He was awoken by the whistling wind. The man was on the ground, laying upon the blistering sand, its red-hot grains digging into his flesh and burning away his skin. He couldn't stay here; he knew he had to stand. But all nerves in his body burned with fire, and the strength was sapped from his muscles. Stay still, they said. Lay here, and die quietly. He wasn't sure how he was still alive. His shield had been shattered, and the world around him engulfed in fire. He could not see now, face-first in the irradiated sand, but he could tell the scope of the devastation already. There had been no sand here a moment ago, and now it was all that remained.
He tried to say something, his dry throat cracking as it begged for even a single sip of water. There was none here for him. He coughed, his face rising from the sand as he expelled blood from his throat. It splattered against the red sands in front of him, and he watched it immediately evaporate in the infernal heat. He was sure he'd be sweating if there was any liquid left in his body to do it with. He had to stand. "C-come on… body… don't die just yet." The man ground his teeth and moved his arms, pressing his bare hands against the sand. It burned terribly, and he was sure this sensation was the last thing his fingers would ever register. The nerves themselves were being destroyed by contact with the ground. With a pained yell he pressed down. Before he knew it he was on his knees, gasping for air. He felt dizzy, and his eyes lost focus. He closed his eyes tight and regained his balance. As he opened them his mouth fell agape.
The horizon was a mixture of reds and grays, smoke and fire were all that remained in every direction. The setting sun was gone, blotted from the sky. For miles around, the landscape had become an oppressive, hellish desert, where hot winds kicked up sand and choked the air in particles. The man felt drained as he looked around for any sign of life. Futile; he already knew there would be nothing. His mind couldn't register it. "This isn't right," he said over and over to himself. It was the only way to maintain his grip on reality. This place had been a city. All that remained was sand, smoke, and fire. So much fire. The blast hadn't even left the bones. Not even shadows. Thousands. Millions. All gone as easily as wiping away dust. "It can't all be…"
He had to stand. The man wobbled as he rose to his feet, and his body screamed in protest. Blood dripped from a thousand lacerations on his open flesh. His movement was restricted; many swords had been plunged into his back, and only his focus and horror distracted him from the mortal pain. He could see all around him, all that remained of the carnage were his blades plunged into the sand. The remnants of a struggle that had reduced a city to nothingness. His vision darkened for a moment, a grim reminder of the darkness that would swallow him whole in another few minutes.
He heard a sound. Distant at first, like a whisper upon the hot winds, but it grew. It grew greater and deeper, more terrible, like the awakening of some beast. But the sound came not from the ground, but the air above. The man looked up to the skies, and felt a cold sensation amidst the heat as ice filled his veins. The choking, black clouds began to part. First came the descending fire as the atmosphere itself was split wide open by a falling star. But that was incorrect. The colossal entity from the stars descended not by gravity but with purpose, as the Earth below braced itself for its apocalyptic impact. This was not some asteroid, but the heavenly body Luna. Even the hot winds of this desert fled from the coming fire. The moon's surface was coated in a layer of red so thick as to appear as a droplet of blood descending from on high. The man felt despair. This was the end that he had fought his whole life to avoid.
He stood alone on the hill of swords, a crimson moon in the sky above.
Surrounded by naught but ash and death, he stood nonetheless. Broken but very much alive. It felt compelling to kneel before the coming death, but the man refused. He smiled, mocking his foe that was so grand that he could never be compared. He raised his hand and placed it over his heart. "This thing really is out of my league, isn't it? It's killing me just to stand. Ha. I never even had a chance. Even so... if you're listening, Rin, I hope you don't mind if I go ahead and kill it anyway."
If anyone could hear him, he was not acknowledged. The only sound was the hellish thunder of the falling moon. The man took a final, scalding breath. It was dirty and full of smoke, and he choked on the foul sensation, but he reveled in it. It was the last breath of Earth's air that he would take. He had no illusions of the kind of sacrifice he would have to make to stop such a foe. He would need the strength of a god.
And so, he prayed.
"I am the bone of my sword…"
…
That was the last day of that man's life. Surely, his life was made out of swords.
Two hundred years have passed. Now, bear witness to his legacy: a devastated world where humanity has fled the safety of its cradle, and lives high up among the stars.
…
The alarm clock buzzed in a dark bedroom. It was immediately met by the aggravated yell of a teenage boy, thrashing about in his bed as he sought the snooze button. A fist slammed down and obliterated the innocent timekeeper, leaving only spinning, dizzied bits of metal dashing across the end table's surface. The boy moaned, pawing at his sleep-encrusted eyes. Another day had begun, whether he liked it or not.
He dragged himself from bed, pulling on slippers and shuffling out of his room. He didn't open the blinds, muttering tired threats to the sun itself if it tried to intrude on his rest. The walking corpse managed to feel its way into the bathroom, where he flipped on a dim light. His weight slumped forward, and he leaned onto the sink. He could hear cracking noises as his eyes wrenched themselves open, and he caught a dizzy view of his reflection. He was an athletic young man, just on the cusp of adulthood. His face was lean and thuggish, but all intimidation was cut away by the freckles on his cheeks and nose. His hair was tousled and unkempt, and dyed an outrageous shade of pink. The boy's name was Shu Kuwabara.
Shu brushed his teeth and permitted three quick brushings of his hair, leaving it slightly less tragic before decided it was good enough. He left the bathroom, his mind slowly churning into motion and plotting out his day. He had a lot to do, and with no roommates all the chores were left to him alone. He had to wash the dishes, pick up the mail, get groceries, and find a tailor to repair his pants. And all of that had to be done in time for dinner, after which he would spend the night practicing his latest spell.
Shu Kuwabara was a magus.
He continued grumbling as he found his way to a closet, tossing the door aside so he could grope at the clothes within. He began to pull out anything that he could reach within until he had something resembling an outfit.
As he dressed himself, a small television droned on in the corner. A news program was on, some dolled-up lady in a red suit was going on about the weather.
"…Professor Kyne, also from the Astrology Department, ended today's demonstration with a reminder to be watching the skies in the coming weeks, as a rogue asteroid comes within record distance of the Eden Cluster. In more local news, be sure to bring your umbrellas if you're stepping out this evening, as heavy showers are on the schedule."
Shu took an idle second to spit at the screen and the news anchor on it. That was the worst part of living on this damn space station. Everything was regulated and ordered, with no room for deviation. No room for fun.
The station he referred to is the Eden Cluster, and to call it a station is underselling it. Constructed in the aftermath of the Crimson Moon disaster, this station and eleven others like it were to serve as the new homes, the arks of surviving humans. This place, the Eden Cluster, had been the first and the most successful of them all. Once home to fifty thousand human beings, it now boasted a population of nearly a million. Shu Kuwabara was one of those lucky enough to live on this new world, but he didn't see it as particularly lucky himself.
He finished dressing himself. A black leather jacket, matching fingerless gloves, boots, and skinny jeans. He turned his mind toward food. A trip to the pantry only served to disappoint. Five shelves pleading to be stocked with food were as empty as his growling stomach. A spider crawled around in the corner, terrified to be caught cornered. Shu paid it no mind, and only fixated on the sole item that remained. A cup of ramen that had probably been there for about two years now. "Yay. Delicious." He felt his face forcing itself into a disgusted frown as he grabbed the cup and started preparing his excuse for a breakfast.
A few minutes later, he sat at a rickety table in a folding chair, and with a jerking motion yanked open the curtain of the window beside him. The sun was nowhere to be seen; this was the east-facing window, and in the early morning he was blessed by that brief moment where the world is illuminated, but without the glare of the sun in his eyes. Shu took a second to appreciate the view. High above many of the buildings around him, he could see the east side of Ein City stretch out below. One of three such cities in the Eden Cluster. The other two were called Zwei and Drei. Strange names that were a quirk of the ruling family. He didn't have the kind of money to afford an actual house, so instead he lived here. A tiny apartment in the heart of city, one of many shunted into massive skyscrapers. Hives, the denizens called them. Shu thought it appropriate; he felt claustrophobic trying to move around its halls most days. He began slurping up the noodles, his stomach convulsing and cursing his name as it took in the sustenance. He rifled through his wallet, picking out a small card as he ate. A digital display screen on the card read $48.44. All the money he had left to his name. A pitiful moan. "How am I supposed to do anything with this?"
