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Thread: Rot Me (A Fate/Prototype & Tsukihime Cross-over)

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    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    Rot Me (A Fate/Prototype & Tsukihime Cross-over)

    This'll probably end up being terrible, but bear with me (or not, it's your choice).

    Currently in the process of being re-written.

    Through With You by Cult To Follow


    As far back as she could remember, Misaya Reirokan has always had crink in her neck that she could do nothing about. The only she could, was let it subside, back into the recesses of her flesh. Back into the darkness of her mind. The pit of her soul. She had no help from her father in coping with this knot beneath her skin—this thorn prickling her insides. Her father, abusive and trapped in the past, saw nothing but a wish he could never obtain, a fleeting memory that had long since shriveled and died. She was always alone in her struggle.

    All of this changes, one day, when she is given a taste of something red.


    (Special thanks to those who helped me get this out).

    Small Notice: So, the mental mailbox I keep open for any potential ideas gets overstuffed frequently and usually this is after I re-read chapters I've already written. Most often, I think of things I can squeeze or add into these already written chapters, expanding and hopefully fleshing them out. So... uhh... just a heads-up if someone happens to come back and see new chunks in the story that weren't there before.

    It's just my brain throwing up stuck content.

    Small Notice #2
    Small Notice #3



    I. Misery

    A crimson moon, hovering high above a bleak sky filled with dark clouds, casting a sinister hue over everything caught under its luminescence, painting the barren landscape with its sanguine brush, and dripping with the screams of the dying, the dead, and the damned. The wind as it howled, carrying the voices along, unifying them in a distorted harmony across the nothingness, rising in volume, crying out, and cursing the world. Rage-filled anguish that tore through an ever perpetual darkness, birthing hatred. Then, utter silence.

    Curled in a fetal position on her bedroom's hardwood floor, staring at her hand and the twinkles of dust dancing around it, bathed in the warmth of a tangerine-colored dawn, hearing the chirp of bird and buzz of insect outside the window, that was what Misaya saw in her dreams whenever the real moon was full and bright. Whenever her neck hurt the most.

    Porcelain-white replaced by blood-red fright.

    On nights like this she could do nothing but wait it out and hope for the best. Endure it until it subsided, unable to sleep and unable to dream of anything til after it did. The dream always came afterwards, and at least by it she knew she had survived another one. Another long struggle against insanity-inducing pain.

    And, gathering the strength to stand, she went across the hall and into the bathroom. Brushing her hair aside, sticky with sweat, Misaya looked into her eyes. The edges of her irises were red. Bloodshot from a lack of sleep, and running her fingers through her hair, pulling wet dead-ends, she rubbed the dark circles underneath and yawned. Washing her hands and splashing lukewarm water on her face, she twisted the rusted valve tight til it strained and shouldered her schoolbag, knowing class was already in session, had long since been, and that she was once again late.

    In the living room, her father still sat on his knees in front of the altar, face filthy, hair greasy, and beard untamed. Just staring straight ahead, possessed by the portrait of her long dead mother, a stranger she'd never had the privilege of meeting, as she passed him by with not a word, already out the door and trekking her way up the dirt road toward the hill the school rested atop, braving the swelter of a semi-tropical summer.

    When she finally made it, her eyes wandered to the chicken coop outside the church she never attended right next to the school. Another one had went missing, not that she really cared, and, continuing inside, head down, trudged her way through the deserted halls of the school to her classroom. Standing at the door, peering inside, Ms. Lisle was at the board, writing what appeared to be a simple math equation, explaining it as she went.

    Taking a breath, Misaya knew the chance of her tardiness going unnoticed was nil, same as all the others, and slowly turned the knob, hearing the tail end of what her homeroom teacher was saying as the door shut with a groan behind her.

    "... and, taking into account Ms. Reiroukan's slight hesitation at the door, we arrive at our solution: forty minutes and thirty-one seconds late. Twenty minutes shorter than the last time. An improvement."

    To the onlook of the other students, she took her seat, ignoring their stares, and, when she laid her head on her desk, their whispers. Ms. Lisle called for silence, chalk in hand at her podium. Telling them to continue with the next equation on whatever page they were on prior to her calculated arrival, the woman swiftly approached her desk. Knocking on it, she told her to wake up and join the rest of the class.

    Groggily lifting her head, Misaya looked around. The other students appeared to be buried in their textbooks. Thirty years behind the time, they barely qualified as current reading material and were one of the only sources of modernization the island had. Really, she knew they were straining to hear her response, unable to peel their eyes away from the newcomer—their only entertainment in the past three months.

    She couldn't blame them. She and her father were on an island far out from the mainland where the only thing being weirder than being a light-skinned foreigner was being a light-skinned foreigner who also happened to be of the same ethnicity, or close to it, anyway. A close-knit community for all the idiots of Japan. That was why all their attention was on her and not their tall, curly haired, homeroom teacher who, in addition to being one of the only two Europeans on the whole island, miraculously spoke the language.

    Which, she wasn't even speaking anymore.

    Having shifted from Japanese to English Ms. Lisle continued to talk, chiding her over still not doing what she told her to. Not that Misaya was listening to a damned thing the woman said, leaving her bag untouched against her chair, having tuned her out.

    Eventually, Ms. Lisle gave up, went back to the front of the class, and began going over the equation the majority of them probably didn't do, occasionally glancing in her direction.

    Absentmindedly thinking of the latest chicken to have went missing, the fourth one since she and her father had arrived on the island, Misaya wondered if anyone else had even noticed.

    The rest of class went by with her doing nothing as usual and, now, elbow propped on her desk as she sipped a carton of juice, her gaze was half on the measly lunch she bought and half out the window, looking toward the chicken coop for the second time today. She leaned back in her chair, arm hanging lazily over the side, eyes travelling over the others in the class, before going back to it, still wondering about the drastically decreasing number of chickens in the short period of time she and her father had been on the island as she took another sip of her juice.

    Her answer?

    None of them, probably.

    Though, reaching for her bread, she could certainly think of one who might have as she felt a sharp jab and twitched.

    It was acting up again, and she ignored it the best she could, straining as she chewed, a searing pain coming from the back of her neck. Pain that dulled and deadened the senses beneath her skin. She rubbed it, trying to cool the heat before it ignited, and winced.

    Something was wrong.

    She had to leave before it got any worse, palm pressed down in an attempt to smother it, resisting the urge to scratch. To dig. Yet, when she tried to rise, couldn't concentrate—only registering the pain—hunched over. Shaking the haze from her vision, wobbly as she wearily pushed her chair back and held onto her desk, she put a foot forward. If she could reach it before she succumbed—and that was when everything went blank.

    When she woke up, Misaya found herself on a creaky bed, covered in a stained white sheet. Sitting up, the muscles in her neck quivered, and she let out a groan, peering around at her new surroundings: the tiled floor, full of cracks, bare walls with long since faded paint, the dinky overhead fan that looked about ready to fall on her head any moment, and the cloth screen hiding her from curious eyes. Taking it all in at once, it was a sight she'd only seen once before, during her brief tour when she'd first come to the island.

    The school infirmary.

    It smelt nauseatingly of blood and disinfectant, pulling double duty for both the students and residents of the island, and she frowned, head lowered as she touched the back of her neck. The pain always came and went on days like this, and was bearable, but not like this.

    It were as if all the short bouts were happening at once and she'd been so careful in avoiding others when it struck, the thought never crossed her mind that she would succumb to it so quickly, but, that had been when the pain was less severe—less like white-hot needles stabbing into her spine and more like red-hot iron pressing into her back. Like it was now, as she clenched her jaw.

    She had to let it pass, had to let it cool, like all the other times and, gritting her teeth, holding fast to the sheets of her bed, had to let it ebb away. Let it become cold. Slowing her breathing, she was having a hard time just doing that, and closed her eyes and huffed. She was sweating profusely now.

    Hearing the school nurse's voice, she looked up, seeing a dark, distorted blotch on the other side of the cloth screen. From what she could make out, Mrs. Wetson had something in her hand and was looking at it carefully and Misaya raised her head again, only to be blinded by a harsh light as the screen was opened. Mrs. Wetson said something, and the sound of her voice boomed into Misaya's ears and she crumbled forward, hearing it reverberate like an echo. Over and over again, and shrinking further, it wouldn't stop.

    She wanted the pain to just stop. Why? Why wouldn't it just stop?

    Clutching the back of her neck and recoiling from the heat, she couldn't take anymore, wanting to scream, melting as her body burned, insides boiling. Being cooked from inside out, hot tears streamed down her face as she blinked rapidly and tried to keep from shaking any harder as something cold pierced her skin.

    Entering her body, it froze her pain, and her sweat dissolved back into her skin, feeling much cooler than before. She no longer broiled, grasping her chest and taking in large gulps of air. Clearing her senses, it calmed the noise, and she could see better than before, eying wholly the cross that dangled from Mrs. Wetson's neck as she moved back to her chair with a thin smile on her face. As she sat down Misaya heard her words clearly for the first time.

    "You look better already."

    And, just like that, the torment was over. Misaya fell back on her pillow in disbelief. Just like that, her pain was gone.

    "How are you feeling?" Ms. Lisle was standing over her, face contorted in worry. In her hand was a cup of water, and, snatching it, she greedily drank until empty and, swallowing, watched the fan overhead as it spun tirelessly, squeaking as it strained, lying now in confusion and awe. The pain was… gone. Just like that.


    "You took a nasty fall." Plopping down on the edge of her bed, Ms. Lisle tapped a spot just above her left brow. "I'm glad you weren't hurt any worse."

    Misaya touched the bandage above her eye from the close encounter with the edge of her desk, recalling the moment when she'd started walking, only to teeter, dizzy like a drunk from one booze too many, hitting it, and slamming into the floor.

