Twist of Fate by Wordsworthy
Disclaimer: I obviously own neither The Shin Megami Tensei series since obviously Atlas does nor the Fate series, along with all other references I make during the course of the story. This is, after all, just a fanfiction written for the sole purpose of entertainment and no profit motive whatsoever. So please just enjoy the story and do not sue me for this. If you wish to know more about the series, please support the companies producing them directly and purchase their merchandise if you like.
Chapter 2: The Scurra
"Attention passengers, we sincerely apologise for any inconvenience caused by the delay. The next stop, Iwatodai. Iwatodai."
The dull tone of the announcement droned on over the whirr of the railway for a few moments before it registered for the lone occupant of the train carriage who had rock music blaring from a set of steel-grey headphones. A pale blue eye opened wearily to check his immediate surroundings before it flitted shut once again. It had been a long journey after all.
Next stop, Iwatodai huh…
The thought amused the young traveller a little. That basically summarised his way of life thus far in a rather arbitrary yet succinct manner, having been bounced from distant relatives to those god knows how many times removed before his current destination. Well, at the very least, it was a rather prestigious school with boarding arrangements this time, where no self-righteous, well-meaning pretend parental figure would bother him. Still…
I wonder if something interesting would happen for a change.
A wry smile slipped out at that prospect. He did have a penchant for tempting fate, but even more so, he did so relish it very much whenever he came out on top.
Beyond the squalor of the train station where people still milled about despite the late hour, a pair of footsteps echoed down a series of unused sidewalk before they came to a halt. The stilled feet shifted about themselves gingerly before it paused once more upon reaching a conclusion.
"I'm lost… Great…"
Flicking open a well-folded sheet of paper, the young traveller leaned back lazily on a conveniently placed street lamp while mentally retracing his steps with the help of his map. Before he could really immerse himself in his slightly tiresome endeavour, he spotted the insipid radiance of a lone pitiable candle from the corner of his eyes. The dim glow of the flickering wick illuminated a rather odd little stall nestled at a nearby street corner. Odd, if only because he had just passed by the area just a few minutes earlier without noticing it…
"A fortune- teller? At a place like this?"
Well, it was probably easier to ask for directions anyway.
"We meet again."
The sudden and unexpected greeting caught the young traveller a little off guard, having been beaten to the proverbial punch by a dry, scratchy voice that drifted noncommittally from a suspicious hooded figure. Three plaster-like masks and the white gloved hands of the figure were the only things that rested upon the velvet-like cloth of the small table. It was that simple of a stall. Yet, the young traveller could not shake the feeling of things being more than meets the eye.
"Where your body and mind have been offered once before…"
The dry scratchy voice continued, putting to rest the doubts that he was addressing anyone other than the young traveller.
"Hmm…" went the young traveller, sparing a moment's thought to make sense of the contents of the cryptic dialogue. However, the creepiness of the whole setting was actually amusing the long idled mind. "And where exactly would the place be?"
A white gloved hand moved as though in response to the question, but ultimately it went only as far as one of the masks, one bearing a sickly smile. Raising it to his face, a small pile of cards was revealed while the hooded figure continued the conversation without heeding the question posed.
"Right now, you have a chance of a precious thing taken away from you, as well as a chance to fulfil a wanton desire…"
The cards in the small pile were flipped open one after another with the fortune-tellers remaining free hand and arranged in the shape of a distorted circle, seven cards in a 2-3-2 array. They resembled tarot cards of a unique blue and white design. The hooded figure's white finger pointed to the card squarely in the centre of the array as he spoke in an even lower tone.
"Since you are one of the seven."
"Precious thing…? Seven…? You've lost me."
Even as the young traveller pondered his queries aloud, the currently masked and hooded figure made a soft cackling voice that somewhat resembled laughter before picking up another mask and placing it before his face. This time, the mask bore an angry scowl. Another pile of cards laid underneath it.
"A festival, a ritual, a game… it has been called many things."
The seven cards were arranged linearly this time below the array of tarot cards. They seem to be of a different make and design from the tarot cards, each bearing a single image upon an earthen background.
"Each of the seven possesses a great power. That power is called a Persona, the manifestation of one's psyche. This festival appropriates that power and aligns it with a corresponding spirit that resonates most strongly with it, giving rise to a corporeal form. When one acquires these seven great powers, a certain object would reveal itself, one that would realize any desire. Regardless of magnitude or possibility, it would come to fruition without fail."
