Sageage

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Floodtalon@Cu Chulainn@Argonaut @Seirei No Hai

The Sensei

Miyama Native District - Assaulted Yakuza Safehouse

He knew of their approach before they came, the shift in the attention and movement of the masses clear as day through the eyes of his familiars.The butchering on the streets paused as the mobs were directed towards a target. The place where they were held up.

He had returned to this first initial safehouse to rest as the streets no longer held anyone struggling to escape or in need of shelter. There were people still who were stuck in their homes, but they were somewhat more protected than the people who were stranded out on the streets earlier.

Ah, this was quite problematic. His body was recovered but this was a force that he could not defeat even in his prime. He forced the creeping sensation of fatigue away, burying it beneath his convictions as he set off to prepare for this assault that likely was the last.

But if it could be broken here, then perhaps the mob would lose its power.

But that would mean an extraordinary amount of death at this point.. But he already made his choice. The people with him were the ones he sided with. Even if that meant the death of those who assaulted this bastion.

He took a knife in hand and brought it down upon his arm.

“Hey, what’re ya doin?!” cried out one of the men who had earlier held a glum expression, pale fingers clutched around a gun. One of the yakuza-men.

The cries of those who had been murmuring to themselves, calm for a time due to his work shrieked out in terror. After all to them it seemed like a sudden act of self-mutilation. In turn he held up a palm, unshaking and firm to encompass their fears and quell them.

“It is fine.” he murmured as he raised his arm so it would drip upon himself. Anointing himself. There was no fear in using one’s blood. After all the body of one’s self was the greatest catalyst, and blood was a fluid that held great meaning in many cultures. Especially in the one he left. The safehouse he prepared was a shrine, a place where a god could temporarily manifest. He already had worked on preparing the space for various means. But now with the conflict coming to such a head there was the need for more.

It is said that the sun has a cycle of 52 years, that the night was kept away due to the works of a god. A god who brought victory, a god who brought defeat. In war he was invoked and in times of celebration he was offered sustenance in the form of human blood so the world may continue on.

His name was Huitzilopochtli.

Flames were born as the spirits were invoked. His arms became wreathed by a set of two serpents. Snake spirits transformed and colored into Xiuhcoatls, the fire-serpents of Xiuhtecuhtli, the firelord who represented the needs of people. Plenty and sustenance when they starved, light and illumination when all was dark. The father who gave birth to the gods, the one who slept within the hearths and flames in the homes of their people. With his blood as a catalyst it became a wreath of burning flames that fed upon the blood, combining the serpentine nature of the Xiuhcoalts, and the duality of Xiuhtecuhtli as a god of flame and water.

With the Xiuhcoatls coiling around them, his arms became the weapons of the sun which came to dwell in this shrine. But that alone would not be enough. To simply strike down man after man would not be enough. The weight of so many men was simply not something that a human could overturn. So he simply needed to show them that this was a battlefield of a war, that they were no warriors who would stand in such a place.

It was said that as a sun Huitzilopochtli was too brilliant even for even the greatest of warriors to look upon. Of course the Horse of Fuyuki could not bring such a brilliance that equalled a higher-order being, or a divine spirit. But the glow of the sun was one that demanded bravery to see through. The bravest flew with him, in the glory of the sun as birds.

So the birds would carry that light and show it to those who did not know of it. The brave spirits that carried all that they did not would fly and show them their mistake. The fact that they did not recognize that they were weak. They lashed out because they were weak. Fearful. It was not a display of strength, but merely their inability to cling to even hope, their failure to endure.

He took a hold of a wooden stick he had grabbed earlier while out and carved it into a beak-like spear. It transformed into a ray of the sun, a small piece of its radiance carried by bird spirits as one by one they filled the spear.

As the doors opened, giving way to the siege of the crowds he threw the beak , the sunbeam roaring through as a burning missile that pierced through the first two men, setting them ablaze before it exploded in a radiant burst of hummingbirds that pierced into the hearts of the mob.

They were no warriors, they were not strong. Simple fearful children in the eyes of the sun that pitied them and yet scorned them. The sun reminded them of their nature. This was no quest for justice, no campaign for good. A rampage that was born out of fear, a rampage that did not even have the strength to unapologetically commit crimes. Dressed up as a crusade with the flimsiest excuses they came to attack the weak in the name of “punishing the Yakuza”

Even if they chose not to acknowledge it and buried the truth within their hearts the sun would illuminate it. Chased by the birds who carried the light of courage, many fled.

There were only two gang members with him at the Safehouse, and despite their awe and incredulity at the works of the American their pride and self-preservation instincts kicked as the doors were battered down. The explosive noise of gunfire filled the building as those who pushed through the doors were shot down.

The horse charged into the ranks of the rioters that were reminded of their fear, the light illuminating the darkness that was their hearts. His fists lashed out, crumbling man after man. Crush the heart, shatter the neck, crack the skull. The flame of the serpents spread, man after man set ablaze by the fists of the defender of those innocent. The entrance into the safehouse was turned into the gate of hell, with those few who slipped past the horse shot down by the two men who fought with him.

You don’t belong on this battlefield. To those who created a hell, and yet could advance through the flames. The lesser of normal men who let themselves ruled by their animalistic instinct and fear. No warriors were among them, no brave souls. Only the desperate defined by their weakness.

