miraculous.”
Making its way through another wave of arrows shot out of the ceiling drums, Bubo closes in on the witch.
“Those who these sub-category Holy Grail Wars hurt, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t lick our wounds together and make things right. That’s all I ever wanted, to make things right for my sister, for myself. I know you agree with me. But, Bram, sweetie, if you’re going to keep rejecting me like this--”
The final barrage clips one of Bubo’s wings, but her aim is still true enough to keep her straight. In the next second she will go through Icecolle’s heart and bring this to an end.
“Then--”
But Bubo never makes it.
“--It seems like I have to show you what I mean.”
The entire throne room goes dark as all the lanterns are extinguished.
What is even darker is the dress of malignant information revealing its true form. The veins widen and spread through the woman’s entire body, forming intricate tattoos. But there’s one tattoo, one pitch-black carving, that is always solemnly gazing at its next sacrifice.
Spread across her chest is a giant ice-cold eye – Icecolle’s true form, the living crest of the family.
And when the eye opens, it weeps. The wave of curses and malignant information crests at the ceiling, sweeping Bubo into me and I am pulled under that wave.
Drowning in something that erodes my entire existence, I can’t help but think that there’s something both she and I have forgotten.
***
-Lately, my mind has been on my sister.
What was the face she made when she found out that she was to be betrothed?
-Lately, my mind has been on my sister.
What was the face she made when she was leaving to fight in that sub-category Holy Grail War?
-Lately, my mind has been on my sister.
What was the face she made when she was killed?
And most importantly, Bram, if your mind has honestly lately been on your sister.
What was the face she made when she found out that she was born only to be your spare?
I… don’t… know…
And why don’t you know?
Because I think…. I think that I never bothered to look. Sola Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri was my sister, but I don’t think I ever cared about her. She was just some piece of furniture that would eventually be given away to someone else.
So, Bram, is that your sin? Is that why you can’t forgive yourself?
I’m not sure, but that’s why I want you to be right. I want you to be right so that I can do something for my sister even if I never did when she was alive. So, even if she was torn to pieces by a hail of bullets, I can show her that I cared. It’s not something that a magus should care about, but I can’t help it.
--After all, I’m human too.
--After all, I’m a victim as well.
Having my sister taken away before I could show her any affection, having her taken away before I could understand her, having her taken away before I could just once be a proper brother for her is too cruel, it’s just too unfair.
Then if it’s cruel, destroy it.
Then if it’s unfair, remake it.
You’re a magus aren’t you, Bram? Even more than that, you’re to be one of the Twelve Lords of the Clock Tower. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult for you.
Hurt all the people who hurt your sister.
For all of us.
And from the malignant darkness, they appear. Each figure is blurry, and while some of them might be as young as children, there are others that look impossibly frail. Yes, it would be impossible for me to mistake who these people are.
Every single person who has ever died in the sub-category Holy Grail Wars.
“Why did this happen to us?” They mourn.
“Why can’t you help us?” They beseech.
“Why won’t you avenge us?” They curse.
I…
You aren’t in the wrong. It’s those who killed your sister who are wrong – just like those who persecuted my family, just like Gordes, Caules, and Fiore who all stood by and let Celenike die.
I’m sure that your brother-in-law will be much more at peace when you avenge him.
A figure approaches me from the right, but you’re not Kayneth so don’t you dare touch me!
I’m sure that your sister will be much more at peace when you avenge her.
A figure approaches me from the left, but you’re not Sola so don’t you dare touch me!
I’m sure you’ll be much more at peace when you avenge her.
You’re both fakes. You both aren’t here. After all you died there is no way that you can be here and even if you’re here you’re just a clump of malignant information using whatever image I have of you in my mind to create a version of yourself so then it doesn’t matter so I won’t feel like the worst brother in the world I won’t feel guilty I won’t feel so impossibly guilty that I need to take it upon myself to avenge you.
Just… get away from me!
To move away from the past, you know that a sacrifice is always necessary, sweetie.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Thus, all the ice-cold eyes in the world will be blind.
In this manner, I can export my suffering, my guilt, my pain onto someone else who will in turn export it to someone else, weaving a web of curses.
It sounds too good to be true. At the same time, from the bottom of my heart I know that it is true. That’s why it’s so tempting, so alluring.
After all, lately, hasn’t your mind been on your sister?
That’s right. It has been. I’m sorry. I’m so terribly, terribly, sorry.
I’ve never been able to make my sister happy. I’ve never wanted to make my sister happy.
So, for once, just once, let me do something for her.
So that she can move on.
So that I can move on.
With that, I hang my head and start to sink into the mud while my entire world begins to turn into a cursed, cold, black.
This is the natural and only choice that has ever been allowed for Br-
“Hoooo-oot, Hoooo-oot.”
But if this is the only choice that has been allowed for me, why is my non-existent right arm glowing?
***
One final memory. One more time.
At the end, our families decided to bury them together. They were to be married and they died together, so it seemed disrespectful to split such a loving couple apart. At least that’s what all the relatives said, reassuring themselves that they did the right thing by Kayneth and Sola.
Of course, at the same time, those very same relatives were looting the spoils that came from the death of a Lord. They took land, apprentices, assets, and Mystic Codes, then proclaimed because another relative took that pair of Mystic Eye Killers, they were entitled to, nay, they deserved another grimoire.
When we finally stood on the melting snow, watching the coffins being lowered into the earth, there weren’t that many magi attending. If I looked to my right I would see my ever-stalwart father and if I looked to my left, I would see a little blonde girl who would grow up to still be a little blonde girl but with an exceptionally sharp tongue. Finally, if I craned my head to look far to the right, I would see someone about my own age, a no-named magus who survived the sub-category Holy Grail War my sister and her fiancée lost their lives in.
I don’t know why I’m revisiting this memory. While this was a sad occasion, it wasn’t the moment I started to think about my sister. Instead, that was the culmination of small happenings that eventually snowballed into an obsession. Individual threads that, with time, were eventually woven together, weaving the me that is currently drowning in the mud.
But for some reason, I think this memory is different from the rest.
“Hoot-!”
An impatient cry that shouldn’t exist here. Following the sound, I snap my head back to the ceremony where a priest with a bowl haircut who was also an alleged Templar starts the sermon.
“The dead cannot return,
That which hath passed is forever lost.”
But even individual thread still needs something to tie them all together. This might not be the moment I started thinking about my sister, but it was the moment I understood that she was never coming back. Never caring about what she was doing, what she was feeling, I failed as her brother, and I could never make it up to her. I could no longer apologize.
“No matter how great a miracle,
It may only affect those who still exist.”
A tear forms in my left eye.
Ahhhh, so this is what I forgot and what you never had the chance to hear.
I tightly grip my non-existent right hand.
We are the ones who are left behind, trying to do our best for those who have already passed. That’s why you want to avenge the people who couldn’t protect your sister.
But Icecolle, the dead are dead, they don’t care. They don’t care if you spit on their grave, make a charity in their name, or avenge them– that’s what being dead means. You see Icecolle, the only reason to avenge someone is because you yourself feel the need to avenge someone. Unable to process your grief, the only release you have is inflicting that pain you feel onto someone else.
--Just like how a funeral is held so the living can mourn the dead.
We are victims, those who were left behind by the people we held dear to us. But it’s a mistake to hurt others for the sake of those we lost because from the moment our loved one’s hearts stopped beating they stopped wanting anything at all.
If that is the case, the only thing we can do…
***
“Hooo-oot, hooo-oot”
Hearing the screeching of my now glowing familiar, the figures accept my answer and recede back into the darkness, forming a path.
Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri has always taken the easy path…
“Hoot, hooooo-t”
As if urging me on, Bubo takes to the sky, showing me the way.
-So there’s no better time to start taking a more difficult one.
One step at a time, I make my way down this muddy corridor. With each step, I look all the figures who won’t be saved, who won’t be avenged, and I smile.
Humans aren’t beings who need to be avenged.
People are born and spend their entire lives relying on each other. Like that, we weave a single thread out of our lives and then after we die, this thread is added to the grand tapestry known as Humanity.
The ones who come after depend on the work of those who came before. All we want is for someone who comes after us to use our work to create something greater and more beautiful than what we already had – to reach the stars that we could only dream of touching. In that manner, the earth spins, people die and new people are born to not just take their place but to further what was already there.
And the final place that we reach when we follow that shining silver owl is this balance.
With my heart on one side and single pure white feather on the other, there is no way that this can be Nemesis’s balance.
There is neither a scribe nor a weigher because I will be the one to judge myself.
Then, answer me Bram, what do those who have lost everything and were left behind have?
I reach for the balance with my nonexistent hand.
What can people like us possibly have?
--Let me show you, Icecolle.
And light envelops this world.
***
“How are you still alive!”
That’s strange, someone is yelling at me.
“A torrent of curses like that should have burned the flesh right off your bones. So then how, how are you still alive, Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri?”
That’s right, Icecolle unleashed a torrent of malignant information at me and…
I look at the silver owl in my hands.
Oh, so you must be the one who protected me.
Thank you, Bubo but please bear with me for a little while longer, okay? I promise that I’ll give you some nice ether clumps after all this is over. So, wake up, will you?
“Hoooooooot,” she protests, but still opens her wings and takes flight. Now it’s my turn.
Groaning, I push myself off the floor before dusting off my knees. I’m a little unsteady, but that’s okay. My entire body aches and I think I have a few burns, but my family’s magic crest should be able to deal with those. I must have avoided most of the damage, somehow.
“No matter. No matter at all.” Icecolle retains her composure before raising her hand to activate all of the drums again. This time I’m the one the cursed arrows will aim at.
“Hooo-oot, Ho-ooot”
But the spell never activates and we are only left with two victims facing each other and an owl circling above.
“How! How did you do that?!” Icecolle snarls. For the first time, she looks bewildered. First, me surviving the torrent of malice and now her magecraft won’t activate. I can’t hope to understand what’s going on in her mind.
“One of the first techniques a student of spiritual evocation learns is placing a spirit into a vessel. In the ancient times, birds were though to carry the souls of the dead. Therefore, Bubo makes the perfect familiar for collecting the vengeful spirits of the witches in this castle.”
Icecolle, the eye on the woman’s chest, opens even wider. “Ammit, The Devourer of the Dead! Gordes used the core of your previous familiar for this one as well. Your familiar doesn’t just collect spirits, it also converts them into magical energy. But what… just what on earth did you use as the core?”
“A feather of Ma’at. I’m still not sure if it is real though.”
“Even if it’s fake, considering its nature and ours, it may protect you,” Icecolle gasps. “However, even if it’s a relic from the Age of Gods, it’s a trick that can only work once.”
Ma’at, the goddess of truth and justice – cosmos. The Egyptian creation story states that the world started as a lifeless, hollow, chaotic water – Nu. While order cannot compare to the blazing sun that emerged out of the Benben, at the same time, it is the natural enemy of Nu. More than that, it’s a promise to-
“No, that doesn’t make any sense. Even if it was real, the feather of Maat is the feather of an ostrich! There’s no way an ostrich feather can produce an owl.” She gnashes her teeth in frustration.
“Job 30:29, ‘I have become a brother of jackals, a companion of.‘ There’s more if you want me to continue.”owlsostriches
“But that shouldn’t matter. If the foundation you’re using is Egyptian, why would something like Christianity be involved at all?”
“Rather than worrying about solving the mystery, shouldn’t you be worried about what you’re going to do now you have lost your ammuniation?”
Icecolle was able to activate such a large-scale magecraft with a single action because she was using the grudges of vengeful spirits who were trapped in this castle as curses. The shamanic drums amplified their century old obsessions and hatred until they became cursed arrows, striking down all those who transgressed on their cage.
However, Bubo is a silver owl who devours spirits and turns them into magical energy. Not matter how many drums this throne room might have, they’re just drums unless there are vengeful spirits for them to convert and amplify.
“Hoooo-ot, Hooot.” Comes a triumphant screech on my right shoulder.
That’s right, Bubo. It would be completely useless if all you could do was eat spirits and convert them into magical energy. After all, magical energy isn’t something that is stored, it’s something that moves, changes, transforms.
Hearing Bubo’s shriek, the web of curses that makes up Icecolle thickens and becomes more concentrated. She must finally see me as a threat.
I close my eyes and remember what Mr. Musik taught me.
The image is a thread being sewn into my body. Stitch by stitch, the needle digs into my skin before making its way to the other side, tying two things that were once separated.
My magic circuits immediately start moving and my body feels as though it has burst into flames. Forcing the sensation of something inhuman tearing my body apart down, I generate the sufficient amount of magical energy and weave it into Bubo, activating the magic formula embedded in her.
She glows cherry red for a moment, then liquifies on my stump.
This is true magecraft.
It might not be as extravagant as the ground blossoming into stone flowers.
It might not be as terrifying as homing cursed fingers fired out of a shotgun.
It might not be as majestic as a dragon made of lightning.
A supernatural power, no doubt. A power that only the chosen few in this world are permitted to learn and wield.
But it is not a power that changes the world. After all, humans have been changing the world with their own two hands for eons. There is no way that magecraft is such a redundant power.
It is not a power that changes oneself. After all, the world we all live in changes us no matter how hard we fight it. There is no way that magecraft is such a useless power.
True, honest, unadulterated mystery is the manifestation of the hidden links, no, the hidden weaves that knit this world together. It is a single red ribbon of fate in an endless loom of white.
Those who can see this red ribbon and appreciate it for what is are called magi. And those who are able to see the white ribbons as red are the greatest of magi.
-Those who see this mundane world in all its extraordinary, mysterious glory.
I… am not one those people. I realize that now. Instead, I am just a privileged brat who can’t forget the sister he lost. All I am, all I ever was, is a bona-fide spiritual evoker – someone so lost, so alone, that in some misguided attempt for solace, we tie ourselves to death and attempt to resurrect the spirits of those who abandoned us to this mortal coil. Hanging onto ghosts, hanging onto records rather these precious memories, hanging onto our own fake superiority even if we know that our existences are weaker and thinner than the very spirits we try to conjure, we lock ourselves up in our workshops, knotting ourselves to everything we have lost.
So, all I can do –
All Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri has ever been able to do is take hold of a lone red ribbon as tightly as possible, vowing to himself to never let it go. And with eyes firmly fixed onto the past and with only that single red ribbon as a guide, stumble into the void that all magi must walk into.
And one day…
And one day, in the far future, perhaps I will have done my part in helping those who come after me to reach the greatest mystery of all – the truth.
A truth I will never reach today, not matter how complete my understanding is of this apocryphal catharsis.
But that’s okay, that’s alright. I continuously repeat those words like some sort of incantation to reassure myself.
There are things we spend our entire lives searching for that we never find. There are things we spend our entire lives trying to overcome that we will never come close to. There are wounds that will never heal no matter what spells we use.
Lately, my mind has been on my sister so I know that. Lately, my mind has been on my sister so I know that so well with every fiber in my body it hurts.
But that’s alright, that’s okay.
I didn’t want to admit it, but fundamentally, me and her are the same. Drowning, whether literally or mentally in the deaths of those we held dear, we only sought to do what we believed best honored their memories, willingly or unwillingly.
Therefore, if we are the same and she is magecraft that has obtained consciousness. The only magecraft I could have spun, the only magecraft that I could have woven has to be something that mirrors this cursed woman with ice cold eyes.
“Adjudicate,!”AirgetlámSilver Arm
Attaching herself to where my arm was cleanly cleaved off, Bubo has transformed into something only spoken about in myth and legend.
“Imitating not only a Divine Construct but also an Authority!” She laughs. “What nerve you have!”
That’s… not the case. This mystic code isn’t as glorious as a Noble Phantasm, sacred as a Divine Construct, nor is it as rule-breaking as an Authority.