The cards were collected and stacked together before being swept under the last mask on the table.
"Of course, having so much power and being able to grant one with infinite power, a corresponding cost would have to be in place. Loss, in any form, at any time, should be expected."
The last mask, one bearing a sad frown and single tear was finally lifted, revealing yet another pile of cards. However, there were only seven this time, and each was empty, devoid of any markings or images save for the harsh black background, and abject darkness that threatened to spill forth and consume its surrounding.
"Now… if you wish to proceed, all you have to do is to pick up one of these cards. The contract will be formed when you do and these cards shall be your proof of contract."
The young traveller contemplated the matter for a moment. The dubious setup, the shameless temptation of an absurd lure, the elusive ambiguity surrounding the idea of loss, the things not spoken…
"One question."
A slender finger drew a line tantalisingly back and forth on the array of black cards.
"One desire huh… I would obtain whatever it is that I seek?"
A dry cackle sounded out again behind the three masks. It was a chuckle. There was no doubt about it.
"Oh yes."
"Interesting…" remarked the young traveller with an unbecoming sardonic smile as his finger came to a rest atop one of the black cards, drawing it out with his decision made. Upon closer inspection, he realised that both sides of the card were empty, causing his smile to wind down into a frown. "Hey, what gives?"
"Details, details… all will be revealed in due time."
"You're rather selfish aren't you?"
"It is all about the timing. Speaking of which, weren't going to ask for directions?"
"Ah, right… there's…"
A wave of nausea and vertigo washed over young traveller, causing him to grasp his head with his hand. The whole sidewalk appeared to waver and spin around, making it quite a feat just to stay on his feet despite so. Even so, he was able to catch a glimpse of the selfishly mysterious fortune-teller's face through a brief lapse whereby the three masks were lowered.
A pair of large, bulging bloodshot eyes, pointed elongated ears adorned the visage of a crooked old man beneath the black hood and robes. Yet, what drew the waning attention of the young traveller was the pair of languid lips that moved despite the perpetual sneer-like smile.
"Ah… I am Igor, the supervisor of this festival. Oh, and welcome…"
A head of midnight-blue hair jolted itself straight up as the bearings came rushing back in a violent rush, causing the disoriented young man to lose his balance and fall flat on his rump.
"Oww… what the…"
A quick check with his surroundings confirmed that he was no longer at the weird fortune-teller's. In fact, the street was entirely different from what he had remembered. It was as though his new surroundings suddenly came into awareness. In front of him was an old three-storey apartment building, one with an old fashioned metallic roof and semi-rusty stairwells leading to the units on each level. An old playground was located next to it while other similar-looking buildings completed the layout of this rundown neighbourhood.
"Ah…"
Hearing some indiscreet giggles coming from a distance, the young man eventually picked himself up and dusted himself off. Not bothering to make sure who had seen his little stumble, he proceeded straight for the communal mailbox.
"Room 2-5… there it is."
Retrieving the keys that he instructed the realtor to leave within, he lifted his travel bag and made his way to his room at the end of the corridor on the second level. Casting his travel bag aside, he wove his way past the boxes piled up at the entrance before plonking straight down on his bed. His eyes drooped and shut from a mysterious fatigue before he could even recollect or contemplate on his strange day.
"What... gives... So… tired… zzz…"
"Port Island Station. Port Island Station."
The grating rumble of the monorail pulling out of the station soon gave way to mundane chatter of numerous students bearing the dark winter uniforms of the nearby high school on their way to school. The mood was as lively as one would expect from a mass of teenagers despite the morning rush hour.
"Morning Yukari-chan!"
"Good morning. We're having good weather today again, aren't we?" greeted the pretty student with shoulder-length hazel hair.
"Sure is! My hair always curls upwards and frazzles when it rains."
"You don't say… hehee…"
Smiling politely at the inane details so generously delivered by the other three members of her cliché as required of her role as one of the popular girls in school, the brunette was sighing away inwardly at the contents of their immaterial conversation. Keeping up appearances can be tiring at times…
"…"
A sudden flash of vivid deep cobalt blue caught her eye for a moment before it was lost. It was a boy that she had never seen before.
Was there a boy like that in our school?
"By the way, what's that on your hand Yukari-chan?"
"Ah, this?" Her right hand tensed briefly before she raised it up together with her pink schoolbag. A single bead embroidered fingerless lace glove covered most of her right hand, sans her fingers. "My hand was feeling a little chilly today, so I thought I warm it up with a glove. Does it look strange?"
