Sageage

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

End of a Youth - 1

"No longer coated in the color of red I see. You call yourself Percival, but you wear not the trappings of a fool, nor the make-play arms of a knight. What then are you if you strip away that little boy? Hardly anything if you take away all known about you, and all that you’ve been. No, what stands before me is a little boy who thinks he’s made something of himself.”

A scoffing laugh rattled out of the red knight’s helmet as he swung his morning star on top of his shoulder while rising to his feet. The tree they met under shook, the grass rustling as though whispering about this meeting as the two confronted each other.

“In the end if you wish to prove yourself a knight then do so with your arm. Is that not how you did it the first time? With a throw like a hunting bumpkin? This time such tricks shant work on me. So let us see what comes of you in an actual fight.”

Wordlessly Percival raised his spear into the air, firing a blast of light that shone as a small shooting star, painting the sky for a moment. As it burned up their fight began, a knight of red and a simple youth charging into each other.

The powerful swings of a spear that held such great strength were beaten back, redirected or met with a shield. In raw power even now the youth exceeded the knight with that strength that boggled the mind as to how such a child could hold such a thing.

He stepped in, his wooden lance scraping at the wind with its multiple growths, almost like a trident, or rather a claw that hungered for the flesh of Ither. A brutal offense that shone brilliantly as the feelings of Percival pushed him further, and further. The voice that demanded victory, that guided his every step was only his own heart’s whispers. The skill at arms that pressed the Red Knight so far despite his advantage in his ability to take stock of a duel, and his own skill as a warrior was one that reached the realm of the famed Arthurian knights. A far cry from his undisciplined strikes at the beginning of the war. This metamorphosis was without a doubt a mixture of his mentality and the result of him coming closer to that end point.

Yet the Percival that stood before him did not reach towards becoming simply a knight.

Further, further, further. The world cried out, and humanity asked for a ruinous salvation.

He advanced, the claws of his spear descending upon Ither’s chest-

A shield slammed into his side, the red knight stepping in with trust in the armor that held a close relation to both fighters. Magical energy turned into red steel was rended, but the wound to the man beyond was light. Percival was rebuffed with that sacrificial wound, chased away by that blow and given a parting word as the youth ground his feet into the dirt, uprooting and carving a groove into the grasslands that carried him meters.

"You're less a sight that makes for sore eyes than before. But is that all then? You're hardly a match for your peers. Borrowed strength, borrowed titles. What end came of you is all inherited as well. Come, show me what passes for the strength of the man known as Percival. If you’ve ever truly become one!”

The words were spoken and woven in a way that went beyond words. With a motion of his sword-arm he flung some of the blood that dripped from his chest onto the face of Percival, egging him on and inviting him to charge back into where he was a moment ago.

The youth sprung forth, with a cry, spear first. Ither slowly raised the morning star. The motion that would bring a great clash in turn revealed an opening. His right side’s defense uncovered. Even with the guiding voice silenced, it was noticeable to Percival.

But.

The youth pushed on straight for the clash rather than going for that weakness presented by Ither’s own prepared offense, his spear met the morningstar, catching Ither’s weapon in its myriad branches like a makeshift fork. Prongs snapped, and the wood was sheared off, yet the spear held with the prodigal strength of Percival overwhelming the red knight, wrestling away the mace.

Ah, so he didn’t fall for it. Or perhaps it was that he didn’t notice? Impossible with his skill of revelation. To ignore his skill... Was it because of his incitement driving the fool into a frenzy, or his own stubbornness?

No matter, even if that strength had its roots in ignorance, the fool showed what was his, and his alone indeed.

Under his helmet, as the youth let go of his spear as their weapons clattered to the ground, Ither smiled. The morningstar dematerialized and reappeared in his hand, but Percival’s fist was already there.

It smashed through metal that could match a great legendary arm, the defense that would stand up to a great knight’s strike cratering under the blow. Combined with his nature, the power of his life in the glen merging with his curse and the anecdote of the intersection of his lives it was a mighty blow that was enough to end a legend.

“I’ve got this strength, but I need more. Simply being able to fight others, simply being able to heal those who are lucky enough to survive. I can stop some of the problems, I can fix what’s left after disaster. But that’s not enough, not for what’s coming, nor for preventing the tragedy in the first. I’ve been a knight, I’ve been a king. But what I need to be is a hero to save the world, Ither!”

It missed the spiritual core, and the damage that would’ve ripped apart the body of a servant was met with the red armor. Red metal gave way to a stream of blood. A ruinous blow, but not fatal. Even as the impact shredded his body, the ultimate adversary would not stop his struggle, would not open the path for a hero until the very end.

Neither relented in their battle even as the birth of a calamity came.

In their world (That which is precious to them) they could only see each other.