This arm of silver…
This arm of silver that a better man than I forged for me merely represents the responsibilities that I have run away from and all the burdens that I have to bear from now on.
It is a small, wretched thing cobbled together from the remains of worlds that were trampled on and then assimilated. Forgotten worlds we can do nothing but look back on and yearn for.
So if that is the case, this cannot be anything other than my Supreme Code.
Looking at it objectively, this may be nothing compared to malignant information that has festered for years in the quantum world, materialized as a curse which then obtained a body and a consciousness.
But like I said before, this is the truest magecraft I can muster, so I don’t think I’m going to lose.
I let my magic circuits spin as fast as they can while lowering my center of gravity.
Icecolle sneers, “We finally meet, Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri.”
***Barrages of curses are continuously flung through the room. So that they can be shot as fast as possible, each is a cluster filled with the unprocessed malice of a century old ambition comprised of so much magical energy that they can do physical damage.
The throne room rocks as the walls splinter and break before the unyielding might of these curses. With the momentum of cannonballs but fired at the speed of machine-gun fire, even one brush would render me unable to fight and dead within the next few seconds.
But each time certain death rushes towards me, I bat it away with a silver light.
Right, I need to diverge all surplus magical energy into reinforcing my eyes and ears, while increasing blood flow to my brain. It doesn’t matter if I’m unable to defend against each curse, all I have to do is be able to react to it –will take care of the rest.AirgetlámSilver Arm
The basic principle behind spiritual evocation is to summon a spirit and let it possess an object, giving the item certain properties or at least an awareness. Alleged cursed objects that are too common in pseudo-documentaries about the occult and supernatural fall into this category. One fitting example of actual spiritual evocation would be the patentedof the Yggdmillennia. Placing a dog’s spirit into each leg, the mystic code is able to automatically detect and defend the magus without the need for much magical energy at all. Airgetlám works on the same principle; however, the spirit inside running everything –Bronze Link ManipulatorAttached Reinforcement Type Mystic Code
Three clumps of malice fly past my right thigh, left shoulder, and left ear. But a shining silver light deflects the two that would have squarely landed on my chest and right cheek.
I could re-allocate someone of the magical energy that was gathered into reinforcing my entire body. Doing so would mean I could actually move towards her rather than being pinned down to one spot, only being able to deflect the curses that are fatal. However, I’ve never trained my body; therefore, reinforcement can only make this situation worse.
“We’ve still got more sweetie. You might have taken my spirits away but we’re more than enough to destroy you.”
We both have extraordinary amounts of magical energy available to us but no time to mold it into any magecraft that took time to learn. Without the spirits, she can no longer instantly activate the drums. Between the moment it takes for her to take the curse and connect it to the drums, I’ll be able to sprint in and split her in half. Therefore, all she can do is keep throwing curses at me while I keep deflecting them. In that sense, we are equal, but –
The room shudders more violently as five more curses are deflected into the walls. However, even after everything settles, the room is still convulsing.
Wait… is that the room or is it me then?
Fading, my consciousness must be fading away. I’ve been running off adrenaline so far, but even the effects of that must be going away.
My right arm starts to revolt. It makes sense; after all, it is something that was never supposed to be attached to a human in the first place. Reaching for the balance, I told myself that I would be judged. Therefore, I shouldn’t be surprised about this at all.
The malignant information that Icecolle is shooting at me are parts of her existence. Therefore, should I be any different? To defend against something like that, I have no other option than to continually shave off my own life!
“Aaaaaagggghhhhh!”
I scream to throw off my pain so this silver arm can keep repelling the encroaching malignant darkness.
“Hush now, you’ve done a good job. Soon you’ll be able to rest.” Icecolle smiles as she continues to fire off curses. “You’re at your limit and you’ve used that weapon so many times that I understand the mystery, so it’s okay Bram, it’s okay to give up. You’ve done enough.”
“The mystery…” It takes most of my energy to say that. “It was never a mystery in the first place.”
She laughs at that, “Surely you must be mistaken sweetie. Compared to the other one, this is quite the mystery you and Gordes have cooked up. The Airgetlám and a silver owl with the core as a feather of the goddess Ma’at, truly, it’s quite the mystic code.”
The silver arm is obvious, it’s a replica of the Divine Construct and the Authority of the Celtic War God, Nuada.
“The owl on the other hand is the companion of the Greek Goddess of Wisdom, Bright-Eyed Athena. It can only be silver because of the Athenian Tetradrachm was called the owl. I doubt Gordes had Tetradrachms, so you only used cast silver? Why I’m sure Gordes blew a fuse over that, hah!”
The pain intensifies and I feel as though I’m losing more and more of myself; however, letting my precision go down for even a split-second means death. At the same time, I need to keep my mind away how rapidly close to self-destruction I am. Therefore, the only available thread I can hold onto to keep my sanity is her explanation.
If we actually had access to those silver coins, Bubo would be a lot sturdier. While I was fine with using the silver that we had in the workshop or for Mr. Musik to transmute a lesser metal into silver, Mr. Musik went wild. It seems he doesn’t understand that desktop theory doesn’t always translate into something practical.
“The Feather of Ma’at is the other side of the balance of justice in the Hall of Two Truths. If the weigher’s heart is heavier than the feather, Ammit, shall eat the heart. However, Ammit is just one side of Taweret, another crocodile goddess, the protectress of childbirth. The dead and the living are just two sides of a more primordial crocodile goddess.
“Finally, wisdom, therefore Sophia. In magecraft, that is tied to the Gnostic Sophia and the Divine Logos that it represents. A feminine aspect that it may be, it was also known as a syzygy for the Son. Because it is a syzygy that make it possible to tie into something as masculine as a War God’s arm.”
The three separate mysteries that make up this mystic code. And what is the thing that ties them together?
“.”Recapture Lost WisdomNuada-Re Sophia-Ri
Just like the Icecolle, our name itself is a promise, a promise to re-tread the past to find the things we have lost so that we can move forward.
“How fitting!” Icecolle shrieks. “We’re the same, trapped by names, forever left behind until we can find it in ourselves to move forward. So then, let me test you. Let me test the Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri name that so fervently rejects me!”
The barrages stop and I wobble, almost falling to the ground.
Tired, I’m too tired. I need to rip this thing off my arm before it –
Boom, Boom.
One by one the drums on the ceiling come crashing down between Icecolle and myself. They fall onto the ground and then rearrange themselves in mid-air until they also form the shape of an eye.
“I’m about to show you everything that the Icecolle possess. All our pain, all our suffering, all our hopes, all our curses. Please, take them all and understand just how depraved this world is those who have lost – us.”
And Icecolle unleashes every part of herself. The malignant information that makes up her existence is shot into the drums which amplifies it and spreads it like a spider web towards me. The last wave is nothing compared to this. In less than a second, that torrent of concentrated malignant information will erode my entire being.
But I slow down my breathing, remove the limiter on my magic circuits, and raiseto meet the torrent of mud, turning that second into an infinite amount of time.AirgetlámSilver Arm
My magic circuits spin at fever pitch and generate manifold times more magical energy than safely possible. However, the pain is mild compared to my right arm’s rejection.
My left eye socket fractures.
My skin tears in several places, peeling off like a wrinkled apple.
My brain sizzles, frying itself due to the amount of magical energy being processed.
In fact, anyone standing right next to me would only smell burning flesh.
But I disregard all of that, because right now, all I have to do is reach for a mystery that I always knew was there but always neglected.
Right, just like Mr. Musik told me to, it’s time to weave these three separate red threads together.
Nuada, the Celtic War God, the shining savior and king of the Tuatha De Danann. However, even if he is a War God, he is also a fertility god deeply related to the waters. The waters that Taweret, the very symbol of the Nile controls. In this role, she takes on the role of Neith, mother of Sobek-Re. In Theosophy, Neith, the weaver of destiny, along with Bright-Eyed Athena, is known as one of the goddesses of wisdom that make up and represent the companion and the other side of the Savior, Sophia.
I start to activate a magic formula and weave the mystery thread by thread. In and out, in and out, and at the end, I knot the threads together as tightly as possible. Like this, I shall construct the spell. There’s no time for actions, there’s not time for bars, I am just taking all the magical energy Bubo and I have gathered and shooting it with myas the barrel!AirgetlámSilver Arm
An all-piercing, burning silver flare attempts to drown out the overwhelming torrent of mud. The two streams contend, but the mud will win, the mud always wins. Primordial in nature, it is both the expression of humanity since language was invented as well as the embodiment of the curses that have now evolved and taken over the quantum world.
No matter the mystery, no matter how tightly this magecraft is woven together, it is nothing more than a single basket trying to hold a sea.
But that’s why I can’t let go.
There’s a common saying in the world of magecraft that no matter what the mystery is, no matter what you seek, as long as you keeping running your magic circuits and pay the price, you’ll reach it. Right, that’s why a magus only fights when there is something he cannot lose.
Disregard the pain; that is only telling you to stop.
Disregard your breaking body; you can take care of that afterwards.
Just keep weaving. And if you run out of magical energy to weave then weave your magic circuits, your body, mind, and even your soul. It doesn’t matter if you use your entire existence to continue weaving this mystery because eventually you will finish what you set out to sew.
The dead are dead. They will not come back. What you’re weaving is a tapestry of their lives that you’ll proudly hang to show that they were here.
No matter who they were, what they did, or how they died, something radiant will remain. Even if this mud corrodes everything that I am, as long as I believe in that, it’s okay even if I don’t accomplish what I came here to do.
With that, I lower my eyes while my right arm slightly slackens.
“Giving up so soon, brother?”
Until a voice I thought I’d never hear again jolts me back to my previous stance.
“Well he may as well if he’s resorted to using modern magecraft like Theosophy as part of the basis for the magical formula. My, my, Bram, you still have a long way to go.”
“Stop teasing him Kayneth El-Melloi. What have you ever made? A blob of mercury.”
Ah. It doesn’t matter if they’re only hallucinations caused by the overuse of magical energy, being able to hear their voices one last time….
“Keh keh keh, sorry for leaving you this mess.” A different person, also behind me, apologizes. Her voice sounds like nails scrapping a chalkboard. “The wish of the Icecolle should have never turned out like this. We were confused, angry, and desperate. We still maintain that we were right, but I think we can all say that we should have handled it more tactfully.”
Hundreds of voices murmur in agreement behind me, but among those hundreds, one voice is clearer than the rest.
“Brother, I –“
But I cut off whatever she was going to say.
“Sola. I never understood you. I never wanted to understand you. But I… I am glad that you were my sister.”
And the two threads that were always separated connect for a moment. Illusionary it may be, trivial it may seem, but at the end I can still be proud of myself for saying it.
--Some utterly meaningless words for a magus to say.
“Enough with the sentimentalities. Bram, are you ready for one last lesson?”
Fighting back tears, I nod at Kayneth’s voice.
There is no magecraft that can bring forth the dead. Even spells that summon spirits can only summon the leftover thoughts, the emotions of the people who were once here. Therefore, I can only keep insisting that this is impossible, that the two hands I can feel on my shoulders are just a hallucination.
“Ready, Bram?”
“Ready, brother?”
We can only live because of the people who came before us. Because they came before us, they will inevitably leave before we do – whether naturally or because they participated in some magical war, it is a fact of life that is just as sad.
The things we lost, how can we make up for them?
The things we lost, how can we repay our dues to them?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh h—“
--I scream and magical energy beyond anything my magic circuits are capable holding is shot throughAirgetlám
Silver Arm
and envelopes the mud.
“Impossible! You’ll burn out faster than you can keep maintaining that much magical energy!”
The answer is that you can’t, Icecolle, you just… can’t.
All we can do is weave the best thread we can and leave it behind for the victims who will come after us. I think that you know that better than most people, Icecolle. But in my case, instead a cursed thread…
--I want to leave behind a shining, silver thread of magecraft.
Slowly, the silver light envelopes the mud and then the room as the drums are crushed one by one, causing an explosion that throws both of us against windows that still don’t crack.
I might not have braced myself, but unlike her, I expected this so I get up first.
“Argh-!”
Pain runs through my body. It’s the feedback of using magecraft above my ability. It feels like every single bone on my body has turned to jelly and all my nerves have been plucked out. But if I don’t move, in the next few seconds, Icecolle will get up and finish the job.
“Go, Bram.”
“Go, brother.”
“Go, you idiot. Don’t you have a delivery to make?”
Two ephemeral hands, but one as solid as his mustache pushes me forward. Using the momentum, I break off into a sprint.
“Bram, sweetie.” Icecolle is already conscious. Even if half her body was blown away, the remaining mud is replacing the lost organs. However, the mud can only support so much of her. Even if it is brimming with magical energy and spiritrons, it is still “nothing,” at its core. Even the strongest delusion can only exist in this world for so long.
I look at my mystic code. There are deep fractures running throughout the peerless silver. There is no way I could use it to defend against an attack that uses most of Icecolle’s remaining mud. In that respect, I’ve lost.
I was one step too late, then.
But Icecolle doesn’t move an inch from where she is. She just hangs her head and laughs.
“What a hypocrite you are, sweetie. You still don’t understand, do you? We’re the same! For crying out loud, just look at your arm.” The eye on her chest recedes until it is a black dress once more. “Can’t you see that the only reason you defeated us was because we cut your arm off? And guess what, you are right to hold that malice, that hate towards us. By killing us, all you are doing is proving our point! In fact, this is the ideal result. Do it. Take this life because you realize that the only way that humans can move on after losing something is taking something in compensation – to avenge what was lost like you are doing right now.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand.” My right arm on her chest, I whisper into her ear the promise I made to Mr. Musik.
He asked, “What do you want me to help you with?”
“To save her.”
I smile and recite the incantation for a light that reveals everything it pierces through.
“.”Dead End – Claíomh SolaisIlluminate, Sterling Spirit Blade
shatters in to pieces, but not before a glaive of pure silver light pierces Icecolle’s heart.AirgetlámSilver Arm
I fall down to my knees and before long I can only see silver. I don’t think that’s because of the spell though, so I must finally be losing consciousness. I might not be able to see the end, but I’ve fulfilled my role.
It’s all up to you now.
***
Icecolle had won.
She withstood Bram’s final attack and even if she would die in the next few minutes if she couldn’t find another body to take over, Bram’s body was right in front of her. Even if the body was incompatible and would rot in a few days Gordes was almost finished with the homunculus body. Furthermore, Bram basically admitted to her with his actions that she was correct. For those who are left behind, the correct way to move forward is to avenge those who are gone.
She was the winner, so why was she on the ground convulsing as though something was tearing her entire body apart from inside?
“Icecolle, you made one fatal mistake.” A rough voice from above. She recognizes it.
“There is no mistake, Gordes. We’ve won. Soon, we’ll pour ourself into that homunculus body and finally kill you in Celenike’s name.”
“Really?” He raises a bushy eyebrow. “You don’t look like you’ve won.”
“This is nothing. We’ll use the malignant information as replacement limbs so we can take over Bram’s body.” She frowns, concentrates even more, and frowns even deeper. “W-Why isn’t this body listening to us?”
“The one mistake that you made,” Gordes grimaces. “Bram told me the story about the original owner of that body. The hostess you killed here before killing her husband and her son.”
“Yes, what does that have to do with—“
Gordes gives a tiny nod. “Bram is a spoilt idiot most of the time. However, as a magus who evokes spirits… he’s not that bad.”
Even if the woman that Icecolle killed hadn’t gone through any training and she was just a distant relative, she was still an Icecolle witch. And all Icecolle witches who die in the fortress....
“The spirit he evoked to control his mystic code, it was her!”
Icecolle can’t say another word. As if the spirit was waiting for Icecolle to realize who it was before shutting off her speech functions.
