2013 Fanfic Contest Entries, The Dramaing

[Milbunk]

Same as Action, I'll put a Table of Contents here:

Counter Intelligence Agency

Meaning

Routine

Singing in the Aftermath

Venom

[Milbunk]

Title: Counter Intelligence Agency
Author: Anon

Pain.
Pain everywhere.
Pain was everywhere, as his body and mind can no longer feel it.
Instead, the only thing in him that hurts is his heart.
Charred bodies all around him, throwing curses of the vilest kind at the single boy, who somehow managed to survive when they didn’t. Each scream, moan, yell, sound imparts its deadly weight on him, tainting him above the black curse of the dark sun above.
So sleepy... I want to lie down for a while...
At last, his body couldn’t take it anymore. He fell onto the ground beneath him, full of soot and ruins.


He awoke with a start. And he instantly knew what he needed to do. What he required to do.
Alaya called.
The destroyer protector of mankind is caling him, ordering him to go and kill save a certain number of people in a certain area.
So be it. It’s not like he can refuse or anything.
He closed his eyes momentarily to adjust with the usual abrupt scene change, which is the last voluntary action he was allowed to take.
Just as usual.
He knows that when his feet felt solid ground (or sea, sometimes) he will become a mindless killing machine, obedient to Alaya only. It was his price to pay to withhold his ideal even for a short moment after death. A mistake.
A broken shell of what a man he used to be. A shadow of what his soul usually burns.
No more.
All he needed to do was wait, and then Rin would definitely summon him into his War. Then and there he would end his cursed existence. By killing the existence called ‘Emiya Shirou’. As a Counter Guradian, waiting is of no problem. He has all the time in the world. Or, more likely, the forward-moving concept of ‘time’ doesn’t apply to him.
But first, he got a job to do.
Contrary to popular belief, his actions during each ‘assignments’ is not completely involuntary. He can still use his senses to record everything around him, in which the ‘data’ is transmitted and collected in the Throne of Heroes. It’s just his body that moved according to the will of Alaya. He is a puppet, in a sense. A concious one, mind you, but a puppet.
The first thing he noticed is the fire.
The fire that, coincidentally (or deliberately), is his very first memory in the living world.
The black sun looms across the fumes.
The sound of sonic booms as two Heroic Spirits battle.
The golden light that vanquishes all.
The crawling remains of a golden Servant.
The boy.
Shirou. Not an Emiya yet.
It seems like Alaya is kinder than the heartless impartial bitch he believed she was.
His goal, no, his objective, after a seemingly limitless time of planning and scheming, is here on a silver platter. Just a boy, hair’s breadth from death. How easily he could kill him right now. No need to wait until the War, where he at least had the martial ability to block Cú Chulainn’s spear once. He only need to step on the boy, and with the strength Alaya granted, crush him as easily as dried leaves in autumn.
His body won’t move.
Fuck you, Alaya.


It was a simple idea. Between Gaia and Alaya.
The True Ancestors have failed, generating the Dead Apostle Ancestors in their wake.
It was wrong to put the planet’s and humanity’s faith in an alien, after all. The Ultimate One of The Moon’s idea is too radical, too different, too ineffective to defend Earth.
So, here’s the idea.
Why cure, instead of prevent?
This is the mindset that Gaia and Alaya believed since their creation. They would let things flourish on its own, for they believed that randomness and variety are beauty. It seems they are not quite right.
Humans.
They are the odd number in the sequence. The monkey wrench in the system. The spanner in the work. They can only destroy, over and over again. They can only be destroyed, over and over again.
Is that the only way? To simply erase faulty things that cause trouble? Then the simplest solution would be the extermination of the entire human race, as the urge to damage and conquer the environment seems to be rooted firmly within them. If Gaia and Alaya spared even one of them, that single person would inevitably do it again. It is in their programming right from the start.
But Alaya refused, as she is the manifestation of the will to protect humanity. If there is no longer any human left, Alaya would simply cease to exist. Thus she starts to prevent.
An actual representative of hers, across time and space, to guide and teach humanity on how to prevent their ultimate destruction. A Counter Agent. He/she should be purely human, neither the recycled souls of Counter Guardians and Heroic Spirits nor the inhumane and monstrous Beasts of Gaia. Someone with the perfect balance of mind, body and soul. All three made from steel to be able to withstand her powers.
It is not without fault, admittedly. As a human being, he/she would be subject to worldly weight, such as mortality, sickness, or outer influence. A Counter Agent would be much more fragile than his/her predecessors, even if she pours all available power into him/her. And by ‘available’, she means ‘as much as possible without blowing your insides up’.
But the advantage is great. As a fellow human, an Agent would blend more seamlessly into human society, his/her intentions much more acceptable and agreeable. He/she would be able to implant ‘ideas’ into other humans, spreading them as far and wide as possible. It would make itself eternally remembered and practiced by society.
Well, there’s no harm in trying, right? If it failed, she could simply pull him/her back and destroy him/her.


The information flowed instantly into his mind. Usually, he is ‘briefed’ before his deployment, which is more like data downloading, but real-time sudden updates do happen, rare as it is.
A Counter Agent. And Alaya planned to use this boy in front of him.
The boy is already dead.
He didn’t know the reason why Kiritsugu didn’t reach him in time. Or did he? Did Shirou died, and was revived by Avalon? Or his presence drove all thinking being away? Either way, if Shirou is dead, that means he would follow soon after.
Another information update.
Oh, shit.
His body automatically moved according to the order from above.
Main objective: Revival à Contracting
Secondary objective: Destroy
To revive the boy, Alaya couldn’t just magically patch him up as she did to all the Counter Guardians that somehow sustained minor injuries towards their spiritual bodies, because they are just spirits. Counter Guardian prospects usually contacted her in the brink of death, and all she did was empowered them to the extent that they ignored their injuries. After the euphoria ended, they die, and Alaya took their souls.
No, to make this boy, Shirou, into an Agent, he needed a very strong physical base.
The soon-to-be source is standing nearby.
A Servant, given solid body. A descendant and part of the Gods himself. The King of Heroes.
No match for him, though. As powerful as he is, he is only powered by a single, albeit powerful, magical artifact. He is powered by the represantation of humanity itself. Additionally, it seems that the source is weakened, somwhow, probably from side effects of his new body.
Not that he cared.
The golden person (not Servant anymore) barely registered his presence. He had enough time to widen his eyes and open his mouth, but that’s it.
Strands of Etherlite already connected him to the boy.
Ah, yes, Etherlite. He encountered it at some point in his life when he was hunting a Dead Apostle Ancestor. His (coincidental) partner was a magus from Atlas, and from the Eltnam family. He couln’t pull out the strings’ full potential, as that required him to have Memory Partition (which would blow his brains out, Reinforcement or not), but what he can do is much more practical.
His ability to replicate Etherlite to some extent came with a single demonstration of his previous partner. She is able to cut through trees and small concrete structures with a single flick of her wrist. Voila, a blade.
Well, what he’s doing now is even beyond his limited understanding of Magecraft. He is transferring the goldie’s life force into the boy, the Etherlite forming the bridge. He doesn’t even know this particular function existed, but Alaya is cunning when she needs to be. That is, all the time.
The boy’s body pulsed, then started spasming.
He actually felt pity at that. His earliest memories should be the comfoting warmth of Avalon and the awe-inspiring smile of Kiritsugu. Instead, he is subjected to this torment. His blood, nerves, organs, muscles; all are being transformed and replaced to some degree, with a being that technically had A+ Divinity.
The nearest analogy would be like having an organ transplant without sedatives, then having your body transformed into a vampire in one night. As a certain (crappy) novel series’ surprisingly accurate description narrated, it would feel like you swallowed a sun, then your sense of time will be distorted. What is actually minutes will feel like days. Not that he actually read the book. His female friends talked about it in a moment of time, a new ‘hype’ or something.
Fourth book, third part. Full of angst. He didn’t read it.
Anyway! The process is almost complete; the ex-Servant has become a shrinking blob of golden mass and the boy’s spasms has mostly stopped. He should get started on the second part.
Shirou’s body is fine. Physically, he’s a perfect poster boy for humans. He might get on his own feet and walk away unchalantly from the disaster around him, seeking shelter in hospitals or orphanages. But he’s not an Agent yet.
To be an Agent is to be Alaya active representative on Earth. The bar is set high. He must be able to overcome all sorts of hurdles thrown at him by the cruel hands of Fate (or the mischievous hands of Zeltrech) and become a worthy role model of humanity. Therefore, physical perfection is not enough.
Time to work on his mind and soul, as they are the sources of Magic.
This is the part I don’t like. Sure, I want to be free of you, Alaya. But can you be more subtle in clearing my desk?
His body is already deterioriating. Particles of pure magical energy flowed to the boy and settled in his Magic Circuits, enhancing them to the highest level possible without harming him. They also flowed to his Od, increasing his capacity seemingly without limit. The Body of Swords is empowering his body, replacing it with flesh-like steel that acts perfectly as the original. And, finally, Unlimited Blade Works is etched onto his soul, creating the strongest weapon yet.
Yes, for Shirou to be an Agent, EMIYA is a necessary ingredient.
I hope you don’t waste my and Goldie’s power, boy. Live well. You can do what I cannot.
Be a Hero of Justice!
Those are his final words, and the end of his existence.


It’s so bright...
Shirou woke up with a gasp. He instantly ran his hand all over his torso.
I-I’m fine...? But how...? That wasn’t a normal fire... I’m pretty sure I was crippled, at least!?
He then took notice of his surroundings. Everywhere he looked, he only saw white. He wasn’t even sure he was lying down or floating up in the air. Then the colours... solidified.
In front of him is a large throne. About twice the normal size required for a grown men, its upholstery is red and black. It looks to be made of solid wood, but it felt unreal. Like he was staring at a very convincing, solid illusion.
No, it is no illusion. It is him that is like an illusion to this place. Like how a being from a lesser dimension gazes upon a being from a higher dimension, or, more appropriately, a god.
Then... am I dead? Is this heaven? Is the throne in front of me... His?
[You are not dead.]
Shirou jumped, as impossible as it was, with his body still half-sitting, half-kneeling on the floor.
“Wh-Who’s ther- AAAAAAARRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”
‘I wanted to be a superhero when I was a child.’
‘--- I’ll make it come true.’
‘I ask of you, are you my master?’
‘Rejoice, Shirou Emiya. Your wish will finaly come true.’
‘If you cannot defeat your enemy with the weapon you do have, then imagine one with which you could.’
‘Trace, on.’
‘I am the bone of my sword...’
Memories that are not his flowed into his mind. They are not yet his. They will be his. He will never have them. Memories of the being called EMIYA.
He felt like his head is being cut in half, slowly, with a dull guillotine.
Black.

“Ugh... What happened?”
Lightly massaging his head, Shirou lifted his body off the ground.
“I fainted?”
[Yes.]
He jumped again, much less noticeable this time, even though the owner of the voice seems to have a surprising hobby of surprising people.
He turned his head around the room, and he finally took in his surroundings.
Where he is could be called a library. Endless shelves full of tomes, some so ancient and weathered that he almost can smell them, some looked so futuristic he’s not sure it’s even called a book, let alone how to read them. In front of him is still the huge throne he remembered before he fainted.
The female... thing that just spoke is nowhere to be seen. Calling her a ‘thing’ may be rude, but until he sees anything remotely humanoid, he’s not going to jump to conclusions.
Such is the strangeness that keeps hapening around him.
“Where are you?”
[It does not matter.]
Ah, Shirou realised, she’s speaking inside my head! Telepathy?
“Where am I?”
[Your home.]
“It doesn’t look too familiar to me...”
[Not yet.]
“Who are you?”
[...]
[Humans named me Alaya.]
“What are you?”
[I am the personification of the humanity’s will to survive.]
She’s speaking in big words... I don’t really understa- No, I do! I know. How? Did she did something to me? Oh, she’s not replying. So it’s not telepathy, but like a remote speaker?
“What happened?”
[I saved you.]
“... Th-Thank you? Where am I, exactly?”
[The Throne of Counter Guardian EMIYA. He is your future self.]
“WHAT?!! ... Ghk... This... Wha... HOW?”
[I am going to explain it to you in detail. Would you mind getting comfortable?]
“Sure... Can I sit there?” Shirou pointed at the throne.
[It is, technically, yours.]
He then plopped into the huge throne, after some struggling in actually climbing the thing. It feels weird, having a conversation with a female, but emotionless voice, and not facing his opposition. It’s like talking to a ghost-robot.
[I plan to make you a Counter Agent. You will be sent back to Earth as my representative and teach humanity to not destroy themselves and the planet with them.]
“’Sent back’?! This isn’t Earth?”
[You currently exist outside the normal time and space. Their powers do no apply here.]
“Why are you doing this without my permission?! And, by the way, WHY ME??!! I don’t think I’m suited for a thing this big!”
[The answer to your first question is: You will give me your permission. That is the kind of person you are, so I... cut to the chase, so to speak. The answer to your second question is: Because of your first question.]
“I think you’re making a big misunderstanding here...! Look, I don- GUH!!!”
‘I’ll be a Hero of Justice! I can save everyone, because that’s what heroes do. I’ll save everyone, no matter what it takes, because that is my ideal!’
That’s not my memory! Shirou mentally protested, that belongs to my future self! But not the ‘current’ me... I definitely don’t think that way! I-I-
No. It is me. As it had been, and always will be, isn’t it?
The moment Shirou viewed those memories, he had become him. It’s not like recieving somebody’s inheritance, in which case you can do whatever you want with it. It’s more like having an organ transplant. It can be said that the organ was the donor’s, is the donor’s and the recipient’s altogether. This is his current condition.
He has become something he doesn’t know. What he was, he no longer know.
It is the most horrifying form of child abduction.
He ran.
Not looking back, he just shot forward as fast as his short legs can carry him. Fear produces adrenaline produces energy produces velocity. He just wanted to get out of there. Go back. Go home to his parents...
I can’t remember them... I can’t remember everything!
Every exhale of his breath felt like exhaling sand. Every intake of air he got didn’t feel like there’s any air there. He can’t feel his feet anymore. How long has he been running, how long has he been doing this, it doesn’t matter anymore.
He will never get out of here.
The shelves of books are literally infinite. Time and space don’t have any power here. No matter what he did, she got him. She owned him. He is hers. He can do nothing, at least, not yet.
He gave up. It is futile. There’s no point in denying this anymore. He is what he is, and no longer what he was. What he was no longer mattered (to her), because the past Shirou is gone. He is now Shirou EMIYA.
Saving everyone, huh... Doesn’t sound so bad, being a superhero...
“Pardon my rudeness just now,” he said between breaths, “please continue.”
[My previous actions has been incorrect. For humanity to survive, it is necessary that anything threatening it be destroyed. Sadly, most things that harms humanity are humans themselves, or caused by them. So I was created by the will of the entire human race across time and space. I am a collective of unconciousness, and as such, cannot take any direct actions in doing my duty.
[So I searched for men and women with strong senses of justice, people who are willing to save humanity, serving me, even after death. Unfortunately, all of them who wielded my power did so near their death, as an escape, or a last blow against a mortal enemy.
[I gave them power, but healing is not included. So after their time passed, their souls are stored here, waiting for the next moment where the mortals screwed up their lives and those around them.]
Cleaner, the voice, EMIYA’s, now that he recognised it, answered snarkily in his mind.
[But the humans never learn. They simply took the warnings I gave them as freak accidents of nature. Given that everything here is made up of a whole lot of variety of unconciousness, they never remembered and realise what hit those guilty among them, either.
[It is time for a change. They cannot listen to the messages sent by higher beings, as they are too far removed from their former standings, but they will listen to a fellow human. That is the main concept of Counter Agents.]
“So you want me as some sort of prophet?”
[Not quite. A prophet’s job is to make prophecies of great things to come, whether it is glory of disaster. No, you will be a teacher. You will teach them, through your words and actions, how to save themselves, and maybe, the entire beings in this planet.]
“And I’m the only one you got?”
[It is still in it’s experimental phases. You will be deployed to the human world across time and space in a form of true reincarnation. Born into, or close to, the ‘focal human’, you will stand alongside him or her, keeping him or her from and to harm humanity. And after your task is finished, you are to return here, where I evaluate your case in the long run, and decide you are worth keeping or not.]
“’Once my task is finished’? So it means that no matter what, I can’t die of old age? I just.. disappear, like that? And why am I so dispensable in your opinion?!”
[No. you will not disappear. You will die, but by external cause, to prevent disruption in reality.]
She didn’t even answer my second question...
“I’m just a pawn, am I? To be sacrificed for the greater good every time... And I got the feeling that I won’t be able to say goodbye to the people around me, either...”
[They do not matter. Th-]
“Of course they do! If I really will be born to the world over and over again, I’ll meet people and form a relationship with them! You can’t just ignore that! They will be friends, foe, family, heck, some of them may be my wife and children! What makes you think you have any right to sever those soon-to-be connection?!”
[You are here. Does that not prove enough of my rights? I agree, according to your humane viewpoint. For an Agent to be effective, they cannot be a mindless drone that serves me. They have to be a full human, with my backing. Relationships will form and be gone. That is the risk of this line of work.]
Shit... I can argue with that, but I’m not in any position to make arguments. I got no authority here. There’s only two ways out of this... either refuse and die like I’m supposed to be, or accept and live an eternal life of heartbreaks and disappointments.
“What’s in it for me?” Shirou weakly aksed. It is his last move.
[To my understanding, a new chance of life is already a reward undeserved by all humans. You relationship with your surrounding is inevitable, and very finite, but is not that that makes it all so precious? Besides, you get to save all the people you want, not through force, but through a more humanely preferable way.]
Go for it, EMIYA said without hesitation, this is what you and I are born for, what we are meant to do. It is our ideal.
Yeah, it is their ideal, his now. He agreed with that, simply because he cannot refuse it. He has become whatever EMIYA was. Any trace of Shirou Whatever-his-last-name-was is gone.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself. A Mind of Steel, EMIYA commented.
“Okay. When do I start?”
I swear I can hear her smile, damn it.