At the adorable expression of uncertainty on their prime girl's face, the other girls quickly responded to assure her otherwise.
"No no no! Of course not! It looks really stylish on you."
"Hey, isn't it from La Camelot? I remember seeing it on the pages of its new Spring collection catalogue!"
"Oh! As expected of Yukari-chan. Perhaps I will get one and wear it like you too."
The brunette gave the members of her cliché a wry smile before continuing, having disguised the real intention behind the glove.
"Really? I would have preferred one from Jeanne d' Arc…"
"Ugh… when is school going to end…"
"Hahaha, you're out of it already? Dude, the first bell hasn't even sounded."
"That's our Junpei for you. Hahaha."
A bout of loud laughter from the class goofballs rang out, adding to the ambient background noise in the pre-homeroom atmosphere. Despite the disparaging looks cast his way, the tall boy with a goatee looked rather pleased at the others' reaction to his little shenanigan, ignoring the little prick he felt. He had little pride to begin with anyway he reasoned, so it should be absolutely fine for him to take pride at what little things he could do instead of the details. Making others laugh was a fine calling, and one of the sure-fire weapons of his future womanising ways, he reasoned.
"Hey, it's Yuka-tan!" exclaimed the Don Juan in the making in an overly familial tone at the latest entrant to the classroom. "How's it hanging?"
"Drop dead Stupei."
The pretty brunette practically hissed the immediate reply at the careless greeting, replete with a level 8 glare without a step out of place on her way to her desk.
"Aww… youth! You can really feel the love in that."
"How did ya figure that out?"
"Don't you know? Love and hate are but two sides of the same coin. And since I always bring out the beast in Yuka-tan, it shows just how much- OUCH!"
The semi-bloodcurdling yell was preceded by a sharp thud and a cracking sound and succeeded by a series of hops before a certain boy fell off the table he was leaning on, courtesy of a hard stamp on his toe.
"Don't get me wrong. That's mostly hate, with a dash of what-the-hell."
The bell rang soon afterwards, scattering the loose group of students as their homeroom teacher arrived.
"Iori, what are you doing on the floor? Get back in your seat already."
"Right away, Toriumi-sensei…" acknowledged the said student as he dragged himself back onto his chair, his toe still smarting from the potential hairline fracture.
Placing her class register on her teacher's table, the homeroom teacher began addressing the class with the first matters of the day.
"Before we start class today, I'd like to introduce our new transfer student. Come on in."
The door to the classroom opened and in stepped the new student; a gangly student with dark blue hair and grey clip-on earphones hanging around his collar. He walked with a casual gait towards the centre of the class with his hands tucked inside his pockets the whole time. He stood tall but with a slightly leaned back posture, the depths of his eyes remained calm and unmoved despite looking at an unfamiliar class. The impression he gave was that of a well-travelled student, or perhaps one too used to transferring schools.
"Arisato Minato-kun."
The transfer student remained expressionless as he faced the class without showing any overt signs of acknowledgement.
"Ah…" went a certain brunette discreetly.
"Sigh, if only it was a girl…" went a certain class clown from under his breath.
"Well, Arisato-kun. How about you tell the class a word about yourself?"
"… Hello."
Safe to say, the teacher and all the existing members of the class sweatdropped.
"Ahaha… that was literally a word… nevermind… everyone, please treat him well."
"Hai…" a light chorus of answers sounded at the homeroom teacher's awkward request, although the general mood now was one of scepticism.
"Arisato-kun, there's an empty seat at the back of the class near the window. It's yours if you like."
"Umm." acknowledged the transfer student briefly this time with a slight nod.
His quiet footsteps echoed within the classroom as everyone's eyes followed his trail to the seat at the back to the class. Upon seeing him settle immediately into his seat without much expression, most of their interest waned and was gathered back to the front of the class.
"Hey, new guy. You don't have a club yet right? How do you feel about Kendo?"
"…"
The transfer student remained expressionless for a few moments, causing the neighbour who made the inquiry a little concerned as to whether he was being too hushed and reserved about the invite. He was about to make a more vigourous appeal when he noticed something peculiar about the new guy. The head of midnight blue hair that was supported by a slender hand on his chin seemed to be lower than it had been earlier. In fact…
"Ah!"
With a slight knock, the transfer student had his head planted on the table by now, his breathing long and even.