    If... she... also… remembered right, Ms. Lisle had been the one to carry her here.

    "It scared me." Ms. Lisle looked away then, and, after a moment, opened her mouth as if to say something else, then shook her head. "I need to get back, but I want you to speak with me once school's over." Standing up, she went to leave.

    Staring after the nakedness of the woman's neck between her back and hairline, Misaya sucked in more air, still thirsty. One cup wasn't enough and, as Ms. Lisle closed the door behind her, she heard the sound of a pen scrawling away, her attention brought back to Mrs. Wetson again.

    "I'm writing a request to your father." Mrs. Wetson said at her desk where the medicine cabinet was located above, folding a slip of paper and tying it to that same small glass bottle from before. "Your medication needs a re-fill." Spinning around and getting up from her chair, she placed it on her lap, patting her shoulder before going back, "Get some rest."

    Staring at the bottle, a minuscule amount of thick, red liquid visible at very bottom, Misaya squeezed, brow furrowed. What was this…? When did…?

    The slip of paper attached to it.

    Addressed to her father.

    Eyes on the ceiling, she frowned.

    Her father…

    … as if he really…

    It's your fault.

    You're the reason.

    It's all your fault.

    You're the one to blame.

    If only you never existed.

    … cared about her.

    She squeezed the bottle tighter and, cracking the glass a little, dropped it. How had she...? She blinked. Her strength must have come back, but, so fast...

    Closing the hand into a fist, it must have been the medicine's doing and, licking her lips, she rubbed two fingers together, tasting something sweet and falling back to the bed again, for some reason, medicine had never tasted so good as it did now.

    How long had she suffered for? With nothing but her willpower alone? How long, had she lay scrunched up in some corner, in agony? Without something to help ease her anguish? How many years? And, now…

    Gone. Just like that.

    She woke again to a purple afternoon, hearing cicadas and feeling a cool, gentle breeze as she sat up, parted her hair, and rubbed her eyes with a yawn. Sleep was something she never got enough of, but, after being given that medicine, she felt more well-rested than ever before, and stretched, looking around the room. She was alone. Mrs. Weston must have stepped out for something and, pattering over to the sink next to the desk, filled another cup of water, took it all down at once, then, did so again.

    The school had no funding for proper filtering, even in the school's infirmary, and drinking from the faucets was bound to make one sick, but she was so thirsty she didn't care, as she now downed a third, wiping her mouth and tossing the cup in the trash, glancing over at the window, wondering how long she'd been asleep. Gazing up at the clock, it was after school hours. Homeroom was in the mornings at 8:00. It was now a bit after 3:15. So, five hours. About the same she got on a good night, rare as that was.

    Ms. Lisle was probably still in the building and she slipped on her shoes with a half a mind to not actually go, but knew the woman would find her no matter what. Hunt her down, if need be, and, besides, even though she never paid attention in class or did any work the woman always let her leave class in exchange for a reasonable explanation.


    While, on the other hand, he had already given up a long time ago. Beating her whenever she brought up the truth he couldn't see anymore. Neglecting her when she didn't, lost in his delusion. Loving something that wasn't real. That wasn't there.

    Looking down at the bottle, its existence didn't change those facts, and, thus…

    "I know how much you're struggling..." Ms. Lisle said, hands folded in her lap. On her desk sat a stack of manila folders, each labelled and organised by grade, class, and individual, complete with a red marker and stamp nearby, cap on and case closed. "... and I know your father is also struggling..." she continued, looking down briefly.

    Misaya felt a sting. Her father, struggling? Her mind flashed back to when they first arrived on the island. Her father, dragging his feet off the boat. No, he was well past the point, and she remembered the briefcase bumping behind him, the clatter of…

    "... so, again, if you ever need anything, or just want to talk..."

    ... the clatter of bottles…

    "... know that I'm here for..."

    Time seemed to stop as the memory paused and was played back.

    Her father.

    A briefcase.

    The clatter of bottles.

    That medicine.

    Trying to recall more of the memory, she turned to leave as Ms. Lisle began leafing through the stack of manila folders, still talking. She couldn't waste time her time here anymore, and, sliding the faculty room door shut, stomping her way through the sparsely populated halls of the school, went to her locker and tore her schoolbag free from its hanger. Slinging it over her shoulder, she checked to make sure the bottle was safe, and made her exit.

    The basement.

    She remembered him, going there when they'd first arrived.

    She'd never been, off-limits to someone like her. Though, she knew. She knew whatever was down there would be the answers she wanted. The ones she needed and, as she walked across the courtyard, wondered those what might be, thoughts wandered back to the faculty room, the look that was probably on Ms. Lisle's face when she looked back only to see her gone, as if she'd vanished like a ghost.

    Of course the woman didn't know about her father. How could she? How could anybody? It wasn't for them to see. It wasn't something anyone was supposed to know. Something the world wouldn't see—couldn't see—that wrapped itself around their house like a veil. Hidden from prying eyes, none would know what went on behind those closed doors.

    The manifestation of his rotten soul.

    Coming out the school gates, going past the chicken coop and church, she was barely down the hill when an obnoxious noise blasted behind her and, before she had any time to act, the mud-covered hunk of junk that heaved to a sputtering halt alongside her.

    "Hey, Misaya...!" It was Ms. Lisle, waving in a boorish attempt to get her attention.

    Not that she was paying attention, head lowered in the hopes that the mosquitoes would stop biting at her bandage and the woman would leave her alone along with them, as she kept on.

    "Earth to Misaya!"

    She didn't want to deal with anyone right now. Not her, of all people. A nosy, kind-hearted person like her. Yet, despite how much she didn't, the truck, trailing black smoke, continued to follow her as Ms. Lisle leaned out the passenger window from the driver's seat.

    "Come on, get in!"

    There was no choice. No way to convince someone such as her. A nosy, kind-hearted, and tenacious person like her, and thus, climbing into the passenger seat, let out of a sigh. Always.

    "Glad of you to join me," the woman said with a grin, as she began fiddling with the radio dial, shifting through static and all the channels detailing the war in Vietnam until something came through, leaning back with one hand on the wheel, satisfied. Pulling back on the stick between them, the truck lurching forward before going shakily along, she tapped to the beat of whatever song was playing. "This'll be faster than walking, trust me."

    Misaya glanced around the interior with disdain.

    An ashtray and crushed cigarettes were up on the dashboard, filled to the brim. The floor was littered with crumbled pieces of paper and scattered beer cans, and she wrinkled her nose at the strong odor of tobacco that was sure to cling. Hanging down from the rearview mirror was some stupid, little, green tree, and stuffed into the side compartment was a comic stripe with a fat, cat-looking cartoon character with large eyes and a bunch of ripped open envelopes.

    A fan was set up on her side, moving back and forth between them, probably there in an attempt to combat the heat, but it only managed to blow even more hot air in her face, as she brushed off a coupon that promised five percent off on the buyer's next six-pack, and, giving that buyer a sideways glance, she couldn't fathom how someone could be so... double-sided.

    "Oh, sorry 'bout that. Forgot to clean this morning."

    As the coupon was carried out the window by the fan, she looked at the trees that passed them by in a blur, catching a glimpse of the sun and sea before a cluster of buildings, all of them old and poorly maintained, blocked them from her view. One of two decrepit reminders of a once prominent American military presence during the Second World War still left on the island and not invaded entirely by vegetation, the other being the school, entry to it was barred by a long stretch of fence, decorated with bright yellow warning labels and barbed wire. Before long, the scenery changed from abandoned military base back to the sun glistening on the sea once more.

    A little ways more and they would reach her house.

    "Hey,"—Ms. Lisle's eyes flickered in her direction in the window's reflection—"Up for talking now...?" Stifling a laugh when there was still no reply, the woman snorted. "Yeah, figured. Well, offer's always open," she then said, as they came to the front yard, a jungle of weeds. To the average outsider, it looked like her father wasn't—or didn't care—for appearances.

    And that was exactly the case.

    He barely sleep, hardly ate, she hadn't remembered nor wanted to recall the last time he'd given himself a bath, and most of his days were spent either in the living room staring off into space, like this morning, down in the basement, or, sometimes, out in the land of the living, in the village.

    She didn't know what he did outside the house and hadn't care before, still didn't, but now she knew what him being gone meant for her: an opportunity.

    And, as Misaya let herself out, Ms. Lisle called out to her one last time, and she turned to a piece of paper being shoved in her face as the woman leaned over and out of the passenger window, taut in her reach.

    "Take this! For when you... need me!"

    She took it and watched the woman putter away to then disappear round a bend out of sight, and without a second thought up slipped it into her pocket and opened her schoolbag. Taking out the bottle, she glared at the red barely there—one lick away from empty.

    Steeling her nerves, she had to find out more.
    Last edited by Historia; May 1st, 2016 at 08:38 PM.

  2. #2
    Don't @ me if your fanfic doesn't even have Shirou/Illya shipping k thnx ItsaRandomUsername's Avatar
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    Right off the bat the whole "Misaya has an issue with her neck" gave me some uncomfortable Higurashi flashbacks. Kudos for that much! Then those cicadas actually do begin to chirp in-story and the connection solidifies.

    Some sort of conflict is certainly being set up, though by virtue of the first chapter's slow burn approach I honestly have no idea what sort of Tsuki elements could come through. Judging from the focus and combination of mental struggle, inner turmoil, and tough family life, my guess is that Rot Me'll take a few pages from the Far Side of the moon. For that alone I'm fairly interested in seeing how this'll go. Setting it well outside of proto-Fuyuki is also points in favor of something intriguing. Whether the story'll stay on the island or go elsewhere remains to be publicly seen.