“Hmmm, maybe I’ll cool down for a while.”
Shirou then made his way to one the shelves in the far back of the room (yes, unlike what he thought of earlier, it does have a ‘back’), where the books contain informations and experiences of the distant past. ‘Past’, as in the time before EMIYA became a Guardian. It is difficult to adjust his vocabulary inside this space called the ‘Throne’, because normal phrases of time don’t suit what he’s saying most of the time.
Studying has become a habit of his, enforced by Alaya, to prepare him for whatever she was plannning him to do. As a Counter Guardian, EMIYA was granted all available informations about the local area pertaining to the ‘mission’. When a copy of him was deployed and completed a mission, all of those informations, plus any battle experience he recieved (which was minuscule, for Alaya prefers raw, brute force), is transmitted and collected here in the form of books, for a book is a thing that symbolises knowledge according to him.
“Hey, Alaya?” he once asked, “what do the other Throne of Heroes look like?”
[It depends on each Hero’s preference. In your case, the most familiar data storage item is books. Some others may have scriptures floating in the air, others prefer scrolls, or pictograms, and so on.]
Of course, mental prowess is not enough to be a Counter Agent. Physical abilities are always at the top of his priorities. Well, it was Alaya’s, but Shirou, who has lost all sense of self, just adopted them as his own because that is the only thing he can and will do right now. It is similar to one of EMIYA’s first memories, where he took Kiritsugu Emiya’s ideal as his own: to be a superhero. In his entire life, this was the ideal that drove him forward, strengthened his mind and body to be able to save everyone. A personality that is born from this mindset is s strong, that it completely erases Shirou’s ‘self’ at merging.
Lost, confused, but with a given purpose, Shirou trains non-stop for a length of time even he has lost track of. He doesn’t exaclty have a thing called a physical body, and this ‘body’ he uses is a spiritual one. Therefore, it can be said that Shirou trains his ‘soul’ all the time, and when Alaya has prepared him a physical template to anchor him to, he would be ready for almost anything, for the soul is what dictates the body.
For that purpose, Alaya altered his form so he can grow, feel tired, pain, and other ‘humane’ stuff to better synchronise him with a mortal body. He will be born to the world in the form of a small baby, but his soul will always remember his ‘peak form’, and how to get there.
Unlimited Blade Works: Infinite Sword Creation. The Reality Marble acquired, no, born to EMIYA, it is able to store the templates of every bladed weapons made from Gaia. Not only the physical composition can be recorded perfectly, but also the ‘accumulated years’: any special ability the weapon had, and the skills of its owner.
Utilizing that fact, Shirou trained, trained, and trained some more, struggling to master each and every one of those weapons inside of him. It is an impossible task, as when a human has reached mastery over one weapon and several skills, that same foundation would be destroyed when he tries to pick up skills that are unrelated to his current arsenal. Rebuilding what is lost can be done, but the time required to actually master different skills with different weapons wil be exponentially longer than the sum of time he would spent mastering those skills separately.
But time is not his current problem. Time is on his side, as it hold no power here, in the Throne Room.
His current problem is overcoming his shock over his newfound powers and abilities. Not ‘newfound’ as in ‘new to Shirou’, but ‘newfound’ as in ‘new to Shirou and EMIYA’.
Unlimited Blade Works increases efficiency in Tracing while reducing any wasted energy to near zero. It works like a loaded gun: the ‘image’ of the sword is inserted to the ‘barrel’, which is his Magic Circuits, and ‘fired’ to the real world, and to normal magi’s eyes, it would look like a normal Gradation Air. But Gradation Air cannot faithfully replicate the special abilities and history of an object, and this drawback is cancelled by the special property of Unlimited Blade Works. EMIYA is able to copy all weapons he encountered in his lifetime, and projected a fake of it.
The sword Shirou is currently holding is certainly not fake.
It is a copy of the original, but not fake. No, ‘fake’ would mean that someone would be able to tell the difference between the copy and the original. Shirou and EMIYA knows this, and usually the first and only people to notice.
He can’t tell it apart. It is a flawless copy. Right down to the power the sword holds.
When he sits down and thinks about it, the answer is quite simple.
The main flaw of Unlimited Blade Works is the degraded quality of the projected weapons from the original, because the information stored there is gathered through the use of one human sense: the eyes. Human eyes can only comprehend so much just by looking, and therfore, the degradation.
Shirou is no longer fully human.
When Alayareconstructed his body, one of the things she used is the bodily material of a demigod. The flesh and blood the current Shirou had is of divine attribute, mixed with human soul. It mainly grants him with heightened mental process, so he was able to accept all of EMIYA’s memories and the history of the swords without (much) damage. Still had a headache every now and then though.
Its secondary effect is much more frightening.
I am the bone of my sword
Shirou’s body actualises his Origin and Elemental Affinity, literally. Now, he is a sword in human form, rather than a human with the soul of a sword.
Thus, a sword must be able to comprehend other swords, right?
Well, yes, but Shirou wasn’t prepared for the backlash.
When EMIYA started his own training, even the simple act of projecting flawed weapons caused him a burning pain inside his mind, because Unlimited Blade Works is almost a disruption of reality in the world, and human minds aren’t suited to handle it. EMIYA managed, through a gruesome training for 20 years.
But now the weapons Shirou created has no flaw. The ‘distance’, so to speak, between a flawed fake and a perfect copy is not that large, but it still caused a huge aftershock in his soul, because he wasn’t used to it, didn’t know how to use it, and can’t understand it, initially.
Now, it is a bastardized version of the First Magic.
The prana cost is almost nil in Tracing the weapons. The prana he will be using to properly utilise them will still be there, but comparably small to the weapons’ original owners. Shields and barriers still take more prana, though, however discounted.


[It is time for your next phase in training.]
“Th-There’s another phase?”
[I have noticed your growth in magic. Yes, magic, not magecraft. I have thought of several interesting use of your ablities. I think you should give your opinion on it.]
“By ‘giving my opinion’, you mean test it, right?”
[I know that I didn’t choose the wrong person.]
“Oh...”
[Have you tried some of the more esoteric skills of the weapon’s owner? With you increased perception through you new Eyes, you should be able to do it. Please notify me when you’re done.]
Then Alaya was gone.
“Sh-She’s a sadist!”

EMIYA often lamented in his single-minded magecraft. ‘My arsenal is too narrow,’ he regretted. There are more requirements to be able to save people, and it is not limited to summoning thousands of blades and impale the enemy. Healing, reconnaissance, stealth, controlled destruction, crowd control, non-lethal magecraft and wide-area defensive maneuver are a few of the many things he lacked, and therefore caused casualities he cannot save. But he cannot do anything to fix this, because he can only do one thing, and do it best at.
Shirou himself believes this, as his power purely comes from EMIYA himself, with some enhancements from his body. His Pure Eyes of Comprehension allows him to understand everything, whether it is concept, physical movement, material composition, and other supernatural powers, like ESP and magecraft. But Shirou isn’t confident he is able to do them, no matter how high his level of understanding of something is.
Alaya believed that he can do it. Well, no harm in trying, right?
He started with a low-level magecraft that EMIYA is familiar with, and pretty close in concept to his Origin. Invisible Air: Boundary Field of the Wind King. A C-ranked Noble Phantasm, whose main purpose is concealment. An incredibly high-rank Bounded Field made by Merlin, its ability to use natural wind to induce a self-sustaining, sword-shaped field, while still retaining a sharpness worthy of a blade. A strong magus would struggle just to maintain the shape and the constant concentration required for a remote enchantment.
It is, according to Shirou’s point of view, a scabbard.
Like Avalon, Invisible Air is Excalibur’s second scabbard, after the former is lost from Altria Pendragon.
So he started not by the ‘proper’ magecraft procedure, in which he needed to use Merlin’s school of magecraft, and collect the wind and enchant it, et cetera, et cetera. He imagined a physical scabbard made of wind. The shape of vacuum for its outline, and to draw wind constantly and precise angles to create an illusion of invisibility. The last part is the hardest, requiring fine micromanagements of quantum optics, and the formula needed, a stable one, but with constantly-changing placement vectors to conform to the movement of the blade.
He failed. Even with his newfound ability of the First Magic didn’t help him much. It seems that his magic is tied to his very Origin, Sword, and therefore is incapable in reproducing mysteries not directly associated with Sword.
He failed. But EMIYA has never given up in his entire lifetime. So Shirou wouldn’t.


He made it.
Magecraft. Non-sword related ones.
Oh, of course he still can’t do traditional magecraft. But what he has learned, he learned it through extensive contact with weapons from the Age of Gods.
He can’t do magecraft from the Age of Gods, technically, but he managed (somewhat) to scrape whatever minute infomation he could get, and use them to perform a slightly more modern version of magecraft. It is still very limited, as he can’t fly, or teleport, or curse, and so on.
But firing a lance, made with natural energies, but with a base shape template of a spear, which in turn can demolish a castle wall?
Oh yes.
“How can I not think about laser swords before?”


“It’s finished.”
That voice made Alaya jumped. She turned her manifested body around, and sure it is, her soon-to-be Agent is standing a few metres in front of her.
“How did you get in here? You shouldn’t be able to move from your Throne!”
Shirou waved a strange shaped short sword in front of her. It looks like it is made from a single piece of rock - no, a gem – and it lacks any sharp edge.
“After the training you told me to do, I was interested in the power this sword has. Or, more precisely, its owner has. Zeltrech is really powerful, don’t you think?”
It is the closest form of teleportation he had. He viewed the sword with his Eyes, and learned bits and pieces about the Second Magic, and trained his ass off. He started small, mainly gathering minute amounts of prana from across other Thrones, because he’s scared to do something big. What if his body got teleported, but his head remained behind?
After what could only be decades in human time, he managed to properly master some of the properties of the Second Magic. Not all of it, he can never move across parallel dimensions, but he got the hang of the spatial dislocation. It is expected.
It is expected. Ever since he succeeded in creating Invisible Air (also, in human term, in decades), it has been getting easier and easier for him to replicate other magecraft directly related to the weapons he has. And by ‘easy’, he means ‘tens of years in human time’. All non-immortal being would certainly die of old age just from the length required to learn two disciplines like he did, with his limited intelligence in magecraft. His First Magic is more instinctual to him now, and with his increasingly empathy to Sword, being his very being, he can somewhat decipher weapons that are not from Gaia, like Excalibur and Ea. Regarding the latter, he had sworn never to use it to its fullest potential if the situation does not call for it. Its ability to literally split the heaven and the earth will put the word ‘catastrophe’ into shame.
“You would get wrinkles, frowning like that.”
Alaya’s main ‘chamber’, which exist in different space from Gaia, is smaller than he expected. It looks more like a control room of some military mission, only two to three times larger, and sparsely decorated. The main thing occupying the room is a large, black, yet transparent sphere, apparently set to diplay time, space, and danger possibilities in the x-y-z coordinates. The horizontal and vertical axis that is parallel to the ground represents time and space, while the vertical axis represents danger levels. Something like this is recorded in his Throne, so it is less confusing to him, even though he got no idea how it actually works, even seen through his Eyes.
But that is not the thing that caught his main attention.
Calling her ‘beautiful’ is probably the nicest insult you can say.
She is beyond human comprehension, he knows that. But still, seeing her personally for the first time like this, he couldn’t help but slightly caught off guard. He had expected it, just not to this extent.
Her long, probably-smoother-than-silk hair shines with a multitude of colors of the Kaleidoscope that it comes to him as white. No, it’s more like a diamond, reflecting visible white light, refracting it, and comes out with every colors imaginable, that when seen together all at once, seems white again.
Her body is covered by a strage fabric that manages to completely hide her physical manifestation’s form. That fabric is yet to be named, and he personally can tell it is made with such quality even undeserved for the Gods. It’s optical properties is more like a fog, shrouding her body, but revealing enough silhouette of a perfectly proportioned three sizes to drive any mortal men (and some women) to their knees.
Yet the most captivating thing is her face. Her eyes, her captivating, alluring, hypnotic eyes, shine like the inhuman creature that she is, with impossible mix of colors in her iris. Her lips is a natural shade of flesh-pink, and he has to visibly constrain himself from sexually assaulting her right there and then, which would grant him instant death. Her facial structure, from her cranium, her cheek bones, and her chin are the manifestation of Pythagoras’s golden ratio.
“Get out. You have no bussiness here,” her cold tone snapped him awake.
Slightly embarassed, he scratched the back of his head, and replied, “Well, I though you must be quite lonely, all these years bickering with Gaia.”
“I have no such emotion. I do not ‘bicker’, as that would take two opposing negative emotions. Our goals merely antagonises each other.”
“I know, that’s why you have me, right? To act like some sort of mediator for you two and humans?”
“Correct.”
“Also, unlike what you stated earlier, i do have bussiness here.”
“Which is?”
“Hanging out with you.”
She glared. Damn, even her annoyed face is beautiful. Well, she is, in a sense, a goddess, so it would be natural... Put your head together!
“Pointless.”
“Necessary.”
“For who?”
“Both of us. Well, more like for me. Humans are social creatures, after all those evolutions. You can’t eliminate a human’s basic instinct. So I sought company.”
“Not me. Return to your area at once, I have more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Oh, right, come to think of it, this is your office, right? Where you get the signals for the Guardians’ missions? But where do you sleep? Oh, sorry, where do you rest, since I figured you don’t require sleep? I don’t.”
“I cannot rest, so such waste of space is unnecessary.”
“You’re such a workaholic! Rest a bit, here, I’ll take over...”
Shirou moved closer to the sphere in the centre of the room, but Alaya stopped him by some sort of force field. He didn’t even slow down. Eyes widening, Alaya put more power into her effort, but Shirou caught her wrist.
“No use. Your tricks may work on Guardians, since their entire entity is controlled by you, but you only hold control to my existence. My entity, on the other hand, isn’t so... limited. So, please rest!” He gently shoved her aside, but she held her ground using sheer brute force.
Okay, plan failed. What do I do?
“Why are you so intent to take over? Are you staging a mutiny?” Her voice softened, despite the accusing sentence, no longer cold as before, but contained pure curiosity.
“I just can’t take a lady like you doing all the hard work.”
“I managed, as always, and I will ever be. I don’t require your assistance.”
“Yes, you don’t require it, but do you want it?”
Alaya paused for a moment. She, for her unlimited existence, has never even meet face-to-face with her Guardians, and had much less desire to hold any conversation with them. She mostly talked by sending an ethereal copy of her, offered a deal, and disappeared. She is not human, so she does not require any social needs.
But this person here, Shirou, piqued her mind. As he said, humans need to socialise, or they may very well go insane. Perhaps she should give it a try? Not of any real need, of course, but as an experiment? To experience humane feelings?
No, she shouldn’t. No matter how she might like it, her duty still takes place first. She cannot and will not dump her job into a green soldier like him. Green, because he has not been deployed yet, and hasn’t amassed the vast experience like the Guardians.
She is conflicted, a first time for her. Before, she only has her duty to attend to, only one goal in her mind. But now, after taking in the boy, no, this man, she began to periodically maintain a connection between them, a working relationship, and the longest conversation she had, in, well, ever, was with him, and always with him, because he retained his witty mind even after coming under her wing. She simply has no need to hold a talk with her Guardians, as they are, with all their personalities inside the Throne, mindless soldiers that did everything she required them to do. She has never need to think, to engage in a verbal banter with any being before him...
And it’s quite fun.
No! Don’t be distracted! Escort him out of the premises!
Maybe just once? What does it feel like to sleep, anyway? She never feels tired, and her mind is more than capable of processing the datas in the sphere without any significant drain. But humans engage in a custom called a ‘nap’, which according to their theories re-energizes the body, and testimonies stated a feeling of ‘reborn’.
Hmmm... Maybe not a bad idea...
Snap out of it. These things will only hinder humanity’s salvation. That’s my duty. Yes, completely unnecessary...



