HereComesTheSnow

A Certain Variegated Pseudepigraphum [Toaru/Raildex RPG] (New)

I forget if we've already gone over this, but would you like a reconstructed character sheet or would porting over our old one work?

A Certain Variegated Pseudepigraphum [Toaru/Raildex RPG]

@Crimmy@GreenGoat

Shinjiro Karasawa - In front of Harumi's Apartment Building

"Arright, let's see here."

With Hat-chan stuck in the conversation involving signatures or other such distracting yet ultimately necessary matters, her grapeoid compatriot wasn't keen on just standing around and waiting for her when he could at least proof-of-concept this shit. Idle hands were the devil's playthings, and all that God-fearing mumbo-jumbo. Sooner he could get his pal sorted the better.

This was mad simple anyway, the kind of stuff you learned to do within an hour of moving things in boxes past curbs, stairs, or other such lips.

"H'up ya go."

First, he replicated the tilt from earlier, albeit this time by pulling back upon the top of the package's opposite end and bracing the weight against his chest. So far, so good. Next, he shifted the strength of each hand, alternating the changes in balance upon the box's near edge so it sort of "shimmied" forward, progressing until he hit the curb itself.

A quick glance over the side confirmed that the far edge had cleared it. Onto phase three.

He replaced his far grip upon the opposite side with the ol' reliable push, and drove the package onto and past the curb—

SHHRK.

His plan.

His perfect plan had been marred by the unthinkable.

"Oh are you kiddin' me?!" he indignantly growled beneath his breath once his mind registered the unmistakable sound of separating adhesive and tearing cardboard. "Who th' fuck puts a seam on the goddamn bottom?! Fuck outta here!"

Calm down, man, not your fault they did a wack job of sealing the thing up, you don't need to be beastin' over it...

"Hat-chan," he called in a tight manner, trying very audibly to not sound as ticked off as he very visibly was. Staring a hole through the package didn't help that case. "Ya might wanna peep this."

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

@Plank Sinatra@Write@FlitterFaux

At the risk of bringing up a certain painful memory, I would describe the walk you make towards an airship on the day of missions to be similar to having a live current running through your nerves. Fatigue and grogginess were distant concepts that lurched to the recesses of the mind. With the airship idling on the tarmac, the noise alone and slight yet growing disturbance of air would rouse anybody to full consciousness.

Adding the atmosphere of a rough unknown requiring "heavy" equipment and another team that was ready and waiting to go into what was definitely battle, and possibly war...

Well, that'd be overkill even for the me that was inevitably crashing and burning once this was all said and done.

As we drew upon the aircraft and the team that had made themselves at home on a few supply crates outside it, we were met with four very different gazes from four very different women.

The first that immediately stood out to me was the girl whose leg room would probably be large enough to encroach upon the seat opposite if she wasn't careful. If I had thought Beryl, Skye, or any of the women I knew who eclipsed me in height were tall, she was a scale beyond even them. She had healthily tanned skin, robust yet charming features, and her eyes were playful, blue, and focused squarely on our stoic leader.

The next was a similarly cheery and invested young woman with hair of dark blue or purple. It was hard to tell in the lighting, but what was easy was that she seemed even more ready to get along than her towering teammate. I could spot a particular excitement in those red eyes that were drawn not just to Jericho, but flitted between the two bags at his sides— maybe a gun nut. They did tell him to go "heavy".

Third was immediately familiar, and the posture and poise in her immediate greeting of our team was exactly the same as it was nearly a week's time before, when she'd drawn up to my and Bianca's ragged selves just post-healing process to hand off cruise tickets. She was an apathetic sort from what I remembered, similar to Jericho or maybe Gratia, but from her cold appraisal's indication she didn't recognize either of us from that excursion half as well as I had her. Fair enough. It was just an errand for her team, after all. I had someone else to thank. I remembered that much, but couldn't place the name, which elicited more of a grimace than any of her harsh tones towards Jericho could during her staredown with him. I had to jog my noggin and get that straightened out before this was over...

And then my eyes met with the last. The only one looking at me.

It must have made for such a horrible first impression, didn't it?

Her features were fine and delicate, and set into a pensive frown that I wasn't quite sure how to read, but felt like it suited her. It carried a vaguely dissatisfied air, the sharp lines in her cheeks and nose coalescing into the expression naturally. Her hair was long and red, ending in curls, and her bangs concealed one eye from view. But the eye I did see was definitely staring straight into mine. It was a sharp and searching ruby that seemed to expect something of me. Did this pretty girl know me? I racked my brain, but was sure I hadn't done anything to, or even met her before...

I usually remember the faces of the people I've met at this school. But no matter which way I looked at hers—

"Your moron has a knight's instincts. I'll trade you for mine when we're deploying."

"Hn?"

The spell was broken by Jericho's ever-level tone presenting an immediately pressing matter.

I looked over to Bianca as she turned her equally nonplussed pools of cyan towards me.

Was I the moron, or was she?

I'm a bit of a dunce a lot of times, and Jericho was well aware by now that I was a near-washout with grades that stood on the knife's edge. But to my credit, he did seem to believe I was at least kind of a reliable guy.