With his final spell, Bram took the spirit out of the mystic code and injected it into Icecolle. That was why he said there was no mystery behind the mystic code. The original purpose of a spiritual evocation is to link the messages of the past to those who are still living in the present so there can be a future. The magus is no more than the messenger.
“So Icecolle, you got Bram’s message, but can you understand it?”
The body shakes as if touched by a divine revelation as Icecolle wordlessly screams. It’s the first time she’s the one who is being corroded from the inside out. If Icecolle cannot control the body, she cannot substitute the organs she lost with the malignant information. If the body dies, Icecolle will be nothing more than a globule of a dissipating malignant information. But Icecolle doesn’t understand.
While it might be the hostesses’ original body, she is still just your typical vengeful spirit. Icecolle is a curse many magnitudes greater than such refuse. Yet, every single time Icecolle tries to breaks down the spirit, it reforms, refusing to give up control of the tiniest amount of tissue.
She is an obsession… just like Icecolle.
She is a wish… just like Icecolle.
So then why can’t Icecolle help but think they are different?!
“A vengeful spirit can’t obtain new information. They can only repeat the same regret from when they died over and over again. No matter much you fight it, implore it, or ignore it, it will keep repeating that single regret. You’re the only one who was with her when she died. What did she say when you killed her, Icecolle?”
Even if she can’t move her eyes, Icecolle looks at the throne and remembers how she forced her mud into the throat of a woman in an apron, a woman whose face she is currently wearing. Icecolle wasn’t paying much attention back then, but the only two things she screamed about were-
Without a doubt her husband and her child.
However, the vengeful spirit can’t know that they died.
That the husband came up to the fortress, prepared to beg Icecolle for his wife back, saw her face and had his head lopped off.
That the son came up to the fortress full of sound and fury, but fell into a pit full of cursed nails and instantly died.
The spirit does not know that they died, so she is eternally fighting for them.
“You see Icecolle, you didn’t lose to a magus and his mystic code. You simply lost to a mother and her love for her family.”
Ahh–
She may have lost all control of her body but Icecolle finally understands.
--This is what a true sacrifice is.
The perverted and distorted sacrifices that the Icecolle perform to power their curses can’t even compare to the sanctity and purity of what this degenerate, trivial, weak, human is eternally doing for her family.
She didn’t want to be avenged.
All she wanted…
The only thing she wanted…
--Was for those she loved to have a future.
Icecolle’s consciousness starts to fade away. Blood is no longer being pumped to any part of the body. In a few seconds, the hostess’s brain will stop working and Icecolle will return to being a lump of malignant information, a pure unadulterated thirst for vengeance.
That’s why these final moments when she can still think are so precious to her.
She wanted so hard to be acknowledged, but maybe she wanted to beeven more.overcomeproven wrong
The dead will never come back to life.
All we can do for them, all we’ve always been able to do for them is to make something even more brilliant.
For those left behind, that is our only solace.
Next time, Icecolle says, next time, I want become a sliver light that guides someone’s path.
Yes… that would be a nice… wish.
6/
In Duat, there is a structure called the Hall of Two Truths. It is said in that building there is a balance. On one side of the balance is your heart and on the other side is a single, white, ostrich feather. For those who have lived a light life, the heart will be lighter than the feather and they are allowed in the afterlife. On the other hand, those who have lived heavily have their heavy heart eaten by the monster on the side of the balance.
I think I’m staring at that mythological scale right now – or many I should say once more. So then, I must have died in that battle against Icecolle and am waiting to see if I can enter the afterlife. Geez, weren’t we taught that after the decline of the Age of Gods, mythological underworlds became metaphysical?
“Do not despair, child. Today is not the day you face judgement.” A familiar voice comes from the darkness. “As you can see, sometimes the feather is heavier than the heart and sometimes the heart is heavier than the feather. Undoubtedly, you are still alive.”
“Icecolle!” My kidnapper’s face comes into view; however, she looks a lot kinder. “No, the woman whose body Icecolle stole?”
The woman smiles radiantly. “Neither. This is currently a strong image for you, so forgive me for borrowing it.” She then lowers her head for a moment. “I no longer exist in this era. But if you are referring to the ‘me,’ you are currently talking to, I am the remaining miniscule fragment of Her power in this artifact.”
“So then, should I call you Bubo?”
“If it makes it easier for you, Bram. I may be the impetus, the original mystery that allows your mystic code to work the way it does; however, I am not your mystic code itself.”
That doesn’t make much sense, but there’s a more urgent question.
“Sorry for asking Bubo, but where am I?”
“You were seriously injured during that fight. You used magecraft that was beyond your abilities and paid the price. Your magic crest kept you alive long enough so you could receive the adequate medical attention, but in the modern era, healing is completely focused on the body. As long as the heart is beating, they can keep it alive, but they can’t do the same for the mind. That’s why I took you into my inner world.”
While the doctors or healers repaired the body, the mind would be safe here.
“You’ve been asleep for months, Bram, but it’s time to wake up. You have someone waiting for you.”
I nod. “Thank you for saving me.”
“I was always here, you just learned to ask.”
She smiles once more and for a brief moment before fading, I think I could see a young woman with a scepter in one hand and an ankh in the other.
She must be another one of those hallucinations.
***
The moment I open my eyes, I realize that everything aches.
“Cheh, the doctors said you’d come out of it today. Didn’t think they would be right though.” Someone beside my bed grumbles.
I move my arm, trying to take these electrodes and wires off my body. That’s when I realize I have something in my left hand – a white ostrich feather.
“You’ve been holding since I carried you out of that castle. Wouldn’t let it go.” He looks at it for a moment and snorts. “Pretty sturdy for a feather considering the mystic code I made you got blasted into smithereens. Don’t worry, I’ll make you another one and this time you can pay double with interest or I’ll just patent the design.” He looks at me seriously, “And that’s how you blackmail a magus, idiot.”
Argh, why did I even try to save such a problematic man in the first place?
But enough of that. I look around, trying to get my bearings. There’s a television above the bed playing the news and there are some flowers on the left table adjacent to my bed. It seems slightly too sanitary, like Mr. Musik’s workshop back in the fortress.
“You’re in Saint Francis Episcopal Hospital in New York. You were in pretty bad shape when I dragged you out of there. Your family flew you in; they have one of the best facilities in the world and they don’t ask many questions.”
“Hmph, that’s all well and good.” I surprise Mr. Musik. “But why are you here? Shouldn’t you be back home or fighting the good fight in your little clan’s civil war?”
“Hah—and leave your helpless self? The moment I leave this entire hospital is going to come crashing down on you. You’re so incompetent that I decided to work for you!”
He adds how he’s already starting to regret it.
But that makes me smile. Mr. Musik might be rough and abrasive, but as long as he’s with me, I think I won’t stray too far from the new path I did my best to pave.
“What about the Yggdmillennia? I’m sure the other two houses didn’t react well to the news about the Icecolle too well.”
He dismisses that with the wave of his hand, “That fool can take care of them, he’s the head now. I did enough groveling to save us from the Association after we lost the Great Grail War. This change of pace might be nice for me. Anyway, I hear that the new Sagara girl is pretty good too.”
Everything wasn’t for nothing then. Some people suffered and others were hurt, but we still move forward so that one day…
“Mr. Musik, during the battle, you pushed me forward didn’t you?”
He looks at me strangely. “Of course, I did. You were dumbly standing there with your mouth open.”
I nod. “But when you pushed me did you see–“
I cut myself off and look at the feather in my hand. There will be a hole in my heart if I don’t ask this question. The “what if’s”, the “how was that possible” will plague me for my entire life. But even so….
“Sorry, Mr. Musik, it’s nothing. I just wanted to say thank you for helping me.”
“Stop being so weird, Bram. Of course, I helped you. I told you that I would, didn’t I?”
The dead are gone and can never return. Those of us left behind might be left with nothing. However, to be hollow means one can be filled with anything.
To honor those who gave their lives for us--
To lay the ones we love to rest—
Let’s look forward and build something more brilliant, more beautiful anything they have ever known.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about my sister. But it’s about time I started thinking about what’s next.
Last edited by Milbunk; April 10th, 2017 at 05:06 PM.
The Lone Master
Week 1 Day 1
I have decided to create a diary in the hopes that the chaos that was the previous week can be prevented. Perhaps by writing my memories down they will become less jumbled in the future. There has been a lot of revelations in the past few hours so this first entry may be one of my longest.
I am a contestant in what many call the Holy Grail War, after entering cyberspace I was trapped in what I now realize to be a test designed to root out unworthy Masters. As one who succeeded in passing and recovering my memories I made it through the first trial dungeon with my effigy claiming victory, it is here that things changed dramatically. What was supposed to be a celebration along with meeting my new Servant ended in disaster. There was a strange voice that claimed I had made it and that the being known as a Servant would be my reward and so I waited, and waited, and waited, but there was nothing
No more voices could be heard, no more people showed up, I waited for what felt like hours in the dire hopes that this might have been some sort of mistake. I shouted at the empty figures that were etched into the stain glass windows, searched for some kind of hidden door that perhaps my Servant was hiding behind, all to no avail.it was quickly becoming apparent that this was no such accident, I was cursed as the Master without a Servant.
Eventually the room I stood in grew dark and I began to sense an eerie presence, one that caused my heart to beat unnaturally and screamed at me to run. Though I considered waiting for this presence to come forth and forcing it to answer for my misfortune I just couldn’t do it. That feeling of death that tickles one’s neck was a difficult thing to face, and my nerves gave up. Immediately I ran for the safety of the exit and in a flash of light, I emerged into the chaos of the real Holy Grail War.
When I came back into the school I found that most everybody had already gone to their rooms, it appears that I had been in there for most of the day and it was already late into the night. One of the few people left explained himself as a moderator for the Holy Grail War and he told me that I was the last accepted contestant for this particular fight.
I was quickly introduced to the situation by the priest, he explained that because I had waited so long before appearing I would not be able to meet my opponent until tomorrow. But before he could finish I cut him off, I told him that I in fact should not be fighting anyone as I did not have a Servant to fight with. This confused the priest and caused him to contemplate things for a moment. Eventually however he simply nodded his head and explained that even though I did not have a Servant there would be no exceptions in the fight for the Grail. I would still be matched with my opponent in our fight. How could he be so blind towards my situation!? It wasn’t fair! Surely this was some kind of mistake!
But the priest was steadfast in his decision, he explained that if I was truly to be the victor in a war such as this I would find ways of victory Servant or no Servant. He then pointed me in the direction of my room and told me to get some sleep, the war had already begun.
Week 1 Day 2
Kisaragi Shuugen, that strange man was to be my first opponent. I was aware that the Grail Wars were known for attracting a wide variety of people but when I came face to face with my first rival I knew I had stepped into something particularly astounding.
His fat belly protruded in much the same way a fat snake who had just eaten more than it could would lay, the musky breathing noises that perforated every word he spoke caused my skin to crawl with an uneasiness that was difficult to ignore. His slimy sweaty hands caused me to recoil on sight at how always seemed to be grabbing onto the next bite of food that entered his black hole of a mouth.
These were all thoughts that immediately came to mind when we finally came face to face. If it were not for the fact that we were both shoved into the generic student bodies like we were I am undoubtedly sure that he would have looked like my description above. But perhaps most fortunately he appeared like nothing more than an ordinary high school student despite the debacle of the past week I will give my best regards to the Moon Cell just this once.
The man himself was certainly of no concern, had I acquired an actual Servant he would have been easy competition that much was certain. His claims that the “Rider” he had under his control was the strongest Servant in the war was undoubtedly a false statement and was met with equal mockery from others who overheard our conversation.
In a fit of rage and through mouthfuls of chips he proclaimed that we were nothing but a bag of a fools not fit to be ruled under the Argonauts. If I had to guess this likely seems like a clue to unmasking the identity of his Servant, Not that it mattered much to me, one with no Servant of their own...
After leaving the group I once more began to search for clues as to what had happened to me and why I had never became a true Master. But in the end my research was to be fruitless. None of the NPC’s that relegated the Moon Cell’s daily activities were of any help and there was no way I could ask a Master for fear of showing my weakness.
In a dumbfounded stupor I wandered the halls of the bustling school wondering just what I had to do. If I had no Servant, how was I supposed to win this war? Thinking those kinds of thoughts I eventually found myself at the doors of the local chapel.
I am still not really sure why I decided to enter, maybe I thought that praying might give me the Servant I never had, or maybe it would help to calm my anxieties but as I entered that sacred building I came face to face with two striking women.
Introducing themselves as the Aozaki sisters they explained that they would be willing to offer modifications to me and my Servant for a small fee. And that anyone was free to partake in this service.
I don’t really remember clearly what happened next, perhaps the situation and hopelessness of it all had finally caught up to me or perhaps I was simply too worn out to care. What I do remember is falling to my knees and crying my heart out while simultaneously repeating the fact that I had no Servant to call my own.
Thinking back on it now it was quite embarrassing. I’ll have to make sure that such an embarrassing act is never repeated again.
The sisters obviously concerned at the seemingly random girl who barged in and began bawling her eyes out listened to my story. When I finally got to the part that explained how the Servant promised to me never appeared their eyes widened in shock. Apparently a case like mine was extremely rare but not unheard of. However in this particular Grail War it appeared as though I was the first and only Master this war not to have their own Servant.
After I allowed them to examine my body their expressions grew dim and they explained that there was little they could do to give me a Servant of my own. It looked like that chance had already come and gone and that now it was best to instead try to focus on survival. I am still not really sure why they stressed survival as such an important goal as this was simple a contest was it not? If I lost sure my dreams would be crushed but I suppose even if it was devastating to me mentally I would eventually find a reason to keep living, would I not?
The two of them then continued to explain that they would be willing to offer me a few “tools” that would give me an edge over most other Masters. According to them they preferred to support everyone from the shadows equally but since my situation was so special they would give me a little extra boost. Additionally since I had little protection of my own now should I ever require sanctuary I could always go to the church.
The Aoko the one with the red hair gave me a phone, she explained that when I used it I could immediately see the entire map of any dungeon that I was in as well as the locations of any treasure and enemies in that dungeon. She said that it should help me avoid any foes and get to the keys as quickly as possible. The other sister, Touko gave me a small golden ring with a foreign language etched into its body. She explained that when I called out the magic word “Berkanan” I could create a duplicate of myself which should be convincing enough to at least temporarily distract any foes. Now having had the chance to use the ring I can safely say that it was very odd looking face to face with an identical copy of oneself. It looked close enough to be my twin but acted just unnatural enough that I could tell it was not human.
Anyways, after they gave me these tools they suggested that I take the night to rest and prepare for the next day. With less than a week before the elimination round time was already running short.
This entry has already gone on for far longer than I had expected so I think I will end my report here, nothing more interesting really happened the rest of the day.
Week 1 Day 3
I believe this feeling that is still circulating throughout my body is what most people would call, “The embrace of death”. I had decided to take my chances and investigate the dungeon despite having no Servant to accompany me. I knew the risks but even still I did not think those… Viruses would be so terrifying. Without a partner to combat them, I felt so defenseless…
Before I entered I made sure to check on the location of Kisaragi, though it looks like he will still be of little concern in the fight to come. He seems to have made quite a name for himself as a partier gathering all who want to have a good time and feeding them endless amounts of food and drink.
Ignoring him and his invitations “To have a good time” I left the cafeteria and made for the dungeon where I came face to face with my greatest challenge yet.
The dungeon itself was not complicated, and with my map handy I could easily see the best route to take while avoiding any of the monsters that roamed the halls. However I believe looking back that I had grown far to overconfident in my abilities. While the map given to me revealed the locations of all the treasure inside the dungeon it did show the contents inside, this mean I had to methodically search each and every container in the hopes of finding this so called “key” that would ensure my entry into the next week.
