another story, but i'm having trouble coming up with a title for this one...hmmm...my lack of creativity bites me on the butt on this sorts of things...i'll come up with something...eventually...

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Fuka

402 AD

Through a haze of red exhaustion, Natsuki watched her rival reel and fall from her sword stroke. The last of her five openents.

Thank god.

She turned, her broken ribs screaming, and blinked hard, trying to free her eyelashes from the blood that tacked them together. Taking a step forward, she almost fell over one of the knights she'd defeated. Agony shafted up her thigh as she fought to regain her footing. Her leather leggings hung heavy and wet, and she knew the wound in her thigh was responsible.

Cold. It was June, but she felt like the depths of winter. She'd lost too much blood.

A blurred ring of faces surrounded her. As she crossed the combat circle, their applause and cheers came to her as if from a great distance. A robed woman hurried past - one of Mashiro's newly created witches, intent on healing the men she'd bested.

Just as she was about to become a Magus. If the girl witch found her worthy. Mashiro had refused three other winners so far, though no one knew why.

She looked across the combat grounds to the two slender figures standing next to Midori. Mashiro had her maid, Fumi. To look at her, you'd think the witch too young. At least until you looked into her eyes.

Something powerful and acient looked out of Mashiro's eyes, something far more goddess than girl.

Natsuki took a step toward the witch, but the world revolved around her, forcing her to stop in her tracks and grit her teeth. I will not fall in front of her. She'd endured too much to ruin it with weakness now.

Locking her gaze on the girl who was no girl, she dragged her right leg forward another step. And then her left.

Plop. Plop. Plop. The crowd had gone silent as they watched her struggle. Natsuki could hear the slow, steady drip of her own blood hitting the sand.

Another step. And another. She seemed to be looking at Mashiro through a long gray tunnel.

At last, she reached her destination. From the corner of one eye, she saw Midori gravely watching. Midori, whose red hair had once been shot through with gray, yet who now looked younger than Natsuki.

But it was Mashiro whose gaze held her. She thought she saw stars shoot across those light-blue irises.

I should kneel, Natsuki thought distantly. She tried to bend her knee, only to sway, almost pitching onto her face. Perhaps not.

For lack of a better alternative, she braced her legs apart like a horse run until it was all but dead. Next to Mashiro's elegant delicacy, she felt like a horse in truth, all towering dumb muscle. "My Queen," she rasped to Midori. Then, in a careful bow of the head to Mashiro, "My lord."

"You fought well," Mashiro said in that suprisingly lilting voice. "You showed courage, yes, but then, all of Midori's knights are courageous. But you also fought with intelligence, and most importantly, with honor. You have won the right to my Gift." She extended a hand and Natsuki looked down. For a moment, those pale fingers were empty.

Then light flashed, and the Grail filled them.

Natsuki caught her breath. It resembled no other cup she'd ever seen with its elegent, impossible lines. Within it, sparks danced on the surface of a glowing blue liquid. Alien as it looked, the potion smelled delicious.

Yet gazing down into those sparkling blue depths, she felt a sudden shaft of fear.

"The final test is this," Mashiro said softly. "If you drink of my cup, you will become immortal, but you will also watch your mother and your father die. Your life will be a thing of blood and struggle as you fight to save your fellow humans from themselves. You may eventually guide them to freedom, but you will never know it yourself."

Natsuki stared at her. The combat ground suddenly dipped and revolved around her, and she hastly stiffened her legs again.

"There will be no peaceful fireside for you, no circle of grandchildren around your knees," Mashiro continued in that soft implacable voice. "Instead of good food and a cup of tea, you will drink blood to live. And your children, if you have them, will be born mortal, though with the potential to become what you are. If they are too weak or too greedy or too mad, you must stand by and watch them die, one by one. But if they're worthy, they will inheret the same yoke you'll wear. And they too, will know no peace. So choose well. And choose knowing there is no going back."

Natsuki swallowed againts the great cold knot that had grown in her chest with every word the witch had spoken. Such a choice. She'd fought for the chance to drink from Mashiro's Grail, had bled for it, and yet - it wasn't until this moment that she'd realized just what winning would mean.

Unable to hold Mashiro's infinite, pitiless gaze, she looked away.

Into the warm, green eyes of Sugiura, Midori. Midori, who'd accepted her into her court, who'd made her a knight, who'd gotten drunk with her and told her bawdy jokes, who'd led her into battle.

Midori, who'd drunk from Mashiro's Grail.

Natsuki turned to Mashiro. "I would follow Sugiura, Midori through the yawning gates of hell. I will not leave her to this battle alone."

And she took the cup, aware of Midori's grim smile.

It felt far heavier than it should have, but she didn't let herself think of that. Instead, she turned the cup up and drank it down in one gulp.

At first, it tasted like springtime - light and foaming on the tongue. Natsuki started to smile as it rolled down her throat in a sweet stream...

Then it hit her gut, and the world exploded. She reeled, distantly aware of Midori catching her. Fire engulfed her belly and raced into her veins in a savage blaze of heat. Gritting her teeth, she fought not to scream as she writhed in the Queen's arms, clutching at Midori's embroidered robes with desperate hands. It seemed her very eyeballs were afire in her skull, her tounge blazing, as if she were burning from the inside out. Her muscles knotted and twisted under her flaming skin, her bones shifting and crackling like kindling.

And then the fire just...vanished. Winked out, leaving her cold and hollow.

Panting, Natsuki clung weakly to Midori, who supported her weight with no effort at all. Finally, she pulled away and forced herself to stand on her own feet. Licking her dry lips, she felt the twin sharp edges of fangs againts her tounge.

A magus. She was a magus now.

Dazed, she looked around into Midori's face.

The queen gave her a slight smile. "Thank you."

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