Whether I agreed didn't matter. All I could do was offer the angel beside me a quick shrug before we blinked and faced front again.

"I'll make that trade," the leader of team Vivacious frostily intoned. "Whatever happens to her on your watch, I'll revisit on yours tenfold."

Jericho's gaze drifted back to the gorgeous young Faunus on his left. With her wide cyan eyes, porcelain smile, and her wings, she may as well have been an angel.

"I'll make that trade," the leader of team Jumpercables echoed.

Oh. Cool, not me!

...

Sorry, Bianca.

---

As it stood, no matter how smoothly they flew, a combat airship was a combat airship, and combat airships have space on premium. It would have been conceited of me to expect a seat and elbow room with two teams aboard. That was fine, though. An inconvenience that minor was nothing I'd ever raise a ruckus about, and it didn't matter enough to mention in anything more than passing. I had experienced it enough through last week alone.

The only reason I even brought it up was because it resulted in a very specific seating arrangement.

A shock of red you'd have to be blind to miss appeared in my peripherals as I felt a light shift in the seat beside me, now carrying a passenger.

"Bonsoir." murmured the young woman from before, her voice low and dark. I was honestly a little surprised to have heard it in the first place. But I wasn't complaining either.

"こんばんは。" I replied evenly, returning the red-haired girl the favor of a greeting in one's native language. Luckily for me I knew enough Central Mistralian to avoid a goof on the associated timing— "Good evening". I tilted my head to look at her once again. She still appeared to simmer, but it might have no longer been directed towards me.

Huh. I thought it was just the lighting before, but there actually were streaks of black highlight in that wavy red curtain of hair.

"Not much of a morning person?" I ventured.

Heroes of Beacon - Contest of Champions

Episode 0: Black Swordswoman

All she heard was her own breath.

All she saw was pitch blackness.

All she tasted was stale air.

All she smelled was a hint of the sweat off her brow.

And all she felt was the cold steel at her back.

She was far from dull in any one of these areas— by contrast, it was only through methods beyond the ken of normal man that she had begun to force definition through the filters placed upon her by this situation. An expert at manipulating aura and using it to bolster her own capabilities, she was being hailed as a once-in-a-generation product of her home. By pushing her aura through her nerves she could stretch her senses to the absolute limit and perceive things more clearly. This had results of mixed importance:

The faint ozone of ambient, latent electricity hiding within dust wafted through the air and into her nose.

She, if she strained her bluesteel eyes and pale skin, could see and feel control surfaces clearly enough to place her overall position within the box— and it really was just a steel box that she’d been enough of a dummy to lock herself into.

Upon her skin, the thin new-age membrane hugged her athletic and late-blooming figure tightly enough that she had some certain misgivings about it, but she had to admit that it was rather… ignorable for something vacuum-sealed. Whether or not that made it worse in her mind was, unfortunately, a point she could only hope to have long and heated arguments about later. Such things were fine in an Anno work, but this was her actual self, here!

Though maybe if a certain officer of the law could see it… No, that’s not right! She didn’t want that dummy to know about this, not at all! It wasn’t like it was even a consideration in the first place, it was above his hot police boy paygrade!

She fought to push the red out of her ears before focusing on what they were supposed to do— and in doing so, she heard the faintest hint of a voice saying something about starting up. That meant that incoming would be a—

BANG BANG.

A signal that it was time to begin operation.

She was told that this plugsuit served more of a purpose than to just titillate otaku with a visual reference and most guys everywhere with curvaceousness. Now it was time she put the theory to the test. She pushed her aura well, the one that had been bolstering her abilities and formed a natural barrier ‘round her person, into and through the conductive fabric—

And a world’s worth of information slammed into her every sense.

Sight, shapes, sharpness, clarity, color, detail, all fed through her eyes in a honeycomb that surrounded her.

The fresh air, tinged with a suggestion of salt, breezed against her as more impressions, suggestions than actually buffeting her physical skin, tongue, and nose.

A definite weight to her frame, hand-in-hand with her own but not conjoined. As though there was something heavy that was occupying the shadow she cast, following her movements but not quite her, the individual.

But most easy to process was, of course, hearing. Beyond the light hum of the charged wrath of nature that powered this beast she drove—

<<Target Course unchanged— Bearing Vector Two-Three-Zero, forty miles out.>>

<<Bastard’s taking his time. Thank Kami-sama for that.>>

<<We’re throwing a college kid in this thing?>>

<<A Beacon kid. Best educated out of all of us to take this thing on.>>

<<All motor and power systems looking green. Communications?>>

“Uh,” she responded to the clear and agreeable voice that played through the main on-board speakers the loudest, still adjusting from the sudden bombardment of knowledge that the ambients had given her. “Yeah. I hear everything. You guys got me?”

<<Loud and clear. Well, I wish we could do this a bit more gracefully, but it seems we made too many movies about giant monsters popping out from the ocean right under our noses. Universe called our cinemas on the bluff.>>

“You mean Kaiju, Captain Matsumoto.”

She heard her more-or-less-AWACS tsk, and she knew that the older man’s tanned brows furrowed under his aviators for a moment when she grinned impishly for the video feed. To his credit, he didn’t let it show in his voice.