If it were simply a matter of rioters who charged into the fray like animals then it would be a simple matter. But there was a problem that showed itself all too clear when a man before him suddenly fell to the ground, the back of his head burst open by a bullet. They too had guns.

Bullets rained down upon the shelter itself, the walls holding up by virtue of the spirits that reinforced it. He heard a cry from one of the Yakuza. Odashii was his name. His body collapsed, his knee collapsing under him as a shot ripped through his leg. Flames and spirits sparked up to aid and defend those in the safehouse, but the power of those modern weapons were too much. Perhaps if he had more time, perhaps if he was a greater practitioner like that man... even if their own men blocked the way, giving him more cover than the two men with him. With the enemy gunmen firing without care or restraint it would only be a matter of time before he too was shot down.

The wound of Odashii was mending, the shrine that was the safehouse allowing the influence of Ixtlilton and Piltzintecuhtli to heal and ease those under his protection. But even with that a gunshot was a crippling wound, and no amount of magical healing would help against a fatal shot in the head.

So he bid the serpents to search out for those who brandished such weapons of death. To scorch them, to devour them. With the horde of men beaten back by his fists, and more and more burning and panicking as the flames already born from the serpents in their time augmenting his fists and lashing out at those who moved to strike him, the ability to lay down fire upon the martial artist was already hampered to the maximum. The engulfing of the gunmen in flames as the serpents targeted them specifically only added to that.

Madness could only take one so far. Even if it brought one beyond their common sense there was only so far an existence that was so unpolished could go. The fear that returned to them, no longer suppressed by indulgence, violence and the chemicals that rushed through their brains created doubt. The death dealt out by those who defended the safehouse and the flames created panic was as demoralizing as the events that led to the riots, all the more powerful with how it was directed specifically at them. It was no grand catalyst that would end a world. It was no great event that threatened to separate Fuyuki into it's own texture.

But.

To advance further, to advance towards him was to be enveloped in a hell that would absolutely burn them.

Ah, how easy it was to take lives.

Men scattered and broke, warring among themselves, caught between those who still wished to push on, and those who wished to escape.

How terrible.

He hoped then that, for their sake and his own sake that they would all flee soon.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Reflection @ReallyDumb @Scallop @Argonaut

The Sensei

Miyama - Man-made Disaster

New Verse

A gasp for breath, a slight pause as he took a sip of rice wine. A small luxury to ease his aches. His heart itself burned and he felt his gut twist, as though voicing the complaints of his body now when it could be heard during this small break. He had been sitting in an alleyway, taking refuge himself from the violence of the crowds. The rivers of blood spilled on the streets grew a contribution spilled from him, and spilled by him at this point, his hand forced further as it became even more violent and he more tired and worn down from fight after fight.

He was reminded of a man he encountered one, a sage that he once crossed fists with. One of the few to defeat him in his short life. Yes indeed. His life was short. To a normal person one may say that the age of 35 was more than ripe, that in a sense it was a full life combined with the many sights he had seen and the experiences he had come to partake in, culminating with this war of wonders and horrors.

But in comparison to that man it was nothing.

A man who lived beyond normal men, who was an existence that even he could feel was different.

A completed man, a driven man. A man who was beyond his abilities. The weight that he carried with his age, and with the experiences of his age were far too much for his years that were measured in the span of mere decades.

Bu to simply live long was not enough.

That man was unbelievably sad. Was he a monk because of that sorrow, or did he become a monk as a result of that sorrow?

He was a man he did not tell his apprentice about. It was not because of the fact that he did not wish to share his defeats with his pupil. No, that was not it at all. It was a tale that he did not think was good for the youth who was growing into his responsibilities, not at the time.

That man must have seen many things like this horror of Fuyuki. Again, and again and again. What meaning did it have? What could be said about those that could not be saved? That it just couldn’t be done? That they died for no reason, that they died because no hero was able to help them?

Compared to that man who saw such suffering he was nothing grand. He was in a sense cruel. He felt a sorrow, he would grieve over this conflict. Yet he would not say to them that their lives and deaths held no meaning.

To say that they were slaughtered for a purpose, or rather that there was meaning in their deaths. It was unbelievably cruel. It was tantamount to saying that it was okay that they died. It was like the excuse of a powerless bystander, a word to assuage one’s guilt that more people were unable to be saved.

Yet he shamelessly held onto that thought and declaration.

Tragedy after tragedy that this was simply a small shade of. All of those had some meaning, forming kindling and nourishment for the future. To accept that which came from those slaughters was to validate them.

But it was ok. He got back up onto his feet.

He was a man of the selfish present who would accept the fruits that grew now as a result of the blood of yesterday. But today was an age that did not need the nourishment of such slaughter anymore. They could grow, they could progress without such cruelty.

Humanity was growing into its adolescence, and so it could surely mature into a new path.

He believed in such, but also simply it was a somewhat crooked justification. He simply could not bare to see the people of such a wonderful western and golden age suffer so when they could live a life of peace. He could not stand the butchering of those who were before him.

Like a girl who embodied consumption and the future he would, if given the choice, throw away the past for the now and future.

But there was no need for that.

After all even now the past was claiming its own new future, right?

“Roland!-” he cried out as he charged into his own fray.

Their relation could not be called that of a master and servant anymore. Nor of magus and familiar.