“A javelin’s thorn, the slam of a fist. Both are brutish. I’ll admit your growth, but you’re still the young boy who saw only dreams in a suit of armor even when it was wrapped in a cadaver! Nonetheless, it’s a strength I admit.”

His body was shaken, his energy bleeding away from the hefty wound. But that wouldn’t stop him. Gritting his teeth, planting his feet against the ground, Ither completed his swing despite the blow. The morningstar slammed into the boy’s back and the lancer fell to the ground from the blow. Blow and stomp rained down, barely able to be repelled by Percival as he struggled to get back up. There was no time to collect himself, the blows raining where he could not see, cornering him.

Shattered arm. A stomp that drove it through the dirt, filling a newly born hole with blood that oozed out like a zit of the land. Tears across his clothing and body from the spikes of the morning star that shredded the boy’s flesh from glancing blows. The grass was painted scarlet from their wounds, the many of Percival, and the one gaping hole of Ither.

Rising up the spear met again with the mace. Broken off shards of bark were replaced, and the shorn away tip grew again and again. The spear continued to grow as Percival struck again and again at the world that was slowly getting smaller. His mind rattled, his body screaming. But that simply made it easier to focus. Cut away the worries, cut away the memories, cut away all that restrained him. The weight of the feelings that drove him disappeared, while the drive they instilled within him clamped down and pushed him further and further.

He should be better, he was indeed better. Even with him reaching so close to that point, even reaching the realm of one of the round with his arms he was not enough to stand up to the Red Knight as a warrior. Yet through the sheer force of his power the little make-believe knight was fending him off and cornering him again. The rising lancer’s blows kept on coming.

Again, again, again. He blocks the first with his shield, he deflects the second strike with the swipe of his morningstar. The third is maneuvered around as he pushes in. Pushing forward simply for defense, the two had a dance that left Ither numb as he took blow after blow with his arms. Never direct was the clash, but despite the wounds taking their toll he could never close in to strike him down. Vexing, how very vexing. If it came to stubbornness and tenacity then he could match any hero. But this strength that should have long left him with his leaking body only grew.

The spear that continued to grow as it thrust again and again not only repelled Ither but struck true with its bite. A thrust shattered part of his armor, another thrust rended his leg. The swing of the shaft crashed against his side, hobbling him in combination with the wound on his leg.

The spear fell to the ground and began to shine.

Ah, of course.

The foe that stood against a hero was a show of the evils and terrors of that land and time. Yet it was also in having a foe that a hero could show the strengths and virtues of their time. That was the reason why the dragon was one of the greatest obstacles and greatest lauded triumphs in many legends. The great beast that represented evil and sin, yet it also held another meaning. A dragon was one whose lungs carried the breath of the world, life and energy born from the simple act of breathing.

To face the dragon was to face the ultimate calamity, to face the world. Man fought beast and the planet and reached this stage.

Consequently when man defeated such a beast they were transformed.

Gaining wisdom, gaining invincible bodies, gaining a new perspective that devoured their own humanity.

When one conquered their calamity they were raised beyond man. Both in the proof of their prowess through the deed itself, and as a consequence for the act.

He was no dragon, yet in essence he too carried the same element in his tale.

A growing boy stood against a being who brought forth the unclaimed, untainted wild nature that opposed mankind. A beautiful grassfield was enveloped in strife. One who fought to protect man, one who fought to protect that which is beautiful.

In a sense the two were completely opposed. Hero and Anti-Hero. One who sided with humans, and one who sided with nature.

In a sense the two were completely the same. The knight who wore red.

But now was the time for change. When legend would be rewritten and exceeded.

So naturally he fell.

Percival dashed forth, taking the chance that was presented, his fist readied once more. That special something that embodied his life in the glen, that overcame the hero among heroes known as Hercules shone in that clenched fist. It would burn out, this would be the last of it.

When that fist landed, Ither would die and the Red Knight's torch would be passed once more.

That would not do.

His moment of weakness was no lie. Nor was his ability to read the battle so omnipotent with how the blows of that youth shook the waves again and again, like a giant throwing boulders into the ocean that forced back the waves and disrupted the tides. But everything in the world snapped into place, like the discovery of the final missing puzzle piece.

Facing the strength of his current resolve in the present. Facing the strength of one ignorant to the works of man in his legend, and his death. The understanding of Percival was complete, and so too was his read of this fight.

the calculations of Ither, his understanding of his foe, the methodology he cultivated to face those knights and heroes who shone brighter than him all came to a final gambit.

An adversary cannot fall until the battle ends. With his battle continuation there was no loss in efficiency in his fighting no matter his wounds. There was certainly a opening caused by the last strike, but with his body that continued to return, his nature and story that would continue to raise his arms against hero after hero he could easily recover in time before Percival crossed the distance between them due to the earlier advantage that was his growing reach with his spear now becoming the ally of Ither.