<<For my sanity’s sake, I’m not calling anything a ‘Kaiju’ until Gojira himself washes up and kicks the shit outta this thing for us. How’s the COFFIN system treating you, Holly?>>

Now it was her turn to voice displeasure.

“For once, your skunkworks guys had good naming sense. I felt like I was dead in here before we got going.”

<<Well, let’s hope you never have the chance to compare that with the genuine article, else we all will. We’re clearing the field and lifting you out of the hangar now, so if you need one last refresher, now’s the time, pilot.>>

There wasn’t any humor in those words, despite their easy inflection. She may have been a bit goofy for somebody with her ability and training, at times even a “dummy” according to her friends, but Holly Schwarz knew the unsaid message in the man’s words: No more time for idle words. Cut the chatter.

“It certainly can’t hurt. Study before the night of the test to reconfirm the week you did beforehand, right?”

<<Wouldn’t we have killed for a full week.>>

As the captain made one last bone-dry remark, the young almost-Huntress watched her vision fill with the heads-up-display. Within that, a white point appeared and a screen of dark blue appeared in the upper left quadrant of her field of view, showing a map of the northern peninsula that Shiroyama bordered, and a chart attached to a point along the coast.

<<Five days ago, at 0110 hours, seismographs along the peninsular coast began picking up irregular vibrations in the earth. They were fairly faint in the grand tectonic scheme, but the fact that they were big enough to be picked up at all was cause for intrigue.>>

The graph was magnified, and Holly could pick it up as well. A distinct peak and valley, repeated in perfect intervals as the view scrolled across the day’s data.

Too perfect to be happenstance by miles.

<<So naturally, the scientists investigated— Diving teams were sent out, and they more or less managed to figure out the epicenter of these pulses.>>

“Under Hachiji Reef.” she said with a nod, treated to a rather pretty image of the marine “structure” for her efforts.

<<Exactly. That would have been strange enough, but evidently somebody amongst them had a few other thoughts. They took themselves a good, hard look at the sandbar and the distance between it and one of the eight “temples” and found that it had shifted roughly two feet south—with no real explanation.>>

“It couldn’t have been a riptide.”

<<Too deep for currents like that, and this was the only abnormality in the ocean save for one other.>>

“Desert reef.” she answered, flexing her hand and feeling the giant mass of steel mimic the motion. Aura patterning was insane, essentially turning her into the brain within the brain of the machine. They really were going to turn something like this against Vale in the War?

<<Not only that, but the seismographs began to show increasing frequency, and both terrestrial animals and Grimm alike also began to flee the area in droves to move inland. You might remember that. The eggheads did, and when they put those three finding together they basically scrambled their way to us as soon as they could. Whenever every beast’s instincts howl at them to book it…>>

“Something big and nasty is on the way.” she finished, tone grim. She did remember that day— even Slate had found it in him to put his training to actual use instead of just swindling kids out of jawbreaker money.

“I can make a killing when there are this many to tear through, Holly.” he had said in that same put-upon tone he used to complain about Tanner Oshino’s ridiculous Hawaiian shirts, like he was offended he was having to experience her honest surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be out here, doing my part for the sake of my team leader’s community?”

<<So, we were skeptical at first, but the mayor’s immediate granting of heightened security clearances to key staff and greenlighting of reactivating the project you’re sitting in gave everyone the bureaucratic shove we needed to take it seriously. He obviously knew something we didn’t. We were glad we did once the tides receded like a Redwood man’s—>>

“Does he have the power to do that?” Holly asked, incredulous enough to whip her head around towards the control tower and barrel right over the captains diplomatic insensitivity before it could coalesce. “Isn’t that overstepping bounds?”

<<...Well, looks like you can move this thing like a natural. Good sign. And, to answer your question…>>

A helpful image of the bearded man, mouth set in a stern line and orange shades illuminated by bright white light, appeared on her screen.

<<Are you going to tell him no?>>

The young woman grimaced in spite of having stared down the stuff of nightmares and laughed in their faces.

“I guess not… Not if our home’s at stake.”

To her shock, the “image” then steepled his gloved hands in front of him, obscuring his mouth.

<<I appreciate, Miss Black Blade, that you see the bigger picture. My first priority always is the well-being of our fellow Shiroyamans, and that includes the defeat of a rampaging monster on the scale of a natural disaster.>>

“Y-You’re here, sir?!”

<<I am. I expect great things out of you two. A Huntress should be allowed to use whatever means necessary to defend her homeland. To hell with the treaty if it says we can’t reactivate this for exactly that. Good luck out there.>>

His brow tightened, and the video feed winked out with one final message.

<<The gods know we all need it.>>

A pregnant pause, before Matsumoto took charge of the comms once again.