The first few chests were easy enough, the monster that roamed the halls were simple creatures who I didn’t even bother using the doppelganger on. Avoiding them with ease I then came face to face with the strange spring like beast.
Thinking it was no better than the ones I had already encountered I simply began to walk by like the others but then it noticed me.
It is hard to express in words the kind of fear I felt when that beast began to chase me. I knew that if was able to catch me it would be all over, so in my panic I ran and ran. I ran so fast my heart felt like it would give out from the strain and my breathing grew harsh. But eventually I found myself to the exit and dived into it too scared to even check if that “thing” was following me. By the time I was able to calm down it was already evening and I decided to write my entry for the day. But that kind of fear I felt just then was heart wrenching… Is this what it is like to feel death? I knew that this was a dangerous war, but to actually experience it is something completely different…
My body is feeling tired already, perhaps it is best I sleep and try again tomorrow...
Week 1 Day 4
I did a bit of soul searching last night… Unsure of if this was something that I really wanted to do I wandered around the school during the morning when I met another Master by the name of Hakuno. Though they were initially quiet they saw my complex expression and offered to listen to my problems. I knew it was a risk opening up to an enemy Master but seeing as I have few people to turn to in the first place I figured I had little to lose.
After I had explained my situation to them their face grew troubled, but there was something about their expression that caught my attention. Despite the fact he was a total stranger to me I couldn’t help but feel as if they truly understood my plight. They then went on to explain their own background to me and offered a few words of wisdom. That no matter how bad things seemed to get there was no point in giving up just yet. If I truly wanted to win I had to try, try until I couldn’t try anymore, and if that desire was strong enough, then it would all be worth it in the end.
They then gave me a small boxed school lunch. They explained that the meal was nothing special, merely a meal cooked up by the school nurse that was free to everyone. But if it helped to encourage me then it would be worth sharing.
Leaving once more after explaining that they had things to do I was left thinking about what it was that I wanted to do.
I remember thinking about it for quite some time but eventually coming to the conclusion that I still want to win. Despite the hardships, despite having no Servant to call my own, despite everything stacked against me I still want to win! Servant or no Servant I’ll show this Holy Grail War just what kind of things I can accomplish.
Raising my confidence once more I checked to see if Kisaragi was still lazing about which he was and then I charged into the dungeon.
This time I was ready, with my tools in hand I easily made it past the few beasts yet again and when I came face to face with the spring beast that had halted my path before I knew just what to do.
It felt like I had never felt more alive. I shot the doppelganger out straight at the beast and when it turned to face my clone I bolted past it and found myself in the second half of the first dungeon. The rest of the encounters were rather similar. Whenever I came face to face with a beast that was blocking my path I would force it to chase after my duplicate while I snuck by and stole treasure.
Continuing this for what felt like hours and eventually I found the chest I was looking for. The first Key had been claimed by me!
Week 1 Day 5
I have never met a man as insufferable as my “rival” I don’t even know if he deserves to be called that. While I have spent the past half a week stressing out over my survival in this contest he apparently has done nothing but party around with his Servant and posse. Even when I considered snapping at him for not taking me seriously my own situation flashed through my head and I reconsidered. In particular what really caused me to notice my opponent’s incapabilities was when one of the more spectacular Masters by the name of Shinji Matou told him off for his laziness.
It felt good to see that Kisaragi get what he deserved but I doubt his attitude towards his situation will change very much. After all when Shinji told him that he was being an idiot Kisaragi merely laughed and claimed he would be able to get both his keys in a single day!
I couldn’t stand that fool for a second longer so I left the cafeteria once more and made my way towards the second floor of the dungeon.
Still feeling confident that I was able to acquire the first key I made my way through the first part of the dungeon however one thing was made clear very quickly. These monsters were even stronger than the ones in the other dungeon. Making sure to be extra cautious I memorized the quickest path to take in the dungeon and slowly made my way forwards.
However it looks like progress was kind of slow, I made it through what was about halfway but by then it had already begun to grow late and I was getting rather tired. Deciding that it was best to play things safe and that I still had time tomorrow for getting the key I returned to my room once more.
If I had to give my real thoughts on my situation I would say cautious but optimistic, I know I am already at a severe disadvantage but I cannot give up now! I think tomorrow might be a good time to check up on the Aozaki sisters and see if they have made any revelations about my situation.
Week 1 Day 6
Success!!! I have managed to acquire the second key! And even better my closest allies at the chapel say that there might be a way out of this mess. They just need more time before they can be sure of whether or not it’s a valid option.
I am so happy! I went to down the cafeteria after my victory just to get my favorite drink, plum soda. There is relatively little else for me to say, I managed to accomplish my goal and am ready for tomorrow's fight with Kisaragi, I just hope he takes this seriously as he claims to be doing.
Week 1 Day 7
He’s dead… I saw it with my own eyes. Kisaragi Shoshichi was killed today… And it was all my fault…
I thought everything was going to plan, I had acquire both my keys, stopped at the cafeteria for another plum soda and had made my way to the priest and was admitted into the arena. However since Kisaragi had yet to arrive I decided to wait around a bit longer to see what was keeping him.
Did he not say himself that he was going to get both his keys in a single day? Apparently he had failed in his task. Having put things off until the 6th day he was only able to acquire a single key, however if that was all it might have been remedied should he have gotten his second key the next day. But that was his biggest mistake.
As I impatiently waited for the appropriate time other groups began to show up and one by one they all entered into the arena. As I watched them pass by I wondered how they felt as they approached the priest and handed him their keys. Were they happy at being able to finally prove their worth? Angry at the thought of being so far away from victory? I couldn’t say for sure.
I saw the Harway boy enter with his knight Servant in toe. I remember that he would calmly walk the halls unafraid to tell all that he had acquired the knight servant Gawain. I wonder what he was like? Would it be boring to have a perfectly loyal subject as one’s Servant? Or maybe that loyalty would quickly turn to friendship and a permanent alliance.
Eventually Shinji followed suit, though he acted calm there was an air of nervousness about him. I considered what that might mean, I never got the chance to figure out who his rival was but who could it have been to make him like that? It was only later that I found out Hakuno was the one he had fought and lost to and I would never see Shinji again…
Hakuno on the other hand appeared rather calm when they walked over, despite it being such a tense event he made sure to give me a smile as he left through the doors into the arena. As he left I wondered what kind of Servant he had, was it someone completely loyal like Gawain? Or was it someone far more crafty and vile like Shinji’s apparently Servant. I had no idea, and I hope I never have the chance to found out. Hakuno seems like the kind of opponent I would hate fighting most of all.
Eventually the hours grow shorter as the deadline approached. I had waited the majority of the day and there was still no sign of Kisaragi. With just a few minutes to spare I decided to enter into the arena and it was then I saw.
Running in a full panic as the door closed I saw Kisaragi in full sprint towards the priest. I had never seen him so panicked before. Through the walls I could hear him arguing with the priest but at the time I had no idea it was because he had been late in getting his second key.
Through his screaming desperate words I came to realize the situation he was in. He had missed the deadline for entering into the arena and because of this he would be disqualified. His panicked screaming grew more and more desperate and soon after even his Servant Jason of the Argonauts also joined the fray but the priests decision was absolute. Because of Kisaragi’s foolishness I had been declared winner of the first round.
The Doors opened once more and I came face to face with Kisaragi now trapped in a glass enclosure his Servant right beside him.
Should I have done something to help him? Was I right in simply watching him fade from this world? I am still not really sure.
All I know is that the sight of him and his Servant being permanently deleted as they screamed in regret was something I will never forget.
I have grown tired from all this I think I’m going to just sleep.
Week 2 Day 1
There is no point in mourning of those lives lost when the potential for those still alive is as strong as ever. These words were once spoken to me by a dear friend of mine. Though the face of the man I am now responsible for killing is something I will never forget it is up to me to continue in my quest for survival.
The atmosphere around the school has changed quite dramatically since the first week ended. The chatter has died down tremendously as the realization of what kind of war we are in has struck us all. Perhaps I am lucky that I never had to fight my opponent face to face. I am certain if he was just a little less arrogant I would likely be dead by now but now I feel it is best I keep moving on. Goodbye Kisaragi Shoshichi…
My next opponent looks like one who might actually be capable of claiming their keys on time. A man by the name of Lavatia Pentel. To me that name sounds rather European but it was hard to actually pinpoint his accent to a specific country.
He vowed that I had to be defeated so that he could defeat his true rival a young girl by the name of Tohsaka Rin. I have never met this girl but the passion in his eyes suggest to me that it was clear he saw her as a true rival.
Without giving any clues as to who his Servant might be we parted ways in a friendly manner and I decided that it was best to take care of the situation regarding the keys as soon as possible.
Without wasting another second I once more charged into the new dungeon and as expected everything had changed. The enemies had grown stronger as well. I made sure to take the utmost care while exploring the dungeon and though I did not find the key I believe I have made excellent progress in my journey.
If things keep going as planned I shall likely have the first key by the end of the second day!
Week 2 Day 2
I met with Lavatia again today, he suggested getting a drink in the cafeteria as a means of getting to know one another but I politely declined. This seems to have annoyed him slightly but he shrugged and went on his way.
I hope in the future I do not come to regret that decision, but I came here to win this war not clown around with the people I am likely to kill.
I also stopped in the chapel again today to check in on progress regarding my options. Once more the Aozaki sisters were diligent in their work or at least I think they were. It really felt like they were simply lounging around in those chairs more than anything. But they told me to come back near the end of the stating that they were definitely close to figuring something out. I hope that I do not regret coming to them for help…
Anyways I was also successful in acquiring the first key, I feel that reporting my adventures through the dungeons is not as important as before. It seems like they are mostly used as a trial grounds training people to perfect the art of killing. And me being the sensible kind of person, I’d rather much like to avoid talking about that area as much as possible from now on.
Week 2 Day 3
Lavatia was insistent again on taking me to get a drink, his persistence is really starting to get on my nerves. Once more I politely declined but that seemed to only annoy him further. Once more he stated that he did not really see me as a true rival since his only real foe was the Tohsaka girl.
I left before he could finish his insistent ranting, I hope that he eventually gets the clue. I don’t care how he sees me, in this battle to the death I’d much rather stay as distant to people as I can.
In order to vent my frustrations I decided to head for the rooftop where I ran into none other than that girl, Tohsaka Rin.
In a very polite manner she asked me what seemed to be causing me so much frustration and I explained to her that my current rival was not taking me seriously but I decided it was best to keep the reason why a secret.
Perhaps sensing this Rin was kind in telling me not to worry about such scum. If they were so focused on themselves there was no way they could win a war like this. Instead it was far more preferable to focus on one’s own goals. Giving off one more polite smile she left.
I thought about what she said for a while and now that I look back on it I completely agree with what she said. If Lavatia was not going to take me seriously then I would use that to my advantage.
I am still certain he has no idea that I actually have no Servant of my own. If I continue to act as confidently as ever I am sure he will be none the wiser.
My exploration into the second floor of the dungeon was slow but fruitful. I have uncovered a large amount of items but the key remains to be found.
Week 2 Day 4
That bastard! How dare he flood the second half of MY dungeon. I didn’t even know that was possible!
I thought it was suspicious when Lavatia told me I wasn’t really going to be of much help to him in the war and that there was no need to even fight but when I attempted to enter the dungeon today I found that the areas I still had to explore were sealed…
...What am I going to do now? Is this the end? If I can’t get those keys then my fate will the same as Kisaragi’s…
Oh if only I had a Servant, a Caster who could wash away the water or a Saber who could evaporate it with some kind of cool sword slash.
Just what am I going to do?
Week 2 Day 5
Thank you Hakuno, once again your advice has given me the courage to keep going. Just when I thought there was no hope for me, that this entire situation just had to be some kind of cruel glitch in the system your words helped me regain my footing.
In a daze I began to wander the school repeating a pattern I am a bit embarrassed that I had repeated a second time. Once more finding myself at the chapel and yet again I met you. Had it been fate? I cannot say why we crossed paths yet again but I was thankful to see you still alive.
Perhaps once more you saw the expression on my face and realized my situation, or maybe it was something else. Your expression is rather hard to read after all, or maybe I was being a little too obvious? Regardless you shared with me more kind words, after hearing your speech it was as if all the worries in mind had simply faded away.
Renewed once again I decided to see if the magi sisters in the chapel might be able to help me in my situation. I explained to them that the route to the second key was now impassable and that if I was going to make it through I needed a way to either part the waters or breath through it.
After hearing my situation Touko explained that she might have something that could help but it would take a little time to prepare, in other words I’d have to come back tomorrow to get it. That wasn’t all though, she said that the breakthrough on my survival was almost complete!
If I wanted to escape they had a possible path for me to do so however that would also not be ready until at least the seventh day. Which would be cutting it close, so close in fact that I might run out of time in the end. It was up to me to decide if I wanted to pursue the second elimination round or attempt the escape and flee.
I told them that I needed the night to think about it. My odds in the Grail War were already slim after all. I do not know if I would be able to make it much further, but to give up? Would it be worth it losing all the progress I had made to get this far? I am still unsure of which is the better option. But tomorrow I will decide.
Week 2 Day 6
I have decided to change my entries up a bit. Instead of writing at the end of the day like normally I feel that it is best that I write at the start of the day. It is still morning and I have yet to make it to the chapel to receive the mystic code that Touko says will help me find the other key.
But I have a feeling that after I go into that dungeon there may not be any time for me to write any further. Am I afraid that I might be killed attempting to get my second key? Of course, that fear haunts me every second I stay in this war. But the feeling of potential failure hurts even harder. Giving up after making this much progress is something I cannot afford to do.
Perhaps it is better to die satisfied that I had done my best and there was nothing more to lose? I do not know if that is right path, but I know that dying even fulfilled would be sad for anyone…
Lavatia has likely already acquired both his keys at this point and he may be waiting for me as I make my way into the dungeon yet again. In the event I do not come back I will hide these journals somewhere in the school, that way I will not be forgotten even if I do fail. I just want to say to both myself and anyone who might be listening, that my name is Sakaki Yumizuka and I fight to help accomplish the dreams that my grandmother could never fulfill. I hope that one day I can see her smile one last time.
“Preator do you think she managed to survive her ordeal?”
“...”
“Yes it is hard to say for certain but one thing is true, we never saw her past the second week and these journals were left hidden in the back of her classroom.”
“...”
“Yes perhaps she did make it in the end! Or at the very least maybe she found what she was looking for. One must never look upon such mysterious with sour eyes. Perhaps one day we might be able to meet her once again. Wise words from my Master indeed. Now then preator I believe that is enough of this dour mood. That vile Caster will surely strike soon, and we must be ever vigilant! Let us go!”
HE WAS A GOOD KING
Last edited by Seika; May 25th, 2021 at 08:45 PM. Reason: Removed at author's request.
Le Meilleur des Mondes Possibles
In the beginning, the world was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep.
Then God said, or to be specific he was browsing Fate-related fanart on Pixiv and said:
“Wow, Arturia looks good in a sailor uniform, doesn’t she?”
At that very moment, BOOM! Genesis!
The very earth shook and the heavens cried. Far far away, distant galaxies behind darkness came to exist. Beast, Man, and God populated the land as envisioned. Thus, a new world of possibilities was born. It was a world in which the green-eyed girl who had thrown away her gender after drawing a sword and becoming king could frolic around happily in a short skirt like a modern-day maiden. One without divine blades, wise mages, wars and famine, where one could eat one’s fill, wear pretty dresses, and sleep more than 3 hours a day. Leisurely eating lunch with friends, diligently studying in class, living happily with her older brother, and maybe even fill that long abandoned otome gauge, that sort of blissful life so sweet that it makes your tooth hurt.