A blazing red strike struck Percival down. But the lashing out fist still sought out the Saber. The momentum was stopped, and the true force and power of Percival could not be brought out, yet miraculously it still reached. In comparison to the full strength that was going to slay Ither it was a tap, but it was still a blow from a servant and so his helmet crumbled to reveal Ither's face and grin.

A fool fell.

The Red Knight stood triumphant.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Reflection

Raging Blurred Line - Torrential Dye 2

The boar’s rampaged tore at Roland’s hold at his mind. The battle raged between the spirits and the servant without any sign of the boar abating, while the horses found themselves exhausted unable to give any more after shielding a Roland who was put into dire straits with the boar overwhelming him.

Ah, at this rate then it would not even be a matter of the boar taking over. Roland would surely perish, his mind and saint graph breaking down.

Even if his song sang true, empowering him in response to his plight it was too risky to continue on at this rate. He needed support, enough support to ensure his victory. They could use a command seal, a miracle. Yet they would also be required for the battle beyond the boar. To lose it all by withholding too much, to find themselves lacking in tools when the true battle begins…

He’d trust in Roland, and ask in turn that Roland trusted in him. A lacking master in some regards. It was no secret that Roland was held back to a degree due to the amount of energy he could provide, or rather the amount that he couldn’t.

A master who was more martial artist than magus was not one that could support his servant very well. But in the teachings of his land’s shamanism the symptoms of the body were a reflection of one’s soul and spirit. To fix the spirit, and to fix the body. The amount of damage that Roland had taken was too much for him to quickly tend to, but he could at least bring him out of his dire straits.

The mask fell from his hands as he devoted his attention to his Saber.

“Roland, you’ll have to trust me and accept me.” The words that filled his head through their link were soft, a simple plight as the shaman reached out for his servant. The rotation of his circuits gave off a soothing and relaxing thrum, even as they spun to a high speed. It was not a matter of simply injecting magical energy into Roland, but rather observing and healing his spirit. Welcomed in such a way. Being allowed to stabilizing, understand and work upon his mind, it was a necessity then to entrust the shaman in a way that left one bare to him. To focus on the boar while his master held him together. It was no grand blessing at play. But the saber would find himself revitalized and healed nonetheless, his master working to support him directly in such a manner even as their clash continued.

As long as Roland was still standing then there was the possibility of victory. The proud Song of a Paladin that continued to bring him growth as he struggled against his foe. He was not a hero that necessarily won with a single masterful stroke, but he was a hero who would not fall, who could slowly eck out a victory against even the greatest of foes.

So stand up again brave paladin, conquer that foe.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Reflection

Raging Blurred Line - Torrential Dye

To accept simply being an arm? What ridiculousness. If the man would refuse to give his body then it would simply rampage and break down the personality that offered such resistance.

Foolish man if you did not wish to become a beast then why did you accept such a limb? To accept it, to invite it into oneself, to make it part of one’s body was to accept that end. Were all humans this foolish? To demand they escaped the consequences of their actions? How silly could one be?

The bestial fury of the boar poured over Roland. No matter how large his vessel, a man could not contain a beast. The limits broken by a hero climbed to a new peak of potential, but it could never reach the levels of a monster. A monstrous human was something different from man, different from a beast. But that also meant that it was neither. To become something else, to take to this new form and change to suit it was in the nature of the Boar. The moment it wins was then the moment that Roland would become the Demon Boar Roland.

The rage of the boar surged, now honed with a target. It did not simply lash out due to its nature. It now actively tried to bury the man known as Roland, bringing active ire towards the Saber as his demands rankled the boar who desired his own freedom.

To put it simply, coexistence was rejected.

So it had come to this. His servant was a great knight who was known for his wrestling of beasts. But this beast was now part of him. To simply face one with one’s own body was simple as a hero, but to face something as an exposed spirit. Not only were the stakes higher than simple death, but it was also a conflict that was different than simple martial prowess.

A hero was one that stood against such calamities, but he wouldn’t be much of a guide if he simply watched. Tlilpojuan felt and noticed the danger that descended upon the world. Something that made even this demon boar seem so insignificant. If there was time, if there was the leisure to simply have Roland battle the boar.

No, to begin with this spirit should not be taken lightly at all. The ender of heroes, the ever-evolving plague upon man and the world. A punishment of the gods, the death that roams forests. There were many stories of boars in all cultures that made them destruction in the form of an animal. To bind it to a protector, to imbue Roland with it while keeping Roland who he was without contamination.

Such a thing could be called a miracle.

He took off the mask. Even in the voyage to commune with spirits he was wearing it, garbed in the guise of a horse. But now he was but a man. In the lore of his people man did not hold their talents or strengths by their lonesome. Guided and protected by their guardian spirits, it was the bestial spirits that stood by one that brought one to their full potential. The Demon Boar was a unruly guardian spirit, so he would stand by Roland as one to show him just how it was done.

