Claymore by Yagi Norihiro

Fanfiction by Ryuuzaki Kusakûrin

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't own, don't sue.

WARNINGS: Spoiler for every single book after 7. Yes, I've read through the current volume, 12. I'm waiting for volume 13. Also, there might be Yuri, I have no idea yet. Honestly, I'm just rolling with the punches here.

RATING: T, maybe M in later chapters.

OTHER NOTES: I write in English (UK), so if anything is misspelled in American English, it's because of minor differences in spelling and such.

CHAPTER THEME: Dress (Bloody Trinity Mix) by BUCK-TICK

CHAPTER ONE: Fallen from Grace

Meant to Walk Alone

She had always been a loner, she mused, her reasonably short silver hair swishing in the winter breeze. She had always been more comfortable in the winter-like weather, much like she had always been more comfortable with her youma father than with her human mother. The village children had somehow always sensed that something was wrong, and it was; her mother had never mentioned a father to the rest of the small town. She remembered those days well... Very well indeed, for as a so-called Claymore, her memories never truly faded.
Her very own youma father had cared about her in his own way, she knew, but he was a monster at the same time. All the same, it was his blood that had given her the traits of the half-breeds, though until now it had never occurred like this.

What she knew of the story was rather vague; her father had been feeding one night and stumbled upon Cessa, her mother. Not wanting to die, she had gambled with the devil – and had won. She would hide him and not notify anyone, and in return, he spared her.

When she had been born, both of her parents were amazed that she had survived... Her mother had tried to love her, to her own credit, but finally realized that her child was more beast than human and had left her daughter in the care of the youma. Of course, being only a half-breed had brought about its own troubles; it had taken quite a while before she was accepted. Still, her only remaining parent had taught her to fend for herself.

Frowning, she remembered the day she had killed her first human. Driven by sheer hunger and exhaustion, she had called upon the use of her claws and limbs, and as she feasted on her prey, the son of the man she had slaughtered entered the room. He had screamed then, and beat on her back until she had turned around to kill him...
...but found that she was unable to. Instead, she held him close to her. The boy had fought her iron grip until he realized that he was not going to be killed, and had simply sobbed in her transformed arms. When the group of youma found her like that, they had abandoned her out of shame and anger. From there she had walked a full 30 miles until she found a place she could call "home".

About three months later, a youma had terrorized that village, and seeking acceptance, she had fought it and won... though not before she had been forced to reveal the nature of her strength.

Only days later, she was sold to a nameless organization...one that men and youma alike called Claymore.

Now, she was number 7 in the organization – after the death of the former number 7 in Pieta, she had been promoted from twelfth to seventh on sheer ability alone. Best known as 'Blackheart' or 'Aven' Larkir, she kept her past a secret, much like the reason she had risen through the ranks so quickly – she was only 17, yet possessed the same intelligence borne of experience that stronger warrior did. She was 75 youma, and though she kept the urge under control, she craved human flesh because of the high ratio of youma-to-human blood. Simply put, she was too much of a monster and not enough of a human. Her eyes were always golden, and when she released 30 percent youma power [usually enough to transform a Claymore's face, her arms would manifest the change by more or less awakening into winged appendages that she used to both block and gain an aerial advantage. She possessed more power than even the former 'Blood-soaked warrior' Ophelia, but because of the unusual nature of her power, she remained silent and out of sight. It fit, she thought bitterly, that she would be hidden away like the so-called 'failed creations', since in a way, she was much the same. She supposed that it was nothing out of the ordinary, the organization was created by humans and humans were flawed beings. Of course they would want to hide the blemish that she created by existing.

"Larkir." The voice was strangely smooth and light - she recognized it immediately and dropped her assault towards the unknown figure. A female padded softly into the clearing-for all purposes she was human, though she exuded a purely youma aura. Her auburn hair was tied back into a long braid, and her piercing hazel eyes reflected the dim light of the clouded moon. Tanned skin was covered with elf-like garments and a heavy earthen-coloured travelling cloak. A sword very similar to a Claymore's hung on the newcomer's back, but for a silver-eyed slayer, there was no mistaking it. This was an Awakened Being carrying the sword of a Claymore.

