Trinity Angles (Discussion Thread)

[MWkillkenny84]

... poor Disgaea.

[fsnfan]

Galen's a Prinny?

I'll say it again. Kieran, you're EEVIL.

[Kieran]

... poor Disgaea.

. . .

Really? Not, "poor Trinity?"

. . . I mean, yes, they were about Level 300 - 400+ when they died (the benefits of living for that long), but reincarnating does mean that they're back to Level 1, regardless of the bonuses . . .

Galen's a Prinny?

I'll say it again. Kieran, you're EEVIL.

Honestly, after everything he's done - or even considered doing - would you expect anything less? The only question is if he's a Prinny of Celestia, or a Netherworld . . .


. . . And in any case, I'm back (and very tired). Normal writing will resume when I'm caught up.

[MWkillkenny84]

. . .

Really? Not, "poor Trinity?"

. . . I mean, yes, they were about Level 300 - 400+ when they died (the benefits of living for that long), but reincarnating does mean that they're back to Level 1, regardless of the bonuses . . .

And in how much time they will be able to regain a decent level, knowing them?

Plus their sneakiness, so great that, if the Sorting Hat was to re-Sort them, it will scream "SLYTHERIN! And may the Gods have mercy on your souls!"...

[Kieran]

And in how much time they will be able to regain a decent level, knowing them?

Likely some time - grinding is grinding, no matter who's doing it.

Plus their sneakiness, so great that, if the Sorting Hat was to re-Sort them, it will scream "SLYTHERIN! And may the Gods have mercy on your souls!"...

. . . I've read that quote before - recently, too - but I just can't place it.

[Xamusel]

Would that be "Best Served Cold"?

[Kieran]

That's it - thank you (one of the few of that author's fics that I enjoy . . .).

[Xamusel]

You're welcome, Kieran... and man, I can't believe this is my second post in this thread. I need to catch up on Trinity again!

[Kieran]

In ancient times, the Titans, primordial beings that were incarnate concepts of the fundamentals of the World itself, sought to eliminate all that was not “themselves.” This was not done out of malice, precisely, as much as an innate function of their nature. Fire seeks to consume, water to drown, darkness to blind, light to shine; thus was it so with the Titans. They could not tolerate an existence that they did not define, and so sought to rectify that seeming error — no matter than in doing so, they would destroy all else.

And so, for the sake of the World and the mortals upon it, the Gods went to war against their progenitors. No matter the pantheon, or the Titan, in question, the war was long and brutal. It was made worse by the discovery that the Titans, being what they were, were too intrinsically tied to the World to be killed without repercussion; the death of the Frost Titan Ymir brought about a great flood that redefined the shape of the World itself. What then, would occur if the Titan of Fire was killed, or of Darkness, or Light?

Not even the Gods themselves dared discover the answer to such questions, and so instead the decision was made to imprison the Titan in the furthest depths of the Underworld. That task achieved, in time the Gods withdrew to the Overworld, leaving the World and its inhabitants to their own devices.

. . . Until the Titans escaped.








When the Ministry got informed of a massive beast rampaging through the Devon countryside, a squad of handlers from the Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures got sent out — alongside a squad of Obliviators, of course.

When the surviving Obliviator reported that the team had been entirely and brutally slaughtered, a different makeup of forces had been dispatched: an expert on obscure and dangerous beasts, a handful of Aurors who specialised in high-powered offensive and defensive spells, and a representative of the Department of Mysteries. It was hoped that such an array of specialists would be able to identify and neutralise the threat, whatever it was.

Shirou, on the other hand, considered it just the way their luck usually went.

“It’s getting back up . . .!” Takara shouted, as much as an exclamation of disbelief as it was a warning.

The best possible description of it was “cave bear”: something that belonged with saber-toothed tigers and woolly mammoths. Hermione had said something about actual cave bears being smaller, but Shirou didn’t really much care for the semantics — the thing was at least twice the size of any bear he’d ever seen, period!

