Strategist felt her uniformed chest swell with pride as she strode out from behind 'A' turret and passed her assembled officers, Marines and ratings. The sea that afternoon had been calm; everyone had been working around the clock with little rest, judging from both her own weariness and the visible signs of bleary-eyes among her men.
But their work since the successful capture of the Harbor had paid off. Strategist clambered up an external ladder and planted her boots in an 'at ease' posture (likewise placing her hands behind her back) and stared down at the upturned faces.
"Gentlemen!" she addressed them, trying to make herself heard. "Thanks to your efforts the previous day, we have succeeded in our first action of this new war! The securing of this harbor has not only allowed us to gain a foothold into Fuyuki, but has also given us access to raw material and a place to lie-up!"
A gloved hand thrust itself out towards the Harbor. "More then that, your conduct during the raid and in securing our salvage has been exemplary! Thanks to your restraint, your swiftness in the assault and in the control of your officers, the dock-workers and foremen of Fuyuki still have a place to come and work today! Furthermore, you have succeeded in helping us lay the foundations of our new fleet!"
A quartet of ship-horns and whistles shuddered out from the harbor and, in gradual succession, four more grey-armored hulls came into view, falling in behind the still-cruising 'Dreadnought'. Three of them were small, swift destroyers (Acheron-class), while lumbering behind them at a slightly-slower pace was the outline of a battlecruiser - HMS 'Invincible'; the first of her type anywhere in the world. All of them had been recreated from Strategist's memorised blue-prints, salvaged from pre-existing civilian hulls and worked on over the course of the previous evening and this morning; Strategist had to remind herself that she'd need to see her Master for much-needed Mana replenishment once she was finished here.
Strategist snapped to attention, slamming her boots against the cast-steel turret armour. "Three cheers for the Empire and Royal Navy! And three cheers for the 'Dreadnought'! Hip! Hip-hip!"
A hundred or so peaked caps and sailors hats were simultaneously raised from brows in salute. "HUZZAH!"
No sooner than did those words leave Gin's mouth did the world around him distort. The world created by Chiron had heard his purpose, and had pronounced itself judge, jury, and executioner over what it would create him. Obstacles, challenges, and trials manifested in this distorted space, demanding that Gin take them head-on while facing the prospect of death all the while.
Even a single misstep here would mean he would fail.
Rule number two: Resolve.
Rule number three: Analyze.
Rule number four: Plan.
Rule number five: Execute.
Rule number six: Focus.
Rule number seven: Initiative.
Rule number eight: Polish.
Rule number nine: Glimpse.
After these first nine trials...
"It doesn't matter what sort of hero you are. At some point, you're going to have to defend something dear to you, whether it's a place, a person, an object, or just your own life. And that means you need to decide what doing so means to you."
The world spun yet again, but this time when it stopped there was something different. Gin was back in Fuyuki, in the place he knew as home. For a moment, he might wonder if the training had ended right there, if they had been interrupted somehow.
But then the black fire came, consuming souls and grudges as it spread across the city.
The agents of a foreign land spread their net, taking advantage of those flames to win over the populace and subvert the local powers.
A monster beneath a blue, blue glass moon tore through the streets, devouring all that it came across.
"Boss, we need to find a way to put out this fire!"
"Boss, we gotta save these people!"
"Boss, we gotta rally everyone!"
"Boss, we need to kill that monster!"
"Boss, we have to..."
"Boss, we gotta..."
"Boss-"
"Boss-"
"Boss-"
There were none of his men beside him, but the voices echoed inside his mind nonetheless, as Chiron stood passively before him.
"What does it mean for you to defend something? What do you focus on first? What battles do you fight, and what battles do you resign?"
"You said you want to be the 'coolest hero'. What does that mean? When something dear to you is in danger, what do you do? Show me your answer. Get out there and save what you love, however the 'coolest hero' would."
It was a relatively quiet morning for the people on the west side of Fuyuki. Mainly because there were very few people left alive around those parts, but the quiet was refreshing for the few residents left nonetheless. Of course, no peace can last during a war. A loud explosion rocked the district, waking up everyone in Miyama without exception. It was even loud enough to hear in the Native District to a degree, but of course the sounds of rioting drowned out even this mighty boom. Anyone who bothered looking towards the source of the noise would see nothing but rubble, what was once a large mansion in the Western Farms was now nothing but a pile of dust and debris. Only closer inspection could possibly yield results as to what caused this sudden destruction, but what else did people have to do so early in the morning after all?
The voices of his men calling out for his help assaulted Gin from many different directions. It was an all-out attack on his conscience, tugging at him to make a choice. It was as if they were aiming to tear him apart if he didn't make his choice right away. As these choices threw some weight on his shoulders, the regret piled more onto him. Regrets of what he couldn't do and who he couldn't save...
But rule ten wasn't 'Regret'. Rule ten is to 'Protect'. Focusing on that speed that he saw being displayed by the Fastest Hero earlier this same day, Gin attempted to force himself to solve all three problems at once.
First, Gin came to deal with the fire. Extending a hand outward, Gin began to shout commands as his magic circuits flared. "Attack!" At his command, a swarm of origami swans flew out from his sleeves. They were shikigami, a symbol of power in Onmyoudou, and they were all carrying talismans blessed with Gin's intrinsic luck. His intent was to fight a curse with a blessing. And to appease the grudges contained within the fire, Gin drew three talismans, throwing them up in the air as they floated above him, before drawing a fourth. And so, he began to chant a Shinto prayer, each of his talismans glowing with power as he attempted to exorcise the souls contained within the fire. As his prayers came to their conclusion, a bright flash of light brought Gin to the next scene...