A risk, a possible burning out of his one great treasure, and his one great sin. It could be called foolish, a needless risk. But as the winds caressed his skin he could hear fate itself whisper that this was right.

For the first time in years he bared his face to the world.

“Go, Roland.” he cried out as he unleashed the spirits of his mask. The stampede of horses released rushed the boar, following the Paladin as the battle for dominance truly began.

This was not a matter of resisting the influence. This was a matter of beating the Demon Boar and winning. A ridiculous notion. The most fitting option for those two fools.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Reflection

It looked over the knight. This was the one who it was being told to accept, to stand alongside. “What are you? Human.” It knew of men, it knew of hunters instinctively. But this man held a certain wildness, or lack himself. This spirit saw the contrast between the two men it had seen before. That of the thief, and that of the paladin. Even in its ignorance it knew enough to know that there was something to this man. It was a most strange thing indeed. It found itself curious.

“I once held this shape, before I was turned into… that. But it matters not. Your shape will be acceptable. I will make due with it.”

With that the pressure that once overwhelmed him earlier when it first woke up bore down upon Roland once more. The bloodlust of the demon boar, its instincts filled him as it tried to make him into us. A monstrous human. The fury of the boar filled him, something that would overwhelm a human and irrevocably transform them from the mentality of a man to the mentality of a calamity.

What was the mind and will of a single human’s personality to the nature of such a beast?

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@reflection

The love to accept, the love to forgive, the love that accepted the faults of the now in the hopes of a growth towards the future.

In a sense the core of their love was very similar.

Well, but how would it carry him through against that thing that he dared to try and make part of him?

???

It stirred. Still remembering the taste of blood, the feeling of its first thoughts as it sluggishly came to awareness before it was thrust into slumber again. It surged, pushing against Roland's mind as it sensed what could be as a feast to it. Adapt, adapt, adapt. The core of its existence was adaption. It was awakened, it became aware of the world, of its existence. It was an arm, it was a beast. It was a beast in the shape of a human arm. It was linked to that man, and yet it was itself.

It feasted upon the flesh offered to it and found it agreeable. To devour hands as a hand, to devour human flesh while mimicking human flesh.

What a strange circumstance.

Yet it would deal with such things. Its psyche was forming in a sense, the spirit slowly awakening as the seal was lifted. Yes. There was much to entice and encourage the growth and wildness of such a boar in this city. But right now it was confronted directly, coaxed into a meeting. Before it could rampage, before it could truly attempt to take over the body it was connected to through brute force, to make the distinction of him into me, it found that a man and a horse was there.

The core nature of the demon boar was evolution and adaptation. To grow towards a purpose and to morph to fulfill its needs. So to be confronted with something new was something it could work towards.

Frustratingly it was not able to so easily overwhelm and simply take the body of the Paladin for its own.

So it would listen. Lulled by the arts of the Shaman it would listen.

The communion with the spirit would in the end rely on Roland himself. Yet with his own experiences and knowledge Tlilpojuan would guide him and open the chance. The proper place of an animal spirit was to stand with man, to be invoked as a source of power, and knowledge. A teacher, a guardian.

Well, he had worked before with creating a nexus, or introducing spirits to his body. But to deal with a spirit with another spirit welded onto it… That was a new step. Still, even if he was not his brother in this one aspect he would be able to match that man.

The location he chose was not one merely for the scenery. Despite the fact that they already held the spirit with them this choice of the land that was most pure and wild was to establish a grounds most suitable for such a communion, a vision quest. A place he treated with his magecraft. All he asked for them was to allow Roland to guide him.

The hypnosis of the American Shaman, the reminder of his purpose and love. A relaxed consciousness that allowed an understanding and connection with something wild and inhuman, a firm core that would without compromise hold the shape known as Roland.

To dance for another, to invite and guide another. Despite the stakes there was no worry. Even as the calamity that threatened all of man was born within the city, the horse danced.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Reflection

DDD

“Saber.” he called out

“Before we embark onto any new fights, before we decide to fight for the grail or for peace we must tend to the matter of your arm.”
He began to walk out of the meeting, stalwart in his stride. There was no sense of disrespect or disregard for the problems that faced Fuyuki, merely the aura of a man who knew he had to be somewhere else, whose role was not meant to be played there.

“I accept the conditions that are agreed upon, within humane reason of course, by this group. But there is no real place for someone like me in deciding such regulations or conduct. Instead there is a matter I must take care of, please excuse me.”

This land is painted back to what is beautiful, to what is untouched by man. But that does not mean it is peaceful, that does not mean it is kind. The tragedy and blood that were at the genesis of this wildland were not quite washed away by the storm, or so he believed. In a sense it was a taste of what terrorized man before now, while also being the cost to transition into this modern world.