Wouldn’t that truly be the best of all possible worlds?
__________________________________________________ _________________
“Speaking of which, last night, I saw a magical girl.”
The atmosphere around the table took a drastic change. The students that had been casually socializing while eating their lunches in the Homurahara highschool student council room grew silent all because they had been on the harmless topic of what they did last night.
“Have you finally gone insane?” Mordred finally managed to respond after a dozen or so seconds of awkward silence and judging.
“Pardon me, I said it in a confusing manner.” The perpetrator, Gawain, apologized. “What I meant was that I ran into someone that was dressed like a magical girl.”
A general loosening of tension was felt throughout the room.
“I understand now. Truthfully, I was confused for a while there.” The shut-eyed Tristan confessed, having nearly dropped his ham and tomato sandwich.
“Now that you cleared it up, it doesn’t sound that extraordinary. You were probably just passing by a cosplayer’s photo shoot.” The gentle looking Bedivere added, picking up his plastic fork as he returned to his salad.
“No, I don’t believe that’s the case.” Gawain lightly shook his head. “It was late at night when I saw her. And most of all, she was standing on the roof of a house, energetically posing at the horizon. I wanted to warn her to not do anything dangerous but before I could she jumped off out of sight.”
“…” As Gawain explained, Lancelot remained silent, revealing no readable emotion on his face but listening intently.
“Even a parkour practitioner wouldn’t just randomly jump off roofs. It was probably just some staged stunts that’ll show up in a video on YouTube soon.” Agravain cutted in. Immediately after, he turned to the head of the table. “What do you think, My Lord?”
The blond haired girl sitting at the head of the table looked back sternly. The small ahoge on her head seemed to straighten on its own. Even she had been thrown off from her extra large lunchbox by the turn of the conversation, but still managed to retain perfect composure.
“No, as I’ve said before, there’s no need to call me lord. President will do.”
The weight of the girl’s words revealed the power of her position. There were very few people in the school that did not know her. Arturia Pendragon. President of the student council, head of the Kendo Club, good grades, exceptional at athletics, kind natured, modest, and pretty, her accomplishments were numerous. Alongside her in the student council were the secretary, Agravain, treasurer, Tristan, activities chair, Mordred, general affairs manager, Bedivere, and vice presidents, Gawain and Lancelot. Together, the student council of Homurahara were known by its students as some of the most accomplished students around not to mention most handsome, favored widely by the female students, despite the fact that its leader and most popular member was in fact a girl.
Arturia took a moment of thought and began to give her opinion.
“Regarding this magical girl, I think that it might-”
“Excuse me.”
Before Arturia could properly start, she was quickly interrupted by the entrance of another individual. A fluffy haired man that looked neither young nor old knocked and opened the door in one breath, completely grabbing the attention of everyone within and cutting off Arturia.
“Good afternoon, Merlin-sensei. Is there something you need?” Bedivere was the first to respond and greet the student council’s advisor, Merlin. Casually smiling as he stood by the doorway without entering, the teacher seemed pleased to be greeted so promptly.
“There’s something I wanted to discuss with the student council. It’s about the graffiti in the school yard.”
Just that morning, the students of Homurahara had come to school to find an intricately drawn magic circle in the school yard. Made with common chalk, it was completely harmless but its sheer detail made it very distracting to those passing by. Either way, vandalism of school property was a large offense so the faculty and disciplinary committee were trying to find out who had done it. Personally, Arturia quite liked the design and almost wished it wouldn’t have to be erased eventually
“Since it’s just a harmless drawing, the faculty has decided to treat it with low priority and will not have the staff erase it. However, since it may get in the way of the athletic clubs, we’d like you to arrange for someone to clean it up by tomorrow. I’m counting on you guys to figure it out, okay?” Merlin said in his usual smooth and soothing voice. He was the type of teacher that students found difficult to dislike even with his sloppy attitude at times. Something about his gentle demeanor made those talking to him always feel comfortable. As such, when he asked a favor of students despite being a teacher, it was difficult to refuse.
“Understood. We’ll have it removed as soon as possible.” Gawain confirmed without any hesitation.
“Thank you. That’s all for now.” And with that, the dreamlike teacher left as quickly as he arrived. Once he was gone, the members of the student council immediately turned to each other all business-like.
“How shall we handle this, President? I suggest we ask one of the athletic clubs to spare some of its members to clean it up after practice.” Agravain asked immediately. It was easy to tell the level of craftiness he had from his speech. Immediately deferring the decision to the highest power but also presenting his own opinion in a single breath, he was certainly a secretary to be wary of and Arturia knew that. Still, it wasn’t as if he had any bad intentions, so she never thought about it hard.
“No, there’s no need. It’s a simple matter. I’ll do it myself after Kendo practice ends.”
“Are you sure, President? Lancelot and I could assist you. With three of us, it’d go much faster.” Gawain offered. Arturia, however, simply shook her head and with a beaming smile declined.
“There’s no need. I know you’re all busy. I was planning to clean the Kendo Dojo today anyways so I might as well do it.”
The rest of the student council nodded obediently to their leader’s decree.
“Now then what we were discussing again?”
__________________________________________________ _________________
The chills of evening permeated through the skins of anyone unlucky enough to still be out. A dark red hue overshadowed the campus, giving it a picturesque almost haunting appearance. Though it wasn’t that far into the day, the sun was already almost set due to the nature of winter. Athletic club practice had let up a while ago so there was probably nobody else on campus except Arturia who had been tasked with the duty of erasing the graffiti on the school yard.
“Still, this thing sure is pretty. It makes me hesitant to want to erase it.” The uniform-clad girl thought as she gazed upon the whole thing. It was made in such detail and size that the person who did it must’ve spent hours of drawing much less the time it took to sneak in, prepare the materials and design the whole thing. The whole thing had a diameter about equal to half a football field, and was intricate enough to contain minute markings the size of a foot.
Who could’ve done something like this? Homurahara wasn’t a delinquent school or anything so she doubted there was a gang that was planning on vandalizing school property. If there was though, it was her job as president to stop them. Perhaps it was that third-year Gilgamesh fellow? He seems like the type for petty pranks. No, he wouldn’t have the patience. Whoever it was, perhaps Arturia would need to do something to stop them from doing something worse…
“Well, for now, I’ll just settle with cleaning for now.”
She took a hold of the cleaning supplies and stepped into the magic circle.
And suddenly the ground was lit. Bright white light exploded from the lines drawn upon the ground. The entire drawing became alive with illumination, blinding Arturia. Before she knew it, a fierce gale had also come crashing through the campus. She was knocked to her feet while her skirt blew wildly in the wind.
“W-what’s happening?”
Bewildered, she tried to shield herself from the light and wind with her arms. Achieving moderate success, she was able to make out something in the middle of the circle. No, it was closer than that. What had seemed a distant figure was starting to form right in front of her.
The gale began to die down. The light dimmed. Eventually the campus became quiet again. Nothing but the newly born moonlight illuminated the dark school grounds. But under the dim shadows of the heavens, Arturia could make out the form in front of her.
Short auburn hair.
Golden brown eyes.
A white cloak.
A cold blank expression.
A man had emerged from the abrupt light. Like a phantasmal existence, he stood above her staring down. In awe, the girl remained speechless.
“I have come to answer the summons of my Master. Servant Archer, at your disposal.”
“Ma…master…” Arturia found herself repeating the man’s words. Even in her shock, her brain moved quickly.
“Am I your master?”
At that question, the figure finally moved. He bent down and reached his hand down, offering it to the fallen girl. His frozen expression became a slight smile.
“Yes.”
And so the pieces fell. On that fateful night, on which girl met boy, their destinies had come together. Time had stopped. It was a moment that lasted no more than a second but it felt like an eternity. Even if she was to die, Arturia would remember that moment forever. For it was then that the greatest battle in past, present, or future would begin. It was the turning point, the pivot, the starting pistol. Yes. It could be said that only at this point did the battle of the blue uniform wearing Master and the redhead Servant joined by fate beyond dimension or world would start…
“NOOOOO!”
“Eh?”
Abruptly, Arturia jumped back up and yelled like a lion.
“This isn’t right. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen.”
“U-um, Master?”
Archer stepped back at the girl’s abrupt outburst. However, he ended up getting pushed even further back by the girl who had begun to shove him.
“Go back. Go back to the throne of heroes. I’ll forget you ever appeared so go away.”
“W-wait a second. Master, wait. I-I can’t just go back after being summoned and…” The red haired Archer tried to stand his ground at his Master’s random outburst but was buckling under her sheer earnestness. Moreover, he was in a state of absolute confusion at the actions of this girl he had just met.
“O-oh, I get it. You’re confused right? You’re an amateur Magus so you might not know about what’s happening. Don’t worry I’ll carefully explain it to you over a cup of tea,
okay?”
“No. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“Huh?”
Needless to say, Archer was utterly confused by his master’s words. Arturia stopped her violent pushing and instead clenched her fist as she explained herself.
“I know already. It’s a Holy Grail War right? Seven masters are supposed to summon servants and fight over a wish granting device.”
As she explained her reasoning, she began to pace around the Servant like a shark circling pray.
“And then, you’re going to explain everything to me over tea and we’ll learn about all the fancy rules. Then, enemies will start attacking us and we’ll fight them back all while bonding over how broken we both are. There’ll be some pseudo-tactics and psychological warfare and then one of the enemies will be a foil to my beliefs and we’ll have a big battle over our ideologies. Meanwhile, the two of us will go through romcom antics and start to bond over how broken we are. Finally, there’ll be a big twist, we’ll beat the big bad and win the grail. Right?”
Further accentuating her point, she showed the glowing red emblem that had appeared on her right hand moments ago, a simple crown like symbol made of three equal strokes.
“Yes, that’s completely correct. What’s the problem?”
Archer resisted the urge to give a stupefied look. He felt like a middle school student being lectured by a teacher over something he didn’t think was wrong.
“What’s the problem?” Arturia’s voice was cold as ice yet still seemed to emit an aura of utter rage. Archer could almost see the vein’s popping in her head. Why was it that, even though she was just repeating his words, they sounded much more terrifying? “The whole thing is the problem. This entire Holy Grail War.”
“The original concept of this work was supposed to be about Arturia-san’s great school life. There was supposed to happy slice of life elements and everything would’ve been great. So why is there another Holy Grail War starting? You can’t just make everything a Holy Grail War. How many Holy Grail Wars do there have to be? Can’t Arturia-san just take a break and enjoy the school life for once? I’m the original Saber after all. I’ve already been in two Wars. If we count the original ones, that’s two more as well. I’ve fought enough. I should be allowed a spinoff where I do nothing but make friends, stop minor inconveniences, flirt with cute boys, or question my relationship with my older non-blood related brother.”
“That last one doesn’t sound right.”
“Anyways, that’s that.” She stomped her foot and pouted like a child. “We’re gonna forget this whole Holy Grail thing happened and go on with our lives. Got it, Shirou?”
“Ah, wait, Saber, you’re not supposed to reveal my True Name yet.”
“No, Shirou is Shirou. Calling you Archer is too confusing. I’ll just start thinking of the white haired macho one. You two are already similar enough.”
Her pouting force was only growing stronger. Seeing this, the newly named Archer could do nothing but hang his head.
“Right, right. If that’s what you want, Saber… er, Master.”
Arturia nodded in approval.
“Good, now let’s go over our roles. I’m Arturia, King of Knights. This time, I’ve been cast as the lovely student council president and Kendo club captain and as the main heroine of the story with a plethora or love interests at my disposal. Since the characters this time around are all servants, Shirou can not appear in the story but small cameos occasionally are allowed.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Also, since I’m a student this time, I want to try to eat lots of Japanese style cooking, so please prepare that for me, Shirou.”
“I’ll do my best, Master.”
The two, having come to some sort of an understanding nodded at each other, although it was mostly just the Servant obeying his Master’s orders.
It was at that moment that a chill ran down Archer’s spine. Abruptly, he raised his head and took a good glance around the area. The school had become completely covered in darkness while he was talking with the petite young girl. A chilly breeze was all that was left in terms of movement on campus. And yet, he could feel it. His honed senses as a Servant allowed him to sense it- No, rather only a Servant would be able to do so. After all, it took a Servant to notice another Servant.
“Master, it’s an enemy!”
“Eh? Shirou?”
With the speed of a sparrow, Archer faced towards the school building, getting in between it and Arturia. As if on cue, a figure appeared in the distance.
“I’m surprised you managed to notice me. No, I suppose that is to be expected.”
Out from the shadows, a man, no, woman came into view. With magenta hair and a two-piece business suit, she wasn’t someone who would look out of place at a business conference. Her stride was almost robotic as she approached, perfectly timed to a mechanical rhythm. As she got close, she slowly put on two black gloves, in no hurry at all.
“I’m impressed that you managed to get so close without me noticing really. Are you Assassin?”
Out of thin air, a sword appeared in Archer’s hand. He had not pulled it out of a sheath or anything. From the air itself, the sword had entered his grip, a genuine metal Japanese sword. Holding it tightly with his right hand, Archer took a basic stance, pushing his center of gravity onto a single leg as he leaned forward, ready to leap.
“I have no intention of revealing such information.”
“Heh, I figured. That’s fine too.”
The two locked eyes. They needed to exchange no more words to know what was to come next. Soon enough, they’d be at each other’s throats.
“Stop. Stop.” That is, if a certain schoolgirl didn’t interrupt. “Shirou, what are you doing? I said that we were done with this idea. Don’t advance the storyline like that.”
“An opening!”
“Master, watch out!”
“No, Shirou, wait.”
The moment Archer was distracted by his Master, the opponent rushed forward. Immediately, Archer pushed Arturia back and leapt forward to meet the attack. Having the initiative, the opponent got within striking distance in the time it took Archer to push his Master away and bring his stance back up. A few quick jabs came towards Archer, one towards his body, two to his face. Completely disregarding the sword in his right hand, he brought up his left and guarded against the two face blows. Taking the chance after the attack, he made a swift back and swung the sword right at his opponent’s face. It was easily dodged by a quick sidestep. Instead of going for another attack, the enemy Servant instead dug her foot into the ground and spun her hip. A wide swing came at Archer. It was easy to dodge, but he wasn’t her target. No, instead, her fist collided with the extended sword. The power behind the punch was immense. There was no question about the result. The blade was knocked out of Archer’s hand with little effort and flew across the schoolyard out of reach. Before the enemy could take advantage of his lack of a weapon, Archer leaped back out of range.
“That’s one hell of a punch. I changed my mind. You have to be Berserker, right?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
The two once again squared off a distance from each other, watching carefully at each other’s movements. The only difference was that this time, Archer was just a barehanded as the enemy.
“No, no, no, hold on. Why did we just have an action sequence? This isn’t what’s supposed to happen! Shirou, stop fighting.” Arturia roared on the sidelines.
Careful to not take his eyes off his opponent again, Archer responded without looking back.
“But, Master. If I don’t fight, she’ll attack you.”
“Both of you stop. You’re not supposed to be here. We don’t need action as one of the genres.”
Arturia’s pout meter had reached maximum levels. She looked like she was about to just straight up throw a tantrum right there and then.
“Now, now, miss, you don’t have to be so stiff. Just go with the flow.”
At the arrival of another voice, Arturia felt something brush past her skirt.
“Mmmn!”
Barely suppressing a high-pitched shriek, the student council president hopped forward. When she looked back, she found a blue-haired gentleman in a Hawain shirt standing just behind where she had been standing earlier.
“Y-you…”
“Oh no, is it the enemy Master?”
Archer couldn’t help but look back at the new arrival. Arturia, on the other hand, was much more familiar with the man.