Forewarned by Takara’s cry, Galen swiftly ducked out of the way of a paw that large enough to encompass his head and one shoulder, tipped with six-inch claws, but the cage that Shirou had been Conjured around the prone beast had been completed, regardless. With a quick movement and a shouted word, Galen activated the barrier to enclose it inside.

Shirou felt more than saw the power engage, but his eyes were sharp enough that he caught the brief shimmer in the air, regardless . . . And he saw the equally brief shimmer when the bear tore the ward to shreds with a single swipe, along with most of the front wall of the cage.

The redhead cursed. They hadn’t really expected the ward to hold it long, but the hope was that the effort of destroying it would pin it in place at least long enough to fire off a few high-powered attacks!

Because, of course, on top of being a tank, it’s much faster than it looks—

Which it suddenly proved again, as it lunged forward to swat Galen aside like a rag doll.

Even Shirou’s enhanced senses couldn’t make out the incantation that followed, only the piercing screech that Takara let out; it was a cry that would’ve sounded more appropriate from her owl shape. The poison-green light that followed it, however, was impossible to mistake for anything other than what it was. For a slice of time that was both an instant and an eternity, the red-haired wizard watched the brilliance of his comrade’s Killing Curse burn across the space between her and her target like acid, striking home with an almost physical blow that seared the fur and flesh from the offending limb.

The bear staggered back a single pace, seemingly as much out of shock as anything else. Then it snarled, a deep, bass noise that caused Shirou’s chest to vibrate in resonance from where he stood, almost twenty yards away, and charged the witch. Its paws gouged clods of earth and sent them flying as it rumbled across the distance like an oncoming freight train, despite its newly-acquired limp.

The former Counter Guardian thought furiously. While never fully a match for himself, Galen or Ilya, Takara was no slouch when it came to the raw power department — and that monster had just shrugged off a Killing Curse like she’d gotten in a lucky shot with a blowtorch. It had been hurt, obviously, but the spell hadn’t done nearly enough damage to be more than an annoyance.

Fortunately, he thought grimly, I can fix that . . .

He drew his Relic, a gift from the God of Britain who’d adopted him — though why Robin Hood had smirked when he’d handed over the Yew Bow was something he’d never quite figured out. The bow was a good one, though. Yew, as the name implied, and highly accurate, it had one other ability that would be put to good use . . .

Shirou inhaled as he knocked an arrow, concentrating and channelling the divine power with which both he and the Relic had been imbued, along with his own determination not to allow Takara to be harmed. When the arrow glowed golden with that power, he let it loose, a brilliant streak to rival Takara’s earlier spell . . . And, as it turned out, just as accurate. The arrow embedded itself along the bear’s spine—

And the roar which followed nearly deafened them all.

It was followed almost immediately by a thunderous crash as thousands of kilos of bear struck the earth; the impact of which almost knocked them off their feet.

“Nice shot,” Galen’s voice rasped beside him, causing the archer to turn.

The other wizard had ragged, parallel cuts torn through his chest — a little deeper, Shirou estimated, and the bear’s claws would’ve pulled out ribs — and was already showing signs of deep tissue bruising. Still, he was conscious and on his feet, so he’d probably weathered the worst of it.

“What the hell was that?!” Shirou demanded.

“As near as I can figure?” Galen replied. “You remember the legend of Herakles’ first Labour, the Nemean Lion?” Not waiting for an answer, he pointed and concluded, “Nemean Bear.”

“. . . Tell me that that’s as bad as these ‘Titanspawn’ things can get,” Shirou pleaded.

Galen grimaced, an expression made all the more horrible by his current injuries. “What part of ‘any possible creature from every possible mythology’ did you not understand when you asked me the first time?”

“. . . God damn it,” the redhead cursed emphatically after a beat of morose contemplation.

In a matching tone of long-suffering, the other replied with a sigh, “That’s more or less the point.”








Writer’s Notes: So, after almost a month of life screwing with my writing schedule, I finally get a week where I can concentrate on the next chapter — so, of course, it decides to fight me tooth and nail for every page.

I’m at about six pages, now — hopefully, I will have it done next week, finally.

