Those Who Take the Sword
by hereLiesThisTroper
A 'To the Stars' Spin-off
By Hieronym
Based on the Anime,
Puella Magi Madoka Magica
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Acknowledgement:
To takerfoxx, for introducing me to the world of PMMM and inadvertantly to TtS. I was searching for his work, Resonance Days in FF when I instead stumbled on TtS. Thanks bro, I owe you one.
To Larry Brooks, author of 'Story Engineering'. Thank you sir for the insights you shared. Watching movies will never be the same again.
Lastly to Hieronym, for giving me the opportunity to hone my skills in writing. The knowledge I acquired-from relearning of basic grammar to discovering the core competencies of story writing-was only possible due to your suggested spinoff. A many, many thanks.
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Chapter I: Calling Clarisse van Rossum, Part I
Daemon Hunt
Fault of History
War of the Worlds
Fortress of the Mind
Then Jesus said to him, "Put your sword back into its sheath, for all who take the sword will perish by the sword."
–Matthew 26:52
Great Britain declared war on Germany at 11 o'clock last night.
The Cabinet yesterday delivered an ultimatum to Germany. Announcing the fact to the House of Commons, the Prime Minister said: "We have repeated the request made last week to the German Government that they should give us the same assurance in regard to Belgian neutrality that was given to us and Belgium by France last week. We have asked that it should be given before midnight."
Last evening a reply was received from Germany. This being unsatisfactory the King held at once a Council which had been called for midnight. The declaration of war was then signed. The Foreign Office issued the following official statement:
Owing to the summary rejection by the German Government of the request made by his Majesty's Government for assurances that the neutrality of Belgium will be respected, his Majesty's Ambassador to Berlin has received his passports, and his Majesty's Government declared to the German Government that a state of war exists between Great Britain and Germany as from 11 p.m. on August 4, 1914.
A statement made in London last night said the British Note to Germany was sent direct to Sir E. Goschen, the Ambassador in Berlin.
German troops have invaded Belgium. The Premier informed the Brussels Chamber yesterday, after King Albert had addressed the Deputies in a speech calling on the nation to defend its integrity. Mr. Asquith knew of the invasion when he made his statement in the Commons.
- The Guardian, Wednesday 5 August 1914 23.56 GMT
Are Demons also referred to as Daemons? I mean do anyone in TtS call Demons as Daemons?
I don't see why not. Alternate spellings…
- ttshieronym . tumblr . c(o)m / post / 47430453712
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March 10, 1918
"Move!" Elizabeth hurled herself toward Clarisse, pushing the purple-head down on the side of the street.
A second later, Westminster Abbey exploded.
Terrifying plume of smoke burst out from the century old church, sacred stained glasses shattered into millions of pieces, ancient masonry turned into flying debris, raining fire and destruction in their wake.
Dust blanketed the night sky, turning the light of the crimson moon into a yellow sickly hue.
Clarisse groaned. She was lying on the ground beside her partner—both were covered with grime and fallen ash. Her vision blurred, she could hear a buzzing noise inside her ears. She tried moving her hands but found they felt extremely heavy—her joints and muscles were screaming from the pain.
Get up. She told herself. The Somme was worse than this. Move!
With sheer force of will, she let out a snarl as she lifted herself back to her feet. Still unbalanced, she straightened her back and heard a cracking sound.
"Now that… That actually felt excru-"
Elizabeth tackled her back on the ground.
The veteran barely managed to bring her down before the statue of St. Edward the Confessor ricocheted above their heads. It tumbled and crashed on the front porch of a bakery behind them.
"Keep your head down." Elizabeth said.
"Go jump a bridge!" The purple-head shot back. She wanted to punch her partner in the face—flying saint be damned—but Elizabeth ignored her. The veteran instead stood up, took out her modified MP18 submachine gun, and started firing at the ruins of the Abbey.
"Heads up, something's coming."
Clarisse strained her eyes to focus on the dust fog Elizabeth was firing at but winced as she heard an unwordly shrill coming out from its direction. There, in the ashen rubble of the abbey appeared an ungodly creature—it's eyes burned like crimson embers, it's teeth sharp and cruel, and it's hide was crisscrossed with crude spikes and disgusting tentacles. It was a creature whose form she had never seen yet knew of its kind.
Daemon.
Specifically, a daemon that was a cross between a huge hound and a thing directly out of some horror writer's nightmares.
It scanned its surroundings. Like a predator, it sniffed the air for a familiar scent.
It cocked its head. Something was nearby. It turned its gaze toward the two magi.
Prey.
Clarisse's face lost all life—turning ashen white—when the beast let out a deafening roar and came charging toward them.
"Eli!" The purple-head immediately stood up, her pulse racing, her breath rasping as she tried to fight off the sheer terror she was feeling. "Run!"
But her partner only maintained her composure. She steadied herself—carefully aimed her sight at the center mass of the charging beast—then sprayed a disciplined burst from her mp18.
It had little effect.
Clarisse snarled her annoyance as she grabbed her partner's arm, dragging her to a sprint. "By King George you are an idiot Eli! You-"
Her words died on her lips as her instincts screamed of impending doom. Not even looking back, she halted and immediately casted a barrier of solid air and proceeded to brace herself.
She still went out flying.
An explosion knocked her out of her feet, hurling her couple of meters away despite the protection of her air-wall. True, the barrier had taken the brunt of the expended kinetic energy, but it still wasn't able to prevent her face from getting smacked on the ground.
When she opened her eyes, heaven and earth had reversed. The looming visage of the charging daemon—its jaws wide and open—horrified her into thinking hell was coming to eat her.
"Uh… Right."