“There we have it…”

<<We’re all riding on this, Holly. And to speak of riding—>>

Next to pop up was a detailed model of her chariot, and she got one final chance to study it in-depth. It was absolutely a mecha— a towering giant of steel and aluminum in the shape and body plan of a heavy armored, heavily armed man. While more gracile in build than many would assume a robot of its some 60 meters would be, there was a definite…

Hm. A definite sense of “ah, this is a prototype” about it. Perhaps it lay in the boxier, more jagged armor plating where she could easily see a more streamlined profile in the prospective future, perhaps in the unornamented helmet plating upon the head, or maybe even the dull, uninspired military grey coat of paint. Perhaps the name at the top right, a simple and blocky “X-01”.

But, fortunately, aesthetics weren’t what saved the world. Several eye points were highlighted in red, starting at the head and working their way down.

<<Seems like you already have a handle on moving this thing, blessed be the design team that came up with the Auric Pattering system, so we’ll start with armaments. Up top, you’ve got a pair of 30mm autocannons that… honestly, could be a distraction in a pinch or catch the thing’s eyes. Unfortunately a GAU-8 would be too wonky to mount onto you, plus we don’t exactly have Warthogs lying around to cannibalize from.>>

Moving down past the shoulders(! No progressive knife!), the captain continued by dragging and dropping a very large bullpup rifle into the hands of the X-01, with the label of “Type 53” appearing.

<<The Type 53’s your best bet. Developed alongside the big guy, you’ll be pumping out 120 millimeters of hot lead at this thing with a maximum rate of 20 rounds a minute. Semi-auto only, automatic at that size would be a nightmare.>>

“And if it gets screwed up?” she asked, eternally wary of the nightmarish “jammed gun” scenario. In response, the focus shifted upwards, to the X-01’s forearm.

<<Should you need to get down and dirty and go out swinging, within each wrist is a telescoping sword— you’ll be working with about 15 meters of aircraft-grade steel here, so it’s better than nothing, but we’d like to avoid that. At pretty much all costs. Melee Combat’s going to involve more movement, thus more power and Dust usage. You run out of dust in there, you’re stuck on the manual controls, and you’re good as cooked.>>

“I dunno, I like to think I’m pretty good at swordplay. I could get it done quick.” she chided, before a red triangle appeared on her HUD’s radar display. The Beast From Below, creeping inexorably closer, closer, closer to humanity. To Shiroyama.

To home.

…

“So that’s it, then.” she spoke simply, with little inflection beyond acceptance.

<<In a nutshell.>> Captain Matsumoto solemnly agreed. A silence hung in the air…

And then the sirens began.

“Well, let’s make it snappy.”

<<Mission Start.>>

The generators that had been feeding constant electricity to the mechanical knight released in concert, freeing Holly of her last restraints. Weight, balance, horsepower, locomotion— through the Aura patterning and feedback system she could feel them all. Account for them all. Adjust for them all.

Own them all.

“Unit X-01, launch!”

The goliath, upon whose shoulders carried mankind’s hope for salvation, burst forward into a sprint, snatching the massive Type 53 DMR off the flatbed truck that was to transport it to her in a smooth motion that was almost humanoid.

She was moving well, very well. She could feel her giant frame storming through the air, above trees, and towards combat, towards an absolute uncertainty that she would bring the fullest brunt of her might to bear upon for the sake of her own. Her soul was inhabiting this machine, giving it the instruction firsthand, an Exalted Argus of not destruction, but salvation.

Well, okay, yes destruction, but destruction of bad guys and kaiju. It was different!

This was destroying a threat to those she cared about. Those she loved. Her team. Her family. Her home. The man she intended to marry one day. All of them were depending on her, whether they knew it or not, to destroy this thing. To win.

It had to be her. Nobody else had the aura, finesse, and youthful resilience to pull this thing off and come out in one piece.

In this moment, she was Shiroyama’s guardian. A young woman with a pretty face, long black hair sporting an ahoge that was prey to its own weight, and a heart beating with the hot blood of an old, old family of monster hunters.

<<Target’s a mile out. Godspeed.>>

“Let’s go, you ugly bastard.”

She drew upon the Beast in minutes, and was greeted with something that seemed far more nightmarish than even the Grimm she had faced in droves through her burgeoning Beacon career.

It was huge, towering over even the X-01 by a good five, even ten meters, and easily over a hundred long when one too its powerful tail into account.

A long crocodylian snout dominated its head, with powerful jaws working a maw filled with teeth the size of a man..

A gait like a gorilla’s, with stumpy, short hind legs acting has mere supports while massive forelimbs did locomotive work.

A body with rippling muscle, matted with sickly green scales and ashen fur that reminded Holly of rotting seaweed and the carcass of a goat. At certain key points like the head and pack, the scales fused into plates— including the eight distinct spines that still carried the reef that had grown atop the beast during its slumber.

But worst of all were the eyes. So deeply set within the skull that the shadows the brow cast made them seem just black pits. Could that thing see?

A roar of warning, high and hellish like a tortured shriek, assaulted her ears through the speakers, followed by a low bass rumble of a growl as it began to warily circle through the plain. Warning the strange, shiny new thing its size, that looked so much like the tiny things it used to stomp as ants and make light, light morsel of.

Evidently it could.

“Well, let’s see if I can’t mess up your hearing, Kaiju-kun.”

THOOM.