"Lucrecia," the single digit replied by way of greeting. She called the Awakened One by that name because of the relationship as friends they had once had... Her former comrade-in-arms had perfected what the warrior Riful had been attempting to learn when she had overexerted and awakened – the Artemis Swordstep. They had been friends from their initiation into the organization, they had become slayers together; Lucrecia was, for a brief time, a single digit. But one night, everything had gone desperately and completely wrong.

The two ran across an Awakened Being on a routine job about one month into their new lives, though they didn't even realize the danger since they had never been told about them. Larkir, despite her considerable skill level, had been wounded, and her friend and comrade-in-arms had been nearly killed protecting her injured partner. In truth, 'Artemis' Lucrecia would have died had she not awakened. All the same, Larkir had reported her comrade's death to the organization [falsely in order to keep her friend still alive. Somehow she had gotten away with it – either that or the organization didn't want to have to face what was not an immediate danger.

"'Lark, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she remarked tonelessly, pulling her sword out from behind her. "I need to practice," she sighed, allowing her silver hair to fall back behind her.

"Mm," Lucrecia agreed. "How so?"

"I need to sharpen the blade of the Quicksword – it isn't nearly enough to completely slice through an awakened being yet. And Miria's phantom step... if I combined the two, it might work," she thought out loud.

"What if you instead learned Ilena's Quicksword and then awakened your legs to gain even more speed?" The Awakened One sat down neatly beside her comrade, carefully folding her arms together in a non-threatening way. Whether they were friends or not, the day Larkir got an order to dispatch of her, Lucrecia knew that she would not hesitate to do so. At the moment though, they were just friends, and Ren allowed her to feed when she needed to... all the same, as far as other Awakened Beings went, she ate far, far less than most.

"True, it could be a good start, but if I added certain aspects of the Artemis swordstep, then it would be completely lethal once perfected."

"Don't mistake your limits, 'Lark. You might be more youma than other warriors are, but you're combining two – no, three – techniques that even exceptional slayers had trouble controlling. You don't want to end up... like me..." The former warrior sighed almost inaudibly, drawing in her breath slowly through pursed lips.

"You know, you don't have to keep up that human appearance when we're not being watched," the silver-eyed slayer remarked, watching with some degree of fascination as Lucrecia nodded gratefully and released nearly all of her power in a short burst. Her braided hair fell loose and became bladed extensions, her back bent over as sinewy wings branched out in an almost-dance. With a sigh of contentment, she completed her partial transformation into the elf-like being that her sword style had been named after – her awakened form could have been called angelic had it not been for the golden, slitted eyes and the reasonably wild look to the former warrior's body. Like most youma, she was still human-like in shape, though she possessed what was easily ten times the strength and speed. Folding her dual wings back behind her, she returned to her seated position when she looked up questioningly into her companion's silvery eyes.

"There's another warrior coming – not too powerful, but all the same..." Lucrecia sounded worried, her sprite-like form nearly instantly moving into its former façade.

"I'll fight her if she tries to kill you. But... Don't use your real form if we fight, okay? You won't need to," the Claymore responded, not taking her eyes off of the star-filled sky. If Lucrecia released her awakened form, she would need to hunt again. The organization was already suspicious enough as it was... But she was honestly living on borrowed time; the so-called 'Claymore' organization was still trying to figure out how to kill her without sustaining reasonably heavy losses - and they didn't even know about Lucrecia yet.

Oh, well, she thought, not really caring anymore. Yawning widely, she displayed sharp teeth – just another manifestation of her high concentration of youma blood.