Shirou nearly broke into laughter. Seeing her pretty face scrunched up in a simple debate whether to rest or not is very amusing. Her expression constantly changes, from confusion, denial, stubbornness, relaxation, and so on and on. Understandably, she hadn’t required a poker face until now, so she is completely honest, at least when facial expression is required.
Her face softened at last, and she asked, “Do you know how the sphere works?”
Understandably, she hadn’t required a poker face until now, so she is completely honest, at least when facial expression is required.
Her face softened at last, and she asked, “Do you know how the sphere works?”
Yes! “More or less. The time and space axis indicates when and where any potential disasters may come up, and the probability axis indicates the threat level of such disaster. Those informations are used to determine which of the Guardians to sent, or if unnecessary, who you should give the Force to.”
“You are not wrong, but not quite right either. The sphere only reacts to ‘fear’. As a potential disaster is in the making, even its cause or creator will feel ‘fear’, and that is what the sphere picked up. ‘Fear’ is one of the most primordial emotions in humanity’s history, and the sphere reacts to both the quality and the quantity of ‘fear’. This is a simplified explanation, of course, because the variables associated with ‘fear’ is quite many. The ‘fear’ does not have to be felt by those directly related to the potential disaster, but the concept of ‘will they be afraid’ to the surrounding innocents.”
“So, in short, if people will think of it as dangerous, you’ll stop it?”
“Perhaps. But I also play a hand in the final judgement, as what they do not fear does not mean it it not lethal.”
Shirou nodded in understanding. “The final step is the most volatile, huh...”
“That is why I cannot rest. You are still human, however detached your soul from your body. You decisions regarding the final step will always be partial.”
“But you can show me some cases, right? Give me a pattern to your thoughts, so I can make a better judgement?”
“NO.”
She stated it with such a stern face that even Shirou backed away a little. Just a little. He is not afraid of this near-omnipotent, over-divine woman in front of him. He almost retaliated, but a blink of light caught his eyes.
A dot in the sphere.
“My first assignment?”
“No. This is for a Guardian. As I explained the first time, you would be better deployed in the ancient times, to make full effect of your reincarnation.”
“Then, can I...?”
“No. Return to your Throne at once, or I will do so for you.”
“Damn, no need to be so rough on me...!”


The time he didn’t spent on practicing and studying, he used on watching. It was disheartening, to say in the least, to watch his previous self struggled so much to be a hero, to hold on to that ideal until the very end, and succeding in it. It was heartwrenching, after EMIYA struck the deal with Alaya, to be able to become a hero even after he died. To watch as his dream got betrayed again and again by his body as he killed, killed, killed continuously to save the greater number. To hear the cries and pain of his victims.
In the end, it became to much for him to bear. He turned into someone that hated himself, hated his ideals, and hated his very reason to exist. He broke.
He hatched a daring plot: to kill Shirou to create a paradox great enough to hopefully sever his ties with Alaya and free him from his torment.
He very nearly succeeded, had Alaya not interfere in the last moment.
In that aspect, Shirou is infinitely grateful to her.
In the former, he came to loathe her, for literally torturing EMIYA to death. Shirou can feel his heart throbs painfully every time he saw EMIYA killed someone, his mind felt like exploding with every Tracing EMIYA did, and his soul sliced piece by piece as EMIYA gradually was reduced to no more than a vengeful man from a great hero he was.
So he trained. No longer because it was literally in his blood, but to strive EMIYA’s ideals, to continue his work, to show the world that the Heroic Spirit EMIYA still has a legacy left. The ideal of becoming a Ally of Justice; Shirou will forever etch it in his soul.
Still, his training isn’t progressing fast enough for his liking. His knowledge of orthodox (and some unorthodox) thaumaturgy is already much greater and applicable than EMIYA’s; but to be a true hero, it is far from enough. His scope is far too limited, as he learned it from the weapons stored inside Unlimited Blade Works, but blades aren’t the very best recording material. The most prospective of them is Avalon: The Everdistant Utopia. Being a scabbard created by the Fae by pure magic, it is the most pristine source of knowledge he has.
But learning it is like human beings learning how to swim underwater for 1 hour. Improbable, but not impossible, yet only borderline. He even has to re-learn the entire language, just to be able to actually read what’s etched on Avalon itself, the Lady of the Lake’s signature, not to mention to decipher the countless variables of her magecraft.
It took probably a century or more, but the end result is worth it. He is still incapable to replicate the True Magic used to isolate and half-transport, half-summon the user into the Fae world, an ‘absolute defense’ capable to even block the space piercing attribute of the Second Magic. But he understands well enough, in human terms, to graduate from a Fae’s primary school, in a barely passable grade.
His main and only use of it is healing magecraft, and a very potent variation at that. His level cannot truly stop physical aging, but he can jumpstart somebody on the verge of death to the world of living, at least. And he is so satisfied and happy, that he decided to bother Alaya again.
“I did it!”
“Get out.”
“Aw... don’t be such a spoilsport and celebrate with me! I know you have some good beverages stored inside here, somewhere! I’ve never tasted alcohol before, but EMIYA said that celebration requires it! Come on!”
It is a far cry from his true nature. Shirou, and by extension, EMIYA, is mostly a passive person, one that lets himself to be pushed around to make others happy, as most human beings are selfish. But for this cold woman in front of him, he chose to act like a giddy, hyperactive little kid to open up her shell, and let her find happiness.
“Ah, here it is!”
“Don’t touch that! Put that down this instant!”
Ah, she’s showing more emotions, now...
What Shirou is holding in his hand is an ornately decorated bottle, made from some sort of gem of such quality that Zeltrech would be willing to trade his Jewel Sword for it. It is somehow transparent but opaque, allowing him to clearly see its mineral structure even without his Eyes, yet not disclosing the form of the liquid inside.
“Ooohhh, this is some high quality stuff!” His voice changed into ‘teasing mode’, “I didn’t know that this is a high stress job, Alaya! You’re drinking on duty? And you didn’t even invite me...?”
She moved even faster than his eyes can track, instantly reappearing before his eyes, and snatched the bottle away.
She can teleport? Darn, I should’ve seen this coming...!
“If you can see beyond your narrow vision, you will observe that the bottle is never opened. It is something I stumbled upon, really, nothing to be concerned of. And I certainly will never get drunk while doing my duty, Shirou, unlike you.”
Sh-She can snark back! Great improvement! Milestone achieved!
“Ah... on first-name basis already? I don’t like it quite fast, you know? At least ask me out or something...”
Her face colored, and he hope it was a blush of embarassment, rather than the red face of anger.
“S-Silence! What are you doing here, anyway?”
I’m gonna have a heart attack... NGGHHH!!! Well, no man can stand in front of such pinnacle of female attractiveness and remain unscathed.
He coughed to regain what composure he had left, and said, “Well, I think I just learned how to cast Fae magic.”
She frowned slightly, “It is near impossible, but should not be out of your grasp. As I have told you before, I know you can do it.”
“A ‘good job’ would be nice.”
“You actually still have quite some distance to go, though you are not far from the finish line, so I shall save that phrase for later.”
“Really?!! Then I’ll train harder for you! Make sure you remember your promise...!”
Shirou immediately rushed out of the room, back to his Throne. Fortunate for him, for if he had stayed longer, he would have heard a sentence no one has ever heard of.
“You don’t have to do it ‘for me’, you fool...” She sighed lightly.
Wait.
Why did I say that? My tone just now contains endearment... Does that mean that I have a slight affection for him?
No, I am not. He is the first partner in social engagement I ever had, so it is natural for me to get pulled into his pace...
I should stop having these thoughts. It would do no good for my duties.


“You are ready.”
“H-Huh?”
Shirou turned his back rather quickly, causing him slight disorientation. And, much to his delight, Alaya is standing there, physically, not talking to him via telepathy like she always did when she wanted to reach him in the Throne Room.
“Now who’s the one barging into somebody else’s room?”
“I shall ignore that irrelevant comment.”
For the rest of his time there, Shirou found himself getting more and more tempted to draw out more emotions from the lovely woman that is his boss. No, it is not ‘drawing out’, as she did not have any emotions before, but more like ‘shaping out’ her true nature as a thinking being.
By the way, I can see your blush, Alaya... No need to hide it!
In a spirit of professionalism, however tempting, he let it slide.
“I am ready?” It was more of a statement than a question, as Shirou can feel himself getting ever stronger, gaining and absorbing knowledge and experience like a sponge on hyperdrive. The fact that he didn’t have a mortal body really helped.
“It’s time, huh? Where are you sending me to?”
“As a coinsidence, most disasters on Earth happen around someone I gave the Force to, in the near end of their lives.”
“I’ll be born close to a soon-to-be Heroic Spirit, aren’t I? But if my job os to prevent those disasters, won’t their future status as a Heroic Spirit diminish? That’s sort of like their entrance exam to the Throne, right? Preventing and defeating disasters and such?”
“That will be your challenge. I suggest you take the role of a... mentor, of some sort, guiding those Heroes to their truer path, without decreasing their impact on history.”
Shirou huffed, “You really are a mean boss, you know?”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, you always give me something that I have to work for literally ages to complete. And if it takes a shorter time anyway, it would be so near impossible that I have to work like a slave to do it.”
“That is the price you have to pay.”
“Then what’s my salary?”
Shirou was, honestly, unprepared for what comes next.
“Good job,” Alaya said, with a small smile on her face.
Urk...!
“Shirou? Why do you seem... catatonic?”
“You are really beautiful... Alaya...”
Blush.
W-Wait, Alaya, if you look like that... I-
“Shirou, what is this?”
“What’s what?”
She held both her palm to her chest, “I’m becoming uncomfortable because of your words.”
“That’s called ‘embarassment’.”
“But I don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
“I-It doesn’t mean that way! Y-You would gain better understanding after you watch my missions in the future, I hope.”
She sighed, “Very well. If you are prepared, I shall send you right away.”
A large circle full of sigils appeared on the ground, and Shirou knew that it is a teleport spell, shaped such to transfer his soul, the ‘template’ of Shirou, into a formless baby’s body. All that has happened right now would never be forgotten by him, he knows that, because these memories are burned right into his soul. It is a matter of physical conditioning to get him ready in the human world in a missioin.
Alaya focused her powers, and Shirou stepped closer to the circle.
“Alaya?”
“Yes, Shirou?”
“I’ll return here, right? If I get killed and such?”
“I doubt that any mortal can pose even a light challenge against your skills, but yes, in the event of such unfortunate state, your soul will directly be sent back here. If I have an immediate mission available, you would start it immediately, before coming back in this Throne Room.”
“Then...”
Shirou paused, to gather the correct words.
“Shirou?”
“Let’s have that drink when I get back, okay?”
Alaya considered it for a moment, and smiled again (Oh, by the Gods, if you do that one more time, lady, I’m aborting this mission!), then nodded.
“Very well.”
Shirou stood fully inside the circle now, and in a few seconds, he will, technically, return home.
“I’ll hold on to you on that.”
Light fills his vision, and her powers envelops him.
“Have a safe trip.”
“I’m going...”

[Milbunk]

Title: Meaning
Author: Anon

Kotomine Kirei was a man who caused many others great confusion.

He was born in 1967, accompanying his father Risei to the holy grounds since youth. He graduated in 1981 from the Theological College of Manresa St. Ignacio at age fourteen, and during the course of his studies he took the position of student council president.

He was a young man with a very promising future in the Holy Church. A man of his talent and dedication could have easily risen to the position of Bishop, perhaps even a Cardinal. If he had applied the same zeal and dedication that he did in his studies, he might have even reached the position of Pope. A man of his zeal would have been accepted into many paths.

Kotomine Kirei however, turned away from the golden opportunities before him. He wandered aimlessly. Transferring no less than three times before finally finding a branch to settle on.

He was chosen as an Executor before he was truly finished with puberty. He was a rising star among those of the eighth sacrament, one who would bring down many a heathen and heretic.

Great praise had been heaped upon him, honors given to him, glories sung of his name. And yet, Kotomine Kirei had been dissatisfied.

He had spoken in length with his father. Explained to him how it was that none of his numerous achievements brought him a sense of fulfillment. How it was that he derived no joy from the practices of the Church.

Kotomine Risei had mistakenly believed he understood his son’s pain.

He had smiled at the despairing look his son gave him. “Ahh, perhaps it is not your destiny to do His Work. Have you thought, my son, that perhaps His Will is that you find love? That you raise a family?”

This questions had caused the young man to release a pensive huff. After all, every human wishes to love one of the opposite sex, have a family, and die peacefully. Even if one may detest the peace, one can only dream about it.

