Author's Note: One-Shot, heavily inspired by Soundtank's "I Fought For You" tribute. Reccomended to watch it once, and have it running when reading this.
The cinema was almost full when Jereld Myers walked in. Stopping at the entrance to the darkened chamber, the tanned thirty-five year old American pulled out the as-yet-pristine ticket stub and read out his seat number, for fear of mistaking the wrong row again.
"Gilly's gonna kill me if I sit in the midst of twenty teenage cheerleaders again." He cringed mentally as he imagined his wife's beautiful face marred with anger. Not that she had anything to be jealous about, anyway.
Sometimes, though, I wonder why I go through such torture for her. He read the stub again as he found his seat, and noted the title with some sense of boredom. Claymore: The Myth Uncovered? I'm here to watch a documentary about a historical group of girls thousands of years ago, whom have all probably died out, with no consequence whatsoever on human history. As a building engineer, Jereld naturally had a sense of pride in the works of art he constructed, the towering steel and glass titans that soared high into the sky, a landmark of his contributions to humanity. Humans were always the only ones whom shaped our past, designed our present, and whom would influence the future. Claymores? Heh, like a seven-thousand-year old organization and a few hundred people would have had an effect...
So absorbed was Jereld in his own rant that he missed his footing, and kicked against a slender leg. "Oh." He followed the long, stocking-covered limb up to its owner, a young woman with long hair and a face possessed of an almost-otherworldly beauty. "I'm sorry." He apologized, and the woman nodded once in acceptance.
Recovering his balance, Jereld took another step forward, then turned again, this time into the eyes of the same woman.
Whoa, did she just change seats so fast? He took a double-take, then his heart slowed its racing pace when he realized he was looking at a pair of twins. Oh...
Hastily finding his seat, Jereld had barely set aside his popcorn and large Coke when a familiar presence slipped by him. "Welcome, Gilly dear. Done with your makeup in the washroom?"
"I see you found your seat without incident." His wife of four years shot back, with an angelic smile which he found extremely captivating.
Never let it be said that Jereld Myers had never seen enough beauty. In his short life, he had been privy to the culture of the rich and famous, partied with celebrities and beauty queens, and even dated supermodels, but Gillian...
When he had first met Gillian, back at a rich young socialite's mansion, she was working as an assistant to a very wealthy real estate businessman. Even amongst the young, nubile women present, she exuded an air of assured confidence, a presence that drew her the attention of both men and women. Dazzling in a simple white dress, she had nonetheless stolen his heart in that instant.
And, after a whirlwind romance of three months, Jereld and Gillian Myers were married in France, in an exotic restaurant with ample view of the Eiffel Tower and the French skyline.
After that, though, Jereld had noticed a certain strange edge to Gillian, qualities that both accentuated her attractiveness and stoked his passion for her. For one, Gillian took vanity to a league in itself, spending hours on personal grooming. Spas, manicures, an array of personal hairstylists- She could match a film studio's makeup crew with her personal attendants.
For another, Gillian displayed extraordinary maturity for her age. For a twenty-six year old woman (Or so she had told him), she could predict market trends with remarkable accuracy, select products based on an extensive list of criteria, and was an excellent judge of people, even going so far as to give Jereld a personality brief of his clients before he had even met them.
Right now, however, his wife had pestered him for weeks to watch the debut screening of a documentary, and even persuaded him to drive two hundred miles north to another town to watch it, instead of at the local mall. Why he had even deigned to consider that outlandish request, Jereld didn't know. He wasn't the least bit interested in a historical show, and he had a business meeting the very next morning.
"Oh, be quiet, darling" A woman somewhere in front of him chided someone beside her, and Jereld watched with some amusement as her partner, evidently another woman from the hair silhouette, leaned over and kissed her. Oh, please, lesbians.
A quick glance around the theater revealed to him that Gilly, the twins to his left and the female couple in front of him weren't in the minority. For a documentary revolving around beautiful young women fighting demons, the theater was mostly filled with people of the fairer sex.