He said before he’d selfishly accept the suffering and deaths of others. But it had to be used as fuel. Consume, consume. Burn that gut-twisting nausea and horror into your mind. Never forget it, never let it stop pushing you.

One of the dismantled guns that littered the ground from the earlier disarmament was crushed under his foot, the metal whining under his strength and weight.

Miyama - The Beautiful Land

In a field of grass and flowers Tilipojuan waited.

“Roland. I congratulate you on your journey. It was a joy to see, and my heart is warmed by the sight of your blade in your hands once more. Well, your hand. One of them is not yours after all, not yet anyway.”

He turned around.

“There will be more foes, but before you face them you will have to earn your second arm. Animal spirits are my field of expertise but I am a far-cry from the talents of my brother who I had thought I had slain over this mask I wear. The heir of our people, a great shaman and a man of great intelligence and cunning. Yet his cruelty, or perhaps worse, simply a lack of care was even greater. It could be said to be my own foolish mistake, but I traveled west with a trophy that became this mask, and he took it as a personal slight. Outcasts of our people in a sense and yet the center of them as the ones who inherited a path, my path has left our people bereft.”

He shook his head. “But this is no longer the age where people are bound by their blood, or by the greater whole. More and more people are born until an individual life is but a drop of water in a deluge of rain. Yet despite that every life shines greater and brighter, for we each are simply just ourselves. Thousands upon thousands have died and it is not just the community of Fuyuki suffering a loss. No, it is men I have met. I have drunk with a man named Kusamori Fujio as he spoke on his hopes, apprenticing under a clayshaper’s guidance to make works of art he considered beautiful. I have slain a man named Kusamori Fujio as he was driven to maddened fright, the hands that should have only held potential and beautiful things holding a knife as he stabbed his fellow men again and again, the notion of mercy or sanity gone due to his inner demons.

A clenched fist rose out of the grass. “I have always passed by the street noticing a man who walked with his son on his shoulders whose name I only know because of his fellow men passing by who offered their own cheers, crying out to him, “Good afternoon Ushio. How is your wife?”

His palm opened, revealing and releasing a fistful of petals, once white but dyed black and red from the grime that still covered the American. It formed a mournful spiral that danced in the wind before the air seemed to settle as though listening to the man’s words.

“There are many more, but that does not matter anymore. Their lives are tragic, their ends are tragic whether it is brought by their own actions or not. I do not fight to avenge, I do not cling to the past. To begin with these are not my people. Nor did I hold any grudges towards the men of the west for my people.”

Slaughters, disease, slavery. The degradation of castes and the many tragedies born of the conquest of the New Land. They were things that smoldered still in the hearts of those who shared his blood. There were those who also wished for their own land, to be independent and separate from the world that forced itself upon them.

There were many injustices. He was not blind to them, but he was not one who would heed their call.

“To begin with… if one were to fight for those who were fallen, then it is only after there is no longer a need to fight for those still around. I am a fool Roland, but I am a happy fool. Even after these sins, even after that horror I can still smile. Is it disgusting? Perhaps. But I must smile for myself. I weep for others, I will fight to keep those of the present part of it, but I will trample over the past if I must for the future. For mine and others.”

Nagato once said he’d probably make a better teacher than him, or that sorcerer. But now that he thought about it, what did he really teach Hideyoshi other than how to use his body?

He’d have to reevaluate the meaning of being a teacher, and see if he truly could be one. It was quite preposterous but if he is to be reborn as a teacher then let us see if he could teach a legend.

“What gives you the strength to go on? You said you fight for love, but what is the full extent of it? It is not merely for the love of a woman, for you fought many things even before. I love this world, Roland. I love it despite its ugliness, and I love what it could become even if I may never see what lies in the future that will remove the stain and scars of now.

A man who would journey forth. A demon who cruelly accepts the color of black, that which accepts all light, all color unconditionally. No wonder he ended up such a grimy and sorry sight. It mattered not how good and bad. He only looked foolishly towards the future. He was not blind to the past but he would consume it and trample it for the sake of the now.

Perhaps then… another color could be attributed to him. A man who crafted himself into a beast while extolling the virtues of humanity. What a strange thing he was. Despite its contradictions and oddities his disposition could only be called the purest Blue.

“Sit down, close your eyes.”

He began to coax Roland into a trance while bringing himself into one himself. Dance, sound, drink. Yet even as the rituals of self-hypnosis were brought forth, he continued to ask of Roland of what was the core of his love.

What were the feelings that would form the core of himself to become a blade as unbreakable as the one that hosted miracles?

Even if it did not come yet at the time, even if he did not know the true nature of the calamity that would soon visit Fuyuki, no, the world and humanity. His question was perhaps simply a matter of “What sort of love will you oppose the Liberator’s love with?”

