Fate/Penumbras
Wisps of smoke rise from his body as he coughs and tries desperately to catch his breath. On all fours he's dry heaving and rocking back and forth panting. The girl standing before him leans down to help the man but he rolls over onto his back before her frail hand can touch him. She's hesitant to lean down to check on him. He sputters and spasms. The long dark blade she holds in her other hand gleams in the warm candle light as its shifts weight in her grip. The crimson of the fading summoning circle illuminates the man's outline. His dark eyes shine out from under his helmet. He arches his back and coughs a few more times. Blood runs out the corner of his mouth. She takes a long deep breath and wills herself to kneel down and touch his chest.
The room is filled with the smell of blood and ash. His neck has long lines of blood working their way over his collar bones and under his breast plate as the liquid streams out of his mouth. At once she's muttering an incantation under her breath. The room is immediately bathed in a blue glow to match the red from the circle below the both of them. Slowly the blood flow tappers off and finally stops. He remains on the floor, panting and gulping for air. Only now does she notice the three broken shards of metal jutting from his chest. They only stick out about half an inch and therefore easily overlooked. She slides her hand along his armor until her fingers gently probe the splintered metal. She curses under her breath. This time she closes her eyes and concentrates for several seconds before starting the second incantation. This one has many more verses and she sings them out in a melodic chant.
He spasms and shrieks in agony as the shards slowly pull themselves from his breastplate. She opens her eyes to find all three bloody splinters dripping from the palm of her open hand. His eyes are wide open and his finger nails have made long gashes in her hardwood floors. His face and arms covered in beads of sweat as his chest rises and falls in short breaths. She looks down at her hand which contains the shards. They all appear to be pieces of a sword. Between the broken pieces are chunks of flesh and pink organ tissue. Her lips form the word 'lungs' but no noise escapes. The room is only filled with the sounds of their shallow breathing. Having successfully removed the wound and clotted the bleeding she works on repairing the flesh. She drops the sword pieces beside the two of them and sets her black blade down as well. With both her hands on his chest, she spreads her fingers wide and mutters two short lines of a similar chant to the first two.
The blue light seems to concentrate itself around her hands and up her arms. Then all at once it forces itself into his wound. He reaches a hand up and grips her arm, squeezing and whimpering. His mouths open as the remnant blood gargles in the back of his throat. Teeth stained red. Saliva bubbling and frothing he falls silent and let's his grip lighten. A large pool of sticky blood as made its way to all the corners of her bedroom. She swallows another large gulp of air and swings her leg over him. He lets his arm fall to the floor with a thud. Pelvis to pelvis, she uses her weight to force her hands harder onto his wound. She mutters the chant several more times, pumping the blue light into him time after time. He flinches each time, but remains silent. Mouth closed, eyes fixed upon her's.
Her tears stream down her face in waves now. The chant grows faint as her words are lost in the sobs. But finally after the seventh pump of her hands, she stops and collapses onto his chest, sobbing and shaking with exhaustion. He reaches up and wraps his hands around her body. Blood coating them both as they slow their breathing and rest in the light of her apartment. Her command seals remain a bright light emanating from her hand as it's pressed between the two of them. They lie there as she cries softly into his tattered clothing and cold armor. His arms wrap her in what little comfort he can provide. Slowly she falls asleep, drifting away as she listens to his strong heartbeat. Under her breath she whispers the words "I'm not going to let you leave me…"
The morning wakes her with rays of golden lights piercing the room full of smoke and delirium. She's curled up in several bed sheets and couch cushions. Her long brown hair scattered along the large pillow her head is propped up on. She pulls the sheets up to her face and yawns as the sun reaches her eyelids. Her green eyes show through her long eye lashes. She yawns again and stretches her arms out, reaching for the ceiling. Her eyes open wide and blink a few times. Then instantly she's sitting up and wide awake as she remembers the night previous. Her hand runs through her hair a few times as she tries to recall all the details. She's cursing a few times and replaying it over and over in her head trying to differentiate her memories between dreams and reality.
Then the long grooves beside her resting place catch her eyes. The long scars in her hardwood floor left there from her servant's fingernails. She leans over and runs her fingers along the grooves to make sure she's not seeing things. With a nod of her head she confirms they're real. As if to remember something extremely important she flips over her hand to look for her command seals. And there they are; in red brilliance, like rich crimson tattoos. She flings the sheets off her body and gets to her feet. She's in a night gown. She looks down at it in disbelief. The night before she wore her school clothing. Confused and determined she gets to her feet and crosses the room toward the window. With a yank of a string, the blinds covering her window pull themselves up with a loud metallic clatter. The entire room is filled with a radiant glow of morning sunlight.
A set of red and orange armor has been propped up in the corner of the room topped with a red spiked helmet. She passes them on the way to the other rooms of her apartment. Down the hall, she strolls nimbly on the balls of her feet. The floor cold but comforting. Past the empty bathroom, past the empty second bedroom, right into the front room where her couch has been stripped of its cushions and pillows. Her kitchen is connected to the front room/ living room via a bar. She breezes through the rooms toward the sliding glass doors at the end of the room. Ripping them open, she stands in the chilly morning air out on her balcony. Her servant stands there motionless looking at her frowning face.
"Good morning master." He murmurs in a rough voice as he leans on her balcony's metal railing. "I made you some tea, its warming up on the stove." It's the first time she's seen his face. His half grin makes her frown disappear. His black hair sticks out in all different directions from atop his head. Each strand appears to be a different length from the others. The tips of several spikes are orange while others are yellow and still others are red. Some of it seems matted down. Probably a combination of dried blood and helmet hair. His face is smooth and his irises are black. He has light stubble lining his jaw and chin. "Sorry I didn't give you a formal introduction last night, but I am Berserker, your servant." There is a long pause as she finds the right words to say.
"What happened last night?" She's barely able to form those simple words.
"I have no idea…" His voice trails off as he pushes himself off the railing and stands in front of her. He's just above her height. He must be 5'9" or 5'10". She's 5'7". "It might have been an error in summoning." She balls up her fists and barks a retort right back at him as flippantly as she can manage.
"You had a fucking sword blade shattered inside your chest, that's not an error in my summoning! There's no way I did that! And you should be thankful! If not for my quick action, you'd be dead." She's practically screaming at him.
"I could have managed." He smirks. "If you had pushed yourself any harder, you would have killed yourself from mana loss."
"Could have managed? Fuck you!" She crosses the five feet between them and grabs his ripped blood stained clothes. "You're welcome asshole!" She's panting and sputtering through gritted teeth.
"Alright fine. Thank you…" He holds up his arms to show he means no ill-will. She loosens her grip, but continues to pull on his shirt. She slowly calms herself and relaxes.
"What was the last thing you remember? Maybe we can piece together what happened based on that." She backs away a half step and releases her grip, leaning against the wall, still trying to slow her breathing.
"The battle of Armageddon." He says with a sigh.