‘Perhaps.' Had thought the despairing young man to himself. ‘Perhaps I am no exception.’

And so one year after obtaining the title for which he had shed blood, sweat, and tears... he abandoned it all without a second thought, and took a wife.

Thus began a simple story.
]==[
Kotomine Kirei was a man who put his utmost into anything he did. A man of his dedication could have gained the love of nearly any woman imaginable. But everyone was surprised by the woman he chose.

Claudia Ortensia, that was the woman Kotomine Kirei took as a wife.

A woman who was terminally ill, someone who likely did not have more than a few years left to her short and sad life.

Everyone thought it tragic. The gesture of a saint who wanted to bring happiness to someone who had known very little throughout her life.

The truth was something else.

Kirei watched as Claudia carefully went through her daily exercises, one of the few things that kept her weak muscles from atrophying. He watched her struggle, paying exquisite attention to her tottering steps, always tensing when she stumbled. Every time she did, Claudia would regain her balance, then smile reassuringly and tell him she was fine, before resuming her exercises.

Kirei never allowed her to see the disappointed sigh that escaped him every time.

A deep voice chuckled beside him. The rich mirth was accompanied by heavy steps that resounded with the power of a funeral toll.

“How pious of you, the gallant knight always ready to dash to the rescue of the delicate maiden.” Said the apparition as it walked around him. “Staring at her frail form with every ounce of your attention, anticipating every time she will make a mistake, always afraid to blink lest she finally fail in the one moment where your vigil lapsed.”

Kotomine Kirei ignored it, choosing instead to dedicate his attention to Claudia’s arms as she repeated the same slow motions. Struggling to complete what for anyone would be a trivial motion while carrying an insignificant weight.

“Ahh…Ignoring me again I see.” Said the deep voice, a smile evident in its tone. “But I wonder…do you ignore me because of hatred? Or because paying attention to anything else might distract you from your…vigil?” The last word was said with no inflection or emotion, but Kirei could hear the sneer no matter how well it hid it.

Claudia took a moment to sit and rest, panting heavily with sweat beading on her alabaster skin. The effort needed for her to complete what to anyone would be but a trifling matter had obviously taken a lot out of her.

“Well.” She said with a smile in between pants. “T-That’s five, five more to go.”

Kirei did what he could to smile reassuringly. “Don’t rush yourself. Take your time. I am here for you.”

Claudia gave him a beaming smile. She then resumed her exercises, her arms trembling with effort.

The thing exhaled, the expulsion of air carrying the same intonation of a person who had just partaken of the most exquisite drink. “Such a sublime struggle! Such pathetic whimpers! The weakness that she tries to overcome in a desperate effort to acquire approval! The way but a few words of kindness will make her try all the harder to please you!”

The thing stood beside Kirei’s wife and studied her, paying attention to her movements, the way her chest rose and fell with effort. “I do wonder, why do you keep such a strong vigil? Why do you watch her every movement? Why do you drink of her form with such zeal?” Its smile, impossible as it should be, widened. “Are your motives chaste? Do you perhaps drink of her form with such desperation because you are but a Man?”

The question caused Kirei to grind his teeth in anger. For the first time he looked away from Claudia in order to glare daggers at the phantom. The thing’s eyes twinkled in amusement as he finally met its gaze, the features of its face twisted into a cruel mask. He hated those features, he hated them with a passion that surprised him.

How couldn’t he? It was his own face after all.

The apparition was Kotomine Kirei, plain and simple. It was perhaps an inch or three taller, fuller in the chest, its hair long and unkempt, its features more mature and severe. A smirk always plastered on its face.

He hated that smirk more than anything else.

Seeing that it had goaded Kirei into looking at it, its smirk gained a cruel edge. “Do you imagine the softness of that alabaster skin? Wonder at the taste of her sublime form? Do you perhaps fantasize of claiming her? Ravishing that delicate figure? Making her yours in every sense?”

Kirei’s hands fisted, only his iron self control keeping them from shaking. But even so, he refused to dignify the phantom with a response.

“Or is it something else?” Continued the apparition. “Is there another motive to your vigil? Is the reason you watch over her so intently truly so you can guarantee her safety?” The phantom chuckled. “Or perhaps…perhaps it is the effort itself that you drink? The utter futility of her struggle? Perhaps it is something else that you seek with the desperation of a man dying of thirst?

“Maybe…maybe what you seek is that moment of despa-”

The phantom was interrupted as Kirei shot to his feet, fury painted plainly in his face.

He then remembered exactly where he was and quickly resumed his mask. Just in time for Claudia to turn around.

“Kirei?” She asked in her soft voice. “Kirei, what is the matter?”

Kirei blinked a few times. “F-Forgive me.” He said with as little strain as he could muster, he then gave her as genuine a smile as he could and made an excuse. “I…I need to use the rest room.”

Claudia blushed. “Ahh! O-Of course…I’ll be right here.”

Kirei nodded before turning around and leaving the room.

The chuckles of the thing rang in his ears no matter how quickly he walked.

[==]

“I want to give you a child.”

The seven simple, heartfelt words had been enough to freeze Kotomine Kirei in his tracks.

“Come again?” He had asked after a long moment of silence.

“I will not be beside you for long.” Claudia had told him, a tear glinting on her right eye. She intertwined her fingers with his own, basking in the warmth of his hand. “I want to give you something to love, something that you can remember me by.” As she spoke she had brought his palm up to her check, and snuggled against it.

He had been full of objections of course. Showing the concern one would expect of a husband to a wife.

Always working to crush that exalted joy in his heart as he saw her weep in her quest to convince him.

And so Kirei lay on the bed beside a furiously blushing Claudia, with next to no idea what to do.

“I told you that you should have at the very least flipped through a porn magazine.” Said the Phantom, walking until it stood on the right uppermost corner of the bed.

Kirei ignored it and, at Claudia’s urging, claimed his wife’s lips, causing her to emit an excited mewl. Clauida wrapped her arms around Kirei’s shoulders as the latter clumsily, if eagerly, sought to please her.

“My my such…passion.” Commentated the Phantom. “And the way that your rough movements excite her, even though she knows that she will need to deal with bruises in the morning.”

Kirei glared at it as he kissed the line of Claudia’s collarbone. The Phantom smirked, chuckled, and made a pacifying gesture. “Do you think that…perhaps it is the knowledge that she will need to deal with bruises in the morning what excites her so?” Its statement made, it walked until it passed Kirei’s field of vision. A moment later Kirei felt it leave.

Now left in peace, Kirei was able to devote all of his attention to Claudia, taking note of the things that made her shudder, of the things that made her sigh, of the things that made her moan.

Kirei devoted all of his attention and drive to pleasing the woman below him, closely following her instructions when she gave them. When the moment came to consummate their marriage, Kirei was made to pause.

She hurt.

The thought froze Kirei’s mind. Claudia trembled as she hugged him as strongly as she could, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“D-Don’t stop!” She beseeched him with tears running down her face, “I-I want you to feel good! Don’t worry about me, just keep going.”

Kirei wanted to object, he wanted to tell her to take her time, he wanted to say that there was no need for her to force herself. He knew that these were the things any husband should and would say to his wife.

However…she hurt.

Up until that point he had diligently followed any instruction she gave him, allowing her to teach him the ways to please her. And so, he simply chose to follow instructions once more.

She hurt.

And that only served to drive him onwards.

Her breath was short with excitement and pain. Her body trembling both from the strange new sensations that assaulted it, and the agony brought by Kirei’s unceasing movements. She hugged the man that she loved with all of her might as he moved, his rough breath searing her skin like fire.

‘I do wonder.’ Said the voice of the Apparition, coming from somewhere within the depths of his psyche. ‘Will you find the act this enjoyable once she becomes used to it?’

Kirei Kotomine grit his teeth and ignored the voice. He continued to move, Claudia’s agonized gasps serving only to drive him into greater fervor.

She hurt.

And he did not know how to feel about that.
=[]=
Kotomine Kirei held something fragile and precious in his hands.

It was a small thing really, barely weighing even six pounds. He stared at the small thing in his arms, carrying it with the care that was expected, making sure to offer the correct support and stability.

He stared long and hard at the greatest hope of any man in existence.

And felt nothing more than indifference.

He searched desperately within himself for something, anything. Something more than the simple apathy that composed the whole of his life, he searched hard, but found nothing.

“Kirei…let me hold her.” Said Claudia weakly, causing Kirei to immediately step forward and deposit the child in her feeble arms. “Wow…she’s heavy.” She said, happily holding the child to her.

Kirei looked at his wife, the pregnancy and the birth had not been kind to her. Her skin was even more pale than normal, her breath abnormally short, her limbs trembling with weakness. And yet she seemed to have a radiant glow about her, Claudia’s smile for the first time truly showing life. “I think you were right, Caren is the perfect name for her.”

Kirei put his hand on his chest, the steady beating of an unmoved heart met his inquisitive touch. Without his instruction, his hand gained strength until he was all but clawing at his chest.

Without apparent provocation, Caren began to cry, her loud wails reverberating in the walls of the small stone room. Claudia flinched in surprise and immediately began to shush her.

“Ahh the cries of a child, the greatest elation a man can ever hope to achieve!” Said the Monster as it stepped out from beside him. “Listen to those lungs! Tell me child, are you proud?”

Kirei gazed directly into the eyes of the Monster, and glared, his hands fisting and his legs shifting oh so very slightly.

“Calm child! I come in peace!” Said the Apparition as it took a step toward Kirei’s wife and daughter.

In a movement so quick the human eye would be unable to track it, Kirei stood in front of it, blocking its path. The whisper soft movement of his feet easily drowned out by Caren’s wails.

The apparition simply smirked. “Protective aren’t we?”

Claudia turned to look at her husband, her breath coming in short gasps. “K-Kirei…I…I can’t hold her anymore!”

Immediately Kirei was beside her, lifting the crying child from her arms, his stance still weary and ready to spring into violent motion.

The Monster laughed. “What will you do now child? How will you fight?”

Before Kirei could make any response, Claudia’s hand softly caressed his cheek. Both Kirei and the Monster looked at her in surprise.

Claudia’s hand moved from Kirei’s cheek, to his forehead, to his other cheek and back, gently caressing his face, tracing her cool fingers across his frown. “So...so it is still not enough?” She said with a small, sad smile, the knowing light in her eye seeming to drive a spike into his heart.

Kirei averted his eyes, unable to meet her warm gaze. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

Claudia did not challenge his lie and rested her weight against him, content to simply partake of his presence. She whispered something, her tone so low that it should have by all means been lost to the cries of her child, three simple words that should have been lost in the commotion of the small room. Three simple, heartfelt words that engendered both shame and anger in Kirei’s heart.

“I love you.”

Kirei became completely immobile, the hold he kept on his daughter tightening ever so slightly. Moments later he felt the Apparition recede, for the first time leaving without a parting shot.

Caren’s cries immediately stilled, falling away to whimpers as she buried her face on her father’s chest and fell asleep.

Kirei’s wandering eyes fell on his daughter, where he spotted a small spot of crimson. There was a small cut in his daughter’s arm, no doubt what had caused her to cry so. As he watched, a drop of blood welled out of the cut and slid down her plump arm.

Kirei slid his finger over that small drop, and raised it to his eye, staring at it in fascination.

The right corner of his mouth bent oh so very slightly up.
=][=
Kirei paced back and forth on the empty underground parking lot of the hospital, his steps heavy as he battled with himself.

Suddenly he stopped in the center lane, his decision made, and called out to the darkness of the room.

“Come out.”

From behind one of the columns stepped out the Monster, its ever-present smirk wide and merry. “Ohh? So you’ve finally chosen to speak to me? Do tell, what has prompted this honor?”

Kirei stared into those eyes, studying that joyous glint that he despised so. “You hurt my daughter.”

The Phantom smiled. “Did I? I seem to recall you stopping me.”

Kirei silently drew six black keys from within his coat, the light of the few lamps in the area glinting malevolently from their blades.

The Apparition mockingly did the same.

The two stared into each others eyes, then kicked off the ground at the exact same moment, each throwing four black keys forward, the noise they made as they cut the air a keening wail that demanded blood. Their weapons meeting at the exact half-way point of the lane they called their battlefield. The eight spinning black keys met in mid-air and destroyed each other, the slender blades of the black keys still clutched in their hands were unable to withstand the force of the attacks made with them and snapped under the strain.

The Apparition immediately stepped forward and delivered a vicious palm strike, then stroke with its knee, and lastly made a downward strike with its elbow at the same time that it stomped the ground with enough force to raise dust in a small cloud around its foot. The three ferocious attacks were delivered in less than three seconds.

The lightning quick attacks were dodged with incredible ease by one Kotomine Kirei.

Their battle did not progress from there. The Apparition attacked with hand and foot. It shot and stabbed with black keys. But not a single one of its attacks landed true, for Kirei moved fluidly around them, never once returning the aggression.

They separated, the breathing of both calm and even.

“Pathetic.” Stated Kirei. “Your form is weak. Your discipline is lacking. Your attacks are ineffective. And yet, you think yourself my better.”

The Apparition chuckled. “I never claimed to be your better. I am merely one of many servants of the Lord.”

Kirei frowned. “You are nothing. You are nothing more than a monster; a worthless shell.”

"On the contrary." Said the Monster with a knowing smile. "I am but a monument to all of your sins. One who has arrived at his answer, and now merely seeks to find the question to it."

Kirei’s eyes blazed, but he held his tongue.

The Monster once more chuckled. “Very well, have it your way child. We shall continue with this farce for a little longer if that is what you wish.” With that the Apparition launched itself forward once more, its arm moving in a solid line, its fist turning in a circle to increase the damage of its attack.

Kirei deflected the strike with his own. The strength of his block was enough to tenderize the bones of the thing's arm. He stepped forward; his enemy was sent back flying into the opposite wall, the impact causing a spider web of cracks to blossom on the concrete.

Three strikes were delivered in the instant that his enemy had been in range. In that moment, Kirei broke three of the monster's ribs, its right clavicle, and its sternum.

It wasn't enough.

Kirei pulled out more black keys and sent them flying. Their blades sank into the thing’s flesh and pinned it to the wall.

It wasn’t enough.

Kirei sent more. Pinning its arms, legs, torso, shoulders. He sent more and more so that the thing resembled a pincushion more than a human.

It wasn’t enough.

He was out of black keys. Kirei kicked off the ground and rushed forward, his foot leaving a perfect imprint on the concrete. He barreled shoulder first unto the black keys, sinking them into the demon to the hilt, heedless of the handles as they opened lacerations in his flesh through his reinforced clothing.

Kirei attacked. There was no poise or art to his movements, no training, nothing but a relentless frenzied assault. He punched, kicked, elbowed, bit. A belligerent roar resounded in the room as blood, meat, and bone showered his form.

He exposed the organs and pulled at them. He dug out the bones and broke them. Soft tissues, fats, skeletal muscles, nothing was spared from his savage rain of attacks.

He took a hold of the thing’s collar and pulled, drawing it from the wall in a shower of gore. He then smashed what remained of the thing into the ground, the impact causing its blood to splatter out in a torrid shower.

He mounted it, ignored the black keys that cut into his flesh and continued his assault. Kirei was unmindful of the pain in his fists, uncaring that most of his fingers were bending in ways that they were most certainly not meant to. He had to kill it, destroy it, erase it. It was the only way.