What love bound you to the shackles of the world? that made this order of ours so dear?

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@CorpusMundum

Percival Lily

Miyama Town - The Pure Wildlands

Where only one man rested at peace while the world was met with calamity and legends gathered to discuss the repercussions of their presence the silence and undiluted presence of nature was intruded upon by a single boy.

“Hey.” he called out. The word was casual, yet the feelings behind them were filled with his trepidation and a twinge of guilt. In life there was no need to think about their meeting, little thought given to the man he slayed to become a knight. No matter the fact that he took his armor, no matter the sins the Red Knight may have committed, or he, Lancer himself.

He set his spear down, the wooden javelin that had grown so large, reaching out with dozens of branches like a small tree, the possibilities and paths that could have been represented with each one. There were many events that shaped him in life, and many events that shaped him in Fuyuki. What was Percival of the Round Table of Camelot was not the exact same person as the one who stood here, but there was an inclination of growth due to the predetermined end and growth that was his legend. A lily was a servant that grew towards the culmination of their journey, and a servant was a concrete completed existence. A lily then was simply a vessel that lacked the last finishing touches that completed it. What it would become was already defined, its shape molded and cast. Yet a end paradoxically was not something promised by virtue of the different could be’s that manifest from a journey.

He would without a doubt grow to become Percival the Grail King.

He would without a doubt become simply the Percival of Fuyuki.

What lied at the end of this contradiction?

What branch would bloom? What would the end of him be?

“I’m here. Ither."

He spoke to the one before him, to himself and to the city that wept.

“There’s something I need to do.” he called out to the knight. “This weight is too heavy to hold. I’m still just a kid, I can’t save as many people as a knight. Even if I were a knight, even if I were him it wouldn’t be enough. I need to go beyond, I need your help. You’re someone who was just a stepping stone for me, someone who I killed before I understood the weight of lives, the meaning of the world and life I wanted to enter.

He stilled his body, the shakes stopped as he looked down at the city. “There are so many deaths I’ve seen, so many powerful people. Yes, even at my height it isn’t enough. If you were the one who managed to bring an ignorant bumbling fool into the life of a knight, then maybe you can help me reach even further?”

He was no longer clad in the clothes that were provided to him by his mother. He was no longer clad in the protection that was the Red Knight. All he had was the spear that represented him, the tree watered by his tears, that grew with his struggles. Yet it wouldn’t reach, it can’t reach. All he’s done was try to clean up after the sins that had occurred.

In a sense he never prevented anything, he never truly saved anyone. Triage at best, nothing but a patchwork response by a boy. He’s been guided and directed to try and solve problems. But all he’s done was simply cut down the evergrowing weeds that encroached endlessly. What use was that guidance if he couldn’t simply stop things before they got bad in the first place?

What use was he if even with such a guidance this was all that he could do?

So he silenced the voices for now.

He confronted Ither alone, whether he would be rejected or accepted. Whether that took the form of words or the crossing of blades.The young boy confronted the man whose guise he wore. If his childhood was marked by his time in the forest, ignorant, then his adolescence surely was when he wore the guise of the Red Knight.

Was he trying to simply reach out for something that wasn’t his rightful place? Or would he become what he truly wished for. Perhaps he would die from his foolishness. But then at least it would finally claim him as a victim instead of others.

“You already know, but I’m Percival.”

But what did that mean?

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

The Sensei

DDD Hot Springs - Miyama Town

Stirring to wakefulness, he found himself surrounded by an array of rather colorful individuals.

Ah… right. He was there at the meeting. Where was it again? What day was it. The events of yesterday were processed by him in his sleep, along with the memories of the past

Well, that aside there was the matter of Roland crashing through the door. More importantly was the fact that he was crashing through the door and walking in with -that- in hand, quite literally. Or was it as hand?

Mhm, the Einzberns, the Tohsakas. He could not truly comment on the two as a pair, but it was a continuation and a progression of his pupil he could not look down upon. Perhaps a bit of that horse wine would make a good celebratory gift. Then again he wasn’t really a horse. Hmm, what could he give Hideyoshi in the end? Perhaps there was nothing. He was his pupil in the way of fists, but as far as magecraft and in life he was no more than a wandering soul who sometimes came into his life.

Still, the matter of Fuyuki was a matter he took to be one of his own.

“Saber.” he called out mentally. We will talk about your arm after the meeting, but for now-

He looked to the other masters. Many of them he had not met, in the end seeing few humans on the field. So many masters and yet none of them were foes that he faced. How strange that they were all brought out by this meeting as their first meeting.

“Tlilpojuan Perellenosanchez “ he introduced himself. “But more importantly I have seen the problems in the city of the rioting people and I believe there is someone who is making use of the discontent of this city.”