“You’re the fishmarket salesman!”
“No way, what a twist!” Archer commented on Archuria’s shocking reveal. To think that the fishmarket salesman was actually a master.
“And the café waiter.”
“Eh, he’s also the café waiter?”
“And flower shop owner, convenience store part-timer, restaurant chef, bar master, host club ace, kindergarten caretaker, nanny, soccer player, VIP bodyguard, chick sexer, and professional stunt double!”
“Wait, how the hell many jobs does this guy have?”
The man smirked.
“Yes, that’s correct. I am the fishmarket salesman, café waiter, flower shop owner, convenience store part-timer, restaurant chef, bar master, host club ace, kindergarten caretaker, nanny, soccer player, VIP bodyguard, chick sexer, and professional stunt double, and also the Master of the Servant over there!”
“No, we heard it all the first time. You don’t have to repeat it.”
“An opening!”
“Ah, I forgot about you!”
Barely dodging a full-power haymaker, Archer twisted his body to flip around the enemy servant. Once again, another sword appeared in his hands, this time a short nodachi. The two servants began to trade a flurry of lethal blows and hair-width dodges.
“Take this. Blade Works: Limited/Zero Over!”
“Too slow!”
“Hehe, they’re really going at it.” The Hawaiian shirt man commented as he casually watched the two battle back and forth.
“Wait, hold on, fishmarket salesman. Let’s talk this through. I don’t want to fight. I just want this fic’s genre to turn back to Slice of Life.”
“Change the genre, huh? How naïve.” The man only seemed to chuckle at the remark. With a condescending tone, he walked back up to Arturia, looming over her with his height. “I too thought that once. That I could change my fate. The fate of a man with E-rank luck. However, I soon learned how futile it was. Yes, instead of changing fate, I’ve learned to not worry so much and just go with the flow. If you still believe that you can do such things, you’re still a child.”
“You… café waiter…” Arturia looked up at him and his nonchalant grin.
“Yup, just a child. I could feel earlier that your assets still have a long way to go. Especially in the upper area.”
And it was at that exact moment that something within Arturia snapped.
“RAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!”
“What the?”
A roar unrivaled in the universe echoed throughout the city. It was a shout so powerful that even a vampire in a far away city or a fox on a moon could hear it. Yes, it was the sound of something important to human beings breaking.
“That’s it! I’ve had enough. I’m going to kill you.” Her spirit burned with anger. If one was able to see auras, one would definitely see a demon of vengeance looming behind the young girl. Somehow or another, a shinai had gotten into her hand and she was gripping it hard enough to completely crush it.
“W-w-wait, hold on.” Hawaiian shirt man fell back from the sheer power of her anger and raised his arm in defense. Immediately sensing the disturbance in the force, Archer teleported to his master’s side.
“M-master. Calm down. You can’t kill him.” He tried to sooth her with his words. Looking at her face, it didn’t seem to work.”
“Why not!? You guys all want this to be an action, right? Then let’s go. We’ll have all the action you want and I’ll go kill everyone in this twisted Grail War.”
“Why can’t you kill? Well… perhaps you’re too young to know this but actually people die when they are killed.”
“I know! That’s obvious!”
Archer was toppled over by the force of her voice. The sheer force of her spirit was
enough to hurt. Certainly to someone passing by it would seem like she had a Stand that was going around punching her enemies.
“I’m done with this world. There’s no way that this is the best of all possible worlds. It isn’t correct. The concept is all wrong.”
Getting back on his feet, Archer trotted over, hoping to calm her down again.
“Well, I believe that just because something isn’t correct doesn’t mean it can’t be right.”
“What the hell does that mean!? Don’t talk in confusing tautologies!”
“Ah!”
Once again, the red Archer was knocked back.
“I’ll destroy it. This world where the concept of Holy Grail Wars exists. And then I’ll go and eliminate all the copies of me that have been born lately. And finally once I’m done, the only thing left will be Fate/Arturia Romance and I’ll get the long-awaited Reverse Harem Route. Now, my first step will be-”
“Hahahaha. I’ve come.”
Suddenly, on the roof a shadow appeared. It was a bug. It was a train. No, it’s a godaamn tank! The hero of all children, the symbol of ancient justice, the twelve labour, nine lives, four wheel drive vehicle!
“Yes, it is I, Servant Rider, Illyasviel von Einzbern. Once I win, I’ll get my own route. Go get them, Bersercar! Panzer Vor…”
“DON’T-INTERRUPT-CALIBUR!!!”
“VEGETA WHY!!!!”
And so, the loli of justice became a star in the sky.
“U-um… Master. Did you just shoot a beam from your shinai?”
“Hmph. For any Saber, a beam is necessary after all. Whether you’re a Servant or human.”
“Is that so…”
Suddenly, another person stepped in front of Arturia.
“Not so fast, Master of Archer. You won’t take another step forward.”
The business suit wearing woman servant from before had stepped up to confront the
newly born beast.
“I don’t know what kind of attack that is but it won’t work on me. I will avenge my dead Master.”
“Hmph, I admire your courage. I won’t hold back with my next atta- wait, dead? What happened?”
The servant pointed behind them towards a blue haired corpse with a sword through his chest.
“It seems that your blast caused a shockwave that knocked your Servant’s sword up and through Master’s heart. That’s right. Master is dead! You bastards!”
“Huh.”
A moment of silence happened for the death of a great man.
“Either way, I only have a few moments left in this world not that he is dead. I will use it to defeat you.” With the declaration, an iron sphere suddenly flew towards her outstretched fist. Circling around her like a planet in orbit, the sphere seemed to glow with magical power. “Archer, you were asking earlier what my class was. I’ll tell you now. I am Saber. My sword is the Gouging Sword of the War God, Fragarach. With it, no matter what trump card you use, it’ll kill you first. Your beam attack has been sealed.”
“RULER-BREAKER-CALIBUR!!!”
“KAKAROT!!!”
And so, no one was able to stop the rampage of Arturia. With her trusty shinai in hand, she went around eliminating all the masters and servants that dared tarnish her fantasy school life, while Archer tagged along reluctantly. There was the scantily clad big-breasted Berserker Servant who kept chanting “Senpai, Senpai” like a broken record but she got beamed. There was the naginata-wielding tomboy Lancer servant but she got beamed. There was the perverted Master who wanted to dress Arturia up in cute dresses and her Assassin servant husband but they got beamed together. There was the crazy Magical Girl Caster Servant but she went bankrupt. There was also an evil priest that called himself Ruler and an old man Avenger but nobody cares about them. And at the very end, all in the world had been vanquished and the girl stood alone on that hill of corpses.
The sky at sunset was the color of blood.
The ground before her eyes was also the color of blood.
It was only then that she realized what she had down. The path that she had travelled towards this point and all the things she had destroyed.
Unable to stop herself, she began to sob.
She remembered those long and distant days. She remembered the girl who had never paid attention to the meta and had simply enjoyed her school life.
At that time, what had she been thinking of?
With what kind of resolution had she extended her arm to correct the world?
The memories had long since blurred; even though the tears obscured her sight, she could not remember.
In that case—her mistake must have been made that day.
With these thoughts, she faced the ideals that had not been fulfilled; she faced the people who had not been saved.
She faced everything that had vanished because she had wanted to be a heroine.
"... Sorry…”
Though she was choked to the point where she almost could not speak, she still could not control the impulse to apologize. Though she understood that her apology could not be conveyed to anyone’s heart, the girl nevertheless repeated her regret.
"I’m sorry… sorry… I, someone like me…”
There was only one way to repay those that she had erased. A miracle that could erase all those mistakes.
“I shouldn’t have… become the main heroine.”
And so holding the hard-earned Grail in her hand, she made her wish. At the end of that long chaotic path, the one thing she wanted the most…
“I wish none of this ever happened.”
__________________________________________________ _________________
“Saber. Saber”
A voice called out to her. Someone was shaking her shoulder.
“S-shirou?”
Slowly, her eyes opened and she saw the familiar face of her Master.
“Are you okay? You looked like you were having a nightmare.”
Her eyes were fully opened now. She was in the same old dojo as always. The same old estate. The same old Master. A world where she had thrown away her femininity upon drawing the sword in the stone and becoming king. A world in which she was robbed of her youth, fought many gruesome battles, and watched her kingdom fall. A world of magic and swords and dragons and Heroic Spirits. Just the same old world as always.
She smiled.
“Yes, Shirou. It was quite the dream.”
Last edited by Milbunk; April 9th, 2017 at 02:40 AM.
THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD
Emiya Shirou checked his watch. It was 8:10 AM. Twenty minutes to go until he had to take a plane to Syria. He was used to waking up early, so he wasn’t sleepy. He had taken a couple of books with him, to read while waiting for his plane and during the travel. So far he hadn’t even touched them. Thoughts were churning and accumulating in his head. No dudas, ya había tomado su decisión, solo cosas que debía tener en mente.
He saw Fuji-nee between the sea of passengers, then the others. They came to say goodbye. He felt a bitter nostalgia, as if this was going to be the last time he saw them. It could be true. They came closer.
"Sorry, Sempai. Fujimura-sensei... "
"I got lost," she admitted, not at all ashamed. That made him smile. Time passed, but some things never changed. She kept him stable after the death of Kiritsugu and was family. It was almost surreal to think that he would not see her in the morning for a long time.
"A volunteer in Syria." Mitsuzuri said. "That's so much like you, I cannot even get upset about you leaving so suddenly."
In a way, he had not lied to them. He would dedicate himself to extirpate tumors, conflicts, but his tool would be the pistol, not the scalpel.
"Well, my apologies."
"Good luck."
"Thank you."
Everyone said goodbye and wished him well. Fuji-nee held out more than he had expected, but eventually collapsed. She hugged him hard enough to break a rib. Her tears wet his shirt.
"Seeing a bird fly from its nest is the worst!"
"I'll make sure to not hit the floor." She hugged him back. "Do not worry, okay? I can take care of myself. "
The embrace lengthened to the point that he began to think he would have to sneak away, but at last she let go and turned away. Sakura was behind the group. She had not said a word yet. Tohsaka put a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she looked at her.
"Come on, you can do it. You'll regret it if you do not say goodbye properly. "
Carrying those supportive words from someone she admired, Sakura approached. She
embraced him. He felt her tremble against his chest.
"…I will miss you."
"Me too." He replied. He didn’t not know what to say at times like this. He was not used to farewells. At least, not with people who were still alive.
They separated. Despite her pain-filled expression, Sakura's eyes were dry. That was fine. Had he seen her cry, his determination would have cracked. She had probably come prepared to hold back the tears, for his sake, because he was determined to do this.
"Emiya-kun." Tohsaka grabbed a sleeve and pulled. "We can talk? In private."
"You can’t say it here?"
"No. It’s important."
"Well ..." checked the clock. "I have ten minutes left, so it's fine."
They left the group and went to a remote corner, where they didn’t not know any of the people nearby.
"What is it, Tohsaka?"
"It seems to me that you are incapable of living in the moment. You're here, in front of me, but it's like you're not. You worry me. Why did you decide to go to Syria? "
"Because I can help them. People whose lives weigh them down. They do not live comfortable lives, like most of the world. "
"What about your burdens? Look ... I'm not telling you that your wish is a mistake. Just take a break. A sabbatical year, to get your thoughts in order. Do not get on that plane, please.”
Tohsaka was strangely quiet and insecure. For a moment, that made him doubt if he was doing the right thing.
"I've spent most of my life getting ready, thinking. I know what I should do.” one year would not change the weight of more than half of his life.
"It's because of Ilya." To hear that name was like getting shot in the chest. Tohsaka frowned. "That's it, right? You are fleeing from her death.”
He looked away, which was enough answer to her inquiry.
"I could not save her.”
"I loved her, too. You're not the only one who is mourning her. We can face her death together.”
“You do not get it. It was ... like how Kiritsugu died. "Tohsaka's expression softened. “Wasting away in a few months. Watch, it was all I could do both times. I did not even know there was a problem. And when I found out, it was too late to do something about it.”
Tohsaka was on the verge of tears.
“It’s not your fault. The death of Kiritsugu, nor the death of Ilya.”
"It was impossible to save Kiritsugu. I know that now. But Ilya died because of me, partly. If I had realized that something was wrong ... something could have been done.”
"She wasn’t built to last. She did not tell anyone, because it was inevitable. She wanted to enjoy the normal happiness that had been denied to her for most of her life. And I understand that desire. Shirou… she would not want you to carry the weight of her life with you.”
But that was what he had done since his second birth, ever since he became Emiya Shirou. Take the lives of those around him on his shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Tohsaka." he looked into her eyes. "But it's already decided.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
This time, she looked away.
They came back and spent some time together, until it was time to go. They announced it through the speakers.
"I have to go," he said, and got up.
His luggage was scarce, just a suitcase. What weighed most were the memories he had of them, his family and friends. He didn’t just carry the bad; he also took the good with him. That was what gave him strength.
Shirou was looking
He was looking through the window of the bus when the explosion happened. He felt it, first of all: the strong temblor. Then the detonation echoed in his ears. He grabbed his seat, his heartbeat speeding up.
The glass shattered. People screamed. The driver tried to control the vehicle, but he wasn’t able to. It slid through the street, then feel, throwing the passengers out of their seats.
He must have lost his consciousness for a few seconds, since there was a hole in his memory that he couldn’t explain. Suddenly, he was on the ground, bleeding from a cut on his forehead. The explosion had taken him by surprise and he wasn’t able to reinforce his body in time. It had been a grave mistake. He was lucky to be alive.
The suitcase had fallen near him. He opened it and took out the gun. He crawled across the floor, between the people, ready to fight against the ones who had done this. It was impossible to open the left door, it was blocked by the ground. He opened the right one with a kick, observed and aimed.
Armed people were congregating around them. One saw him and screamed something. He had studied the language, since it was necessary to know the basics. His was going to be a long term stay. The man had warned the others of him.
Too late.
He blew up the head of the one closest to him with a single shot. He wasn’t doing this to protect himself, but to protect the passengers. Because of that, his hands didn’t tremble at the thought of taking a life.
He reinforced his body, grabbed the door and tore it, to use it as a shield. They would assume that the explosion had disengaged it. Nobody could confirm otherwise, so it was safe to do that.
Bullets hit his makeshift shield and didn’t penetrate, but it wouldn’t hold up for much longer. He pushed his magical energy through the door. With the other hand, he aimed and shot. Each time he shot, one of them died. Like with archery, he didn’t miss a single shot. Maybe he had been born to be an archer, after all.
In no time, he killed them all. He didn’t have to reload even once.
Somebody grabbed him by his shoulders and dragged him out of the bus. He hadn’t seen him coming, so he must have gone around, taking him by surprise. He grabbed his arm and tried to take the gun from him. He hit him in the face with his elbow, and he almost didn’t realize he had been hit.
In the middle of the struggle, the gun went off. The bullet hit him in the shoulder and Shirou fell down, holding on to his gun. He let the gun drop from his hand and straddled the wound man. He was a few years younger than him, or so it seemed.
His eyes reflected a tragic story that had happened hundreds of times. He was
somebody who had been given everything: a way of life, his thoughts, even his reason to fight. No more than a tool intended to fight in battles as proxies of its master; in meaningless massacres… that was also how the child thought about himself.
“Calm down. I won’t hurt you.” He told him, in very poor Arabian. He was sure it was understandable, but still, the child was resisting. He kicked him and punched him and bit one of his hands. The ‘program’ was attempting to execute the functions implanted in it over the years, nonetheless.
Shirou put his hands over the child’s wound, to stop the bleeding. He smelled something burning. The bus, of course. He had forgotten all about it. He picked up the child carefully and put him on his shoulder. Since he was tossing and turning, it was more of an effort that it should have taking him away from the crash site and put him down.