Even as he ripped through group after group, forcing himself into the thickest of the frays to quell the worst of it, to save those who were the most troubled he kept an eye on the activities of his friend.

The thief was found.

There was only one thing he had to say to Roland now.

He felt a thrown brick strike his back. He staggered slightly, leading him into a volley of fists and pipes. Even then his fists and palms redirected, punished and parried. A fist met a fist, his greater power and robust nature ending with a clash that left a shattered hand pushed away from him.

Yet it was too much in that position. They fell upon him, and he felt a strike upon his shoulder.

Ah, something broke. The pain was blinding, a sensation so real and raw compared to the dull aches and the void of sensation that his body felt with its fatigue induced numbness. Yet even as his body stumbled, unable to keep up with his mind and even dragging his thoughts down with it he continued his words.

Jack began to run. So he made himself into the one to give the answer to the legendary hero-thief’s flight.

The mark upon his right hand flared with its obscene magical energy. A shapeless curse that took on the form of a command, a wish.

"-Show me your journey to the west!” His command seal surged.

It was a command filled by a sentence that was nonsensical to anyone listening. Yet the curse that was the command seal was one governed by a number of factors. How simple and clear a command was. How long-term its command was. A command like fly, or put all your power into your next blow would hold much greater power than a command to “Win this battle”, “Fight with all your might” or “Obey my orders.” Of course it held greater power when master and servant agreed upon the command.

Yet there was a important factor that matched all of those factors that came into play with the words spoken to Roland.

Intent.

The meaning of that phrase was an encapsulation of the guiding principles of the man who paradoxically left the west to explore it. Who arrived in the east to go west.

A servant was a fixed existence, the culmination and representation of a finished story. But to Tlilpojuan, Roland was no such thing. He ate, he drank, he fought, he survived dire straits and rose from despair. He reached for peace and love, and he sought to grow beyond what he was. A hero of the west was not a hero who came from the old world, or the new world. But a hero who encapsulated the reaching towards the beauties of the world, the hero whose world expanded.

To reclaim his blade was not a matter of regaining a noble phantasm for the war for either of them. To reclaim his honor, to be a reforged blade himself.

His first command seal had been used to save Roland from his second death-

He swung his head like a mace, a move that was unrefined compared to his strange elegance that filled his own personal martial arts style. Battering down a man to the streets, he then kicked him up into his fellows to topple them before diving after them as they scattered like bowling pins across the ground.

-But to simply keep someone alive was not enough. It was what he strived for with the people caught in the riot. It was only natural then that his second command seal would go towards Roland’s dignity and his life as a hero.

It was only the fourth day since they met, but freely Tlilpojuan offered the heart of his thirty-five years to Roland in this phrase. The power of that intent was then the core that shaped an absolute command.

No catalyst was used to bring the two together. The Horse of Fuyuki himself was the connection that brought forth the bravest of Paladins. Similar souls who could reach an understanding. To grasp the full meaning of the command was something that was only possible to Roland.

An absolute command, and a vessel that was the perfect shape.

In truth it was simply the master giving his blessing and hopes. Because if Roland could manage to complete this journey-

He blacked out for a moment, only to find himself staring up into the sky, surrounded by men who could no longer walk. Still save for shallow pained breaths. Didn’t he just take a break a few moments ago?... He really was starting to slack off. What would Hideyoshi say to him if he saw this?

Well, it would be okay if he used his magecraft for himself this one time, right? Groaning as he pushed himself to a sitting position he began the work to mend his wounds.

-If even a timeless story could write a new chapter for itself. Then there was indeed nothing to stop a normal man from walking the paths that allowed them to witness all that was new and good. Most of all he wished to see his friend succeed in overcoming himself and attain his new glory, his new happiness.

There was nothing more to say.

So he returned to his work. Rejuvenated, and driven beyond his own limits by the new story that was now unfolding and closing.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Argonaut

The Sensei

Miyama - Man-made Disaster

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.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

The Sensei

Miyama - Man-made Disaster

"I like your style old man, Mind if i cut in and join in the fun?" She said with a playful smile, striking a defending pose."you're a magus aren't you?"

The question was one that had a simple answer.

“No.” he responded quite naturally as his elbow pushed a man down. To be a magus, one who chased after truth. One who reached for 「」. To be a spellcaster who used magic for a goal.

He was neither.

“I am a man who journeyed west.” His hand reached out and grabbed at the jacket of a man. Pulling about by the fabric he was used to bash into the body of another charging man.

An amused cry came him. “I guess I grew a bit old too. But I don’t feel it.” Years of eating, fighting, learning. Those years brought him the conviction and power to stand here now as the hordes seemed to gather almost as though they were an army. Those who were defeated, those who were scared off, those who struggled again and again.

The crowds retreated at times, they surged at times. The two had become a target indeed, and in a sense they wished to see them defeated. A sunk-cost fallacy. A symbol of opposition that they wished to take down.

It was insanity, and yet all too reasonable that they continued to target the two then.

“But I am a master.”

It was likely that with that question that she too was one, or involved with one. It was a valuable piece of information volunteered for free, so lightly, so casually, it was as though he were simply introducing himself.

“What about you?” His words floated above the chaos, spoken during the times of respite that they gained.

