Aiden's Random Drabble Thread

[ItsaRandomUsername]

This thread needs more Einzbern, period. :V

[Nacho the Doritosedge]

All threads needs more Einzbern, period. :V

Fixed for glorious truth.

[Aiden]

This thread needs more Einzbern, period. :V

Verily.

Also what Names said.

[Fafnir]

1) Acquire Renpy.
2) Kidnap an artist.
3) ???
4) Profit!

[Aiden]

Worldbreaker

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

The air in the summoning chamber burned with ether and bleached the walls pale in comparison.

Only objects, inanimate or otherwise, could survive contact with that air. Anything else would be seared away in the roiling inferno of energy. Runes of protection worked overtime on all sides of the triple-layered containment walls in preventing a leak.

At the center of it all stood a behemoth; a frame of unreasonable and unrealistic size for anything standing on two legs. The flesh-that-was-metal of the titan seethed so much power from its skeleton of mythic black iron that the air distorted in the haze, making it seem like brass was rippling muscle and skin for real, rather than in symbolism.

On the walkway elevated before its eyes, six figures in white stood in a circle, in silent vigil over their seventh.

The six were identical in their plain white, tight fitting ritual garb: the hints of white hair at the edge of their hoods, their red eyes gleaming in harmony with the atmosphere of the chamber, their hands held in mudras of supplication and placation to focus what little of the vast power they could manage.

The seventh was different: it knelt in a fine and impractical dress, gritting its teeth through the agony of the ritual. White hair flowed free, blending with the purity of the dress' fabric.

Not a single mote of dust; not a single item or fixture out of place within the chamber, within the complex that contained the chamber, and so on unto as close an approximation of geomantic perfection as could be maintained in a radius of a squared kilometer for any reasonable length of time.

Through its pain, the small homunculus continued the invocation in German.

"Yet, thou serves
with thine eyes clouded in
chaos."

The ether stained red; lightly, at first, before the dull feminine droning of the six rose in volume.

"Be still, small god. Be still, small god. Be still, small god of lost Olympus. Be still, small god..."

The metal of the chamber began to vibrate in time with every pulse of rage that flooded from the runes of binding within the titanic frame.

Every pulse sent agony through its body, the circuits that were as integral to it as arteries to humans, as energy was cycled out and in and through and out again, filling the vessel of the monster to come.

She'd had the aid of the capacitors for the first half of the process, but those had emptied all too quickly. The other homunculi

"Thou, bound in the cage
of madness. I am she who
commands those chains."

Yes, she. Not 'the one'.

A slight alteration to the aria of the Berserker.

The tiniest act of rebellion, for the girl was no puppet.

She suffered for this. She hated and raged in time with the pulsating core of the beast.

She could hear the wondrous quickening of its core as the blood haze fell like a curtain over its optics.

It began to move, and the walkways began to fall in time.

"[-------------------------------]!!!!!!!"

A simple upward motion of its shoulders shattered its restraints. The walkways to its sides sheared away from their support like tissue paper.

From behind their scanners and cameras they felt it, saw it. How the howl warped the frame's interior to produce itself. How the divinity of the beast infused by into metal by Number Five transubstantiated the result of their labors, of the futile efforts of mere mortal hands to even approximate a thousandth of its glory, into a more worthy vessel for its hate.

A covering of enchanted brass became a flexible grey material as alien to mortal comprehension as the mind of a god.

The rear walkway crumbled as one of its elbows came into contact for a mere instant with the lesser metal.

A terrible glow as the right optic bled crimson with its rage, that palpable force that promised to end them.

End everything.

Every molecule of life and matter and-

--------------------------------------------------

A pair of equally red eyes looked up at it... at him.

He knew only that it lived, and was not itself. The tiny thing, and the slightly less tiny things around it, needed to be stains of blood between his fingers. Beneath his tread. So its hand came from the side, prepared to swat them aside.

The little one smiled up at him behind her tears of anguish, and held her arms up towards his hand.

"... you're strong, Berserker."

He could hear the part that went unsaid, and so his motions froze.