Standing above a building overlooking the citizens and the foreigners, Gin held his sword in front of him, sheathed and pointed to the ground. The four talismans floating above him now began to spin in a circle around Gin, as if he had prepared another spell. "Alright, boys! And remember, if they look like they're tryna do the funky monkey or anythin', just put one of those red talismans on their foreheads! I'll make sure tha' fire doesn't scorch ya!" Tapping his sword by his feet, the ten brave men standing behind Gin all gave a collective "Aye, boss!" before leaping into the chaos as Gin, once again, worked on keeping the flames back. They all wore straw hats, each tagged with talismans; three of which to protect them against most forms of magecraft, and a fourth to bless them with a bit of the same good luck Gin has. As they made their way through the crowd, they all began to rally the civilians, leading them all inside the building Gin was standing on top of. To those who seemed to be under the effects of hypnosis, a talisman was placed on their heads as a means of helping them snap out of it. Any prospective magus who was spotted trying to take advantage of this situation in some way was brought down with a thunderous crack, their death delivered swiftly by one of the few snipers spread out around the rooftops.
Standing in an empty street as the moon had shined its azure light upon them, Gin stood face to face with the beast as it glared into his eyes, mockingly. Grinning back at the monster, Gin combed his fingers through his hair, once, before drawing his katana. "I won't let ya harm my boys or my people no more, ya ugly motherfucker!" With a flick of his wrist, a couple of talismans flew into his empty hand out from his sleeve as he threw them all simultaneously. "Flame on!" Gin shouted, as each of the talismans all started to burst into mere bolts of flames as they all aimed to scorch the monster. It was simple destructive magecraft, but it was easy to bring forth due to Gin's affinity with Fire, the element of destruction, and strengthened with invocations of the kami of fire, Kagutsuchi. As the beast was buffeted with flames, Gin drew another talisman, throwing it up in front of his own face as it hovered over his forehead. "Ignite!" Gin shouted, once again, allowing the spirits to divine the best path for him to approach the monster as he charged forward, his katana raised...
The living hell continued without pause, without cessation. The scenes shifted with each passage of a handful of seconds, the challenges came as quickly as they went, the sword of Damocles dangling over their participants head with each instance.
This time, a figure appeared in the ashen ruins of Fuyuki.
Its face was an overlapping mess of the faces Gin had opposed thus far. The mangled visage of the monster. The smirking grin of the foreign organization's leader.
The people of Fuyuki watched on, frozen in terror as they watched the one who had rescued their city as he opposed something undoubtedly beyond him.
“A hero cannot stop, regardless of the obstacle they face. If they pierce your limbs, tear them free. If they gouge out your heart, move until you have no blood left. If they cut off your head, drag yourself forwards."
As Chiron's words died down, the enemy spoke, speaking in a language that appealed more to the brain than mere words did. The primal language from the Age of Gods. Before Gin had even a chance to respond, the word was already completed.
Air disappeared. Around the magus, an icy blackness spread out, engulfing him. Pressure crushed against him from all sides, restraining his movement. Just a bit closer and he could lash out at the monster. Just a bit further away and he would be free of its assault. But, for the time being, he was trapped.
No air, no light, no hope. Fuyuki's denizens watched in horror as their hero was brought low.
"It doesn't matter if you move backwards to think, stay still to survive, or move forwards to fight. It doesn't matter if you act by yourself or with others. That is your decision to make, the only requirement is that, whatever you do, you don't stop doing it.”
Strive endlessly towards the horizon. You will not surpass him, but you will be the one who gives rise to that possibility. So, you cannot disappoint me. You must not stop. You must not break. You must-
Gin had instantly felt the pressure pulling him to the ground. So far, these trails were nauseating, as Gin was thrown from different conflicts, different fights, different encounters... He wasn't even close to halfway complete and he felt like throwing up. Of course, it didn't help that the thing in front of him began to force him to his feet with some sort of authority Gin, himself, struggled to fight through. He couldn't even keep his head up. Looking to the ground after having being forced to, however, made Gin realize something about this rule...
Below him was a puddle, one just hazy enough for Gin to see his reflection. Damn, I look ugly struggling, huh... Gin thought to himself, before raising his head back up to that amalgam of the many things he hates about the war. "Heh... I look just like you, right now, do I?
"... Well, as much as I want to look like the wrong side of an asshole, I don't think it'd be cool if I just kept lookin' like you, now, huh?!"
And so, Gin struggled to keep himself up, slowly raising himself up. He willed himself to move, not out of a fighting spirit, but out of the desire, the wish to keep looking cool. There were others watching; his boys, the citizens of Fuyuki, and maybe some pretty ladies here and there. Gin couldn't look weak or disgusting in front of them. He first had to look cool in order to be cool.
Gin continued to struggle, not moving forward or backward, but in place, spreading his feet shoulder-length apart, keeping his knees slightly bent, and holding his sword with two hands, looking at the conglomeration of his hatred right into its eyes. Finally, with a smirk, Gin remained in what he thought was a cool stance, his sword raised above his head and pointed towards his foe. His arms and limbs shook as they continued to stay in place. Gin could only grit his teeth as he grinned, once again, struggling to stay cool, even in the face of terror.
A large destructive force. One that would surely destroy them if it struck. The other units in the area moved away, but this one advanced, as per the controller's orders.
Their standby disguise, one false bush among many real ones, disappeared as they moved towards their destination, camouflaging with the terrain as much as possible.
Cracked stones and splintered wood everywhere. The dust had not yet cleared. The platoon spread out around the ruins, and a single worm made its way onto the rubble.
What would be found here?