“I am a man, a horse. My name is Tlilpojuan. I am afraid that if you like my style... that you'll have a show of it to make even my disciple sick of it coming up."

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Reflection@Cu Chulainn @Paradox Witch @Argonaut @Seirei No Hai

The Sensei

Pellion's Pub

He nodded. The concerns and priorities were reasonable. He was moved to act similar to his servant, despite his servant in his own deep moment of important need. To marry, a most amazing experiences. Like a wraith the servants carried out with the leftover desires and regrets of heroes. Yet in this case were those regrets creating a transformation? A brand new possibility. What laid in the future even for these ghosts in the past was hopefully something beautiful.

What was less beautiful was the news that came in.

"Boss! There's a riot in our turf! You gotta do something 'bout it!"

A riot in the streets, a problem.

It didn’t need to be said.. “Saber. Go ahead and look for your sword, or go to the mountain.”

Well, he supposed there was one question he had to ask. “Tell my servant about where I can send those who need shelter.” Directed towards Gin, it was a branch of trust offered to the magus of the Fujimura group. He grabbed a bottle of that wine meant for his kind for the road and ran out, at speeds beyond human, ripping through the streets of Fuyuki towards the land that had been so tortured with the advent of the war.

Miyama - Man-made Disaster

People warring, fighting. They were scared, they were greedy, they were in danger. They had seen evils and terrors that tore at the lens that they viewed their peaceful world through. Exposed to the horrors of that fire, to the absurdity of that tree, the fright of that light that could have scorched the city, razing it to simple rubble and ash.
The blasts from a ship, the explosion from a lance. The already plagued Fuyuki was home to the destruction and sounds of a modern warzone.

A cursed fire, a falling world, a terrible storm, the blasts relating to a tree, the destruction at a railyard.

The five penalties that have been visited upon Fuyuki.

And from those five penalties were born evil. From those five penalties were born people who feared that they were being punished for no reason. If they would be punished then they would take their own destiny into their own hands. If they were punished then they would attain the sinful fruit that came from evil.

Know the power that gives birth to crime. See the scattering insects, so small, insignificant to the riches of gods.

Devour, devour, devour, devour. They devour each other not seeing the food in front of them. There is no path except the one walked on the corpses of others.

Evil that is shown, the town bathes in cruelty.

I don’t want it to be me

I don't want it to be me.

Let someone else be it instead.

A poisoning, a pot of hatred, of death. This world is a world of slaughter. Curse without reason, curse because they are there. Curse others so you’ll be spared. Punish others because someone must be punished that is not you.

It is ok. This is only reasonable.

Because it’s good as long as it isn't me.

Crashing glass, the cries of people as they fought, struggled and trampled each other. The scene that he arrived upon was in a sense a match for the horrors of the war that had been brought upon Fuyuki as a consequence of the battles between magi and Heroic Spirits.

Yet he felt his gut twist. The collapse of order, of civilization. A tragedy, an evil visited upon people by people. There was no grand villain that added each swing of a knife that carved into another person who refused to stand down and give up their possessions, their life, their dignity. Those who clung to the hopes that these events, like a bad dream would be washed away with the day.

Those who tried to keep their pride, those who did not wish to lose their lives beyond simply surviving. It was a most terrifying situation, it was a degradation of society that ruined a community beyond the simple loss of lives and death. It was a community rending itself apart. Neighbors were fighting each other, laying waste to the streets that they lived in, grew up in, and cherished. The bonds with each other, the connection to the city, the memories of the street were torn down, ruined. Eyes filled with a lustful greed broke down that which was around them into simple material value.

In other words they had thrown away beauty.

In other words they had thrown away being part of the community.

What was us became them, and others. This was not a town under assault by others. By the sheer virtue that this had happened at all. Even if no true damage occurred, even if no true tragedy came to pass. Even if it was stopped now it would leave a scar that would harm Fuyuki for decades. It was a most unwestern thing, it was a most tragic thing. Evils born of man, visited to each other. Yes, it was sad indeed.

That men’s hearts were driven to such desperation and fear. That these actions were indeed justified as lifeforms did not make it any better. After all humanity evolved beyond being simple living beings. Divorcing themselves from the planet they attained civilization, and progress. It was simple then. These people had lost faith in the light of civilization that spread across the world from the west. There were tragedies born of that as well, people conquering, visiting upon other cruelties to satisfy their convictions, their greed, their dreams. There were many terrible things in history. But built upon those massacres and horrors were the days of today.

Ah. He recognized some of these people. People he’s watched walk down the streets, people he’s seen in the various bars of Fuyuki. People who he saw living their lives peacefully, who struggled within society and for their own selves. Whether they lived at the most base level of modern humans, simply getting by payday to payday, moon by moon. The rare people who held dreams and reached for them. The people who wished to strive for more than what they were…

They were all in a sense beautiful, all living in a world that could only exist because of the various eras built on top of each other. Civilization, the line of a magus, a dojo. A line that built up and became grander and grander. Whether it faced the future or the past…

To abandon that was the greatest tragedy for a person.

The age of modern man with its great cities, of a global connected world had no need for heroes. But the people before him were no longer the civilians of the modern age. So he would, in this war filled with heroes stand in as a simple man, a simple horse and remind them of what they should be as the pale imitation of those heroes. Of a single individual who guided the many.

Even if that was through his fists.