    For now, I'll keep an eye on this. If only because Misaya's my kind of bitch.
    McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
    My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.

  3. #3
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    II. Maw

    Not bothering to leave her shoes at the door, Misaya checked to see if her father was anywhere in the house, he was nowhere to be found, and threw her schoolbag against the wall the moment she got into her room and closed the door. She didn't know how much time she had.

    Knocking everything from her nightstand, she set the bottle atop it, and stared at it for a short time, mulling over what to do next.

    She knew he would probably get home late at night like all the other times, that usually he slept for half the night afterwards, then went into the basement for the remainder, and come morning was sitting in the living room.

    It was probably around 4:00 or even 5:00 PM and, if so, she had time to run down there and investigate but the risk was too great. She would have to wait until he was asleep and use those few hours to look around. With that being her plan, all she could do was wait.

    Right then, a cough tickled her throat and she went to get some water and, after drinking her fill same as back in the school's infirmary, happened to glance in the bathroom mirror.

    Something was different.

    Touching her hair, and running a hand down her cheek, her complexion was brighter, eyes clearer, and, when she opened her mouth, inspecting her teeth, they were whiter than before. That was when she noticed her canines.

    Tonguing them, noticed they were longer, just a bit, and, poking her finger, coming away with a dot of blood, sharper.

    As she stood there, fixated on the color—a beautiful shade of red—it was all the more reason to see what was in her father's basement, as she sucked on the wound and looked back to the mirror.

    Ransack it, if need be.

    That was when it hit her.

    Her blood. It tasted the same as the medicine.

    Rushing back to the bottle on her nightstand and picking it up, Misaya peered closely at the red liquid inside.

    Had she been given blood? Is that what this stuff was?

    "Only one way to find out," she told herself.

    Holding it high, she unscrewed the cork and let what little was left trickle onto her tongue, then swished it around before swallowing.

    No, it wasn't.

    It was sweet, like candy, and, rotating the now empty bottle on the stand, tongue moving every which way to catch any lingering taste, she continued wondering about what it could be as she tried to calm herself.

    She glanced down at the finger she'd pricked. The broken skin was already completely healed. It hadn't even been a couple minutes yet, and, getting an idea, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and braced herself, drawing the blade across her forearm, wincing, then stared in amazement as it already started to heal as soon as her blood began to pool from the cut, then in horror as it bubbled a bit, dropping the knife with a clang.

    Holding her arm over the bathroom faucet, she ran cold water on it and blew, smacking it afterwards. To her surprise, it was completely healed, same as her finger, and she rubbed her hand over the spot. It was perfectly smooth. Fresh pink flesh, and, picking the knife from the floor, the blade was dull.

    "What the… hell…?"

    That shouldn't be possible and, leaving the knife in the bathroom, continuing to rub her forearm as she retreated back to her room again, just what was going on?

    Was this the medicine's doing, too?

    Hands now folded over her stomach, head on her bed, body uncovered, pillow and blanket on the hardwood floor, Misaya stared at the ceiling, contemplating.

    The medicine had gotten rid of the neck pain, altered her appearance, and gave her body some kind of healing boost. It wasn't blood. She didn't know what else it could be, but, whatever it was, it wasn't natural.

    Coughing some more, she chuckled hoarsely at such a ridiculous idea—the medicine was enough suspension of belief for one evening—and stroked her throat muscles, still irritated, looked over at the many crushed paper cups littering her floor in the corner of her room.

    She was also getting increasingly more thirsty, but couldn't figure out why other than it being another side effect of the medicine and that she'd just have to deal with it.

    If only for a little while longer, until she got some answers.

    And, now taking the piece of paper from her pocket, she stared at the hastily scribbled address. Ms. Lisle didn't live that far away.

    She didn't know whether that was a blessing, or a curse, recalling the first she'd met her, cracking a tiny smile despite herself.

    Before even making it into the classroom on her first day, the woman had stopped her in the hallway, smelling of too much perfume in a futile attempt to conceal her unhealthy habit of one two many smokes before class. Teetering a bit, she was also fighting off a losing battle with a hangover, telling her to hold her chin up and to quit making a face of resentment that even Lucifer would gawk at, as if the Devil himself couldn't compare, proceeding to go on about her lack of appropriate dress code—all while not being much to look at herself. And, not that she'd been exactly following regulation either, at the time. Which she still didn't bother to follow. Which neither of them still didn't bother to follow.

    The tiny smile remained, as she slide it back into her pocket then, listening for any movement outside her room for the walls of the house were thin and easily susceptible to eavesdroppers. For her, this meant if her father was moving about or doing something else—an invasion of privacy that she very much needed—she would know about it.

    If her trespassing was discovered...

    She could feel the bruises already and imagined it would be the worst thrashing yet. But, even so, letting out a bit of laughter, if she found more of that medicine, it didn't matter how much she had to endure. Something like that, something that could extinguish the flame itching at her for as long as she could remember, any pain received was worth it. Any pain received would be a thousand times less severe than what she's had to endure until this morning. The added benefits weren't too shabby either.

    Her thoughts wandered to that dream she always had on a full moon, wondering if that nightmare was gone, as well.

    And, as evening turned to night, now was the time.

    Swinging from her bed, Misaya went along the floor slowly so the planks didn't creak and slunk her way to the door. Cracking it open and peering into the darkness, she closed it gently behind her, slipping into the hall. It was supposed to be pitch-black, yet she wasn't blinded. Waving a hand in front of her face, she could see it, and blinked rapidly. The hallway stretched out before her, clear as day. With no idea why this was, other than, again, another effect brought upon by the medicine, she started down it, stepping lightly.

    As she navigated her way to the basement, gnawing at the back of her mind was the possibility of nothing actually being there, but, couldn't turn back now, and soon, stood above the basement steps.

    Gazing down into the gaping maw, she took a breath. Reaching the bottom, she came before the door. Its finish was worn, the paint flaking as she turned the knob. It rattled, loose from years of poor maintenance, creaking open slowly. Taking another breath, holding steady, Misaya looked back, then straight ahead and nowhere else.

    Bracing her body and soul, she let herself be swallowed whole.

    The first thing that struck her was an acrid so strong her eyes began to water, and she wiped them as her gaze traveled across the room from the bookcase against the backwall, to the pipes overhead and running along the walls, to a table off to the right with various medical-looking instruments, before setting on the floor. By the left wall was broken glass. Hastily brushing through the shards, they were recent, and while she couldn't find any red residue there was no doubt it was the medicine.

    She noticed a trail of some sort ran from the glass to the left wall, and, as she went up to it, pressing her ear to listen, she heard something behind it but couldn't make out what and then remembered their house had a heater. She stepped back and inspected it for anything out of place—scratches, marks, or other indentations—but found nothing.

    Going over to the table now, cobwebs clinging to many of the instruments, it hadn't been touched in who knows how long, and, about to pick one of them up for a closer look, she reconsidered, drawing her hand back. If she messed with them, he might notice. Whatever the instruments on the table were being used for, or had once been, was something best left for another time. Besides, whatever that was, she had no interest in finding out, anyway. Her only goal was the medicine. Though, if she did, and it turned out to be something vile, something sick, it only gave her more reason to be glad, when he finally died.

    She moved on to the bookcase.

    Two heads taller than herself, waving away more cobwebs, she wrinkled her nose as she stared at all the old, mangy tomes on the shelves. Pulling one of them free, scattering dust and wiping off the cover, the words, they were foreign, and a peculiar uneasiness came over her, but, despite the upset stomach, she was tempted to see what was inside its pages, and then remembered her goal: the medicine. Whatever was written within was probably unreadable, too, and, yet again saving her curiosity for another time, lips pursed, Misaya slide it back in the row.

    Casting her gaze around the basement for a second time, she tried to spot anything she might have missed, remembering the pipes.

    Starting from the door and traveling along the wall and ceiling, they all converged to the left wall, opposite the table. Coming to it, she saw nothing that revealed the location of a door or other secret crevice or some such, and summarized the pipes must lead to the heater and nothing more, looking around the basement a third time just in case.

    The doubt that had settled in the back of her mind?

    It was a reality.

    Standing in the middle of the room, head bowed, fists clenched, nothing was here.

    No briefcase and no medicine.

    Though, the glass on the floor meant that somewhere else in the house her father had it hidden, and she told herself not to stop searching just because this one place didn't have it. But, then, where else could it be if not here?

    And, as Misaya thought, there was the sound of something as it shattered, and she heard the strain of weight on wood, attention snapping to the door.

    Her father was awake...

    … and already coming down the stairs.

    She had to find a place to keep out of sight, fast.

    Slipping under the table and huddling together, knees against forehead, she tried to keep still as possible, holding her breath as the door opened.

    He was wearing boots, and they stomp across the floor, thudding closer and closer until they were right in front of table. She was waiting for the moment when a hand would reach under and drag her out, but, instead, he set something down on it. There was a click, and her heart skipped. The briefcase. And, her eyes widened as it was popped open, hearing a clatter. The bottles of medicine. They were right there.

    And, as he turned toward the left wall, mumbling to himself, this was her chance.

    Scooting over to the table's edge as his mumbling grew in volume, speaking words she didn't know—gibberish—Misaya dared to lean out and raise her head just enough to see over it. He was at the left wall, hand out and touching it, still talking to himself. On the table was really the briefcase, and inside it was were bottles filled with red liquid. With no time to think, she swiped one and dove back under the table.

    Heart pounding in her ears, she grinned. Whatever worked.

    Crawling towards the door quietly, all she had to do now was make her exit and…

    "Going somewhere?"

    She was thrown against the wall and, with it, something heavy as it shifted, a burly hand grabbing her leg and dragging across the floor. Glass bit into her back as she was hoisted upside down in front of a giant rectangular hole where the left wall should have been.