He brought his left elbow down unto its chest, the strength of the strike pulverizing both its thoracic cage and Kirei’s left elbow. Then, ignoring or unaware of the pain, he dug his right hand into the now soft area on the chest, and pulled, exposing the pericardium.

Or, exposing the place it should be.

“No.” Said Kirei as he wiped his hand on his bloody coat. “No no no.” He stood and began to back away slowly, each step gaining more speed. “No no nononononono!”

There was nothing there.

Or rather, there should have been nothing there.

A disgusting black mass writhed within its chest. Fouled blood moving in and out of it in a grotesque parody of a bodily function.

It was on his hand. He could feel it. Anger, murder, rape from love, rape from hate, stealing, lying, arson, suicide, oppression, slaughter, hate, cruelty, ignorance, obsession, crime, revenge, injustice, wrath, sloth, greed...

The list was unending, infinite, endless, countless.

Unlimited.

Evil, all the things he had sworn to reject.

And by God they felt so right.

The thing, what remained of it, impossible as it should be, began to laugh. Its voice untouched by pain, uncaring of the injuries it had sustained. “Why do you panic oh child of God? Why do you turn away? Why do you claim your denial?” It sat up, the keys in its flesh squelching as it forced itself upright.

Nothing remained of its face other than a pulped mass, yet its voice was light, untouched, triumphant. “Why do you show such horror when you knew it from the beginning?”

“I am nothing like you!” Screamed Kirei, his voice hoarse. “I defeated you! Beat you! Ended you! You cannot stand, let alone fight! I have done the Lord’s work! I have done my duty! I shall suffer not trespass! I shall suffer not evil! I shall suffer not the heretic!”

“Trespass?” Asked the thing. “There is no trespass Kotomine Kirei, there never was. I am you, you are I.

“You just do not wish to acknowledge this.”

“YOU ARE WRONG! I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU!”

Even though it no longer had lips, even though nothing remained of its dentures other than shattered teeth, Kirei knew that it was smirking. “Then tell me, oh pious child. Why do you smile so?”

Kirei blinked. What was it babbling about? Kirei was confused, repulsed.

Afraid.

He was not happy, he was not smiling, he was not joyous.

Trembling, Kirei slowly lifted his hand, and brought it to his lips.

He was sporting the biggest smile he had ever had.

“N-No.” Said Kirei as he ran his one working hand over his mouth and cheeks. “T-This is not happening. This is a trick.” As he spoke, he did all he could to vanish the smile, to end it, destroy it. But it would not leave. No matter what he did, how hard he tried. The smile would not disappear.“H-How?”

The thing laughed, its laugh was rich and deep, filled with the most unpolluted mirth. “Did you truly not notice child?

“You’ve been smiling like that from the moment you landed the first strike.”

Kotomine Kirei stared at the ruin before him.

And screamed.
[]
It was raining. That was the first thing that cut through the haze that had overtaken his mind.

He could not remember standing, he could not remember running, he could not remember stopping.

He stood on the rain, letting the cleansing drops drench him to the bone.

He could see it now, he could not understand how he had not understood it before. Nay, perhaps he had not wanted to see.

‘I am broken.’ He thought, ‘A monster; a worthless shell.’ The three statements repeated themselves in his mind, over and over again. Clearly, for something as broken as him to have been born…it must have been some type of mistake, a blunder in God’s flawless plan.

A mistake that could not be rectified, a mistake that had to disappear.

Lifelessly, he began to walk. At first he did not know where, nor did he care. Soon however, it was made apparent to him where his feet were taking him.

Claudia had a right to know of his failure.

He met nobody as he walked to her, which perhaps was for the better. After all, what would he say? What right did he have to speak?

Kirei walked until he stood in the small stone room, the water falling in merry drops from his form creating a puddle on the ground.

He looked at the frail form of his wife, her body having degenerated since the few months after the birth. She could barely move, did not even have the strength to sit up, seeming to be little more than skin and bones.

They both remained silent, letting the sound of rain fill the room around them.

After several long moments, Kirei found his voice and spoke the last five words he would ever tell his wife. “I could not love you.”

A warm light seemed to shine from Claudia’s eyes, the tender smile that she saved for him and him alone blooming on her lips.

“No. I love you.”

Her trembling hand reached out and took hold of a simple and sharp knife. One that Kirei had used countless times as he cut fruit for her. Without a word or hesitation she raised it and sunk it into her chest to the hilt.

Kirei could have tried to stop her. He should have tried to stop her. But stopping her was meaningless.

Claudia had a fatal disease, her condition deteriorating by the day. She did not have long to live, he knew that when he chose her.

As her blood slowly began to drench her clothes, she looked up to Kirei and smiled. The light behind her eyes fading fast, when she spoke, it was in a sigh that was only slightly louder than the rain.

“See?...You are…crying.” She gave a weak nod, one last smile, and whispered her final word. “Yes…” Her breath left her in a sigh as life fled completely from her body, the warm smile on her lips remained, for she had accomplished her wish.

The tears she had seen confirmed it, the man she loved, loved her back. Her death had served a worthy purpose, she had proved to him that he could and would be saved.

Kirei remained immobile as water continued to drip off his form, falling from his hair, trailing down his face, and falling from his chin.

Kotomine Kirei, was not crying.

Kirei’s hand stretched out and hovered just over her face.

Perhaps he wished to caress her.

Perhaps he wished to strike her.

Perhaps he wished to close her eyes.

He remained in that position for a long moment, before retracting his hand without having touched her, and turned around.

He walked out of the stone room.

He walked out of the wing.

He walked out of the hospital.

He walked once more out into the rain, the noise it engendered serving to drown out the thought that had all but rooted him in place.

‘How terrible. If she was going to die, I wanted to kill her myself.’

It happened long ago.

The tale of a man who tried to love a woman, and a woman who tried to love a man, did love him, and even had his child.

Everyone had thought the man a paragon, the gesture of a saint who wanted to bring happiness to someone who had known very little throughout her life. And yet, to the man, she would forever be a Saint.

The woman’s life was short and filled with pain.

The woman’s life was devoid of value.

The woman’s life ended without significance.

He can no longer remember her voice.

He cannot recall her face.

But even so, the man could not bear the thought of her death being meaningless, and so stopped his never-ending search for answers.

Thus ended a simple story.

[Milbunk]

Title: Routine
Author: Anon

The evening was quiet, early January. Rain fell from the cloudy sky for what seemed like forever, and some lighting shined from time to time. Sharp wind howled through the streets and toyed with the last remains of autumn leaves. Now thunder grumbled above it all, like a rock thrown into abyss. Then silence again... just the twisted humming of endless rain filling the scenery.

We worked our way deep into the deserted city. By then it was nothing more than a boring routine - the killing I mean. We passed corpses stocked with more corpses, shot, burned, cut open, torn to pieces and all we could do was yawn. What we were passing weren’t people anymore, they were nothing more than heavy packs of decaying meat. I guess we were there for too long, it began to show. Now killing was just something to do.

To be honest I don’t really know why I went there anyway, there was nothing to stop or change, nobody to save. And I felt weak, tired and old. But it didn’t matter.

To tell you the truth, I was more worried about the cold. A little less philosophic, I know. With every new day the winter was stronger, with every new day January was colder. I wasn’t sure what the date was, but I didn’t care much to ask about it anyway. But judging from the white spots nearby, I missed another Christmas on the battlefield. Another Christmas spent killing.

Kosovo war. I grew tired of the routine and left Japan to try to change some conflict again, how stupid of me. Both sides hate each other because of ethnical, political and religious issues and I’m the big bad owner holding the leash tight, trying to keep things from getting ugly. Did the curse cloud my mind?

First I joined the KLA who sent me over to NATO as a sniper. One way or another, I took the curse anywhere I went. Some days I even felt that if I didn’t want to I wouldn’t wake up. But I always got up and started it up again.

No complains here, killing is killing – no sugarcoating it by 'just casting spells' anymore.

We were wet from head to toe, freezing and bone tired. After the eternity long march we had just an hour to rest. Then as always the rest was interrupted by order to search the city after they bombed it to bits.

When we had finally saw the first bombed house. Headquarters informed us that we got there from exactly opposite direction than we planned. One of those moments when I was fed up with the whole soldier game.

The town wasn’t too wide, so it wasn’t long until we reached the destroyed square. In the middle was a fountain drilled with bullet holes, it was dirty and dried up, maybe it was white long time ago. Opposite from us we noticed something which could be the city hall. We started walking there.

"Ok, guys," captain said quietly, as we covered in half-bombed entrance of a convenience store, "the objective is clear. We have to search every piece of this city and if there is only one ugly bastard who’ll like to pump us up with lead, you know what to do."

Others quietly nodded. They weren’t in the mood for jokes. All they wished for was to go home, at least the ones who weren’t mercenaries like me. Captain spat, looked around him, then took out his map.

"Zmerkowic, Allen and Cowboy are with me. Craze, Kid and Heroine have the other side," he showed the way with his hand, then pointed at the map. "Quiet and fast. As always. We don’t want to die in this freaking shit hole, right?"

"No sir." We said in one voice. I felt fatigue and cold from that voice. It reeked of the same as the destroyed city – loneliness, despair.

"Kirill," Captain turned to me, "you dig yourself in that house and be ready for our report. You know what to do."

I slowly nodded and switched to the sniper rifle, I was a sniper for god knows how long, because they thought I’m that good. I didn’t tell anyone I’m a cheating magus bastard. I didn’t care, killing is killing.

"Okay, boys," Captain whispered. "Let’s do it."

We looked at each other and said our good luck, and then the unit parted. It wasn’t long until I was alone. I waited for a little while longer. I knew what to do, what they wanted from me. We all knew, that’s why we didn’t need to contact the HQ and await further orders, it was always the same.

Orders weren’t changing - 'You see anyone, kill him and report it. If something big happens, play a quiet boy in your hole and call us back. If you see them getting reinforcements, fire the flare. You cover our asses, until we come back. Everything else is your problem.'

I spat out my chewing gum, which lost it’s strawberry flavor long, long time ago and got ready. The hands on my watch showed a little past midnight. I scanned the square with night-vision and slowly got out from cover. The others were long gone, they disappeared somewhere in the back alleys. I watched the house where I should cover myself for a while, measured the distance. Then like a shadow I dove into the nearest archway and quietly ran toward my new cover. In all those years I learned to ignore dead bodies, they were just sack of something. Meat devoid of kinetic energy. You slowly begin to realize that human can get along with anything – you can learn to ignore that omnipresent death. Friends weren’t dying - they were simply not there anymore, replaced by new ones. And corpses, laying in puddles of blood were not there either, they didn’t exist. Or they did, but they just weren’t what they were the first time you saw it.

Then it happened, I stepped into something soft and nearly fell. Luckily I caught a piece of fence. When I regained my balance, I saw unmoving figure under my legs. A girl.

Long, long time ago, when I was human when I could be scared - maybe I would crouch down beside that sour young girl, moved her on her back and closed her eyes. But I wasn’t in the mood and I didn’t have the time. I turned so many corpses, and closed so many eyes, it was enough for one lifetime. But still I stopped for a while. I studied her dirty hair, which covered her face, her soft skin and beautiful figure. What a shame. These beauties weren’t fit into our world, they shouldn’t be here, they shouldn’t die here. For a while I had a urge to swing the hair out of the way and get a look at her face. Then I stopped and backed away. It was better this way. Only God knows why I stopped there like that. I turned around and continued my way quickly. I shouldn’t stop there and I shouldn’t even think. You don’t need to think, you just have to pull the trigger. There are ranks above you to do the thinking.

When I got to the place, I was quite surprised that the cracked roof was able to hold itself together. Silently I pulled back the muzzle on my pistol, then braced it in my left hand and walked slowly to the second floor. The house was deserted. I started to get the feeling that the whole town died from some ugly disease. Wouldn’t be the first time. I set the support stand for the rifle, then I pulled some ripped armchairs and pushed as many rags as I found in between them. When I was comfortable, I laid behind the rifle and aimed. I switched the optics to thermovision and... I waited.

One minute, ten minutes, thirty, an hour.

Nothing happened. Just thunder grumbled from time to time and humming rain drummed into the roof above me. I wanted to smoke. I was hungry. I was tired. I fought with the urge and made my eyes open again and again, until my eyes got all teared up. I scanned the street again, there was no one there anyway. I shrugged, set alarm on my watch and laid my head slowly. Thirty minutes of some rest couldn’t possibly kill me. There was nobody alive expect us in this town anyway.

What woke me up was a subdued cry.

I was instantly up. My hand instinctively reached for the rifle, even before I knew I was awake I already held the trigger automatically. Then I came back to myself and knew what was happening.

That cry belonged to that girl, which I mistook for a corpse just a couple of minutes ago. She was pulled by three men right into the middle of the square. I instantly knew that those were our guys. Craze, Allen and Billy the kid. My hand moved to the transmitter... I stopped.

Whose side am I on anyway?

They were just three. I waited for a while in case others show up, laid my hand again and looked through the optics.

Meanwhile they led the girl to the lip of the square, just twenty meters from building, where I laid covered in a pile of junk. I was watching her struggle. No chance, they were too strong for her. They dragged her through the sharp stones on the pavement. They threw her on some burned mattress laying near a big pile of furniture. Allen hit her in her face, hard. She almost fainted, the Kid started to undo his pants. She fought, desperate and wild, but no use against three soldiers.

Just when Kid had his pants down, I aimed. Shot echoed, then another and the third. Then silence. Three shots, three bullets, three kills. Nothing more and nothing less. Plus three to the bodycount.

"What’s happening there? Over." It was captain on the other side of the transmitter.

"Three stragglers, captain," I said. "I took care of them. Over."

There was silence for a while.

"Understood. Be careful, if there were three, then there’s a good chance of more coming. And keep an eye out for four, three and eight. I sent them your way. Keep your position for now. Over."

"Copy that, seven over."

The transmitter hummed and the connection closed and world was quiet again. All that time I talked with captain, I was watching her. She fell to side and laid there, half naked, helpless, in the middle of the biggest rain ever. I stared at her, and I knew I was the biggest moron on the planet. I stared at her and my thoughts caught up with me. My thoughts surrounded me, crushed me, tortured me and ripped me open. There was one thing in mind, spinning like rock in a rock polishing machine. One thing I wished not to be true. I wished I was wrong.

She was there and she was dying, I knew it, she lost lots of blood. Her body was getting cold and I silently watched. The white of thermovision got red, orange, yellow. She was crying for a while... then... she was silent.

Why was I here?

I slowly backed away from the optics. I knew that I’ll get up and go over there. But who the hell cares? I was here alone. Nobody else. It was time to get up and save a life once again.

What an irony... sometimes I wonder, what I became... was I really going to let her just die?

And there was something screaming in my head and I needed to make sure it was just a coincidence.

I grabbed the transmitter and got out of my hole.

I approached her and saw that scratched face, all the life slowly creeping out of her. And I remembered.

I realized, that I know who this girl is, lying at my feet. She changed... Everyone, who got through this changed. There was no doubt. I dropped the rifle, fell to my knees and hugged her tight. And tears started, from somewhere deep inside they just got through. And I cried.

And like with all the women in my life I saw it coming again.

I saw more than a few dying people in my life. And in her eyes I sensed the death, like I sensed it many times before. Maybe if I made up my mind faster, if I never hesitated and if I never cared about my own fucking ass, maybe I could save her. I tried a restoration spell, but it was too late now. She started to cough up blood. She was dying and I couldn’t do anything about it.

Before she breathed out for last time, she opened her eyes. I don’t know if she recognized me. If she remembered those kisses and touches which I gave her long, long time ago.