He finished his meal quietly, not wanting to think about how in the world he'd scrounge up enough money for everything he needed done today. It seemed his errands had been ground to a halt. First he needed a job. His eyes drifted toward the window. "…There must be somewhere that's hiring."
The door slammed behind him as he stepped out of the apartment. He'd walk around until he found someplace that would pay him. That was all there was to it. The walls of the hive were poorly lit and had little wiggle room. There wasn't even enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. The bare minimum had gone into this place, and it showed. Several of the lights above were burnt out, and those left either flickered or were dim. He had to squeeze past a pair of vagrants sleeping up against their doorway, having forgotten or lost their key somewhere. Thankfully, there was an operational elevator. Living on the 40th floor wasn't fun when the thing was out of order. It was a short ride down, and for once he was alone for it; he was certainly glad for that. The elevator smelled terrible, and the kind of people he lived with would have made it even worse. He heard a ding, as the doors slid open and he stepped into the lobby. A cavernous, sparsely decorated room that served none of the purpose a plain hallway and front door wouldn't. A few staff lounged at a welcome desk off to his left, though Shu hadn't spoken to any of them once in his life. Whatever they did here was a mystery to him.
He stepped out the front door and into the streets. The shadows of the colossal buildings dwarfed the people flitting around their bottoms. The concrete streets were flanked by well-maintained sidewalks swarming with wandering people. Taxis and buses passed by quietly, and few personal cars could be seen in this crowded place. The entire city was waking up along with Kuwabara, and they were marching into the day steadily. Shu blended in to the crowd, dutifully heading off to work in the early morning. For all his complaints, Shu knew he was lucky. He was poor, but at least he was a magus. That was an honor that four fifths of the population could not claim. It was likely that most of the people around him were without a single magic circuit in their bodies. None of them would ever rise to a position of great power because of that deficiency. His thoughts were drowned out by the sound of an acoustic guitar. Some bizarre man played on the sidewalk, dressed in nothing but a vest and some loose pants, a crown of branches around his long hair. He was singing songs in a language that Shu didn't understand. It definitely wasn't English or Japanese; frankly it sounded like something that had been made up. There was a dusty old hat sitting by the player's side, subtly asking for tips. He was a decent musician, but Shu wasn't about to pay him for mediocrity. His eyes lingered just a moment too long on the musician, and he stumbled headlong into another man.
Shu was heavier, and he fell forward in the jumble, leaving a tiny man scrambling for safety beneath him. "Get off me you brat! Help! Somebody help!"
"Hey, shut up!" cried Shu, plenty eager himself to get away from the thrashing little man. "It was an accident, you don't have to yell."
As Shu stood back up to his feet, the little man sat for a moment on the ground. His face was cartoonishly over the top, with a giant, crooked nose, baggy, beady little eyes and a fat lower lip. It was almost a shame he didn't have giant ears to match. A floppy little hat covered the top of his head. The little man wobbled up to his feet, dusting himself off and glaring daggers at Shu. "Little bastards like you make me sick. I could have broken something, and then what, huh? Would you have paid for my medical bills you little imp?"
Shu was flabbergasted for a moment. Only a moment, though. Then he got angry, and clenched his fists. "The hell's your problem?! I said it was an accident!"
The bony little man scoffed at him. "Oh, yes, an accident indeed! Is that what they're calling robbery these days?"
"What?" asked Shu, his temper flaring. His voice rose and started to crack as he got increasingly frustrated.
Space was opening up all around the pair. People had caught notice of the tension, and were slowly back away to watch from a safe distance. A cold wind blew through the streets, and all other noises seemed to be blotted out. Even the obnoxious guitar player was watching the argument now.
"Don't you lie to me!" shrieked the tiny man, pointing accusatorily at Kuwabara, his face pulled into an ugly, fearful grimace. "I felt your hand rifle through my pockets as we fell. Liar! Thief! Scoundrel!"
Hushed whispers fluttered around the crowd. Shu gaped at them as the gossip spread. Were they really dumb enough to believe that he was the bad guy now? He growled and swiped at the air. "Cut it out, you short little freak! I didn't touch your damn pockets!"
The pointing finger became an inviting wave. A sick little grin popped onto the man's face. "Tell you what. I'll forgive you if you make up for your depraved little crime, on one condition." Shu only frowned and kept his fists clenched. There was no way this would be a reasonable offer. The man pulled out an ID card, marked by a golden bar in the upper right corner with red caps. That denoted he was a magus with high-ranked privileges that had some job relevant to history. "My name is Stigg Utkin. I'm a museum curator, you see. And we're always on the lookout for new items to put on exhibit. But funds have been low lately…"
One of Shu's organs began to ache. Specifically, his wallet. He watched that twisted smile grow. "Maybe you'd be willing to make a generous donation?"
Stigg and the crowd around watched Shu quietly as he contemplated his position. He could probably trounce this guy in a fight, even if he was another magus. He didn't look so tough. His fists clenched tighter as he thought about the sweet sensation of pressing his fists up against that punchable nose. Feeling it collapse under the force…
But then what? Get arrested for beating the snot out of some defenseless jackass? Not worth it. Quietly, his hands loosened, and dropped to his sides. His eyes were fixed firmly on the ground as he walked to Utkin, fishing his wallet out of his rear pocket. Stigg smiled and gave a shrieky little cackle. "Yeah, that's better. Listen to your little conscience and do the right thing…"
Shu pulled out his pay card and extended it for Stigg to take and subtract funds from. Utkin grabbed the card and began to pull.
"…you pink-haired freak."
Shu's hand didn't budge. The card was firmly in his hand, and Stigg repeatedly tugged it, to no avail. Stigg glared up at the boy. "The hell are you doing? Come on, give it here, punk!"
A shadow had fallen over Kuwabara's face. It slowly dawned on Stigg that he'd made some kind of error. The boy's face slipped into a snarl, and a voice like an animal's slowly asked: "…Did you… just mock my hair?"
A bead of sweat dripped down Stigg's face. "U-uh, er, well not so much mock it a-as commented, bu—eep!"
Stigg's hand yanked away from the card as Shu's hand suddenly caught alight. A bright red flame engulfed his hand as he dropped the card, and formed another fist. His other hand caught alight similarly. Kuwabara's eyes were blazing with hatred as they bore a hole straight through to Stigg's soul. "You'll burn for that!"
And suddenly Shu was moving. The boy kicked off from his standing position and was in the air above Utkin, who was frozen in place by his own fear, liquid running down his leg. "Have mercy!" he cried. Shu couldn't even hear him, his mind was nothing but a maelstrom of yelling voices now, urging him to bash his skull in. A flaming fist came downward…
And was caught without fanfare by someone else's hand.
"Wha?"
The entire world flipped itself as Shu was stopped mid-punch, and with a deft motion was flipped upside down. The hit the ground head first, a fresh crack of agony rocking his body. He flopped down, limp as his arm was held casually above him by someone else. His vision was blurred, now, and he couldn't make out anything but a big blob of gray above him. The blob tried to speak, but Shu couldn't make out words from the tinny, muffled sounds. His ears were ringing, and nothing legible would get through. The blob let go of his hand and let it drop to his side. It then kneeled down beside his face. Up close, Shu could make out the face of a man. His skin was pale, and a wry smile mocked him. He was holding something up in his hand. It was a badge with three golden bars.
Oh. Fantastic, Shu thought. An Enforcer. He could finally make out what the man was saying. His voice was lackadaisical and chummy as he said "Hey, pal! So, guess what?"
Silence. The Enforcer's smile didn't fade as he stared expectantly at Shu. He started to feel uncomfortable.
"Er… what?"
"You're under arrest!"