Yet to simply strike everyone down to create order was counterproductive. So he devised a test.

Walking up to a group of people carrying out various goods from a shop, he suddenly tossed a fistful of grain and oats into their faces. Bewildered faces turned into expressions of anger as the looters began to bark at the foreigner man. Ah, these people were indeed just taking advantage of the situation for profit.

So he punched them.

“Eightfold Pathmaker!” [Nothing remains before the fist] - Twofold Edition (20% power)

A pulled punch. After all he was only subduing them.

They crumbled.

So he went on. Throwing oats and grains from his pockets and satchels at people to sort out those who he needed to punch and those he did not. To those he did not, he bellowed at them, bringing forth the imposing intent of a trained practitioner that was honed like a weapon, the strangeness of a horse and his earnest burning heart into his words. Directing them to safety. In this one occasion he would trust the Yakuza, he would trust the man named Gin.

Most of all in this case he would trust in the legend known as Chiron.

What lightened his heart however was the fact that he wasn’t the only one who was attempting to bring peace to this riot. A strange foreigner girl, extremely young and dressed more for a leisurely stroll than walking through the hellish Miyama-town hopped around with an innocent pure air. It reminded him of the homunculus in a way, although there was certainly a very human charm and element to her. Wearing glasses and a hat.

The people he confronted were left confused, almost dazed at times. But what was certain was that he lended a helping hand, and in her presence the activity of the looters came to a stop.

“Aha, you should come to this concert! It’s a big high-profile event!”

Indeed, the conviction and lighthearted nature of the girl was so at odds at the horrors around to the point that she began to paint over them. Yet there was something twisted about that lightheartedness also.

“It’s way better a target than this stinky pig-pen that’s got a bit too many weeds growing around. Thing have gotten pretty bad here haven’t they?”
Perhaps under that cheer was the equally as dark desire of sabotage or something. Or perhaps she was simply playing to their greed?

Prancing about with a baseball cap with a brand he’d never heard of before, and glasses that she seemed to be a bit awkward with, taking them off from time to time to rub at her eyes with a quiet whine that he nevertheless somehow managed to hear despite all the chaos going around them. Well, she was another foreigner that was helping out. Despite the cries of the Yakuza members that brought various mobs of organized looters, tied together by greed and given direction by the small inklings of patriotism. He was a galloping runaway stallion rampaging through crowd after crowd. If anything the incitement of the Yakuza simply made things easier for him.

“Haaah!” His fists lashed out, sending another person crumbling each time. A kitchen knife came at him in a wild slash that he intercepted. The wind whined as his left palm was thrust forth to meet the elbow of the man, redirecting and killing the momentum of his blow with his vastly superior strength. His right hand was not idle during this time, the efficient motion that lacked hesitation grabbing the face of the man, and slamming him down to the ground with its motion.

Men and weapons both flew as he disarmed and defeated crowd after crowd. At times they didn’t even have the time to react. One man fell, and before the man before him had the chance to see the lone horse who stood against their group a fist sailed into his face, knocking him into his companions before him. A brick thrown at him was shattered by a kick, men crying out as before the dust from the powdered block had the time to settle upon the martial artist, his arms swung into them, perhaps inelegantly clobbering them. With his size he was able to sandwich three men, pounding them together and dispersing his power through them all. While he left many aching bodies in his wake he did not leave anyone lame or mortally wounded.

A slash from behind was dodged, Tlilpojuan twisting to the side and bringing his elbow into the side of the man in an elegant motion. Swinging back like a pendulum he drove his fist into another foe.

Dozens after dozens fell.

The mobs were directed towards him, crowding due to the fright caused by the yakuza and gangsters that were beginning to settle into a stand off. Yet the awe and inhuman strength of Tlilpojuan struck as much dread in those who were pillaging the town. Driven towards him because it was not the certain death of opposing those who ruled the underworld of Fuyuki, or the foreigners who packed such deadly instruments of death.

The weight of Fuyuki’s discontent weighed down upon the Horse of Fuyuki.

There is a great witch that can bring shape and materialize various concepts. That witch was not here, but in a sense what he faced was something akin to that. The hordes of men that burned with greed unshackled by desperation and fear bearing down upon him.

Between him and that foreigner girl many of the more innocent civilians that refused to be dragged down into this misery and misfortune were directed to the safe-spot that he asked that man known as Gin about. While men looking for easier picks went to that concert the girl was talking about.

The crowds that should be thinning seemed to show no signs of stopping.

Well.

It was an entire town after all. Was this then the weight of a hero that had to move the destiny of an entire people? A pale shade of a divine crisis. What was wrought here was merely by human hands.

So solve it by human hands. If the current age was that of people, separated from gods and heroes then the people of that age had to show that they could solve their problems too. That was why he could not fail.

Saber.

No.

Roland.

We too have things to fight for.

So watch.

As you search for your own stolen glory watch. The ugliness of man, the cruelty of the world and the past that degraded and dragged them down to such a state. It is too much isn’t it? But despite that it had to be something that could be stopped by a person. A person that isn’t a hero, just a normal modern human. Perhaps a normal modern human was not something that could be applied to him he realized, in a sense. But there were others who ran around too. Like that girl, and like the yakuza. They were men of crime, and sometimes of evil. Yet a part of them worked for the good of this land, this community.