That would have been her last words if not for Elizabeth slamming into the side of the daemon with such ferocity that the collision sent the monstrosity careening into a row of townhouses—flattening them into piles of rubble.
Her head still spinning, Clarisse staggered to her feet. She saw her partner calmly standing her ground—steam rising from her body as it tried to purify itself from the touch of demonic taint.
"You just have to save me right after I got pummelled by that dog huh? Not before huh? Well apparently, that's not how you save damsels in distress thank you very much!" Despite her sarcastic tone, she allowed herself to sigh in relief and give her partner a smile. For once, she thought she was already daemon food but once again her partner saved her life and—
The daemon charged out from the rubble and hurled itself toward Elizabeth.
"NO!" Clarisse's heart sank at the sight of the enraged daemon clawing at her partner. "Eli!"
But the veteran anticipated the attack and had blurred away, almost at the second the daemon was about to mangle her. An instant later, she reappeared behind the hellhound, bearing a Mauser 'Tankgewehr'—a German anti-tank gun loaded with 13mm armor piercing cartridges.
Elizabeth aimed her weapon and fired.
The shot tore out parts of the daemon's hind carapace, causing dark disgusting vapour to seep out. The hellhound let out a wet-lupine growl—enraged at the hurt and pain it received.
But before it could move, a dozen grenades flew at its face and exploded. The hellhound was engulfed in a fiery plume of fire and smoke—its face was horridly bloodied. Black ichor drenched out from its mangled jaw which then evaporated upon contact with the ground.
Elizabeth didn't stop. To win against enemies like the daemons of the miasma, one must never falter with their assault. Aiming again her Tankgewehr, she fired two rounds at the beast.
This time the hellhound managed to summon its dark tendrils to shield itself.
One shot tore off one of its major appendages while the other pierced into its front paw—dark vapour oozing from the wounds.
Clarisse then appeared at its side, her open book aimed directly at its temple. The book shot out a fireball but the daemon dodged it at the very last second.
"What the?!"
Though bloodied, it was still a dangerous foe and Clarisse was foolish enough to underestimate it. It then swung its tail toward the dumbfounded purple-head sending her crashing into the ancient western walls of Westminster Palace.
The daemon roared at the direction where it batted Clarisse only to get shot at with fireballs instead.
The purple-head stood up from the rubble—clothes tattered, hair ruffled, eyes maniacal—her previous grogginess swept away and replaced by righteous fury. She screamed as she forced her book to shoot tiny suns at the hellhound.
The daemon endured a couple of the blasts retaliating with its own tendrils before finally succumbing to the pressure. A well placed fireball to the eye sent it careening to a street corner where it crashed and yelped in desperation.
The daemon hound was bloodied and in a lot of pain yet it stood up, still able to fight, and still focused on bringing down its prey.
It opened its seared eyes.
Elizabeth was aiming her Mauser Tankgewehr directly on its head.
The hellhound let out a low defiant growl.
She pulled the trigger.
And its head was blown into pieces.
The beast's body momentarily froze then with a groaning sound it started to dissolve into dark vapour—returning back to the miasma leaving out one tiny obsidian stone on the ground.
After a while it vanished.
With a long sigh, Clarisse collapsed on the ground exhausted. Her necklace of a soul gem grew slightly dimmer from impurities she had accumulated.
Elizabeth for her part maintained her composure. She took out a lighter and a cigarette from her pocket and started to smoke.
"Say Eli," Clarisse began.
"Yes?"
"Is it dead?"
"The daemon?"
Clarisse thinned her lips into a straight line. She scowled at her partner. "Why yes I believe I was asking for your professional opinion about the daemon. Why would you think otherwise?"
"Yes" Elizabeth replied nonchalantly.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." A hint of finality on the veteran's tone.
Clarisse gave her partner a skeptical look. "Are you really, really one hundred percent absolutely sure?"
"You are lying on the ground. Resting. With your guard down." Elizabeth pointed out. "If you are so unsure if it's dead then why make yourself vulnerable?"
"Not vulnerable… Tired…" Clarisse grumbled. "Tired. Sleep. Want to know if it's dead so I could sleep!"
"You're being ridiculous again." Elizabeth sighed.
"A cross that you have to bear." The purple-head remarked. She sat up. "Alright just humor me Eli, why is the daemon dead?"
"Because an anti-tank bullet to the head makes things stay dead." Her partner deadpanned.
"Huh." Clarisse grunted. For a few seconds she stared at her blond haired partner who was wearing a dirt-white vest and matching long skirt. In contrast to her partner, she wore a purple maiden dress with a conservative white bodice minus her usual headgear veil which she didn't use. She also wore boots instead of clogs as she swore to never use such wooden footwear ever again.
Though Elizabeth was her elder of five years, the veteran looked criminally much younger than her age would suggest even without the help of age magic. She could easily be mistaken for a student of some boarding school if not for her more mature and stoic demeanour as well as her unhealthy habit of smoking—not that it could ever affect a magi's health. Clarisse noted that Elizabeth would smoke a dozen packs a day prompting her to think that her partner was some kind of walking chimney.
The thought made Clarisse snicker.
"Is there something funny Clarisse?"
"Oh nothing," the purple-head chuckled. Then she went back to her first subject. "But that daemon was no tank! The 'anti' in your bullets is for tanks!"
"You know Clarisse," Elizabeth began. "I have this gut wrenching feeling that you are arguing for argument's sake."
"Your feeling does not serve you well my 'master'" Clarisse retorted. "I am well in my rights to ask if that mutt is truly dead. For all we know it will just make a comeback and be more sinister than before!"
"I have faith on my 'anti-tank' bullets," —Elizabeth inhaled and exhaled out her smoke— "and so should you."
"But we've never fought a daemon like it before so how do you know it's already dead?"