. . . Incidentally, if you were curious: I picked the British pantheon because I didn't want to move them out of Britain; if I picked the Japanese pantheon, only Galen would need to be adopted.

You're welcome, Kieran... and man, I can't believe this is my second post in this thread. I need to catch up on Trinity again!

No arguments here.

[fsnfan]

Hmm... I'm not familiar with the universe/series/manga/comic this came from. Someone care to elaborate?

[Kieran]

Scion is a pen-and-paper RPG published by White Wolf/Onyx Path Publishing. As the italicised opening implies, it deals with a setting where the Titans have escaped their imprisonment in the modern day, and while they lay siege to the Overworld (the various Godrealms), it's up to the descendants of the Gods to fight their minions here on Earth. As they progress, they carve their own Legends into the fabric of the World, and can potential ascend to Godhood themselves.

The game covers 16 - 17 pantheons, and its power levels scale as they go from Hero to Demigod to God. The Epic Attributes that cover supernatural physical abilities, in fact, I've found to be a decent stand-in for Servant Attribute rankings.

[fsnfan]

....Sooooo they're gonna become Gods at the end?

EEEEPPPPPIIIIIIIICCCCC!!!!!!!!

[Kieran]

....Sooooo they're gonna become Gods at the end?

That's a definite possibility, yes - assuming, of course, that they survive long enough.

EEEEPPPPPIIIIIIIICCCCC!!!!!!!!

Literally.

[Kieran]

Thirteen days after the defeat of Voldemort








Rin Delacour was many things; among them, Japanese-born, French-raised, a witch, a highly-ranked member in the French magical government’s equivalent to the British Department of Mysteries, and a former teen model of modest renown.

Known only to a very few, however, was the fact that “Rin Delacour,” as the world knew her, was not the one who had been born to that world. At her core, she had been born Rin Tohsaka—and while this was equally true of the Rin Delacour whose identity she had assumed, the latter had not lived with the name as long as she had. How she had come to assume the life of Rin Delacour was a complicated, if somewhat clichéd story for a woman as young as she had been when it happened: it involved a boy.

And it was one of the greatest regrets of her life that she had lost that boy to one of her all-too-many rivals—but the advantage of being who she had become was that Rin Delacour had family to fall back on that Tohsaka did not. Even better, the Delacour family was well-versed in les histoires de cœur, both by nature, and experience. With that being the case, it hadn’t taken them long to help her move on.

Though she would admit (grudgingly, because it grated on her pride) that it had not been easy; all the more so because they remained friends, even—she would admit even more grudgingly—his wife.

Nevertheless, she had responded to heartbreak by throwing herself into her work, dedicating her time and energy to unlocking the secrets of magic. Long heralded a genius in her time as Rin Tohsaka, she found little difficulty in building a similar reputation as Rin Delacour. Eventually, she had learned some of the secrets behind the secrets: one of the true reasons that her department, and those like it around the world, were labelled as being “of mysteries.”

Which brought her here, tonight—to a place that, in other times, had been friendly to her, even welcome; and to a situation that she very much did not want to be in.

She sighed. That said, it wasn’t something she could put aside, either . . . With a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

Shirou opened it, and blinked. “Rin?” A beat later, he asked “What’s wrong?”

She fought down the urge to scowl. It’s a logical deduction—I show up with no warning, and why else would I do that unless there was something wrong? Wouldn’t I assume the same, if the positions were reversed?

She then fought down a snort. With Shirou, it wouldn’t be assuming, it would be acknowledging a certainty.

“Not . . . Wrong, exactly,” Rin said awkwardly. She inhaled. “Can I come in? And can you call your friends?”








It took some time to gather them all—that was part of why she’d come to Shirou, after all. It would mean not having to wait for them to settle her goddaughter before showing up to the meeting.

Surprisingly, it took her trio of former students longer than she’d expected. Then again, judging by the look of Hermione, it was an understandable delay; she knew the girl was chronically ill, but this was the first time she’d really seen it. The dark shadows under her eyes made her look as though she hadn’t slept a wink, and she really looked pale. It came as no surprise that the British witch sat in the darkest corner of the room she could find.