He wanted to explain to him what he intended to do and realized his vocabulary wasn’t that extensive. In the end, he just did it.
“Come on.” He said, back inside. “Explode.”
He hoped they got the message. Many remained inside. Terrified people, that didn’t dare to get up for fear of being shot to death. Some of them were unconscious. The others headed out and he carried the unconscious ones, in pair. Nobody was left inside that death trap.
From the road, he saw the bus burning like a bonfire and then blow up.
Shirou approached the child, kneel and stayed near him till an ambulance arrived, along with medical personal from some NGO. They put him on a stretcher and inside the ambulance.
“Why?” the child asked. He looked so lost and confused. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
Shirou forced himself to smile.
“Because I’m here to help.”
He rented a room at a cheap motel, laid down and slept for a few hours. His rest was plagued by nightmares about the fire.
He was like a dog chasing his own tail. No matter how much time passed, he always ended up coming back to that time. The embers of the fire were kept inside his heart and, from time to time, his thoughts made them burn.
With the help of one of Kiritsugu old contacts, he had managed to smuggle a arsenal of weapons into the country. He was very good at projecting, in spite of his constant training, so he had to depend on reinforcement and more conventional weapons.
He spent the bulk of the afternoon preparing his room. He built several secret compartments, in which he stored the weapons.
Shirou got out of the room, wearing a leather coat and the essentials hidden inside. He was good, but he couldn’t change things without help.
He was going to look for it.
This zone of Syria had been abandoned by his government. The people had been forced to fight for their freedom. The problem was made worse by the fact that a minority joined the war machine of the terrorists, instead of trying to put a stop to it.
There was something else necessary to change the situation, which followed the first: confidence. He observed and listened. Following the flow of information as best as he could, it didn’t take him long to decide his next move. The terrorist had a base on the hill, from where they could overlook the town. As if they were kings.
By stopping their attack on the bus, the assassination of various members of a political party which was going against them, he had affected their plans. On this night, he was going to finish what he started.
He grabbed some of the explosive material stored in his room and headed for that hill. A lone man against a fortress. Because of the reinforcement magic, he was worth a hundred of them, but still, he had to be very careful. A single mistake could be fatal.
“I’m good at giving myself confidence.” He whispered to himself, trying to alleviate the tension by making a lame joke.
On the bus, he didn’t even have time to think. So it could be said that this assault was the first conflict he was involved him since the Holy Grail War. Although the danger of the war was incomparable to this, he could not help feeling a little nervous.
“I just have to keep it quiet.”
He climbed up a wall. There were few soldiers standing guard, most were asleep. He crawled in the shadows and planted explosive charges at key points. Once he was at a prudential distance from the base, he grabbed the detonator and activated the charges.
An explosion made the earth tremble and made a hole the size of a castle door in one of the walls. Six more explosions followed, almost simultaneously.
Shirou observed the chaos and the devastation, heard the screams. Saw a symbol of their control crumble down.
He drew his gun and headed back inside, to clean up the mess.
They ran for their lives. The rain of bullets, the scorching sun. He heard an explosion, turn around and what he saw wasn’t a corpse, but it was almost there. The man had stepped on a mine buried in the ground. The explosion had destroyed one of his legs and he was bleeding out on the ground, screaming in agony.
Shirou headed back and carried him on his shoulders. They hid in a trench. Since they were safe, he put the man down.
He was about to cut out a piece of the cloth of his coat to make a makeshift bandage, but Adnan stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Just leave him be. There’s nothing we can do for him.”
“No, he’s… still…” but the words died on his throat. One only had to look at him. He had clearly lost too much blood.
Together, they got inside the tunnel. The trench was one of the entrances to a red of tunnels used by the terrorist. That was going to be the reason of their defeat.
They headed inside the belly of the bed.
Emiya Shirou watched the remains of the massacre around him. The smell of death almost had a physical presence in this place. It wasn’t so strange, since they had turned the bastion into a mass grave. He looked at the people he had killed and at the ones he had been unable to save. He heard the wailings of those who were on the way to the darkness of death.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
In the silence, his exaltation sounded as loud as a gunshot. Somebody put a hand on his shoulder. There was no enemy left who had the strength to fight, so it didn’t startle him. He opened them again, to see who had approached him. Adnan.
“How do you feel, Shirou?”
It had been a arduous month and they had finally made it, but…
“Not like we’ve won.” he admitted.
“That’s good. When you kill, pleasure shouldn’t have anything to do with it. Come one, let’s go. We deserve a rest.”
Shirou walked with him and sat down on a bench. Adnan gave him a glass of water, he took it.
“Thanks.”
The rest were celebrating their victory over those that had controlled them and threated them like disposable servants. Shirou looked away from that grotesque spectacle and drank. It made him feel better. Fuyuki was a warm place, but he wasn’t accustomed to this level of heat. If you added the heat produced by the use of his circuits, it was almost unbearable.
“Why do you fight?” Shirou asked, driven by a strange melancholy.
“Because what they do is wrong. No matter how you dress it up, killing is wrong. Killing and calling it justice is, without a doubt, the worst possible crime. Even what we’re doing here is wrong, but that’s the only option of mere mortals like me.
“Yeah.”
Even heroes had limits.
“And you, Shirou? Why do you fight?”
“To help. That’s all there is to it.”
Shirou laid down on the bed and soon discovered that he couldn’t sleep, not tonight. He took out his phone and called home.
“How are you, Shirou?” Fuji-nee said. “Lately, you haven’t called much.”
“I… well, I…” he swallowed. He wasn’t even sure why he had made this call, so he couldn’t think of anything to say. “Good, yes. And you?”
“Wait a second. I’m going to pass the phone to Sakura-chan.”
He couldn’t fool Fuji-nee. That was to be expected.
“Sempai? What’s going on?”
He thought about making an excuse for his strange behavior and calling Tohsaka. But as far as he knew, she hadn’t taken a life yet. There was no way she could understand what he was going through, not really. He had to face the weight of what he was doing alone.
“Sempai, talk to me. Please.”
“I’m sorry, Sakura. Is just that… it’s hard work. I’m only capable of helping so many people.”
In this last month, he had seen many people die horribly. Too many. The silence
extended. He shouldn’t have talked about this with Sakura, even if what he had told her was only a half truth.
“If it is so painful, you don’t have to keep doing that… come back home.”
“I will. Once in a while. I’m sorry, but I cannot stop.”
“Sempai…”
“Let’s not talk about me. How’s it going?”
From there, they had a normal conversation. It didn’t take him long to realize that the closeness he had felt towards everybody wasn’t there anymore, as if abyss was separating them.
Time went by without a care in the world.
“They found her body last night. She washed up ashore. Without wounds, save from a bite mark on her neck, as if a vampire had bit her.”
The man spoke that name as if the sound of it would attract one of those creatures. He was sitting with a few people, in a desk at one corner of the bar. Maybe she had simply been attacked by an animal or a crazy person, but most likely he was right. He had to investigate it.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire, he thought. He had left that town and gone to someplace else that needed his help, and on his first day there, there was already a problem to fix. A problem that might be over his head. Still, he had to do it.
He stood up.
Shirou investigated the case and found out about the details. He went to the place where they had discovered the body. They had already taken it, so there wasn’t much to look at, but enough to make for a starting point.
First of all, it was strange for a Dead Apostle to throw his victim to river to get rid of the corpse. There were better methods, if he wanted to do that.
That woman had disappeared a few months ago. Maybe she had been captured by the vampire to feed on her blood during a long period of time. She had tried to escape, fell and died on the process, and then the current did the rest.
He followed the river upwards. It was worth investigating the area beyond that hill. He went up. When he reached the top, he stopped. Somebody was there.
That moment of doubt was a mistake. Like lighting, she turned around and put him down. He felt the cold steel of a sword against his neck. He saw the face of somebody on the top of him, a woman he had never seen before. Her eyes were fierce. The sword had a strange shape. It was built to be throw, not to be wielded.
“I almost killed you.” The woman stepped aside. “Sorry. I don’t what you’re looking for in this place, but I suggest you go. It will be the best thing for you.
In spite of the brutal efficiency that she had showed, now she looked laidback. She exuded a strange familiarity, as if they had gone to school together. That contrast disoriented him a little.
“I’ve come to… investigate if there’s a vampire and if it so, to kill it.”
“A vampire?” she frowned. “Near here, there’s a town which had been transformed into
a colony of vampires.”
So there would been docents there. He had been heading into a death trap without knowing.
“Okay. By the way you’re dressed… ¿are you one of the Church’s Executor’s?
“Close. I’m one of the members of the Burial Agency. I can take care of the situation, so you don’t have to involve yourself any further.”
“You alone against a colony… can’t I help?”
“Well, I’ve to admit I could use your help.” She took out something from inside her robes. At first it was nothing but the handle of a sword, but she made the blade come out. As soon as he saw its complete form, he formed and stored a blueprint of the weapon. “Take it.”
Shirou did it.
“Use it well. It’s an ideal weapon with which to fight against Dead Apostles, since they can’t heal wounds made with them.”
“I see.”
Because of the speed and the eyesight of vampires, firearms weren’t effective against them. They could easily dodge bullets. If reinforced a firearm, the bullets would reach a higher speed, but even a pistol was complex machine. It was too easy to screw something up in the process. Even if he managed it, it wouldn’t last long. It would be a waste of time and of magical energy.
But a sword was a sword. There wasn’t a limit to speed, it moved as fast as you could move your arm and reinforcing it was simple. Ironic, that as combat evolved in this side of the world, it came back to its roots, in more ways than one.
Shirou reinforced the sword, make it as hard as a diamond.
“Let’s go.” She said. “That rock formation would make a good place from which to overlook the town. Come on.”
Climbing, she went nearly at the same speed as walking on solid ground. Shirou followed her, using everything he could as foothold or handhold. He climbed up slowly and methodically. He didn’t know how anyone could do something like this for fun. He was nearly at the top when one of the rocks which jutted out detached and he fell.
The woman grabbed his hand.
“I got you.”
Shirou put his feet against the rock, grabbed the edge with his free hand and pulled himself up with her help. He was breathing hard, even though it had not been a great effort.
“You’re afraid of heights?”
“No.” He got up. “I just have a healthy respect for gravity.”
“From this distance, even if you hit the ground, you wouldn’t die.”
“Still…”
She keeled. Her eagle eyes scanned the town that extended below them and he did the same. There was a church in the center of the town, with vampires around the perimeter, guarding the place. They saw a group of vampires getting inside. Something was happening in there.
“Any idea of what is that about?”
“None. I got here not long before you. But whatever it is, this is the perfect moment to attack. They have cornered themselves. You’re ready?”
“Yeah. Ready.”
They slid down to the slope, with him right behind her. He didn’t lost his balance, but he almost did. They got closer to the town.
“What’re you thinking?” Shirou asked.
“Let’s take care of the guards, quietly. Can you do that?”
Subtlety was never his strong point, but…
“Of course.” His time on this country had been a master class about the importance of those kinds of tactics, and he learned fast.
“Then let’s go. There aren’t many and we can attack from any direction. This should be easy.”
Six vampires. Most of them were near the church, and two were in front of the entrance. They separated and went after the vampires. Using the buildings and the tall grass, he got closer to one of them without being spotted. He ran him through with the sword, one hand over his mouth, so he couldn’t scream.
He held him against his body until he died and the corpse turned to ashes. They were carried away by the wind. There hadn’t been anybody close enough to see him do it. With a bit of luck, they could end this before one of the others noticed his absence.
Shirou climbed up the wall, avoiding the windows. He was heading straight for the vampire which was looking up from the balcony. That woman gave him a signal. He stopped. She nodded, to tell him he had interpreted it well. It didn’t take long for him to notice that she wanted to synchronize their attacks. When she gave the signal, he jumped on the vampire of the balcony, stabbing in the head. He died without realizing it.
He looked down and saw that she had took care of the vampires guarding the front entrance. One of the corpses was on the ground, with a sword sticking out of an eye. She had more. It was to be expected, since a handle didn’t take much space. She might have docents of swords on her.
Those who remained weren’t aware of anything. Shirou went down and they attacked together, killing one each. She put away the swords. She held them between her fingers, which made them look like some kind of claws.
“That’s it. Let’s go.”
They approached one of the windows and discreetly took a look. He saw a vampire on the altar, in the spot were a priest would be, and he was speaking. He supposed that man was the leader of this group of monsters. There were dozens of vampires inside.
“Looks like a reunion of some kind.” Shirou said.
“Let’s enter.”
They went to the back and climbed up to a window. Shirou tried one of the windows, but of course, it was locked. He shattered it, striking it with his elbow and both got inside. The window led to an attic. She opened the trapdoor, unfolded the ladder and they climbed down.
“You know where to go?” he whispered.
“Absolutely not. But is not a problem.”
“They dare to defy us. They believe they can kill us. They, a bunch of worthless animals,
struggling to hold on to what little they have. Tonight, we shall crush them.
“…Just follow the sound of his voice.”
They did that.
Shirou slowly opened a door, so it didn’t make a noise, and looked. They had ended up in one of the room’s adjacent to the altar. He looked at her and asked her what they should do now, mouthing the question, just in case.
She ordered him to shoot, in the same way. Shirou kicked open the door, as they took out the rifle on his shoulder. He first shot the leader and he fell to the ground. Then he concentrated the shoots on the crowd of vampires. Even though he held the rifle with one hand, he didn’t miss a shot.
He killed six and wounded a couple, before they started to dodge the bullets with ease. He kept going until he emptied the clip, but he didn’t brother to reload. Without the element of surprise, the rifle would be useless.
He smelled something burning.
She had burned the windows and the fire was extending with a preternatural speed. She got out of the room with the flames right behind, roaring like a great beast. The leader got up, unaffected by the shoots.
“They send their dogs of war and I kill them like the animals they are, and now just two people?” he smiled grotesquely. “It’s a good way to get rid of you, that’s for sure.”
Shirou put away the rifle and grabbed his sword. The leader went after him. In the middle of his charge, his arm transformed. It became two times as big and hit him like a hammer. He struck the altar with enough force to tear it from the ground. Somehow, he didn’t drop the sword.
Then he went after her. She was already armed with ten of those swords, five in each hand. She threw one of them at it, but struck it down. They faced each other.
The roar of the flames was deafening; the heat that they emanated made him remember that day, which after ten years got so mixed with his nightmares that he couldn’t tell which parts were real. The roof trembled, cracked and a chub of it fell. That chub crushed a part of the group of vampires. The fire was destroying the building, blocking the exits.
Seeing that the agent had everything under control, he got up and went after the others. He surprised one who went to help his boss by jumping and kicking him in the head. He heard a crack when he fell to the ground. With the sword she had given him, he made a cut on the throat of a vampire which had approached from behind to grab him.
They were fast and superior in number, but compared to the speed of a Servant, it was like they were standing still. He had doubted if getting involved in this was a good idea, but that confirmed he could do it.
One charged and threw him to the ground, with him on the top. The sword fell from this hand and span through the floor. He drew his gun and shot him point-blank. One of the shoots made his head explode. Black blood fell on him.
Shirou went after the sword, but one stopped him, stepping on the hand which he held the gun with. He pounced.
He struggled, trying to avoid getting bitten. He heard cracking sounds and looked up. What remained of the roof was about to crumble down on them. Still, the vampire wasn’t moving.
Even thought he had reinforced his body, the debris would crush him like an insect. He had to get away.
He managed to get it off by kicking him the chest, rolled to one side and narrowly avoided getting crushed. Still, he ended up with debris on top on him, and wooden beam on his chest. He pushed. Even with the roar of the fire and the sounds of battle, he heard an animalistic roar. A surviving vampire, which was coming after him. In a second, he was nearly on the top of him.