    "So, you took some of it already," her father said, glancing to the side before tossing her into the bookcase.

    As she stumbled against it, the glass sunk deeper and as a ripple of pain stitched up and down her spine and she gasped, the bottle she'd taken sent rolling as tomes, knocked loose, fell and struck her on the head.

    Dazed, she saw her father press down on the bottle, and, gathering her wits, sprang forward with an inhuman speed, taking it before he could, jaw taking the full force of his boot instead. The next thing she knew she was dangling above the ground again, his enormous fingers around her throat, struggling to breath.

    Kicking wildly, she clawed at his fingers in a desperate attempt to pry them off as his iron grip tightened and he pulled something from his pocket. Misaya bared her teeth.

    It was the knife from the bathroom.

    He held it up to her face, close to her right eye.

    She trembled. He wouldn't.

    As the knife hovered nearer, she squirmed in his grasp. Tip practically touching pupil, she closed the eye. He would!

    But, it stopped just before, and, opening the eye, in its place was a piece of mirror. His grip loosened as he moved it back, far enough away for her to see herself in its reflection.

    "What do you see?"

    She turned away. "Fuck... you…"

    "Look, dammit."

    She did. Her eye was… The pupil... It... It was red.

    "Do you see it?"

    Not bloodshot, but pure red. Like all the white was painted over with a brush.

    Was it another effect of the medicine?

    "I hadn't anticipated you taking it so soon…" her father said. "How did you find out about the serum?" He seemed to contemplate something. His eyes went to her forehead, then, "No, who gave it to you?"

    Clenching her teeth, she winced as hot needles of pain began stabbing into the nape of her neck. She didn't have to time to figure out what the hell he was going on about, and, regardless, now wasn't the time. The medicine was wearing off. She had to take more of it, quickly, before she was no longer able to keep the pain at bay as she watched the red in her eye start to turn grey around the edges, tiny splotches of white visible.

    Grabbing a hold of his wrist, she squeezed. "L... let... go...!"

    There was a crack, and her father grunted, dropping her. Holding his wrist, glaring at her, she turned and ran, stealing a few more bottles on the way out, hearing him roaring after her.

    "Come back! Misaya!"

    She kicked out the back door of the house. She had to get away before the pain came back in force and she was left unable to move at all. And, in her haste as she practically flew through the forest behind their house, she smacked her forehead on a low hanging branch and tumbled into a tree, the bottles scattering every which way, one or two of them breaking. The bandage starting to soak, blood trickling from underneath the folds, as she tried her damnedest to gather the others before it got any worse.

    Using her shirt to carry the few remaining, she tried to stay awake, tried to keep going, get more distance between her and her father and the house, enough to take the medicine again without a looming threat hounding her, but, it wasn't long before she collapsed.

    And, lying there as her blood ran into her eye and dripped down her cheek, there was only a crimson moon, as it smothered her in its abyssal embrace.
    Last edited by Historia; February 23rd, 2016 at 09:23 AM.

  4. #4
    Don't @ me if your fanfic doesn't even have Shirou/Illya shipping k thnx ItsaRandomUsername's Avatar
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    A basement in Type-MOON? Yeah, it's guaranteed to be absolutely horrendous.
    McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
    My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.

  5. #5
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    Just wanted to post this to inform anyone reading that I've merged the second and third chapters into one. This decision ties into the "Small Notice" in the first post: I make changes as I go along, and this includes moving things around for whatever reason. Which means the previous fourth chapter is now the third, etc.

    Just another heads up if people get confused.

    Quote Originally Posted by ItsaRandomUsername View Post
    A basement in Type-MOON? Yeah, it's guaranteed to be absolutely horrendous.
    Why yes. Type-MOON basements are quite vile.
    Last edited by Historia; June 22nd, 2015 at 02:22 AM.

  6. #6
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    Thanks, Dullahan.
    III. Medicine

    What she felt was nothing. What she heard was silence. What she saw was darkness. Numb, deaf, and blind, she tried to open her mouth, but her voice, too, was gone, and, holding out unseen hands, or, at least, she thought she was, Misaya put her first foot forward, at least, thought she did, beginning her walk for what seemed like hours until finally coming across what appeared to be a light in the distance. As she came closer to it, she got the sense that she was being pushed against, and, now standing before it, discovered to be from an open door of some kind, was looking at a shadow in the shape of a person on the other side. That was when she realised she was no longer lost to the world, and that her sense of touch and sound had returned, along with her sight. If they had even really disappeared in the first place.

    She could see her hands again, and reached one of them toward the light as the shadow did the same. When their fingertips touched, wisps of black shed from its body, as something cool seeped from her own, colliding with that from the shadow's. Vapors of red. She recoiled, wondering if she were dreaming, she continued to stare at the shadow on the other side, and then thought how real it all was.

    Recoiling her hand, the red vapors that seemed to harmless blaze from her skin, she looked down, seeing a black sludge, what she must have felt pushing against her, and, waded back to door of light. Daring to the same again, she touched palms with the shadow, and, this time, to her surprise, it thrust through and, before she knew it, had consumed her and tightened around her forearm. Saying something indistinguishable, its other hand touched her face, combing her hair to either side, parting the strays. Uttering something else, it smiled, then let go and dissolved into the light.

    Its touch had been warm, its smile bright, and, just like that, Misaya found herself someplace entirely different. A landscape, split in two distinct halves. On one side it was flat and barren, full of burning trees, with ash falling to the ground and smoke rising to the sky underneath a crimson moon, like the one in her nightmare. While, on the other, were snowy hills dotted with pillars of ice, showered by bouts of rain from dark clouds underneath a cobalt sun, which she hadn’t ever seen before now.

    From both halves, a strong wind blew, and she turned her back towards them, half in the heat and half in the cold, as she faced the same door of light as before. Cautiously trudging toward it, she reluctantly reached out her hand again, and, this time, it vanished through a mist. Then, without warning, a thousand other voices, intermingled and speaking as one, assaulted her and she jumped back. The contact had only been for a split-second, but she'd heard so much. So much pain, so much misery, so much torment, was waiting beyond and, about to step further away, the wind howled, threatening to rupture her ears as she was drawn back against her will, scrawny arms and shrivelled hands reaching for a chance to pull her in as a face, deformed from many years of anguish, appeared in their midst, spewing words of rage.

    I made you what you are!

    Shaking her head, she fought against the wind. With all her strength, she tore free, falling back onto a bed of cinder as everything changed again. Coals cooked her backside as she screamed in silence and, seeing a hand reach down from a violent sky, tried to rise, her body burning. She tried to reach it, as her soul began to evaporate.

    Misaya jerked awake, breathing heavily and staring wide-eyed at her hand clutching a blanket. What was t—ah. She grimaced, having risen too quickly, feeling a headache coming on. A spoon hovered under her nose. What was…? She clumsily knocked it aside in a fruitless attempt to get up. She felt so woozy.

    "I've given you a sedative, hon. So don't move too much."

    The spoon was back. The voice told her to open her mouth as a strong fragrance of cauliflower overwhelmed her senses, and she swallowed, tasting meat and vegetables as they travelled down her throat, now going from the spoon to the fingers that held it, eyes narrowed. A woman? They went up black sleeve to the cross dangling around her neck. Who?

    "This is just temporary," the woman said, wiping the spoon with a cloth and setting it down on the small, circular table beside her, along with a bowl of what Misaya assumed to be soup. What she’d just sampled.

    The bottles of medicine she’d saved were also there, three in total and, shivering off the floating feeling of the sedative as best she could, it was cold. Hugging the blanket a bit closer, peering around at her surroundings more closely, she discovered they were in a well-lit room that smelled of candle wax.

    The woman began pouring a cup of water. "I apologise for not using something more accommodating, but it's all I could do to keep people from asking questions."

    And, thoughts becoming more coherent as the seconds passed, Misaya noticed something. She felt no pain, and doubted a simple sedative would numb it, no matter how strong the dosage. The medicine—was it still in her system? As the cup was offered she drank it, eying the woman again. Where had she seen her before?

    “When I asked for you to get a re-fill, I didn’t expect this.”

    “Mrs… Ike…?”

    The school nurse nodded. “And, I didn’t expect to be treating you for another bump,” she then said. Misaya took note of the freshly wrapped bandages around her head. “You’ll have to thank Izumi for that.”

    Her brows scrunched together. Izumi? She couldn't remember meeting anyone with that name. Unless it was someone from her class, but, that was impossible, and she snickered, tossing the thought of one of her classmates actually helping her from her mind. So, if it wasn't someone in her class then who else could it be?

    Mrs. Ike chuckled at her confusion, “Ms. Tsukuda, hon. She carried you all the way here.”

    Ms. Tsukuda did? She looked around again. And where was… here… exactly? She heard the sound of bells, signifying the end of Mass. The church outside the school? Was that why she hadn’t recognised Mrs. Ike right away? She stared at the older woman in a never before seen black and white outfit, as she removed the cap she wore, silver hair falling over her shoulders, and proceeded to place it on her own head with a sincere smile. Dressed like that? A nun? Furthermore, taking the cap off, Misaya frowned. Why were they in the church?

    “You never attended so you wouldn’t know,” Mrs. Ike put a hand to her breast. “but, I’m the pastor here,” she revealed. "Sort of like the leader to this church." One of the candles flickered, wax nearly melted toward the base, and she went over to check, continuing to talk, "As for Izumi, well, let’s just say she's also affiliated. In a… special kind of way.” Satisfied that everything would be fine, she came back over, “Though, the girl can’t mend a cracked skull for the life of her, so she's filling in for me this morning, since I'm here with you. Truth be told, she's better at bashing them together.”