Still, eventually they were all gathered, and it was time for Rin to explain why she was here.

“. . . Did any of you ever wonder why Albus Dumbledore had the title of Grand Sorcerer?”

Mass blinking was her answer, and prompted her to add dryly, “. . . I suppose it was a minor thing to consider, given everything else we’ve been involved with in the last few years.

“Sorcery, in this world, is a different art entirely from the witchcraft and wizardry we’ve been taught. The latter involves drawing the energies of this dimension, amplified and focussed—and in some cases, restrained—by the magical materials of our wands. That’s why there are so few spells that affect souls, for example, and why they tend to be very complicated or require great power to use.

“Sorcery,” Rin intoned, emphasising the word again, “involves drawing energies from other planes to alter reality itself on a fundamental level. In some respects, it’s a lot more similar to the thaumaturgy we learned at home than wizardry is, with one key difference: like magecraft, the question of who will be a witch or wizard is sourced in genetics. But sorcery is a skill; it can be taught to anyone.”

“. . . All right,” Shirou said carefully. “But why tell us this?”

“Partly because you’ve started to stumble onto it yourselves,” Rin answered. “Or at least, some of you have.” She looked at Galen. “Lightning bolts, really?

“But the other part of the equation is that sorcerers defend our dimension from mystical threats beyond it—and the London Sanctum is low on manpower at the moment.”

Glances were exchanged, and while Rin was sufficiently familiar with most of the people in the room to read some of them, the overall conversion eluded her.

“It’ll need discussion,” Shirou said carefully.

“OK, but so far as I can tell, most or all of you have extreme potential,” she admitted. “If nothing else, that means some of those threats would see you as a target . . . And honestly, having seen you in action, I’d feel better having you all backing me up in the job.”

She stood up. “If you decide to look into the possibility, though, be prepared for a long trip—while you can train at the London Sanctum, every potential sorcerer needs to travel to Kamar-Taj, in Nepal, and be approved by the Ancient One.”

. . . Now, Galen, Hermione and Ilya, Rin did know how to read. While each of them was an impressive Occlumens in their own right, and therefore possessed of an excellent poker face, if nothing else, she’d spent enough time around them all (the latter, especially) to do so. As such, she registered a level of surprise and shock in each of them, but couldn’t be certain as to what had caused it.

What did I say . . .?








Writer's Notes: Sorry - between work projects and the flu shot I got this weekend, I'm too wiped out to write a chapter - or much more than this. For those of you who haven't seen "Doctor Strange," I tried very hard not to spoil anything; for those who have, I'm curious to know what you think of my attempt to blend the Potterverse with magic as its defined in the MCU. I think it's not a terrible explanation . . .

And yes, Rowling did give Dumbledore that title, according to Harry's acceptance letter to Hogwarts; as with most things, it was never explained, elaborated on, or employed in the series. But it makes a nice point of reference for this.

[Kieran]

Writer's Notes: First, this contains a line from "Changes," Book 12 of the Dresden Files - those who've read it will know the one. Second, the background material is accurate up to the short story "Cold Case," from the anthology Shadowed Souls. If you haven't read that yet, there are details that count as spoilers. Tread carefully.

Otherwise, enjoy!








Nobody saw it coming, although they should have.

They had already collected most of the obvious facts involved, after all: Voldemort was fully capable of concocting and executing convoluted plans with backups and fail-safes, often taking years to reach fruition. He was also a vindictive son of a bitch, perfectly willing to destroy what he couldn’t possess—and he’d broken into the Ministry years before—to hear a prophecy, they’d thought at the time, and he’d certainly tried, but he’d also laid a Portkey enchantment as a later trap, allowing him to kidnap Neville’s grandmother long afterwards.

. . . Really, it should’ve come as no surprise that, on his way through the Department of Mysteries, he might’ve made another stop. But it hadn’t occurred to any of them, either at the time or years later—and so Voldemort’s dying curse, a final strike at his enemies, went unnoticed, until it was too late.