If she remembered that short time, when we were together eternity ago.

Long, long time ago, so far away that it seems to be from another world.

I don’t know if she recognized me, my face so different from that young idealistic man who traveled the world and took her to the movies once and they held their hands on the way back.

I don’t know, and maybe that’s for the better.

Because that would made her death unbearable.

So that she would finally see the monster that I’ve become.

I sat there, and stared into her eyes and took her hand in mine. I think she smiled before the end. Or maybe I just imagined it. Her eyes widened, began to stare vacantly at nothing and her weak grip on my hand relaxed.

And I just sighed slowly. Nothing more.

Everything was wrong.

But you can’t be alive, if you’re already dead.

I took my field shovel and began to dig.

I raised up and whispered a prayer, to nobody.

Then I lit up a smoke and took a long draft.

Then the transmitter crackled, "This is One, we’re about to pull back no contact so far, team two doesn’t respond how does it look over at your end Kirill?"

"No, movement here anymore either," I said. "But do me a favor, okay?"

"What is it?"

"Call me Emiya, over."

"Well... alright 'Emiya', we’ll be there in ten, keep your eyes open, over and out."

And this is where I belong, the war. This is where I'm supposed to be.

The planet torn into pieces and this is how it should be from the beginning. We’re animals. We fight. No magic makes killing machines out of anyone, it just kicks them back on track.

Back home, the peace, that’s the crazy part.

Because this, all this world of shit, this is real.

Superhero Emiya Kiritsugu, over and out.

-

Subject: Kiritsugu Emiya
Occupation: Mercenary for KLA, NATO
Location: Račak, Kosovo
Date: 1/16/1999
Status: MIA

[Milbunk]

Title: Singing in the Aftermath
Author: Anon

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Tsukihime or any of its characters.


The elevator droned on, ever upward, and its occupant rested her head on the door. Arcueid shamelessly indulged in the cool that met her forehead. She was too exhausted to even crane her neck and look at the numbers that steadily tallied above the mess that was her hair. She sighed, a miserable sound that only served to make her chest hurt on the exhale. It was a pitiful thing that she wanted the ride to last just a little longer. All she needed was just a few more minutes. Once she caught her breath, she’d make another attempt for the panel. She wasn’t even sure she hit the right button anymore. She didn’t even remember the room number. It might have started with six and probably had-

Steel retracted and Arcueid fell out of the elevator more than she stepped into the hallway. The doors closed behind her and she stumbled into luxury. The furnishings and regal elegance of a five-star hotel did not catch her eye. All she saw was scarlet carpet that looped around the hall and thick doors that stretched to arch across both the ceiling and floor. Her world was spinning. She swayed into a cart and stumbled passed it.

She was about to fall so the hand she shot out clawed into the wall for the sake of equilibrium, but the vertigo didn’t let her go. The blonde inhaled, filling her lungs as much as she could, before she slowly let the breath go. She closed her eyes for a full second before slowly opening one, and then the other.

The hall was mercifully flat and annoyingly extravagant. It was gaudy. Three different shades of gold clearly weren’t enough, she supposed. With her balance back where it was supposed to be, the vampire extracted her hand. Gold leaf fluttered to the floor because of the holes she made in the wall, but she didn’t notice. She stayed hunched over, and limped down the hall. “Ahh…” her voice sounded rusty, like it scrapped against the back of her throat, “what was it again…?” The hand that hovered eventually started to slide across the wall in case she needed it, “six two something—yeah, there had to be a six two in it.”

Arcueid bit into her lip. She should have written the number down or something. It was just the last digit she needed, though, so it was just a process of elimination as far as she was concerned. The door in front of her was six-two-three.

It’d do.

The blonde shuffled against the wall until she reached the door. There was no need to look around because it didn’t matter if someone saw her. She gripped the doorknob, and twisted it off without batting an eye. She leaned into the door and it swung inward, giving her ample time to catch a middle-aged woman playfully draping her bra over a balding man.

Arcueid took back her step, retracting it in hopes of avoiding the inevitable. The lovers froze. The thick hands stopped at mid-thigh and bra that dangled from his head fell to the floor. Surprise was fine. If they stayed stunned, if they stayed silent just long enough for her to-

“K-Kyaaaa!”

The makings of a headache stirred, but she didn’t allow it. She put two fingers to her temple and massaged it, never minding the crusty blood that flaked off with the motion. She needed to shut up.

“W-Who the fuck!?”

They needed to shut up. The room started to tilt so she closed her eyes, but the noise didn’t stop. The woman didn’t stop screaming, and the guy was yelling some kind of threat. Ruby eyes snapped open with the promise of violence, and the doorknob was molded in her grip.

“Shut. Up.”

Arcueid waited with wide eyes. She waited for any movement, any sound, and, especially, any threat. Two sets of mouths closed like they were zipped. Silence. The blonde exchanged looks with both of them. Hesitant nods came her way and she threw the hunk of metal to the side. It bounced off the wall and cracked something in the bathroom.

Six-two-four.

That was the next room so it was the next thought. It was just ahead of her, not even more than a few steps away. It was laughably close, but she was spent. The hallway started to warp again, spinning and blurring together like her consciousness was going down the drain.

Shiki needed her.

Arcueid rolled her shoulders back and rose to her full height. She calmed the breathing that was labored and wiped at her ruined clothes in a futile effort to make herself more presentable. They didn’t really want Shiki. What they wanted was to see her scurrying, to see her panicking, and she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Defiance was the last thing she had left so she clung to it. She used it for support and willed one foot ahead of the other. One slid forward and then the other. She just had to keep it going, just like that.

She sincerely hoped she was at the right room.

“Open up…”

She pressed her forehead against the door, unintentionally obscuring the peep hole with her respite. Why didn’t they have air-conditioning in the hallway?

“It’s me.”

Grateful access was granted like she spoke magic words, but her return was without luster or fanfare. Arcueid checked her weakness at the doorway. The bodyguard that opened the door moved to the side to usher her in. He bowed, the dirty white mop that he called hair dipping below her waist as she passed him.

It was Svelten, the White Knight.

“Welcome back, Arcueid,” his voice was deeper and smoother than his thin frame let on, “Altrouge requested that I ready the tea upon your return.”

The blonde ignored him and walked with her head held high. She didn’t give a damn about English tea and crumpets. She got what she was asked to get. “Tell her I’m done.” The suite wasn’t a room. It was practically an apartment. “I got what she wanted so give Shiki back.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to Altrouge about that,” Svelten closed the door before raising a slender finger to right his glasses. He couldn’t do anything for her demands, “I trust you remember where she is?”

Arcueid didn’t stop walking. One foot, then the other. That’s all she had to do. That’s all she had to focus on. Slide the left. Slide the right. It felt like lifetimes passed before she reached the bedroom. It was just as gaudy as the rest of the hotel. The wallpaper was pinstriped in glitzy gold and bold, thick lines of red, and the carpet felt like khaki grass below her. The setting, though, was fleeting, something her eyes wandered over in search of the man she loved.

She found him.

“Shiki…”

Her lover was sprawled across the canopy bed, his head nested in the lap of one person she was never happy to see. Altrouge. She looked the same every time she saw her. Frilly, dark dresses that matched her hair and a smile that was much too adult for a girl that looked so young were practically her calling card. Arcueid scowled so she beamed, her smile practically dripping with delight as she took time to savor the moment. The girl casually tossed her hair over her shoulder and out of her way.

“I got what you wanted,” Arcueid spat out the words as she crossed the room, “so give him back.”

“Don’t be so hasty, Arcueid,” the Dead Apostle let her fingertips dance across the bandages wrapped around Shiki, “show me what you gathered and then we can talk.”

Arcueid fished in her pocket to retrieve her handiwork and pulled them out one at a time. Torn pages of a Bible landed on the comforter, the smallest scraps slipping off the bed and waltzing to the floor. A lock of silky black kept together by a plain ribbon landed on top of the scripture. It was a small, tangible pile of misery.

“Perfect…” Altrouge nodded in approval and snapped her fingers. The drapes moved, “Fetch the tea and cookies for-”

“Altrouge, you better-”

The rest of her bodyguards chose to make their presence known.

The low growl from the other side of the room wasn’t the rumble of an aftershock. Primate Murder rose from its place on the other side of the bed. It wasn’t a dog. A dog was, at worst, an animal that reflected its environment. Primate Murder couldn’t be restrained by its surroundings. It was always a beast, a fact proven by the fangs exposed when it snarled.

Strout, the black knight, stayed where he was near the window, but the sword he wielded for his master was unsheathed. She knew not to look at it. If she did, she would be stabbed. That much was dictated by the curse. The man that didn’t like to be stared at stepped into light on account of his own volition and she could almost feel the deep, strained black of his eyes running across her body.

“I don’t like to be interrupted.” The master held up a hand and her underlings halted their approach. Primate Murder heeded the command in an instant, and Strout left in pursuit of the snacks she requested. “Anyhow…” she toyed with Shiki’s hair, idly coiling her finger in strands of black, “it would behoove you to partake, Arcueid.”

It was the kindest threat she ever received, but it was a threat nonetheless.

Arcueid bottled her feelings and fell into the chair behind her. She sunk into it, and anything resembling any poise lost on contact. It felt begrudgingly good, like the comfort betrayed her resolve. “What do you want, Altrouge?” The blonde ran a hand through her dirty hair. “I gave you want-”

“I want you to tell me about it.” The woman that hated interruptions cut her off with a carefully crafted smile. “That’s all. After that, you’re more than free to go.”

The hand that left her hair was dragged down her face in resignation, and she buried her face in her palm. Fury lit up in her heart and she smothered it. It was too late to get angry. “Where do you want me to start?”

Altrouge clapped in delight marred only by the fact that she would have loved to meet some resistance. “Hmm…” Dainty fingers touched on trophies and she made her decision. The tiny bundle of black was held up high. “Tell me about his sister. Arika, right? I had Svelten observe some of your associates, but he didn’t have much to report about her.”

“Akiha,” Arcueid quietly corrected her. “She’s proud and responsible… and she cares about Shiki a lot.”

“How did you take this from her?”

Arcueid held her tongue long enough to make sure she didn’t say what was really on her mind. Altrouge wasn’t stupid, and, if anything, she was the authority on cutting hair. It was a question posed not for the answer, but for the feelings invoked. She asked with intentions of hurting a guilty heart and succeeded.

“I went there first because I thought she’d understand…”

Arcueid reclined in the seat, but she didn’t relax. Her mind drifted, and she let it.

“Understand what?”

The response rolled in her mind before it left her mouth.

“That I needed help.”

“Oh my,” Altrouge leaned forward, elbows avoiding Shiki and dropping atop her knees as she broke into an even wider smile, “you asked for help?”

Arcueid held her sigh, but her posture showed her fatigue. The best she could do was gloss over any weakness and describe things as loosely as she could. “Yes,” she confirmed without pause, “I asked for help. I knew Akiha wasn’t exactly fond of me, but she still treated me well...” A smile crept to her face in spite of the feelings that welled inside.

She didn’t intend to ramble, but it was true.

That imposing expanse of land that people were so afraid of at night was the setting for so much fun, so many memories. Switching clothes with Hisui, having tea time with a disgruntled Akiha, cooking lessons with Kohaku… Reflection on better days started to cloud her thoughts so she shook them off.

Altrouge leaned back, her smug satisfaction replaced with a dip of her eyebrows and a frown so slight that it could be missed. The small bundle of hair in her grasp was not held up high again. It was merely held out, like she wanted to barter, “how did you take this from her?”

Memories of better days? Why would she want to hear about something like that? Want she craved was anguish so the question she repeated wasn’t simply something that demanded an answer. It was a tool, something she used to scrap away what she didn’t want.

“I didn’t have the time to argue so-”

“No, no…” Altrouge waved away the excess. She wanted the meat. “What did she say? What was it that made you give up trying to reason with her?”

No weakness.

Arcueid grimaced, but she didn’t relent. Her mantra remained. The moment, the very instant, she showed any opening, Altrouge would all but dive into it. The so-called Princess of the Dead Apostles was the kind of monster that existed to make her absolutely miserable so there was no such thing as being too careful in her presence.

Still…

In hopes of not showing a chink in her armor, she never put it on. Her hesitation, the brief time she took to suppress any regret, was enough for Altrouge gain a foothold. Arcueid motioned to speak, but Altrouge beat her to the punch, “let me guess?” It wasn’t really a request at all. “I imagine that she didn’t want to help since he was practically-”

Dark red eyes flashed gold.

Both the chair and ottoman were rocked, but only her seat fell. Altrouge’s tiny hand gripped Arcueid’s wrist before the chair hit the floor and she twisted it, gaining leverage and pulling the claws away from her face in one, swift motion. The other hand gripped her beast by the gruff of his neck, her rule the sole reason why he didn’t close the jaws that enveloped nearly half of the blonde’s torso.

Primate Murder drooled on the mess that was left of her clothes and let his teeth drag across the flesh that would have been chewed had his master allowed him the pleasure. The beast retreated just as quietly as it pounced, but it opted to rest at the foot of the bed as opposed to the other side of it.

“Strout.”

The blade that licked the back of Arcueid’s neck was withdrawn.

“N-Next time…” Unlike Svelten, his voice matched his stature. He was wiry, and shorter than the sword he wielded. It wasn’t a whiny voice, but it grated on her ears all the same. Even more annoying than his voice was that she couldn’t pick up on his presence. It wasn’t that he was quick. He was actually much slower than Primate Murder. It was just hard to get a feel for where he was when he barely made any sound when he moved, “next time I’ll end you, Arcueid.”

“Strout.”

“Y-Yes ma’am!”

The sword was promptly lowered and he snapped to attention. Altrouge ignored his courtesy and gazed at him with golden eyes, “care to explain why you haven’t returned with tray in hand?”

“I k-know you like three cubes of sugar, but I wasn’t aware that we didn’t have any so-”

“Enough.” Altrouge hated excuses more than being interrupted. “Look at that sword.”

“B-But I was just-”

“Strout,” she released her hold on Arcueid, “don’t embarrass me anymore than you already have.”

The sword that was meant to keep a princess from harm was raised and neither Altrouge nor Arcueid thought to watch Strout inflict his curse on himself. It was a cruel punishment, but his immortality would see him through the worst of it.

“Well,” Altrouge started, her haughty expression rooted in complete control, “now that we got-”

“Everyone is acting like he’s already gone…”

Arcueid didn’t retake her seat, and she didn’t try to soothe the wrist that was twisted far passed the point of being broken. She focused on the man that she loved. Shiki groaned, and weakly raised a hand in her direction. She quickly reached out to grasp it, but it was slapped away just as fast.

“Don’t be stupid,” Altrouge didn’t lower the hand she used to bat Arcueid’s away. It remained where it was, a caution more than it was warning, “he’s just belatedly reacting to your bloodlust.”

“I held Akiha down and cut her hair… She wasn’t going to give it to me and I didn’t have time to argue. She thought that I was lying.” Arcueid sighed. The faster she finished, the faster they could leave, “she thought that I was trying to gather more materials again, that I was making the alchemist try another potion.”

“She felt like it was better to just let him die.”

It was an unnecessary observation, and she said it knowing that much.

“That’s the story, Altrouge…” Arcueid lowered her head. What was the point of making a show of being defiant when she was already defeated? “Let me take him home and give him his medicine.”