He shook his head. “In other words, someone who is encouraging and giving direction to the various problems that already exist in Fuyuki. That person, I believe is my brother.” He looked over to Hideyoshi who arrived recently as he spoke, even as his words were directed to the entire room. “A man that should have been dead. A man who brought destruction when he last visited Fuyuki. The incident at Ryuudo, six years ago.” A statement that was something that would tug at the memories of those who were locals and familiar with the happenings in Fuyuki City.

Six years ago when the Ryuudo Temple burned, when a dispute that was somewhat unclear even to the current Tohsaka, being a matter of an invading magus that was apparently handled by the prior generation Tohsaka. Or perhaps that wasn’t the case after all.

“I witnessed him at the site of the riots before wandering here to the meeting. If he is in Fuyuki at this time then it is impossible to consider him anything but a master. The heir of my family’s path, and gifted, he is most definitely someone who should be considered dangerous.”

He stuck his hand into one of his saddlebags to grab a bottle of wine. The black-stained shroud that he now wore fluttering with his motions in a way that sent particles of soot and blood out, a small reminder of the tragedy filling the air with its unpleasant scent.

“I had been planning to talk more about this, since it’s time… especially with it becoming a concern that isn’t just a unpleasant story anymore. There are more troubles in the city facing us masters of course. But I believe he will also be a problem. He will definitely not be here, and he holds no love for people.”

Lancer - Percival (Lily)
Harbor to ???

It has only been four days since he last saw this ocean at this harbor. His feet were dipped in the water, swishing around idly to enjoy the sound of the water swirling around his body, and the chill of the liquid against his skin. The sound of the water splashing about slowly grew louder overtime as he mulled over his time in the war. How different this land looked after all that had happened, how different these waters were.

No.

Despite all the deaths, all the misfortune and the great world-changing mysteries Fuyuki itself did not truly change. The world was as it was and yet everything seemed different. It was simply a matter of the lens being changed. Warped, changed in shape. His saint graph itself now fluctuated. Ah, how different the same things were now that he could see and understand.

His feet began to splash stronger and stronger. The water began to fly up and splatter against the ground, sometimes even spraying across Lancer’s face.

There was a lot to carry, a lot to protect. He was doing more than just wandering around having his fun. But he supposed that one core thing didn’t change.

Sorry master, he’d continue to be selfish a bit longer.

He rose up and began to head towards the next battle that held so much weight. No longer in the water, he could no longer mask the shaking of his feet caused by fear as they took him towards that next fated tragedy.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

The Sensei

DDD Hot Springs - Miyama Town

@manythings @phonic @seirei no hai @addamas

He walked.

Ah, his leg stumbled.

“Are you sure we should let him in?”

“Ah, he’s a horse, what’s the worst he can do?”

“I think it’s a p-”

“Aaah, let him in. He’s waddlin-...trottin here!”

His balance was completely off. This was not a matter of carrying himself properly, of showing the discipline attained by him. It wasn’t the matter of walking properly either. He was struggling to move, each bit of distance that he covered a bit of an ordeal as his world swam, as the recent events played through his mind like a broken tape.

He fought many people, he killed many people. He saw many murders, he saw many tears. Killing the people of Fuyuki to save the people of Fuyuki. To strike down the gangsters as though he were hunting beasts rather than fighting as a martial artist. Yet what chilled him the most was the face of that one man.

That man.

Yes, that man who he most definitely put an end to. Somehow he had survived? Somehow that man returned?

The flames that bathed the mountain. The blood that coated his fist. The laugh of a man broken. No, that man was regrettably broken a long time ago. A man broken different, distorted. The values of normal humans were not quite his. Or perhaps rather it was that he didn’t recognize them as applying to people?

Yes.

To that man, humans were not humans.

What walked the earth were like what their magecraft turned them into. Beasts who walked in a false light of knowledge.

He saw him in the streets. A smile on his face as he walked through the carnage.

In his fog, in the haze of the streets that woke him up. It was only for a moment, yet the world around him stopped. Shocked into a pause. He saw him. That presence was dark, resentful. It was like a microcosm of the feelings that had spread out in this riot.

Yes, he surely was hated by that man.

While there was no proof he knew deep down that his presence here was no accident. He had a hand in the happenings in the city in some way. Perhaps he had even started the events that began this tragedy?

He wouldn’t put it past him. He was always clever, always good with people.

In a way he knew him the best of anyone. In a way he knew him the least. So different, and distant.

...Brother...

Without paying the world around him much mind Tlilpojuan came to rest before he realized it. While the presence of another master was accepted in the gathering quite naturally. What no one would have realized was that he fell asleep, his mind wandering off tormented by dark memories and thoughts brought to life from his fatigue. All the while he was still standing. Still draped with that blackened shroud, and splatters of blood tainting his outfit.