"Uh Clarisse, it dropped its grief cube," Elizabeth pointed out. "It has dissipated back to the miasma and—"
"That's what it wants you to think!"
"—and I've fought this type of daemon before back in Serbia. Vragovski Vuk is what the local magi called it. Terrifying but hardly unkillable."
"Huh." Clarisse grunted again, almost disappointed that Elizabeth ended her tirade of ridiculous questioning with hard facts. "Well I can't argue with that. Especially since I can't even seem to pronounce the name of that… Thing."
Of course she can't—argue and pronounce. Elizabeth was a veteran five years her senior—a prominent member of the Rangers—and was part of the daemon hunter exchange program with the other magi orders of other countries back when the world was not embroiled with this stupid and costly war.
Finally Clarisse stood up, brushed off dirt from her medieval designed dress—which had regenerated back to its untattered form—straightened out her hair and then turned her attention to the grief cube lying on the ground. She felt immediately annoyed just looking at it. She produced a little music box, raised it above her head, and uttered some spell under her breath. The obsidian cube immediately flew toward her and into her box.
When it was inside her box, she stared at it menacingly.
"Hey Eli," Clarisse started. "Did you know?"
"Yes."
"Di-did you know that this idiot that I hold in my hand ruined my evening?"
"No."
"I mean," Clarisse held out the music box while putting her other hand on her hips. "I could have been doing something productive tonight like, oh I dunno, researching a cure for polio or perhaps planning the end move of this war?"
"I highly doubt the merits of that statement." Elizabeth said nonchalantly.
"Again you underestimate my potential mein 'master'" the purple-head replied with the last word slurred sarcastically. "When will you ever admit that I am your greatest apprentice?"
"I am no master and you are certainly no apprentice."
"Aw art thou shy?" Clarisse grinned mischievously. She chuckled. "But you know what Eli?"
"No."
"You are also to blame for this mess we're in."
The ashen husk of Elizabeth's cigarette fell. The veteran savored the nicotine on her last smoke before turning to look at Clarisse. "Beg your pardon?"
"They always feigned ignorance—criminals I mean." Clarisse mumbled. She then started pacing back and forth in front of her partner while maintaining a smug expression. "You see Eli, I am an avid student of history and I am all too aware of how it is made."
"Hate to break your inevitable monologue Clarisse but we have to go." Elizabeth held out her wristwatch. "The miasma waits for no one."
"I-" Clarisse paused. She eyed her partner indignantly before closing them to concentrate.
After a few seconds she opened them back. "Nope. No daemons nearby, we're clear. So as I was saying…"
Elizabeth rolled her eyes before letting out a sigh. "Yes, yes it would be a crime if a historian such as you won't be all too aware."
"Yes it would," nodded Clarisse. "And as you can see, I am all too justified of accusing you of putting us in this predicament."
"I fail to see the logic." Elizabeth took another cigarette from her pack to begin another smoke, but decided to pass for now and instead placed it behind her ear.
"It only takes certain individuals to be present on a specific moment in time and in space for history to happen." The purple-head stopped her pacing as she faced her partner. "For example, do you know why this war ever started?"
"Uh because everybody hated each other?" Elizabeth suggested.
"Hah! That's not news at all. Everybody has been hating everybody ever since time immemorial!" Clarisse said. "Come on Eli, you can do better than that."
"Like I said, everybody hated each other," the veteran repeated. "It's only natural that we all go to war."
"Natural you say?" Clarisse gave her partner an unimpressive stare, her smirk turned into a frown. "I'm not voting you into Parliament."
"You don't vote people into Parliament."
"Uh." Clarisse realized something but decided to ignore it. "Alright listen… You're right. Everybody hated everybody but that wasn't the cause or event that triggered this war."
"Are you talking about the 1914 spark?"
"Yes!" The purple-head exclaimed. "Europe was already itching for war and it only needed a spark to ignite the powder keg!"
"We already know this. The Austrian heir was assassinated by a Nationalist Serb and the rest was history."
"Aye, but did you know why this event even succeeded in the first place?"
"Uh the Serb had the duke on his trigger sight?"
"Oh you only know the half of it." Clarisse started her pacing as she tried to recall her memories of the event. "I was there Eli, my 'wish' brought me there and believe me, there was no chance in the nine hells of Dante that the assassination would have ever succeeded if not for one wrong turn of the Archduke's car on an alleyway where Gavrilo Princip the Serb Assassin was eating a sandwich!"
Clarisse spun—her hand mimicking a gun—she aimed it at her partner. "Two shots Eli, and the Archduke and his wife were dead. Six weeks later, Europe was at war."
"And what exactly does this event have to do with my supposed 'crime' for the evening?"
Clarisse's expression immediately got back its mischievous grin. "Don't you see? If Archduke Ferdinand and Gavrilo Princip were not in the same place and at the same time, this war, this 1914 war would've never happened!"
"And?"
"And it's the same thing as this evening!" Clarisse finally pointed an accusing finger on her partner. "If you did not keep on insisting that we go on a drinking spree, we won't be caught up by this miasma in the first place!"
Elizabeth didn't reply or showed any reaction to what her partner was saying. Instead she calmly took the cigarette behind her ear and proceeded to lit it up. "You young lady, are being ridiculous."
"And the criminal expectedly denies any involvement." The purple-head spread her arms and bowed to an imaginary court. "Your honor, the prosecutor rests—the accused is clearly guilty of her crimes."
"I did no such thing." Elizabeth shrugged. "If I recall, it was your insistence of having another round that got us involved in this miasma."
"An insistence that could have been avoided if you could have controlled that alcoholic parched throat of yours!"