In one smooth motion, she had shouldered the Type 53 and fired straight into the damn thing’s solar plexus. The impact staggered it, stopped it in it’s tracks, and even earned a cry of pain—

Before it lunged furiously forward, swiping at her with absolutely enormous claws. Holly kicked off to the side, carrying herself and the mech out of their path and avoiding instant defeat by a hair. This thing was fast…

As if the sound of metal tearing wasn’t proof enough of that.

<<Schwarz! Status, now!>>

“Fine!” she grunted in response, backpedaling and shouldering to fire again. “He clawed through my left forearm’s plating, but I’m still in it!”

<<It looks like that first shot pissed him off, shit…>>

“No, it was worth it!” she replied, diving to one side and thanking the designers for the extra mobility and deftness of movement that this prototype had been built to possess over common mecha understanding. “I definitely hurt him, his armor’s chipping there!”

<<If you could feasibly whittle it down, yeah, but he’s moving too quick for such a huge animal! If it keeps you moving, you’ll be stuck in manual before you know!>>

Well, it wasn’t as though her mech was any better. It was truly responding as faithfully as she could have ever hoped. Strength, speed, the full capability were available, and it was just as well when the Beast opened its maw wide and pounced, intending to no doubt bite off the X-01’s head and blind her.

Though metal would never quite have that whip-like crack on a good front kick like your own body could, the young Shiroyaman was definitely satisfied that a teep intercepting the monster’s lunge sent it tumbling to the earth from midair.

Finally having bought a moment, she fired again—

THOOM.

And hit the same spot once more, heavily damaging that section of chest armor. To stand up to two tank shells in a row, pinpointed on the same spot was proof of this guy’s toughness, sure, but at the moment her pinpoint accuracy with them had severely compromised it.

Forget the Dust worries.

She could do this. She could win. She woul—

<<What in the hell are those energy re— Schwarz, GET OUT OF THERE!>>

The beast had slowly hauled itself up with pained roars, displeased, angry, tiring, losing.

And then it had showed its eyes.

Within those shadowy pits, the baleful yellow orbs within first appeared when they glimmered—

Glowed—

Shone—

And Holly’s danger sense ROARED at her, louder even than the triumphant screech that heralded the lance of raw force that she narrowly, narrowly hurled herself out of the way of.

Too narrowly. The explosion carried thousands of tons of metal into the sky, sailing and tumbling end over end until Holly crashed back to earth with an impact that jarred her bones even deep within the metal cage.

Her COFFIN was damaged. But, it might have also lived up to its name once again. Her feedback was on the fritz. She lost ambient senses like sound and scent, her vision was effectively halved, and worst of all…

“Matsumoto-san?” she blearily asked, desperately trying to right her mech, to get its legs under it, as the Beast cautiously stalked towards her.

<<...>>

Garbled. Unintelligible. Dammit. Dammit! Not now, not here! Not with so much at stake!

It was upon the X-01 as it rose to its feet, looming over it imperiously like an old god would a mortal man.

She refused, and saw the city she had grow up in, depending on her whether they knew it or not, her family at the forefront.

Quickly thinking, Holly grabbed the warped and useless barrel of the Type 53, swinging the whole affair into the snapping jaw of the beast hard enough that the heat-weakened metal gave out entirely.

She refused, and saw three figures, those of the people she was chosen to lead in their journey to true huntsmanship, to greatness. A hawaiian-shirted mysticist, a drone-building pinkette, and a dour penny-pincher. All waiting for her to come home and buy them the next “mission accomplished” dinner.

“Eat this!”

She fought to shove the metal lump down the maw of the beast, and lost that entire hand for her trouble. Acceptable. Maybe. It had ripped it clean off, but it lost a valuable second or two spitting the barrel out and freeing up its jaw.

She refused, and saw a lance-wielding woman exactly her age, with a knack for magic and a love of strawberry.

“Why don’t you…”

She charged forward, telescoping sword extending out from the ruined wrist, and slashing across the chest, hoping to capitalize on the weakened plate—

But it was fruitless. The blade was damaged from the improper extension, the steel still couldn’t penetrate the scale, a slash would glance off due to the angling of the Beast’s armor.

And now she had it right on top of her.

It grasped at the mech’s arms, forcing down, bringing its weight, it’s might to bear. Holly’s own arms burned and felt ready to snap from the sheer force of feedback alone, as muscle ground against steel and motor for dominance— and was winning.

Through her damaged COFFIN’s window, she saw it glaring down at her with its enraged, hateful yellow eyes. Eyes that began to glimmer—

She was running out of Dust. Running out of Aura. Was this it?

And glow—

Did she lose here?

And shine—

Did she die here?

The glare crescendoed into a cross, heralding the unholy spear of light to come—

And the head-mounted autocannons roared to life, filling those dark pits with searing lead.

She refused, and saw a scruffy young man in a deputy’s uniform, earnestly cheeky smirk on his face, black hair an eternal bird’s nest, and grey eyes filled with a staunch adherence to and belief in justice.

She refused, for all their sakes, to die.

The beast squealed, clutching at its eyes in agony and rearing back onto is hind legs once more. And if this machine, if the X-01 could conduct aura, the soul itself, to guide it’s movements…

“...Just—”

So too could a Semblance, the soul’s purest expression.