…
The crowd was beginning to disperse. The fun had passed. Stigg Utkin was still quivering as he watched the Enforcer handcuff the little pink-haired brat and cart him off to who-knows-where. He hoped it was a suitably destitute dungeon of some sort, full of rats and plague suitable for an urchin like him. He dusted himself off in the aftermath, hoping that no one could make out the wet spot on his pants. He pulled his shirt down a little lower to try and cover it up; nothing to do for it now, he had business to attend to. Very important business that couldn't be delayed any longer. He got back to walking, trying to keep composure. He didn't think a punk like that had such powerful magic on hand like that. He'd just been hoping to make a few quick bucks off a sap; he hadn't expected his life to be on the line. But still, he assured himself, his quick wit and masterful planning had paid off in the end. An Enforcer had been right on hand to arrest the brute, and cut the little tumor right out from under society's skin! Just as he'd calculated! He hooted in laughter at his own genius.
Today was already looking in his favor.
He turned around a corner and found himself on one of the largest boulevards in Ein City. Colorful, glowing billboards and television screens displayed advertisements for all the latest products. Banners unfurled from the tops of buildings urged those with magical potential and seeking a purpose in life to sign up with the Enforcers. No regular police department could handle a society of such power mages, after all; it took magi to police magi. Stigg snorted. A lifetime of trying to square off with criminal magi? No, thank you. His cushy little job at the museum was plenty good for him. Or, at least, it had been.
He passed by a boutique of some sort, and a restaurant with a balcony up above where the rich could enjoy gourmet food and the open air of the city all at once. This looked right, it should be around here somewhere…
Stigg stepped up to the crosswalk, and skipped across the street, moving closer to a discrete alleyway. He stopped beside it, trying to look casual as he leaned up against a wall, fishing out a coin from his pocket. He flipped it into the air, and promptly failed to catch it as it sailed past his hand and hit the ground with a metallic tink. His face faulted as he glanced around to see if anyone had spotted that. He stooped over and scraped the coin up from the ground, and slipped into the alley before he could embarrass himself further. He was immediately met with a chilling sensation as his instincts warned him to escape this place. The oppressive walls closed in from either side, coated in graffiti as a dozen different gangs tried to claim this slice of unseen land as their territory. His eyes were instinctively drawn to a beautiful red array to his right. A diamond-shaped mural that seemed to glow with its intense red coloring. Above and below it, the words were written:
"Watch out!
Anyone could be a Ruby Red!"
Stigg gulped, but the motion caught halfway down his throat. He heard movement. Further down the alleyway a shadow shifted, and a suspicious stranger slithered closer. He wore the colors of the local gang, the Ghouls. His face was painted black, with a white smile imposed over his lips. This was his contact. He chuckled at the quivering Stigg and gestured at him. "Awww, whatsamatter stranger-man? Look like you seen a ghost." The Ghoul smiled at him, and only looked more menacing for. Then he laughed. "Don't worry none, stranger-man, you in good company wit' us." He lowered down to the ground, and only then did Stigg notice the manhole cover. The Ghoul flipped it open and pointed down.
"W-what is this?" Stigg demanded. "I was told the trade was going to be here!"
The Ghoul chuckled grimly and wagged a finger at Stigg. "Oh-ho no no, stranger-man. Ghouls don't do no dealing in the world o' the living. You wanna trade wit' us, you tradin' down in the underworld…"
Another gulp. Stigg understood now. The Ghoul was just the guide to their lair. Somewhere down in the Understreets.
The Eden Cluster was an idyllic recreation of Earth's landscape, on the surface. But only a fool thought that such a thing could be recreated purely from magic. Technology was the key to the existence of such a world. And so the Understreets were necessitated. Just beneath the surface ran miles and miles of pipes, machines, gears, and churning fires that kept the entire station running. It was an autonomous system, maintained by drones. There was no need for civilized folk to ever go down there; and so it belonged to the gangs. The worst scum of society prowled their depths, safe from the prying eyes of the law. To follow this Ghoul meant going into a quite literal lion's den. Stigg had never felt more like a lamb. But he'd come this far. He wasn't going home without his profit. He nodded to the Ghoul, and followed him down.
The sewers they entered were only a buffer zone between the city and the Understreets, but already it felt quite unnerving. The sound of draining water and the discordant humming of the Ghoul that led him on was the worst kind of serenity. Stigg saw movement in every shadow, phantom eyes watching him from all directions. This place was not safe.
"This is the place, stranger-man."
The Ghoul showed him an iron door, and pushed it open. Stairs led downward. At the end of a long trip down, a glimmer of light betrayed the existence of a room at the bottom. Stigg took a deep breath, and called forth whatever scraps of courage existed within his tiny body. The Ghoul snickered at him. "Go on, then, go on!"
Utkin descended, taking great care not to trip on the dark steps. It took a full minute to reach the bottom, where he was greeted by a sight that he could not begin to comprehend.
It was a vast chamber, tens of miles in diameter. He was staring into the womb of an entire world. The air was filled with the sound of hissing steam and clanking metal as an entire catacomb of machinery worked to keep the Eden Cluster alive. His senses were overloaded as he felt vast, immeasurable streams of prana, magical energy flowing from place to place. He stood upon a metal walkway, illuminated by humongous, distant columns of fire that cast the world in golden light. He felt very hot down here, easily upwards of a hundred degrees. It was humbling, to think that men had crafted such a marvel.
In the distance he could see other figures. Six men were waiting on the walkways, with a small suitcase at their feet. Those were his boys, then. Paydirt. Stigg approached, waving as he came closer to get their attention. They were dressed like the other man, their faces painted to signify their status as Ghouls. Their leader, his face veiled beneath a hood, stepped forward to negotiate.
"You our boy? Sting?"
"It's Stigg," he said with a scrunched frown. "And yes. I am. I take it you've got what I want, then?"
"Right here, Sting-boy, right here." The Ghoul nodded and smiled at him with a glazed expression. Heaven knows what kind of drugs this man was on. Stigg decided to ignore him and just get on with the deal. One of the other Ghouls grabbed the suitcase and brought it forward, opening it up to showcase its contents. A sack of varied jewels, several old doubloons from centuries ago, an antique spearhead, and a mummified piece of tattooed skin, glowing faintly in harmony with the tremendous reserves of prana in the air around them. The Ghoul grinned. "Ah? Likin' whatcha see, yeah? Yeah? Tell you what, wasn't easy smuggling this shit up from Avalon. Security's tight as ass, man. Whatcha want all this junk for anyway?"
Stigg cast a dismissive look at the Ghoul. "That's not any of your business." Why did he need some kind of motive for smuggling priceless artifacts? Can't a man just want to get rich? The Ghoul waved his hands.
"It's cool, man, it's cool. Don't wanna say nothing, say nothing. You got your end of the bargain?
"Right here," confirmed Utkin. He pulled out a pay card currently loaded with over ten thousand dollars' worth of credit. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the Ghoul his payment. He snatched it out of the air and glanced at the loaded currency. A toothy grin announced he was pleased. "You've got good money, Sting-boy, real damn good." He pocketed the card. Stigg smiled back.
"Glad you like it. Now hand me mine, and we'll be on our way."
A Ghoul shut the suitcase, and picked it up. He didn't bring it to Stigg. Their leader kept that toothy grin. "Mm… nah, Sting-boy. Thinkin' we just kill you and sell it ourselves, yeah?"
The Ghouls produced weapons. Six guns pointed at Stigg's face. His eyes darted between them, calculating his odds if he moved. Above zero, but not by enough to be of any good to a human body. He felt his body shaking as he tried to stutter out some diplomacy. "W-wait a minute, fellas, we had a deal!"
The Ghoul looked at him strangely. "…Yeah? And I broke it. Your point, Sting-boy?"
In his fear, an odd voice of clarity reminded him that he should have expected this from dealing with Understreet gangs.
"I'm begging you, reconsider before…"
He stopped talking as the sound of a solid punch caught their attention. The Ghoul in the back began to space out as they looked at him, his eyes wide open and caught in a thousand yard stare as he fell flat on his face. Behind him stood a newcomer. He was a hostile-looking young man, that looked almost as much a thug as the Ghoul he just clocked. His face was twisted into a grimace, and his kinked eyebrows gave him an especially mean glare. His hair was white, and swept backwards carelessly. He was dressed in a gray tank top, skintight and lined in black to mimic the toned musculature beneath. His pants were gray as well, and slightly baggy, kept tight against his legs by multiple straps. He smiled at the Ghouls, but it didn't make him any more pleasant. "Play nice now, boys, or I'm going to take your toys away."