Elizabeth's current assignment was supposed to be no more than a simple errand of escorting Clarisse, who had spent a year confined to an asylum, back to France and back into the frontlines to join with the largest counteroffensive ever planned by the allies against the Germans now that the Americans have arrived. However, as fate would have it, a conversation about the finer points of alcohol led them to spend their last night of their leave on a drinking spree on London's less pleasant downtown taverns and were subsequently caught by the spreading miasma. Before they realized their dire situation, the two almost-drunk magi were no longer in the real world and were now inside the miasma with the daemon rampage already starting.
It was the shortest hangover the two had ever experienced.
Elizabeth chuckled.
"Oh? Has the criminal finally admitted guilt?"
In response, the veteran held out her hands in mock surrender. "I confess to my crimes miss prosecutor, I recognize my failing and will be sure to correct it. Clearly I have no chance against a brilliant mind such as yours."
"Hah! Your sweet talk has no effect on me!" Clarisse then stretched out a hand toward Elizabeth. "Now a twenty… Hmm… Yes, I'm a firm believer of money's pursuasi-"
Elizabeth used Clarisse's hand as a convenient ashtray.
The purple-head stared at the cigarette ash on her palm and frowned. "You know, you could get your head cut off doing this if we were in some tribal village in Africa."
"Good thing that we're not in Africa then." Elizabeth jibed.
"Good thing I haven't punched you in the face?" Clarisse countered, shaking off the ash from her hand.
"If it is of any consolation," the veteran put a hand on Clarisse's shoulder, "it's not only your leave that was ruined."
"Oh really?" Clarisse said as her trademark grin slowly creeping back. "Who then if I might be so bold to ask? Who 'Master'? Who?"
Elizabeth remained silent—her default reaction to Clarisse when she was being ridiculous.
"Well?"
"Shall I even honor that question with an answer?" The veteran replied.
"Yes!"
"Well how about I finish this cigarette—" she inhaled, savoring the nicotine before exhaling it out to prove her point, "—and we continue moving on to the center of this mess?"
"No. Answer me. Right now."
"Would it surprise you if I answered it's me?"
Clarisse gasped. "You? B-but that's impossible!"
"That anything could ruin my leave?"
"No, that you would even have a leave!" The purple-head put a hand on her mouth in mocked show of surprise. "You're always too uptight! To think you would have vacations it's… It's completely unheard of! D-Do the Ordo knows about this?"
Elizabeth made a straight line with her lips. "To call that reaction as an exaggeration is not an exaggeration."
The purple-head let out a hearty laugh. "Thank you Ministry of Redundant Ministry."
The veteran buried her face with her palms as she sighed. "Is there anything I can do to make you quiet?"
"You can shoot me." Clarisse suggested playfully. "That would be a start."
This got a genuine chuckle from Elizabeth.
"Shoot you?" The veteran blinked. "There are many ways of dealing irritating juniors other than shooting them."
"But it would be quick and straight to the point!" Clarisse made a gun gesture with her hand and aimed it at the veteran. "I'd do it if I had an irritating junior."
"You do realize you'll end up dead?"
"Yes, but at least you've taught your junior a valuable lesson."
"And that is?"
"That you have no other way of dealing irritating juniors other than shooting them."
Both looked at each other.
Both laughed.
"Still…" Clarisse changed the subject as she scratched her cheek. "What on earth was that annoying mutt doing here in London?"
The veteran remained silent. She didn't respond or acknowledged the purple-head's question—her demeanour immediately turning serious. She scanned the street they were in and noted the damages incurred. Half of Westminster Abbey, the half where the altar and focal resides, was no more. What was once a majestic house of worship was now a massive heap of lamentable rubble. The adjacent Palace of Parliament—the palace's west wing—fared no better. The symbol of British leadership also reduced to ruin through collateral damage from the destruction of the abbey.
Destroy the church and the state will follow? Elizabeth mused at such a tragedy.
Fortunately though, they were inside the miasma and as much as the devastation looks so real, none of these would be seen or felt in the real world. Everything here was happening inside the miasma which means the real Westminster Abbey and Palace were all safe and unharmed.
That was of course if the daemons inside could be contained.
Magi have been fighting daemons for centuries and if the Incubators were to be believed, ever since the dawn of civilization. The magi were at the forefront of keeping the whole human race safe from being consumed by such unworldly creatures and yet they all do it in outmost secrecy.
A typical average human would have lived and died never knowing they owe their normal lives to the magi yet even with their vigilant watch, there would always be victims—the unlucky ones—that fall prey to the deception of the miasma.
Elizabeth wondered about those non-magi that were snatched into this fake world. It must have been pure terror for them if they were conscious. It doesn't really matter now—she knew they'd all be dead before the sun rises.
No time to mourn, no time to grieve.
Beyond the street she could now hear explosions, the roars of other daemons and the attacks of other magi.
"Sleepers," Elizabeth finally suggested after a long silence. "These daemons didn't spawn naturally—someone brought them here through supersaturated grief cubes."
"Now how could that happen?" Clarisse asked. "I mean how could this city's home team fail to see such a threat? Sleeping on the job?"
"I-I don't know," Elizabeth said, "It must have been-"
Both girls immediately jumped from their current position as something fast and fiery fell out from the sky, crashing down on the ground they were previously standing.
The explosion caused the ground to collapse, forming a giant crater the size of a bus. Their surroundings was covered by smoke and debris.
Clarisse coughed and gagged. She spit the dirt out from her mouth. "Why?!"
"Move!" Elizabeth shouted. Clarisse acted on instinct and dodged mere milliseconds before being fried by a heat beam.
The veteran turned and aimed her Tankgewehr at the direction of the beam and fired.
The shot flew into the smoke cloud.
A second passed. Nothing happened.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. The beam had come from within the fog that had been accumulating a hundred meters away.