The warrior paused for a moment, sensing the aura of one of her comrades nearby, as well as that of an Awakened One. Looking to her partner, she nodded and they moved towards the two to intercept. Instinctively noting the power of the awakened aura, she turned back towards the area, though what she found there surprised her even as she drew her heavy sword. The two were talking quietly, sitting next to one another as if neither posed a threat to the other. She stepped over towards the two, completely on her guard, and began to swing her sword towards the Awakened One...
...and the clang of another sword stopped her. The warrior had stopped her sword.

"If you're going to try and kill Lucrecia, I suggest you bring at the very least two more warriors," the silver-haired slayer sighed. "Besides, she's not really a threat at the moment."

"I can speak for myself, despite popular belief," the awakened being grumbled, and cuffed the back of her companion's head lightly. Standing and turning towards the newcomers with inhuman grace, she moved into a defensive position behind Larkir.

"Who are you?"

"Larkir, number 7. And you two?"

"Clare, number 47."

"Jean, number 9. Why is an Awakened One with you?" When the single-digit warrior sat back on the ground and said nothing, Jean repeated the question.

"Because she's my friend, and she's nearly harmless," came the response. Clare eyed Lucrecia dubiously, still unwilling to believe it. Noticing Clare's confusion and doubt, Larkir nodded to the former warrior, who once again partially released her power long enough to allow wings to appear and fly her away. An uncomfortable silence filled the calm area and unease seemed to emanate from the weaker warrior in waves.

"You're 'Blackheart' Larkir, the one who took Ophelia's name as the 'blood-soaked warrior'," one of the newcomers – the one named Clare – said, comprehension slowly dawning on her. "And that's because that monster travels with you and helps you fight."

"You're pretty quick, you know." The smooth voice came from right behind her, where the Awakened One was currently sitting on a tree branch about ten feet above them. Clare, who had not been paying any mind to the presence of youma auras, jumped back, drawing her sword without any hesitation. Not seeming to care, the former Claymore continued in her line of thought, "most of your kind doesn't really seem to think about that, even though you're smarter than humans. I certainly didn't think in that manner before I awakened, so I suppose it's a forgivable offence, but all the same..."

"Before you awakened; so you b do /b remember that?" This time it was Jean.

"Of course; even though you may not be able to tell, I was once the warrior called 'Artemis' Lucrecia. Formerly number eight in the organization."

"You were the one to perfect the Creature of the Abyss Riful's technique," Clare responded, partially in awe.

"Yes, that would have been me," the Artemis practitioner replied, jumping gently from the tree branch to land with a soft thump in front of all three warriors. "I take it that for now, at least, you two aren't going to make any other attempts on my life?" Clare's and Jean's silence indicated that yes, the former warrior was safe for now. Sitting down, Clare sighed; since she, Jean, and Galatea had met Riful, their lives had been thrust into the relative depths of insanity. She jumped, startled, when both of her new companions walked past her and into the small lake, not unlike the one where she had fought the awakened Ophelia. Watching curiously, she marvelled at the Awakened One's sudden change into her true form, and then, even more surprisingly, Larkir released her youma power to nearly her limits, though for some reason, she didn't change at all – her face remained passive, smooth, human... The only thing that appeared to have changed was her eyes. They shone in the darkness as something more feral than the golden eyes which normally marked the transformation, for they were flecked with green in that gold.

Releasing her youma power roughly halfway [which would be near the limits of most so-called Claymores, Larkir raised her sword to the ready.

"The new idea with the Quicksword tonight, then?" The rough voice of Lucrecia's awakened form posed the question to her companion. Clare shifted uncomfortably; wasn't that technique only hers and Ilena's?

"Hai..." the warrior whispered, anxiously licking a bead of sweat from anticipation from her lips as it fell. At the Awakened One's nod, she leapt forward, her entire spirit focused on the mastery of that which never could be mastered.

In short, that which could lead to her downfall.

And, of course, the only technique that was sought after but never found.

Oh, well, she thought, not really caring anymore. Yawning widely, she displayed sharp teeth – just another manifestation of her high concentration of youma blood.

FIN

End of Chapter One – Fallen from Grace.