The madness lifted the merest sliver, and he could hear it.

How their hearts beat in harmony.

'You're mine, Berserker.'

The part that only they could understand.

------------------------------------------------------------

The patriarch of Einzbern watched through the monitor as visual confirmation was finally achieved. Of how close it all had come to nothing. Now, though, the beast was... allowing Number Five to touch it without harm.

How quaint.

Well, at least the miscalculation came with a benefit; Berserkers were the least loyal and controllable of what they could summon, so it meant their preparations had worked as intended.

------------------------------------------------------------

She felt the very center of her Berserker's longest finger with the palm of her hand.

The strength that rent the world with every motion sent not even the slightest vibration of pain through her. Her bones did not become dust beneath the cosmic wrath of the demigod she'd bound.

'Because he's my Servant, and no one else's.'

The dull burning from the ritual didn't matter at that realization; her rebellion worked. Now, someone was there for her.

And if everyone else denied her the chance to be like that with them?

Well, she could just break them.

Like Berserker broke the six at her side, their heads blasted away by his downward motion before it reached her much smaller body.

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

Moar Einzbern.

[Santo]

*eye-twitch* This sir, be godly. Godly indeed.

...How much of my soul would you like in order to continue with this? More Aiden WE NEEDS MOAR!!! ^(*д*)^ m(_ _)m ^(*д*)^ m(_ _)m

[Fafnir]

I am pleased.

The spare homunculi, might I note, are not.

[Aiden]

I am pleased.

The spare homunculi, might I note, are not.

They're not really anything right now. Well, maybe 'pasty'. Pasty works.

Good thing Sella and Leysritt weren't with them.

@Santo: I don't have much use for souls except as an IOU, I admit.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Evangelions don't got shit on Mecha Herczerker.

This. Yes. Dat atmosphere, man. It worked like a charm for me.

[Aiden]

Evangelions don't got shit on Mecha Herczerker.

This. Yes. Dat atmosphere, man. It worked like a charm for me.

Indeed they don't. I called the snippet 'Worldbreaker' for a reason.

And oh, anything more specific~?

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Those throwaway homunculi never stood a chance. Well, Herc needs to get his bodycount one way or another, with or without a snowy forest filled with wolves and other enemies.

[Aiden]

Those throwaway homunculi never stood a chance. Well, Herc needs to get his bodycount one way or another, with or without a snowy forest filled with wolves and other enemies.

Oh no, the bodycount accumulation comes later.

[Lycodrake]

You know, I might just have to write Mecha-Saber and Shirou stuff to encourage you to do so yourself.
Granted, the design I would have in mind would be different than yours...and more off of the Red Dragon Thunderzord. With Excalibur or Caliburn instead of a staff.

[Moczo]

Moar Einzbern.

ALWAYS.

Allow me to be the first to nominate this thread be renamed 'The Mecha Hercules' thread and all the drabbles from now on should be about Ilya and Mechanicules.

[Aiden]

ALWAYS.

Allow me to be the first to nominate this thread be renamed 'The Mecha Hercules' thread and all the drabbles from now on should be about Ilya and Mechanicules.

Well, I guess you'll enjoy the Russia/China border scene.

You know, what with China being an empire of necromancy-abusing Dead Apostles.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Moczo knows best.

But seriously. Aiden does what he does.

[RadiantBeam]

More Einzbern is always good.

[Aiden]

Routines

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

"Trace, on."

The hammer of a gun was cocked back in his head, and his circuits opened wide in a pervasive burning sensation. Like the fire so long ago ...

It was something his father taught him to do, and so he practiced it every day in the old fashioned home the man left behind. In his workshop he could find the peace he needed to do this work.

"Analyzing component materials."

His hushed voice still carried throughout that modest work space. A fourteen year old Emiya Shirou didn't need much; some tools to work with, older machines to analyze. Structural analysis was, he'd been reassured by the few tutors who'd taken a brief interest in him, an increasingly vital skill in some areas of modern society. Certainly, the growing integration of technological aids into magecraft meant that the old stigmas meant little.