Stigg was frozen for the next few moments as he watched the flurry of motion that came next. A Ghoul spun around to aim at the newcomer, who responded with a swift punch right to his throat. Choking, the Ghoul slapped against the floor like a slab of wet meat. He followed up the punch with a devastating elbow straight into the eye of the Ghoul that was now just behind him. A spinning kick followed, and knocked him off of the walkway. Stigg could hear his receding screams as the victim plummeted down into the belly of the fiery core of the Eden Cluster, banging and knocking against various pipes as he fell. With a roar, the strange newcomer plowed into the rest of the Ghouls at once, throwing wild punches and thrashing motions to overcome the three of them at once.
Stigg was shaken from his trance by the smell of opportunity. The ratlike little fellow dove into the fray just long enough to grab his suitcase, stealing it away from the throng and running like hell.
"Hey!" One Ghoul yelled as he saw the dwindling figure bolting up the stairs. "Sting-boy's getting away!" For his trouble he was granted a solid blow to the temple. The stranger mocked him. "Eyes on the prize, dumbass." The thug couldn't hear him, though, now lost in the exciting world of brain damage and curled up on the floor. That left two. The stranger stepped back and took a breath. The Ghoul and his leader limbered up in the brief respite.
"Gotta lotta nerve coming down here and screwing wit' us on our turf, Freak-hair! Gonna pay for that!"
The Ghoul was given another taunting smile. "The only pay today is your hospital bill." The thug decided he didn't like that insult, and charged the white-haired boy. A solid punch to the midsection, a strafing motion, and another punch to the neck. The Ghoul was down for the count. He turned his attention to their leader, who was carefully backing away. "Don't be a wimp about this!" the stranger taunted. "Just sit still and take your lumps like a man!"
The Ghoul's response was to produce a knife from his sleeve, and brandish it. The stranger seemed to sober up at that, losing his cocky smile. He straightened out his arm and closed his eyes. The Ghoul looked at him like he was crazy. "Whatcha doing, Freak-hair? You some kinda wizard?"
The stranger had already shut out the Ghoul. He was closed within his mind now. He concentrated his mind upon an image: a gleaming, sharp sword within his hand. The circuit was open. All he had to do was properly channel it…
"Trace, On."
His arm was charged with prana as it flowed down toward his hand, and began to collect. He had visualized the weapon, and conceptualized it. Concentrate, concentrate…
He began to sweat, grimacing as the effort began to grow. His muscles began to tense. He couldn't stop now. Not when he was so close. He could feel the prana clogging in his arm; the spell wasn't carrying through. He forced yet more energy in to force through the block. His eyes shot open in response to the sensation of intense pain. Even the Ghoul had to take a step back as he watched the boy's entire arm begin to spasm uncontrollably, his forearm a writhing mass of flesh as it rejected his spell. The boy shrieked in pain as he fell to his knees. On sheer animal instinct he began to smash his arm into the ground, trying to stop its unnatural motion.
"Yeesh, Freak-hair, you into some crazy shit. Was that supposed'ta do sumtin?" He looked up and caught a boot to the chin. The stranger was knocked onto his back, the hot metal scorching his bare skin. He gasped for air as his lungs were emptied; the Ghoul dropped a knee straight onto him, just below the ribcage. A nauseating pressure on his midsection remained as the painted man leaned forward, knife in hand. "Hold still now, son, we gon' make you nice and pretty."
The knife lowered, and cut just below the boy's cheekbone, pressing past the first layer of skin, slowly digging deeper and deeper. "Nice and pretty holes in you, yep yep yep…" He could feel the knife about to pierce through his entire cheek. Just enough pain to catch his attention above his arm. He dragged his left hand up and placed it firmly around the Ghoul's neck. He squeezed.
"Crkk—" The Ghoul released the knife, and began desperately pawing at the vice around his throat. His face was turning blue. That was his opportunity. The white-haired boy swung his right arm around and yanked the knife from his cheek. With a yell he swung upward and drove the blade through the Ghoul's eye. An awful squelching sound filled his ears, and blood slipped down the blade and dripped onto his forehead. His nostrils were filled with the exhalation of the Ghoul's final, rancid breath.
"Agh!" He pushed the blade in deeper. That did it for sure. He felt the blade pressing against the back of the man's skull. With a final, exhausted moan, the boy released the blade. The Ghoul fell on top of him, the corpse weighing him down. He shoved the body away and off the walkway, letting it plummet down to some infernal depth where it wouldn't be missed. The adrenaline wore off, and he realized that he was still in pain. He lifted up his right arm and watched it. The muscles were still twitching erratically, with nothing but nerve damage to show for his efforts. "Again…"
He slammed his fist against the floor. "Damn it!" He only served to burn his hand. Yowling in pain for a moment, he quieted down and let out a deep sigh. He stared upward into the expanses of the Understreets, and sulked in disappointment.
Congratulations, Kaito. You've hit a new level of failure.
…
Several hours later, a young man stood at the top of a tall hill in the far northwest of the Eden Cluster. It was still a clear and beautiful day, the sun shining as a few fluffy clouds swam through the sky. He stood within the heart of a vast forest, stretching over many miles of land. And the centerpiece of it all was here, the crown jewel of the Eden Cluster: The Clock Tower.
A five-story building of Victorian English design, this sprawling structure, as its name suggests, was dominated by the gigantic clock tower looming high over the rest of the complex. This was the center of study for magi of all levels of talent and eminence, no matter where on the Cluster they lived. It was a place of learning, as well, and many young magi came here to learn their craft. This young man was one such student. If only he had the slightest idea where he was supposed to go.
The interior halls were quite a sight to behold. Lines with twenty-foot murals and stained glass windows, it was like stepping into an art gallery. Displays upon the walls highlighted various artifacts and arts relevant to the Department the particular hall belonged to. He admired them all as he roamed the building. He was doe-faced boy, with large and shining brown eyes. Long bangs of the same shade fell over his face. He was receiving glances from passing students; it was hard not to notice that he didn't belong. His black school uniform was markedly different from the local green flavor. People began to whisper. What was this dunce doing here, they asked? They saw the vacant stare in his eyes and the blank smile as he admired the decoration, walking the halls seemingly without purpose. At last, they could stand it no more.
"Ahem, excuse me. Boy?"
The boy in the black uniform stopped mid-stride and hesitated a moment before looking the man's way. An instructor had stepped out of a classroom and was staring his way. A dark-skinned man with a close-shaven beard flecked by the earliest silver signs of age. The boy tilted his head to stare at the man, his body not moving to accommodate the motion. The professor felt unnerved.
"Uh, yes, Mr…?"
"It is 'Professor.' And for the record, my name is Lume," the elder man said. "I've seen you pass my class three times now. Are you looking for someone?"
A light seemed to switch on in the boy's head, and he looked focused for a brief moment. "Oh, yes! Hold on just a second…" He shoved a hand into his breast pocket, groping around for something. A piece of folded paper crinkled as he drew it out and unfolded it. His eyes scanned it as he explained. "I'm supposed to meet with a, uh… Roger Lume?"
A brief silence.
"That'd be you, right?"
"Yes, it would be me." Professor Lume observed the student with a stern expression. "Judging from that uniform, I assume you're that exchange student I was told to expect?"
"Yessir."
The Professor did not seem overly enthused. He nodded into the classroom. "Let's get on with it, then. Introduce yourself, then find a seat. I hope you won't be too bored by a history lesson after your little tour."
"Not at all, sir," said the student, the sardonic tone of his instructor doing nothing for him. Lume led the boy inside.
The lecture hall was filled with warmth, the ascending rows of seats filled up with several dozen students. A roaring hearth in the corner defied the standard structure of such a room. The walls were paneled with rich, red wood and decorated with banners and paintings much like the hallways. There was certainly no shortage of opulence within this place. A squat podium rested at the bottom of the hall where the professor stood and gave his speeches. It was here that the student now found himself standing as Professor Lume gestured to him.
"Class. We have a new student joining us today. He's come up from Earth to take part in studies here at the Clock Tower. I expect you to greet him cordially, and treat him with the esteem he's earned by coming here." Lume turned to him and nodded. The boy faced his audience and did his best to look friendly and excited.
