A space between life and death
Sometime after the Great Holy Grail War
Unlike most people, Shirou did not immediately panic when he roused to sudden awareness in a literal fog. That was not to stay that he wasn’t startled, or wary—Tohsaka’s assertions to the side, he wasn’t always an idiot—but he’d been through enough magically-induced dreams and visions during the Grail War (a certain dragon coming to mind) to be familiar with the sensation.
This . . . Well, this whatever-it-was, it had a similar sensation. And like Rider’s Blood Fort Andromeda, it gave off a hint of intent, as well; not malign, like the previous Bounded Field, but more passive. It was . . . Sombre, if Shirou had to put a name to it—or reflective, maybe.
He puzzled on exactly what it was he did feel, so deeply that he might be forgiven for not noticing things beginning to clear slightly in his vicinity.
“I’m very sorry,” said the beautiful lady in the antique-looking chair (causing him to jump, startled), “but I’m afraid you’ve died.”
From his peripheral vision, Shirou could see that the room was largely empty, though what there was of it was quite elegant. The floor was a checkerboard of black-and-white marble tiles, the wooden furniture polished and well-crafted—and Western in design—while the ceiling was either transparent or non-existent, showing a dazzling view of a night sky (and not Earth’s, he believed; astronomy wasn’t his strong suit).
. . . Granted, the “walls” seemed mostly to consist of that hazy, gray fog, but one couldn’t have everyth—
“Wait!” Shirou blurted as the statement finally penetrated his understanding. “I died?”
“Your death was painless,” the statuesque woman assured her, clear blue eyes glimmering earnestly. “There wasn’t time for it to hurt.” She frowned. “Though I can’t understand just how someone your age dies of exhaustion while cooking . . .”
Shirou frowned himself, puzzled. “I wasn’t making any more complicated dishes than normal, or even larger portions. Maybe it was something I did before that? Let’s see . . . I helped Issei clean out the storage shed after I replaced that fuse—it was too big a trip hazard not to. After that, I went home and helped Sakura clean up the breakfast dishes, then the grocery shopping . . .”
He’d actually needed to use Reinforcement on himself to carry all the bags—pity that neither Rider nor Saber had been available.
“I fixed those broken tiles in the roof,” he continued, “re-sanded and polished the dojo walls and floor, mowed the yard—then there was lunch . . . After that, I helped Fuji-nee and Saber practise for a kendo tournament next week, made snacks for them, helped Old Man Raiga out by replacing an engine block on one of his cars—that was heavy, but I took my time—did my homework, made another snack for Saber for her break at the bar while I pulled my shift there—today was inventory day—”
The woman blinked suddenly, and Shirou suddenly realised she’d been staring at him in astonishment.
“You did all that TODAY?” she exclaimed in a disbelieving tone.
“Yeah,” Shirou said, shrugging. “Which is why I don’t get it—compared to the rest of the week so far, today was a breeze!”
“. . . How are you at handling paperwork?” the woman asked suddenly.
Now it was Shirou who blinked, though in confusion, this time.
“I’m sorry?” he prompted.
“Never mind,” she said, just as suddenly, in a more sour tone. In her final exhalation, Shirou thought he heard her add something like, “They’d never let me keep you—bunch of killjoys . . .”
He decided that he couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly—and in any case, a shake of her head sent her pale blue locks flying to-and-fro; clearly, she considered the topic closed.
“In any case,” she continued, “since you died in Japan, at such a tragically young age, you’ve now fallen into my care.” She smiled beatifically. “I am the goddess Aqua, and I am here to present your options from here on out.”
Shirou had never really considered the afterlife before. His upbringing was odd enough to make traditional Japanese customs feel ill-fitting, even if he did follow them, generally. He might have believed in the Christian Heaven, prior to meeting Kotomine; now, not so much. And while Rin’s description of what happened to souls in magus terms might make a logical sort of sense, he’d also seen enough things—like Heroic Spirits, and demigods from ancient pantheons that were supposedly myths—to think that there had to be more to it than simply getting “recycled by the Root” . . .
Still, a blue-haired European girl named the Latin word for “water” being put in charge of Japanese souls (even if it was maybe just Japanese teenagers? The way she’d phrased things made him wonder) was a little too out-of-context to be believable.
The hammer of a gun drew back in his mind—not quite cocking it, not yet, but ready at an instant, as Shirou began cataloguing what he knew of weak points on the human body, and how they’d likely apply to the lady before him. (He’d have preferred to search for potential exits, but the fog was too pervasive and opaque; thus, what few options he had were limited to immediate self-defence and/or threats of bodily harm.)