Well, he certainly looked at place with all the penguins around at least.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

The Sensei

Miyama Native District

Assaulted Yakuza Safehouse -> Southwest Quarter

The men who ran in a panic, wrestling with their fellows to leave. Those who were crushed, broken in body and ruined in the wake of the Black Demon God’s advance. The men who ran from the various firearms, screaming about the flames as the fire serpents continued to chase down those who grabbed at them. As the offense broke more and more they returned to the fists of Tlilpojuan, no longer required for the task of hunting down those who would use those weapons of death that would turn the tide of this battle. A mound of burning bodies, a hellish tragedy. He was numb to the smell, he was numb to the sensation of gore dripping from his fists. But that only made the pain of his heart even greater.

The molotovs earlier had been smothered and pushed away with the work of the helper spirits that had been called to the site. While at the other sites the buildings reinforced with spirits, and guarded by guardian spirits. Lion animal spirits utilized as a base, brought to act due to the image held by the people huddled in the sanctuaries. Were defended enough that the invaders were repelled.

There were casualties on both sides, and there were many deaths that came out of this nonsense. Yet he would, at least to assuage himself, consider it a victory.

But there was no time to rest even then. Through his spirit familiars he saw the barbaric execution of men on the streets. What even was the point of this? They shot and shot, killing others, lording themselves above.

Was this how his ancestors felt during the invasion of their lands?

No matter how disgusting it was, he did not feel a burning hatred. They too pursued their own goals, even if he could not see the reason. But he would condemn the result of the action, he would stop it.

Against those however… in these different circumstances he’d need more than just a heart and his fists.

Gathering a number of spears, and a blanket, invoking spirits into them, he set out to slay those who simply shot to lift themselves higher.

The invisible waves that rolled out and changed the atmosphere of the building, the ashes that he spread, blowing in a windless gust. Another shrine, another place to rest. Just in case.

Well then, now he can begin.

The first strike against the Maifa came against one of the smaller groups. A duo walking about on an idle patrol assaulted. A wooden spear came whistling out from the shadows of an alleyway to rip through the side of one of the two, ripping through his body and spilling his entrails upon the ground. At the same time, rushing into action the moment the spear left his hand, covered by his blanket repurposed into a shroud that was colored in black soot, the Horse of Fuyuki rushed at the other man.

He took a breath.

The distance was closed, the speed of Tlilpojuan exceeding that of men.

The gangster saw his friend fall, both of them struck by surprise. Gore sprayed across the ground. His attention was drawn to the figure rushing towards him. The spear redirected in air, shooting back towards the hand of the man who threw it. The Gangster’s attention was divded by the whistling noise of the spear coming at him from behind. That distraction was fatal.

Crush the heart. No, at this level it would be a complete destruction of the functions of a human being. The devouring of a life.

Moving according to the techniques known as Step Movements, a wide-spread and potent martial arts skill, Tlilpojuan seemed to suddenly appear before the mobster in the small amount of time he wasn’t focused on him.Utilizing special movements, the blindspots of the enemy, and synchronizing their breathing it became an art that It was not merely speed, it was not the erasure of distance from one and their target. A combination of multiple phenomena, of multiple techniques. At its highest it was even a Sage Art that would be taught by Tengu.

He stepped in, cratering the ground under his foot from the force required to stop him, rupturing the street. That power transitioned into his fist, Tlilpojuan using the strike of the Four Meteor stable fist. His fist carved through the body of the man, his bones and flesh bending to its shape. The ribs broke, the heart and lungs were mashed into a slurry, and the shockwaves burst and minced the rest of the organs. The man’s body was launched to the side of a building and with a large crash, the oozing corpse fell against the ground.

Ah.

Who are you? Came the question.

Don’t come near me.

It hurts.

Without spending time to declare himself, without spending time to finish off what was so clearly a fatally wounded foe, without looking back or any amount of hesitation the black-drobed figure left in that dazzling inhuman speed the same way he came.

What are you?

Was it a cruelty? Was it a form of disrespect?

Ah, it must surely be.. a demon.

No. There was no need to admonish them, there was no need to curse them, there was no need to make them repent. They simply were the ones that he needed to fight… to kill.

He left because there was no time to spend to the past, to the dead, when the living were in so much need. Look to the past, honor the past, lament the past. But no matter how many centuries of pain you piled up.

A single tear of the now was heavier.

So he retreated, before he was discovered, before he’d be mowed down.

Against these foreigners he could not afford to make it a fight. Their bullets would pierce him, and even if he could survive and heal from a shot or two, it was also very possible that a single bullet would end his life. Even with the defense of the shroud it was better to avoid a hit all-together. Steeling himself to be a demon, he engineered what could only be called slaughters.

With the guidance of his spirits, his knowledge of Fuyuki’s streets, his own abilities and his prepared arms he would force them to flee themselves. There would be no more executions.