"Uh, hello!" he said in a light voice. I guess I should start with my name… "My name is Spiegel Sindar. I'm an exchange student from the Avalon Academy."
And then he drew a blank. His lip quivered as he started to chew on his tongue. Uh, damn. What are you supposed to say for these things?! "I, uh, I've heard really good things about this place. I'm hoping to learn a lot…"
A pause.
"…And that we can all be friends!"
Well, that was clearly the wrong thing to say. The students, and even Professor Lume looked at him oddly. But for all the scrutiny his face remained a pleasant grin, oblivious to his own misstep. Quickly excusing himself with a "Thank you for the opportunity," to Professor Lume, he left the podium and quickly scrambled up as far back into the recesses of the hall as he could go. Sidling into a row of chairs, he sat himself down and felt pointedly under-equipped. Every other person in the row was buried within a textbook, scribbling notes down on sheets of paper. He'd brought nothing of that sort. To his right was a young woman diligently recording notes out of a book. Her curly hair was auburn, and she had freckles on her face. Spiegel waved to try and grab her attention. Nothing. He whispered, "Hey. Uh, girl?" Nada. He furrowed his brow, and poked her in the arm. Another mistake. Spiegel grabbed her attention, all right, but not in any way he'd enjoy. Her head immediately snapped upward and glared at him. He felt daggers shooting out of those eyes.
"What?" she asked. Spiegel hesitated, put off by her aggressive tone. That only seemed to make her angrier. "Do you have something to say or not?"
"Uh, could I borrow some paper? And maybe a pen, too?"
Her pointed anger seemed to dull, and left behind a pitiless displeasure. She turned away from him, muttering to herself. "Bring your own next time. Don't bother me because you didn't think to bring basic supplies."
Oh. Spiegel tilted his head at the angry girl. Did I do something to make her mad at me? All I did was sit down…
He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of sliding paper. He turned and saw a hand setting down a few sheets and a pen down on his desk. The boy to his left smiled at him. He had long, dark hair bunched up into a ponytail, a downturned nose, and icy blue eyes. The friendly face he was making didn't seem possible with his features. "Don't let Demi get to you. She's like that with everyone. People 'round here don't really 'get' folk that are nice to them."
Spiegel repeated the name to himself, confused. "Demi?.."
"Demiya," said the other boy. He nodded toward the girl who was once again lost in her note-taking. "She likes to live in her own little world. If it's not a book, she doesn't care about it."
"Oh…" said Spiegel, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. So, he hadn't done anything to offend her. She was just like that by nature. He wasn't sure if that made her reaction better or worse. The other boy extended his hand, and they shook.
"I'm Kary Houper, by the way. Welcome to the Eden Cluster."
"Uh, Spiegel. And thanks."
"You liking it here so far?"
"Sorta. I've only been here a few days," explained Spiegel. "It's been weird adjusting. Everything feels lighter here. And seeing the Earth in the sky at night… it's really odd."
"You'll get used to it," Kary assured him. "Everybody takes a little while adjusting. I think you'll like it here, though. Real peaceful, if you know where to go."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Maybe I'll give you the grand tour sometime."
"Ahem." Their introductions were cut off by Professor Lume, who seemed to have finished gathering up his materials and was at the podium, ready to teach. "Now then, before our guest arrived, I believe I was explaining the next few weeks' curriculum. Every piece of human history has its importance, but some have more relevance in the modern world than others. Since I'm speaking to a room of human beings, and not apes, I can assume you all understand what I mean when I speak of the Crimson Moon Disaster?"
Everyone nodded, Spiegel included. It wasn't something people talked about much, but he'd heard the name a few times growing up. He assumed that it was something terrible. It carried that weight that other names didn't. The kind of weight that said human history had been changed forever by it. Lume went on. "Then I may be brief in going over the basics. Two hundred and twenty three years ago—that's the year 2025, for those of you failing my Arithmetic course—the majority of Earth's surface was rendered uninhabitable by the actions of an entity by the name of the Crimson Moon. Simple, yes? It was in the aftermath of this catastrophe that the supercity of Avalon was constructed, and the foundation for the Cluster stations—like the one we're standing in this very moment—was laid down. It was an event that wiped out over ninety percent of all life on the Earth. And yet, for all the impact it's had upon the course of human history, we actually know very little of the events of the disaster." The professor quietly scanned the students, his cold eyes looking for signs of weakness. "So, let's start off simple by listing what we do know. Why don't we ask our new friend Spiegel if he can help us with that. Mr. Sindar?"
A jolt went through his body as Spiegel realized he was being called upon. A lump caught in his throat as he tried to think of something to say. "Uh… Erm…"
"Mr. Sindar? Do you have anything to contribute?"
He sank into his seat, trying to hide his form. "…I don't."
The Professor looked away from him, not looking particularly upset or pleased with the result. "Hrm, I see. That certainly explains your grade transcripts that I received… Very well. That's fine. You're here to learn, so it would be wasting your time and mine if you already knew everything I have to teach you. Let's find someone else to illuminate the matter, then. Miss Eldar? Would you fill in for Spiegel, please?"
The girl beside Spiegel, Demiya, raised her head and folded her hands in front of her. He only then took notice of just how serious she looked compared to the other students. She cleared her throat, and began lecturing like she'd rehearsed a speech for this precise situation.
"The Crimson Moon Disaster occurred on the 31st of October, in the year 2025. An unknown event somewhere in East Asia triggered the awakening of a colossal creature, which experts believe was some form of Divine Beast of alien origin. The majority of the continent was destroyed instantly, and casualties were reported in the billions. Details of the ensuing conflict are sparse and explain little of what actually occurred. The only things historians agree upon are as follows:"
She held up a finger.
"One, that the conflict lasted for approximately three days."
A second finger.
"Two, that nine tenths of life on the planet was eradicated, and only Antarctica remained habitable after extensive damage to the biosphere."
A third.
"Three, that the event known as the Lunar Crash was directly tied to this conflict, and resulted in the Earth's moon being blown from orbit and exiting the solar sytem."
One more.
"And fourth, that an individual named Shirou Emiya was responsible for the destruction of the alien entity, which is referred to as the Crimson Moon."
Her spiel complete, Demiya lowered her head and returned to her notes. Professor Lume seemed pleased, and gave a light round of applause which was joined by the rest of the class. Spiegel went along with them, and clapped for her as well. He glanced at Kary and whispered, "Why does she know so much about such an arbitrary subject?"
Houper bit back a laugh and answered, "She knows that much about everything. I told you, if it's not a book she doesn't care about it. Knowing stuff's kind of her thing."
"Now then," continued Lume. "I think that's a perfectly serviceable summary to begin today's lecture. Today we'll be discussing the Reconstruction that took place following the Crimson Moon disaster. Everyone, please open your copies of Magecraft in Modernity to page 49."
Spiegel glanced around and saw everyone opening books that he distinctly did not own. He glanced at Kary, who nodded and slid over his copy to where they could both read from it. The page opposite the beginning of this chapter was dominated by an illustration of the supercity Avalon, Spiegel's home. It was a famous oil painting than hung in the Art and Culture megastructure within its borders. In fact, Spiegel was pretty sure there was a copy in his home. A rounded, crystalline structure rose high above the barren icy plains of Antarctica. It was difficult to tell from the painting, crafted from miles away to capture its full glory, but Spiegel had been there long enough to know that it was significantly larger than its appearance. Even the Eden Cluster was dwarfed by its dozens of levels above and below ground, each with room for multiple cities and miles of farmland and nature preservations. The Professor was beginning his lecture as Spiegel admired the remarkable work of art.
"The Reconstruction era marked a turning point in the history of the Mages' Association, and in many ways brought about the death of the old traditions in a way that not even the Crimson Moon disaster could match. Tens of millions of humans, those who had survived the initial disaster, were displaced from their homes, no longer able to survive the irradiated, superheated deserts that now plagued most of the Earth's surface. The Mages' Association, thanks to multiple precautions taken in case of such an event, survived with the majority of its population intact. However, there were too few magi to properly carry on the legacy of humanity on its own. Thus, it was decided by a council of ruling magi from the Clock Tower that for the first time in centuries magic would be openly revealed to the entire human population. This sharing of knowledge, of magic and technology, would be the foundation upon which both Avalon and the Clusters were built. Hrm…" The Professor stroked his beard, and Spiegel again felt the pressure of his gaze on him. "Considering that he is something of an emissary from Avalon to our class, I think it is only proper that he get the first chance to answer this question. Mr. Sindar, can you tell the class the name of the magus that led this Council?"