The second blade was drawn, from the opposite, fully functional wrist— but it was a blade of pitch black, catching the light with a dangerous obsidian gleam for a mere moment.

“—FUCKING—”

And then plunged it through the dent, through the armor, through muscle and bone and heart itself. With every ounce of force she had, she had stabbed it straight through, all but punching the sword in. The cries of pain were now weakening, gargling moans, punctuated by the fevered yet pitiful swiping of an animal that had only one thing left in life to do.

“...Die.”

She twisted the blade to vertical, and ripped upwards.

As the panicked military teams arrived on site, they would find that their grey War Experiment had received a fresh coat of red paint. Its existence would continue to be kept under wraps from the public, and was officially still registered as decomissioned to avoid major diplomatic backlash from the country that Shiroyama had spent decades integrating into— old weapons of wars long past, it was said, were to pass with them—

But it would still remain an ace in the hole for years to come, in case another monster, perhaps an unchecked Vrirtra, arose like this one.

And the young woman within, one exhausted Holly Schwarz of just twenty years, had just logged its first and only recorded kill: 1 Kaiju.

Even by the time he had retired and she'd become the mother to three that would follow in her footsteps, she still teased Captain Matsumoto about having to call it that.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

@Plank Sinatra@Write@FlitterFaux

I couldn't at all tell if my team leader was serious. The thing about Jericho was that he was both a natural at acting thanks to years of undercover mission training and a semblance that necessitated such, but also hopped up on so much Atlesian propaganda that he might think certain breakfast foods were a foreign concept to anyone south of the Arctic Circle. Little did he know, Mom loved her waffle iron back at home, even when she tended towards feeding me bowls of oats and plates of eggs to start my day off.

"Yeah, I'm down for waffles. International House of Bagels is a bit more popular down here though, so you might have to substi--"

Wait, hold on. Pause. Back all the way up.

Didn't you just say something super sketchy, Jericho?

Like, super-duper sketchy with a runny red nose and the jitters?!

"Why do you know if there's a discount for looking like you're on ecstasy." I asked in a voice so carefully level I may as well have used a protractor.

I received an enigmatic smirk in return. Not a smile, definitely a smirk.

Screwing with me. I would roll with this as him screwing with me and not contemplate the possibility of a drugged out whackjob with access to that many guns, that many knives, and this many of my peers.

...

No, he was definitely screwing with me, if we were being real. Jer was too professional.

...

I looked again at his shirt, so different from the white tank that I was currently shrugging another layer over.

I read the text carefully, very surely parsing it as intended.

Perhaps I spoke too soon?

...

No, he doesn't—— oh thank god bianca's back

"Oh, good. Guess that means we're ready to roll?" I asked, raising a hand to greet our returning bird and fox, thankful for a way out of the previous conundrum. As usual, my choices in fashion for combat were the ever-serviceable, ever-understated "hoodie and jeans". Simple and timeless, despite Bianca's insistence on needing to dress more thoughtfully. But really, denim and a nice, neutral grey were as inoffensive as it got. Our clothing queen may hate hearing it, but as long as it isn't actively bad, I'm fine.

I rose, plucking Crow's Beak from the wall adjacent and resting it against my shoulder as the two filed in for any last-second instances of grabbery.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

@Plank Sinatra@Write@FlitterFaux

Pregame

The third bed in the dorm was occupied, yes, but it was not being slept within. Three in the morning was an unreasonable hour by any metric, but by no metric was I a reasonable man, nor was I a pursuing a reasonable goal. As a prospective Huntsman, part of my life was going to involve such unreasonable hours of wakefulness and alertness as now. Fortunately for me, I had a certain knack for 3:00 AM, hand had that knack for years now.

I opened one eye to peer upon the laptop that sat at my desk, shut and charging up from eighteen percent battery.

I want the Crossbow back. Get rid of that terrible, unreliable, objectively useless thing you have the audacity to model as a FAMAS, Epic Games. And fix your netcode!

................

I never said that this experience and facility were sourced from good habits, but they would serve all the same.

I closed my eye again, and breathed deeply as Jericho returned to the room and rummaged through his stash in the floor.

"What are we in for?" I asked idly, adopting a lotus position rather than seiza. To begin with, actually sitting felt much more natural on the springy mattress surface than the knees did— and though you could make the parallel of a samurai contemplating the battle ahead...

"Heavy." came the absent, distracted grunt from our newly settled in captain, who could have only been digging up Atlesian armaments that suited that word to the utmost. While I wasn't ready to admit their TVs were worth overlooking those in Shiroyama just yet, I had to acknowledge that he'd have easily the heaviest firepower of the team.

Though those ancestral parallels were far from lost on me, I was first trying a different, more relaxed method. I was certainly heading into a tense situation, and almost definitely combat— this being a drug bust and all— and ruminating on it in such a way that increased tension could fray my nerves more than a late night ever would. That was the issue last time out, during the longest night of my life. If I acted as though I was set to go into hell, into a chaotic battlefield against a foe that stood upon their own turf, I was sure to get sucked into a spiral that only spikes of adrenaline had pulled me out of.