Air Squadrons Six through Ten
Native District
The efforts of their fellow squadrons and platoons were having less and less effect as the riots dragged on. They would have continued to attempt to save civilians and quell rioters' rage far past the point where such actions were meaningless if the controller had not determined a more efficient method.
Perhaps these humans were incited to a level that could not be dealt with by logic, but it would nonetheless be effective to attempt to strike at key points.
This was their job.
The natives had become wild-eyed. Mere shouting and property damage had somehow devolved into a bloodbath. Technically, human nature was to blame. More specifically, though, were these people. Those who draped themselves in the body parts of the slain and rallied maddened troops. Even if the bloodlust of the crowd came from within their own hearts, the ringleaders were...
Violence deserved violence. They grouped together into formless blunt objects and brought down the ringleaders of these dark revelries. Cuts were applied when necessary, although no permanent damage was left. The squadrons steered clear of magi. That was a whole different endeavour.
More than anything else, it was critical that the mobs see their leaders brought low.
Roland remembered her from the bar last night. When he had left, he had managed to run right into a familiar face. At the fire, his life had been saved by a Rider class servant. And now, he had come to the Northern Moor to meet up with her. Because the two of them had a mission. This wasn't his territory, but as honorable man, he suspected the one who had saved his life was the honorable sort too, at least from their talking at the bar.
But there was one thing that did cause him just a tad concern. It was his missing arm. Or to be more exact, his no-longer missing arm. A set of heavy black bandage like material was wrapped around his torso, and covered what seemed to be a new arm, replacing the one that Roland had lost earlier that week. The witch that had given him back his arm had been cryptic for the reasons behind why. But now, he had something brand new, and he planned to use it. Use it to get back the things he had lost.
"Where are you... Rider?" Roland grumbled out softly, standing there in the open, hand drumming against his sword. He gazed across the moors, and took in the sights and sounds. It was... Peaceful enough.
It came and went. Each of the trials came and went, but that wasn't to say they were simple. Some, such as Struggle's, ended after a certain period of time. Some required completing an action. Some required simply surviving. Each of them, though, dredged something new out, forced Gin to define something else about himself.
And so time ticked on.
The setting, which had initially been fluctuating a fair amount, seemed to gradually be stabilizing. The most common location Gin found himself in was a recreation of Fuyuki, or of another part of Japan.
"I'll admit, you're moving along well. But, there will be a time when everything you've done before, all of your old methods, will invariably falter."
Riots raged in the city streets. This was not the result of a cursed fire or a great evil, there was no great target to attack this time. Each of the other trials, when there was something to stop, there had been a target that Gin could take aim at, and indeed he had. He struck out at the fire, at the invaders, at the monsters. He faced all things head-on.
Of course, this time it was different. This time, there was no grand enemy to strike down, there was merely primal chaos. People robbing for selfish gain, people robbing for survival, people killing in a panic, people killing on mere accident. The tragedies of man were on full display.
"You've attempted to be an icon so far, but all of your attempts to be one have been based off of 'personal power'. So, when that power doesn't have a target to aim itself at, what do you do? What kind of icon do you take the form of? How do you stand against an enemy that does not have a form?"
Chiron's physical form had long since vanished. There was merely Gin and the chaos, even as the voice echoed.
As more of these trials were completed, Gin gradually got the hang of them all. With each trial, he focused on being flashy, showing off the new knowledge of his own magecraft that he learned from the first half of the war and applying it to look as good as possible. It felt good that he was actually able to show off his magecraft in a meaningful way, even though this was all essentially just a simulation. And while his boys weren't there, in body, to help them out, Gin was glad that he still had them helping him overcome these challenges in spirit...
But this. This is definitely deviating from the other trials Gin has faced.
Gin looked around as the chaos ensued. He was worried, though he had already learned not to convey that through his expression easily, looking stoic as ever as he tried to figure out how to handle this issue. There was nothing he could blast or use his katana on... it was just chaos, itself. No form, no face, nothing to target...
Gin thought of calling for his boys to handle this, but at the same time, what would happen if his orders were to get them killed? With this wanton slaughter going about, calling his friends for help wouldn't be a great decision if he really was worried of their lives. No, Gin had to figure it out on his own. As Chiron's voice guided him, reminding him that all the issues he's solved were from his own personal power, implying that he should use an outside force to help him solve this issue, Gin began to think of the rule, itself. To deviate is to depart from an established course... and to Gin, it seemed like his teacher was trying to establish a course for him by suggesting against his personal power...
With a flick of his wrists, more talismans flew out of his sleeves, throwing one to each corner at the ends of this fantasized riot. Taking one last talisman out, Gin began to embed within it his own 'self' into it, unknowingly copying his origin into this talisman. Throwing his talisman up in the air, Gin shouted the magic words, and completed his spell, using his affinity with Soil to establish a foundation in the area based on his self. Gin's rationale, in this case, was that since he is the coolest around, if he were to impose that on the chaos that is happening, then everyone around him would also begin to chill out. He couldn't reason with them if they weren't all mellowed out, of course...
"Look at yerselves, everyone! Look at what 'yer doing! Turnin' on yourselves and killin' eachother... that ain't cool, y'know! How can we be cool if we're just thinking of ourselves?! We have to work together, eat together, and live together! Peace, love, and friendship... that's what's cool in this world! The true enemy is chaos, so we gotta chill out, hold hands, and rally against this unseen threat!"
Stretching his hands outward, Gin closed his eyes, confident that the once rampant mob will make peace with each other.
Destroy. Unleash. Receive. Restraint. Redirect. Imbricate. Foresee. Spread. Pierce. Devour. Retaliate. Each and every principle had been drilled through an ordeal all its own. If not for Chiron's voice counting off each of the rules as they came and went, it was unlikely that Gin would even have an idea of how close he was to the end.