"Erp…" Spiegel choked on his words again. Oh god, I know this one! Who was it? They've got a picture of her on every wall back at my old school, for crying out loud!
"Come on, now, Mr. Sindar. It is basic history. This is not a hard question; simply concentrate, and recall the name. She is the first Lord of Avalon, after all."
Spiegel heard a tapping noise. He saw Kary had flipped the page in their book, and was quietly pointing out the picture of a black-haired woman in a red coat. The caption pointed out her identity, and Spiegel immediately remembered who she was. He looked back to the Professor and answered, "R—"
"Rin Tohsaka," answered an exasperated voice from several rows down. Spiegel stopped mid-word, mouth still open as he looked down at the boy who'd interrupted him. A dark-skinned boy with a middle line of hair gelled up and back, the rest of it on either side knotted into cornrows. He repeated, "Lady Rin Tohsaka. Isn't that right, Professor?"
The entire lecture hall was hushed by the interruption. Spiegel could swear he could hear his own heartbeat. Professor Lume was staring intently at the boy who had cut in with an expression that couldn't quite be read. The slightest frown tugged his lips downward, and his eyebrows were locked in a disbelieving expression. He took great care in enunciating himself, slowl saying "Indeed. That is correct. However, Mr. Lume, I believe I asked our friend Mr. Sindar to answer my question. Has your name been changed to Spiegel Sindar without my knowledge?"
The boy kept eyes locked with the man for a few seconds longer, and then bowed his head. "…No, sir."
"Correct again. In the future, consider the consequences before you interrupt another student, Mr. Lume."
Spiegel didn't understand. He looked to Kary and asked, "Why does he keep calling that guy Lume?"
"That's his son," Kary explained. "Name's Dwight. Uh, just as a rule of thumb, I'd probably avoid him for the first week. He doesn't mix well with teacher's pets."
"Oh, okay." Spiegel turned back to the Professor and listened as the lecture got back under speed. A few minutes later he had a thought.
Wait. I'm a teacher's pet?
…
The sound of sliding iron bars bounced off the stone walls. A tiny sliver of sunlight crept through a window at the top of a tiny holding cell. Shu Kuwabara was sitting on an uncomfortably hard bed bolted to the walls in the corner of said cell, hunched over with his chin resting on a fist. He had no words for the bizarre man currently fiddling with a ring of keys, looking for the one to his cell. His voice was an unfitting baritone bizarrely lacking in any accent whatsoever.
"No… no, that's not it… not that one either… why don't they label these freaking things?.. Oh, screw it. Secure. Contain."
The Enforcer pressed his hand against the lock and recited a simple aria. The sound of moving tumblers made a pleasing sound as the cell door locked itself. The Enforcer snapped his fingers. "The-ere we go, that's the ticket! Ah, nothing like a clean and simple arrest, eh kid?"
Shu tried to glare at him harder. The man just chuckled. "Hey, man, don't try and get on my case now! Y'know, I'm not even on-duty. Hell, I don't live on the Eden Cluster at all; truth is, I'm supposed to be on vacation right now. Can you believe it?"
No, Shu decided. He chose deliberately not to believe it. It felt like the only power he had available to him that could be used to spite this goofball.
He certainly didn't look like an Enforcer, with their well-pressed uniforms and dutiful stoic behavior. Not that Shu had any love for tools of the Magocracy, but at least they had pride in their work ethic. This guy was a joke. He was a tall man, a little over six feet, and had plenty of muscle on him, but his sheer height made him look skinny to the point of being underweight. He had a sickly white pallor to his skin; he practically looked undead. His eyes were heavily lidded, and he looked to Shu like he'd had a bit too much weed for one day with their bloodshot, glazed appearance. He had a goofy smile on his face, but that was nothing compared to his hair. His raven-colored hair was styled into a flock of seagulls cut, two "wings" of hair shooting back off either side of his head. He was in a simple black shirt, with a gray collar, and blue jeans. Shu wasn't sure who should be embarrassed more: the Enforcers for having such a schmuck in their ranks, or Shu himself for getting beaten so handily by him.
The Enforcer spun on his heel and walked over to a chair on the other side of the room, still visible from his cell. He sat down and kicked his feet up onto the table, and waved at his prisoner.
"Name's Wayne by the way! Nice to meet you, Shu Kuwabara."
"Wh—I didn't tell you my name."
"Yeah, I know." Wayne, as he was apparently called, flashed a concerning smile Shu's way. Who was this freak? "I tell ya, it's the darndest luck, Shu. Basically, I hop off the shuttle to the Eden Cluster, I'm on my way to the station, gonna catch a train to Drei City, right? Up by that cozy little lake, got myself a nice cabin rented out for the week. Gonna get my R&R on, know what I'm saying? But I'm not a hundred steps from the shuttle station, and what do I see but some punk with pink hair about to make some fricassee out of a tiny little man! No rest for the weary, ain't that the truth. But I mean, you should basically know the rest of this story, right? It's the one where I beat you up and put you under arrest for aggravated assault!"
Shu kept his eyes fixated on the ground, trying to ignore the rambling dunce. "Good God, you're annoying."
"Well, shoot, that's kinda mean," said Wayne, scratching his cheek. He leaned back a little further, putting his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. He began to whistle a tune. It sounded familiar to Shu, but he couldn't place it; it was good, though. He started tapping his foot along with it. It was certainly better than hearing this windbag talk. The blissful lack of conversation continued for a good fifteen minutes. Then Wayne began grunting, as if he was trying to clear his throat, but wasn't making a very good showing of it. He rotated himself off the table and leaned forward, staring directly at Shu, who glared back, wondering what the weirdo was going to try next. Wayne groaned to himself; it seemed he was already displeased with his decision to begin conversation.
"So, you've got yourself a pretty hefty record. Eh, Mr. Repeat Offender?"
"I didn't tell you my record either."
"You didn't," Wayne confirmed. His smile was gone, replaced with a tired frown. Did talking really drain this man so quickly? "You look like a sweet enough kid, though. Don't think I've ever seen a criminal with pink hair."
Shu's hands instantly caught fire.
"Ha, slow down there, Tiger. I wouldn't if I were you. Those bars on your cell? They've got a Breaker enchantment on them. Try using magecraft on those and your circuits are gonna get fried like cod…" Wayne quietly trailed off halfway through his sentence, his eyes glazing over as he lost himself in some train of thought. The pause lasted long enough for Shu to grow worried.
"Uh, you okay?"
"Hrm… come to think of it… I've never seen a tiger with pink hair, either."
"Huh?" Shu almost fell off the bed in shock. What the hell did this guy just say? Wayne only seemed to sink deeper into himself, stroking his chin as he continued to mutter in a trancelike state.
"I wonder if tigers like fried cod? Or… maybe… only tigers with pink hair?"
"What?"
Wayne looked back up at Shu without the slightest hint of confusion. He kept talking like nothing bizarre had just happened at all. "You have a family, Pink Tiger?"
"Don't call me that…"
"Basically, delinquents with long records don't usually have families. If they do, they're pretty shitty. You have a family?"
Shu looked away, trying to keep a composed face. "Why should I tell you?"
"Why not?"
Kuwabara hesitated, and took a deep breath. "No. My mom died when I was little."
"And your dad?"
"Never met him."
Wayne was quiet for a minute, grunting every few seconds as he stared at Shu. Then, he pushed himself up off the chair and clapped his hands together. "I should be going. Got a long vacation to get to. Gonna fish." He started whistling again as he walked to the door; Shu watched him go, and stop as he reached the door. He glanced back. "By the way… this is basically only holding, not real jail. Somebody should be in to let you out tomorrow morning. Come up to the lake sometime, if you want. We can fish."