So watch us overcome this.

The people of this age aren’t so weak as to need heroes to babysit them for everything.

So look for your glory and marry your friend, your lover without fear. As long as it was a problem of the modern age he would be fine.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Cu Chulainn

Lancer - Percival (Lily)
Faltered Tragedy
Concessive Collateral Compassion

The tree must fall, the tree would simply impede the path. It was a thing that was most unkind, a delusion more than fantasy in a sense.

But it was a matter Lancer realized he could not do much about. Nor was there a need. It’d be taken care of. The tree was not a concern. But rather the calamity that it would bring was on the mind of Lancer. The matter of that texture, of that fantasy was a story that closed in his mind as he suddenly made to leave. But before he did he grabbed back his spear from Rider. “The tree’ll be gone soon. But there’s something that’ll happen with the trains. There’s a lot going on where the world fell. If you want a better fight then you should go there.” The words were a direction for the Rider, a suggestion, a tip.

It was all so he would leave, all so he would not stop the boy, or threaten his master when he took to leave with their fight not finished. “I have to go.” he said before leaving, rushing away as if not caring that Rider could chase him down to cut him to bits as though he were indeed just a normal little boy.

-

Hundreds died immediately. Many others were soon to follow, and others were teetering on the brink. In comparison to the hell of Miyama town that was divine punishment and the cruetly of the world, this was a disaster that was more like the destruction of man. To call this a hijacking gone wrong, or a terrorist act was far from far-fetched. The reason for this tragedy was pettier than he could have imagined. It simply happened out of sheer chance due to a negligent mystic code.

To give a berserker such a mystic code was the height of irresponsibility. It was something even that youth found terrible. Which was saying something. But he knew not the culprit, nor found himself with the time to care. Like a blur he rushed through the crowd of injured people. A god-wind, a small spirit that had come to help, a strange miracle. It mattered not what they’d call it. Lancer shattered debris, ripped off caved in metal walls.

A child who cried by their mother’s side, hobbled by a mangled leg that would never be able to walk again, dribbling lifeblood upon the ground and drowning out the flames from the explosion in a senseless waste of the water that was one’s vigor.

The man whose face was scorched, flesh and skin melting together.

The men whose limbs splintered from crashing into the wall and to each other like carelessly discarded dolls.
The woman who lied, still, dying, a bar of mangled metal piercing through her skull, ruining her left hemisphere.

The train began to meld back together, dragging glass from the scorched ground, and burning glass with it

He healed those who were alive.

Limbs connected, piles of flesh that lost the shape of humans, only barely alive by the most technical of definitions became people again. Light returned to crushed eyes. Hearts moved again, bones melded back together.

Familiars warred for the spear in the background as he dashed about, healing and moving people as he went. What was a disaster and triage situation was cleared in but minutes. The servant who moved, astralizing and popping back into a materialized as needed, not bound by the limitations of a physical body, and working at the full speed of a servant managing to prevent death after death. At this point he did not think. Entrusting the guidance of his revelation skill, he sunk into his purpose.

Faster, faster, faster. You are not the hero who dashes like the first start. You are not the hero who holds the world in his hand. You are not the hero who conquered twelve tasks.

You’re simply a boy.

You’re not a knight.

His mind flashed the imagery of that hellish fire, of the people who crumbled away, burned by the black flames due to his presence. It was simply more fuel for him to let his mind sink away, the direction from above becoming like instinct. He allowed himself to be sublimed to its direction, to become like a robot, a tool. If he simply worked, if he simply pushed himself then there would be no time to hesitate, to feel the pain and horror.

This time they were being saved, this time he did not come as a reaper. But what did he come as?

“Mother. I met some knight in the forest. I did not know you could wear rocks. But what strange clothes it was. It shined so bright! Even their horses had clothes too like that.”

“Mother. When I hunted some boar I met a knight again. He held a strange spear, one that was mostly a blade. It was very pretty.”

What was a court? What was a knight? At that point he did not know. Did he understand even now? He who was ignorant of the world, who did not know what something was beyond the name.

The garb of a fool hid the act of the savior that left the site of the railyard whole again. Even corpses were put back together. All the better for those who would live, that they be greeted with the wholesome dead rather than the bodies of those who were brutalized and met with their unfortunate ends.

Each death was one that he could have stopped if he had been as fast as certain other heroes. Each death was one that likely would have been prevented if he asked his master for the use of a command seal.

Ah, he really was a fool. These clothes suited him well. They were truly his noble phantasm, rather than the red vermilion armor of blood and glory that he had taken and admired.

He felt a bit cold as he sat down on top of one of the trains that had been, for the most part fixed due to his ability. The final bit of work had been accomplished. He would wait for a time, waiting for the emergency survives of Fuyuki to arrive.

The dead should be honored, the dead should remain whole.

There was more trouble in the city, a riot slowly starting up. But for now…

He watched over, stomach twisting slightly.

Ah, what was this?

A tear ran down his cheek.

There were many things he did not know, and he still did not know. The world was a simple place he had thought when he was a child, who knew only the forest, his mother and the boars they hunted.

Then they came.

“Mother. Today I met three knights…”

“I wish to see the court of King Arthur. “

“I wish to become a knight.”

…

“Mother, why do you cry?”

The weight of a few thousand.

What then was the weight of a nation? He thought of that king.