This time, though, something immediately felt different.
There was no chaos in the air. There was no scent of smoke. There was no monster, no riot, no tower stretching into the sky, no god descending onto the earth. It was peaceful. It was tranquil.
Ah...
...wait.
Wait. Wait, wait, wait.
No, that was wrong. Something was wrong.
The handful of people surrounding him, some of the closest companions he had, were not looking at him as they usually would. They were looking to him with shock, with horror, with fear.
It was then that he would feel the pain in his chest.
It was then that he would feel the heat of his own blood as it streaked down his skin.
It was then that he would notice the blade that was embedded into his chest.
Ordinarily, at this point, there would be an explanation. A problem had been introduced, and so Chiron would state what it meant, how it had resulted from his previous choices, and what options there were available to him.
This time, there was none of that.
There was no applause.
There was no applause.
His hands grew cold, and then that same iciness began to spread through his body.
He could still move, but the life was certainly leaving him, his mind slowing as though it was trying to sift through a dense fog.
The encroaching hand of the reaper. The end of a story. There was no reason, no cause, no basis. There was merely that, that inescapable end.
The words were barely audible when he finally heard them.
... What? Wait... No! NO! Ite, you bastard! What the hell?! What the hell... What... ... No. But... I didn't... I didn't get to...
ERROR!
Who, again?
Rule #89, Die
Gin stood there, stabbed through the chest. The pain continued to shock through his body, not from the blade, but from his heart. It was a feeling of regret. Of sorrow. Of loss. Of rage. Of betrayal. So many things added to Gin's pain, and so many things made the pain so much harder to deal with. Soon, Gin's knees started to give out on him, followed by a fountain of blood, gushing through out of his mouth.
And before he realized it, before he could do anything, before he could save anyone, Gin had died...
... No.
I won't allow this...
I can't!
Gin's arm moved on its own, keeping him from falling to the ground. The grim, cold chill of death that had already surrounded most of his body was kept at bay from the fire within his heart. Deep within him, Gin doesn't want to die. He can't die! He has so much to live for! Slowly pulling the sword out of his chest, Gin raised it into the air, screaming his teacher's name with what little strength he could muster. He swung the sword in his hand, left and right as his eyes searched for his teacher. Even after his arm keeping him up gave out, even after he fell on his face, eve after everything felt numb, that arm still kept moving, kept swinging, his rage unending...
Remember, a hero's death is as much a part of their legend as any of their accomplishments.
It is the last page in their book.
You will die, eventually. Setting aside that all things will eventually die, a hero specifically must die.
Yes, if something never dies, it cannot be called a hero. A hero is a star which glimmers but eventually fades. If a hero was eternal, it would be an unreachable pinnacle.
Shooting for an unattainable ideal. A struggling form, a star of the world. A star can reach neither heaven nor earth, and that is precisely why it is lovely.
Some heroes die cursing the world.
Some heroes die reaching out towards a dream.
Some heroes die with a smile on their face.
It does not matter how you die, so long as you still die as yourself. So long as, to the end, you are the legend that you dared to create, it does not matter if your death is glorious or terrible.
...ah, I apologize for tricking you, there, but you're not dying just yet.
At this point, they had reached the last step of the lessons.
Die had merely been the beginning of that sequence, even if it had been the most jarring of those thus far. Indeed, none of the ones since then had managed to possess the same weight and gravitas as Die had.
This could be considered a calm between storms, in other words. As the end became closer and closer, though, that mounting pressure likely made it hard to enjoy the relative peace.
Once more, the world spun.
"A hero must hit their target, whatever it is. How you do that is up to you. Generate so many attempts that one must surely succeed, stake everything on a single perfect effort, plan or improvise, any option is valid so long as you hit your target."
"Of course, your method will also define your strengths and weaknesses, as well as what you may give rise to."
Against the rationale of recent rules, this time Gin was alone, the city around him devoid of life.
But, not devoid of death.
A swirling sea of spirits manifested before him, most of them passive, simply existing. However, there were some among those spirits that stood steeped in grudges. It was impossible to gauge which ones were of this kind on sight alone, or even with the magical senses, due to the sheer number of spirits infesting the surroundings.
The only indication of their true nature was during those brief moments when they lashed out, their grudges striking at Gin, corroding his own spirit in turn.
"You've made it this far, don't falter here. Rule number ninety-six: Aim."
"You know, if that shit about dying were a joke, I'd be using a command seal to have ya stay sober for the rest of the war, Ite!" Gin told Chiron, scratching his nose with a thumb. He had a grin on his face that was different from when he began. No longer was he seeing these tests as something to pass and move along, but as experiences to absorb and to learn from. He even felt like he was getting used to Chiron's tricks, at this point...
No, no he wasn't. That's a dangerous train of thought to have.
Looking at the challenge before him, Gin crossed his arms, laughing heartily. He stood there, keeping ever so stoic at these spirits struck at him, unafraid of death. He had already died, once, and he had learned that even his own death will be necessary, should the time come. That being said, however, this was not his time...
Grabbing a single talisman from his jacket pocket and holding it between his two fingers, he looked out at the gathering of spirits before him. "Come forth." Gin said, calmly, as a large swarm of shikigami, numbering in the hundreds, slowly flew out from the fog behind him, hovering just a few inches behind Gin. A majority of them held talismans of binding, while the lesser half held talismans of exorcising. Gin was going to approach this next problem with an overwhelming attack while at the same time reducing collateral. If he were to bind most of these spirits, he'll be able to more easily pinpoint the ones filled with grudges while at the same time minimizing the damage dealt to the normal spirits, themselves.