Just in front of him and to his left, a giggly woman and her handsome boyfriend enjoyed a pre-movie kissing session, chuckling as their lips found each other's skin over and over. To the front of the cinema, a woman in a long fur coat sat with a group of small children, most likely a teacher with her history class, Jereld assumed. Another scan of the audience behind him revealed two pairs of women sitting at opposite ends of the theater, and three more striking beauties sparsely seated in between.
As he was noting the audience, Gillian leaned over his lap, and tapped the closer of the twins on her right shoulder. After a short pause, the woman looked back, and a slight spark in her eyes indicated recognition. "Hi." Gillian greeted, and the haunting beauty nodded back slowly. "I recognize you." She intoned.
Just then, the opening credits rolled, and Gillian sprang back into her seat, before stroking her hair back into position. Jereld smiled at his wife's queer traits, then took her hand in his and settled back to watch.
It was a fairly standard documentary, with the host decrypting the legend of Claymores, then launching into a breakdown of their hierarchy. Jereld for one was beginning to lose interest. Granted, most of the women they had sketched from historical evidence would have been considered attractive, but the long diatribe about their mysterious 'Organization', their ranking numbers and their daily routine of slaying these monsters called 'Yoma' was not catching onto his short attention span.
"Gillian." He whispered to his wife. "Just for kicks, if you were a Claymore, what number would you like to be."
The woman smiled gently, knowingly. "Well, dear..." She pursed her full, luscious lips. "I'd love to be number three."
"Isn't that strong?" Jereld half-joked in awe. "You're so slim and dainty, how would you even survive one of those ferocious beasts?"
She broke out into soft laughter, and her eyes crinkled with a smile that reflected knowledge far beyond her. "I guess... I would be lucky then, Jerry, maybe read out those Yoma personalities, and see what move they'll make."
"Haha, like it'll work that way." He pecked her lightly on the cheeks, then turned back. The host had evidently made a trip to the northern snowlands, and even through the thick cold-weather clothing, he could almost feel the crew's shivering.
"And for our closing segment, we are here at Kirrin Fjords, where the ancient town of Pieta once stood." The host spoke through chattering teeth. "Having braved the piercing cold, an excavation team has uncovered undisputed evidence of what proves to be the most courageous last stand in our eight thousand years of existence."
The camera panned, and filling the screen were the demolished remains of a small town. Massive chunks of what used to be grotesque flesh were scattered all over, frozen hunks of monsters of all manners of nightmarish shapes and colors.
Jereld was stunned. "Darling..." He nudged Gillian. "Those are..."
"Monsters." She replied. "Awakened Beings. The most powerful predator that has ever existed."
"These chunks of armor and flesh belong to Awakened Beings." The host confirmed seconds later. "Recently-uncovered evidence near the ancient town of Staff has revealed those to be a powerful, gigantic class of monsters, some standing up to four storeys tall, and possessed of immense strength and terrifying power. Monsters which even in today's battlegrounds would prove to be extremely tough opponents."
"Information from historical experts have also proven without a doubt that those monsters, coupled with their small 'Yoma'-class species, have exclusively targeted humans, and at that time, were completely unparalleled in terms of firepower, strength and speed. They would have hunted humanity into extinction."
"These horrors had evidently attacked this town, and a multitude of them had died by the looks of it, carved apart, slashed open and hacked to pieces. The question is, against what?" The camera turned and zoomed in on a nearby hilltop, and Jereld felt Gillian squeeze his hand.
Arranged on a snow-covered plateau were gleaming stands of metal, which upon closer inspection turned out to be swords. Massive swords. Claymores.
"A few days ago, our chief excavation officer discovered this collection of weapons, which are undoubtedly wielded by Claymore warriors. Beneath them are the bodies of warriors, half-Yoma fighters whom fell in battle and were buried there, with their swords as grave markers."