With the death of the Dark Lord, the Department of Mysteries ended its lockdown, returning once more to “normal” reality; and the enchantment, sensing the link to its master’s life having been severed, did as it was meant to do—and blew the veiled arch in the Room of Death to pieces.

And it took the world—or at least, a very significant part of that world—with it.




Shirou felt like he’d been dragged by the neck across several miles of bad road; “bad,” in this case, meaning “a trail of jagged, salt-encrusted obsidian shards, heated to near-melting point.”

Still, he managed to pry himself out of unconsciousness and motionlessness, opening his eyes to behold—

The waiting area of a police station, or at least, that was what it looked like. Something about it seemed “off” to him, hazy and indistinct . . . But then he’d blink, and it would be clear, making him wonder if it wasn’t so much something wrong with the image as with his vision.

Did I take another head injury? Shirou wondered. It’d sure be consistent with how I’m feeling right now . . .

Next to him, Ilya stirred, causing him to realise her presence. “. . . Shirou?” She looked and sounded no less groggy and confused than he did. “Where are we?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. There were people around them, but none of them seemed to pay them any attention—and they were using American accents, if he heard them right. Since he didn’t recall crossing an ocean in the last few years, much less minutes, it was an understandably unnerving realisation.

“Yo, Einzbern family!” a uniformed cop called from a room down the hall. “Captain’ll see you now.”

Looking at each other and blinking, Shirou and Ilya rose—realising only then that Kiritsugu and Iris were with them, as well.

Something is blocking our perceptions, or at least muddling them—a Confundus Charm, or a Notice-Me-Not? Shirou couldn’t be certain, nor could he understand why, but it was becoming clear to him that it was happening. That made him tense; what made it worse was that he couldn’t feel any of his usual weapons on him, either. No wands, no backup knives (something rarely expected by the people he dealt with)—even his coat felt lighter, as though it’d been stripped of its Kevlar lining.

Somebody has gone to an awful lot of trouble to leave us helpless—but if they can go that far, why leave us alive . . .?

The “captain” they’d been called to see was a stereotypical American, to most Japanese: blond-haired, blue-eyed, with a significant amount of both muscle and bruising; his nose had been broken at least a couple of times, Shirou estimated. That, and his general build, implied “ex-boxer,” but police work could leave its own marks. His office was like something out of those old film noir movies Galen liked, with a total lack of electronics or modern apparatus.

Just as curious, in Shirou’s estimation, was another: a dark-featured but otherwise nondescript man, dressed in janitor’s coveralls, of all things. His nametag said “JAKE,” but given the situation, Shirou doubted that was his actual name.

“These are the guys you wanted?” the blond man asked the janitor, receiving a nod. “Right—no doubt you four are pretty confused right now.”

“Just mildly,” Ilya said quietly, but Shirou could feel how tense she was, even without touching her. It radiated from her like heat from a furnace.

The blond’s eyebrows rose, and he glanced down to a sheaf of papers before snorting and looking at her flatly. “Oh, yeah—I suppose you would be, wouldn’t you.”

Despite the phrasing, it wasn’t a question, and he continued without waiting for a response. “Look, a lot of what’s going on here is so far above my pay grade, I couldn’t spot it with a telescope, so I can’t say I understand much of the details. What I can tell you, is the fight between good and evil is complicated; it takes place on a lot of different levels and battlefields. None of this should be a shock to any of you, right? Right.

“Now, you guys did your part, and you were on track to a lot more good. Seriously,” he added, with a shake of his head, “humanity is probably never going to be perfect, so sunshine and rainbows all the time wasn’t going to happen . . . But knowing what you knew, doing what you were planning? You have no idea what you were going to manage.”

He shook his head again. “So the opposition, naturally, made a bid to take you out, pre-emptively—and they succeeded, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Ilya repeated, looking very intently between the two men in front of them.