“Now, first,” the goddess continued, apparently oblivious to his thoughts, “you could simply choose to be reborn, and start your life all over again—but that's really boring, don’t you think? Secondly, you could choose to go to Heaven . . .” Trailing off, she leaned over and whispering conspiratorially, “but between you and me, it’s really, really boring there: there’s nothing to do by lie around in the sun. You don’t even have a body there, so you can’t ever have sex—!”
Shirou started, momentarily shocked out of his mindset. Partly because he was a teenaged Japanese male, with all the social conditioning and hormonal reticence that implied, and partly because the sudden shift in her tone and expression utterly shattered the goddess’ previous projection of solemn dignity.
Another cough heralded a leading statement. “ . . . Or, there is a third option. You see, there’s a world right out of the video games kids like you love—”
Not being a gamer in any meaningful sense—he’d played a few with Shinji, once upon a time, but it’d never been anything he even really had access to (at least, until Kohaku-san had moved in)—Shirou kind of resented the stereotype. More alarmingly, the tone of her voice and general expression set off warning bells in the back of his mind. Aqua-san was suddenly reminding him of Tohsaka, in her persona as the school’s idol, when she wanted something . . .
“And it’s under siege from a terrible Demon Lord,” Aqua continued, again seemingly unaware of his thoughts (which was weird, because couldn’t Belldandy read minds?) “It’s so terrible that no one wants to be reborn there, and the loss of life will mean its doom . . .
“But if you’re willing to fight,” she proclaimed, “then we’re willing to send you there with your current body and memories, and a special godly cheat power or item!”
Inwardly, Shirou frowned. If things were really that bad, then shouldn’t a Door have opened to that world . . .?
Shirou wasn’t stupid; impulsive, hot-blooded, and self-sacrificing, yes (which, according to many of his friends, amounted to being stupid), but in terms of actual intelligence, he was far from the lowest on the scale—just, perhaps, the lowest relative to the people he knew. As such, though he might jump into things without a plan, he was perfectly capable of analysing situations, and becoming suspicious of things that seemed out of place.
He was in an “afterlife” that, frankly, made no sense; at least, relative to anything he knew of or understood. He was being offered the chance to be a hero, and save a world—perfect bait for someone like him, Shirou admitted—and with all his own abilities plus an extra “divine” gift . . . Except that just dropping dead of overwork seemed ridiculous, and if a world really was in danger that he could save, the Works should have been in contact with it; that was the whole point of it.
There were any number of beings he’d heard of that might be capable of throwing something like this together, to mess with his head—but the ones he could think of that might be inclined to wouldn’t go about it this way. For example, the Wizard Marshal, according to Tohsaka, was a lot more straightforward in his approach; he’d give Shirou just enough information to induce panic, drop him into the situation over his objections, and sit back to watch the fireworks. Shirou had never met the man (to use the polite term), and knew very well how Rin tended to exaggerate (she was a bit high-strung, after all) but seeing what she had gone through in the name of her apprenticeship, he bowed to her superior expertise in the matter.
Likewise, the Lord of Blood and Contracts might offer a “Faustian bargain,” if he’d managed to gain her interest, or she thought she would enjoy the chaos and destruction that would result—but so far as Shirou was aware, they’d never met. And if all she wanted was blood, she’d just kill him without all this pageantry.
So, he mused, I’ve found myself in the plot of an isekai novel; and it’s either the most ridiculously-designed trap I’ve ever seen, or it’s actually genuine, because a real trap would make more logical sense than this . . .
But if things were so bad, why hadn’t a Door—oh.
“Do you make this offer to everyone?” Shirou asked.
The goddess’ face reddened. “Well, we had to do something—and the Japanese have the concept of ‘isekai,’ so they’re not unused to the idea, right . . . Besides, what kid wouldn’t like the idea of becoming a fantasy hero in another world? It is the idea of Heaven for a lot of them, right?”
That explained it, Shirou thought—they sent just enough people through to keep hope going in that other world; if it never dropped to the point that Grail Works Limited was their last hope, then a Door would never connect there . . .
And more people have probably suffered because of things dragging on, he thought grimly.
Yes, he still thought that this was likely a trap . . . But then, if it wasn’t a tempting offer, the bait wouldn’t be effective, would it?
“You’ll send me over exactly as I am?” Shirou said. “Do they speak the same language there?”
“Well, no,” Aqua admitted. “We’ll load that into your brain as a freebie; you’ll be able to speak, read and write there—it’d be a lot harder to the defeat the Devil King if you couldn’t communicate with the locals, after all. But yeah,” she added cheerfully, “other than that, you’ll be just the same as you were when you were alive!”