    Bashing them together? Just what did she do? Misaya pictured Ms. Tsukuda, garbed as a nun, clunking two troublesome students’ heads together with a resounding crunch. She grinned a bit, at the thought of it.

    Mrs. Ike gave another chuckle. “No, hon, not what you’re thinking of. The kind of work Izumi does inv—” She was about to say more when the door behind opened and closed abruptly. “Actually, why don’t I let her speak for herself?”

    Both of them turned to Ms. Tsukuda resting against the door, gazing up at the ceiling and mumbled something about the Mass. When Mrs. Ike cleared her throat, she jumped to her feet and bonked her head on a statue of Jesus above, cursing as she rubbed the spot, not bothering to fix a now slanted idol of worship. That is, until Mrs. Ike snapped at her to do so, which she begrudgingly did.

    As soon as she finished straightening His son, Mrs. Ike spoke again, “Misaya is awake, Izumi.”

    “Already? Ow.” Ms. Tsukuda yanked her own cap from her head and threw it to the floor, hair in disarray. “Goddammit!”

    Mrs. Ike shook her head. “See for yourself.”

    She leaned around the older woman and blinked twice, again mumbled something. This time, about some kind of animal, before she brightened up with a big smile, giving a little wave. “Morning, Misaya!” Why was she being so cheerful? Was she that happy to see her? “You’re probably wondering why you’re here and, well,” she snatched up one of the bottles from the table, “I want to talk about this.” The medicine? What did she want to know?

    Mrs. Ike told them she’d come back later, having to get back now that Ms. Tsukuda was here and Mass was over and, soon as she did, Ms. Tsukuda took off her robe and tied it around her waist, now sporting a white tanktop rank with sweat as she quickly fixed her mess into a ponytail, plopped down beside her like before, fanned herself, and it was only after Misaya looked about ready to gag, not when her nostrils had flared or when her eyes had begun to water, that the woman took notice of her own stink and scooted back.

    “Oh, sorry, am I making you uncomfortable again?” Not that it mattered. Misaya could still smell her body odor. “Sacraments aren’t my thing,” the woman confessed, pouring a cup for herself and downing it in one gulp, setting it down and turning to her, “Anyway, about the medicine,” she sniffed, “I can see you found more of it.” She held up the bottle she’d previously snatched, swishing it back and forth before setting it, too, down on the table. “Quite the accomplishment. I was wondering when you’d do something about your father’s experiments. Took you long enough, I mean...”

    Misaya stopped paying attention right then and there, looking down at her hands. Closing and reopening them. Lost in her own thoughts. Her strength, teeth, complexion—the colour of her eyes—were all a result that medicine that her father had made by performing experiments…on what? She had no clue, but, then, those instruments on the table… had been for those experiments? What about the books? Those too?

    “... ‘cause, you know, it’s not everyday you get an offer from a Templar, and I…”

    A Templar? What the hell was that supposed to be?

    “... I mean… I know you’re a magus and all, stubborn bastards, the lot of ‘em, but...”

    Magus? What? She blinked. What was that? A kind of lingo she'd never heard of, known only to her generation or something? Like some kind of delinquent? Not to say that she wasn’t, by definition, one, but what the fuck? Listening to this woman go on about how she and Mrs. Ike had been watching her and her father for awhile, and that the medicine Mrs. Ike had given her the yesterday wasn’t, in fact, something her father prepared for her—which it was obvious he wouldn’t do such a thing—all of what she said was starting to piss her off.

    And, as Ms. Tsukuda said something about happening to “procure” it one day, strongly hinting at breaking and entering their house—however she’d managed that shit—and kept “in the hopes” that she’d take matters into her own hands some day soon, that time being the only time when she and Mrs. Ike would spring into action, crossing her arms with a smug look on her face at her great plan, or whatever the fuck she was going on about, Misaya was now seriously considering punching her lights out because she thought the woman was here to find out more about the medicine, like she was, not prattling like some gossiping bitch in the girl’s bathroom.

    Before she went into another long spiel about something called Thaumaturgy, whatever kind of science that was, Misaya exploded, “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

    At her outburst, Ms. Tsukuda stopped mid-explanation, mouth agape in awe, “You actually… spoke…” Was it really that mindblowing? “Ahem. So, what you’re saying is… You don’t know what school of magecraft your father has been using in his experiments in his years of research with the undead to create this? With some dark form of Alchemy? I know your father was a member of Atlas before, and picked up a few things at...”

    She held up the bottle again, going on about something else she had no clue as to what. The only she did know was she'd said undead, and the undead meant... Focusing her eyes on the bottle Ms. Tsukuda now shook, Misaya mulled over the thought. Then, the red liquid, was it really...? She went from it back to her, and glowered. Was she ever going to shut up? As the woman was about to launch into yet other rambling of her father's past and whatever cults or secret societies he used to be a part of, Misaya didn't want to hear anything of it. She could care less about the bastard. "I told you, I don't know anything about it!" she repeated. "So fuck off!"

    Ms. Tsukuda halted mid-flow, an awkward silence ensued, and then she just sat there, red faced for a moment, before speaking up again, "Ah... I... You really don't know anything?"

    She shook her head, looking to the side with a grumble, "Unless I missed something whenever he beat me, then no."

    “Oh. I thought you knew, and was under impression you were aware of it all along! That's why I let you take your father's medicine, thinking you must have found a way to counteract it, seeing as how you're showing no... adverse effects... I mean, how else can you... still... be alive...?"

    She shrugged, "Hell if I know." Looking back over, she nodded at the bottle still in her hands, "So... what is that? You said something about the undead, or whatever, right? Then, is it really... human... blood...?" she said in almost a whisper.

    The woman gave her a long look before answering. “Yes, and no. It is blood, but not human blood. I don't know what kind, I'm afraid, which is why I—”

    Misaya's forehead wrinkled, and she cut the woman off before she could continue, “What... kind then? Animal?" She jerked at the firecracker that ignited on the back of her neck, bending forward. The pain. It was back. The medicine had finally left her system!

    She heard Ms. Tsukuda say something under her breath, then, “That’s what I was just getting to, if you’d let me finish. Listen when I try to explain these things," she chided, raising a finger, wagging it back and forth, “See, this is exactly why your grades are so terrible… Misaya? Misaya?! What’s—!”

    Clutching at her chest as an explosion ripped through her muscles, sparks scorching her veins, she bit her lip so hard blood trickled. No, it was stronger. Hot tears streaming down her cheeks, she gagged and spat, falling from the bed. Hitting the table as she crashed to the floor, knocking it over, heaving, she vomited, heart pounding in her ears. Scrambling for one of the bottles of medicine, she downed the whole thing before Ms. Tsukuda could stop her and, as the pain went away completely again, she huffed in sweat-drenched relief. Glad, for once, that her father was alive.

    Ms. Tsukuda helped her up. “Misaya, are you ok? Here, sit down."

    As she did, licking her lips of what was left, it was the only time she ever would be.

    Ms. Tsukuda crouched eye level. "I see. So that's why you survived.” Putting a hand on her shoulder, she now held the empty bottle. "His own daughter." She bowed her head, and in what barely qualified as a whisper, said, "I'm so sorry that he's done this to you." Tears welled as she looked back up, smiled sympathetically, and, wiping her eyes, rose to her feet. She then left the room, her whole demeanor clouded many shades darker. Though, the only thing that truly registered in Misaya’s mind was the haunted look on her face right before.

    Were her eyes red right now, too? Flexing her arm, she recalled when she'd managed to overpower her father, a bear of a man, just enough to escape his grip. All the medicine’s doing. Did this mean that she turned into some kind of monster after taking it? Well, whatever she was, her father was the cause, and she hopped from the bed as Ms. Tsukuda re-entered.

    "Sit back down," the woman barked, as she began to dial a number on a phone. "I'm going to take care of this before it gets any worse.” Phone now held to ear, she waited for someone to pick up on the other end, “Knight Commander? This is Izumi. I’m moving in on Reiroukan.” Whoever this “Knight Commander” was answered on the other line, and Ms. Tsukuda glanced in her direction before answering back, “No, he hasn’t administered his vials to any of the inhabitants.” A pause as the Knight Commander spoke again. “No, I’m certain… Yes, if I find any, I’ll let you know.”

    When she ended the call, Misaya spoke up, "Let me go with you."

    Ms. Tsukuda gave her another long look. "I can't."

    "Why not? I want to be there when you stop him."

    At that, Ms. Tsukuda crossed her arms, "It isn't safe. Plus, you're in no condition to move. Now, sit back down before you hurt yourself." And those around you, her expression seemed to add.

    "But I—" Eyes downcast, she grit her teeth, clenching her fists, "I..."

    Ms. Tsukuda softened, retracting her decision, “If I do, promise you won’t do anything brash?”

    “Yeah, I promise.”

    After Ms. Tsukuda nodded her approval and then turned, telling her that she was going to inform Mrs. Ike of the current situation, leaving the room again, Misaya cracked a grin, shattering the empty bottle the woman had left on the table with a fist, having finally been given the chance to get back at him for all her years' worth. If she was a monster, then her father was to be her prey, and she yearned to take a chunk of his flesh.
    Last edited by Historia; February 12th, 2016 at 01:22 AM.

  7. #7
    Don't @ me if your fanfic doesn't even have Shirou/Illya shipping k thnx ItsaRandomUsername's Avatar
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    So the truth comes out that Misaya is some kind of pseudo-Dead Apostle something-or-other.

    At least she's better off than Shirley ever was, for the moment.
    McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
    My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.

  8. #8
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by ItsaRandomUsername View Post
    So the truth comes out that Misaya is some kind of pseudo-Dead Apostle something-or-other.