"Etched onto the blades are symbols, which were a warrior's recognition of acceptance into the ranks of actual fighting Claymores. The fallen soldiers weren't any run of the mill infantry. They were the elite of the elite. In our context, they were the few, the proud, the Marines of their time."
"Think about it." The host's voice turned somber. "On a cold winter's morning unlike this one, twenty-four Claymore warriors left their territory, ordered to assemble here. Twenty four warriors held the line against an overwhelming force of monsters hellbent on exterminating humanity. AFter three days of savage fighting, only seven were left alive."
"And alone, shunned by humankind, themselves called monsters, the pariahs for those whom they were trying to protect, twenty-four warriors fought the brave fight, the unknown war, the silent battle to preserve us. We now, whom not only treat them as myths, as pieces of boring history."
"And so, we ask ourselves." Music played in the background, the silent strains of strings with the epic tones of trumpets. "What has humanity done to deserve such bravery from these warriors? The very same soldiers whom fight for our freedom now in foreign lands are hated by their countrymen at home. We protest against wars, and thank God above for dead soldiers. We ask ourselves now: Those twenty-four warriors, themselves a small part of a massive effort to fight for humanity, would we let their valiance pass wordlessly? Would we let their effort go in vain? Their unrequisited sacrifices, the blood they spilled, would we not grant them at least a moment's recognition?"
"I would like to leave you now with a montage, a tribute, recreated by the latest software, based on historical Claymore battlegrounds, to the unsung heroines whom, though hated by us, fought and died for humanity."
Jereld looked up, his attention fully on the screen, as the faces of Claymores flashed past quickly. "These are the women of the Organization. These are the girls whom conquered the darkness. These are the champions whom helped free a continent. These are the heroes whom helped end the war."
"They are the heroes whom, in your 'lives fought for life', and left a vivid heir signed with your honor."
And the montage played, as the orchestral music burst into full crescendo. A pair of Claymore warriors clashed in violent combat against Awakened Beings on rocky crags, one of them seemingly dueling in mid-air, twisting and turning without ever touching the ground.
Behind Jereld, a small voice spoke. "For the love of peace and country, I learned to defy gravity." He turned to see a woman in a blue jeans jacket, with long curly tresses. Tears were in her eyes, and as Jereld glanced back to the screen, he was shocked. "Gillian, that girl..."
Only to have his wife nod back, tears in her own eyes. "Number seven, Anastasia." She choked back tears. Tears that seemed to flow as the montage played.
This time the battleground was different, underground, with a huge thick-skinned Awakened firing massive rods from his arms, as a trio of Claymores flashed around him, swords clashing and blood spraying. One of them in particular looked extremely familiar.
Too familiar...
And his wife turned to him, her face the exact same one as the warrior facing the camera, her face stained in blood and her body run through with a massive rod as she knelt in pain. "Gillian..."
"To honor my family, I fought in the lair of the beast." She stared him in the eye, and there was such emotion in those silver orbs that Jereld was forced to turn away, for his eyes were also tearing.
But the video kept playing, the scene changed again, and this time it was an open field, with Claymores fighting and dying. In the foreground was a heavily-injured Claymore, lying still, her limbs torn and her body lying in a pool of blood. Above her was a comrade, hands pressed to a gaping hole in her torso, channeling healing energies, seemingly oblivious to the raging battle, her focus only on her injured friend.
And the swooning teenage girl, suddenly silent, turned to her boyfriend. "I healed the wounds of fallen comrades." She spoke.
And a roar filled the theater, Dolby-enhanced sound systems enhancing the terrifying sound as a one-horned demon faced down another Awakened one, this one with bladed arms flashing against the demon.
To his left, as he was facing them, one of the twinned sisters turned and held her sibling's hands. "I gave in to the throes of madness, for dignity." She whispered ever-so-silently.
"For honor." The first curly-haired woman behind him uttered again.
"For justice's sake." One of the females in the couple in front of him turned to her partner. That's... Jereld vaguely recalled the Claymore scenes earlier, and wished he had paid more attention. Miria!
"For the sake of humanity." Her lover replied.