What was the weight of the world?

Looking in the direction of Mount Enzo, Percival thought and felt.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Reflection@Cu Chulainn @Paradox Witch

The Sensei

Pellion's Pub

Back with a glass of horsewine. The man who wore the mask drank of the special drink that was not for the tongues of men. “Repeat customers are nice. But it is a shame to think that this bar will only last for so long.” he let out with a whinny before pouring the rest of the bottle into his now-empty glass. “But there are things I would wish to talk about beyond simply alcohol and wounds.” Tlilpojuan turned towards Chiron. “You are the greatest teacher of the west, famed for his knowledge as much as the heroes he raised.” With the vigor of someone that was intoxicated, whose passions were only inflamed by alcohol, he rose to his feet. Of course there were other properties that made Chiron a hero that was more aligned with his interests, but even without that he was the one most ideal for him to talk with.

“I too am a teacher of a sort, although in truth it is more that I direct a man who is a youth. Our paths are parallel, yet ultimately divergent. There is some common ground and yet in that common ground we hold differences that make us not a true master and apprentice. We are no family of magi or a dojo in truth. There is no chain, there is no succession or inheritence.”

He shook his head and clenched a fist. “To begin with there is much I still must see of the world before I truly become one who adds to the future. I fight in the Grail War not for the wish of the grail, but rather to see and experience.”

He smiled underneath his mask before taking a bow of respect. A bit clumsy, a bit overeager. He was always the sort to unapologetically wear his heart on his sleeve. “I do not ask that you be my teacher, but as long as you are the patron of this bar…”

Whipping back to the side of the bar, Tlilpojuan dropped his satchels upon the bar. The various snacks and delicacies gathered from Japan, or rather Fuyuki. A small microcosm of the bounty and pleasures that it held on offer overflowing, grains and meats, sweets and various snacks slightly spilling out. “So long as we are able to eat I ask that you share with me stories of the world.” Tlilpojuan looked straight at Chiron. “Finally I wish to see the strike of your hooves. One strike would be what I wish.”

The Horse of Fuyuki thus bared his reason for his participation in his conflict, and the feelings that drove his wandering and study. It was not a matter of trying to learn about an enemy, it was not a matter about trying to conquer a foe. The man with the horsemask simply wished to witness and see the different things that people considered wonders and beauties

Lancer - Percival Lily - Nementon. - The Land of Fantasy

@Cu Chulainn @Dosthou

“That’s it.” he said as he rose up. A barely perceptible hobbling with the step of the arm that was grabbed and thrown. Magica energy ran through him, healing the damage, but the grip of that Rider was a fearsome one indeed.

“That’s my spear.” he said with the uttermost frankness as the armor dispersed into wispy blue particles. Or rather, the armor transformed backed into the unassuming, repulsive and silly outfit that was the mark of a fool. A slight frown came to Percival as he turned away from Dietrich despite the roused temper of the great hero, staring instead towards the direction of Miyama. The land was changing, the false readvent of an age long past. An age that mankind had walked away from. An age that declined and was severed by the actions of a great few. An age that mankind grew out of as a whole. The world itself changed and as the planet itself reached towards its end, the maturity of those who reigned in primacy was to come.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have anything like that.” He murmered loud enough for Dietrich, yet quiet enough to clearly show that his attention wandered away. As he walked away the sack that contained the horrors of the Fuyuki fire fell to the ground. A microcosm of a world, of a calamity. A place that contained and kept only death. An underworld.

It was in that world where the young boy first found himself without a smile.

That was undeniably a great horror.

Those that he could have saved were consequently those that he could definitely not save. No, more than that they were those who he brought death to. Their chance of defying sch a calamity that reaped all unfortunate to be within its grasp lowered to a non-possibility, even the hope of a miracle dashed through his mere presence.

For them it would have been better if he never came to begin with. It would have been better if he was not as he was. If he was something else, if he was grown. If it was that him, then they would have been saved. At the very least they would have died from the merits of their own power to defy danger and pave their paths and fate.

The flames that bound its victims to it and burned their souls. His failed attempts at saving people. They were one and the same. The remnants that were writhing within were a testament to his failure, his foolishness.

How would he act this time then?

“That tree.” he spoke out as the grove began to crumble, sublimed into the wildlands and the texture that was growing like a moss upon Fuyuki. The fairy grove was no longer quite their territory. It was a pocket within the wilds, yet it no longer held a distinction between the outside and its inside. The walls slightly crumbled, its boundary blurred. The sight of the great tree of what was relegated to the past and fantasy came into the view of the three within.

“It has to fall.”

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Cu Chulainn @Reflection

Einzbern Forest Outskirts. Clearing of Destruction, nice day for a picnic.

&

Falke and Shinji (True)

The confrontation was one that was inevitable in one form or another. But the shape it took, in peace yet with pressing business.

An unnatural cause for calamity. Something hidden, something not realized by any other. Well, there was certainly more than just that on his mind quite obviously. Tree after tree was destroyed, the equivalent of a flick from his hooves uprooting them and shattering their base. At times he even rammed straight into them, the armor-like aura and presence of the heroic steed shielding his less legendary rider. Despite the storm of bark, leaves and other such tree matter whipped up in his wake not a single scratch or spec of dust found itself upon the hound.