A door clicked shut behind the Enforcer as he left the cell room. Shu let out a long breath, and massaged his forehead. "What a strange man…"
He looked around at the room. The floor was made of cobblestone, and nothing special. A few candles were the only sources of light besides his cell window. His own cell had little of note. A toilet he was determined not to use at all costs, some open space, and a bed. It was a cramped little space and not exactly homely. Shu groaned, and threw himself back onto the bed. Today had gone so very wrong, and so quickly at that. All he'd wanted was to get some money. Legally, even. And now he was in a jail cell with nothing in his future but fish. "Man, it all went to shit so quick. I'm almost scared to ask if it could get worse."
He kicked his shoes off and flung them against the wall, then turned onto his side. There wasn't much left to do but try and sleep through to the morning. He felt remarkably tired after such an eventful morning, and fell asleep after only a few minutes. He was greeted by a dark, dreamless sleep.
…
A torch was lit, and came to life in a roaring blaze. It was the centerpoint in a dark room, deep beneath the surface of the Eden Cluster. Constructed of stone, shadows danced upon the walls. The room was circular in construction, seven pillars of stone around the edges jutting out from its recesses. In front of each pillar stood a human figure, wreathed in shadow. They held torches of their own, save one, the tallest, who held a golden lantern. They stood upon raised steps, a series of which led down to the center of the room, where a basin of red and blue liquid churned. From this basin was raised a table, and upon this table an open book, inscribed with letters too old to be recognized by any living human. The floors, the walls, the ceilings were inscribed as well. Dozens of arcane runes in interlocking circles, diamonds, and geometrical patterns, crafted from a mixture of mercury and blood coated every surface. At the feet of each of the seven figures was an uplifted circle crafted of liquid silver. They each glanced from side to side at one another, acknowledging that they were fully prepared for what came next.
"I trust everything has been crafted accordingly, Oberon?" asked the smallest of them. He had the voice of a child, but the tone and inflection of an authoritative figure. The man he addressed across from him grunted, mocking the question.
"Of course it has. Why would you have brought me in if you had any doubt in my ability?"
"Not doubt, Oberon. Never doubt. I merely…"
"Don't bother justifying yourself," said the other man. "Let's just get this done. Is everyone all right with that?"
"By all means."
"Naturally."
"Please."
"If you insist."
"So be it."
The other five confirmed their readiness, which left only one man. The one who held the golden lantern. His eyes scanned them, one by one, before quietly nodding. He spoke in a gravel-filled voice ravaged by many years of life.
"The moment we have prepared for has arrived, my Seraphim. The glory of what has been lost shall be refreshed, and brought anew. The moment of cleansing, of restoration has arrived. Kindle your flames, and recite the sacred words alongside me. And let this Holy War begin once more."
Moving as a single body, the Seraphim kneeled down and set their torches to the silver circles. A reaction occurred, and the circles caught the flame, spreading it throughout their form. The fires spread further still, coating every incantation and inscribed rune on the walls of the room, until at last the great basin in the center was reached. A roaring fire jumped from the pool, and everything was illuminated in whole. Not a shadow remained in the room as they began to speak.
"Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts, our great master Schweinorg be the foundation.
Let red be the color we pay tribute to.
Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked room from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.
Let it be filled. Again! Again! Again! Again!
Let it be filled fivefold for every turn, breaking asunder with every filling…"
A heavenly light of white arose from the table in the center, overpowering the red tongues of flame lashing in every direction. The man with the golden lantern felt excitement swelling in his chest, and a smile growing on his face. With a jubilant voice, he declared, "It is begun!"
…
A sound riled Kaito from his bed. He jumped from under the sheets, fists clenched and expecting an intruder. But the room was dark, and empty. His home was far removed from the three great cities of the Eden Cluster, and any sound at night was a sign to prepare for the worst. But perhaps this had just been a stray dog. He let his clenched jaw loosen, and expelled a breath. "Damn. What was that?"
No longer content with sleep after that scare, he left his bedroom and went into the hall. A spacious, well-lit place with felt carpet between his toes. A few family photos lined the walls. Old, faded things that hadn't been updated since he was small. He went down the hall, passing a few guest bedrooms and trudged down the stairs, flipping lights on in the floor below as he went. The ground floor was sparsely decorated, a few curios and books lining shelves on the wall. He passed a mirror as he stepped into the kitchen. He glanced at its reflective surface and poked at the mark on his face; a bandage he'd applied to the wounded spot on his cheek from earlier that day.
The kitchen was arranged in Western style, and had some free countertop space. He fished a jug of milk from the fridge and a glass from a cupboard, pouring himself a drink after he mulled over the day. He'd failed at Projection again. This time it had nearly cost him an arm. It didn't make sense; it was like he was getting worse with practice. What the hell's wrong with me, that I can't use a spell that should be in my blood?
He slammed the glass down on the counter, and had to choke back a yelp as it shattered, the glass cutting open his hand. He yanked his appendage away from the glass, shaking the cut hand to try and… do something. He wasn't really sure what it was supposed to do, and it certainly didn't seem to be helping much. He put the sliced bit of flesh against his lips and sucked on the wound to nurse it.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it…" He continued to mutter to himself.
Ching-ring
His ears perked up. What was that noise? It sounded almost like the ringing of bells. He heard it once more, this time above him. He looked up, and saw an impossible sight. A tiny snowflake drifted through the ceiling and gently began to glide downward. He made a confused sound as it drifted toward him. "What in the world? Ng-Yaaah!"
He felt a sharp pain as the snowflake stopped in mid-air and shot toward his hand, landing on the back of it and sinking through his flesh. A terrible irritation immediately grabbed him. He smacked his hand against the counter, and started scratching at it to relieve the frustrating sensation. That was when it happened. Bits of the flesh on the back of his hand began to melt away, the emptiness left started to glow with a bright red light. The pain was excruciating, but Kaito was so caught in the majesty of the sight that he could do nothing but stare at the transformation. The void on the back of his hand took shape, and as the glow subsided it retained its red coloration. A red tattoo, in the shape of a downward-facing sword, with wings on either side of its crossguard.
"W-what?"
He heard the jingling of bells. Many, many bells. Dozens more snowflakes began to come down through his ceiling and dissipating against the furniture in his kitchen. The sound grew louder, and threatened to deafen him. Kaito fled the kitchen, bursting out through his front door. His instincts begged him to get out of the house. He charged off his porch and through his yard, onto the dirt path that lead away from his home. Standing there, he looked up and was overwhelmed.
A dark, spinning cloud blanketed the skies. The entire Eden Cluster was within its embrace. From it fell little white flakes by the millions, coating the entire city. Kaito felt a chilling sensation. This wasn't just snow. This was a spell. High Thaumaturgy powerful enough to be directed against every person in the Cluster simultaneously. But for what?
And then he heard it. Voices carried on blustering wind, circling around him, dominating his senses with booming sound.
"Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts, our great master Schweinorg be the foundation.
Let red be the color we pay tribute to."
Kaito's breath caught in his throat. His right hand began to shake. He felt a tearing from within, some dreadful force that wanted out. Right then. Right now. His body began to shake and twitch, his very soul screaming in agony. His knees wobbled once, and then gave in to the unbearable pain. He collapsed to the ground, pitiful noises escaping his choked throat as he tried to hold in a blood-curdling scream. He began to write. "Nnn-gh-n-no… Agh! AAAAAAAAAGH—" An irresistible force called his hand, the one with the bizarre red tattoo, and pulled it up into the air. A brief moment of respite. A soft force caressed his burning body. He gasped, and watched his hand, unable to blink, as it moved without influence of his own will.
A sound like a firing cannon deafened Kaito as a red beam of light shot from his hand, ascending far into the clouds, beyond his sight. The worst pain yet. His mind tore at itself, desperate for the safe embrace of madness. His jaw was locked open as a howl of primal fear ripped away from his lungs. His entire body was in revolt, slithering on the cold, hard dirt to escape its own arm, possessed of some unknown force. Even caught in the grip of agony, Kaito could see more beams like his own rising on the horizon. Dozens of them…
…
"Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked room from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."