Grabbing the beam with both hands, he swung him, while his magical energy reinforced it. That took him by surprise.
He crushed his chest with the beam, leaving him half dead.
The vampires were dead or on the way there. Since he taken care of his part, he looked at the altar. The leader had her against the wall, except the hand that held was a circular saw made of bone, over which black veins ran. The sharp blades cut the exposed skin in one of her shoulders. The blood of the woman, illuminated by the flames, sparkled.
He dropped and ran in his direction. Shirou prepared himself, but he wasn’t his target. He jumped and reached the second floor, through the hole. She came to him and helped him stand up. Blood ran down her wounded arm.
“Let’s keep going. If we don’t kill, everything we have done here will be meaningless. He could just start again.”
All the ways of getting to the second floor were blocked by the flames, save from the
hole in the floor. Up there, they saw no trace of the leader but an open door. He probably had gone through there. They continued.
The fire was stealing the oxygen from his lungs. He couldn’t breathe properly. He opened a door and a blaze nearly got him. Shirou realized he was trembling. His mind had left him and his senses felt numb, like he was dreaming. He was dying in the fire again, unable to find a way out.
She grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him way, bringing him out of that illusion.
“Get yourself together! We have to find another path.”
They did. The flames were devouring the building, making it fall down chuck by chuck, like a mud doll washed away by the tide. In the third floor, they cached a glimpse of him and followed him. He was going up the bell tower, in order to escape. They took a more direct route, a cracked wall and intercepted him
The leader and her clashed again. As they fought, Shirou ran and stabbed him in on his side. He couldn’t dodge the attack. He pushed him away, lifted her and threw her up the window. It was a long fall and the only thing that awaited her down there was hell. Without pause, he went after him, threw a punch.
Shirou blocked the hit and the sword shattered like it was made of glass. The force of the impact threw him to the ground.
Unarmed and alone. Looking at the creature which was going to be his death, his mind searched for a way out of this. He needed a weapon. He had progressed much with his projection, but had least he succeeded consistently, even if the copies were hollow. If he didn’t make himself a weapon, he was dead. Even a cheap fake would be enough. He wasn’t thinking of victory, just of stopping the fatal blow which was coming.
His mind burned because of the effort. But finally, Archer’s double steel swords appeared on his hands.
He attacked. The body of the enemy was fluid like water; his shape shifting was first, thanks to the years he had to develop his abilities.
Shirou cut one his arms off and stabbed him in the chest, but his enemy formed a hole on his body. The blade went through without doing anything. He grabbed his waist and twisted it, making him drop one sword.
He attacked with the other… but the vampire punched him, and it broke. It had been giving in because of his attacks and it wasn’t able to support one more. He punched him in the chest. Shirou slid through the platform, to the edge. He nearly fell down and into the fire. He had to get up and fight.
He got on his knees and supporting himself by grabbing the wall. His legs failed him. He went down again. That hit had messed him up, he couldn’t even breathe properly.
“Where do you think you’re going? After everything you have done, the men I’ve lost… you think I’m just going to let you walk away? This won’t end until you’re dead too.”
Suddenly, he turned around. A sword hit his chest and pinned him to a wall. She was on a window, agitated, but okay. She jumped down to the platform which surrounded the bell.
“That'd have been the wise thing to do.” she said, with coldness and confidence. “You would have escaped already, if you had lost time with him.”
He grabbed the sword and pulled, trying to get it out.
“This won’t hold me for long.”
“Long enough.”
She approached the immobilized vampire. He transformed one arm into some kind of hammer and swung, from one side to another. He evaded the hits. The platform trembled, divided and he had to grab the rail to keep his balance. The lack of sensation in his right arm caught him by surprise, but he was able to grab the rail with his other hand.
The next strike hit him and sent him flying against the bell. Both of them fell down. The bell ended up propped between the wooden staircase and a wall, which somehow supported its weight. Shirou managed to grab on to it and climb up. He heard cracking sounds. It wasn’t going to hold up for long.
He jumped towards a wall and grabbed it. The wood gave up and the bell fell the rest of the way down, into the fire. He climbed up wall and it didn’t take long to have the vampire in his sights. He drew his gun and aimed.
Shirou shot in five times, one of the shoots hit him in the head. Even so, he didn’t die and he was practically intact. The bullet wounds didn’t seem to faze him.
She stabbed him and that set him on fire. He screamed, trashed and fell from the platform. Before he even reached the ground, he was gone. Shirou jumped to what was left of the platform, which wasn’t much.
“Well done.” she said.
Shirou walked to the edge and looked down.
“Isn't there another option?”
“The fire is right below us, so we can’t go that. Is this way or nothing.”
The floor tilted. The church was collapsing.
“Come on! Jump!”
Shirou did it, before he could think about the many ways it could go wrong, before he could even think at all.
He prepared for the impact.
Shirou opened his eyes. His head hurt like it was being struck with a hammer and his vision was unfocused. He was drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. Somebody was dragging him. He realized that he was looking at the remains of the church. That woman released him. He sat up.
“Thanks.” He said. “For saving my life back there and for dragging me to safety.”
“You’re welcome.”
They observed the remains, which were burning like a bonfire.
“Well… we make a good team, don’t we?”
“Yes. I guess I have worked with more incompatible people.”
Since the battle had ended, she had changed one mask for the other. She was again that relaxed and sincere person. He wanted to see her real face. Maybe that fascination was because she reminded her of Tohsaka, in that respect.
“Well… that was harsher that I expected. You really know how to make a man feel inadequate.”
Shirou sat up and lifted his sleeve, to check his right arm. It wasn’t broken. He didn’t feel anything because of the projection, something about how he had done it this time, had caused him tissue necrosis. A green stain extended through his arm. It was hard to look at. In that state, he would probably lose his arm.
“Let me take a look at it.” She said and grabbed his arm.
“You know healing spells?”
“Some.”
After a bit, the damage in his arm disappeared. Rather that healing, it was more like the process through which the Dead Apostles healed their wounds, reversing the flow of time to return the body to its undamaged state. His arm was numb, but apart from that, there weren’t any problems. At least, not problems he could feel.
“Thanks again. I wouldn’t have much of a near future without one arm.”
“Of course.” she smiled.
“What’s your name?”
“Ciel.” she didn’t mention her last name. He overlooked stuff that others took for granted, but he wasn’t stupid. He would not ask her about that.
“My name’s Emiya Shirou. I’m glad I meet you.”
“Sure, but why?”
“Because I want to give you something. Don’t ask why, I won’t spoil the surprise.”
Ciel had left her car nearby. They went there and she started rummaging through the trunk. It was filled to the brink with weapons, normal ones and more abstract ones.
“You’re an amateur magus.” she said, after searching for a bit in silence. “These matters are over your head and I think you’re aware of that. Even so, you decided to investigate.
Get into trouble. Why?”
“There’s no complicated reason. Is just that I want to help.”
“I see. Now I understand you.”
“Yeah? The majority of people say the opposite.”
“No wonder. But I know another honest idiot like you, so I have a better perspective.”
“It is… and… here it is!” a set of mantle and a cloak. “Take it. Put it on.”
He grabbed it.
“What is it?”
“They’re first grade Conceptual Weapons, made from the burial cloth of a saint. It will protect you against any spiritual interference. Seeing the life you’re going to lead while following your principles, you better not lost it, you will need it.
“No doubt. Thanks.”
Ciel had to help him, but he put them on.
“I hope we see each other again. Make sure you don’t get killed.”
“I will try.”
Then he noticed his reflection on the glass. He saw a ghost standing in front of him. He had set this set before, in the Holy Grail War. The armor worn by the Servant Archer. Also, a strand of his hair had turned white. This armor and the white air…
“Emiya-kun?” Ciel’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.
“It’s nothing.”
Because of her expression, it was obvious she didn’t buy it.
“Okay. Goodbye, Emiya-kun.” Ciel said, and closed the trunk of the car. “Or do you want a ride?”
“If it isn’t a brother…”
“Not at all.”
They entered the vehicle.
Shirou decided to go back to Fuyuki. It was time to take a vacation of one or two weeks, to catch up with his friends and family and get his thoughts in order. He told Fuji-nee and she extended the next. They came to see him to the airport. It was like on the day he left, on the surface, but something had changed.
He felt a little uncomfortable with them, as if he was an outsider. That had happened in a couple of months. How would he felt when it was counted by years? Though, maybe the problem was only in his head. He didn’t see any trace of that discomfort in them. They could be hiding it well, of course.
He had taken Ciel’s gift with him, but he kept it on the suitcase, he wasn’t wearing it. They were suspicious clothes, but most of all, he did that because Tohsaka would have a heart attack if she saw him wearing that.
During the travel, he thought of telling Tohsaka about it. Now that she was in front of him, he realized it would be meaningless. He had already reached the correct conclusion. Heroic Spirits were not bound by the time axis. The Masters assumed that they would summon heroes from the past, but why would the Grail exclude the ones from the future? The answer was obvious. It didn’t. Archer was a version of him, a possible future.
He wanted to hear a different conclusion, that’s why he wanted to speak with Tohsaka about it, but he couldn’t hide from the truth.
At home, he left the suitcase on his room and walked through the building in a daze. He wondered how the house would look like after he died. He was always thinking about the future, but never far enough to wonder about his own death. Maybe because he had been born in death, he hid from it as much as he could.
With those thoughts churning in his head, his feet took him to the garden. The place
where Kiritsugu had died, the place where his life finally made sense.
“Shirou?”
He turned around. Fuji-nee was there, looking worriedly at him.
“What’re you thinking about?”
“Nothing. I just feel… homesick.”
Fuji-nee and touched the white strand in his hair.
“What’s this? If you keep it up, you’re going to look like a grandpa in no time…” then, in a subdued tone: “Is it hard?”
“Yes. I’m used to seeing people die, but it hurts to know I could have saved them.”
“You’re going to be okay. I know how strong you are.”
“I thought you would try to dissuade me, like Sakura.”
“I know you better that anybody else. Even if I got on my knees, you wouldn’t change your mind. Besides, older sisters must always support their little brother’s, you know?
“Of course.” he swallowed.
“Come here.”
They hugged.
Ten years later. Another day in a war without end. Here’s a red specter with empty eyes, standing in the ruins of a building. He raised his bow and prepared the arrow. Only the arrow was a sword and the blade had the shape of a spiral. His target was two hundred meters away from his position. His hawk like eyes could see every vehicle, every armed man, with clarity.
“Caladbolg.” he whispered to himself.
The arrow flew from his bow. Distorting the space around it, the projectile crossed the distance in two seconds. It was like a comet, since it left a stale in its wake. The soldiers didn’t even have time to realize what was happening. The sword hit the ground and the explosion swallowed a big part of that group of the American army.
He didn’t feel anything for killing so many people, nor when he heard the screams. It was something he was already accustomed to. To gain something, you had to lose something else. With the life he was taking, the peace he desired would be bought.
He readied the next arrow.
A conflict between America and Russia had lead into the Third World War, which lasted for nearly five years. Yesterday, it had come to a end, with a peace treaty and the execution of the president of the Unite States, the symbol of the reckless ambition that had cost the world so much.
That night, Shirou went to bed already thinking of leaving Russia and going to intervene in another conflict. His war didn’t have an end in sight.
He was woken up by a strong noise. They opened the door by force. Armed men entered the room and dragged him out of bed. They were Russians.
“What are you accusing me of?
One of them got in front of him.
“Shirou Emiya…, you’re under arrest for terrorism.
“...What?”
Somebody handcuffed him. He grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him out of the room. Shirou let him.
They put in in a cell, without any further explanation. He could escape this prison with ease, but not yet. Not until he found out the details. If his suspicious was true, it wouldn’t take him long.
In the evening, something he was only aware of because of the window of his cell, somebody came to visit him. He grabbed the bars and looked at him. Unlike the men who had dragged him here, this one was a mage. He could felt it.
“I’ve heard stories about the red specter which haunts the battlefields. Shirou Emiya… you’re a interesting man.”
“Get straight to the point.”
“Sure, sure. I’m the man behind your imprisonment. Right now, the world believes that you’re one of the agents responsible for the chemical attack that caused the Third World War. The leader of that scum.”
That made him tense up. Nearly five years ago, Russia had suffered a chemical attack. At first it was thought that Islamic terrorists were responsible, but then it came to light that it was ordered by the President of the United States.
“That’s quite the complicated way of getting rid of me.”
“It’s not just about that. Complicated situations need complicated solutions. The war has finished, but is just on the surface. The anger of the people hasn’t died down. Because of that, I will give them what they want.”
“A monster.”
“That’s right. People like monsters, deep down. They make them feel they’re better that how they really are. You fight for others, not just for yourself, right? That’s what my informants tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Then accept the destiny we’ve prepared for you. With your death, we will obtain the pace you desire. Everybody wins.”
Leaving those words behind, he went away.
That night, he dreamed about Saber. Recollections of the dreams he had during the Holy Grail War. King Arthur was a splendid knight. Twelve great battles and twelve great victories. For the British, his existence must have been a sight that they were favored by the gods. But what about the other side of the coin?
For one to obtain an absolute victory, the other had to be completely crushed. The King of Knights was a nightmare wrapped in steel to her enemies.
To begin with, King Arthur was no human. She left her heart behind when she pulled the sword from the stone. Her justice took the shape of the duty of the king. Everything that did not cover, she threw away without hesitation. Did that meant she was a monster or that she was a hero? Year before, he wouldn’t have doubted. But now he believed that he didn’t have the necessary experience to give adequate answer.
That enigma also applied to him, and in his case, he was even further from the answer.
When he awoke in the middle of the night, there was another person in his cell. The red knight. Shirou sat up. It was like a mirror, sans the glass. He knew it was an image fabricated by his mind, but it didn’t disappear.
“Go away.”
“What do you want?” his other self-asked him. “Killing for justice… that path will lead you to a death end. It already did.”
“The alternative is letting the world be to dealt with its own problems. I couldn't stand that.”
“And what did you gain through your struggles? You saw the truth in Kiritsugu’s eyes, on that day, you simply refused to accept it. Look around you. This is what the world has in store for people like you.”
Shirou looked down. He tried to find an answer, but he couldn’t do it. When he looked at him again, the red knight was already gone.
Next morning, they took him out of his cell. That man came with the guards which would escort him. They dragged him to the square, full of people anxious to see his execution. They had everything set up. Human lives, in many cases, were as cheap as those of animals. They screamed and spit at him. They threw things at him.
“I gave you peace!” Shirou screamed, in Russian. But his voice got lost among the noise made by the crowd. They looked more like a pack of dogs that like human beings, because of the ferocity of their screams, the gleam in their eyes.
Because of them, he understood his situation completely. There was no escape, even if he managed to escape from the square with his life. He was the last enemy that had to be destroyed before the war could end. The Russian who had visited him tied the nose around his neck. His smile was nauseating.
Shirou looked at the people that had come to see him die.
After everything he had done, what he sacrificed for his ideals, he was going to die in this place, away from home. Like a dog. He would like to say he didn’t give a damn, but at some point, doubts had started accumulating in his mind.
Because of the Contract he had with World, when he died, he could keep on fighting. But he traveled through this path for most of his life and he had gone nowhere. And now, this. He needed to believe that becoming a Guardian would change things, in order to kept his sanity, but his faith in that hope was weak.
The trapdoor opened and his legs dangled. That made the crowd roar, pleased. The nose bit his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He had reinforced his body, since he had decided to die without causing complications.
He didn’t have much time left.
The darkness prevailed.
FIN
Last edited by Milbunk; April 9th, 2017 at 02:59 AM.
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