And of course, before he fired, he raised the talisman he drew out moments before, raising it high. Gin trusted both his intuition and his bountiful luck, but even then, he needed some extra insurance, even though it would matter little for this method of attack. If anything, it's just more cherries to add to his overkill sundae.
"Guide us."
The shikigami all rushed forth, those tasked with binding holding most of the spirits in place while the others tasked with exorcising met their marks. Gin crossed his arms, once again, throwing his head back and taking joy in his overwhelming attack. Creating shikigami of this amount all at once was something only capable within this training montage, after all, and one of the many valuable lessons Gin learned from all this was to find happiness even in the most troubling of times.
The world bent, and for the first time since they began, Gin and Chiron stood opposite each other on that featureless, white plane.
"...well, here we are. The last one."
He turned his head from side to side, cracking his neck with a sharp exhale.
"Never settle. If there's someone above you, even if they'll always be above you, do not roll over and give up. If there's nobody above you, do not become complacent, because there's no rule that you cannot surpass your own legend."
"If you have the gall to call yourself a hero, then you are not allowed to make banal excuses."
Between Chiron and Gin, something formed. The very foundation of Chiron's Noble Phantasm seemed to strain in its attempt to manifest what was appearing.
...No, not something.
Someone.
The greatest obstacle who stood in the way of Gin's chosen path, to become 'the coolest hero'.
An unparalleled titan of a man.
No, that was impossible.
Yes, indeed, it was impossible for Gin to defeat that man.
...However, that did not mean it was not worth trying.
After all of his ordeals, this was the final hurdle. The expression of everything he had sought to accomplish across these trials. And that man, that all-surpassing man, was the wall standing in his way.
From Purpose to Protect, from Protect to Struggle, from Struggle to Deviate, from Deviate to Die, from Die to Aim, and from Aim to-
"Rule number one hundred and one..."
And so, in the final challenge of this internal war...
"Oh, I see, Ite I see... so it has to come to this, then?!" Gin placed his hand on the handle of his blade, looking at the wall of a man before him. Gin expected it, he anticipated it... hell, it's what he asked for, after all! Gritting his teeth as he unsheathed his blade, Gin let out a battle cry before charging forth and striking a warrior's pose.
He had no intention of attacking Hercules. It wasn't cool to strike down someone without any provocation, after all. Instead, he decided to show off his own exquisite swordplay to match his opponent. Performing a warrior's dance with his blade, Gin shouted mightily, displaying to his opponent a mix of strength and grace, a piece of his clothing tearing away with each stroke. Of course, it was only natural, after all, as Gin's body become more and more perfect as he continued his performance, and the larger his muscles got, the less room he had for his clothes. This performance until they were all off, save his underwear...
At that point, Gin's body itself, has reached the pinnacle of perfection. His biceps bulging, his abs toned, his pompadour as straightened up as it could ever be. Gin has made it to the pedestal of cool, both technically and literally, since aside from his lack of clothes, he had also built up quite a sweat. Still, however, despite showcasing his skills with the blade, it wasn't enough...
Throwing his katana to the side and grabbing a bundle of talismans conveniently tucked into the side of his underwear, Gin started to make it rain upward, throwing each of his talismans into the sky as they slowly flutter down. Before they can all reach the ground, however, Gin moved to make one more pose.
"Ignite!"
Gin struck his own pose, flexing with all he could muster, yet at the same time not showing any sign of struggle. The talismans in the air all burst into flames of different colors, like fireworks, adding a mesmerizing shine to the sheen of sweat already draping Gin's god-blessed body. To Gin, he had surpassed the limit of cool so much so that a strange modern construct made out of stained glass hovered slowly over his eyes...
It had been 2 days since that fire that had spurred all those servants to cause chaos. She had missed the day to kill those who had contributed to that awful catastrophe. She had cursed herself for she herself had contributed to the spreading of the fire with her noble phantasm. She knew she had to make up for those events somehow, and that way was to find the one who she had witnessed wronged and offer him her assistance in righting those wrongs. Her mast had not given her any direct roders, so she saw nothing wrong with assisting this knight, a valiant knight who was wrongfully assaulted and robbed.
Having told him where to meet her, she had purposefully came late in case he had decided to lower himself to the level of those who had robbed him. She strode towards the location from her base, a small smile on her face. Both swords were sheathed and her mount was not around, obviously keeping him away until the need arrived. Seeing the figure of the knight, her smile softened and she picked up her pace. How long had he been waiting? Who knows.
"Ah Saber, it is good to see you in a better fighting spirit than before.." She glanced at his arm and offered him a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, this area is protected by my master, no other servant is here, it is just you and me currently." She sighed and tossed her other sword to him, her noble phantasm still by her side but her sheathed sword landed by his feet. "I saw what you did Saber, and I must say I was impressed. A heroic act that was answered with villainy? Something I cannot abide. Your sword was stolen from you yes? And for that, you may use my sword until we are able to get your sword back."
She stepped closer and a determined look was clear on her face. "Are you still looking to track down and slaughter that thief for his insolent crime against the rules of honour and heroism?"
This battle was not one that involved magi. This was not his own personal journey, or battle to see the sights that he found himself entranced by. This was, exceeding even that cursed fire, a tragedy. So he would use that. Something that he did not plan to use casually. Nor for himself in this war.
The arts of his home.
-
The hordes that should have dispersed or faded away only swelled. More than that people became more and more rabid, driven by desperation. The fright that permeated the community due to the war only was antagonized by the strife between the two local factions and the growing rumors of a monster.
He let out a raspy gasp as he slammed the door before him. Draped on his shoulders were a number of people that had been beaten into unconsciousness by the crowds out there.