    At least she's better off than Shirley ever was, for the moment.
    Indeed. Though, "better off" is not the phrase I'd use, personally.
    Last edited by Historia; June 25th, 2015 at 01:17 AM.

  9. #9
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    Small Notice #3 (update):

    I'm still going through the first three chapters and polishing them up, but more importantly I'm now halfway through the 4th Chapter at 2k words or so. Furthermore, my sole focus is now set on this fanfic. I have a solid idea of what'll happen up to the 6th chapter, and, hopefully, I can beat the writer's block I'm having.

    Oh, and I would post this on a blog but still can't make one due to... I dunno... so...
    Last edited by Historia; August 24th, 2015 at 11:00 PM.

  10. #10
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    IV. Macabre

    “Here, wear this,” Ms. Tsukuda said, tossing her a white cloth vest with a small red cross stitched into the left breast. [/FONT]

    Running her hand over it, Misaya was about to ask why she needed it, when a sudden shock, like a lightning bolt, flashed up her spine, and, dropping the vest, falling back into the dirt, her body went stiff. Eyes wide, she laid there staring at the evening sky, numb for a moment before her senses kicked back in.

    Lifting a hand to block out the bleeding light of the sun, the world around her vision seemed to collapse. Cave in on itself and blur back into focus. She gasped, fingers shaking and shell-shocked eyes watering when Ms. Tsukuda hopped down from the bed of her truck and came over with a apologetic smile. A ringing in her ears muffled whatever was being said until she bent down, level with her ear.

    “Sorry ‘bout that,” she said, picking up the vest and dusting it off. “Forgot you’re one of 'em for the time being.”

    Wincing as she rubbed her back, a lingering static running through, Misaya shot her a nasty glare. “Just… what… the fuck… was that?”

    “It was suppose to be protection,” the woman replied as she threw the vest back on the bed of her truck then slipped off her dank tanktop. Breathing a sigh of relief, she said, “Figured you could use some, but I, uh,” she chuckled and turned her head to the side, scratching her cheek, “Well, you know…”

    Misaya grumbled. “More like you’re trying to kill me.”

    “Nah, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be toast." Ms. Tsukuda tussled her hair, now a black, wet mat that dangled down across her shoulders. “But, hey, think of it this way: at least the vest didn’t do any serious damage, yeah?” She then put a sweaty hand on her shoulder.

    Misaya met her cheer with leer, shrugging her off as she got to her feet. But when she tried to walk away toward the house, stumbled, and what sounded like a calf was getting shafted up the arse bleated through her skull and she held her head, grimacing with a shudder.

    “What you’re experiencing are the effects placed on all Templar gear.” Ms. Tsukuda informed ahead of her. Motioning for her to follow, she went in without waiting.

    Giving a parting glance at the truck, Misaya spat. Wading her way through the front door, she was assaulted once again by the smell—the inside of her truck ten times worse—and, covering her nose, opted to hover near the doorway while the woman rifled through her belongings. Ms. Tsukuda's house was a swamp of cigarettes and booze, made worse by her haphazard tossing of crap left and right as she tore through a heaped together mass of clothing and came up with a fur collared denim jacket.

    “This’ll keep you safe. Kinda.” Throwing it to her, she went back to digging. “It’s lined with laminated Kevlar.”

    Misaya caught it one handed. “And that means?”

    “You might not die as fast if you get slashed.” Hastily putting on a new shirt, Ms. Tsukuda then went out to her truck with something else in her hands, set it down, and grabbed that vest. Tying it around her chest via the straps, she took whatever she else she'd set down and draped it across her shoulders—a white and red robe to match—and continued talking while fastening it at the waist. “Same as this. Except mine are thicker—and they’re spiritually-augmented.”

    A short silence followed. Then, “Huh?

    She lit up, “Ah! I’m glad you asked! You see…” She launched into it being made of blessed fabrics, to protect against the unholy, or whatever Lord of the Rings, military mumbo jumbo nerd shit she was spewing from her mouth. Like she was some kind of walking, armoured tank—and that was all Misaya bothered to hear as she realised night was fast approaching.

    Instead of assholing around with this loose-lipped bitch she should be ripping out her father’s throat. Crushing his skull like she’d fractured his wrist. Breaking every bone in his body for every beating taken. Stomping him into a bloody mess while the medicine was still in her system.

    Rife with anger, she was about to scream and yell and tell the woman how fucking stupid her “standard-issue Templar tunic, cloak, and cape” looked when someone pulled up in a car. She spun to see Mrs. Ike stepping out from the passenger side, parting her weather worn long, pale hair behind her ears as she thanked the driver and turned back to them with a grave expression on her slightly wrinkled face, still garbed in her church attire minus the cap.

    “I need to speak with you both about tonight.”

    Awkwardly squished together in a triangle formation on the bed of Ms. Tsukuda’s truck because her house was obviously not an option, Misaya hung her arms over the side and stared up at the moon overhead as the two older women spoke with one another. She was still pissed, and, rapping on the metal, had half a mind to deal with her father without help, but, after hearing that he was gone from their home, she could do nothing but wait until one of them revealed where he was hiding, one ear focused on any snippets of their conversation that were actually worth her time.

    Those came when Mrs. Ike was finished relaying to them that a large number of the villagers that’d gone missing and mysteriously reappeared without incident over the course of the three months since she and her father had first arrived on the island were actually reanimated corpses, and that the only reason she’d found this out was because one of the villagers who’d recently died in her care from a fever turned to ash the moment he did.

    Misaya’s thoughts flashed back to the instruments on the table in the basement, and a knot formed in her stomach, as she finally joined in. “He just fell apart?”

    Ms. Tsukuda flicked a lighter and answered, words muffled by the cigarette she proceeded to light. “Yeah, zombies tend to do that.”

    Mrs. Ike rested a hand on her lap, “Their makeup is more complex than merely flesh eating corpses back from the dead.”

    “The first stage of the process.”


    “The process to becoming what you have already achieved, hon.”

    “A bloodsucker. Endgame, sister.” Ms Tsukuda replied, blowing smoke and taking the lead again, “I’ve told you a bit of the experiments he’s done back at the church, remember?” Tapping it over the side of her truck, she continued, “It’s all for his goal of creating the perfect artificial Dead Apostle. The medicine he’s created is what he’s been giving to them to speed up the process, a transition from mindless familiar to superhuman entity. The guy who died was only just starting down that road.” She shrugged. “Well, he was already dead to begin with, so I guess—”

    “Izumi!” Mrs. Ike rebuked. “The unfortunate soul,” she then whispered, crossing herself.

    “Dead… Apostle…?” Misaya traced a finger around one of her red eyes.

    “An artificial one, but yeah. I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen how the village has been having a crisis of missing people and animals over the last three months...? Well, there’s your reason. Also, when I broke into your house, I discovered a passage that runs through the basement.”

    Lips pursed a bit as she looked to the side with a grumble, Misaya’s mind flashed back to her basement once again. This time, to the hole in the wall that her father had made and the scratching noises. That was a passage to somewhere? Then, it might be where her father was currently hold up! Swallowing, she rubbed her throat, but didn’t show her wicked excitement. “Never cared enough to notice.”

    “He’s extended an old tunnel system used during World War II, and, if my assumption is right, it should lead underneath the military base.”

    The military base? It was like this was all straight out of some cheesy horror flick. “What about it?”

    The woman took a moment or two to respond, and Misaya felt the woman’s eyes shift in her direction, “The bounded field around your house. I’m sure you felt it too at one, or several, points in time—a blanket so thick it smothered the area in an unmistakable dark presence.”

    Misaya narrowed her eyes. Did she mean the veil? So, it was a real thing, too, and not her wild imagination or some superficial bullshit? Called a bounded field? Turning her head slightly to eye her, she wondered what else she truly knew behind that obnoxious side of hers, but didn’t offer any comment.

    “Well, it’s now gone. Which means he’s jumped ship.”

    He must have ran away with his tail between his legs. Not that she was surprised.

    “Which also means that the magecraft used to conceal everything is gone, too.” Standing up, Ms. Tsukuda then nonchalantly stepped over the side of her truck bed and fell feet first to the ground below.

    “Izumi, are you truly going now?” Mrs. Ike asked, leaning over the side, “What if he’s lying in wait or—!?”

    Looking back over her shoulder, Ms. Tsukuda flashed a smile, “All the better, then!”

    “But what if—!”

    “Come on Misaya! We’re gonna pay your dad a visit!”

    Not needing to be told twice, Misaya hurried after her.


    After a time of travelling on foot through the woods behind her house, the two of them had reached the backdoor. It was still ajar from her flight last night, and Ms. Tsukuda pressed her body close to it, peeking into the hallway. “I don’t sense anyone, but… just in case…” Pulling a chain necklace with a metal cross at the end from those Templar robes she’d put on earlier, she mumbled something to it before slipping into the house.

    Misaya went straight in after, matching her step for step until they reached the basement, and, as the two of them stood above the door, it was wide open. So, it was true—her father really had fled like a coward—but, Ms. Tsukuda apparently now had the same idea as Mrs. Ike, for that same metal cross from before appeared again.

    She wrapped the chain around her hand so that the cross itself was pressed into her palm, and held it out, fingers curled as they creaked their way down the steps and came into the room. Though, nobody sprang out to try and catch them by surprise and she let it dangle at her side as they glanced around. Everything was same as the previous night, even the hole.

    Approaching it, Ms. Tsukuda lit another cigarette, stepping to the side, “Smell that?”

    Lifting her nose, Misaya nearly lost it right then and there. A stench more potent than anything ever tore through her sinuses, clogging the back of her throat when she opened her mouth to gag as she spun away from the hole. Exhaling through her nostrils loudly, one eye closed as the other watered, this was definitely something about the medicine she was not thankful for.