And yet, according to his father, it was completely worthless for what he actually meant to use his talents for.

He had so many contradictions in his head about that one. To carry that man's dream, he'd promised, and that was what lead to him being taught properly by the man. It gave him just the slightest taste of the edge that children who came from proper magus families recieved over those whose circuits had developed without such things as lineage.

Find your own path, he'd been told time and again, from Fuji-nee and Raiga-san. From so many teachers, therapists and people he would otherwise call his friends.

Shirou knew, without a doubt in his mind, that there was something wrong with him. He knew that the moment he'd ended up in detention from hitting that bully; he was not the target, himself, but he'd done it anyway. The reasons he gave scared them.

That was when they started watching him so closely, started worrying about his mind. It was when he realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that he didn't care really care what they thought about his dream. Didn't want to care about what they thought about it.

And he'd had it made abundantly clear to him how unhealthy this was.

Yet, nobody could bring themselves to discourage his training. It was, after all, a right assured to everyone in Fuyuki who had magic circuits and no outstanding criminal record. They legally could not do anything to stop him from preparing for this.

...

But as much as he wanted to not care about those things? Their words still meant something.

It was why he'd used that stipend to buy the textbooks when he was eleven.

It was why he kept trying at a form of magic even the tech enthusiasts, who would eagerly gobble up anyone into their programs who could manage adequate structural analysis, disavowed as beyond worthless.

Projection.

Follow his own path.

Beginning projection.

Determining creation ideology.

Envisioning base core.

Even with his training, and his abnormally high number of circuits, he was mediocre at best outside of Analysis and Reinforcement. Engineering, definitely. The military, perhaps.

That wasn't what he wanted to do.

For his ideal, he could only throw their words back in their faces.

Hypothesis complete.

The image of the handgun had been fulled traced in his mind, down to the last mechanism. It was priceless in its own way, both as his father's old Mystic Code, and in a monetary sense; old guns like that weren't made anymore.

He wasn't allowed to project it for real; they'd arrest him on the spot for possession of illegal firearms if they found out somehow. He'd only gotten a chance to analyze it in the first place back when his father was still alive.

But if he could... yes, if he could, it would last longer than anyone else's efforts. Be more complete. He didn't know if it was due to him just being stubborn where others passed up the ability as worthless, or if a mediocre magus like him just had the luck to possess one ability worth honing.

Voiding construction.

The image disappeared, and he allowed his circuits to close once more.

Yes, he would be a superhero, and see what his father spoke of all those years ago.

"When the War was over, when the damage was repaired, so many were smiling. That's how I knew."

But Kiritsugu....

Kiritsugu never smiled much himself.

He hoped, even if he didn't know where man was ... if he was truly dead as everyone insisted, that seeing his son do one better than him would change that someday.

...

Or maybe Shirou was just stubborn?

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

Nobody said the formative stages of a Reality Marble were healthy for the human mind.

The consciousness of elementals and demons is not a thing meant for man.

[Nacho the Doritosedge]

Well, this was an interesting peek into Shirou's mind. It showed us about his wonkiness, and stuff.

But Kiritsugu might not be dead? I SENSE A DARTH VADER APPROACHING.

"Kotomine Kirei never told you what happened to your father."

"He told me enough, Magus Killer! He told me you killed him, as a sacrifice to save the many, you had to kill him, one of the few!"

"No, Shirou. I am your father."

"NOOOO... wait no, that's actually pretty cool. How have you been, dad?"

"Meh, pretty good."

"That's good to know. I never really believed them anyway, when they said you were dead."

"That's cool. Say, Shirou... got a lady friend for your old man to meet?"

[Santo]

The Thompson Contender.

The Thompson Fucking Contender...

YES! This, is Fukken awesome!

And I very much like the way that everyone tries to call what he can do worthless...I am just waiting for the time he gets to do something amazing, turn around, smile and say "Well...it might be useless, but its something only I can do." Before going right back to asskickin!

Also...I am now wondering what happened to Kiritsugu...hope to see more of this.