That being the case, I needed to learn from the experience rather than talk about it.
So.
Let's take a second and cross-examine.

Two men throw a punch at the same time. One throws with every muscle in his arm taut and tense, the other loose until the very end, at the point of impact. The first man will, every time, be the one spitting out teeth. Why is that?

Because relaxation doesn't set energy systems against eachother. The upper arm is governed by two major muscle groups, biceps and triceps. These are placed in direct opposition to one another, and the same can be said of their functions. One extends and the other contracts every time you move your elbow joint. Attempting to punch with both tensed up means both systems are at war with eachother, stiffening your arm up.

It slows you down. It exhausts you quicker. It speaks to trying to get by on muscle rather than skill, because it inherently breaks down form and uses energy that is better spent upstairs. A breakdown of training, an inability or refusal to rely upon it.

It's the first lesson anyone striking learns.

And it's applicable to a lot more than simple pugilistic form. Last week I was the metaphorical tensed punch until those instances of combat, where my mind took a back seat to the moment. Those states of flow where concerns, cowardice, and conscious thought faded to reveal simple action and reaction. Understanding of situations and flowing to fit them. Adaptation before an unending spiral of consideration.

Trust in what I could do. Understanding that I had a set of skills that could bring me to that stage with enough of a chance of survival that it was worth the risk inherent within. Trusting those skills to be enough to keep me safe. Was it possible they weren't? Yes, but that is an understood risk that I signed up for, and my own inaction would have risked everyone.

So even if I did come up short on the gamble, it would be better me than they.

This must have been a hurdle Dad had to cross, too. And unlike my blessed array of safety nets like Aura, my regenerative Semblance, and seven other similarly powerful people at my side, he only had a gun and a vest.

He trusted his training to handle whatever his wits simply couldn't in reasonable time.

And now it was my time to see if I could do the same in a live situation. Just like the ones he'd been spending 20 years walking into.

"Heavy, huh?"

Though I had to say, after four thousand characters of talk about reaching a flow state or zen where I allowed skill and hard-ingrained training to dominate split second action sequences, I was definitely going into this with a new one.

Crow's Beak. Half warhammer, half shotgun, and all told a polearm whose weight and balance I was only beginning to piece together. I'd had some experience in the past with the Bo Staff, Yari, and Naginata, so I wasn't entirely clueless, but no matter how much stock I placed in the theory of convergent evolution within fighting styles, the weighty head of this literal Bec de Corbin hadn't entirely been demystified. I was using the Thursday combat class as something of a testing ground, and it was hard lesson after hard lesson about what I could and couldn't quite yet pull off. I felt like I was starting to get there by the end, but if not...

Well.

I guessed if I got in trouble because of it, I'd really be eating crow.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

@Guess Who@Crimmy@NaraK

Sterling Johnson

"Heard about that one, actually." Up strode the one-armed wonder of the crew in all of his rugged, smirking glory, doubtlessly mirthful eyes hidden behind his weather-and-locale-appropriate aviators. His arm was freshly polished and coated to resist any potential wear-and-tear from sea spray or underwater combat (basically paranoia, but it never hurt to be doubly sure about these things), and his blue bomber jacket was casually slung over a shoulder to reveal black tank and bronzing muscle beneath.

"Apparently there's a rumor the midshipmen spread around that she's memorized the contents of every MRE they serve here. Wild shit if it's true. How's the drink looking down there?" he asked, before those brown shades were turned to gaze upon a smoldering ponytail of orange.

"And what's Boss Hottie's issue?"

Fate/Italian job - Roman Holy Grail War

Archer

@Krayzikk

In kneeling to calm Maxie, Archer had subsequently let go of Dave's grip quite willingly— something that his Master had begun to attempt to force him to do through use of some form of Mystic Code. Archer had felt the watch on his wrist roar to life for a moment before he had made his own intentions clear, had felt magic begin influence the world and then cease just as quickly. He would need to understand that thing soon, once he made amends here.

Measuring both his and Dave's faces for a moment, Maxwell dutifully placed his paw within Archer's palm, as if mimicking the shake of hands that had sealed the cooperation between Master and Servant. The pup gazed into Archer's eyes with a solemn... expectation.

The Heroic Spirit of the Bow's thick black brows rose for a moment, heralding a hearty chuckle that rose from his belly as understanding dawned upon him.

"I hope you'll treat me well then, Maxie!" he replied, reaching forward to pat the Shepard on the back in much the same manner as he had Dave, before scratching him between his ears. "Forgive my subterfuge from before, but it seems our Master has either not deigned to or is unable to set up protection from potentially interested eyes."

With that Archer rose back up to his full height, folding his arms and returning his attention to the blonde in the room, humor somewhat fading.

"Truthfully, that would be my next question, Master," he continued, "If I am to win you this War as I intend to, I need to know what you are and are not capable of."

Fate/Italian job - Roman Holy Grail War

Archer

@Krayzikk

Archer watched with intrigue as the alert and agitated hound, with only a word and a touch upon the head, obediently sat upon his haunches in spite of his understandable misgivings.