    How hadn’t she noticed it before?!

    “Oh, and the smell will only get worse from here on. Meaning, get ready to hold your lunch again.” With that little warning, Ms. Tsukuda then went through the hole.

    Pulling herself from the floor, this must have been what she’d been talking about with the magecraft or whatever being gone, she hastened to fall in line, wiping her eyes and spitting a sweet taste from her mouth. The space was humid, damp, and stuffy as she struggled to fend off the stench wafting through from somewhere much further ahead, many times stronger within the cave, or whatever this place was, than outside it, when Ms. Tsukuda spoke up again.

    “We should be careful from here on.”

    “Why?” she replied, nose and mouth covered.

    “So we don’t attract unwanted attention. I mean,” the woman gave a chuckle, “Isn’t that obvious?”

    Misaya ignored the jab, and felt in her pocket for the two bottles remaining. She had only a few hours remaining until the next one, and gnashed her teeth. There was no time for being secretive about it now, especially considering he was probably anticipating their arrival—not that she wanted give him the credit, but if he did of their—“Oaf!” She bumped into Ms. Tsukuda’s backside, but before she could tell her to move it, the woman’s free hand reached back for her to take.

    “Grab my hand,” she whispered. “Now.”

    “Why should I?”

    “Do it!”

    Once she did, begrudgingly, Ms. Tsukuda held out the metal cross again same as before and whispered to it. Immediately after, something passed over them, and Misaya took a sharp breath, feeling whatever it was as it coiled around her like a snake, and, as it tightened, the two of them becoming shrouded in a veil similar to the one that’d been around her house.

    A bounded field.

    Though, this one was calmer. Relaxing, even, and, looking up at the woman as she still held onto the metal cross, Misaya waited for her to say something, but all Ms. Tsukuda did was put a finger to her lips and point forward, letting go of her hand as they then went further down the tunnel until they came to cells carved into the rock on either side.

    Inside of each were the rotting remains of various animals, their blood and juices mixing together and coating the floor, while on the walls were chains above and below for hands and feet, empty, and, coming to the last row, she now knew where the chicken from yesterday morning had disappeared to.

    Visible to her eyes, it was surrounded by scraps of meat and bone, innards hanging out. Recently killed.

    Behind it was an ugly and deformed man with scaly skin. His feet in irons clanked against the floor as he slowly swayed, blood running down his gore splashed chin.

    “Take a look. This is another fruit of your father’s labours,” Ms. Tsukuda said as she nodded toward him, a new cigarette in her mouth. “The second stage—a ghoul.”

    Head cocked to the side, clouded red eyes staring straight at them, letting out a grunt, he sniffed the air.

    Coming forward, she touched the metal cross to his forehead, ignoring the hissing and attempts he made trying to grab at her. “May the Lord have mercy on your soul, you poor bastard,” she said, as some kind of… energy… surged through her arm and exploded from her palm in the instant she closed her hand around his head. Pulling free with a wet crunch, she shook brain matter from her fist as the the man’s skull was now just a cup of bloody pulp above the jaw and, half-headless, he twitched, went still, then slumped.

    Mesmerized by the shocking display of brutality, Misaya bent down to get a closer look. Stifling a laugh, she would do much worse to her father when the time came, eyes watching the man’s blackish blood flow like a waterfall, and swiped a bit that settled on his tongue, rubbing it between her fingers. Sniffing it, she was going to ask why it was so… foul… when she noticed something squirming out from his throat.

    Though, before it could come to a head, Ms. Tsukuda quickly pulled her away by the collar and stomped his head into oblivion. With his neck caved in, she then rammed her fist into the man’s chest and ripped out his heart—a pulsing, cancerous mess that spurted black—and squeezed. As the heart burst, spewing some dark sludge-like shit all over the floor, the woman thrust out her hand and cross and burned the remains to grisly scorched stains and wiped the cross on her sleeve with a sigh.

    “Well that was unexpected.”

    “What was?”

    “Oh, nothing. It’s nothing. Just... Anyway, we’re near the final stretch, so look sharp!” she said back, changing the subject, “The bounded field I placed around both of us should keep us from being detected, but if you do anything stupid then it’s both our heads. So shut your trap and keep it zipped till we get there, understand?”


    Giving the cell a parting glance before joining her outside and folding her arms behind her head as they continued on, she obliged. In the end, what Ms. Tsukuda was concerned over was of no significance to her, and she smiled devilishly. All that mattered was what was soon to come.

    Next stop, murder.
    Last edited by Historia; January 24th, 2016 at 11:57 PM.

  11. #11
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    V. Murder

    Their search through the military base yielded nothing, and as she sat in a room that at one point looked to be a communications hub, one arm across her knee and the other on her cheek, Misaya watched Ms. Tsukuda with rapt attention as she paced back and forth before a wall she suspected was actually another hidden door. [/FONT]

    Scattered around was old, inoperable equipment and unimportant, miscellaneous documents that she had to translate to know they were because Ms. Tsukuda didn’t fucking understand written English enough to do it herself even though she taught the damn subject and if she had to read aloud one more stupid report of sequential bullshit about the state of the island inhabitants she was going to—No. She had to calm down. Breath. Cool it, or else the pain would come back, as she touched the back of her neck. That now unbearable, searing pain.

    Besides the military base being empty, her system was too.

    The medicine had worn off and her father was still nowhere in sight and she wasn’t about to waste the other two bottles she still had. As a result, she couldn’t get heated up. Instead, she had to wait patiently as humanly possible for Ms. Tsukuda to do something, staring at the triangular symbol on the floor the woman called a magic sigil that she had drawn more of around the perimeter of where she believed the door lead into.

    Magic sigils, as she had so enthusiastically explained, were what created bounded fields, and to make a successful one at least four of these symbols had to placed around whatever it was someone wanted to box in. So, then, she wanted to trap what was on the other side of the door. Just like chickens in a coop. Ripe for the slaughter.

    Misaya knew if her father had to be anywhere, it was through there, and all she had to do was wait. Then, the moment she saw him, she was going to take the second bottle and rush in for the kill. Her father was going to die. Every instinct in her body told her to tear him apart and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold out. The hate was eating her inside out.

    “Hurry up, dammit,” she spat loud as she dared. The outburst earned a shush from the woman.

    “When I give the signal, we’ll make our way down and apprehend your father.” Ms. Tsukuda said, stepping back and telling her to start clearing space. “Quick and clean is how I want to do this, but if it comes to a more violent confrontation be ready.”

    “About time.” Misaya stretched and now stood waiting.

    Ms. Tsukuda nodded and began. Pulling four of those same pieces of paper from somewhere unseen, she stuck them to four corners of the invisible door and said a chant with her cross out. The papers burned and light shimmered and there was a rumble as the wall broke away to reveal another passage. She then motioned for her to follow close and they started on their way and the whole time Misay was relieved it didn’t stink like shit, and when the woman finally stopped and crouched, there was light ahead, the exit in sight.

    Upon nearing it her mind flashed back to that earlier dream, nightmare, or whatever the fuck it’d been, and she swooned, light-headed and slightly nauseous.

    “Alright, up ahead is… Everything OK?” Ms. Tsukuda was looking back with worry.

    “Yeah, yeah, I’m… fine.” She bit back on the sensation and shook her head. “Just fine.” There was skepticism on the woman’s face. Misaya scowled. “What? I said I’m fucking fine!”

    Ms. Tsukuda snapped back, “Keep your voice down.” Waving on, she told her to stay low as they came into a vast space that looked like the inside of a man-made cave. There was a cluster of rocks that served as a ledge and Ms. Tsukuda pressed her body to it and indicated down. “Look.”

    Crouching beside her, Misaya peered into the dimly lit space and clenched her teeth in rage.

    There he was. Standing at the forefront of a well-sized rag-tag bunch of red-eyed undead, facing away from them. The light from before was from dozens of torches lining the walls, and they illuminated her father and his small army of freaks in an ominous hue. To her, all she saw was a bunch of convicts in prison complex, caught in yellow-orange, exposing their ugliness to the world and she reached for that second bottle, only kept from chugging it and leaping down by Ms. Tsukuda.

    She didn’t know if the woman had activated the trap yet, and waited for something to happen, but Ms. Tsukuda was stock still, eyes hard and expression grave, gaze focused intently on the group. What was she stalling for?

    “Don’t… move…” she said without opening her mouth anymore than absolutely necessary. Afraid to even speak.

    “What is it?” Misaya followed her eyes to her father. And, it took her a moment, a few blinks, but then she finally saw. That was when everything became heavy and her knees buckled. “What… the hell…?” she breathed, the air taken from her lungs as she struggled to keep from shaking.

    Standing next to her father was a woman with black hair and crimson eyes, wrapped in a black dress that altogether resembled the shadow from her dream. Their eyes locked and whoever it was flashed a smile in her direction that rooted her in place. No, there was no possible way she’d seen them. Seen her, all the way up here.

    Gripping the bottle tight, Misaya clutched her shirt and started sweating. Yet, why did she feel sick, why was it when she looked into her eyes it made her remember things she didn’t? Why was it that her body burned, and her soul began to evaporate in the presence of utter dread? Why was she so afraid?

    Rising to her feet, one look into that woman’s eyes had brought everything back—the nightmares, the beatings, the loneliness, the hurt, the pain—and she wanted to run, get far away as possible, but Ms. Tsukuda pushed down firmly on her shoulder, squeezing tight.

    “D-don’t…” She strained to get the word out.

    In response, it only pulled harder, that urge to flee, and before Misaya knew it she was on the ground below, those red-eyed freaks parting aside to make a path ahead where the shadow woman and her father were waiting. It wasn’t long before she stood with them too. She should have ran away, not toward them, and didn’t know why that was, too scared to do anything. Then, when the shadow woman touched her face with a warm smile and opened her mouth to speak, fangs flashing, she realised that whoever—whatever—she was, had summoned her—and Misaya had answered the call.

