Disclaimer: I don't own the Buffy the Vampire Slayer property or any of the characters therein.
DAMAGED GOODS
破損品
Oita, on the island of Kyushu, Japan
1971
Natsuki sat in front of him.
Of course she sat, that was all she could do. Ever since her battle with the K'mash demon three weeks ago, when the creature had snapped the girl's spine while Ernest had merely stood frozen, watching it happen.
Sighing, trying to swallow his guilt, Ernest again held the sword out to his young charge. As before, she merely stared at the weapon then shook her head. She had always been a petite girl, making her strength and agility all the more surprising, but now as she slouched in the wheelchair, she seemed even smaller, almost as if she were shrinking away into nothing.
"Nat, please, you must," Earnest said in his broken Japanese. The hardest part of this assignment for the British scholar had been learning the Slayer's native language. なつき、してくださいする必要があります。
The girl again shook her head resolutely and wheeled herself back until she hit the wall, staring down at her now useless legs. "何かこの件について何の目的です。" There is no purpose to any of this.
"That isn't true. It is now more important than ever to keep up your training." それは本当ではありません。今まで以上にトレーニングを続けることが重要です。
When the Slayer looked up at her Watcher, tears spilled from her eyes. This caused Ernest to gasp audibly; it was the first time he had ever seen his Slayer cry. She had remained stoic even after the injury that had left her paralyzed from the waist down, an injury even the accelerated healing powers of the Slayer could not mend. "私は自分の家族や友人を呼び出し恥じ入っている。" I have shamed my family and my calling.
Ernest crossed the distance between them quickly, dropping to his knees in front of her, struggling against his own tears. "No, don't even think that. The failing here was completely mine. I did not properly prepare for you for the battle; I did not protect you as I should have. For this, I can only pray you can forgive me." いいえ、考えるのもそうは思わない。ここでの失敗は完全に私のものだった。私が正しくあなたのために戦いの準備をしていない、私がする必要があります私はあなたを保護していない。このため、私はあなたが私を許すことを祈ることができます。
Natsuki reached out and ran her fingers through her Watcher's thinning hair, and her smile was tragic in its hopelessness. "私は、原因はもはや使用しています。" I am no longer of any use to the cause.
Ernest bit into his bottom lip and hung his head, his forehead resting on the girl's knee. Her words assigned no blame, but neither did they offer absolution.
From behind him, Ernest heard someone softly clear his throat. Standing quickly, trying his best to compose himself, he turned to find his superior, Quentin Travers, standing at the far end of the large space. Travers motioned Ernest over.
Nodding, Ernest first turned back to his charge and laid the sword across her lap. "Please do this for me, Nat. You can still be of service, so it is vital we keep your reflexes sharp and work on your upper body strength." してください私にとっては、ナットこれを行う。現在はまだサービスのため、我々があなたの反射明晰さを保つ重要であり、仕事はあなたの上半身の強さにすることができます。
Ernest started across the floor when he heard Natskui speak one last time, her voice quiet but her words clear and heartbreaking. "私は台無しにしています。" I am ruined.
Steeling himself, trying to rid his expression of any evidence of the tumultuous war of emotions churning inside him, Ernest approached Travers. The building they used for training was actually an abandoned industrial warehouse in the business district near Beppu Gulf, the space large and open, tall thin windows letting in murky sunlight through the dirt-smeared panes, the ceiling several stories above them.
Travers led him out of the main area and into a small cube of an office, the only furniture a rickety wooden desk and chair, the surface of the desk and most available floor space covered with thick books of demon lore and mystical prophecies.
"The decision has been made," Travers said without preamble.
"What decision would that be?"
"Don't be daft, Ernest. You know very well the Council has been closely monitoring this situation for the past three weeks, debating the proper course of action, and now we have made the only decision we could, the decision that was inevitable."
"No," Ernest said, dawning horror in his voice. "You can't mean…"
"I'm afraid it is the only way."
"But you can't. This isn't some hypothetical; this is a living, breathing girl we're talking about."
"And therein lies the problem," Travers said. "You know the drill. 'Into every generation a Slayer is born, one girl in all the world with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to hold back the forces of darkness.' Right now that girl is your charge, and as long as she is alive, no other Slayer will be called. So where does that leave us? Defenseless, with a Slayer who lacks the ability to fight."
"We don't know that. She could—"
"She is irreparably damaged, Ernest," Travers interrupted. "I know you have developed a fondness for the girl, which makes it impossible for you to view the situation objectively. The world needs a guardian, a protector, and your charge is no longer capable of serving that role. She is useless to the cause."
A shiver played up and down Ernest's spine as he realized Traver's words echoed those of Natsuki herself. Ernest couldn't help but feel responsible for all of this. If only he had worked his Slayer harder in training, given her more knowledge of the K'mash before sending her up against it, perhaps then he wouldn't be having this conversation with his superior.
"I won't do it," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"Nor would we ask you to," Travers said, pulling a syringe from his inside coat pocket. "I promise you this, it will be painless and it will be quick."
Ernest wanted to block the door, to stop Travers, but his body suddenly had no strength, and he slumped against the wall, tears running down his cheeks and seeping into his mouth, coating his tongue with their bitter saltiness. He did not follow as Travers moved past him, but then Travers stopped suddenly in the doorway and said, "Hmm, seems your girl has saved us the trouble."
Now Ernest did move, pushing past his superior then nearly collapsing at the sight of his Slayer. She was not slouching in the wheelchair now, but sitting up in it rigidly, pinned there by the sword plunged through her chest and into the back of the chair, the very sword he had left with her. Her head was thrown back, her glassy eyes staring into nothing, a thin line of blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth like drool. Seppuku, more commonly known around the world as Hara-kiri, a form of ritual suicide. Ernest should have guessed, should have seen this coming, but he'd been too consumed by his own suffering to truly contemplate hers.
"I'll contact the Council," Travers said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Let them know to have the seers begin their search for which potential has been called. I'll also arrange passage for you back to England, Ernest. Your tenure as Watcher is over."
Ernest felt numb, dazed, like nothing was really real. He stared at his superior for a moment then said, "What?"
"New Slayer, new Watcher, you know the rules. Bernard Crowley has been selected to train the next girl, wherever she may be."
Ernest turned back to his charge, displayed so gruesomely before him. "And what of Nat?"
"Burial, of course. We will have a ceremony honoring her, and you, for the work that has been done here."
"Honoring?" Ernest said, unable to believe his ears. "There is no honor here."
Travers stepped toward him, his stare intense. "Your charge was a warrior, one who understood the concept of sacrifice. She knew the war she fought was bigger than just herself, and she also knew what must be done to ensure that war is not lost. There is a nobility and selflessness there that most of us could never hope to comprehend. Your charge died a hero's death, and she will be honored accordingly."
With that, Travers turned and walked back into the office to make his calls. Ernest stumbled over to his charge, knelt next to her body, and wept.
* * *
Across the world, in New York City, Nikki Wood awoke in a sweat, a new power coursing through her veins like fire.