It was more than simply just returning to safety that made the man relax.
After all this place was more than just a normal building, a normal shelter. It had become a shrine, a place where gods could temporarily manifest. Although in this eastern land perhaps it was more like a Kamidana.
Feeling himself eased, his mind soothed and his body’s aches fading away. He was still wounded of course but it would let him overpower his body’s cry that demanded he stopped.
To invoke spirits, to invoke the gods. That was the art of his family, the one sole magecraft that he truly could be said to know. Their bodies were specialized for that purpose, and while as a magus he was at the lowest of levels, when it came to Shamanism it was a different matter.
Connecting with spirits he imbued the safe-house, making it a fortification that would hold up to the rabid hostility of the army of rioters that had long abandoned common sense and the logic of gain and loss, driven by their maddened emotions and broken past the point that a human should withstand. Their hearts overwhelmed them and left only cruelty and evil.
Of course to simply be alive was not to live. To preserve the people he had saved he invoked multiple kami and spirits as well. Even a Baku. the spirits that devour nightmares, that repelled evil. To rest in peace, to keep them well despite the conflict that they were bathed in. To protect them and keep them well.
He had also called upon that girl named Riyu, the foreigner. He added spirits and boons to her glove and cloak to aid her. Whether she went off to fend for herself or stayed with the others as a protector, her help earlier in those long hours was something he felt needed a show of appreciation.
Why didn’t he prepare something for himself?
He pushed out of the door again. Heading towards where his familiars that he had made in a calm period found more people in trouble. A family that holded themselves in their home that had fended off groups were now under a siege, smaller in scale to the one that surrounded the safehouse, but more than enough to break through.
Well that was a simple answer. Knocking down a trio of men as he exited, he stayed for a moment, bringing his fist up to slam against the back of a man’s ear that tried to sneak past him. So the door could be closed behind him.
If he had the time for something like that.
He broke out of the crowd, arms aching as they had to shield him from the bashes of multiple rods. Glinting steel in the crowd cut at his back, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He’d be fine, but he felt tired with each run. Even if his body was completely unharmed it did not stop his mind from wandering. And when his mind wandered things got dangerous. Not for him, but for those who he was facing.
He could be using that time to make something for those who could not protect himself.
In the streets a man who he had bashed out cold earlier today swaggered out. His expression smug, but also filled with no small amount of anger. “It’s time to pay you back for earlier!...”
Why was he so confident? It was both that he expected the horse to not threaten his life. It was obvious to anyone that he could end the lives of many after watching him in those deadly melees. Yet so far he left at worst shattered bones, and out cold thugs.
But even more than that.
A gun. The weapon of the modern day, that simply killed. It was not a matter of strength.
If he pulled his blows he’d die. If he wanted to live he’d have to kill.
So he did. Without qualm or mercy he lashed out with his foot, caving in the man’s chest and slamming him down against the ground with enough strength to pulp his organs and leave his bones shattered against the street that had the man’s body push its shape into.
This was not the first time. His head throbbed, his heart pounded.
“Brother! It has been a long time coming. But I will be taking back what is rightfully mine.”
Ryuudo Temple burned. The matter that should have concerned only two dragged in many. His head throbbed. Ah, that year…
The feeling of rain against his bare face. Blood bubbled from his lips. His body was draped against the many steps leading up the mountain.
“To think you left for a paltry island like this. Were the great expanses of our land so confining to you brother? Did you leave our land? Did you take our… my trophy, my prize just to drink weed-water and live with a bunch of beasts like a vagrant?! If you wanted to disappear you should have disappeared off the face of this earth completely! Well. I’ll fix that. I’ll make sure you’re gone.”
Ah.
Blood dripped from his hand (his foot). The charred home of the monks stood watch over the conclusion of this battle.
Ah.
The mask that had been a simple matter of interest and idolization to him was the focus of hatred and jealousy for another.
Yes. Compared to killing him, this was a light matter.
Yet he felt a pang of regret all the same.
To save some people was to condemn some others at times.
With his worn body he could not hold everyone's lives equally. He couldn’t hold himself back if he wanted to survive.
So the Horse of Fuyuki became a Black Demon God that left death in his wake.
The sun had set. The day was over. And unfortunately for Benita, she had been greatly harmed in the previous engagement. A stab through the chest, which was not a lot in regards to a magus as herself, was something that would be considered “painful”. Her wound had been healed rather quickly due to this.
A battle between two people in the Grail War. A battle between two Magi.
Benita would not have been so amicable to protecting Sofia after she had lost her Servant in the event that someone had not asked her to do so. Breaking bread with an enemy was something that Benita was familiar with, perhaps even fond of. She had fond memories of her Sisters, after all, regardless of what sort of battle they would be forced to fight in order to claim the Legacy of her Father.
The conflict was also one born out of misunderstanding. Perhaps, then, it made sense that Sofia would come to hate Benita for her actions, and Benita would accept that as a suitable punishment. If not for Achilles’ request, it was likely that they would have continued to fight until someone was to fall, regardless of who it might have been. But Benita had come to respect her Servant as a partner.
However, a stab to the chest was the least of her worries.
“Something” had occurred.
“Something” inconceivable that Benita still didn’t believe it had occurred.
Perhaps it would be better to say that she simply did not wish that it was real. A denial of reality would be the easiest way to cope with this. Perhaps if the young homunculus did not have a mission to complete in the Grail War, she would have been on the first boat out of here just like “that man”.
At first, it was merely a whisper. Rumors of impossibility through the grapevine that she had learned through the contacts of hers throughout the world.
And so the sun rose again, bring about high noon once more.