“And what about food?” Shirou pressed.
“Just like Earth, there are foods you can eat there,” she assured him. “The booze is pretty good, too. Now, about your cheat item—”
“If you have a pen I can borrow, please, then I’ll write out what I want for you,” Shirou offered. “Or I could just tell you.”
Aqua’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well, normally I’d bring out the list—but it’s a pain putting it all back in order, afterwards, so if your idea doesn’t seem too outlandish, then I’ll agree to it right now!”
“I wouldn’t want to put you to any special effort on my account,” the redheaded magus demurred. “It might not even be possible for you to do it.”
He hadn’t meant anything by it, but the goddess stiffened in such a way that he immediately recognised from dealing with Fuji-nee and Rin (and Saber, though she was usually more subtle about it).
“Listen, buster,” she said. “I’m a high-ranking goddess—I can do all kinds of things! I’d like to see you try to come up with some kind of cheat item or power I can’t create!”
“All right,” Shirou acknowledged, “I want as my ‘cheat item’ the person who answers to the aliases ‘Kieran Holt,’ ‘Kurai,’ ‘Godafrid Úa Súilleabháin,’ ‘Galen Salvatore’—”
The redhead added his actual name, as well, just in case Aqua would’ve grabbed one of his counterparts by mistake. Frid had initially been an entirely different individual, after all . . .
“EASY!” Aqua crowed. “You just stand back and behold the power of a real goddess, Emiya Shirou!”
The similarities to Fuji-nee were beginning to seriously unnerve him . . .
Still, Shirou was satisfied; if he was being sent as he was, then he’d still have both his magecraft and his contract with Saber; a Command Spell ought to suffice for summoning her, and Ilya could track that, and thus, him. But even if she couldn’t, somehow . . . Well, he’d asked for Frid for more than just the fact that he’d probably know whatever world Shirou was being sent to—after losing track of him so often, Rin and Ilya had gone to considerable efforts to “put a bell on him.” No doubt, the minute he got sent to wherever they were going, the Works would be hot on his trail—and again, they’d find Shirou in the process.
A runic pattern surrounded the floor beneath his chair, shining a column of light upwards, and the redheaded magus began to rise.
I hope nobody’s done anything too extreme in my absence, he thought.
And the world vanished into light . . .
Axel, Town of Beginnings
Kingdom of Belzerg
Date unknown
“Owww . . .” Frid groaned.
Is there some unwritten cosmic rule that says that every involuntary dimension shift I go through has to involve dropping out of the fucking SKY . . .?!
Ignoring the ranting in the back of his mind (it was justified, he just needed to determine how deep of a manure pile he’d been thrown into, first), he staggered to his feet, and glanced around.
This . . .
He blinked.
This is KonoSuba . . . Why am I in KonoSuba?! I haven’t died—well, not lately! And I never saw Aqua, or whoever that angel is who took her place, either; heck, I’d have expected Eris, at least—this is her freaking planet!
He was about to call for Ilya and hope for both an answer and an explanation, when a sudden call from a familiar voice took care of the latter—and turned his blood to ice in the process.
“Ah, you made it—I guess she was telling the truth after all!”
Slowly, Frid turned his head, and took in the sight before him. Yup, that was Shirou—clad in that white-and-blue sweatshirt and pants combination that passed as his “casual” clothing, and not at all what he would’ve worn on an official mission . . .
“Shirou,” Frid said, making a not-quite-successful effort to keep his voice even, “did you die? And if yes, did you happen to meet a woman named Aqua . . .?”
The redhead looked embarrassed. “Ah, yeah—that’s what she said, anyway . . . I wasn’t sure I believed her, but you’re here like I asked for, and so am I, so . . .” He shrugged and sighed. “I hope Ilya and the girls aren’t too worried.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure they’ll be frantic—but as of right now, they should be the least of your worries,” Frid growled.
Shirou blinked. “ . . . Did I do something wrong? Or offend you, somehow?”
“I was on a DATE, damn it!” the other man seethed. “You know how rarely we get the opportunity—and then in the middle of it, suddenly this column of light beams me up out of NOWHERE—!”
Shirou winced. “I am really sorry about that—”
“You will be,” he promised. “We both will—because I’m absolutely sure that when she finds us, ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci’ will be less of a teasingly-affectionate nickname than a MASSIVE understatement . . .”
A Thousand Curses Upon this Wonderful World!
*Start*
Continue
Quit
Writer's Notes: A lousy title, I know - but I have trouble with those, on the spur of the moment. 
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by Xamusel