A part of her wanted to charge into the fog and deal whatever was lurking behind but a quick tactical assessment of the situation told her otherwise. Everything had suddenly become eerily silent—the distant noise of battle was nowhere to be heard.
This was bad.
The miasma sometimes played with one's senses forming illusions that could deceive those naive enough to believe it couldn't. To one's own hearing, the night might seem all too quiet and yet a battle might have been raging somewhere nearby.
She signalled Clarisse who had landed on the rooftop of a house to fall back.
But the purple-head wasn't paying attention to her—she was looking at something else. Elizabeth followed her gaze and saw she was staring inside the newly formed crater.
Something was inside—though she couldn't see it—she could however hear a strange noise coming from it.
Laughter.
Laughter?
Someone's inside! Clarisse's thoughts shouted to Elizabeth as she leaped from her current position and into the impact crater. Oh my God Eli! Someone's injured in here!
Clarisse report, who is insi-
Elizabeth immediately swung her Tankgewehr to her side and fired three salvos.
The shots went inside the thick fog and exploded behind—all three shots were a hit.
The fog dissipated for a moment—only for a moment—and the veteran caught a glimpse of the face of their new enemy.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
"Tch."
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"Oi hang in there!" Clarisse pleaded. In the middle of the impact crater she was in, lay a magi coughing up blood while laughing maniacally. Her entire right half was grossly burned and she was missing her right arm and leg. On her neck hang a necklace containing a gem. It was her soul gem and it was pitch black.
The purple-head knelt beside the injured girl. She took out a grief cube from her music box, placing it besides the girl's completely dark soul gem. The cube began siphoning out the darkness. "Oi injured girl! Look at me! Come on, eyes on the prize!" she said while snapping her fingers. "Look at-"
Clarisse! Shield!
Without asking any further, Clarisse turned and immediately casted a barrier inside the crater.
She deftly managed to block a flying tug boat.
The boat exploded upon impact.
"Bloody hell!" She cursed. She was able to repel the blast but it cost her to expend a lot of energy causing her soul gem to go a little dimmer. "This is the worst send-off party ever!"
Clarisse get out of that crater now! Elizabeth's thoughts commanded. Daemon sighted!
The purple-head made a quick assessment on the injured magi. "Hey can you-"
The injured girl continued laughing.
"–uh that would be no."
Uh negative Eli, injured girl here can't move.
Tch. Clarisse felt Elizabeth's annoyance. Very well, take care of her, I'll handle this daemon.
The purple-head then heard explosions outside of the crater followed by the eeriest noise she'd heard since the start of this evening. It was sudden and ominous—a deeply low lumbering baritone that resonated into the night air. It rumbled and she could feel the low frequency shaking the ground.
Climbing out from the hole she was in, she peered out and saw a cyclopean daemon that towered over ten stories high. It was incredibly alien resembling a squid with one gigantic red eye on the middle of its body. It had a number of tentacles with three main tendrils used as legs to walk around —a 'tripod' so to speak.
"Tripod?" Clarisse said dumbfounded. "What is this? War of the Worlds?"
"I. Fought. A. Martian!" Shouted the injured girl behind her. "It was bloody awesome!"
"Yeah you're priority I guess," muttered Clarisse. Then to Elizabeth she thought, are you sure you can handle this beast?
No. A pause. Another explosion. But she's priority. Help her.
Acknowledged. Without wasting any more time, she descended back to the girl who by this time was muttering nonsense.
"Hey mental!" She knelt beside her as she snapped her fingers again. "Come on, look at me. Focus on me."
The girl locked her eyes on Clarisse for a moment, smiled and then looked away.
"Hey!" Clarisse knew the danger of her going unconscious. She needed her to focus and stay awake even if she was seriously delirious.
Meanwhile the grief cube she left a while ago was already full and darkness had started once again to creep into the girl's soul gem.
"Uh this is not good." Clarisse muttered. She took another grief cube from her music box to replace the one already full. "Don't lose on me now you-"
The girl suddenly grabbed Clarisse' hand. "What. Are. You. Doing?" she croaked.
"You are badly injured but don't worry I'm here to help." Clarisse assured her.
The girl tilted her head as she gave her a quizzical look as if she had said something that did not make any sense. Then she began to chuckle and laugh again—her laughter echoing out everywhere. "Injured? I'm not injured!"
"Yes you are!" Clarisse indicated this as a good sign. Allow the girl to keep on talking, that way she won't lose consciousness. "You forgot to duck! And that's why you-"
"I SAID I'M NOT INJURED!" The girl snapped. She suddenly swiped away the grief cubes draining out the darkness in her soul gem. "T'IS BUT A FLESHWOUND!"
"No wait don't take that out!" Clarisse tried to pick up the cube but to her horror…
The girl grabbed her soul gem and with an action that the purple-head never thought was even possible, she crushed it.
"NO!" But it was already too late.
The soul gem broke, letting out a terrible scream as it lost all its inhibitors and the soul stored within started seeping out. All the while the doomed girl continued to laugh hysterically.
"I'M HAVING THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE!"
Clarisse could only watch in horror as the girl began to convulse and cough blood in front of her.
The dying girl looked at Clarisse and this time gave her a smile—a gentle smile—as if she was trying to assure her everything was alright—that this was for the better. The girl then weakly raised her remaining arm and pointed up to the sky. "They are coming…"
"W-Who?" The purple-head said, her voice cracking.
"The Hallows…" the girl whispered.
There in the crimson lit sky came a screeching noise. Clarisse looked up and saw three girls clad in black armor flying past over them in formation. Then came another three and then another—all flying toward the same direction.