Despite sounding as though it were a violent enemy’s attack there was no reaction from the Einzberns. After all it was one of them after all.

The two met with the third beast of the forest, and together they spoke. At this point he simply wanted someone, anyone who’d listen and vindicate his warning. The great horse, Falke met the man who wore the face of a horse and spoke of hidden truths.

In a very animated and violent matter at that. Despite the ability to reach a mutual understanding he nevertheless acted out part of it in pantomines. Crushing rocks, quaking the ground with his stomps. It was simply a way to let out stress.

Of course when it came to letting out stress when one was a lifeform of that level…

Well one would be forgiven for thinking that a battalion of tanks had descended upon the Einzbern Forest.

Just as the heroes spoke to each other, so did too the man from the east (west), the dog, and the horse meet. It was not a grand feast, and two of its members were far from legends. In a sense all that bound them together was the simple fact that they could communicate. But was that not enough?

Shinji recognized the man who wore the face of a horse. Falke recognized suitability and, with the annoyance still brimming through him with the disaster of a conversation with his companion and master earlier, dumped this task onto the man who wore the face of a horse. He was the one who took his leave first.

After all, even if he got mad and annoyed, even if he was ignored or was reminded that there were some limits to their bond due to the divide of species…

He was still the one most dearest to him. So he would go to his side.

Falke left the forest, leaving destruction, and a littered picnic-like environment behind.

-

The Sensei

“Ah.” he suddenly realized.

“Saber, we have to go to the bar.”

The bar, the place where their ails and woes could be buried under alcohol. In this case it was more than just escapism. The bar with its certain elements left it as a place more potent than any bed of medicine. There Roland’s arm could be fixed, there Roland’s impurities could be washed away.

But that wasn’t why. “We’re out of snacks.” Tlilpojuan let out a sniff before handing a stick of skewered meat to Shinji.

“After that however…” came the words of Tlilpojuan, his tone as serious as when the man confronted the burning city and the tragedy that had befallen the city the night before. “There’s something amiss at the mountain. I do not believe there is much that we can do to support my pupil at this point. Besides, if we tarry here too long we may actually seem like allies to them.”

This was a war where one walked their own path, following their own wish. To walk with others was not quite proper after all.

“I will be heading to the bar now. Follow after me when you are done, Saber.”

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

Lancer - Percival Lily - Miyama Town - Nementon

@Cu Chulainn @Dosthou

His hands let go of the spear as its force bled into Rider’s shield, a rune flashing to life as it began to fly away on its own accord. Lancer then lashed out with a fist towards rider, a blow just as potent as his spear, albeit much more dangerous for the servant. For no matter how strong his attacks were his body would not hold up to the steel of his blade. To assume one could assault someone like Rider with impunity was foolish, yet Lancer attacked in his rush trying to force a momentum against the man with a wall-like defense. But even that had limits, especially with how keen his eyes were.

He knew he could not tarry in a melee with Rider. So Lancer abandoned his push almost as fast as it had begun. His other free hand reached for his spear, grabbing onto the shaft that was flying away so he would be pulled along. At the same time he twisted his body for a kick towards Rider’s face, intending to break away with a gift to the servant, propelling himself away and striking in one fluid move. In flight he flipped to land back on his feet, a great scar carved by his feet in the flowerbeds, his landing cutting through and crushing tree-roots in his body’s path.

The thoughts of Lancer evolved, but it was a question whether he at his peak, the full completed legend could stand up to Rider.

“I am Percival.” he declared to Rider before incanting the name of his wear. Well, it would've been obvious to anyone what his identity was the moment he transformed his wear into that armor but... the slight smile on Lancer's face implied that he was simply sharing it because he felt it. Perhaps he had forgotten about that fact? But it was no matter. What stood before Rider was more than a foolish boy indeed. Once more he transformed into the Red Knight of the Round Table. Once more he took on that man’s armor as that curse was affixed upon him. Once more he became a blessed youth who stood against a hero.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

Lancer - Percival Lily - Miyama Town - Nementon

@Cu Chulainn @Dosthou

"Sure." he chirped out before bringing out his spear. Oddly it was not something materialized, but something he physically carried. If anything there was nothing that was not astralized in a spiritual form with Lancer, nor did he seem to return to a spiritual form himself as he moved to confront Rider. A king against a boy that strove to be a knight. A great hero against a fool who wished to share in the glory of those who he saw.

The one who stood at the top against one who began at zero.

Yet this was no longer the starting point. The lily had grown beyond a zero. The youth confronting Rider was not one who challenged him ignorantly, but could see how the king shone with the glory and power of a true A-class servant and hero. He challenged him despite understanding the gulf between them, his level.

The blade of a commoner, the blood of a dragon, the skill of a hero.

No matter how you dubbed the strengths of Dietrich they were above Percival one by one. The power of his body, the ability at arms, the grade of their weapons. But in terms of their keen senses that went beyond the normal perceptive qualities of a human, Percival was more than Dietrich’s equal.

With growing smile he dashed in, spear thrusting forth. The voices were already speaking of Dietrich’s incoming moves. Percival let himself be lost to the fight, after all there was only his own life on stake for this fight. A wager much lighter than the one of the night of fire.

He was the one being challenged this time. So he may as well set the pace. A simple boy was being challenged by a knight. So the boy would share his strength immediately.