"Hah! Nn-Yaaaaaah!" Sweat poured off Kary Houper's skin in pints, the boy tearing away at his clothes desperately to find an ounce of cool air. It was so very hot, so painful, he was ready to jump into a tub of ice to find respite. Something, he did not know what, had gone very wrong. The starlight shone in from the window in his dorm room, the only light after his thrashing had knocked over the only lamp. It had all happened so quickly he could not register it. Small droplets of prana had slipped in through the window. His roommate had been struck by them first, and dropped to the floor where he stood, now completely unconscious. Kary had tried to wake him, but nothing roused the young man from his current state, a crumpled heap upon the floor.
He had not even made it to the door to seek help before one of the droplets had sunken through his clothing, and into his back. It burned like a fire hotter than any he could have imagined, and slashed away his flesh. He had not lasted an instant before he was on the floor, tears and sweat pouring as he tried to escape his torment. He had shredded his clothes, until only scraps remained on the floor, and naked he sat on the floor, still shrieking as fire poured from his back, a light firing itself high above, far above the Clock Tower.
…
"Let it be filled. Again! Again! Again! Again!"
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmph!"
Demiya Eldar was huddled into a dark corner of her room, hollering with all the power in her lungs into the pillow she had pressed against her face. A hot knife was cutting into her chest, peeling away skin and flesh and imprinting a remainder that was hotter than the sun itself. Shedding her clothes had done nothing to relieve the unbearable heat, and for a brief instant she had seen the horror of her own skin evaporating from her muscles, leaving behind a red tattoo, a sword that grew four great wings from its pommel, that with every pulse of light wracked her body with a fresh sting. So she shielded her eyes, and funneled all of her tears, and pain, and hundreds of decibels of rage into this cushion. The red light burst from her breast and ascended.
Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeistop!
…
"Let it be filled fivefold for every turn, breaking asunder with every filling…"
"Rrrrraaaaaagh!"
The tiny hotel room used as temporary dwelling by Spiegel Sindar was shaken as he threw himself against the wall. A dent so large that it seemed his bones should have given first was left behind. He backed away, still taunted by the unceasing pain, and the words he could not find the origin of. He backed to the opposite wall and, bare shoulder first, roared as he charged again. The crater in the wall grew larger, but the pain of the mark on his shoulder did not subside. All the force he applied paled to the supernatural pain that bubbled just beneath his skin. But he would not stop. He would not collapse. He backed away, and charged again. His vision began to darken as his body begged for peace. Just a moment's sleep to make up for this suffering.
No! Come on, focus! Stay awake, damn it! Charge!
He screamed, and threw himself into the breach again. The final impact was the last straw, and his body lost all muscle tension. Limp and weak he fell to the floor, panting as his mark fired a red beam through his ceiling, high away into the dark sky.
…
Inhuman cries came from a tiny holding cell as Shu Kuwabara floundered about on its floor, bruising his body as he thrashed and yowled and gnashed his teeth. He slammed again and again against the metal bars and the walls, rolling in every direction. The unbearable sensation on his forearm screamed right back at him, mocking him as it obliterated his flesh. He had torn away his sleeve in desperation to give the wound air, only to be greeted by a deliberately shaped image. An ornate, red sword. He had wanted to question the bizarre affliction taking hold of him, but all he could sense was pain. He had no time for human thought, only the instincts of a cornered beast.
And then it stopped. As soon as it had begun, the rising light had subsided from his arm, and the pain was gone. He sat up, backing himself to the wall. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes as he held his mutated arm away, glaring at it. This foreign thing was not a part of his body anymore. Something had altered it. He could feel immense power coming from the mark on his body, but what that power was eluded him.
"Wh-… what the hell are you?"
And then it began to glow once more. He braced himself for the pain again, but received only a soothing sensation. The red mark began to glow white now. The voices returned. Shu scowled and scanned his surroundings for signs of the speakers, but he was clearly alone. The voices rang in his mind, not the air.
"We hereby propose that their will shall create thine body,
And thine sword shall create their fate!
Abiding by the summons of the Holy Grail, if thou dost accede to this will and reason, answer our call!
We hereby swear: they shall be all that is good in the eternal world,
And they shall be the disposer of evil in the eternal world.
Thou, clad in the Great Trinity, come forth from the circle of constraint.
Guardian of the Heavenly Scales!"
The white light glowed brighter with every word, until it had become blinding. It burned Shu's eyes to behold it, and he looked away as the noise of powerful wind was produced within his tiny cell. The earth itself rumbled, threatening to give way under the force as some great event took place beneath the veil of white light.
There was a thud. The sound of feet hitting the ground. White mist lingered within the bottom of his cell. Shu gingerly let one eye opened and felt his heart skip a beat. A great shadow loomed above him, some great beast of a man. A genuine giant stood before him, wrapped in a woolen green cloak. His face was veiled in shadow beneath a gray nasal helm. Shu tried to back away, but found himself already against the wall. There was nowhere left to run. The huge creature took notice of him, a low growl rolling through his lips as he caught sight of the cowering boy. With a grunt, the beast lowered itself to a single knee. The ground shivered as it was forced to bear the brunt of his dropping body. Beneath the helm, Shu could spot a single eye illuminated in the darkness. A dazzling, green eye that blazed with a spirit of fire. His eyes played tricks upon him. He could see strange letters forming above the monster's head. Stuttering, he sounded them out.
"Buh—bah…B-Berserker..?"
…
Kary cowered, shrinking into the mist that rolled upon the floor as a man like a god stood above him. A severe, scowling face eyed him in the dim lighting, the lines on his face accented by bolts of lightning. He grunted curiously, observing the young boy upon the floor, then growled as his lips curled downward. Kary felt his heart palpitating in terror.
"Who… who are you..?"
The figure spat. He growled a single word at the naked magus groveling beneath him. "Disgraceful."
…
Demiya was frozen in place, awestruck. She beheld a golden man standing before her as she clutched the pillow to obscure her bare chest. His armor threw dazzling colors into the quiet scene as the starlight caught its reflective surface. She felt the cold sensation of the mist his appearance had left behind. The golden man crossed his arms, and observed her coldly with blood red eyes. Demiya felt the urge to bow before this figure. She gaped at him instead, and asked in a pointed tone, "What the hell are you?"
The golden man smiled at her. In a mocking tone he asked, "Have I underestimated your station, cur? Who gave you the right to make demands of me?"
Floating above his head, Eldar could perceive a single word, which she repeated quietly. "A-Archer…"
…
Spiegel was entranced. Standing before him, bathed in starlight, was a woman that had not been there before. She was stunningly beautiful, and her golden hair seemed to shine. An elegant red dress wafted in the breeze that flowed from the open window behind her. She stepped forward, Spiegel tripping over himself and falling to the floor as she approached. He looked up at the girl, and felt his face begin to heat. The middle section of her dress was all but transparent. He received a decidedly unwanted face full of glory. "Aa-buh-waaah…"
He averted his eyes with a shocked yelp. The girl tilted her head, confused. "Do not be afraid to stare, Master. There is nothing wrong with admiring beauty."
Wait. What? He looked back, staring up at the strange woman. "…What did you just call me?"
…
It was done. The words had ceased, and the white glow had subsided. All for nothing, it seemed. Kaito had collapsed to the ground, all the energy drained from his body. The clouds had faded away, and he saw the night sky clearly now, the stars above twinkling in gorgeous patterns, far away from city lights. He took slow, even breaths, trying to understand the purpose of the event. Everything hurt, but his hand was the worst off by far. A dull pain remained as he lifted his hand to stare at the imprint left behind once more. Why give him this? What was that spell for?
"Hey, kid."
A voice called to him. From his own house.
"Normal people sleep on beds, you know. Are you all right?"
Kaito pulled himself up and glanced to his front porch. He was prepared to give some kind of threat to the intruder, but choked on his own words before they could get out. His eyes stretched wide open as he processed the image of the man before him. Slouched on his porch, sitting all too casually, was a man that looked just like him. His skin was dark and tanned, kinked white brows flexing curiously at him. Gray eyes seemed to be scanning Kaito as deeply as he was this stranger. His hair was white, and styled up and back. A red coat was pulled over his shoulders. The bizarre man was the spitting image of the boy he was observing.
Kaito almost couldn't dare to say it. "You're… you're…"
The man in the red coat cut him off. "So then…"
"Are you my Master?"