The Hallows were considered to be the most ruthless of all the teams of the Ordo. They were all composed of veterans and have been involved in many battles of the war. They particularly earned their notoriety during the battle of the Somme where they took part at the bloodiest tip of the fighting.
Explosions immediately followed. The daemon tripod, unseen by Clarisse, blasted another low rumbling roar that almost sounded that it was in pain.
"Kill… the… martians…" the girl whispered and with that she drew out her last breath and went completely still.
The girl's cracked soul gem radiated its last light never to be lit again. It fell to the ground an empty shell.
Attention! This is a general broadcast, we are the Hallows! A commanding voice rang on Clarisse's head. This battlefield is now under our command. Report!
Clarisse didn't respond. She found out that her vision had become blurry. Without her noticing, tears had started streaming out from her eyes.
Why?
She took a deep breath. This was war and one must accept the cheapness of life. Remember the dead yes, but do not grieve. Only after the war should one grieve—many would still die yet one's tears were limited.
After calming herself down, she took out a small vial from her pouch and with a tiny drop of its contents, she applied it to the mouth of the dead girl.
She closed her eyes and whispered a soft prayer.
Ipse te custodiat,
Et perducat in vitam aeternam.
Amen...
For Clarisse and her kind, death was a constant companion—to die and not be in a state of grace was for many magi an unacceptable fate. Thus, the Ordo sanctioned each and every member believer the authority to administer the last rites.
However for Clarisse, there was still one 'rite' that she and only she could perform—a rite she definitely hates.
If given the chance, she would have gladly traded any power to be rid of it—would have gladly made another contract with the devil to change it—but this was not so. It was her fate and she had to accept it.
The battle outside the crater had grown in intensity. Stray beams went flying overhead and she could feel the ground shake as the tripod desperately bellowed its eerie cry after a roaring explosion.
She surmised the tripod was getting pummelled but as of now, it was not her main concern. She still needs to accomplish the 'rite'.
Clarisse steeled herself and took out her book.
This was a death ritual she had been doing ever since she discovered she had this kind of power. Wordlessly, she opened her book to an empty page.
It started to glow.
An orb of light began to form in front of her. At first it was just the size of a small ball but it gradually increased in size to form the contours of the dead girl.
The purely white apparition turned to face the opened book. It then stretched out its ethereal arms to touch it. When it did, the book exploded into a blinding flash of light.
Clarisse shielded her eyes from the flash. The apparition had vanished, and a number of empty pages on her book were now covered with illustrations and writings. The book had recorded the memories of the dead girl, preserving it on its magical pages.
Then Clarisse's pupils dilated as she suddenly fell on her knees, clutching her chest, unable to breathe. Her face contorted to a silent scream as the memories of the girl she just absorbed flooded into her mind. A montage of scenes from the life of the girl flashed in front of her.
The pain she felt from the absorption was unbearable—it felt like an eternity—but the whole ordeal only lasted for a few seconds and now she was left panting and exhausted.
This was not her first time using her powers. On the contrary, she had already absorbed the memories of seventy two magi since the start of the war. However, this was her first memory she absorbed ever since her long 'leave'.
Normally the pain would only feel like a sting but this one didn't.
Why?
Clarisse let out a sigh. She would have answers for that later. For now she needed to go back to Elizabeth.
Before she left the hole she was in, she gave a final look at the body of the dead girl. Bloodied, mutilated, and yet in a state of morbid peace, it would forever remain inside the miasma—forever denied the chance of a decent burial. Such was the fate of those who fall in the daemon's lair.
A heartbeat later, she closed her book and restrapped it back on her chain belt.
Name: Beckham Black
Born: June 21, 1903
Died: April 12, 1918
Type: Siren Knight
Team: Thirteenth Friday
Wish: To be strong and never be bullied again
Contractor: Juubey
The battle above her had died down. The last thing she heard was a screeching sound that resembled rusted steel collapsing. The tripod was defeated, its carcass laid sprawled on the ground like some deflated animal balloon—a row of houses were flattened by its fall. Dark vapour began seeping out from its wounds, slowly disintegrating it back into the miasma.
As horrific as it was, it was no match for a coordinated magi assault.
When Clarisse climbed out of the crater, Elizabeth was waiting for her. The veteran's expression was grave but for a moment both were silent.
Finally she gave her partner a weak smile. "She didn't make it Eli, the girl in the hole I mean… She's dead."
A pause.
"I-I see," the veteran let out a sigh. She didn't mind delving into the details of the girl's death—it was not her place to ask. Clarisse would have appreciated it if she didn't press such an issue but still—as the senior magus—there were some questions she needed to know. "Were you able to absorb her history?"
"Yes." Clarisse answered, her gaze cast down on the ground.
"Was she- was she part of the home guards?"
"No, she's from the Thirteenth. Apparently they were the first to respond and…" the purple-head took a deep breath as she concentrated to recall the memories of the dead girl—memories she didn't possess a while ago. "They were all wiped out. She was the last one or so she thought."
"A whole team…" Elizabeth managed to steel herself before nodding. "If that's the case then those we heard fighting in the distance are from other teams."
Unfortunately for them two, they were completely out of the loop with regards to London's defense as they were supposed to be assigned to the front. This was a mess they could have easily avoided if not for certain 'circumstances'.
"I believe so." Clarisse closed her eyes as she rummage further into Beckham's memories. "I think the Fools are also here and of course the Hallows."
"Ah yes them Hallows." Elizabeth concurred.
As if on cue, a Hallows magi wearing black-clad armor descended in front of them. On her chest plate was etched an emblem of three suns surrounding a pumpkin which indicated her rank as a Paladin of the Hallows. The Paladin had long raven-black hair which should have made her look elegant if not for the eye-patch on her right eye. Behind her, around ten meters further, other Hallows also descended.