“Ugh, this always happens when I drink wine,” the groggy little lady said as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
At least three bottles of wine, empty and occasionally rolling on the ground due to the slightest provocation. Perhaps Benita should have been more careful to clean the room she made for herself. Even if it had only been a few hours in the room, it had various items thrown about in a slobbish manner.
And yet it had only been a few hours.
Benita herself felt sickly. She hardly resisted the urge to shutdown herself, close her blinders, and continue sleeping on her bed, though the pressing issues were, well, pressing. She could no longer afford to shutdown anymore.
If this was only a few years ago ...
If it had been only a few months ago …
If it had been only a few days ago ...
If it had been only a few hours ago …
Benita would not have cared about her potential annihilation.
She was drinking to celebrate, regret, and to cope all at the same time.
She was a doll created for an express purpose. Someone who was bound to her fate and fated to accomplish this goal regardless of their thoughts or agency. Even if she no longer was willing to die for this cause like she had been so willing to do previously when she had first entered the city, a familiar “something” gnawed at her person.
Perhaps she wanted to leave.
But if there was one thing that Benita Garibaldi, one of the many Inheritors of the Legacy, wasn’t was a liar. She would not leave the Grail unless ordered to. After all, once a mercenary takes a mission, it would be against their code to revoke their guarantee. Benita would win the Grail for the Matou line, and then she would continue on her life, regardless of how short it might be.
“This city is cold, especially when I’m all alone here.”
A wave of melancholy washed over Benita as she considered her possibilities. She had existed for six years as a doll for this purpose. But the unwavering desire for the Grail was wavering bit by bit ever since she had begun her journey. Though it was occasionally wavering, she had decided that if she truly was to hold the sins of her actions to its natural conclusion, she would not be able ...
"A 'personality' starts off as something like a cube. When you’re young, you clumsily bump corners against other people in the form of childish conflicts. Eventually, sharp edges are worn away to leave something like a sphere. That's more or less what people describe when they say someone's 'softened.'
Moderate collisions with others help one mature. But when those first impacts are too strong, they can have a different effect: instead of losing corners little by little, you splinter in strange, harsh ways, warping into crooked shapes. Once crooked, it's hard to become a sphere. Even as the people around them mellow, their sharpness only grows harsher, and everyone who approaches ends up getting hurt. But even the most warped human beings started the same as everyone else.
“‘Lancer Prime’”, Benita mused at her Servant,
She had given him a temporary replacement for the time being, but that legendary spear was the weapon that gave him the right to be a heroic spirit of the Lancer-Class. Perhaps one could imagine losing his spear would be considered a rather devastating blow to one that would call themselves a “Lancer”.
“You are to recover your spear today. Honestly, I don’t understand you Servants. You’d just leave around your toys anywhere you go?”
It might not have been the wisest thing to provoke a heroic spirit, but to Benita, who perhaps understood two-fold the situations at hand, one being the loss of her Servant’s greatest armament, and the other being the potential annihilation of everyone in the city.
“I’ll be trying to prevent us all from dying I guess. Time to save the world, one city at a time.”
Less of a bold declaration and more of a dejected resignation to her fate.
Looking down at her cabal’s contact device, Benita was embarrassed to see that the record of her transactions seemed to display the same contact several … dozen times.
It was time to call “them”
“This is Jackal, I need to request something of you."
“Honestly,” a voice called out from the receiver. Although it attempted to be calm, collected, and refined, it seemed almost strained as though the owner of the voice was under a lot of stress from working an office job for several decades and never getting that promotion they always wanted, even though they claim to deserve it more than that bitch in marketing.
“What are you doing that is making me stay up ALL NIGHT doing this paperwork for the last 4 days that I should be aware of!? I don’t get paid overtime this is a salary job! Have some consideration.” And with that declaration, one could hear over the receiver the sound of something being tipped over, and with it came a pained, shrill voice of the lady in the penguin outfit make muffled yells of pain.
“Ahhhhhhh, and now I have coffee stains on my suit. Do you realize how difficult it is to dry clean this thing? The looks I get when I send it in? I hardly want to pick up my own laundry anymore. I need a vacation, but UNFORTUNATELY, my vacation days got declined because someone just had to start a Grail War and I had to help them. But guess what, while I was doing the logistics of everything behind the scenes, they never even thought to call me once to say "Thank you, Miss Penny, for helping me out" or "Miss Penny sure works hard for me, better thank her"
A loud thud is heard as the lady in the penguin suit slumps onto her desk. If she didn’t need sleep so badly, perhaps she would have been a lot less of a rambling mess of a person right now. But even so, Benita, or “Jackle” in this case, had caused her a lot of discomfort in the last 96 hours without even calling her. She was the only person in the entire “office”. Everyone else got their application for vacation approved except for her. It was no wonder she was so annoyed.
She likely would have continued to ramble on in the event that no one was there to stop her. Hell, she probably would have continued to ramble in the event that no one was there to hear her.
But eventually, Benita was able to convince her to actually submit her requests into the proper file.
Strange, penguin-like familiars began to fall from the sky from any location where there was a Master. Hopefully, these people would be nice to these cute, little guys.
A single message was given to any of the Masters in the war, so long as they wished to see it. It simply read:
GREETINGS MASTER AND/OR SERVANTS OF THE SECOND HOLY GRAIL WAR IN FUYUKI. DUE TO RECENT ISSUES REGARDING THE MAGES ASSOCIATION, I WOULD LIKE TO HOLD AN EMERGENCY MEETING IN ORDER TO RECTIFY THIS ISSUE. THE LOCATION SHALL BE IN THE DIVINE DESCENDING DENOUEMENT (DDD )HOTSPRINGS. I WOULD ASK THAT YOU ATTEND IN PERSON, HOWEVER INPUT REGARDLESS OF SOURCE WILL BE IMPORTANT. THIS MEETING WILL BE HELD AT SUNDOWN. BRING YOUR OWN BEER.