“Yeah, kid—it’s down to the method. You really think that Lord What’s-His-Face would think of planting a final ‘screw you’ that thorough, that far in advance, all on his own? Nah—he might’ve been Einstein, Hitler and Merlin in one seriously messed-up package, but nobody is that good. He had a little help, which means that we can balance the scales a bit.” The police captain chose that moment to scowl. “You aren’t going to like it, though.”

Ilya repeated, with greater emphasis, “Mostly succeeded?”

“This is where it gets technical, and I’m a cop, not a rocket scientist—or a wizard, either. You guys were all energy, once upon a time; and then you, missy, plugged yourself and your friends into where and what you were. Blowing up that arch wasn’t a bad idea, in terms of killing you—but because of what it is, it can also just turn you back into energy, to be moved somewhere else.” He held up his hands. “And I really can’t give any more detail than that—it’s all gibberish, as far as I’m concerned.”

“And which ‘somewhere else’ did you have in mind?” Shirou asked.

“In terms of that fight we were talking about earlier, a level that’s grimmer, grittier, and a lot closer to the front lines,” the captain said. “You’ll still have magic, but it won’t be the same—and your enemies won’t be anywhere near as nice as the last bunch, or the bunch before that.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’ll do much to improve our odds of survival,” the redhead noted.

“Life ain’t easy, kid; that’s its only guarantee,” the cop replied bluntly. “That and that it ends, eventually.” He shrugged. “You’ll have the same odds of making a life you’ll enjoy that you always have—put in the work, and you can probably manage it.”

Ilya glanced over to her parents—particularly where Iris was holding Ai, Shirou realised with a start. Given that their daughter had been in Grimmauld Place, as far as he’d been aware, that was a disturbing sight, to say the least.

“When I did this the last time,” his wife said carefully, “there were certain adaptations that needed to be made . . .”

The older man grimaced. “I said you weren’t going to like it.”

His tone was apologetic, but unyielding.

“. . . Mother, me, or both of us?” she asked at last.

“Depends on if you want it to affect the kid—or want her to exist at all.”

“Ilya?” Shirou didn’t quite demand an explanation, but it was definitely implied.

“Veela are faerie creatures, Shirou,” she said sombrely. “And faeries, if we’re going where they intend to send us, can breed with humans—but they don’t really think or feel the way that humans do. And the resulting changelings that are born between them are torn between their human and faerie natures, until they Choose one . . . And given my relative power level,” she added, in a tone of sudden realisation, “it might even be worse.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny anything,” the cop said flatly. “Like I said before, it’s way above my pay grade.”

Legilimency didn’t seem possible right now, either, but Shirou caught a look from Ilya which communicated, nevertheless. And what it said was, “That doesn’t mean he didn’t hear anything, and a non-answer can be an answer all on its own.”

“Which means . . .?” Kiritsugu asked, speaking for the first time.

“The type of faeries that we’re most likely to be associated with are predatory by nature, and perpetually horny as part of that,” Ilya explained. “The most powerful faeries are the Queens who rule them, and they’re grouped along the archetype of Maiden, Mother, and Crone; and the ‘maiden’ part is viciously enforced.” Ilya said. She scowled. “This means that I will want Shirou badly, attempt to seduce him constantly—and that I’ll cripple him, at best, if anything actually starts happening.”

Shirou considered the idea of being simultaneously teased and blue-balled for the rest of his life; he didn’t like it. And knowing his wife’s libido, she liked it even less.

“Is there an alternative?” he asked. “Can you lower your power levels, somehow, or something?” He blinked as the rest of the problem hit him. “Is there anything we can do that would let us keep Ai?”

“I could be a changeling,” Ilya said quietly. “One who hasn’t Chosen whether to be human or faerie, yet—and if I’m right, a potential Queen, if the latter. But that still means Mama will be a full-blooded faerie; possibly the Queen of Faerie . . . And while sex would be an option for her, she wouldn’t be the same—not at all . . .” She looked at her parents. “And it’s not fair to do that to you.”

Now it was Kiritsugu and Irisviel’s turn to exchange wordless looks, and they did so for a long interval. Finally, Iris’s eyes flicked down to Ai and back to Kiritsugu, who glanced at the toddler and sighed.