She commanded an air of superiority and her expression was dead serious and grim.
Clarisse immediately went into attention and saluted the new arrival.
Elizabeth however did not.
The purple-head gave her partner a side glance. Are you an idiot? She's a Force Commander, a Paladin! Why are you not at attention?!
I'm a Ranger, Clarisse. The veteran reminded her. Ranks don't apply to me.
Oh. Clarisse paused. Right.
The Paladin was remarkably tall and well built, easily one head taller than the veteran or Clarisse. Very intimidating, yet Elizabeth kept her humours checked amidst the Paladin's penetrating scowl.
"Why is a Ranger and her apprentice taking a stroll inside this miasma without any form of notification toward the commander of the area?" The Paladin asked.
"Sir, if I may give a clarification," Clarisse interrupted. "This woman beside me is not my master. She just believes that she's one and I just pretend that I'm her ward."
Elizabeth suppressed a grin from forming on her lips. She was successful but failed to restrain a palm from covering her face.
The Paladin, on the other hand, ignored Clarisse entirely.
"The Thirteenth, the Fools and the Home Guards are the only teams that are present here," She listed. "You are not from any of them and as an extension, so is your 'not' apprentice." She made a quick menacing glare to Clarisse. "You should not be here. Why?"
The veteran studied the Paladin for a moment before remembering who she was. "Paladin Sabrina Hart, Lady Commander of the Hallows team." Elizabeth made a half bow. "Your reputation for bluntness precedes you."
"Bluntness is a scarce trait as of late." Sabrina replied. "Now Ranger, state your business. Why are you here?"
"Will you not try first asking my name?" Elizabeth asked nonchalantly.
"It depends on your answer, whether your name is relevant to me or not."
Elizabeth's lips tightened. She let the barbed remark slide, not really caring for any confrontation. As a Ranger, she had complete autonomy from the Ordo's hierarchy as she answers to no commander save the authority of the Council. This means that if she wanted to, she could choose to ignore the Paladin's inquiry and still get away with it. She could even choose to remind her of her place.
That of course was nothing but wishful thinking.
In truth, exercising her position would only further irate the Paladin and seeing the annoyance on her eyes, Elizabeth knew making her mad would prove to be a very, very bad idea.
Still it didn't mean she had to divulge everything about her reason of being here.
"Beer is the reason why we are here Paladin," the veteran took out a Bass beer bottle cap and presented it before her. "We are due to report back to France come tomorrow and so we decided to spend the last night of our leave by tavern hopping."
Sabrina scowled as she considered the veteran's explanation. She turned her gaze toward Clarisse who immediately gave her a sheepish smile.
"And if it wasn't for H. G. Wells and an overly imaginative miasma, I'd be rolling on the ground pissed off drunk right about now." The purple-head gibed.
"Watch your tongue magus." The Paladin snapped. "Do you think this is all just a game?"
"I-" Clarisse's face immediately turned serious. "Forgive me, I spoke out of turn."
The Paladin let out a grunt but did not pursue the issue. To the veteran she said. "On other nights I might have believed your explanation." Sabrina narrowed her one eye. "Getting yourself wasted is not my concern. However this is no ordinary night and neither is the enemy."
She raised her hand and the air resonated with the screeching sound of blades unsheathed. Behind her, the Hallows stood ready for the order of war.
Clarisse stood dumbstruck. She couldn't believe that another team had raised their weapons against them—their ally. As for the veteran, she remained unfazed by the sudden show of force.
"You are inside my jurisdiction Ranger and-" The Paladin's face turned expressionless and cold. "-I need you to stand down and submit yourselves for mind scrying."
Clarisse gulped. She felt a chill as she looked from one Hallow to the next. There were nine excluding their one-eyed leader and all wore expressions of death. She gauged her chances against them and concluded she'd be dead in ten seconds. Perhaps only five. Elizabeth may be able to hold her ground but not her.
The veteran on the other hand remained surprisingly calm and unflinching toward the provocative show of force. Being part of a group known as the elite of the elite, the list of things that could actually intimidate her were rather short.
"You do realize you are in breach of authority by raising your weapon to me Paladin?" Elizabeth warned her voice low and guarded.
"I'm not so sure about that." The Paladin replied. "I have heard no notice of any Ranger roaming around London."
"That only means you are not part of the loop."
"Or it could mean that you are an enemy in disguise." Finally she unsheathed her sword and swung it in front of the veteran just mere inches away from her face. "Ranger, this is not negotiable. Submit yourself for mind scrying or we will force you. Both of you."
"Are you serious?!" Clarisse protested. "No one can just impersonate a ranger! We're your allies not the enemy! We are as British and Throne loving as anyone of you here!"
Uh Clarisse, you're actually Dutch.
Shut up Eli.
The Paladin's one eye flashed with anger. "Oh really?" The Hallow approached Clarisse and stood so close to her that she had to step back. "The German sleepers were able to hide their presence for years under the noses of those inept Home Guards! Do not dare lecture me of what or what not our enemy could do!"
"B-But-" Clarisse pleaded. "But we're not your enemy!"
"That still remains to be seen." The Paladin said with finality. She turned her attention to the veteran. "If you are indeed a Ranger, then you would know this war has greatly weakened the Council's power. It can no longer afford the ire of one of their commanders. Threats of censor no longer work on me."
"Oh?" Elizabeth let out a sly grin. "Is that so?"
The purple-head watched nervously at the conversation between her partner and the mad Paladin. Though she and Elizabeth were definitely not the enemy—unless Eli went traitor without her knowing—they had no involvement with London's current incident and thus they had nothing to hide.
Or do they?