Altrouge made a gesture. Strout abruptly collapsed to his knees and planted his hands on the floor. He was released, but he had no reprieve. One stray glance from his master was all it took for him to scurry to his feet and make for the door. “You never mentioned what happened to your clothes,” she wouldn’t let her go just like that. “Surely the executor didn’t give you that much trouble?”

“Ciel...” Arcueid stared at the ripped Bible pages that had long since fallen to the carpet. “I held back, but that pile bunker...”

Getting hit by that thing was like getting simultaneously hit by two trains and getting ran over by a third. The force it generated was enough to blast her through the park, through a building, and she didn’t even remember landing. When she came back to her senses, she was already stumbling towards the hotel lobby.

Altrouge shrugged. A pile bunker? Last time she saw it, it was just a halberd, “so that’s it?”

“That’s it,” Arcueid confirmed after a slow exhale. “You wanted me to humiliate my friends and I did.”

Altrouge couldn’t help but grin at the accusation, “I did no such thing. I simply asked you to retrieve some things in exchange for this man that just so happened to come into my possession.”

“Just let Shiki go…” What more did she want? “Please.”

“I wish I could…” Altrouge briefly caressed his cheek, her fingertips trailing across his jaw before she reached for the end of his bandages. She undid them. Starting from the base of his neck, she carefully pulled a few strips away to reveal what she wanted to be seen. “Truly, I do, but I never let any of my knights go.”

“No…” Arcueid cried.

“He died while you were gone, Arcueid.”

The blonde sucked in a breath in hopes of saying something, anything, but she was unable to raise any denial after she saw the tiny pair of holes on the side of his neck. She simply stared, shoulders dropping and back hunching over as realization eroded any hope.

“I think he’ll make for a fantastic vampire.” Altrouge beamed as she rewrapped the bandages around his neck, “this will be my first time raising one from the very beginning.”

“I…” The room started to swirl together, but Arcueid kept her eyes wide. The scarlet of the carpet started to move up the wall and the ceiling started to dip to the floor, but she didn’t sway. She stood in the midst of her dizziness, trembling in anticipation of the pain she was about to inflict. “His humanity was the only thing he had left and you took that from him.”

“I took something from him?” Altrouge scoffed at the notion, “I did you a favor.”

The blonde that rubbed her hand across her face stopped to glare at her antagonist through the gaps between her fingers. She couldn’t be serious. “I’m four seconds away from ripping your face off, Altrouge.”

There was a muted knock at the door. They ignored it. “Though I’d love to see you try,” Altrouge looked her in the eyes, “would you believe me if I said I did it because I thought it’d make you happy?”

Arcueid was incredulous, so much so that she actually laughed. “Three seconds.”

“You don’t really want to be here. You just think you do because you’re having fun right now, but this will all be gone in a blink. What were you going to do when you woke up and your friends were gone? When this man expired without you even noticing?”

“Two seconds.”

“You would have gone to sleep. End of story. You don’t even realize I’m giving you exactly what you want!” Her smile stretched too far, too fast. It was an inhuman expression that rose to her face as her excitement reached its peak, “this man is ours forever, and we can play together as much as we want!”

Arcueid met Primate Murder mid-leap and grabbed his maw with both hands. The same thing wouldn’t work twice. She pried his mouth open and yanked as hard as she could. Flesh ripped and his jaws separated in a disgusting crack. She didn’t stop. She ripped off the better part of its head, and blood exploded throughout the room.


“Strot! Svelten!”

The White Knight burst through the door and was slapped away by the carcass she turned into a weapon. A black sword dipped into her line of sight just long enough for her to notice before it sunk into her chest. She was gouged. Not just once. Not just twice. She was buried under a waterfall of blades, but a curse wouldn’t stop her. Not now. She blindly reached to the side and gripped Strout by the neck. She squeezed. It snapped. She threw him on the floor and stomped on him for good measure.

Arcueid licked the blood that splattered onto her lips and retrieved the sword from her chest. She drew her arm back and threw it like a lance. It pierced Svelten in the side, but he didn’t go down. He recovered, his broken glasses falling from his face as he lowered himself to the floor. She kicked the ottoman into his way and he barreled through it. Just like she thought he would. The brutal collision with Primate Murder sent both of them sprawling into and through the wall and off the sixth floor.

They’d be back and Strout wouldn’t be out for long, so she didn’t have much time.

“Altrouge…”

“That was splendid, Arcueid,” the little girl clapped before carefully sliding from under Shiki and hopping off the bed. “Come. Let’s make the most of such a pleasant night!”

Arcueid stalked towards her, her back bent and her feet dragging as she closed the distance. The curse wasn’t over so she walked in the midst of raining swords. It was an illusion, but the sensation of being turned into a pincushion was very real. Still, that wasn’t the reason her arm abruptly fell to the floor.

“It wouldn’t have been very fun if I took all of your limbs while you were occupied, would it?” Altrouge skipped back and out of her sister’s range, “I’m going to chip away at you, bit by bit, and, when I’m done, I’m going to have Svelten pack you up so I can take-”

The slash tore through her face and left four ragged trenches in its wake. Arcueid dropped her own arm and staggered forward to grab Altrouge by the hair. The Princess laughed, making a gurgling sound, as she was dragged to the floor, “This isn’t the end, Arcueid! He’s mine now! You’re going to have to chase after me if you want him! Isn’t it wonderful, sis-”

Arcueid lifted Altrouge by the hair and drove her torn up face into the carpet with enough force that the television fell off the dresser. Again, she pulled her up by the long locks of black she wrapped around her hand and, again, she slammed her into the floor. Blood splattered across the crater she made and blended into the carpet. She didn’t stop. The sound of a ruined face crashing into a soaked carpet, the wet crunch of bone being broken with every impact, was like music. She listened, all the while thinking of how she was really going to make Altrouge suffer. For someone as proud as her, the best thing to do inflict a permanent injury on her pride. That much would-

Fingers dipped into her spine and, from there, moved to her shoulder blade. She was stabbed. Again. But it wasn’t something as simple as being cut by a blade. It was a different feeling altogether. The arm that she loss wasn’t merely cut off. It was ended, like a line that got broken. Like a line that got cut.

Shiki.

Arcueid stood on shaky legs. His hand slipped from her back, but not before severing another line. It didn’t matter. She knew what she had to do. She dived on top of him, and he embraced her. There was no love to be shared. She bit down, crushing her mouth around his neck, and, in turn, he quietly took her apart.

Unable to even groan because of the force exerted on his throat, Shiki hands eventually slowed to a stop. Arcueid didn’t let up. She couldn’t leave anything behind. Not even a trace of blood. It was her fault. She swore she’d protect him, that she’d save him, and she failed, but she wouldn’t allow him to become what he never wanted to be.

When Shiki stopped moving and relief wasn’t the wave that washed over her, but more of the tide that just barely teased her feet. She put him down before he ended up hurting anyone. He would have been grateful that she, at the very least, kept him from going out and hurting innocent people. Would he have patted her on the head like he always did when she did something she didn’t want to do?

Blood dribbled down her chin after she lifted her mouth from his crushed neck. It seeped into the thick comforter, and a little pooled around his head. Arcueid craned her neck, just enough to turn a golden eye towards his bandaged face.

Nothing.

He was gone.

“Shiki…”

There were no further words. There was nothing she wanted to say, nothing she wanted to do. She didn’t have any hands with which to touch him so she settled with nuzzling her head against his chest. He was cold. The tears threatened to come but she held them off. She knew it’d happened, that he’d leave her behind, but just not like this.

Arcueid allowed tired eyes to close and darkness claimed her. She could hear the wood straining, and eventually buckling, under the stress Primate Murder exerted as it climbed back into the room, most certainly with Svelten in tow. It was no use trying to listen for Strout. Either he was searching for his sword or helping his master. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Her senses dulled and her consciousness slacked. Her mind drifted, reluctant to hold onto anything other than only the most precious of memories. On the eve of a timeless dream, she thought back to only one.

Everything was fine at first. She poured the rice into the pot, added the water, brought it all to a boil, and then covered it. It was easy. It was pretty much just a matter of turning a dial and standing back to watch. Then, all of a sudden, the pot started boiling over and the fire was spreading and she was yelling for Shiki and he was laughing. The transition from feeling like an accomplished cook to not even knowing what was happening was jarring, and more than enough to make her pout as he poked fun at her. He donned an apron and helped more than he took over for her.

It was the first time they made dinner together.

She told him she loved him.

He blushed, the same way he always did when she caught him off guard, mumbled that she was an idiot, and, of course, said that he loved her, too.

Fin

[Milbunk]

Title: Venom
Author: Anon

Hello!

I don't know how to start this, so I'll just do what Madleine told me when she gave me this and start writing whatever comes to my mind first, alright?

Call me Michelle. If I'm a writer now, I need a pen name, right? It's a security measure, I don't want anybody who finds this to know who I am after all. Come to think of it, that also does depend on where they find it, wouldn't it? In any case, it should help.

But I'm getting carried away. So, why am I writing this? I think that's a good way to start.

Today is my 16th birthday. For a few weeks now I had...weird nightmares. I'll tell you later. This isn't important now. Anyways. So, of course I talked to Madleine about it and she told me that this is a result of stress and disordered thoughts, and I need something to set my mind straight and think, something where I can go over my most personal and innermost thoughts and sort everything out. So on my birthday she gave me this notebook...diary...thing.

Which I will now use for exactly that. I won't do this daily, I have enough to do with dad's shop and school, but I guess it won't be too bad if I just write a bit down every once in a while. Maybe the nightmares will stop then. It's not like they are THAT bad anyway, but hey, you know Madleine. Well, I do. You're a book.

-----

I almost forgot about this thing.

Yesterday wasn't a good day for me. I got my math test back, and dad's reaction was what I expected. For the next two weeks dad put me under a curfew, and cut down my free time by forcing me to help out.

I kind of doubt that the latter part of this has anything to do with punishment, the miser just doesn't want to hire any help.

I don't like math. Helping dad out made me the fastest in basic calculations in the entire class, but that rarely helps me when those damn sine and cosine come into play.

What do I need this stuff for anyway? I don't get it. When I'm done with school dad will force me to take over, if I like it or not.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about running off some time. Well, maybe that's too harsh. I like the town, and honestly, I also like helping out (unless it kills my free time). But do I really want to be stuck here for the rest of my life? Sure, the people are friendly, except for the occasional slant eye remark, the town is nice and really beautiful, but it's also tranquil to the point of suffocating me.

I mean honestly, what's even in here? A church, a cafe (a cafe I can't go to with Armand this weekend, thanks dad!) the school, a store and our bakery. The most interesting thing that can even happen here is a tourist getting lost on his way to some wine village.

And I'm not talking about running off to Paris either. I want to see the world, as cliché as it sounds. Bertrand had been to Japan during the summer vacation, and just wouldn't stop bragging about it. He showed the whole class his pictures, of shrines in the midst of woods shrouded in mist, of the tightly cramped cities just vibrating with life and beautiful beaches, and I think I fell in love. No matter what, if I take over or not, I want to go there. I might as well start saving now and go on a trip after graduation.

But I'm getting carried away. Then again isn't that the purpose of this thing?

So, after going to sleep yesterday I had a nightmare again. It was this really weird and abstract thing, just pictures flashing before my mind. Numbers and calculations that I somehow felt were really important, but had nothing to do with any of the subject matter we were currently working with.

In addition letters just kept showing up. I thought they were Greek or something, but for some reason I never saw an alpha, beta or gamma, which are the only ones I instantly recognize. Maybe I'm some kind of hidden genius that does these amazing calculations in her sleep? Would certainly help my traveling plans. Also there was this symbol...not a letter or anything. More like a grid, nodes connected to other nodes with bars, and everything was full of these letters.

Maybe math is just making me crazy. I hope I can get a doctor to attest me this, would probably save me from flunking the next test.

-----

I think it's time to write in this thing again.

Dad was out for a bit today so I took care of the store. I should mention that we didn't have any customers at this time. So I put the baker rolls for Maurice, the cafe owner in the oven. And then I heard the phone ring, so of course I went upstairs and picked up, after all it would have been impolite to just let it ring right?

It turned out it was Armand. I guess I gave him the impression that helping out dad was more trouble to me than he thought, so he tried to take my mind off it.

He's such a sweetheart. Laura thinks I'm wasted on him because he's not exactly a genius, but she doesn't see the whole picture. I don't have any problem with him being a bit...slower than me when he really understands me on the other hand.

The problem is that he deeply understood me for half an hour before I noticed the smell of the oven.
Dad doesn't get angry when I make slight mistakes. On good days he doesn't get angry when I make a big mistake. But turning the delivery of our most reliable customer into charcoal? And that right after I made it clear how much I'd like to go out just today?

He slapped me.

He never does that.

It didn't hurt me or anything, but still, that I drove him to this point really pained me. But not at that point.

Everybody has aggressive impulses some time. I'm no stranger to wanting to punch somebody who really pisses me off, hell, when I was in kindergarden I always needed to be pried from other kids to prevent me from showing off my repertoire of chokeholds. It's not like there is anything wrong with feeling a bit violent every now and then, right?

That moment however, I eyed one of the serrated bread knives that were lying around. Before I realized it my hand had wrapped around it.

I instantly let it go.

My dad, I would have slashed my own dad's throat with a bread knife over a slap? It was even my own goddamn fault! What is wrong with me?

I need sleep. Maybe it's the stress, maybe it was just a one-time slip up. I don't know. I only know that writing this helps me.

-----

Dad extended my curfew to 4 weeks, and also upped my work times. The bit of free time I have is mostly used for studying nowadays. The stress just keeps piling up, it feels like I can't find any time for myself or my friends. I can meet them at school, sure, but since I can't even go out on the weekends because I have to get up early it feels like my social life is slowly withering.

As expected I'm not feeling any better.

Yesterday I went grocery shopping and some kid ran into me. I was clearly, obviously having troubles carrying my bags. And this ten year old boy with a voice like nails across chalkboard almost makes me spill everything across the floor. And what does that brat say? Not “excuse me” or “I'm sorry” but “out of my way.”

Kids these days just don't have any respect for the elderly, I swear. I grabbed a heavy, soup-filled tin can and was so close...so close to just throwing that thing at the kid.

Doesn't sound any worse than what happened with dad? Well, here it comes.

I go to sleep, again, exhausted. And then the dream happens.

It's the same setting. I go grocery shopping. The kid runs into me, I almost lose the grip on my bags, put it down, and grab the soup can.

It felt so vivid, I could feel the cold metal against my fingers, the weight of that thing, its balance and sturdiness...

And I threw it at the kid.

Clean headshot. I could hear the visceral cracking sound as his head impacted on the cobblestone pavement with violent force.

But the kid was still moving. It was crying, yes, and a puddle of blood began to form as a gaping wound on its head began to flood the crevices with crimson fluid.

I just calmly walked over. Smiling. I smiled while a kid was lying on the floor bleeding and crying for help.

But nobody came.

I sat down on its back and gripped its hair with both of my hands.

Again and again I slammed his face into the ground.

The cracking between each impact lessened as I slowly turned his skull into shatters and his boyish features into unrecognizable red mush.

I didn't get bored of it even as his pulse stopped, but I started to wonder why nobody helped the poor little kid.

Only after I loosened my blood-soaked grip around his head I realized that I had been watched.

The streets were empty except for a single man, sitting on a bench not too far from me, reading a book. His blonde, flowing hair and spindly figure gave him an androgynous appearance, accentuated by the anachronistic robe he wore. But his deep voice was unmistakably that of a man.

He turned a single page and said to me: “You will be whole again soon.”