“It’s a parent’s job to do what they can for their children,” Kiritsugu said, with surprising gentleness; at least, to anyone who didn’t know the man behind the assassin. “And if accepting those consequences means that you can be happy—that our granddaughter can be happy—then there really isn’t anything else to do.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide as her gaze darted back and forth between the two. “But, that means Mama—!”

“Ilya-chan,” Iris said softly, “I remember. Here and now, I remember all of it—and compared to what I was, even this can’t be so bad.”

Ilya’s voice took on that lilting tone that Galen’s did, whenever he was quoting something, “‘Even in Winter, the cold isn’t always bitter—and not every day is cruel.’” She swallowed heavily. “But it’s never warm, either, and it can never be anything other what it is . . . This won’t be kind to either of you—you won’t be allowed to be. Do you understand that?”

“It’s not the first sacrifice we’ve made, Ilya,” Kiritsugu said heavily. “Not even the first we’ve made for you—but it will be the first that really means something.”

“I have had,” Iris said simply, “a lifetime of loving my husband, and my family. A lifetime I wouldn’t have had without you, and what you did. I am so proud of you, Ilya-chan—and you too, Shirou-chan,” she added quickly. Then she smiled brightly. “And what else can a mother do, but try to live up to the example of the woman her daughter’s become?”

They turned to the captain.

“We’ll do it,” Kiritsugu said. “Whatever it is you have in mind, set it up.”

“Please and thank you,” Iris chimed in politely.

The police captain glanced at the janitor, who nodded, a smile on his face.

Amidst the sound of an onrushing train, Shirou’s world went white—

[Heart of the Star]

Writer’s Notes: So, after almost a month of life screwing with my writing schedule, I finally get a week where I can concentrate on the next chapter — so, of course, it decides to fight me tooth and nail for every page.

I’m at about six pages, now — hopefully, I will have it done next week, finally.

. . . Incidentally, if you were curious: I picked the British pantheon because I didn't want to move them out of Britain; if I picked the Japanese pantheon, only Galen would need to be adopted.

if you were going to run with the japanese side I would be incredibly amused if it turned out that Archer-Shirou's Patron God was UBW Shirou, who having successfully avoided becoming a Counter Guardian thanks to Archer baddassed his way into becoming a heroic Spirit and thus a God when reality got reset.

[Kieran]

if you were going to run with the japanese side I would be incredibly amused if it turned out that Archer-Shirou's Patron God was UBW Shirou, who having successfully avoided becoming a Counter Guardian thanks to Archer baddassed his way into becoming a heroic Spirit and thus a God when reality got reset.

*Snickers* Tempting, I must admit - but I actually had Hachiman in mind. Although the Amatsukami page doesn't show it, the book lists him as a god of archers, and flexibility/adaptation. One of his favourite mortal guises is even "a dextrous chef" . . . Sounded perfect for Shirou, really.

[fsnfan]

*Snickers* Tempting, I must admit - but I actually had Hachiman in mind. Although the Amatsukami page doesn't show it, the book lists him as a god of archers, and flexibility/adaptation. One of his favourite mortal guises is even "a dextrous chef" . . . Sounded perfect for Shirou, really.

Hmmm... somehow I had a funny idea where instead of the Hachiman that you're thinking becomes Shirou's patron god, instead the Hachiman from OreGairu was (mis)selected because of their similar names.

[Kieran]

I've never heard of that, so I'm afraid you'd have to write it.

Otherwise, I was planning on Takara being a Scion of Izanami (Death being one of her Purviews), and Galen being adopted by either Izanagi (who has both Death and Sky - storms - in his portfolio), or Marishiten (who is a goddess of illusions, among other things, and adopted herself).

[TheAbsolutistsCreed]

I'm back and wow have i been missing out on a lot. Really liked the additional Persona x-overs.

I've mostly gotten into RWBY and a lot of other Rooster-Teeth/Let's Play related things lately. So i'm even more disconnected from a lot of the things you've posted, despite the fact I really want to play any of the Persona series.