Clarisse's stomach churned when the cold realization of being mind scryed finally sank on her. Like an open fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded, all her secrets would be laid bare for the mind-seer to see. True, she was no enemy but would she want someone to read her past?
Memories, dark memories she vaguely remembered swirled in her head and the thought that this could be exposed to a mind-seer made her nauseous.
Before she knew it, her vision began to blur and her world seemed to stop. Elizabeth lay frozen with her face in mid-scowl while the Paladin held out an accusing finger, her mouth preserved in the form of a snarl.
Wha-?
Clarisse tried to blink, unsure as to what she was seeing, but then she realized she couldn't. Her mind tried to find an answer but she was finding it very hard to concentrate—her thoughts unachored and fleeting. Everything seemed to fade, the world in front of her slowly disappearing away.
She could feel her mind going numb, like her consciousness was threading very close between the boundaries of wakefulness and slumber. The world had gone silent and eerily still.
As a small concession, she was somehow lividly aware of all this things happening yet she felt utterly helpless and paralyzed. She couldn't even scream or cry for help as her mind succumbed to the thoughts of nothingness.
What- Her mind barely trying to ask the question. -was going on?
And then it hit her.
This was no physical malady she was experiencing—this was not a case of undigested beef sandwich gone awry—but the product of external forces.
Someone was reading her mind.
With sheer force of will, she blurted out the mantra of the Librarian, fortifying her mind and dispelling the illusion that was trying to consume her.
Her world immediately resumed as if there was no pause. The Paladin finished her sentence while the veteran shook her head. Clarisse could blink again, she could feel herself regaining control over her body and her mind quickly raced to reinforce her psychic barriers in preparation for another intrusion.
Somebody had just attempted to mind-scry her and she was a fool to have not raised any defense.
No, she had psychic defenses. Being a keeper of history, her mind was a formidable labyrinth—an enigma not easily trifled with by anyone. And yet, the scryer almost succeeded in disabling her.
With time flowing normally, she gritted her teeth as she let out a psychic challenge.
Show yourself! Her thoughts commanded. I'm telling you, we're not the enemy!
Physically, her eyes darted from one Hallow to another searching for the culprit. It was clear to her the Paladin was no mind-seer thus excluding her from her suspicion. However, the others were not so obvious. There was one little girl—hair knotted into twin tails—a clear noble-born who would have been perfectly at home with other young ladies of the royal court if not for the onyx-black scythe she wielded and the murderous grin plastered on her face. There was also a girl who was completely bald, with many fetishes and piercings on her face. In her hand she wore a pair of blade talons that crackled with the force of lightning. Beside the bald Amazon stood another girl with long raven-black hair and ghost-white complexion. In her hand she held a butcher's instrument, an enormous sword with runes and inscription etched on its blade. Her posture was crooked and timid but her eyes said it all as to why it would be unwise to get on a fight with her.
Clarisse quickly eyed the rest of the death-maidens, probing the surface of their minds for any minute sign of the culprit but found none. If the mind-intruder was with the group and not hiding in the ruins, then she was doing an excellent job of concealing her identity. All eight were magi of other expertise and none seemed to possess the gift of the mind-seer.
Wait.
The purple-head's brows furrowed. Something was not right. When the Paladin made her entrance, she brought with her nine maidens of death.
Clarisse only counted eight.
Oh no.
That was when her mind screamed as it sensed an aura of fury coming at her. She spun to the direction of the rage made manifest only to see the snarl of a hooded girl and the white bone knuckles of her fist.
Clarisse was too slow to react and her face got introduced to the full force of the hooded girl's attack.
The ninth Hallow made her entrance, and had just given the historian a hay-maker.
O-0-O-0-O-0-O
Authors Note:
Hieronym called and I answered.
Nine months ago, Hiero wrote on his tumblr account that he wanted someone to write a spinoff of his work, To the Stars (TtS). In this spinoff, he wanted someone to write a story that was set during World War 1—of which one could explore what would it be like for a magical girl (or for a magical organization) to exist on such grim dark times.
This got me intrigued and I immediately contacted him about a potential storyline.
Since this spinoff is set too far in the past from TtS and just 100 years before the events of PMMM, it was obvious I couldn't use any of the main characters of PMMM other than Kyubey. Fortunately though, TtS has one enigmatic character that I could use as this spinoff's main protagonist and that is Clarisse van Rossum, the Historian.
She's older than the Mitakihara Four and perhaps one of the oldest living Puella Magi on Earth.
This is her story, this is her past.
P.S.
For any of you who might have noticed, I am an avid Warhammer 40k fan and I must admit that this spinoff has been influenced by it. Of course I'm not saying a Space Marine or the Lord of Change would suddenly make an appearance here but the writing voice I used indeed has shades of W40k. Fortress of the Mind (the last 2k words of the chapter) is nothing but a huge shout out to Psykers and Librarians.
Knowledge is power. Hide it well.
P.P.S.
On an unrelated note…
Did you know, that if you gender-bend all Primarchs to cute teenage magical girls, 95% of W40k would still make sense?
Imagine Warmaster Horus Lupercal in a frilly magical dress.
Ave Imperator.
Revision History
1.00 Released on 2013/06/19. Word Count 9158.
1.01 Corrected some grammatical mistakes. 2013/06/22. Word Count 9158.
1.02 Fixed some mistakes pointed out by the following users: JimmyC, jan, lilmagi and beoShaffer. Thanks for pointing them out! Word Count 9216
- Also changed the name of the demon hound from Vrag Vuk to Vragovski Vuk as was pointed out by user lilmagi. Vragovski Vuk apparently is the correct Serbian term for Devil Wolf. Again thanks.
1.03 Corrected some grammatical mistakes. 2013/06/22. Word Count 9319.