"That's fast!"
"Grhmmm…"
The mixture of a sigh and grumble slipped out of white-haired senior as he made his way down the corridor from his class.
"Why on earth does he have to be so hard-headed..."
The tall third-year student punched the palm of his hand in frustration but winced reflexively as the pain from his bruised knuckles under his boxing bandages registered.
"Damn… "
He was going to make straight for the exit when the sound of a small commotion reached his ears. It seemed to have come from the school's gymnasium.
"What's with all the ruckus?"
"S-Sanada-sempai!"
A group of freshmen from the kendo club and various other sports clubs crowding around the entrance of the gymnasium spotted the senior and greeted him rather empathically. He was the ace of the boxing club after all, and a familiar face in the gymnasium.
"K-Kazushi-sempai was trying to get a transfer student in his class to join the Kendo club, but… a tug-of-war broke out with the swimming and track team who wanted to recruit him as well."
"And in the end, they somehow came to an arrangement that he will join whichever club that beats him at their sport."
"Hah!? That's stupid." commented the white-haired boxer with brutal honesty.
"Y-yea- well… but... so far, the transfer student had already beaten the representatives from the swim team and track team. That just leaves…"
The commotion from the other spectators just escalated to another high.
"The Kendo team lost too!?" gasped someone in the crowd incredulously.
"Hmm…" went the third year thoughtfully as he watched the winner of the bout remove his head gear, revealing the sleepy-looking countenance of a second-year student with what would seem to be a deceptively quiet disposition.
"Transfer student huh…"
A series of knocks sounded from the wooden sliding door.
"Come in."
A strict-looking male student with short, swept-back grey hair entered the room and bowed deferentially to the owner of the office within. The twilight sun illuminated the spacious office with a rich vermillion hue, infusing the long scarlet tresses that swam about the occupant of a large, stately armchair with a rich vermilion glow.
"These are the papers you requested, Kaicho."
"Thank you Hidetoshi-kun." answered the student council president appreciatively as she received the papers with a gloved hand. If her assistant and leader of the Disciplinary Squad felt anything was off with her wearing her leather equestrian gloves to school, he did not voice it. Instead however, he did ask one other question.
"If I may, is there a reason why the new transfer student in 2F would be of an interest?"
The student council president spared her vice-president a glance in between her reading of the sheets of paper.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well… Anti-social behaviour, already sleeping in class on his first day, sowing conflict between the sports clubs… I was just wondering if I should put him on the Discipline Committee's delinquent-I mean watch-list…"
The student council president looked at the serious young man with the exceedingly grave appraisal of the new student's first day of school and broke into an amused giggle.
"My, he certainly does sound fearless. Perhaps we should bring him into the student council. It might be better to have him as a comrade than as someone we need to deal with."
"Kaicho!"
"I'm so tired… what's with this school?"
The high school student grumbled like an old man thrice his age as he massaged and rolled his shoulder back and forth, causing the convenience stall bags in his hands to rustle with the motion. It was already evening after his run-in with the persistent sports fanatics in the Kendo, Swimming and Track teams. Even though he had won his freedom for the day, they had that weird fire of infinite passion burning in their eyes as they left swearing vengeance, comebacks and all that crap… He had a faint inkling that this was not going to be the last he would hear from them.
"Maybe I'll just join the Library Club…" muttered the blue-haired student as he trudged his way up the metal stairwell of his new home.
"Tadaima… just kidding."
Sighing self-depreciatingly at his pointless quip, the convenience stall bento was quickly disposed of before the young man returned to his next immediate task; finish unpacking his belongings from the express delivery boxes. There was not a lot of it, but he did skip out on it last night. He had been deathly tired for some reason…
"Eh…? What exactly did I do last night…? Am I forgetting something… Ah well, whatever."
Unpacking, arranging, repacking and cleaning up seemed to take up more time than he had anticipated. By the time he was done, the evening had wound down a long time ago and it was fast approaching midnight. Just as the young man was contemplating skipping out on his homework in favour of just hitting the sack, a deep ravenous growl rumbled loudly around the room.
"Already? Guess I should get something from the store again…"
His stomach agreed most readily with yet another pang of hunger, as though pushing the young man up and on his way. Stopping briefly to pick up the bag of trash from the day's endeavour and to grab a navy blue hoodie, he reluctantly began his twenty-minute walk to his most immediate food source.