As Jereld Myers reeled in stark realization, a soft hand touched his cheek, and he turned to see Gillian... No, Galatea, look him deep in the eyes. There was pain beyond the ages in those silver orbs again, and he trembled. "Jereld." She closed her eyes and twinned streams of crystal sorrow carved a path down her perfect cheeks. "I fought for you."
"I fought for you." He heard the twin beside him tell her sister.
Down in front, Dietrich put her hands on the heads of the school children around her. "I fought for you."
"I fought for you." Miria stroked Tabitha's hair.
"I fought for you." Cynthia leaned to embrace her boyfriend.
At that point in time, the leader of the Seven Ghosts, seated in front of Jereld, stood up as her face flashed on the screen, strained with determination as she battled a massive lion-beast. She let the crowd see her, recognized the faces she had longed to see for a lifetime, and pointed. "I fought for you." She told Tabitha.
"For you." High up behind the audience, Deneve nodded somberly.
"For you." Beside her, Helen chuckled, tossing the apple core to the cinema carpet.
"For you." And the bob-haired woman whom the documentary had focused on smiled.
"For you." Cynthia blushed, her pigtails trembling with emotion as she beheld her leader for the first time in ages.
"For you." The bespectacled girl with long hair stared agape, then grinned shyly.
I fought for you. The voice in her head made the former Number Six look at the screen, just in time to watch an old friend's face fade away, replaced by another. Yes, Hilda. She replied. I fought for you too.
"I fought for you." Clare was the only one whom the new face on the screen had the most impact on. That faint smile filled the theater with a sense of silent respect and awe, that angelic face that seemed to resonate pure stoic strength and resilience. I fought for you, Clare. The image seemed to say, a voice that Clare swore had reached her from some otherworldly place. And I'd do it again.
And in the awkward silence that followed, not a muscle was moved, until Galatea broke it. Like a ripple disturbing a calm lake's surface, she stood up to face Miria, and brought her right hand up to her brow, a crisp salute.
A salute from one hero to another.
Below them, Dietrich stood, then took off her long coat to reveal the pristine Claymore armor she had worn for an occasion like this. As her students stared, she turned to Miria, and snapped to attention, her hand flashing to her right eye in another salute.
And to Jereld's left, the twins stood as one and echoed the salute, their arms coming up in unison as they paid their respects to the ones before them.
Behind them, the woman known as 'The Winged One' stood up as well, her long curls unfurling to her waist, and followed her generation's leaders in their tribute.
Finally, as if to end the lines of warriors, Audrey and Rachel came to their feet from their position all the way at the corner, and to the 'Phantom' gave their mark of respect.
Stillness retook the cinema hall, the only sound that of the moving orchestral chorus playing, and the Battle of Pieta strung itself out with the clash of swords and the dying of warriors both monstrous and semi-monstrous.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, wracked by emotion, Miria faced down Galatea, and returned the salute.
"And so, my fellow humans." The host's voice filled the moment. "Ask not what humanity can do for you, but what you can do for humanity."
Tears streaming down his face and blurring his vision, overcome by the heroes in their midst, the ones whom had fought, bled and died for his selfish pride, Jereld Myers brought his hands up, struggled to a standing position, and did what anyone else would have done.
He saluted. Not just to Miria, or to Gill... Galatea.
He saluted every Claymore in the theater. Every Claymore whom had ever lived. Every Claymore, irregardless of silver hair or silver eyes of their monstrous side.
Every Claymore whom had fought for him.
And in that strained moment, there came applause. First a small, constant clapping that turned into a smattering, then a flood, then a final crescendo of ovation and cheers.
The thousand-year old angel beside him turned to face Jereld, and as he cried, she gently took him in her arms. "Galatea..." Was all he managed to stammer between heaving sobs, before she kissed him.
In the background, the host's final words left an indelible mark on the minds of everyone present at that epic moment. "We salute the heroes whom have fought for our freedom."
"All gave some, but some gave all."