I'm...I'm still not insane right?

I didn't recognize the man. Somehow though... he felt familiar. Is this some sort of spirit animal thing? Madleine likes this esoteric stuff, maybe it's just rubbing off of me.

I should get back on track. I honestly don't know how to deal with this. If I speak with anybody about this they will undoubtedly call me crazy, but not crazy enough to actually help me. That doesn't change the fact that something about me is clearly wrong though. This isn't me. I'm not a murderer, neither in a dream nor in reality. I would never hurt anybody without a good reason! I don't even shout at people (unless they deserve it of course)!

I need to get my mind off this somehow. This might just be the best way to do it. Maybe I can get dad to loosen up my curfew for the weekend.

-----

There are good and bad news for yesterday.

Dad actually DID give me the allowance to go out on the weekend. I think he sees how I'm slowly descending into some kind of slump.

Even if we have our disagreements, I feel that dad is really someone I can depend on when I really need him, and most of all he really understands me, even if I don't tell him everything.

The bad news is that I had an... episode again.

We were just hanging out in the cafe; it was me, Laura, Madleine, Daniel and Armand. Armand was just complaining how he couldn't hear the song the radio was blaring anymore. I just take a sip of water out of one of these tiny glasses (god forbid if they actually gave me a bigger one to my coffee...) and can't comment, so what does Laura do? She just goes over to him, hugs him from behind and says “Aw, you poor thing!” as if she didn't know that there was something going on between me and him!

That stupid blonde bimbo, I hate her SO MUCH! And sadly I made that quite vocal. Well, not really.

I gripped the glass so tightly it just burst into shards.

A few of them stuck in my hand, and it was obviously getting bloodier and bloodier.

So, the best part comes up. Laura sees it and almost faints, but Armand just jumps out of his seat, almost knocking her off balance (what can I say, he's...not the smartest). He carefully touched my bloody hand and asked me if I was alright, while Daniel called a waiter.

I wasn't able to focus though.

The sight of the blood... the way it pooled in the palm of my hand... I don't know, but while everybody was watching, even the waiter who fetched a small first aid kit I licked off my bloody hand.

I cut my tongue too, but I didn't care. That is, until a second passed.

Everybody stared at me. I tried to stutter some explanation about how I heard licking wounds was disinfecting and how I panicked, but I doubt it was very convincing, especially with blood stained teeth (at least those almost caused Laura to faint. Again.).
I just walked home after I got my hand bandaged, not saying a single word.

----

It looks like my curfew isn't going away any time soon.

Today right before our first lesson started, Armand asked me how my hand was feeling. I don't even know anymore what Laura said after that, but I still remember the feeling of my bandaged fist impacting her face. It turns out that not only blood lets her go down easily.

Dad had to come over from work, we had a long talk with the teacher. I told her about the stress that had been building up, but I did leave out the violent impulses. At this point I am convinced that if I want to sort this out I have to do it myself. Otherwise it's meds and mental hospital for me.

I often heard that people who really are crazy do not realize that little fact. Since I can recognize these impulses it just HAS to mean that I can sort this out by myself, or so I hope. I can always seek professional help later after all.

I'm suspended from school for a week. I already apologized to Laura, but she didn't want to hear any of it. Dad says I don't have to help out, but I told him that it's okay. I need the interaction, and something to keep my mind off it.

------

I just can't do it anymore. Is “please” such a difficult word for these people? Can't they just say “thanks” after I give them what they want? What the hell.

All of them are just walking trash. Rotten, foul trash just needs to disappear.
Disappear.
Disappear.

Whenever I see one of them walking towards through the glass doors I wonder what it would be like to end their miserable life right there. So many points. So many vulnerabilities. The neck, the temples, the throat, it’s basically impossible not to kill them if I really wanted. Their lives are just a result of my mercy. Why do so many of them crawl in the store and disturb me, why do they open their disgusting slimy mouths and act familiar even though we barely know each other? Where are you when I am having these dreams? Just disappear.

-----

I don't know what came over me. I no longer work in the store.

I only leave my room to eat with my parents. We barely talk, but when we do it's light-hearted topics, small talk about the weather and other insignificant things. Neither mom nor dad say anything about my condition or ask me why I lashed out at the customers that day.

I didn't hurt anybody, and I don't plan on doing so.

After I realized that I can't even look out of the window without being overwhelmed by this intense feeling of... rage whenever I see another person, I didn’t open my drapes again.

I try to keep up with school on my own. Armand still calls me every single day and keeps me up to date. I always have to dissuade him from coming over.

I don't want him to see me in this state, and even more so I fear what might happen if I see him. And to add insult to injury, as my life is coming apart for reasons I don't understand… the sun just continues to shine, as if to mock me.

Even the little sunlight that shines through in my room is enough to hurt my eyes. I fear that I might have gotten too used to the electrical light illuminating this room for sixteen hours a day, but still. I will have to ask mom about this.

----

I lashed out at dad today. We talked about the weather again and he just had to mention how he was looking forward to continued spotless sunshine.

I had a blackout.

I remember shards, loud noises and... I hurt him. I think. I don't know. When I try looking back on it, it all feels... cloudy.

I locked myself in my room. Just to be sure. I don't want to hurt him. Not anymore. Mom or Dad knock at my door in regular intervals. A bit of food and a small note can be found whenever I open the door. It always says the same thing, the date, the time and a single sentence.

Stay strong Elesia, we still love you.

-----

Today there was a man in front of my door. I did not let him in. He said he was a doctor, that he came to treat me. I told him that a doctor can't help me anymore. The short talk I had with him is hazy, the only parts I remember are meaningless small talk about how I am feeling.

Well, how am I supposed to feel?

Every night I go to sleep I remember things. Memories I never made of talking to people I never met in a language I can't speak in places I have never been. And I know nothing of this is real, and I know that it is not natural to have this dreams, and I KNOW that I am slowly losing my grip. So why can't I fight it?

Now every dish I get is accompanied by small pills. I take them, but they don't help. Not one bit.

-----

A man was standing in my room tonight. I was so sure of it; I could feel his gaze, smell his presence and recognize his silhouette. I felt the rage come over me once again. I had to kill him, I knew it, he was not supposed to intrude here, I was confined enough as it were. So I jumped at him, struck him, tried to grip him and smash him into a wall.

For days there had been nothing more real than this moment as I kept on punching his miserable face to a pulp. The rage subsided temporarily as I felt my fist getting soaked in his blood.

It took me minutes of fighting until I realized that I attacked my own shadow.

I was so sure, so sure that it was the blonde from my dreams.

As I tried to catch my breath I looked at what havoc I had caused.

I had literally punched a hole in the wall. Bricks were stained with blood; not only were my knuckles cut, I also felt that I probably broke a few fingers.

The pulsing pain gave me peace for a few seconds. Apparently the world decided that this shall not be.

And I swear that I saw this.

The hole is still there.

I am crazy. I know this. I know that I am losing my grip, but by God and my family I swear, the blood slowly peeled itself of the bricks. It seemed like it was tired of behaving like a fluid, instead opting to fly right at my hand.

The hole is still there.

And it seeped back into the wounds.

The hole is still there.

My fingers, fractured pieces, mended themselves under audible cracking.

The hole is still there.

The pain completely vanished.

The hole is still there.

It's not going away.

------

Lavalle, the town priest came and wanted to talk. He said he prays for me every single day. I was never a very spiritual girl, but never had I wished for a god to exist more than now. But as I tried to fold my hands in prayer and call upon the heavens I felt disgust welling up in myself. Disgust at the church. The feeling that they are dangerous. That Lavalle has to be taken care of. That I can not be safe as long as he lives.

These are not my thoughts.

I think.

-----

Lavalle came again today. I screamed until he went away.
He thinks I am possessed.

-----

Lavalle didn't come again today. It was just mom.

She told me stories about when I was a little kid, how much trouble I made her, and how difficult it was to make me get up early. And how proud she was of me whenever I helped out dad in the bakery.

I decided that I don't want to hurt them anymore.

I felt the knife in my throat. It was a butter knife, not sharp enough as a reliable stabbing implement. I managed it anyway. Again and again.

After a while I grew numb to the pain.

I pulled it out over and over, every time hoping that the wound would not heal this time.

Was I even hurting myself?

It had some effect. I was sure of that. I felt weaker. My stomach growled and I felt parched like never before, but I decided to stop eating. It would make this easier. So I kept on stabbing.

Stab.
Wait.
Stab.
Wait.
Stab.
Wait.
Stab.
Wait.

My hand hurts. I'll continue tomorrow.

-----

I could no longer stand the thirst.
So I drank water.
It doesn't go away.

-----

I feel sick.

-----

I feel tired

-----

I feel parched

-----

I f eel a lo ne.

-----

I fe el co NF ined.

-----

I f eE L f In E

-----

It turns out that the mass wine Lavalle used was cheap South American import ware. I knew that the Church always put more faith in the power of symbolism over substance, but this was indeed quite disappointing if I say so myself. I had expected a slightly more refined sense of taste from one who experiences only a single life. But alas, it was not all for naught. It turned out that he stored not only wine for mass but also personal consumption. And what do I find? A 1963 Cote de Beaune Pinot Noir.

It complemented his still warm heart quite nicely.

This village had turned quite tranquil over the last few days. I had to erect a bounded field to prevent any trespassers, and of course the local population had to be charmed not only by my feminine wiles, but also by magecraft. But all in all I have to say that not only is my hometown quite beautiful, it was also eye-opening to have the potential of this body uncovered in full. Subtlety had been the highest directive, but there was no need to keep this up indefinitely. After all isn't it pleasure that differs life from just living?

Today as I came to feed, my dearest Armand the rotten flesh his body so desires I found my little notebook again. With the pressure I had been working under it was understandable if regrettable that I had forgotten about it.

Some of the population still continues a parody of life, enthralled under my spell. Some of them ,like Armand, my treasure, I had turned into familiars just in case. Others are to serve as my entertainment.

Alchemy required me to breed bugs as test animals, but as I grew older I grew quite fond of the act itself, regardless of any eventual purpose...

Let us see if this cellar can be utilized.

-----

I think I finally grew bored of the cellar today. Sure, their crawling all the way up to the first step of the staircase was quite amusing. Their cries of agony as their leg- and-armless bodies face a hurdle they can never overcome had been quite entertaining, but I think I might have outgrown that old pleasure.

It might have been the fact that I left them their tongues instead of cutting them out like I planned to, their unmistakably human cries breaking my immersion, disallowing me the tranquil pleasure of just watching crawling bugs. On the other hand even that proved to be quite entertaining. Patrice cried like a little child all the way through. Madleine moved from cursing me to begging for forgiveness to curses again. I can still hear them ringing through the church...”Elesia, Elesia! You will pay for this, in this life and the one following!” And it seems that Laura was braver than I gave her credit for. After only three hours in my little terrarium she bit her own tongue off and died.

I have started probing the neighboring towns with my Dead. A change of air seems nice.

-----

It was inevitable that this would happen, wasn't it?

Two of my Dead are no more. It seems that a change of air is out of the question. Instead I will have to prepare a feast unlike anything this town has ever seen before.

After all it seems that royalty will be joining us tomorrow evening.

Yes, the unchanging princess has finally picked up on my trail. Oh, how I loathe this woman, and yet I have nothing but desire for her state of being. As she tore apart my familiar I could feel the stare of her golden, perfect eyes piercing my very soul. Her skin, of pale complexion was lacking any wounds or signs of imperfection; her body was as feminine and beautiful as I had remembered. She truly was eternal in every sense of the word - unchanging like the very laws that make up this world, unfeeling, not influenced by her environment or even time itself. An unbreakable beauty. And yet her presence fills me with nothing but disgust. She must be exterminated, and it must be done by my hand.

There was only one being who had managed to tarnish her perfect appearance. Her golden hair was as short as I remembered it.

I rounded up all of the townspeople. I modified the field to drain their life force. A body like this might not come ever again, and I plan to use everything I have to my advantage.

The full crimson moon will hang over this humble town tomorrow.

It shall mark the day on which Arcueid Brunestud was returned to dust.

I am no fool. I prepared myself for the most likely outcome. The princess attracts the rats of the church like the stench of foul meat. A quite beautiful destination in the orient if she or the agents end this cycle.

I will do everything in my mind to prevent that however.

Eight-hundred years of being hunted will end here.

Because if there was one being that would be able to bring an end to eternity itself, its name would be Michael Roa Valadamjong.

-----

I don't know how to start this.
I'm feeling better. I think.

I didn't think I would see this thing ever again to be honest. A part of me... Roa... he's gone now. He went off to the next body. Which means I shouldn't be alive, and it seemed like I was not the only one thinking this.

The Church kept me sealed. They thought I was dead. I thought I was dead. I could feel the burning pain of the Princess' hand moving out of my chest as I awoke in total darkness.

The people there... they reacted quickly. I was not struggling in the slightest. They bound me to a table, and then that woman started talking...

“This wasn't supposed to happen. But do not worry. We will find a way to bring you peace.”

They stabbed me in the heart again. I felt every bit of it. There was no anesthesia, not even a strong hit on the head. But as it turned out even that would probably not have helped.

I can't die.

I am sure of this. They are too. They stabbed me, tore me apart, brunt my limbs, cut me open and punctured every centimeter of my bowels, they tried to drown me in normal and in blessed water. They shot me with strange weapons and cut me with mystical artifacts, they even resorted to outright magic.

I can't die.

It's a paradox. An error of the world itself I am Roa. But Roa exists. As long as he lives I can't die, and trust me, there is nothing more that I would love to do more right now.

The woman came again once they stopped killing me. She told them to untie me, she gave me a cup of hot chocolate and patted my back. But her expression was not one of sympathy, or even indifference. It was a wide, amused grin.

She told me about the paradox. About how Roa had to die. And about how much my perceived curse might be a blessing for what was about to come.

A choice. Either I remained locked under the Vatican until they found Roa, or I would be able to find and kill him myself. Looking back on it, it wasn't really one.

She said she will have to put me through training that might make me wish to be back on the table again. It shows that she does not understand me. There could be nothing more fulfilling than seeing Roa die, and everything that leads up to it.

Nameless one is what she called me. I didn't tell her my name. Hearing it again just makes me think of everybody in the village, and how they cried it out before I ended their lives.

They gave me a new one. Bow. It's quite fitting. An unfeeling tool, used to hunt. I won't miss my target. I won't miss this place. And at the end of it all, I am sure that I won't miss this life.

Roa has to die.

[SeiKeo]

Bryn really was a trendsetter wasn't she, this is now the third time we've had a TM FF mysteriously deal with Serbia.

- - - Updated - - -

Aaaaaagh fuuuuuuuuuuck Venom why are you the best fic.

[Kelnish]

Buster really outdid himself on that. (Random dartboard guess)

[Aiden]

...

Well it really wasn't a question.

Vemon wins.

I know I'm not a judge but I still say Vemon wins.

[Kotonoha]

don't you mean Vemon

[Aiden]

Of course that's what I meant.

[SeiKeo]

Please tell me that's on purpose D:

[Milbunk]

Sorry that was a typo, lol.

[Aiden]

Oh.

I was right the first time lol

[Kotonoha]

[Kelnish]

That seems about right. Ciel is pretty homely looking.

[Lycodrake]

Meaning was very, very good.

[Brynhilde]

Where was the second TM fanfic that somehow ended up in Serbia? Link plz

Man, I really need to come back to BL more often!

[SeiKeo]

Untouchable.

[I3uster]

It's there for exactly one chapter though. :V