Loyal and well-trained. That one, "Maxie", could be useful in this war if his training extended beyond simple politeness. But moreover, this spoke well of his Master's character and ability. Looking past his distinctly casual manner, one that verified his claim of not quite being a standard magus, Archer could see that this "Dave Rogerson" had a good head on his shoulders. He knew that defusing tension was smart, and he had a solid handle on his subordinate— he knew how to cool him off and had made him obey the order with neither question nor need of force.

He had built trust with that dog. He had shown decisiveness in reworking the situation to something with a more agreeable atmosphere. He had established first and foremost that he wanted this to be a truly collaborative affair— Technically a formality, but there was more than simple decorum behind it. Masters and Servants establishing commonality and a mutually desired alliance could be the difference between life and death.

And finally, despite his undeniable nerves at having a familiar of such immense power before him, Dave had steeled himself and walked forward in spite of his previous potential faux pas.

Well, far be it from him to pretend at being unused to the banter of young men. His years had been shaped by them.

"Of course, such would only be natural, Master."

The man smirked, stepping forward and grabbing young Dave's hand in a grip akin to being gently encased in stone——

——And suddenly yanked him close enough to speak directly into his ear.

"I am——"

Startled by the sudden motion of this unfamiliar man, Maxie barked again, concealing the whisper from any would-be listeners as the Servant clapped the Aussie on the back in a manner almost brotherly. Well, that was to be expected from Maxie. Mimicking Dave's tone from before, Archer bent down onto one knee and held out one hand with an open palm, the same as he would a spooked horse.

"Easy, friend. Just being safe."

Fate/Italian job - Roman Holy Grail War

Archer

@Krayzikk

Ah.

So, it was his turn for the ritual.

Within the Throne of Heroes, an inescapable pull was felt. It tugged upon his being, calling for his legend, his deeds, his impacts— the essence of his remembrance. The marks he had left upon the world and the stories told of him were to be born again by a miracle. Not quite incarnate, but tangible. An embodiment of that myth who had died so long ago— or perhaps not such. It was wise to remember that his existence was that of one who stood adjacent to time, not within its flow. As were those of his peers— or perhaps his foes. The nature of this pull was doubtlessly a summons, and he was being called as a heroic spirit, but he knew not yet the context of this beckoning. There were few reasons the echoes of a legendary figure could be brought into the world————

Oh?

Rather than resist, for he knew such an action to be futile, he rode the wave of power that brought him forth, flowing with the magic that beckoned him. It bent his essence, twisted it, and he felt himself split and reform, split and reform, before he was cast into a vessel and awash with mana, filling it and filling it and...

Filling him with knowledge. Knowledge of import, such that would serve him for what was to come.

For instance, that his was the vessel of "Archer". So it was this type of summoning. Well then, things were about to get very interesting for the next week or two in the waking world. In Rome, at the start of a new millennium, in fact. In life, the language alone would have fascinated him, to say nothing of the armaments that the warriors of this age, weakened and astray though they may have been, wielded.

One, two, three bindings upon him were placed with his acceptance. Command Spells. Ones he hoped would be used without overmuch fervor. They were, after all his lifeline, his tether to this state of being. Perhaps he might, in a twisted quirk of fate, have a chance to see his son.

No. It was best to not hope for what was not likely at the best, and such was not his duty. For now, he was charged with ensuring, above all else, one person's safety and victory.

---

---

The circle, aglow with crimson power and guided by the catalyst, began to crackle with lightning as a torrent of mana, the Grail's assistance, was channeled through it and the catalyst within. It swelled in intensity, whipping the air into a dervish. Dave, though a mere neophyte, could feel the room steeping with otherworldly power that was carried upon the winds. Maxie, though a mere well-trained dog, could feel the same, and a low growl rose from his throat as he edged himself closer to his master, his friend, his packmate, and his protectorate from whatever force was coalescing there.

No, whatever presence.

It gathered together, became a single point——

————And flashed.

The tumultuous room stilled. There was a burning, a tingling upon the back of Dave's hand— One that a look would reveal a red pattern, of three distinct parts, that had been carved into his nerves by the Grail.

Command Spells, an undeniable badge of success.

He'd done it.

And in the center of his humble, thankfully cheap hotel room, the fruits of his labor stood tall and made himself known.

"Servant, Archer." rumbled a weathered voice, as piercing, sagacious eyes like old battleground soil studied the Australian and his pet. No, his partner. "I have responded to the summons of they who would seek the Grail."

The Hero's build was strong, and his skin darkened well by the sun of days at war. Through his black beard, he spoke with firmness and clarity. Perhaps too much, given that his welcome was at present coming in the form of a tense rumble from deep within the hound's throat, promising him hell should he make a false move upon the young man, no matter how much he was outranked in ability. Such loyalty. He had to admire it.

A gesture towards the dog earned him a bark of warning, but revealed more of the silvered armor he wore, with a hint of orange robe beneath. The movement was assured and purposeful, with the casual economy of motion that only a lifetime of training and fine understanding of the human capability could grant.

"I assume it wasn't him." he said, with a dry and somewhat amused tone. "So I shall ask you instead, boy: Are you my Master?"