"Brrr…. Why is it still so cold in April…"
Pale slender fingers pulled on the navy blue hood to cover more of his forehead before they pulled the zipper as high up as it could. Just moments after, a gust of unearthly chill blew past the young man, causing inevitable shivers up his spine.
"What the…"
Even though he was still rather new to the street, he could tell that something was definitely off about it. For one, it was unusually deserted. While it should not be that uncommon for streets to be empty come nightfall, this was one of the rougher neighbourhoods on the island and had its fair share of nightcrawlers. Instead, there were strange black coffins scattered about the sidewalks and puddles of creepy reddened water. Furthermore, there was this pallid green glow that seemed to come from…
The moon… it was going to be another four or five days before the next full moon, but the moon above him right now was clearer, large and more menacing than any that he had seen before. It beggared belief. If he was dreaming, it would merely be a most unpleasantly realistic nightmarish setting. If it was reality, he would have little other way of making sense of it, except perhaps for…
"CG?"
Perhaps in response to his weak response to his circumstances, the sound of metal clashing upon metal punctured the stifling silence from beyond a nearby alley. The metallic ring grew progressively louder as the young man approached the source cautiously. Suddenly, a series of violent explosions erupted on the adjoining street, giving rise to a cloud of debris and dust that made the young man cover his nose and mouth reflexively.
Out of the aftermath of the debris cloud, his pale blues widened in surprise as a short figure holding a long stick, no spear, dashed out of the swirling dust and smoke. The young boy was wearing the black uniform of a nearby elementary school over an orange cardigan… heck, he was just an elementary school kid.
The boy skidded to a halt and turned on his heels in one smooth motion before slashing out with his overly lengthy spear at a faint black object. Another explosion erupted as a result, and this time it seemed to have hurt the boy who was sent sprawling some distance due to the impact of the blast.
Just as the blue-haired boy was wavering between rushing out to help him and calling the bloody police, the boy made a loud cry into the foreboding night air moments before a flare of brilliant crimson light sparked forth from his right hand.
"Lancer!"
Crimson arcs flashed several times in the street in quick succession before fierce wind seemed to slice apart and expel the remnants of the debris cloud with the resultant air pressure, revealing an older man in what seemed to be a mix between a body and light plate armour of a mysterious cobalt material. A short ponytail reminiscent from the old-style Yankees hung from the back of his head, but the most striking thing about the man was the long crimson spear that was looked to be two heads taller than its wielder himself.
"That's a dirty way to fight you bastards!" grunted the said Lancer in contempt at the two approaching silhouettes.
"Ignore him Assassin. Both of them die tonight." commanded the younger of the two new entrants, a young man in a dark green bomb jacket with slicked back dark blue hair in his early twenties. He was tossing what looked to be a fragmentation grenade casually up and down with one hand while a crimson glow similar to the young boy's shone from the other holding a silver briefcase.
"Hai… my Master." was the reluctant answer from the other man in a traditional violet kimono with long indigo hair that was tied in a different type of ponytail from Lancers. He appeared to be, by all counts, a samurai, as attested by the absurdly long blade that he wielded and his valiant bearings.
"Fine! Have it your way! I won't hold back if that's the case as well."
A quick motion of Lancer's fingers drew an obscure ochre symbol straight in the sickly night air as though there was an invisible papyrus. The moment the symbol was completed a column of flames sprayed outwards his two foes.
While the younger man rolled out of the way and took cover from the rune-based flame spell, the man called Assassin wove his way around it and rushed inwards to the awaiting Lancer, their two respective long weapons clashing together properly this time as what calm composure they had evaporated in favour of savouring the rare taste of honourable combat in delighted abandonment while the flames snaked around and confined the grenade-user in a wall of fire.
Amidst the intensity and frequency of the many flashes and clashes of the incredible spectacle playing out before him, the blue-haired young man in the shadows trembled uncontrollable as a delayed memory resurfaced from the turbulent sea of his memories, specifically that of the ambivalent old man that he had forgotten meeting. A full Cheshire smile rose unbidden from the depths of his being, a sign of many things to come no doubt.
"Welcome to the War of the Holy Grail."
A/N: Exposition and Introduction. Had this idea for a few years ago and worked out the storyline for quite a bit, so I thought I should at least give it some air time. The two series have the same dark macabre themes as well, so I thought I could make it work.
Hope it is well-received. Your reviews are welcomed, feedback even more so.