    And, when she spoke, all those thousand hellish voices crawled out and formed into one. “You have grown so lovely,” the shadow woman said. Her breath was chilling and Misaya shivered. The shadow woman hardly took notice, but eased away all the same, continuing to smile. “Do you remember me?” In her dead eyes was that barren wasteland and the crimson moon and Misaya averted her own, feeling them burrowing into her skull. The shadow woman’s next words sounded hurt. “Ah… That is a shame…” She seemed to fiddle with something, and Misaya caught glimpse of a silver locket, before she once again spoke. “Well, I suppose it is to be expected. After all, Katashi never was one to write.”

    Her father stirred, and Misaya could only stare in horror and disbelief at what she saw: his skin was ashen, features sunken, body shrivelled, and looking hardly the man who’d taken her by the throat the other night. He was nothing more than a decaying husk of skin and bone. A living, breathing corpse. An undead. Then, just like that, the shadow woman said a command and he crumbled away into ash. Just like that. Just. Like. That.

    Her father was dead.

    “Such a shame,” the shadow woman said afterward. “Such a waste.”

    And she hadn’t been the one to do the deed.

    “To think he came into this meeting to dissuade me. Now it is but the two of us, and,”—their eyes met again—“we have a lot of catching up to do.”

    Her father was dead.

    And her anger soared.

    “Before that, I would just like to take a moment to say how lovely it is to see you again. After all these years.” Whatever this woman was, Misaya knew nothing she could bring to the table would leave so much as a scratch unless she got lucky, but she… But… she… She…

    Seething, his death should have been by her own hands. Nobody else should have been the one—it was supposed to be her. Nobody else. Even so, she was shaking all over. But, her hate was stronger than her fear, and now she had a new target to unleash it upon.

    … she was going to fucking murder this bitch.

    But, as if anticipating her reaction, the shadow woman crooked a finger and Misaya found herself being compelled by that same urge to do as she wanted. The urge to obey.

    She grit her teeth, fighting against whatever invisible force pushed on her, keeping her pinned in place. She wasn’t about to lie down like some damned dog, and with force of will, pulled the second bottle and tried to take it. Instead, it shattered and shards of glass stabbed into her palm.

    The shadow woman shook her head, "Ah, Katashi, how you have degraded. Not even having enough sense left to teach the girl some manners." Heaving a sigh, she looked down at the pile of nothing left in his place, “Again, such a shame.”

    Misaya winced as her blood dripped and trickled down her wrist as she now tried to bring it to closer to her mouth and lick what little was left in vain.

    "I see he has not trained you either," she then said, thoughtfully. “Though I would be lying if I were to say I was surprised. To the end, he was," she paused, watching her, "such a caring man."

    Teeth sinking into her gums from the effort, Misaya filled with more rage than ever as, for all her strength, she couldn’t do more than claw at the concrete and split her nails, hopelessly pushing against the weight that now had her halfway to the floor on her hands and knees.

    Just then, she heard a shout and something extremely hot flew over her, its intense heat scorching her back, hitting the shadow woman square in the chest and engulfing her in fire. Ms. Tsukuda appeared out of nowhere, having sure as hell picked a great time to leap into action, and helped her up, asking if she was seriously hurt.

    “No? Good, then hold still.” She smacked her upside the head.

    “Ow! What the fuck?!”

    “Your hair was on fire.”

    Misaya grumbled, but used the opportunity to take the third, and last, bottle. With the medicine once again coursing through her veins, she started plucking glass for her hand, the open wounds closing shortly after, and asked the woman what she’d done to kill the bitch. Ms. Tsukuda was about to respond when there was a chuckle behind them and they both turned in alarm.

    “It’ll take more than that to do away with me, I am afraid.” Dispersing flames and patting down the ends of her dress, the shadow woman faced them. The attack hadn’t done her in like she’d thought, and, worse yet, there was no visible sign that it’d even done any damage.

    And without hesitation Ms. Tsukuda had her hand and cross at the ready. “Misaya, get back!”

    The unkillable freak regarded her presence for a second, then said, “Please, put your trinket down. It cannot harm me.” And all but ignored her. “To think, a Templar. That man, so carel—” Which, was a fatal mistake; whatever she was going to say next was cut off by the second attack.

    It sent her flying back in a fiery explosion.

    An inferno that blazed and roared and surely reduced anything unlucky enough to be caught in its vicinity to a shish-kebab. The shadow woman screamed and Misaya smiled cruelly.

    “That got her!”

    But Ms. Tsukuda was even tenser than before and it wasn’t long before she realised why. The satisfaction on her face vanished as the force from before—the immeasurable weight—came back.


    She immediately collapsed on her knees, the wind knocked from her lungs. Gasping for air, she clawed at her chest. It was like trying to breath inside a vacuum. Ms. Tsukuda called to her, but before she could respond a hazy form appeared in the inferno.

    "I... misjudged you." The shadow woman’s voice had become noticeably deeper. Beyond that, at the back of her throat, was the gurgle of blood. She came forward slowly. From her right temple and following the hairline down to the jaw was a charred, gory mess of burnt tissue and bone. Sneering, her red eyes were now golden. "To think, a mere Templar..."

    Terror hit Misaya like a hammer and in those few terrible seconds she managed to break free and crawl away. She was going to die. This fucking thing was going to kill her!

    “Misaya, get up! Hurry! We have to go bef—”

    Suddenly, the shadow woman vanished and reappeared next to her, startling them both. “I suppose I should have been more weary, yes?” Faster than the human eye could follow, she hit Ms. Tsukuda and sent her reeling before either of them could react.

    Seeing her get grabbed by the undead all but forgotten behind them, Misaya had to think of something fast or else—

    "I have to wonder,” the shadow woman said, looking upon the horde as it swarmed her. “Did he ever tell you even a little bit of the truth?" When she looked back, fangs were more pronounced. Sharper. Deadly. Able to rend and tear and maim without any effort whatsoever. “Or was he already too far descended into insanity?”

    Her insides churned as the medicine finally started working its magic, and, at the peak of her fury, Misaya felt like her heart would implode from the strain, as she sprang to her feet and unleashed a shocking wave of energy, desperate. Launching herself at the shadow woman, her proceeding punch was welcomed with open arms.

    And, fist twisting into the thing's chest, she howled, holding her wrist. Her hand was broken, the bone splintering out. The bitch was wearing some kind of armour, or, no—a bounded field?! One eye closed, wincing, she looked up from her injury only to find that the bitch had disappeared.

    “That was quite unnecessary.” Spinning, eyes wide, the shadow woman touched her cheek again and parted her hair to the sides. When had—?! “Attacks like this are much more effective.”

    Ramming her elbow into her gut had no effect, and, in the next moment, the thing placed a hand on the nape of her neck and she cried out, thrashing to the floor and writhing in a ball of sudden, horrible agony.

    The thing’s blood-drowned voice filled her ears again, "Was it not more effective?"

    Hearing Ms. Tsukuda fighting against the undead and yelling for her to stay where she was, Misaya rolled over on her back, seeing her coming in and out of focus upside down through a sea of rotting flesh.

    Spitting blood, Misaya lifted her neck and spat at the thing that now blocked her view. "I'll... kill... you!" she growled, tears running down her forehead.

    Right then, as if by divine intervention, all around them, trumpets sounded.

    The whole place became flushed in a pale light that washed out everything, lighting the undead surrounding Ms. Tsukuda aflame and blinding Misaya, burning her skin as she now whimpered and choked on the floor. Still able to hear and feel, she heard someone kneel by her ear and whisper into it while stroking her hair. Their breath was ice and touch like fire.

    "Such a beautiful girl you’ve grown up to be. It is a pity that you still have yet to mature. Until next we meet, Misaya.”

    Then they were gone.

    And, from somewhere directly above, Ms. Tsukuda’s voice was in its place. Telling her that everything was going to be fine, to hold still and try not to move. As she felt herself being lifted, it was all too clear. The undeniable fact of what that thing was. A Dead Apostle.

    A true one.
    Last edited by Historia; January 25th, 2016 at 12:02 AM.

  12. #12
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    1st & 2nd chapters updated.

    - - - Updated - - -

    One thing that should be noticed is the changes in names (Ms. Tsukuda --> Ms. Lisle) and dialogue (see: chapter 2).

    - - - Updated - - -

    The other chapters I'll do in due time, as well as start on the sixth soon after.

  13. #13
    死徒(下級)Lesser Dead Apostle Delcer's Avatar
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    I'm glad I still check this forum at times. Thanks for writing this; I enjoyed reading what you have thus far.

    I can't help but wonder what's going to happen to Misaya now, her father's dead and now she's been left in the hands of the Church. Tsukuda seems nice, but I don't think her organization would approve of her keeping a bloodsucking ward.

  14. #14
    Dead Apostle Eater Historia's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Delcer View Post
    I'm glad I still check this forum at times. Thanks for writing this; I enjoyed reading what you have thus far.

    I can't help but wonder what's going to happen to Misaya now, her father's dead and now she's been left in the hands of the Church. Tsukuda seems nice, but I don't think her organization would approve of her keeping a bloodsucking ward.
    Glad you enjoyed it.

    Just to let you know, I'm re-writing it and while this doesn't really affect the plot Tsukuda is now named Lisle, and Ike is Wetson, etc. I have yet to re-write chapters 3, 4, 5 and I'm thinking of adding more/continuing to tweak the first two.

    I feel as though it's going too fast and this is mainly due to my inability as a writer.
    Last edited by Historia; February 27th, 2016 at 02:41 PM.

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