It should be noted that Gudrun was not the sort of person to act in the interests of others. In the event someone was dying before her, she could hardly begin to care for their well being if they were not someone she had a connection to. Perhaps, then, one could consider her a villainous individual, and indeed, this was the case. She was the murderer of several canon Germanic heroes if only because she wished to avenge her Husband’s murder.
However, there was a loophole to this. If her husband asked her to do something, regardless of what it was, it was very likely that she would commit to this action, regardless of what sort of action he would have her do. After all, a loyal wife believed in the cause of her husband until the end, never deviating from his side. Always supporting him, and always cheering him on.
“That man” was in this war, but he was irrelevant. Of course, her Husband could beat him with his hands tied behind his back, but he was something of a nuisance. After all, he had defeated that “other” Sigurd. But he would not lose to “her” Sigurd.
“I finished healing this one, darling. I’d ask if you’d want to go on a date with me, but I think the entire city might be collapsing. Not very romantic getting ice cream together when there are people looting like they just found Fafnir’s treasure, huh?”
Really, such a date probably would be fine with Gudrun, so long as she was with her darling. He was the man she gave her life avenging. Someone who she was obsessed with. Perhaps “that’ woman was a good spirit, but she could not fill the void that Sigurd left in her heart after he had died. In fact, she was responsible for “her” death in the end, if only to fulfill what she believed was “justice” on the side of her husband, even though it was unlikely that Sigurd wished for her to commit to such an evil act against people who were his friends.
“If you want, we could just forget this city honey~ We could go have a date on the other side of you want. Forget about these people~. Who are they to you, anywho?”
“. . .No need to beat me while I’m down, you know?”
It had been the first thing to come out of his mouth since the previous night, and perhaps an understandable request. Truthfully, the way his head seemed to hang ever since the incident and the aura of depression that seemed to accompany him made even the glow of his armor dim ever so slightly.
He had muttered something or other about ‘Agamemnon laughing wherever he is’, as well as shivered when the bar had been brought up for reasons that — for once — were entirely unrelated to the memories of his youth and more toward how his teacher would react if he so much as. . .loosely implied that he had lost his spear.
His spear. The wedding gift he’d given his father, Peleus, and that had been passed on to Achilles by the man in question. His spear, which he had been taught to care for and always cherish. His spear, that had accompanied him wherever he went, for the better part of his life.
It would not be pretty.
But! That didn’t have to be a problem, right?! That could totally be avoided if he just got it back right?! Teacher did not have to know anything! At all!
He coughed into his free hand, the other holding the ‘gift’ he had received from Benita — a sort of ‘patchwork fix’, if you will, to get him out of sticky situations if he ran into an enemy while searching for his actual weapon. He inspected it for the umpteenth time, and let his eyes go over the messages written in it.
‘Go get them!’
‘You can do it, Achilles!’
‘Do your best!’
. . .It’d break. The length was a bit awkward compared to his usual, as was the weight. In a battle between Servants, it might, might work for a bit but. . .
Still, why did she have to look so damn earnest when she presented it to him? Rejecting it would have been impossible. So instead he had simply praised it as a fantastically cool gift worthy of a hero and said he’d wield it with pride.
He always did have a weakness to things like this. But he had promised, and he could not — would never — back down from a promise.
. . .Besides, he would admit that the name she had come up with was just the tiniest bit cool. Still not as cool as the name of his actual spear, but cool.
“Well, I’ll get going. I can find it and then we can discuss where to go from here.”
Maybe when he got his treasure back he would try dual wielding them? Thinking about the possibilities, he stepped out and ran toward the place he had last seen his spear falling toward.
Forest behind the Church, Shinto. . .?
Detective Achilles Is On The Case
He found. . .trees.
A whole lot of trees.
An amazing number of trees.
Looking around the forest, he scratched the back of his head as he wondered where, exactly, his spear could have fallen. To begin with, he had thrown it with all his strength, so it had to have made a dent on the earth or other, even if whatever the Archer had done to deflect it had lessened the impact force somewhat. Still, he supposed there was only so much ground he could cover, only so many places it could have fallen into, so —
Well, there was always the option of searching the entire place as quickly as possible. It had to be somewhere around here, after all!
So thinking — or perhaps hoping desperately that it was the case, he broke into a run, the rough terrain inconsequential and promptly ignored as he dashed from place to place so that he might catch a glimpse of it.
Nobody said divine speed could not have mundane applications. Hmm, where was another place he had not looked into yet. . .maybe that direction? Again, he broke into a sprint. Again, he stopped so suddenly a normal human body would have been turned to mush from the forces involved. This time, however, the sudden stop had come from the presence of an all-too-odd trench right before him.
“Who’d even take the time to carve this?” He wondered aloud. Something nagged at the back of his head, but he could not tell what it was — instead, he continued on his search and stumbled across a nearby crater.
And the one near that one. And the other one. And the other other one.
. . .Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
Come to think of it, this place was familiar.
But that couldn’t be right, could it? Although. . .Patroclus had sometimes commented that his sense of direction did the oddest things at times.
But it couldn’t be that bad, could it?!
He turned to the side, and ran to the edge of the treeline, to be met with—
—the complex he had left a little while ago. The very same one that was supposed to be on the other side of the city, past the river.
His head turned almost mechanically to the right — and to the church in the horizon.
A shaking hand was brought up to cover a burning face. He shivered, once then twice.
